Metaworld Chronicles

As a part-timer goddess, the Regent of Shalkar understood the necessity for subtlety.

If she were to appear at midday at the ISTC in a blaze of Conjuration, the Rat-kins maintaining the vegetation around the Trellis Gate would raise such a ruckus that a train of worshipful faithful would follow in her wake.

Thereby, Gwen Song appeared in her city like a thief in the night, then blasted off toward the Bunker as a star-falling meteor, alerting only the nocturnal Rat-kin still labouring in the wavy wheat fields.

Her goal was the Bunker’s highest vantage, whereupon she entered an enormous nest. The original design was for an aerial garden mirroring Babylon’s arboreal ambitions. The result, however, was Golos taking over the unfinished sky-scape, transforming it into a Dragon’s den, replete with his Amazonian seraglio.

Thankfully, now possessing the inheritance of an Ancient Blue, the once potato-brained Wyvern had acquired some semblance of taste. The Thunder Dragon’s abode reflected the egotistical Demi-godhood perceptions of itself, comprised of large concrete columns erected by the Dwarves in art-deco style, holding an enormous umbrella of a canopy, creating a large open-concept chamber where his children could come and go as they pleased.

In the moon-bathed atrium, she found her partner in rulership slumbering among hundreds of its chicks, a scaled and armoured hulk among a bed of plush, cobalt feathers.

She did not wish to rouse the Dragon, but the Harpies were instinctively vigilant and began to loudly bellow her name even before Gwen could call for the levitation platform into the Bunker’s bowels.

An enormous reptilian eye opened, its iris larger than her fist. The blue-gold slits drew into focus, then a huff of static-infused air escaped its nostrils.

“Calamity.” The Dragon did not bother to move.

“Gogo.” Gwen dipped her head. “Don’t mind me.”

“I rarely do,” the Dragon snickered. “Did you have a fruitful trip?”

“I did,” Gwen approached the Dragon, then extended a hand to stroke the horned ridges atop its nostrils. The tingle from its electrified mana made her digits numb, but the sensation was pleasant to one so similarly attuned. “Lei-bup is onboard. His Mer deduced where the Undead are emerging… and I brought an old friend to our new home.”

The Dragon’s slitted eyes looked her up and down. “The Tree Spirit?”

Gwen affirmed the Thunder Dragon’s wisdom by patting its warm nose. “How’s our city in my absence?”

“Lulu and your cousin are keeping a watchful eye on the new refugees,” Golos yawned. “They’re hardly subtle. I can taste the greed dripping from their bodies like grease. When the moment is ripe, I’ll have to show these mortals exactly why the rules are written in blood.”

Gwen felt the Dragon Fear ripple from her Planar Ally, sending his chicks to scatter and cry. From an inner section of the sanctum, the multi-coloured body of Phalera burst into the scene, her flawless Grecian face repressing its displeasure.

“My Lord!” The Harpy harped. “Do you know how long it would take to gather the chicks again? You—”

Golo’s eye-slit wandered to its mate.

The Harpy and its offspring caught by the gaze grew instantly silent.

The disparity in power was not outside of Gwen’s expectations. Golos was, after all, the blessed son of a deity. At the end of the day, Phalera was a plaything. For Gogo, his sentimental humanism was little more than a veneer covering the primal aggression of a natural disaster.

How strange it was then that Golos was the Sword of Damocles held over the head of Shalkar’s potentially uncivil civilians. Such a paradoxical existence! A monster she employed to enforce the equality of the people in her domain even as itself existed beyond that fragile equilibrium. Were it not for herself, the city would be a plaything for beings like Golos, a domain to be conquered and ruled or ravaged and destroyed.

“Gogo, be nicer.” She gave the Dragon a resounding thwack on the snout. “Phalera is one of our citizens as well.”

The Dragon growled. For a split second, its throat grew blue with thunderous energies. “Rannox!”

The Draconic command for its brood to return tolled like a tower bell. The scattered Harpies returned from the skies surrounding the Bunker’s apex, compelled by mental domination and abject, primordial fear.

Phalera lowered her body until her forehead touched the cold sandstone floor.

Gwen sighed. “I am going to sleep. Find me tomorrow if you have anything else to report.”

The Dragon waved her away by closing its eyes and wagging its enormous mace-tail, sending more Harpies to scatter to safety.

Feeling sorry for the Dragon’s hapless pet-wife, she coalesced a dozen drops of Essence dew to gift the Harpy as Phalera escorted her to the levitation platform. “Philly, do you miss Amazonia?”

“I do not.” The Harpy’s answer surprised Gwen. “It’s much safer to be here in your domain.”

“You don’t mind Golos’ attitude?” Gwen asked. “He’s as abrasive as his scales.”

“The brood prospers.” Phalera shrugged her very lovely wings. Gwen was just glad the brood’s matured members no longer flew topless. “We have vast spaces, almost no competition, and unquestionable safety. My children are strong, and a few have even inherited the thundering talents of their father. No Priestess of the Woods that Wend could ever hope for better.”

“I guess that makes sense…” Gwen drew the secret Glyphs to the Levitation Platform, summoning it from the depth. “Okay… if you need anything, don’t be a stranger.”

“I shall never forget your aid,” Phalera’s tone sounded not so different from Strun’s folk as she proudly misinterpreted the implications behind Gwen’s “stranger”.

“Right. See you later.”

Gwen drew a second Glyph in the air.

The circular barrier slid shut.

Soundlessly, the Levitation platform descended.

As Gwen had not prepared the city for her arrival, she gave her departmental staff several days to set their data in order before her “town hall meeting” took place.

Meanwhile, she gathered her core members in the heart of the Bunker, where a Kirin Queen named Li-Rin had put a full stop to three millenniums of history.

With Sufina resting against her bosom and, most importantly, Almudj’s Scale now in her possession, the next stage of Shalkar’s expansion could be exercised. With everything she had put in place after Tianjin, the momentum was ripe, and this meant all of her staff needed to be informed of her “Tower” and its progress.

There was no conference room built yet for her followers. As a group, they stood on the Rune-etched earth where mystical energies had once scorched the volcanic rocks.

Her immediate family, Petra, Richard, Lulan and Golos, stood to her left. To her right sat representatives of her allies, starting with Engineseer Axehoff of Vethr Hjodlik, followed by Sanari of Tryfan, Strun of Shalkar, Ollie Edwards of the Shard, and Slylth Alexander Morden of Carrauntoohil. Nonetheless, several spaces remained empty on what would one day be a round table, with present reservations for Charlene Ravenport, Eric Walken and Lei-bup.

“You took a long time to return,” Slylth, now counted among those whose expertise she wished to exploit, stood beside the yawning Golos.

“There was a lot to do,” Gwen explained, smiling at the Red Dragonling. “How did you spend your time while I was gone? How was your flight?”

“We partook in rare fruits from Tryfan,” Slylth watched her intently. “I was back within the day so they would remain fresh. Alas, you weren’t here.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a good time,” Gwen studied the smug Slylth intently, ignoring the obvious goading. “Was the fruit tasty?”

“Lulan loved it,” Slylth’s response was enough to elicit an uncharacteristic whimper from a red-faced Lulan.

“I am sorry.” The Sword Mage bowed, her ears turned the colour of beetroot. “It was delicious.”

“I am sure. Let’s move on.” Gwen wondered at her followers' antics and Slylth’s display of playful adolescence. “First, let me relay the details of our progressions, beginning with the Mermen under Lei-bup…”

Gwen expressed her opinions on the Mermen now worshipping the being known as the Pale Priestess, exploring the strange confluence of Marxist ideology intermingled with aquatic theology. The exact details were as fantastical as they were unbelievable. Still, coming from herself, her audience could only nod and ponder the implications of her emerging role as a SPAM-bearing messiah.

When she finished, Strun was the first to speak. “Does that mean our people are free to worship the Pale Priestess?”

“I wouldn’t,” Gwen winced. “Strun, you know as well as I do the reality of how everything works. The city is a confluence of labour, Magi-tech, and diplomacy. No greater magic is involved in its creation than grounded folk tilling the soil and tunnelling under it. Let us not complicate the situation in Shalkar needlessly.”

“As you wish,” the Rat-kin leaned back, withdrawing from the discussion.

“You have delivered a thoughtful perspective,” their Elven representative approved Gwen’s pragmatism. “As you know, our Kin are wary of Faith Magic.”

Gwen thought of Elvia, who should have had a seat at her round table. Her friend was absent, however, both from the city and her inner council. Perhaps, like the others have foretold, until Percy was brought to ruin, the bloody gash that was their relationship would only fester and weep with no hope of healthy healing.

“On that note. Sanari.” Gwen directed their attention at the Hvítálfar among them. “Any news from our Dragon friend?”

“The approval process is proceeding.” The Druid lowered her regal head, her golden eyes capturing the whole table in their encompassing vision. “The Lady would like to inform you that Lord Tyfanevius has made a perfect case for our Regent.”

“Very well,” Gwen nodded at the other inner council members. “For those not in the loop, I have applied for an exclusive membership with our Hvítálfar allies from Tryfan. As to its utility, those who know already knows, and those who don’t are discouraged from finding out. I assure you, however, that the venture is essential for Shalkar’s longevity.”

“Would your alliance with the Hvítálfar impact our terms of agreement?” Axehoff raised a stylus from his data slate. The Forge Master rode on a convenient Golem platform that raised him to their height, negating the awkwardness of speaking to the crotch of their taller compatriots.

“The pact should hasten the promised stability, in so far as I can guarantee with my power and influence,” Gwen assured the Dwarf. “Perhaps Lady Sanari can clarify for you until my membership is resolved. Sanari?”

“Master Dwarf. The Hvítálfar will not infringe upon the homelands of our Dökkálfar compatriots,” Sanari spoke in archaic Dwarven, an act both amazing and strange considering the stones being gargled in her delicate Elven throat. “As true as the heat of Bürumm-Dal’s forge, our people have never broken faith, not even during the Founding of the Seven Ancestors.”

The Dwarf responded with a few verses from the Ancestor’s Scriptures. It was all Axehoff could say, for Gwen suspected that those cut off from Deepholm had no real way to examine the claims made by Sanari, even if they did trust the High Elf’s knife ears.

Satisfied, Gwen motioned the meeting forward, fortifying herself for her future delivery. While her mental script wrote itself, her inner council continued with a few more minutes regarding the city’s construction, refugee influxes and increased security burden. Overall, construction of the various infrastructure was ahead of schedule, but the number of refugees has burdened the city’s many logistical departments. Food production and export are on par with expectations, though Strun recommends increasing the volume of fields or reducing exports as a contingency for the next harvest cycle.

“Our new Russian citizens are up to something,” Richard announced after further discussions. “I would like to put them to good use, though. There are many skilled Mages among the refugees, from Conjurers to Transmuters. Most have some form of military training. A small group are direct deserters from the Federation’s armed forces. The Shadow Mages are watching a few core suspects, though nothing they’ve done so far is worthy of punishment beyond a verbal warning.”

“Hmm,” Gwen pondered her cousin’s foreshadowing. “Petra, has Aunty and Uncle settled in?”

“They have, thank you.” Petra gave her a happy nod. “Richard’s right, though. Mother has also told me there is no way folk from her old haunt will start new, unambitious lives. Even the ones who want to settle will listen to the agitators.”

“Interesting. Dick. Should we bring up the schedule?” Gwen gestured to one of their schemes hatched to create a sense of ownership and belonging in the population—in this case, literally. “Perhaps the IoDNC Co-Operative Scheme?”

“No, not yet,” Richard shook his head. “I would like to see our agitators well invested before we make any investments. I am completely confident that there will be no violent uprising. Between Strun and Golos, there aren’t enough Human Mages in Shalkar to remotely make that attempt. Whatever happens will be political—likely from within or outside—but we won’t know until we’re able to gather more information. Of course, we could expedite the situation with some encouragement…”

Golos chuckled.

“What does that mean?” Slylth asked her. “Are you expecting Necromancy?”

“No. Nothing that serious.” Gwen partly understood what Richard meant by moving up the timetable. There was no need for Necromancy, though someone would wish they had died. “However, let's keep our ears closer to the ground until we figure out exactly what we need to dismantle.”

“As you wish, Regent,” Richard retreated even as Slylth continued to murmur to Golos for details on Richard’s psychopathy.

“Right…” Gwen took a deep breath.

She had to get on with it eventually.

Rising dramatically, she retrieved the Ilias Leaf from the folds of her clothing, then meticulously performed the Glyph to unlock its subspace. With the flair of a curator retrieving a Fabergé surprise, she produced the enormous seed she had received from Sufina and raised it for all to inspect.

“And here is the final minute of our meeting,” she announced to the gathering. “A long-promised member of our family. This is Sufina—and in a way—Almudj. This city, this chamber and all of its ley-lines have been prepared for her arrival.”

“Whoa…” Richard was the first to punctuate the silence.

The viridian energy of life surrounding the seed was of such purity that all of them, Dragons and Elves, Demi-humans and men, looked drawn to its very presence. The impact, Gwen knew, was not from Sufina but what the seed held—the Scale of Almudj.

“… By the Bloom,” Sanari spoke with reverence. “It’s truly upon us.”

Gwen rested the seed on the Ilias Leaf until they all acknowledged its gravitational pull. Then, with loving tenderness, she returned it to its envelope. “Now that’s we’ve all seen the real deal. Any objections?”

“None. I was merely surprised by the urgency of the mortal races,” Sanari touched a hand to her gossamer dress, where a heart would reside in a Human’s chest. “By which I mean Tryfan was expecting a more… relaxed schedule.”

“Our foes scheme day and night, Sanari. For us mortals, the tyranny of time awaits for no one.” Gwen spoke with confidence. “The Bloom would have foreseen this, surely.”

The golden-eyed Elf bowed in deference. “Assuredly. Tryfan will spare no expertise for our sister Tree.”

However, another member of their inner circle was not so happy-go-lucky.

“Gwen. I mean Regent. Are you doing this, actually? You seek to put this Sufina into this ground here?” Slylth let loose a torrent of unasked-for stutters. “SURELY, you would wish to do this with subtlety, yes? A World Tree is no mortal instrument. It can change the entire ecological landscape of this region or restore it, as it were. There’s the Fire Sea to the east. I assume you wish to close that Elemental Portal for good. That will bring rains back to the region—and since both Poles are intact, your efforts will hasten the healing of the Axis Mundi. However, the process will involve tremendous change! A newly made ley node will bring attention from everywhere and everyone. The Elementals… what would they do? How do you propose to hide such a thing? With a Warding Mandala? It’s impossible…”

“Who said we’re in it for subtlety?” Gwen halted the Red Dragonling with a finger. “This is an exclusive opportunity for profit. Subtlety would kill it.”

“Exclusive?” Slylth appeared flabbergasted. “Profit?”

This time, the other member shared Slylth’s hesitancy.

The exceptions were Richard and Petra, who had participated in formulating her blueprints.

The Dwarven Forge Master looked from the Dragon to herself, then to the Elf. “What do yer mean, Regent? There’s more to stabilising the Murk?”

Gwen took a deep breath.

With a few rare syllables and a swirling of her fingers like a conductor’s wand, she conjured forth the illusion of PowerPoint(™) to overlay their view of the enormous underground chamber.

First, she pointed her finger to their nadir. “Here is where the seed will take root. Sanari will know where exactly, but here, as it were.”

Then, she overlaid a few streamlined arrows in the six paths leading away from the “heart” of the Bunker.

“When Sufina takes root, she will create a pocket space within her growing grove. Within this space, everything lies in her control—and mine, to an extent. This entire chamber will be almost impervious to external conflict. To penetrate what lies within, a foe would need first to destroy the bunker, then uproot the exterior of her tree, which is integrated into the Bunker—and then finally diminish her while inside the domain of her creation.”

Those who knew said nothing. Those who did not put the matter into contemplation.

“Which is about as perfect a defensive measure as one can manage—but that’s not what this is about.”

Her audience was all ears.

“As some of you know, the tree canopy will become an extension of that Pocket Space, as demonstrated by Tryfan. The larger the tree, the more interior tiers it possesses, and therein lies a great opportunity. Sanari—how many souls dwell within Tryfan’s great bowers?”

“Tens of thousands and more across its nine circles,” the Druid answered vaguely.

“And its leasable volume?”

“Do you mean our abodes? The facilities are what we will it. We can create more if needed…”

“Exactly. And where did my Master live temporarily?”

“In the radiant quadrant.” Sanari’s golden orbs were also confused.

“My Master, Henry Kilroy, lived in an Edenic haven, full of magical herbs, where the air was full of vitality and mana the likes of which The Prime Material will never experience! Do you all see the potential here?”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Slylth put up both hands, putting his fingers through several of her illusions.

“So…” Gwen felt her ego purr as more illusions overlayed their foundations, becoming a giant, magical tree Tower with multiple levels. “We are going to put these spaces out For Lease under the IoDNC! Our World Tree, my friends, will be the most sought-after real estate in the world—an arcane space I shall dub the WORLD TOWER.”

Slylth stared.

Golos chuckled.

“Exclusive spaces will be reserved for members joining Shalkar! Magisters are welcome to join the World Tower from anywhere in the world. Immigrants selected by our administrative tribunal will enjoy a private space where not only is there a gentle dilation in the passage of time, but enjoy a living space so revitalising that it will extend their lifespan—literally!”

More PowerPoint(™) bars appeared, this time adjacent to the tree-shaped “Tower”.

“For those who wish the freedom of coming and going to our World Tower, there will be Membership Tiers, from VIPs with access to the highest, most rejuvenating environments to those who pay for short stays to revitalise their body and soul.”

Gwen pointed to the zenith. “Our Dwarven friends have designed the earth to bloom when the time is ripe. Sufina’s Tree of Shalkar—AKA the World Tower (™), will be an exclusive space the world harkens after. It will be accessible to anyone willing to pay the price in labour or HDM! And as the loci conjoining the new Silk Road…”

She reminded them of the Low-ways connecting the low quadrant of their World Tree. “I shall establish an enormous trade hub below our tree. Dragons, Humans, Demi-humans, over-world and underworld, whatever anyone may wish to barter, they will find it here, in this loci of magical commerce. And once things are settled, we can also bring in the Mer’s resources!”

Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Richard began to applaud the reveal.

With a face full of embarrassment, Lulan followed suit.

Petra clapped twice, then looked downright ashamed.

“B-balderdash! You will need an impossible volume, and quality, of staff…” Slylth choked out.

“And to attract them, we shall offer impossible live-in benefits at the World Tower,” Gwen retorted. “Without question, we will serve the best food and provide the best magical residences. Who would want to leave?”

“You’ll just invite wolves into the Den!” The Red Dragon was adamant. “Such a morsel…”

“The Rat-kin will defend this place to the last rat!” Strun stepped forward, his whiskers vibrating with pride. “The last Rat.”

“Thank you, Strun,” Gwen patted the rat on the head. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. After all, Sanari’s folk will offer a guarantee, won’t you? Once I am in the club?” Gwen turned to the High Elf.

The Druid nodded, her body language entirely unsure of herself.

“And our Dwarven friends are also invested in manpower, HDMs, and the stability offered by food and territory. Our partnership has already made incredible progress—though we both know that the way to Deepholm will require an exponential volume of resources.”

“Aye, so long as our interests align,” the Forge Master concurred. “You’ll have our Hammer Guards at your disposal.”

“And the Mageocracy will also have its benefits,” Gwen assured them. “Olly, how would the Grey Faction react if Shalkar could barter Elven, Dwarven, and oceanic materials in one place?”

“They will go mad,” Ollie’s face puffed up as he exhaled. “Mad.”

“That’s why we must reject subtlety and invite as many stakeholders as we can into our fold,” Gwen pointed to the PowerPoint(™) of the ghostly Tree Tower. “If you recall my earlier conjecture, a coalition would have to conquer Sufina to take this place. To do so successfully would destroy the Pocket Space within the World Tower.”

“Then… all of those riches, those people, those great gifts to man and Demi-man…” Richard chuckled. “Pooooof…. scattered into the Astral Plane.”

“We shall make it clear that aggression toward us has only loss as profit,” Gwen explained as she walked among the phantom columns. “As partners and investors, Shalkar can provide so much. The alternative is to expend more resources, lives and energy than any singular force the Prime Material can muster—to become the hunted foe of every civilisation.”

“The Undead…” Slylth raised another objecting finger. “They’ll do it.”

“Of course they will, dear Slylth,” Gwen came closer to the Red Dragon. “You’re very negative, but I am glad you said it. However, let me ask you this. Wouldn’t the Undead do this anyway? They’re going to have a go at us regardless of what’s here, you understand? We can be a capital city, a trading post or a village; they will still come. If so, why bother with subtlety? Let them come! Trust me when I say that with Sanari’s Warden on speed dial, there’s no such thing as an Undead horde we can’t handle…”

Sanari looked like she wanted to say something, but after a few seconds, she nodded.

“As for a Lich, well. I am here. You’re here, right? And like I said—if we can attract enough talented staff from the Towers all over—especially wise old Mages with bodies that need time and revitalisation—what’s a Lich or two?”

The inner circle looked at each other and one another. Slylth groaned.

“You say World Tower, but this isn’t a Tower…” Slylth had one more point to deliver. “Not traditionally.”

“It’s a towering World Tree,” Gwen said. “And yes, it’s not a mobile city. That component will be a work in progress. Let’s gather the expertise, the HDMs and the goodwill first, shall we? You’re not expecting me to order a pre-assembled model from Harrod’s Emporium, are you?”

Slylth’s mouth formed a thin, unconvinced line.

“Good.” Gwen felt a stone drop from her diaphragm. The revelation of her plans had been like a blockage in her chest, and now she could finally breathe again. “Of course, we won’t be proceeding today. Now that I’ve made my case, I hope our board of directors can agree on a suitable presentation for our citizens. To begin, I nominate that the day of planting be made a public holiday.”

“A Holy Day?” Strun rubbed his whiskers. “Of no work?”

“I think we will be working double time,” Lulan reminded the Rat-kin.

“Yes, there will be more work for some,” Gwen reminded her guardians. “Hospitality staff, caterers, cleaners, deliveries, and the city’s health and safety departments will all receive ample pay to compensate their labour.”

“We’re talking a full-blown festival here,” Richard clarified further, drawing a circle of water in the air. “Celebrations in every level of the city, from old Shalkar to the new, maybe even involve the surrounding communities. Raffles, lotteries, auctions for our Regent’s Essence Maotai, and other rare consumables. It should be unforgettable.”

“It sounds so complicated.” Slylth seemed overwhelmed by the idea.

“Whatever you need, Regent, my people will manage,” Strun promised. “None will disobey.”

“Thank you. We’ll borrow staff from home as well,” Gwen nodded at her Rat-kin. “Doubtlessly, there will be fireworks and other magical displays. Olly, will that be a problem?”

“Not at all.” Magister Edwards bowed, his face pink with expectation. “I am sure anyone who is anyone would wish to attend. Shall I let our Ladyship Grey issue the invitations?”

“I am sure her ladyship will be thrilled,” Gwen concurred. “I’ll let Charlene also spread the good news to her folk. I am sure our friends from the Holland family can bring up their lot when asked.”

“I’ll let Ruxin know,” Golos offered. “I don’t think he can leave the mountain, though.”

“But I am sure Mayuree and her trading partners will be keen,” Gwen concurred. “Make it so, Gogo.”

The Thunder Dragon agreed by discharging a jolt of dangerous static.

“Alright, Lass, I’ll let the Deepdowners at the Spire decide.” Axehoff also appeared affected. “But don’t hold your steins.”

Gwen gave the Dwarf two thumbs up, then turned to Sanari.

“I’ll be present,” the Elf replied serenely. “I don’t think Arch-Warden Eldrin will make an entrance. However, I believe some of my sisters of the Grove will be very interested in the emergence of such a unique World Tree. Perhaps they can bring some of our lesser inventory to your disposal.”

Finally, Gwen turned to the Red Dragon.

“I… er…” Slylth seemed to consider his options. “I could ask some of the Magisters from the Citadel at Suilven to attend… I don’t think Mother will leave her abode.”

“That would be wonderful.” Gwen gave her aide a pat on the shoulder. “And one more thing, Slylth. Come to my chambers once the meeting is adjourned. I have something to show you, and I fear you are not going to like it.”

“Sit.”

Slylth sat, his polymorphed hands both hot and cold and sweaty.

After the display below the city, his understanding of this female that had garnered his interest had reached a new tier—one that made him understand why Brother Golos, for all his brutal power, did her bidding.

The woman’s appetite, Slylth garnered, was only rivalled by the hunger of the Void.

Therefore, when she asked to speak to him in private, all he could think about was his mother’s warnings on the primary preoccupation of the Dragon-kin—usurpation and cultivation.

That said, the Regent’s private chambers, all things considered, were not very intimate.

For one thing, it was attached to her office in the Bunker, so two rooms across, a host of Humans, Dwarves and Rat-kin were busily stamping files and accounting for the city’s endless transactions.

The interior was also unlike the cosy, treasure-laden halls of his mother’s rose-gold abode. From its minimalist charcoal walls of polished concrete and its enormously vaulted ceilings, the female’s private chamber reminded Slylth more of a sterile temple, where the enormous four-post bed felt like an altar.

“I’ve invited you to make good on a promise,” Gwen began.

Slylth scanned through his recent memories.

She had demanded that the Red Dragon fly “his ass” back to Shalkar.

Was this an act of petty vindication, then? Was the female asserting her control and power? Certainly, he could imagine his mother doing such a thing.

“Tea or alcohol?” the female asked him.

“Tea.” Slylth dared not touch the Dwarven brews. Unlike his well-practised mind, his fortitude was leagues and centuries from Brother Golos’ unassailable gullet.

The female tossed a few teabags into a pot, then boiled the water with an incantation. She materialised the rest of the cups, saucers, and jars from her Storage Ring.

“In the last few months, I’ve done all I can for the city—“ the female began. Her eyes were luminous and hungry, full of wanting. “Now, I need personal improvement. For that, I need something that belongs to you. Something only you can give, or so you’ve stipulated.”

Slylth considered with great seriously if his Contingency Ring was capable of teleporting him back to Scotland.

Slylth gulped down the scalding tea.

“I am deeply ashamed of myself, but this is in regard to my inexperience.” The female’s voice sounded like chiming bells in Slylth’s head. It was all he could hear. When he had left his mother’s side in pursuit of this haughty sorceress, he had not expected that he be a morsel on the plate of an Old One. Was this a test, then? Did his mother know? Perhaps she consented to this? Lord Tyfanevius could speak to his mother on a whim, as could the Bloom. There was also Lord Illaelitharian, who seemed to support the female after her timely service at the South Pole. If so… should he polymorph back to his true form? But she was a human. He wasn’t as large as a Dragon, maybe twice her height? “So here it is, Alex… for your pleasure.”

Gwen slid over a data pad.

The sound of metal on marble quenched his fears in the ancient ice of the Antarctic. With relief, Slylth retrieved, then scrolled through the female’s Spellbook.

There were two pages.

Two.

Pages.

Slylth blinked away the buzz in his head.

“…Ball Lighting… Thundering Shatter… S-soul Fire?”

“My Master didn’t leave me notes on conventional magic,” the Regent explained. “Beggars can’t be choosers…”

“… Enervating Orb… Blade Barrier…” Slylth’s eyes scanned the list up and down. “Your highest Abjuration Magic is tier four? And you fought SOBEL?! TWICE? You should have died a long—long time ago!”

The female winced.

“Who knows? I kept things under control. I usually have Caliban do the grunt work,” Gwen explained. “I don’t do close-quarter combat. Gunther’s Shield is fairly sturdy as a backline caster, and I can summon more Void Hydras than I usually need. However, to fight Sobel—to actually fight her, I need you to teach me Morden’s Blade and other means to vis-a-vis the woman who sold my Master.”

Slylth continued to scan the single-page document for details.

“How… how is it possible that you have the Affinity for almost every School of Magic, and yet you only know a dozen arcane archetypes?” Slylth felt his mana-rich heart shudder. Some Mages only focused on certain spells in Suilven, but their lower-tier Spellbook held incantations in the half-hundreds.

“So teach me,” the female said. “We got time.”

“How long?”

“A few months? A year?” Gwen shrugged. “Until I can plant Sufina—then until she’s established. And between that or after, I’ll need to attend to my Mermen and visit the United States.”

“That’s not enough time.” Slylth made a few calculations. “Even with these Affinities, upper-tier spells would take months to learn.”

“So narrow my choices down—“ Gwen said, crossing her legs aggressively. “I need Morden’s Blade. And reliable defence against Morden’s Blade, and finally…”

The female gave her next request some thought.

“… I need to streamline Sympathetic Life-Link and Essence Tap. When I rejoin Lei-bup’s Mermen Shoal against the Undead, I need a true trump card against the Necromancers. To fight the Undead, I need Mermen who don’t die.”

“Life-link…” Slylth swiped through the data slate until he saw the constructs for a spell he knew to be forbidden. “You’re going to fight Necromancy with Necromancy?”

“I am not raising anything,” the female explained. “I need my Shoal life linked to their Leviathan. And I need the important members of the Shoal imprinted with my Soul Mark so that the Shoggoth will identify friend from foe.”

“You’re going to batter the Undead hordes with a Shoggoth leading a Shoal, riding on a Leviathan?” Slylth felt his blood ignite. He wanted so very, very much to be there to witness the single greatest thing he could imagine to happen under the Prime Material Plane. Even in fantasy, the anticipation was already greater than any exchange of magic he had ever witnessed in the battles between the Keepers of Suilven and the Jagged King of the Fomorians.

“Yes,” Gwen answered. “But I don’t need to enslave any Souls or something insane like that. I need to mark them so that the Sympathetic Life Link can keep them hale—and prevent Shoggy from conducting a total and random eradication of a general arena. The magic is already written for tens of thousands—but I need millions…Is that doable?”

“It’s…” Slylth considered what he knew of the invocations. “Its old Magic divorced from the Imperial Magic System. You need to mark each individual or train auxiliaries capable of doing so…”

“Hence, I need your help,” the female looked on pleadingly. “I am not expecting anyone from Oxbridge to come around with insights on modifying my Master’s Necromancy. They can tune it—but beyond that, there are rules.”

“I see.” Slylth allowed his mind to simmer the formulas. As an egg, he had been instructed by the so-called Magi Morden—a Mage who was pure in pursuing knowledge. His own knowledge was framed around the Imperial Magical System, but the mortals living in Suilven should still possess the arcanistry quarantined by the Great War.

“I’ll need to make a return trip home,” he spoke at last to the female. “And yes, I will teach you Morden’s Blade.”

“Thanks, Alex,” the female’s prise pleased Slylth.

“As for the defensive spell,” Slylth considered the Spell List flittering through his polymorphed skull. “Evasion or static defence? Illusion or deflection?”

“Static and deflect,” the female replied. “If a threat can somehow circumvent Caliban and Ariel, I would much rather deal with it myself than allow Lulu or Richard to face it for me.”

“Then there’s not many options,” Slylth considered the female’s obscene Affinities. “I shall recommend two spells. Crown of Thorns, and Force Cage.”

“I've learned an Elementally aligned version of Force Cage, though I haven't had a chance to put it into practice,” Gwen said. “Is this the regular version of Force Cage?”

Slylth scoffed. “We will be studying Morden's original intentions for the Seventh Tier— as the multi-discipline original. In its usual transfiguration, it is an Evocation-based spell that conjures a cubical array of pure mana, useful for blocking attacks around yourself and for caging foes within it. However, for users apt in Abjuration, its defensive capabilities are multiplied, becoming able to be cast on allies and modified to nullify everything from Positive and Negative Energies to formless damage such as heat and cold. As you are also versed in Transmutation, the cage element becomes far more flexible. A Force Sphere, a Semi-Sphere, a Wall or even crude armour conjured around yourself becomes possible. Of course, the more flexible the manifestation, the greater the concentration and difficulty. Hence, most users prefer the cube.”

"Viable,” the female concurred. “And the Crown?”

“Again, this will be a spell made unique by your talents,” Slylth explained, feeling very much like a lecturer at Suilven. “Taking advantage of your Evocation Affinity, the Seventh Tier Crown of Thorns will conjure exactly seven Elemental Thorns to orbit your whereabouts—usually around your head like a halo, each possessing the power of a sixth-tier Evocation. A dedicated user guides these stars to disrupt a foe’s casting, allowing them the opportunity to maintain other spells or use new ones. As a Void Mage, there are potentials for this counter spell that I am sure you can imagine. That said, you are also versed in Divination.”

The Regent nodded keenly.

“So, I propose that we add the condition of Reactivity or Seeking to the spell. Which is your limit, at least for now.“

Slylth tapped the table.

“If we fight Sobel as we had done that day.” He recalled that battle with a shudder. “I would use Morden’s Blade to both parry and harass. I shall use Force Cage to protect myself and my allies, then rely on the Crown to wear her down. If you can pre-emptively manifest these spells, you can focus entirely on wielding the Blade as concentration, leaving Cage as your active spell, while Crown will do its due diligence without further spell fatigue… and of course, you will have Caliban and Ariel. Oh, and there’s also a Familiar-clad variation of Force Cage, though your Familiars would need to possess a high level of arcane competency.”

“That sounds amazing.” Gwen leaned in eagerly. “When do we start?”

“Now, I suppose,” Slylth felt very smug indeed. “But I only promised to teach you Morden’s Blade. Remember that these archetypes are unique to Morden’s line at Suilven. You will only find poor, inflexible facsimiles in your Towers.”

“Name your price.” The female’s smile showed a little too many teeth.

“Er…” In all honesty, Slylth hadn’t thought that far.

“How about this?” Gwen extended a hand and arrested his limp digits in a warm embrace. “I’ll gift you real estate—off the plan. A chamber with its ownership signed to yourself at the highest reaches of the World Tower. It will be no worse than mine and be unquestionably exclusive. Even if Tyfanevius shows up, he’ll envy your privilege.”

Inexplicably, Slylth felt a strange stirring in his heart. He had never considered real estate a concept. Yet, as a Dragon, he felt it morally wrong to reject the potential of property ownership. Still, he sensed distinctly that the female wasn’t losing much in the exchange.

“Trust me. You won’t regret it, Alex,” the Regent concluded their deal by shaking his hand. On the female, he could smell the scent of the Old One, which was both intimidating and intoxicating. Before he could think it through, she took his wrist and bid them both rise. “Come. Let’s head to the Oculus. I’ve got a new Greater Cognisance Chamber raring to be calibrated. Have you ever been in one? It’s a wonderful experience.”