Livia’s PoV

Blackness surges only a moment behind a wave of pain, and I can only blink at what’s suddenly before me. A corridor stretched onwards, with endless rows of people standing in lines on dull grey stone squares. Those waiting nearby vary widely in their attire, from simple crisscrossed robes secured with a cloth waistband and woven straw sandals to elaborate printed silk dresses with dozens of layers. The ones far ahead stand within a fog that makes them appear colourless. Yet beneath my feet, a white silk carpet stretches in the same direction.

It’s an atmosphere and sight instantly recognisable from Master Farhad and Master Cyrus’ tales: Judge Po’s waiting room. A raised desk appears in front of me with a young man seated behind it. His skin is olive-yellow, with narrowed eyes, straight black hair, and a short, spiked beard. He looks me over, and his lips purse in a fashion that might as well scream his haughty disapproval. I hope my Prestige Class won’t cause headaches for Týr.

His attire is an unadorned black-on-white coat and shirt with strange loops that hold the front of it closed along one side before it angles up his throat. It’s there where the shirt’s high white-collar peaks above the jacket—an accent around his neck. The long sleeves come down to his wrist where the shirt’s white shows almost as a border jutting from the coat when they reach his hands.

The desk is immaculate, with smoothly black lacquered panels inset with elaborated gold patterns extending along its top and front. I recognise the symbols of the four winds sitting at the cardinal points of that panel and the Jade Emperor’s mark in the middle. Only the swirls of wood grain—barely visible—accenting the gold let me determine there is wood beneath, not black jade.

I’m still taking in the elaborate desk, ignoring his disapproving sigh when he removes a stack of white, flimsy-looking square paper from a desk drawer.

“Name.”

His lips don’t move in time with the single word, and the previously blank paper before him blurs to show far more lines for answers than I would have believed possible.

“Am I in Judge Po’s court?”

“That isn’t your name; state your name.” the scribe says out of sync with his lips’ movements, and I wonder how much whatever translation is occurring leaves out. A lifted hand sudden holds a brush glistening with black ink.

“Livia.”

The symbols that go down on the paper are black, smooth flowing lines with complicated swirls, but nothing like the decoration on his table. “And?”

“What do you mean?”

The scribe eases his brushes away from the paper, despite no ink threatening to drip from the tool he lightly holds. “Is that your family name, village name, or first name?”

“My first name is Livia; I was born in Nova Roma, daughter of Amdirlain.”

In time with my words, the scribe writes further in his strange script and gives the page a stern look as if expecting something to occur. After a long minute of waiting, I go to offer more information, and he motions with a finger. When he lifts it, I can feel him touch my lips, even though his hand doesn’t reach. The first aura I’ve seen here shows me a thin line of jade green Ki, and I study his Power’s projection while I wait. Finally, he gives up and sets the brush down with its tip resting in a white bowl that simply appeared. Only once it’s settled in place does he bring forth stacks of white jade plaques from another drawer. Shuffling through them, he stops and looks at me again. “I don’t have a plaque for you. Who is your Master?”

“I serve Týr,” I answer quickly.

The clerk’s eyebrows rise to meet his fringe. “That isn’t a Mandarin name, nor one I recognise. How did you gain your Immortal Spirit?”

“Master Cyrus guided me in gaining a Bodhisattva Prestige Class, but he said he was unsure how I qualified for it.”

“What is this Prestige Class then?”

“Primordial Bodhisattva.”

“You certainly don’t seem like a daughter of Sun Wukong to have such a Class,” the clerk snorts. He shakes his head and carefully takes his time replacing the plaques in the drawer before considering me again. “And this is the first time you’ve been here?”

I nod, and he raises a hand to stop me from continuing. “That explains much; with such a Class, your paperwork is still likely being reviewed. Wait!”

He disappears, and the silence settles in. Despite his barked order, none of those waiting has looked around. Those I’d seen before now appear further away and drained of colour. More suddenly appear, causing the queues to stretch past me on either side. When their colours bleed, I look at myself in my typical loose clothing robes. Though I’ve stood here for longer than the new arrivals, my clothing’s blacks and greys remain intact.

Torm’s PoV – Late Evening –- 2nd Day

“Torm, Livia’s dead!”

Aggie’s Message rips through me, prompting denial even as a golden script glows within my awareness. Yet I can’t understand why there wasn’t a message for Livia. The brutal news of Raivo’s kill makes me want to scream with rage: Raivo has snared the new Huntress Aggie in a lethal trap.

There won’t be any chance of a response from Aggie, so I send one to Liranë instead, trying to keep my politeness intact. “Were you in touch with Aggie or knew where she was working?”

I don’t get a reply immediately, but suddenly I feel her mental connection touch my mind. Her voice felt distracted, with thousands of whispers carried within it. “Know that I saw the message as well. Know that I tried to locate Aggie and have succeeded, but her killer is already gone.”

An image comes across her mental touch of two bodies draped across a table. Aggie is only recognisable because of the bracers Livia gave her, but even they are badly melted. Her body slumped over the remains on the table, has a hole stabbed through the back of her head. The strike’s pressure forced an eye from its socket, where it boiled in the electricity that burned her clothing from her. I can’t think of the broken and charred body beneath her as Livia. The charred flesh, broken limbs, and wounds stripped the sense of her liveliness away.

The only hiding place in the sparsely furnished home is a small storage nook thick with darkness that seems only a hand span deep. With the image of the room too strongly in place, I active Angelic Aura, brightening the courtyard I’m helping healers in and Teleport.

With my arrival, the shadows flex and scurry away, my Angelic Aura dismissing them but illuminating the grisly scene too clearly. Liranë’s mental warning follows my appearance, yet I hear the corridor’s floorboards shift under her weight before she speaks from the doorway. “Know I’ll examine the bodies first. Know that I might learn of their killer.”

“Amdirlain mentioned techniques to see the past?” I ask hopefully, the lack of a message about Livia’s death itching at me. “Can we be sure that’s Livia and not a plant? There was no message.”

“Know, while not a specialist in Clairsentience, I possess a high Master rank in the Skill,” replies Liranë. “Know she’d passed the Mantle along to another because it didn’t sit well with her Prestige Class, but I won’t say who has it.”

Through the mind touch, I feel her move people away, providing a quick burst of information that quiets the surprised protests. Among them, Aleena’s mind is already seething with rage and guilt. It’s such a pang of intense regret that I know to whom Livia gave the Mantle without asking.

The moment I move towards the bodies, Liranë lifts her hand. “Know I’d like you to disable your aura’s light as its purging traces. Know I can feel something, but it is like phase-spider webs hiding in plain sight just beyond the edges of the physical world.”

Pulling in my aura plunges the apartment into near darkness, only an old crystal providing dim illumination from one wall, but that doesn’t appear to hamper Liranë.

Not stepping towards the bodies, Aggie floats towards us, and Liranë lays it out on a suddenly clear floor. While keeping watch, I could hear her touching the head wound and didn’t want to look after that. “Know I can feel several things: it was a Demon eager for her pain, frustrated that Livia no longer had the Mantle he wanted. Know that he watched from deep within the shadows; they raised canyon-like walls about him, letting him see out into the light where he’d position the bait in a way to obscure her identity.”

“I didn’t expect your techniques to let you know his emotions,” I admit, unsure what to make of something that can delve into a Demon’s reasoning.

“Know it picks up many things that Assassin abilities would otherwise conceal unless they have Psionic abilities themselves.”

Liranë rose, but I motioned to Aggie before she could move away. “Can I cover her or resurrect her now?”

Drawing a blanket from a pouch at her waist, Liranë quickly tucks it around Aggie, covering her from head to toe. “Know that I might need to examine the injury further. First, will you let me see if what I’ve learnt will help?”

The body, no, I need to admit it’s Livia, floats over, looking barely human, more charred pieces barely stay together from being near lightning twice. Before Liranë can say anything, I take out a blanket I carry in my Oath-stone for Mortal emergencies and carefully enfold her. I failed to protect her. Even if she was far more potent than when I’d made that promise, the failure twists a knife inside my chest. Someone is always deadlier, faster, or luckier, but losing them both has bile rising in my throat.

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Moving to crouch near the storage space, Liranë seems to listen; her head tilted, eyes slightly closed. Her fingers trace across something in the air, and she shifts position to plunge her hand into the shadows further than it should go. When she withdraws it, she has a fist full of mist trying to wiggle free from her grip.

“Know that there are things alive within these shadow tunnels.”

Not knowing what to make of the tunnel’s existence, I focus on the now. “How will that help us?”

“Know it’s still alive, and he has touched it, providing me with more traces. Know you can restore them now,” Liranë states calmly, motioning to the ladies. Her expression of sadness is such a subtle shift that it's only apparent because of True Sight. “Know, I believe we should ask Master Farhad after I’ve rested. Unless you believe we fight him immediately after the day we’ve had?”

Her words cut off the protest that had been on my lips, and I kneel next to Livia and gently touched her blackened skin. The Power sinks into her, falling like it is plunging into a bottomless well. Nothing happens without a Soul to guide the body's reformation, no matter how hard I try.

“Stop!” snaps Liranë. “Know that I can feel the strain in you; I suggest you try on Aggie and see if she is not the same.”

“Do you think he has her Soul?” I ask, hoping that Amdirlain was right about most Demons’ inability to capture unwilling Souls.

“Know I do not know of Souls, but continuing with something that isn’t working may just waste your reserves.”

This time the Power feels like I expect not plummeting away; it sets a beacon in Aggie’s flesh and lets me reach out to offer her a way back. I can feel her at the threshold of the Outlands. The confused state of the new Petitioner has led her to follow the Spire’s siren call, but my offer to restore her is readily accepted. Her body stitches together beneath the blanket in a glowing light, the Resurrection’s Power was leaving fewer traces than Raise Dead. The flesh seals together and smooths out, but she’s still left with burnt stubble where her hair had been. Her burst left eye is whole when she blinks and opens to show both her eyes are orbs of burnished gold.

“Livia?”

The first question from her lips has me blinking back tears. “She’s not answering. I don’t know why.”

“Why didn’t I see a gold script that she died?” asks Aggie immediately, and I wonder at her clarity so quickly. “There was no message.”

“She no longer had the Mantle; it clashed with her Class. But it’s why he killed both of you: for the mantles,” I say. The messages don’t occur for transfers.”

She nods before her lips twist in disgust. “Who was it? Can we find him? I want him dead.”

Liranë’s mental touch warns me against responding aloud. “Know that I’m not aware if Raivo is scrying us now or something else, but there was a sense he was stalking both of you. We should plan only through my mental links and leave all others in silence. Shall we find Master Farhad and plan while I track him down?”

“How did my race change to Paragon?” murmurs Aggie, my confusion echoing her own.

Ebusuku’s PoV - Laurelin - Late Evening - Second Day

I’d left the combat class to celebrate my—apparently—good news and get my thoughts worked out. The excitement in the Domain, as word spread, buffeted against my own mixed emotions as I worked to keep them straight.

Me being a mother sounds like a recipe for a child that hates me. Yet would any of them believe my concerns?

Various Petitioners have told me that breathing isn’t something they’d considered until they found themselves unbreathing. I’d never understood how a Greater Power could know people were saying their name without being distracted. Now I know it’s a whisper on the edge of awareness, and knowing what’s occurring takes no concentration, like a living person’s breathing. I simply have a memory of them, and when I consider the prayers, I know the choice I’d made, but it wasn’t even a conscious choice until I stopped to think afterwards.

But, it’s not a distraction; it’s just more information, like being able to sense everything around me. I can tell the urgency of why my name was said: mundane conversations, cursing me, asking a Priest questions about me, or a genuine need for help.

Thousands of them in any one moment is the slightest breath of existence. The absorption of the details is instant, joining with the knowledge needed, and I know and act on what needs attention immediately. It doesn’t matter if I’m standing, flying, fighting, running, checking the river’s depth for playing children, or laying on the bed; I can feel them. Yet I can feel the strength of their world’s link and know the limits of what I can send to aid them. My connection to some planets is like woven bridges of vines, compared to the stone bridge that controls how much of Amdirlain’s power I can send to Letveri. Among the Planes themselves, there seems to be no restriction.

I’m not sure what the faithful would make of it, but I’m the custodian or the quartermaster. The power is hers, and I hope I’ll always feel that way. I’m likely one of the last beings in her service that she should have trusted to keep them safe for her, and yet she trusted me to do it.

Aggie gaining a Mantle causes a rippling through the channel between us. I can only listen to her prayers for advice and send the reassurance I can that the choice is hers to keep or discard it, with no ill-will from me.

The flood of blessings used by priestesses in Hlioir paints a picture of the dead, dying, and fewer injuries. I’m not sure there is any sound logic about whom to raise first, but those that can are wearing themselves out, channelling blessings to restore those they can.

Among the lulling work, Aggie’s death causes surprise to spike within the Mantle, and when I focus on the sensation, she’s already crossing into the Outlands. Energy from another brushed against my connection to her. We both recognise Torm, and when I feel her desire to return, I help her on her way with a mote of the golden energy Amdirlain added to the Domain. A press of knowledge on Raivo’s background and fighting style gifted along with the power.

I feel the echo of Aggie’s notice as her Soul re-joins flesh. Though I’d heard enough of Paragons, agents of their Deity’s plan, to know I’d better be more careful dispensing that energy. The Deity I’d trust to tell me more is stuck on Vehtë, and I will not visit Bahamut. I’ll ask Mirage to question Týr in the morning since he needs rest without the Mantle’s energy.

Stretching out on the bed feels strange without Farhad present, but then the house feels odd without him. The rooms mainly containing his necessities echo and sound odd without his living presence.

Now, after so many years apart, I want him here. I don’t know if I’ve grown clingy or if this even counts, but I want my husband with me for our child’s birth. I don’t even need a Spell to know it’s true that she’s ours. Whenever my focus brushes against her, it brings an absolute knowledge that she’s a new beginning we created between us, and I want him here.

The sunlight has remained consistent across the Domain, feeding every building power that they send off to the crystal plinths that we might now never need. Yet regardless, they are still there and illustrate that Amdirlain’s focus was to keep us safe.

Propping myself up slightly, I trace the slight change that I can already detect in the lines of my abdomen. There’s no reaction, but there are a few days ahead before the baby’s wiggling will be to the point I can notice, at least without focusing inside my womb.

“Amdirlain, where are you? I need someone I trust to tell me how to be a mother,” I grumble. Focusing again on the foetus’s form, I watch her steady growth, but my awareness just slides off the golden Soul. I sigh when I find myself staring at Farhad’s desk. “I know nothing about being a proper mother, so I hope you let me know when I’m screwing up.”

Amdirlain’s PoV

A loud voice calling her name made her stir, and the cold water around her snapped Amdirlain upright with the thought she’d fallen asleep in the bath again. The suddenly ice-cold water streaming off her body made her gasp, and the memory of the voice washed away. Gone was the mirrored cylinder and Yin tornado that she remembered.

The chamber’s walls were grey-white stone. It was large, nearly fourteen metres across, and its walls arched far above to provide plenty of space for the two trees inside. A wide passage of unadorned stone stretches off at the pool's far end. A crawlspace extends into the stone concealed by one tree.

The two trees stood on opposite sides of the pool, an apple and an orange, laden with every shade of their fruit she’d ever seen and more. Though the fruit looked ripe, none had fallen to the thick green grass below. Did apples come in purple?

The sudden feeling of cloth across her body prompted Amdirlain to look down, and she caught her gaze in the lapping water of the knee-deep pool. Irises of polished gold seemed the source of the soft golden glow washing from the whites of her eyes, or the gel itself glowed. Her reflection in the water showed her the Anar features and lean body she recognised from both the Soul-scape and the form she wore following her argument with Viper.

The tattoos were now bright with colour, containing a pain that itched beneath the surface of her skin. Even standing still, a strange weight within them swayed as if trying to throw her off-balance and out of tune with herself.

The predominant colour of her dress was the same electric blue as her hair hanging long and loose, still wet from laying in the water. The way it clung brought forth the memory of the Mantle’s roots dragging her into the Yin and sent a shiver up her spine.

Her clothing seemed to continue the floral theme of her tattoos, but subtly clashed with it. While the rose vines in her tattoo were a red, vicious variety, the maker had hemmed the dress with a border of delicately embroidered baby’s breath and white roses. It echoed the pattern on the shoulder straps and in the fabric’s print of a summer dress that wouldn’t be out of place on a Sydney street.

[Welcome to the Maze Residence Program, former pseudo-power Amdirlain.

You perished because of Yin Consumption while poisoning a God, who has since expired at another’s hand.

At the commencement of any trial, we will return you here for semi-safe keeping.

During this time, please ensure you remain at the back of your provided shelter as much as you can to avoid temporary dismemberment by monsters. Depending on your powers, you might find some disabled in the Maze for the safety of yourself and others.

Please enjoy your eternity of semi-restful and unfulfilling relaxation.

This now concludes our welcome and safety announcement.]

“One down, at least,” Amdirlain grumbled to herself and gave a smile that was more of a snarl. “But staying here? Yeah, not happening. Everyone will be mad enough with me as it is right now.”

Forming a Message has its pattern gleaming instantly in her mind, yet nothing happens. With no Mana filling it, Amdirlain turned her focus to the pools within her. Her reserves of Ki and Psi had filled, but the Mana pool was dry and cycling to fill it drew nothing from the surrounding environment.

An easy hop carried her out of the pool, and Amdirlain willed her hair to shorten, but the long locks remained; the familiar feel of Protean was simply non-responsive. A quick experiment found all her Ki Powers remained active, even Ki Flight, but her normal Flight Power and some other strange choices she found disabled or altered. Angelic Aura did nothing, likewise unsurprisingly Planar Shift, yet while Greater Teleport worked, it carried nothing with her, even leaving the dress behind.

Walking to a wall, she lashed out with Ki Strike, and felt the power grounding into it. Though she didn’t ‌damage it, Tremor Sense let her track the vibrations. The wall was a wide swath of stone nearly eighty metres thick before the vibrations fell into a space about the length of her chamber. In contrast, those that radiated up or down eventually died with nothing detected.

The psi technique Astral Projection lifted her free from flesh and tethered to it only by a silver cord; she felt the barrier that kept her within the current Plane. However, floating there, she felt the hundreds of thousands of minds hidden in the maze about her. From some, vileness twisted her interest away, but others seemed too innocent to be possible, and every spectrum in between.

About her was a kaleidoscope of existence: warlike vibes came from some, while others seemed only interested in the turning seasons of their long-lost homes. Brushing across those closest to her, she felt their various auras: beings of honour, courage, gamblers, lovers, nature beings, mixed with those of pettiness, cruelty, and so much more.