Metaworld Chronicles

The Bunker.

The Isle of Dogs.

Gwen listened with utmost attentiveness to the torrent of jargon vomiting from the mind of Magus John C. Williams, catching the butt-ends of formulas she had picked up between her Enchantment, Conjuration and Transmutation classes.

As far as she could make out, the young man had already convinced Petra that he was the genuine article. Comparatively, Pat's Dwarven teachers, such as Danmurim the Glum, believed the sandy-haired American to be a Vadam New World Magitech heretic.

"No-no-no, good Master—At the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy, my colleagues have already proven the existence of Eisenberg's Cosmological Constant," the man was red-faced as he brayed on, unwilling to concede, yet wary of the Dwarf's mace-like tankard. "With it, our arcanists have made enormous strides in unravelling the Linguistic Equilibrium, the Liminal Astral Dilemma and the Elemental 'Ouroboros' Paradox. For this reason, I am confident Magus Song's request has a real possibility of success."

"I understand what yer saying." The Dwarven Runesmith turned the stein in his hands. "What I am saying is yer dreaming if yer thinks of our Runic Syntagms can be in anyway interchanged with 'em Paradigm Scripture of the knife-ears. Us paired with Human sorcery—maybe—after all yer stole enough to establish yer School of Enchantment, but the knife-ears' Treant wash? Yer dreaming, lad."

The ongoing debate had started a week ago after Gwen relented to allow Williams access to the Dwarves. Unfortunately, the result was a theoretical tug-of-war that had continued every evening at the Dwarven Bar just below the Bunker.

For a bloke that had wanted to learn from the Dwarves, William was not at all shy about giving advice based on the latest and greatest from the "New World". Strangely enough, though the Dwarves grumbled and scoffed, they nonetheless accepted the youth human "Engineseer" into their midst.

When she asked Petra, her cousin said Hanmoul's kin saw the Golem-crafter as a "Craftsmen", which meant his racial credentials were no longer relevant. Comparatively, Pats herself was merely regarded as a "Journeyman", a fair dinkum assessment for a lass still perfecting her "Path".

As a result, Gwen herself had decided to put Williams to the test.

A day earlier in her office, the NoM from the Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy had laid out his entire resume, citing that his extensive work on Golem interfaces could help her simplify the operation of Dwarven machinery for use by her non-magically aligned employees. To show his gratitude, the Artificer offered, he would aid Petra in creating a conduit device so that NoMs working in Golem Suits could also interface with her Alternative Spell-Storage Solution Cubes.

Both of the man's proposals were sound enough for Gwen to grant William's dearly wished access to her Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth allies. That and her interest in John's accreditation in creating "interfaces" for Magitech.

As someone with comprehensive knowledge of how something seemingly innocuous like "User Interface" keyboard and mouse was singularly responsible for transforming the computing industry in her old world, she had to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

Thinking of her next project, Gwen opted to entertain the possibility of showing Williams something for which she had yet to find a willing researcher—the Llias Leaf.

To date, she still had no idea if the Llias Leaf could be dissected and studied, as even the Magisters in her immediate circle were of two minds. Most believed in leaving the damned thing alone—while a vocal minority urged her to study the Elven device as much as possible before it was "confiscated".

In Gwen's view, if the Hvítálfar genuinely needed Humanity as valuable allies in "pruning" the Prime Material of every aphid and grub sucking out its nutrients, then they shouldn't mind her grifting so long as the Promethean outcome was beneficial to all.

When she passed the leaf to Williams and explained her theory behind the Llias Leaf's functions, the Artificer had kicked into gear as though a crank-shaft had been forcibly joined to his spine. With trembling hands, the researcher had scratched out a dozen connotations and denotations she could barely comprehend, then assured her of his confidence that Elven Scripture, which was merely an alternative form of sorcery, could be deciphered.

The catch, Williams appended after his heady enthusiasm passed—was that she would have to bring the Llias Leaf to Boston.

According to the NoM, his colleagues in Cambridge, Massachusetts, had proposed a "Glyph" language akin to arithmetics which superseded cultural, racial and species-based boundaries. The study of this theory and its subsidiary outcomes was what bore fruit for William and his colleagues' derivative "Semiotic User Interfaces", a design that allowed NoMs to understand better the functions of magic underpinning Magitech Items.

Petra had then shown the man her Spellcubes, inferring that she too was in the process of simplifying spells for better utility—to "share" spells across Schools of Magic. After that, Dwarven artisans were brought in, and the debate on the semantics of cross-species arcanistry ignited like the Engine Core of a Balefire.

"Nonetheless, I believe we can help Magus Song." The NoM remained unswayed by her Dwarven engineers. "Break new ground—that's what we do in the New World. If Jonathan Gilt had stopped his work on the Ether Engine because we tamed enough Magical Beasts, then there wouldn't be Americas as we know it. The Institute's pride rests in us sitting on the cutting edge of Magitech. Did I mention our motto?"

"Aye, Mens et Manus, it's a good one." The Runesmith grudgingly nodded. A Dwarf speaking Latin, Gwen inclined her chin. Now she's seen it all. "It's right proper Dwarven, lad. I give yer that. Yer sure there are no Dwarves in yer part of the world?"

Mind and Hands, Gwen translated internally. Had Williams not boasted about his college every other conversation, she too would have thought the motto as thrifted from Dwarves. For a nation who chest thumped with pride whenever someone name-dropped Gilt or Ford, she was more so surprised the motto wasn't Nummum et Manus—coins and men.

"Maybe a few communities here and there," Williams said. "But no, nothing like undercities back home. The Murk in our part of the world is... hostile to habitation."

Before Gwen could ask, her train of thought was disturbed by the flickering of a lumen-caster playing the news not far from the corner of the bar.

"One second, fellers," she interrupted the conversationalists, then gestured for the barkeep to turn up the volume on the BBC report.

A few days ago, she had been shaken by the report that a tsunami warning was issued for Wellington and Auckland.

And now, just as her mind wondered if Yue might help their mates in New Zealand, a familiar figure appeared, then disappeared from the Lumen-caster's projection. "Australia prepares to send aid to Wellington in preparation for the Mermen Tide," reported the scroll at the bottom of the screen, depicting a well-used vessel docked not far from the recently restored Opera House.

"HMS Parramatta" was the name of the supply freighter, and it was through a long zoom of the military Mages boarding the ship that Gwen caught sight of Yue's unmissable silhouette besides that of Paul, Taj, Jonas and Billy.

According to the BBC presenter, the supply ships would rendezvous with the now airborne Auckland Tower. From the Tower, the reinforcements from Sydney will be assigned to the direst regions around Wellington. In addition, there was another ship from Melbourne, a joint-operations vessel with volunteers from Adelaide, though their mission emphasised reconstruction over recovery.

Seeing her friend on the Lumen-caster was an almost surreal experience. Less than half a decade ago, they were just kids in Blackwattle. After their first camp, Yue had very proudly struck out her best features and announced that she would be a Battle Mage and an officer in Sydney's Militia. Now, not only was Yue a central card in Gunther's deck, she was quickly taking over the role Alesia used to occupy. Furthermore, according to Richard, the reason why Alesia never took over the part of "Paladin" after her husband was that Yue would occupy that role. For the "tier 1 Sydney" Gunther wished to rebuild, an ethnic-Australian Battle Mage with an NoM mother and no Clan or bloodline heritage was a perfect candidate.

Gwen felt an instant and ardent desire to venture out and join Yue. With Yue's barrages and her unrivalled ability to clean up an organic "Beast Tide", the "dynamic duo" could have the Mermen beat, and Wellington cleared within a month.

But she had her projects here, from the Isle of Dogs to the acquisition of Barlow. And According to Brown, there would soon be a line of Gracies awaiting her Essence Tap—once the other universities finalised a roster and greased Cambridge's leadership.

"Thanks." She nodded to the Dwarven Barkeep. The Lumen-caster dimmed once more, its volume decreasing inversely to the rousing post-work relaxation of the Dwarves working in the Bunker.

When Gwen returned to the conversation at hand, Petra and the NoM were again going hammer and tongs against an unconvinced Danmrium the Glum.

Monday.

Gwen returned to Cambridge to attend lectures and check notes with her tutors.

She still had more to learn in Astral Theory and Spellcraft, meaning her brain was a hot mess of invocations and incantations by the afternoon.

At the courtyard to Emmanuel, she sat with her duck and Familiars, meditating away the accumulated stress.

It still puzzled her why Dede was ever-present in the duck pond whenever she returned, considering that the duck never missed a free meal in London. Then again, according to an eye-witness, Dede could fly fast enough to form an "umbrella" of air with its beak as the pin-point.

Mid meditation, she was hailed down by Charlene, who invited her to tea at a local cafe with a private balcony overlooking the spring gardens.

Charlene ordered a bottle of white from the cellar to pair with the afternoon tea; the girls made small talk, then poured out the amber liquid into generous bell glasses to air.

After Gwen demolished both serves of sandwiches, her business partner moved from the topic of Mermen Downunder to the real reason behind her visit.

"You've been tapped to reinforce Wellington." Charlene's grey eyes glinted. "So have I for an associated mission. You'll be going first, and I'll need you to join me as soon as you're able."

Gwen's surprise was genuine, but with her knowledge of "Dickie” and the Militant Faction, she quickly garnered the rationales behind Charlene's helpful forewarning.

"Is this my second trial?"

"Yes, this will be for your Magisterial Application," Charlene affirmed her suspicions. "For the first portion, you'll be responsible for how you wish to reinforce Wellington. I expect you'll be given free rein. After Shalkar, you've more than proven yourself."

"That was because I was going at it alone in Shalkar," Gwen pointed out.

Charlene chuckled. "That was an unexpected development. This time, it's all on you."

"How so?"

Charlene pursed her lips for a moment. "It's a part of how the Magisterial evaluations function. In the first 'trial', you're tested for your ability to adapt and your ability to lead. Your resources are given to you, as are the men and women necessary to achieve your goal. Of course, you passed that trial with flying colours because you managed to achieve the impossible—and without borrowing a single Mage from Meister Bekker's retinue. Of course, there were the Rat-kin you tamed, and most importantly, both Tryfan and the Ordo Inquisitors had vouched for your actions. Whether that upped your evaluation or lowered the score, I wouldn't know. Personally, I'd wager your baseline was so high that any penalties would be made redundant."

The high praise from Charlene, someone Gwen genuinely respected as a business partner, was enough to make her blush.

"As it stands, you've got another year and a bit until you have enough academic credits for graduation. Like myself, however, you're expecting more than just a desk or battlefield job at the Shard, so our achievements need to possess more nuance."

"Nuance?"

"Yes. Even though I finished with the highest honours at Cavendish, I have no use for an unadorned Tyrian-ribbon Magistership. As a Ravenport following in my brother's and Father's footsteps, I need more than just recognition from the Shard. Does that make sense?"

Gwen understood. She was already aware that Charlene had been building her "brand" with the Exeter incident. The Ravenport was using her, but both the process and the outcome had been one of mutual gain, particularly the NoM Golem-maker who was promising her the world.

"So this time, I need your help, and I'll give you as much help as I can manage—if you are willing to help Wellington, then aid my mission."

"Absolutely," Gwen concurred. "I do want to help Wellington. And I'll lend you a hand."

She did not mention that she couldn't wait to see her old mates from Australia and New Zealand, either of which would be motivation enough to venture to Wellington.

"Thank you," Charlene answered with relief. "You're a charmed existence, Gwen, both to the Mageocracy and myself. At Shalkar, you've demonstrated something only a Tower Master could do—the transformation of a potential Black Zone into a food-producing region with the output of a Green Zone. When you do put on the mantle of Henry Kilroy, your exploits will have their place in the refreshed textbooks."

"No need to keep buttering me up." She squirmed under Charlene's unyielding gaze. These nobles may spend all day waffling, but they were damn good at making a girl feel a million HDMs. Still, the greater the flattery, the harder the request.

Charlene laughed, masking her mouth with her dainty lady's fingers. "Alright, I'll get to the point. Do you know why your second trial affords the candidate free rein?"

"I could guess, but please enlighten me," Gwen said seriously.

"Very well. Let me give you an example of what I did for my second Questing Credit session. You've heard of the Strait of Gibraltar, yes?"

"I have."

"Good. So, about a year ago, our military base there had to intervene when the Gigantes Demi-humans of the mainland decided they no longer wished for French colonists from Tangier to fish along their coasts. God knows why, as the Elemental Giants don't eat fish—anyway, we have a base there—the infamous 'Tower of the Rock' beside Gibraltar. When the Gigantes started an impromptu military action against the Tangier fishermen, we couldn't just let it happen, not when Paris sent in three Mage Flights to 'negotiate'."

"Wow." Gwen could only imagine the scene of giants lobbing Stone Missiles the size of semi-trailers at passing trawlers trying to take advantage of sardine shoals the size of islands.

"When Father asked, I 'volunteered' for a mission in the Strait. Though I was a part of the diplomatic corps, I was allowed to act alone, as you had in Shalkar. I had a few of my friends from Cavendish with me, but I also borrowed a contingent of the Raven Guard from Father, and I brought a Tower Raven as my advisor. When I got there, I managed to stave off the French Mage Flight by having the Raven Guard keep the peace as Mori helped me gather information on the locals. While the main Diplomatic Corps kept the negotiations going, I uncovered that the Gigantes' displeasure was stirred by Rogue Mages who had made it to the mainland from Tangier and were raiding their settlements then escaping out to sea."

Gwen listened.

Charlene continued after a sip.

"I asked Mori to send a Message back to London, requesting a means to track down these Rogue Mages. I figured they were trading the gems and metals they stole from the Gigantes in Tangier, and the Grey Faction has an unregistered market there. Folks owing favours to father got in contact with their Grey Faction counterparts working for Tour Montparnasse, and a few days later, Mori gave me the names, faces, and likely locations of these Rogue Mages."

"Nice." Gwen's awe was genuine.

"I then arranged a trap for our Rogue Mages, inviting both the Gigantes representative and Tangier's senior administrator to observe. As expected, the Rogue Mages fell into our laps—rigorous questioning ensued, and both sides were satisfied that neither had intended the hostilities. What's more, we even found links to Spectre, whose agents were purchasing these rare materials from the pirates in the region."

"That's amazing," Gwen replied. "But—"

"What does it have to do with you being assigned to Wellington?" Charlene grinned. "Well, here's the thing. How much help do you suppose I managed to call in during that fiasco?"

Gwen combed through her memory. "Mori—your Raven Guards—and folks from the Grey Faction—"

"Yes," Charlene affirmed Gwen's forebodings. "We're not in Cambridge to be scholars, Gwen. For future Lords of Parliament and aspiring Tower Masters, we need to demonstrate our political, economic, and social connections as a part of the trials. These are not things the Shard can provide for you. Each Tower Master—or Lord of an assigned demesne, MUST possess individual means to provide for their region."

"I think I understand," Gwen said.

"Do you?" Charlene tilted her head. "Alright, If you're going to Wellington next week, what can you bring with you?"

Gwen carefully considered her choices. Charlene sipped her tea, enjoying the private balcony's floral ambience while nibbling on a sweet tart.

"Right—" Gwen replied somewhat sheepishly. "I can bring Richard and Petra. Golos, Ariel, Caliban..."

"What? No Gracie? or Jean-Paul?" To her shame, Charlene snorted. "You need to start using your connections, Gwennie."

"I couldn't possibly ask Lady Maxine or Lady Astor or Meister Bekker." Gwen shook her head. When she saw Charlene roll her eyes, her irises lit up. "Maybe 'Daddy' can help? He owes me one still."

Charlene took ten good seconds to swallow her tart without choking in an unladylike manner.

The future Duchess sighed.

"Gwen. You've got folk that OWE you explicit favours they're all too eager to pay back: folks who love to drink and sing and folks who live in immortal trees. Do you get me? I am already promising you help, so forget about my father for now. Besides, he has helped you by giving you this opportunity to carry out your trial in a familiar part of the world. Imagine if someone assigned you to the Niger Delta."

"I should be thanking him?" Gwen raised a sceptical brow.

The young Ravenport gave her a weighted stare. "Moving on. If you can only bring Richard and Petra, you may as well go at it alone. You alone have that privilege as a Void Mage. But then what? Will you be the 'lonesome' Tower Master? The infamous one-woman-army as Sobel had demonstrated? The Shard isn't going to like that."

"Alright, what if I bought a Tower." Gwen made a sudden pivot. "Like they do in America. According to Williams, their Frontier has corporate-owned Towers clearing Orange Zones at all times. America is a big place, and so much of it awaits Humanities' enrichment."

Charlene made a sour face. "Firstly, you're not THAT rich—yet. Secondly, is your idea of a Tower of peers a profit-driven corporation with a revolving door membership? That's how they do it in the New World. Thirdly, would you prefer to be beholden to the immeasurable greed of shareholders instead of a government with clear-cut boundaries? We're old fashioned, but at least we're guilty when putting profits over people."

"It's a joke." Gwen put up both hands to ward away Charlene's criticism. "I think we both know I've laid down enough roots here. Just imagine how Gunther and Alesia would react if I told him I abandoned the Middle Faction and started a Corporate Tower in the New World."

"Speaking of roots," the way Charlene repeated her metaphor made Gwen suspect the Ravenport was taking advantage of her innocence. "The Ordo Bath would probably lend you a hand if you asked."

"We only have a passing acquaintance," Gwen confessed. "I mean, I could ask Elvia. Do you think the Ordo would send representatives to Wellington?"

"Not unless you asked. The situation there isn't catastrophic, at least not immediately," Charlene said. "I doubt your Brother-in-craft would send Yue Bai and The Scarlet Sorceress' old squad if Wellington is collapsing under the weight of a Mermen tide. Geographically, Auckland and Wellington make for a great buffer against threats from the South Sea. Losing the cities would doubly burden Sydney's battle lines."

"That's a bit cold-hearted." Gwen furrowed her brows.

"Lord Shultz is the best of us." Charlene shrugged attractively. Gwen noted that the youthful Ravenport was her best when putting on a Godfather persona. "Now, back to you. Shall I be plain?"

"Alright." Gwen supposed there was no harm in listening. "Be plain."

"Before I begin, allow me to say that I always perform my due diligence," Charlene said. "So please take what I am about to tell you as a compliment instead."

Gwen motioned for her fellow mistress of the isle to continue.

"Firstly, you have reliable allies in Myăma in the form of the royal family there. Reports from the newly built Yangon Tower state that you're also working with the local patron, Lord Ruxin, scion of the Winged Mythical Dragon. Your Planar Ally, Lord Golos, is the youngest pureblood child of the Mythic, correct?"

Gwen nodded.

"That's one connection you can call upon—for instance, the assassin sect from Manipur, which serves the royal family and the Dragon. They're no Raven Guard, but their utility should exceed the questionable loyalty of middle-tier mercenaries you may hire from the Shard. Is that good advice?"

Gwen had to admit that Charlene had a point.

"Good. Next, from China— your grandfather is now the—"

"Forget China," Gwen interjected. "I don't wish to bother Uncle Jun or Ayxin, or Grandfather…"

Charlene studied her for a brief second, then moved on. "May I include Lulan Li? She's graduated, and the Pudong Tower was clear in expressing her loyalty toward you."

"Lulan is okay," Gwen conceded. "But she's got circumstances within her Sect and the CCP."

Charlene made a snort. "Ask Lord Ruxin to send her over. You think anyone in the CCP is going to contest a local land God who controls a major trading partner over a measly Sword Mage?"

"Fair point," Gwen conceded Charlene's acute observation once more. "Lulu could be extremely useful."

"Right. Forgoing your other resources in China then, let's talk about the Debt of Haj-Zül," Charlene smirked. "Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth may have paid back the Mageocracy's debt in reopening the low-ways, but the debt remains. As someone who has studied Dwarven lore, I can tell you that their Deepdowner, Hilda Kül-Hildenbrandt, scion of Varekan-Kül, is thinking of you every time she raises a stein of beer. Until your debt is repaid in full, every member you've saved is going to be losing sleep."

"It can't be that bad?" Gwen raised both brows. "I've told them it's repaid."

"The Debt of Haj-Zül repaid when they FEEL it's repaid," Charlene said. "You saved a Deepdowner's life."

"…Are you telling me she has to save mine?" Gwen said. "That's a fair stretch."

Charlene rested her chin on a knuckle. "Good God, Gwen. If I had saved Hilda's life—Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth would probably be a new electorate added to Greater Wales."

Gwen chose not to doubt the young Duchess.

"Finally, ignoring the favour of Lady Astor and Lady Loftus, there's Tryfan. I don't know anything about Tryfan or your connection to them, as that's beyond what Mori was willing to divulge. However, it doesn't take a Magister to know that you're connected with them in the same way your Master had been. They sent out a Hierophant of the Seventh Circle to help you in Shalkar. Do you know what that means?"

"You mean Sanari?" Gwen asked. "Is this Seventh Circle a senior rank?"

Charlene shook her head. "I don't think we Humans have the necessary context to conceptualise the Druidic tiers accurately. However, I should remind you that Lady Sanari is older than the earliest existence of the Mageocracy. Her prowess as a Druid might not have the destructive potential of an Elementalist Warden—but she IS capable of feeding London—or starving it—with the Great Tree's aid."

And she's a goddess when it comes to foot massages; Gwen was almost tempted to add that tidbit but allowed Charlene to continue her grandstanding out of charity.

"—And she's one of the select Hierophants in Tryfan's Cabal who can travel far from the Great Tree," Charlene finished. "So yes, if you ask Tryfan for a favour, they'll send someone. And if it just so happens the favour you're asking is going to help the cause that must not be named—then all is in balance."

Charlene reached for the petite fours in the top tray, then lined them up one by one on Gwen's plate.

"So let us recap—The royal family of Myăma, the Yinglong's scions and this Lulan Li they're teaching on your behalf, the Dwarves next door, and the Hvítálfar from Tryfan. Oh—the Ordo Bath, though you're right in that it's better if they came to you. Look, your collection of allies is making me jealous, Gwen Song."

Gwen took a deep breath. "That's quite the list, but you still haven't told me why I need them. Wellington is just the beginning, correct?"

"Yes." Charlene lowered her voice. "Between now and October, the Shard will mount a second polar expedition akin to the one currently leaving for Greenland. Due to staff and material constraints, ours will be a recon-in-force with the potential of escalating into a full-blown campaign. House Ravenport and the Grey Faction will be providing the manpower, and I will be tapped to be the head of the expedition to build my credentials."

"The poles?" Gwen cocked her head. Why did Charlene's mention of the "poles" sound so familiar?

Charlene read her mind. "Yes, you're partially to blame. You've been teaching Mori, or so I've been told, that Beast Tides can be caused by changing the weather. You said that the poles are the easiest way to amplify disaster events."

"Er…" Gwen allowed a dollop of fresh cream to fall from her stunning lips. The sheer reality that someone in this world had believed in her borrowed climate change assumptions was gobsmacking. Also, there were folk in London who would consider the words of a talking crow?

Holy fuck—was Mori secretly the Prime Minister of the United Kingdoms?

"No, it's not what you think. A while ago, we received a warning from Tryfan not to take any events happening in the poles lightly. Greenland, Father suspects, could very well be the opening volley of an attack similar to Sydney or London."

"What's in Greenland?" Gwen did not recall any such news.

"You're related to that as well," Charlene explained with patience. "Do you remember that massacre you found in the Murk under Shalkar? The missing Brass Legion? It seems they somehow made it to Greenland..."

"Christ."

"And your Master's old mates were likely involved."

"… Spectre?" Gwen suddenly lost all appetite. Two earth-shattering realities had revealed themselves in between Charlene's innocent suspicions, and now they were crushing her between both tectonic plates.

Her first shock came from the assertion that both of Terra's poles were undergoing some sort of traumatic Elemental event. The tsunami at Wellington had ruled the news of late, and though the Mageocracy did not publicise the source, there was no doubt that it had emitted from the South Sea.

Her next skull-numbing horror came from the S-word, which came burdened with the understanding that the "revenge" that had weighed on her mind since Sydney had unexpectedly come knocking—or rather, the expectation was that she would soon be actively pursuing it.

A secret part of her felt thrilled—

Another part of her—consisting of the minute sensibilities remaining from her past life, was screaming at the insanity of it all.

Revenge!

And not just a moral or a fiscal one, but an opportunity to tear her foes limb from limb with her sweet little hands.

And not just in defence—but to hound her foes down to the edge of the earth, then drive them face-first into the pale ice to see how well their life-blood froze.

"There's no guarantee of anything yet." Charlene had waited for her composure to return before speaking. "The anticipated scenario is that this is a natural event and that we'll be hauling a Breaker Carrier's worth of HDMs home from Erebus. The more ominous scenario is that the Elementals had anticipated the event and that we'll have a long fight on our hands."

Erebus—Gwen nodded. A volcano had gone off. That would explain the tsunami. If anything could move a good chunk of ice from Antarctica, it would be that.

"And the worst scenario?" She asked.

"That would be Spectre finding a way to unite our foes and that none of this is the natural ebb and flow of the Prime Material."

And the unspeakable scenario, Gwen extrapolated internally, was that Spectre had figured out they could shift the Elemental composition near the poles to breed "general" chaos across the globe. If true, it was a plan worthy of Bond villains.

By their very nature, her "Commonwealth", this world's "United" Nations, and the "Coalitions" operated only on mutual gain. Compared to the grandness of a singular threat rising against Humanity, there was nothing Humanity could do if every nation must measure the threat to their interests against a global one.

From what she knew of politics, dozens of nations might even see the event as an opportunity to finally best their betters or usurp their lessers.

Her only solace was that for now, from the looks of how things are developing, the Lord Marshall of England was putting his HDMs where his suspicions are by funding a state-sanctioned expedition with crystals from the Norfolk coffer. Unfortunately, from the sheer fact that Charlene would be leading the tour, the Duke's commitments were far from firm.

If indeed the situation was as bad as she imagined, Gwen had no doubt the Mageocracy would bankrupt itself to send Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane and Auckland's Towers southward.

However, the sheer political, financial and social capital required for such an endeavour was the kind that existed only in hindsight. Knowing the wilful ignorance of men, Gwen deeply suspected that even if she were her Royal Highness or the Bloom in White, she could not convince the Mageocracy to strike a phantom menace preemptively.

But what else could she do other than her best?

"I'll go," Gwen said with a tone of finality. "You're right. If there's ever a time to call in all my favours, now is the time."

If Charlene was wrong, then the worst that could happen was that she would have to rebuild the favours she had accrued for her future Tower.

But if Ravenport's hunch and her hypothesis were correct, no future profits would matter.

Across the table, Charlene sipped her tea, presumably unaware of the tempest tossing through her head.

Could Charlene understand just how crazy the consequence of inaction could be? Did Charlene, the "leader" of this expedition, even understand what she could be uncovering?

What would Dickie do if Charlene were to return, not as the Nike, the goddess of victory, but as the pestilence-bearing raven of ill omen?

Would Mycroft downplay the facts?

Silence the truth?

Or would he stew in Prufrockian agony while the Mageocracy debated about what to do, wasting away each crisis with endless cups of tea and ices?

By St Evee, Gwen silently mouthed a blasphemous prayer. Let her be wrong.

A crisis does not wait.

As Charlene had anticipated, Gwen received her directive within forty-eight hours. Together with herself, Cambridge would be sending a contingent of Mages as her liaison and support staff, but she was otherwise left to 'arm' herself.

Comparatively, Charlene's expedition could not leave until the Royal Dockyards could outfit another Carrier-class Ice Breaker and train its crew of Mages and NoMs.

Six months—or five at best, was the official timetable given to the participants of the South Sea Expedition in October. In that time, Charlene would use the influence of her House to gather capable, loyal Mage Flights, afford them all the necessary training and equipment, and readjust the fiscal outlook of the Norfolk Fund to suit the needs of a longitudinal mission.

The timetable suited Gwen. Despite her secret agony, she knew it would take time for her allies to commit their forces.

Within the last two days, she had visited her closest allies, Talwaenydd for Tryfan and the Guild Hall under Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. At Talwaenydd, she was received by the familiar face of Sanari, who informed her that Tryfan does not war on behalf of mortals. Its Wardens, as the title implies, will only fight to defend "their" Great Tree.

When Gwen vocally illustrated the potential disruption to the natural order Tryfan held dearly, Sanari patiently informed her that though Tryfan cannot offer troops, they could help in other ways.

"More seeds?" Gwen felt the weight of the new pouch of seeds in her hand. There were only a few in the leaf-sewn purse, but they were heavy.

"We have not asked you to return the Llias Leaf," Sanari had stated with her usual serenity. "And we are continuing to support Shalkar on your behalf. As well, when you arrive, we shall commune with the Great Tree of Illhîweth on your behalf via the Llias Leaf."

The ambiguous reception wasn't what Gwen had anticipated—but that may only mean that her and Tryfan's mutual debts weren't deep enough.

Conversely, Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth was a fresh gulp of fire-ant mead.

Abjuring all euphemisms, she had told Whurforlüm Ironførge that she wished to collect on the Debt of Haj-Zül and that whatever forces the Dwarves could spare may face everything from upper-tier Elementals to agents of Spectre like Elizabeth Sobel.

Without a second thought, the Guild Master relayed her request to the Hammer Guards' barracks and the Ancestor's Hall.

That same night, Gwen received her Dwarven tally.

Every Hammer Guard she had rescued during her expedition had volunteered, and Hilda had ordered to release their equipment, as well as blessing them with the permission to leave the Murk. Including Hanmoul, she would have forty-two Golem Engines canvassed from three Iron Legions at her beck and call—as well as two Runesmiths and one Engineseer manning a Fabricator Crawler.

Gwen's feelings of gratitude made her throat sore. Thanks to her time among the Dwarves, she understood that it was more than lives she was asking from her allies—she was asking them to leave the Murk, to travel to a foreign place with alien strata of rocks—and potentially die there.

But great gratitude needed no words, so she merely promised to have Charlene arrange their transport when the time grew near.

On Wednesday, she received from Lady Loftus the okay to contract her allies from Kachin, Manipur and Nagaland. The permission wasn't so much for making the request but for the aftermath of transporting Frontier mercenaries on a Mageocracy military vessel.

She then contacted Marong and Mayuree.

Unlike with her Elven and Dwarven allies, Gwen took great patience in explaining her theory involving Beast Tides and the possibility that forces unseen were manipulating the weather. Marong listened with complete seriousness, then informed her that his Master, Lord Ruxin, would hear of her caution, assuming he wasn't listening already.

Mayuree, however, expressed her doubts.

"Have you heard of the Oracle of Delphi, Gwennie?" the girl wreathed in gold asked over the LRM projector.

Gwen indeed heard of the Oracle, whose title she now knew was Pythia.

"If the threat is against humanity itself," Mayuree said with a tone of doubt. "Shouldn't we be receiving an official notice from the Oracle?"

In all honesty, Gwen did not have an answer for her friend.

"Maybe the South Sea incident isn't as dire as I proposed," she said after a moment. The Oracle had given plenty of warnings about other natural disasters, but apparently, the South Pacific was beyond the Temple of Apollo's far-seeing Divination. "But it isn't as though the Oracle warned London about a Red Dragon or had given my Master a heads up about Sobel. She might be a coal canary to some, but I don't intend to put my stock in prophecy."

An uncomfortable silence descended. Gwen could tell both of her friends were "climate sceptics".

"Sorry." Mayuree lowered her eyes.

"Don't mind Mia," Marong interjected by placing a hand on his sister's gold-wreathed shoulders. "You asked, we'll deliver. That's all that matters. We'll have everything prepared within the month, and I'll let Lord Ruxin know you've requested the aid of Lady Lulan and that Lord Golos may be away for an extended campaign."

Gwen thanked the pair then terminated the Message device.

Her recruitment drive had ended for now. Any more, and Charlene's Breaker Carrier would struggle to justify the sheer volume of foreign troops. She had felt tempted to ask Elvia— only Elvia was the last person she wanted on that ship if they managed to encounter Sobel.

By the evening, Walken would prepare the bare necessities for her Storage Rings, and Dick and Petra would meet her at Heathrow once their inventory was ready.

Finally, she entertained the idea of calling Gunther to tell him that she was coming—then decided she would prefer delighting her Siblings-in-craft, then sitting them down for a very long talk.

Would her Brother-in-Craft take her seriously?

Despite being flooded with overflowing evidence, her old world never took action against the looming spectre of Climate Change. If so, what could she, a mere War Mage, do to convince this world when Humanity was neither unified, nor the apex species on Terra?