“It was a hard night,” Whitewing updated Milly and Calista, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. “We lost four of our kin before the morning sun crested over the water. Your people sent healers to help last night, and we are grateful for that, or there would be others.”

“I’m so sorry, Whitewing,” comforted Calista, giving the fairy healer a quick embrace. “You did everything you could.”

Whitewing clutched her newfound friend, but she had no tears left to shed.

Her exhaustion was mirrored on every fairy Milly could see. Grief was etched across the faces of mothers, fathers, and children, though they all dealt with it in different ways. Some fairy kin wandered around in a zombie-like state or sat against a tree and stared blankly at nothing. Others had smothered their own grief so they could care for their loved ones and prepare meals for the survivors.

There were others that threw themselves into shaping the land that would become their new home. The Freelancers and the Farmers, and – to Milly’s astonishment – the CEOs had sent a contingent of players to help the fairies establish themselves on the land nestled at the intersection of the northern mountains and eastern ocean.

Temporary lean-to shelters erected under enormous lodgepole pines had begun to pop up in the forest, and the beach was starting to fill with cooking fires and spits to feed hungry families. A medical tent was being built at the edge of the woods, and a new Elder’s circle was being formed in a forest meadow just beyond the settlement’s core.

“I don’t like it Milly,” murmured Calista, as she watched a team of CEO-aligned players erect a lean-to for a family of fox fairies. “We may have a truce with the CEOs, but I trust them about as far as I can throw them.”

“Your strength is forty-eight, Cally,” Milly reminded her. “You can throw them pretty far.”

“At this point, we’ll take all the help we can get,” Whitewing said diplomatically. “And, as grateful as we are to the four of you, Lightpaw doesn’t want us to take sides in your people’s quarrel. You’ll forgive us, I hope. We owe you our lives, but we must watch out for our families.”

“We don’t want you involved in it either, Whitewing,” Calista promised with a cautious smile. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

Milly gazed over the beach towards the ocean inlet, where Sapphire and her clan had made their home. Sapphire swam in the middle of the inlet and dove deep. She popped up a few moments later, a brown speckled flatfish skewered on her trident. She casually plucked it off and tossed it ashore into the growing pile of fish and muscles on the beach. Waving at the two women, Sapphire’s scales sparkling in the afternoon sun, she plucked a bit of seaweed out of her turquoise hair and dove back for more.

“She’s a tough one,” Whitewing said. “But she grieves with the rest of us. She lost many of her warriors yesterday, but every one of them died a hero. Sapphire and her survivors returned to the valley this morning and carried their fallen kin to this new home. They were laid to rest far out to sea before the sun reached its zenith, as is their custom.”

“Are the elders in the valley now?” Calista asked. Their new settlement was full of activity, but the elders and strongest, most able-bodied fairies were absent.

“Yes. They will dig graves for our kin, one-by-one, and bury them in the gathering place of our ancestors. And when the injured are healed, we will grieve as one people, united for the first time since the beginning of memory.”

Milly watched as Whitewing’s healers moved about a clearing in the centre of the settlement that had been set aside for the wounded. They were exhausted, half-stumbling from patient to patient, but too stubborn to take a rest.

“Whitewing, put me to work,” Milly said as she headed towards the clearing. “We’ve got to wait for Lightpaw and Twotongue to return, and I don’t want to stand around feeling useless.”

“I wouldn’t turn down help, Milly,” Whitewing accepted. “I’ll show you who…”

Milly activated her Healer’s Aura, and the faint pink aura stretched across the clearing. Whitewing felt her healing magic suddenly surge in strength.

“How… how did you do that?” Whitewing asked, astonished.

“Oh… I… I learned it last night,” Milly replied, uncertain whether she should describe leveling up to Whitewing. She decided against it. “Now, where do you want me to start?”

* * *

It was early evening when Lightpaw and Twotongue returned to the Inlet of New Beginnings, their eyes weary with suppressed grief. Milly had exhausted her magic reserves during the afternoon as she moved from fairy to fairy to provide what healing she could. Her advanced Healer’s Touch magic was stronger and less costly, which allowed her to heal more for less, though she followed Ying’s advice about healing too much, too fast.

Calista had passed the time hunting with Nobori and Indigo in the mountains. By the time the elders returned, they were butchering three elk and a bear on the beach.

Twotongue clutched a hefty sack in his webbed hand as the elders approached.

“How did it go?” Calista asked sympathetically, wiping off her bloody hands in the sand.

“As well as can be expected,” Lightpaw replied, his weariness evident. “Our people grieve, but thankfully the wolves did not return, and our people were allowed to grieve in peace.”

Lightpaw sniffed as he struggled to contain his own grief.

“Your people have given us a home. A place to live in peace. I fear we may never be able to repay you.”

Guilt clutched at Milly’s heart.

If we hadn’t gone to the Gathering, would the wolves have attacked? Or would this have happened the moment any player encountered the fairies, because that’s what Oracle and Hephaestus designed to happen? The fairies are creatures of this world – this God Contest – just like the wolves. Were they simply built to be pawns in the Arena of Protection?

Milly had tried to ignore that thought since they had saved the Lost Foals from Red Fang, but as the fairies settled in their new home, she found herself unable to quell the thought.

Is this just part of the gods’ twisted game?

Twotongue placed a comforting hand on Lightpaw’s shoulder. “Chief Elder, get some rest and let yourself grieve with your family. You’ll do our people no good in this state.”

Lightpaw began to argue, but all that came out was an insistent yawn.

“Go,” reiterated Twotongue. “I have unfinished business with our young saviors anyways.”

Lightpaw smiled gratefully to his fellow elder and stumbled over to his clan’s encampment, where a bed of moss beneath a lean-to awaited him. Milly saw Nobori’s sister Mikoko run up to Lightpaw and clutch onto one of his legs. The elder knelt at her side and embraced the child, as he let his grief emerge.

“What unfinished business, Twotongue?” Calista asked, confused.

In response, Twotongue lifted a large, milky-white orb out of the sack. Colorful lights danced below its surface as if it were a disco ball.

“When we first met – when you saved my clan from Red Fang’s cruelty – I promised to give you this heirloom if you delivered us safely to the Gathering. You fulfilled your part of that bargain and so much more. My family’s treasure is yours,” Twotongue replied as he held the orb towards Calista. “I only wish I had more to offer you.”

“Is that… a memory orb?” Milly whispered, as Calista carefully grasped the orb in her hands. It was smaller than the one Milly and Rain had found on the beach, but this one was undamaged.

“I don’t know what it is,” admitted Twotongue with a touch of embarrassment. “My grandfather’s grandfather found it in the southern jungles, at the bottom of a lake. He was drawn to it, and it called to him, yet he died without knowing its purpose. It’s been passed down through our family generation by generation, ever since, as we searched for the one it belonged to.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“And you think that’s us?” Calista asked. “Why?”

“Because it didn’t start sparkling like a rainbow until I met you.”

* * *

Milly and Calista headed north, deeper into the mountains and away from the prying eyes of both fairies and players, until they came upon a flowery meadow below a sheer, snowcapped mountain. Above, a twin waterfall cascaded off the mountain and bathed the meadow in a cool, pleasant mist.

“Are you ready, Cally?” Milly asked as she placed the orb in the middle of the meadow.

“I have no idea,” Calista said as she leaned on her spear and activated her shield. “How do you… turn it on?”

“I have no idea. I… woah!” Milly startled, as the lights within the orb began to spiral and filled the meadow with rainbow lights. The orb began to float off the ground and quickly rose until it hovered ten feet above them and lit up the meadow like a disco ball.

“Whatever you did, that seemed to work, Milly” Calista said excitedly, as holographic images began to appear around them, obscuring the meadow bit-by-bit until all they could see was the memory projected by the orb. It was dark, illuminated by projected candlelight, and familiar to Milly.

“This… this is Oracle and Hephaestus’ workshop,” Milly said, as she recognized the medieval-style workshop with its oak workbench and haphazardly stacked bookshelves. Hephaestus – the bearded man in the blacksmith’s apron – sat at the workbench as the memory orb began its recording. Behind him, the Nexus – the kaleidoscope essence from which all intelligent life spawned – whirled like an engine at the heart of a great machine.

“Oracle and Hephaestus – the ones you said designed the God Contest?” Calista asked. She hadn’t seen the first memory orb on the beach.

“Yes, but they didn’t have time to design a full contest this time. It would have taken them hundreds of years to build it, and they didn’t have enough time. So they decided to build the foundations, and design an AI Director to… well, fill in the details.”

“What did…” Calista started to ask, until the projection of Hephaestus coughed and caused her to jump in surprise.

“Hephaestus’ journal, nineth entry,” sighed the muscular god. He sounded irritated. “As always, this journal is a record of our attempts to design the thirteenth God Contest for species homosapien. Oracle is still making me do these damn journals with her memory orbs, despite my continual objections that it is a waste of time. She just tell me that they are necessary. It’s aggravating, to say the least.”

“She has you on a tight leash, smithing god,” came a dark, malevolent voice from beyond the projection. A chill went down Milly’s spine. “She may be your mate, but she doesn’t control you, my friend. Though I fear she has warped your mind to her own whims.”

Hephaestus rolled his eyes and ignored the voice, as though he’d heard the complaint a thousand times before.

“Oracle continues her efforts to create this ‘AI Director’, though she has found little success,” he narrated as he continued the recording. “I must remind myself to be patient. It has only been a year since the failure of the twelfth God Contest, and we venture into unfamiliar territory. Building an artificial intelligence treads close to the power – the responsibility – of the Nexus itself. It is a power only it has ever possessed, and with every day that passes, I worry we follow the path of Icarus towards the sun.”

“It’s a dangerous thing to have the creation of all intelligent life be the purview of a single, poorly understood entity,” mused the voice. “Even the High Lord does not know from where the Nexus originated. All we know is it was here before us. Yet we use its immense power as if it were a trinket that we created.”

“It is beyond our comprehension, and should stay that way,” replied Hephaestus irritably. “We don’t even know if the Nexus itself is alive. It could be machine, or an anomaly that appeared through impossible cosmic chance. Or perhaps it is the last remnant of gods greater than us, whose time has long since passed.”

“Oh, the Nexus is alive, my friend,” said the voice hungrily. “I can feel it in my bones. It has a soul, though we may not recognize it as such. It lives eternal, yet even the eternal must die eventually. Even now, as the madness spreads amongst us gods, I can feel it begin to take hold in the Nexus – in our creator. In the end, if we do not succeed, the madness shall corrupt it as well.”

“Knock off your creepy shit, Cizen. That’s not why I asked you to come here today,” Hephaestus bellowed. “You offered to help me design the foundations of the thirteenth contest, though High Lord knows how you managed to find out what Oracle and I were doing. We haven’t informed anyone, as this is not a sanctioned design. But, loathed as I am to admit it, we do need your help. If you will accept the risks that come with the venture.”

“I would prefer the seer not know of my… assistance, Hephaestus,” Cizen requested. “I would prefer no one know.”

The god Cizen stepped into view, and Milly retched. The creature had the appearance of death and decay, his body covered in open sores and rotted flesh. His face was practically skeletal, skin stretched across bone as if near starvation. Rats and crows followed in his wake and consumed the flesh that fell from the god’s body, only to be reabsorbed into its master’s flesh in a never-ending cycle of decay and consumption.

The projection had no scent, but Milly held her breath, as if the stench of death and decay would reach her even through the long-ago memory.

Hephaestus regarded Cizen with an exasperated patience saved only for dearest – and most troublesome – friends.

“Oracle does tend to find these things out, Cizen. It is her lot in life, to know that which others do not,” Hephaestus sighed, as his gaze returned to the small cube in his meaty palms. “But I shall not tell her of your involvement. Besides, I have not seen my wife in weeks. She locks herself in her workshop and does not take visitors – not even her own husband.”

“She’s always been a selfish woman,” Cizen sneered, earning another sigh from Hephaestus. The smithing god looked forlorn.

“The three of us… we were so close, Cizen, back in the before. We fought side-by-side, to the bitter end, and we earned our reward, if you could call it that,” Hephaestus defended. “What happened in that final battle – it wasn’t Oracle’s fault. And it wasn’t yours, my dear friend. It was just the four of us left, and Syune… Syune just didn’t make it.”

Deep shadows extended from Cizen and darkened the workshop, the light from the Nexus eclipsed. “Don’t you say her name, Hephaestus. She died many cycles ago, and I have moved on. The god of the dead doesn’t hold to such attachments.”

“Bullshit. She was your wife, Cizen,” Hephaestus countered. “Such pain leaves unhealed scars on our souls. The kind that never fade.”

Cizen fell into a dark silence, his eyes focused intently on the Nexus. Hephaestus dropped the subject. It was not the first time they’d had this argument.

“Well, I didn’t call you here to argue about the distant past, jackass.”

“Bullshit? Jackass? You’ve embraced these human curses a bit too readily, old friend,” sighed Cizen, but the faint chuckle that hissed from between his skeletal teeth broke through the tension between them.

“I have found them to be one of the more enjoyable species we’d been tasked to watch over,” said Hephaestus wistfully. “But perhaps this new species will be more in line with your eclectic tastes.”

“New species?” Cizen asked curiously. “Already? So soon after the failure of the twelfth?”

“The Nexus knows we have little time before the madness takes us all. Like us, it does its part to accelerate the launch of the thirteenth and delivered the new species ahead of schedule.”

“It’ll become yet another failed species if these pathetic humans cannot survive the thirteenth,” Cizen observed as he leaned over Hephaestus’ shoulder. A glob a bloody flesh fell on Hephaestus’ workbench, which Hephaestus casually swept to the floor for Cizen’s rats.

“If humans fail the thirteenth and madness consumes us, my friend, the extermination of this new species will be the least of the universe’s problems.”

“At least tell me this species is more robust than the dryads the Nexus created for the twelfth contest. That species – and the contest – was doomed the instant the humans began playing around with fire magic.”

“Only time will tell,” Hephaestus answered, as he stared into the cube at a new lifeform that only his eyes could see.

“Well?” Cizen asked impatiently. “Spit it out, Heph. This new species. What are they?”

“… Fairies. The Nexus has called them Fairies.”

* * *

The projection faded away, and Milly and Calista were left standing in the middle of the meadow, alone once more.

“Milly…” Calista uttered softly as the last rainbow light fell silent within the sphere. “The fairies… Lightpaw and Twotongue and the others… they…”

Calista couldn’t finish. Her stomach rolled as the realization struck her like a train. All she could picture were the nine hundred fairies that now lay buried in row upon row of graves.

Real graves. Real lives.

“They aren’t constructs of the Oracle and Hephestus, Cally,” Milly finished. “They’re all alive. The Nexus created their species, as it created ours, and… and…”

“And imprisoned them in this world with us,” Calista snapped as anger eclipsed her shock. “Only unlike us, Lightpaw and his people don’t know they are prisoners in a made-up world. What kind of sadistic… monster… would do that? The Fairies are like the Nexus’ children, and it threw them to the literal wolves.”

Calista drove her fist into a lodgepole pine. Her strike broke clean through its trunk, and she and Milly had to scramble out of the way as the sixty-foot-tall tree crashed to the forest floor and sent fractured branches into the air. Startled squirrels scrambled from its path and chittered angrily at Calista as the echoes of the crashed bounced off the mountains.

“Umm… oops,” Calista said as she stared down at her uninjured fist. “I guess that twenty strength boost really made a difference.”

“I think we’re going to need it,” Milly replied. “Cally, the Nexus put the Fairies here for a reason. They have to survive this Contest. If they all die… I don’t know what will happen, but I don’t think we’ll survive long if they perish.”

“We’ll protect them, Milly,” Calista promised. “We did it yesterday, and we’ll do it tomorrow, and every day after until all of us – players and fairies – are free of this world.”

Milly went to grab the orb from the meadow floor, its form now inert, but when her fingers touched its milky surface, it dissolved into a fine white powder.

“So much for showing the memory to Rain,” Calista said regretfully.

Milly brushed away the power, and her fingers wrapped around a silver key that lay beneath.

“A key? For what?” Calista asked, staring at its ornately carved beauty.

“I don’t know,” Milly answered as she placed the key in her inventory. “But I’m sure we will find out.”

Calista and Milly held hands as they left the meadow behind and their minds spun with the implications of the vision.

That night, as Milly lay in bed and listened to her girlfriend’s snores, her thoughts drifted back to the decayed god in the memory. He was terrifying, yet oddly familiar, though Milly could not understand why. When she finally drifted off to sleep, her arms wrapped tightly around Calista, Cizen’s skeletal visage haunted her dreams.