Ebon Dirge brooded as the eager youth dashed deeper into the forest.

Strong River's recounting of the dream was an unexpected complication in his plans. The scene he had mentioned, the figures present, the techniques used, he knew they were all genuine.

How could he not? He had been there, after all.

What concerned him was the source of the dreams. The technique he had used to create a soul residence in the youth's forehead had no such effect among its uses or known disadvantages. Was it a previously unknown flaw? An error he had made in its execution? No, soul cultivation was a mysterious path, but this particular art had its uses even for those who didn't cultivate the soul, normally in infusing a fragment of the will in one's disciples and descendants to offer them some secret protection.

Also, from the way he had described it, the dream had taken place such that Strong River was in the seat of an observer rather than as a participant. Nothing indicated that he saw the events from the viewpoint of the combatants.

That single observation was the only thing that kept Dirge from dispersing the youth's soul on the spot and fleeing.

This experiment was a beginning, but he would sooner rid himself of the subject than expose his secrets. Dirge made a note henceforth to keep an especial eye on the boy's waking psyche, and to make it imperative that the boy mention any more such incidents. While nobody in the Godly Realms now knew what Dirge had managed to pull off -- or, provided the warden maintained his self-interest, that he was even presumed dead -- that didn't mean that wouldn't change in the future.

As for the experiment itself, Dirge was left uncertain about the exact progress in this one. Where did the boy's destiny end? Would it then dissipate, leaving him with only the recorded results? Or would something more tangible occur that he could make use of? There were many more questions than answers when it came to matters like destiny. In the end, the ancient murderer could only test his theories, observe the outcomes, and repeat.

Outside of the uncertain results in harnessing destiny, he was amused at how quickly the boy was adapting to a devilish way of thinking. The immediate benefits of power, coupled with a weak psyche made Strong River a malleable subject, but that did not mean that Dirge was personally pulling his strings every single moment.

The most remarkable development when it came to the boy was his insatiable bloodlust. Before, when the youth had been putting together and planning for this scenario, he had been pestering about making sure the others involved in the diversion would come through it unscathed, had been viewing that other boy as a "brother" even.

Now, having indulged in carnage and tasted fresh blood, the boy didn't even bother asking how these others were doing. Friendship and brotherhood meant little next to the rush of adrenaline and hot blood one got in the exercise of devilish might.

Dirge considered seeing how his other arrangements were proceeding but decided against it. Some things were best left to their own devices, and the boy's actions this day would more or less cement the suspicion and hatred of Elder Wave for him. With the fires of enmity stoked on both sides, the outcome was set: Strong River would have to deal with the elder sooner or later, and when that time came, he would have to leave the clan, cutting all ties.

Dirge was not sure about the boy's destiny, but he did know the boy's goal: to end the bandit chieftain, Brave Dragon, once and for all. To continue this experiment, Dirge needed to speed that confrontation along, and for that to happen, the boy required strength to match a Foundation Building expert. That was not something he would acquire by remaining in the clan.

Left to his own devices, Strong River was on a path of ascending in the clan's leadership and trying to use the clan to his ends. After having seen the boy's penchant for low scheming, Dirge was confident that would be a somewhat torturous and downright annoying path. The boy didn't have the mind for it.

Had any of some variables changed in the course of this day's events, Strong River's entire plan could have gone off course or even failed outright. What if Soaring Wave had held back some of his strongest men and brought them to battle the jackals? What if Soaring Wave hadn't had his own low scheme and instead bunkered down in the camp, or only sent minions rather than trying to handle it himself? What if Soaring Wave had not attempted to play cat and mouse with the jackals and instead dispatched them and moved to rejoin the camp or the warriors, not giving Strong River enough room to do his grisly work unseen? These were only the most obvious ways in which the scenario could have gone wrong. And there were others in which it could still go wrong, even.

Strong River, to Dirge's ongoing exasperation as a professional, acted as though schemes were a craft you built and set on the river of possibilities. Every plank, every nail was placed just so in the boat. And if the river was too turbulent or shallow or swift, the whole thing would end up dashed on the rocks. It was a child's way of planning this sort of thing. The professional studied the river itself and knew the turbulence, the depth, the speed. The professional acquired as much data as possible, considered his course, and leapt into the river and navigated it with his own strength, understanding that even then you could not know everything but still understanding the risks. The professional weighed outcomes rather than methods.

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It was indeed a strange time for Dirge to have a fit of professional pique, but the habits of millennia were not so easily shaken. The boy didn't even bother with contingencies! He left the most crucial details to a third party! He--

That was more than enough time wasted on a stupid boy's childish posturings, Dirge thought, restraining himself from further mental commentary in that strain.

Currently, the boy was scrambling through the underbrush, meandering without guile or much care that his movements might be attracting or repelling his potential prey. Dirge sighed, centering himself and resuming the role of the kindly magical grandfather.

"My boy, you might want to consider slowing down and listening. If you go a bit to your left and straight ahead, there's a clearing with an interesting specimen..."

---

Blue Ripple's impromptu team of strong warriors returned to the camp, a large tusked cat striped in black and white hanging dead from a branch that a couple of them carried. The chase had been exhilarating, the battle perilous, but the end result had been a victory with no casualties.

The only negative of the encounter was that to best preserve his allies, Blue Ripple had needed to expose his actual strength. Standing as a sixth-grade Human Realm warrior put him head and shoulders above the rest of the participants, but it presented problems of its own. Once he returned to the clan, the news would spread, and his days of idyllic assignment to the lower level warrior teams would be over.

It would mark his true debut into the clan's politics, as well.

But those were concerns for another day. Right now was a time for both celebration and investigation. Why had a sixth-grade beast like the Moon-striped Sabermaw come this far out from its usual haunt in the deeper forest? Was this the sign of a disturbance deeper in, and would even more and higher ranked beasts be following suit? The entire expedition might have to be scrapped early if that turned out to be the case.

Entering the camp's stockade, the air didn't seem quite as celebratory as Blue Ripple expected, his personal concerns aside. Strong River hadn't even come to check out their kill. What was going on here?

Blue Ripple looked around and didn't see the man. He made his way over to their shared tent, thinking that perhaps the tired recruit was taking a nap there. Nothing. Where had Strong River gone? Leaving the tent, a trio of warriors from his cadre that had been left in the camp were standing there, looking somewhat nervous.

"Guys, what's going on? Where's River?" Blue Ripple queried the apprehensive trio.

"It was Soaring Wave. They went and--"

"Soaring Wave!?" Blue Ripple interjected. "That little turd pulled something, and you all let him?"

"There was a pack of what looked like mossbacks. They were headed out to where you guys were, so those two went after them, along with those Stumpy and Archer fellows."

Blue Ripple inhaled and blew out a long breath. "At least one of you should have gone with them," he replied in a flat monotone.

"Soaring Wave was throwing his weight, and Strong River waved us off when we tried to jump in. Soaring Wave was saying an awful lot of crap," one from the trio reported. "We should have gone with them, but we didn't think they'd take this long coming back..."

Blue Ripple turned to survey the camp. "Hey! Has anybody got news from Soaring Wave?" he bellowed out.

The men standing sentry on the stockades shook their head, and everybody else seemed just as clueless.

Blue Ripple sighed. "You three," he gesticulated at the trio, "get their bearing and come with me. It's almost nightfall, and they should've been back already. We're gonna find them and drag their asses back."

Blue Ripple confirmed the bearing in the forest with the sentries -- they were from Soaring Wave's camp, but at this point, they had plenty of cause to be concerned themselves and weren't holding back on their information -- and headed out to the forest with the trio close behind.

It wasn't very long until they came across the site of the battle with the mossbacks. The first sign of strangeness, however, was that the mossbacks were left as perfectly intact corpses. Why would warriors defeat the jackals and not take the carcasses back to the camp?

"Oh heavens!" one of the trio exclaimed. "Over here, Blue."

Blue Ripple joined the man, suppressing an exclamation of his own at the sight that greeted him. Laying underneath a bloodied tree trunk was a mummified husk of a man. The quiver on his back and nearby discarded bow were clear indicators that this was what had been Archer.

"What the hell does this?" Blue Ripple thought out loud, the others, pale-faced, shaking their heads.

Blue Ripple glanced around the surroundings, contemplating. "We came from that direction," he said, pointing from where they came, "but just a bit off from that it looks like a few people passed through. We'll need to come back here for, uh, retrieval, but let's check out that direction. Everybody, stay behind me."

Blue Ripple had to deliberately lower his pace so that the trio could keep up, but his heart was racing. The group continued in silence, Blue Ripple verifying that the tree trunks and undergrowth showed the disturbance of more than a single person passing through this way.

Then they reached the end of the trail. Even as Blue Ripple himself resisted the urge to begin retching, the trio behind him audibly vomited at the sight greeting them there.

There were two bodies. One was headless and horrendously mangled, crushed by an enormous impact with a considerable amount of what was inside blown outside and around by the force of the blow. The other was another strangely mummified corpse, this one bisected from collar to navel and oddly bloodless.

"That's Soaring Wave," Blue Ripple noted, trying to keep his tone clinical, detached from the horror. "And right over there," he pointed at a strange lump on the forest floor, "would be the missing head from the other body." His heart pounding, Blue Ripple went over and gingerly tilted the grisly lump with his hand.

Stumpy. Not Strong River. Blue Ripple let out a sigh of relief, feeling rather terrible at that moment in the solace he felt that it was revealed as someone else.

"So Stumpy and Soaring Wave ended up here. Then where's Strong River?"

The others had no answer to that question, still trying to recover their bearing after losing their composure earlier. Blue Ripple looked up, seeing that the angle of the sun's rays was almost straight from the side at this point. Nightfall was imminent.

"Get on the whistle," Blue Ripple ordered. "We need help bringing these guys home before it gets too dark and the beasts get to them. Then we can worry about finding bro and figuring out what happened."

Relief and worry churned together in Blue Ripple's stomach, though. Where was Strong River?