Standing in front of a round table, the top of it artfully warped to show the layers of the Outer-tier. Haillon pressed his weight on the finely worked Atlas, eyeing the map before him with the curse of Hunger. Carefully, through deals with women who thought to make him their tool. He had begun to gather enough strength to contest his rivals; claim the least populated halls, and add them to his own.

Irritation played upon his heart, tried to distract him as he planned the steps to his scheme. The Curse warranted, that he needed to spend so much of his time, and resources, taking over small areas formed Aggravation. But the new rulers of the settlement, a Chosen sent by the Giver, had changed the flow of needs. He would adapt, as he’d done before, and rise within the Titles; but for now, he focused on the tasks of the present.

In his mind he organized his forces, and slowly distributed token stones on the atlas symbolizing them. The exercise took longer than it should, but with the Curse of chills affecting all within his House. Haillon had to make sure his Chanters involved wouldn’t be taken by it in the middle of their task.

It was nearing his time as well, the shaking of his hands as he moved about pieces, was too blatant a sign from his vessel to ignore. He couldn’t even last a whole Rotation anymore, and with each song he heard from the Blessing, the worse the chills became.

He, and those close to his council, had thought of finding a means to counteract it, or withstand the chills. But nothing worked, and purposely forgoing the warmth—using ones will alone to hold off the effects of the emptiness within them—was a worse fate. A fitting punishment though, for those who would have betrayed them. The thought made him smile as he finished laying out his forces. He had quite the collection of traitors in cells, all being consumed by the chill as they continued to be deprived of warmth. Some had lost themselves, Consumed by all accounts, and turned into weeping pathetic things that constantly cried out for Relief.

A beautiful sight, and a fitting warning to all who would dare try to take his House from him. One he’d built from scratch, raising up those he saw fit to be by his side in this Lowly settlement he was forced to dwell in. Even with a Chosen in the lead, it couldn’t blind him from how mediocre the skills were here. Looking at the Wards brought about Pain, they were so inferior, and lacked the real blessing from the Giver. It was a misdeed to call them Wards at all, even with the protection they provided. These scribblings had no right to share the same name as those coating the walls of a Sanctum.

By the Givers will, Haillon offered that the Wards of the Inner-tier would be more fitting of the name. The need to find out, and be amongst those near his equal, pushed Haillon to achieve his destiny faster. There was only so much more he could take sharing lessening space with Soulless, of all things. Why such beasts were allowed to live was beyond him. The Chosen, or those in charge of attending him, should have cleansed the entire settlement of their filth. It would solve many problems, and raise the worth of the settlement. He would raise a petition once housed within the Inner-tier, even rally those to his side if needed to force the matter.

Alone as he was, Haillon allowed himself the weakness of sighing, showing he was mentally weighed with the likes of Fatigue. There was so much to be done, so many tasks in need of his guiding hands, that it was starting to overwhelm him. This settlement was filled with Lowly thinkers who couldn’t see the obvious steps to take to resolve their problems.

“Such is how things turn out, I guess,” he said aloud, walking around the table. “When Outcasts are used to form new Safegrounds.” A Lowly foundation made for a Lowly settlement. “And now I have to clean up the mess.” It was becoming increasingly clear that those attending the Chosen were unfit. ‘I’ll have to help him, once I’m by his side.’ Or take control all together, Doubt agreed with him, there was no possibility the Chosen was taking any real interest in the running of this settlement. No, someone of his worth must have come to deal with truly dangerous Curses, or Consumed. The Chosen would leave eventually, called back to the Giver’s side.

Haillon offered the figure didn’t leave too soon though, his presence was a blessed diversion. Those of the Inner-tier were too busy vying for his attention to closely watch the Outer-tier for any emerging rivals. “This opportunity will see me rise and—

A series of soft tapping’s at the door to his chamber stilled his tongue and thoughts. Anger spilled into his veins from being interrupted, but he pushed the Curse away. A Lowly of his wouldn’t dare bother him in his private study without a high reason.

“Report!” He yelled out, ensuring the Lowly would hear perfectly, and know of his displeasure. A new series of taps came, the secret code showing it wasn’t some Faceless trying to reach him, but a genuine servant of his.

Moving from the table, he began to hum, readying the Anima within him. Servant or not, it was always prudent to be careful, he formed a series of Barriers near the door as he approached. Unlocking and carefully pulling it back, Haillon peered through the gap, hidden safely behind his formed protections. There, kneeled on the floor, was a single Guard.

“Speak.” He told the Lowly, his eyes looking about the area; one could never be too careful in a settlement of Outcasts.

“The Harbingers of warmth have called a gathering.” The Lowly told him, the news quickening his blood. It was early, not that he would complain, he as much as anyone else needed the Cord.

“Prepare for my departure then.” He commanded, best to get his fill now before the cold had a chance to usurp control of his vessel.

“As you command blessed Worthy.” The Guard rose from the floor, but the top of himself remained bowed. Haillon kept a fixed gaze on the Lowly, making sure the Guard did as instructed. Only when the line of sight was cut did he close the doors. With no one to see him, Haillon hurried over to a sequestered part of his study. The small nook would serve his purposes, since that was what it had been designed for. Rising above others, and running a House wasn’t the most secure of Titles to bear. As such, there came times he had to tend to his own base needs in order to stay safe.

He disrobed, casting the less formal wear on a railing merged with the wall. After, he grabbed carefully folded clothes, and dressed himself in more appropriate attire; the pieces showing off the quality of his Channels. He followed with rings of polished gold and sapphire, the pieces matching with a set of ear rings and pendant.

Studying himself in a full body mirror, he eyed his figure, making sure nothing was misfolded, and his fur neatly combed. “I should be gaining Anima for this,” he said to his beautiful reflection. “Allowing Lowly to see my majesty,” but there was nothing he could do to change that. The gatherings were predetermined, and always in places that allowed for large hosts. If he wanted to get his fill of warmth, he had to share space with Soulless.

‘Giver please let the time of cleansing them be near.’ He offered, content with his looks, and headed for the doors.

***

“Make way!” Yelled his Guards as they pushed Soulless back with the use of Barriers. The filth had the nerve to complain as room was made for them to walk comfortably. ‘They’ve gotten too complacent,’ he thought. ‘Allowed to breed too much, and labor too little.’ The newly Titled Anointed were far too lenient, another thing that was up to him to fix, once he’d clawed his way up into the Titles worthy of his name. For now, he watched his Guards do their task, while being flanked by his loyal Maidens.

Actually loyal, and not the delusions so many of his breed allowed themselves to fall for; believing the soothing lies women adored singing. No, his had finally tired of wasting their time trying to best him, and now focused their efforts on the betterment of him. And in a way themselves, since as he rose, so too did they, to a certain point. There was only so far Lowly could go before the quality of their Channels got in the way.

‘Once I’m in the Inner-tier, I can finally find myself quality women to lay with.’ Necessity, and the population of the Outer-tier had forced him to partner with women lacking in worth. It had been Disgust forming to lay with them, breeding with inferior Vails, but he’d been able to force himself with the use of spices. They allowed his vessel to gain enough arousal to complete the task.

“Move you beasts.” Screamed the Head Guard, a son of his, and a poor example of his seed. Too taken by Anger, too closed minded, and lacked the ability to plan properly. But that was the price for laying with Lowly, sometimes equally inferior Newborns were sired.

His son warped the Barriers with his chanting, sections of the shielding around them surged out, ramming into the mob. The snapping of bones echoed, followed with the cries of Fear as Soulless finally acknowledge their betters, and made a proper amount of room for them.

‘And to think the cleansing proposal was rejected.’ He blamed the Anointed’s high place of residence; they must not know how overpopulated the Outer-tier had become. How in need it was of a cleaning. ‘They’ll learn of it soon enough,’ even the most blind would gain insight soon. There were only so many beasts a settlement could allow, before the leeches began to suck away too many resources from their betters.

Till then, he had to suffer their existence, along with another as he felt his hands begin to tremble. With Cycles of practiced breathing, he was able to keep his breath stable, even as the chill worsened. A blessing he’d left when he did, he’d miscalculated his tolerance. That or the Chill was taking hold of his vessel faster than expected. Either way, he would have to inquire on the matter later when he was done getting his fill of Warmth.

With the Soulless reminded of their place, the pace of his host reached a tolerable speed, allowing them to reach the trading district. The place—Lowly decorated—was packed beyond even its holdings. His men made room for them regardless, and they advanced further in, nearing the center where a Harbinger would sing. Other Worthy had already arrived, and their Hosts smaller than his.

‘The Chill is taking them faster; they must be desperate.’ A weakness to exploit when he would need to be heavy handed with the opposition. For now, he merely gave them a curt glance, and aligned with Annoyance that he had to consider such Lowly as rivals. His siblings back in a Sanctum would have laughed, seeing him forced to maneuver with lesser Vails. But not much, they’d planned for him to die after all. Yet he still lived, and by his own merits, would rise back up in the Titles, and the realm.

His Soul was above these beasts, his Channels spoke of it, when death did claim him, he would rise back to his proper place in the realm.

The problem would be where, and with what House. If he was reborn into an unsecure clan, he would find himself stunted, and possibly cast out again. ‘Better to rise as far as I can,’ he thought. ‘Death holds too many unknowns.’ So much, that he didn’t ponder any further on the matter, he instead focused on the present, and tasks he could resolve.

Once he was done being sung to, and returned to his estate, he would personally check the supplies of his House; make sure the needed resources for his plan were in order. And catch if any Maidens had dipped into stones they shouldn’t have. Their constant moaning of the estate not being furnished highly enough, was a blest warning for him to check. While he was out, he would inspect the Newborns as well, decide which would receive ascension first, and secretly those who wouldn’t get any at all. Those would be exposed of, he couldn’t have Soulless linked to his House, just the thought had his ears nearly hang down from the weight of Shame.

A Cursed waste, but there was nothing that could be done. Even if he was deserving of more, the realm was stiff with its offerings, he didn’t have the Anima to ascend all the Newborns. His, and the Maidens accounting, had been off due to the unpredictable shifts taking place in the settlement. Sacrifices had to be made, and it might as well be from those not of use.

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A soft hum pulled Haillon from his mind. It held no power to it, no warmth, yet it was sweet to his ears. The Harbinger of Warmth arrived, floating through the air and landing at the center of the chamber, where a space had been left for her. His vessel relaxed, even though she’d yet to perform her Hymn, and the sight of the Harbinger caused Lust to form in his loins. Tall, fur divine colored, and soft; Channels worthy and equally proportioned around the places he could see. Her silver eyes, memorizing, and glowing with power. His vessel wanted to stride forth, claim the woman, and mount her right there in front of everyone. The Newborns he would get from her, the foundation of his house. Lust massaged his primal tool, trying to get him to act. Training, and the Chill, had him push the Curse away, as he’d done many times before. It helped that the Harbinger was mostly hidden behind layers of white dyed silks; the robes obstructing the full worth of the woman.

Yet Lust still tried to sway him, and he didn’t stop the thought: ‘If only I could make you mine.’ Find some way to bend the Harbinger to his will, gain access to the Warmth that resided within her. ‘I’ll find a way.’ Once he was within the sphere of the Chosen’s influence, he would search for a means to take what he deserved.

As he thought that, for a Breath the Harbinger turned her gaze on him, showed a charming smile and glistening eyes. It should have been a sign of his worth, him above the masses, yet Fear clawed at him, something about that look, it had his vessel tensing.

The moment she looked away the pressure left, and his vessel relaxed. Fear remained however, the Curse playing with his fur and skin, teasing him with the warning of possible harm. He pushed the Curse away, he’d done nothing to earn the Harbingers ire, no slight was offered, since the Harbinger hadn’t once order them to lower their gazes while around her.

He was spared further prods by the Curse, as the Lust forming woman began to chant. He had, at best, a Breath to notice this before a wave of euphoric Warmth swept around him. He fought for control over his vessel, just long enough to settle on the floor, but even that was too much, and his grasp slipped. He, with everyone else, slumped listlessly to the ground.

Everything was right with the realm, the Chill gone, the Curse washed away, his vessel sending him waves of pleasure that somehow didn’t invoke erotic sensations. He was in the arms of the Blessing, and he wanted nothing more than to stay there, to avoid what awaited him passed the moment of singing.

The cold, the emptiness.

‘All will be made right soon enough pup.’ He heard in his mind; the voice of the Harbinger. ‘You will be free from the emptiness in you.’ She continued; the smoothness of her words so very satisfying to hear: ‘You will forever be free of the Curse laying at the heart of your psyche.’ He felt the warmth intensify as the voice grew louder. ‘All that must be done is to allow the Cure into your heart, to accept it openly, desire it with all your might. Then the Chill will be cleansed from you, and you will never feel empty again.’

The words, so pleasant, such a sweet alluring melody. He needed to listen to it, anything else felt wrong. the Harbinger was here to keep him safe, raise his worthy Soul, and cleanse it of Curses.

It was a moment after that thought, he was forced back into the realm of full awareness. The Warmth lessened, but by the Giver’s will, it didn’t entirely depart. A minor version of it remained, just enough to keep the worse aspects of the Chill from taking him.

The abrupt shift in pleasure forced open his eyes, and Haillon sucked in air, fully taken by the twins, Shock and Surprise, when he looked upon the Chosen himself. Haillon lowered his gaze, thankful the eighth son of the Giver hadn’t been looking in his general direction.

‘Blessed be the Giver.’ He offered, not only for the fortune of avoiding the great one’s eyes, but also of the wonder that was before him. This Vail, if the Chosen could even be considered that. Was tall enough to be equivalent to three men standing on each other’s shoulders. But the astounding part wasn’t his size, but his make-up. The Chosen, solid light bestowed Vail form, and endowed within ornate silver armor. His very being lit the chamber, and on top of that divine radiance, were Wards that blazed even brighter. Sigils of such craft, that Haillon wanted to weep. These before his eyes, were Wards, every other he’d seen were insults to the name.

He would have offered everything to see the Chosen in his full glory, rather than most of it hidden away. Though of high worth, and it too engraved with Wards; someone of his majesty should have worn little to nothing at all. His Worth should have been on display; perhaps they were not worthy enough to see the entirety of him.

“As I have told, and saved many others.” The Chosen abruptly said, pulling on Haillon’s awareness. The voice was Warmth, and filled with Blessings he could not parse. “Now I deliver the same message to all of you. I have a cure to the Curse that has hollowed out your chests. A way to forever remove the Chill trying to claim your vessels.”

Joy held Haillon close, freedom from the shivering cold made his mind fill with possibilities. He could achieve so much more with time no longer contained within the thresholds of resistance. Yet a smaller part of his mind, one surely held by the Curse, advised caution. Warned the Chosen had a new trick, for why would he remove the chain that kept so many in need of him?

Haillon pushed the thought aside, anything would be better than his current state. He’d seen what awaited him if he didn’t come to the gatherings, how the cold would take his vessel and mind, then leave him a weeping, begging Consumed. No, he had to have the cure, he had to be free, otherwise it would take him decades to reach his proper place in the realm.

“All you have to do,” the Chosen said, the voice coursing with euphoric Warmth. “Is accept it when the time comes, to embrace my blessings and ignore the lies from the Curse. It will spin every tale and haunted vision it can contrive to make you reject salvation.”

Yes, he knew, for the Curse was moving within him already. It sent urgent warnings; proclaimed he stop and think for a moment. It asked him over and over, what did the Chosen gain from curing Vails, from breaking the chain in his grip?

‘The end of you,’ he thought to the Curse. ‘Your blight removed and the realm made all the more blessed for it.’ All that would remain was a realm of pleasure, no Curse biting at their necks, making them gaze at lesser sights below their need to notice.

“Behold,” the Chosen spoke, voice reverberating power. “The cure,” no chant came, the sign of salvation was the brightening of the Chosen. That, and the light making up his form spreading into tendrils. Haillon blinked, and in doing so, missed the act. He opened his eyes to a tendril sticking into his chest, no Curse came from it though, Pain wasn’t there to tear at his flesh. He gasped as the light burrowed into him, heading straight for the point in his chest where the Chill emanated from. The moment the two touched, the realm fell away, his vessel went taut, and Haillon felt his very being influenced.

It was beyond the Curses ability to control him, beyond anything he ever felt, this was a permanent change, a reorganizing; no, an adding to him. As the Harbinger had told him before, this was to make him right. The Chill was going to be gone, because the emptiness in him was being filled.

‘Don’t allow this,’ a part of himself said. ‘This will undo you; you will not be yourself anymore.’ It warned, begged that he resist, to reject what was being done to him, to push out the light making him whole. ‘It will spin every tale it can,’ echoed the words of the Chosen, as the pleas from his mind grew louder. ‘Push it out, push it out,’ the voice cried alarmed. ‘This can’t be undone, you can’t allow this to happen.’ The wailing voice warned again.

He didn’t react to it, even as the light warped and began to fill the void. He felt it, even before the task was completed. The Chill was leaving, its touch weakening the more his center filled with new entities. The Light heightened, formed, condensed, and fused within him.

He breathed out, Love, Empathy, Compassion, coursing through his vessel and mind. They chased away the last remnants of the Chill, burning it as he felt whole and born anew.

The realm came back to him then, he’d fallen onto his back, surrounded by others in a similar state. People began to laugh as he placed a hand over his chest, saw there wasn’t a wound, and the Chill gone.

He joined them in the voicing of Joy; Mirth spreading through his form, joined suddenly with Surprise as he noticed the Harbinger wasn’t singing. The air was only filled with voices of those rescued from the cold. They were truly free as the Chosen had said. No shivers took his vessel, no icy sting that made his heart sputter. He felt comfortable, relaxed, a great weight lifted from his shoulders.

‘I’m free,’ he thought, tears welling up in his eyes. ‘Blessed Giver I am free.’ The Curse was gone, he could plan clearly now, enact his schemes sooner, rise in the Titles and remove the Soulless—

The word, and thoughts that came with it, felt wrong. He groaned, and rubbed his chest as he felt the new entities in him act. They didn’t like that word, he didn’t like that word, nor the concepts that came with it. Disgust touched him, why had he thought of such a thing?

He hissed, and closed his eyes as visions appeared in his mind. They showed his plans, his aims to cleanse—no— to kill all of them. That was the truth of it, he had been preparing to slaughter thousands because their existences got in his way, and made him align with Annoyance.

His focus wavered; attention pulled to people weeping. All around him Vails clutched their skulls, and pressed their palms over their eyes.

“You have committed many Curses,” the Chosen said, making Haillon raise his sight. He saw, Pity? Within those orbs of light that made up his eyes. “And now free, you see the horrors you birthed. Listen to my three Blessings within you, follow their guidance, and know you are already forgiven. All of you however, must learn to embrace that fact.”

He felt the three blessings coming from his chest, and each a heavy weight on his heart. They latched onto his past decisions and thoughts, each time the weight worsening.

The Blessings moved through his mind, resurfaced old memories. “No, no,” he mumbled, doing as others were, and pressed his palms over his eyes. The past played before him, his acts of violence, betrayals, unwarranted mistreatment of others. The perverse glee he got at watching foes realize they’d lost. He felt himself being judged, the three Blessings asking him a simple question.

‘Why?’

He felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach; he curled into a ball in response. ‘Why?’ Came the question again, louder than before. ‘Why did you do this?’ They wanted to know, he wanted to know.

‘Try and find forgiveness in yourself,’ the Chosen’s words echoed. But the more he witnessed, the less he wanted too.

The more he saw, the more he knew that he didn’t deserve such a thing. He needed punishment, needed justice, and not the selfish kind only used to gain more from his rivals. True judgment, condemnation, made to repent for all he’d done. If that was even possible. Every Rotation he’d committed Curses, had others suffer under his demands so he could rise higher.

So much to repent for, too much. Yet the past played still, revealing to himself and the Blessings, one Curse after the other. Then, nearing the end of it, their sights fell upon his prisoners.

‘Why?’ Came the question as he relived the moment where he condemned his disobedient to be chained in cells. Stuck in place, so he could learn how long they could last without the Warmth. He had allowed the formation of Consumed, allowed others to be thoroughly taken by the Curse.

Once that scene fell away, his life of misdeeds played again, the question repeating over and over. He tried to think of excuses, the reasons why he acted as he did, but now they felt so hollow, and short sighted.

‘I was a cursed instrument,’ he voiced to himself. ‘The play thing of Curses, a follower of my base desires.’ It felt so normal then, the continual seeking of pleasure, trying to fill the emptiness in himself with vices. It had always been with him, the Chill, the hole, he simply hadn’t experienced an existence with it sated. Hadn’t felt what it was like to be whole.

And when he did, it ate at him, that empty existence, a hollow state leading to hollowed acts.

But now he was cured, and it was time he repented for all he’d done. Even in that state, the Chill numbing his senses, he still had a choice, he still willingly tortured others for his own fleeting pleasure. Nothing had forced him to do so, no matter how he felt, he’d been the one in control.

‘What should I do?’ He thought to the Blessings. ‘What do I do to atone?’ His question made his chest warm; a correct choice made, and thus revealed a path out of the dark.

His mind played, visions manifested, he knew what to do. First he had to inform the Harbinger, then the Chosen of what he’d done, reveal to them the Consumed locked within cells. Afterward, he would take the necessary steps to aid those of his House. So many were neglected, mistreated, they needed resources he’d been hording for himself.

Haillon breathed out, and though tears still fell from his eyes, he smiled, his chest didn’t hurt anymore, it instead began to flutter with the touches of Joy. He could never undo the past, but he could mend the present. He could help others, and each thought of it made him align with Merriment.

He was in control of his actions, always had been, but now he could finally see. He would make sure no Curse would be allowed to form in this settlement again.