"Let yourself not be swayed by noble asceticism, nor lavish hedonism. Truth lies somewhere betwixt."

Kogar kept his head bowed low, kept his posture in deep kneel before the bald, golden king of Aeon.

Heji placed a comforting hand on the god's shoulder. The colors of his two-tone armor began to blend into one glowing grey...

Then Kogar sucked in a harsh breath, abandoned the saturation. The colors returned, black and white respectively.

"Release, Kogar. Let the whim take you completely. If you resist it, all the worse for both of us."

He shut his eyes again, tried harder to ease himself into complete relaxation.

"Balance. Find balance, Kogar. Or never will you find that which you desire."

A voice cut the air: "I'm not interrupting, am I, father?"

Kogar's glower opened upon the fat-faced woman there at the base of the marble throne's looming steps: the ever-petulant Princess Arobella. In only her nightgown, no-less, letting show far too much skin for a princess.

"What is it?" Heji Aeon asked with only the slightest hint of annoyance to his tone.

"I'm just so bored..." She drooped her head sideways like an insolent child. "Are you sure I can't go outside to talk to the knights? I heard Halj was looking for me..."

Kogar saw Heji's hand turn to a fist. But Heji only said, "We've had this conversation, Arobella. I gain no joy from repeating myself, and I find it hard to believe that repetition is joyous to you."

Her faux pout turned to a disinterested, lazy stare. Like a puppet suddenly without its puppeteer. She folded her hands before herself.

"Return to your chamber. You're too old to feign misunderstanding."

Just like that, Arobella turned and strolled down the lavish carpet which led out of the massively ornate throne room. It was like it hadn't even happened.

When Heji turned back to Kogar, the two-tone man was already at his feet, towering above the king. "It's only that she seeks your attention. She evidently does not disobey your orders."

"Very perceptive of you, Talek. I'm impressed. But my attention lies elsewhere; with war on the horizon, I can hardly afford even the passing span of a breath in which to nurture that girl. I'm not even sure 'girl' is correct—she's a woman, matured in the body but delayed in the mind."

"Do I not share a similar delay?"

Heji paused and considered that. "I suppose you do. But you've more..."

"Use. I'm a weapon to you."

"I—" Heji stammered.

Kogar began past him, down the stairs. "Don't anticipate dealing me any offense with your words. We've come far past pretenses of uncouth language much too long ago."

Heji watched as Kogar left the room, watched as his gilded guards turned the doors shut behind him. Then the king was alone—as alone as he ever could be—left scratching his head in wonder at what he might've said to offend the half-god.

"His name—Talek," added a voice from behind Heji.

The king turned in alarm to see Cedric standing there where Kogar had just been. "By the lands... How've you ended up here?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well—you're not dead, are you? I just sent word for you..."

"Wait, this isn't just part of the memory? We're talking?"

"I suppose it's some function of my Soothsayer abilities..."

"Your Teller magic."

"Correct. But then—are you dead?"

"If you've just sent word for me, then no. Although, I hate to be the bearer of bad news—"

Heji waved him away. "Don't tell me. That information is of no use to me."

Cedric’s gaze softened. "It seems like you already know."

"What good is a Teller who doesn't know his own fate?"

"If your ability is called Soothsayer, can I assume it's the same power which Kasian once wielded?"

Heji's dull eyes almost seemed to glow at that suggestion. "Are you asking me if I've inherited that man's powers?"

Cedric’s own eyes narrowed. "I wasn't. I was only suggesting a similarity."

Then Heji made a show of his hearty, deep laugh.

Cedric’s intensity did not falter. "Are you siphoning Kogar’s powers? Is that why you keep him so close?"

At that, Heji only placed a quieting finger at his lips. Then he changed the topic of conversation; "I assume that you're embroiled, now, in your final confrontation with him?"

"Something like that. I hope it's final."

The king looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I suppose I cannot say. You're beyond the hierarchy."

"Which means I've still got a chance."

"Strike true and at his root, if you wish to succeed. This war is not won by half-hearted measures."

"I've learned that the hard way. I'll only get one shot."

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

"Correct; one shot each, in physical and mental."

Cedric's confusion showed on his face.

Heji continued, "The original fates foretold your death at Kogar's hands. Within the span of a singular day, you've the opportunity to disassemble fate itself. You have until the blood moon falls."

"Then I can no longer waste my time here," he commanded, and the dream fell away. Suddenly, he was floating down like a peaceful jellyfish.

I know where I have to go. If I want to end this swiftly—the pineal gland awaits. As Okella showed me with Ivalié...

Just as the encroaching darkness from beneath began to take upon a radiant hue, two colored energies rushed up to meet him.

He braced—THUD.

The first impact was straight to his gut and knocked the air out of him. As for the second, he could see the blade...

It wasn't all-too difficult to catch the forearm which wielded that massive, man-sized blade beside him. The sleek black armor, the crystalline form without a face...

"Zanthiel."

He looked, then, to the white twin which mimed the same appearance. "Azatos."

It seemed they had no intention of talking.

"Let's see, then—how's Calamon for an arena?" asked Cedric. Just like that, the memory manifested beneath them all.

Zanthiel and Azatos leapt away, out of sight. Cedric thrust his hands downward and brought his momentum to a panicked stop. It was barely enough; he struck the cobbled ground and rolled through the dirt, slid, then came to a mostly-painless stop. He lifted his head quickly, ready for the two of them to reemerge.

It was Calamon, exactly as he'd remembered it. Beautiful, expertly-crafted, glisteningly bright in stone and statue. The blue sky was mostly without cloud above him, with one happy sun floating gently in the center of it all.

"I'm glad, at least, that me and Kogar see the same beauty in Calamon. Or should that be concerning to me?" Cedric stood, made appear the crimson armor of Serkukan around himself.

Then it hit him; not one of the two Etherians, as he'd thought might. But a way to keep Serkukan, a way to harness him.

The same way he'd decided to immobilize Rykaedi.

"It's so simple, isn't it? You hold so much power, Serkukan... It's not like I've ever really used it in a meaningful way. All of reality at my whim? What would I want to change...?"

You could bring Marisol back.

Cedric paused at the thought. "That's not my own thought, is it? You're trying to convince me. Just like Rykaedi did. Just like—"

Then it hit him. Zanthiel's black-armored fist crashed like a sledgehammer into his nose, broke the bone, let a spray of blood like a waterfall from his nose as he flew backward.

The crimson armor around Cedric's body became whole beneath the draconic helm which then appeared. He commanded the still-changing armor into a backflip to not let all of the momentum to go waste—

Then came white Azatos from behind him, seen only in a glimpse when Cedric was at the peak of his flip.

Thankfully, that armor of his let him warp in a single heartbeat. Azatos came to an abrupt stop beneath him, then looked skyward to where Cedric floated above the familiar city.

Cedric grabbed his broken nose and dragged the blood outward in a gloopy ooze. Just like that, the nose was repaired. He flicked the blood down at them like a rain;

and the blood ignited in flame.

Azatos and Zanthiel dashed sidelong in avoidance of his napalm attack, faster than the eyes could see. Thankfully, even in Kogar's memories they were prone to making a big show of their movements through the twice-ley.

Cedric caught a racing fist from Azatos as he arrived to his left side. Then he caught Zanthiel's kick on the opposite side. Bloody shackles grew from his hands and engulfed the two of them, constricted them together.

Then his own wings splayed from his back, kicked off the air, launched them toward the cobbles below.

"I've learned a thing or two about fighting your ilk," Cedric spat with venom as they rushed the ground.

Then the white Azatos escaped the shackles; his arms had become ethereal wisps. "As have I," he said through a corroded, static-inflicted voice.

Cedric looked desperately back to Zanthiel. The black Etherian had already vanished. Cedric was rushing the ground alone, his chains like whips at his hands.

But something caught his collar and stopped his momentum just a foot short of the impact, choked his throat with the sudden jerk of his motion. The same grasp cast him aside, rolled him across the ground.

The two of them were striding comfortably, casually toward him.

"My, my," said Azatos again, "we've got such a special specimen here, Zanthiel."

The sleek black Etherian said naught, but watched on through the smooth helm which covered entirely his face.

Cedric's bloody hand manifested a spear, lunged it upward for either of their torsos...

Azatos' body became wisps again as it should have punctured. He stepped forward and fell to his knees, low enough to engulf Cedric's forearm in his body of fog.

It became solid again. Cedric's arm was trapped within the white armor.

"What should we do with this one?" the white suit asked again.

Zanthiel's hands opened wide, made taut the chains which Cedric had tried to bind them with. He began to approach, his murderous intent not obscured by his silence.

Cedric kicked and struggled, tried to pry his arm free. He warped reality—his arm was free. Then Azatos' form became entirely fog, engulfed the extremity again and held it in place.

Cedric warped the chain out of Zanthiel's hands. But just like a bad dream beyond his control, the thing just returned a moment later.

He warped the world again, sent Zanthiel far into the distance, just a delay, just a hint of time...

But then the chain wrapped around his throat. It pulled him back by the jaw, dug in like the thorns of a rose stem through his flesh...

And they dragged him across Calamon's bloody ground, dragged him through the genocidal memory made manifest by Cedric's own bitter fear...

X

What is a Siren, exactly? Cassandra, Castelbre, Liara, myself... What does it mean, that title? They attract Etherians through some dirac sea (which I believe is the non-layman term for the void which separates us from the Etherian realm) but the mechanism of this action is completely unknown. I've dissected quite a few sirens during my most... objectionable experiments (they were promptly healed and revitalized by white and blue Etherians, paid handsomely for their service) but never found anything in their biology which makes them different to a non-siren. We shall call this property attunement; the undefined variable which makes Etherians more likely to swarm some beings and not others. The entire purpose of the Kylinstrom Experiment is to test whether the landmass itself is a siren, or if there's some other clue within which leads all Etherians to it. Why Kylinstrom? Why Cassandra? Why myself, or Akvum? Are we all sirens, or is it just a mere coincidence? Perhaps I'm looking too deeply into what can just be biological attraction built into the Etherian kin; it could be as simple as finding me charismatic, Akvum powerful and imposing, Cassandra suave and sensual, and Liara kind, caring. Perhaps these traits are just amplified to the perceptions of Etherians, making them all the more attractive? Could it be so simple? Hopefully Axys Amar will shed some light upon this; the biggest dissuasion I have from this being harebrained speculation was that Llestren'vatis mentioned sirens himself, and I dare not forget it. He looked me dead in the eyes and named me Siren Prime. The memory is hazy now; that was after three long days without rest, listening carefully to his every word. But I'm certain I did not mistake what he said: "Akvum makes a very nice Siren, I'm pleased with this result. Cassandra, too. I suppose, in a way, this makes you Siren Prime." Damn the Etherians of lighter hues, for their riddles and abstract speech keep me up even on my weariest nights...