CW:

New POV!!! Oh dear us who could this be? Violence. Threats. Shapeshifting. Dehumanizing another. Discussion of memory loss/personality death.

Despite her good humor, The Hr̥daya is worried.

And… not in a fleeting way. Not some flash of concern before She adapts pathways around the prey, not an annoying anomaly that nips and bites at Her heels like the red-haired songstress was at first. This is more than that.

This could ruin everything if it cracks and hatches forth before its time.

So here I wait, her only reliable Reaver left, for weeks and weeks. Settled in to see who they send to discuss the changes anyone with ears to hear and souls to see understands fast approaches. It takes a long time to make them gather though. Things like us don’t see time in the same way as the sparks do.

A few Fae elders are already here. Languid and at ease since they sense none but their own kind in the grove.

But then everything changes.

It’s quite a thing to feel a Hearthfire get riven and smothered to naught but ruined ash, then vanish. The shifting and rattling of the Rifts and Woods makes me nearly fall off the tree I’ve burrowed into.

Furthonois is dead.

It takes me at least a day to recover from that, and it's good that the Hr̥daya is safe behind the old wards. She’s better at hiding it all but… this Shift in the Sapana will tear at soul and mind for at least a few days. Drive even Her feral with hunger and wroth at the slightest wound inflicted.

But… then I consider the soul who very likely slew and devoured Furthonois…

“It’s Spreading.” It had giggled like that was simply the most deliciously funny thing in all the Sapana.

I shiver at the memory of that little wretched thing’s words from so long ago.

Just another proof of what it was just… emblazoned before us. Even... I still wonder how quickly She understood the creature that gave itself to her?

As I recover, the Fae are still fluttering about like a pack of roused and annoyed ants.

None here are old enough to remember the last time this happened. Fewer still truly understand the damage this does to their precious 'Dream'.

Another week passes, and many Fae move in and out of the grove. Weaving Fae-song and twisting wards and requesting tree roots wind up from the dirt to create little huts and homes. One of them even almost discovers my rotten perch, forcing me to burrow deep before spending a day finding a new place to watch and listen from.

Need to make sure none arrive who remember, and that anyone that might know a few of the old names is simply too young to understand their importance. But… The oldest Fae here are barely even aged enough to remember the last Godthing who bore that Hearthflame before Furthonois.

But… eventually something shifts as even more elderly Fae gather, and I hear in their anxious words and songs hum their desperation.

Because none here can feel the Hearthflame reignite and blaze anew, and the scouts visiting the city and trying to understand what’s happened only have the tales that corpses can tell. None seem to be left alive to recount what happened.

A Hearthflame doesn't vanish. Even if dragged into a blighted forest or ocean it’ll burn hot and Reave away at the Sapana. So… where is it?

The young worry circles around themselves, terrified of the possibilities and implications. And after another week, two Godthings arrive.

The oldest of the conclave, never suffering a death after mantling her Hearthflame, the Goddess known as Dreadweave. All twisting black reflections of the sky beyond the Dream shaping itself into the form of some large lizardthing of some kind. Still very feminine and sharped with deadly grace.

And then comes the godling Ukalon. Currently bearing the corpse of a Cinderkin with multiple twisting horns sprouting from their back. Already their soulfire weaving razored feathers to writhe from its flesh.

One of the Fae elders steps forward to greet them. All ceremony, all tradition, and most of all… carefully woven performance of respect. Everyone here hates the others, but to openly speak to that would dissolve such prideful children to useless squabbles.

The Fae tolerate the Godlings because their Hearthflames burn only a little less brightly than their Woods. And the Godlings know well what a Fae people roused to despair and pain would mean for their precious 'Dream'.

None here wish to see the 'Rot and Ruin' spread any faster than it already does.

“A Hearthflame has passed to a new bearer.” The Fae elder speaks with all the politeness of one who thinks themselves old and wise faced with a problem they’ve never encountered. “And the Fae stand ready to greet and inform them of the ancient Oaths and Agreements.”

A long pause settles.

Ukalon sighs, voice a thrumming crescendo that sounds so much like a flock of agitated birds. “My contacts know only that most everyone in the temple was consumed, those that fled speak of some mercenary attacking Furthonois. Called itself the Desolate Maw or some such.”

“And why have you not brought them here?” The Fae presses. “The two of you have managed the host’s many transfers over the centuries from what I was taught. Brought them here with ease since it is the most weak and spent of you.”

Ukalon smiles, “Fae child, you were not here when last that mantle passed to another, but know that Furthonois was… quite tame. She bore its burden well in her rule. But every cycle makes it more and more wretched and unpredictable, creating the possibility for… something less than cultivated and civil to arise. As for where it is… I’ve not a clue. Perhaps… Well, we all know the Rifts can’t last like this forever. There is the chance that it never reignited, the Amwella dispersed and lost.”

The Fae nearly hisses. “You expect us to just accept such a swath of the Dream to sink into the Blight and Rot?”

Ukalon laughs then, cruel and without mirth. “Your kind care for Theradas and its nearby Rifts even less than we do.”

“That’s irrelevant.” The Fae spits back. “There are countless souls there! Sparks of warmth that will be snuffed out and lost to never be recovered if the Blighted Sea floods in. That kind of loss is exactly the thing this conclave was formed to stop.”

Ukalon spreads her large arms. “We cannot fulfill our Oaths if there is no Hearthflame to recover or shepherd here. Reveal it to us and we will honor them.”

“You will not search for it!?!”

The Godling shrugs. “We have scoured the Rifts longer than needed for the past half-dozen cycles. It is not here.”

The Fae glares, then turns to face the Goddess of black glass. “Honored Dreadweave, surely you see the madness in that. Until we discover a body or… or some account of the mantle’s passing you cannot give up on this!”

A shift, and the Obsidian Godling turns to regard the Fae. Voice ripples out from her like a blade’s edge on silk. “The Hearthflame is not flitting among the Rifts anymore, but… that does not mean it is lost. There are many places one can hide from even the most piercing gazes.”

“Exactly my point.” The Fae starts to say. “We–”

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“But.” The Goddesses voice, despite being so soft, is too cruel for the Fae to speak over or around it. “We believe that it is the Fae, not us, who are Oathbound to shepherd this new bearer of that mantle into our conclave.”

“What? How do you come to that conclusion?” The Fae retorts. “The stolen Hearthflames are your responsibility to manage and–”

Dreadweave does not speak, but her sudden stillness and aura sings in the way of a predator narrowing her eyes in aggression and annoyance. Considering if this little agitated bird is worth leaping upon.

The Fae takes a step back, and the grove is suddenly still with resonant Fae songs. All the people here are ready to act in case of sudden violence.

But… eventually the Fae takes a breath and breathes out. “Apologizes. I spoke out of turn. Roving, Hearthflames. Is that a more acceptable term?”

Dreadweave hums, “You are young, Fae. And… your kind love to twist truths to suit their songs. Some Hearthflames were claimed without the Fae's consent. This one was gifted. I will allow you this slip, but know that if you sing to the next time a Hearthflame is passed, I won’t be as forgiving.”

Everyone takes a calming breath.

“But, why do you consider this our responsibility?” The Fae elder eventually asks. “The conclave’s Oaths are very clear who handles what. To cross the boundary between has always invited conflict and disaster.”

Dreadweave nods. “Very true. Which is why I will not move to find this Hearthflame. I believe the girl who slew Furthonois and drank their soul was Fae.”

The shocked pause is deafening.

“What!?!” The Elderly Fae hisses. “How… What could lead you to believe that?”

I’m so sure Dreadweave is smiling as she purrs. “Two reasons. One, a Fae girl has been harming the trade of soulfire for this past decade. We assisted in attempting to trap her, but in failure we discovered for certain her name. Awnya of the Fae. Spark-kin to one of your Blight cleansers.”

The Fae elder pales. “A– Awnya? She… is she alright?”

Dreadweave shrugs. “We’ve no idea. But some of our eyes in Theradas caught glimpses of a red-haired songstress fighting some wretched Reaver atop the roofs of that city on the same night Furthonois died.”

Shaking her head the Fae only replies. “You said you had a second reason. That… it could mean the fool-girl somehow thought that fighting Furthonois was wise but it doesn’t support your claim in full.”

“No. In fact we’re quite certain she didn’t enter the Godthing’s temple until after the battle had been resolved.” The godthing agrees. “The second reason is that we know for certain the identity and name of this Desolate Maw Ukalon spoke of. An oddly… voracious Fae girl known once as Lyra.”

A pause, then the Fae curses. “Dreamer’s Tits! She's alive!?!”

Ukalon jerks to glare at Dreadweave. “You… absolute Star Rotted cunt. Why?”

“Hmm?” Dreadweave purrs.

“Why did you not share this at the start? How long were you aware of a soul-drinking Fae roaming the Rifts!?!” Ukalon growls.

Dreadweave shrugs. “Does it matter? She was no threat to us. Kept tame by a Dreamer’s Lamentation of her own design and bound to a Reaver.”

“Have you checked to see if she’s with her? This Reaver brute?” The Fae hisses.

“Neither Fae left the temple by the door, and that Reaver’s manor is Riftwarded. Speak to her, and glean some insight on this Fae’s location. Or not.” Dreadweave ripples, black glass looking so much like she’s gone from sitting to standing. “Either way, I’ve honored these Oaths and will return to my Rifts.”

Then she stands, and begins to leave. Weaving a strange twisting vortex of a Riftwalk that seems to collapse in one the massive shape of the Goddess.

The Fae seems so much like she wishes to shout after Dreadweave, but only turns to Ukalon. “Thank you for your time. We’ll see to our Oaths.”

Deep breaths as I retreat a little into my perch.

So… the wretched thing did it.

Killed one of the Godthings and mantled its Hearthflame. Not… honestly it’s the worst one for that but… also probably the easiest to kill. Furthonois was the weakest and least prone to paranoia. Wove virtually no wards and kept no Thrallforms. Didn’t even develop a War-shape beyond some simple flesh-changes. Never encountered a foe willing or able to outfeed their venoms' hunger.

But now the Fae know of Lyra’s survival, and the question now is who will they send to hunt it? Will they be able to rouse someone problematic? Or just a Fae they see as quick and more… untamed?

That’s what I’m here to find out, and my answer comes quickly.

Within three days a great tiger prowls from the trees. Immaculate fur a twisting black with jade-woven stripes, and after a soft song of greeting from the gathered Elders, its form writhes to form that of a tall girlthing. Amwella a thrumming thick mass of writhing fury restrained by a lazy huntresses weariness.

Kelevar, a great Elder of Fae kind, and one who returned to the forest before any of the Fae gathered were even gifted their spark.

She licks dried blood off a talon as the Fae murmur soft songs to this dangerous predator. Explain the disaster in simple and overly respectful terms. Kelevar has little patience for it. Quickly nods and waves a talon to quiet them after they speak their needs. Takes a deep breath while setting such a frown on her lips.

This… is bad. Not as bad as it could be. Not worth risking a quick and deadly strike while she’s distracted but… quite the problem to Her plans.

“You should wait for another to answer your calls.” Elevar murmurs, voice such a soft and delicate thing but… deep and thrumming.

But… the Elders express the need for speed, and her hunting skills were unmatched. Even by the Godlings and older Fae of her time. I can’t help but smile as they play so well into her weakness. Work to flatter this Matron of the deepest, most cruel and ruthless jungles into agreeing to this challenge. For a people who love to pluck at the heartstrings of the Sapana through song, they are incredibly easy to manipulate with simple twistings of words.

It works, if only barely. And she grins wickedly. “Alright, but… know that I cannot guarantee her survival. Capture is not my heart’s symphony.”

They beg her to be careful but… accept the consequences. Know well the song they’ll need to sing to draw the huntress who can deal with this Fae should she succumb to her urges and devour the mantle.

And then she’s gone. Back into the shadow of the forest to begin her hunt for the lost Hearthfire.

I burrow deep in the earth beneath the Fae-Wood. Into the old riven tunnels that we know well that few of even the Slumbering remember its placements and winding ways.

But then a familiar scent catches my attention. An old thing of many years past that…

No.

NO! She can’t be–

But before my thoughts and instincts can jolt me into escaping, a hand has plunged through the wood and dirt and clutches at my very soul. Tendrils wrap around and around and around as lightning sparks and growls.

Can’t… can’t shift! And… Even if I was able to, I'm always so much weaker than her when I lose my advantage in distance.

“Bulderii.” She hisses as she pins my writhing form to the wall. Only letting me shift enough to partially resemble a walking human. Albeit one with quite a few extra ugly bits still piecing through. “What does Thendra have you skulking about here for?”

It’s… it’s hard not to marvel at what my Naranggas senses tell me of her Amwella. So much brighter and vibrant after over a decade spent at least partially in the Fae wood. Riven with… with disgusting warmth drinking from a blazing Hearthfire brings.

“Answer me!” She snarls, “Or I’ll send you back to the Well and go ask Her myself.”

I still, then spit. “You’d die. No matter how much fire you’ve taken from them. She’d love the chance to rip your Amwella free and engorge us all on it.”

She chuckles. “Oh, most definitely. But… What of that curse she no doubt still bears? Even a small sting could bleed her enough to make balancing the drain annoying.”

I growl, suddenly worried that she might just… just be willing to die and suffer the torment of rebirth if it means leaving a thorn in our foot. “I wasn’t here to track you, Undreka. She gladly traded your weakness away. Has no desire to ever see you again!”

Her own tendrils writhe in… in pain and fury and a dozen other twisting emotions at that. So much that I worry I’ve struck a nerve that will make her kill me out of pure spite. She’s… Undreka never was prone to outbursts. Even after rebirth. But…

“So... Then why are you here?”

I consider lying. Weigh it against the cost of my death to Her. The Hr̥daya could manage but… She’ll need her left stinger, especially since this right one abandoned us.

“My life, and an answer from you.” I offer then, “And I’ll tell you the simple truth. No more.”

She considers that for a while, soul slowly calming in prelude to her words.

“Three questions that you will answer truthfully.” She offers.

“Two only, and why I am here is the first.” I counter.

She tightens her grip again. “Three, and it can be the first.”

“Agreed. So long as my life and freedom are guaranteed.”

“Agreed.” She drops me, and allows me to twist my shape back into one of legs and tall ripcord muscle. Then she reaches out to grip my soul with one of her tendrils, and allows one of mine to touch hers. Our senses are well attuned to read each other for lies. “Now. You start. Why are you here?”

I tell her, and keep it as simple as I can. Weave subtle hints to hopefully misdirect her from the true purpose. “Thendra wants to know who they’re sending after the stolen Hearthflame. Is considering how she wishes to entreat with this new Godthing. You know well how much she relied on the patronage and desires of Furthonois. She wants to ensure nothing is amiss.”

She considers that for a bit before saying. “You may ask your question now.”

I shake my head. “No. I’ll go last.”

Her smirk literally blazes on her soul at that. “Fine. When is she planning on hunting me in earnest?”

I shake my head. “Never. She… she keeps her Oaths. She’d need to sacrifice much to even stand near you. She considers you cut away.”

Her soul once again sings of… of many things. Subtle and smothered but… there. So much of her longed for Thendra to want her back. Even after She tried so hard to escape Her clutches all those years ago.

She waits even longer, enough to make me prompt. “You’re last question, then mine, and we part ways. Hopefully for longer than before.”

She sighs. “My last was… It was going to be about how close she was to finding me. Or… whether she would be willing to resume a hunt now that you’ve found me here. But now… I’ve realized I bargained for more than I needed. Would be willing to leave it unspoken until the next time we might meet.”

“Fine with me.” I nod. “Why did you leave?”

“It… Lots of reasons. Not sure even I understand them all, Bulderii. Thendra can…” She trails off then, her soul’s emotions turn… strange. Considering some complex path of thought. “If you were to tell me why you’re asking, I’d be more able to answer to your satisfaction.”

I freeze then, work to still my own soul to better hide my… but… why not tell her? She’s no threat to me or Her. But then… Why am I asking? Not for the Hr̥daya, that’s for certain. So… is it to better perform my own tasks well? To understand why she was so willing to let that wretched thing slaughter our brood over and over like so much chaff and waste?

“Because, I suspect…” Undreka murmurs so softly. “That you might be having the same thoughts I was. And if that’s the case I’m not sure you’ll like the answers I have to give.”

Flesh and bone and mind and Naranggas writhe and break a little at her words. Shove her tendrils off me so I can step back. “I’m nothing like you, Undreka. You left Her, left us all. I only ask to better understand Her. Why She…”

Even in the pitch I can feel her grimace. “She’s thrown many of them away since I left, I suspect. Forced them to die and crawl up from that wretched pit.”

Her not-question cuts me to my core.

She steps forward, and I want so much to pull away as she wraps a hand around the back of my neck, but… also can’t fathom how to make even a muscle move. “I left partially because I couldn’t stomach watching another one of us rise up a thoughtless husk that will take years to even remember our own names.”

“How…” I barely avoid making it a question. “I’m not sure how many I… Undreka, she’s let them be slaughtered over a dozen times. All to that… that wretched thing.”

Too much. I’m saying too much.

Undreka's breath stutters in the dark. “Wait… Fed? What’s she been feeding our Reavers to?"

I move then, snapped back to my senses.

That name, Reavers, just… so quickly always pulls us back to her when she calls.

“I accept the answer you’ve given, and we’ll part–”

Suddenly, Undreka has me by the throat, pressing me into the wall with a snarl of fury. “What in the Ravaged Sapana is she feeding our brood to, Bulderii?”

“I… Undreka it…”

Soul tendrils wrap tight around my single one, squeeze as she demands. “Answer me, or return to the Pit an Oathbreaker.”

“A… a slave she kept and freed. One with–”

She so easily senses my confliction as I scramble to craft an answer to draw her away from the truth.

“Bulderii.” She snaps. “Complete answers. Give me a name!”

A pause, and again I weigh my options. What will serve Thendra more? My death and silence or for this danger not knowing enough? Or… telling her and returning with understanding?

Both carry risks. But… better for her to know of a possible threat and have me at her side.

“Lyra.”

Undreka jerks to a halt, and drops me to the floor, tearing Naranggas free just as her soul tips into odd flares of fury I can’t understand. I know better than to try and move now. Can sense her soul’s writhing fury so close to mine.

Still deciding if she means to break this Oath and kill me.

“Change of plans, Bulderii.” She purrs so softly, and her teeth glimmer in the pitch of the tunnels. “I’m going back to Theradas, and you’re going to arrange a peaceful talk between me and our dear Hr̥daya.”

“And if I refuse?”

A hand grabs my arm and Undreka pulls me to my feet as she barks out a laugh, “You’re out of questions. And I doubt very much you’d like to discover the answer to it anyway. I’m not the wounded and spent thing I was all those years ago.”