One.

When time began, there was only One. One thing. One meaning. One life. Nothing could change this immutable truth. All that was, existed as One. One single being that thought as All, moved as All, and made All.

For One was All, and All was One.

After the great Cataclysm, All was One no longer. Now existed Nothing, the anathema of One. For the existence of One denies the existence of Nothing, while the presence of Nothing denies the completion of One. Between these two great powers formed Santoria. Between Santoria and One formed the Heavens, and between Santoria and Nothing formed the Hells and Abyss.

Thus, the stage is set, grand hero. The forces of above or below have reached out and CHOSEN you. The alignment of that which chose you does not matter. Good or Evil, Weird or Ancient. Your hand will add to the collage upon which this world is shaped, just as your predecessors before you once did. Take care young Chosen, for your actions have consequences.

- Excerpt from the introductory lesson plan taken from the Grand Juvel School for Chosen Ones, describing the creation of Santoria.

“So…” The word hung in the air, the words that came after it remaining unsaid. No one wanted to tempt fate, but all present were thinking the two words that should have come next.

What now?

Five figures were spread out in a deep crater in which all other things were dead. Deep crevesses had been carved out by an epic battle that had raged for three days across countries, only to end in this place. Fire on the horizon was the least of the five’s concerns as they reconvened.

The speaker an ageless man with skin that had been tinted blue by one too many bloodlines mixing together. Taranath Waterlily, Lord of Frozen Roses, Sworn to the Winter Court, and Bringer of the Summer was a half elf, his fairer half hailing from the deep reaches of Lletrian. A drop of liquid that was possibly water, but more likely sweat dripped from the tip of his moonstone sword. The action indicating stillness. He would not continue to speak.

An ethereal man came to a stop nearby, his long, luscious hair blowing behind him despite the fact that the wind did not blow that direction. Vycar Flamefall, Living Magic, Hero of Makeup, and Inventor of Regiception, did not speak.

Voxis Verygood, Gnome Exile, Author of Demonscript, Friend of Giants, and twice the Keyholder of the Accursed Atheneum, was not one for speaking. Instead, the only gnome in Kreg’uune sat and wrote with a quill that never ran out of blood, recording the events that had led up to this point on parchment made from skin.

She did this so that others would not. None present would interrupt her.

Chosen of the Heavens, Brynn Willow, absentmindedly reached towards the hilt of his sword, but hesitated before making contact. In the end, he did not seek the guidance of the angelic presence within the mind crystal embedded there. All present knew what it would urge Brynn towards. Like the others, Brynn did not speak.

The one to step forward was an artist at heart. Of the five Chosen present, he was always the one that held the most reluctance within him. Weylon Ursk, Dwarven Ambassador, Genie Blood, Orphanclan, Obsidian Mantle, Painter, and Tired, was the first to break the silence.

His blood had been mixed with a genie’s somewhere along the way, as was suggested by one of his many titles. The sheer charisma attributed towards that race resonated throughout his words. “Let’s stop.”

Voxis paused in her writings and made eye contact.

Taranath let out a splutter of laughter. “Just like that? Is that what you’re going to say? Look at us!” Taranath spread his arms wide. “It’s a bit fucking late to stop!”

“You.” Vycar pointed at Weylon. “Why?”

“Because this is, what? The fourth fallen god we’ve had to put down.” He jabbed a finger towards the dark spot where the corrupted deity had finally been banished. The dark miasma would coalesce in place for up to a century, making this place inhospitable to most forms of plantlife. Eventually this crater would be reclaimed by the wilds, or a city would be built on top of the dark presence. It was entirely possible some fool would attempt to harness the dark essence left behind, and it wouldn’t be the first time if that fool tried to use it against the five Chosen.

“We’ve been here before. It hurt. It all ends with hurt.” Weylon told the others. “Time and again, the powers of above and below have Chosen us to maintain their precarious balance of power, and they did it because we were there. I’ve had enough.”

Voxis resumed writing, and Weylon let out a breath he’d been holding on to with worry. Every instant she spent doing something other than writing was an opportunity for someone else to change the story. Perhaps it wasn’t malicious, merely someone with knowledge of some events using their imagination to bridge the gap. Those instances of someone changing the story tended to be the worst.

That could not be allowed this time.

“I have responsibilities.” Brynn spoke up, his voice underlaid with the singing of angels. This time hollow. “People look to me for guidance.”

Weylon laughed. “Come on Brynn, I didn’t even say what we would do instead.”

“I’m not a half elf like Taranath, but you know I’ve championed their gods. I have the senses. Did you really think no one would overhear you and Voxis conspiring together?”

With a single swift motion, Voxis entreated an abomination from far beyond. The space above the Chosen of the Heavens ripped open and a tiny life form fell through, bloodthirsty and ready to kill, only to be bisected by Brynn and his great blade. The Chosen’s hair dampened in viscera briefly before the magic inherent of the younger man cleaned it up, returning the man’s hair to it’s natural golden splendor.

Voxis then returned to her writings, the message delivered. Brynn did not continue to speak, and would not for a total of sixty seconds. As the Chosen of the Heavens, Brynn was expected to be entirely honest, and withholding information was against the tenets that he alone had to follow.

Taranath and Vycar shared a look, then turned on Weylon. “Well?” Vycar was the one to demand the explanation.

“Let’s just… find somewhere to stop.” Weylon said. “Put down some roots. Put up some houses. Let others come live with us if they want. But once we go there, let’s not leave. Let’s let others be Chosen instead of us.”

“I still haven’t finished my quest.” Taranath said. “I’d be dishonouring my family if I let this rune remain unfinished.”

“It’ll never be finished.” Weylon pointed out. “For each rune on that sword of yours, we’ve needed to research further and further back in history. There aren’t any more records we can use, and if you want to trade information with anyone who was alive then to remember it, the price is going to be high. Do you want to trade something like that again?”

The heat in the burning crater dropped several degrees as Taranath’s eyes flashed with True Cold. His fey heritage made itself known as dark memories boiled near the surface.

“No.” Taranath caught himself and cleared his throat. The ice receded. “I’ll never put Maiathah through that again.”

“What about you?” Weylon asked Vycar, who seemed more partial to the decision than any of the others.

“I could build houses with my fabrication magic.” The Living Magic admitted. “And there is a girl I’ve been wanting to settle down with.” He tapped his chin and sighed. “She was the whole reason I set out for all this, now that I think about it. How long have we known each other?”

“Too long.” Taranath responded, making the majestic man chuckle.

“I’m surprised we haven’t killed each other yet.”

“I’ve talked to mom.” Brynn announced, his minute of silence and reflection complete. “She’s going to leave me if I don’t stop you.”

“Then let her.” Weylon rebuked. “If she’s holding herself hostage for me wanting some godsdammned peace and quiet, then she isn’t as great as she’s made herself out to be. I’ve said it before, to your face as well as behind your back, that she’s kind of a bitch.”

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Brynn’s great sword flashed with indignation.

“She’s demanding I test your resolve.” Brynn said. The words hung in the air before Brynn realised what he just said and shifted his footing. He clasped his great sword, getting ready to fight.

“Please don’t.” Weylon sighed. “Voxis and I have been discussing this for years. We only started talking out loud recently, and only because we wanted you guys to have the chance to know before we officially made the offer. This time enough events have lined up for our stories to be construed to end here. I say we make it.”

“But this isn’t the end.” Brynn protested. “We still need to heal the wound the fallen god came from. The corruption here can be left to the energies of Santoria, but the corruption in the Heavens won’t heal on its own. More shards of divinity could fall and kill thousands, we need to act now.”

“Here’s the thing about that, little hero.” Weylon paused, taking in Brynn’s height. The Chosen of the Heavens was no longer the shortest human among them, and hadn’t been for some time. Weylon shook his head and continued. “It’s precisely because we aren’t finished that we need to stop now. We’re together here. If we make a decision now and follow through with it, then All will have to adjust. If we followed through to the end and tried to make a decision then, we’d be disparate and nothing would stick.”

“That doesn’t solve the corrupted shards of divinity.” Brynn growled with angelic fervor. “That’s letting thousands of people die through inaction.”

“Others will be Chosen.” Weylon said. “There will always be active Chosen.”

“Leave the nest, birdie.” Voxis spoke.

Brynn adjusted his grip on his great sword, unsure of himself.

Vycar burst out laughing. “The one time you decide to be crafty, Weylon. I’m impressed.”

“You can stand to put the sword down.” Taranath told Brynn. “I’ve actually wanted to try building a family ever since I got Maiathah back. I can’t do that when I’m parading off into the Heavens every other year. Not when it’s the Hells in the years between.”

“One thing I’m not sold on though,” Vycar spoke up, “Is where you’re planning on us settling down.”

“Voxis has that covered.” Weylon said, glancing at the studious gnome. “I hope.”

Voxis sneered at the Obsidian Mantle before returning to her writings.

“You guys aren’t losing as much as I’m going to lose.” The Chosen of the Heavens said. “You’re all getting something, but I’m going to lose my mom.”

“Or…” Weylon suggested, “You could call her bluff.”

Brynn blinked, then glanced towards his great sword. The blue blade pulsed once with blinding light. Whatever connection the sword and the man held was severed by the heresy proclaimed by the man with the genie’s blood. His insistence to go against the flow of All had influenced the Chosen of the Heavens with words like venom in a bloodstream.

The angel in the sword was disgusted, and when the light faded the great sword was gone. Brynn Willow, who had known the sword his entire life, had relied on the presence within through more trials and tribulations than most saw in three lifetimes, was lesser for its absence.

Taranath slapped Brynn on the shoulder. “Don’t be down. I’ll let you borrow Melanvolei sometime.”

Brynn let out a choked sigh. “Your sword’s not the same.”

“Hey, just because mine’s smaller doesn’t mean it’s worse. Yours spoke to you, while mine just vibrates happy and sad. But when you get down to it, what’s really the difference between emotionally conducive vibrations and telepathy?”

Brynn’s laughter was hollow. “So... You’ve just made me the biggest heretic in Santoria.” The conversation came full circle. “What now?”

Weylon turned to the Author of Demonscript. “Voxis?”

The gnome continued scratching blood on parchment of skin for thirty seconds before putting down her quill and retrieving one of her two keys. “One moment.” The key was inserted into a slot in the air in front of the Gnome, reality tore itself apart, and Voxis was back in a flash.

“We have two options.” Voxis gestured and summoned forth one of her servants. She placed two book she hadn't been holding before in its invisible hands. She poked the one on the left. “We can travel through a crack in the heavens to a sanctuary removed from All. The other is simply a town that appeared far in the north, not too far from the Wall of Winter, roughly fifty years in the future.”

“What were the parameters of your search?” Vycar asked.

“Oregano was directed to find me references of places where the flow of All is impeded. There are more options, but these are the best. I checked.”

“But would you not say that includes most places?” Vycar pointed out. “Not many places can claim to have produced a Chosen. Quests can only lead to so many places.”

“How many inns have you stayed in?” Voxis rebuked.

“Chosen have been literally everywhere.” Taranath said. “Literally.”

“Not quite.” Weylon pointed out. “While the adventures of Chosen do bring them to the far flung reaches of All, it’s literally impossible to completely explore the infinite layers of the Abyss, wouldn’t you say?”

“That’s a finite infinite.” Vycar pointed out.

Weylon held up a warning finger. “This isn’t the time for that kind of pedantics. The point is, we were right to go for two locations, weren’t we?”

Voxis glared at the Genie Blood with lidded eyes. “Obviously.”

Vycar sighed. “What have you two conspired here?”

“All still wants us to act as Chosen. I hold two keys to the Accursed Athenium, so it’s obvious that would be the first place for us to look to find somewhere to settle. The issue with that is one of the persons here ran home screaming.” The gnome gestured at the two books her invisible servant was holding up. “One of those is a trap.” She paused. “Not the fun kind, either.”

Brynn stared uncomprehendingly while two of the others made faces of disgust. Vycar smiled genially while Voxis gave a vicious grin.

“Care to guess which one will lead us to our doom?”

Brynn immediately pointed at the one leading through a crack in the Heavens. “That one will just put us back on the path of our quest.”

“Look at you, already showing independence.” Voxis cooed like a sarcastic parent. “Correct. Now before I burn this disgusting parchment of misinformation and direct my army of paper airplanes to destroy all copies, we need to acknowledge something. Guess what it is.”

“Can’t you just tell us?” Taranath asked.

“No, you wet abomination.”

“It’s best if you realise what we’re doing here on your own.” Weylon told the others. “If we don’t do this, then it’s less likely to stick. I want to put down roots, and I want them to stay rooted. I’m not just going to let All whisk me away again.”

“Ah, I think I get it.” Vycar said.

“Question.” Taranath raised his hand. “Can I bring my domain?”

“What do you think?”

“Yes?”

Voxis gestured and entreated another being from far beyond to attack Taranath. This one was larger and the half elf had to lead the aberration away to not disturb the others.

Brynn stopped thinking. Before speaking, his hand drifted to where the handle of his great sword used to be held. He glanced at the empty space before looking up. “You’re making this matter.”

Weylon nodded. “Yes, but there’s more.”

“It’s a new story. A new way that All can flow.”

Vycar hummed in agreement. “Think about it. How many stories end with the Chosen living happily ever after? Actually happily ever after. The ones Chosen from below normally die immediately after completing their quest, or get their soul claimed or what have you. The ones on the side of ‘good’ end up sitting on thrones for the rest of their lives. I don’t know about you, but a throne sounds like a grand pain in the ass.”

“Just tell me!” Taranath shouted as he sprayed the aberration with water that quickly froze in True Cold.

“It’s a precedent.” Vycar explained. “This will tell Santoria a new truth if we do this right. That Chosen can retire.”

Voxis sneered. “Took you long enough to speak up.” She snapped her fingers and a bolt of immolation flashed from her hand to the book containing the trap. The invisible servant handed the gnome the remaining book which conveniently fell open to the exact right page. Voxis hummed as she read the contents. “Do any of you object to the name Veliki?”

No one raised any objections, and the five Chosen set out to their new destination, forever altering the flow of All in Santoria. After five seconds Vycar stopped walking as a thought crossed his mind.

“Didn’t you say Veliki was fifty years in the future?” He asked as his second voice murmured an incantation that banished the aberration still fighting behind them.

Voxis gave him a sneer that the group had grown to know very well over their extensive travels together. “That isn’t a problem.”