A sapphire basin of sudsy water; heavy mists; white gold columns.

Raw electric energy crackled through the mists like an oncoming thunderstorm. The murals on the walls danced like living things.

“I’m sorry to leave so much on you two,” Lynne said, rubbing her younger daughter’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Esmie replied, swirling her feet in the basin. “I think it’s harder on Ali.”

“It’s not a competition, dear.”

“Have you met Ali?”

Hidden by the bath steam, they shared a conspiratorial snicker.

After a moment, Esmie summoned her courage to ask, “Can I help?”

“You are helping.”

The Maiden groaned, splashing her feet. “I’m serious!”

“So am I, Esmie. Tend to them.”

“I spend two-thirds of my time soothing hoity-toity mothers and removing ulcers from drunken magnates!”

“Why?”

She drew up short. “W-well, that’s what my sessions are booked.”

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The Stormmother’s eyes darkened. “The gift is yours, Esmerelda, and yours alone. There will always be a legion ready to claim a free blessing. You must decide who deserves it.”

“W-well…” the girl squirmed...

“The temple survived a century without me. It can survive a few moments without you two.”

Esmie changed the topic. “Did you hear about the temple girls?”

Grimacing, Lynne nodded. The angel of Oceans knew the bitter dregs of rule well. Of hearing praise for her wisdom from sycophants whose hearts dwelled only on their deeds once her eyes turned away.

“I think about my old family,” Esmie confessed. “About how we lived before I moved up to high-side Resting Dragon.”

How much nicer my mentor was than my mother

Esmie never mentioned her mentor, killed by those Plateau men for their ritual against Lynne, but the angel of Oceans heard the echoes of her daughter’s grief. Her first true friend had vanished one day – just gone while out on her rounds – and she had been spirited instead into the wake of angels.

“It was…better…at the temple,” the girl admitted softly. “Even if I was owned. I know they shouldn’t have bought me, but I’m glad they did, and I don’t know how to tell Ali that.”

How to feel about a bad thing that turned out good

“I wonder about the same things,” the angel consoled. “About the strength of my children and the blood on my hands. How they would sing hymns to me, even knowing what I am.”

The Maiden frowned, unsure.

“Me too, dear. Me too.”

With a kiss on the forehead, Lynne nudged the girl towards true slumber.

After the Maiden faded from their shared dream, the Stormmother rose and called a tendril of living metal to her fingers. Through it, she focused outwards, tracing the weave of great roots stretching into the distance from this hidden place.

She felt the life draining from those distant forests. The unspoiled glades now crumbling into unreal dust by her ruthless command…

Her gambit, woven with care, and still too fragile by half.

“Be strong, my children. Bear your burdens well.”

Not much longer now