The soft soil chars black beneath my feet as they reform on the heights of the clifftop. A grunt escapes the Jarl as her back impacts the earth, while Leal slowly lowers to the earth cradled in my flames.

Stepping forward, I cast my gaze over the ledge of the cliff. Considering only a few minutes ago the steep slope had been some hundred metres ahead of me, the ground beneath my feet seems strangely still. And it’s not the ground alone; the entire world has returned to its previous calm. The air blows with a light breeze, and the sky is the tinge of darker blue it has been ever since the Ember Moon became omnipresent.

It’s as if the very world refuses to accept that there is something truly wrong. The land itself pretends there isn’t something slicing its vicious claws through whatever limited separation that remains between our world and its.

But this devastation isn’t something that can be denied.

Down below, the fjord has transformed; completely indistinguishable from the sea it held before. Now, the gushing waters of the ocean spill into the fjord, only to tumble down the wide earthen maw. A vast array of waterfalls that stretch as far as where the Jarlship Fort once stood.

The cleaved land itself is no less changed. What might have once been a river-carved gorge that led across the isle’s sole mountain is now split entirely. Further up the land, it is clear just how deep the fissure cuts; multiple hundred metre separations between jagged stone that had been a solid plateau falls away for the darkness of the depths.

The fissure cleaves only a relatively small section away from the landmass, but it is clear by the churning waves even as far as the horizon, this split in the earth spreads far.

This is the furthest I've been from the titan Alps, and yet their collapse has caused this much damage. It is now impossible to consider the damage to be something limited to the surroundings of those impossibly tall mountains. The threat is so much greater than that.

Even if we can assume the Alps will continue to collapse, simply moving everyone away from the Stepps and nearby cities won’t be enough. We cannot promise safety anywhere.

What can any of us do — even the strongest of us — when the earth itself falls apart?

Has this happened anywhere else? Has the same happened in any of the northern nations? What about the áed tribes?

Gnawing concern burns within me over these events. A disaster or two, people can handle. But if they become constant and endless, what are our chances? How many more times will we watch the Titan Alps fall? How many more times will the earth crumble beneath our homes?

Jarl Anoures grunts as she rises to her feet. I watch her through my flames, not turning her way, but not willing to let her go unobserved. I do not trust her, not one bit, and I don't dare to take my eyes off her, especially when she's near Leal.

Her eyes lift to the back of my head and just as I watch her open that wide mouth of hers, I spin on Leal, cutting off any chance the heqet has to speak.

“Leal,” I start, not in any mood to argue or be anything but clear. “Do your analysis. Quickly.”

Again, the Ursu hesitates, but she nods all the same. She drops to the ground, seating herself as she pulls out her notepad from a pouch and immediately the sound of her pencil scratching along the page fills the air.

I turn back to the sea, the sound of Leal’s notes barely perceptible over the churning rush of water far below. I leave an eye on her, too. My friend doesn't appear to be doing anything suspicious, but until the real Leal is back, I can't be too sure.

Between her soft murmuring, random lights ignite across her body. Markings burning with her water hyle to create some effect only Leal knows before she continues to scribble more notes.

I stand on the ledge, uncaring for the heights; It's not like I ever need to worry about falling anymore.

The world is changing. While I'd thought we had time, it is clear whatever limited amount we have is running out. I need to get a move on. I need to get to the source of that beam before anything else happens.

Thankfully, this time I won't have to rely on the unreliable word of a heqet; my own experience will be enough to find it.

Annoyingly, Jarl Anoures joins me, her thick webbed feet dangling over the ledge as she slumps into a seat. I momentarily consider burning through the rock beneath our feet, having her tumble into the waters below. But.. I've held off attacking her until now, and as satisfying as it would be to watch, I can’t push myself to do it.

Even ignoring the danger she might pose if I push her into a fight, being the one to instigate it in this situation feels wrong.

Thankfully, the woman doesn't speak. She simply sits beside where I stand and stares out over the rapids and reformed land. For a moment I think I see a tinge of remorse in her gaze, but it is so brief that I discard the possibility entirely.

Anoures is a heqet. Not one of them cares for their own kind. If it was Sylvan, I’m sure he might put on a sympathetic show in order to win me around, but Anoures’ gaze seems more like a glare at those she lost. As if she’s mad they left her, rather than any sort of sadness. Fake or not.

She is still, after all, a slaver. She probably hates having lost those she considers property.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

A shiver passes through my flames, suddenly reminded of Gloria, who described me with that very word.

Leal soon completes her analyses of herself. Her book closed in her lap, yet she doesn't rise. I watch her glance up at me, obviously hesitant to bring my attention back to her.

I know why.

What must it feel like to realise that this is not your world? That the events and facts as you know them may not be the truth, but a simple variant in a vast network of eventualities and possibilities? How might it feel to know you might cease to exist simply by looking up at the sky above?

Leal has told me her theories about the Anatlan energy that permeates her shoulders and influences her changes. This Leal isn’t so different to have any wildly different ideas, so she likely believes that this energy does not link worlds or alternate realities, but rather creates a reflection of those possibilities. She knows she’s not pulled from another reality, and therefore is not going to return there upon relinquishing her body to the original.

In an extreme interpretation, it means her death.

I can understand her reluctance… but I can’t have her holding the real Leal away.

“Please,” I plead, without turning from the fjord. “Just incline your head. Allow Ember’s embrace to wash over you again.”

She says nothing for a few moments, losing herself in her own world, as Leal often does.

Only when I’m ready to ask again does she speak. “Before I do, I want to apologise.”

Leal rises to her feet again and steps towards me. In her hands, she clutches the notebook, crumpling the pages and hard-back under the abuse.

I turn to her, unsure what she's talking about. Before I can ask, she wraps her arms around me. The embrace is unexpected, and while making sure the pages of her book don’t burn while she squeezes harder than I feel any fleshy race besides the ursu could handle, I pat her back to comfort her.

“Maybe it’s my punishment that my reality is in so much worse a state, but seeing you again has made me so happy. I am so relieved that the real me didn’t make the same mistake I did. I have regretted it ever since.”

Leal leans away, her hands on my shoulders as a sad smile crosses her face.

“I am sorry I killed you.”

What?

I stand frozen as she lifts her head, bathing in the light of the Ember Moon. Before I can collect my thoughts into a proper response, it’s too late. The changes are subtle; only tiny alterations to the markings across her body. And yet the effect is obvious. Leal is back.

She gasps, rising to her feet — where I only just realised she’d been kneeling to be at my height — eyes wide, she raises a hand over her mouth as if she’s to be sick.

“Oh, Deivos.” I hear her mumble.

For a moment, the two of us simply stare at each other. I’m not sure how to react to the alternative version of her’s admission, and neither am I sure how well Leal will take it. I know she remembers the thoughts of her mirrors.

She breaks off eye contact, and her gaze falls to the notepad still in her grasp. Instead of commenting on the alternate her’s declaration, she turns away to dive into the notes left behind. Leal flicks through the pages as if they are a lifeline.

I want to ask. I feel I need to ask… but as I watch her desperately turning pages, it is impossible to do so. The version of Leal that could kill so easily that Leal even had to rely on her when in trouble was one that had killed me.

I don't even know what to think of that.

Should I even consider it at all?

I mean, it's an alternate world, alternate possibilities. Nothing to do with reality. And yet I can’t help but remember that gaze; eyes so filled with guilt, but inexplicably relieved.

She may have killed me in her version of events, and if it’s when I believe it is, then I don’t blame her. Though it is saddening to see how much she regrets my death.

Even through years of war, Leal never lost her distaste for death and murder. To see that my death changed that… well, along with that version of Leal, I’m glad it didn’t come to fruition.

Leaving Leal to the comments alternate-Leal left herself, I turn back to Jarl Anoures to consider what I’m going to do with her. The heqet has stopped watching over the fjord and her lost fleet, having turned to watch us at some point.

It is a bit annoying that a stranger was there to watch us, but there’s nothing that can be done.

“You wouldn't leave little ol’ me here, would you?” she starts, unprompted, guessing what I want to say.

“You can swim.”

“Well, sure, but you can fly. Don’t think it so strange that I want to try it out.” She grins that vicious toothless smile only heqet can pull off as she laughs… as if she told some funny joke.

“And what makes you think I want you with me?”

“I mean, you don't have to like me, but I would appreciate it,” she says. “Right! How about this: you carry me with, and I'll make sure you don't have to deal with any more heqet.”

I simply look at her, unconvinced.

“I know my kind can be quite unfriendly to outsiders… or brutal, but my presence will stop them, well, attacking you on sight,” she says. “Few this far out of my territory recognise my face, but I am very good at making myself known.”

She announces it as if it’s a point of pride, but can’t any heqet do that with sufficient strength?

“You know I’m still contemplating killing you?” I say to the woman who seems far too easygoing for the situation. “I’m not exactly inclined to leave a slaver alive.”

“Oh, you’re still going on about that?” she asks, as if my very thoughts about freedom are nonsensical. “I’d be happy to try something different if you think something could work, but in my near century of being a Jarl, literally nothing else even comes close to keeping my kin in line. And trust me, I’ve tried. Managing heqet rebellions is more annoying than raising children; I don’t know how you northern races are so hands on.”

I narrow my eyes at a flagrant dismissal of my concerns. But, while I would very much love to take up her offer and enforce some better system besides the enslavement of half their race, we do not have the time for such deviations.

I glance to the west, off where I saw the Anatlan beam light up the sky. Right now, nothing seems off. As if the beam didn’t just burn an image of impossible alternate realities into my mind. Besides the ember moon, the sky is as blue as any other day. A few clouds trail along, but that’s it.

Just any normal day.

Another normal day without the Anatla crashing against whatever barrier holds them back. A day where the end isn't coming.

But I know better.

The Anatla are coming.

Those beasts that can twist the very laws of nature to their own whims. Beings that hold reality in their hands as if it were as fragile as paper.

I don't know what I hope to achieve. Going against their coming is impossible when even forces like Kalma are resigned to death in the face of their arrival; not even considering the option to fight back.

But I do not want to give up. I cannot. I do not want to see my world collapse into nothing under the devastation of the Anatla.

“We're going,” I announce to Leal.

“Appreciate the help,” Anoures chirps, to my chagrin.

Since when did I agree to bring her along?