Tianjin Tower.

The ISTC.

On the second evening of the third day of the invasion, the Regent of Shalkar finally found time for a cat nap.

In a private chamber reserved for VIPs, she took up the lotus pose, circulated what was left of her Essence, and began the deep meditation that high-tier Mages substituted for sleep.

Soundlessly, a jet-black shield of Elemental Void descended around her person, delivering total serenity for the two hours her Party waited to make the jump through space and time.

Richard and Petra, together with Lulan, had proceeded immediately to Shalkar and oversee the preparations for a potential northern expedition into the Black Zones eastward of the Ural Mountains, where Yekaterinburg once stood.

Elvia had also left, taking an excursion to London to take responsibility for Sir Kass and Reginald's death and report on the tragic success of her quest to Senechal Ashburn.

Her uncle Jun was still sleeping, and she did not want to disturb the man over a guilt-ridden hug. Besides, once his health was restored, he would be the epicentre of a political hurricane, and Gwen had no desire to be the one to explain to her defender-of-the-people uncle the actions of his abducted nephew.

Equally occupied were her guilt-ridden grandparents, who needed to answer to the higher powers of the Party. She also didn't wish to face Secretary General Miao, whose career may be tottering after the revelation of Percy Song's involvement in the city's misfortunes. Her only solace was that no one would dare question the Secretary General's actions until after a supply chain was established for Beijing, whose many millions were starved of the largest grain route in the Greater Asian-Pacific region and for whom the shadow of an Undead invasion just became real.

As for Lei-bup—Gwen could only count on the Mermen to keep their word. However, as she had stated to the Tower Master of Tianjin, she had immense "faith" that the self-made Mermen High Priest would not renege on his word.

Finally, she would not be returning to Shalkar immediately.

With Percy gone and Elizabeth Sobel now once more invested in the world's affairs, she must make an excursion to Sydney and speak to her siblings-in-craft, for she dared not proceed with her next course of action without the stakeholds of the wisened Gunther and the unshakable Alesia.

Slowly, within the third eye of her Astral consciousness, midnight descended.

In the liminal space of her Void Egg, her lucid Mage Dream unfolded like an origami diorama, for such was the fatigue plaguing her mind, both from the exhaustion of her mana and the weariness of her thrumming emotions.

One by one, visions of the past few hours flashed through the chambers of her brain, burning themselves into the synaptic networks of her frontal lobe.

Elvia…

Percy...

Elvia...

Percy...

Against a montage of Sobel's sensual, sickly presence looming over her wide-eyed brother, she saw Evee's pleading eyes begging her to choose.

Should it be that Elvia died, and Percy remained to answer for his crimes? Was that the perfect solution to her mental anguish, the cathartic resolution to their Aristotelian tragedy?

As a sometimes-sister, overdue lover and the full-time Regent of a domain, she possessed no answers, no twist of the imagination that could deceive her desolated conscience.

Each time she tried, she saw a snippet of a future foretold by a cunning Dragon:

An ashen wasteland with a looming Kirin dancing amid a gentle dusting of necrotic Elemental Ash falling like powder across a devastated city.

Her uncle Jun, a twisted husk of his hale past, crucified upon soft mounds of ash and debris, his chest sunken, punctuated by a milk-white Jade Amulet.

Somewhere in Shanghai, a grief-stricken Ayxin loses whatever measure of focus she needed to bring about the impossible, resulting in the existential death of a baby cousin that was never meant to be.

Her grandparents—overwhelmed by grief and becoming the scapegoat of Percy's ploys, with no Ayxin and Yinglong to shield them from the ramifications of Tianjin's loss.

The worst was averted—and yet—should she be thankful?

Wasn't the city still a confluence of fire, water, despair and destruction?

She felt in her chest the acute germination of something she did not wish to possess—the seeds of a deep-rooted detestation for her friend and, in time, a partner. Elvia's sacrifice was a betrayal of the highest order and a source of un-asked-for salvation that she could not dismiss.

The paradox was so jarring that Gwen felt her joints ache, her mind torn violently between the desire to embrace her Cleric and kiss her on the mouth—and the violent impulse of taking Elvia's shoulders and shaking her until every bone was loosed from their sockets.

Over and over, like frames of a Kodak carousel left on repeat, she felt assailed by her self-induced visions, her mind ever sinking into a quagmire of doubt.

A long time ago.

A lifetime ago.

She stood a distance from her elfin friend in a house by the bay, on a pier, and listened to her angelic voice while a hundred Dancing Lights added dimension to the starlit waters.

It was an epoch where they lacked power.

Lacked knowledge.

Possessed no wealth.

And knew nothing about their futures.

And yet, in those uncertain times, certain certainties felt so assured and unassailable, enchanted and magical.

Now, those lights were just balls of mana hovering over cold, dark waters.

In the recess of her mindscape, snug in the depth of her Astral Soul, Gwen heard the impossible verses of a long-ago ballad sung in the voice of a guileless Evee walking on water in mimicry of her dogmatic Nazarene.

I walked across… an empty land

I knew the pathway like the back of my hand

I felt the earth… beneath my feet

Sat by the river, and it made me complete

But there would be no more completion.

Percy had made sure of that.

The river was poisoned, and none would dare to drink from it.

I came across a fallen tree

I felt the branches of it looking at me

Is this the place we used to love?

Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?

There would be a tree, a great, incredible tree the likes of which humanity has never seen.

A Tree.

A woman.

A snake.

This tree would be hers and hers alone, and she would be its sole, lonely mistress.

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?

The melancholy lyrics were from an extinguished reality, sad and yet apt and prophetic. From the warmth on Gwen's face, she suspected her eyes might be overwhelmed by a sudden inundation of moisture.

And if you have a minute, why don't we go

Where would she go with Evee? That house on the hill was now buried under a Leviathan.

Talk about it somewhere only we know...

And where would that be? What else did they share now apart from the tainted past?

This could be the end of everything...

Her heart grew deadly silent, its palpitations ceasing as though someone had pulled a sudden plug.

Was that how the song ended?

Like the churning contents of her Void-strewn gut, she felt only the hunger of the Void, within which her Shoggoth slumbered, its belly full of Men and Mermen, Undead and otherwise.

Oh, simple thing...

Gwen could no longer recall if the chorus ended with hope, longing, anguish or loss.

She no longer had expectations about Percy, of family dinners with Mei and maybe a little niece or nephew.

She felt disconnected and desolated by reality. Without finding her brother, shackling the little turd-for-brains, and bringing him back in chains to answer his crimes, she could not face her babulya, her Yeye, Uncle Jun, and the rest of her family.

And Hai Song and Helena Huang… she could not summon the strength to consider their involvement, even hypothetically.

She had always known that the complications of her life would be in proportion to the power she desired to wield—but for that reckoning to hit her so hard and so abruptly was a predicament as farfetched as the arrival of Lei-bup upon a colossal lobster.

DING! Her Message Device chimed.

The ISTC was ready for Sydney, and her followers awaited her command.

Gwen wiped away any potential tell-tale traces of liberated mascara.

Her Void shell slipped back into the Astral.

Her face, cold and composed, was ready for the world.

Enough Gwen Song for today. The Regent of Shalkar had places to be.

[https://imgur.com/2Q3gE3J.jpg]

Gwen's world flared silver.

Before yesterday's revelations, separating from Elvia and her cousin to travel alone back to Australia would be an unthinkable prospect. Now, she felt her solo trip was the most natural exit as her body dematerialised away from her most stalwart supporters.

When she reappeared among nostalgic recollections of "beam me up, Scottie…" She was already in the ISTC chamber of Sydney's yet-unfinished super structural Tower.

"Gwen," the voice that greeted her not only possessed the warmth of a hearth fire but its owner dressed in the same hues of orange and scarlet. "Welcome home, Sister."

"Allie," Gwen replied, feeling the tension drain from her body like an overfilled dam with the floodgates released. "It's good to be home."

The two women embraced, savouring their bond as sisters and siblings-in-craft.

When they parted, she found Alesia staring.

"What's wrong?" Gwen couldn't help but be curious.

"Your body felt so…" Alesia's expression was worried. "Stiff. Sure, we've got some heavy discussions with Gunther in a moment, but you can relax, I promise."

"Yeah." Gwen touched her neck. "There's a lot on my plate at the moment. Will Yue be joining us?"

Her once mentor patted Gwen's stooped back, then kneaded her shoulders with both hands until she forcibly relaxed. All of this was watched by guards whose eyes acutely savoured their moment with the Regent of Shalkar, Mistress of the Shoggoth, the most renowned mass murderer of Necromancers from Sydney to London.

"She's with Whetu in Auckland, rebuilding the city as a liaison." Alesia indicated at the ISTC. "Would you like to speak with her? Might do you good."

Gwen shook her head. "This was an unplanned visit, so let's not bother Yue for now.'

Alesia seemed to understand—but Gwen knew there was no way her sister could comprehend the turmoil post-Yinglong Elvia would strain on their three-person sisterhood. Would Yue side with herself? Or would Yue side with Evee? Or perhaps their friend would be disgusted with them both? She had no answers and little desire to make that discovery.

"Yes. And yes, I heard about what happened in Nanjing." Alesia's face, beautiful as Gwen recalled, replaced its concern with anxiety and undisguised anger. "And the bitch is back, I take it."

"In the flesh." Gwen nodded. "Took Percy as a souvenir with her after trashing Tianjin like she did with our Master. If we are to hunt her one day, we must do something about that Planar Jaunt."

"For sure." Alesia hugged her again, perhaps reinforcing that she should feel at home. "Come, Gunther's waiting in our penthouse."

"Not his office?" Gwen tilted her head.

"And let his secretary cook?" Alesia laughed. "We're going hear your story, Gwen. Not as the Regent of Shalkar, but as our Sibling-in-craft."

"Right." Gwen finally found the energy to smile. "Then I shall leave nothing out. The details will be sordid and shocking. Is that alright?"

Alesia touched her bare shoulders. "You see these?"

Gwen's lips curled.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"I know they're not as broad as Gunther's, sister," the Fire Mage snickered. "But they're plenty broad enough for you, Regent."

[https://imgur.com/2Q3gE3J.jpg]

Sydney.

The Tower.

Gunther Shultz, Tower Master of Oceania, was ready with breakfast.

After exchanging pecks and hugs, they each took their seats, and Gunther spooned out egg, SPAM and toast, together with the most godly coffee Gwen had tasted since London.

"If I were to tell the folks at Cambridge that the Morning Star himself served me coffee and asked for how many sugars," Gwen remarked, feeling the bitter liquid fill her with warmth. "The faculty would call me a liar."

"If someone told me that a million Mermen worshipped our little Sister, and would gladly go inland to fight an Elemental Prince of Fire on her behalf, I would have called them a liar, too," Gunther returned her jab with his usual seriousness.

Her brother-in-craft looked notably older, though not in the way of his advancing age, but rather in the air of his authority. There were now visible stress lines on his forehead and the corner of his eyes, which were signs of a man burdened with hard decisions and responsibilities.

It was a look, she knew, that echoed her appearance, one that no longer possessed her doe-eyed formative years nor the ambitious hunger of her alter-world thirties. Now, whenever she washed up and made herself presentable in the mirror, she felt her age—despite her physique being maintained by the immortal Essences of a timeless creature.

With the three of them settled around the kitchen bar like tribals around an amiable fire, Gwen did her best to re-tell her estimation of the events that began with her Uncle Jun's ludicrous idea of aiding her Spellcraft with Draconic Essence to the moment in which the Yinglong played his Royal Flush and swept the board with a single swish of its enormous tail.

"Fuck these lizards." Alesia looked like she could boil a new jug of coffee with her ire alone. "Manipulative fucks."

"I can't disagree with that." Gunther's response was to cooly listen to her story, interrupting only to ask for minor details. "Jesus, Gwen, you've been through thick and thin. Elvia, as well, whatever her faults, and the others. Your grandparents have my condolences."

"Percy isn't dead." Gwen found herself rather unhappy at Gunther's cool-headedness.

Gunther tilted his head ever so slightly. "I don't see you rushing off to Singapore like before…"

Gwen had no comebacks.

The three drank their coffee.

"I would like to share something with you," her brother-in-craft said nonchalantly. "I didn't want to say this because your foundations are so entwined with Almudj and the Dragons, but I will now. Will you listen?"

Gwen nodded.

Gunther leaned against the counter, his natural radiance adding a texture to his sonorous voice as it played against her ear.

"We are all aware that our Master trafficked heavily with the Demi-human races, especially the Elves and the Dragons, yes?"

Gwen and Alesia both confirmed their knowledge.

"But our Master dealt with neither here in Sydney." Gunther symbolically moved his cup of coffee away from theirs. "This is a choice, Gwen. Not an oversight."

"Are you saying there are no Elves on this continent?" Gwen's eyes indicated the vista of the newly built harbour.

Gunther did not refute her claim. "Not like Tyfan."

Gwen's mind instantly recalled that living memory of Kalinda, the burning tree, and Almudj's soaring body.

"That said, I had been invited to join this Accord of Tyfan, as Master calls it, with a personal invitation from The Bloom in White herself. It's been almost two decades since, and the offer still stands. However, I do not need Tyfan's blessings, nor am I interested in what their Verdant Lord, the very ancient Tyfanevius, has to say either."

Gwen waited for Gunther to continue.

"But you did need a Dragon's help, sister—and you were played like a fiddle by the Yinglong," Gunther said. "Because the Yinglong is not Almudj. The Yinglong will not ascend to the Unformed Land like your Patron, because it is far too worldly. So long as it remains grounded by its children and domain, its conflicts and interests are each an insurmountable barrier to ascension."

Gwen felt her mood sink somehow even lower.

"Of course, now that it managed to untether quite a few of its concerns thanks to wielding you like a spiked bat, maybe it could."

"Gunther, be nice!" Alesia scolded her husband.

"Gwen, look at me." Gunther reached out and squeezed her shoulder, his darkly stubbled chin both manly and threatening. "What do you think now about trafficking with immortal beings?"

"Not as pleasant as I imagined," Gwen confessed. "I was so certain that I came away with each encounter with a little advantage—only to realise now that every iota of Essence I took came with a price."

"Not to mention you're too deeply invested now to retract yourself," Gunther sighed. "You promised Sufina, didn't you? And there are older, more dangerous Dragons now watching you. According to your admission, I am counting Tyfanevius, Illaelitharian, and Sythinthimryr, who sent you a living Morden, and that's assuming the Yinglong is done with you."

"Elvia says the Yinglong is asleep now and will slumber for some time," Gwen said. "I am still in business with Ruxin… Lulu's probably still tethered to Ryxi, and Golos is a lightning rod for Shalkar."

"Don't misunderstand me. I am not telling you to cut ties." Gunther shook his head. "I am simply asking you what you have learned from being used."

"Well." Gwen felt a little impatient with Gunther's patience. "I am pissed, for one. As for the lesson, I shouldn't have taken so much candy from strange Dragons wrapped around dubious trees advertising Free Essence."

"A curious analogy," Gunther snorted at her attempt at humour. "To give and take with mutual respect, I suspect, is the lesson I am trying to impart here. What do you think would give you the means to say no and for them to respect that?"

"Raw power." Gwen knew the answer to Gunther's enquiry. "A Tower, Politics, and Spellcraft."

"Martial power you already possess," Gunther partially agreed. "I doubt even the Bloom of a World Tree would openly wish to tussle with the Shoggoth. However, if ever you go to war, the immortals will pay mercenaries to cut down everything you hold dear before slapping you down with an unseen hand. They are THE unseen power of Terra."

Gwen felt a shiver.

"Will your Tower be in Shalkar?" her Brother-in-craft asked.

"More than likely." Gwen nodded. "It's the crossroads between the South-East Asian markets and the European-Mediterranean trade ports. Once I have the Low Ways restored, it will become a new Silk Road. Is that a problem?"

"No, it's good," Gunther concurred. "I only wished to confirm your ambitions. Master Henry built the Sydney Tower for himself because of its isolation from the past. If you mean to grasp the future, it's right you build a Tower at the loci of the world's events as you are the loci of many interests."

"Any advice?" Gwen nursed her lukewarm flat white.

Gunther's lips pursed in thought before he spoke again.

"If you cannot divorce yourself from the interests of these Dragons and their World Trees," Gunther said cooly. "Then you better find a counterbalance."

"Counterbalance?" Gwen asked. "Through what?"

"Not with the Mageocracy," Gunther said. "The ruling class and the Elves are thick as thieves."

"And not the Communists." Gwen grimaced. "They've got a full table as it is. Maybe the Dwarves? But they're inundated with recovering Citadels in the Murk. Without the Low Ways, they won't be much more than an elite military expedition."

"Look further." Gunther tapped the granite kitchen table. "There are Human forces free from the influences of both Tree and Dragon—though I can in no way vouch that they are benign or even friendly. You know of our allied Towers in the New World, of course."

"I do," Gwen recalled her newly recruited consultant from MIT. "They don't do Elves there?"

"No Elves. No Tree that we know of, and no Demi-humans either…" Gunther said. "Take that how you will. It's a different way of life to how you see the world, but it is whole-heartedly Human in all its woes and glory."

Gwen pondered Gunther's words.

Human seemed to be the operative word, for Sydney was also a bastion of humankind and humanity alone.

"The Americans may not have a World Tree problem," Gunther said. "But they do share our Spectre problem, and for those in the know, there's evidence that one of Spectre's chief executives is himself a Hvítálfar. Are you aware of this?"

"Vaguely," Gwen confessed. "It was in the briefings. The ones I've faced are mostly their Demi-human allies, though. The Elemental Prince, the Mermens Dragon Turtles, and now, the Undead legions of Juche as fish. I've never encountered anything that might suggest Elven interference. Tyfan single-handedly decayed the entire Juche legion in the South Pole and saved Illaelitharian."

"I am aware. Still, that one of Spectre's executives is a Hvítálfar is a confirmed fact," Gunther said. "I am sure Tyfan knows, though the details, I fear, are privy only to those who trafficked with Master or are long-term members of the Accord."

"So you think all our troubles are a part of an immortal chessboard?"

Gunther shrugged. "We both know the answer to that. Whatever the case, our Tower friends in the northern strongholds of the Americas are diametrically opposed to the status quo in London, particularly where Elves and Dragons are concerned. For resources, on principle, and in matters of theology, they've held their own against their version of the Yinglong, the Quetzalcoatl, and have never yielded against the Svartálfar from the Woods that Wend."

Gwen felt her head throb.

Gunther did not relent. "You're a morsel stuck in a great web, Gwen. A great many webs. The Dragons have their designs, and they may possess some other purpose as a collective. Beyond that, the individual World Trees have their tame Dragons, meaning beyond the lizards, there's still Elves."

Gwen groaned.

Gunther gave her a minute to gather her wits. "Let's move on to the main topic then. Elizabeth Sobel. Give me your impression."

Gwen recalled as much detail as she could, everything from the cut of Sobel's hair, her strange titillating funeral garb, to every word they had exchanged.

When she finished, the whole kitchen sighed with the softly whistling kettle.

"Doesn't sound like she's gotten any weaker." Alesia absentmindedly chewed on a petal of mandarin. "But I still think you could take her, Gunther?"

"In an ambush, perhaps, assuming she can be killed conventionally," Gunther said as he violently skinned a hapless citrus. "But that's not the point. What Spectre has accomplished costs an unimaginable amount of resources, even if they're taking advantage of existing tipping points. If what Gwen told us is true, I am positive Olly is onto something."

"Olly?" Gwen asked, thinking about receding hairlines.

"Magister Olyphant Gilt. We schooled together in Germany, and our parents were old acquaintances. If you are visiting the States, I'll introduce you." Gunther drew for her a pie in the sky. "Olly observed that almost every successful Spectre assault involved an insider-and-outsider confluence. He thinks that if we can discover then tap into the insider's access to Spectre, we might finally be able to deal a concrete blow to their organisation."

Gilt…

Gwen suspected she had read the name somewhere, but the source escapes her.

"Either way, we'll need to be of two minds from now. We will need to divest our interests from our present projects. I'll keep in touch with my American colleagues who suspect that Spectre is attempting to inflame the Tenochtitlan situation. You should continue to consult your allies in Europe. Since you can no longer extricate yourself from Elves and Dragons, you may as well network."

"Should I join the Accord?" Gwen pondered Gunther's earlier words. "Master was a part of it, correct?"

"Until he wasn't, yes." Gunther palmed another mandarin, then peeled it for his wife. "But you know, maybe that's the break we need."

"I thought you said it was…" Gwen frowned. "What with being used and all…"

"There's that, yes," Gunther's eyes seemed to capture her in a singular frame. "But you're a little special in that regard. With your Shalkar, your Shoggoth, your connections to us and especially to Almudj… I think you're poised to extract as much benefit as you pay into the enterprise—I am certain that Tyfan, at least, is as keen to be rid of Spectre and their traitorous kin as we are to see Sobel finally put to rest."

Gwen pondered her Brother-in-craft's words.

"I agree. But my power base still needs time to mature," Gwen conceded that a city's real-life growth wasn't something a generous divestiture of accumulated wealth could achieve. A fledging region was its people—and her people needed training and time to expel parasites from folk who genuinely wanted a fair go at life. "Thanks to the Dwarves, Phase One will be done in under two years, especially if I can secure the city from Himsegg and the Murk. Phase Two: I am considering inviting Sufina but with the Ural mountains..."

"That's good. Though, another thing." Gunther's tone softened. "When we begin our hunt for Sobel, what do you make of your brother?"

Gwen sighed.

"I don't know," she confessed. "I know Percy is due for treason by all accounts. Ayxin will not forgive him; therefore, no one in my family will consider his return. If he had done this to Sydney, I couldn't hold a grudge against you for vaporising him."

Gunther studied her. "That's… a surprisingly mature response."

Gwen felt a spark of mana zing from the tip of her hair. "Am I not mature?"

Alesia passed over a few slices of deveined mandarins.

Gunther did not answer. "What are your plans for the immediate future?"

"Information gathering, I guess." Gwen slowly chewed the sweet petals of flesh. "There's a Red Dragon "Morden" in Shalkar right now. Gogo will be there as well. I've also got a Druid Hierophant on call, the Dwarves, and the locals."

"And you have the Mermen as well," Gunther reminded her. "This Lei-bup…"

"What about him?" Gwen thought of Lei-bup's many tentacles crawling up her arm. There was a connection between them, one that was as entwined as it was slimy. "It was unintentional, you know."

"Well," Gunther said. "They worship the Shoggoth, not you. Just keep that in mind. This creature you summon is no more under your control than Almudj. To think so otherwise would be beyond foolish."

"I know, I know," Gwen assured her Sibling-in-craft.

"Spectre has always used the Seven Kingdoms," Gunther pointed out. "Lei-bup is a factor that exists so far outside the norm I have no words to describe it. A Greater Shaol, loyal to itself, indebted to a human, occupying an entire swath of the Yellow Sea… I think this is an opportunity."

"To Purge Mermen?" Gwen thought about her Shoal crashing into another, aided by the emergence of a Shoggoth. "I suppose they have to eat…"

"Nothing so bloodthirsty," Gunther interrupted her. "What I mean is, it may finally be possible to establish a foothold in the Deep that's friendly to us. If we can pierce the veil of the Seven Kingdoms, we might finally be able to explore diplomatic avenues and uncover how Spectre is directing the Mermen."

Gwen's mouth made an O. She had been killing for so long that she had completely forgotten uses for her "troops" beyond the obvious.

"Besides, if we can secure Sobel's routes on the land and sea…" Gunther popped a slice into his mouth as well. "Then our chances of bringing her to justice and recovering your brother would be greatly magnified."

"No Air?" Gwen sniggered, imagining a future where Sobel had nowhere to hide.

"If you can find the Mist Dragons, sure." Gunther laughed. "After all, you've managed to wrangle Fire, Thunder and Ice. What's one more?"

The trio revelled in the prospect, though not for too long.

"Right. I'll continue the dialogue with my colleagues in the New World." Gunther wiped his hand, signalling the end of their morning meeting. "If there is a discovery, however, Alesia and I won't be able to keep away from Sydney for long, so you might have to be our agent."

"If Gunther travels extensively," Alesia reminded Gwen. "The Factions will start their bullshit within a month. Of course, I can take care of it, but there won't be many Mages left when Gunther returns."

Looking at the fiery-haired Alesia, Gwen could foresee her taking a flaming mallet to the meetings to stamp out dissent and corruption. As for retaliation—who would dare harm Alesia? The moment Gunther returned, everything and everyone loved by anyone who dared to hurt his wife would evaporate like dew. In many ways, Gunther was the very picture of a benign dictator who could rule by fear and love.

"Understood." Gwen concurrently reminded herself that her Regency's domain was a small city, while Gunther was the leader of an actual continent. The two of them and their standings were as distant as an Acolyte and a Magister. "I'll keep you posted, Gunther."

"Make Master proud." Alesia held her fingers in her own. "No matter who you feed to Caliban, know that Gunther and I have your back."

[https://imgur.com/2Q3gE3J.jpg]

Shalkar.

The ISTC.

Unlike the Inter-State Teleportation Circles networks used worldwide, the ISTC of Shalkar was situated within the hollow interior of an enormous, fruit-laden tree.

The older residents of the Shalkar all recall the first time they had seen the tree sprouting in a field of willowy grain, beckoned by two seeds from their Regent's secret pod. Since then, the spatial gate used by the ageless Hierophant Sanari had grown into a modest skyscraper that dwarfed its cousin baobabs, tapping deep into the ley-node beneath the golden fields of sun-soaked grain.

The construct was an unfortunate necessity, for Shalkar lay so far from the closest human city that no Divination Tower could reach it. It was only thanks to the tree and efforts made by Sanari that Gwen's city even possessed a means to attain the convenience of teleportation.

The moment Gwen emerged from the circle in a cascade of Conjuration mana, she was greeted by the endearing face of Strun, Captain of the local security forces, a soul-bound companion she could implicitly trust.

"Mistress." The Rat-kin bowed deep, his nose almost touching her shoes. "We are glad that you have returned safely."

"Thanks, Strun." Gwen waited for the Rat-kin to lift his head before ruffling his ears, watched on enviously by his troops. "Are the others here?"

"Master Huang and Kuznetsova are already present in the Bunker. Mistress Li is securing supplies." her Rat-kin guided her toward the exit, bypassing the awed, mixed-race guards. "We have also received a Magus Morden, who has taken up residence in the guest hotel. Master Huang was entertaining him. The Magus said he was a VIP?"

"He is indeed," Gwen confirmed Slylth's identity. "Anything happen while I was away? You've heard about Tianjin and Yekaterinburg?"

"The Militia is armed and ready." Strun straightened his back, rising until he was almost her height. "Cherbi Khudu is mustering an expedition force on the order of Temir Khan. They are very eager to march to war."

"What, gainful white-collar jobs don't suit them?" Gwen could imagine Khudu bursting from his yurt office to round up his warriors.

"There are no more Demi-human tribes to subjugate within two weeks ride of Shalkar," Strun noted sternly. "The Horse-men have taken to an increased incidence of violence among themselves and against others."

"It's in their natures, I guess." Gwen wasn't one to stereotype, but she also had no expectations that a mere two years would blunt the Centaur's innate longing for glory and combat. "How's our supply situation?"

"Bountiful," Strun replied. "The Dwarves are buying everything we're not selling to the Mageocracy, and still, we're expanding our granaries."

As she walked, Gwen tapped her thighs with her fingers. The excess was very good news—but she must not be fooled into thinking Shalkar's climate-change fortunes would remain the status quo. That and the harvests were likely bolstered by the understanding she and Sanari had reached.

Food and travel…

Thanks to Gunther's reminder, she was no longer willing to take these boons from Tyfan for granted. The help she received was not a gift. She could see that now. They were also a means of control.

Outside the ISTC, a four-lane path shot past the wavy strands of spun gold into the horizon. Upon arrival, she and her entourage of guards ducked through a yet-unfinished Low Way Station that punctured through the Himmseg and the Murk. From within, travelling between the ISTC and the citadel was mere minutes.

Strun continued his report on Shalkar's various affairs, from the Mages who arrived via the ISTC to the refugees who came through the Low Way nodes connecting her city to Bavaria and beyond.

Exiting the cavernous central station below Shalkar, she forwent the Teleportation Circle, instead taking the enormous freight lifts of the Dwarves to emerge finally into the sun-lit realm of her home and domain. The upward journey had offered her a glimpse of the citadel's industrious restoration, adding to her confidence.

"Regent! Over here!"

When her eyes finally adjusted, she saw her Chief Administrative Officer, Ollie Edwards, surrounded by a small team of junior Mages.

The two shook hands. "Thanks for looking after the city while I am gone, Magister Edwards. I'll be relying on your wisdom in the future as well."

"That's literally my job," Ollie looked abashed. "Would you like to rest first? It's a long jolt between here and Sydney. A lesser Mage would have been ill for days."

"I'll be alright." Gwen pointed to her casual attire, which made her followers doubt whether they were gazing upon the sole authority of the city or a casual tourist from down under. "Give me a few minutes to change, and we'll start the meeting. I've consulted with Tower Master Shultz and have a general lay of our more immediate goals ahead."

"Very well. I'll come by later to compose the report for London." Ollie bowed his head, then moved beside Strun for Gwen to pass. "Captain."

"Magister." Strun performed a half solute. "Mistress, I'll be returning to my duties. Garp and I have more work to be done in the southern districts."

Gwen waved the Rat-kin goodbye, then motioned Ollie to walk beside her. "Ollie, what do you make of the problem in the Ural Mountains?"

The Magister from Cambridge scratched his receding hairline. He gave her a troubled look. "I am not sure we can accommodate the new refugees and our current ones."

"How so?" Gwen felt better when her heels clicked on concrete rather than the hardened sand ubiquitous to the steppes.

"If we take in the allotment of two hundred thousand, it will greatly unbalance the ambience here in the city. Presently, we have refugees from the South Pacific, central Europe, the African coast, and even Auckland. They've been humbled by their experience, to say the least, and are quite pliant to the common grounds we've put into place. Comparatively, Russia has always been…" The Magister searched for something diplomatic. "Homogenous?"

"Ah…" Gwen pursed her lips. "You mean they'll stick together and form a ghetto? We're prioritising Mages and skilled workers with families, are we not?"

"That's not the issue I am worried about." Olly gave her a side-eyed glance. "Magister, our Russian neighbours have always been religiously Humanist."

Gwen furrowed her brows.

"Even if we were to resettle another two hundred thousand from other parts over the next two years," Ollie explained. "Humans will still be a minority. For the foreseeable future, we are fifty per cent Rat-kin, followed by the Horse Lords, then Humans and Dwarves."

"Humanist, huh?" Gwen kept walking while thinking of Gunther's promise of finding a breaking point in Spectre's Norther American operations. "What's your worry?"

"The Rat-kin may not mind the prejudice, though Captain Strun will," Ollie said. "If there's trouble with the Dwarves… A few refugees might die from quaffing, fighting, or both. As for the Horse Lords… maybe we should file it under suicide."

Her footsteps halted just before their group struck the shade of the towering, Dwarven-made skyscraper clad with glass and runic steel.

From the vista of an open-air lobby, she saw Horse Lords drinking from pewter tankards beside Rat-kin, joined by the occasional human colleague with their iced coffees. Elsewhere, uniformed Rat-kin guards with Dwarven-made shoulder pauldrons and a kit of Mageocracy Shock Wands patrolled the central district with their colleagues. Now and then, Dwarven builder Golems, with dozens of orange hard-hatted Rat-kin riding on top, groaned past the lower intersections, headed for the construction zones.

And above all that, against the reflection of the rectangular building pointing skyward, she saw the multi-coloured shadows of Phalera's Harpy brood, now truly settled into their new home.

Make use of your resources. Gunther had said.

"Ollie." Gwen stepped into range of the detector Glyphs, coaxing the enormous glass doors to ascend. "When the refugees get here… introduce them to our head of security."

"Head of security? Magister Song?" Ollie Edward quickly followed into the cool interior. "Do you mean Miss Lulan or Captain Strun?"

"Neither." Gwen waved as she passed, her heels clicking musically upon the tiles. "From now on, Golos will be our Chief of Security and Head Overseer of Public Discipline. Our new friends from Russia will listen to a speech delivered in his true form when they arrive. And if anyone makes trouble within the community after that, they have only themselves to blame for facing the Dragon's court."