The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 13: Divine Intervention

“Fire and its children burn and break. Earth and its children preserve and protect. Water and its children reflect and redirect. Air and its children travel and touch. Mind and its children create and control. The five primordial elements compose the Mundane and change the Aether.” - Witch Rochia of Magyuviv to her apprentices.

:: Castle Tya, on the border between the Blood Duchies and Southern Marches ::

One of the lesser-known flaws of Vampirekind is their tendency to become stuck in their ways. Unlifetimes of habit could burn behaviors and perspectives so deep into a Vampire’s mind they might be blinded to any alternative. This weakness, more often than any other, destroyed ancient Nobles. Unable to adapt to a shifting world, the eldest Vampires were reduced from immortal nightmares to vulnerable relics. Fear of this possibility manifested differently in most Vampires aware of it. Some obsessively reinvented themselves every century; others kept harems of mortal confidants to reflect upon; a few worked to stay educated on modern trends, and some simply slept through ‘troublesome’ eras.

Of course, no method was perfect, and many Vampires revealed their age in ways they’d never understand. One particular pattern of this was taste in architecture and design; no matter how they tried, most Vampires kept hints of their origin in how they decorated their surroundings. Some Nobles hid it better than others, but the signs were obvious if you knew where to look. This principle was reflected in Duke Mika Gens Umbria’s office within Castle Tya, where Lord Aloysius Wolfgang now sat.

Glancing around the well-ordered office, the Black Fly noted the crisp military style of its layout and how that contrasted with the opulence of each individual piece of furniture or decoration. A small scroll rack made from carved ivory sat on the Duke’s desk, holding missives to be read and sealed. One office wall held a huge map of the Roloyo Duchy and the surrounding region, its detail and artistry making it perfect for planning strategies or gazing upon its beauty. Even the Duke’s two assistants fit this theme of efficiency and extravagance; bustling around the office were a pair of Succubi busy filing paperwork and watching the Duke’s guests for any possible weakness.

Wolfgang kept his eyes on the two Demons while waiting for the Duke, but not for the typical reason. Unusually ‘stable’ by Demon standards, Succubi were intelligent shapeshifters who could be trusted to seek their necessities. Which, like most Demons, was sustenance, safety, and souls, things the Duke could easily provide in exchange for their service. To Wolfgang, the two Succubi appeared as faceless humanoids wearing crisp uniforms. His disinterest in physical pleasures interfered with the Demons’ camouflage, reducing them to these nondescript forms. Still, despite their reputation for consistent service, Wolfgang would be a fool to let either of the soul-drinking seducers out of his sight for long, especially with their master not present.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of waiting, the door to the office opened, and Wolfgang rose, turned, and bowed to the Duke. He didn’t even need to see who entered the room; the wavefront of dominating power was confirmation enough for Wolfgang. More than a thousand years old, Duke Mika was a second-generation Wyrmoi, formerly a Centurion under the Archduke’s command until he was turned by his liege.

Head down, arm over his still heart, Wolfgang offered his respect to the ancient Noble. “Duke Umbria, I am here as you command.”

A large hand clapped Wolfgang on the shoulder, and a voice like a brass horn said. “Ah, Black Fly! I was delayed; two of my vassals were arguing over requisition rights.”

In another Noble, Wolfgang would assume Umbria’s tardiness was a power play, an attempt to reinforce the difference in status between the two, but that wasn’t how Umbria worked. Looking up from his bow, Wolfgang examined the boisterous Vampire as he said. “Greetings, my lord Duke. I understand matters have gotten more complicated, and one with such august authority is needed for many tasks.”

The Duke barked a laugh, went around his desk, and sat in the gilded curule he favored. Resting on the archaic folding chair, Duke Umbria looked every bit the ancient warlord he was. Large of frame and thick of feature, Umbria looked like he’d been carved from a particularly uncooperative granite block. His hair was in the short military style and colored silver with undeath, while his skin was the milky white of a corpse. He wore a maroon tunic of fine weave and, over that, a leather cuirass etched with a mixture of protective runes and military iconography. One of the Duke’s large, calloused hands rested at his side, rubbing the gilded pommel of his dueling sword.

Fixing Wolfgang with intense red eyes, the Duke said. “Bah! No need for all that flower-tongue when we are in private. Besides, the dispute I broke up was technically your fault, so my meeting with you being delayed is only fitting.”

Wolfgang kept his expression neutral. “I take it the dispute was over infected or their corpses?”

The Duke nodded and reached for the ivory scroll carrier on his desk. He picked up a tiny rolled tube, unfurled it, and scanned the contents. “Your weapon is proving to be extremely effective. It’s culled so much of the feral livestock that my Necromancers are having difficulties binding all the Grinners spawned.”

Keeping the slight frown he felt from showing, Wolfgang asked. “Even with the preparations the plague inflicts upon the dead?”

Setting the flimsy scroll down, the Duke shook his head. “The issue isn’t magical power but expertise. Most of the Nobility lacks experience in commanding large forces of Undead. It has been too long since the last true war, and it shows. Most of our kin less than two hundred years of age can’t do much more than order about a few squads of Rattlers, let alone direct hundreds of Ghouls.”

Pursing his lips in the first display of emotion all evening, Wolfgang asked. “I might have a potential solution to that issue; I’ve been conducting additional experiments and-”

The Duke held up a single finger and silenced his subordinate. “If you sought this meeting to request the bindings upon your prisoner be weakened, I will be sorely disappointed.”

A wavefront of steely power smashed into Wolfgang, a metaphorical phalanx of will battering his mind in the Ducal equivalent of a terse warning. Gritting his teeth, careful not to bare his fangs, Wolfgang let the psychic blow wash off of him. “No, my lord Duke, I would not question your judgment on that matter. Instead, I’d like to investigate methods of converting large quantities of corpses into more elite Undead. Something that might ease up the burden on the Necromancers.”

As the last bits of the mental assault faded, the Duke narrowed his eyes and asked. “I’m assuming you have ideas on how to minimize the magical and logistical costs for such an endeavor?”

Nodding, Wolfgang elaborated. “I recently received a powerful necromantic ritual from a member of my Sire’s court. While further study is needed, I’m fairly confident it could be used to turn a large quantity of Ghouls into a single siege-capable Rattler that would be easy to control while possessing several potent abilities.”

That got Duke Umbria’s attention. “That sounds useful; why has it not been used already?”

The tiniest flicker of excitement stirred in the Black Fly. “The ritual is from the far-east, a gift from an elder refugee. It was unknown to the Duchies until now and requires fairly specific circumstances to work correctly, circumstances the plague provides.”

Hand resting on his sword’s pommel, Umbria glanced at his two assistants and said. “Write up a notice of requisition for Lord Wolfgang, give him ownership of one hundred Ghouls and twenty-five Screamers for his experiment.”

Lip twitching in a tiny smile, Wolfgang said. “Thank you, my lord, Duke; I will report my progress as soon as possible.”

A sheet of parchment was placed in front of the Duke, and he stamped it with his seal of office. Setting it on his desk, Umbria asked. “Before I give this to you, I’m curious if you have any speculation about events with Prince Franz’s army. My spies say the plague is not taking hold among his main force. It's ravaging Harmas, Vindabon, and everywhere else it touches, but not Franz’s camp. Infected and Screamers come in contact with the army, but the plague refuses to spread with any real vigor.”

Glancing at the rack of scrolls, Wolfgang suspected a trap or a test. He’d heard rumors the plague wasn’t devastating the army as it should, but having them confirmed from such a source was worrying. An army camp, especially as large and ill-supplied as Prince Franz’s, should be the ultimate breeding ground for pestilence. For it to be the one place relatively safe in an entire region beset by plague defied logic.

Reaching to his neck and the locket he wore there, the Black Fly whispered the most likely answer. “The Pantheon is involved.”

The Duke picked up another scroll from his rack and used it like a baton to gesture at the large map of the region dominating one office wall. “One of my spies, a valuable source of information, has gone silent. His last message was annoyingly cryptic but contained a very jagging big clue as to why this is happening.”

Setting the scroll down, the Duke unrolled it and pointed to a fragment at the very bottom. Upon reading it, the Black Fly went perfectly, unnaturally still. ‘Newcomer to the Prince’s Court. Possible Seraph-spawn?’

Remembering to move his face again, Lord Aloysius Wolfgang said. “Ah… This might prove difficult.”

:: Rihan’s Laboratory, Vindabon ::

Cole was no stranger to blood loss; in fact, he was probably more familiar with it than any person alive or dead. Slumped into a chair in Rihan’s laboratory after giving close to a bucket's worth of blood, Cole tried to keep himself awake as Isabelle worked. His lover, or at least one of them, was fussing over an alchemical apparatus she’d dug out of a cupboard, trying to refine and titrate the Sting byproduct. To help this endeavor, Cole and Yara gave a probably unhealthy amount of blood for experimental purposes and to keep Isabelle’s magic powered. The Thrall in question was curled up asleep on the floor nearby, recovering from her own exsanguination, using an anatomy text as a pillow.

Isabelle worked with a speed and precision impossible to mundane mortals. Her hands were a blur of movement as she combined material studies with arcane techniques. Cole watched as Isabelle mixed congealed vampire venom with the ground-up bones of rats while telekinetically spinning vials of treated blood and adjusting the placement of a bubbling beaker over a small flame. As she danced between tasks, Isabelle muttered a never-ending stream of arcane words and biting comments under her breath. Cole still couldn’t tell if the whispered insults and annoyed noises were directed at Natalie, some problem in the research, or both.

Four hours had passed since the Faerie detonated, and Isabelle spent the entire time flitting between projects and possibilities. Her second corporeal day was reaching its halfway point, and Isabelle was clearly pushing to make significant progress. Cole asked for details multiple times, but Isabelle barely responded; she was deep in the flow of genius, unwilling to break from her puzzle unless it was to request something. To that end, Cole and Yara spent much of the time they weren’t giving blood running errands, collecting whatever Isabelle needed for her research.

Leaning in his chair, trying not to let Isabelle’s movements hypnotize him into sleep, Cole felt a strange mixture of nostalgia, grief, and trepidation. He’d spent many nights like this in the past, watching Isabelle work, waiting for her to surface from her mental currents and eager to discuss whatever progress or problems she’d encountered. Of course, in those days, there had been a flock of servants and assistants, both living and undead, helping Isabelle with the minutia of her work. Friendly faces now consigned to ash and rubble by the Archduke’s purge. Leaving just Cole, two Vampires tentatively sharing a body, and a profoundly damaged Thrall with a knack for slipping through the cracks of awareness.

The creak and clatter of the laboratory door opening startled Cole from the edge of sleep. Blinking away bleariness, Cole found an exhausted-looking Glynn shutting the door behind him. The quarter-elf usually appeared to be in his mid-thirties or early forties, but stress seemed to sap some of the inhuman youth from him. Sniffing the air and wrinkling his nose, Glynn asked, “What is that smell?”

Not pausing her work, Isabelle remarked. “Bane-combusted Faerie. Having your entire cardio-vascular system super-heated tends to have an unpleasant effect on an organism, no matter how Aetherically influenced they are.”

Noting the multi-hued scorch marks, Glynn’s lips formed a perfectly straight line, and he said. “The Screamer you first experimented on is dead.”

Isabelle didn’t even look up from the vial she was inspecting. “Unfortunate but not unexpected. I chose him because of his poor condition; it seemed foolish to risk someone with a conceivable chance of survival.”

Finally stopping her work, Isabelle looked at Glynn and said. “Speaking off, I need access to more Screamers. I’ve made good progress with the Faeries and blood samples provided, but I need more.”

The temperature in the room noticeably dropped a few degrees, and Glynn’s face twitched in rage. Cole slowly got to his feet and prepared to put himself between the elder Vampire and elder Priest. Shutting his eyes, Glynn took a deep breath, and a tear of silver dripped down his face and puffed into icy vapor. “You do not have the right to subject a critically ill person to experimentation without any kind of consent. More blood and other samples will be possible, but you will not extract more Faeries.”

Red eyes brimming with dispassionate intellect met the Hierophant’s rage-filled orbs, and they stared at each other for a long moment. The Aether crackled with psychic discharge, and Cole could feel the intense telepathic conversation occurring, even if he couldn’t hear it.

Finally, Glynn looked away and bared his too-small teeth. “Natalie is right; you are the best option we have. Hopefully, between Cole, her, and myself, we can keep you under control, Countess Gens Silva.”

Shaking her head, Isabelle let out an annoyed sigh. “I agree with my student; debating this matter is pointless. Additionally, she and I would both like to know why you were delayed? From the way you spoke, we expected you to accompany us to the laboratory at once.”

Glancing at Cole and his unsteady posture, Glynn said. “Hierophant Morri has finally resurfaced.”

Blinking in surprise, Cole asked. “He was missing?”

Glynn nodded. “He only just returned to the Temple shortly after you left the meeting with Walker Jacq. My fellow Keepers and I knew he wasn’t dead or injured, but we couldn’t locate him. We assumed he was engaged in some duty of utmost importance and didn’t wish to interrupt him unless it was truly necessary. Thankfully, our assumptions proved correct, and he has returned to us with valuable information.”

Rolling her hand in a way to indicate annoyance, Isabelle said. “And? What was the Keeper of Rest doing?”

Lip quivering in a quickly muted snarl, Glynn explained. “Working with the Lych to save the Holy League and perhaps the city if you succeed.”

Isabelle’s aristocratic arrogance cracked slightly upon hearing who was involved. “I’d honestly hoped the Lych had discorperated fully. What is old Lupa up to with a Hierophant of the Tenth?”

Cole watched with bizarre interest as Isabelle and Glynn wore near-identical expressions of grim concern when the Lych was brought up. Thinking of his own encounters with the obscenely powerful Undead Magi, Cole really couldn’t blame them.

Glynn glanced around the room, his eyes laying on the sleeping Yara for a moment before he said. “We don’t know, which is what concerns me. Morri staggered into the Temple, showing signs of severe physical, mental, and arcane exhaustion. He told us he’d been working with the Lych as Master Time commanded and asked if you’d completed the cure yet. When I told him no, he said, ‘Wake me when she does,’ then passed out.”

Slowly, Isabelle stepped away from her workspace, went to a cabinet, and plucked out two objects: a vial and a copper basin. Setting the sturdy metal bowl on the floor, mouth to the floor so it's rounded side stuck into the air, Isabelle snarled and stomped down on the copper basin. The metal bowl was flattened into a crumpled disk with a loud crunch. Yara practically jumped to her feet, eyes wide with well-trained terror. Before the ringing sound of smashed copper could fully fade, Isabelle put the vial to her fangs and filled it with fresh Sting.

Capping the vial and setting it down, Isabelle said. “Thank you, Glynn; I needed a sample of Sting tainted by pure rage.”

Cautiously, Cole approached Isabelle and asked. “What’s wrong?”

Lips pulled back into a feral rictus, Isabelle spat. “In the eyes of Mortalkind, the greatest sin of Vampires is how we treat people like commodities and livestock. Yet somehow they refuse to see how the worst culprit of that are the Gods they bow and scrape to.”

Cole reached out and gently but firmly touched Isabelle’s shoulder. “I don’t see how Master Time working to help save thousands of lives is in any way comparable to what the Duchies do.”

Looking at his hand, Isabelle let out a sigh. “The Pantheon enforces a moral consensus and limit our growth. They farm our emotions and souls just like the Fell Gods; they’ve just trained us to accept it far better than their rivals.”

Shaking his head slightly, Cole sighed. Ever since she'd become more lucid, he’d feared having this argument with Isabelle. Her opinions on the Gods and the Beyond were violently heretical, finding any diety or Beyonder, no matter their nature, equally abhorrent.

“The Pantheon protects and nurtures the best attributes of people. If that counts as raising livestock, then every good parent across the myriad worlds is guilty.”

Staring up at Cole with Natalie’s borrowed face, Isabelle spat. “They don’t protect and nurture; they coddle and control. With time and resources, I will find a method to cure this plague, using nothing but my own intellect and skill. Whatever the Lych and the Tenth conspire to do, it will rob me of discoveries. Their ‘aid’ is merely a way to limit people from reaching their full potential. Adversity breeds strength, and problems necessitate invention. By pampering us, they limit our growth and keep mortal kind dependent on them. If we were allowed to succeed and fail under our own merits, people would eventually wake up and realize the Gods are parasites, pushing us towards an outcome they deem beneficial.”

Letting go of Isabelle’s shoulder, Cole asked. “So?”

Clearly surprised by that, Isabelle started to speak, but Cole did something out of character; he interrupted her. “I can understand your perspective, Belle, and see the pieces of truth in it. But does that change the fact the Pantheon’s efforts make the world a less painful place? Perhaps they do limit what we could be. But I prefer that over becoming something we shouldn’t be. I know I won’t change your mind, but I also know how much suffering the cosmos can spawn, and anything working to dull that jagged edge is worth listening to.”

A long sigh escaped Isabelle; the old vampire shook her head in annoyance. “Fine, I will return to my project and see what secrets are yet within my grasp.”

Moving to her workstation, Isabelle paused and said. “Natalie says she will pay for the bowl.”

:: A sickly dream ::

A little girl hid in a dark cellar, curled up behind sacks of grain and desperately trying not to sneeze. Garlic powder, a year's worth of spice, covered her hair and clothes, a final desperate effort to protect the girl. Quivering with fear, the girl clamped clammy hands over her ears and tried to silence the screams coming from the world beyond the cellar. Of course, the screams stopped hours ago, but nobody bothered to tell the panicked mind of Mina Vrock.

Reliving the worst moments of her life, Mina prayed for the nightmare to end. She knew this was a nightmare; horrible dreams of her family cellar were unfortunately common for the Priestess. She was transported back to the night when she lost her family, reduced to a panicked eight-year-old unable to help her parents or older brother as her home village died a gruesome death.

Knowledge it was a nightmare did little to help Mina; she couldn’t alter the dream, only wait for it to end. Usually, the dream ended with, Morri and his fellow Restbringers opening the cellar hatch and rescuing her. On other worse nights, the Vampires and their minions found her. Ghouls wearing her parent’s face dragged her from the cellar and started to feed.

Curled into a ball, trying to ignore the stink of garlic soaking into her being, Mina waited for the dream to take one of its usual paths. But the cellar door didn’t open, and nothing holy or undead clambered down into the earthen bowls of the basement; instead, the world started to shake. Eyes snapping open, Mina stared into the dark, feeling the ground beneath and around her vibrate. Trapped between conscious awareness and dreaming stupor, Mina couldn’t do anything. Her mind and body both refused to work, leaden with the strange fatigue of nightmares.

With an effort of will, Mina forced herself to look up at the cellar door. The sturdy wooden hatch was vibrating as the tremors grew stronger and stronger. A loud crack split through the cellar as the trapdoor exploded upward, letting a shaft of silver light flood into the cramped space. The world stopped shaking, but the light grew brighter and brighter until it passed over Mina, carrying a message with it.

“Come to me.”

Fighting terror and lethargy, Mina crawled towards the cellar hatch. Slowly getting to her feet, Mina felt the cellar shrink around her as she grew to her true age. Gone was the scared little girl; in its place was the ordained Priestess. Reaching up, Mina gripped the hatch’s lip and pulled herself up, the dream exhaustion fading with every movement. Blinded by light but powered by faith, Mina hauled herself out of the cellar and into the unknown.

As her eyes adjusted, Mina tried to understand where she was. Instead of pulling herself up into the home she once shared with her parents and older brother, Mina stood in a broad salt flat, extending out in every direction until it met distant eroded mountains. Among the rippling lines of wind-sculpted salt were bones and debris. Sun-bleached skeletons covered in rusted scraps of weapons and armor, a terrible mixture of whites, reds, and greens as life and metal decayed into nothingness.

Other larger, strange skeletons could be spotted in the distance. The scattered remnants of Dragons, Giants, and things Mina couldn’t even guess at, now encrusted in salt, monuments to whatever carnage once bathed this desert. In place of the brilliant silver light of the cellar was the roiling sun of the salt wastes; it beat down on Mina, and she tried to shield her eyes with little effort until something blocked out the sun.

The thunder of huge wings and the sudden darkening sky captured Mina’s focus as something colossal descended from above. Calling on her powers, Mina wrapped herself in dancing light, enjoying the cooling touch of her magic in the blistering heat. With the sun behind it, telling what the creature was was virtually impossible. Hurtling down like some winged comet, the monster shot toward Mina. Torn between running and trying to defend herself, Mina realized she couldn’t escape a giant flying creature, so she called up a magical barrier.

As it got closer, Mina could tell the monster was avian, with black-brown plumage and a sharp beak. Through the shimmer of Mina’s magical shield, she swore the thing was shrinking as it got closer. Going from a building-sized Roc to a more manageable Dire-Eagle within a few seconds. When the bird finally slammed into the ground in a puff of disturbed salt, it was not much bigger than a human. As the cloud of biting dust fell away, Mina examined her dream-guest. It was a vulture with thick, fluffy plumage around its collar and large, almost tattered-looking wings. The vulture’s eyes were pure silver, and brown down feathers covered much of its wicked-looking head.

Staring at her for a long moment, the vulture opened its beak and said. “I apologize for scaring you, Mina. I’d hoped to pull you from that nightmare more gently, but ironically, your recovering health impeded me.”

Staring at the vulture, Mina slowly knelt down; she knew who this was; even without Natalies’ stories, she’d know what being visited her dreams. “Praise be to the Final Judge; I kneel to your mercy and wisdom. Praise be to the Rest Keeper, who guides the dead till they live again. Praise be to Master Time, first and last of the Pantheon.”

Bobbing its head, the Vulture replied. “I witness your devotion, Mina Vrock, Priestess of my Temple and servant of my will. I find you worthy of my blessing and my presence; now hear my will.”

Slowly, tentatively, Mina got to her feet and dusted the salt grime off her knees. “What do you wish of me, Master?”

Adjusting its feathers, the Vulture hopped towards Mina and looked at her with unnatural eyes. “To offer warnings of the future and to correct a mistake.”

Spreading its great black wings, the Vulture gestured to the salt flat around them, and it transformed. Water rose out of the ground and with it greenery. Soil grew like verdant moss over marshy ground, and thickets of reeds bloomed forth. Small boats of woven grass paddled along in the growing marsh, piloted by brown-skinned people in plain but practical garb. Mina watched as one of the grass boats landed on a muddy beach where a house woven of reeds awaited. A quartet of smiling children burst from the reed house and practically tackled one of the boatmen into the marsh. The man laughed as his children crowded around him, speaking to him in a language Mina couldn’t even guess.

Slowly turning around, Mina realized the woven house was not alone; she was in the center of a town, its buildings either floating atop huge grass mats or perched upon dry outcroppings. The Vulture then folded its wings, and the landscape melted away, returning to the salt flats and the dead army scattered across it. The difference couldn’t be starker, but still, Mina recognized some of the terrain features, boulders, or other rocky lumps telling the truth. Both visions depicted the same place, just separated by time.

“What was this place? What happened here?”

The Vulture picked at a bone near its talons and said. “This was the heartland of the Zutif people, an ancient kinfolk to the city of Akzad. It was where one of the final battles against the Rabisu was fought. Mazkim, first of the Alukah, died here, and with him, the threat of his kind. Or so Mortalkind hoped. ”

Staring at Mina, the Vulture continued. “I do not believe Natalie Striga will fall. Too much has been built upon a strong foundation for her to crumble. What worries me is another usurping her destiny; someone, her warden, could not strike down if need be.”

Flashes of Mina’s confrontation with the creature possessing Natalie went through her head. “Who was that?”

Clicking its beak, the Vulture said. “A powerful ally and enemy. She spoke the truth to you during your confrontation, but she still represents a formidable threat. Especially in the light of my mistake involving the Miracle, I gifted you.”

This wasn’t the first time Mina spoke with her God; he’d appeared to her before during meditation and offered a powerful spell. Binding magic created to shackle a Vampire, limiting their powers, physical, magical, and psychic. Thinking about events and what Master Time just said, Mina asked. “If this ‘ally’ was telling the truth, then my magic interfered with Natalie?”

It was a strange thing watching a Vulture sigh. “Yes, part of the spell is intended to help Natalie keep control if the Alukah’s worse instincts start to dominate. But whatever mechanism Isabelle is using to possess Natalie proved… unique. Instead of locking away Natalie’s power and the Alukah’s malice, the magic sealed away Natalie’s mind, leaving a crippled Isabelle in full control. Something I didn’t anticipate, and that worries me.”

Ruffling its feathers, the Vulture said. “Be careful; that spell might be needed in the future, but Isabelle continues to prove a confounding factor. Her presence creates opportunities and threats in equal parts. My Paladin is trammeled by his affection for her, and Natalie is too close to both parties to be objective. Someone else must watch and ward those two, a task I’m leaving to you.”

Confused and nervous, Mina asked. “What do you want me to do?”

The Vulture’s head turned to look at the distant mountains, and it said. “Be a Priest. Offer aid, guidance, and advice when you can. My two champions will leave Vindabon soon, but they should not do so with just an ancient vampire for company. Join them on their journey and bring those you think could help. Cole and Natalie will take a difficult path because that is their nature; I ask you to try and help because that is yours.”

The dream started to shake again, and Mina watched as one of the distant mountains crumbled away, revealing a tidal wave of water ready to cover the salt flats. As the sound of breaking rock and rumbling water swallowed everything

Adjusting its plumage, the Vulture quickly spoke. “Ironically, for me, time is short. Let me leave you with this. Morri is one of my greatest living Priests; it is no coincidence his path crossed with my favored Paladin, nor is it a coincidence he took you under his wing.”

Spreading its wings, the Vulture started to flap them. “I am honored to count you among my Priesthood, Mina Vrock. I place you upon this course because my faith in you matches yours in me.”

The Vulture took to the sky then, growing with every wingbeat until it's great pinions blotted out the sun. Staring up at the soaring titan, Mina didn’t even notice the tidal wave arrive and knock her from the dream.

Sucking in a rattling breath, Mina’s eyes shot open. She was thirsty, hungry, tired, and sore in ways she’d never imagined. Blinking away the dust of sleep, Mina tried to get her bearings. She was in a treatment room of some kind, lying on one of four cotts within the chamber. The other three were also occupied; Alia, Rihan, and Yara each lay on one of the folding beds.

Trying to sit up, Mina groaned as the room spun. Movement caught her eyes, and she realized Cole was also in the room; he stepped over and offered a cup of water. Eagerly taking it, Mina gulped down the wonderful liquid.

Handing the cup back, she rasped. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Cole gestured to another part of the chamber, and Mina realized it was larger than she initially thought. They were in a secondary ward with eight more cotts arranged elsewhere, each holding a patient. A trio of nurses walked between the folding beds, checking the unconscious bodies nestled in them.

Finally answering in that accented voice of his, Cole said. “Welcome to the experimental treatment ward. Where all those cured of the Plague are sequestered until further information is available.”

Mouthing the word ‘cured.’ Mina asked. “Tell me everything that’s happened.”

Cole obliged, explaining how Mina was the second person to undergo the Faerie extraction and how she’d been in a healing sleep for nearly three days as her organs healed. The Paladin described that he, Alia, Rihan, and Yara, were used in later experiments by this ‘Isabelle’ with varying results.

Looking at the eight occupied beds, Mina asked. “So those are others she experimented on? People the Temple let Isabelle extract Faeries from?”

A smile spread across Cole’s face. “No, those are the first people given the true cure.”

Blinking in surprise, Mina looked at Cole and said. “You mean…?”

Nodding, Cole elaborated. “Isabelle found the cure, and those eight were given it. The Temple decided to stick them with us for observation, but the initial results look good. Isabelle found a true Bane for the Pestilence and is working to make enough for the whole city.”

Mina let out a slight sigh as she watched Cole’s expression. The scarred warrior was practically glowing with pride and adoration; he loved Isabelle, whoever this strange monster was, which could be a problem. Master Time spoke of Isabelle as a true threat, implying she might try and steal the Alukah’s power for herself. If it was Cole’s duty to protect Natalie and the power she held, then Isabelle presented a very serious blindspot. One that Mina was tasked with covering, God help her.