Interlude: Calamitous Hunt.

“They said what!?”

Anger tinged with panic laced Lyr’Rael’s voice as she received what was—to her, at least—the most dire news imaginable.

“Forgive me lady Emissary, but the Oraculum has decreed an end to the hunt for the archdemon, and will be withdrawing from the depths forthwith.”

Her mind raced, trying to answer why they would suddenly end the hunt. Previously, they’d expressed such passion about leading; going so far as to dispatch dozens of oracles to coordinate hunting parties. The expense of this operation had been massive by all counts, but they’d shown no inclination to stop until now. Admittedly, things hadn’t been going well for the would-be demon-slaying army.

The creature that the awakened soul had possessed showed an uncanny ability to evade their most powerful agents. Only ever being seen by small, isolated groups of low-to-mid-tier hunters while somehow easily avoiding sorcerous traps laid by the various Archmages and Councilors present. It was masterful, nearly precognizant...

It’s almost as if… Like a spark igniting tinder, connections formed in her mind and she came to an infuriating realization. This entire ‘hunt’ was a lie!

Screeching in fury, her six wings manifested into being with a thunderous crash. The Oraculum’s messenger cowered beneath her as she rose up into the air and blasted off into the tunnels towards the main encampment. The priests who’d been accompanying her hurried after, giving the poor man apologetic looks. They had no hope of keeping up but were all bound by duty to try nonetheless.

Only when all of them were out of sight did the messenger straighten. His features—once covered by a mask of terror—quickly going blank and emotionless as he raised his fingers up to his temple.

“Scenario 2447-A2. Primary objective complete.”

*****

She was not the only one outraged by the Oraculum’s declaration, nor was she the only one to put together the somewhat ‘suspicious’ circumstances surrounding it. By the time she arrived at the main camp—currently situated on the shore of the column where the only survivor of an ill-fated ambush had been found—the area was filled with the disgruntled representatives of the world’s elite.

Her fury dimmed as she approached, listening to the barrage of questions and demands being shouted towards the grouped Oracles.

“—dreds have perished on this endeavour! Do you think expert delvers and equipment are grown on trees?”

“What is the meaning of this!?”

“The Concordia demands reparations!”

The Oracles merely stood, eerily silent as they accepted the abuse being heaped on them. Lyr’Rael, despite her lack of human experience, could practically feel the crowd’s energy as their combined anger grew.

Perhaps all is not lost. With so many pressing, surely they will recant and continue the hunt?

She could only hope fervently to herself this was the case.

Just before it seemed the gathered crowd would boil over into violence, the Oracles parted—revealing the same matronly woman who had spoken all the way back on the surface. At the time, she’d appeared hesitant and struggled to maintain order over the crowd. That was gone now. Her features were hard, and she commanded an effortless presence that quickly silenced the shouting dignitaries. When she spoke, her voice was cold and uncompromising.

“The Oraculum has done exactly what we have always sworn to do—protect the future of Haven at all costs. The sacrifices made up to this point were necessary to ensure the continued survival of our world. This hunt’s objective has been accomplished, and we will be returning to the surface. Those who have suffered losses will be compensated according to the writ of Calamity upon our return.”

Sweeping coldly across the crowd, her gaze silenced most—but not all—of the opposing voices.

“Then this was all a farce? The Archdemon? The great Calamity? My son is dead because of your lies, Oracle! Murdered and eaten by that monster without even leaving enough behind for me to bury. His fiancé—who I loved like my own daughter—is a crippled widow and now you expect us to just… leave!?”

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A bereaved older man stood forward, pointing accusingly at the Oracles present. The woman’s eyes did not soften as she looked at him.

“You have my sympathies, Count. But—”

“Damn your sympathies, bitch! I’ll have that thing’s head or yours to accompany my son to his ancestors!”

The man lunged forward but was quickly restrained by a pair of embarrassed-looking mages before being led away. His enraged shouts devolved into broken sobs before he’d gone out of hearing, and the assembly was quiet until one of the Concordia’s councilors stepped forward.

“While Count Arlish goes too far in his grief, his sentiment is shared by many here. This act of deception greatly damages the credibility of the Oraculum and our trust will not easily be returned. Had you come to us in trust—”

“You would not have come.”

The woman’s voice cut across his with a tone of ice. He sputtered at the interruption.

“Y-you can’t possibly assume tha—”

“We are the Oraculum, councilor. We know. You would have dithered. You would have dallied. You would have prioritized and if you’d sent any help at all, they’d have arrived too late to make any difference. The Calamity of the Deep lies slumbering beneath us, and for the first time in our history fate has shown us a path where it is vulnerable. We will sacrifice anything to achieve its end, and if that includes your trust? Your lives? So be it.”

Shock—and no small amount of fear—rippled through the crowd at her words. The Doom of the Achorai? It still lives?

Mystery surrounded the disappearance of the once-great empire of Achor. At its peak, their cities had flourished across the entirety of Haven. Their wards and the deep ways they’d constructed were a good portion of why civilization was even possible when faced with the monstrous entities that lurked in the dark.

And yet, for all their power, they’d vanished almost without a trace.

A handful of survivors had been found, scattered throughout the hollows. Each one deranged, raving about a ‘great Calamity’ that had devoured their species whole. To a one, they’d killed themselves shortly after being found.

Practically every surviving power in the world had sent expeditions—great and small—in attempts to uncover the truth. The lucky ones met disaster early, scarcely leaving known tunnels before being turned back by monsters. Most were less fortunate, vanishing into the darkness never to be seen again. For the safety of their people, most nations declared the areas beyond the deep hollows to be a forbidden zone—albeit one that scarcely needed to be enforced.

“That’s a lovely sentiment, Oracle. But can we even be sure it’s the truth?” The councilor eventually composed himself enough to reply.

“Believe as you will, it matters not. We are leaving.”

The Oracles turned as one and began the long trek back up to the surface.

Lyr’Rael felt her emotions in turmoil. Fear and panic warred with rage at the Oraculum’s manipulation, their betrayal. Power bubbled up within her as she called upon her mantle of Emissary. Six wings spread from her back and glowed painfully bright, drawing the attention of the retreating oracles. Her voice flooded the area with power as she cut the leash holding back her strength.

“I have been trapped, on this festering mudhole of a world, in this cesspit you call human flesh, for four months now. I was summoned at your behest, to protect you from a Calamity that you now deny. No, this is unacceptable. Heaven demands action.”

Faster than thought, she flew forward and grabbed up one of the oracles by the neck.

“You will guide me to this creature by the quickest route you know, where I will destroy it as you should have. If we fail to reach it quickly enough—for any reason—I will return to the surface and scourge your precious ‘Oraculum’ from the face of the world!”

The man she grabbed could only choke and nod desperately as he struggled for breath around the impossible strength of her grip.

“Where is it!?”

He pointed weakly into the distance and Lyr’Rael blasted off with him in tow, a sonic ‘boom’ echoing after her departure. The group of priests and attendants—who’d only just managed to catch up—could only stare after her despondently. A few shared looks of commiseration were spared before the various groups split up to rejoin their camps and begin the arduous journey home.

The oracles hadn’t gotten far when a cloaked man stepped out from invisibility ahead of them. Waving the others to a stop, the woman leading them walked forward to meet him. Her eyes turned… not exactly soft, but she no longer held the same harshness as a few minutes before. He nodded his head respectfully to her as she approached.

“Lady Speaker.”

She waved her hand and huffed dismissively.

“Enough of that, Estran. What news?”

"It is done." He replied after a short pause. Her shoulders sagged in relief. At least something is going right in this disaster.

"And the weavers?" she asked.

"Hidden, cut off from fate. When the time comes, he will not find them."

"Good." She steeled her features and turned to walk back when the man gently grabbed her shoulder.

"Hara… is there truly no other way?"

She could only chuckle mirthlessly at his statement.

"No. Not in the time we have left. "

Estran only nodded sadly at this. They’d known each other for too long, been through too much for him to question her further. He vanished from sight and the gathered oracles resumed their journey, each of their faces resolute. They knew what they’d done here had been worth it, though they would never receive thanks for their actions. If their lives were the cost to end the First Calamity? Then as the Speaker said, so be it.