As our essences merged, and all the walls that protected my humanity crumbled, I held on to one ideal. Many others were sacrificed, my empathy, my compassion, and eventually even my pain became disconnected. Hurt is now a distant notion, unimportant. Now that I stand before the gates of my success, I dare not tempt the fates by placing into words that which I have held safe. But know, whomever you are that finds this, if indeed it is ever found, know that I have kept this one shred of humanity for more years than any human should have to endure. Know that it was my fortitude that gave me the courage to accomplish my task, and if I had faltered... then all the lives that came and went would have been for nothing. Our species would have found extinction a pleasant alternative to the stinking rot that has burrowed itself into my consciousness and stripped me of my sanity.

Perhaps, I should listen to what the people say about me. Perhaps, despite my distortion, I am holy, for I am the savior of mankind.

Note- After writing that last line, my fit lasted for three whole days. Gods, I want this to be over.

It was three quarters of an hour before Kurt, lungs burning and world spinning, had to take a break. Quena, for her part, looked as though she could make it another three hours, even looking bemused as Kurt nearly collapsed. She was barely winded, meanwhile Kurt sounded like he was trying to suck in all the air in the valley.

“You know,” Kurt said, taking several breaths before continuing. “You could at least act as though you were tired.”

“I can feel it,” she said, eyeing Kurt, “I just don't show it in the usual way.” She shrugged, looking around the ancient oak Kurt was leaning against. The storm had wavered throughout their passage, for the last twenty minutes or so the winds no longer pushed the rain in their faces. Still, the plop plop of the heavy raindrops echoed through Kurt's head, ever pressing against his resilience. If it had been slightly warmer, he wouldn't have cared, but as it stood it was cold enough that he could feel his nipples chafing against his leather tunic. Any colder, and my nips might cut through this stone breastplate.

“What's with the grin?” Quena asked, catching him off guard.

“Oh nothing, just a funny thought.”

She raised an elegant eyebrow at his comment. “Care to share with the rest of class?” She paused, staring at him, then took her pack off. She was rummaging before Kurt replied.

“Uh, not sure you'd find it funny. You don't seem to be the type to enjoy crude humor, err, anymore that is.” He looked away, anticipating her look and not wanting to tangle with it at the moment.

“Try me.” She said, and Kurt could feel her eyes on him.

He sighed, “it's out of context now anyhow.” She sighed heavily, and Kurt put up a placating hand. “All right then, don't blow me up over it. I was just thinking that if my nipples get any colder, I'll cut right through this stone breastplate you've made me.” He grinned, mostly because it was ill humor, but ill humor at its finest. To his surprise, she snorted.

“You're telling me.”

“Pointedly, in fact.”

She put a hand over her mouth as she laughed in earnest. Through her hand she said, “that is highly inappropriate. It's great.” They stifled their laughter for a little while, and Kurt had to take another minute or so to finish catching his breath.

“Think they're far behind?” She asked when she finally found whatever it was she was looking for. It was a leather skin, smaller than any flask Kurt had ever seen. She took a sip, then visibly relaxed.

“Care to share whatever that is? I could use a pick me up at this point myself.” Kurt said, half joking.

She shook her head, “I don't think it would do anything for you. It's just minerals.”

Kurt didn't know a lot about proper nutrition, just that when he had a craving for something he should indulge, with the exception to sweets. He'd long suspected that Dorian used the same tactic, but didn't really understand that craving sweets worked the same way as a lush at his drink. One's body always wanted to indulge in sweets, it was immediate energy. The other things, such as cabbage, onions, citrus fruits, roots and the like, were the things to look out for. When one’s body craved those things, you knew you needed something from them. Perhaps this was something Kurt understood at a subconscious level, for he'd never put words to the thought, though he believed the words to be true.

“I think you're right. Got any meat in that pack? I left mine next to your sarcophagus.” He rubbed the back of his head, feeling like a fool.

She shook her head, “I'm sorry, I don't, but are there any fruit bearing trees nearby?”

“Oh sure, plenty. Just passed that rise there should be a few apple trees, perhaps some bitrus plants. All we have to do is wait four months, and there should be plenty.” He gave her a dry look.

“Don't forget, divine magics and the like.” She wiggled her fingers at him.

Realization dawned on his face. “Speaking of, care to do that trick you did earlier? I'm feeling pretty tired.”

She shook her head again. “I'll start to cramp up if I do that, not worth the risk.” She looked about. “We should get going.” She unbound her hair and rang it out, rebinding it afterwards. Kurt would have done the same, but his hair was was short enough that shaking it out here and there was sufficient. His head was still cold, but options as they were, he was satisficed by his current method. He stepped away from the tree and started heading over the next rise, hoping Quena wasn't simply talking out of her backside.

“What's a bitrus plant anyway?” Quena asked.

He looked back at her, “never had bitrus before? You'll be in for a treat then.” He thought for a moment before he continued. “Bitrus plants stand about four and a half feet high, their top bears its fruit. It will usually pop out three or four a year, they're sweet like a berry but acidic like an orange. The skin falls away, almost like it wants to be eaten.”

“Why haven't I heard of this before, that sounds delicious.” Quena replied.

Thinking about it had his stomach rumbling and his mouth salivating. He was seldom deep enough in the Wilds to find any, and even knowing a few spots that they grew, it was hardly worth the trip. “They don't take outside of the Wilds, much like linewood. Something about this place makes nature extra... aggressive? Yeah, that's the right word for it.” Kurt nodded to himself, continuing his trek. Part of him wanted to run, but he was tired enough at this point that simply walking was a work of labor. He thought at any moment, he'd simply divulge into an animal, only capable of one word: food. He was famished.

Cresting the rise, the rain had let up enough that it wasn't much more than a light mist. The mud was bad though, the whole valley was drenched, and he could hear the distant raging of rapids. In a week, they'd be gentle streams, perfect for a quick drink. What he had done earlier was one of the dumbest things he'd ever done, and he held a quiet fear of having to cross the waters again. Not that it would stop him, but he would be much more wary next time. If he had been swept away, he would have drowned, and he had little doubt about it.

As his thoughts dwindled to be replaced with the here and now, Kurt located a young bitrus plant. A sapling, really, but hopefully it would be enough.

“Here's one. Ready to work your mojo?” He looked to Quena, and she scowled back at him.

“What?” he asked, feeling like he'd committed some unknown impropriety.

“Mojo? I don't work my “mojo,” I am a master of Gia and its primal powers.” Her offense seemed half mocking.

“Okay then, wave your hands and say your words, whatever it is, and let me know when you're done. I'm famished, and people stew is starting to sound less disgusting and more delicious by the moment.” Kurt said with laughter in his voice.

She walked up and closed her eyes. Kurt could feel an odd hum as she stared at the plant. “Where are you going to get the people for this people stew of yours?”

“Considering my company.” He left the rest unsaid, but he felt that she knew he was joking.

“Oh, I'd like to see you try.” She said as the humming grew to a high point. The thin plant had grown thick, they were oddly shaped for a plant. As best as he could describe it, it looked like a fully grown tree had been chopped at chest level and a bud had sprouted at the top. It unfolded, revealing the spotted blue skin of the bitrus fruit. It was roughly as thick as Quena's leg, but probably not half so tasty.

Kurt looked away, realizing that his people stew joke had taken a bad turn in his head. He chewed his lip, peering at the tree line for any movement. When he looked back, Quena had a bitrus fruit in each hand and a third that was about to fall off the top of the plant.

“Nice, toss me one?” She did, and Kurt had stripped the skin off the delicious fruit within twenty seconds. He went for his belt knife and found it to be gone. Must have lost it during this mad dash. Damn, it was a good knife.

Quena had noted his frown as he reached for his waist. She tilted her head at him as she put one of the fruits away, then began peeling at the fruit.

“Hang on, I don't want get over stuffed, I will if I eat this entire thing. Better to keep both and save it for when we need it. The skin is useful too, if you do it right it makes for a good lining for a water skin. I don't know about you, but sometimes the whole leather-flavored water just isn't appealing.” He smiled at her and she laughed.

“Lose something?” She asked, all high pitched and warmhearted.

Kurt was sure he looked peeved as he replied. “My belt knife, it was a good one too.” He scowled but ripped the fruit in half. The top half slanted inward, whereas the bottom was more bulbous. He didn't feel bad as he handed her the top half, considering how much smaller she was compared to him.

Each half sat rather like an orange had grown on top of another, and peeled away in much the same way. Demonstrating, Kurt took his portion and peeled a wedge. It was roughly as large as two of his fingers, but he was wise to how much of a mess it made. He popped the whole thing in his mouth to enjoy the wonderfully vibrant and bright flavors dance across his taste buds. She took a delicate bite, not taking the implied notion to hand, and juices erupted. The blue that stained her upper lip and the juices running down her face made for an interesting image, but her eyes danced as she chewed.

“Oh, oh my.” She chirped as she chewed, eyes rolling slightly. She wiped her face clear, but only with a single finger across her lower lip, flicking away the juice she found there.

Before eating his next piece, he pointed and said, “you've got a little,” and he wiped at his upper lip.

“Hmm? Don't care at the moment.” She took another wedge, but this time was wizened to the experience. She popped the whole thing in her mouth and started chewing. Quickly, her cheeks bulged and her lips squeezed shut, trying not to make a mess.

Kurt, for his part, simply couldn't help himself. “That's a great look for you.” Her responsive gesture was a rude one. Suppose I deserve that.

“Come on, we're not far off now.” Kurt started walking, eating another wedge. She nodded, and followed him. Part of him knew that coming to the crest of the rise would be a bad idea, even with the trees there and the overcast, a shadowy lump showing up and disappearing would be a dead give away to anyone well versed in tracking. Despite wishing to avoid it, going the long way would add some time he didn't want to spend. Storms like this had a tendency to wax and wane, and while the rain had dwindled the wind had begun to pick up. This became more prominent as he came near the top of the rise.

He gave the signal to hold and waited for her to catch up. She was nearly finished with her fruit, meanwhile, Kurt had eaten enough that he wasn't full but was no longer feeling like he was starved.

“Do you see that broad tree there towards the top of this rise?” She nodded an affirmative though she was still chewing quietly. It looked dainty, in a way he'd never expect from the Quena he knew before she was taken. Shoving the thought aside, he continued. “When we get close, we need to stay close to that tree. There are a few trees here, but with the clearing nearby, someone might be able to notice us. I'm hoping that if we are still being followed that they're following our trail directly. Because of the mud and rain it will be hard to track us, but not impossible. So, stay close to the tree as we crest the rise.” She agreed, so Kurt headed towards the gnarled looking thing, its limbs twisted and distorted as though the wind at the top of the rise had warped the tree to its will.

Coming up on it, he had to duck a thick limb that was large enough to be a tree on its own. Despite the twisted appearance, Kurt recognized it to be an oak. The top of it had been charred, likely struck by lightning. Surprisingly, the tree still seemed to be alive, and Kurt took a moment to appreciate such a sturdy plant.

Once past the low limb, the wind picked up noticeably. At the top of a rise, wind was always present, but on a day like today it nearly knocked him off his feet. Quena felt it too, and they squat down to limit the wind's hold on them. Looking down, he was grateful for the rocky side of the hill. Despite the cleats Quena had provided, going downhill on a muddy day was always a recipe for disaster.

Kurt pointed to where they were heading. “Do you see that rocky spot over there?”

“Not really.” She was looking in the right direction but hadn't spotted it.

“See the reflective light? I think that's obsidian. That's where were heading.”

She perked up, “obsidian? That's fantastic.” She smiled.

Curious, Kurt wanted to know more but the wind was growing intense enough that he'd have to start shouting soon. Instead, he made a mental note to ask about it later and calmly found his way down the hill. He slipped once or twice but was able to keep his balance despite the rugged conditions. Quena, however, may have walked with a certain grace, but was obviously inexperienced at hiking through the mud. She fell forward a few times, and had Kurt not been paying attention, would have washed down her bitrus with a mouthful of mud.

She was thankful, though Kurt couldn't really make out the words. The wind was growing ever stronger, and Kurt knew down to the pit of his gut that if they didn't find shelter, things would get significantly worse.

At the base of the rise, there was a decent enough path between the uphill turn of the next one that led in just the right direction, though there was a small stream forming from the excess runoff. Keeping to the side, Kurt followed it until they came past a sharp cutoff. The water ran out, turned down a ledge off to the right where their path would fork.

Kurt held fast, waiting for Quena to catch up. He was going to point out where they would be heading but was interrupted by the worst cramp he'd ever experience. He hissed, dropping down to his knee, then on to his backside. Gripping his thigh, he found that it wasn't a cramp, something had found its way into his leg. Looking down, he saw a darkness there shaped like a two-pronged fork.

He concentrated, feeling that same way he had when he woke Quena. Grabbing the fork, it writhed, reforming in his hand. The teardrop shape, extended and elongated, became the lever he used to stand. With that, he found himself somewhere else...

Moder cackled, the inhuman sound chilling the center of Kurt's bones. The reshaped Shade rest in his hand, he held it by the base of an elongated teardrop, the end curving slightly where the loop merged together and extended as a solid for another foot or so. Kurt knew the edge was sharp like a blade, but not because he checked. He knew it like he knew the shape of his knuckles or the length of his arm. Like his entire life he had another limb, but had finally, for the first time, become aware of its existence.

He kept his eyes on Moder, his squawking and keening echoed across the stone walls back at Kurt, leaving him unnerved and on edge. He pointed the edge at Moder, tired of running. If that evil bastard wants a fight, then I'll give him a fight.

A burst of black light shot out, but Kurt knew what to expect this time. He held his blade out in front of himself as he charged forward, deflecting the next bolt that flew his way. On reflex, his blade broadened, then broadened again, making a kind of forward-facing shield. It wasn't any broader than the length of his forearm but it was sufficient to the task. The ringing noise each projectile made as it struck against his shield send a jolt down his body, he could feel the contact. He could feel the shield, as though it were really part his flesh and bone.

Finally, he heard Moder keen, no longer slinging bolts of Shade. He threw off his robe revealing what would be a muscular physic if not for the bulges of mass that seem to writhe under the surface of his skin. Once again on an instinctual level, Kurt levered his stolen Shade, molded it to his will. He stretched it out as far as he could, but it would only go so far. More, I need more!

He looked about frantically, but it was too late. Moder came at him with a speed that shocked Kurt's unprepared defenses. He came in hard, hacking and twisting. Kurt, for his part, did what he could but he simply wasn't used to a one handed weapon, and he didn't have enough Shade to attach it. Moder came down at him in an aggressive double overhead movement. Shade held against Shade and something clicked in his mind. For the first time in his life, Kurt had to wrestle with the notion that he might fail, and it tore down every psychological wall he had built upon that building block. He felt, for a fleeting second, his will break. Something gave, he felt he was falling.

Coming to, Kurt held tight to his thigh. He cast his sight about, looking for anything that would stick out, an outline of a person or the glowing black of Shade, anything. “Quena, get down!” He shouted, taking a moment to make sure she had done so. She had, her body dropping like a sack of grain.

“What is it?!” She shouted back to him, her voice distant as the wind overwhelmed any sound that dare compete with it.

“I've been hit! Shade bolt! My leg!” Kurt yelled, though he was sure the wind would carry anything he said, the wind was with him rather than against him as he spoke.

Something like anger shot across Quena's face. Keeping low, she moved to Kurt's side. Still shouting, she said, “I'm going to heal you. How much further?”

“Not far, but I don't know where this came from. Possibly from that rise there,” he pointed. “I can't be sure though.” While Kurt spoke, he could feel a low kind of hum coming from Quena.

It stopped abruptly, and she trembled slightly as she stared at his hand. “What is that?!” She shouted, outrage lining her face the way the horizon frames the sun. She was pissed.

“I can explain but not now! We need to go, can you heal me or not?!” He shouted at her.

“I'm trying, but you're blocking me!”

Something glowed in his periphery and Kurt moved before he thought about it. He stuck his stolen Shade in the ground and stretched its width and somehow added to it. The result was a short wall of sorts, roughly five feet across. He heard a ping and felt it vibrate throughout his wall.

“What are you talking about?!” Kurt shouted to Quena, doing his best to mask the alarm in his voice and failing miserably.

“You need to allow me in. You have to let down your walls, you need to relax and trust me!” She sounded near panic, but committed.

“Okay, okay!” He nodded once, shutting his eyes. He took a shuddering breath, clearing his mind. What he was really doing was something he had picked up from Master Kel. Taking long breaths, holding them in, and exhaling through the nose. All the while he meditated on soothing words, calm, serenity, relaxation, peace. He let the words fill his mind, ejecting the immediate for the world of the cerebral. He felt the hum, but this time it was louder. It filled him, from the vibrations in his rib cage down to his toes. His teeth rattled, but before he knew the wiser, slender hands were gripping his tunic.

“I'm done, I'm done! Let’s go!” Quena said as two more pings echoed.

Kurt opened his eyes to watch Quena summon her own Shade, crescents forming a ring around each forearm, then another set connecting the other side. Then, two front facing crescents formed, connected to the ones on her arm. From there, layers were built until she had created a kind of shield, each concentric ring extending it to the width of her arm.

“Can't you just make armor?” He half shouted, the wall he had made buffeting the wind a bit.

“I don't have enough.” She shook her head and Kurt came to a crouch. He grasped his shield, pulling the Shade back into himself. He didn't understand how limited the stuff was but resigned to ask later. He split the still flowing essence into each hand, forming two separate blades.

As the wind wall disappeared, Quena was blasted by the wind. It was strong enough that it knocked her on her rump, and she was forced to drop one of the shields as it nearly dragged her off.

Kurt was on her quickly, however, grabbing the stone breastplate and using it as a lever to wrench her upwards. On her feet now, Kurt turned in time to see two more bolts flying in their direction. Whether it was a reflex or some other sense, Kurt attempted to parry each, and found success for the first. The second he barely touched, but it was enough to stray it from its course, which was directly at Quena's face. Looking back, he nodded and shouted, “keep pace as best as you can, I won’t leave ya behind.” Then, once again, the world warped around him.

He lie there on the stone floor. The stones on the ceiling no longer glowed, but the torches still burned on their sconces. He was alone, the only sound in the large room popping noises from the fires burning on. It was quiet calm, the stone floor had somehow caked around him ever so slightly giving support across his body as he slept. To his surprise, he felt well rested, if a bit hungry.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

He sat up, taking in his environs. It was still dim, the firelight casting shadows over the walls, making it impossible to find an exit. As he stretched, he had a sudden thought. How am I not dead?

His last memory was of Moder, pale skin twisted, snarling manically. Was the bastard just playing me for a fool? Or was there something else...

Standing, he walked across the uneven stone floor, trying to find an exit. The way the sconces were set left the walls cast in shadow,

which made the entire room look exactly the same no matter where he looked. Even the uneven surfaces were repeated, creating a disorienting effect.

Kurt approached the wall, and despite his close proximity, he couldn't see a damn thing until he was just a few feet away. He reached out, running his hand along the smooth stone. He started to walk like that with his hand outstretched, using the wall as a guide. He walked the entirety of the circular chamber, or he thought he had at least, but nothing. No door, no hinges, nary even a crack in the stone surface. He walked it again, but to be sure he reached into his pocket, pulling out some string. He placed the string in the light, maybe a foot away from the edge of shadow the dancing torches created.

He walked it again, this time feeling as though it was much longer, but still not finding anything. When he came back to the string, however, it was in a different position than how he left it. It was a light material and could have easily been moved by a bit of wind, but there wasn't any wind in the chamber. He picked the string up and snapped off half of it with his teeth. He tied a knot in the one he left, but took the other with him. Finding one of the aforementioned cracks in the wall, just a few feet away, he lodged the other half of his string in, leaving the string out to hang. He tested it a few times to make sure it wouldn't fall out on its own, then set off to circle the room a third time.

This time, the trip was rather short compared to the last. He found the knotted twine and inspected it without picking it up. Running his hand along the wall, he found the next divot he was expecting, but the string wasn't there. He looked around, running his hand along the ground in the shadows but couldn't find it. Maybe it wasn't the first one, and I just didn't notice before.

Kurt moved his hand along the wall and found another break in the stone, but once again there wasn't anything there. Setting his jaw, Kurt continued his walk, inspecting every spot thoroughly. After some time, he found the string stuck in the crack as he had left it. Then, the tingles started, as he turned to see the knotted piece on the ground, exactly as he had left it.

“Moder! You sick twist, quite fucking with me!” Kurt shouted, the echo of his voice reverberated back at him several times. Fed up, Kurt started thinking of another way out, eyes scanning the walls, the ceiling, the terrain. Looking above himself, he froze, noting a particular extension to the shadow that defied how he understood light. He glared at it for a long moment, then spoke in a quiet tone.

“Do you think you're funny?”

That's when Kurt heard a high pitched squeal followed by the grating cackle that had more in common with a rock slide than human vocal cords. The black fell away, revealing Moder. He'd been watching the entire time.

The churning revulsion rising in his gut was a mixture of outrage and humiliation. Moder, still attached to the wall somehow, started to come down. It was an amazing trick, but Kurt thought he had the gist of what Moder was doing. The lightly glowing black that extended from behind Moder, the shape of Moder's Shade connected in a chain that uncoiled like an expandable bellows, lowering him to the ground.

“Damn.” Moder said, retracting his Shade.

“Damn what, damn you? Yes, that seems the adequate response you son of a goat. Damn you to Kressor's seventh hell.” Kurt said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, k-what a fine luxury that would be. If I were there, I'd have to be dead.” A somber smile lit Moder's face as he closed his eyes. What is wrong with this thing?

Moder's eyes shot open and glared green at Kurt. “No, I say damn because I lost a bet. Your little brother has great faith in you, you know.”

Kurt met the glare with one of his own, shifted his head to stare back sidelong. “Of course he does, I don't expect a creature like you to understand the faith we have in each other.” His words were bitter, but he softened ever so slightly inside at the mention of his brother. Dorian, in a dark room, screaming in agony, and for what? This?

“I'll let that slide, for now. You have no idea how much faith I've put in to the both of you.” He seemed to chew on his own words for a moment but went on. “I lost little on this wager, but this is one that counted for little. We have one thing left before we settle for the long haul.” His head twisted, staring over at Kurt. Meanwhile, Kurt raised an inquisitive brow.

“Long haul?”

“Oh yes, long haul. You'll get a full explanation in due time. K-time,” Moder snorted the word, and chortled to himself. “Now, do you recall what you did before?”

“As in?”

Exasperated, Moder said, “when you took my Shade for your own?”

Kurt nodded. How could he forget? It was like discovering a hair caught in his throat, only to realize it was a foot long and already swallowed. The shiver that followed crawled up his spine, starting at the base of his back. Uncomfortable was an understatement. “Show me that you can summon your own, and we will finish for the day. I'll take you to your brother.”

Surprise shown on Kurt's face then. He thought for a moment, then asked, “what's the difference.”

Moder's hairless brow came together in a line. “Between?”

“Summoning my own and taking someone else's?”

Tucking his chin, Moder's ears twitched. He was slowly nodding as he said, “where it comes from.” Taking a different expression, he asked, “are you sure you're your brother's brother? K-I mean to say, I see the family resemblance and all.”

Kurt cut in, “what ya trying to say?” He was glaring at Moder before he realized what he was doing. If Kurt was being honest, pulling a gag like that on anybody would be hilarious by any standard. Still, he harbored resentment, he'd wasted hours at the expense of a practical joke. Besides, Kurt didn't really know if he trusted the thing, it birthed other things from its flesh and sounded creepy as hell. He understood not judging based solely off appearances, but damn, this was pushing it.

“I'm saying, genetically, you got the athleticism, but not much else.” He smiled, sharp teeth glinting in the firelight. “I'm fucking with you, little squire. I know what you mean.” He stepped sharply, putting one hand behind his back and the other into the air. As he began to pace slowly, he extended his pointer. The expression was comically iconic, and seeing such a thing enacted by such a thing would have made him burst out laughing... if he wasn't the one experiencing it in real time. It was hard not to be on edge in front of Moder.

“Normally, taking Shade from another force would be impossible if one is incapable of summoning from their own source.” Moder spoke low, and though it seemed unnatural to Kurt's ears, it flowed in a more human fashion. His words didn't hit so heavily on the hard “K's” or “T's,” but instead rolled off of them.

“But you aren't the normal case now, are you?”

“Source? What do you mean by that?”

Moder seemed to pause in contemplation but answered soon enough. “There isn't a direct science, of course.” He took a long breath but continued. “He always considered it as the part of you that leaves an impression on multiple planes, an answer much better than my own to be truthful. Like a fire, it burns, which gives off two byproducts. First, light, as I know you've seen from your brother. Second, ash, as you have wielded it just a few hours ago.”

Kurt wrapped his mind around this for a moment. “What about heat? Otherwise it’s just a shitty metaphor.”

Moder scoffed but shrugged. “Perhaps we haven't found a way to use that heat, but I suspect it’s there.” Moder's clawed fingers scratched at the side of his head. Despite the firelight, Kurt thought he could still see a bit of skin flaking off and floating to the ground. Disgusting.

“Back on topic now, reaching to your own reserves is tricky, for each one operates in different pathways. Gia, for most, can be channeled through your environment, so long as there is life there.”

“Huh?”

“Gia can only exist in the living. This is also true to death, as death is part of life. Soil is the accumulation of countless years of erosion and decay. Stone, unless fossilized, has no capacity to hold Gia. That's why what your brother did was so impressive. Dorian summoned wave after wave of forces, fueling himself with nothing more than the accumulated dust and unwilling spectators?” An expression shifted across Moder's face then, but Kurt wasn't sure what it was before it disappeared, replaced with a tired expression set to an alien face.

“I digress. The use of Gia in a place such as this is several magnitudes more challenging and risky. You can kill yourself if you use too much at one time, but Shade is different. Where strength in Gia requires capacity, like digging a reservoir wider to support more farms, Shade in cumulative. You gain more in one of two ways, either you steal, or you hurt.”

Moder paused, as though he had just spat out something revelatory. Kurt thought on the last words, letting his mind digest them. “What do you mean by hurt, exactly. I know what it is to hurt, but in what way?”

Moder smiled, large nostrils flaring. “Every way, but it can't be faked. Emotional, physical, doesn't matter, what matters is that the suffrage is real. Say you find the toughest, lethal, most heartless bastard you've ever heard of, and string him up with hooks. Hang him from the ceiling, perhaps? Yes, it wouldn't be pleasant, but a person such as that has a fortitude against physical pains. The Shade yielded from such an experience would be nominal. Now, take that same person and find his or her lover? Torture them slowly in front of them? Chain them in a room where they can't reach each other, and starve one but feed the other?” He paused, giving an intimidating glare. “Shade flourishes like a weed,” he finished flatly.

Kurt was disgusted. “Lot of experience with that?”

“Me?” Moder gestured to himself, acting innocent. “It was not I, that chain of experiments was conducted several thousand years before I was born. I wouldn't have the stomach to.”

Kurt would have instigated further, but something about Moder's tone implied a deep sincerity. So, instead, he nodded, thinking about what Moder had said. Hurt, that made sense, but light?

He concentrated, thinking hard on what it felt like to steal Shade. He focused his attention on that part of himself that he felt tug through his body, that sensation and where it drew from. But with hurt? Pain? He searched his memory, quickly coming to when Quena had been snatched away, the disappointment and fear on Diana's face, her leaving him. He felt a bitter shame over the entire experience, one he had brooded on.

Well, as long as Kurt could brood. He wasn't prone to long stretches of the behavior, he did so until he could move on, and Kurt always moved on. That was his way, but still he had brooded over the entire experience long enough to understand his mistake. The real mistake he had made was in his overall effort at saving Quena. He could have done more, and he knew it. He thought that Diana knew it as well, but for the life of him he couldn't simply approach her and tell her that. He let the matter drop, admitting to himself his mistake, and satisficed himself with the thought that he'd know better in the future. He also knew he owed Diana an apology the size of a redwood. Inappropriate, Kurt, he thought in a flash, but dropped that to to focus on his emotion. Hurt, pain, loss, fear, and many more, bundled in a knot, it sank like a rock to the pit of his gut. He tugged on it, a sensation mentally akin to being angry at it, and he felt it come under his control. He felt it there, like a pair of dirty boots set outside on a cold winter night. Just like the dread of putting on those frozen blocks of ice, he dreaded the feel of pulling out his Shade, for he knew that the abrasive icy chill from that knot of emotion would feel akin to ripping out his own heart.

Gritting his teeth, he shuddered as he felt new power flow through him. The process was painful but left him feeling lightheaded and empty. Gods, is it like this every time?

Shifting from the core of his body, resonating in waves across his limbs, vibrations from toe to fingertip. Focusing, envisioning, willing, he brought his hands together. As he drew his hands apart, his will became reality. Two units of Shade, the two teardrops stretched around each other, connecting in a way that reminded Kurt of two fat snakes eating the other's tails. Or perhaps two Garru? Regardless, he stretched them to their maxims, until he felt his head pound and his world shake. A staff formed, hallowed through the center. It was sturdy as though it were solid, and so close to weightless that he thought it might float away if he let go. He held it there, staring at Moder.

Moder nodded, and on cue a light shone from a distant wall. Standing there, boyish and pudgy, was his little brother Dorian. The light cast from behind him emphasized the way he stood. Dorian's posture had always been slack, but he stood tall with his shoulders back. There was something there that Kurt hadn't seen before, a quality Dorian hadn't had before. Walking in, his toothy smile exiled Kurt's doubts. Kurt couldn't help but notice his brother had grown a few more inches, his shoulders had broadened slightly, and his hair was so obnoxiously long that he had to tie it behind his head.

“It's bad, isn't it?” Dorian sent to his head.

“I mean, you could use a trim.” Kurt said aloud.

“I'd do it myself, but the only way I could think of was burning it, and that stinks.”

“Suppose I can give ya a quick cut.” Kurt brandished his staff and split it, taking one in each hand. He shrank them down, until he had one surrounding his index on his right, the other on his thumb on his left. He situated the one on his left on to his right thumb and connected them. His final product was something comparable to scissors.

Dorian stopped in surprise. He grew suddenly animate, “Oh cool! Did you just do that on the spot? I think I have a lot to learn.” He gazed in wonder. His attitude changed quickly, however, and he looked up to Kurt. “We'll have time.”

Curious, Kurt tilted his head at Dorian. “You'll see, we're gonna enter a different time stream. It's pretty neat, I've been there for a few months now.”

“Months? Dorian it couldn't have been more than a few hours.”

“That will take some explaining,” chimed in Moder.

“All of this is nice and all, but can we do this with some food, maybe point me to a privy?” Kurt didn't want to protest, he was happy to see his little brother, but sometimes the body will protest to the point of urgency. Urgency was roughly ten minutes off yet, judging by his own expertise. Holding a position in a tree for twelve hours a day on a regular basis had taught him many lessons, judging his bladder's state of duress was one of them.

Dorian groaned, “Kurt, must you? This is really exciting!”

Kurt nodded, “I must, I must. Seriously, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I've gone? Like, since I came down your freaky drain to get to this underground hole.”

Moder chirped up, “you mean our drinking water?”

Eyes wide, Kurt shrugged. The sound of Moder sighing was something like the last breath of a small creature, a wheeze somewhere in there only audible at this volume. “I'll have to cleanse that. It pools shortly thereafter, it’s the primary aquifer for my entire people.” He stormed out saying, “I'll know where to find you.”

“Uh, sorry?” Kurt said, but his apology came unanswered.

“Don't worry about it Kurt, he really loves his children. You wouldn't think it, but he's not really the monster he appears to be. He's twisted, but it was against his will.” A sad note to Dorian's voice seemed to echo into Kurt, like he was catching what Dorian felt.

“That's all right. So, privy? Kitchen?”

Dorian laughed as he said, “yeah, right this way my good sir.”

They walked and talked of small things, as though they weren't where they were. Dorian's tone was jovial, and didn't seem ill at ease in the slightest. His face didn't pale at the sight of some of Moder's children, though Kurt's did. They had a hot debate about what to call them, much of Dorian's interest in fantastic stories compelled their choices. Points were made as to whether they should be called gremlins, or trolls, or something else entirely. They decided to disagree and use the terms interchangeably until they had something better. So far, Modettes or Epidermis-lings just didn't seem right. Later, they would decide to simply call them by their chosen name, Kul, which meant “people” in their tongue.

After all of Kurt's “un-pleasantries” were taken care of, they came through a long hallway. As they walked, a white noise began to color their ears. Faint at first, it grew louder as they went until they came to the door. When Dorian opened it, Kurt gazed upon the same kind of water working he had ridden in on. It was loud, so Dorian spoke into Kurt's head.

“Summon some Shade, I'll need to take over for this.”

Looking warily at his brother, he did as he was asked. When he did, Dorian manifested a globe of light, sending it out like a tendril. It grew dark after a moment, then Dorian said, “here we go!”

Lurching forward, unsure how, Kurt found himself air born. The tendril that had connected shot wave after wave of pulsing blackness which whipped across his body, solidifying as they dropped at maddening speeds. Layer after layer was built until they were enveloped in a kind of cocoon.

He heard Dorian whoop, and a grin flashed across his own face. They were going alarmingly fast, even if Kurt couldn't see a damn thing. He could feel gravity pushing his body, his back cementing itself to the Shade back plate. Just when he felt something happen, a shift in air pressure and temperature, they slowed. The top twisted out, creating a kind of canoe.

They drifted for a moment, but ran into some rocks shortly after. It sounded like glass on a chalk board, and Kurt cringed.

“Yeah, pretty rough. So, Kurt, I've been dying to show somebody what I've been working on.”

“Wha-” but Kurt cut off, as Dorian's hand held a line of Gia. It flowed out, touching a stone on a nearby wall, starting a cascading light show that rocked though a broad domed area. It kept going, twisting with the shapes of the architecture. The sudden change in brightness blinded Kurt then, but as he blinked away the spots, what he saw shocked him. A stone palace, some kind of white stone seemed to send off a shimmer of its own and it was everywhere. The largest structure was as big as the Monastery Temple, but not in the same drab fashion. The architecture was the same, but where the Monastery next to Gwendon seemed to subconsciously denote power and control, this seemed to say power alone. It made Kurt feel hope.

“So, whatch'ya think?” Dorian asked, a self-satisfied smile on full display across his face.

Taking both blades, he melded them together, forming a staff. Kurt reached out and grabbed Quena's hand, and then they were off.

Sinking his hand into his Shade, he gripped the base tightly, molding it around his fingers as he shrank it down. The memory resurfaced, he and his brother had worked on this. Even if he couldn’t recall every detail, some things were ingrained, instinctive. He knew what to do, even if the experience of learning it was lost to him. Pressing the staff flush against his skin, he contorted it again, shortening it to a foot in length. All the while, he pumped his arms, pushing forward along the path he hoped led to safety. Unfortunately, it would take them straight past their attacker. But Kurt knew he could handle it. Two bolts reigned down, and Quena's gate was throwing Kurt off balance. To be sure, he had to stutter-step to time his block in a comfortable position. Trial and error, Kurt. Safe than sorry.

Three bolts came next, but Kurt felt more acclimated now. He stretched his Shade wider, solidifying a large shield. Anticipating the wind, he sharpened an edge, allowing it to catch the wind in such a way as to keep it sidelong. He managed to block all three in quick succession and thin the shield again to keep his visibility. He knew he'd be exhausted for the additional expenditure, doing this was incredibly draining, but he also knew that it wouldn't matter if he was exhausted later if he broke an ankle now.

“Come out, we just have to get to the tree line!” he shouted.

“Wait, wait! I can't keep this pace up!” She shouted back at him. The rocky terrain giving little to no cover from the violent winds, Kurt could barely make out what she was saying.

Just then, a large series of bolts glimmered in the sky. Kurt had a knack for feeling them out, despite not being able to see them clearly. There was more than Kurt could count quickly. He shouted, “get behind me, get down!” He extended the Shade out as broadly as it could go, then adding additional layers to extend it further, he planted it in the soil and lengthened it.

The torrent of bolts came down in a flurry, buffeting Kurt's shield as Quena crouched behind him. When they stopped coming down, he heard her shout, “enough!”

She stood, green light to her eyes, a whirlpool of light surrounded her, from her center flowed a stream of black, then her bolts began to release. Each shot out, but was followed by a deep thud, and seemed to propel themselves at unbelievable speeds. Despite the current climate, the sounds of trees snapping echoed through the wind, a deep sound that vibrated an uncomfortable part of his eardrums.

He took a moment to gather the Shade bolts, stealing them for his own. Quena looked at him incredulously, and he replied with a guiltless shrug. Her loss, he thought as he found four more. He consolidated them and took them. This time, however, a memory stemmed in his mind.

“Oh shit, Quena! We have to move!”

She looked at him incredulously. Kurt grabbed her by the hand and tugged her along. She seemed resistant at first but finally decided to pick up her pace. He let her hand go so they could move faster, as he did he shouted out to her. “There's two more up here.” Then the wind just stopped, the abrupt shift making him stop in turn. Quena had already fallen behind and was several strides behind him now. The sun broke through a break in the clouds, but only enough to feel disheartened by the vast blanket of black that coated the sky. Shit.

“Quena, we've got something real bad coming our way. We have to get cover now, and I know there are two waiting for us just behind the tree line. I'd tell you more but we don't have the time, we have to go.” Kurt was calm in the telling but was deadly serious as he spoke. She held his eye but nodded.

“Give me a second, I-” A distant sound started, echoing around them. “Scratch that, Quena, we just have to get passed them. Trust me when I say run for your damn life!” To illustrate the point, he turned and got the hell out of there.

Kurt quietly snickered to himself as he ran, imagining the look on her face. If they lived, he'd probably never be able to look at her again without envisioning her shock. A half second after this thought crossed his mind, he heard her curse, then the sound of feet clomping in a rhythm similar to his own. The tree line was coming close, he readied his own Shade. Instead of following the trail, he veered at the last moment, cutting over a few trees in the column. To his surprise, there was a man crouching right there, just off his new path. He was staring at the tree line, holding a sphere of power in his hand. He was fully immersed in whatever exercise he was at, so Kurt forged his black staff, and bashed the man in the head. The man dropped to the ground.

Looking up, he spotted another green light across the way. Quena was running in just behind where Kurt would have walked in. He took two strides, raised a hand, and-

It had been months since Dorian and he had come to Chateau Dorian. The childish title for such a grand place was downright stupid, but he let it fly for now. Dorian was coming into his power, in more ways than one. Kurt watched as Dorian sculpted, shifted, tore down and rebuilt whole structures. Heat treating some places, growing trees to harvest the sap at alarming rates, harvesting the wood when he had finished, and creating furniture out of a solid tree trunk. He said he couldn't manipulate the wood directly, but he could create brands of heat so intense it would separate the pieces. He'd then reprocess the wood in a massive stone tumbler until it was a very fine mulch. He'd use this to “Cultivate” vegetables or plant more trees. This was only the beginning.

Kurt watched as Dorian managed to do the work of an entire village in a day. He wondered why something like this wasn't happening everywhere, why the entire valley didn't prosper? But he knew that all ready, control.

“Is he really that bad?” Kurt had finally asked, early morning one day.

“Who? Moder?” Dorian replied as he ate a freshly flashed apple, then tossing another to Kurt. He took a bite, and it was deliciously sweet.

“No, the Elder, is he really worth all this?” He gestured around, “why are you doing this, anyways?”

“Moder says it had to be massive in scale, something that would allow me to stretch my abilities.” He took a breath and tossed the rest of his apple. It puffed away to cinders, then he picked another. “And yes, he is. I don't know everything, but I got enough of his memories from the Great Bear we saw. There's a time stream around the whole valley.”

Kurt looked inquisitive, and Dorian continued before Kurt could ask. “It's like a bubble that can't be stopped by anything. It penetrates anything, including stone. We're actually under the real Monastery right now. It's under the mountain. The big building they have is just a front.” He was staring down at his apple, concentrating. It exploded, spraying molten apple everywhere. Dorian hissed, but came back quickly, his face not showing a single mark. “It still hurts,” Dorian scowled, then picked another apple. “Time slows or speeds up, and there can be bubbles inside of bubbles, but they have to be exact. Imperfect bubbles can have varying effects, but usually they're pretty volatile. That's not the dangerous part though, it’s the edges. It’s why we can't leave the valley, you'd age to dust just trying to cross it, especially if you didn't know what you were doing. I don't know if anyone could, really.”

He stopped, grinning like a fool and tossed an apple to Kurt. “I think it's perfect, have a try.”

Kurt took a bite to find that just below the skin of the apple, it was partially baked. It was fantastic. Dorian had another in his hand and was concentrating again. “He's keeping us here for something, I don't know, but he needs people to die.” Looking up, he tilted his head back and forth, “or rather, he needs people to live and die. The entire valley is shaped like a funnel, Gia doesn't act like this normally, but whatever is at the base of the drain, it’s sucking in Gia like a pump. Whatever it is, the old sob is close to a tipping point or something. He's going to do something, Kurt, and whatever it is... I just don't trust it. He's capturing people like me to slap them in a time bubble, so they grow faster. He harvests them, Kurt. How could any ends justify those means?” Dorian took a bite of his own apple, suddenly delighted. “Want to spar again? Show me that neat trick you did yesterday,” he said, gesturing them to the courtyard. Kurt was more than happy to oblige him. It was one of the few things left that Dorian couldn't do as well as Kurt.

Kurt was suddenly back to himself. Gods be damned, Dorian. This is really inconvenient! Reaching his hand out, he cast forth a funnel of Gia. Seven tendrils shot from his hand, forming the jagged teardrop on broad display at the edge of his cone. He spun it, creating a whirlwind just in time to begin deflecting and absorbing the Shade bolts being shot at Quena. She had already leaped back, falling flat on her derriere. Kurt kept forward, and before the man knew what was going on, he was struck. The edge of the whirlwind may as well have been razors for the sheer gore it brought. After he saw the first limb fly like a rock out of a sling, Kurt had to look away.

“That's not possible.” Quena said, barely audible over the more prominent white noise. A cold sweat ran down Kurt, and he ran. “Boulders just ahead! Hope your mojo is good to go!”

A feral yell echoed behind him, and she caught up in a flash. “Don't think this is the end of this.” Oh, that didn't sound good, he thought sarcastically. He really didn't care at the moment. The sounds of trees popping started sounding, and Kurt knew it was close. “Just there!” He shouted out of breath, pointing an exhausted hand.

“I see it!” She shouted. “I'm going to move ahead, make us a clean overhang for now.” Kurt nodded.

Just as she had left, the first of the melon-sized hailstones landed near him. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

Kurt kept to the places that had more boughs overhead, hoping any deterrent was better than nothing when dealing with seventy pounds of hurdling ice. He ran like he never had before, he had heard rumors of storms such as these, but prayed he'd never have to weather one. They were like rolling catastrophes, and there were scarce reports of people surviving them outside.

The next one fell, then another. One came close and he had to dodge, which caused his opposite side to be struck. It hurt, but he didn't have time to check, he was running pell-mell for Quena. Looking up, his periphery was consumed by falling masses comprised of tree limbs and exploding ice.

He kept at it, knowing his speed was all he had at the moment. The hailstorm would be denser the further he fell behind, he knew, and he'd be ground to a fine dust by the time the storm passed. The sound of his heaving lungs stole most of his concentration, his heels never touching the ground. Quena grew closer with quickness, and just when he thought he'd get struck any second, Quena produced a long overhang. Diving, he slid to a halt, landing just in front of Quena, who was still silently working her mojo. He took a long shuddering breath, and the sound of the storm around them became a distant concern.