Emperor Rohmhelt retired to the governor's mansion's library after a lengthy day of meeting with the usual rotation of Grand Marshal Agrehn, Marshal Kordov, Lohs, Matriarch Yldrina, and numerous other officials and commanders. The news wasn't all bad as they were now several weeks into the winter and there were no signs that Duronaht had any intention of pursuing them as the snows deepened.

Small mercies, Rohmhelt joked to himself as he sat in a padded chair near the library's hearth, which burned at full force that night to keep the first floor of the mansion warm. At the table to his right, there was a well-worn edition of the History of Crown Prince Bendehlt, the man for whom the city he now resided in was named. Dying in a war with Bohruum almost three centuries ago was good enough to get him this city's name. I wonder what I'll get if I win this war...

As he contemplated that thought, Lohs and Empress Evinda entered the room, both in their winter garments and covered in rapidly melting snow.

"Mind if we join you by the fire?" Lohs asked, hacking up his lungs for several seconds afterward, drawing concerned looks from both Rohmhelt and Evinda. "I'm fine. Just this damn cold air doesn't agree with me these days."

"If you say so," Rohmhelt mumbled and motioned toward the chairs near him. Evinda sat to his right and grabbed his hand. Hers was freezing, so he squeezed tight to aid her. "This winter is making me miss Methrangia. Never gets this cold there."

"Think of it as an incentive to take it back," Evinda smiled at him, squeezing his hand back as she warmed up. "I don't mind it so much, but I'm from the far north, of course."

Lohs shuddered.

"I, however, am an inveterate man of the south," the shrunken old man mixed a tone of pride with a cough. "Used to actually live on the coast for a bit, you know. That was before I actually met your father, Rohmhelt. Being a merchant from a young age takes you a lot of places and they're not all bad, if you can believe that!"

"You always have spoken fondly of your traveling days, Lohs," the Emperor laughed. "Speaking of father, I really do wonder what he'd be thinking right now."

That drew an eyeroll and sigh from Lohs, but then the old man smiled and rubbed his bald head.

"Well, as it happens I had a dream about your father the other night," Lohs said. "When you get to be my age, all your dreams start being about the people you've lost in life. If you're lucky you'll make it to that point. Anyway, he seemed proud. I think my dream version of your father understands what we talked about back some months ago."

"That he wouldn't have retreated from Methrangia and would've lost the whole army?" Rohmhelt inquired, only vaguely remembering the conversation. "And the war."

"Precisely," Lohs nodded. "Even if he avoided it there, he would've somehow lost it all at Eynond. I loved your father like my own brother, but angels save us he wasn't given to thinking matters through. It's why..."

Lohs paused at that point, just shrugging instead.

"It's alright, Lohs. It's why he died," Rohmhelt calmly intoned. Lohs and Evinda glumly held their heads down in response. "Not a day goes by where I don't think about it fifty times. And it's because he died the way I saw it in that vision in the throne room years ago. It was such madness that I didn't realize I was seeing what would truly happen."

Evinda stroked the outside of his hand with her thumb when he mentioned his premonitions.

"You haven't been having those visions lately, now that I think of it," the Empress said, her voice trailing off. "Unless you've been keeping them to yourself."

"No," Rohmhelt chuckled. "And I don't know whether to be happy or worried about that. I asked Simel the other day and he didn't tell me anything."

"Do you know how little that surprises me?" Lohs scoffed, causing Rohmhelt and Evinda to both laugh. "You know, it's funny. When this whole business began, this war between the angels, I wasn't actually entirely convinced that they should all go back to Ceuna. I'd seen the good they could do, so I had my doubts, much as I respected Forynda's commands. Now? I can't wait for them all to be gone."

"I couldn't agree more!" Evinda cheered, drawing a nod from Rohmhelt. Her radiant smile then faded with a sigh. "But I think it's going to be impossible to ever just force them out. So long as they want to fight, they'll fight. What happened at Eynond proved that this could go on for far longer than any of us can last."

Rohmhelt clenched his jaw and looked over at the hearth's roaring blaze.

"I know that Vorlan loves talking to our foes," the Emperor muttered. "One of these days, maybe he'll stumble across a solution."

~

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The Earth Angel marveled at the newest of Omonrel's temporary chambers. The Sculptor Angel, for their prior conversations, had crafted a new reception hall underground for each iteration of the talks. While the discussions themselves yielded close to no results, other than the time when Omonrel offered Nethron's location to Forynda, Vorlan nonetheless appreciated his former disciple's commitment to varying grand opulent designs.

This variation was a blue and gold marble chamber illuminated by four brilliant verdant orbs on the ceiling. Omonrel floated atop a single pillar at the chamber's rear and raised his hands rapturously when Vorlan appeared before him.

"I can tell that you approve," Omonrel shouted to Vorlan. "I spent an hour on the flourishes you see inlaid there into the marble. That was experimental, but I rather like it. I will have to keep it in mind for the next time we meet. If there will be a next time, of course."

Before responding, Vorlan was sure to appreciate the fine golden flourishes in the otherwise primarily blue marble. They sprawled out like the leaves of a tree. It truly was a lovely touch.

"My commitment to peace is undying, so long as you even hold out the possibility that you might one day act in good faith," Vorlan spoke softly as he turned his attention back to Omonrel.

"I take it that you mean to say that I have not yet acted in good faith? My dear Vorlan, how could you say such a thing? I handed Nethron to you on a platter, just as I promised," the Sculptor feigned injury.

Vorlan shook his head.

"That was self-interest on your part and I believe you were attempting to provoke Forynda into making a mistake," he scolded Omonrel.

"That is both cruel and very flattering," Omonrel's crystalline blue eyes flashed at his former master. "She certainly made every mistake I ever hoped that she would and now here you are, on the brink of defeat, coming to plead to me for mercy."

Laughing, Vorlan turned away from Omonrel.

"You truly have spent too much time among the mortals if you think such boastful posturing will sway me," he sighed before turning back around. "Of course, I do not believe that you think that and you merely gained impish pleasure from it."

"But you are losing, Vorlan. That much is clear," Omonrel hissed as he leered down at Vorlan from above.

"Losing and having definitively lost are not even close relatives," Vorlan riposted with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "This war is not even a year old and has had so many stupefying developments already. A single major defeat this coming year and your entire enterprise will collapse upon you."

Omonrel chuckled and vaulted down from his perch to float just before Vorlan, his sleek ivory skin reflecting the verdant lights from above.

"Why not wait until that happens? Why are you coming to me now before your hand is strengthened?" the Sculptor prodded, his eyes narrowing. "Unless of course this is as good as it gets for you."

"Because, Omonrel, every single mortal death that has occurred and will occur in this war is utterly pointless. You saw it for yourself at Eynond as clearly as I did!" Vorlan bellowed. "Or did you think that blood-soaked stalemate between Gorondos and Cyrona was actually worthwhile? That killed far more of your own allies than ours."

"I think it achieved our purposes," Omonrel smirked. "We did take the land, after all."

While Vorlan considered it possible that the Sculptor had so deluded himself that he truly believed in such a thing, he sensed no such derangement and decided that it must be yet another act of brazen deception.

"You and I both know that nations and empires are far more fragile than they appear. Illusory acquisitions of land are flimsy things and the very fact you are trying to convince me otherwise is proof enough to me that you know this yourself," Vorlan said as he summoned a cloud of soil and blew it in all directions. "Allow me the courtesy of making my offer or I will leave now."

After a stifling silence, Omonrel's smirk faded and he nodded at last.

"Alright, Vorlan. Say what you came to say," he muttered.

Vorlan immediately conjured a flat manifestation of the mortal world, comprised of soil, rock and water, in the space between Omonrel and himself. It contained the primary continent as well as the numerous islands, large and small, dotting the sea around it. Further, it bore the mountain ranges, forests, rivers, and even small markers for cities and other mortal settlements all over its surface.

"That is a lovingly accurate map, Vorlan, but..."

"Allow me to finish before you say a word," the Earth Angel admonished Omonrel. "This is the mortal world as we know it today. We have not materially added to its lands since it was first created. Before this conflagration began, I suggested that a possibility existed to create a new portion of the mortal world, separate and apart from what already exists here, where those denizens of Ceuna who wish to live here instead could make new homes," Vorlan said, forming a separate continent in a ragged vaguely circular shape far off the southern coast of the main continent. "Mortals who wish to live in this new realm could do so and leave their existing territories behind."

He paused to allow Omonrel to take in the new map of the world. Omonrel laid his shimmering ivory hand over the new continent and then glanced back at the current one, motioning back and forth between the two.

"You truly believe that there would be peace between mortals just because we would have a sea between them? Mortals who lived under our guidance and with our aid would become so much more powerful that..." the Sculptor started, but Vorlan interjected.

"That we would need a promise between us to keep them separate, yes. Parallel societies, growing and thriving at the same time under different trajectories, but never to interact. Ever," he declared in a haunting tone. "I believe that this would satisfy most of your objections to Forynda's decree when this began."

"Have you ever once tried to convince Forynda of this? She would never believe that it could be stable. I can almost hear her now," Omonrel scoffed. "She would say 'Vorlan, you fool! You traded a current crisis for a future calamity!' or something along those lines."

"Allow me to worry about Forynda. She will eventually come to see that there is no other way," Vorlan insisted. "What I want to know, however, is can you command the compliance of the others?"

Omonrel loosed a clipped mirthless laugh.

"Jagreth? Yes. Gorondos? Probably. Parlon? I make no promises. Myrvaness? Your speculation is as good as my own there. Elaous? I still have no concept as to what he desires," the Sculptor mournfully rattled off the names of his allies and sighed. "And I am not ready to even speak for myself here."

Vorlan left the representation floating there in the chamber's center and drifted back away from it.

"The fact that you are entertaining it is enough for me today. When you are ready to discuss it further, I will be happy to do so," he declared, bowing courteously toward Omonrel.

"You truly have that much faith in this mirage of peace?" the Sculptor called out as Vorlan began to disappear in a whirl of light.

"I do," the Earth Angel answered. "Because the alternative is the clasp of oblivion."