Topher awoke.

He did it pretty reluctantly; getting mortally wounded is easy, but surviving is a bitch. But as his blood oxygenation level rose and his circulatory system repaired itself, the various disparate mechanisms of his central nervous system performed the neurochemical equivalent of a weary sigh and began the arduous task of once again bootstrapping the vast network of interconnections and processes which, eventually, constituted the holistic existence of Topher Bailey. His hearing returned (mostly the sound of people arguing that he couldn't make out), followed by his red vision (the backs of his eyelids) and finally his algetic and proprioceptive systems, which informed him that his universe mostly consisted of pain. He managed not to scream, but mostly just because he didn't have the breath for it. Groaning, he forced his eyes open.

Hana and Rudo were shouting at Kelfir, who was doing something unpleasant and painful to Topher's leg; Zanasha was half-crouched behind them, looking worried. Topher sighed, then squeezed his eyes shut again. "Can you guys... shut up?" he mumbled sourly, in between shallow gasps for breath. "Hard to... sleep... with all this racket."

There was a cacophony of chuckles, protests, and admonishments, which Topher ignored; eventually, Kelfir's vaguely disgusted voice broke through the din. "I have reattached the gross mass of your lower leg, Christopher. Though the young lady's administration of healing potion saved your life, it also preemptively sealed the stump of your leg, making normal reattachment impossible; thus, it was necessary to re-sever the bottom-most portion of the limb for your best chance at recovery. However, without significant luck on your part, it will likely soon become necrotic." Topher opened his eyes again to see Kelfir standing up, cleaning his hands with a cloth and an expression of profound distaste. "Unless, of course, you are somehow capable of casting anatomophrasty spells."

Topher blinked. "Ana-whatta? Kelfir, I'm a... gah... big dumb human; small words... okay?"

"He means," said Hana acidly, shooting a hateful look at the elf, "body modification spells. I told him none of us knew anything like that, but --"

Topher shook his head weakly, trying to clear his vision. "I get... Alter Self... at thirty-five. Not there yet, though."

Kelfir cocked his head. "What Level are you now, then?"

Wincing, Topher summoned his status:

Name:

Christopher Bailey

Level:

39

Class:

Clerk

HP:

3/149

MP:

27/250

SP:

39/39

Strength:

Rank D [+31: Rank C]

Dexterity:

Rank F [+31: Rank F]

Constitution:

Rank C [+31: Rank C]

Intelligence:

Rank D [+26: Rank D]

Wisdom:

Rank D [+26: Rank D]

Charisma:

Rank F [+26: Rank F]

Skills:

Literacy (Rank D)

Mathematics (Rank C)

Cooking (Rank F)

Customer Service (Rank D)

Data Entry and Filing (Rank B)

Packaging and Shipping (Rank D)

Home Appliance Repair (Rank F)

Pen Spinning (Rank A)

[Disease Resistance (Rank C)]

[Poison Resistance (Rank C)]

[Obscure Location (Rank C)]

[Nondetection (Rank C)]

Special Skills:

Disrupt Illusion

Conjure Shield (Rank C)

Conjure Light (Rank D)

Improved Status

Summon Ledger

Remove Fatigue (Rank D)

Minor Sorcery (Rank C)

Summon Stylus

Sanctuary (Rank F)

Detect Status

Metaphrasty (Rank F)

Encrypt Document

[Pass Without Trace (Rank C)]

[Elemental Resistance (Rank C)]

[Damage Resistance (Rank C)]

[Status Resistance (Rank C)]

[Improved Mana (Rank D)]

Unique Skill:

Attract Object

Fuck me. 3 HP. Topher groaned again, this time not entirely out of pain. "Never... mind. I'm... thirty-nine now."

The archmage raised an eyebrow, then looked over Topher's head at something Topher couldn't see and nodded. "Not unexpected, I suppose." He shifted slightly, looking apprehensive. "You will likely perish without further assistance; and, regrettably, I have no healing potions with which to aid you." He looked down at Topher, not unkindly. "It appears you must make the attempt, despite the risk. Do you recall the runic sequences?"

"Blegh... no..." Topher tried weakly to summon his Ledger, but his vision was still blurry and unfocused; even squinting didn't help. "Ngh... spell's risky though... might Cronenberg myself..." His Ledger toppled out of his trembling hand and went splat in a pool of his own blood; grimacing, Topher banished it. Jesus. This might be it for me.

Kelfir pondered, then appeared to come to a decision; he knelt down next to Topher, then none-too-gently grasped Topher's right hand at the wrist and placed it on his own shoulder. "I will assist you, though it seems both foolish and ill-advised; time is of the essence." He closed his eyes, concentrating. "Do you recall how to achieve Metaphrastic Congruence?"

He must mean the thing where I grabbed his Wyrd through his robe, thought Topher fuzzily. "Sure, why not," he mumbled. Luckily, achieving his Metaphrasty trance was easy in his present condition -- being half out of his mind with pain and confusion made the trip to the other realm shorter.

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There was a twisting, falling sensation, and he was back in the strange, fractal room of shared space with Kelfir's essentiality. The elf looked less tired than the last time Topher had seen him here, but otherwise unchanged; Topher could still see the brand glowing faintly on his upper chest through the quasi-real projection of his robe. "Good. Now, concentrate on your physical form as you perceive it here."

Topher, bemused, looked down at his own projected form; he did, indeed, still have two legs in this place. "Alright." He closed his eyes, which didn't seem to make a difference as to whether he could see or not here; I guess I'm seeing with my inner eye, or something. "Now what?"

"I will make the runic sequence and circle known to you; you must cast the spell, focusing on your current perceived state. Control your mind rigorously; stray thoughts or impulses will have ruinous consequences at best." The elf began to scribe glowing lines of light in the air -- or what Topher perceived as air -- in the strange space, sketching runes and glyphs with swift, confident strokes. "When you are ready."

Topher sighed, steeled what scraps and rags of his will were presently available, and began. "Ghan Iss Fuush Voro," he began, recognizing the initial runes of the spell; everything after this point would be unique to the individual objectives of the casting. "Ehn Elg Vum... Byshk? Uh, Xat Kuul..."

Things were getting difficult now; metaphorical sweat was beading on his metaphorical brow, and his eyes opened of their own accord as he belatedly realized casting with them closed could potentially seal his eyelids shut if his visualization was too literal. He knew, logically, that the runes Kelfir was feeding him were meant to be channeling his own self-visualization, but something was wrong; it was like trying a key in a lock which it almost fit, and then trying to force it, which Topher did not have a good feeling about. At best, he'd damage the lock (his body) and at worst, he'd damage the key (his own mind). He'd have to go off-script.

In desperation, he ignored the rest of Kelfir's runes and extemporized; salvaging this was going to require a lot more than blind obedience. "Koth Danx Yxo Om," he continued, blotting out Kelfir's frustrated shout of correction; "Shut up, I know what I'm doing. Iss Gadiph Vord Mij Eid Elrr."

His body (or at least his perception of his body) felt like it was made entirely of live wires; the sequence, already straining at the limit of what Topher's concentration and spellpower could handle, threatened to blot out his mind and spirit. But it was too late to stop now; he held up a finger to stop Kelfir from another, potentially disastrous interruption, and strained his way to the finish line; three more runes. Cap the circuit. Return to where we came from, just from a different direction. "Duthan... Viex... ngh! M...m...Meigu!"

His self-concept of his body twisted, flared; something strange and obscure occurred, like two ambiguous images resolving into a third in an optical illusion. Then, suddenly, the pain faded as quickly as it had arrived, and Topher breathed out a sigh of relief. "That was close. You nearly killed me, you know."

"I?" Even in meta-reality, Kelfir's arched eyebrow spoke volumes. "Surely you must be joking."

Topher rolled his eyes. "You were giving me the runes for elf biology, you dumb fuck. Like putting diesel in a regular car engine."

There was a long pause, then something very funny happened; Kelfir's cheeks and the tips of his ears became red, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe and looked away sulkily in a way that reminded Topher, intensely powerfully, of Varissian. "I can hardly be blamed. If anything, a proper casting would have improved you."

Topher laughed; his body felt light and strong, somehow. "Sure, buddy, sure." Then he sobered, remembering how important the next few minutes were going to be. "Kelfir, I need to say something to you before we go back to the physical world. And I need to know you'll listen to me."

The elf nodded glumly. "It seems to be my lot in life, Christopher. What I have to say to you will no doubt prove equally challenging for you, so I may as well lead by example."

"Good." Topher bulled ahead. "You're going to have to trust me a little longer; it'll be hard, but believe me when I say it's necessary. I uncovered a lot more in Strathmore than either of us expected, and some of it I can't safely tell you."

Kelfir looked hurt. "Me?" But then his expression resolved into self-loathing, and he nodded. "Of course. I have tried to harm or injure you, often consciously, on multiple occasions; I have no right to claim innocence."

"Jesus, no, quit it." Topher reached out and grabbed the elf's wrists, letting his feelings flow through the connection; communication was easier here, in this un-place. "Listen, let me try to make it make sense for you. If I told you that somebody, Person A, was absolutely crucial to everything you were trying to accomplish, and that letting anyone try to harm them would ruin everything you've worked for, what would you do?"

"Protect them," Kelfir responded calmly, looking vaguely confused. "Why?"

"Bear with me. And if I told you that I knew, with a high degree of confidence, that another person, Person B, was responsible for everything bad that had happened, was directly responsible for Lulein's death, and that I knew where and who they were?"

Kelfir didn't hesitate. "I would kill them."

"And then," Topher continued, driving the point home, "what if I told you that A and B were the same person?"

Kelfir paused, opened his mouth; his eyes bulged, and Topher could literally feel the grinding cognitive whiplash as Kelfir's self-geas threw a rod on the quandary. There was a long silence; eventually, he closed his mouth and swallowed. "I do not know what to do with this information."

"Exactly." Topher squeezed Kelfir's wrists. "It's not precisely like that, though; it's an allegory. A metaphor for the incomplete information I'm working with. But you have to trust me."

Gently, Kelfir began to disengage Topher's hands from his wrists; but then he stopped, instead raising them up to wrap his own hands around Topher's wrists in turn. "Give me a reason. Give me something, Christopher. How far are you willing to take this? What drives you?"

Topher answered instantly. "Six graves in Strathmore."

Kelfir listened, thought; then nodded. Slowly, he released his grip on Topher, letting Topher relax his own. "I assume you will be able to explain later."

"I could explain a lot of it now," Topher complained, "but the short version is that nobody can know what I'm up to. You may already have ruined everything by coming here."

Kelfir sighed. "A fine thank-you for saving your life. Still, I understand." His lip curled. "Let us get this over with."

With a gesture, he dissolved the meta-space around them; Topher found himself lying on the ground again, his leg aching but whole once more. A lightness and solidity tingled throughout him briefly, then dissipated; he wondered what that had been all about. Then he caught sight of Hana and Zanasha, who were watching breathlessly, and struggled his way to a smile. "Hey. I knew you had it covered."

With a cry, Hana threw her arms around his neck; Zanasha started forward, then stopped, looking slightly abashed. "Magnificent," she murmured, catching his eye, then turned to walk elsewhere. Get off me, thought Topher irritably as he gently prised himself out of Hana's grip.

"Bailey-sama," the young woman choked. "We had thought you were..."

"Skip it," Topher cut her off, though not ungently. "We have to deal with Elfy McLaserpants here first." He tried to stand, failed; grabbed a nearby rock and hauled himself up. His body felt weirdly heavy and light at the same time, and it was really throwing him off. "I'd really like to know how you found us, and more importantly, why you felt the need to blow a hole straight through the entire dungeon in the process."

Kelfir nodded, his expression grim. "That, I can explain. But it will take some preamble, I fear." Turning, he beckoned for Topher and Hana to join him, then began to walk towards the large crater where Vashyarl's body had fallen.

Rudo and Zanasha were already in the pit, searching for the dragon's valuables; Topher was surprised to notice that the dragon's body was slowly shrinking, curling in on itself and lightening with each passing moment. "I am still grappling with the import of the event myself," Kelfir began, "because I only moments ago became aware of the situation here. My Wyrd has the potential for near-unparalleled speed while remaining in physical space, allowing me to bypass most sorts of teleportation blocks and wards; however, it does not give one much time for planning or contemplation in such circumstances." Arriving at the edge of the pit, he stepped confidently out onto thin air; the golden light of his Wyrd flowed under his footstep to create a descending staircase beneath him in real-time as Topher scowled, impressed despite himself. "The short version, however, is that the death of Vashyarl was known to me the instant it occurred, as well as to every other elf."

Topher blinked. "The fuck? Why?"

Kelfir shrugged. "Much I am forbidden from discussing. But, depending on what you already know, I may be able to illuminate a few things." He continued descending, reaching the bottom of the crater and gazing with inscrutable emotion on the corpse; it was already half its previous size, and its scales were dimming and shrinking into themselves as the corpse continued to morph into some other state. "Did he speak to you at all?"

"It was a little hard to follow for me," Hana admitted. "Something about the finger of the hand, and the Infinite King?"

"Yeah, and a thousand years," agreed Topher. "Also something in there about Five Immortal Beasts?"

Kelfir nodded. "About the Infinite King I can tell you nothing; even I am not privy to such knowledge. But of the Five Immortal Beasts, I can tell you that Vashyarl was the most powerful remaining; and his passing is an event of truly momentous import." He turned back to the corpse. "You will owe Dakath Xyrmaer an apology; you have slain his great-grandfather, who was also his god."

Topher blinked; his mouth dropped open in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

Kelfir smirked slightly, then sobered. "Again, there is much I am not allowed to tell you, and more still of which I know little or less; but the short version is that the original five dragons -- the Fingers of the Hand, the Five Immortal Beasts, and other names -- were the original crafters and creators of the elven peoples." He gestured to Vashyarl's corpse. "Vashyarl created the Stone Elves."

Topher was having trouble controlling his limbs; he sat down heavily from pure emotional shock. "He fucking what?!"