Lightning struck the exposed metal tines in the chamber, arcing between each metal rod rather than travelling down to the earth. The chamber was dark, illuminated only by the ebb and flow of the lightning. At the centre of the contraption that drew in power from the Chaos flows above, a glimmering tongue of flame danced. A few paces below was a crumpled heap of discarded flesh, given as little notice as a table or armchair in a living room.

Each lightning strike through the air caused particles of Chaos to collide against the fire. Despite the near immaterial quality of the flame, moans of pain emitted with every strike.

The One Who Watches And Waits sat just outside the chamber, a grim look on half his face and an amused one in the other. His fingers tapped a melodious rhythm on the marble throne’s armrest. With each tap, the heavens answered with a bolt. The crack of thunder was the counterpoint, and The Seeker of Delights’ pain was its tune.

“It is not the worst of failures.” She Who Whispers in the Light said with just a tiny hint of derision.

“No, but it is a disgrace nonetheless. To be bested by a child barely Awakened, the shame must be driven deep into his Anima.”

“Careful, my liege, too much shame will distort her Corpus.”

“Do not presume to tell me what I knew even before you had forsaken your name.” The One Who Watches and Waits scorned. “Shame and hubris exist to complement each other. A healthy dose of both may lead to The Seeker of Delights’ evolution. I will not have servants who cannot grow.”

Out of the corner of his eye, The One Who Watches and Waits saw She Who Whispers in the Light’s face contort in anger. But there was a hint of pleasure in it too. He held in a sigh. Nobles such as she grew quickly but there was always that instability. In the hundreds of years she had been bound to him, she had evolved from a bound soul to Marchioness, just one level below his.

Of course, the gap between them was something she could never surmount. This was the end of her journey unless the Watcher also evolved and that could take millennia. Still, it was an odd reaction.

A keening wail interrupted his thoughts. The Seeker of Delight’s Corpus had started solidifying, though the process could take several more cycles. But that wasn’t what drew the Watcher’s attention. One of the pages, a muscular Antid that had slowly been developing sapience, trod into the chamber and clicked its mandibles.

“What is it, Hoblex? You know better than to interrupt my leisure.”

“Click...Hzzt…hooman…”

“Ah, of course. My thanks.” He nodded to Whisperer. “Keep watch here.”

She gave him a short bow, her red eyes blazing with barely restrained fury.

The One Who Watches and Waits stood up and as he did, the marble throne melted into a puddle and seeped into his shadow. He took a step and he was in another place. This one, his audience room, with the duality of life and death expressed in the fields before and behind him. The human stood extremely still and surrounding him were a group of the Watcher’s courtiers, fellow nobles of the Telurian.

Most were at the cusp of lordship, just one evolution away from becoming the masters of their selves. One step away from the instinct-driven urge to consume, to change, and to destroy. The Watcher waved them away. He strode to the dividing line and turned to face their visitor.

Opaque white liquid bubbled at his feet and reformed his throne behind him in the time it took him to turn and sit. He gestured to the mortal. The man was dressed in a heavy white cloak, unmarked save for the golden clasp holding it close. The hood covered most of his face, though the Watcher’s eyes could easily see through the shadows. It was a middle-aged man with greying hair, sharp green eyes, and day-old stubble.

“You stand before The One Who Watches and Waits, Duke of the Telurian Court. State your name, affiliation, and entreaty,” one of the lesser lords cried out as soon as the Watcher sat, tapping twice on the stone floor with his herald’s staff.

The human gave a sweeping bow, spreading the edges of his cloak wide, though he kept eye contact the entire time.

“Greetings from the City of Garamus. I am Counsellor Willem Sarosha.”

“And you come to my court bearing a weapon made of Nyctferrum, a material well known for burning and destroying Anima?”

“My apologies but I am but a humble warrior. I need to be able to defend myself, especially in the Chaos Sea. It had been a long and harrowing road that led me here, Your Grace.”

“Fair enough, but I warn you that to draw that dagger here will mean your demise and that of your...city.” The Watcher nodded sharply, though it took only a moment for his pleasant mask to return. “So then, I am remiss in my hospitality, have a seat.”

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He gestured and from the shadows rose a marble throne, lesser in stature than the Watcher’s but no less grand. When Sarosha sat down, a table formed between them, and with another gesture, a platter of round fruits appeared on it.

“Help yourself.”

Sarosha gingerly took a fruit, though he didn’t eat. Wise. After a while, he spoke, “May I present my entreaty?”

“By all means.”

“The City-State of Garamus, as well as the Federation of City-States of Rumiga wish to come to an Accord with the August Telurian Court. We wish for your aid in…reclaiming the plane from the usurpers.”

“The politics of you humans disinterest me.” The Watcher lounged on his throne and threw a leg over the armchair. “Now, why would I join in this farce? The Imperial Legions are no joke, they can be quite vindictive too.”

“The invaders are divided now,” Sarosha pointed out. “They always see their lessers in their place, but now, those same lessers wish for more. They have oppressed us for more than a hundred years and if not for the incredible wealth your people bring them, they would have fallen far sooner.” There was a manic light behind the Counsellor’s eyes. “The Eternal Empire…heh, such a grandiose name...is stretched thin. We merely wish to…snap the threads that bind this plane with theirs. What say you, Your Grace? Anything can be on the table.”

“An interesting proposal. Yet you avoid partaking of my hospitality. A little show of sincerity, please.”

Sarosha nodded, lifting the fruit to his lips. He swallowed visibly before taking a little nibble. Not so wise, after all. The Watcher hid a smirk. No, the fruit wasn’t poisoned, or anything of the sort, but having accepted hospitality, certain rules had changed.

“So, what are the particulars of your proposal?” The Watcher grinned.

____

She Who Whispers in the Light carefully observed the Seeker of Delight’s new Corpus. It was a feminine body this time, a slip of a girl that looked almost exactly like the one who was the cause of the Seeker’s destruction. The only difference was that the Seeker’s eyes were still crimson.

“Interesting choice,” Whisperer said quietly.

“Know your enemy,” the Seeker grunted. “I will seek vengeance, though who knows what form it will take.” Her smirk pulled the edges of her lips almost to her ears, exposing dagger-like teeth.

“Hrmm, well, go do your new duties. The dogs of the Empire are sniffing around the Tidelands. Go entertain them.”

“Pardon, Lady Whisperer, but I will receive my liege’s instructions formally before I proceed.” She frowned at her nudity and with a sharp gesture, materialized robes out of the Chaos. Her rapier had been replaced with a greatsword, which clung to the back of her robe.

“Do what you will,” Whisperer grunted.

She left the chamber before the Seeker did, and made her way to the edge of the Watcher’s Realm. One moment, she was on the death side of the Realm, the next, she was floating in the Chaos Sea, feeling the flows caress her body. Her Realm was just a waypoint away. A Fysalli created by her Will and Intent, built to remember days past, and steel herself for what she must do.

The barrier was only permeable to her; any other who would try would be repulsed unless their Anima was stronger than hers. Only the Watcher was stronger within a thousand waypoints, lord of the Telurian Count in the outskirts. She touched it and was sucked inside. The next thing she knew, she was in front of a fireplace in a log cabin in the mountains. The fire burned merrily, a pot of stew bubbling above it.

A simple life now from a complicated past but she preferred this over palaces and unwanted fiances. She sat in front of the pit, drawing in the heat, the memories and the pain. Here she tried to build upon her realm, but it remained small and constrained, bordered by a menacing forest of life and death.

At times, she regretted taking the hand held out for her. She should have stabbed him in the heart instead.

The past was something she couldn’t change, no matter how much she wished it so. The River of Time always flowed forward and no matter how strongly she swam, no one can ever come back upstream.

Most mortals, humans, think that the Chaos Sea was homogenous, that all Chaos particles were the same. She thought the same back when she was younger. Each particle contains the potential to become anything but there are always gradations. Perhaps one specific particle had a predilection to become dirt. Another would most likely turn into water or air while another could become life. Without a heavy imposition of Intent and Will, those particles with such predilections would fulfil those when given the chance. To become stronger, she needed to find particles that already had a predilection similar to her talents. In her case, one of those had to do with light.

She was a Telurian, which meant that the Radiant Sun was anathema to her. But most of Chaos particles that wanted to be light had, one way or another, already gone through the Radiant Sun’s furnace. Removing its taint and attuning it to her Anima would cost her far more Intent and Will that she was better off using a regular particle. But there were a select few that had been touched by other celestial bodies. The Ever Shifting Moon for one, or the heart-light of the Ancient Great Ones slumbering in the Abyss.

She Who Whispers in the Light held three such particles in her core and it was what made her a Marchioness far earlier than she normally could have managed. So she continued the near futile effort of sifting through each particle she could catch, each one that wanted to become a ray of light, and felt it for power.

“Milady.” A sultry voice came from beside her. A rosebud blossomed and out emerged a little creature, feminine and about the size of Whisperer’s palm. “I bring news from my twin.”

“Out with it then.”

“The travellers have arrived at the site of the Siderious and are exploring the plane. They have been inside for several weeks. The Full Moon has come and gone but they remain absent.”

“Patience. The Siderious is bigger than you think. It will take them more than a moon cycle to explore and return.” She got out of her seated meditation pose and walked up to the rose. “I wonder if they will fulfil the bargain or if they will break it?”

“They must keep their word! Is there no honour left in the world of mortals?” The Rose’s Thorn’s twin spirit spluttered.

“Honour is for fools,” Whisperer said sadly, “but it doesn’t mean that it cannot bind. Especially here. As for whether they break the bargain, why,” she grinned, exposing prominent eye-teeth glimmering in the firelight, “I’m counting on it.”