It had taken Damien a couple of hours to get back to Sanctuary, at least half of which was spent staring at the dragon's abandoned hoard and wondering if he could get away with nicking anything. He'd decided against it in the end. It was probably warded, and even if not, he didn't fancy his chances when the dragon returned. He'd needed to walk away from a pile of gold large enough to buy Thale ten times over.

He'd been looking for someone with knowledge from before the war of the rifts, and now he'd found one, even if the history it had shared had been so heavily abridged that it would fit onto a business card. As ever, he had no way of knowing if it was being truthful, but that was true of everything these days. It seemed that the more time went by, the less he was certain about anything.

"Damien!" exclaimed Grace, the second he set foot in their house. "Where have you been? You vanished in the middle of the night!"

"The demon contacted me, and I had to go deliver a warning to the dragon. I left a note. Oh, turns out that dragon is the one that stole the source-light, by the way."

"Yes, I saw your note, but you didn't say you'd be so long! We've been worried sick!" complained Grace, completely ignoring the comment about the prestige of their host.

Damien looked out of the window, where the source-lights were at full brightness. At least, for now. Apparently, the 'thief' was more of a vandal, and if it was successful, they wouldn't be glowing for long.

"Okay, it's obviously not early morning. Sorry, I didn't mean to be gone for so long."

"Not early morning? You've been gone two days! When I went to find you, the dragon's lair was deserted."

Damien paused while he readjusted his internal calender. "Right. Guess I was out for longer than I thought. No wonder I'm hungry. Where's Lana and Greenhair?"

"Training, of course."

"Fair enough. But now that the crusade to stop us has been dealt with, we aren't in so much of a rush." Damien paused to wonder what would happen once the dragon finished smashing the source-lights. He may have given away a small amount of history, but he hadn't explained why the Five stole half the world, let alone how. Would they suddenly be catapulted back into a place ruled by demons? "Or maybe we're in more of a rush," he added. "I'm not entirely sure."

"What crusade?! Where have you even been?"

Not wanting to give the explanation more than once, Damien headed out to rejoin his teammates, before informing everyone of the foiled attack.

"Have you considered that perhaps the Five were attempting to protect the higher races by moving them into safety away from the Other and its demons?" asked Greenhair.

"Yes, I have. And frankly, had one of their priests turned up and politely informed us that what we were doing risked everyone getting eaten, I'd have stopped. But they didn't. They tried to kill us all without any warning or explanation. That means they're either evil, or so utterly foolish that having them in charge is a liability."

"Or they aren't omniscient, and are acting on incomplete information," added Greenhair. "If they aren't certain that we would stop if asked, killing us is the simplest means to be sure of the world's safety."

Damien opened his mouth to snap back, but then remembered he was dealing with an elf. They killed their own young for the greater good. They simply didn't have the same qualms with sacrificing the innocent for the good of the many that he did.

Perhaps the Five were the same, and sacrificing people was something they did without a second thought if it was the most straightforward option to protect the world. But, if that were true, it would just mean his first option was the correct one; they were 'evil'. Greenhair would likely complain if Damien called the elves evil out loud, but he certainly thought it. Even morality was a matter of opinion.

"Well, they obviously aren't omnipotent, given that we've beaten back their schemes twice. Now, in case we're about to be suddenly plunged into a world of demons and monsters, let's resume our grinding."

And so, after the brief burst of excitement, Damien's boring days of repeatedly shoving limbs into slimes resumed. Another week passed with no further interruptions from the dragon, demons or humans, during which the levels of him and his party members climbed steadily. Lana and Damien both passed level seventy, with even Greenhair at a more than respectable sixty-five. Without the dragon dropping materials on him, he'd wandered up to its lair and taken them from its hoard himself, to no apparent ill effects. Damien wasn't looking forward to Brenhin-Tân's return, but it had said they could keep grinding if they wanted. If that wasn't tacit approval, what was?

The level gains were enough that even without cheating, all three would easily find employment back in Hrellflan, their abilities high enough to compete with higher-tiered but lower-level craftsmen. It was also enough that they'd been able to replace their experience boosters with new versions that boosted experience by two and a half times. Despite the dragon not being around to force new and improved training methods on them, they'd managed it themselves. Another week would be enough for Damien and Lana to reach level eighty, with another few days for Greenhair to join them.

Of course, that just meant that it was time for the next interruption to crop up, which was why, on entry to the mess hall that evening, Damien's jaw hit the floor.

"Mum?! Dad?! How are you here?!"

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Hrellflan was a mess. After the incident at Gaia's temple, and after confirming the island wasn't actually under active attack, Fleta and Shigeo had decided that a visit to the Thief's Wastes was their best chance at tracking down Damien and their missing residents, and also at checking if the supposed crusade actually existed. They'd taken a small rowing boat, sufficient to seat six so they could bring back their household, and set off to the frozen north.

Hours later, word reached the island that the forces of the crusade had been lost very nearly in their entirety, with only a single survivor. With half of their tier eights and a sizeable chunk of their military forces lost, and suspicions that the island was about to face imminent invasion, the king ordered the immediate conscription of Fleta and Shigeo, dropping all attempts at subterfuge or political games. He wanted them defending the island officially, and he wanted them now.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

He was therefore quite upset to discover they'd already left.

As fast as Fleta may be, or as enduring as Shigeo, neither were seafarers. While it was possible for them to row a ship anywhere on the bowl by dint of pure physical ability, someone with a proper sailing class would be faster. Added to the way the sea was flat and the bowl was, well, bowl shaped, anyone on the sea could theoretically see anyone else, baring any raised landmasses getting in the way. Trying to find a tiny six-person row-boat on the open sea wasn't easy, of course, but their time of departure was known, as was the direction they set off in and approximate speed. Fleta and Shigeo found themselves on the opposite end of a pursuit compared to usual.

Fleta and Shigeo weren't the sort of people to strike unprovoked, but when the clipper chasing them turned out to contain Marquess Cryscrin and a dozen of his best knights, who declared they were under orders to bring the couple back in chains if necessary, Shigeo considered himself suitably provoked. Whether the Marquess had the muscle with him to back up his threat was immaterial; the clipper and row-boat were both destroyed within the first few blows.

With his commandeered ship reduced to flotsam, the [Merchant Captain] lost the speed bonus of his [Swift Winds] skill, and Fleta and Shigeo escaped by paddling on a salvaged board.

Marquess Cryscrin, in his plate-mail, couldn't swim. With the permanent entourage afforded by his noble rank, his armour was designed for maximal protection at the expense of requiring help to equip or remove. Despite his level and tier permitting him to hold his breath for an extended amount of time, he drowned, along with his contingent of knights. Thus the kingdom, in a single day, lost every one of their eighth tiers.

Fortunately for them, there was no grand conspiracy, at least of the mortal kind, nor was there any invasion. The orcs would have jumped at the chance to exploit their weakness, had they known about it, but they weren't exactly masters of espionage or subtlety, nor did they have diplomatic relations with other islands to find out about it via official channels.

A flock of dragons turned up a few days later, spreading out across the island and burning down every temple they could find, including a few ostentatious buildings that just happened to be vaguely temple-shaped. The king, by this point a defeated man, chalked it up to them being unhappy about the crusade. The loss to the island's priests was enough that the ceremony of paths would need to become an annual event for the foreseeable future, but compared to what the dragons could have done, he considered they'd got off lightly.

Fleta and Shigeo were delayed thanks to their loss of supplies, needing to stop off at a smaller island on the way, but eventually made it to the Thief's Wastes, which seemed to contain a rather smaller quantity of dragons than they'd expected. With most of them off burning down temples, the pair had an uncontested trip to Sanctuary.

----------------------------------------

"... And then we spotted the smoke in the distance and made our way here," concluded Fleta.

"You are seriously lucky you made it here without bumping into any dragons. Particularly since the one that attacked you lives right there," said Damien, pointing at the looming mountain. "Incidentally, it's an ancient dragon, and the one responsible for the missing source-light, although it claims it destroyed it rather than stole it."

Fleta paled slightly. "Where is it now?"

"Off destroying more source-lights. Maybe the others went with it, and that's why you didn't see any."

"What I want to know," said Shigeo, poking his meal with a spoon and watching it bounce back, "is how the heck everyone lives off this slop?"

"Hey, they gave you food without even asking who you were and where you came from. Don't complain. Besides, I'd like to see you grow anything in three feet of snow."

"I'm sure it's very healthy, dear," added Fleta.

"You've lived off my cooking for over a decade. Why've you suddenly developed taste buds now of all times?" asked Grace.

"It's not the taste, it's the texture. I get the impression that if I tip my bowl upside-down, it'll be a few seconds before the soup notices."

"What's wrong with that? It's nice and thick. Full of healthy vegetables."

"It's trying to eat my spoon!"

"Stop being melodramatic, dear."

Shigeo continued sulking into his vegetarian soup, but there really wasn't much hunting to be done on the island, unless he fancied dragon steak again, which came with its own set of issues.

"I'd say we should make a break for it while there are no dragons around," said Fleta, getting back to the important topics, "but we don't exactly have a home to go back to. We're kinda fugitives now, and even if we weren't, Thale is gone."

"Fugitives? Don't tell me they tried to blame the murder on you, too."

"No—we got all that straightened out. Found the real murderer and turned him over to the guard. The problem was that the palace wasn't keen on us committing suicide by coming here right after half our army was wiped out in that insane crusade. The king sent Marquess Cryscrin after us. Tried to bribe us to come back with a noble title, wealth, the usual stuff, but when that failed, he still refused to get out of our way. Your dad threw one of his usual tantrums. It didn't end well."

"Ouch. Well, you'll certainly be welcome here, as long as the local ancient dragon doesn't notice you. But... what do you mean, Thale is gone? It was perfectly fine when I saw it last."

"I mean it's gone. The entire town is under five metres of water."

"What about the people? Edward and Lucy? Jason? Harry?"

"As far as we know, no-one made it out other than you, and we searched pretty hard."

Damien blanched. Killing people who were trying to kill him was one thing, and even that was sickening enough. Being responsible for the destruction of his hometown was something else entirely. It wasn't just filled with innocents, but with his friends and acquaintances. Had Arach-achanol really destroyed the entire town? As much as Damien tried to convince himself it could have been the dragon, dragons didn't drown things; getting the town wet would stop it burning so well. What else could have done it, if not the demon?

"Told you so," spat Greenhair, with some amount of venom.

Damien didn't reply, not only because he couldn't, but because Brenhin-Tân picked that exact second to destroy the second source-light. The light outside flickered, and when it came back, it was dimmer than before. The sky rippled, showing glimpses of blue.

"S̸͎̫̤͊̀́o̸͉̯̅o̶̺̻̍n̷̡̆̿.̸͎̯̑̏͜ ̶̜͓̑T̷͔̈ͅh̴̼̮͉̋̌̓e̷̡͓̾̏ ̴̨͖͍̆̇̏b̸̙̫͓̊̋e̷͕̰͖͝t̶̫̆̍͝r̴̡̾̿a̶̱̞͋͛̏ý̶̡̄ẽ̵̦̣̥́̋r̴̙͈͗͝s̶̻̞̔ ̸̬̘̣̃̋a̸̙͂͠ȓ̴̪̈́e̴̩̠͊̆̏ ̷͓̓̍w̵̝̟̽ó̵̢͖̺͂u̸̢̼̖͂n̷͎̏̌ḑ̸̈e̷̻͈͠d̵̢̂́̕.̶̞̐̓̚ͅ ̸͓̊̍B̶̪̿̓ľ̶̟͙̦ẽ̷̝̭̫̈́͝e̴̱͑͂d̶̛̜̟̂͝i̵̪͒̔̄n̷̤̟̣̓͒ġ̴̨̏.̷͉̐͂͒ ̴̛̰̎̕D̸̬̳̠̒y̸̼͑ḯ̴̗̝n̵͎̮͇̑g̶̥͈̀.̴͇̮̗͒̐̔ ̴̘̜͉̏̔̊Ẃ̸̧͓̖͠h̴̉ͅa̸̛̝͚͍͋t̸̺̀̇ ̷̼̳̄w̷̮̹̃a̵̙͗͝s̷̺̾̏͠ ̷͓̰͛̈́s̷͔̺̽ͅṱ̴̰̞̐͝ȯ̴̫̬ḽ̶̡̐e̸̡̍͜n̷͙̓̅̕ ̴̲͎͈͆́w̸͉̿͑̈́i̴̯̊̉l̷̛̬͗̎l̸̡̬̹͝ ̶̨̣͚̅̏̕b̴̪̈́ë̵͚͛͜ ̶̘͒r̶̹̝̓e̴̘͖̐͂̌ť̸̲̳̖̑̐r̴͓̖͆̊̏i̸̭̘̖̊̇è̶̹̄v̵̰̹͔̔ę̶͖̾d̵̻͗̈́̈́.̶͙̘̈́ ̵̺̟̀͋W̴͉͉̖̽h̸̛̦͖̀̄ạ̷̈t̴̟̜̲̓ ̴̢́w̸̹̣̚a̵̭̎̂s̴̖͇͂̀ ̸̝̮͕̓̈h̶͙̥͆̽i̵̥̘͒̇d̴̨̡̔͋̎d̴̙̋̆ḙ̵̛͈͗̎͜ṅ̶̬̼̦̾͂ ̴͍͈̱͌̐͘w̶̠͊͌i̵̟̜̝̾l̸͖͓̿͌ľ̷̥͆͘ ̵͕͋b̸̂͑͜e̴͔͑̈́̄ ̵̮̈̀͝ŕ̴̙̘͍e̴̜͛ṡ̸̲̬͕t̸̗̣̭͋̃ő̷̡͚͋ŗ̵̛̱ë̵̙̝́ͅd̶͕͈́̅̇ͅ.̶͇͔̣͐ ̸͈̩̘̀W̷̥̱̯͂̽h̸̢͓͕͑͊͝à̶̫̬̰̚t̶̡̿̑͠ ̴̰͂͐w̷͍̔ả̴̢̭̦̽s̵̫͔̘̔͝͝ ̸̺͎̎̅͝s̶̡̎̃͝e̷͖̤̗͝q̸̖̠̾̚u̴̱͂ȩ̴̺͒͛̚s̶̺̮̺̏͂t̷̢̛̙̮e̵̙͎̿r̶̛̞͋͠ẻ̷̠d̴̟̆́͊ ̵͊̓͘͜ẃ̵̪͆i̵̘̩̿̄l̴̦̺͑̑ĺ̷͍̟̑ͅ ̸̪̂̅o̸͖̓̚ͅͅn̴̠͉̽c̷̨̨̻͂ë̶͎̠̎ ̴̭̙̟̇m̸̼̑̉o̵̡̝̣̔ṟ̴̭́e̴̬̘͂ ̴̩̝̃̅š̴͕̀e̴̪̠̱̒ę̷̫̥̀̿̅ ̴̦̖̠̈́͆̕t̶͕͊h̶̟̦͝e̸̛̫̒ ̸̖̪͝s̴̠̼͊̏́u̷̩̥̐̓n̵͈̯͊.̸̻̱̃́͜͝ ̴͚͙̘̊S̸̬̊̇̎ǒ̷̪͇̻͘ó̸̗̿̕n̵̥̂͌.̸̜̓ ̵͕̓͊̑Y̴̪̳͚͂͑̄ỏ̶̯u̷̱͖͙̓ ̷̠̄a̴͇͠͝͝r̵͔͔͍̽ē̵͎̲̗̉ ̷̢̛̥͍̈́m̴̯̿̓̏ÿ̶̟̣̍͌ ̵̼͗̃p̸͔̊̽r̸̮͍̰̓ő̷̙͈̱̍p̶̡̡̈́̓̓h̵̺͙̭͐̐̃e̴͇͎͋̔̔t̵͕̘̂,̸̞͖̦̋͋̌ ̷̲̫͙̈͠à̶̡͔̰̌ǹ̶̮͈d̷̡̪̝́ ̶̘̳̿̎̈́Ị̶̊̈́ ̴̀͛͘͜â̷̢̢̼̋m̵͓̈́̈́ ̵̣̟͎̊̈͂ỹ̴̻̯o̷̲̺̤͂̕ṳ̸̣̰̄͆̅ȓ̷̥̏͝ ̴̤̝͕̃͗͘g̵̼̯̅͝õ̸̹͗d̶̘͐.̸̼̽̈́ ̶̮̞̮̍̀̅I̸͔̿̑̐ ̷̞̓̈́̆a̴͍͖͗ḿ̵̲̘͇̿ ̸̡͆͒͐A̴͉̱̮̐̿ȓ̶́̌͜a̶̟̲̍̑c̵̪̖͐͜ḧ̶̦͙́̊̔-̸̟̆à̷̟c̸̦̫̏̂̇h̸̺̹́͜ạ̶̢̜̐̏͘n̶̺̓ȏ̸̹͖̝̐ḷ̶̫̍̃͐.̷̣̼͑̚ ̴͍͝I̴̛͓̋͆ ̴̜̻̃a̸̠͋͝m̷͓̬̼͗ ̶̯̤͂c̷̺̏͜o̷̡̝̰͌̍̈m̷̯̍͊̓ȉ̸͖̜̕n̴̠̈͝g̷̡̔̕ͅ.̷̞͆̐͛ ̵̬́̇̑͜S̸̲̰̬͌o̵͓̞͙͐o̸͙̣̮͌́͆n̶̼̱̈́͛.̵̧͕͌͘͝"