FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Hmm, cancer is certainly creative for him, I'll give Dialdon that," Karniel mumbled.

Korlyon elbowed Karniel's side. “Focus."

Cathka mind raced as she sat beside the pair, inside a pew during the morning service at the Temple of Crystals, named after the Crystal Ward on the third level of Sepulcher of Dawn. It was one of the dozen temples to Mortel in the City of Tiers, this particularly one with a massive quartz statue of Mortel looming over the pulpit in the back of the temple.

As the priest, a sun-wrinkled human, continued to speak after Dialdon's speech, Karniel still carried on in a whisper, “I'm just saying, I'm so used to demon or insect or devil or all manner of curses used to describe me. Cancer's not exactly new, but it has been quite some time—"

“Stop," Korlyon hissed.

Cathka cursed under her breath and signed a small spell to make it appear as if all three of their heads remained quietly bowed in worship. She then whispered across Korlyon, “You get talkative when your nervous, don't you?"

“What? I never—"

“He's always talkative," Korlyon complained.

“I mean refuses to shut up," Cathka corrected.

“Honestly, you two," Karniel said with a measure of disgust. “You'll get us caught if you insist on squabbling."

“You're—"

“Not worth it," Cathka warned Korlyon. “Let's just focus on carving that counter spell and getting back to the others in one piece." All three quickly stood when the motion was made to, Cathka dispelling her illusion as they awkwardly joined in a hymn. Cathka considered herself a lovely contralto, but flummoxed on lyrics she did not know. Meanwhile Korlyon sang along off-key, and Karniel joined in a baritone sharp and polished as everything he did.

He memorized the hymns of the Church he hates, is there anything Karniel doesn't know?

Plenty, Cathka wished to tell her brother. For one, Karniel never knew when to shut up.

After the hymns, the priest took the pulpit again and delivered a brief sermon. Most of this Cathka let pass in one ear and out the other. When it finished, and the service came to an end, the three of them moved to the pulpit. Karniel rushed the priest, getting the man to look away from her long enough to sign a glyph.

Cathka disappeared from view and snuck back to the quartz statue, signing another glyph and touching its base. The thing rose a good twenty feet, but fortunately her detect magic spell pinpointed the enchantment near the statue's base. She paced around it, working another illusion to make it appear as if nothing changed there. She was able to keep one eye on Karniel as he hammed up some distraction for the piest, with a line of church members waiting their chance to speak.

With a firm tug, Cathka loosened then removed a wedge of stone and found on its surface the glyphs needed to make the whole statue an anchor for Dialdon's ritual. A few spells later, she had inscribed the glyphs for the counterspell, and slid the stone back into place.

Finishing up, Cathka returned to the pulpit, catching Karniel saying, “But that is the very crux of the issue! Do I really need to break my vow of nonviolence in the name of the Church?"

“Violence is a tool, child," the priest said, an edge to his voice, “It is no more evil than the hammer, and sometimes the righteous must take up the hammer to build."

Cathka, still hidden by magic, brushed Karniel's shoulder with an outstretched wing, and carefully wound around the line of people. She heard Karniel scoff. “Now you simply are turning this into a semantic argument. Violence is hardly the same as a hammer—I can see," and Cathka flinched as Karniel raised his voice, “as everyone here should that the Church of Mortel will bandy about any rhetoric it wishes to get its way. Why, I bet that Karniel fellow isn't so bad as you lot. He certainly isn't declaring—"

“Leave this temple!" the priest spat. “If you wish to consort with the Scourge, go then."

“Hmmph. Perhaps I will."

Cathka, careful to make sure no one saw, ended the invisibility spell on herself and glared at Karniel as he shouldered his way through the crowd. Korlyon mumbled an apology, and Cathka joined them at the entrance.

They passed into the temple's vestibule, Cathka clenching her beak to not berate him right away. Soon as they stepped onto the busy sidewalk, Karniel said, “Honestly, how does anyone—"

Cathka punched him in the shoulder.

“Ouch, what did I do—"

“You know what you did," she said. “You were supposed to distract him, not debate him."

Karniel shrugged. “No harm in it."

Korlyon stepped between them. “Someone is following us."

Cathka resisted the urge to glance backwards and asked, “You're certain?"

“Pshaw," Karniel dismissed with a wave.

“A guard from the temple. They spend their evenings with incense and prayer. I can smell the sandalwood from here."

“Probably a coincidence," Karniel said. “That alleyway up ahead. Let's turn down there and lose them."

Cathka said as all three picked up their pace, “Someday I'm going to teach you how to be subtle."

“It'd be easier to just help Mathus redeem him from his past."

No one ever accused her of being unambitious.

***

Over the course of the day, the trio sabotaged three more anchors. The Society of Lace and Lattice and the affiliate cults Cathka recruited handled others around the city. If the ritual did come, they would have a means to reverse it. For every anchor, they needed those glyphs inscribed. Otherwise, the counter could still overload the network and cause a catastrophic backlash.

They just needed to hope Karniel was correct in his predictions. He did not bother to worry over what being wrong meant.

When they returned to the safehouse, they found Zevban waiting for them. He rose from a sitting position when they popped into the room, saying, “Elder Sorkahn is waiting for you in the war room."

Cathka dispelled their illusions and said, “And here I was looking forward to a hot bath."

Korlyon took a cloth mask from his pocket that stank of vinegar and wrapped it around his muzzle. Even without a sensitive snout, Karniel already smelled the traces of Selvanna's cloying heat. Karniel asked Zevban, “Is it just Sorkahn here?"

“For the time being."

Karniel arched his brow, but Zevban offered no more information. He gestured with his glaive, “You shouldn't keep an elder waiting."

They left, Cathka muttering, “This is about Dialdon's little declaration of war, no doubt."

Korlyon said, “Do you think the dragons will pull out of our agreement?"

“If the stakes were not so high, then certainly," Karniel said, “Lucky for us, Dialdon isn't smart enough to make sure his ritual ignores the Ward of Wings."

Korlyon's fist clenched at his side. “They would be okay if everyone else in the city went up in smoke, then?"

“It's the way they've always been," Karniel spoke quickly as they approached a room at the end of the hall, “I've watched cities suffer through famine, plague, and war while settlements like the Ward of Wings merrily float above it all with the help of the food, wealth, and the magic they've hoarded."

Cathka said, “Dragons, criminals, cultists, and cancerous bats, we practically handed the Church all the things they needed to rally the city against us."

Karniel did not respond, as they reached the door to what Zevban called the “war room." Karniel had assumed it was a library. They stepped inside to find Sorkahn waiting with Selvanna and Mathus, sitting at a table large enough to comfortably seat a dozen dragons on the stone benches wrapped around it. A map of the city had been unfurled, and Sorkahn sat with an abacus, tallying numbers and writing notes on a scrap of parchment. Wrapped along every wall were bookshelves filled with tomes and scrolls, magically preserved so they did not appear as decrepit as Karniel knew they were. Even the map of the city was out of date.

Karniel cleared his throat while Korlyon went to sit beside Mathus, the pair exchanging subdued greetings. Sorkahn, without looking up from his notes, waved at the table. “Have a seat."

Karniel and Cathka sat down opposite the elder dragon, with Korlyon, Selvanna, and Mathus to their right. Karniel quickly noted the tallies on the parchment: they were supplies, timetables, and estimates. Karniel asked, “Have our plans changed?"

“Don't worry, we're not throwing you onto their swords," Sorkahn said. He dropped his quill in a nearby inkwell and sighed. “I'm taking stock of what supplies we have here. Never thought in my lifetime we'd have to use this place."

Mathus spoke up, “Sorkahn wants to evacuate the Ward of Wings. He told us about Dialdon's speech."

Sorkahn said, “We were not surprised by it. We knew allying with you would likely lead to open conflict. Right now we're trying to get a handle on what kind of force the Church will amass."

“Despite his rhetoric," Selvanna spoke up, only to pause and swallow some drool. “Dia won't just invade the settlement. Pointless death won't help him harvest souls."

“I agree," Karniel said, “And yet you're still evacuating your people."

“The Razorscale Clan will stay behind to aid you in taking the temple, but we cannot leave our people unprotected."

“So you move them out of the city, and how long will that take?"

“Six days, then we will be able to launch an attack."

Cathka asked, “And you can't go any faster?"

“Our evacuation plans were made for seiges, not bombs. It is as fast as we can go."

“Six days and Dialdon will be ready to turn this city into a tomb," Karniel said.

“It's good you have that counter spell, then, isn't it?"

Selvanna said, “I've argued this with him already. The Elders determined what they would do, and they are set in their decision."

“We've warned that attacking or harming the settlement here will be an act of war on all dragons," Sorkahn said. “We expect them to allow our people to evacuate."

“And in the meantime Dialdon will be able to fortify himself and make sure the ritual isn't rushed," Karniel said. Sorkahn seemed unphased by this comment, which just frustrated Karniel more. He slapped his palm on the table. “Dammit, you are going to get more of your kin killed this way than if we took up arms right now."

Still impassive, Sorkahn said, “I am aware of what it might cost us. However, I am not the only one making decisions for our settlement."

“Then call a meeting," Karniel said. He got up and waved to the door, “I'll go with you right now and get it through their thick skulls."

“Karniel," Mathus tried to warn.

“He's right," Cathka said. “The more time we give Dialdon the worse our chances get."

Sorkahn rolled up the parchment into a scroll, and got up as well, grabbing the warhammer propped against the bookshelf behind him. He said, “I must return to begin preparations. The five of you will be staying here during the evacuation. We will move in some mattresses, provide food, but ask you try not to leave this room lest you slow down the evacuation effort."

Karniel snapped, “Like hell I'm just going to sit around while you fools let the world come to an end."

Sorkahn moved around to the door, still unprovoked. When he reached it, he said, “If you have some idea of how to help, I would welcome suggestions, but right now, Scourge, your plan hinges on our cooperation. Careful who you wield that attitude around, not all the Elders think you're worth fighting for."

Karniel cut through what Sorkahn spoke around. “And yet you think I'm worth fighting for."

“No," Sorkahn turned and lifted the head of his hammer towards Mathus, “but he is."

Mathus seemed just as surprised by that statement as Karniel. Enough so, that Sorkahn left without another word. Selvanna spoke into the silence, “I already had it out with him, but it wasn't Sorkahn's decision."

Mathus touched his chest. “I've barely even talked to Sorkahn, why would he—"

“Were creatures of intuition, Mathus," Selvanna whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. She squeezed him, then added for the others, “Dragons will start arriving tomorrow morning. I know it is selfish to ask, but I would like to have Mathus for the night, to see if we can quench this heat."

Karniel rolled his eyes. “By all means, fuck until the sunrise."

Korlyon growled, “Best to try for it before we're all trapped in here together."

Cathka, who had spun around on the bench and now reclined against the table, said to Karniel, “We're not going to just trap ourselves in here, are we?"

Karniel scoffed. “Hardly. If we are stuck waiting an extra three days to take the Emerald Ward, we might as well use them to our advantage."

“Are there more people we can recruit?" Korlyon asked.

“Not if I'm the face of this resistance," Karniel said. He began pacing in front of the door, voicing his thoughts, “That was a mistake on my part: to assume I needed to lead this. Given that exchange I had with that priest this morning, it's too easy for the Church to make up any old rhetoric for why the people of Sepulcher of Dawn should take up arms against us. Much as I might like to be the dashing hero for once, I think we're past the point of that being possible."

Cathka turned and smirked at Mathus. “He'll need a name, Karniel."

“But I have a name—"

“Of course, you do, darling, but we need to reclaim yours," Karniel said, snapping his fingers. “Ah-ha!" He came to a stop and jabbed a finger at his husband, “The Inheritor."

Mathus glanced between Korlyon and Selvanna, baffled. Cathka said, “Mathus the Inheritor, I like it."

Selvanna said, “Better than 'Vessel' any day."

“Cathka, be a dear and get me something to write on. We need to start planning Mathus' debut."

“My debut?"

As Cathka opened her purse and reached inside it, Karniel sat beside her. Korlyon said, “If Mathus doesn't want this he shouldn't have to do this."

“It's not a matter of want, but need," Karniel said as Cathka rolled out some parchment. He leaned across the table and grabbed the inkwell Sorkahn had been using. At the top of the paper he wrote, “Mathus, the Inheritor," in flowing script. “The people of the city only know you as the Church's 'Vessel,' we need to make you the face of a resistance." Karniel threw on a fake pout he gave Mathus, who looked on with nothing but dread. “Sorry, darling, but my dashing looks just won't do this time. It has to be you."

***

Selvanna did not let Mathus sleep until midmorning the next day, but seemed convinced her heat had been quenched somehow. Most of the evening existed in a fog for Mathus, drugged on Selvanna's saliva with his stamina empowered by spells she wove for his benefit, her poleaxe always within arm's reach of the bed. He remembered the evening as well as a lurid dream when he woke sometime later in the afternoon. He lay in one of the bunks from the barracks, now moved into the safehouse's library.

Bleary-eyed, Mathus sat up with a yawn. He glanced around, finding one other bunk had been moved into the room, along with their meager belongings. A tray of baked scones, half already eaten, lay on the large table in the room with several mugs scattered about, a pitcher of water, and a porcelain teapot, its lid askew by its feet. Karniel sat at the table, hunched over something he was writing. Everyone else was gone.

Mathus asked, “What happened while I was out?"

“The evacuation started. Cathka and Korlyon are out in the city, working with our contacts to set up your debut, while Selvanna is helping the other Razorscales lead people through the tunnels and out of the city," Karniel answered as he studied the parchment before him. He spoke in a tone that told Mathus he'd been utterly focused on whatever it was he did.

Mathus got out of the bed and went to the tray. He picked up a scone and tore off a corner, asking, “I'm being debuted now?"

The scone, Mathus assumed, Selvanna had made. She had mentioned an inclination for baking, but had yet to really show off that skill. He took a bite of the crumbly biscuit, which had been made with a mixture of candied bacon, some sort of herb, and a salty cheese. After the first bite, he took another, finding his appetite raging now.

As he did, Karniel said, “Yes, Mathus the Inheritor, we are planning on you addressing the people of the city. With the help of the different cults and the dragons, we should be able to project your image and words as you give this speech I'm writing. We might not reach all of the city, but enough will see and hear you to spread the word."

Mathus grabbed a second scone and sat down next to Karniel asking, “Am I going to see said speech?" Karniel snatched up the scone and took a bite while Mathus, needing both hands, poured water into a mug from the dragon-sized pitcher. “Hey, that was for me," he complained.

“Mmm, sorry, darling. I meant to eat, but I was just so focused on the task at hand I forgot. These are quite good, Selvanna really does know how to cook, doesn't she?"

Mathus brought the tray over in front of them both. “Here, you can eat while I read over what you wrote, hmm?"

“Wonderful idea, I could use a second pair of eyes on this."

Mathus settled in beside his husband, who wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. The welcome scent of sage and musk relaxing Mathus against the bat's warmth. It seemed strange to be so at ease when things were so high stakes, but between Selvanna's food and Karniel's embrace, who couldn't resist that sense of comfort? Longing swelled in his throat—Mathus looked forward to when this could just be his daily life with the ones he loved.

Karniel scooted the paper over, his script eloquent and easy to read. Mathus scanned it while nibbling on the remains of his first scone. Mathus, reading closely, finished his first scone and took a drink from his mug, before he asked, “Are you sure about this tone?"

“Worried it's not dramatic enough?"

“Well, with a title like Mathus the Inheritor, I was expecting this to sound more like a sermon."

“Darling, I love you, but do you think you could match the zeal of Dialdon, who has been doing this for centuries?"

“Of course not, I'm just surprised we're not even going to try," Mathus said, taking a bite from a new scone.

“The Church would love for us to play by their rules, but of course we're not going to. They would win otherwise—oh, thank you." Karniel took a bite of Mathus' scone when the human offered it up to his mouth.

Mathus chuckled. “Hehe, I think that might be the first time I've fed you something."

“Mmm, something that wasn't a bodily fluid, you mean?"

“That hardly counts," Mathus said. “It's just nice, you know, to share a meal together as a couple. We've not really done that."

“I daresay that since leaving Pterodea we can count on one hand the number of times we've been alone together."

“Do you miss it?"

“Eh, I am old, Mathus. The events of two weeks pass like that." Karniel snapped his finger. “I know our whole life won't be dashing place to place, narrowly avoiding impending doom."

“Yeah, and I do really like everyone's company."

“You just need us all to get along as well as we do with you," Karniel said wryly.

“Selvanna's new. Cathka and Korlyon are still figuring each other out—I'm sure we'll get there. I just need to stop adding newcomers."

“That you do."

Mathus, who had been half-reading the speech, pointed out a passage, “Here. We should change this."

“Hmm?"

“You want me to tell everyone to take up arms against Dialdon, to stop their ritual. That's not something I'm comfortable doing, and it's like you said, I think that's what the Church would want."

Karniel moved the parchment back in front of him, taking a quill from his nearby inkwell and striking the passage out. Pen poised above a blank space in the bottom, he asked, “What would you suggest?"

Mathus said, “I think, given the rest of the speech, we really need to sell the Church as the aggressors, so we shouldn't ask anyone else to want violence. Between the Razorscales and the different mage cults we have enough to to take on the Emerald Ward, right? So why not ask people to not fight at all, to leave the city?"

“Ah, I like that," Karniel said as he wrote down notes at the bottom of his draft. “Telling soldiers to stand down and people to leave emphasizes how important life is to you."

“Exactly, and I think it's a message I can deliver a lot more convincingly."

“It's an exquisite move on our part," Karniel said, becoming more and more enthusiastic, “We'll make Dialdon and his minions look positively bloodthirsty tomorrow morning."

“Tomorrow morning?"

“Of course, darling. The sooner we get the word out the better."

***

With all the precaution they could muster, all five of their party left the safehouse the next morning. They warped into the Ward of Wings, and the churn in Selvanna's stomach had little to do with the spell and more to do with seeing her home for the first time in centuries. All that had changed, really, were the people. Escorted by Sorkahn and her fellow clan members, a crowd watched them move through a wide mainstreet to an old theater.

Selvanna remembered watching plays put on as a child, things used to retell the history of her people. Hailhorn actors would use magic to create elaborate sets and dramatic scenes like the Emerald Sage forging the first conduit to do battle with Melyantha, Goddess who the Sage killed, harvesting the power of her soul to make the cities what they were today. Each well of power made where dragons had settled.

The Emerald Cities carried their own creation myths, but little remembered the true cost to make them. Dragons did, but who listened to dragons? Selvanna worried Mathus' unassuming goodness wouldn't be able to pierce all the negative associations of the people who allied with him.

In the center of the theater's stage, a circle inscribed with glyphs had been painted; they connected to several other similar circles painted in alleys, on roofs, and elsewhere across the city. Only Karniel joined Mathus on the stage, carrying several placards under his shoulder with the speech the pair had written and practiced the night before.

Selvanna remained off to the side, poleaxe in hand, standing at attention more out of habit than any sense of danger. It would certainly be noted that Mathus had come here today, but he would be gone again before Dialdon could muster a force to try and capture him. Besides, Selvanna had seen the speech, and she expected Dialdon would spend the day fuming and figuring out a counter that did not sound rushed or infuriated.

If Karniel had led them, Dialdon would have an all too easy time rallying the people even as he planned to sacrifice them. Mathus did have a chance to change that. It hurt to know her newfound love would war with the old, but she saw in Mathus the same fire Dialdon first carried, that Dialdon probably thought he still carried.

Mathus stood in the circle, Karniel a few paces in front of him with placards at the ready. Mathus touched his chest, taking a deep breath. From the side of the stage, Cathka said, “You're what this city needs, Mathus. You have this."

Mathus flicked them all a smile and nodded to Karniel before he signed the glyphs needed to activate the spell. The circle flashed in a blue light, all but a scrap of paint evaporating into a mist with small beads of color flashing around it like fireflies. Those lights quivered, then shot out of the room and through the walls. Mathus chewed his lip until Karniel said, “It is ready for you."

Mathus cleared his throat and started, “People of Sepulcher of Dawn, my name is Mathus, the inheritor to Mortel's powers. I am not his Vessel, I am not going to lay down my life so he can return to this world. I did not make this decision for some selfish need to survive, but because the Mortel I've met, the spirit I've held many conversations with, is a being only concerned with power, and exercising his power rather than honoring the promise he made to his followers.

“'And so Mortel said to his chosen, 'Be merry, be plentiful, and live for the brothers and sisters of our world, for every mortal, for you shall be blessed in the afterlife with a paradise all your own, to make of yourself what you can't in your short time here.'" Quoting scripture he only just learned, Mathus licked his lips as he slipped into the same rhythm he ironed out when rehearsing.

“Mortel promised you this, and as his inheritor I will die to make sure that promise is kept. Magic, the power gods wield, comes at the cost of our souls, mine and yours, which are torn apart when used. I have witnessed the Lich Basphemen do this, I felt him eviscerate spirits before Karniel managed to kill him. It is something I refuse to inflict on those promised an eternal afterlife. These powers I hold, ones that are indeed godly, are something I refuse to use because the cost is almost always too great.

“So no, I will not be the Church's 'Vessel.' I am the inheritor of a promise Mortel made that I now vow to keep. At the cost of my life, if I must pay it. Ask yourselves, if I was this evil thing, corrupted by my husband Karniel, why would I not simply use my vast power to subjugate the Emerald Ward? I came to this city willingly, to speak with the Church, and found only a false prophet and his circle of cardinals committed to power-hungry schemes. They aim at extending their dominance across both continents, even though Mortel preached, 'Do not force them to become one of us, for they must choose, and if they find us wanting, we must ask first what we lacked.' Have any of these cardinals asked what they might lack, other than the power of tyrants?"

Mathus had gotten so wound up his face had flushed a little. He paused and took a breath. Selvanna watched, suddenly wishing it did not need to be him here. Still, Mathus pressed on:

“The current leaders of the church are so set on extending their power and influence that, even now, they prepare a ritual to sacrifice every soul floating above Lake Umbra so they may christen a new god in this world. I could have just fled the city when I made my escape, but I returned, because my life doesn't matter any more than any one of yours. You are all worth saving, and I will overthrow the entire Church to make sure Dialdon cannot forge a new god, for just as I inherit a duty to the souls in my care, I inherit what it means to be the God of Mortals.

“I inherit this duty not because it was thrust on me, but because, like all of you, I value the lives of others. When I first met Karniel, I was nothing more than an apothecary in a remote village on the other side of the world. I offered my services to any who came to my doorstep, delivering babies, suturing wounds, and helping with any remedy I could mix. When I found your Scourge withered and starving, cursed and on death's door, I willingly fed him my blood because I knew nothing of who he was and saw only another person in need. And when I learned the truth of his history, I made him pledge to change his ways, and so yes he stands at my side, next to me now, my lover and husband, but he did not corrupt me into some loathsome evil. I redeemed him, helped him learn again the value of each and every life, and he is here, too, when he as well could flee. We are both here to stop the tragedy that will unfold in the coming weeks.

“Unlike Dialdon, though, I do not want you to take up arms on my behalf. We have found allies in the dragons and in others scattered around the city who will help us stop this ritual. We may not agree on our priorities or values, but we understand the leadership of the Church, in its current iteration, cannot stand, so we will fight it. I only ask you, whether you are beggar or merchant, soldier or priest, if you carry even an inkling of doubt in your heart after hearing my words, do not risk your life needlessly, but leave the city.

“Refuse to be a part of this war the Church wants, refuse to be the fodder they need to make their new God. Pack up what things you must, and leave the city until we have settled this conflict. We will need no more than a week to set things right, and we cannot know what the Church will do, what heinous lengths they might go to stop us, but we do know you deserve better than this cabal of cowards who think they must butcher your city just to keep their precious influence growing.

“I am Mathus the Inheritor, me and mine will fight for you not because we wish to have power or influence, but because we do what is right, and so we have no choice but to fight. Someday, I hope to walk these streets and marvel at this fantastic city you have built, but for now, I go, and we ready ourselves to stop a massacre greater than any the so-called Scourge of the Emerald Cities ever inflicted on its people. Walk with your hearts open, for when we meet again, I will walk with mine open to you."

Karniel stepped forward and placed his foot on a single line that remained of the original circle. He scuffed it out, ending the spell before he wrapped his arms around Mathus. Cathka and Korlyon also went out on the stage, but Selvanna held back, glancing around at the other Razorscales posted in the room, trying to gauge their reactions.

“You did fantastic, darling," she heard Karniel say.

“The beginning could've been rehearsed more," Cathka said. “Oh don't give me that look, he can't improve if we're not honest with him."

“You think it will work?" Korlyon asked. “That people might abandon their post?"

“Not many, if any," Karniel admitted, “but it will certainly get under Dialdon's hide. Won't it, eh Selvanna?"

Selvanna wings perked up and she cleared her throat. “Yes. Dia's going to be furious."

“Everything okay, Vanna?" Mathus asked. He had untangled himself from his lovers and taken a step to her.

Selvanna only now noticed herself unsettled. As if someone surprised her by pointing out she was dragging her tail when she walked. She said, “I'm fine. I'm just thinking of what comes next."

Sorkahn, who had been waiting on the opposite end of the stage, came forward and said, “For now, we need to get you all back to the safehouse. They likely already know we have Mathus here."

“Back to the dungeon we go then," Karniel said with a rather dramatic sigh.

***

Dialdon looked out the window of his quarters, as the projection of Mathus cut out. The human's face relaxing, meeting eyes with someone, the slight tug of a smile before the sky became vacant again. Karniel had managed to even get one of those projections tucked away somewhere on the Emerald Ward. The whole speech had happened too quickly to find and destroy the spell circles projecting their “Inheritor."

He heard his suite door open, Vestrid calling out, “Dialdon? Are you in here?"

“I'm dressed, no need to fear for my modesty," he said. He sipped a mug of tea he cradled in both hands and sighed. His left ear turned back as he heard Vestrid slink inside his room.

The skink did not immediately speak, so Dialdon continued to sip his tea. It was more bitter than usual, made stronger, since he struggled to get out of bed. He'd had another dream about Karniel in the middle of the night and found no one there to comfort him. Just the steady, pulsing headache on the side of his head, which had finally begun to recede. He almost didn't want to let go of that pain: it acted as a constant reminder of Selvanna, and once it was gone it would settle this matter entirely. This matter, to which she opposed Dialdon.

Vestrid cleared her throat. “Do you wish for us to prepare a broadcast so you may offer a rebuttal?"

Dialdon set his mug down on the windowsill. “No."

“Excuse me? I don't think I quite heard—"

“We are not going to deign them with a response," Dialdon said a little louder, over his shoulder, before he looked out the window again. “Send word to the temples, allow the priests to tend to this. There is no inheritor, Mathus stole the relic that gives him the power he carries. And any wild accusation they throw at us is merely meant to sow distrust."

“You think that is for the best?"

“Perhaps if Mathus disavowed Karniel, his words might have carried more weight, but he seriously underestimates his…" the word slipped sourly off his tongue, “husband's reputation here. He ruined his credibility the moment he admitted to bedding the bat."

Without seeing it, Dialdon sensed Vestrid bow in deference to his counsel. “I will compose a formal message and have it sent to all the temples here and elsewhere."

As she started to pad away, Dialdon turned and stopped her with, “Vestrid?"

The skink turned and cocked her head, blue tongue flicking out in a nervous little twitch. “Yes, Dialdon?"

“Thank you, for everything these last few days. Frankly, without you, I'm sure so much would be in utter disarray right now."

Vestrid dipped her head in another bow. “I know we've not always seen eye to eye, but it has been a pleasure working with and learning from you."

Dialdon was surprised how much that meant to him. Warmth fluttered through his throat, which he had to swallow down before he said, “I will reach out to you later to discuss readying the temple for the ritual."

“I look forward to it, Dia."

She left the room, and Dialdon shook his head. The smallest hint of a smile had peeked on her lips, almost an invitation for him to make an advance, and by his father Dialdon wanted to be held. To release all this tension on someone he could trust, but he did not yet know if he could truly trust anyone. One or maybe a dozen or all of the cardinals had gone back to his father, intent on resurrecting him instead, and Dialdon's knowledge of how to perform the ritual was the only thing that guaranteed he was not overthrown. Why his father had not shared how to forge another Heart, however, was beyond Dialdon.

The nine-tailed fox turned back to the window, taking his mug in both hands again. He whispered, “So is this Mathus speaking to us today the one you saw, Vanna? The one you chose over me." He took another sip of his tea, which had already gone cold.

***

Selvanna sat cross-legged in the armory with the chestpiece of her new breastplate laid out in front of her. Sorkahn had just delivered her new armor set and knelt beside her as she examined the steel plate. She felt the magic of an enchantment on the thing, and said, “I'm impressed you managed to make this in such a short time."

“I reused an old set from when I was younger, had the best Firefang blacksmith work day and night to adjust the pieces for you," Sorkahn said. The plate itself was coated in a glossy black sheen, which, by the light of the lanterns hanging in the room, she could see her reflection in.

She set it down and picked up a pauldron lying nearby. “Standard enchantments on these?"

“You did not request anything, so I didn't have anything changed from the original set, just reinforced what was there. You know how these wear off with time."

“Mmm," Selvanna hummed. “You last wore this, what, two centuries ago?"

“Proudly, though, it saw nothing of war. Just sparring."

Selvanna set the pauldron down and examined all the different plates and pieces around her. “None of the Razorscales alive today know anything about war," she said.

“I would have liked to keep it that way, truly," Sorkahn said. “But what Mathus said yesterday is true, this is something we must do."

“Oh, is this?" Selvanna leaned over and grabbed a section of armor that went down her tail. Most of it remained fine scale mail crafted to allow the maximum flexibility for her tail, but cuffed at the very end of it, extended to a sharp point, was a piece of plate, its tip slit down the center like a pen's. “It is," she said upon closer inspection.

“It is?" Sorkahn prompted.

“I've not had one of these attachments in centuries," she said. Razorscales trained with said attachment so their prehensile tails could sign glyphs as they wielded their conduit with both hands. “I will have to practice signing with it, otherwise I'll end up signing the wrong spell by accident."

“Heh, you wouldn't want to give Dialdon a fighting chance, now would you?"

Selvanna did not answer right away. She set the tailpiece on the floor and asked, “How are things at the Ward of Wings?"

“The young have all been evacuated, all that remains are the elders, some of which are being stubborn."

“And the blockade?" Selvanna asked. It had started to form two days ago, a force of mercenaries and guild mages fortifying a position between Umbra's Spine and the entrance to the ward itself.

“They've not grown in number since last night. We expect this is as many as will try to hold us."

“And will they hold you?"

Sorkahn hesitated for once. Eventually, he said, “You and your companions will need to work quickly, sister."

“Sage's slit," Selvanna cursed.

Sorkahn rested a hand on her shoulder, “It is not your concern. We have a duty to defend our settlement."

“And if I wasn't Wayward? Would you let me stand with you?" Selvanna growled.

“Your place is not with us," Sorkahn said. He rose to his feet and said, “We will handle them."

A twinge lanced through the base of her tail. Selvanna jumped to her feet and jabbed Sorkahn in his sternum. “How dare you have the gall to lie to me."

Sorkahn brushed her finger away. “You have no right or reason to care—"

“You are my kin! And this is my clan," Selvanna nearly shouted. “My brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins. How many are there able to fight? Two hundred? You are a formidable force, brother, but you know nothing of war."

“And you do?"

“Yes! Call it my cost for being Wayward if you wish," Selvanna snarled. “I know how they will fight better than you or anyone else. I fought for them for centuries."

“You would give up your chance to bring justice to Dialdon?"

Selvanna deflated a little at the name of her lover. She finally backed down, admitting quietly, “I trust Karniel will be able to handle him without me there."

“And Mathus?"

“Will be down here, out of sight of everyone. If I knew he was going to march into battle then yes, I'd stand with him, but I know he will be safe here. Please, brother," Selvanna grabbed Sorkahn's hand in hers, pleading, “I am not asking you allow me to return to the clan or lead your people, but let me join you in the Ward of Wings so I can assess for myself what our enemies have planned and prepare our kin for the battle ahead."

“Vanna…" Sorkahn frowned down at her. “What you're asking—people will question my leadership."

“Anyone so impetuous isn't worth your leadership," Selvanna said. “There are so few of us left, Kahn, if I can save even one extra life, wouldn't that be worth whatever consequences you might face?" Selvanna released his hands and set her jaw. “Or let me face them. Tell them I fought you on this if you wish, that I defied you, I don't care."

Sorkahn studied her for a long quiet moment. “Do you even care about your life? About what you risk?"

“Mathus will be waiting for me. I have too much left to do with this life to let some hired swords slay me, and I know more about fighting them than any other dragon."

Sorkahn shook his head. “You follow your heart true, so how could I possibly stop you?"

Throwing boundaries aside, Selvanna yanked her brother into a tight hug. He returned it, reluctantly. “Thank you for trusting me," Selvanna whispered into his broad, silver chest.

“Trust I should have given you, much sooner, sister."

They spoke for a few minutes longer, making arrangements before Sorkahn returned to the Ward of Wings. Selvanna would join him later that evening and would begin preparing her people for war. She only needed to let her companions know.

When she returned to the library, only Karniel and Cathka were there. Korlyon and Mathus had wandered off to take a bath, so Selvanna explained how she planned to part ways. Karniel insisted she wait for Mathus to return before she left, so she waited at the table, practicing with the tailpiece. She had the entire sleeve of mail clasped around her tail, so that when she practiced it was with the full restraint of that section of armor. To her right she dipped the tail-tip in an inkwell and signed glyphs on a piece of parchment Karniel got for her.

Mathus and Korlyon, unsurprisingly, took their time, and did not return until sometime later. When they entered the library, Cathka quickly got up and said, “I have business on the surface. Karniel, Korlyon, care to join me?"

Karniel rose and joined her at the door. “Of course, darling, come along now, pup."

“I'm not—"

Cathka locked her elbow with the wolf's. “Come on now, don't argue with your elders."

The door quickly shut behind Mathus, leaving them alone. Selvanna ignored the sting of Cathka's lie, appreciating that they gave her a moment with her mate. “Sit with me?" she asked Mathus. He approached the table and sat in front of the parchment, noting the stained tip of her tailpiece.

“Did you make these with your tail?"

“Yes, I'm out of practice, but it should let me sign glyphs with it when I'm wearing my armor."

“Oh, that makes sense. Honestly, Vanna, you write better with your tail than I do with my offhand."

“Hehe, thank you, Mathus," she muttered.

He slid the parchment away from him, turning and sitting with one knee resting on the bench. “You had something you needed to tell me."

She shifted to better face him, waving a wing at the door. “They weren't very subtle, were they?"

“It's bad news, isn't it?" Mathus scooted a little closer to her. His hand rested on the one she laid on the table. “You know you don't have to hide these things from me."

“Not bad news, just—" Selvanna turned her hand over so Mathus' rested inside her palm, so small compared to her own. “I must leave your side. I won't be with you or Karniel when he storms the Emerald Ward."

“Ah," Mathus glanced at their hands, his fingers traced across the lines of her palm. He said, “You'll be with the other Razorscales."

Selvanna said, “Sorkahn did a poor job convincing me my kin can handle the army amassed at their doorstep. They know nothing about war or fighting people who aren't dragons."

“I understand," Mathus said quietly.

She leaned in, touching his chin with her other hand to get him to meet her gaze. “I will return to your side, I promise."

He rested his brow against her snout. “I know you will," he whispered, “I have no doubt you will. I guess, I'll just miss you? It seems silly to say, but—"

She silenced him with a kiss. “I'll miss you, too, Mathus."

They made the most of their privacy before Selvanna finally returned to her home.

***

Karniel clapped his palms down on the library table and got to his feet, looming over Mathus from the other side. “This is not up for debate."

“It isn't," Mathus said, scowling back.

Korlyon, sitting at his side, placed a paw on Mathus' knee, “I'm inclined to agree with Karniel."

Mathus glanced between them both, frustration fluttering in his throat. Since Selvanna left for the Ward of Wings, it had plagued Mathus that they planned to keep him in hiding here during the battle. Next morning everyone would ride off and risk their lives for him, and Mathus couldn't stand just sitting inside the safehouse any longer. He said, “How is it fair that everyone is risking their lives in my name while I stay here."

“Mathus, darling…" Karniel sat back down, rubbing his temples for a moment.

Korlyon filled the silence with, “Do you think Dialdon led from the frontlines during the Gavalon campaign?"

“Would that he had, I would have snapped his scrawny neck then," Karniel growled. He reached across the table and offered Mathus his palm. “Not only does the pup have a point, darling, but no one fighting for us expects you to emerge as some great leader of men. We all understand this whole inheritor identity we've made for you is just lofty rhetoric."

The door to the library opened. Cathka shut it behind her and cocked her hip, hand on Calth's hilt. “Alright, what's wrong?"

“Mathus thinks it's a good idea to come with us tomorrow morning," Karniel said.

“Ah," Cathka came to the table, saying as she had a seat with Karniel, “We will need to be sure he is protected then."

“You're joking," Karniel said.

Cathka glanced between human and bat. “Is this not settled? You know you can't change Mathus' mind when he's made it up."

“Thank you, Cathka."

She winked. “I've learned when to argue with you."

“You are not helping!" Karniel snapped. “Mathus, this is not just about you risking your life. More than just the Church will be after you out there, and if one of those lousy cultists get any ideas while we're in a melee—"

“We will deal with it, or Mathus will," Cathka said. She nudged Karniel's shoulder with his wing. “Come now, he's not a child. He's seen plenty of violence by now, and he'll use his power to protect himself and us if need be."

Korlyon quietly asked, “You're certain about this, Mathus?"

“Yes."

Korlyon said, “Then it seems we have no choice."

Karniel released a deflated sigh. “Fine. Let's make sure Mathus understands the plan, then."

***

Dialdon walked the streets with Seljynn and Vestrid in tow. For the first time in a long time, the streetlamps cast light on bare sidewalks and roads. Save for the guard posted on every corner that remained on high alert.

They had come out here to run an inspection, and now, satisfied with the Emerald Ward's security, they walked back to the Grand Temple, Vestrid in the midst of briefing him. “We strongly believe the Razorscales will attack tomorrow morning. The Ward of Wings is almost entirely empty except for a buildup of their warriors along their main gate. They seem intent on attacking our blockade directly."

“A feint, surely," Dialdon said.

Vestrid said, “Almost certainly. We have made an estimate of their number, and planned our forces accordingly. The line should have no trouble holding long enough for us to complete tomorrow's ritual."

The “ritual" as far as all but a select few knew, was a spell meant to drag Mathus out of whatever protections kept them from finding him and teleporting him into the Grand Temple.

Seljynn said, “The wards around the temple have been readied, once everyone is inside, we will seal it. Noladush will lead the defenses in the temple grounds."

“He will perform with courage, I'm sure," Dialdon said. They turned a corner and reached the thoroughfare that ended at the Grand Temple itself. The window crowning it had been repaired, and carved into the walls were glyphs that would seal every window, door, and wall in a magical shell.

Dialdon asked, “What of the layfolk?"

“They will be taking shelter in Mortel's tomb till the hostilities cease," Seljynn said.

Dialdon smirked. Finally his father would do something useful. He said, “Seljynn, spread the word, let everyone know that we will be sealing the Grand Temple soon, and when we open it again, a god will be walking the streets of the City of Tiers again. They must fight their hardest, for if they can survive there will be miracles to behold."

***

Selvanna of Clan Razorscale, the Wayward exile of her people, sat on the rampart to the gate leading into the Ward of Wings. This length of stone her ancestors built merely for decoration, as any fight for Sepulcher of Dawn would be won or lost before invaders reached this point. Now, when she looked over the battlement, there waited a battleground these gates were never meant to witness.

And there the sun rose, signaling the inevitable arrival of their conflict. A gray horizon with light spilling out around every corner of the sweeping plains to Sepulcher of Dawn's east. Still, the Emerald Ward and Umbra's Spine cast heavy shadow across the blockade, across the mix of mercenaries and mages that waited for them. They had set two rings of ballistas pointed at the gates, the bolts no doubt enchanted to punch through their armor and scales. Beyond that, Selvanna counted the standards of four different mercenary companies, their soldiers backed all the way to Umbra's Spine and fanned out around the city's elevator of water. And among those ranks, mages from the Guild of Sages and Emerald Guild. She knew these ranks, knew them as veterans of the Gavalon campaign. Comrades now turned to her enemies.

And below the rampart, within the Ward of Wings remained four hundred and fifty two dragons: most Razorscale, some hanger-ons from the other clans who refused to flee. She had organized those dragons into mage auxiliaries, to heal and defend the wounded, leaving the business of killing to her kin.

She had done her best to prepare them, working through her brother and keeping her distance. There left only one last ask for her to make of him.

She scooped her poleaxe up from where it leaned against the battlement and hopped off the rampart. She landed loudly in her armor, even if it was a short drop for a dragon. Her kin turned their heads, and she felt that familiar gazes on her back. It made her wings, magically compressed under her plate armor, itch. She moved to where the Razorscale standard flew with Mathus' flag.

The Razorscale flag was a dragon curled around so the line of its spine and tail followed the outline of a red axe, while Mathus' standard was a simple blue background stamped with two white links of chain. The link between Mortel's vow that became Mathus', the promise that was made to remain unbroken.

Sorkahn sat on his knees, warhammer in front of him, as he meditated. Like every Razorscale, he wore full plate, only with his wings open in the back. One red eye opened under his helm as she approached. She sat down next to him, ignoring other dragons around who backed away slightly. She laid her poleaxe across her lap and spoke plainly, “Allow me to be the first on the front."

“No." Sorkahn shut his eye again. “It is the Elder's duty to lead his people into battle."

“Are you claiming I am your kin, then?"

Sorkahn's wings twitched, lifting up and inward, but he kept his eyes closed. “Don't twist my words, Wayward. You are no leader here, and I will not allow you to lead my people."

“I am not asking to lead the charge, Elder," Selvanna said. “If I am Wayward then where is my place in battle? Shoulder to shoulder with kin who shy away from me? At the back where your most experienced warrior can no more engage than the auxiliaries? Lead the charge whenever you wish, but allow me to step forward before that, please brother."

His eyes opened when she named Sorkahn “brother." He growled quietly, “Do you wish to get yourself killed, Vanna?"

“The opposite, actually." She rose and said, “The matter is settled then. I will wait for you to finish your meditation, and gather your forces, then I will walk out there."

“Do as you please, Wayward," Sorkahn growled. “I will not be the one to tell the Inheritor you chose to fall on their ballistas."

Satisfied she had her way, Selvanna walked to where Mathus' standard had been planted into the ground. She took it with her and returned to the gate. It remained sealed at the moment, a simple thing barred with a single plank thick as her waist. She lifted it off, and when a dragon made to stop her Sorkahn barked, “Allow her through! If the Wayward wishes to engage the enemy without us, who are we to stop her?"

Selvanna dropped the plank on the ground and with her shoulder shoved open the gates. Behind her, she heard Sorkahn bellow orders to his clan, heard the churn of talons and sabatons stamping and scuffing across the ground as dragons fell into formation. She stopped twenty paces from the gate, Mathus' standard in her left hand, poleaxe in her right, and stabbed the spiked bottom of the standard into the ground beside her. A hundred paces away, ballistas growled as they turned on their platforms to aim at her.

Selvanna signed a simple spell with her tail, and when she spoke her voice bellowed out to the assembled blockade, “Soldiers of the Church, I once called you my comrades and kin, and it pains me to stand here before you. I am Selvanna, the Inheritor's Flame, and you will surrender or burn in the holy fire of the new God of Mortals."

A ballista juddered as it launched a bolt towards her. Selvanna neatly side-stepped it, the bolt missing her and slamming into the now shut gate. She had spoken her peace, and all that remained was to cross the gap between her and her prey.

She marched and another ballista fired, this one only taking her to bow her head to duck under the bolt. Another bolt which she danced past, patiently moving closer while soldiers shouted orders. They did not want to use more than one ballista at the time, but she provoked them. Two more fired from both ends of the arc, and she stepped toward one, a blur to any who could not keep up with a dragon's speed, and swung her poleaxe down, slamming the head of the bolt away while the other flew by her.

More panicked yelling as she closed the distance to fifty paces. Ten of the siege weapons turned on her and fired. Selvanna had already signed a glyph by then, sweeping her poleaxe upward. The cobble street buckled up in front of her in an explosive spray of brick, dirt, and stone. The ballista bolts snapped and shattered across the wall she made. Selvanna stepped around it, walking among clouds of dust from her spell. From the line, she saw the sparks of glyphs being signed. She recognized them and signed a counter with her tail as four serpents made of flame snaked toward her, maws open.

With both hands, Selvanna twirled her poleaxe in front of her as the serpents crashed down. The torrent of heat cascaded across her armor, much of it sucked into the whirling head of her poleaxe while the rest dissipated. Her shoulder had been singed, but her scales and armor both carried enough resistance to magic to weather what parts of the spell she could not absorb. She stopped spinning her weapon, holding the now glowing tip of the polearm towards the ground. She signed a spell to turn the inner fire the same color blue of Mathus standard.

Still marching forward, unphased, she heard the crumbling of the wall that guarded the Ward of Wings. At a spell it slumped into the ground, so the Razorscales could move in rank. Even as Sorkahn roared “Charge!" with his warhammer no doubt lifted, Selvanna stabbed the speartip of her poleaxe into the street. At a wave of her tail, she discharged the energy stored in her conduit, the ground lighting up in a bluish white glow that snaked towards the lines of the blockade. She saw mages running forward, signing wards, even as ghostly blue and white flames exploded out of the ground, some against hastily erected barriers, some leaping across the line of ballistas and into the soldiers behind them.

The fire burned so blinding and brilliant, Selvanna needed to sign a quick spell just to see as she charged the line, wading into the field of flame with her poleaxe raised high overhead.

She killed with a cold efficiency none could match.

***

The flashes of some magical explosion lit the upper heights of the City of Tiers. Mathus stood on one of the ferries docked in Lakeshore, ready to ride the ferry up Umbra's Spine.

Slowly, the ferry pushed off its docks and into Lake Umbra. They made the trip as the lone vessel in the lake, all the others locked down and travelers barred for the time being. They packed the ferry with different mages they had recruited from the cults around Sepulcher of Dawn: a hodgepodge of criminals, anarchists, and outcasts that practiced magic without the sanction of any guild. They were strangers all to Mathus, and Korlyon and Karniel kept close to him as if they worried more about those mages than the coming battle.

“You shouldn't worry about her," Karniel said, noting where Mathus looked. “Personally, I'm more worried what she will do to me when she learns I let you accompany us."

“I'll be fine," Mathus said. He turned away from the City of Tiers and shouldered his way through the crowd, to the center of the vessel where one of those large, obsidian orbs from the Razorscale Safehouse had been carried with them. Cathka planned to use it to teleport the entire group inside the Emerald Ward once they got closer. The hippogryph stood next to it, speaking with a trio of other mages from the Society of Lace and Lattice. Mathus had not met any of them, but knew them secondhand from Cathka.

Whatever they spoke about came to an end as Mathus approached. Cathka asked, “Something wrong, Mathus?"

“Just tired of Karniel and Korlyon treating me like some child lost at market," Mathus said. He pointed in turn from human, to gryphon, to fox, “You're Gilloi, Mink, and Konkan, yes? Good to meet you."

“Pleasure's ours, Inheritor," Gilloi said. All three of them carried hatchets at their belts, with hauberks each patterned in lattice. “Got to admit, I didn't expect you to actually come with us, but I'm pleased to have you just the same."

“I'm glad someone is."

“A god's a good ace up the sleeve," Mink grunted.

“I'm not a god," Mathus protested. “That whole speech was just a show."

Konkan snickered. “Is that Heart beating in your chest also for show?"

“Fire incoming!" someone shouted, and all of them turned their heads to the city overhead, where several catapults along the lowest tier had hurled balls of fire towards them.

Karniel, from not far away, said over the heads of the crowd, “The arcs are off. This is just a warning volley. The next one won't be."

Mathus watched the missiles sail across the lake before they crashed into the water, three ahead of them, two behind. Where they struck the water exploded into green flames that burned on the very surface of the water. “The Inheritor has this!" Cathka called out before she grabbed Mathus by the elbow and tugged him toward the bow of the ferry.

“Cathka what are you talking about?" Mathus hissed as he let her carry him along.

“This stuff is called Emerald Fire, it's dangerous but easy enough to deflect." Cathka shoved him against the guardrail of the ferry's edge. He glanced behind him and saw every soul on that ferry watched them, but Cathka grabbed him by the chin and tugged his gaze back to her. “Look at me. This here is the sign for warding, combine it with flame, missile, barrier, and you will get a spell that will deflect these things easily. It'll brush aside the water that's set aflame, too. Now I want you to cast it across this whole ferry."

“Cathka I don't think—"

“Any of these mages could make the barrier, but they need to save their energy for the fight ahead. You wanted to come along, so do your part for them."

“Alright," Mathus breathed, “I'll try."

“Good," Cathka clapped his shoulders and forced him to face forward. She whispered over his shoulder, “Remember, magic is about where epistemology and ontology meet."

“I still have no clue what that means!"

“Second volley incoming!" the same mage as before warned.

“Sign the glyphs while projecting your intent out into the world, visualize it," Cathka said.

“Okay, okay," Mathus took a deep breath and signed the glyphs, but nothing happened.

“Mathus!"

“I don't—" Mathus choked on a lump in his throat. He pictured hard as he might the image of the ferry surrounded by a barrier, signed the glyphs, and nothing happened again.

Cathka cursed and Mathus felt something hard shoved into his chest, her wings fanned out around them while her other hand reached out and signed the glyphs needed. The air in front of them shimmered just as one of those missiles came crashing down. Green fire in oily chunks splattered across a barrier, the flames cascading down and across the sides of a ghostly, silver dome. Cathka's jade necklace dug into Mathus ribs as she conducted the energy needed to cast the spell from the Heart.

Mathus shook against her. “Ca-Cathka, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

“You froze up," she said quietly. Another explosion tumbled around the barrier Cathka held, and she added after, “ I shouldn't have asked you to just cast a spell you didn't know. I'm sorry."

There was more under that she did not say, but Mathus sensed it. “With all that power at your fingertips, channeling a spell should be immensely easy for you," Cathka had told him one day in Pterodea as they practiced the basics.

“I forgot to channel my conduit," Mathus said. He took a deep breath, drawing on the power in his chest and signing the glyphs again. This time he felt the spell shimmer into being, and Cathka sighed. She dropped her necklace from his chest but still leaned against him. More fires erupted across this new barrier, indistinct as the rest.

She nipped his earlobe with her beak. “You had me worried there."

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made—"

“It's okay, Mathus. I know you won't make it again, and I put up my wings so no one could see what I was doing, so…" she paused for another explosion, “maybe they think you cast it."

Mathus looked over his shoulder and saw they were no longer being watched. Korlyon stood a step away, but Karniel marched among their ranks asking people to inspect their weapons and ready any wards they needed. Those not busy with their tasks, just chatted casually as Cathka had with her cultist friends.

A “Focus forward," from Cathka got him to return back to maintaining the barrier. “You're not at a point yet where you don't need to concentrate to keep a single spell up," Cathka warned as she finally backed away from him.

“Does no one care about us getting attacked?" Mathus asked.

“Like I said Mathus, this is just meant to drain our resources. Any mage knows the easiest way to get the upper hand on another mage is to drain their conduit." She gave his side a gentle squeeze, “You'll know when the real fighting's started." He heard her say to Korlyon, “I've got to get back to that conduit over there, make sure no one bothers him, pup."

“Only Karniel is allowed to call me that," Korlyon growled.

“Oh hush, Mathus you'll be able to drop the barrier once we've made it inside the Spine." Though the ferry already glided with magical quickness across the water, Mathus couldn't help but wish it would move faster.

***

“We're ready, Dialdon," Vestrid said.

Dialdon had been sitting in one of the pews shoved against the walls of the main hall of the Grand Temple. The entire space had been cleared of furniture to make room for an intricate series of glyphs carved in the weaving loops of a double helix. Thirteen loops in all, and each mage needed to channel the spell would stand inside of a loop with Dialdon at the front guiding their energies through the ritual. Thirteen mages needed to drain the City of Tiers of its life and forge a new god.

Dialdon rose, wearing purple and white robes with the church's regalia, his gorget on like the other cardinals who waited farther away. Remaining in the room were Fawn, Seljynn, and the remaining cardinals. Those inside the temple would be protected from the spell once it began.

“Alright," Dialdon got to his feet. “It pains me that things came to this."

“It pains us all," Vestrid echoed. He studied her, his tall, lanky body making the skink's shorter, pudgier frame almost seem childish in her robes.

“This is the right thing, is it not?" Dialdon asked.

“Doubts do not befit a god, my lord."

“Perhaps doubting his powers would have kept my father from getting killed," Dialdon said. He moved to the start of the double helix, which began only ten paces from the Grand Temple's pulpit. He called out, “Gather yourself brothers and sisters. We will begin the ritual momentarily."

***

They reached Umbra's Spine without any trouble. The reverse waterfall enveloped them as if nothing was amiss, and a by now ancient enchantment in the very lake itself allowed them to simply stand and breathe inside the Spine. Mathus had not been awake the first time it happened, and now marveled at how the whole thing felt: soft against his skin but not wet, like a humid, early spring morning. It smelled of water hauled deep out of a well with an iron pail.

By the time they reached past the lowest tier of the city, a pall of silence took over the ferry. Mathus still stood at the prow, watching the city pass when he felt Karniel touch his shoulder. “It's almost time, darling."

Mathus faced him, and behind Karniel the first tier of the city was shrinking as they almost reached the second. He was about to say something when he noticed a red glow extending from the southern petal of the city. He pointed at it and asked, “What's that?"

Karniel glanced, cursed, and spun about shouting, “To arms everyone! Cathka, ready the spell, we're out of time!"

Korlyon, who wore his faceless armor (now dyed the blue of Mathus' standard with two white chainlinks painted across its back), grabbed Mathus by the wrist and pulled him close. “Whatever happens, stay with me and Karniel, we'll watch over you."

Karniel, a few paces ahead of them, signed a glyph and opened his purse. He reached in and pulled out a long, flanged mace he stole from the Razorscale armory. Unlike many of the mages or Korlyon, he wore no armor, setting the mace against his shoulder while he reached into the purse with his other hand, and out it came sheathed in brass knuckles.

As that red glow snaked its way further into the lower tier, Karniel barked, “Remember, those Faceless aren't immune to pain, even if you can't pierce their armor and kill them you can break them."

From around the edges of the ferry, yellow coils of light began to circle them, bunching closer and closer. Mathus felt himself being squeezed into the spell, and he wrapped an arm around Korlyon's side. He hugged the wolf, smelling none of his comforting scent but the sharp leather of his armor, the smell of oxidation from the impending spell. He sent a silent prayer to Dea, since he knew not what god to pray to.

Korlyon kissed his brow and whispered, “I'll protect you, Mathus, I swear."

The spell snapped into place, and Mathus stumbled as the whole ferry rocked like it'd been run ashore. But no, when he opened his eyes the ferry had simply fallen onto the street inside the Emerald Ward.

Explosions of lightning, thunder, and flame rocked all across them. Barriers from different mages deflected the blasts, and as Mathus' eyes struggled to adjust he saw Faceless Warriors descending from all sides. Karniel leaped off the ferry and into the fray, shouting, “Take the temple!"

The Grand Temple which now had barricades erected around it.

***

Even caught in battle's fever pitch, it was impossible to not notice the ethereal red light now radiating from the first tier of the city. It gave Selvanna pause long enough for some upstart warrior to come in and slam his sword against her hip. She stumbled a step and as the man came for another swing she swung the end of her poleaxe up, kicking his jaw with the base of it then snapping the head back down and splitting his helm open. Panting, she surveyed the battle:

They had carved a sizable wedge through the Church's ranks, almost splitting their line in half, but those forces had rallied enough to hold their line. Mages wove barrier after barrier blocking their spells while a phalanx bolstered by crossbow volleys wore them down.

Neither side had gained any ground for several minutes, but as far as she knew the auxiliaries were keeping their casualties low. Any dragon brought low was dragged out and saved from the brink of death by the brave healers they had on hand.

Selvanna had strayed from the center of the fighting, which had followed Sorkahn as her elder brother led his people in battle. They fought as the tip of the spear, still trying to break through the enemy line. Or not. Selvanna noticed the Razorscales fought conservatively, careful to draw the attention of the enemy but not taking any real risk to their numbers. They knew their role in this, but the glow from down below in the city spoke to changing priorities.

Selvanna backed away from the line, her Wayward status being a boon as the gap was filled without comment or concern for her. She jogged around the field of battle, picking her way through the corpses of Church soldiers, the charred ruins of ballistas, and road pockmarked with magical blasts and explosions.

She reached the front where the Razorscale standard flew. Selvanna signed a glyph and sent her brother a simple message she was sure he'd hear. “We are out of time and must take risks now. Be ready to act."

A green triangle of light warbled in front of her as her brother growled back, “Don't give me orders, Wayward."

He sounded pained, but it was the way of the Razorscale that the Elder would enter the battle first and leave last, or die in the act of it. She sighed and signed another glyph, conscious of how quickly she was draining her conduit for this fight. She took a deep breath, then charged at the line dragons fighting ahead of her. Just as she reached their backs she sprung into the air, magically propelled by the spell she channeled. She landed hard on the translucent barrier of a mage, sliding up and across it and into the ranks of her enemy, poleaxe swinging. She felled four soldiers with a single swipe, cleaving them down and spinning, soldiers with crossbows turning on her and releasing their bolts even as her tail signed a quick spell. Most of the bolts bounced off before her hastily erected barrier failed. More pummeled her armor, bouncing off but impacting her like heavy chunks of hail might against her bare scales.

Selvanna snarled and swept her tail like a scorpion, stabbing through a man's hauberk and into his chest. When her tail fwipped out of the man, blood scattered across the faces of his comrades. She roared and swung her poleaxe in another wide sweep, this time simply scaring soldiers into Sorkahn's waiting line. Bodies smashed up against each other, disoriented, and when Sorkahn pressed the lines broke. He slammed his warhammer through a distracted mage's barrier, shattering spears and smashing shields. It clapped the ground in a sonic explosion of force that left Selvanna's ears ringing.

Sorkahn hefted his warhammer like a battering ram and charged forward while Selvanna fought towards him. Her poleaxe brushed mortals aside like she snuffed candles, blood sweeping in bright streaks across her armor until she was certain the enemy had been momentarily broken. All the while, crossbow bolts slammed desperately across her back, pelting her, but the pain was easy to ignore, even as her plate became beaded in dents from the wasp stings of these tiny soldiers.

She spun and swept forward once Sorkahn reached her, sweeping her poleaxe while she signed a spell. Blades of wind cleaved into the undefended soldiers, lacerating cuts and slashes, more beads of blood flying in fat welts through the air. Panicked reinforcements surged their way, but they had almost broken their line, even as Sorkahn's kin struggled to keep up with the pair.

Sorkahn ran past her to sweep his hammer across half a dozen men, exploding them into viscera and catapulting their remains across their comrades. “We need to get to Emerald Ward now!" Selvanna shouted over the din.

“You need to," Sorkahn snapped. “Our place is here. If we all try to go they'll just pick us off when our backs are turned."

Selvanna knew now she had no time or chance to argue. She followed Sorkahn's lead, fighting side by side, laying waste until suddenly they reached the end. They broke through the line only to be greeted by a jet of fire.

“When will you nons learn dragons are creatures of flight and flame?" Sorkahn flipped his warhammer in his hand and slammed the head on the ground. An earthen spike shot up and into the jaw of the mage responsible. He turned to Selvanna, “Go, show them what it means to fear a Razorscale."

She could kiss him for helping her get this far. The best she managed was a wave as she made for Umbra's Spine. “Thank you, brother!" She jumped into the massive column of water, signing a spell and holding her poleaxe up. A jet of air from its base helped propel her faster up the reverse waterfall. She twisted around to take one last look at her kin, and saw Sorkahn already fighting off three more mages as more dragons reached him, and the battle closed around her brother again.

And below it all, that red glow had climbed up the next tier, as Sepulcher of Dawn slowly turned into one great mausoleum.

***

“They need you," Mathus had told him. “I'll be safe, just go."

Korlyon did not believe it, but he did not fight with Mathus. It tore at him to leave his human behind, tending to the wounded in a little shell of barriers different mages had erected to ward away his old brethren. It tore at him to put himself to use the only way he could, barging into the fray with his swords drawn.

They had bridged the gap between themselves and the Great Temple, and now the fighting had reached a stalemate at the temple steps. The once pristine marble dotted with scorches, divots ripped from steps, and slick with spilled blood. Steps Korlyon now raced up. He spotted Karniel and Cathka fighting side by side, repelling the advances of three Faceless. He dashed right by them in time to sweep a sword into a crossbow Ralab aimed into the fray.

Korlyon thrust his offhand sword, and the other wolf snarled, batting the blade away with his wrist. He stepped back and jumping into his place came Noladush, wielding his crooked staff, the end of it glowing. Korlyon darted backwards as the staff hit the ground with a magical detonation. Korlyon turned his back, grimacing as stone shrapnel from the explosion slammed across his armor, bladed fragments of rock embedded in the leather, but the enchantments reinforcing it held. He faced Noladush in time to see the rat coming close. Years sparring with his old master made Korlyon aware of the follow-up, and he parried an incoming swing from the staff before swiping at Noladush's legs.

The rat gasped and fell on his back. Korlyon dropped a knee on his sternum and pressed a blade to his throat. “I don't want to fight you, please Nola."

“Then turn your sword on the Church's enemy," Noladush hissed. He signed a quick glyph and punched his palm into Korlyon's chest. Like a kick from a horse, Korlyon was thrown off Noladush and rolled down the steps before someone caught him.

Cursing, he felt himself hoisted to his feet by Karniel. “What are you doing? Where's Mathus?"

“I'll get him," Cathka said as she headed back, shouting behind her, “We need him to get these gates opened."

“He told me to fight," Korlyon said as he looked back up the steps. He watched Konkan slam a hatchet into his old master's shoulder, the fox laughing uproariously even as a geyser of scalding water blasted him back down the steps. Noladush, shoulder bleeding, ripped the hatchet out and threw it at the head of his closest opponent.

“And yet you let him live to kill more of us," Karniel snapped. “Come on, stay close. We're losing ground."

Korlyon only then noticed the gash across Karniel's collarbone where someone almost sliced open his throat, one of the bat's ears cut in half in the fight. Noladush wouldn't have hesitated to kill Karniel, none of these warriors would.

He caught up with Karniel and told him, “I will be your blade."

They moved in tandem back to the front. Ralab aimed his crossbow at Karniel, but Korlyon deflected the bolt soon as it fired. Another Faceless leopard lunged at Karniel, but Korlyon swung a heavy kick into her gut. She doubled over, and Karniel's mace smashed across the back of her head. They stepped over her body and two more Faceless swept towards them. Korlyon caught the haft of a spear with his hand guard and led its thrust into the ground. He stomped on the haft, ripping it out of the warrior's hand. The disarmed warrior tried to sign a glyph, but with the precision of a duelist, Korlyon thrust his sword into the human's shoulder, twirling the hapless man around and kicking him down the steps. While Karniel engaged the other Faceless, Korlyon surged forward as Ralab aimed another bolt.

The older wolf turned his weapon on Korlyon and fired. Korlyon stumbled as the bolt punched through his armor and dug into his hip. He snarled and swung at Ralab's head. The older wolf blocked the blow with his crossbow, then dropped the weapon to reach for the dagger at his belt.

Something slammed into his side, and Korlyon went spinning towards the temple doors. He landed hard, bolt digging deeper inside him before he rolled on his back, gasping for breath. He saw Noladush standing over him, staff raised. “I'm sorry, Korlyon."

Karniel arrived in a blur. Brass knuckled fist connected with Noladush's ear, hard enough to send the smaller rat tumbling. Ralab came diving in next, and punched his blade into Karniel's ribs. The bat just scowled down at the warrior, grabbing his head, kneeing Ralab in the snout. The older wolf howled as Karniel spat, “Is this the Church's best?" He cracked his mace against Ralab's neck. Ralab hit the marble stone, and Karniel yanked the dagger from his ribs before driving it into the wolf's exposed back.

“You alright, pup?"

Korlyon sat up with a little grimace. “Nothing a hot bath won't cure."

Karniel knelt beside him and yanked the crossbow bolt from his hip. Korlyon bit back another snarl while Karniel signed a glyph to seal the wound. As he did, he said, “Take care of the rat I stunned. I'm going to see what's keeping Mathus and Cathka."

Karniel headed back down, and Korlyon, shakily, got his feet under him. From the top of the steps, he could see they had taken this position, while temple guards from all over the Emerald Ward and the remaining Faceless continued to try and press in on their group from all sides. They were holding them off, but for how long Korlyon could not be sure. He grabbed one of his discarded swords, and faced Noladush, who leaned against the temple door, bleeding from the ear now and panting.

Korlyon said, “Nola, just surrender. There's no reason to continue."

“And spit on the spirits of my brothers?" Noladush glared at him. “If you don't run me through, boy, I will take my staff and use all of my power to make sure no one can get inside the temple before the ritual is complete."

“And do you really want that ritual to happen?" Korlyon snapped. “Do you really think Selvanna or I would stomach fighting you or anyone else on a whim?"

“You're protecting that human." Noladush sneered. “He's all you care about."

“We're doing this to save your fucking lives," Korlyon growled. He moved closer and grabbed Noladush by the shoulder, shoving him up against the door. He placed his blade against the rat's gut. “Are you really so blind? Do you not even care about your wife and children."

“Faceless have no family—"

“You fucking know I know. I sniffed you out eight years ago, and I kept your secret, you knew that." Korlyon said through grit teeth, afraid of what he might have to do. “Yield, for them if nothing else."

From the slits of his facemask, Korlyon saw Noladush's eyes wet with tears. The rat wrapped both hands around Korlyon's paw, the one that held the sword. “If what Mathus said is true, if we really are sacrificing the souls of this city…" With all his might, Noladush yanked on the paw. He grunted as Korlyon's sword sank in just below the sternum. Korlyon let him, his throat stinging, blinking back tears, as Noladush said, “Then we are already beyond saving…" Noladush sucked in a ragged breath. “Fawn is past this door, boy, will you try to show her the same mercy? Hah, she must know the truth, hmm? Let me die with this old order."

“Selfish bastard," Korlyon breathed. “I'll tell Merin you died fighting for what you believed in."

“Heh, thank goodness she's not a dragon, then." Noladush lifted his throat, exposing a gap in his armor. “Come on, boy, d-don't drag this out."

Noladush released his paw, and, suddenly numb to all the beating he took before, Korlyon removed his blade from his old mentor's torso. It only took a quick jab to run the enchanted blade through Noladush's lower jaw and into the rat's skull. Korlyon closed his eyes when he did it, hearing one last rattling exhale from Noladush's chest before he turned around.

Facing the battle again, Korlyon cursed as he saw a new figure marching across the square towards them. Selvanna, black armor caked in blood, smacking down any who opposed her. But even as Korlyon took notice of her, Karniel, Mathus, and Cathka came running up the steps.

Cathka shouted, “Stand back, pup!" She pressed her jade necklace to Mathus' chest, using her conduit to channel his while she signed a series of glyphs. Korlyon scooped up his other sword and ran back to them. He noticed Karniel's ear had been reconstructed, the wound on his ribs no longer bleeding, no doubt Mathus' handiwork.

“Cover your eyes," Cathka warned before a flash of white made Korlyon turn his back on the door. A loud thunder crash exploded from Cathka's palm as it blasted a beam of light straight into the door. It slammed into it with enough force that the backlash made Korlyon stumble, Karniel bracing both Mathus and Cathka while she continued to channel this crashing surge of destructive force. The door held long enough for Selvanna to almost reach the main fray. Past her, across the Emerald Ward like a red sun glowed beneath them, rays of red light were climbing into this final section of the city.

***

Alley by alley, home by home he crept through the winding streets and canals of the City of Tiers. Each mortal soul a resonant beacon of energy drawn towards him as he marched from one anchor to another, loading each massive conduit in the city with thousands of souls, directing them to the corresponding conduit on the tier above. He would wave his hands and fell a family—a horrid creature of light, no more than a glow around the irises of a babes' eyes as he kissed the children of this city goodbye, as he took his subjects' lives.

The intimacy of it all surprised Dialdon. He knew he needed to project his spirit out to guide the spell through the city, but he witnessed each successive culling, his chest growing colder with each twinkle of blood red light that swept through the different wards. All while his body remained in the Great Temple, that double helix crackling with red lightning, as his cardinals helped give the spell and himself the stability to reach the lower tiers. Each successive tier upward became easier, quicker, the energy avalanching into the great, terrible vortex that would soon return to the temple.

In some ways, it was erotic like the swirl of the finest wine down his throat. Rapturous to be caught in this frothing river of blood and brilliant life. To be at its head, steering it as a triumphant army returning home on their horses, hooves stampeding towards the temple gates.

“The gates aren't going to hold!"

The shout from Seljynn snapped Dialdon from his reverie. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the doors buckling, searing light pushing through the cracks. Dialdon shouted, “Vestrid and I can handle the final portion of the spell, the rest of you help hold the temple till we're—"

The door exploded open and drowned him out.

***

Selvanna felt the pull of that wretched spell on her limbs, and it made moving feel like she waded through waist deep water. All around the steps of the Grand Temple, the fighters of the Church were sluggishly trying to stay conscious as that wave of red light drew towards them. Karniel and his mages rushed inside the temple, but many had already collapsed under the terrible advance of that spell.

Cursing, Selvanna channeled the last of the energy in her conduit, using it to embolden her limbs into one final burst of speed. She leapt up the Grand Temple steps fast as the light swept forward, the only thing keeping her upright was her draconic resistance to magic. She managed to reach the doors, stepping over the threshold as if she just came up from drowning.

Behind her, that crimson wave of light crashed into the temple like some great flood, splashing off the sides of it but not entering the building itself.

“Vanna!"

What was Mathus doing here? She snarled and saw her love past the vestibule, looking over his shoulder with his hands outstretched to extend a barrier against the blasts of spells fired by several of the cardinals. Only they, Seljynn, and Fawn remained in the temple. Korlyon, Cathka, Karniel, and a few others stood beside Mathus.

She could be angry later. She hefted her poleaxe on her shoulder and charged. Karniel shouted, “Keep the glyphs on the floor intact. We'll need them." Mathus dropped his barrier and they all entered the fray.

***

He heard Selvanna roar as she joined the fight, and Dialdon almost broke his concentration, this immense wave of relief surprising him. She had survived. Perhaps when this was all over—the Heart. Dialdon remembered and got back to work shaping the new Heart. Red lights seeped through the temple, gathering in swirling vapors a few paces before him, in a circle of glyphs carved ahead of the helix. Long memorized notes guided him like muscle memory as he signed glyphs in the air, becoming a conductor, commanding a symphony of light that grew refined, hardened.

It took shape, a beautiful rose of life, more power radiating off it than even Mortel might have dreamed when crafting the first Heart centuries ago. Seconds passed like hours, and when Dialdon opened his eyes, floating a few paces before him was a beating heart resembling translucent, red resin.

He said to Vestrid, “It's finished. Help the others while I attune to—"

Something punched into the back of his shoulder. Sharp, but feeling like Vestrid simply smacked him, hard enough to embed a small knife. Before pain registered, before the sour bile of betrayal flushed his throat, before he might face her, Dialdon felt something wrong. The knife must have been a conduit, etched with carefully composed glyphs to transfer the soul inside it to another.

“I'm sorry, Vessel," Vestrid said in his ear. “But you have played your part."

He managed to utter a curse as, like tendrils of blood blossom through water, Mortel's soul bloomed in his body. His father's presence this thing filled with disdain, severing whatever meager tethers Dialdon's body kept of his soul, Mortel taking root in their place—just as Dialdon was designed to do. His soul simply slipped away like water running through the fingers of a cupped palm. And before him, the only place for his soul to go: a vortex of red beating with a steady, unholy pulse.

***

Ten mages and two Faceless unexhausted from battle against their eight, nine counting Mathus. Korlyon did not fare much better. Karniel heard him lock swords with Fawn, only for the lioness to quickly parry the wolf and kick him away. Karniel hurled his mace at the closest of those cardinals, who was signing a spell at Cathka when his head was smashed to bits. He turned and charged Fawn as the lioness closed in on Korlyon, who struggled to get his feet under him.

Fawn swung her sword and Korlyon, weaponless, raised his arm, letting his vambrace take the swing. The blade cut through the armor and staggered him, but, before Fawn could follow up, Karniel was upon her. She spun on her heel with a quick slash, Karniel did not back down but took the blow in the ribs. He wrapped his arm around her extended hand, and kneed her in the sternum before he smacked two quick punches against the lioness's head. She yowled, stabbing blindly with her other sword and catching Karniel in the thigh. They broke away from each other, Karniel ripping the sword he'd grabbed away from her. Before he found his footing, his thigh seized up. Karniel fell on his rump with a curse, quickly rolling backwards and springing back up.

Only then did he notice the quiet. Fawn had only stumbled a few paces backwards, frozen in the act of catching her balance. From his peripheral vision, Karniel saw starlight.

“Troubleshooting."

He turned to the origin of the voice and saw nothing right away. The whole room had frozen in time like before. Selvanna cornering Seljynn, Cathka trying to fight her way to that double helix to reverse the spell, Mathus kneeling by Mink who had one of his wings turned into a sizzling mess of pulpy feathers and flesh.

Then that light in the corner of his eyes condensed and coalesced into covering the ceiling, becoming a sky of sorts that hung just out of reach. Its brightness pulsed through it like a strobe light.

Karniel asked, “Who are you?"

The pulsing stopped. He glanced around and picked up the sword he ripped away from Fawn. It was a little small in his hand but in case—

“File not recognizable format, referred by other programs as Karniel. What is a Karniel? Why can we not modify or open your properties for examination."

Karniel assumed that had to do with Dea's handiwork. He told them, “I know the answer to this, I believe, but you must answer my questions first."

“Processing…" The light dulled a little, then brightened as that chorus of voices said, “No simulation has produced software independent from administrative control. We will entertain questions to learn more about file type Karniel."

Karniel, caught up in this bizarre moment, only then noticed his thigh still bled. He sat down and pulled off his ragged, bloodstained shirt. As he tore it into strips to make sure he did not bleed out while the stars kept Mathus from healing him, he said, “We call you the stars, but that's not what you really are, is it?"

“Query?"

“Oh you know what I'm asking! What are you, exactly?"

“We are the administrators of simulation 09452873."

“And what is it you do? What is the simulation?" Karniel asked as he bandaged his thigh.

“We see to the maintenance of this simulation, collecting data and making sure this simulation does not overtax the greater network. The simulation is your reality, created with certain variables and rules while allowing others to run free in order to collect data."

Karniel considered what Selvanna said before about her people's “White Death" and fleeing to this dimension. Dea lost everything to survive the stars, the dragons abandoned everything to escape them, neither able to stop them. Karniel stared at his bandaged wound, the blood filling out the fabric. He scooped up Fawn's sword and asked as he stood, “Who do you collect data for, why do they need data?"

“Because our creators designed us to collect data on this simulation."

“Meaning you don't know anymore than I." The stars had nothing to say to Karniel about that. He cleared his throat and moved out to the middle of the room. “Why did you stop things here?"

“We detected a great deal of processing happening, more than should within the boundaries of this simulation. We have troubleshooted the problem and know what action to take to make sure the simulation does not slow down others in the network."

“I don't suppose you could fix things by killing our dear Dialdon over there?" Karniel asked. He'd already decided, as he crossed the room, that he would do it while things were paused if he got the chance.

“Program Mortel is not the issue. We will delete program Mathus to make sure things continue to run smoothly."

Karniel stopped. “Why is Mathus the threat?"

“Our calculations predict Mathus has a twenty-two percent chance of besting Mortel in this encounter. If he somehow does, he will continue to not use the data cached with him. The larger that cache becomes, the more this simulation bloats with useless data. The disk must be cleaned, program Mortel will convert old data into new."

Karniel might not have understood every word the stars spoke, but he knew the gist: fuel built up and unused just continued to take up more and more space, rotting and unkempt. Karniel looked up at the stars, “You can't do that. I'll convince Mathus to use the data."

“Previous data collection shows you cannot convince Mathus to go against his programming."

“If you do this, I'll never tell you what I am, or the secrets people like me hold."

“After further diagnosis, we recommend you are treated as a virus. To be quarantined and deleted."

From the ceiling a tendril snaked down towards Mathus. “No!" Karniel barked, rushing back to his beloved. He cut into the tendril with the sword he held, and the tip went sailing off, clattering across the ground as it broke in two, where the blade swiped through the tendril just simply disappearing. It came closer to Mathus, a hand's width from his husband's brow when Karniel snatched it in his right hand and yanked the tendril away.

He screamed. Burning lances of pain flew down his wrist, some guttural, mechanical howl came from the bulk of this beast. Karniel's body seized up, like he fought again with that wretched curse he carried less than a year ago. He swore through grit teeth, “You cannot have him. He is mine."

“Virus Karniel," the stars spoke, sounding just as pained, “If you do not release us, you will break our connection to the simulation. This will trigger an immediate quarantine and reset of this simulation."

“I don't give a shit."

“We will burn this world. You understand?"

“Let the world burn, then." Karniel found the pain fading, his body accustomed, and seizing his strength he stepped back, bracing himself before he tugged hard. The tendril stretched, then snapped, exploding into a foggy glow. Mechanical wailing made his ears ring as those lights began to burn up, turning bright then disappearing.

Except around his right hand. Starlight squirmed like an eel yanked from the riverbed, before it coiled around his knuckles. His fingers glowed, burned and branded, but his digits went numb as that light spread, sank into flesh and bone, became flesh and bone. The eel absorbed into his new hand, the digits malformed and crooked like claws.

And the pitch of battle came thundering back into being. Fawn found her footing and charged him. Karniel spun to face her, seeing her move long before she struck, her sword tucked in, ready to thrust. Reflexively, Karniel sidestepped the jab and reached to catch her wrists again with his longer arms. His right hand grabbed her, and they both went rigid. The sword and Fawn's paws fell to the floor with a heavy clatter and thunk. Where Karniel's new right hand grabbed her wrists simply burned itself out of existence. Moreso, Karniel sensed a connection join them briefly, as if his touch bonded their souls just a moment before her soul went up in white flames quicker than dried out brush.

Fawn fell away screaming, writhing in a way that reminded Karniel once again of his curse. His new right hand, a mutilated gift from the stars, destroyed her utterly. Karniel watched as the thrashing quickly stilled in her body, her soul reduced to less than ash.

“Karniel!"

Mathus' warning snapped him out of it in time to hear the whir of blades singing through the air. Two discs of ice from a spell launched by a cardinal, Karniel did not dodge them, but tested his new claws again. He smacked each disc away like someone tossed dinner plates at him, each spell breaking harmlessly off his hand. Karniel did not know how long he'd carry this gift, but knew better to squander it.

He charged into the fray, holding his hand ahead of himself, but before he even crossed the nave to where those zealots fired their magic, a red glow circled their bodies. And they slumped limp to the floor, and beyond them Karniel saw Cathka lying prone as well. She had made it to the center of the helix with some illusion masking her advance, but before she could sign the counterspell her soul had been scooped up.

When the stars mentioned Mortel before, Karniel had hoped it an error. That because Mortel made Dialdon as an exact replica, they saw them as one and the same, but he immediately knew by how that bastard stood that it was Mortel who sneered down his narrow snout at him.

Mortel who had not turned to attune to the Heart, but remained in the circle at the end of the double helix to continue channeling his spell. The fighting died down, a miasma creeping through the room as Mortel watched him.

Karniel turned and saw Korlyon already fallen. Selvanna quaking on her hands and knees. Mathus watched, wide-eyed. Karniel said, “Mathus put a barrier around yourself."

A crack of lightning spilled across Karniel's side. He was thrown off his feet, his remnant slight resistance to magic the only reason his very hide did not catch fire.

“Your eyes should be up here, darling," Mortel said.

Fighting to control a wave of muscle spasms, Karniel managed to force himself to his feet. He faced Mortel, and Karniel could already tell by the glow of his palm he had another spell ready. Mortel had not attuned to the Heart yet, but Dialdon's gorget probably had enough energy in its conduit to outlast Karniel's flimsy gold chain ten times over.

“You know, I've thought a long time about this confrontation. I never expected you to be so helpless, though."

“Shut up," Karniel snapped. “I've had a fucking morning and yours is the last voice I wanted to hear after everything I've been through." Karniel started to sign a glyph, but Mortel unleashed another bolt of lightning. He blocked it with his claws, finished signing his glyph—

And found he could no longer channel the gold necklace he wore.

Mortel smirked. “Having trouble? Even a novice mage knows how much energy is left in their conduit."

Karniel ignored him and signed another, simpler spell, but found he could channel magic about as well as he could when he could not conduct it at all.

Mortel cocked his head. “Did you waste all your energy casting whatever that ghastly enchantment on your hand is?"

Karniel examined his disfigured right hand again. The overly long digits that simply ended like pointed blades, his palm lines warped in his too-large hand, which Karniel could not look at for very long before the brightness of this affliction started to blind him.

“This isn't magic," Karniel said, holding up his hand. “It's a calling card from the stars."

Mortel just scoffed and signed another spell. Grimly, Karniel started to cross the length of the Great Temple, stepping over the corpses of cardinals. Mortel channeled a great column of fire, and, cursing, Karniel dashed ahead and over Cathka's body. He knelt in front of her and held up his right hand. The flames exploded into airy white vapors in a cone around Cathka and Karniel.

When the torrent ended, the handful of bodies between Karniel and Mortel had been charred, flames dancing off them and the floor scorched. The glyphs being etched into the marble floor, remained undamaged. All that remained between them that still might be saved was a skink who had fallen at Mortel's feet and missed the flames completely.

Mortel said, “You jumped in the way for her. How interesting. I thought Mathus was your only pet."

As Mortel signed another spell, Karniel said, “And you cooked your cardinals as if they mean nothing to you."

“They conspired to betray me then came running back begging me to help them betray Dialdon at the first sign of difficulty," Mortel said. “They were vermin that deserved to be purged. Shame about Sepulcher of Dawn, however."

Karniel spat on the ground between them and Mortel finished signing his spell. Karniel's limbs locked up. He felt the icy grip of time being ground to a standstill: Mortel's calling card when nothing else worked against an opponent.

“Gods, look at you, positively helpless," Mortel said with a little smile. “Really, I'm not sure if I should turn you about so you can watch me kill Mathus or let him watch you die first."

The claws of Karniel's right hand twitched, but Mortel did not notice because he quickly signed a spell to deflect a missile of silvery light launched at him.

“I'm not some helpless babe," Mathus snapped. Karniel heard his beloved moving towards them, and felt feeling climb up his wrist from his new hand. Mathus said, “The Heart is mine, Mortel."

“Yes, that Inheritor nonsense? Are you ready to be the face of a religion? To know your life will be scrutinized, every little action you take questioned endlessly, for people to wage wars over the miracles they wish for you to perform?"

“You talk too much. I'm warning—" Mathus was cut off as he came up behind Karniel. Had he the ability to put words together, Karniel would have warned Mathus, but he'd just regained muscle control in his arm. Mathus walked right into Mortel's spell, casually as a fly into a spider's web.

And Mortel doubled over laughing. The nine-tailed fox laughed till he cried, till Karniel found he could speak again, though he remained still for the time being. “Hahaha! Warn me of what now oh 'Inheritor?' That you were going to walk into the same spell trapping Karniel? Did you not even see it? Did you even try to look?" He laughed some more before wiping tears on the cuff of his robes. “Oh goodness, your tastes certainly have sullied, haven't they Karniel?"

Mortel signed a short spell that conjured a violet, ethereal blade to his hand. The thing barely extended longer than a dagger, but would easily run them both through. Mortel stepped towards them, saying as he did, “It's my understanding you two share a bond and if one of you dies so does the other." Mortel stopped, just a few paces away to examine human and bat both. “Fascinating stuff, really. I wonder how long it will take for one death to domino into the other." He grinned and said, “There's really only one way to find out."

Only the right side of Karniel's body had recovered from Mortel's spell. It took longer, but the field around him had slowly been dissolved by his star-touched hand. Mortel practically skipped to Karniel, merrily prepared to gut his old lover when Karniel lashed out.

Mortel locked up as Karniel's new claw punched a hole through the fox's abdomen, the spells Mortel channeled ending instantly. Karniel grabbed the back of Mortel's head and pulled him close. He whispered, “You always were too cocky." He shoved Mortel off his hand, a large hole burned through his core. No blood spilled through that opening, but Mortel twisted in agony as his soul went up in flames.

Karniel watched for only a moment before facing away, ready to ask Mathus if he was okay—only to see Mathus reaching out to touch and examine Karniel's right hand. He kicked Mathus away, snapping, “Don't touch it!"

Mathus landed on his rump with a little groan. He rubbed his tailbone, wincing as he said, “I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Karniel held up his new hand. “Mathus, this is absolute poison to anything it touches. I don't know how or why, but I had another encounter with the stars. This is what they did to me for stopping them."

Mathus frowned. “Stop them from doing what?"

Karniel sighed. “We can talk about it later. I need you to reverse the spell, as I can't with my hand like this."

Mathus got to his feet and they moved back to where Cathka lay. He said, “Will they all be alright?"

“Yes. The body merely sleeps for the first few hours of losing its soul, it will take some time yet before they stop breathing." With his left hand, Karniel brought his finger to Cathka's nares and felt her breath. “The people here will recover first, and those where the spell first started will take some time before their soul finds their way back. Now, pay attention." Karniel signed a series of glyphs across the stone, ten in all, then told Mathus, “Write that sequence back to me."

It took a couple of tries, but when Mathus had it, Karniel instructed, “Channel a spell, sign the glyphs, and press your palm here till you feel the spell complete."

Mathus did as told, his palm glowing gently as he signed the glyphs. It felt small as he pressed his palm to the cool stone, meager as padding the dirt smooth for a freshly planted seed. He felt the energy channel through his palm, silver light unspooling across the glyphs that made up the winding double helix.

Mathus said as they waited, “Do you really think people will expect me to be their new head of state?"

“Let's hope not," Karniel said, “It's a ghastly and boring thing, politics. Besides, you would look terrible swallowed up in a cardinal's robes."

Mathus chuckled. “I'll make sure to elect you head tailor of the new church. I think the spell is finished?"

“Nothing else channeling out of your palm?"

“No."

Karniel said, “You can remove your hand. We should start seeing people—"

A strangled gasp got them both to look up. “He's harder to kill than I am," Karniel growled as he went to Mortel. The silver fox was pawing at the hole in his torso in disbelief. He met Karniel's gaze, filled with weak terror as he asked, “W-what happened to me?"

“Gods, it's Dialdon," Karniel swore. Before he might process this anymore, Mathus exclaimed behind him:

“Cathka! Thank goodness." He turned and saw Mathus hugging Cathka tight. All around the room people were stirring awake.

Karniel knelt beside his two loves and whispered, “Mathus I need you to try and help Dialdon."

“Dialdon? I thought Mortel was—"

“So did I," Karniel said grimly. Mathus kissed Cathka's beak and rushed to the panicking fox's side.

Cathka asked as she sat up, “What happened to your hand?"

“Later. No one must touch it—whatever it is will destroy someone's soul whether I mean to or not," Karniel said as he got up. He yelled out into the hall, “Children of Mortel! Your god is dead again, for good this time. What the Inheritor warned came to pass, and all of you were nothing but fodder to Mortel. Lay down your arms unless you wish to throw your lives away a second time."

Karniel told Cathka, “I need to stay here, make sure the word is spread to those waking up outside."

“I'll handle it," Cathka said. She grabbed Calth off the ground and sheathed him before trotting towards the temple doors. As she left, Selvanna had rushed over, running right past Karniel to kneel at Dialdon's side.

Karniel wished he might sign a spell to give them privacy, but he had no choice but to hear Selvanna ask, “What happened to him?"

“I… Karniel's hand—it's bad and it did this—we were fighting Mortel and—"

“The Church…" Dialdon gasped, “th-they betrayed me. I was in the Heart with everyone else." And after Karniel burned away Mortel's soul, Dialdon's of course returned to his body when they reversed the spell. He glanced down at his wretched hand, wishing he'd grabbed Mortel by the head instead to spare Dialdon a slow, pointless death.

“I've tried healing the wound," Mathus spoke quickly, “but nothing's working. See?" He channeled a spell and a spark of light snapped off his fingers. “I-I thought it was something wrong with me. But the wound—where he's wounded—"

“It's okay, Mathus," Selvanna whispered. “He can't be healed, can he?"

“Shit…" Dialdon cursed. “I'm… I'm sorry we can't winter at our cabin, V-Vanna."

“Shut up you great fool."

“Vanna, I'm sorry… I'm sorry."

“Shhh, it's okay, you're forgiven, love."

“I really did mean to do good. I wanted a world, for both of us—"

It was too much. Karniel had to walk away, knowing the feelings Dialdon shared all too well. He moved to where Korlyon knelt beside Fawn's corpse—the lioness one of the few truly dead from this conflict. Another victim of this curse Karniel carried. Korlyon took off her mask and shut her eyes before slowly refastening it.

Karniel knelt beside Korlyon, shirtless, bloodied, right hand burning a hole through the stone till he remembered to hold it up in the air. He said, “I'm sorry I killed her."

“It is the way of our order, to die serving. Our masks are only lifted to shut our eyes, then we are burned in our armor," Korlyon said, staring at Fawn's masked face. “I will carry her face with me, as I will for all the Faceless that fell today."

“Korlyon…"

“What happened to your hand?"

Karniel glanced at it, answered honestly, “I don't know what's happening to it."

“It smells like nothing," Korlyon said. “Or, it smells only like what it burns when it burns something."

“I'm afraid that might be all it's good for," Karniel said quietly. Dread started to seep into his chest. What if this spread up his arm? What if he would never be able to hold Mathus or Cathka again? What if—

“Seljynn?" The other Faceless sat on her knees beside Fawn. The gryphon reached for Fawn's mask, but stopped when Korlyon said, “I've already removed her mask." Seljynn's wings cringed inwardly.

“Very well. I imagine there are others outside?"

“Yes, I will help you." Korlyon said to Karniel, “Keep an eye on Mathus for me?" Both Faceless warriors got up, not speaking to one another, as they solemnly went to care for their dead.

Karniel watched them leave, and caught a glimpse of that skink from before slipping towards the door. He called out, “You! Stop!"

Karniel was grateful that when it came to her fight or flight instincts, the cardinal simply froze against the wall. Not far from the temple doors. Karniel went to her, almost hesitating before he grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her back into the temple.

“W-what do you want with me?" she asked.

“Your name, firstly."

“Vestrid Apolania, I could be very instrumental in helping establish the Inheritor's legitimacy as—"

“Quit with your begging," Karniel snapped as he marched her to the pulpit on the other side of the temple. He shoved her up against the altar where horns had been fastened to no doubt project choir music and proclamations through the city.

Karniel yanked off her gorget while she squirmed and protested her treatment. He shook it in front of her. “See this? You can sense the magic in it can't you?"

Virtually helpless before him, the big-eyed skink nodded.

“This is what my hand does to the energy in conduits." Karniel tapped the gem fitted into the gorget with one of his new claws, and the entire gem crumbled, the energy stored in the metal of the gorget also burning up into nothing. “It'll do the same to your soul if I wish to," Karniel said. “Now you're going to sign whatever spell you need to and tell this city what you did."

“They'll kill us, though!"

Karniel flashed a menacing smirk. “Lucky for you, if your remains are put to rest under Mortel's sign, the Inheritor here will make sure your soul lives a long, pleasant afterlife." Karniel closed his right hand into a fist around the gorget, which melted, bubbled, and sizzled where the silver did not outright get burned out of existence. “The alternative is I do this to your head now, and none of you will be left in this world."

Vestrid stared for a long moment, then scurried around the altar. She signed the glyphs needed to activate the enchantment on the horns, and spoke into them, watching Karniel the whole time, “T-this is Cardinal Vestrid, leader of the Church in Sepulcher of Morning. What the… what the…" she swallowed the knot in her throat, “What the Inheritor said about us is true. Today we tried to sacrifice the souls of the city to bring back our God Mortel, but the Inheritor and his forces stopped us and reversed the spell."

She paused, and Karniel whispered, “And who is responsible?"

She said into horns, “No one but the cardinals of the Church knew of our plan before the Inheritor discovered the truth. I speak for all the cardinals when I make this confession, please do not hold your brothers and sisters who serve in our temples accountable for our actions. It was us, and only us, using the power our position afforded, to attempt this."

“That's good enough." Karniel shoved her aside and proclaimed through the entirety of the Sepulcher of Dawn, “Mortel, a creature corrupted and addicted to the promise of power, has been slain once and for all. Long live Mathus the Inheritor, the true God of Mortals, who will protect their souls no matter the cost!" Karniel turned back to Vestrid, “Now shut this off and return to your cohort where you can await a proper mob to arrest you."

Meekly, she did as told, returning to the other cardinals who had their conduits stripped and stolen by some of the cultist mages they brought with them. In the center of the Great Temple, Mathus and Selvanna still lulled Dialdon into the whispering embrace of death. No doubt they reassured him that Mortel was gone, dead, Dialdon would find peace in the afterlife that Mathus protected.

Karniel held his hand back up to his face, noting how starlight terminated just at his wrist, the chocolate fur sprouting up along that line seemingly unbothered by this great thing of death he now carried.

Karniel sighed. How did he even begin to explain that Mathus' very principles were speeding up their downfall?

***

It had been a small ceremony that night, as Selvanna, Korlyon, and Mathus stood in the parade ground of the Faceless Warrior's barracks, Dialdon's remains one of the many that burned in the pyres erected for the fallen. They had been given the last rites that would tether and bind their souls to Mortel's afterlife. The gateway of which Mathus carried in his still beating heart.

The day unfolded in a chaotic blur. Arrests made, riots blazing through the streets, temples burned, and Mathus begging the city for calm. He had become Sepulcher of Dawn's sudden savior. A thing Mathus wore with guilt, as the scent of the dead mixed with dried herbs burned with them rolled across him. The smoke of the pyres spiraled into a dark, starless sky. Another new mystery no one had an answer for.

Mathus would have been content to spend the night there in solidarity with Korlyon and Selvanna's grief, supporting them best he could, but a tap on his shoulder made him turn. It was Cathka, her pink and ember colored feathers strangely dazzling in the firelight.

“I need you to speak to Karniel, please."

Mathus glanced at Korlyon and Selvanna, who had been standing heads bowed to the flames. Selvanna whispered, “Go love."

“We'll be fine here, Mathus," Korlyon added. “Thank you for standing with us."

“I'm sorry," Mathus mumbled before he stepped away, letting Cathka lead him to a quieter side of the temple grounds where they were staying for the night. While the riots never reached the Emerald Ward, the Great Temple remained a great stone husk crowning a city that nearly had become a tomb today. They stayed instead in one of the servant quarters nestled behind the Great Temple, where a series of small apartments housed the many wards who worked for the Church.

They went up a flight of wooden stairs to a second story apartment, stopping at one where a lantern burned inside. Cathka let them in and said once she shut the door, “He's in the back, bedroom on the left."

Mathus went down the hall, hardwood floors squeaking in a way that reminded him of his old home in Morgen's Rest. He stopped in the open doorway to the bedroom, which only held a simple bed, shuttered window, and a wardrobe in the corner. No lights were lit, but Karniel's hand provided more light than the lantern in the other room. He sat, slumped against the wall near the window, arm resting on the windowsill while his star-stricken hand hung in the open air out the window.

Karniel said, “Cathka send for you? She must be desperate."

Mathus sat down on the foot of the bed and quietly observed, “You look about as beaten down as that day I found you outside of Morgen's Rest."

“Can you blame me? Stuck with this wretched thing?" Outside the window his clawed hand clenched into a fist.

“We'll figure out a way to turn it back," Mathus said. They had not spoken much since they cleared out the Great Temple. Mathus' attention had been pulled in too many directions, and Karniel had fled to this room as if he carried some plague with him.

Karniel sighed. “Oh, I very much doubt that, darling. Not with magical means, anyways. Cathka has already tried every little spell she can to test whatever my hand is, and it just eats the magic right up. Well, eats as much as fire can eat a dried out log of wood."

“You've not told us about what happened in the Grand Temple."

Karniel glanced out the window. “They're gone now, the stars. I think I did that."

“How Karniel?"

“They wanted to destroy you, Mathus," Karniel said quietly. “As surely as my hand destroyed Mortel." Mathus sighed and slipped off the bed. As he crawled over, Karniel protested, “Don't come any closer—"

“Oh be quiet and just keep that hand out the window," Mathus said as he scooted in next to his husband's chest. He hugged Karniel tight and said, “If we can't fix your hand, we'll find a way to live with it."

“Mmm, Cathka insisted she and Calth could devise some kind of mechanism to hold my hand, but I am very dubious."

“I have faith in them," Mathus said. He nuzzled into Karniel's chest, but that comforting sage musk he loved so much was spoiled with the tainted smell of dried blood. Mathus had seen to healing all the wounds inflicted on Karniel during the battle, but it was clear a bath had been far from anyone's mind after the conflict. Mathus combed his fingers through the fur along Karniel's abdomen and asked again, “Why did the stars want me dead, Karniel?"

“I'm not sure how to describe it, but they said of you and Mortel, Mortel needed to live and you needed to die. I think they believed the integrity of our reality and others depended on it."

“Psh, that's ridiculous. What could I possibly do?"

“It's what you won't do, darling."

Mathus looked up to see Karniel was pained, in a way that scared Mathus. He caressed his husband's cheek, thumb gently rubbing along his forked nose a moment before he asked, “What does that mean, Karniel?"

“The souls of Mortel's dead, the ones you vowed to protect. Other gods use the souls in their afterlife to do the business demanded of their godhood. The stars apparently saw you as hoarding them, creating this great bloat. They said it was slowing things down."

Mathus didn't realize he chewed his bottom lip until Karniel's left hand cupped his face. His husband's long thumb brushed against Mathus' lips, and he kissed the digit before Karniel whispered, “I'm so scared I won't ever be able to hold you again."

“Hey, don't talk like that, okay?"

“What if it spreads, Mathus?"

“We'll get through this, Karniel." Mathus took hold of Karniel's left wrist, leaning into his touch. “No matter what happens, I'm not going to give up on you."

Karniel pulled Mathus back against his chest. He sobbed quietly, fangs brushing Mathus' brow as he kissed him there. His head roared with a swirl of thoughts, questions he still needed to ask Karniel, but for a time, Mathus simply clung tight to his wounded husband, allowing the bat to be vulnerable in ways even Mathus could only count on one hand.

Karniel eventually released him, sniffling a little while Mathus brushed the tears out of his eyes. “Ah, thank you, darling. I'm sorry, there was more to say—I just—I've never worried about hurting you like this before and now I'm terrified—"

“I trust you, dear. We're through the worst of it."

“Heh, actually, I'm afraid we're not."

“What do you mean?" Mathus asked, sitting back a little.

“Have you put together why the stars would want Mortel rather than you?"

Mathus swallowed the knot in his throat and said what he dreaded, “If those souls aren't used up, then things will only get slower."

“I stopped them from killing you today. Doing it hurt badly as my curse did, and it did this to my hand. They warned me doing so would doom this world."

Mathus swallowed a few more times, but his mouth felt very dry now. “You still refused to let them have me."

Karniel gave Mathus a sheepish shrug. “The stars are gone for now, but I'm certain they'll be returning sooner than any of us would like."

Mathus slumped against his husband. “Then we're doomed."

“Gods, listen to you two." They both looked up to see Cathka march into the room. “The God of Mortals and Karniel the Great just ready to roll over and have your bellies slit open." She jabbed a finger at Karniel's right hand. “From what you told me, love, you killed one of those stars today just by holding onto it. And from what Mathus said of his visions, it took years before Dea and her people were actually attacked by the stars. They may be coming back, but we have everything we need to figure out how to kill and keep killing them." She stomped over to them both and plopped down next to them. “I swear, without me all you boys would do is mope."

Karniel chuckled wryly. “I suppose we had that coming."

“You absolutely did," Cathka said before she nudged Mathus' knee with a hoof. “And you, I didn't call you in here to help him cry."

“Sorry, I forgot we're not alone in this," Mathus said.

“Far from alone," Korlyon said. Mathus perked up at his voice as the wolf stepped through the door.

“Is the ceremony over? Where's Selvanna?"

“It ended a few minutes ago, and we found you by the glowing hand hanging out the window. Selvanna's on the first floor," Korlyon said. “She was worried the stairs would break if she tried to walk up them. She would appreciate it if we stayed somewhere more comfortable for her."

Mathus snickered. “I think we could manage that, assuming you're done sulking, love?"

“Oh I suppose. Not that any of you would know how to let a poor bat brood in peace." All three of them got up, Karniel careful with his hand as he pulled it out of the window. He said, “You know Cathka, now that you've brought it up, Karniel: Slayer of the Stars has a nice ring to it."

“Hehe, once we get people to quit calling you Scourge you will need a new title, won't you?"

“I'll miss it, truly, but the thing about title's my darlings, is you should never settle for just one."