Joan waited for his reply with bated breath, but his amulet lit up.

“Just a moment.”

“Harlan, I think you-”

“Dantevius, I will ask for your opinion when I want it. Wait here.”

He put a veil over himself, but he also opened a gate into a new throne room that none of them recognized.

He cleared his throat and mind before he answered.

“Hello?”

“Fomoria.”

“Patra, it has been some time.”

“I… may have been overzealous in my eating. I was wondering if you knew how to safely lose some weight.”

“That won’t matter much if you never reach the root of why you thought you needed to eat so much.

Talk to me.”

“I don’t know, I’ve always eaten more than I needed.”

“When exactly did you lose control and start lying to yourself?”

“Lying to myself?”

“You said before that you had things under control and that you had a reason for putting on so much weight.”

“I was doing research into using my fat reserves to cast much larger spells by converting it directly to mana like you do.”

“Had I known that part, I would’ve explained it at the time. But you only got really bad about your eating after I left, right?”

“I suppose.”

“It’s the stress, that is why. You eat because it feels good, it lets you ignore your family's harsh words about your albinism for just a moment. When I left, I put pressure on you to be a better mage and I left your grandfather’s life in your hands. I’m sorry for that, I was cruel. To safely lose weight quickly, heal others.

Healing magic is somewhat costly, especially if it is being used for serious injuries or sickness, but you will be cycling an abnormally high amount of light magic through your system which will make it so you are offsetting the harmful effects of losing that fat so quickly. You should be able to slim back down to when I first saw you in a week if I bring you to those who need healing.”

“I shall ask if I can leave.”

“You are a free person, not a prisoner. Unless you have something that requires you there, a responsibility that is your own, not forced on you, then there is nobody which can tell you not to come here to improve yourself.”

She went silent, then he heard some sniffles.

“You’re right. I’m going to pack my things, I’ll call you when I need to be brought over, if that is alright by you.”

“Of course, I would love to have you as a guest.”

“I shall see you tonight then. I hope.”

“Have a nice afternoon.”

The instant the veil dropped, so did his smile.

He walked past the Goliath and the coward on the way to his throne of bone.

They were inside of the Spire of Other, and his chair was held up by thick sinew hanging from the ceiling.

Living banners lined the walls, swaying despite the spire being a sealed environment where the air was being purified and recycled constantly by the minds that were contained within the spire.

Fomoria sat with little care, resting his right palm on his cheek with his eyes half opened and showing annoyance.

“Yes, it has been some time.”

“I-”

“You were not given leave to speak.”

His left hand rested on his throne, and he sent orders through it.

Muscle fiber reached from the floor and bound her hands, pulling her down.

“Larenzac. Take her weapons.”

He did as asked with some hesitation. This was not born from disloyalty, but simply from the tension in the room.

Fomoria reached forward, his telekinesis acting as his hands, and her armor slid from her body.

She was not bare, the undergarments she wore were her own, but it made little difference;

his eyes seemed to stare right through the cloth she wore, then past her skin and muscle.

Everyone felt a chill, though the spire was rather warm on account of it being a living being with blood flowing through its body; it had many hearts.

Fomoria hadn’t said a word in half an hour, he hadn’t even blinked.

Only Dantevius saw him move in any detail; suddenly the emperor held her by the chin.

He inspected the look in her eyes, then lifted his arm high, making her awkwardly arch her back and stick her stomach out as she remained kneeling.

He ran his fingers across her many new scars, the warmth of his digits, his slender frame made a contrast when he pressed into her flesh, letting the feeling of his thicker bones through.

Mercedes looked away, fearful of what his sensual contact may have said about his intentions.

He stood and slowly walked around her back.

“I have always preferred long hair.”

When he touched her hair, it grew from the short cut made with a dagger to prevent her enemies from grabbing hold down to her hips.

“You have few scars on your back, all from smaller attacks, arrows and daggers I suspect?”

“Yes, archers and assassins.”

“She-”

Dantevius could’ve crushed Fomoria in an instant, yet still the emperor shushed the man like he was a child raising his voice during a dinner speech; the Goliath felt chastened.

“What have you done in this time since you fled, coward.”

“I will never set right what I have done, but I will not flee again. I set out to help others, to force myself against a wall so I would never again think that cowardice was an option.”

“So you have broken that most contemptible trait?”

“Yes.”

“Lanrezac, bring me her sword.”

He pulled it from the sheath and checked it for maintenance, then handed it back to the captain.

Fomoria grabbed her hair from behind, forcing her to look him in the eyes with his knee forcing her back into an uncomfortable bend.

“Larenzac, kill her.”

“Wh-what?”

“I did not stutter as you have.”

“Are you… certain?”

“Joan, what is a fair punishment for high treason?”

“I accept whatever judgment you give, I know it is from a fair man. I just ask that you not look away from me, and know that I am not running.”

Joan was completely fearless, her duty was finally over.

“Stand strong, you don’t want to have to cut twice.”

Fomoria stood behind her still.

“But sir, I would cut you as well.”

He was stalling, hoping that Fomoria would come to his senses.

“So?”

It was a slightly awkward angle, but Larenzac took a deep breath and cut once; the blade would’ve cleanly sliced had even a child swung it.

Mercedes looked away with tears in her eyes, Joan had, at one point at least, been a friend, and Fomoria’s cold actions now seemed like a horrifying sign of things to come.

Her body fell to the ground and convulsed as it pumped blood onto the fine carpet, and with what little control she still had, her head looked him in the eyes.

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He brought her head to the stump, and it attached as cleanly as it had been cut.

The blood pooled on the ground, the spire drinking up the life that remained inside of it.

She took sharp breaths, coughing up blood that had gone to her lungs.

“Your sentence was death, and it has been carried out.”

He hadn’t seen an ounce of fear in her even as her eyes rolled back into her head.

She had conquered her emotions entirely, but it was a facade to herself, and a deadly one.

It was something she knew, something that had come close to her, but losing all feeling of her body, feeling the weightlessness that came with that, it struck deeply into her soul.

“Too much fear, and you become a coward unable to move forward in life, too little you leap into a fight you have no business in and die.”

She tried to call out a thank you, but the words became cut in her throat.

There was no remaining damage, his healing was perfect, but she had yet to recover from the shock.

“Mercedes, bring her to Anon’s former room, and bring her a fresh set of clothes. This armor was once a miracle, now it is outdated, fit only to be scrapped and redone.”

His advisor was still in a state of shock not unlike Joan, yet she far more quickly processed the events before her and carried out his orders.

“Of course.”

“Larenzac, go with your lover.”

He jolted, not knowing that he and Mercedes had spoken already; Fomoria laughed as he opened the gate.

The room was clear once more, the only two remaining were a gentle mountain of flesh and muscle and mass of flesh that represented a man.

“Dantevius, it has been a while.”

“You are changed from last we met. Your focus and calm are like fire and ice. Or, I suppose light and dark?”

“I understand more about life, ruling, and loss, than I did before.”

“May I read your palm once more?”

“Of course, but only if you tell me what you are doing with Joan.”

“I had a vision, and that led me to her, the cowardly lion. Would you like to know what you are?”

“What am I?”

“The child of a farmer, swept up in a storm you cannot understand.”

“Should I understand the meaning of this?”

Dantevius shook his head and wore a warm grin.

“No, I suppose not.”

Fomoria sat cross legged like the Goliath did and held his palm flat.

“Hmm…”

Fomoria expected some explanation, but Dantevius was content to keep his secrets this time.

“I shall be going now. A gate north if you would, I shall be returning home now.”

He narrowed his eyes, wondering if it was a trick, but Dantevius simply stood with a gentle grin on his face; he knew that Fomoria wanted to know.

Fomoria decided that he would just be bored if he waited for Patra to call him again, so he went to the Sandsea.

He shouldn’t openly walk the streets, that would only cause a bother.

His original plan was to come in under the cover of invisibility and reprogram all the arrays in the city to not detect him.

Yet instead he walked in without a care, because he was strong, and they were weak.

The guards at the capital’s gates bore stronger equipment and better training, yet it took only a look at the horned man layered in boneplate with a flaming mane to cause their ears to droop and their heads to lower.

The only part of his full suit he left out was his transformed beastial head so that people would recognize his face.

He didn’t do much, just walking around and trying out a few local delicacies, grilled cactus, cactus sugar, stewed cactus. The Sandsea didn’t really have much in the way of other plants to eat, and meat was expensive, only being served in proper restaurants.

He vowed right then to expand his ranches and produce enough excess that he could export to the Sandsea and drive the prices down.

There were a fair number of dead spots where towns and villages once stood before what was becoming known as the consolidation. Fencing these places off and repurposing the empty buildings would be simple enough.

As he thought of these things, a young girl approached him.

“Are you King Fomoria?”

“It’s emperor now, but yes.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The trains. I never saw so much water before, but it went out by the ocean.”

“You are welcome.”

“Ok.”

She vanished into the crowd, presumably back to her mother.

Most of the people were simply too afraid of him to get near, and he realized how silly he must’ve looked wearing this armor in a city.

When he wore only his normal clothes, they still wouldn’t get near him, and the merchants still refused payment, forcing him to sneak the coins into their pockets with sleight of hand.

In his younger years, when he was still Harlan, he might’ve felt quite awkward about this considering how little cloth the women wore.

He still wanted to look around the city, but that became boring once he sent his message.

The royals didn’t even dare to come for him, a public rebuke would only make them look as weak as they were, so they instead pretended that they didn’t notice him as they hid away in their palace.

Unsure where else to go, he tracked down the young girl, and found her being scolded by her mother for running off.

He thought about introducing himself, but decided that a more subtle hand was needed.

Fomoria waited until he saw them go home, though they only stopped by for a short time before going back out, and he confirmed that it was their home by the scent left around the small three room stone structure.

When they came back, a large box had been set in the main room, and leaning on this box was a painting of a forest and a note.

‘I think the ocean is pretty as well, and I hope you can see beyond it one day.’

The girl saw nothing wrong with the gift, and told her mother about meeting the king, or rather, emperor.

Her mother distrusted it at first, but it didn’t smell like human meat.

He didn’t know exactly when Patra would want to leave, so he just waited for the call back at his home.

It had only been two hours since Joan had her near death experience, so he went to check on her.

“Joan, how are you feeling?”

She hadn’t seen or heard him enter the room; Joan jolted back then took a deep breath.

“I am alright now.”

“I would like to make an example of you.”

Mercedes was sitting on her bedside.

“That is enough for now.”

“I don’t mean it as a threat, though I did intentionally phrase it as such. Joan, you barely reacted, but what you did was instinctively reach for a weapon you no longer have rather than shift your weight so you could more easily flee.”

To say that he had been acting strange since Anon left wasn’t fully true, because he was always strange to her, but Mercedes was deeply worried about how unfurious he was.

If he had some outbursts, if he hurt somebody, tossed a table through a window, anything to show he was hurting, she would completely trust him. This… nothing, it terrified her.

“What do you want from me?”

“To be the first of my Shades.”

He formed a sigil in the air and they all had to look away from it.

“Breath in this mist, and you will be granted greater power, physically, and magically. I intend for all of my soldiers to take a smaller dose, but I would like you to obtain this fully to show what it does to people.”

“This is like Pepper, yes?”

“You won’t need to wear any special protective gear to avoid a fiery death. I have… grown, since then.”

“I accept.”

Mercedes didn’t get between them, she had seen some of his experimentation with the sigil, and believed it more or less safe.

It was a worrying series of arrays that he put up beforehand, but Joan took in the mist and floating chunks that cut their way down her throat.

Joan’s breath quickened and her bones began to protrude, being replaced by newer thicker void bone.

Despite how agonizing it appeared, the weapon sigil’s first effect was that of dulling pain.

It was painful still, like someone powerfully gripping her from every angle and pulling splinters from her flesh, but the pain she would’ve felt otherwise would’ve sent her body into shock.

Once she settled, the bed.was covered in a layer of blood that refused to soak the fabric, part of the arrays he set up beforehand.

She had grown some, only a few inches, but her musculature was notably bulkier and her horns became full.

She got up and felt the lightness in her body.

Joan was actually a hundred pounds heavier, but her newfound strength easily offset this.

“This is incredible, I feel like I could box a Goliath.”

“Would you like to try?”

“What?”

“It has been some time since I last spoke with Bartholomew. I could call him, ask if Hercul would like to fight.”

She should’ve refused, but she was so hyped up on the power and passion that ran through her body that she couldn’t help herself.

Bartholomew was too busy to attend himself, but Hercul was able to slip away from his work.

The civil war was short but brutal; Lith contained a high number of incredibly powerful individuals for its size.

“It has been far too long.”

It was always somewhat awkward when another race shook hands with a Goliath, not only where they abnormally sized even for their large bodies, but they had seven fingers rather than the standard five.

“Yes, it has.”

Yet there was no awkwardness from Hercul, he was misguided and often prideful, but he was relatively young, and could be forgiven.

“Bartholomew said you wanted me to spar with Joan, who had returned suddenly. She is… forgiven?”

“Yes. I have forgiven her. Do be mindful that she doesn’t yet have a grasp on her power.”

He laughed boisterously.

“She is still Dague.”

The smirk Fomoria flashed did little to dull Hercul’s expectations for the fight.

“The rules are simple, hand to hand only, no magic, but otherwise no limits on anything but killing, this is just a small test.”

Hercul and Joan stood on either side of a 40x40 square, small for a Goliath combat square, but Hercul was not the richest man.

They both took a deep breath before rushing at one another.

Both of their arms shattered, but it was little more than a pinprick to Joan, and when her arm reformed just as quickly as Hercul’s it was much darker in color, her muscles which were torn were now made of a temporary void fiber.

In time, her body would return to something closer to its natural state, since she lacked Fomoria’s attunement and ability to overwrite what he was.

But while she had a strength that could match Hercul, he was several hundred pounds heavier than her.

She went flying out of the ring, striking the thick stone walls of the structure, shattering most of the bones in her body.

“Did I kill her?”

She stood up, dark red blood had come from each wound where bones had poked through and slicked her.

“Round one goes to Hercul. Joan, I hope that you understand what I’ve given you. Before you received my sigil, his attack would’ve killed you, but now you have powerful regeneration, and much greater strength.

But clearly your body isn’t ready for that strength, not only did it break against him, but you lack the weight to make proper use of that strength as well. When you are enhanced and given a new set of armor, the weight and durability issues can be solved.”

Joan walked back to the square and readied herself for the second round.

In the end, she and Hercul fought a dozen times, and she didn’t win a single fight.

Dague were lithe fighters, but not in the same way as a Goliath was a fighter.

Hercul had fought the Cast in large scale conflicts, and even as a member of the New Path, he was a Goliath and that meant their culture was around combat from a young age.