Silent, the Azure Tidebreaker glided over rolling dunes and jagged canyons into Larake, the southernmost city of the Kirat Empire. Dry winds pulled at the folds of Larin's robes as he stood at the edge of the observation platform. Down in the city were the bones, proud and ancient; the flesh bore wounds of occupation. A canopy of obsidian spikes thrust forth as a crowd toward that sky, tines worn blunted with carvings holding dark reds of power-the kind of shape that would find no place even in the flows of Seafoam's harmonious conception.
Standing beside him, her hair whipping out in tendrils, was Myrith Crestfoam. "Larake has always been a trouble child," she said. "The magic in its wells runs strong, the people hard to break. They held out for so long against the Kirat Empire before being overrun. It remains a trouble point today-an itch that purists and Pyrestone would only too gladly scratch."
"Why bring me here?" Larin asked, looking out into the shadowed streets where soldiers and workers went with purpose. "What is it you hope for me to do?"
"Observe," Myrith said. "And learn. There are whispers of rebellion brewing here—not against Seafoam, but against everything we represent. If we are to bring harmony, we must first understand the chaos."
---
They crept into the city at night. The streets were narrow and winding, lit by the flickering light of braziers filled with enchanted sands that glowed an eerie crimson. Myrith led the way, moving fluidly and silently. Larin followed close at her heels, senses primed. Lysara Tidecrest brought up the rear, her sharp eyes scanning every shadow.
They passed through market stalls full of strange goods: spices that burned hot, fires that produced flames without heat, crystals that hummed with trapped melodies, and statues carved from living stone, ready to move if touched. The air was heavy, strained, a heavy electricity crawling on Larin's skin.
As she continued down the street, Myrith slowed. She nodded toward a darkened alley where figures huddled in whispered conversation. "There," she murmured. "A gathering of Pyrestone sympathizers."
Larin focused his *Spectral Sight* to squint, and heat signatures burst into view-five figures whose outlines flickered with the erratic energy of fire magic from Pyrestone. He noted jagged shapes from their weapons, and twisted glyphs on their armor.
Out of these figures, the tallest was oozing that unmistakable feeling of malice aura. Spiking in low yet commanding tones said, "Seafoam fools assume they can win us over to their foreign policies, forgetting that water is devoured by fire".
It is, in fact the philosophy of Varok Redspire, Lysara whispered softly. They must be up for something.
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He had gone a few paces when he heard the command. His thought was weaving its magic even as it hurled the line of *Phantom Arrows*, each curving around the corner to find its mark. Two of the first three shot out on the proper trajectory, leaving two of the plotters helpless. The last three splashed on shields of flame hastily called in by the plotters.
The tallest of them snarled, hands bursting into flame that twisted into serpents. "A Seafoam lapdog dares to strike us?"
Larin dashed forward, casting *Echo Wave*. A pulse of rippling energy surged forward, destabilizing the fire serpents and sending shards of flame scattering harmlessly into the air. He followed with *Petal Cascade*, spectral blades spinning toward his opponents. The blades multiplied upon contact, creating a whirlwind of slashing petals.
But Pyrestone's followers were no dross. The giant chieftain spread his arms, to include himself within a rampart of flaming stone which may soak up the tide. He stretched out his hand before. A river of blazing flame shot forward toward Larin.
He replied with *Living Barrier*, but the flames smashed into it with beastly strength. It held, cracks spreading out across the surface, but he couldn't pour much mana to hold it. He was drinking that mana reserve too fast as he focused everything into keeping the defense up.
Another figure appeared: smaller, but no less deadly. She darted to the side, blade wreathed in flame. She moved with an incredible speed; she sliced across Larin's weakened barrier, striking a blow across his shoulder. Pain blazed as the scorching blade cut into the flesh, heat cauterizing the wound on the instant.
Larin reeled backward. His vision narrowed. Blood crept down the length of his arm, dripping onto the rock. His lungs burned. He summoned *Suspended Thorns*, and his air was laced with jutting shards of mana, but the Pyrestone warriors handled them with easy fluidity as they moved.
Desperation welled inside Larin. Diving into his well of power, he used all the mana that he had saved inside himself. He ran in his head all that he has learned at Dernporost: *Break the assumptions. Rewrite the rules.*
He flung Deconstruct at himself, breaking Living Barrier and Phantom Arrows to halves. He pieced those splinters into something new; a construct, throbs of mana in motion both defense and the possibility of attack simultaneously. Such was that wave that the warriors of Pyrestone felt slaps from it as the tide rising flung them off their feet, sending them reeling.
But all the struggle left him exhausted. He fell on the ground, falling on hands and knees as he struggled for breath. Flames surrounded him and he knew that he would not be able to get up again.
---
The magic, now containing water, continued flowing down the alleyway like a gust of wind. The storm of power was in and Myrith. Myrith worked as some conductor for this symphony and wove the spells in order that flame transforms into steam, and the stone melted, becomes fluids encasing the warriors at Pyrestone. Lysara struck as sharp as precisely to freeze all the assassins with chilling effect.
And that was that. Myrith knelt by Larin's side, her hair-tentacles stroking his face as she examined him. "You are impulsive," she murmured, chastisement tangled with relief.
Lysara watched guard, bending no further to look down upon the plotting, climbing body parts. "They would have killed you. You must learn to step back in time."
Larin coughed, wincing up enough to smile weakly. "I learned something else instead."
Myrith's eyes sharpened. "And what is that?"
"That harmony," he breathed, "is a battle worth fighting."