The Assembly of the Curia Regis, Farryn, Vorthe.

It should be noted that Alvric had never scored a single point against Vorthe in their forever dance to free themselves of the Royal Family’s powerful grip on their clan. Something had changed, however, and Damien, if he was as superstitious as the Alvrics, would think the wheel of fate was turning against Vorthe and favoring the Alvrics. But no. He wasn’t — superstitious that is.

The question is, what changed? What happened in Terra Praeta to cause another Wind Spirit, which by every observation, is the Argonaut, to punch a hole through to this world? Because a seismic shift was underway in Vorthe. The emergence of this formidable Argonaut, which surpasses the might of the Alvrics’ Ancestral Spirit and even the revered Great families, sent shockwaves throughout the kingdom. Such an unprecedented development gave rise to grave apprehensions among the established power players.

Amidst this turmoil, the Alvrics, a potent faction in their own right, displayed a calculated response. Swiftly initiating a covert exodus of their people from the region of Farryn, surreptitiously retreating as the portal to Terra Praeta sealed shut. This clandestine maneuver was executed with the utmost discretion, cleverly avoiding any unwanted scrutiny. They had the Argonaut distract the Royals and other Great families long enough to flee. Damien chuckled to himself, shaking his head wistfully.

Damien Vorthe was the master of shadows; a shrewd and watchful figure. And he had been keenly observing their every move. He had successfully thwarted their attempts to bring reinforcements from the South, effectively obstructing their designs to bolster their ambitious exploits within the mountain range. Nevertheless, the arrival of an even more potent Argonaut took everyone by surprise, shaking the foundations of established power dynamics. The political landscape of Vorthe was entering uncharted territory, laden with uncertainty and intrigue.

News had swiftly reached the Royal Estate that the Alvric expedition to Terra Praeta had already returned, forcibly brought back by the Argonaut. The Argonaut, however, didn’t head North silently, choosing to proclaim itself the god of this land. Or was that a ploy? Damien couldn’t tell. Because as soon as the Sovereign showed a bit of his power, the Argonaut vanished.

With no significant hostages to wield as leverage, Vorthe found themselves compelled to seek the Alvrics. The esteemed First Elder, Thorlin Vorthe, wasted no time in embarking on a journey Southward.

Fortunately, the Royal Family’s foresight and strategic planning facilitated the establishment of an extensive network of portal arrays across not only the kingdom but also the entire continent. This prudent move paid off handsomely in the face of the Alvric challenge. With the intervention of the Sovereign, they adeptly orchestrated the rapid evacuation of their people from Alvric territories in a few days. Damien was proud of that. If anything they didn’t lose a single member of their house. Such swift action demonstrated both Vorthe’s astute leadership and its ability to navigate complex political landscapes with sagacity and finesse.

“What bothers you, Lord Damien?” Princess Aeldra asked, bringing the master of shadows out of his rumination. Damien found himself too preoccupied to bother concealing his presence. There was too much going on leaving little room for subtlety, and the Nediti, the Royal Assassins, were working tirelessly to gather information on the most recent happenings in the tumultuous South. Their ranks were spread thin and stretched to the limits.

Yet, this was not merely a routine information-gathering exercise; the stakes were high, and pressure was mounted upon the Nediti to ensure timely transmission of critical updates from the South to the heart of Farryn. The magnitude of effort required to sift through this deluge of information in search of leads that could grant Vorthe a strategic edge in the impending conflict left many of the Nediti overwhelmed.

And yet, the portal to Terra Praeta would be opening soon to bring back the young Sprouts — and the fated Dark One.

Damien sighed. The Curia Regis still had to prepare for the Awakening of the Beast when the fated Dark One is drawn to the dark depths of the mountain range. As if they didn’t have enough to deal with as it were.

“They planned ahead,” he said. “This Argonaut didn’t just happen to want to come here. How many Argonauts are there anyway? A Transcendent Wind Spirit is another game changer on the board that is this continent, Aeldra. All this time and it chooses now to show up? I don’t believe it’s a coincidence. Not to mention the political catastrophe such a being would create.”

“The Great houses aren’t stirring yet—”

“And they are wise not to do so,” the Sovereign spoke from his throne as he appeared out of thin air. Everyone stirred, rising from their seats to give a proper bow. “As you were.”

Damien felt the Sovereign’s gaze turn on him, sharp and demanding to be revered. He felt puny, dwarfed by the presence of the Sovereign, and all too suddenly, as if power was forever out of his reach. Through years of ingrained experience and control, he had mastered his body. But facing the scrutiny of a Transcendent being was something no one can master. He quickly stood up from his seat at the table and went down on one knee. “I have failed this council, my Sovereign. I will receive your judgment and any punishment you deem necessary.”

“There is no fault with you, Damien,” the Sovereign said. “You are distressed and talking more than usual.”

Some members of the Curia Regis snickered at that.

“Calm yourself and let your spirit guide you to the solutions you seek for the problems you feel are weighing on you. What you worry about is only a minor setback in the grand scheme of things so cease your worries, and calm your mind.”

Damien shivered lightly as the reassuring words of the Sovereign took root in his heart and spirit. Helping to cease his worries and calm his heart.

“Thorlin would arrive in the southern hemisphere in a quarter of a day,” the Sovereign spoke again. “Aeldra, you will be in charge of his duties till he returns. There is much to prepare for.”

A subtle smile graced Damien’s lips, for the outcome was as anticipated from a seasoned Saint Realm expert. Elder Thorlin Vorthe, possessing extraordinary prowess, could have easily traversed the distance using a void bridge. However, the ‘cargo’ he bore, wielded such immense power that it could manipulate and disrupt portals, even leading to their potential destruction if not handled with utmost care. Thus, he opted for a lengthier journey, to ensured the artifact’s safety and secrecy. A journey that seemed remarkably swifter than if a Sage in the prime of their abilities undertook it.

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A quarter of a day. Damien knew it would take him more than twice the amount of time to complete the same journey.

“As you wish, my Sovereign,” Princess Aeldra Vorthe responded with a bow. Damien didn’t envy her duties. The responsibilities of the Elders were numerous, and that of the First Elder, even more so.

“In the meantime, seize all warehouses and production arms of the ‘Skysail’. The Alvrics, in their misguided flight, may believe they have earned their liberation, yet the nature of freedom is an ephemeral one. Deluded by the emergence of a Transcendent as an Ancestral Spirit, they might deem themselves on par with Vorthe, but alas, they shall soon be confronted by a bitter and unforeseen reality. The question is, do they possess the mettle to sustain their newfound liberty, or shall it crumble in the face of formidable consequence?”

Damien could discern the Sovereign’s underlying motive, as did every other member of the council. The Alvrics have been master crafters of Skysails for centuries, an immensely prosperous venture of flight artifacts that every personage from a home of influence bought. While appearing to dutifully contribute millions of crystal stones in taxes to the Royal family annually, the Alvrics clandestinely amassed much more, effectively channeling it into a covert and concealed black budget.

Enriched through astute alliances with the Royal family’s trading partners all across the continent and across the oceans, in the desert lands of the Hragnasi, Alvric had secured enough funds and resources to be self-sufficient for decades. But what happens when war comes knocking on their doorstep? Because Vorthe would not take this insult sitting down.

Thankfully none among the Curia Regis was eyeing the Skysail venture of the Alvrics. Not that it was beneath them; indeed, it was a very lucrative business that raked in substantial profits. Yet, none among them sought to grasp more power than their peers — either to impress the Sovereign or to rub it in each other’s faces. Vorthe didn’t get to where they did by being petty and fighting amongst each other.

The mantle of the Sovereign would also not be passed as an inheritance when the current Sovereign ascends or dies. It would be passed to the most qualified candidate among the Curia Regis — the First Elder, Thorlin Vorthe. This is why the Royal family had remained above all the other Great clans for eons. It was the source of their productivity and effectiveness. And the establishments owned by the Alvrics? They would become a new venture owned by the Royal family.

“Damien would see to it that the Alvric business doesn’t fold. We do need Skysails after all?” the Sovereign said and Damien Vorthe sputtered, not expecting to be handed such a responsibility.

The other members of the Curia Regis chortled, enjoying the scene of the master of shadows put on the spot.

“What?” the Sovereign smiled at him. “Has the master of shadows become tongue-tied?”

The rest of the Curia Regis burst out laughing, well except for the younger ones: Princess Aeldra and Theone Vorthe — the First Elder’s son — could only hold in the mirth in their stomachs, looking away to conceal the light in their eyes, lest the master of shadows see them laughing at him. It would be unwise to insult a Sage of his stature this way, for retribution may follow.

~~~

Terra Praeta

Jerome stormed into a cave-like hole with huge stalactites hanging from the ceilings. The cave was warm, warmer than one would expect a shelter in this part of the planet to be. Geothermal springs maybe.

“How is it so warm in here?” Csala asked as she looked around in awe.

“Geothermal springs,” Jerome explained. “The water deep within the planet is heated by magma or hot rocks. It then rises to the surface as a spring of hot soothing water.”

“The water is soothing?”

“Hmm. This way.” Jerome led her deep into the cave. There was no visible light but he could see quite well in the dark. As could Csala.

“The air is moist. It is true!” Csala exclaimed.

“What, you didn’t believe me before?”

She shrugged, saying, “And now it smells like dog in here.”

“Well, this is the den of the unbound so…” Jerome muttered as he carefully made his way through the cave.

The cave seemed to grow wider as they went deeper. The only sound they could hear was the dripping water droplets from the stalactites and their breathing. Jerome thought of the valuable mineral deposits in the stalactites above them. It would be good to know what they held — aragonite? gypsum? Maybe sulfur minerals — it would be even better to know what to do with them. He could figure something out but it was best not to disturb the cave formation. Back on Earth, it was considered illegal to remove such formations in protected cave areas.

“Why are we here Jerome?” Csala asked, her voice carrying worry and a hint of fear. “I don’t sense anyone else except us.”

“Don’t worry, Csala. I’ll protect you,” Jerome responded, earning himself a smack on the back of his head. He could smell her fear, even as queer as that sounded, he recognized it for what it was. Jerome chortled at her but thought to himself. And how the hell did I start smelling emotion?

A few months ago, that smack would have hurt like hell but now he didn’t feel a thing. Achilles really did a great job improving his body. And now that he had had enough time in this new skin of his, he could tell that it wasn’t just his strength that had improved. Achilles had most likely improved him down to his DNA.

Though Jerome knew sacred artists were like supermen, he felt deep down that he wasn’t like any other sacred artist, he felt…improved, for lack of a better word. And the haughty AI would soon voice his thoughts on how the fae was a better race of beings compared to humans…or maybe not.

Jerome waited but Achilles didn’t respond. He’s probably busy holding off Muna. Then he heard something. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Csala asked, jumping at his voice. Jerome wasted no time in picking her up and shooting forward. “Are you not supposed to move away from strange noises?!” she screamed at him.

No sooner did he pick her up, did he land back on the cave floor to steady her.

“Is anybody there?!” a voice reached them from below — or the echo of a voice.

“Trudhorn! Is that you?!” Jerome’s voice echoed in the cave, bouncing off walls to reach the depths of the hole in the ground.

Laughter reached them a moment later. “Jerome?! It’s so good to hear your voice!”

“Hold on tight. I’m coming in to get you!”

“No, no, no! Don’t come down or you will get stuck too!”

Jerome hesitated. Achilles now is a really good time to show some of that fae wisdom you keep bragging about. Jerome transmitted to the AI. He could sense him in his mind…busy. Whatever it was Achilles was dealing with — namely an angry and cranky ancient succubus — it was taking a great deal of his attention.

“You’ll know how to solve the issue when you get down there, Xerae,” Achilles said. And his presence dimmed once again in Jerome’s mind as though he wasn’t there.

Well, that was quick, Jerome. This was confirmation that the succubus was giving him a handful of issues to deal with. Jerome dove into the hole, and Csala cursed — a series of expletives that sounded like music to the untrained ears.

“I’m not dog poop!” Jerome called back.