Metaworld Chronicles

Shalkar.

The World Tree.

“Caw—Caw—Caw—!”

“Caw—Caw—Caw—!”

Obsidian avians in their thousands, joined by the chorus of shrill chirps from the rainbow-hued harpies, filled the World Tree's secret spaces with technicolour streaks, welcoming the rebirth of a resplendent creature formed from strands of living energy.

“EE?” Ariel, a name dubbed by Hebrew to mean the Lion of God, took an unsteady step forward, testing the profound powers of its new form.

Within its chest, the Core of an Imperial Celestial Kirin, a ruling member of a Pantheon of the Primordial era where Dragons duelled, burned like an electric furnace, fuelling the immense energies its body required.

Its once marten form, a minuscule being that had inherited smidges of the Kirin’s Essences, was utterly erased. Now, with new divinity filling it from hoof to crown, Ariel had regained the aloof mien of a dead deity who had once cast long shadows across the conjoined continents of Pangea.

“EE—ee—” Ariel sniffed the air, every breath drawing in the motes of Elemental Lighting like powdered iron to an electrified magnet. Having shed its mortal coils, the Lion of God was now a cousin to the true Draconids who had reigned over the Prime Material since the spheres conjoined.

At once, it caught the scent of its owner, together with the unmistakable mana of a Trellis Portal.

“Ariel—!” a jubilant cry drew its attention toward a swirling pool of familiar energies, rich with the collated Essence of the tree that had nurtured it.

The Kirin licked its nose and lips, its tongue barbed like a lion’s but also distended and prehensile. With a single leap, it cleared the branch where it had slept for a year and landed in front of its mistress and creator, every strand of its majestic mane fluttering with the grandeur of a Pantene commercial.

“Ariel—oh my God… you’re… enormous!”

Their minds touched, once more soul-linked after so long an absence.

Gwen Song, just-now returned Regent of Shalkar and the Guardian of the Axis Mundi, stood in awe of the towering chimera-Dragon standing before her like a larger-than-life Chinese watercolour.

Blue-white manes the hue of captured lightning flowed from the majestic head of her Familiar, framing a sculpted snout that was neither feline nor hound but something in between. From its neck, the soft flowing fur ceased, then extended into supple rivets of Dragon scale that appeared like interlocking mail plates. Ariel’s front paws, which had been hoofs, were once more the paws of a celestial cat, while the haunched hind legs ended in golden hooves that sparked as it moved. And finally, to punctuate its gravitas, a living cloud of lightning and thunder formed the likeness of a tail, connecting a long mane that began at its pearlescent stag horns like a serpent.

And yes, her Familiar was enormous.

She wasn’t even sure if this was Ariel’s combat form, and it already stood ten feet from paw to horn.

“EE-EE—!” Her Ariel excitedly lowered its horns, its mouth opened to form a strange shape, and then—

“Milk—!” Her creature uttered, sending images to her mind that would make Slylth blush.

“I am sorry?” Gwen’s hand stopped an inch from her creature’s head. “Did you just say…”

“Cali—!” The Kirin nuzzled her face with its snout, its tongue bathing her cheeks with numbing, static-charged slime. “Mama—!”

Gwen felt her heart melt. “My Ariel can talk!” she shouted joyfully into the Axis Mundi. “Holy moly, it's finally happened!”

“Milk!” The Kirin nudged her harder, almost convincing Gwen to unbutton her blouse when she abruptly realised Ariel meant it wanted her Mead.

While she produced the droplets on her palm for Ariel to suckle, a flash of heat a good distance away suggested that the custodians of her city had arrived to greet their executive officer.

“I would certainly hope that Ariel can talk,” the voice of her dearest Dragon, saviour of her investments, bridged the distance between its materialisation via the Tower’s internal Teleportation and herself. “That’s a Celestial Kirin Core Lord Tyfanevius traded for you—if Ariel isn’t at least as intelligent as a Human after its transformation, Uncle would have harsh words for the Cloud Dragons.”

“Slylthie!” Gwen kissed Ariel on the nose, then walked towards the approaching group to give each of them a big, warm hug.

Since the Red Dragon spoke first, she opened her arms and hugged the stiff body of the Dragon-kin, crushing the bony ridges of its scholarly facade beneath the Magister’s robes. Curiously, though Slylth could have taken the body shape of a Grecian Adonis, his natural preference was for the likeness of an elfin scholar who had spent too much time at the library.

She grazed the Dragon’s cheeks with her lips, then squeezed his hand before moving on to Richard, who embraced her wholeheartedly and attempted to squeeze the life out of her torso.

“By the Nazarene, it's good to see you back.” Her foremost aide exhaled like a man relieved of shackles. “The paperwork…”

“Not now, Richard…” She quickly pushed away her cousin to embrace Lulan, who took it only slightly better than the scarlet Slylth, then wrapped her arms around the waist of her Thunder Dragon. “Gogo, did you keep the ship steady while I was gone? I can certainly see you’ve wasted no time populating the canopy… I hope Phalera’s still holding up…”

“Hahahaha…” Her Thunder Dragon returned her back-pats threefold. “Richard’s been preventing us from eating dissidents, so I’ve had lots of time.”

“Strun.” She moved to embrace her first disciple. Or perhaps, considering Lei-bup, her second disciple.

Instead of a hug, the Rat-kin knelt and touched his head to her hand. The gesture would have made her uneasy a year ago, but after living among the Mermen, the worship felt natural and unassuming. After momentarily playing with her Rat-kin’s ears, she bid her General to stand.

“Mistress Song,” the gruff voice of their final member, the Dwarven ambassador, Engineseer and part-time Deepdowner, put up both hands. “No hugs. And don’t yer dare fondle me ears.”

Gwen bowed her head, then shook the Dwarf’s gauntleted hand. “Master Axehoff, you’re looking well. Allow me to praise the rapid expansion of the Low Ways under your guidance. It’s thanks to you and your efforts that we can transport our spoils from the Vel.”

“Aye, about that, lassie—we need to discuss something in the Guild Chamber—though it can wait. Sort out your affairs here, and come find us.”

“Of course.” Gwen surveyed her inner council, which was missing Petra. “So… yeah… I am back.”

“Welcome back, Regent Richard spoke for all of them. “And so is Ariel, I can see.”

“Back!” Ariel performed a terrifying little jig. As a puppy-marten, the gesture would have melted their hearts. As a celestial Kirin, Gwen wondered if a hole would open into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning. “Milk—!”

Gwen laughed awkwardly.

Her audience looked to their Regent, then to the Kirin.

The Red Dragon grew a little pink.

“He means this…” With a gesture she had practised ten thousand times and more, she swung her hand as though sowing the earth with rye, congealing a dozen drops of Golden Mead the size of hen’s eggs.

Richard whistled. “Smooth moves—“

“MINE—!” Lea erupted from his body and twisted through the air before swallowing a droplet.

“MINE—!” Ariel protested, sparking electricity everywhere. “EE—! EE—eeee—!”

Together, the two Familiars raced through the air, consuming her blessed secretions with ecstatic faces.

“I am starting to picture what your underwater days are like…” her cousin’s eyes grew contemplative. “O great Pale Priestess…”

Gwen’s rebuttal stalled when she saw the wanton face of Golos, who did not disguise his expectations, and Strun, who looked at his feet, muttering to himself. There were also the ravens tracking her fingers with laser precision and, beyond that, Phalera’s harpy brood, who were drawn to the scent of the Golden Mead.

“Yeah, I guess. So er…” Gwen realised they should probably retreat somewhere. She discretely floated a glob for Golos and a cupful for Strun. “Ariel, can you grow… smaller? You’re a bit too much for the conference room.”

“No?” Ariel cocked its shaggy head, looking so fiercely adorable she wanted to hug it all over again.

“He can try,” Slylth answered for her Familiar. “But he doesn’t know how. True Kirins, like Golos and myself, can shift as we please into familiar visages. Unfortunately, I don’t think Ariel is familiar with any form at all…”

Just as the Red Dragon spoke, Ariel’s face formed an immense look of concentration—then its body grew incandescent as the morphic field governing its physical appearance began to change.

The hooves formed into legs.

The paws into the likeness of arms.

The body itself took on the likeness of a small and lithe silhouette.

The gathered audience watched with fascination as the Celestial Kirin made its first transformation.

“Oh gods…” Gwen felt the pit of her stomach drop. “No…no…no…”

“Goodness…” Richard grimaced as he looked away. “What a terrible thing to witness.”

“I think it’s cute…” Lulan blushed.

“By the Ancestors, I need a stiff brew,” Axehoff joined the judges. “To keep me brew down.”

“I’ll teach him when I have time.” Slylth moved to cover the unfortunate Ariel.

Her creature had done its best, but it had created something from the deepest nightmares of Gwen’s subconscious. In its “Human” form, her creature had become a thing with the head of a ferret-lion, platinum-blonde hair that framed its dog face, and the half-haunched body of a dog-girl with a Kirin’s tail. Were it not for the fact that Ariel could not wish away its fur, she would have run up with a blanket.

“Ma… Mama…?” The chimaera eked out a few mangled words, its malformed face struggling to hold its shape.

“Oh, Ariel…” Gwen knelt to embrace her creature, her heart bleeding. “You didn’t have to do that… We’ll fit you in the conference room even if we have to open up a wall… okay now, Return!”

Her mental command for her creature to de-materialise soothed her creature’s anxiety.

Then… nothing.

“Er…” Gwen looked to Slylth. “Is this normal?”

“I think Ariel is much more than a Familiar now…” Slylth observed her consternation with interest. “You know, this has never happened before.”

“Failing unsummon commands?” Gwen rubbed her creature to comfort its mewing body.

“What? No, you goose,” Slylth spluttered. “I mean, it's regressive evolution! Who gives a Familiar a Celestial Kirin Core with its original consciousness erased to elevate its existence? That’s never happened, you know, in any record anywhere, even in mother’s library. Under any other circumstance, the Elder’s Council would erase the offender!”

While she contemplated the Red Dragon’s words, her Kirin was coaxed back into its natural shape. “So… Ariel’s just… out here, for now?”

“It’s not so bad out here,” Golos chuckled. “I don’t blame the young one. Who wants to slumber as a lump of mana and Essence when there’s so much to do out here?”

Gwen’s eyes flittered toward Phalera’s brood. From the looks of things, Golos had been dead set on creating an avian air force for her, one brood at a time.

“Blame the limitations of Human Spellcraft,” Slylth noted with sympathy. “Maybe the Hvítálfar have a solution? After all, you’re a Guardian of the World Tree, far from just a mere mortal. Their tamers certainly don’t have issues with Draconic Familiars.”

Gwen patted and soothed her distraught Ariel. It wasn’t so much that Ariel had to remain outside—it was more so that Caliban had no qualms going to rest in her Astral Body, even if it could take on a form the size of a modest skyscraper.

With this—the equilibrium between her Familiars was disturbed, and she didn’t know what to think about something that she had taken for granted since her Master had conjured her Familiars.

“Gwen,” Richard interrupted her thoughts. “Perhaps… this could be explored later? For now, I fear we need to talk about what’s happening in the city and soon.”

To keep her arrival a prolonged secret, Gwen asked Ariel to remain in the Sky Garden to be comforted by Golos and Phalera. While waiting, she slowly spooned out a can of Spam and watched her council move the equipment from the conference room to Golos’ abode.

For known reasons, the Sky Garden that entertained Golos’ family had no visitors. In Shalkar, the Thunder Dragon’s violent exploits were widely used to keep crying Human babies and mewling Rat-kin cubs in silent terror. That and Phalera’s brood were far too inquisitive for the common visitor to remain sane while accosted by hundreds of doll-like faces.

When her core members finally Teleported into the sanctum, Gwen was surprised to once more note that Petra was missing.

“She’s not answering,” Richard informed her with a shrug. “Pats is responsible for the city’s infrastructure, after all.”

The command console, removed and re-attached with a mess of cables dug out from the transmuted floor, soon flicked into life, and the members took their seats on conjured blocks of shaped stone willed into being by Axehoff.

“Righto.” Gwen took her place with Ariel resting beside her. She had released Caliban, and the two Familiars were making good of their first meeting after a year apart, with the black nope-rope swimming circles around Ariel’s new body. “Let’s start with the Axis Mundi, then work on the more… local problems.”

“The… Axis Mundi, eh?” Richard instructed his Familiar to make tea for all of them. “I am not sure we’re qualified for that, but go on.”

“Let’s start with the obvious: everything stays in this room…” Gwen explained the importance of secrecy first, then dropped the fusion bomb that was her discovery of an Undead Squid with the means to raise Mermen as Undead Shoals. “… assuming I wasn’t there, in all likelihood, given half a decade, there might be an Undead Leviathan roaming the Vels, putting an end to our sea trade.”

Her audience listened in disbelief, discomfort, and, eventually, despair.

“A very unsettling insight, Regent.” Axehoff’s shoulders rose and fell. “And you’ve found proof as well. We’ve always wondered what manner of a calamity would induce the collapse of the Low-ways and decouple Deepholm from its citadels—perhaps this is the answer.”

“So, even the original Beast Tide was made to happen by Spectre?” Lulan’s face was flushed with empathic rage. “Millions of people died in those years, and millions after.”

“Billions, actually,” Richard corrected their Chief of Security. “We lost half of Eastern Europe, three-quarters of South-East Asia, almost every colony except the extremities of Africa, most of South America, and the Mageocracy almost collapsed.”

“And they’re responsible for Tianjin as well!” Lulan grunted, gritting her teeth. “If only we could have prevented it… if only…”

“Focus.” Gwen gathered their scattered attention again while she resisted the urge to think about Percy. “The Ashen Kirin was also one of Spectre’s potential pawns, as was Almudj in Sydney. Someone inside Spectre has been around long enough to know the locations of where these dormant threats slumber. Slylth?”

“Yes?” The Red Dragon looked out of his depth.

“I’ve spoken to Tyfanevius and the Bloom, and they’ve given me their blessings on future investigation into the matter. Sanari will help us however she is able with their Trellis Portals. Can you please inform your mother of my discovery? If we find something within her or another Dragon's domain, I may require her aid.”

“You think there might be something more to the Fomorians than their Wild Hunt? Maybe Spectre has a hand in the recent incursions?… Damn.” Slylth quickly recovered from her revelation. “Yes, I mean… I’ll pass it on to mother.”

“Good,” Gwen ticked off another mental check box. “Now, onto the something closely related. The Leviathan Cores are coming through the Low Ways. Engineer Axehoff? Have you received the arrivals?”

“I was informed, though your seaborne manifest has yet to arrive in Yangon,” the Dwarven ambassador said. “The node station will need to be widened, maybe re-built, which will delay delivery for some time.”

“How long, do you think?” Gwen asked. “As you can imagine, the sooner we have our own operational Tower, the more likely we’re able to uncover the true threats posed by Spectre’s actions worldwide.”

“A month by the light cycle of the Himmseg,” Axehoff assured her. “I’ll send a team down to map the Core for installation here.”

“Hold on.” Richard put up a hand. “I know Ollie briefed us, but just to confirm, we’re talking Tower Cores, correct? Multiples.”

“A Heart Core and eight smaller Cores of varying quality and size,” Gwen affirmed her cousin’s shock. “And yes, Ravenport confirmed that the Heart Core can power a Super-Structural propulsion system. The small cores are more suited for stationary, short-range Towers.”

“I noticed you’re talking Tower in plurals…” Richard pointed at the desk. “Is that even allowed?”

“It’s not,” Gwen felt a little guilty drawing such a large pie in the sky. “But… stranger things have happened, like a Magister riding a Leviathan down to the Fifth Vel and chasing out a pair of Elemental Princes. A spare Tower for the home turf while we ride out on the big one… isn’t stretching my accomplishments too far, I hope.”

“Good point,” Richard conceded. “That has never happened before. And now it has. Who's to say one woman can’t have multiple Towers?”

“Regent, it is possible to create a Ley-Engine with multiple Cores.” Axehoff raised a gloved fist. “The costs can be discussed with the Dwarven Council.”

“Nice, though, putting that aside.” Richard moved an invisible box with his hand. “You know the Russians will go insane if they find out you have a Super-structural Core, right? Hell, they’ll erupt at the sight of a normal one.”

“Naturally.” Gwen crossed her legs and exhaled in exasperation. “In their eyes, we’ll be asking for an invasion.”

“Which brings us to Shalkar’s more present, domestic issues,” Richard asked Lulan to materialise and deliver the latest briefs for their Regent.

Lulan stood, called for the sand map, and stiffly informed Gwen that Shalkar was no longer controlling its northern reaches.

“Novosibirsk Tower is occupying the Kostanay Steppes to the north-east, and Nizhny Tower is occupying Temir Hills. The Russians have Mage Flights patrolling the region for undesirables, meaning Centaurs and Rat-kin. We’ve withdrawn our troops and farmers from the region for now, though border skirmishes continue.”

“They’ve killed anyone yet?” Gwen tried to picture the familiar names in her mental map. Nizhny was closer to Shalkar than Novosibirsk, forming an overlapping defence zone. It was a good strategy, not to mention if Garp grappled a Tower, the other could slice it off with a well-aimed Ray of Disintegration.

On cue, the Magi-tech enhanced table shifted the sand to display their surrounding regions. It used a topographical map display to show the areas controlled by the Russian Towers, those controlled by Shalkar, and the contested regions.

“Not directly.” Lulan’s tone grew hard and tight. “But the refugees from those regions are many, and some have perished on their way to seek shelter in Shalkar.”

“Hmm…” Gwen felt her chest tighten. “What are the sentiments at home?”

“You faithful are ready to march.” Strun knelt again, this time next to the table. “The Rat-kin will not lose their homes again, not to anything or anyone.”

“Well said, Strun,” Gwen coaxed the Rat-kin back to his seat. “Mycroft told me the Russians are determined, but this is more problematic than I imagined.”

“Temir Khan is with us and will lend us the Cherbi and his Honour Guards,” Lulan reported. “The Russians have been gifting him with luxuries, but their sentiment firmly lies with the city.”

“I am amazed they’re just outright assuming there will be no Undead incursion into the Eastern Front while they’re wasting HDMS here,” Richard sighed. “They’ve you to thank for that, I guess. We did put an end to that whole Yekaterinburg business. With so many of their Undead elites perished without a captured Tower, it’ll take time to digest and process the population they captured.”

“So I am my own worst enemy?” Gwen rolled her eyes. “What else?”

“There will be an illegally hosted election by the Shalkar Worker’s Union in two days, which will determine, by their own account and merit, the establishment of an independent body of government for the Humans living in Shalkar, to pursue Human interests separate from the cosmopolitan city’s multi-racial policies,” Lulan informed the table. “One city, two legal systems, that’s what they desire.”

“A demand we will not and cannot abide.” Richard shrugged. “Without question, Moscow is behind the operation. What we don’t know is how many of the refugees are complicit, coerced, or just clueless.”

“We should purge them all,” Lulan growled from beside her. “We gave them food, shelter, jobs and safety, and this is how they repay us? It doesn’t matter who’s guilt is real. Those who are not with us are against us. Give me and Strung three days, and the matter will be resolved.”

Golos belched in agreement.

“You sound more like Golos than Golos, Lulu.” Gwen now empathised with some of Richard’s headaches. “I think Moscow has correctly assumed that we won’t be swatting all the refugees from Yekaterinburg with the same bat. That would cause an international incident, which is precisely what they want. What are the chances we can stop this vote?”

“None at the moment,” Richard confessed with a sigh, then grinned at her. “If you weren’t back, I would ask Golos to discourage them by perching on the voting stations. Now that you are, the Regent can make a call, and we’ll give you our best backing.”

Gwen caught the hot potato but did not pass the buck. This was her city, after all. She was responsible for its internal and external disruptions. Truth be told, she did miss the direct efficiency of her Mermen followers, who did as they were told via the collective consciousness of the Shoal. Rebellion, if it existed, was resolved through internal consumption.

“I think I have an idea,” she said after scanning the table at the council, each trying to read her thoughts. “What are the assumptions that the actual agents provocateurs are a minority?”

“They are a minority,” Richard confirmed with confidence. “I can name a dozen off-hand, and there can’t be more than a hundred in total even if we disappear the Worker Union’s leaders and secretaries, vice-secretaries, and a dozen mouthy foremen. I am sorry to say, Lord Axehoff, that a few of your Clansmen are also enamoured with the Communists.”

“Those who put their interests above the quest for Deepholm are no longer kin,” Axehoff replied diplomatically. “Please hand them to the Guild Council for judgment if possible.”

“Thank you. Alright. So—on our front, let us assume that the majority are motivated not by ideology but fear, greed, and xenophobia.” Gwen tapped the table. “They want to fight for their interests? That’s fine and dandy. I am not averse to ambition. Let’s give our citizens a CO-OP.”

“Co…a coup?” Richard raised both brows. “That’s a bit adventurous.”

“A Co-operative business venture,” Gwen chuckled. “A little socialism for the soul, if you will. Let them vote however they wish. We will meanwhile implement a policy for a Human-based trade consortium, selling agricultural goods from Shalkar exclusively to the Frontier cities, with all proceeds going to the members of the Co-operative. The only hand Shalkar’s Administration will have is auditing and enforcement of policies. The sink fund will go into magical education, housing, and even accumulation of CCs for transfer of residency to a partner Frontier or capital of their choice. Its Chair and members will all be elected by the residents. Everyone will have a place and a choice. Their Union, or our Co-op…”

Those around the table considered her proposal.

“This is very Dwarven,” Axehoff spoke after they had a moment to digest the information. “Our craftsmen have a similar agreement with the Guilds.”

“The Co-operative is only open to those who follow our social contract,” Gwen smiled. “Anyone who wishes to be a part of this rogue faction is forbidden from joining the Shalkar Agricultural Trade Co-operative International.”

“Suitably wicked.” Richard golf-clapped. “This way, there’s no conflict with the Horse Lords and the Rat-kin, who rarely trade outside Shalkar. And the vote taking place?”

“Let it happen.” Gwen shrugged. “Let them spend HDMs and build a headquarters too. Meanwhile, I’ll have the METRO print a double-page spread in London and Central Europe. Refugees or immigrants who wish to come to Shalkar are automatically given a place in the Co-operative. Initial memberships for original inhabitants will reap the highest benefits, with subsequent members, families of members, and descendants receiving shares according to growth. The earlier you join, the more they reap; the later they join, the more there is to lose.”

Slylth observed her wickedness with glee. “You mean to use their greed against them?”

“Wanting a slice of the pie isn’t greed, Slylth. This is their birthright, which they are forfeiting for their… ideals… hahaha…” Gwen amused herself with the absurdity of it all. “And you know what? Watching your neighbour receive shiny new things while you subsist on bread, water, and ideology is worse than pulling teeth. If someone can stomach that, then who am I to stifle their liberty?”

“Making people vote for that which benefits them and their community? That sounds awfully like democracy.” Richard finally exhaled his worries, then sniggered. Recovering, he nodded at Gwen and gave her a thumbs up. “I don’t know how you come up with these things, but give us a general scaffold, Regent, and we’ll turn it to reality—er—Gwen? What’s wrong?”

The Water Mage’s relief was cut short.

Gwen suddenly stood up, her mana conduits throbbing with disquiet.

“A Fire.” Gwen felt the vague stirrings of a phantasmal thought intrude into her mind via her Astral link with the World Tree. “There’s a sudden flair of Elemental Fire in the city.”

DING—!

DING—!

DING—!

DING—!

The Messages that bloomed glow scarlet for an imminent emergency.

“Fire in the Human Districts.” Strun stood at once and was already heading for the door. “Richard, they need a Water Mage, now!”

“I’ll check it out.” Golos left the table in a single bound, leaping off the side of the Sky Garden.

“I’ll lend you Golems from the Citadel.” Axehoff slid off his chair, simultaneously powering on his mobility mechanism. “How bad, lad? Accidental, or…?”

“BAD.” Richard was already on the communication channels with the Bunker’s Divination department. “It’s arson. Lulu, stay with me. We’ll Teleport over. Gwen?”

“EE—” Ariel nudged its mistress, almost swallowing her with its mane. “Rain. Make.”

“Fine, but don’t show yourself yet.” Gwen extricated herself from her now-verbal Familiar. Not just Ariel, she too could control liquids with the aid of the Witch Core and months of unceasing, constant practice, albeit she could not generate water from thin air like Richard. “I’ll check things from the sky with Ariel.”

Shalkar.

In the easter quadrant of the city, a swarth of ghettos marked where the new refugees had attempted to re-create some of what they had lost in the Frontier they once called home.

As most refugees hailed from Yekaterinburg, they had asked the Dwarven Construction teams to recreate the brutalist facades of towering concrete apartment blocks in regulated grids surrounding small parks, commercial zones, and a recently opened school. Gwen didn’t like the design, but the Dwarves seemed to applaud its efficiency, so the commission board had allowed the plans to manifest with the caveat of significant green coverage.

Now, where the district had been spared by the meteor rain a year ago, a great bonfire painted the skies slick with dark streaks of smog and oil.

As for the fire's origin—Gwen was shocked to witness that it was the “school” the refugees had built.

A school! Her chest grew warm with grief and rage. Who the hell would set fire to a school?

Obfuscated by her invisible Familiar and its manipulation of water vapours, Gwen flew in a low circle around the column of smoke.

The source was an explosion from the interior of the third wing.

The damage it had caused was nothing short of a mid-tier Inferno, something like an incendiary bomb from her old world, enough to take out a quarter of the concrete habitat block and shred every window along its eastern facade. Even after the explosion, the fire continued to burn, melting pylons and beams, raging through the corridors with a living will.

Within minutes, the fire was doused and controlled.

With incredible efficiency, Lulan had transmuted earth to smother the source while Richard doused the surrounding area with immense volumes of brackish river water conjured by Lea. Once the water was drained, Golos aided the Rat-kin Firemen in prying apart the fallen debris, aided by Mages who had arrived to help.

“I’ve got two here!” One of the Rat-kin cried out as he squeezed himself past between two collapsed columns. “Live ones!”

Gwen watched as Golos, performing something she could never imagine, delicately pried apart the slabs while Richard retrieved two rag-dolled bodies with limbs that made her eyes water.

These were delivered to an area Lulan had cleared and that the incoming surge of Rat-kin had converted into triage stations. Clerics by the dozen were still arriving from all over the city, including the classically uniformed visage of the Knight Hospitallers from the Ordo Bath.

“Another one here!”

“A young one… I am sorry.”

“I am sensing six in the basement!”

One after another, tragedies of hope and despair played out as rescuers arrived one after another, and the consequences of the arson were played out.

Above, the Regent of Shalkar watched, her mind torn between going down there to dispense Golden Mead to the survivors and staying discrete to catch the culprits unaware when suddenly, the decision was made for her.

“IT WAS THEM—!” A refugee, his face covered with soot and dirt, pointed a finger at a surprised Rat-kin member of the trauma team. “They did it! I saw it! One of them entered the school with something on a dolly!”

Both Rat and Human rescuers ignored the man until another, a woman, joined in the fray. “One of them went into the school clutching something suspicious! We never get Rat-kin here; it must be the rat!”

The clamour gained traction this time, much to Gwen’s chagrin. Within moments, dozens of the survivors were utterly convinced that a Rat-kin was the culprit.

“Get your grubby paws off my daughter!” A woman who had been sobbing uncontrollably at the trauma zone suddenly stood in a blind rage. “Don’t touch her, you diseased thing!”

“She’s dying—“ The Rat-kin medic with his healing injector was as flabbergasted as Gwen herself. Waving the injector, he knelt once more. “She needs—“

THWACK—!

A Magic Missile struck the Rat-kin in the chest and sent him rolling. Unlike Strun’s blessed cadre, the common Rat-kin were no more hale than regular humans, and even a Magic Missile could be lethal.

“Oi—!” The Human medic standing beside his companion drew a shock wand. With an audible ZAP, the baton distended. “Back off—!”

The female Mage appeared to possess no fear as she readied her next spell.

Just as Gwen considered intervening, a blast of Lightning, as thick as the female offender, smothered her entire frame, causing her remains to erupt into a gory shower, splattering both the injured and the rescuers at the triage station.

“SSEJIN—!” came the Dragon Fear from Golos, so strong and viscous that the air warped. Instantly, every living thing bar Lulan and Gwen instinctively lowered their heads or cowered for mercy.

“When did I ever permit such insolence?” Golos, Thunder Dragon and head of Shalkar’s Security Commission, spoke so that even those trapped underground could hear. “Shut up and proceed with the rescue. THERE WILL BE NO EXCEPTIONS.”

The rolling thunder passed, causing debris to fall from the shattered building.

The rescue… resumed.

The efficiency was up, though with Golos hovering above, the passion was gone.

In the face of imminent death, the death of others had lost its pathos.

From her space in the sky, Gwen watched the bodies stack up—mangled bodies of the young, some as young as pre-teens and others not old enough to be adults—and made a decision.

“Ariel, go help them…”

Above the survivors, a mystical creature that rivalled the murderous Thunder Dragon appeared, radiating benediction and warmth.

“EE—EE—EE-EE—“ Ariel’s keen cry was followed by a sanctified, electric halo that rang out like the chest-deep tolls of a temple bell.

Gwen felt her Kirin’s Dragon Fear touch her subjects—only it wasn’t fear that her Familiar instilled, but something that uplifted the spirit and drew from those affected a sudden desire to worship.

“Priestess—!” the Rat-kins fell to their knees as one, making no mistake in discerning the source of the benediction cleansing their bodies of Golos’ ire. “The Priestess has returned!”

The Humans looked upon Ariel's radiant visage with awe and wonder, unable to contain the resurgence of their repressed emotions.

Step by step, with hoof prints that imprinted the air with static, the Kirin descended until it arrived among the wounded on the floor.

As the Kirin passed those conscious and unconscious, its prehensile whiskers conjured into being spheres of Golden Mead, each orb twinkling under the harsh rays of Shalkar’s sun. Then, the Kirin delivered these elixirs of life to the burnt, dusty lips of the survivors.

Within seconds, those who moaned with agony grew comfortable, while those who were almost beyond the veil began to moan. Better than most were those who had suffered extensive burns to their bodies, for visibly, welts and boils of cooked flesh were being replaced by pink new growth. Their bodies remained broken, but none now lacked the vitality for life.

“Clerics, attend to those with internal injuries and broken limbs!” The Ordo Hospitallers understood the need to change the priority of their triage immediately. “Blessed be her holy Kirin! Thank the Nazarene that we need not fail a single patient today!”

The other Clerics followed the lead of the Faith-casters without question.

“Heal—” Ariel’s voice purred as it continued to dispense Golden Mead, drawing the precious liquid via their Astral link.

The Rat-kin kissed the blessed ground Ariel covered—and a few Humans felt compelled enough to do the same. There was a compulsive desire, or so it seemed to Gwen, to look upon Ariel and realise that this was a benevolent higher being, and they were mortals and that her creature deserved veneration. Where Ariel floated, all grievances were forgotten, erased by unadulterated reverence.

Perhaps, Gwen’s mind reminded her alarmingly. This was why the Celestial Kirin tribe was removed from existence by their draconic cousins. The innate danger imposed by such a worship existence was antithetical to the natural balance desired by the Guardians and their Trees.

The strange lull lasted until the Dwarves arrived.

With blaring thunder, bipedal Construction Units swallowed the debris around the school before setting to work on the collapsed structure.

Gwen did not show herself, for those who knew understood perfectly well that the Mistress of the World Tree was once more in Shalkar. And as Richard would say, a threat was far more frightening if certain certainties remained… uncertain.

Shalkar.

The Oasis.

To the north of the burning districts sat a multi-level series of art-deco residential buildings constructed by the Citadel’s architects. Originally, on the blueprints, these “lake” districts were planned to house the more eminent members of Shalkar’s leadership.

However, in the two and a half years since Shalkar’s existence, the Oasis was barely habited, for Shalkar’s leadership had unique tastes in residences.

Lulan Li preferred to sleep at the Security Bureau in her private suite, a locale more akin to an Officer’s barracks than a home.

The mysterious Richard Huang slept nowhere anyone could discern at a moment’s notice, though he reportedly used one of the houses a few times a month.

The Thunder Dragon had his new abode in the World Tree, though he preferred the Sky Garden, where his Harpy queen made her home. His cousin, Slylth Alexander Morden, resided within the World Tree’s canopy in a folded space the Red Dragon was renovating to meet his mother’s expectations.

Oliver Edwards also had a house there, though the Magister had brought no family to Shalkar and was so busy that his furniture retained their original dust covers.

The other residences, such as Charlene Ravenport’s, Lady Grey’s and Astor’s townhouses, were maintained but not lived in.

And the Regent herself, having the largest three-storey home there, had yet to warm its enormous four-post bed.

Only Petra Kuznetsova, Magus and the Regent's right-hand woman, had placed her family in the Oasis at the first opportunity. There, she had relived a part of her life that she had thought long gone and lost to Moscow’s machinations, spending breakfast and dinner with her mother and father.

It was a simple joy—but Petra found herself the happiest she had ever been. More so than when she was hand-picked by Master Popov. More so when her talents blossomed. More so when she finally received the accolades for her research into Spell Cubes.

And now the consequence of her happiness had come home to roost.

Any true happiness is a dire weakness. Master Popov once whipped this lesson into Petra. It was her fault that she had forgotten it.

Earlier, Petra had returned home expecting supper before attending Richard’s meeting. Unfortunately, instead of her mother’s famous cabbage and pork casserole, she was greeted by an unwelcome guest.

“It’s a nice place.” The blue-eyed sunburst blonde in a casual dress walked slowly and deliberately around the kitchen table. “Human-designed, but Dwarven crafted. This would fetch a pretty HDM back in Moscow, don’t you think?”

“As I’ve told you, you are making a mistake.” Petra felt her insides turn to jelly even as her Mineral Mana circulated through her conduits, dulling her emotional rampage. Her Message Device’s notifications echoed her internal chaos, though now was not a good time to resolve the city’s civil disunions. “Listen to me, Natalia. There is zero chance this will end in Moscow’s favour.”

At the kitchen table, Mila and Mikhail, her parents, sat still as statues, lulled into a trance by the patented Mind Magic perfected by Moscow Tower, a variation of Hold Person that also halted thoughts and memories while in effect.

“Don’t be so negative, our sweet sister Ptichka…” The Mind Mage stood between her parents, a gesture that made Petra want to unleash a Disintegrate from a Spellcube.

The offending Enchantress—or, more accurately—the Sparrow—was no older than herself, perhaps younger, only she had fully completed the Tower’s coursework on Mind Magic. She was also stunningly beautiful, so much so that her naive parents had allowed the young woman to enter their home to make a plea. Knowing what they knew about the Tower, her mother and father had likely thought that Natalia was an escapee like Petra or at least wanted to escape from the grasp of her nefarious abusers.

“Release them.” Petra forced herself to remain collected, though she knew very well the games played by her counterpart were beyond her incomplete ability to neutralise. “And I won’t let Gwen know that you were here.”

“Ooo, the Regent…” Natalia cooed. “Scary, the Devourer of Shenyang can be, but that’s precisely why I am here, Ptichka. Why are you so naive? This peace, it has poisoned you.”

Petra stepped forward, activating the Divination she had learned to harness Dwarven magic etched into the Rune plates at the base of her neck and scalp.

The Enchantress made no move to prevent her scrying.

Petra read the mana traces on her parents’ bodies, though all she found was evidence of Enchantment—and not even strong ones. She felt she could attempt to kill Natalia and even succeed—but what was the guarantee her parents did not have some deadly Suggestions implanted into them? Ones who could only be dispelled by the caster. Ones that might trigger in the future, in the presence of Gwen, or perhaps worse, when they were among important allies? What if her parents were made to commit suicide when exposed?

“What… do you want.” Petra found herself wavering. She felt sick, sicker than when the arterial blood of that grotesque pedophile had poured over her palm a lifetime ago.

“Your parents are voting for independence,” Natalia said, pulling up a chair to look like the family's daughter, while Petra looked like an orphan the cat had dragged into the house. “I suggest you do the same for your people.”

“My people.” Petra tasted the words like hot ash. “What people.”

“Me, your sister Sparrows.” Natalia’s smile could have melted any man, but Petra only saw a vile reflection of the poppet she could have become. “And Master Popov.”

“Popov is dead,” Petra replied. “You people murdered him.”

“Wrong Popov, I fear. Besides, did you think the Tower Master would kill off his most talented son?” Natalia laughed. “Volodymyr Popov is alive, though neither well nor free. I am sure he misses you. You were supposed to be the best of us, you know? They showed me pictures of you—told me I also had the potential to be what you were supposed to be.”

“I failed him.” Petra’s voice grew quiet. If her Master was alive, she could not begin to imagine what they had done to him. “I was a failure.”

“I know. And to all our surprises, he released you.” Natalia flashed her perfect, pearly white teeth. “Tower Master Popov didn’t even know until you were in China, and by then, the anarchy caused by your Master had consumed all of his attention. When I made a mistake…”

The girl’s beautiful face took on a pale sheen as she swallowed. “… It always puzzled us why you were free to live your life while we had to endure. Was it love? Was Popov smitten with his little devotchka? Look at this beautiful house… look at this happiness…”

Natalia’s face struggled to maintain her affable expression. “Why do you deserve all this?”

Petra felt an unbidden sympathy for the girl, though the sight of her unmoving parents quickly crushed those sentiments.

“I can’t.” she shook her head. “I can’t give Moscow what it wants.”

“We’re not asking you to betray the Regent. You need merely speak for us.” the Mind Mage seemed to regain her cool self. “A hint to the Regent, here and there. And to give us some warning when she strikes. Moscow will organise its victories and defeats, and no one worthy will need to die.”

Before Petra could refuse for the tenth time, her opponent stood from the table.

Feeling breathless, Petra approached her parents while Natalia backed away.

“You’re a part of us now, willing or otherwise.” The innocent face of the femme fatale willed the door open with a Mage Hand. “It’s not hard to keep this happiness going, our wayward Ptichka. Tower Master Popov will be watching you and those around you closely. The choice is yours.”

Petra followed the retreating Mind Mage until she was at the threshold of the living room door.

I could use the Disintegrate from here without harming my parents. Petra felt a tingle surge from her storage ring. A blast, and no one would know better.

“Petra?” The voice of her mother came from the kitchen. “God… why are we sitting here? I was making dinner…”

Petra turned, her heart almost erupting with relief at the two clueless Muscovites recovering what would have felt like a Vodka-induced haze.

“Just what…Goodness! Look at the time! Don’t you have a meeting?” Her mother walked into the living room. “Petra? Is someone at the door?”

When Petra turned her head again to catch a final glimpse of the intruder entering her house, Natalia's svelte silhouette was gone, leaving no trace of her fragrant passage.

“Mama, papa,” Petra turned stiffly toward the kitchen. “Could you make dinner still? I’ve just got a call from Richard. There’s a fire in the city. People are hurt.”

“Oh, that’s terrible, dear.” Her mother was already confusedly rummaging through the kitchen. “When should we expect you?”

There was no answer from the still-open door, for their daughter’s mind was made, and no dinner would sway her course.