V.

Hunters

Haketh, Inner Chamber of Kasian’s Twelve

They assembled in that dreary chamber on the fifth morning of Wakingtides, that third month of their thirteen-month calendar. They called it Dwi in the Calamoni tongue.

The chamber of Haketh was big and dome-topped, built in the same architectural style as Athica, though the materials were of black obsidian, and the windows shone not light, but twisting purple magic. Her magic.

Opposite the grand dark oak door, there was a man-sized indentation in the wall which acted as a gateway, should they need it. Above it was a painting in intricate detail; a silver, platinum, white dragon, floating above a dark field covered in soldiers like swaths of ants. Dying soldiers, blood-covered men fighting for their lives. Her wings were splayed out soaking with crimson blood. Her name was Evra.

But The Twelve sat around that rounded, hollow table in the middle. They sat and argued and contested, until finally Kogar stood, and slammed his fist down.

"Someone has erred. One escaped the Azar’kara project—or rather, the maelstrom as a whole." he said, and brushed a hand through his short black hair as though it was much longer than it was.

"I'm positive that he did not survive my elemental. Forget him." Ivalié answered from the seat closest to the door.

"How callous of you to expect Serkukan, Evra’s firstborn, to be snuffed out by a mere pawn. We’ll arrange a hunting party—"

“He was a bastard, I may remind you. A breeding between an Etherian and a man, the first man. He is full of unhoned rage, and uncontrollable emotion.”

“And yet he killed Algirak.” Kogar tilted his head.

The other six in attendance looked bored and disinterested around the obsidian table. This was not the first time they’d usurped civil discourse for argument.

"There was an unforeseen element—the Outsider."

“Llestren’vatis.” Kogar narrowed his eyes. “And yet you imply that he is no longer influencing that boy, who sprinted so readily to Calamon. As if he knew.”

"There are more pressing matters at hand. Do not forget that."

“You speak down to me? You, who is so absent from matters concerning our kin?”

“You command nothing, Kogar. The Twelve act independently.”

Kogar's face became a harsh grimace.

Ivalié rose calmly from his seat as though anticipating an attack.

Suddenly there was a slow, soft clapping that broke the tension in the air.

"Gentlemen, must you always bicker so?" came the serene and oddly sensual voice of a woman.

They turned to see her; the black-and-purple gowned woman with pale skin and violet eyes. The woman who still wore the dark crown of their hellish home from so long ago.

Rykaedi. Ivalié narrowed his eyes to her.

A woman who had never concealed her identity as an Etherian. The only member of the Twelve who had no taste for subtlety.

At least, up until now. They had all been forced to reveal their identities with the Rejoining.

Not that they hadn't know already.

A black-robed man spoke up from his seat as well, "There are more important things at stake. Are you all forgetting Dyosius? That should take our present attention, lest we have more than just a Rejoining to contend with."

The group was silent at that remark. Dyosius was something they'd all considered.

But Rykaedi pitched in again, "The boy won't be hard for me to find. Let me have Calamon, for but a day."

"No, Trancewalker." Kogar commanded.

"Bother, I hate that name." she grinned sarcastically.

Ivalié said sternly to them both, "It is not yours to divvy up."

Kogar continued unabated, "You made that mess in Azar'kara. You could take the blame for all of this."

"But I won't. We've already picked our scapegoat." answered Rykaedi.

"The Twelve could afford to trim even more fat."

"But I'm not that disposable."

Kogar continued as calmly as he could manage, "Remind me: was Dyosius not in your hands the last time it triggered?"

"Silly me." she stuck out her tongue like a child.

Another figure stood up and left the table—a woman in grey-accented leather, her coppery brown hair worn up in a ponytail.

"I did not dismiss you, Liara."

Her freckled expression was blank and stonelike as she turned to say: "I'm going to deal with Cedric. This place bores me."

"We haven’t finished this discussion."

"You've hardly begun. Carry on without me. I'll find him. Or what remains."

Kogar could only grit his teeth and watch as she left. His eyes bore so much fury, it was a wonder he wasn't a crimson dragon after all.

Rykaedi smiled.

|All is right with The Twelve.|

Four Months After The Rejoining

The gates of Calamon were a spectacle. Faunia Vleren had never seen anything like them.

Taller than any structure that people could have built themselves. Wide enough to allow a constant inflow of people, of caravans, and of the strangest-looking warriors she had ever seen.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

And, strangely enough, the gateway had a severe lack of a gate; there was no way to stop the flow. There was no shutting down that massive, flower-shaped city. It was alive, more alive than any place on Kylinstrom.

"Careful, there!" someone cried out as his horse-like animal almost rammed into her. It had humps and light-green skin. Not like any animal she had ever seen.

He reeled it back and skirted around her. "Don't stop to gawk, you'll get hit!"

She complied, kept moving forward toward that gate.

Then another figure approached her amidst the crowd, tugged on the sleeve of the robe that covered her Hunters' armor.

"You're new here, miss?" he asked from beneath a black mask. His eyes were purple, churning with strange energy.

"What gave it away?"

"Your... scent. You smell like you came from afar. Overseas, perhaps. Dulanin?"

"I'm not familiar."

"Where from, then?"

"I'm from… I'm from Kylinstrom."

The man lifted his eyebrows. "Good place?"

"No. And it's worse-off now."

"Your coin, too…" He shuffled some Hunters' Tokens in his palm.

"Oi!" Faunia grabbed at her coinpouch but found it missing.

"Relax. I won't take 'em. I doubt they have any value here. But you need to be more careful. Everyone's got their own powers, here. One wrong move, one mistold truth... and you'll wake up dead."

"Surely you don't wake up from that."

"You seek guidance. There is a place where they can help with that."

He slipped her coinpurse back. It was heavier than before.

Then he vanished into the crowd before Faunia could grab him.

She kept moving. Inside the coinpurse, she found something strange: a silver medallion covered in intricate circles within circles, and lines throughout. Red gemstones marked the ends of each line, forming an eight-pointed star upon its smooth surface. On the back were crude symbols she couldn't interpret—part of some foreign language. She tucked it away, hoping that nobody would call attention to the strange item she'd been granted.

Not as if I've anywhere better to start my search...

The place at the end of that search was named Thelani, she surmised through streetwise perception and careful questioning. And through that search, she was soon approaching a dark cellar door, hidden away in an alleyway behind shady brothels and strange sabbath clubs the likes of which she had never seen.

Faunia pulled the heavy steel door open and went down the deeply inlaid steps that led beneath the city.

Once inside a small maroon room at the bottom of the stairs, she paused in a fit of choking at the oppressive dust. Already had she alerted someone hidden behind the next steel door, and a slit opened slightly above her eye-level, where two dark bulbs peered out. "Vith akana?"

"This place is called Thelani, isn't it? I have an amulet." she said as she displayed it.

The slit shut with a hiss.

And then the heavy door heaved open to an ominous candle-lit hall which led deeper into the darkness. The black-eyed man stood aside, gestured for her to enter.

{I'll keep my eyes open.}

Thank you, Tirolith.

And so she took her steps into that darkness.

The hall was tight and narrow to the point of discomfort. She was sure she wouldn't be able to swing a blade within, and was grateful as it opened up into a room at the end—some kind of reception room it seemed.

A bald-headed and rotund man was sat at the table past the end of that corridor, surrounded by a few chairs, in black and red robes that bore resemblance to the Sylvet.

He smiled when she entered. As though he were congested he asked, "Dothvaki?"

"Sorry?"

"No, I'm sorry. I assumed you to be a solemnist. Where are you from?"

She hesitated. "Dulanin."

"Ah. From the Inner Jinn, then? Tragedy, over there."

"Yes." she lied. "What can you tell me about this place?"

"Calamon? Or my temple?"

"Both, I suppose."

"Well, what's brought you here?"

Before she could respond, a voice passed from behind her: "Ah, the Kylinstromi girl. Vek tith adeo."

She scowled at the entering figure. "What was it you were saying about protecting my identity?"

The masked man from that morning dropped down to sit on a chair beside the fat man. His purple eyes smiled, then he pulled down his mask to reveal the pale discoloration of his ordinarily tan face, and the crackling skin around his mouth.

"I also told you to come here. This is a safe place. If you didn't trust me, you shouldn't have listened."

"I have few other leads here. I'm looking for someone."

"Aren't we all?" The man shrugged.

The fat man asked, "Where was that other boy from? He was also from Kylinstrom, was he not?"

The man put a finger to his lips. "About protecting identities…"

"A Kylinstromi man?" Faunia raised an eyebrow.

The discolored man laughed awkwardly like a croak, "In any case, my name is Rithi. This is my master, Oelat. We are worshippers of the Azafel pantheon, a quiet one from long ago."

"Azafel—the Sylvet deity? Was it really by coincidence that you found me and brought me here?"

Rithi cocked his head. "Sylvet? I'm not familiar with the term. As for finding you… you did indeed have a strange aura to you which drew me in."

She recoiled slightly.

"Ah—I didn't mean… I don't know how to describe it, actually. But it is not often that I take hold of someone else's possessions only to make conversation."

"You're some kind of petty thief, then?"

He chuckled, "I am a slave to my power, I suppose."

"Your power? You mentioned powers this morning, too."

Oelat snorted, "Greater Calamon is a land of adventure, with Calamon City being the epicenter of our exploits. We've employed a wide girth of magic to prosper since the founding of this place, and the groups who make up our people have ever enjoyed the hectic chaos of exploration and struggle—that is to say, we Calamonis enjoy a good challenge.

There are necessities to live such a lifestyle, be they magic, or prowess with a blade, or enchanted goods that give us the powers we lack naturally."

Rithi nodded. "I was stricken by a Scourswarm Basilisk some time ago, hence the damage on my face and body. As for my eyes, I am under the influence of the powerful magic sworn to me by a mage here, Yvesmalia. Well, the magic was another sort of affliction, but she turned it to my benefit. My vision is…" He searched for the words.

"He can see fragments of peoples' lives. He can sense their motivations, feel their struggles."

"And your struggle, Miss Vleren, was far greater than any I've sensed in quite some time. The people in Calamon are lavish and relaxed, but you bear the weight of the world on your shoulders alone."

Faunia felt her throat constrict at his words. Indeed, the obstacle before her felt insurmountable. She felt like she would buckle at any moment, and collapse in defeat.

"I am a Hunter of Kylinstrom." Her voice wavered, "I must protect my homeland. Even if that means destroying Kasian and his men. Even if it means betraying everything I've known."

"A Hunter?" Oelat's bug-eyes popped wide. "That's a secret you'll want to hold close. Tell no-one of that."

"Why?"

"The Hunters have not existed since the Age of Etherians. They're extinct."

"You're kidding…" She opened her robe slightly to look at her silver armor. The armor of the Freiya'kara soldiers.

"We'll get you a change of clothes. And then we can talk about your objective. We'll see how we can help. Rithi…"

Just as Oelat turned to command his subordinate, the hissing of a steel door down the eastern hall interrupted them.

"Oh, so he's finished."

A shadow moved across that distant torchlight. Someone approached.

And then stood a man in the doorway, in black leather armor, with his head shaven close to the scalp, and no beard upon his face. His face was covered in ink, swirling in strange patterns from his eyes and mouth, and away into jagged spikes.

Faunia's mouth fell open slightly. Her mind swam with rage, frustration, sorrow, and joy.

She called out to him, "Cedric!"