In a flash of light and a surge of shadow, both of the Archons disappeared from the Amphitheater.

I waited for an agonizingly long thirty seconds to make sure they would not return. In my mind’s eye, their presence still flavored the world with crackles of lightning and a peculiar depth to the shadows.

Karys’ final words weighed heavily on my thoughts. Why would he be leaving the rest of us to die here, if Odena was in the midst of being purged of its demonic invaders?

While I did not want to repeat my experience of traveling back too far in time, lingering in this place seemed foolish. During my half-minute wait, more people had begun to stir throughout the arena. No trace remained of any of the Goetia’s minions besides smears of blood and the corpses of their victims. The woman Karys had flung to her death had been reduced to nothing more than bonedust, scattered to the winds.

I shoved myself back into a sitting position and considered my next move.

Johan’s eyelids flickered. His hands twitched. The boy was a competent enough fighter, though useless in the grand scheme of things. Not that I was much better. I could nullify magic and manipulate some aspects of time, but that paled in comparison to demigods who could freeze entire cities or travel from cloud to cloud as a bolt of lightning. Even with my advantages, I could not even take on Zephyr---one of the weaker Echoes of Wind. She had beaten me in a fair duel. Not even a fair duel, honestly, since if I had been careful or quicker I could have repeated the fight until I eventually won.

No wave of self-pity accompanied my thoughts. Only cold, brutal logic. Paimon had once scolded me for accomplishing so little with my powers. Why had the Increate even judged me deserving of a second chance? Of what, apparently, is considered a prime magic?

In the end, Johan was a liability. He knew who I was, and Leones Ansteri would have to die for good. Nothing could ever link that name back to me. From the corpse of this city, I would be born anew. One day I would reclaim my rightful name, to whisper in the ear of those who had twisted it into a curse.

I forced myself to my feet, steadying myself against the bench like some old cripple. Every part of my body ached. Once I was steady enough, I pinched the bridge of my nose in a futile attempt to chase away the migraine. An inauspicious beginning for a new legend. But in Velassa, there is a holy saying: the phoenix burns itself anew. Through destruction, it is reborn, scourged of its impurities.

One foot in front of the other. Gritting my teeth, I made my way through the stands. Terrified shouts echoed out from the survivors regaining consciousness.

A pool of congealed blood from a disfigured corpse blocked the path to the exit. Too exhausted to climb the stands, I plodded through it, careful to avoid desecrating the body. Dark red footprints marked my passage as I made my escape, one hand supporting me against the wall. Past the ornate fountains---now broken and empty. Past the shattered marble statues. A dismembered stone hand grasping a mostly-intact sword reminded me of Dasein. My destined sword. Augur’s sword. Our sword.

Near the exit, I encountered my first obstacle. An elderly gentleman heading my way, holding a gnarled staff, the very image of an ancient sage. Perfect posture, a flowing beard that reached his chest. His aura was unfamiliar but comfortable: white flecked with green and brown. An Echo of Life, perhaps, radiating a sort of solid but comforting strength. His stride came to a halt as soon as he spotted me.

“As I suspected.” A quaver of uncertainty betrayed his confident voice. He held his staff aloft, as if warding off evil. “There are survivors here in need of my assistance. This is why only my Lady may command me.”

So the man fancied himself a savior. The Amphitheater must have been decreed a forbidden zone. Given the beings contained within the tesseract, the fact anyone was allowed to enter was something of a surprise.

If my suspicions were true and Astaroth himself was bound within the space-time construct, maintaining the integrity of the tesseract was a matter of life and death. Perhaps for the entirety of Savra.

Brother Augur would have taken precautions against external interference, but even if he was a god within the confines of his tiny realm, a concerted effort from a legion of powerful beings may be able to breach through. If Paimon’s power could unravel the one I was trapped in, a similar power amplified to a suitable degree may be able to disrupt its working. Even a split-second lapse could spell disaster.

While no one knew exactly what had occurred here, that should have made them all the more cautious. For this man to defy the restrictions, he must have been someone of great consequence; and so my best course of action would be to throw myself at his feet.

The idea rankled my pride after my earlier promise to reforge myself anew, but such an emotion failed to usurp the cold, calculating shift in my mentality. The staccato is a method of deception, and though my study of it had been regretfully lax, one of its central tenets was doing what you must to achieve your goals. Augur had pretended to be a hermit philosopher for many years, after all.

I clutched at the air with my free hand like a drowning man. Infusing my voice with pained desperation required no effort. “Thank the Increate. Help. Please.”

The elderly gentleman stayed back, eyes narrowed. He had not survived so long by being a fool; if he was a practitioner of life magic he must have been even more ancient than he appeared. There was a reason almost all of the Echoes I had encountered were young. After so long in the shadows, even Sensi had met a swift end due to a misstep.

“Come no closer, boy.” He leveled his gnarled staff my way. The head had been carved into an intricate lotus flower at half-blossom. “Even in this vile miasma of demonic influence, I can sense you. A mortal, certainly, but a twisted one. You live, yet your soul bears the mark of many deaths. The magics that sustain you must be cursed. Have the Goetia discovered a way of reanimating mortals? Who has possessed you?”

My hand drifted down. For a few moments we merely regarded each other. The gap between us seemed impassable. If my powers were unstable, a large expenditure of void energy should be enough to nullify the gentleman’s life magic. I liked my chances in a purely physical confrontation.

But I had never clashed straight-on with another Echo, attempting to wipe away their power. I always used short bursts of nullification at the perfect time to counter a specific attack. Perhaps I could disrupt him for several seconds, but if I could not finish the fight, I would have to reverse time. It was not worth considering the likelihood of using my bare hands to incapacitate a potential life mage whose hair was white before I was born. The Amphitheater had several exits, but I doubted those guarding the perimeter would be much friendlier.

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A thought occurred to me. With two fingers I touched my forehead, then my heart. “I make an oath on my mind, my soul, my being. I intend you no harm. I merely wish to escape this hell. My master is the one who saved this city from destruction.”

An agonizing tightness penetrated deep into the left side of my chest. My migraine intensified until I let out a small whimper I hoped had not been audible. Had the oath been false? Was it wrong to say Augur was my master instead of Paimon, or that he had saved a city he condemned in the first place? After a long moment, the force subsided as if it had never existed.

Wrinkles deepened along the old man’s forehead. His mouth worked as if chewing something unsavory. “Someone certainly taught you that oath. Remain where you are. I must head back to confer with the others.”

“That won’t be necessary, Vishan.” A weak, tremulous voice, but it carried far.

The elderly gentleman did not bother turning around as his companion came into view. A squat fellow, at least a head shorter than average, in the white robes of a Magister. His broad, stubbled jaw and wide forehead lent him a brutish appearance, but his eyes were a piercing blue, intelligent and unblinking.

Intricate curlicues of gold thread along the sleeves marked him with distinction. Stubby fingers barely escaped the confines of his voluminous sleeves, displaying several rings---mostly inset with rubies, but one rosegold signet ring caught my attention in particular.

Though I was unfamiliar with the Magistrate’s hierarchy, sometimes they officiated various ceremonies in Velassa. Sometimes they burned my family manor to the ground with me inside. None of them came close to his level of adornment. His aura was almost invisible, radiating in mirage-like shimmers, but even from twenty paces away I felt a deadly heat against my skin.

The Echo of Life’s voice was laced with venom. “You decided to accompany me into the abyss after all, Amadeus.”

The Magister’s face remained blank, emotionless. “Only so far as this. We have conferred with Archon Nony. My lord has personally tasked us with retrieving this one. He belongs to the Magistrate.”

Instinctively I reached for my time magic. While I was loath to rely on it and find myself back in that endless darkness, that outcome was preferable to death. The only thing that stopped me was the man speaking as if he wished to capture me. The old man, Vishan, may have protested if the Magister attempted to execute me on the spot. My choices were bad options and worse options. At least I could learn more before attempting a new route.

“It has always seemed greatly convenient,” said Vishan, “that the Archon of Flame only communicates through you and your ilk. The holy one does not even deign to grace us with his presence after an unprecedented assault on the closest Great City. This boy swore an oath that his master saved the city. In that case, I do not see how he could possibly belong to you.”

The silence between them lasted so long that I leaned against the wall for support and closed my eyes. Every moment of rest helps.

Eventually Amadeus spoke up. “We assure you, there is little convenience in being one of the Mouths of God. My lord and your lady have been dear friends since before the first history was sung. If you have any complaints, you may address them with her, and lodge an official complaint with the Magistrate.”

The old man finally turned, planting the end of his staff into the ground with a thump. “Rest assured, I will dedicate myself to doing just that, even if my complaint will merely end up on your desk. In the meantime, I will not relinquish this one into your custody. We will present him to the assembled Archons and allow them to judge his fate.”

Magister Amadeus touched the finger of his left hand to his chin. His sleeve dropped away, revealing a ritualistic pattern of branding along his otherwise hairy forearm. “We can’t allow that. We are told you possess the ability to reverse time. It would be of great help if, after our conversation, you repeat this encounter in a slightly different manner. Both of our true masters request this.”

My heart pounded in my chest. Vishan was a time mage as well? No records existed of anyone else with the ability, though they would have taken care to maintain their secrecy. Then the short man turned his head subtly until he looked past the Echo of Life, focusing on me with those disconcerting eyes.

My heart pounded even harder when I realized he had been speaking to me.

Vishan glanced back at me over his shoulder, his face almost comical in its confusion.

My first attempt to speak came out as an awkward croak. Even the cold, logical voice in my head was in disarray. I licked my lips and tried once more. “I can’t control it very precisely right now. Too unstable.”

Amadeus nodded, a restrained movement I may not have noticed if not for the rush of clarity from adrenaline coursing through my veins. “We will help you stabilize it. There is much to discuss.”

Vishan was wise and experienced. He understood the trajectory of this conversation before I did. And so he struck first.

He pointed his staff at the Magister; the petals of the wooden lotus opened into full bloom. No wave of magical force manifested. The old man’s power was more subtle, almost escaping my notice. White bands no wider than a hair locked into place around the Magister’s major joints and at his throat.

Amadeus did not move---perhaps could not move---but a hint of emotion broke through his facade as his jaw clenched. From so far away I noticed nothing until the whites of the man’s eyes were completely crimson from hemorrhaging blood. Red tears leaked from the corners. His close-cropped hair grew several inches in moments, turned gray, shriveled, fell out. A tumorous growth expanded from his lower jaw.

Should I help the Magister? He had seemed so confident, only to be humbled by the elderly Echo of Life. The idea of helping one of Nony’s bastards seemed laughable, but he had mentioned our ‘true masters.’ He must be referring to Paimon, in which case the man had conflicting loyalties of his own. A burst of nullification could turn the tides of battle.

Before I could decide, Amadeus managed to lift one of his hands to chest level; fingers twitched spastically, twisted into unnatural angles as his own bones rebelled against him. His entire body trembled from the effort, face turning red. Veins stood out against his temples, along his neck. His bloody eyes and the crimson rivulets dripping down his chin lent him a demonic visage.

Vishan grunted, adjusted his grip on the staff. The petals of the wooden lotus peeled away, clattered against the stone floor.

Finally, Amadeus managed to close his twisted fingers into a parody of a fist.

Twin pillars of white flame stretched from ground to ceiling, engulfing both of the opponents. The sudden rush of flame devoured the air in the closed space, scorching my throat and leaving me gasping for breath. I stumbled away, unable to tear my eyes away from the pair of silhouettes encased in white.

Vishan writhed within the flame, limbs flailing. As he stumbled about, the pillar moved with him, keeping him locked within the center. His figure melted down to little more than a skeleton, regenerated, melted away again in a constant cycle. Amadeus remained immobile within his own pillar, unconcerned.

Clawing at my throat, I fled back the way I came, desperate for air. My body forgot all of its earlier aches and pains in its single-minded determination to escape. How ridiculous, to think I had escaped the thrall of emotion. Like anger, it seemed I was still capable of fear. Fear of the element that haunted my nightmares, my family manor burning around me, black churning smoke suffocating and suffocating and burning and burning…

The calm, rational part of my mind kept forcing down instinctive attempts to reverse time. You don’t have enough control. Hot. You need to know what he wants. Can’t breathe. I can try again. You can’t. I can. You can’t. You’re too panicked, you might throw yourself too far back. I don’t care. I don’t care.

My internal clock, always perfect, continued to record time even as my mind rebelled against itself. A minute and twelve seconds later, Amadeus found me sitting against the wall, hyperventilating, eyes wide. Arms curled into my chest, hands clenched. I was muttering to myself, though I wasn’t sure exactly what.

The soft whisper of his bare feet against the floor caught my attention. Amadeus stopped in front of me, turned and crouched until we were face-to-face. He was completely nude, completely hairless, like a statue of the first human just formed from the earth contemplating some strange discovery. Rings of blue iris stood starkly against the crimson pools of his eyes.

“Now, we can talk.”