...Breginthresh 1, 1003: The giant sat down in the dense jungle clearing. It had been a few months since his people had returned, since Agikaan had fallen. He had gathered what lost travelers he could, and they had returned by fast boat to their homeland.

Maro gestured, summoning them forth, and smiled. "Let me tell you a story..."

...Breginthresh 2, 1003: The stillness never lasted. Some little thing would happen. A twig would fall, a leaf would shiver, a bird would cry out. But for slight moments, each day, Anafran found peace in his mountain hideaway. Many months ago, he had set out on a journey, finding impossible realms and strange beings of power, but all of that ended when he awoke in the deep woods, here at the foot of the mountains, and saw the rainbow at dawn. His spiritual awakening had begun...

...Breginthresh 3, 1003: The airship landed carefully at the docks. Kyra and her wife turned, smiling, and waved goodbye, then disembarked.

The ship lifted off and sped away, scattering leaves and sand along the edge of the Gyran island Kyra had just stepped onto. She sighed as it departed, then turned to her wife, who said nothing, neither aloud nor telepathically. Villagers stared a moment, but went back to their tasks. No secrets existed in the small mindling nation; thoughts were seen as public property.

Kyra turned toward her house and slowly strolled through the small town she had left not all that long ago. Her heart felt heavy, leaving so much behind. The friends she had made, the excitement, the wonders of the cosmos; she found herself crying.

<We will see them again one day,> her wife told her, the thought forming perfectly in her mind. Kyra nodded, whispering, "I know."

<There are still sights to be seen,> the thought echoed in her head. Again, she whispered, "I know."

<And every day, these memories will be here for you, fresh as new. I will see to it,> the comforting thought came. Kyra smiled down at her wife and took her hand. She opened her heart and mind, and let the love of her life be her guide...

...Breginthresh 11, 1003: The block of ice had proven difficult to carry, but the flying monkeys had managed.

Uorna considered the large ice cube, and glanced to Purdda. No one else was with them in the throne room, so they could let their guard down. "You didn't need to do that."

"I think I did," Purdda responded. "You were swaying him, but it was taking too long."

"I told him no tricks," Uorna complained, childlike. Purdda frowned, then pulled herself up to her full height. Inevitably, their private conversations came down to this.

"But I did not. And you must bow to realities, especially outside of Uord, Princess," the white wyrder reminded her.

Uorna petulantly crossed her arms and sulked, staring at the frozen gnome. "Fine."

Purdda bit back an angry response, then said, "We will let him thaw out and send him back to the mines."

Uorna repeated herself, "Fine."

Purdda imagined the faerie princess clapped in irons, but pushed the thought away. She was ruler of all Uord, after all...

...Breginthresh 25, 1003: The lights erupted from The Pit and spread the world over. Within hours of their release, the power of The Pit died.

Watching the vast display, Frau Totenkinder smiled. She felt the stories change. She felt everything become different. She knew a new era was beginning, and she could feel her story solidifying. A thousand children died in her ovens in that instance, and the past and present swirled and twisted. And then, and then... there was a knock on the door.

She turned, checked the keyhole, then opened it.

"Ah, Lilith. So nice to see you again..."

...Breginthresh 28, 1003: The former knight leaned against the ship's rail, watching the clouds below. He flexed his fist, trying to massage the aches away, then hastily stopped as a shadow fell over him. He looked back, then gave a slight smile.

"Cinead," Tomas Raneus said. "You startled me."

The fey archer let most of his glamours drop, revealing battered dragonscale armor and an array of weaponry. He leaned on the rail next to his old friend. "You're too jumpy, knight."

Tomas turned back to the rail and let the chill breeze flow over him. "I've got good reason to be, I think."

"Like hiding your injuries?" Cinead said, sharply.

Tomas scowled at the assassin, "Like I just fought a war."

Cinead smiled, barely, "It's over now. The monsters of The Pit are defeated."

A long pause followed as both men left unsaid their uncertainties on that matter. Tomas adjusted his single glove absently as he said, "I could use a sharp eye and good bow back home."

Cinead glanced at his white-clad friend. "Did you lose your mind along with your hand? You know what your people would do to the likes of me."

The mendicant noble gave a rueful smile and glanced down at his missing limb. "I still feel it there."

"That will pass," Cinead said, not believing it. But human lives were so brief, what did it matter? "Besides, I have better offers."

"The Wild Hunt?" Tomas asked.

Cinead frowned, "How did you hea--nevermind. Those Washerwomen, right? No matter. I did not take that one. I do not wish to spend eternity bound to such traditions."

Tomas looked closely at his friend, then decided not to ask which offer he /did/ take. Best not to know, sometimes. Before he could find something else to say, Cinead asked, "And what are your plans? More do-gooder missions?"

Tomas glanced back toward the hold of the ship. "I'm going to bury my brother in the family cemetary, and then I think my former wife and I will have a talk. From there...?" He shrugged.

"I didn't know the Dhunnics allowed for divorce," Cinead observed.

"Annullment. It's different," Tomas responded. "When your Goddess demands a life of servitude, there's not much even the higher nobility can do to gainsay it."

Cinead nodded, "Our paths will cross again. This is not goodbye."

"No," Tomas agreed. "This is not goodbye..."

...Breginthresh 30, 1003: The heavy winter snows abated the further they went south. Jack was happy of it; his small frame and bad foot meant trudging through snow was a nightmare. The ponies they had weren't really meant to be going such long distances in it, either, and that meant he had to ride a mule, which was perhaps the most miserable option. But the others depended on him, and he found that the idea of letting them see him suffer was unthinkable. He had to remain strong, to keep them inspired. They had come so far. He couldn't hide the pain if he walked, but he could on the mule.

So he rode the mule.

Cold winds bit at him as he rode, but soon he would likely be able to get down and walk for a while. He held onto that thought as he continued onward. The column behind him stretched for several miles, and the pressure of caring for 10,000 former slaves left little room for happy thoughts these days. Looking forward to small pleasures was all he seemed to have left.

An hour or more passed. The mule got no more pleasant, and to his chagrin, the winter winds picked up strength again. He pulled his coat close and focused on the shouting going on ahead. The scouts had found something. He urged his mount forward and tried to look formidable, feeling like a fraud. /A familiar feeling.../

And then his heart nearly stopped. The scouts approached with another band of ex-slaves. This occurrence had become more and more frequent as Jack's Army's reputation spread. Slaves would hear of the uprisings, and then start one of their own. Then, having nowhere else to go, they would seek Jack's Army out. Their numbers had swelled as they marched. The Vesturians could not contain them--not in the midst of a civil war--and thus, they became stronger and stronger. This new band approaching, however, was different. In the lead of the band was a massive warrior, wearing a sleek looking pelt, heaving a sort of heavy ball and chain. Jack felt his eyes burn with tears.

"ARC! ARC!" He shouted, his ebullience overwhelming him. He felt like a child, and he knew he looked it as he bounced in his saddle. He didn't care. He bounded off the mule and sprinted through the snow, hurting foot be damned. The huge warrior roared in delight and shoved his way past the scouts and guards. In a moment, Jack was engulfed in a literal bear hug. An audible snap told him he probably just lost a rib, but he did not feel it. The ecstacy of reunion overrode all pain.

"Welcome back, toy story!" the berserker cried. Jack paid no heed to the nonsensical greeting and simply wept. Acturus continued, "They say you've got some new friends!"

Jack wiped his face, "Aye, but there's nothing like old ones."

Arcturus nodded, then let his smaller friend down. "I found some distant family to the south. You're only a few miles from the Maskovian border, you know?"

Jack shook his head, "We can't tell much in these snows. What is Maskovy like?"

"Cold, mountainous, and drunk," Arcturus responded. Then he grinned, "But welcoming to runaway slaves from Vesturia."

Jack smiled, "Sounds like my kind of place."

Arcturus grinned, then looked at Jack's mule. "You call that a horse?"

"I don't, actually. Nobody does. It's a mule," he grinned back.

"No need for that, then," Arcturus said. He knelt, wrapped his pelt tightly about his shoulders, and transformed. As he did so, he growled, "Climb aboaar--"

Jack laughed, then scrambled atop the massive bear. "Lead the way, my friend!"

...Breginthresh 31, 1003: The sight had almost blinded him.

Jeffrey Gerard turned over in his berth. He had been looking north when the blast occurred. A column of light and power so large it was seen the world over arose from The Pit, almost a week ago, and only now were his eyes recovering. Others who had stared into had not been affected, but he had. He still did not understand why; he was thankful it was now fading.

He tried to get comfortable in the narrow bed, but the rocking of the ship troubled him as well. The rocking of the ship, the close quarters, the cold air, the... none of it mattered. He did not care about these mundane discomforts. For the first time in years, he was headed home.

It loomed before him. He had changed so much since he had left, he knew they would not recognize him. He knew they would not care once they did, but he had to face it. He had survived the machinations of mad mages, of goblin slavers, of the Fuligiin Host. He had lead uprisings and armies, but facing the family he had left behind, the people he had once known, that still left him discomfitted.

He sighed, then turned over in his berth once more, tring to sleep...

...Masavrib 12, 1004: She had never seen anyone move like this before.

The crowd cheered not because he dodged her strike, but because she came so close. No one had yet managed to hit him. He just stood there, anticipating her every move, gauging her by the Sky knew what criteria. Comparing swordsmen to dancers was an old poem, but it fit so many of them, especially those that learned in certain Jesenyan schools. But this man made the other dancers look like they had never heard music before; he made them look like they were sessile.

Nur'Alya sent sparks along her sword, letting their heat draw her opponent's attention (he had no sight, but she had long since stopped underestimating the blind), then flung them off to his left. Rolling forward she brought her sword up directly in a strike toward his chest, but her mind commanded the air to his right to erupt into a ball of flame. Somehow, he was not there when she struck. Somehow, he was several feet away, dodging all three of her attacks at once.

The crowd roared. Nur'Alya tried to block them out, but she could not help but take encouragement. She struck again and again, and each time, Hile Skye (what a coincidence, that name) seemed to flow away. He didn't strike; he did not seem to have any other tricks. He was just very fast. For a match notoriously dangerous for how it let contestants use any skill at their disposal, he was both a fortunate opponent and a vexing one. She had no idea what to expect.

But he never would strike, so Nur'Alya decided to risk it. She knelt, turned her sword to the sky, closed her eyes, and prayed. The answer came swiftly; his sword bit into her shoulder...

Tishar 21, 1004: The sign clapped into place.

Terence and Everbright stepped back to look it over. In huge, deep crimson letters, it said, "THE RED CIRCLE." It hung from a signpost outside their new offices, on a busy street in Merukis, provided at cost by Belcorn. They had spent several weeks fixing it up.

Everbright said, "It looks good."

Terence nodded, "Thanks. Is there anything else we need to finish up?"

"I don't think so," said the Skyeling. "Just the opening, I suppose."

Terence nodded, stepped forward, and opened the door. With a flourish, he gestured Everbright inside. She stepped in and walked over to the small desk set aside for her in the atrium. Terence followed and sat at the larger one. A few other desks waited for companions not yet settled, but they would come.

A moment passed as the two watched the open door. Finally, Everbright said, "So... I guess we should talk about advertising."

Terence sighed, "We left those write ups with everyone in town. Brownstones, Chrysanthemums, the churches, the Washers, all of them."

Everbright nodded, "Maybe some broadsheets or something in the paper."

"That costs so much money," Terence complained. He had proven a bit of a stickler on this subject.

Everbright sighed, agreeing. The money had not lasted as long as expected; it never did. Getting an office was important, she knew, but she had felt bad not spending it on their primary goal: buying and freeing slaves. It felt like a betrayal, but she had been assured by smarter people than herself that a good front would help them raise even more money. It would just take time. Time, she knew, where people would suffer the bonds of slavery.

She looked to Terence, "The others will be here soon. Let's make some tea and put out the cakes. It's opening day. Let's have a little celebration."

The former pleasure slave smiled and nodded...

...Separa'yim 11, 1004: The winds were good.

Einarr's new ship cut through the tides, and he laughed in the spray of the sea. Ahead he could make out a Vesturian war ship. The chase was on; it was a thrill better even than the drink, which he hadn't touched in months.

He turned to see his daughter on deck with his grandson in her arms. He grinned a vicious grin and said, "Another few hours!"

Her long, blonde hair was braided tightly, and she wore a heavy winter dress despite its being midsummer--this far north, summer was mostly a myth. Einarr had found her a few months before, and she had willingly departed the drudgery she had been living in. She nodded in return and held up the child, "See out there? Your grandfather's going to take that ship."

"Ship!" the child shouted. Einarr laughed and took the child in his arms, spinning him about, seeing in his grandson some of what he had lost in his son...

...Llevemanya 8, 1004: He sniffed the powder, then licked his finger. He dipped it in and put the finger to his mouth, tasting. His tongue went numb.

"What did you call this?" the wolf-man asked of the thin, pale stranger.

"We call it cocaine."

Rentier rubbed his lips with it, then said, "Like waking up."

"It is best if inhaled," the thin man said.

Rentier considered, then nodded. "How much?"

"Three hundred coin," the dealer said.

Rentier considered. He had just sold a book of poems, and he had more than that with him. A brand new high was worth the expenditure, even if it were the most he'd ever paid for something like this. He turned, dug around in his purse, and pulled out the markers. As he turned back around, the net came down.

He screamed, and it came out a howl. The fabric of the net burned, and he knew someone had woven silver into it. Two other men stepped out into the alley. His body shifted uncontrollably, and he knew his mind was weakening. He writhed, screamed again, and then felt the thud as the crossbow bolts hit him. Warm blood flowed over his fine new clothes, and everything went dark...

...Quathry 12, 1004: Two more spades of dirt finished the job.

Signe looked up into the trees above and saw the scarlet bird watching. She smiled sadly at it, then knelt at her brother's grave. Tears washed the packed earth as she struggled to find words. Years of travel, across every continent and more, only to find he had succumbed to trickery and murder before she had even set out. Her own journey had been nothing more than chasing shadows, a cruel joke by a cruel world. A pawn in another's game.

In that time, she had achieved much, and the words of Heaven and Glory had reached every corner of Shem, but what had carried her so far had been hope. The moment she found the truth, the moment she learned her brother's fate, the hope had vanished, leaving only a painful hole in her heart. The tears came swifter now, more forceful. Her face contorted with grief.

All she had now was a name, the name of the bastard who had killed him, and a quest to find him. The thought twisted her stomach. She wretched, but nothing came out. She had had little appetite for many long days now, as she had sailed back to her homeland with his body. She shivered, then sobs wracked her body once more...

...Brespe 3, 1005: The island was an expanse of idyllic beauty, but that morning, no bird nor beast found peace there. The grounds shook and the trees trembled. Shrieks and screams echoed from the small cottage in the wood. The mists fled the turmoil, and the secret inhabitants of the isle remained hidden. The sound of cracking stone made every living thing on the island cringe, none more so than the subject of the ruler of the island's wrath.

"But Morgane," Prince Percival interjected. "She meant nothing to me!"

Flames erupted around Morgane le Fey's head as her rage manifested physically. Already, the young fay woman lie dead by their bed, the bed she and Percy had shared for over a year, the bed where her child had been conceived. She was now heavy with child, nearly due, and she had found her lover in the arms of some barmaid. Again.

The flames cooled to icy death, to frigid despair, to vengeful patience. She could not direct fatal force at Percy. That was part of his supernatural charm as much as it was a practical consideration. Instead, she gestured, mystically hurling the body of the barmaid at him. The collision knocked him through the window, and the sound of rending wood and shattering glass warned the island that the storm had not yet passed.

"Curse you, Prince Charming. Curse you for a thousand years. This body you shall carry with you, from now until it fades from memory," she snarled through her tears...

...Tasivacio 22, 1004: At twice the height of his captain, Bhursh could not easily be presented the badge. He had to kneel, and he had to ignore the snickers from the crowd. It was easy enough; this moment was important. He had found a calling.

On the flight back from Wurtanborg, the twins had approached him for a quiet discussion, and he had liked what they had to say. Equality, freedom, empowerment, protection. These ideas made sense to him, despite the clamouring from his more vicious ancestors. He had seen enough of slavery and cruelty to know they held no savor for him anymore. And so it was, he had enlisted in the Brownstone School to learn how to organize against oppression. For a year, he had sat through trainings and studies, mostly needlessly--there was always an ancestor he could draw from to learn this all instantly--because he knew that the men and women he went through this with would be his companions. That bond would be important later.

He smiled at the commander, who frowned in response. Bhursh knew his strange face was not a pretty sight, so he let the smile fade, despite his amusement. He turned to the crowd and bowed, then stepped aside for the next recruit. Sitting down, he shook the hands of those next to him and quietly watched as the future walked across the small stage...

...Mada'con 12, 1006: The child wailed. A feathered hand picked her up and held her gently. She calmed slowly. The child then slept.

Noata clicked her beak in pleasure, then place her daughter back in the nest. She sat down on a large cushion, then looked over to her two other children. Both were playing happily across the room. She sighed, then adjusted her Mantle. A few good years had passed since her adventures, and in that time, she had followed the instincts the Mantle had given her: she had begun to care for children everywhere. That had lead her back home, eventually, to the welcoming arms of long lost family.

That's when she met Kuak. He had proven a gentle lover and decent father, but Noata's instincts told her to keep looking, even after her first child was hatched. She moved on, finding Teot, then Aiket. Now she was working on I'ot. A child or two from each was about as much as she could handle, she found, but the children were the thing. She clicked her beak in pleasure and rubbed her belly, knowing her next was on its way...

...Seconin 25, 1009: They told her to stay away from Anahav, but she never could.

Hrysa swam under the cover of night, constantly looking back to see if her brothers had followed. Twice now she had been caught and punished for trying to meet with the Seawyrder; it had only made her smarter about her methods. Take nothing with you, take the lesser used paths, use no lights. She had learned.

The entrance to Anahav was indistinguishable from most the sea caves in the area, but everyone knew where it was. Parents warned their children against exploring there, and it somehow never caught the sun, despite not being very deep. Hrysa paused and scanned the area before moving forward; no one was waiting for her. No beasts lurked here. She would have sensed them.

She swam, entering cautiously, glancing around over and over. The eels frightened her, the sharks and anglers upset her, but the squids terrified her. She moved slowly, trembling, when she caught sight of one. The rough hewn passages of Anahav seemed to be full of monsters, but the promise within was worth it, she kept telling herself. For such a small price, she could finally be beautiful.

Eventually, she came to Vandhav's chamber. A huge, spherical room, smoothed out in the center of the caves, the chamber was etched with a thousand mystical markings, all glowing pale green. Vandhav herself waited in the center, cleaning her knives. The Sea Wyrder was massive, squid-like, but strangely beautiful. Her body was palest white and deepest black, and her eyes were deep pits of purple sea. She sang softly to herself with a voice like the tides.

"Welcome, Hrysa," the wyrder greeted.

"Thank you, Sea Wyrder," she answered, her soft voice gentle in the cold chamber. "I--I am ready."

The Wyrder smiled a jagged smile full of red teeth, then held up a knife. "Very good child. Come here..."

...Tishar 18, 1017: Yun sat in meditation while Ye made tea.

It had been a decade since Zhe had passed away, but every year on the anniversary of his death, Ye made tea in the morning and took it out to his grave. Yun stayed in the temple on those days; too much had to be done. And Ye deserved privacy.

The two had come a long way over the years. After the discovery of the nephesh's treachery, the quest for the aetherial keys had been abandoned, but not the quest for Shem. They had lost their companions to slavers and war, but they found new friends along the way. Eventually, they were able to release enough of Mother Shem's power that she was able to send aid to the others seeking to save the world. Though few knew it, it was their efforts that had allowed Mother Shem to select new chosen and to rise up and fight at The Pit. Yun, Ye, and the others were glad of the anonymity.

Students were already filing into the room. Yun opened her eyes and stood, bowing in greeting. The long history of Unbulese training in bai laihu xiao had neglected women for the most part, save rare exceptions like Yun, and she and Ye sought to remedy that. They had gathered, over the last 14 years, about thirty students of varying skill. Thrity that stuck around, anyway. Yun quietly asked two of them to follow Ye at a respectful distance, then had two others prepare the kitchens for breakfast. The rest, she told to clean the temple for morning prayers.

Then, she picked up a solid steel spear and began her katas...

...Secomal 30, 1026: Hauk knelt on the deck of the /Red Queen/.

Before him, on a bier made from barrels and boards, lie a man he had served his whole life. The Red Pirate's body lie cold and motionless, but Hauk took his hand and kissed it, whispering devotion. For over a half a century, the two men had sailed together, and barring a brief period where Hauk sailed with the Red Sorceress, the two had always shared a ship. Indeed, that brief period was only possible because of the bonds of trust they shared. He had been the eyes and ears of his captain then, and now, now he had no captain at all.

He did not fight the tears. Lesser men would have. Lesser men would have thought them a sign of weakness, but Hauk had sailed the stars. Hauk had faced gods and worlds and samfies. Tears and petty concerns were as nothing. He would weep for his friend, and then he would kill anyone who dared say a word. He closed his eyes, and he let his rage subside. No need to get angry over things that had not happened yet.

He stood, opened his eyes, and placed a coin on the captain's bier. He paused, took a breath, and lifted the Sword lying atop him. The crew tensed, and Hauk turned to face them, holding the Gift aloft.

"The Red Pirate lives on..."

...Secomal 8, 1077: The ship rippled out past the edges of the system, hurling faster than light toward outer reaches. Within, Ux'qualloq looked to the Tsukumaane Manifest and gestured a question. The Manifest nodded in return. The course was set...

...Separa'yim 22, 1108: The bottle shattered. Dragan blinked at it, then sighed. The cat was licking it up, and he didn't feel like fighting for it. He blinked at the window and ascertained that the sun had risen. He struggled to his feet and avoided stepping on Tea, then staggered to the dingy bathroom of his small apartment. A moment later, he stepped out and pulled on some clothes.

Glancing out the window again, he tried to remember what city this was. Skyscrapers, narrow streets, square blocks... It could be anywhere northwest of the Island Bridge. He gave up and looked around for another bottle, and, finding none, told the cat to be patient and stepped into the hall. Hunching down in his coat, he tried to block out the people around him and those in his head on his way to the store. Halfway there, he realized there as no change in his pockets, so he paused in a crowd and picked another's.

Strolling into the store, he paused, glanced at a figure that followed him a few feet behind, and then mentally shrugged. They always caught up, no matter where he was. He didn't run; he didn't hide.

He turned to face the latest member of the Cull to find him. "I can see you, asshole."

The Cull soldier wore a simple t-shirt and jeans and had no visible weapons, but something about his demeanor gave him away. The surprise that registered on his face told Dragan he was right about the man's identity. They were never used to their targets calling them out.

"Just back off, all right? I don't fuck with you, you don't fuck with me." This never worked, but he hated exerting more effort than necessary.

The man stammered, then finally said, "How did you know?"

Dragan ignored that, "Just fuck off."

"Look," the shopkeeper interjected. "I don't need this bullshit in my store. Both of you, out of here!"

Dragan glanced at the shopkeeper and saw his anger. The voices in his head made some rude suggestions about what to do about all of his problems right now, and he pushed them back. He grabbed a bottle and stormed out of the store without paying. The Cull soldier hesitated, then followed. It took two blocks, but Dragan lost him.

He stopped on a corner, opened the bottle, violating a dozen open container laws, and took a deep drink...

...Masavrib 17, 1211: The arm snapped.

Turchese swore, then considered the puppet. She shrugged and didn't bother to fix it. It would be stronger for the pain it would endure. She waved her wand and let life come into it.

It blinked its wooden eyes, and then began to cry tearless sobs. Turchese looked around swiftly, then waved her wand again, silencing the child. She frowned, then gave in. She healed the arm.

"That is the first boon I give you, child," she said.

It blinked, then looked at its arm. It said, "Th-thank you."

"Very polite," Turchese observed. "I have a very special task for you, child."

"Y-yes?" it asked.

"If you wish to be a real girl, you need to understand that the enemy is those who try to control us. Those who pull our strings. No girl should live with strings. I need you to find a way out of your strings."

"Oh," the child blinked, then looked down at the large carving knife at her feet. She glanced at the sleeping puppet-maker, then back at the Turquoise-Haired Fairy. "I think I understand..."

...Tasivacio 2, 1360: The child slithered under the bed. Her father hissed and lifted the mattress, hurling it across the room. Backed into a corner, she searched instead for a weapon. Her father was many times her size; she had no hope of harming him. She only wanted to go down fighting. He lunged, his tail propelling him forward. The child panicked and froze, and the impact... never occurred.

She opened her eyes in a cool, crystalline room. Before her was a shimmering naga woman of incredible proportion, shimmering like a galaxy. She stared in silent awe as green, gold, and brown lights sparkled through the chamber.

Finally, the child asked, "Where am I?"

She blinks, and the room vanished. Above her was the expanse of the cosmos, below a spiraling disk of quartz. A voice from nowhere and everywhere spoke with the hissing accent of a naga, In the stars.

"Who are you?" she asked, now calm and curious.

That constellation you call the Bleeding Caduceus.

A long pause, then, "Thank you. But where do I go now?"

That is your choice, Mucalinda replied. I can send you somewhere safe, or, if you want to fight, you may swear the blood oath and return to your home.

"I take the blood oath," the child said, without hesitation...

...Sabrathayuno 20, 1503: She screamed as the whip bit into her flesh. Her body twisted a few feet above the ground, bound by thick straps and chains, much as it had been for the last five hundred years. Blood glistened along the cords that kept her aloft and dripped onto the ground, running freely from the gash just opened there.

Medea choked on a sob, shuddered, and tried to look at her aunt. Circe was smiling, preparing the whip for another lash. It snaked out with a hiss and sliced into Medea's flesh once more. Another scream rent the air, and Circe laughed.

"Four more," she said. "Count them."

A crack, a hiss, and a scream. "One."

A crack, a hiss, and a scream. "Two."

A crack, a hiss, and a scream. "Three."

A crack, a hiss, a scream, and a gasp. Sobbing followed, and finally, "F-four."

Circe walked over to her dangling niece and sought her eyes. The woman was bleeding badly all over the ground, and her face was a mask of rage and agony. She could barely look up, but Circe held her gaze until Medea finally met it. The bound sorceress finally managed, "Please. I've learned my lesson."

"Oh," Circe laughed. "You've only been up here half a millennium. I believe a full thousand years was our final judgment..."

...Mada'con 2, 1908: The rats scurried ahead of her.

In the dark, cool halls of the temple, no other being stirred save sykri and her servants. Outside, the ship was landing. They had returned. She stopped to adjust her mask, then pressed a small button that turned the oil lamps on. She sent out an emotional command, and the rats made themselves scarce. Even followers of the Gatekeeper might be upset by her little charges sometimes.

She stepped out into the moonlight and waited. The ship's engines slowly subsided, and a plank was let out. It hit the sand with a thud, raising puffs of desert, but sykri paid it no heed. Four figures descended, wrapped in black, wearing white masks identical to her own. The rooks were back. She smiled beneath her mask; it had been centuries since she had had company.

The rooks silently approached, bowed, and walked past her into the temple. To any observer, it would seem no communication occurred, but sykri felt their every emotion. Relief, welcoming, affection, eagerness. They were happy to be home...

...Date unknown: The mountains looked like shadows now.

Over the red deserts, the Avagenean eyes swarmed and the red eagles flew, and stars shined brightly. Ksenia sat in her tower, a spiraling ruby spike beside the world's only lake, a sapphire expanse amidst maroon, crimson, scarlet, and castory. From her vantage, the mountains, carved now of blackstone, seemed to be looming shadows over the tiny cities that had sprung up. The Avageneans were of her design, but they paid her no heed. To them, she was the Crone, nothing more. They had their own gods, gods she and Avagen himself had cultivated in their cultures, gods she had breathed life into. The Avagenean pantheon was small, but it was the second one this system had seen that was more than superstition.

The gods dwelled in the other tower, the one from which they shaped the world. Ksenia had taught them how, and now they ran rampant, crafting beauty and ugliness in equal measure. Soon, they would quarrel, and the world would truly begin to take shape. Watching from her tower, Ksenia saw the present, the past, the future. She saw other gods rising on other worlds, saw Shem's conflicts expand beyond her boundaries once more, saw the Avagenean gods grow and change, saw her eventual return. But for now, she watched as civilizations spread and ideas took shape and religions were born.

She smiled. She looked out into the stars and saw the Serpent there, and she knew her old friend could see her. She looked further and saw the tsukumaane wandering the cosmos, and she knew they remembered her. She looked to Shem, and she saw the marks she had left there, the friends still alive, the friends lost in the past. She glanced down to the red desert, and she saw the sleeping world beneath her. She stood, stepped to the ledge of her window, and waited for the worlds to catch up...