Azarus plunged his hand through the mirror, tightening his flame-clad fingers around the halo of multi-colored threads hanging over his champion like a proverbial sword. The halo flexed in his grip. The threads resisted his manipulations, pressuring him to apply his strength. He could feel his face split into a wild grin, his domain roaring in his chest. Finally, he was touching the mortal world, molding it in his image to represent him. The screens could only bar him for so long, and in so many ways. He was Azarus, and no force could deny his will forever.

The untitled god funneled his desires through his hand and into the threads, igniting them in a tri-color inferno. The halo went up in flames, burning over his goblin like an ethereal crown. Emerald flames pulled the threads taut, bringing them closer together. Gray flames melted them, shifting their positions on the halo and causing the change to spread. Only then, golden sparks blazed down their lengths, forging the threads together and cementing Azarus’s grip.

Next to the god, his hound howled, the sound passing through the Mirror of Eons without a ripple. In the mirror’s reflection, the Underforest, every inch covered in glowing blue flowers, flashed black and white. The color drained from the [Faefire’s] apparitions as the world held its breath. The [Guardian Spirit] of the forest, and all its clones, stood still, holding their collective breath.

Azarus crushed the halo in his palm, using it as a catalyst to enhance the effects of his domain. The threads cracked like spun glass, molten emerald flames leaking from between the gaps. Even now, he was painfully aware his connection to his power was limited. Yet, as the dregs of what he had left drained away, he had never felt more in control. It was intoxicating. Defeating Kuscal was a sip of wine compared to this ambrosia.

The god inhaled, his free hand resting on the hilt of his sword, feeling the dice tumble in his palm. He let it out, his breath passing through the mirror and giving life back to the black and white scene it displayed. At his behest, the mortal world resumed its motion.

Moka lunged for Carwen, shoving a berry into her mouth. The gigantic, transformed hobgoblin, consumed by [Faefire], put a thunderous foot down. It turned the stomp into a lunge, hurling itself at the line of identical stags. A crowd of shades in various forms skittered in his wake, led by a single armored figure. From the canopy above, a beam of golden light descended, shining a spotlight on the battle.

Three threads burned brighter than the rest. One for each aspect of Azarus. Blue flowers shook and fell, drifting through the air like snow, as the lead [Guardian Spirit] clone caught the massive [Faefire Apparition] in its antlers. A single thread cut through the floating petals, rising beyond the canopy. Woven from knotted lace, tied as tight as chains, it extended from Carwen’s chest to something unseen. Azarus watched as emerald flames burned along its length, pulling it down. He could feel its call, invoking unlikely events and demanding even unlikelier outcomes.

A golden inferno erupted from Moka’s chest. Azarus traced it on the surface of the mirror, watching it stretch along a straight and narrow line. It flew like an arrow, splitting in half at the last moment to plunge into the torsos of the [Vinewood Hobgoblin] and [Regrowth Dryad]. Azarus basked in his own will, radiating from the flames. Glory, courage, and an iron mindset were what he understood it as, but even as he watched the flames travel, that idea changed, taking a new form. The [Dryad], her eyes wide, reached out a tentative hand, her pinky brushing the [Vinewood Hobgoblin’s]. The hob flinched, withdrawing from the touch. A fraction of a second later, the gold flames reached them both. It sank into their bodies, infusing them with Azarus’s desire for their future, the purpose he imagined for them.

The third and final significant thread burned with ethereal gray flames. It stretched between Moka and Carwen, tainting both with shades of black and white. Azarus understood his gray flames as two in one. The two concepts were sides of a single coin. All things being equal, without power to sway the scales, sacrifice and exploitation went hand in hand. One led to the other. Exploitation thrived on sacrifice, and sacrifice was necessary in the face of exploitation. It was a matter of perspective. However, not all things were equal, and Azarus held the power to weigh the scales.

A body fell through the canopy. The figure of a man flailed at the flower-laden vines whizzing past his face as he plummeted. His thread, bathed in emerald flames, pulled him off-course, causing a wild breeze to maneuver him in mid-air. He landed in a tangled net of vines. They held his weight long enough to arrest his fall, then broke, sending him the remaining distance to the ground.

The man rolled into a nearby nook as the [Faefire Apparitions] clashed with the [Guardian Spirit]. The shockwave of their meeting sent a ripple of a force through the blue flowers as if they were water, falling petals swirling away on the wings of displaced air. A tide of purple fire, infesting the bodies of the fallen, crashed around the [Guardian’s] clones, singing their wooden frames. The lesser apparitions peeled off to seek easier prey, the mightier of their number stalling the forest’s manifestations as the [Faefire] sought to spread.

Azarus felt a smile tug at his lips. He watched almost fondly as the [Vinewood Hobgoblin] took a meaningful step forward. The hob rolled his shoulders back, facing the remnants of his former comrades. A spark of golden fire blazed in his eyes as he raised a single hand. The other, he extended down and to the side, open and waiting. His eyes locked on the charging horde. Behind him, the [Regrowth Dryad] wiped a single, golden tear away. Her eyes sparkled, a soft expression on her wooden face as she took the hob’s hand in her own. Azarus could see their threads mingle, forged together by his gold flame, as if they were a single person.

Carwen gasped, sitting up fast enough to make her dizzy. Her autumn hair fell over her face and shoulders, obscuring her vision. Moka stood over her, staff in both hands as she stared down all comers with the promise of absolute violence. In her furious ruby eyes, anything that moved in their direction was an enemy to be put down. The goblin had one mortal ally, and she was on the ground behind her.

The [Village Beauty] wiped a sheen of sweat off her forehead, moving her hair to the side. She took one look at the battle and her shoulders drooped. Her eyes were too bright, almost feverish as she saw the soul-bonded hob and dryad press their palms to the ground, causing a wall of vines to burst from the ground in front of them.

The first wave of [Faefire Apparitions] ran headfirst into the wall, pulling up short as ethereal gold flames, sheathing the vines, beat them back. Close behind, the second wave did not hesitate, using their snared companions to vault over their bulwark with sociopathic efficiency. The wall of vines caught several of them in mid-air. Gold flames erupted from the mouth and eyes of the caught apparitions, burning them from the inside out as Azarus’s will overwrote the [Faefire’s] hold. It was not enough to halt their advance.

In Carwen’s chest, a small well of power flared. It traveled up her throat, like she was a dragon preparing to release her breath. Azarus paid rapt attention as the [Faeborn Elf] used her [Heartfelt Plea] for the first time. Ethereal white flames converged on the gathering Skill, altering it. The [Guardian Spirit] in all its forms bellowed, their synchronized call drowning out all other noise for an instant. In the following silence, Carwen’s voice rang out, far louder than it should have been.

“It’s over! Just stop, please stop.”

The cry rolled through the scene, pulling the vibrancy of color out of the world for a fraction of a second, a pale imitation of Zag’s howl. Azarus glanced down at his hound, pleased to find the hound did not mind the mimicry. The tri-color hound sat gracefully, not an ounce of pride on his face, except for his tail which snapped against Azarus’s leg like a woodsman’s axe against a tree. The god carefully hid a smirk at Zag’s stoic expression, turning his attention back to the mirror.

Both the [Faefire Apparitions] and the [Guardian Spirits] hesitated, looking toward where Moka stood over Carwen. The fearful man on the ground looked up, his eyes landing on Carwen and brightening. The hob and dryad ignored the plea, continuing to crush as many apparitions as they could, attempting to stem the tide.

In that moment of hesitation, Moka growled a warning to the [Faefire] she had created. Black flames lifted off her skin, burning away the splatters of blood that covered her body.

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“Get lost. There will be more battles to fight. Later.”

The purple flames consuming the [Faefire Apparitions] burned darker. For a moment, it looked like the color Carwen had leached returned. A heartbeat later, black flames like spilled ink consumed the pale purple flames. One by one, they winked out, leaving crumbling pillars of ash behind as the only proof they had existed. Screens popped into existence in front of Moka’s face, while an army of blinking notifications assaulted Azarus at the edge of his awareness. He ignored them, finding the relevant screen scrolling up the side of the mirror as it appeared to Moka.

Timer Started: 00:04:59

Moka swiped the screens away without reading them, her focus entirely on the gathered group of entities in her immediate surroundings. The hob and dryad shot her a look, shared a glance, then bolted into the forest without a second thought. They ran hand in hand, leaving their past behind and racing toward a life they would learn to live together. Azarus let them go without interference, content to have changed their path. He whispered quick instructions to Moka as they fled, but to his surprise, it was Carwen who called after them. A hint of white flame tainted her voice.

“Our god Azarus saved you! Honor him through your redemption!”

Moka glanced at Carwen in surprise, her long ears twitching as she processed the echoes of Azarus’s will. The dryad threw a grateful look over her shoulder, while the hob merely raised a fist without looking back. Azarus made a mental note that [Read the Room] was a more useful Skill than he had given it credit for. Carwen caught on quickly. In the future, he could see it as a valuable tool in Moka’s repertoire. Social Skills, or general etiquette, would make her path a smoother one.

A dozen and two eyes turned to Moka as the [Guardian Spirit] turned from its vanquished foe, each clone weighing Azarus’s champion in its regard. Moka, sensing the attention, matched the blue-flower gazes in intensity. Her ruby eyes met each heavy stare with deliberate surety, maintaining unblinking eye contact with each version of the vinewood stags, before moving to the next.

Next to Azarus, Zag growled, the deep rumble shaking the air in the Hall of Gods. All seven of the spirit’s clones froze, their eyes turning from Moka to look above her where the halo of threads used to hang. As one, the light died from their eyes, leaving empty husks arranged like statues. Azarus waved as he watched the spirit flee back into its forest with its power withdrawn. He took a moment to scratch Zag behind the ears for a job well done.

In the mirror, the cowering half-elf, with the burning emerald thread, spent several seconds processing what he had seen, and several more to build up the courage to approach Carwen, unaware of the ticking clock.

Timer: 00:03:21

Other than the thread pulling him toward Carwen, Azarus paid the half-elf man little mind. With one glance, he knew all he needed to. The best thing he could do for the man was what he had already set in motion.

Nursing a limp, the man stumbled his way toward Carwen. He clutched a belt-knife in one hand and a hatchet in the other. His eyes flitted between Moka and the [Village Beauty] sprawled at her feet. After a few steps, he sent a nervous glance over his shoulder, as if to reassure himself the clash was truly over.

The woven lace thread between Carwen and the man continued to shorten, the emerald flames consuming it, burning ever brighter. He stopped just out of Moka’s reach, his proximity to Carwen allowing Azarus to note a few differences between them. His dull blonde hair and slightly pointed ears were a far cry from Carwen’s fae-like features. It was like watching a village dog approach a lounging wolf.

The man’s white-knuckled grip shook as he pointed his knife at Moka. He wore his bravado like a mask, hiding his fear of the diminutive goblin. Azarus silently praised his instincts. Warriors, merchants, and travelers would do well to recognize a threat despite the package it came in. As quick as the mental praise came, the man’s words caused Azarus to denounce it.

“Back, goblin scum!”

The screen’s timer ticked by at a steady rate as Moka regarded the half-elf with quiet intensity. Carwen let out a heavy sigh as the man spluttered and wilted beneath Moka’s regard. She pulled herself up to her feet, raising a hand to forestall the man’s oncoming blustering. He ignored it, choosing to turn his attention from Moka and make an attempt at imitating Carwen’s [Heartfelt Plea].

“Carwen! You’re okay.” He lowered his knife, his body visibly relaxing as he saw his fellow villager was unharmed. His eyes lingered on Carwen’s torn skirts, taking in her smooth legs. After a beat, he blinked, shaking his head to find himself. He raised his knife again, sinking into a crude fighting stance to face Moka. “Quick, get behind me! It’s not over yet, but it soon will be.”

Disdain, followed by anticipation, flashed across Moka’s face. She hefted her staff in both hands, baring her sharp teeth at the foolish half-elf. Azarus tracked her gaze as she checked the screen’s timer, and the way her eyes lit up as she judged she had enough time to teach the man a lesson. Half-rolling his eyes, Azarus tapped the mirror over Moka’s image, vibrating his essence as he spoke to his bloodthirsty champion.

“Let Carwen decide.”

Moka flinched, but did not turn to look behind her as she had done many times before. After a quick internal battle that played across her face in an instant, the goblin lowered her staff and stepped to the side. Carwen sauntered forward, a glint in her eye. Azarus smiled. His champion was making progress.

The half-elf relaxed as Carwen walked up to him. Her shadow fell across his face and lingered for several heartbeats before he glanced up, meeting her stormy autumn eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but the look on her face made him bite his tongue. Holding his full attention, Carwen wrapped her cherry lips around a series of words, enunciating each one to leave no room for misunderstandings.

“Go away, Trenold. I do not want you here, and I will not return to the village. Nothing you could say or do will sway me.”

Trenold’s distracted mind caught her meaning at a snail’s pace. When it connected, he stiffened, inadvertently standing up from his crouch. Azarus spared the mortal an ounce of empathy for his plight. The challenge he faced was a poor one, too small to garner much sympathy, but large enough to sink him if he was unworthy.

Brows furrowed and jaw set, Trenold opened his mouth to explain to Carwen why her statement was untrue, his intention writ clear on his face. Moka poked her head into view from the side, vicious anticipation leaking from every pore. Before he could speak, the emerald line running between him and Carwen flared. In a freak coughing fit, Trenold choked on a drop of his own spit. Carwen looked down at him as he bent over, his face growing red. She reached out to pat him on the back before stopping herself, her hand clenching into a fist as she let it fall to her side.

Behind Carwen, Moka impatiently tapped her foot, glaring at the coughing man as the screen’s timer ticked down. Azarus could not blame her for being disappointed. He too, wanted to see how sharp Carwen’s words could be.

When Trenold’s coughing slowed, and he no longer looked in danger of choking, Carwen looked over her shoulder, catching Moka’s eye. She lifted her chin, her pupils wavering. With the cadence of a prepared speech, she spoke.

“Moka, Champion of Azarus. Words are cheap, but actions speak loudly. You have called me a coward, too weak to do the right thing.” Carwen hesitated, realizing she was coming off more forcefully than intended. She searched Moka’s face for a reaction. [Read the Room] pinged. What she saw encouraged her to continue. “I also said words in anger, but your actions have shown me your mettle. Please, allow me to accompany you. I want to make my mark on the world, like you.”

Sometime through Carwen’s speech, Trenold had caught his breath. He stared at Carwen like he had found a strange and terrifying new species of beetle. Moka did not share in his awe. She idly prodded her broken breastplate, peeling away jagged splinters. With little consideration, the goblin shrugged, tilting her head as if to indicate something above and behind her.

“Up to you. If you want to come, I doubt it will get easier than this.”

Carwen smiled, hidden tension melting from her body. She went to turn away from Trenold, coming up short as his hand shot out to grab her by the elbow. He hissed in her ear as she tried to pull away from him.

“Please, don’t go! The village needs you. I-” Trenold bit his lip, looking down. Carwen tried to pull herself free, but he was too strong. He raised his gaze, meeting Carwen’s furious expression. “I need you, Carwen. Please, I am begging you. Stay.”

Conflicted emotions played across Carwen’s face as if it was a grand stage. She opened her mouth to respond, to explain herself. Moka’s [Ironthorn Staff] cracked Trenold right between the ears before she could utter a single syllable. The goblin grunted as the half-elf crumpled to the ground, nursing the goose egg forming on his forehead.

“Not a great listener. I can see why you want to leave.”

Carwen’s mouth hung half open. She looked between Trenold and Moka, her expression flashing from surprise, to concern, before landing on grim acceptance. Moka grabbed her by the elbow, in the same place Trenold’s hand had been. The goblin treated the elf to a sharp-toothed grin.

“Come on, time’s up. We have more enemies to fight and villages to save.”

The timer reached zero, and the surface of the mirror changed. Azarus felt a rush through his chest, like an expanding warm. He had wrought change, tipping the course of fate with his will. The [Vinewood Hobgoblin] and [Regrowth Dryad] were not the will of the universe, it was his. They were like rolled dice, which he may never see land. Through Moka’s feats, Carwen grasped at a new life with both hands, her village saved. His domain sung at the achievements, ready to face the next challenge and weigh his hand on the scale. He tasted victory and yearned for more.