Athir was running on borrowed time. Her physical energy had run out days ago, and she had almost burned through the reserves she had gathered through painstaking meditation.

Her run of bad luck since leaving Tajar had led her to this point, and she tumbled down a sand dune, the gritty sand scraping her face. Her breath came heavy, the hot air dry in her throat.

The spiders had been waiting for her in an ambush when she returned to the canyon system that she once called home. Their colony had grown bigger than she could have imagined, and now two of their enforcers were scrabbling over the sand behind her.

Spitting sand from her mouth Athir touched the pommel of her sword, but she knew it wasn’t time right now; she could still lose them in the desert. If she was really desperate, she could rip a hole into the echo. But that was the very last resort.

She forced her weary legs to climb another dune and tumbled down the other side. The spiders had gained on her, and she could hear their mandibles clicking as they chittered to each other.

Her head snapped around as she heard another voice ahead of her, and she immediately spotted the window. It looked different from the one's that she could make. It was cleaner, and round, hanging in the air about a foot from the ground. She burned the very last of her energy to reach it, and saw that the image behind it was blurred, like smoke blown over glass. A figure in the haze beyond shouted at her and although their voice was muffled, she sensed who it was.

“Konrad?”

She could feel the spiders behind her and knew that she didn’t have the energy to fight them, but where did this lead? She had enemies aplenty, some of whom lived in places she would rather avoid. The spiders' clicking increased as they sensed their prey had given up the chase, and with a growl of frustration, Athir gripped the edges of the window and hauled herself in.

Sound ceased to exist, and Athir floated in the absolute silence of the heavens. Millions of stars surrounded her, layered in sweeping ribbons of reds, purples, and blues set against the endless darkness. Her body gently tumbled, completely weightless, and the infinite nature of her surroundings pressed upon her senses. She was less than an infinitesimal speck of matter here, and the pressure of that vastness pulled her consciousness apart. Who could try to hold a sense of self knowing how insignificant they were?

Athir gasped, instinctively trying to breathe but finding no air to pull into her lungs. It was only with a supreme effort of will that she relaxed her body, telling herself that her heart continued to beat, convincing her mind that breathing was optional here.

She tumbled through the cosmos and gazed upon two planet sized stars that were frozen in mid-collision. At first, she thought that time had stopped, but the realization dawned on her that the impact was happening on a scale that she could not imagine and seemed to be frozen in time.

Her senses cried out an urgent warning, and she realized that she wasn’t the only one here.

A small creature with bat-like ears and naked, save for a grubby loincloth, sat cross-legged and watched the stellar collision.

“I know you,” Athir said.

She flailed around but was unable to stop her body from gently tumbling around. She lost sight of the small figure and had to wait until she revolved before she spotted them again.

The waif gently padded over to her on its bare feet, as if it were taking a casual stroll.

“I’ve seen pictures of you. You’re one of the small Faelen gods, you could give me a hand, you know,” Athir said, craning her neck to keep watching him as she spun around. Although she had seen faded frescos and murals of the Falen gods, so much had been lost, and she had no idea what he might be the god of or what his intentions might be.

Instead of helping her, the small Faelen god just started spinning around at the same velocity as Athir so that he stayed in her line of sight. He grinned.

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Athir muttered.

The waif extended a wrinkly, slightly clawed hand, and Athir reached out.

-

Relity twisted, and Athir stood on empty air high above the continent of Parthanea. She had experienced this type of vision sharing many times before when Myam had taught her what history he knew of the Faelen. However, where Myam's visions had been crisp and clear, the edges of this vision were frayed, as though the memory were unraveling. The Faelen God stood in the empty air nearby, his eyes closed and his lips pursed in concentration.

"Where are we?" Athir asked, looking around. Generally, she could tell if this was a current vision showing an event happening in real time or a memory of a past event, but in this case the illusion was so weak and threadbare that she could almost see the twinkling of stars and planets behind it.

The waif's eyes opened, and he blinked, seemingly as surprised as she was to find himself here. He looked down at the verdant green continent, scratching his head, and the world blurred as they shot downward, coming to rest above the craggy summit of the Coldest Mountain. Athir knew the history of the Snow Elves of Caso, their betrayal at the hands of larger powers, and their eventual demise in the cold ocean, but unless they had traveled far back in time, this place was nothing but a cold tomb.

The waif pointed a crooked finger, and Athir spied a small figure crouching behind some rocks, overlooking a plateau. The figure wore the familiar grubby loincloth, and the hair on its ears was whipped by the cold wind. It was clear enough that she was being shown one of the waif's own memories, but why?

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A vicious living wind lashed the bare rock with whips of ice, and movement on the plateau below caught Athir's attention. A fight was taking place, and she was surprised to see the lumbering figure of Rolo, the young northman, smashing frozen guardians to pieces. Next to him, a witch of impressive skill blasted more ice creatures apart, great fireballs flaring brightly before being shredded by the wind. A man with a fine rapier twisted like a dancer, slipping through his enemies, and a boy and his dog chased through them all, sprinting towards a headless statue.

"That's Konrad," Athir said.

She hadn't spared much thought for the boy from the valleys since she left Tajar, but now she had seen him in the vision in the desert and here on the mountain. Athir cast a suspicious gaze at the waif-like Fealen God, and he stared back as blankly as always. Did he even have the capacity to weave fates? the insight to bind Konrad and Athir's destiny together?

"What's Konrad got to do with any of this?" she asked.

A roar of rage pulled Athir's attention back to the fight as a great demonic figure burst from a void above the seated stone figure. This was at least an arch demon, and Athir held her breath as Konrad was bound and pulled towards its open mouth. Then the witch called the name of the beast, and it was shackled. Athir's estimation of the witch's power increased tenfold; there could only be a handful of living magic users on Parthanea who could command such entities. Konrad had gained some powerful allies. The demon lord was banished to the abyssal plane, and Konrad fell to the ground.

The waif below them, who existed in this memory, turned to the long, snow-covered mountainside behind it. He licked his lips and jumped from one foot to another, then leapt off the mountaintop. He raced down the snow-covered mountain on his backside, his long ears flapping in the wind, shouting gleefully, then reached the bottom and grasped his tiny feet, shooting out onto the water and bouncing like a skipping stone.

The image faded and began to reform.

“I hope this isn't going to be more ‘what I did on my holidays’?” Athir muttered, folding her arms.

But this next image was far from the gleeful wanderings of the small god. Myam lay in bed, his face weak and sunken. A younger Athir sat next to him while Yroh glared from the corner of the room.

“Find the sword, kill the Father,” the old Faelen said.

Athir instinctively stepped back, trying to find a way out of this memory, but she was powerless here. She tried to shut her eyes, but the image was in her mind, and Myam’s voice held the same desperation that pulled at the strings of her heart until she thought they might break.

“It is your destiny.”

The next scene revolved in a swirl of red, and the familiar sky of the echo burned above her. Just ahead, Yroh waited patiently next to a window in the air.

“Yroh,” she called, but Yroh made no sign he could hear her.

The champion of the Father stepped through into the Echo; his mask had been dropped now, the short cropped blond hair seeming so out of place here.

The young champion looked up at Yroh, panting like a cornered dog, his eyes roving all around, trying to take in the desolation around him. Athir had forgotten what he looked like then; compared to what he had become, he was just a scared child.

“Come with me,” Yroh instructed.

“Where are you taking me?” The champion replied.

Yroh walked away, and the champion drew his black sword. “Answer me.”

Yroh waved a hand flippantly without turning, and the black sword disintegrated. Black grains of sand fell through the champion's fingers. “You have no power here.”

They walked through the barren landscape under the red sky and the champion's ragged breath came in spurts, as he reacted nervously to every small noise around him.

“Takes a bit of getting used to, doesn’t it?” Athir commented, glancing around, but her idle comments fell on deaf ears.

“Wait here; she will come to you. She has the answers you seek,” Yroh instructed.

The champion watched the Faelen princeling until he disappeared and pulled his cloak around himself, shivering.

“Why have you come to the Echo, child?” said a gentle voice.

The Lady sat a little way off; her silver dress settled around her like a cloud. The champion whipped around, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there, and Athir moved between them, drawing her own blade. She struck out at the champion, and her sword passed through him. She backed off several steps, stunned at her own reaction. Her instinct to protect the Lady was seemingly a part of her that any number of years couldn’t unbind.

“Why have you come to the Echo?” The Lady repeated.

“I came because I need help. Athir sent me," the champion stammered, licking his dry lips.

In spite of herself, Athir took her eyes off the champion to look at the Lady. The mention of Athir’s name didn’t garner any reaction on the beautiful face, and even in a memory, it hurt.

“What would you ask of the Faelen?”

“I need a way to hide from the eyes of the Father,” the champion replied.

This name did provoke a reaction from the Lady, her face twisted in pain for a moment, and with no little effort, she regained her serenity.

“You already know how to do this.”

“Madness, I need another way,” the champion stated, and now it was his face that was drawn into a grimace.

“There is a price for this,” the Lady stated.

“There’s always a price,” Athir whispered.

“I’ll do anything,” the champion said, his voice hoarse.

“Will you kill the Father?”

Athir gave the lady her full attention now, watching the intensity of her beautiful face as she glared at the champion.

“Kill a god, how? It’s not possible,” the champion spluttered.

“You will return to the temple. Stop hiding your strength and rise in the ranks of the Fathers champions. Gain his confidence. Seek the white sword he stole from me and use it to destroy him.”

“A sword—I’ve never heard of a white sword. It can kill a god?”

“It has been done before,” the lady replied, and Athir knew she was thinking about Ostred, the champion she sent to the realm of the gods knowing he would not return.

“If I do this, will you swear to help my brother? I know the Father will choose him; the priests said that they were watching him already.”

The lady spoke again, but Athir didn’t hear her because the image before her began to dissolve. Once again she drifted, numb in the infinity of the cosmos. The waif was nearby, his eyes half closed and his hands clasped on his little belly.

“It’s Konrad; he's been a part of this all along, hasn't he?” Athir said.

The waif’s eye flicked open, and he met her gaze for the first time. She spotted madness flickering in the depths of his eyes and caught the shrill buzz of the madness that had infected the Echo.

"This is all i'm going to get, isn't it?" Athir stated.

A window opened behind her, and the waif gave a smile and a little wave as she was sucked out, falling hard on the cobblestones of a busy street.

-

In a place that only the old gods remember, and only the small gods can fit, the heavy silence pressed on in a young universe. Planets continued their inevitable collisions, gases belched and swirled, and stars collapsed.

Some moments after Athir’s disappearance, if moments could be counted here, the fabric of reality twisted and a figure tiptoed into the cosmos. Whatever portal he made was closed with extreme care, and the figure slumped down, breathing heavily and wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his blue robes.

The figure quickly noticed that he was not alone, and his eyes narrowed as he watched the waif tumble through this chaos of creation. The small Faelen God rolled upside down and placed his index finger in his mouth, inflating his lips and pulling out his finger with a small popping sound.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you?” Casovan asked.