Winter was a frightening season, more so for the people of Delphi than anywhere else. Due to its peculiar situation, winter madness hit the city especially hard, and this winter was no exception.

Delphi's casualties this year were in excess of ten percent. The streets were in shambles, and entire sections of the city were being repaired. Still, the people were in high spirits and looking forward to the future. All of Delphi was filled with the spirit of cooperation.

This wasn't to say that there weren't tensions. Resolving the conflicts that arose during this year's catastrophe would take decades to smooth over. That said, the people were roughly aware of what had transpired beneath the city and were thankful that the unspeakable trouble plaguing their fair city was now resolved.

Sorin and company were now celebrities. This greatly annoyed Sorin, but he put up with the attention for the sake of his friends and the city's wellbeing. That said, he was very selective about the people he entertained as visitors and only made exceptions for close friends or acquaintances.

Michael, the God Seed of Apollo, was one of these people. The archer was currently sipping on a cup of tea in Sorin's sitting room. A plate of freshly baked pastries had just been placed on their coffee table. "I'm amazed at how good this place looks," noted Michael. "That you were able to spare the manpower to repair the place in the past two months speaks to how important you are to the Kepler Clan."

"I honestly wouldn't have bothered," said Sorin, taking a sip of his own teacup. "Anyone I entertain would understand the situation. Unfortunately, Elder Simon wouldn't have it and hired a crew out of Olympia to fix the place up. It cost ten times as much as it should have given recent shortages, but that didn't deter him in the slightest."

Michael nodded. "Clans care a lot about image. I'm surprised they even let you move out."

Sorin chuckled. "My latest promotion didn't leave them a choice in the matter. All they could do was adapt and increase the security of this humble mansion. Speaking of promotions, I heard congratulations are in order? It's not easy for a God Seed to break through to the Flesh-Sanctification Realm. The resources required are astronomical."

"It's my own fault for not taking advantage of the Pylon of Civilization," said Michael. "That was a risky move on your part, by the way. I'm glad it worked out for you."

"I think the three of us are the only ones that really benefited from the Shrine Descent," said Sorin.

"You can't say that," said Michael. "All participants secured a huge amount of silver light and corresponding monetary rewards from the Hero Association. By the way, how's Stephan's doing? The last time I saw him was just before his surgery."

"He's fully recovered and heading back to Ephesus," answered Sorin. "I originally expected him to take a full year to recover. Who would have thought his clan would take out an ancestor's arm bone to help expedite the process." He took another sip of tea before putting down his cup. "You wouldn't come here just to make small talk, Michael. Let me guess—it's the Medical Association. They're after me for practicing medicine without a license again."

"Yes and no," said Michael, taking out an envelope.

Sorin grabbed the envelope out of his hand and ripped it open. He frowned as he scanned the contents. "I'll be damned. I was hoping for leniency, but a full pardon? And a letter recommending that I resume my practice? Did President Digory suddenly go senile? I know it's unusual for a man of his age, but it's not unheard of."

"I'm as surprised as you are," said Michael. "But I suppose I shouldn't be, given recent developments in poison-based medical research and the development of the Lesser Meridian Opening Tinctures and Lesser Bone-Unsealing Tinctures."

Sorin nodded. "I heard about those. The elders in my clan weren't happy when those papers came out. That said, there's a silver lining to the situation. I hear the Medical Association is reconsidering its blanket ban on poison-cultivating physicians."

"I can only imagine how big of a political mess your clan must be," said Michael. "I don't envy your situation."

Sorin shrugged. "It's got nothing to do with me. The Council of Elders makes the decisions, and I simply follow along if it's convenient. In truth, I'm just here for the resource channels and the alchemy facilities. The day those are no longer available to me is the day that I leave."

"Let me know if that happens," said Michael. "I'm sure our Clan Leader would welcome you with open arms. Though I must say, I'm surprised at your lack of reaction. I expected you to be overjoyed at the pardon and regaining your ability to practice."

Sorin raised an eyebrow. "Michael, I started practicing medicine two months ago. The Medical Association just wasn't brave enough to punish me for it. This letter is just a way for them to save face." He looked Michael up and down. The man wasn't wearing ordinary clothes and seemed kitted for adventuring. "Going somewhere, are you?"

Michael nodded. "Since I've broken through, there's no point in staying. Advancing in the Flesh-Sanctification Realm requires a large amount of divinity, something that can only be obtained in the Infinite Dungeon. I imagine you'll be making your way there shortly?"

"As I see it, there's no rush," said Sorin. "Comprehension and professional practice are also important. I can't let my abilities as a physician or an apothecary fall behind."

"Fair enough," said Michael. "There's also the matter of our divine missions. That is another reason why I'm heading to Olympia. Let me tell you, I'm not looking forward to making the attempt. In the past four hundred years, not a single member of the Pollen Clan has succeeded."

"Good luck," said Sorin. "I'd offer you some healing potions or something, but your clan's potions are the best there is. Perhaps I could interest you in a vial of my poisonous blood? You never know when a good dose of poison will come in handy."

"I'll… pass," said Michael. "I have everything I need. My party is waiting for me—we hope to arrive in Olympia in the next three months. Do let me know if you decide to head out. I'll be sure to introduce you to all the powers that be."

"I will," said Sorin. "Take care, Michael."

He's probing you, said a voice in Sorin's head. His grandfather sent him, I imagine. They suspect your involvement in the new tinctures. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're the likely source. There are many ways, after all, to deal with clan oaths and restrictions.

Sorin ignored the voice and returned to his office, where he took out a copy of the Delphi Medical Journal. He skipped through its many pages, stopping briefly to read articles detailing the concoction method for the Lesser Ruby Unsealing Tincture, which had been submitted less than a week ago by an anonymous researcher.

He continued reading in this fashion for a half hour before putting down the journal in a corner of the room. "How long are you going to keep observing me? It's getting tedious, watching my language and putting forth my best image."

A spring wind blew into the room. It was a warm wind filled with Violence and sun-based divinity that chased away the stale, maddening air that remained from the long winter. Several minutes passed until, finally, the observer in question let out a loud sigh.

Sorin blinked and discovered that a gray-haired man had taken a seat in front of his desk. The man wasn't too tall or too thin and had a rather subdued aura. His eyes, however, were unmistakable. They were the eyes of a viper, and they radiated the unmistakable might of a demigod.

"Grand Elder," said Sorin with a polite nod.

"Sorin," answered the Grand Elder in a stern voice. He made no mention of Sorin's disrespectful tone or lack of decorum. "I hear you've been doing well for yourself and have been doing some good work. I expected to see a mountain of completed case files on your desk—imagine my surprise in discovering research notes instead. Research notes on variant Meridian Opening and Bone-Unsealing Tinctures."

Sorin nodded. "My apologies, Grand Elder. I was hoping to surprise the council when my research was complete. It's a time-consuming affair, using medical mannequins instead of live specimens, but I wanted to make sure that a foolproof formula had been found before recommending the variant tinctures for live trials."

The Grand Elder pursed his lips. "Mana-specific tinctures have been theorized in the past. Unfortunately, we never had the medicinal plants to conduct any research on the topic.

"Things are different now. Your contributions have ushered in a golden era for the clan's apothecaries. I'm sure your research will allow us to quickly overcome the loss in business created by the unfortunate release of proprietary clan research."

Sorin leaned back in his chair. It was strange speaking to a demigod in such a relaxed fashion. Most cultivators would have lost their nerve, but Sorin was the exception. After all, the Grand Elder cultivated the Divine Medical Codex's subsidiary art, an art that was naturally subservient to the Ten Thousand Poison Canon.

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"So, you've found the culprit?" asked Sorin. "I must admit that I was suspicious after reading the anonymous papers. There are few people with access to the formulas and accompanying research notes. What's more, these few people are restricted by the Ten Thousand Poison Tablet and are unable to communicate these things."

The Grand Elder's eye twitched. "I wasn't born yesterday, Sorin. I know what you did, and I'm sure the Elder Council has its suspicions. If it weren't for the fact that you're a God Seed and have immensely contributed to the clan's welfare, I would have thrown you into the insect pits for the next five decades.

"But enough about that. Tell me what your intentions are, Sorin. I received notice from Administrator Pollen that the inquiry has wound down. The clan is off the hook—for now. With Delphi's matters resolved, it's logical that you go to Olympia with your companions and challenge the Infinite Dungeon.

He seems awfully eager to have you enter that dungeon, doesn't he? said the voice in Sorin's head. Perhaps he has ulterior motives? I could help you just this once; Give you a glimpse of the world I see.

Sorin ignored the voice and weighed his options before giving the Grand Elder his answer. "Five years," he said, holding up one of his hands. "I'll be staying in Delphi for five years to catch up on my medical and apothecary studies and solidify my foundation as a Flesh-Sanctification cultivator. Once I'm finished, I'll go to Olympia and see what the old pit of vipers has in store for me."

"That's not a very nice thing for you to say about your family, " said the Grand Elder. "I see why you'd want to take it slow, but five years is a lot of time, Sorin. I advise you to reconsider. Momentum is a powerful thing, and your cousin, being a decade older than you are, has almost reached the middle of the Flesh-Sanctification Realm. His position in the family grows increasingly solid."

Sorin snorted. "I have no desire to throw my hat in the ring for Clan Leader. My dear cousin can have the position and all the baggage that comes with it."

"You misunderstand," said the Grand Elder. "It's the unofficial policy of every great clan that a God Seed can't become the clan leader. Their life expectancy is too short, and their fertility rate is abnormally low."

"That being said, a God Seed of Asclepius commands great authority and respect in the Kepler Clan. If you play your cards right, the power you wield won't be lacking compared to the Clan Leader."

Sorin snorted. "I have no desire to involve myself in such matters, Grand Elder. And this isn't the reply of a haughty youngster. I'm sure you can imagine what internal conflicts would arise if I returned now, given the resurgence of the poison faction.

"There's also the matter of the apothecaries and physicians in Delphi. Since poison cultivators are back in vogue, they will need someone to lead and educate them. I might be newly ascended to the Flesh-Sanctification Realm, but apart from Elder Calvin, there is no one more qualified to do this than me."

The Grand Elder looked Sorin up and down, then let out a soft laugh. "You just want some peace and quiet while you polish up your apothecary and medical skills. The rest is just an excuse. You don't truly care about the clan or its conflicts."

"I admit it," said Sorin. "But is it an excuse you can sell to the Elder Council?"

"It will barely suffice," said the Grand Elder, rising from his seat. Sorin respectfully rose with him. " You have no idea how much trouble your recent actions have caused in the clan, Sorin. We derive roughly twenty percent of our income from meridian opening and bone-unsealing treatments. These new tinctures are eating away at our bottom line.

"That said, I can see why you did it. The pressure on our clan from the outside has diminished greatly. I never did agree with being so secretive about the formulas. The Pandoran Government got its hands on it three decades ago, and it was only a matter of time before it was leaked to the general public.

Sorin maintained his silence, so the Elder continued speaking. "I'm not scolding you, Sorin—I'm praising you. You've grown greatly in the past few years and have become someone who considers the bigger picture. It's a rare trait to have, which is why I urge you to reconsider the five-year period and return as soon as possible."

"I'll consider it," said Sorin, ignoring the rambling voice that congratulated him on his forward-thinking and keen instincts. "How can I contact you if I change my mind?"

"Just let Elder Marik or Elder Simon know," said the Grand Elder, waving his hand. "Now, I must be going. Do you have any questions you wish to ask?"

"Only one," said Sorin. "The previous owner of the Ten Thousand Poison Canon—it was my father, wasn't it. He cultivated it alongside the Divine Medical Codex and seldom used the former in public due to its lacking popularity."

"You guessed it right," said the Grand Elder. "Historically, the Clan Leader has belonged to the Abberjay Branch since it's the only branch that can successfully cultivate both arts at the same time. This is a carefully kept secret known only to a few. Normally, a Clan Leader only reveals their mastery over a single art in public."

"This policy changed in recent years, both because of the dwindling strength of the Abberjay bloodline and its relative infertility. In the last six generations, only your father and one other individual succeeded in cultivating both Divine Arts. Since exceptions were made during skip generations, it only made sense to change the requirement to compatibility with the Divine Medical Codex. In this, the Mockingjay Branch excels."

Sorin nodded. "When my parents died, they lost something, didn't they? The Abberjay Branch was punished as a result."

"Your father was the keeper of the Staff of Asclepius," said the Grand Elder. "It was lost when he died, and it was your uncle, the head of the Mockingjay Branch, who recovered it. He was just a stand-in for clan leader at the time. Still, thanks to this achievement, he was able to secure the position for the next twenty years. At that point, the matter will be re-evaluated. Anything else?"

"Nothing," said Sorin, shaking his head.

"Then I'll be going," said the Grand Elder. "I was only granted a short leave of absence and must return to guarding the boundary."

Sorin waited a few minutes after he vanished before taking a seat. He fished out another medical journal and read for a good hour before he finally heard a voice in his head. He's gone.

"We've had this conversation many times in the past, but I feel I didn't make myself clear enough," said Sorin to the voice. "Please avoid talking to me while I speak to demigods. There's no telling what abilities they have and whether or not they can hear you."

Those fools? Scoffed the voice. They're greatly lacking compared to the demigods of old. In my prime, killing them would be as easy as lifting my finger.

"Well, you aren't in your prime, Azrakul," snapped Sorin. "You're little more than a crippled and bound demigod. A portable energy source for my growth and development."

Have you considered the proposal I made last time? asked Azrakul, shifting topics. The matter of your rat companion's hibernation? I can help him, you know. All you need to do is slightly loosen my seal, and he'll instantly finish his transformation.

"Lorimer doesn't need your help," said Sorin, feeling the void on his torso. Lorimer's cocoon was in a state of hibernation, and there was no telling when it would awaken.

Suit yourself, said Azrakul. It doesn't matter to me. What does matter to me is the attitude of that murderous old man. I've never seen someone change their mind over killing someone so many times in a single sitting.

Sorin froze. "You're saying the Grand Elder wants to kill me?"

Naturally,said Azrakul. Couldn't you feel his bloodlust? Couldn't you feel the web of conflict surrounding him? Let me tell you, he's got more blood on his hands than ninety percent of the myths I've interacted with. Weak as he is, he's a killer through and through."

Sorin frowned. "The Grand Elder has no motive to kill me. All he cares about is the clan's well-being. My actions may have infuriated the Elder Council, but in the grand scheme of things, they were beneficial to the Clan and helped ease its many tense relationships. Our monopoly in tinctures has upset no small number of people."

Azrakul sighed. You'd understand if you could see what I see. The web that connects us all.

"I can see the web just fine," said Sorin, peering past the physical into the realm of karma and connections. By channeling Strife and using Nemesis as a conduit, he could identify various connections between groups and individuals and even guess at how people would act following his interactions with them.

Azrakul scoffed. What you see is merely child's-play. A taste of what I can offer. All you must do is release three of my seals. No—two will be more than enough.

"I don't believe you," said Sorin, tossing the Medical Journal onto his desk and walking over to a kettle to make himself another cup of tea. "You're just trying to manipulate me. If I give in this time, there will be other times. Your fifty-year sentence will swiftly shrink down to ten.

You wound me, said Azrakul. I'll have you know that if you die, there's a good chance I'll die with you. Besides, I've already decided to possess you. It's in my vested interest to ensure you survive until Asclepius's seal is released.

Sorin added sugar and milk to his tea and took a sip. This batch was from Mattapan, and he hadn't quite gotten used to its taste.

I see that I still have much work to convince you, said Azrakul. In truth, unraveling seals isn't necessary. Showing you indirectly should be good enough.

"I refuse," said Sorin, not taking the bait. If the Grand Elder has ulterior motives, I'll discover them on my own."

I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter, said Azrakul. I've decided this is worth burning my few remaining energy sources.

Sorin blinked as two figures appeared in the room. They were none other than him and the Grand Elder, as they had been over an hour ago. Several lines connected Sorin and the Grand Elder. One thread was alternating between green and crimson. Judging by his micro-expressions, it was clear that he was mulling over something. Clear signs of aggression appeared and disappeared rapidly throughout the conversation.

"You could just be making this up," said Sorin, sipping his tea as he watched the scene unfold. It was interesting to see it from this perspective. He saw all sorts of body language that was otherwise impossible to notice.

Sure, I could, said Azrakul. But you've already verified these memories by superimposing them with your photographic memory, haven't you?

Sorin shrugged. "It's like I said. The Grand Elder has no cause. I'm no threat to the Clan and would be much more useful alive than dead. "

Then perhaps this will change your mind, said Azrakul. The image deepened, and a massive web appeared overhead. It spanned all of Delphi—no, all of Pandora.

Though Sorin was unable to interpret most of the diagram, his command over Strife, Madness, and Violence allowed him to interpret some elements. For example, blood-red threads represented blood enmity. They were what remained behind after life was extinguished. Such threads could only be formed between a killer and the victim's friends and relatives.

As Azrakul had mentioned previously, the Grand Elder had killed many people. The majority were demonic life forms and myths, but quite a few were from the Kepler Clan.

Two threads, however, stood out to Sorin. They were blood red like the rest and much thicker than usual. Moreover, they connected the Grand Elder to Sorin himself.

"Impossible," said Sorin. His vision spun as he connected the various facts he'd collected during his investigation.

One fact stood out to Sorin. No, not a fact. It was a memory—a memory gifted to him by Hope during the Wish-Fire Festival over one year prior.

In that memory, a member of his clan had entered the Infinite Dungeon to investigate his parents' death. And now, he could clearly identify that clan member. It was the Grand Elder who'd investigated his parent's death and searched their corpses.

Yet this was not the most horrifying aspect of the revelation. Rather, it was the pair of blood-red threads connecting the Grand Elder to Sorin. They indicated that the Grand Elder hadn't just investigated the death of his parents—he was responsible for their deaths to begin with.

--

End Book 2