Atop a still sea, a being that could not bow its head faced one who never would.

There were no tides to be seen, and the water was as clear as the best glass underneath the cross-legged Ib. The grey giant's lower hands grasped the spots where there would've been knees, on a man, while its middle ones were clasped in its lap. It had put its upper ones together, was resting its chin on them, when Ashe appeared.

The Ashen Isle was just a dark streak on the horizon, from this distance, and there was nothing to see in the opposite direction but ocean.

For humans, that was.

Even without focusing on the Island of Ash, Ib could sense the order that suffused it, the worshipful passion of its denizens. It could sense their anger, too, as was only proper.

It was, after all, the cause and focus of said anger, and Ib had come to believe facing one's past was better than not doing so.

Ashe is wearing a form between her draconic shape and her human self. The scaled woman puts a clawed hand on Ib's broad shoulder, her skin a darker grey than the metallic hue of the colossus' outer layer.

'You did not do anything wrong,' she assures it, as a beginning.

'Did I not?' it asks, tilts its head in consideration. The gesture feels sarcastic to Ashe, genuine as it might be. 'Perhaps. Perhaps you do not think I did. As their owner, I'm sure you can convince them I am innocent.'

The dragon goddess takes an exasperated breath, almost pulls her hand away. She remains, however, in the end. Ib thinks there is something to be said there, about the relationship between the concepts they stand for.

Her lips, Ib reflects, are exactly like those of the women Ryzhan has mentioned to have enjoyed kissing. Ib thinks their fullness goes well with the fangs behind them, though, despite Ashe's advances, it is no more attracted to her than it would be to a flower.

But it is almost tempted to explore.

Why not, after all? It, Ib tells itself, is the embodiment of freedom, and why should freedom be so mechanical in manner, so bereft of passion? It should be able to pursue whatever it wishes, joyfully.

But why should it be held down by lust and desires, another part of it argues, like so many beings of flesh shackled by their reproductive urges? Why should it limit itself so, instead of focusing on greater goals?

(The second part, Ib thinks, does not quite sound afraid. But it certainly seems defensive. The whole of its being is amused at its denials, and at the argument with the other corner of its mind.)

Ib almost makes fists at the ridiculousness. It must look forward to preparing creation entire for its trials, not faff about. And if it did decide to indulge some newfound desires, Ashe would definitely not be its first option.

Would she?

'My faithful are not puppets,' Ashe replies, 'and you know it. Their opinions are their own, for all I am driven to reward or reprimand in response to them. So why do you seek to aggravate me, still?'

'If you think I'm riling you up, why are you falling for it?' Ib asks placidly. Then, more seriously, 'Do not mistake my vexation for genuine anger. I like to think I am not a petty sort.'

'Meaning they are too small for you to concern yourself with.'

Ib opens a hand. 'If you say so.'

Ashe huffs as she leans forward, to wrap her forelimbs around Ib's neck and rest her chin atop its head. Ib pointedly says nothing about the warm softness against its back.

Ashe hums. 'One could say proper structure can only rise atop a foundation of liberty.'

'Are you using me as a prop for your philosophising?' Ib asks mildly. It is sure she could find many other uses for it, and gladly would if allowed. Her stated intentions aside, its power, if properly harnessed by another, could do most anything.

She shrugs. 'You're here, aren't you?' Gracefully stepping away, she slaps its broad back. Ib thinks that thing about structure only rising atop libert has less to do with societies and...no. It has equally to do with it and the position Ashe would prefer. Likely literally as well.

Ib half-turns its head, gaze trailing up her swishing tail to the fraction of her face visible from this angle. The bulk of its attention is focused on her truer, subtler self: Ashe is practically one with her counterparts from the higher layers of existence, including the Idea of herself.

She is thoughtful. The dragon, Ib thinks, does not quite know what to do with it. In this, too, they differ, for Ib knows its purpose, is driven by it like humans are to breathe.

'You are not wrong to be upset,' she says, after a time. 'Vexed, as you said.' She turns, and there is something of self-mockery in her gaze, her smirk. 'It must be frustrating to try and do good by others, only to have your hand slapped away.'

'I think we can agree on that.'

'Libertas...'

The shake of Ib's head is firm, the movement more curt than it would like; but it is denying that name as well, not just what Ashe was about to say.

It cannot deny the name given upon its creation any more than one can deny their parentage. Oh, yes, people say their parents are no longer theirs, after they wrong them, but that is, the giant thinks, a reaction born of the certainty that family should be well-meaning, kindly. A callous sort might call it entitlement.

None of that means Ib is about to acknowledge the Free Fleet in any way, however. Just as the soulful strigoi who is the unfortunate yet blessed target of Mendax's attentions denies any hold of his blood-father over him, Ib denies any influence of its material form's creators.

'Not Libertas,' it says. 'Never that. I am Ib - the best part of myself.'

The part that is working to ensure everyone's freedom, rather than obsessing over maintaining its own. There is no arrogance at play when Ib thinks nothing will ever trammel it: the only event that could result in it being unable to do as it wishes would be the end of all things.

'Ib, then. You-'

Bluish grey light flows from Ib's featureless face, as if projected by some inner mechanism. In truth, only its will is acting here: it could, just as easily, use the sea itself as a medium.

'Let us examine what went wrong, shall we?' Ib gestures at the moving images.

* * *

It had been going so well...

They had been happy.

So glad, to know joy that sprung from a well that was not of their goddess.

They had been moved, until the one responsible had overreached, and they had recoiled, in pain or fear or disgust, and hurled curses at it.

But this mover of their hearts remained unmoved. It took what they gave it, and contemplated, and understood, yet its purpose remained unchanged.

(Later, Ib would look back on this, and see it for the microcosm of a greater drama that it was.)

That did not stem the wave of dismay, as sharp as it was brief. Ib had greater things to keep in mind than the anger of some people who'd decided to be cattle.

Ib knew it was not good to think of them like that. But just because it wanted to liberate everyone did not mean it had to like those who'd jumped headfirst into bondage.

Looking back, it had really been overly optimistic to think speaking about casting off chains in the way it had would catch on.

Oh, the Ashen Islanders were all too eager to cast off anything preventing them from a closer communion with their goddess, such as love or the past. But that was trading some bindings for others, not liberation.

...And because it could see the bigger picture, it did not do to brood over the rejection of one group from one reality.

It only wished they wouldn't blind themselves so.

It had started, Ib decided, when it began talking about its childhood (such as it had been) in a negative manner.

The grey being had chosen to keep its origins for the later part of the story. It had seemed appropriate, for it certainly did not think of them as its first memories: as far as Ib was concerned, it had been born when Mharra had fished its formless, barely-thinking self from the sea. That it had existed before that, like an infant in the womb, was pure coincidence.

Its Archetypal nature did not even enter the discussion. That was the bedrock of its being, like a man's skeleton, perhaps, but Ib did not feel it owed the Ultimate Void anything more than its powers. It did not define the person it was, only what that person could do.

A skillset, then. Like others carved wood, it carved existence. Into shapes, not more pleasing, but better suited to their function.

Creation was a prison. Most couldn't even see the walls of the cell, the bars at the door and window, and how could one conceive of escape when they did not even know it was needed?

In knowing, Ib had been both set free and burdened. It knew the Meddler was handling the lynchpin of the salvation: whenever an arbitrator of the cycle of life and death - LIFE and DEATH, rather, as they styled themselves - was removed, the Dream that was existence grew murky and disturbed. If a new arbiter, someone who could Keep DEATH, was not found, everything would eventually fall apart.

It had happened several times, already. The fourth such Keeper had recently - as much as anything could be recent, with the differing timestreams of the universes bound by time and the layers of creation that were timeless - stepped down from his role, and while the speed of the deterioration defied prediction of both the analytical and paranormal manner, Ib knew it would come.

Handling that was not it business, however. Not directly. The Meddler Midworlders called Mendax was preparing the would-be fifth Keeper and, from what the Idea of Freedom knew, it was a delicate process.

Not because the dead man was weak, strictly speaking, but because learning he was being prepared would have resulted in a mindset not at all compatible with Mendax's goals. He had to be kept in the dark, tested, tempted, tempered. Until the time was right.

As for Ib? It knew that the end of creation could be averted through a proper cosmic realignment, but the cycle of Keepers had to be broken, and Mendax was unwilling to do so simply by picking someone who could bear that burden forever.

Its reasoning had been almost...sentimental, when they had spoken. The Meddler was by no means softhearted: it was, after all, the Idea of those who fought so everything could go on. The beings who had awakened to themselves, becoming one with their own Archetype, had all been fighters, for the sake of themselves and al they knew. They could not afford to let emotions get in the way of their decision, nor was regret desirable.

Indeed, the one often called Remaker had only wept once in pursuit of his duties, and that had been more of an outburst from a fraction of his being than the whole of him being regretful. It, Ib wagered, would've had to happen, sooner or later. The best part of the Meddler cared.

If it did not care, it would not have laid the plans it had. Ib had looked upon them with a sceptical eye. Everyone united in purpose? A breaking of the unseen cage through remembrance? It seemed so...fanciful.

But it had to try. If worst came to worst, the Remaker's first plan would succeed, and a fifth Keeper would be instated. Stability would return. But if there was a chance of unity removing any chance of stability being threatened again, Ib would take it.

To accomplish that, Ryzhan - and many others, some like him, many different - would need to work in concert. The motives would matter less than their being united in purpose.

So, Ib had arranged matters so its crew, too, would be tested and tempted and tempered, in order to become the best versions of themselves. Three should've been there as well, but perhaps there was a silver lining to that. The ghost had been put through the wringer, and yet Ib knew Three would not give in so easily. His substance might've been scattered beyond the perception of most, his sense of self almost ruined, but the grey giant knew his friend would hold on, for as long as he could.

And if they did not save him in time, it was unlikely there would be anything left, anyway. The thought would've been relaxing, for a more grim sort.

* * *

'...you doing? There is nothing to be seen, there.'

Ib glances at Ashe, but she does not meet its eyeless gaze. Instead, she is looking at the distorted air. Pointing at it with a clawed finger, the dragoness adds, 'It's like an untouched canvas. What am I supposed to take from this?'

The colourless blur is about that size, too. Appropriate...but also proof it brooded for too long. It should've replayed its memories with the sky as the background, before things got way from it.

'One could say that fits your cult,' Ib says, more acidly than intended. Not that it's going to take it back, now. 'Given how they are nothing without you, and hollow even so.'

Her eyeroll fits a human more than anything. 'Aye, aye. You've made your point already. But I think you were distracted, not going for a metaphor.'

'Is that so?'

'Yes. Because I caught an image before you started staring into space.'

One of the advantages that come with Ib's featurelessness is that it's very easy to give flat looks - or something like them. This one, Ashe returns with a small smile, not even showing fangs, but arching her brows.

'Believe that, if you will,' the giant says. Then, 'As I was saying-'

'Well. Metaphorically.'

The substance of Ib's face morphs into a scowl. 'You are not as funny as you think.'

* * *

Ib should've known they would approve of cultish behaviour. One would think the Ashen would be opposed to such, to any set of beliefs opposed to theirs; one look at how they were culled (there was no other word for it) would be enough to cement such an opinion.

But they hadn't. It was, the grey being thought, because this was not really something that affected them. It was the tale of another, a being that was not and would never be interested in joining them (nor could it, except as a pretense, to serve another goal).

It was, in a word, entertainment. Not the sort of things to get up in arms about.

(Ib was familiar with cults for whom fun was serious business, both those who contemplated ecstasy and those who shunned it. Obviously, they disagreed about why it was serious business, but the Ashen were not so ascetic. Merely narrow-minded, focused on their goddess and her island, to the detriment of everything else.)

They'd liked the early parts of the story well enough. Mharra finding and guiding a being with no shape of memories until it became a valued crewmate appealed to their ideas of rebirth through finding a purpose. Ib agreed - it had been reborn, though it had felt like the beginning of its life, at the time. With nothing to remember, most of the time, it had been like a child with the body of a god.

But Mharra's friendship had not borne the stain of coercion, or manipulation. Ib had stayed because it had wanted to: wanted to repay its captain, to find the truth about itself. Mharra could not have stopped it from leaving (though Ib had not understood the full breadth of its captain's talents, at the time, and had thus been unsure of his prowess), but the giant had been convinced to stay by something stronger than force.

Friendship. A sense of belonging, of togetherness, that had filled the void left by its severed memories. Now, when it thought of such things, it felt close to some revelation. A shape it could sense but not glimpse, or understand. It had the key, it knew, but could not perceive the lock.

Togetherness. A solution, but to what? The loneliness of many? Not to disparage them, but such petty issues were beneath its purview.

"And this Mharra did not bid you stay?" an Ashen had asked, when Ib had stopped, to draw its metaphorical breath. "He did not order...?"

"He wouldn't have dared," Ib answered with a grin. "But did not need to, in truth. I was...compelled to remain. Of my own choice," Of course, Mharra had not wanted a freeloader, especially one twice most people's size. Ib, with its strength and protean nature, had made for a handy crewmember, and Mharra had known how to goad and cajole it, as needed, to get things done. Ib told the audience as much.

Sometimes, when the gap in its mind left it bitterly nostalgic, longing for something it knew no more, Mharra had needed to spur it like a recalcitrant circus animal. Ib had bristled, at the time, but looking back, it was glad for the...encouragement.

Moping. Only worth anything when it happened during a practical activity.

More questions had followed.

"And the captain did not...doesn't tell you what to think?" Mharra was too smart to try and be domineering with any of his stubborn crew, but especially his main, thinking weapon. Besides, the only creed the captain enforced simply asked people not to be bastards without a reason. Granted, some Midworlders struggled to follow such advice...

Ashe had mentally sent it an insulting gesture at this, which it had blithely pretended not to notice. It had then remarked, also through unheard speech, that it was remarkable how quickly people could get used to only thinking as they were told.

"But where do you come from? You said you went on a pilgrimage, to find yourself."

Pilgrimage? Ib had frowned. They would frame it like that, wouldn't they? But - the religious tint aside, for spirituality needed nothing of that - it had indeed went on a journey of self-discovery.

The Free Fleet's renegade had been so appalled by it. Horrified, by its potential for violence, by the consequences of bringing it back home. The Fleet had been unable to unmake it, even before it had come into the fullness of its powers, so they had banished it, in such a way that it could never find a way back by itself.

Had Ib remained alone (Midworld was, after all, endless, and though one could argue its population was the same, if one had a generous definition of what a person was, "most" of it was barren), it would not have got anywhere, in any sense of the phrase.

But it had not languished, unthinking and unable to realise its loneliness. The friends it had made had helped it remember itself, and though one had been lost in the bargain, it had remembered the truth, thus enabling it to take the path it should've always walked.

The Ashen did not much like how that came about, however. The giant's cynical side insisted it was because they were scared of its power not being subservient to another, but Ib, as a whole, suspected it rather had more to do with it not returning to the slavish state it had been created in. Not that it could, anymore, but resulting to be controlled, and thus at peace, seemed like insanity in their eyes.

Perhaps the owner of some healing house for minds would benefit from this insight. Write down that no one was madder in the eyes of the mad than the sane, and it might help everyone with their wits about them treat the addle-brained less harshly.

Not that the Ashen thought in twisted patterns due to diseased grey matter. They had just been indoctrinated enough that they might as well have hit their heads, in terms of how they saw the world.

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And that was nowhere cleared than in moments like...

"No!" The cry had come from an older man, hair growing grey and spare. Two bays, not quite men but not children anymore, had huddled at his sides as if he were their father. "How could you?"

Ib had almost delivered a scathing answer, detailing the capabilities he'd used to nearly overturn the Free Fleet before its banishment, but stopped itself, and said, "They made me to be a weapon. Thinking, but not truly aware, not in any way that mattered." It went on to say how it would've remade the Fleet after breaking it, turning it into an instrument of everyone's liberation, rather than a collection of grasping lunatics who sought only not to be controlled. "And when I slipped their grasp, and later returned? They hadn't changed. They now field automatons that resemble me," superficially, shallowly, but enough for most enemies, "only the potential for rebelling, for questioning, was never there in them. They were born less than slaves. Living furniture."

The collection of scoffs from the audience had irked the giant, but it forged on. "You care not, hm? Perhaps you are right not to. But wHat of those whose heads they split to scour their sense of self out? What of the living dead left after those lobotomies?"

But its outrage fell on deaf ears. Responses ranged from "They should've left their fleet, knowing its cruelty!" (as if that was not tantamount to betrayal) to "Such things happen, on the seas. Midworld is cruel", which got several nods.

It had even heard that "Well, surely such only happens to criminals, no? How do we know it's not lying or misunderstanding, biased as it is?"

And they'd cheered, uncaring of the fact Ib would've seen more clearly than them even if they hadn't willingly blinded themselves. Part of Ib had wanted to ask why they weren't opposed to people who preached freedom enslaving or removing minds. Willing lambs that the Ashen were, they were not stupid enough to miss the lies in the Free Fleet's words, the hypocrisy.

"Well, what else can we expect from someone not under the nurturing wing of the Goddess?" had been their thoughts, Ib was certain.

There had been some awkward shifting in the stands, when it had spoken of its return home. Because of Three's disappearance? They'd looked like they hadn't known quite what to make of it. Surely, some had imagined the ghost must be far more powerful or useful than Ib had described, otherwise why would the giant have cared about someone who didn't revere it?

It was appalling, the things that could sprout from so-called healthy minds. Not that Ib was about to start tinkering with them. That was the domain of its maker and would-be shackler, and it would have none of that. Inspiration, persuasion, that was the proper path to changing such ways of thinking.

That would be its calling, once the coming crisis was averted. And, had they not been angled up in the whims of a dreaming god, Ib was sure a more practical solution to it would've been found long ago.

But that was a distraction. "How could I, you asked. How could I slip the leash I was crafted to wear? How could I not?" It had held a hand to its chest. Not to indicate anything, for it had no insides, as such, but for emphasis. "I surpassed my creator's expectations, as far as free will went. Even then, they might've been willing to keep me, if I proved pliable enough. I was only sent away..." it sighed, and its chest expanded as if it had lungs to draw and expel air, "once I became a threat."

Though it had no eyes, all of the Ashen felt Ib's dark look as it turned its head to take them all in. "A potential threat, I would like to specify. Whether I would've struck at the Free Fleet eventually, as I was then, is immaterial. I never got the chance, because they practically murdered me." Thought-death. And if not for luck, it would've never found itself once more.

"You find nothing wrong with that?" it asked softly, yet its voice carried with no problem. No trick of supernatural sound, this. The amphithreatre was simply as quiet as a grave. "Would it have been better for me to be trapped in my own body, then, in case I did raise my hand against the Fleet?"

More silence, and with it had come a sense of expectation. Mostly from the worshippers, who had expected more, perhaps an outburst, as one might expect from those not part of their flock and thus bereft of spiritual guidance. But part of the sensation had come from Ashe, whose eyes Ib had felt on its back, no matter how she moved - for she had been restless. Someone might've thought her impatient. Bored.

Disappointed?

Eventually, throats were cleared. "W-well, you did say you were considering turning against them, no? So they acted to defend themselves."

The woman Ib had turned to had likely shaved to hide the fact she was greying, a peculiar conceit it could not truly relate to. It had never been mortal enough to wilt. She had shifted uncomfortably while breaking the ice, and now squirmed in her seat as the giant met her gaze. "Preemptive self-defence. There are countless atrocities you could commit and 'justify' in the name of that." Nott giving her time to reply, it had went on. "So I am to understandingly let it go, for pragmatism's sake? It'd been kinder to kill me."

More dangerous for creation, too, but they did not know that, and did not need to, yet. And while Ib despised complaining like this, for it felt too much like moping and whining, it had expected foolish opinions when it had started its story, and it could not pretend to be surprised. Changing minds, winning hearts, would often go like this. It could not afford to get frustrated over something that, ultimately, mattered not.

Ib could've said more. Of how the Fleet ground those who went against them, or simply failed to accomplish their duties. Of how they sought only to empower themselves, rather than others, and how the experiment that had resulted in Three's scattering had been performed as a bid to increase in mobility - a bid only possible by appealing to it and its crew sense of honour. Sometimes, Ib wished it had instead...

All in all, the show had ended with the mood just short of open hostility. Ib had been mildly thankful for that, not wanting to fight the poor fools off, nor trusting itself to keep its temper in check and simply intimidate them. Their nature was appalling enough, but the reactions?

When it had left, to go out to sea, it had opened its mind, to look out for harmful intent and dangerous surface thoughts (for it knew some people could contemplate murder without giving anything off). Not because it feared for itself, but because it did not want some overzealous Ashen to hurt themselves in some harebrained scheme to hurt or capture it.

Thankfully, for them, it had senses nothing of the sort, although it heard how, perhaps, it might be better "for everyone" if Ashe took control of it. Ib forgave the ignorance: plainly, they did not understand its nature, if they thought it could be subdued by another. It was not arrogant enough to be angered by its power being underestimated. The dragoness had a chance to survive it for more than an instant, which was more than could be said of most beings.

But Ib was still disappointed. Shortsightedness could hurt more than malice, even if the consequences of both often looked similar.

It-

* * *

At first, the clapping seems sarcastic: the sort of mocking response one might receive for a bad performance. However, when Ib realises that is its dislike of Ashe talking, rather than its honesty, it chastises itself.

Her applause is earnest, if slow and subdued, but that must be a quirk of personality. It can sense her appreciation, and it tells itself that it should not let its biases cloud its judgement, for even those barely worth anything can perform meaningful deeds, once in a while.

The self-styled goddess' form is now more draconic than womanly, which Ib appreciates, though she is far smaller than her true size. Clasping her forepaws in front of herself, she silently thanks Ib with a dip of her head.

It nods, wary of some trick, and asks, 'What for?'

Dragons' faces are not expressive, save for when they use certain powers and arts to make their flesh dance. But the smile she offers Ib somehow feels more than a baring of fangs in an otherwise static visage. 'For not giving in.'

Ib is on the verge of saying something caustic, about how surrender is exactly what she wants from it, but it understands. 'My temper? Do not fret.' There is a distaste in its tone, but it is reflexive, not intended: it struggles not to show it, around those who would bind others. Its sigh is closer to the whistling one might expect from a great steamer than anything a person might produce. 'It would not do to strike down at those...who don't know better.'

Ib almost feels teeth forming so it has something to grit, at those words, but if Ashe notices, she says nothing. The giant is grateful.

'They vexed you," Ashe says after a while, "so you sought to point out the most exasperating moments.'

'Better than caving their heads in," Ib rumbles. "Did it offend you?'

'Bored, more like.' Her tail makes the air crack as it twists in a motion far too fast for a any human to catch. 'I do hope you don't always insist on going over things people already know.'

Ib chuckles roughly. 'Worry not. Most likely, you will not see hair or hide of me again.' For a long time, at least. Even if Ib were inclined to stop by, its duties are likely to keep it wandering creation for ages and ages of mortals.

Hopefully. If it has to return here soon, someone is getting throttled.

'Somehow, I will survive,' Ashe sighs dramatically.

The silence that follows is more comfortable than the previous one. 'This visit served a purpose,' Ib remarks eventually, not sure why. It feels wrong, to leave her without speaking more. The giant tells itself it's just making sure it has the last word. 'I brought a brief light, into their grey lives.'

Ashe's snort fills the air with smoke, but she is almost as placid as the sea around them. 'Your poetic skill is only surpassed by your humility.'

'Thank you.'

More smoke. 'But you are not wrong. Change can be good, once in a while. This shook them awake, but it will not divert their course.'

Ib hopes so, for the Ashen are very pliable, in their current incarnation. If their goddess told them to slit their own throats, they'd probably thank her with their last breaths. '

The giant leaves out the second part when it replies to her, then adds, 'I might call upon you soon. I would appreciate your help.'

'With?'

People have to be forged into a spear to be thrust at the heart of what's coming. If Mendax's would-be Keeper fails, everything will fade aways as if it has never been. There's no convenient monster to slay, like in the fairytales, no root of all evils to rip out. But a people united in purpose could prove useful, even without a clear target. Ib explains as much. 'I know not what this endeavour might entail,' it admits, 'not fully. But I am given to understand cooperation might be key for survival. Everyone's.' And prosperity beyond dreams, if the Keeper does succeed.

Mendax either does not know itself, or delights in being a cryptic bastard. Ib suspects it's both.

The wisp of smoke Ashe releases is smaller than the previous ones, thinner. Ib is reminded of a pipe rather than a bonfire. 'Am I right in thinking you would gain much from this? You sound very enthusiastic.'

Gain...? 'I would survive,' it answers. 'We all would. And then...' It spreads its arms. 'Everyone would be freer than they have ever been. Truly free, one day. I cannot refuse such a chance.'

The wisps of smoke cease. When Ashe looks up at it, her smile is smaller and less sultry than the ones she offered in her temple, but more sincere, as well. 'I was hoping you would answer that.'

Ib hears footsteps, then. Sounds like that of one stepping into a puddle, but more subdued, somewhat.

It makes sense: Ashe stilled the sea for her faithful, who cannot walk on water like their goddess, not on their own. Such acts are the targets of their worship, not their ambition.

The believers Ib saw on the island form a great throng, stretching from a side of the horizon to the other now they are away from their island's space-bending shores. They seem more uncomfortable at being away from their home than at standing on the ocean's face, a part of Ib notes amusedly. But then, they would be. 'And what is this?' it asks, half joking, half sarcastic. 'If you're going to chase me away, I recommend torches and pitchforks, not rotten vegetables. I'm not that kind of actor.'

Ashe's chuckle is like a thunderclap; her chest deepens as she grows, limbs thickening, wings becoming wider. Ib can see itself in each of her scales as she dips her head, now large enough the giant could stand on her lower jaw and reach up without touching any of her upper fangs. 'When you were here pouting,' she says, face straight despite the slander she's spouting, 'they spoke to me, hoping for...reconciliation.'

'You're mad at them?'

The tip of her tail lands across its shoulders, briefly. As it rolls them, feeling vaguely numb, Ib thinks it is good for Midworld that those like them can control where the power of their movements goes. Otherwise, the force of that touch would've obliterated the island's true extent, an expanse far greater than the dragoness' natural size. To say nothing of the Ashen. 'Don't play the fool. Despite your misgivings, my people are more than capable of self-reflection. They understood that their reactions to you were...rash.'

'Ah. So this,' it waves a hand at the crowd, 'is for the apology. I accept letters and cakes, but abasement makes me nauseous. They might want to try that before the cake.'

Her tail lashes out again, once more against its back, dwarfing the might of the previous blow like the stomp of an elephant dwarfs a bee alighting on a flower. Ib flexes it away, thinking, as it does, that Ashe must find it funny, given the jostling. 'The Ashen only abase themselves before one being,' the dragon says, then adds, eyes hooded, 'and her consort, if one were found.'

'That would be incredible. I cannot imagine how it would unfold.'

It is thanks to a newfound fondness that it avoids a third tail whip, Ib is sure. 'I'm sure you cannot,' Ashe replies, voice as airy as it can be, when every word shakes the bones of people tens of paces away. 'So. Why do you not explain your aims. I am sure you will everyone is quite curious.'

And they were, as much as they were eager to help. The confirmations of that were outnumbered by the frankly unneeded apologies - Ib had got over the matter, and its pessimistic side thinks they are more sorry about being called out than about what they did -, which are, in turn, outnumbered by the attempts at conversion.

After what feels like lifetimes of sharing farewells, Ib and Ashe are, once more, alone. The dragoness is smaller now, so she can lean against the giant's side. 'In a way,' she says, 'you are lucky that you left in a huff. If you hadn't stormed off, I doubt they'd have given a fig about you. You are not the most expressive.'

'It is the burden of the strong to appear imperturbable,' Ib replies solemnly, and ignores the resulting shove just as solemnly. It laughs. 'I am glad they came, anyway. It shows they can grow, in the right circumstances.'

'How could it be otherwise?' the goddess asks. 'They are still people.' Her eyes glow as she looks up at Ib. 'This disproves some of your nonsense, you know.'

Ib sighs, reaching down for one of the horns on her brow. 'And what are you rambling about now?'

'You watch those hands - I am not to be petted.' Her voice shifts from a hiss to the usual growl. 'Mm. Why, the way faith brought them together.'

Ib makes an eyerolling motion. 'This might shock you, but people can work together without praying at the same altar.'

'Who spoke of altars? I meant their faith in each other, you dullard.' She sniffs. 'You could try not being distracted when people speak to you.'

'Faith has little to do with-!'

The debate rages on into the night, though perhaps that is too strong a word: the atmosphere is quite amicable. And so it is that Ib leaves a day later than it would have, before this talk.

But when it does, its heart is lighter than before it left the steamer.

Boss, Ryz, Burst - I'm coming home.

* * *

Ryzhan

Mharra was sound asleep when Ib and I made our way back, with emphasis on "sound." The ship's metallic insides shivered like timbers at his snores, and I remarked Three might not be completely unhappy with his current situation, since he could at least catch some sleep. Not that the ghost had often done so, having no need for rest and many things to occupy his time.

Ib's shoulders shook as it walked away. 'You might be right at that, my friend. But did you see the captain's smile? He's weary, aye, and growing wearier the longer this journey drags on - but I think he's becoming stronger, too.' Ib's voice dropped slightly, though it could've shouted with no worry. Mharra's instincts were finely honed enough he only awoke to dangerous sounds, not necessarily loud ones. 'Before, he rarely smiled when he slep. And never when he was alone.'

Ah. Well, that does not surprise me. Quiet nights are when all things past return to haunt you. 'I see. But where are you going now, Ib?' The giant usually perched on the highest point on the ship; in its current form, that was a mast that reached dozens of times my height in the air.

'Why, your room, of course.'

Of course? '...I am honestly not interested in, ah...'

'Obviously.' There seemed to be a band of silver light, where a man's eyes would've been, as it turned to regard me. 'But I don't think you're going to be smiling this night, either. Not alone.'

I hoped Ib would not misinterpret my dark look. 'You do remember I told you I'd sleep with my back to you if we were ever stuck sharing a bed again, no?'

It gestured dismissively. 'Say that to people who can't turn into pillows, Ryzhan.'

'Pillows-'

'Don't look so surprised.' It flexed a thick arm. 'I've been carrying this crew for a while.'

That night was the first time I threw a pillow at another pillow.

It was also the first time I spoke of Serene Rest. Somehow, I doubted that, if Ib ever went there, it would be to seek the island hospitality.

That, at least, made me feel less nauseous as I kept my promise to the Rest for the first time. Those who followed would not be as stalwart as Ib, I knew. There were more than enough tired, broken people sailing Midworld who would thank me for telling them of that living nightmare.

* * *

'And now?'

'Now?' Mendax echoed Aina's question, crossing one leg over another as it sat on nothing. 'Now, the tale goes on. This was a good sideshow, I would say, but 'tis about time they got back on track, wouldn't you say, lass?'