The Great Mothers are gone; they succeeded in banishing their nightmares back beyond the veil of the dream. It falls to us, their few remaining children, to contain what remains of our foes.

Vale Calden, one of the four leaders entrusted to lead the infiltration effort, sat in his tent, watching an orb of flickering blue light dance around his fingers. He was in command of twenty of the gifted. They were an array from all four houses: members of Nocturne, Seraphel, Lustra, and his own house of Calden.

He had been instructed by Lucian Calden himself and appointed to cause strife and infighting among the human kingdoms of Anthropos. It was a great honor, a chance to prove himself, and an opportunity for his house paragon to remove a potential rival.

Vale let out a bestial growl of frustration.

Hunger gnawed at his being, and hunger made him angry. He attempted to calm himself. It had been decades since he'd let the hunger take control, and Vale Calden had no intention of letting it do so today.

In the future, when the time was right.

They aimed to collect information and to subvert and weaken the human kingdoms. To soften them up so they would be weak and bloodied, in the perfect position for the gifted of Nothara to come and drink their life's blood.

Vale's group would infiltrate the Duchies. He'd read and reread the information packet Lady Fiona had been so kind as to give them.

Lady Fiona…

That woman has upset everything.

Fiona Lucent had disrupted the entire balance of power. She was the first of the gifted to break into the fourth circle. Yet she had made no moves to seize power.

Nothing you've seen, He cautioned himself.

He breathed deeply and felt his muscles relax this time. Slowly, Vale rose from his chair, flexing hands covered in alabaster skin. He was tired of waiting. This trek through never-ending tunnels and caverns that stretched for miles in every direction tried his patience.

Their group had been stuck in the same spot, waiting for a week. Time was difficult to keep track of without the passage of the sun.

There was some manner of creature passing through the area, and their guide had had them conceal themselves in a distant side passage. Vale didn't believe it. Their winding path had been deliberate.

Deliberately confusing, intended to ensure that they wouldn't be able to find their way back.

Vale rose from his chair and began to pace in his tent. He'd brought few creature comforts, the concessions being minor personal projects, but he didn't have the patience to work on those. His temper was quickening, and Vale needed an outlet. He needed blood.

Blood to flow.

Blood to drink.

Blood to calm.

He let loose a growl and made for the entrance of his tent. They had brought supplies, and he would have to make do with them. As much as Vale wanted to exsanguinate their guide, the man was still needed. Perhaps when we arrive, Vale licked his lips. Yes, the impudent little mortal would meet his end once they exited these damned tunnels.

I'll feed while he still breathes. Vale had always enjoyed watching the light from his meal's eyes go out as he drained their bodies to empty husks. It was the primary reason he enjoyed feeding on intelligent races.

It was so much more intimate.

Vale halted at the tent flap. His frustration had distracted him, and only now had he noticed the lack of sound beyond his tent. There should have been noise with over sixty of the gifted and their human servants.

His hand crept to the hilt of his blade. While not true stygian steel, he'd kept the blade fed enough to keep the enchantments on it potent. He softly chanted a scrying spell, keeping his voice quiet.

The spell halted inside his tent, stopped by the canvas walls. More accurately, something contained his spell inside his tent. Vale's sanguine blade sang as it flew from its scabbard. He sang a protection spell, letting power flow through the runes he shaped with his voice and mind. The litany sounded sharp and coarse, like the pained whines of a tortured instrument.

All gifted magic sounded as such. Like nails scratching stone, while the runes they used were the same as any living mage, the frequency of magic they used to fuel them was different. It altered the sounds, making them far more efficient and deadly than the flowery tunes mortals sang.

He chanted a third spell, and a small orb of flame appeared above his head. He held the spell, willing it to stay by his side. His preparations ready, Vale burst through the flap of his tent, leaping into an empty stone tunnel.

The camp was gone. Looking back, he saw his tent had vanished, replaced by the dead end of a tunnel. Dim light permeated the stone, allowing his almost perfect night vision to see. "What trick is this?" His quiet voice echoed down the tunnel, seemingly growing in volume as it bounced from wall to wall. The sound of moving air, like a great inhale, silenced it.

"No trick," Vale spun, sword raised as the sweet voice spoke directly into his ear. "I merely wish to talk. Come," the voice purred.

A sensation of lightness swept through Vale.

He blinked, and to his surprise, he found that he stood in a completely different section of the tunnel. His tent was gone, his sword sat in its scabbard, and his prepared ball of flame had vanished. Memories of placidly walking down the tunnel after the voice had spoken rushed back to him.

Fear gripped him.

The endless caverns and tunnels were home to a host of creatures. Beings lived here, in the heart of Anthropos, that he imagined even the Jonras would hesitate to toy with.

"You need not fear me," again the sweet voice spoke, comfort radiating from it. "I merely wish to talk. It has been so long since I last talked."

"You enchanted me," growled Vale.

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"A side effect of both mine and your nature. You've overcome it, and it will not happen again."

"I do not wish to speak to you. Return me to my camp," demanded Vale. The only explanation for how he'd gotten there was the unknown speaker. The tunnel only went one way towards the source of the voice.

"After we've talked," insisted the voice, "We have much to gain, and regardless of the outcome, I promise to return you to your camp intact."

"You give me no choice then," demanded Vale.

"Come. Speak. Then I will return you."

Vale looked down the tunnel he had been walking and cast another scrying spell. He wrinkled his brow in confusion as the interior of his tent came to his mind. The spell was centered around himself. It should have revealed the area around him.

Unless I'm not actually here.

"What mental sorcery have you put me under?"

Light laughter echoed from deep in the tunnel, "Astute observation and well concluded. Come, we must speak."

"We speak now. Why must I go deeper?"

"Because it is improper to not see the one you speak to."

Vale couldn't think of a way out of this, but that this was all happening in his mind scared and comforted him. It was an unknown, but at least it was only in his mind. He placed one foot in front of the other, continuing down the tunnel.

Eventually, he reached an opening into a large, dark space. He could see flickering silver and gold light in the cavern. The floor was riddled by smooth, almost transparent stone pillars of stalagmites. While the chamber's ceiling disappeared into the darkness, he could see the tips as they descended. The lights flickered inside the stones, highlighting strange twisted and warped lines under their surface.

"Welcome," the voice came from the dark, sounding above Vale's head.

He cautiously entered the room. "What is this place," He asked as he eyed the stone pillars. Their flickering lights were mesmerizing.

"I call it the chamber of souls." Something crunched and crinkled above his head, like the sound of old paper. "My apologies; this body was not designed for extended torpor."

Vale's hand touched the hilt of his stygian blade, "What are you?"

"We are similar, you and I. To think that the Jonras would tolerate a race of true undead to exist; their time must truly be coming to an end." The crackling was growing louder as the source of the voice approached, climbing down from the ceiling.

"We are not mindless corpses being puppeted about," barked Vale. "We are the gifted. Made better in every way."

"True undead indeed," A large figure descended along one of the great stalactites.

Vale took a step back, fear and disgust warring inside him. Garbed in tattered clothes, sections of the creature were bloated masses of rotting flesh, while others were as dry as desert sand. Lines of stitching crisscrossed a large humanoid torso and head. Melded to the torse was a twisted contortion of insect parts like the body of a centipede, legs extended out carefully, moving the abomination down the length of the stalactite.

"What in all the hells are you," Vale asked as he stumbled back.

Glowing green eyes framed by dry, wispy hair and long, pointed ears fixed him in place. The dry skin on her face cracked and broke as she smiled. "You may call me Silrath. What is your name?"

Power drummed from Silrath in waves. It differed from Fiona's magic, beating to a different tune. Still, it stole his breath and shook him to his core in a way that not even Fiona had. In his mind or not, this was a being to fear.

Vale licked his lips in an attempt to remoisten them, "I am Vale of house Calden."

"How quaint," Silrath's sweet voice only added to the horror that was her presence. "Your race was not present when I was last awake, but I did not slumber long enough for it to come about naturally."

"Humans are not native to Solara."

"Human," She rolled the word in her mouth, tasting it. "Intriguing. I may have to acquire some to add to my collection."

Vale swallowed; he'd transcended his humanity, but that didn't mean she wouldn't do what she wished with him. "Collection," he asked.

She waved her hand at the pillars of stone and their flashes of light, "Do not be concerned, Vale. I cannot add you; apart from that, I promised you would return after our conversation, so you shall."

A flash of golden light caught Vale's attention, and he looked closer at the distorted lines locked within the stones.

Faces.

Eyes watched him. Mouths frozen in silent screams. Bodies: contorted, broken, and compacted inside the stone formations. Most were humanoids; some had fins or tails instead of legs, and others were short and stocky or large and thin. Vale recognized elves and merfolk but didn't know the many others.

Cold gripped him.

"You've noticed," said Silrath. "Do you know what the lights are, what they mean?" She had moved closer to him, distracted by the horror he was seeing. He'd not noticed the quiet clacking of chitin legs and rasping of dry flesh. A bony hand rested on his shoulder. "They are souls," she whispered.

"How," Vale had never heard of magic like this. He was beginning to realize what he was risking by being here, and it horrified him.

"Do not fear," her finger trailed up his neck, gently caressing him. "I'm here to help."

Vale's fear kept his mouth shut.

"We are both true undead. I can help you attain power the likes of which you could only imagine. I offer a trade," Silrath's breath on his ear was as dry as the skin stretched across her bones.

"What kind of trade," asked Vale, his voice sounding uncertain even to himself.

"Knowledge for knowledge."

"What kind of knowledge?"

Silrath purred as she backed away. "The species you derive from has piqued my curiosity. I know of your mission to infiltrate various kingdoms. I would like for you to stay in communication with me. You will help me learn of humanity. I will help you gain power."

"If I refuse?"

"I return you to your camp and find another."

Vale hesitated. There was an opportunity here—a chance to get ahead of his peers. It was a chance to gain what every gifted craved: more power, but there was also the chance of death or worse.

He walked a fine line.

Silrath was strong; what might happen if she offered this chance to another and they were brave enough to accept it? Would it be bravery or foolishness? It didn't matter. Vale had enemies, some of them among the very group he helped lead.

Still, despite what she claimed, Vale did not trust this creature; he doubted she would let him walk away. He had a choice. Accept her offer or decline. The correct choice was obvious.

He would guarantee his survival and claim what power he could in the process.

"I accept."

As soon as he said the words, the ground lurched underneath him. He closed his eyes as the world began to spin around him, turning into a blur of motion that overloaded his senses. It jolted to a halt, and he found himself returned to his tent. Confused, he looked around. There was no sign he'd ever left. He listened carefully and could hear the quiet sounds of the camp around him. Everything was as it should be except…

Vale opened his closed fist; about the size of both of his thumbs, a small stone sat in his palm. It reminded him of a brain and was covered in fine runic script. The runes were the same twelve he was familiar with, but the frequency of the magic flowing through them matched that of Silrath.

"Knowledge for knowledge, Vale. May our partnership be long and fruitful." The runes on the petrified brain pulsed in time with Silrath's sweet voice.

Vale's head felt light as he agreed, "Knowledge for knowledge."