Despite old age, a Kolotian's hair always stayed an even black with not a strand of it going grey. Leba Vigon hadn't known this but he'd begun to suspect it as he stood behind the Kolotian who sat in a creaking chair with his hands running over strings of beads on a grey table. Leba took his time to study the old man, taking in his wrinkled reddish-brown skin and his frail limbs that shook as he dropped strings of beads onto the floor that had hundreds of beads scattered around him.

The man was long past the days of his youth and his body was a testament to this but his dark hair could have fooled anyone into mistaking his age. "Does your hair never show signs of age?" Leba asked while shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn't like silence, it always made him uncomfortable for some reason and he always took it upon himself to fill it with chatter or whistles to tunes he knew not where he'd heard them from.

The old man paused, his hands still clutching strings of beads. "A Kolotian's hair never changes and the shade of blue upon their fingers only deepens with time." "Why do you think that is so?" Leba asked.

The old man turned in his chair to look at him, his violet eyes reflected the light off the torches lined within his dungeon cell. "I am not sure," the Kolotian said. "Rumor has it that the first Kolotian, he whom we're all descended from had resembled the Remu with their sandy hair and brown eyes. He, however, had played a vital role in Tunega that had stained his fingers and very being with the essence of a dying God and that had changed how he and his offspring looked."

Tunega. Not many knew of the word. In fact, Leba was certain he was the only Binorian who knew of that word. It was a word that had been purposefully forgotten within the realm, long before Meena had blessed the Binorians. Long before time itself, when the first Remu emerged from the sea and the first Talisi from the sky. Tunega. Leba could only imagine what it had been like, when Gods had walked the realm, when they had rallied under a common cause to fight something that was inevitable, to fight extinction.

Somehow, they had won. It had taken all the Gods to win and yet they never could shake the feeling that their win was just but a postponement of loss. They had to take measures to ensure that their sense of victory was secure if not made true. The measures they took spoke volumes of just how weak the Gods were, of just how powerful their nemesis was... Is

The Kolotian's eyes were on Leba, they unnerved him. They made him feel like an open book written in a script that the old man was all too familiar with. He waved at the Kolotian to get back to his work and the old man complied, letting out a raspy cough as he turned to pick up another string of beads. "Your eyes, Binorian, they tell a tale." The Kolotian said.

Leba was used to the old man's vague way of speech, each sentence ending with the need for him to ask a question that would result in another sentence that needed more questions and on and on it went. An endless spiral of questions and sentences. He was willing to play the game. They had a relationship that was purely work based but as time went on the old man proved to be quite the treasure trove of knowledge that could be pried upon only through conversation. Conversation that might deter their work relationship and transform it into something else.

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"What tale do my eyes tell?" Leba asked.

"A fearful one." The Kolotian replied.

"I admit, I am a frightful fellow. I do not hold the ambition of Dahli nor the bravery of Desan. I am Leba the gentle coward."

"You are very ambitious, even more than the one you call Dahli." "How so?" Leba asked.

"This," The old man said while gesturing at the beads all around him. "This is more ambition than the realm has ever seen. And yet you are still afraid of succeeding."

"Afraid of succeeding? After all the sacrifices? After all I've done?"

"Yes, the cost of success is high and it plagues your soul. A part of you wishes you never set on this path but the part of you that wishes so is drowned under a sea of ambition." The old man turned his face, his eye observing Leba. "But what is even more frightening is what will come with your success."

"The cost of success is necessary, the sacrifices were and are necessary." Leba answered. "The fear is necessary."

The old man grunted and continued running his hands over the beads. The Kolotian had explained that the etching on the beads were deciphered through sight and touch. Apparently the blue tipped fingers of a Kolotian had enough sensitivity to them to enable one who'd learnt the reading technique of touch to easily grasp the knowledge held within the beads. Luck was what had enabled Leba to find the Kolotian within the dungeons, luck and a tenacity to achieve something that had never been sought after before. Maybe I am ambitious. Leba thought.

"I have to move you to a more secure place." Leba said. The man was valuable to him, Highlord Kemi already knew of him plus his father had suspicions regarding his visits to the dungeons. If anything happened to the Kolotian his plans would be stalled and he could not afford to let that happen.

"There is no need, my work is almost done." The old man answered.

Leba's eyes widened. He took a step to stand at the table beside the sitting Kolotian. "These new beads are more about Tunega, right?" He asked and the old man nodded. "Good, I was getting bored of them telling only about Alietsi, that was purely useless information."

The Kolotian chuckled without the humor touching his withered face. "The Goddess Alietsi is key to all this, She is after all the patron of the innocent." Leba stiffened. "The beads speak of Tunega and of the endless night that came about from the feeding of the Void." The old man added after seeing Leba's discomfort.

"Does it tell more of the exact number that were fed upon?" Leba asked.

"No, seven is still the only number in relation to that."

Leba sighed. "That's very vague, we tried seven and every other digit ending with seven." He ran his hand through his blond hair. "Does it say anything of the name?" Leba asked, hope churning within him. It was ironic having hope provided how all he'd been doing had soiled the meaning of the word.

"No, it does not tell of the name." The Kolotian replied.

Leba felt a burst of rage. "Then how the fuck are you close to finishing all this?"

"The beads tell of the last God, He who stands at the gates of oblivion." The Kolotian looked up at Leba, meeting his blue eyes. "They tell of his name." "What is his name?" Leba asked.

"Ovek, the God of Chaos." The old man answered.