The Assembly of the Curia Regis. Farryn. Vorthe.

Damien 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 the emergence of another Wind Spirit? Because a seismic shift was underway in Vorthe. Damien sighed, looking around the table. All the Elders had dark circles under their eyes. They were exhausting themselves already to get ahead of the situation.

“What bothers you, Lord Damien?” Princess Aeldra asked, bringing him 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.

“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.

“They had the Argonaut distract us long enough to flee.” Damien chuckled to himself, shaking his head wistfully. “A calculated response to an ‘unexpected’ event, if you ask me.”

“It was truly an impressive tactic,” Princess Aeldra said with a nod.

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 South silently, choosing to proclaim itself the god of this land. Which happened to be a ploy. Because as soon as the Sovereign showed a bit of his power, the Argonaut vanished.

With no significant hostages to wield as leverage, the Royal Family found themselves compelled to seek the Alvrics… or play the game of kingdoms. The esteemed First Elder, Thorlin Vorthe, wasted no time in embarking on a journey Southward.

“The Great houses aren’t stirring yet, are they?” Princess Aeldra asked.

“No. They are not,” Damien answered. “But there is civil unrest among the denizens of Vorthe.”

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

A quarter of a day. Damien knew it would take him more than twice the amount of time to complete the same journey, at his fastest speed. And even then he’d be extremely exhausted by the end of the 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 production arms and warehouses of the Skysail,” the Sovereign said. “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 consequences?

“I am well aware of the foreign alliance they have formed with the church of light.” The Sovereign looked round the table from his raised dais, looking each member of the Curia Regis in the eye. “Be watchful… and prepare. We may have a war on the horizon sooner than we expected.”

The atmosphere of the room turned grave in an instant. The church wasn’t an entity they could take with levity. An institution that buried the empire that had raised it from the ground up. The common man may have long forgotten that the church was built on the blood and betrayal of thousands of people, but those of high standing in society had not.

Damien took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Instead of nervousness though, he was getting excited at the thought of war.

“They’ve stayed away from the western border for quite some time now,” Theone Vorthe reported. Damien couldn’t help but think of how much he looked like his mother. He only resembled his father the 1st Elder, Thorlin Vorthe in facial structure. His red-brown hair, eyes, and demeanor reminded Damien of his mother.

“Our spies report that the different Orders have been stirring in the past two days,” Damien added. “We have very few portal formations in the empire, it’s a wonder they are able to move around to gather information.” Damien looked around the table. “The Pontiff is making his move. And with Alvric on his side now, he would place portal formations in the South so his legions could come and go as they please.”

“He would expect us to know that. He would have another hand to play,” Oken Vorthe said. The Grandmaster of Wards chewed his lips in thought for a moment, “I would wager he already has spies and assassins flooding Vorthe as we speak.”

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“That’s astute, Oken,” the Sovereign said with a slight nod. “We have always foiled his plans to have an inside ‘eye’. But now that he has Alvric on his side we cannot keep information from him anymore. However,” the Sovereign stopped for a moment to look around the table, his eyes settling on Damien, “we can control the narrative he hears.”

“On it, Sovereign,” Damien said, promising in his heart to confuse the church’s spies completely.

“Alekzandr would not throw the world into chaos, though,” the Sovereign continued. “No one wants total war between our two empires. The instability that would follow would threaten the world… Yes…” The Sovereign looked around the table once again. “He has broken long-held Accords and we would rename Vorthe an Empire.”

The Elders nodded sagely. They knew that renaming Vorthe an Empire wasn’t the only thing they got from this though. Which meant more work ahead. Damien had never bordered himself with the Accords. He didn’t need to bore himself reading lengthy paragraphs written eons ago by old men whose greed was a bottomless pit big enough to swallow the whole of Vorthe. He knew what was written in it though — the meat of it. He’d had it beaten into him as a young Sage.

The Sovereign turned to his daughter, Princess Aeldra. “Start preparations for an Imperial Diet. This would be the first-ever official Diet held by Vorthe.”

“Yes, my Sovereign,” Aeldra replied with a slight bow.

“Thorlin already has a meeting planned with the war council. The plans of the council would be discussed here before the Diet. Damien?” Damien sat straighter in his seat but the Sovereign’s eyes shone with mirth as he glanced his way.

“Damien would also 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 tense atmosphere in the meeting chamber was instantly dissolved. The other members of the Curia Regis chortled, enjoying the scene of the master of shadows put on the spot. He gave them all a quick glance promising retribution and they looked away. Well, the younger ones did. The older ones grinned openly at him.

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

The rest of the Curia Regis burst out laughing. 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 he saw them laughing at him.

~~~

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 and warm. It is true!” Csala exclaimed. “It smells like salts.” She sniffed the air.

“What, you didn’t believe me before?”

She shrugged, saying, “And now it smells like a 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 peculiar 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. “Dealing with Muna is not the issue. Preventing her spirit from finding a new body though…” And his presence dimmed once again in Jerome’s mind as though he wasn’t there.

Well, that was quick, Jerome thought. He didn’t even want to think of what it entailed to stop a spirit from finding another body. That was beyond his knowledge and understanding. He scanned the hole in the ground and scrunched his face in irritation.

“On second thought, maybe I’ll just look for another way to get you out of there.” Achilles, you bastard. You actually wanted me to go down there?

But Achilles didn’t respond.

“Jerome, come on!” Trudhorn complained.

“I thought you didn’t want me to come down before.”

Csala looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “What? Finally lost your balls?”

He snorted. “Too much poop is all. And all sorts of parasites,” he replied, holding his arm out and dropping a chunk of his evolved flowing steel.

“It’s not that bad,” Trudhorn’s voice echoed upwards. “I froze the surface so they can’t move. Problem is, I can’t move either.”

Csala shook her head in mock pity, leaned forward toward the hole, and asked, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the smell?”

“Fuck!” Trudhorn screamed. His voice sounded horny.

Jerome glared at Csala, knowing what transpired. Her voice must have hit him like a strong aphrodisiac. The poor Sprout would be suffering from a powerful hard-on that wouldn’t go away… and inside a ‘shit-pit’ nonetheless.

Csala shrugged. “I didn’t make myself this powerful.” She batted her long eyelashes at him unapologetically.

“Get ready to move, Trudhorn. I’m breaking you out in five, four, three, two, one…”