Amusing, is it not, what a simple disguise can do? Rolin all but ran down the hall. Buckets of willpower were required to maintain the semblance of composure he held. That and his amusement were all that separated him from killing each and every Aegimari affiliate on the island. No part of him wanted to break world order when he saved Samara from her cell. He would do it, though. Let it all rot if sparing them all meant a world without her. Mother would not appreciate that sentiment. She loved each and every one of her children; even those who had been chosen by the Spectrum or the Void. Life had equal value in her eyes.

Rolin saw things differently, even as one of her direct children. A life without Samara was lesser; even more so was the life of one who wanted to take her away.

Focus, Wintertide. Focus.

All signs indicated that they would not be ready for him. They had suppressed her, likely with Indigo Hues, and he couldn’t sense any high concentration of Nether in the area. He could feel her through their Fatethread. Forbidden, intimate, and most importantly at this time, unidentifiable. The Thread allowed him to feel her presence and location at the barest of minimums. One could send flares of emotions, memories, or even bits of thought to the other through the Thread.

The Thread had shown them that others could think in different ways. Samara thought in sensations and pictures, associating them with words and events that she was portraying to herself. Rolin thought in words, an inner monologue of sorts.

Her outburst at this discovery stuck with him to this day. I have to listen to you drone on and on when I’m with you. Must I when we’re apart as well? He felt himself smile from ear to ear. Yes, focusing on her was necessary. It kept Rolin in check. They had been Threaded more than twenty years now. That would not end today.

The Thread was the reason he had found her. She had been abducted from her palace in Solrusia. The audacity of it all enraged him like little else could. Aegimar thought they had been quite secretive and, truthfully, they had. Without the Thread, Rolin might have eaten up the bait which would have set him, and Samara’s kingdom, against the Maras of Mithrock. Without the Thread, he wouldn’t have felt the worry and concepts of haste which had pulsed in his head whilst he was hundreds of miles away in the Autumn Isles. They had been too far apart for direct thoughts to come through, so he had waited.

The familiar came for him from Theron, their steward in the Ebonhold, stating that Samara had been taken. Solrusia was doing well despite the fact that their queen had been kidnapped from under their nose by unknown forces. Rolin’s response, in which he stated that he would get her back without issue, had supposedly done wonders to keep them calm. As calm as they could be, at least. There would still be the typical opportunist to deal with when they made it back home. Some criminals will have been emboldened. All were quaternary at most on his list of concerns.

The news had forced Rolin’s conferences with the Dwarven faction of the Autumn Isles to come to an abrupt end. Luckily, the dwarves were much more amenable to such slights. The elves would have scheduled a day and a half dedicated to letting him know how terribly insulted they were. Rolin was a king, he was a mortal god; Samara was a Disciple to another god. It would not do to explain what emergency had occurred. It would do to let them think on what could possibly require a god to step away as quickly as Rolin had without showing them how thoroughly he had been undermined.

Rolin and his Lunemorians acquired a smaller boat. Theirs would not do. It would simply signal to Aegimar that they knew, that Rolin was coming, that he was angry enough to meet them on their own ground.

That he was livid enough to kill them all.

All of these rang true. Rolin didn’t want them to know it, though.

Whilst many of his people sailed back to Solrusia in his warship, The Mother’s Ire, they had acquired a small sailboat. To most, a sailboat would be no good. To one whose divine jurisdiction covered the wind and the water, it mattered not. Two of his men, Turo and Ajak, had sailed with him across the Sea of Storms in order to follow the presence in his head. Like the breeze and the waves, a few storms outside of their regular season proved not to be an issue. Such was the power of an Icebinder.

After a couple of stops to throw off any potential followers, the Aegimari eventually made their way toward Commonwealth. The island which had never, officially, been taken by an outside force. Other Wintertides begged to differ.

Turo and Ajak were still waiting on their little boat. Rolin, who had been a hairy beast of a man for most of his life, had completely shaved his head and most of his beard, leaving a thick mustache atop his lips. So long as he kept his power suppressed to the point where the entirety of his eyes refrained from turning blue, he looked like any other Mithrocki. Whiter than Wintertide, he was, though he was Wintertide.

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Rolin continued walking down the long columns of white stone that made up this hallway. Doors lay equally spread out on each side, though none of them held Samara. He was getting closer. The presence in his head grew more thorough with each step he took. Soldiers passed him wearing the same uniform that he had recently acquired from an unlucky lad who had refused to give it up. Silvery dust, he was now. Frozen and shattered into shimmery, glimmering bits; though not before his uniform had been taken from him. A plain golden coat with a few star-shaped badges on the chest to reflect the minor rank of Officer, fine black breeches which had been well taken care of, and a white cotton shirt which seemed to serve the purpose of being too warm for no purpose.

They gave a quick salute, left fist to the heart, and Rolin reciprocated the act with his right hand instead. They nodded and moved on. The Corporals had tried to give him the wrong salute, likely an attempt to see if they could either catch an undisciplined private, or an intruder, who was mentally checked out. The presence continued to coalesce in his mind, to become more real, the closer Rolin got. He was close. So close. He had to be careful to not send anything through the Thread. Any overwhelming emotion could cause a physical reaction that someone watching her might catch. They hadn’t considered the Thread. That was his biggest advantage over them. He couldn’t give it up.

He reached the door. There were no wards or traps that he could feel out, but it was tough when it came to the Arcane. Sage magics could easily search out other sage magics, but that was not the same for the Void or the Arcane. They could only search themselves out. Despite the difficulty, Rolin still checked the door for signs of Ether. He sprinkled bits of Aether on to the white stone in order to search out any resistance that might be found in the door.

Are you in there, Samara?

He waited for her to return one of her sensations. He waited for feelings of affirmation, love, haste, those which made Samara herself.

There was nothing. Her presence was still on the other side of the door, but she gave no signal. Something was wrong.

Rolin opened the white painted door. Samara sat in the corner of the room. Her void-black skin was pale, sweat dripping all over her body like a river current. Her head was slumped over and her eyes closed, though her breathing seemed steady. The room itself was pure white, like the hallway, with no decorations on its walls or ceiling. No rug on the floor. Nothing. It was as cold in there as one could expect a room of stone to be. There was one torch which lay lit in its holster. The flame should have kept the room heated. Magics were being used to keep the room chilly; just enough to be uncomfortable. There were no guards. There was nothing here whatsoever. Nothing save his everything.

Rolin ran over to her and cupped her beautiful face. Samara opened her silver eyes. She was awake, but she didn’t move much. She did not really move at all. He could feel and hear her pulse, her wonderful heartbeat. Bards could not sing sweeter sounds. She didn’t look at him though. She looked at nothing. Her eyes stared ahead, but they didn’t seem to take him in.

Samara sent no emotion through the thread. Samara uttered no words.

Rolin mustered up some Aether and sent an Indication throughout her body. She was not sick. Her vitals were excellent. What had they done to her?

What had they done?!

A feminine laugh came from behind Rolin. He turned to see two Commanders of Aegimar. The strongest man and woman that the organization could provide. Jevil and Anara. Betrayal would have pierced his heart if not for the overwhelming fury that now possessed him.

Light returned to Samara’s eyes for a moment, but it fled just as quickly.

It mattered not.

- - - -

Ajak sat on their ship in angst. His king, his god, had told them to stay. Every inch of Ajak’s being wanted to follow Rolin in order to save the queen. This want didn’t just come from his blood allegiance as a Lunemorian, a child of the moon, but from a place of concern.

Rolin was a good man, but Ajak wanted to prevent him from doing something he might regret. The king’s love had driven him near insanity. Ajak had not seen this side of Rolin, not once. Though, Samara had never been threatened like she was now.

CHILDREN.

Ajak jumped off of the wooden seat causing the boat to sway a bit. Turo, who had been walking back from the market, seemed to drop his food on the ground. That voice had been Rolin’s. Ajak scanned the area. He saw swaying waves, throngs of sailors on the docks with sprinklings of children and women, yet Rolin was not there.

His eyes moved to the fort where Rolin was and his heart tightened.

A pillar of shadow raised into the sky. The dome of the fort exploded, white stone and debris being flung out toward the surrounding city. The boom of the blast came shortly after, shaking everything around them with divine fury. Cries of fear and grief filled the winds. He could feel the strength of that pillar from the boat. The anger within it, the pure madness of the Void; that which must never be touched. What was Samara doing? Only she could do this. Aegimar did not employ Nightseers. Why had she summoned this? How had she?

CHILDREN. I AM AFRAID I MUST LEAVE YOU.

What? Why would Rolin need to leave them? Who was “them?” Was he talking to the Lunemorians? The dockworkers and sailors were beginning to notice the pillar. Screams of fright and pointed fingers began to show up among the crowds, but none said anything of a voice.

MY CHILDREN.

Pain, so much, though it wasn’t his own. Ajak shed tears anyway.

I…

Anger. Vitriol. Enough to drown the world in violence.

…DON’T HAVE FAITH IN THIS WORLD ANYMORE.

Madness. Enough to make the anger seem righteous.

SO WE WILL END IT.

The pillar extended outward. Everything around Ajak was consumed by the shadow. The fort. Docks. Turo. Himself. The waves.

Ajak embraced the rapture, tears streaming until his body had been eviscerated with the rest.