8 To prevent such a disaster from ever occurring again, the Order Primordial and the Chaos Primordial shaped Four Elements out of their mixed essences. 9 Setik made the Solid Earth and named it “Shu;” Mahud made the Free Air and named them “Fen;” Setik made the Wise Water and named her “Uat;” Mahud made the Wild Fire and named him “Kol.” 10 Each of the Children shaped two Elements and appointed them as watchers and protector over Creation and the Balance of Creation. 11 Mahud and Setik gazed upon the new-born deities. For the first and only time, both agreed, these were good.

—Book of Provenance 2:8-11, Revised Imperial Version

-

Black flames rose towards the moonless sky. Homes burned as the citizens of Greyport fled for their lives over bodies and rubble, their screams of terror and agony saturating the air. Kaydence ran through the carnage, panting, battling the scorching heat, blinded by smoke. The bloody mud tried to swallow her shoes. Her eyes surveyed the dead frantically, searching for familiar faces, dreading to find them.

“Annet!? Sarmin!? Lenril!?” she shouted. “Neela?! Can you hear me?! Where are you?! Where–” A gust of wind threw smoke and ash in her face. She coughed, covered her mouth and nose, and ran in another direction. Through paths she failed to recognise, her distressed steps carried her to the central square, across the Sanctuary of the Faith, where the main temple loomed in the background. She stumbled to a stop, eyes wide and heart freezing.

A mountain in the shape of a man, shirtless, black tattoos writhing across his bloated flesh, held Thomas by the throat. The arrogant teen cried and begged as he choked, grasping in vain at the giant’s wrist. His tormentor laughed gleefully at the struggles of his prey, his smile baring rows of uneven black fangs, dripping corrupted, tar-like blood. And though he laughed, his blood-red snake eyes oozed nothing but hatred and fury.

“Rotten…” His voice was like the distant rumble of a storm. “You’re rotten… Like this world… You… All of it… Need to… Burn.” The hand holding Thomas ignited. The flames greedily devoured the teen’s flesh, and his agonising shrieks echoed through the night, stretching without end. Through it all, the monster laughed joylessly.

Kaydence tried to avert her gaze, but a strong, undeniable hand gripped her jaw and forced her to look. A deep, familiar voice echoed in her ear, sounding at once close and far away.

“Why can’t you see what you’ve become?”

No. No. Kaydence tried to speak in denial, to shake her head, but she was paralysed. Only her heart moved, drumming fearfully in her chest. Only then did she notice the giant stoop on a high pile of corpses. At its summit, Annet, Sarmin, Lenril and Neela stared back at her with dead, empty, yet accusing eyes.

“Why?” the corpses asked in unison. “Why did you do this?”

“No…” Kaydence fell to her knees. “It’s not me.” Her voice trembled and broke. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t want this! I didn’t want any of this!” She tried to stand and run, but Kayden’s hands were like immovable objects, keeping her rooted in place.

“Look. See. This is what you’ve become.”

The laughing monster turned to meet her eyes.

It had her face.

“NOOOOOOO!!” Kayden surged up in bed, eyes wild. “Nonononono…” She swayed in place, hugging her knees, blind and deaf to her surroundings.

Slender arms wrapped around her. “No…” She briefly struggled before instinctively realising this was different from her brother’s implacable grip. She settled down and started shaking. Tears streamed down her face as her cheek was brought against a warm, soft chest. “It’s not me,” she repeated, barely conscious. “I didn’t want this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Gentle hands rubbed her back as someone rocked her, and she kept sobbing. Eventually, Kaydence cried herself back to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Remembrance 1, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport.

On this first day of the month of Remembrance, Greyport woke up to an unusual festive cheer. Founder’s Day had come, and the festivities started at sundown. Already, a rare merriment had seized the inhabitants, prompting sudden house cleanings and street sweepings, as if the city itself was getting dressed to the nines. People dusted their fanciest winter clothes, shouted well-wishes to each other across open windows, and shared small gifts of traditional sun-shaped flatbreads on their doorsteps.

Kaydence felt sick to her stomach. It had little to do with the surrounding mirth and more with the agonising phantom pain tearing at her guts. Moreover, Annet had last night off from the tavern, denying Kaydence her usual nocturnal escapades and confining her to bed. Not that her forced sleep was restful. The nightmares refused recollection, but she recognised the tension in her limbs and the weariness of her mind when she woke—as well as the dried tears on her face, which she hoped her mother had not noticed.

Her feet dragged slowly down the street. Flashes of houses aflame overlapped with her conscious vision, cheerful people replaced by lifeless, charred husks for the blink of an eye. She could almost smell it, taste it, the fragrance of crispy burnt flesh. Clutching her stomach, she distractedly dodged a bucketful of soiled water, thrown out of an open doorway. Her groggy brain misjudged the distance, and splashes drenched her shoes. Her vicious glare sent the careless culprit backing away fearfully into his home.

“Come on, Sweetie. I want to beat the midmorning rush!” Annet called out over her shoulder. Kaydence sighed but picked up the pace, effortlessly catching up to her mother and overtaking her. Annet just laughed, skipping to match her daughter’s long strides. “That’s the spirit! A little sweat before bathtime is good for the body!”

“You know I’m not fond of that place.”

Annet tutted. “Hygiene is important. I swear, you hate water more than alley cats.”

“Water’s not really the problem,” Kaydence grumbled under her breath, somewhat dishonestly.

Soon, they arrived at the central plaza, ominously dominated by a towering structure wrapped in obscuring waterproof canvas at the centre where the gallows once stood. All around, stalls were ready for the grand opening at twilight. In the back, the dodecatheon temple loftily overlooked everything with its austere façade. Kaydence’s steps faltered. “Can’t you see what you’ve become?” The words echoed across her memory from beyond the grave. She shook her head, squared her shoulders, and stomped into the Sanctuary towards the House of Uat.

Despite the early hour, people were already streaming in and out of the sprawling, one-storied complex—the outflow looking significantly less mucky. Two identical statues framed the gateway, depicting a voluptuous woman with a smiling hippopotamus head, welcoming the visitors to the bathhouse with open arms.

Out of all the innovations the Radiant Empire brought, public baths were one Kaydence allowed herself to appreciate, though she had no use for them. A simple Fire spell sufficed to flash-burn the filth off her body, at the cost of a layer of epidermis—trivial to regrow. As a healer, however, she had to—begrudgingly—salute the cultural enforcement of personal hygiene the empire had going on. Even morons with no understanding of bacteria should realise they fell ill less often when bathing regularly.

Of course, that was only because the House of Uat employed magic to constantly drain, clean, and recycle the bathwater. Kaydence did not want to envision the toxic sludge that would result from everyone soaking in the same pool for days on end like some grotesque broth.

As it was, however, Kaydence’s main issue with the place was how many representations of the goddess Uat it had. Surely, the bathhouse did not require this many statues of the same fat anthropomorphic hippo. And that was before counting all the depictions of minor deities such as Rapha, the goddess of medicine who became a snake, or Selma, the goddess of community and harmony, older than some of the Twelve. From Kaydence’s perspective, the Imperials’ obsession with depicting their gods on every available surface bordered on creepy.

Granted, she was biased.

Past the entrance statues, a vast hall with a domed ceiling echoed with chatter and the babbling of water. Light streamed down from the cupola, supplemented by glowing crystal fixtures along the engraved walls. Off to the sides, stone tables and benches let visitors enjoy cheap tea and cheaper conversations after bathing. Few people occupied those, as free time was a rare commodity for the average Greyport citizen. The only ones there were old people, gossiping and commenting on the passersby as the elderly tended to do, all the while sipping their hot leaf juice with deliberate, age-weary motions.

At the heart of the room was an imposing fountain, which had for centrepiece—you guessed it—a statue of Uat in all her motherly, hippopotamian glory. The goddess stood leaning forward, an amphora balanced over her shoulder, pouring water into the fountain basin. Staring at her, Kaydence randomly pondered on Uat’s role as a symbol of motherhood and how neither woman she called “mother” across two lifetimes showed the kind of temperamental fierceness Uat was known for. Though Annet came closer to it than the wilted flower Kaydence recalled scurrying away from her own sons in terror.

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Her sombre recollection was interrupted by someone bumping into her—hard. Kaydence did not budge, but the unfortunate stranger bounced back and ended up on his bum on the tiled floor. An intense sensation of déjà vu struck her when the man whined tiredly.

“Ow, ow, ow… Why does this always happen to me? Is this town cursed or something?”

Kaydence shot a glare downwards. “You.”

Compared to a couple of days ago, the man’s outfit had graduated from a mud-caked curtain to a raggedy cloak. He himself looked weary as ever, but with his pale face cleaned, his greying black beard trimmed short, and his long hair tied in a loose bun, he had what Annet might have called a “roguish charm”—a term she usually reserved for travelling minstrels.

The change shaved a decade off this vagabond priest, placing him in his mid-thirties instead of his late forties. Kaydence might not have recognised him save for the goat pendant around his neck, his peculiar rose-amber eyes, and the Air magic aura he almost perfectly concealed.

“Me? Oh! Me, indeed! And if it’s not the young miss from before!” The mage chuckled as he stood, sounding instantly more awake. He dusted his worn travel cloak and spun his wrist with a flourish. “A wonderful Founder’s Day to you, milady. We've got to stop meeting like this.” He winked at her, causing Kaydence to experience a full-body shiver of disgust. Had she been alone, she would not have hesitated to turn heel right then and leave the suspicious mage behind.

However, her mother was another story.

Annet came up to her daughter’s side and faintly elbowed her. Eyes sparkling with interest, she whispered, “Sweetie, you’ve been holding out on me! Who’s this handsome fellow?”

“Don’t know him.” Kaydence did not bother lowering her voice. She started to turn around, trying to gently pull her mother along. “Come on. Weren’t we in a hurry?”

“Oh! A knife to my heart!” The stranger gripped his chest as if hurt. “You wound me, milady. Surely, I left something of an impression! Albeit perhaps not a great one, I concur. In my defence, I had been on the road, and sea, for a bit of a while. I was far from my best.” He rubbed his head in a disarmingly sheepish way. “Please allow me a chance to amend my reputation.”

Annet peeled Kaydence’s hand off her shoulder. “There’s always time for a fascinating stranger, Sweetie.” She stepped forward, hands behind her back and fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly. Kaydence thought she might feel sick…er. Annet beamed at the stranger. “May I know how you’re acquainted with my nine-year-old daughter, sir…?”

“Nine–!” The priest-mage choked. He quickly covered it with a cough, shelling out for a fancy bow. “Ahem. Gabriel would be the name, madam. At your service. I am but a humble follower of Fen, wandering where the wind carries my steps. You said this is your daughter? Why, I would have thought you sisters,” he added with a playful wink.

Kaydence only held back a loud gagging noise because she considered herself above such petty, childish behaviour. Annet, on the other hand, blushed pink and fanned herself. “You flatterer, I know your type. But it’s nice to hear regardless. I’m Annet.” She reached out for a handshake.

Instead, Gabriel gently lifted her hand and brushed his lips against its back.

Annet’s blush darkened. “Oh. You’re good at this.”

“A lifetime of practice,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “And this… intense young lady would be?”

Kaydence levelled an unimpressed glare at him. Annet rubbed her daughter’s arm placatingly. “Like I said, this is my daughter, Kaydence.”

“Kaydence?” The man’s face twitched. “That’s a-err, very… unique name, for sure. I see you’re a bold woman, Miss Annet. I’m impressed.”

“Nice recovery,” Annet snorted.

“Ah, well… What can I say? You’re a most discountenancing woman, Miss Annet.”

“Oh, no need to break out the fancy long words. We’re but common city folk here, I say,” Annet joked in an exaggerated local accent. “People might accuse you of trying too hard.”

“Was that too much? My sincerest apologies.” Gabriel’s eyes twinkled with humour, making the dark rings under them almost disappear. “Would you grant me the opportunity to further make amends? For bumping into your daughter as well… err… twice. Over a meal, perhaps? Of course, your daughter and husband are invited. Far from me the thought of impugning your virtue, madam.”

Annet rolled her eyes. “Here you go again with the excessive chivalry. Are you secretly a knight in disguise?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “No husband, however.”

“Ah,” the man sobered up. “That was careless of me. My condolences.”

“Oh, no. You misunderstand. I’m not married.”

“I see… I didn’t want to assume. I meant no offence.”

“None taken.”

“My. It seems I have committed yet another blunder. Please, I beseech you to let me treat you and your daughter. Despite what my travelworn appearance might suggest, I am not wholly destitute. I can easily afford a meal or three. Ah– Assuming the eatery is, err, reasonably priced. Haha.” The blush stood out on his pale skin.

“Of course,” Annet snickered. “I’m sure we can find an arrangement. I was recently told only fools turn down a free meal.”

“Wise words to live by.” The man laughed, shooting a conspicuous glance at his patched clothes. “However, I’m afraid I’ll be pretty overwhelmed with clerical duties over the next few days. The Founder’s Festival is always such a wonderful but unfortunately busy time for us men and women of the cloth.” He sighed dramatically. “I am staying at the Blue Whale Inn, down Main Street. Feel free to leave a message with the innkeeper, and I’ll contact you as soon as I’m able. Please do it, I insist.”

“I think I might,” Annet replied with good humour. “Now, if you’ll excuse us. My daughter was right. We were in a bit of a rush.”

“I understand. Then don’t let me keep you, miladies.” He took a blushing Annet’s offered hand to kiss. “It was a true pleasure. I hope to see you soon, Annet. Kaydence as well.” He patted the young girl’s shoulder as he walked past her, earning himself a death glare that slid off him like water off a duck.

Kaydence watched him go with narrowed, suspicious eyes, looking away only when her mother grabbed her hand. “Come on, Sweetie. Weren’t we in a hurry?” she asked teasingly. Her daughter shot her a glare full of exasperation, but she let herself be pulled along.

* * *

As soon as the two women were out of sight, Gale’s flamboyant attitude dropped along with his shoulders with a long, weary sigh. “Urghhh…This is exhausting. I don’t know how that guy keeps it up all the time.” He sighed, again, for good measure.

His tired eyes drifted back across the hall to the entrance of the women’s section of the bathhouse. “Well, it’s efficient, at least,” he conceded, then spun and swiftly strode out, his old cloak billowing behind him. Annet. Kaydence. Nine years old. Not much to go by, but not bad for a first contact… First intentional contact. He could hardly believe that girl was any less than fourteen at the youngest. But the freckled woman did not seem the kind to lie. If anything, she seemed the type to stick to honesty past the point of discomfort.

In a sense, Gale should thank the god of overwork—if such a deity existed. “Maybe Kol,” he mumbled, swiftly making his way past merry townfolk, dishing out casual greetings as people called out to him. The Fire God was the patron of industrious souls, after all. “Probably a child of Azor, though.” The progeny of the goddess of discord were the usual culprits for all the woes of mortals, ever since their shrewd mother tricked the other gods into inventing death. “Did she ever have a child with Kol? I might have to revise–” Gale shook his head and dragged a hand over his face. “What am I saying?”

A bath and a shave were one thing, but what he truly needed was a full night’s sleep.

Regardless of divine intervention, had he visited the bathhouse the previous day as he originally intended instead of getting caught up in following leads from his broker contact, Gale would have missed his opportunity to manufacture an encounter with the suspicious girl. Then, he would have wasted his time investigating the wrong end of the decade.

A decade ago... This can’t be a coincidence. No clue about the father either. Gods, I hope I’m overthinking it. Gale could already picture the looming shadow of a paperwork mountain should his hypotheses prove correct. He had dismissed his initial concerns because the girl lacked any discernible magic aura, but if she had not gone through her awakening yet, then he needed to reassess his preliminary conclusions.

“Aaaah!!” Stopping in the middle of the street, Gale suddenly shouted in frustration, furiously scratching his scalp with both hands. Passersby spread out to avoid the screaming madman. “Forces and Elements! Why, oh why, does this always happen to me?! …Is it me? Am I the one who’s cursed?!”

It did feel that way, sometimes.

Back when he first started in this line of work, Gale had been sent to investigate a potential magic rat infestation in the sewers of a random city. It was supposed to be a simple job, almost a hazing for the new guy. Instead, he had unexpectedly stumbled onto the lair of a province-wide illegal Death cult plotting the execution of several major noble figures. The time after that, while digging dirt on a merchant suspected of tax evasion, he had uncovered a conspiracy to initiate a war with the Mettanean Polyarchy. Last in date, a routine check of a newly excavated ruin had him run straight into a nationwide smuggling ring specialised in ancient Jaldehim artefacts. The group had potential ties to the Custodian Order, meaning dire international ramifications and forcing Gale to spend the past six months deep undercover with small-time gangs in poorly managed backwater townships.

And now, here he was, embroiled in high-stakes political manoeuvring and assassinations. He did not have time to investigate weird pre-teens who rubbed his instincts the wrong way. Yet, Gale could not help himself. He knew he would be unable to sleep well until his compulsive occupational curiosity was satisfied. “Maybe Edrik was right. I should book an appointment with the Church of Darkness’s counsellors. I might have a problem.”

Finally realising his muttering in the middle of the street was attracting a crowd, Gale hurriedly walked off and ducked into a side alleyway.

On top of all his problems, Gale was convinced that crafty bastard Edon was hiding something from him. The broker had always been a trusty source of information, but his efficiency as of late had shot up—suspiciously so. The report on Viscount Darien’s illegal activities alone would save Gale months of work. But instead of feeling reassured, it only rang alarm bells all over his overworked spy brain. Where was that man getting his intel from? Gale was feeling itchy to investigate, but he literally, physically, had no time left to dedicate to anything else if he wanted to sleep enough to function as a human being, let alone do his job.

Edrik always said Gale was too paranoid, but that well-meaning, loveable doofus did not seem to realise that paranoia was Gale’s job! …as was hanging out with notoriously unstable, bloodthirsty undead, apparently. That was a bit much, even for Gale. “That’s it. Next time I see Typhoon, I’ll definitely tell him I qui–”

The spy’s steps faltered as he felt the tracking spell he had left on the girl’s shoulder fade out of existence. His head snapped in the general direction of the bathhouse, a frown on his brows. Odd. Admittedly, that spell was structurally weak in return for ease of casting and discretion. It was prone to decay and vulnerable to sudden changes in atmospheric mana. “But isn’t it too soon?” he mumbled, stroking his chin pensively. The enchantments in the bathhouse should not have sufficed to disrupt it. “Well, never mind.” The spell had never been his main objective, merely an act of opportunity and a decoy for whoever else might be watching the girl.

I already have what I need. Gale reached into his cloak and produced a small leather satchel from his breast pocket, checking its contents. Inside were two strands of black hair, which he had picked off the girl’s shoulder as he put the tracking spell on her. A slightly unhinged smirk graced his lips. He stored the satchel away and resumed his fast walk to his next destination.

“Who’s paranoid now, eh? Eh?! Hehe. Hehehehehe…”

* * * * *