Metaworld Chronicles

Shalkar.

In an unnamed chamber under the Bunker, dying Runes feeding light into the Dwarven construction site made the cavern's interior unbearably hot for the Human Magi-techian and the Rat-kin guards watching the proceedings with solemn expressions of fright and awe.

Opposite, closer to the epicentre, Slylth Alexander Morden, scion of Sythinthimryr the Red, focused the entirety of his considerable mental prowess upon the sorcery employed by his subject of interest.

Even now, he felt deeply intrigued, a feeling Slylth did not understand in its entirety, for the Human female was not born from an egg, nor was she sheltered, as Slylth was, by an ancient member of the Kin. Yet, the woman's mortal origins were no barrier to her possession of power and allure.

Take, for example, her application of Soul Fire, a spell the female now utilised to wear down the Kirin's existential being.

With each completion of the circular invocation, he bore witness to a confluence of forces not usually found in harmony.

Essence akin to his own, but older and purer.

Mana wrought from the practice of Morden's Spellcraft.

And finally, the Faith Magic's inverse twin, Necromancy.

Each drew upon a different source of power, each older than the youthful body of the female, a Vessel that lacked the two centuries of patient brooding Slylth had endured as an egg.

Nonetheless, with each blue flare of necrotic fire, Slylth felt his heart beat in tune with the slow erosion of the Kirin's, each instance more vivid as the Ancient's anguish grew exponentially.

From the violent pulses of Negative Ash retrained by his Abjuration Mandala, he could feel the Primordial's struggles as if they were his own. First came the resentment and anger, then the blind, berserker rage of being dominated by another. Then, as rage subsided, dire alarm. And finally, from alarm came fear, and from that existential terror of extinction came pleading bargains of inequality and absurdity.

But his companion was as ruthless as the Elemental Plane of Radiance. Untouched by Human greed, she stayed the course, unswayed by the Kirin's promises of servitude. Her Familiars howled and hissed in unison as each Soul Fire struck, sending forth waves of Ash-tinged mana to spill from the Kirin Core.

Eventually, the struggles against Slylth's barrier grew weaker.

Then, the reactions ceased entirely.

The Kirin Core became inert. Its mana conduits were now as free to use as any worldly treasure born of Primordial Terra.

Slylth swallowed, appreciating the expansive opportunities for emotive expression offered by the Humanoid form. He had initially left Mother's nest to see what arrogance had refused the personal invitation of a student of Magi Morden, and now he bore witness to the extinction of a race of Kirins with whom the Dragons had warred since the days when the Prime Material still churned.

The absurdity— Slylth found—almost toppled his fondness for the female.

But as Mother would say, young people shouldn't dwell on death and extinction. Those stories were from the ancient past, and those who consumed their way to the top now possessed the privilege of not being food, especially when they were few, while the livestock had become a menace.

"You're very good," Slylth remarked once the young Magister ceased her spell to take a breather, mopping the moisture from her glistening brow with her sleeves.

Moving almost unconsciously, he offered her a handkerchief.

The female appeared more touched by this gesture than when she flamed the Kirin into extinction.

"Why does a Dragon have a handkerchief?" Gwen asked, studying the cloth as though it was a relic. "Why does it have strawberries on it?"

"Mother said that the Cloth doth maketh a man," Slylth recalled another of his Mother's confusing aphorisms. "And I am a graduate of The College if you remember. We are not farmers, Gwen. We have handkerchiefs.”

The two stared at each other, almost daring one another to make sense of their banter. Gwen's eyes, Slylth thought, would look much nicer if her pupils were two thin slits.

"Of course…" Gwen conceded to his logic. "Thank you."

Slylth felt pleased. The female knew Human high society manners at least. Once Gwen was finished, Slylth returned the offending cloth to himself with an expert Mage Hand, then willed it into his Bag of Holding.

"I should probably wash that for you…" The female seemed alarmed.

"It possesses a self-cleansing prestidigitation," Slylth assured her. "Shall we get some air?"

"Right…" his companion agreed.

Somewhere, the overeager mortal called John made noises, but Slylth could barely hear the squawks as they exited the Low Way node.

Outside, Slylth felt far calmer and safer than within that claustrophobic space dug by the Dwarves.

"As I was saying." He desired to make more conversation. "Why are you so good at that? You suffered no blowbacks, failed invocations, or even lapses in concentration in over two hundred and six-teen cycles. Your mana Affinity is also absurdly well-tuned, better than Senior Maguses I've known from college—but for Necromancy."

Gwen found herself a seat by the entrance's construction materials. The female did not have a smoking stick, but Slylth felt the scene would have been perfect if she could blow smoke from her nostrils like Mother sometimes did. "Talent, perhaps. It's not like I practice in my spare time."

"But Necromancy isn't the mainstay of your education," Slylth felt that he needed to explain why he was impressed. "Faith Magic isn't even a part of the Imperial Spellcraft System taught in your universities, nor is Necromancy a recognised School of Magic."

Gwen's ears seemed to perk up. "When was Necromancy in the public domain?"

"Before your Great War, it was taught here and there, including in your places of learning." Slylth hoped the female didn't pry too deeply into his limited knowledge. All he knew was that Master Morden was greatly saddened by its outcomes, especially in curtailing Human-made arcanistry. "After Tyfan intervened, it was outlawed everywhere ruled by Humans."

"Yeah. I figured it's an open secret that Tryfan had a hand in the IMS." Gwen looked toward the orchids, beyond which the Trellis Portal from Tryfan stood. "You know, I sometimes forget how long-lived the Kindred are. So were you there, Slylth? Or rather, Morden was there when all this happened, like living history?"

"Master Morden was one of the IMS' architects, yes." Slylth wore his superior lineage like a cashmere coat. "He said it was a shame—but Necromancy had to be controlled, limited, relegated to the fringes of Spellcraft. It was a power that was too liberal, too open to ambition, and too easily accessed. It was better for everyone, Humans, Demi-humans, Dragons... that Necromancy did not achieve the balance it sought. I mean, look at the Mermen. What is even happening down there?"

"The balance?" Gwen sidled closer, which was nice. The female's eyes were twinkling now. "What's this balance?"

"Er…" Slylth realised he could not speak more. The teachings of his Mother weren't a Geas, but there were rules. "As someone not part of the Accord, I can't tell you more. I can only say history isn't so easily diverted. After the Great War, those same Mages carried your society onward into the Pan-European War, this time with Elemental Spellcraft…"

The female prodded him with a finger against his shoulder.

"It's true! That's the consensus we, the Kindred, have reached about you Humans, Gwen. You are not Dragons, not by far, but you possess an appetite for consumption and conquest that rivals our best. But, of course, there is a cost to every gain."

"And the cost of slowly erasing Necromancy from existence is our gaining the IMS." Gwen's astuteness was pleasing. "What's the cost of the IMS, then?"

"If you must know, Master Morden's Arcanistry is equally devastating in terms of the toll it takes from the Prime Material." Slylth thought to his lessons in the egg, listening to the old Magi drone on in-between snores. "But it is still better than whole empires wrought from defiled Essences of once-living beings. These days, you have the privilege of fighting the Elementals, who are far less destructive for the Prime Material than the Undead unless it's like... now... where they work together. Hmm..."

The female digested his words. "So it's true then? Those scholars aren't just blowing hot air? The cities ARE responsible for these Elemental rents!"

"I am not a scholar." Slylth felt he might have let another detail slip. A Dragon wasn't prone to nervousness, but he thought he felt a slight queasiness. "Elemental rents happen all the time on their own. That's where you get those HDMs you love so much. As for the IMS, maybe it agitates things when deployed on a large enough scale… Elemental Magic is far more in tune with the Prime Material itself—And I am sure the Elves are holding the seams together. Granted, Mother sometimes lends them a hand when the Humans can't handle the gaps. I mean… I can't say more. That's the Accord."

"It's good to have a first-hand account." The female seemed to have gained some new insight. "I am starting to see the merit in signing up for a membership with Tryfan Prime. You don't hear that in our college lectures, that's for sure. I get now why the bloody Elementals have these unhealthy obsessions with our settlements."

"Tryfan Prime?" Slylth had heard from Richard that this was a Gwenism. Gwen made them when she was amused or agitated.

"The Accord, Slylth." The female pushed her palm against his strong shoulders to lift herself from the stone slab they used as a chair. "Thanks for affirming our next objective. I will visit Tryfan and make them an offer for the Kirin Core. Presumably, we'll be seeing Big T himself. You coming?"

Slylth felt a Fire Bolt strike his abdomen. “Ancient Tyfanevius?! One of the Kindred's Inner Council Elders! Of course, I want to meet him!"

Slylth had heard hundreds of tales of what Tyfanevius had gotten up to in mingling with the Humans. It was true that of all the Dragons residing on the Prime Material, the roost Slylth admired most was Tyfanevius and his Hvítálfar Tree. To draw upon a Human analogy, a meeting with the architect of history was like meeting the grandmaster author of the world's oldest novel series.

"Okay." The female's laughter told Slylth she was no longer thinking of the Kirin she had extinguished. "Then let's settle matters for the day, and while we work, let me give the ol' Bloom a buzz on the iLeaf."

Over the horizon, a hazy morning climbed from the east, diffusing heat like the aroma of a well-brewed bag of English Breakfast.

Gwen Song, Regent of Shalkar, stood at the Trellis Portal, now an integrated part of the ISTC Station her city utilised for VIP personnel. Besides her stood her seneschal, the ever-faithful and balding Magister Olly Edwards, chasing her signature to approve new buildings for the future refugees.

Behind the pair stood their entourage, of whom only Slylth Alexander Morden had the pleasure of being her companion. As for the rest, half waited on their mutual Magisters for orders, while others newly arrived came for the prospect of seeing an immortal Elf in the flesh.

At the stroke of precisely nine-forty-six, a time with no significance to Gwen, the Trellis Portal began to blossom, its vines rapidly filling with an admixture of Essence and Mana that Humanity could barely comprehend. Pink petals, some as large as a handspan, floated through the air as though born by invisible currents of an Astral Tide.

From the shimmering meniscus between the gate vines, the regal face of Sanari, golden-eyed and richly hued in her insect-wing gossamer, emerged with the uncanny cast of her dancer's figure.

Against Gwen's wishes and making her blush, her little crowd of Human Mages began to clap. Here and there, the Rat-kin peasants dropped to their knees and kissed the ground. Others greedily gathered the petals, possibly to sell to others or keep them as family heirlooms.

Among the general chaos, Sanari approached with her forever gentle smile, then bowed her head.

"I have come to receive you, Regent," the Hvítálfar spoke in Elvish that only she and Slylth could understand. "And your Highness as well, Lord Slylthinthimryr."

"Just er… Slylth, haha…" The Red Dragon looked coy as he bowed his head. "Alex will do as well… That's what she calls me."

"I see you are fast friends." Sanari's smile was too genuine for Gwen's comfort. "As you should be."

"Mmm, yes. Thank you, Sanari." Gwen bowed back. "Shall we? I've quite the prize for your Bloom, and there is much to discuss regarding… Tianjin."

The Elf stepped aside.

A handful of Lumen-recorders fired, reminding Gwen to remind Olly that there should be no more flash photography in the presence of legendary immortal beings. While they waited for the portal to stabilise, the pink petals visibly formed a long and rich carpet path.

"The Great One is waiting," Sanari informed them. "Please follow."

Gwen felt very strange walking down the pink-petalled path while their Elvish Celebrant guided them to what was a floral trellis, but there was no complaining that the Trellis Gate was an unrivalled form of transportation.

As a cool spray of mist, the mana meniscus enveloped the trio.

There was no sound, no spark, no wasteful bursts of Conjuration.

Only a slight unsettling of the stomach as her Astral Body shuddered—then she was in Tryfan.

"This isn't the canopy." Gwen studied the earthly cavern.

They were in the interior of a great grotto—but this wasn't a geographical feature, but one wrought by the roots of the Great Tree itself. Overhead, twinkling dews of mana—in reality, glow worms—created a swirling galaxy while ahead, the darkness of uncertain distance loomed.

"Wow." Slylth was more marvelled than unsettled. "This is amazing."

"You could fit a very large Dragon in here…" Gwen remarked as she followed the silent saunter of Sanari, gliding through the soft leafy floor like the principal performer of a Beryozka ensemble. "I assume the space is more generously used… usually."

"The Lord slumbers often," Sanari informed them. "Though now isn't one of those times."

The cavern extended for several minutes before opening into a domed underground chamber that was somehow even larger. From the lack of unease from her spatial senses, Gwen noted that this was not a Pocket Plane but a bonafide space within the World Tree itself.

There was a man there—an Elven male too tall and broad-shouldered to be a true Hvítálfar. Despite his cultivated features, Gwen had seen enough of Golos, Ruxin and Ayxin to instantly recognise the aura of intimidation that oozed from their primordial souls.

"For shame, husband," the voice of the Bloom in White sounded like it came out of an IMAX sound system. "No seats, no tables, no tea. They might mistake you for some ancient, ignorant cave creature like Brother Vynssarion."

As they descend into the centre of the great domed chamber, the glow from the worm lights above bloomed in intensity, revealing the stage set by the Draconic Co-master of Tryfan.

Sanari bowed deeply, then, to Gwen's dismay, bid her good tidings before suddenly winking out of existence.

"Great Lord Tyfanevius—" Slylth announced in Draconic, broadcasting so loud Gwen's ears rang. "I am Slylthinthimryr, child of Sythinthimryr, student of Magi Morden. I humbly beseech your patience for my inexperience and immaturity!"

The Dragon did not speak but waited for them to descend.

Underfoot, the leafy path gave way to a soft carpet of paperbark wood. The air grew earthy and refreshing, reminding Gwen of the oxygenated ambience of a virgin forest.

It was deeply nostalgic as well, for a long time ago, she would sit in one of these grots, her Master musing over stories of the past, a cup of Golden Mead in hand, while a Dryad played with her hair, a wooden boob pressed awkwardly against the back of her skull.

The distance closed sooner than Gwen's mind could concede.

Once eye-level, she affirmed that Tyfanevius was no mere Elf but a veritable Brobdingnagian at a minimum of nine feet, made taller by his Elven gait. Upon the Demi-divine being's head, two pairs of stag horns added to his impressiveness, made regal by the flaxen hair flowing from the horn stumps down to the polymorphed Dragon's powerful back. With ease, Tyfanevius weightlessly strode on feet that resembled hooves, giving Gwen the distinct impression of a draconic Satyr.

"Sit," Tyfanevius commanded.

Her bum landed on a comfortable divan, sitting side by side with Slylth. A second ago, there had been nothing, but now Gwen guessed there was, for the Dragon had willed the divan into being. Ergo, it was there, to begin with.

"Your mother fares well?" As one might expect from a kind old relo, Tyfanevius' Draconic, Gwen noted, has been translated into colloquial speech.

"Mother is well," Slylth answered respectfully. "She talks about your highness often and with fondness."

"Those Fomorians still making trouble for her?" The Dragon said.

"They remain fearful of Mother though they've been testing her," Slylth replied. "Incursions are becoming more frequent. The Human losses have been kept to a minimum, though. They dare not rend the fabric of the Prime Material, lest Mother pays the One-Eyed King another admonishing visit."

"Sounds like someone is emboldening them." Tyfanevius smiled in a manner that was more Golos than Solana. "Someone like Elizabeth Sobel." The Dragons' slitted, emerald eyes centred on herself. "What say you, O simulacrum of the Void Witch?"

Hearing that it was her cue, Gwen cleared her throat. "You should know, great Lord. Tianjin was a disaster. We lost far too many of my people to Spectre. There was Sobel, of course. There were also the Undead Mermen, Necromancers from the Juche Faction, the Yinglong and his kids. And no. I am not ashamed of being a wielder of the Void. It's a tool for our mutual ends—and for this end, I am interested in how much Tryfan knew and how much I am owed for acting as a Draconic agent this whole while."

The Dragon smiled toothily.

She smiled back arrogantly.

Slylth's eyes darted between the two of them with immense worry.

"Will you join the Accord, then?" Tyfanevius' voice boomed. "Few are authorised to bring new members into the fold. I am one of them. Become one of us, and all shall be revealed."

"Is what happened in Tianjin because no one was part of your Accord?" Gwen felt her Astral Body quake in the wake of Tyfanevius' will brushing her own. "No protection for those who don't pay their insurance premiums?"

"The Eastern Dragons are Kindred, but they are distant from our jurisdiction," Tyfanevius explained, amused by her accusation. "Even Dragons, young one, has politics, just like your kind bicker and quell while their world flood with fire and water."

"You are…" Gwen searched her mind for the word "Wisely informed of the events of the Human world?"

"We meddle, here and there…" Tyfanevius hinted at something more upsetting. "You know of our work? Solana said you are acquainted with labour..."

"Which is to prune what may grow to eclipse your needs," Gwen interrupted the Dragon's thoughts. "And encourage that which is harmless to the Great Tree."

"It's nothing so selfish," Tyfanevius halted her accusation with a glare. "What would you rather prefer? Eternal War with the Elementals? Fire Seas opening like Trellis Portals every turn of the Spheres and in every conjunction and alignment? The Prime Material, young witch, is a Sanctuary! It is not a battlefield! Don't mistake your ignorance for knowledge!"

"Gwen, please don't antagonist Great Tyfanevius." Slylth tugged on her sleeves. "He is very old and very great, older than Mother."

"So what? I am Twenty-One," Gwen snapped back, willing the Red Dragon to remain silent with her glaring eyes. "What do I know of unpretentiousness? I am just a mite stuck on the great trunk of this thick-skinned oak."

Tyfanevius turned his head skyward momentarily as if willing the heavens to give him answers.

For a second, Gwen could almost hear Solana's laughter in the shivering of the grove's leafy walls.

She sighed. "Lord Tyfanevius, to answer your question—YES, I intend to join The Accord. However, before that, I wish to complete a barter, and I want to ratify a few promises before the Bloom in White chain me to your cause."

"Very well." The Dragon remained looming and standing. Gwen figured her standing would make her position no different, so she remained seated with her legs angrily crossed. "Make your thrifts known."

"I have a Primordial Kirin Core." Gwen waved her hand, causing one of her Storage Rings to glow vividly before a Core larger than Tyfanevius landed heavily near where they sat. Almost instantly, the mossy floor wilted in a meter radius around the Core's base.

The Dragon's brows frowned.

Slylth groaned.

"It's cleansed," she told the Dragon. "The Kirin of old has met its oblivion."

"Not IT. Her name was Li-Rin." Tyfanevius' Draconic formed a word impossible for Human languages to pronounce. "The Scarlet Empress of Ashen Summer…"

"I didn't ask for her name." Gwen suddenly felt guilty now that her victim had a name. "Did you two… know each other?"

"We did." Tyfanevius nodded. "She was youthful, bold, ambitious and foolish."

"I hope you were foes and not friends." Gwen felt a little less sure of herself now. "Which were you?"

"We had more reasons to be foes," Tyfanevius replied. "After all, Li-Rin's people broke the agreements in the ancient Accords."

"What did they do?" Gwen noted the return to the topic most pertinent to her current visit. "What rule did she break?"

The Dragon looked down upon her.

Gwen glanced at Slylth, who remained guileless and untouched by the Draconic pressure.

"She—her Kindred—turned to Human Magic to empower themselves," Tyfanevius said with a solemnity that certified his true feelings. "And when Faith Magic was insufficient to contest our Oceanic cousins, they turned to its ultimate manifestation."

Gwen felt a puzzle piece fall into place. "They turned to Necromancy…"

To think Percy joined the Dark Side for the magic used by losers.

"They did. The early Emperors of your eastern continents were apt users of this magic." Tyfanevius inclined his chiselled chin. "A warning had been delivered to our Kindred there. And true to the Accord, our Eastern cousins had weaned themselves from the worship of the Humans and had slowly transpired to using the lesser Races as tools rather than resources… but Li-Rin's people were desperate and made poor decisions."

Tyfanevius walked around the divan until he reached the Kirin Core.

"I suppose this is a fitting end. To be erased by the very power they sought. To consume Humankind for power, only to be obliterated from existence by a Human Wyrmling. It will be a good allegory, I suppose. The Core will work well as a monument to the consequences of unnatural ambitions."

The Dragons' gaze made her skin feel sticky. An allegory. Gwen considered the lizard's words. And a warning for her as well.

"What do you wish for this… memento?" The Dragon asked.

"I need a Draconic Core for Ariel." Gwen willed her Familiar into being. "Unless you have Tower Cores just lying around in the storage…"

The moment Ariel struck the ground, its fur spiked upward like an electrified cat. It ran in blurred circles around her legs, then flopped over to show its belly to Tyfanevius before demanding to return.

Gwen allowed it.

"A most fortunate fate for an otherwise insignificant creature." Tyfanevius shook his head. "Why do you not ask the Yinglong? Li-Rin was his fated rival."

"We have a complicated relationship," Gwen said. "Supposedly, he saved the lives of all my loved ones and my… friend, as well, just as we saved his kids. Besides, he is asleep now, and I am here now, dealing with you. All of these involvements, I assume, can be tethered to my expedition to the South Pole on The Bloom's behalf, upsetting the plans laid by Spectre."

"I cannot verify that." Tyfanevius horn-waved her conjecture away. "However, I can appeal to our Kindreds living in the clouds. Tryfan will offer them something of similar value, and they will offer something a little less. What you will receive… will be sufficient."

"Sufficient?" Gwen just hoped for no more side-quests that would waste her time.

"Enough for your creature to be a True Kirin, though immature. Even with the Old One's aid, there is no replacement for time, child, as you should know well."

"Fair." She nodded. "I'll hold you to that."

"And so." Tyfanevius' tone grew more solemn. "Will you join us in maintaining the Accord?"

"Can I not wish to know a few minutes first?" Gwen knew the answer, but signing anything without the fine print was against her principles. "For example, is there a honeymoon period? What if I want out?"

"As the student of Henry Kilroy and Solana's mercenary, you already are privy to… more details than most," Tyfanevius growled. "What else do you wish to affirm? The rewards are plentiful—I may personally assure you—and the restrictions apply only to our common interests in the stability of the Axis Mundi."

"Fine. How about this? If your Dragon Tongue is sealed." Gwen put up both hands in defence. "Then merely listen to what I have perceived and refute me if I am wrong. Regardless of your best intentions, we Humans have a saying: the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I am a capable agent and more amicable than my Master. In this regard, let's share a little honesty. Is that too much to ask?"

Tyfanevius said nothing. Once more, the vines in the grot rustled in laughter.

Gwen gathered her thoughts like a farmhand raking autumn leaves into a pile.

Elves. Dragons. Trees.

Vessels. Magic. Humanity.

The scale of it all made her thoughts so abstractly difficult to grasp.

"So, let's begin." She took a deep breath. "The Accord, to my understanding, is the agreement that certain elements of the mortal races, Humans and Demi-humans, would be pruned if they threaten the Axis Mundi's stability. To this end, for service, there is a system of equivalent exchange in place, where we receive support in magic, resources, and the prolonged lives of our dearest leaders, correct?"

Tyfanevius remained still as a statue.

"Furthermore, the Accord has a hold on implementing the Imperial Magic System, derived from the work of Magi Morden, who has long been a customer of both Dragons and Hvítálfar. The purpose of this portion of the Accord is to curb the use of Faith Magic, especially its derivative magic, Necromancy, in special circumstances such as the attainment of Undead Immortality. Correct?"

"The lending of the Hvítálfar's knowledge came later," the Dragon muttered.

"Thank you. To remove Faith Magic as the mainstay of Human Arcanistry, you tossed us a bone. Ironically, the fabric of the Prime Material is wearing thin because we constantly breach it to draw power, and typical of Humanity, we hunger after the HDMs produced by rents, both natural and unnatural, creating a self-destructive loop. Am I correct?"

The Dragon looked impressed, as did Slylth.

"Ergo, the Accord is a balancing act. We need Elemental Magic to deal with the problems that threaten the stability of the Prime Material, which, in the opinion of Elves and Dragons and I assume World Trees, is better than a balance of power based upon Life and Undeath since Terra is our living room. Am I right?"

"… Correct, in parts." Tyfanevius did not refute her hypothesis.

"Now, what I don't know is why there is resistance to such good intentions—" Gwen's thoughts strayed to the events of recent months. "Spectre, the Elemental Princes, the Undead... Do you get me? If I join the Accord, I must know I am not a cog in this eternal, endless meat grinder. I have goals, like Sobel, my brother, Spectre..."

"We do not induct new members if we do not believe they will tip the balance, in some way, to favour our mutual goals." Tyfanevius' tone had lost some of its self-importance. "You will make a difference, though we cannot ascertain how much. Your Master made enormous leaps, Gwen Song. He was a good man. Though he had his… weaknesses."

"I see. Next question. What happens when I am disillusioned? How do I leave?" Gwen raised a point very dear to her.

"No member may leave the Accord. Not even in death," Tyfanevius snorted. "But you may choose to contribute nothing, interfere with nothing. Just as your Master had done in his late life."

"After Sobel rebelled." Gwen thought of Henry's unreliable narration of Sobel's demise.

"Yes," Tyfanevius concurred vaguely. "Henry had lost much of his… energy after his body was hollowed out the first time. We healed what we could, but not even time heals all wounds. And not when the gangrene is seeping into the best of his plans. Nonetheless, the Towers he had proposed had contributed greatly to our cause, even if it vastly catalysed your kind's careless greed. But, this is a cost we were willing to pay, for regular rents and disasters are better than seasonal cataclysms, such as during the Primordial Age."

"Like the Nights of Fire! Or the Epoch of Frost!" Slylth finally got a few words in edgewise. "Even Dragons died in those bygone eras. Dragons, Gwen! Dying from the weather!"

Towards Slylth, at least, Gwen saw Tyfanevius was like a kindly grand-uncle. Toward herself, he reminded her of a stern CFO wondering why he should assign another cent to her department's budget, minus the lewd leering.

"Tell me about the rewards," Gwen said. "You can do that, correct?"

Tyfanevius snorted again. "You do not need prolonged health or life, so your interest lies in our resources, spells and knowledge from Magi Morden's Clan and others who have attained similar levels of expertise. There are treasures here which even we have not taken total account, for the aeons are long, and your conflicts are unending. As for your dearest wish—Solana has already pledged that if you join the Accord, she will succour this future Tree of yours."

"How generous. So your… wife is on board?" Gwen carefully balanced the pros and cons of what she was hearing. "I assume this support means you will take a hand in dealing with the political fallout I may encounter… in addition to technical troubleshooting."

"We will do what we will and can." Tyfanevius seemed offended by her give-and-take mentality. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"Now that inspires confidence," Gwen answered mockingly, hoping that Gunther would have her back if she did retire. "So, say I join. What's the process? Do we sign a contract? Does the Geas go both ways?"

"Geas?" Tyfanevius appeared confused. "There is no Geas, Regent. Your role will be presented to the Gathering, and a vote will occur. Once entrusted, you will become our own. You will receive requests, respond to crises, and gain seniority accordingly, opening new worlds of information."

"And if I betray this… Gathering?" Her hand made the motion of a guillotine. "What happens then?"

"This Accord has custodians, Regent Song," Tyfanevius' answered her flippancy with one of his own. "To use one of your Human conjectures. Bad children will be aborted."

"… Lord Tyfanevius." Slylth raised a careful hand. "It's spanked. Sir. Spanked. Why do you and Mother share the same mistranslations… Is it Morden? He made the Divination invocations…"

Thankfully, Gwen held her tongue in check. After giving herself a pat on the back for not making fun of the geriatric head of a multi-national Accord, she stood, then made herself presentable.

With her back straight, her spine steeled, her heels well-met, and her graceful face raised to meet the Dragon's slitted eyes, she faced her new boss head-on. “Lord Tyfanevius of Tryfan. I, Gwen Song, Regent of Shalkar, wish to be a part of the Accord."

The formality seemed to catch Tyfanevius off guard, but the Dragon instantly recovered. Nodding solemnly, he stood a step back. "I, Tyfanevius of the Emerald Eternal, have received your request, Gwen Song of Shalkar. I will relay your desire to the Bloom in White, and we shall commune with our members before giving you a favourable answer."

Besides them, Slylth gave a subtle little golf clap.

"Okay, what now?" Gwen exhaled. Taking a few steps around the grot, she took in the sights again, appreciating the architecture's dream-like visage. "Do I go home and wait for a call from Tryfan HR?"

Before she finished, a Vine Trellis sprouted from the floor, revealing Sanari. Gwen nodded. Between the Dragon and the Bloom, she much preferred the company of the porcelain Bloom in White, a being both easier on the eyes and ears. Tyfanevius, in her humble opinion, was a little too Human for her liking, lacking the mystique of the Yinglong's constant, arrogant absence. Maybe, she thought, that's the cost of dealing with Humans.

"I will be seeing you later then, Lord Tyfanevius." She bowed her head. "For the good news, of course."

Beside her, Slylth also bowed.

"Slylthinthimryr, stay a while and enjoy some of Tryfan's delights." Tyfanevius made the offer in full view of Gwen's retreating body. "There are wonders here not seen in Carrauntoohil, and I would be an irresponsible host if you were to miss out on feasts fit for an Elder Dragon."

Gwen turned a half-step to stare at the Dragon Princeling, who looked like he wanted to rend his body in two. After a struggle, the Red Dragon relented by waving her a sad goodbye.

"Come!" Tyfanevius patted the young Dragon on the back, seemingly wiping her presence from memory. "I have travelled to every corner of the Prime Material, young Drake. Let me show you some trinkets that would make even your Mother's mouth water—!"

"Little traitor…" Gwen muttered. She had seldom been betrayed so totally and completely, and now the jubilation from joining the Accord was soured.

"Regent? Your… Regent-ness?" Sanari's catcalling beside the Trellis Gate was like fingernails against her brain's fat folds. "This way, please. Much work is needed in Shalkar… plans, documents, and refugees… Your relatives shall soon return…"

Gwen stopped by the gate.

"Yes, Regent?" The Elf blinked innocently.

"When he's done." She gestured toward the conjoined form of Slylth and his elder. "No Gates. Tell him to fly his treasonous ass back home."