#solendium

The forest’s morning silence was shattered by the sound of stone being rent apart. Almost comically, Kireía stumbled back, flapping her bare arms to regain her balance before falling on her backside with a startlingly loud CAW.

Evren gasped, arching herself forwards and shaking away the pieces of stone, coughing as she tried to catch her breath, before looking back at Kireía.

“What happen?” Kireía demanded, getting to her feet as she brushed stone dust from her tunic, “It was dark, then bright light, now…” she glanced up at the sky, “Morning.”

“I don’t know,” Evren looked down at herself to see a garland of flowers, all pinks and blues and purples. “Did we sleep?”

“No, I sleep laying,” Kireía made a sweeping gesture, to clarify her statement of sleeping laying down. “Cannot sleep on feet.”

“Well, time’s clearly passed,” Evren pointed to the nearby trees, “They’re all bigger than five minutes ago. Older.”

Kireía looked around, recognising the effects of Time Magics. She had fallen victim to such a thing once before, and chirruped with concern. “Time has passed, but not for us.”

She crossed to one of the trees, inspecting it as she ran her hands over the bark. For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling that innate connection to Nature she possessed. After a few moments, she opened her eyes, stepping back.

“Tree is impossible old,” she stated, “Yet, too young to remember us.”

“How old?” Evren asked, joining her friend by the trunk. Kireía was staring at the roots, but looked up at Evren, concern etched across the human parts of her face.

“It has shed leaves over three hundred times,” she stated. Evren stared at her.

“Three hundred years? But we can’t have been asleep that long!”

“No, Evren,” Kireía turned to her, “Tree memory is passed from mother to child. This tree is three hundred – but its line is ten time that. And none of them remember us.”

Evren took a moment to realise what Kireía was trying to say. Three hundred ten times was…

“Three thousand?” She asked, incredulous. Kireía shook her head.

“More,” she stated simply, before noticing the flowers around Evren’s neck. “Why flower?”

Evren looked down, plucking at one of the leaves on the garland. “Oh, I don’t know. They’re quite nice looking though! It’s a bit of a shame yours look plainer.”

Kireía looked down to realise she, too, wore a garland – black, white, silver-grey, and purple flowers decorated hers, though. Despite Evren’s comment, she thought the colours looked striking all together.

“I keep it,” Kireía nodded to herself, before looking at the spot where they had stood. “Wait – someone give us fire?”

She moved over to the edge of the small winter fire pit. It had been cleared of ashes and filled instead with water, which upon inspection, Kireía discovered was rosewater. Other objects littered the ground around where they had stood, almost like offerings of a sort. Kireía looked at Evren.

“Wait, it’s like an alter, to the false gods, don’t you think?” Evren stated, “Does someone think we’re gods?”

“Gods not real,” Kireía shrugged. “Waste of time.”

“But people choose to believe in ‘em,” Evren replied, “Real or not, they’ll always find something to believe in.”

“We should find other Darken,” Kireía suggested, “Where was Town?”

An age passed, then another. As the small town of Mill expanded, cutting away the forest to create the needed space for more buildings, the memory of the freezing rains faded beyond legend, beyond myth, into nothing more than a fairy-tale, a tale told to youngsters that was forgotten by most as they aged.

Until one day, an herbalist stumbled across the statues.

She brushed aside the ivy covering the stonework, marvelling at the intricate detail of the two creatures. Whoever had carved it had a fanciful idea of combining humans with animals – the taller of the two bore the beak, feathers, and talons of a bird, carrying a bow in one hand and a quiver slung over her back. The shorter, more slender had fur, claws, teeth, and the ears of a cat, with a sword sheathed in her belt.

She carried the news back to the town, and more and more people ventured into the forest to stare at the two. They stood together in solidarity, staring at something high above as they seemed to hold each other. How ironic, the locals thought, that the sculptor might choose a bird and a cat to stand shoulder-to-shoulder against whatever event had so entranced them.

Of course, the people of Mill were a rather simple group, so it didn’t take long for a more creative mind to suggest they were sisters, standing together against a foe they could not defeat, yet refusing to back down in the face of such threat. Over time, stories were passed to neighbours, shared drunkenly by writers on their mead, and eventually forming into one, cohesive story that painted the pair as greater beings – not quite goddesses, but not entirely mortal, representative of the duality of nature – at odds with itself, but united against threat.

As one age slid into the next, people began to worship the pair, leaving offerings of flower wreaths and garlands, food that might appease the pair. If a hunter wished for bountiful ventures, it became custom to lay their first kill at the feet of the Sisters, while a mother awaiting a newborn might weave a flowery garland for both to receive their blessing for a safe birth. In the months approaching winter, a fire was lit before the pair and kept stoked, while warm clothing might be draped around the two, asking them to keep the freezing cold at bay for the most of the winters.

Of course, with Mill being such a secluded town, these customs were mainly only local, rarely spreading beyond the edge of the forest Mill was located within. But over time, the legends of the two stuck, with some storytellers even daring to describe exploits of the Sisters in great detail. Naturally, these stories were relegated to the same category as the legends of Domina and Tumpkee, Ravengard and the Jinn; revered, beloved, but not necessarily true.

Tumpkee laughed, the same laugh that now echoes on the wind, and with a seemingly unending swarm of duplicates, he launched his assault. I stood back, but I was fooled - I was never the target. I often took the form of a counsellor, rarely the warrior.

But Davina, she launched herself at the foes. Her blade carved down just as many as could appear. Her eyes caught sight of the god-killing blade and with a decisive strike, she rendered it to shards; but the Trickster landed a sharp blow with the hammer.

Like water to flame Davina’s life burned no more.

I foresaw it all. Both my blessing and curse, and yet with all my power I was powerless to stop it.

It was not the end, not completely. Davina’s fracture would return to the Aura so she could be reborn upon the realms. But fate this day didn’t smile upon us, for another battle was playing out on the realms below.

Domina had succeeded. She had breached the seal of Nightmare Realm, the realm where all vengeful fallen spirits land. There they battle on through the ages, carrying their wounds and continuing to rot, unable to heal yet unable to die, and never able to rest.

Domina used her alluring powers to drain the evil within that place, absorbing all the foulness that had passed from the realms. With no second thought and no regard of consequence, she absorbed the remnants of her brother’s power; Dominus was no more.

Orbuss was next; his fracture too weak, he was also consumed. Domina now controlled the restored fracture that once belonged to her father, making the Daughter of Shadows their Queen.

But in the face of her ignorance, an unforeseen foe launched an epic assault.

Incendium was drawn to destruction, much like a moth to flame. His strength was far greater than Domina’s, but his actions were blinded by wrath. Incendium burnt with rage for the disturbances of balance, the shift in power between the Demo’hari. He seized Domina, but she launched her own assault. Legions of hands forged from shadows rose from all surfaces, but Incendium broke through them all, snapping them like mortal bone. In a moment of sentience, his rage turned to the source of all power: the Aura.

Incendium changed tactics - rather than face the newly-empowered goddess, he would target her source of power. Domina, without realising, had caused the catalyst of the Great Calamity.

Incendium launched himself at full flight towards the Aura and in a powerful clash, the heavens erupted.

The realms shook. Their very foundations moved, and the bridges between worlds all but collapsed. The Infinity Gate now stood powerless as the Aura could no longer charge its portal.

Flor’kin awoke from Fae realm. His knowledge of nature and the spiritual essences stirred as he felt creatures everywhere suffer. He looked upon his faithful followers and smiled, having known this day would come. He knew he alone had the power to bind the realms before it was too late.

Flor’kin stood, arms stretched, and from his body the roots of the Great Tree were born. The Unyeilding Bow Tree’s roots pierced through the realms, penetrating their foundations and forcing them to remain connected. The realms were scattered but Flor’kin himself now created the bridges that connected all realms. He sacrificed his physical form so that the realms would not crumble away.

There was more damage done this day. The Aura was ruptured, the Demo’hari were now cut off from infinite power, and like rain the essence of the Aura fell upon the realms. Incendium fell to Sky Realm, his final moments of consciousness witnessing the events as they unfolded.

All creatures could sense the Aura falling, and upon instinct they walked outside to watch the heavens cry. All those that were touched by rain that day were frozen in place, coated by a magical barrier. All creatures stood as they were.

A great silence covered each realm.

The Demo’hari looked upon their destruction. Each saw their contribution, each of them felt the disconnect from the Three, and each of them walked away from their quarrels.

There was no victory. There was no mourning. There was nobody left to weep. Davina, Dominus, Orbuss and Flor’kin all fell that day.

Yet here I am.

“This weather is all we need.” He complained, “Bucketing rain, muddy roads, bandits - and what’s worse, people disappearing into shadows. Who’s next? We’ve lost our guards and there’s no tracks. Their footprints stay where they stood, their path just ends as if they vanished!”

His companion turned to him. “Calm yourself, I don’t have the answers, but the mages of Arcadium Academy may be able to shed more light.”

“But we need to get there” snapped back the first traveller.

A sudden thud sounded from the door, as four rough-looking warriors entered. Three of them headed towards the fire as the fourth made for the bar, forcing the travellers to one side.

“Four tall horns of ale, for me and my comrades,” he ordered loudly. “Let’s drink to the nights... achievements.”

They all burst into thunderous laughter, tinged with a hint of sinister malice.

“They won’t forget to pay their dues again! Maybe next time we take his sheep,” one crowed proudly.

“Or his daughter,” another piped up, as the cheers continued.

The one at the bar turned to the travellers with a sinister grin, “You here travelling upon the road to the Academy? We own that road, there is a toll. What do you say lads,” he called to his friends over his shoulder, “a couple of coppers for the toll and a round of drinks for their ignorance?”

He waited for the cheers, but they never sounded. He looked behind himself to find all three warriors were keeled over, lifeless sacks of meat in armour. Among them stood the fur-cloaked figure, no longer seated in the corner but standing over the bodies of the men.

“You talk of ignorance, yet you yourself are ignorant to what is going on around you.” The stranger stated ominously. “Shadows consume all, and the blood of innocents soaks the history ingrained within this realm. There were once dragons, kings, Demo’hari, and oaths - but that all seems faded into an age long since passed.” He took a step towards the remaining barbarian, crooked teeth visible beneath the shadow of his hood as he leered at the male. “I can tell by the shit in your pants and the smell on your breath; you are content to live out this miserable existence you seem fit to call life.”

The travellers looked upon the fur cloaked figure still shrouded by his garment.

“Begging your pardon sir, but what know you of the days gone by?” One asked the stranger, “Do you know of what is happening now? There is talk of Gems, the Aura statues are returning to life, shadows claim the souls of those that venture near and the wind carries a foul laughter that shrills any mans nerve, do you know what is happening, can you help us?”

The warrior scoffs turning to the travellers, “This long-toothed fool couldn’t tell you what day it is, let alone what is happening in the world.”

He turned to find the cloaked figure was close upon him, eyes locked, piercing at his soul...

“I knew your forefather’s forefather before he was even suckling on his mother’s breast,” the stranger hissed. “I know all that has been and all that will be, and my burden through the ages is to suffer it with the likes of you.”

The cloaked figure reached forward, his hand grasping the warrior’s shirt. “I tell you this now, you should believe in warriors of legend, tales of dragons and magics of old. Fear those stories that terrified you as a child, and regret the decisions that have led you here. You are not fit to be in my presence, nor to receive my help, and yet here you now stand fearing for your life. If you are truly a warrior then deliver a message to my niece: I am not worn down by the ages and my brother’s power has its limits. I am watching!”

The warrior collapsed to the ground, froth slowly oozing from his mouth. In an instant, flames burst forward, lightning cracked and the room was filled with light. The lifeless bodies of the four warriors rose up once more, the revived men terrified and traumatised by what had just occurred.

The first three fled as the fourth rose and wiped the froth from his mouth. “It is done Lord; forgive me.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he fled the tavern after his companions.

The bartender and the travellers stood in fear, looking upon the figure clad with fur.

“Who are you?” The orc asked. The fur cloak dropped, the shroud lifted, and before them stood a warrior adorned in ancient armour made by no smith of this age.

Night had fallen in Not’ere, and Kireia found herself standing in front of the Infinity Gate, glaring at the shimmering light that seemed to emanate from between the two pillars.

She was still worked up about the High Council meeting earlier that day, but her feelings were less of anger, and more of frustration now. Frustration at the apparent incompetence of the leaders of Vantacor - and, for that matter, most of Solendium apparently.

They supposedly cared about the problem of this Tumpkee being, but not enough to put aside their own pettiness. They apparently cared for the wellbeing of all their people, yet insulted them and wore labels that supposedly gave them position above those who they “represented”.

She hated it.

She looked down at the owl brooch in her hand. The last time she had found her way here, she had been here for over a week. It was a pleasant week, all the combat aside, and she had no doubts that Not’ere was actually a lovely realm when it wasn’t plagued by problems. But, of course, it was and always would have problems to face. Her presence here was, she felt, pointless. Unnecessary. True leaders wore a mark that indicated they represented and served their people, and she wasn’t serving her people by staying here.

She would be able to better serve them by returning home. Now, more than ever, they needed someone who could look their enemies in the eye and declare peace or war, whichever would be of more benefit. As her mother had said, she was the only Rachdhan to leave the island in over an Age, thus she knew better about the world at large. Even if these mainland noblemen and women looked down on her, there would always be one place where, she now knew, she would always be welcomed with open arms and smiling faces.

Not’ere would sort itself out. She needed to go home.

Kireia stepped forward, hoping that she understood the Infinity Gate’s mechanisms properly. Lightning crackled as she neared, and she reached out with an arrow, poking into the strange, shimmering field. The arrow returned to her, undamaged, so Kireia shrugged, deciding it was safe.

As always, there was something occurring in Not’ere that had most people in a state of disarray. With everything else Kireia had going on, trying to prevent bloodshed from these strange new creatures wasn’t exactly on her list of priorities - but she had taken the time to talk to them.

They were about as friendly as was to be expected of Strangers in Not’ere, so she decided to stay out of their way.

She shared the scroll’s information with the others of Ismara, and the handful of Moriandel strangers who claimed to be allies. They carried bells and worshipped a goat, so Kireia had learned to just stay mostly out of their way. Like most goat folk, they weren’t entirely sane.

It was close to the midday meal when Kireia saw several of the Inner Circle knights approaching the base. While most of the other houses had built small forts and walled spaces throughout Not’ere, the Ismarans still embraced the open air and welcoming breeze that came from the lake their base overlooked. There was a roof, but no walls in their space, and Kireia preferred it that way.

“What you want?” She asked the Circle knights as they approached, raising her bow to indicate they should halt.

“We come bearing greetings from the High King,” one of them stated. “Your leader’s presence is required at the meeting of the High Council.”

Council. That was the word they used when all the leaders supposedly gathered to discuss important things. Were they finally going to get their act together?

Kireia turned around and spotted Milenko’s tall figure returning to the Ismaran base. Then, raising her voice, she called out across the open space.

“MILENKO! COUNCIL MEETING!”

He waved back at her, and she turned back to the knights in front of her. “He is coming.”

The knights seemed somewhat taken aback at Kireia’s method of passing on the message, but it had been effective so what was there to be so surprised about?

“He’s allowed to bring one other person,” one of them stated. Kireia tilted her head. She had been planning to come even without an invite, but this only made things simpler for her.

“I will come,” she stated with such certainty that the knights had no way of responding. She jerked her head at the top of the hill. “We wait while you tell the Mugen.”

The knights exchanged glances, before one of them shook her head. “Actually, the Mugen haven’t been invited. They aren’t part of Vantacor.”

This old chestnut. Kireia could have rolled her eyes at their statement. “They live in Vantacor, they are part of Vantacor.”

“They won’t want to come,” one of the others stated.

“Ask anyway. Is nice to receive invitation, even if you don’t want to go.”

Did these people know nothing of etiquette? An invitation didn’t demand someone show up, it just told them they were welcome if they did. The tensions between the Mugen and the rest of the Vantacorians had as much fault on either end, but given the fact that the Vantacorians never seemed willing to include the Mugen, Kireia couldn’t really blame them for not feeling like they had a stake in the land.

“What’s goin’ on?” Milenko asked as he joined the group.

“Is High Council meeting. I am coming, too.”

Milenko gave her an odd look, but didn’t argue with her as he gestured to the knights. “Well, lead the way.”

The Knights of the Inner Circle had set up their small fort on the other side of town, just beyond the limit. It wasn’t too long of a walk, but Milenko didn’t take the opportunity to tell Kireia what to expect.

She could remember sitting in on a Rechsmiit with her father when she had been younger, and had watched as all the Rechs of the other Ainmhi tribes discussed problems with each other. Though they all had their rivalries and dissidence, they still used the miit to come together and agree on things.

“We argue with our friends, but make peace with our enemies” 

Kiron’s words echoed through her mind as she followed the Knights into their small fort. Much like the Legion fort, most of the space was open with a very small tower enclosure. A table and some chairs had been set up in the small courtyard, and it was evident by the seat taken up by Orphaniel that this was where the meeting would take place.

Other leaders arrived, some late, and the meeting began with the High King Orphaniel taking down the names of those attending. Vilkin of the Vikings, Angelos and some lady from Pride, Boneman from Legion, Milenko from Ismara, and...

“Dansachii Kireia Duskdancer of the Rachdhan of the Ainmhi of Ismara,” Kireia spoke up, offering her full name and title. Though she abandoned most practices of etiquette on the field, she had still been taught how to present herself to those who believed they held rank.

“Are you going to represent Ismara?” Orphaniel asked. Kireia frowned slightly. Wasn’t that why she was here? Milenko might have held peace with the Ainmhi, but he didn’t know all the things happening with all of them.

“Are you going to be on the Council?” Orphaniel rephrased his question, speaking slowly as though she struggled to understand him. Kireia opened her mouth to ask why it mattered, but Milenko cut across.

“No, she won’t be.”

Nor did she want to. Orphaniel hadn’t even bothered recording her name, so there was nothing for him to scratch out in his book. His attitude towards her indicated that she wasn’t entirely welcome here. Looking around, she knew she was among the supposed high society, but they didn’t know of her past, of her lineage.

They didn’t know what the owl brooch pinned to her shirt meant.

After other events of the morning, Kireia had decided the brooch would be safer attached to her, and had pinned it to her shirt. The weight of it was heavy, both because of the abundance of gems on it and the weight of the position it indicated. When she returned, too, she would have to give the Rachdhan her answer, of whether she would take the title of Rechs and represent her people beyond the tribe.

But that was in the future. She needed to focus on the now.

“We are missing Mugen, Horde, and Chaos,” someone stated.

“We sent messengers, they came back alone. They’ve missed their chance,” Orphaniel stated. Kireia frowned at this, tilting her head. A Miit never began if a Rechs or a representative was missing, and from what she could see, this “Council meeting” was very much like a Miit.

The first couple of topics that Orphaniel brought up were of no interest to Kireia. Something about the capital city, taxes (she vaguely remembered the uproar from the last Summoning about that), and then--

“Now, for this problem with the Fae Realm,”

Kireia sat up straighter, tilting her head. slightly to allow sound to enter her ears better.

“We need to deal with Tumpkee,” Orphaniel said insistently, landing his fist on his book to emphasise his point. Why did he always feel the need to hit the book just to get his point across? Kireia could have rolled her eyes.

“Al’fuss is no longer answering our calls,” he continued, “And I fear that his silence is Tumpkee’s doing. We must devise a plan to stop this god in his tracks, and prevent him from causing further damage to our lands.”

“If I may,” Boneman spoke up, “When it comes to combat, our plans are fine. It’s the rabble, the common people that tend to make things fall apart. We need to bring in penalties for those who stand in our way and prevent us from achieving our goals. Only then can we hope for success, unhindered.”

Unity. He was trying to open the discussion to unity, but he was talking about punishing those who... didn’t join the union against this enemy?

“Several times, we’ve come close,” Orphaniel agreed, “But the Mugen have gotten in our way, and others. You are right; we need to impose penalties for anyone who stands against the common good.”

“Why punish those who could become your strongest allies?” Kireia spoke up suddenly. She hadn’t thought about her words, but several pairs of eyes fell on her as she raised her voice to be heard. No choice but to roll with it, now.

“You stand here and preach unity,” she said, looking at Boneman and Orphaniel, “But you have not even the patience to wait for three of your fellow leaders. You cast out and deny the Mugen the same rights as any Vantacorian, and stand against them, but they are far superior in strength to many of your forces. And here, you talk of unity against a common enemy - they hate these “gods”, and would welcome chance to remove one or more of them. But you are the ones fighting against them? Some concept you believe in - stand together, but not with our enemies. Heal the wounds of war, but only with some. And meanwhile, the “rabble”,” she glared at Boneman, “The common folk, the ones who you are supposed to represent, they are dying. Your fighting hurts them. It tears apart the land, claws at the flesh of that which brings you life - but you care not, because the farmers whose homes burn in your border raids, are the ones who cannot afford to support more than themselves.

“You, all of you,” she turned to look at them all, “You all lead from the front, from behind, or from alongside. Your fighters are trained to defend you. Well, not you,” she added, gesturing to Vilkin, “You stand among your people, as an equal. But the rest of you - High King? Lord? Lady? Duke? These words mean nothing, they are just words, but you speak them with your name and act like they give you the right to dictate the lives of those whose lives you don’t even try to protect!”

“Kireia...”

She heard Milenko’s warning tone, but the anger was already afire in her, burning within her blood as she whirled to face Orphaniel. “You preach unity, yet stand against your strongest allies! Why not make peace with them in the name of defeating your common enemy?”

“The Mugen refuse to be included in the matters of Vantacor--”

“Refuse, or aren’t welcome?” She snorted, “I stand on the field with you! I hear how all your people speak of them. You disrespect them, disregard them, and some of you in the same breath will disrespect the rest of us! I am one of the people you are supposed to represent!” She raised her voice, thumping herself on the chest, “I am one of the “rabble”! And my friends, my people, they suffer from your hatred of each other! Allow the Mugen in here.”

“I will do no such thing!” Orphaniel snapped.

“Why not?”

“Because they are being controlled by Tumpkee!” He roared, his own anger flaring up. Kireia stood her ground as he slammed his fist on the table, hard enough to make a bottle of ink almost spill. “They support the very evil we are trying to eradicate from our lands! I will never side with them! They are treacherous, traitorous cowards who serve only themselves, and are being controlled by the very demon we seek to cast out!”

“Do you know this for certain?” Kireia demanded. All eyes were on her and Orphaniel, and she could sense Milenko moving forward as if to stop her from starting an actual fight.

“I have my sources,”

“But do you know for certain?” She repeated. “I can tell you anything I want about anyone, and you are the one who chooses to believe! Ask them in here, ask if it is true! Because I have forged alliances for myself with some of them. They are not the evil you seek to destroy. Ask them yourself, and you’ll find they have the same goals as you!”

“I will not allow them in--”

“Let them in!” She thought for a moment, trying to recall two names. “Kaito, and Yokai. I know them both. I will vouch for them.”

That was partially a lie; she knew Kaito, but Yokai was barely known to her. She knew he held rank, though, so he would be best to welcome into the council meeting.

“On your own head be it,” Orphaniel sighed. For a moment, he seemed tired, as though his angry outburst had robbed his energy. Kireia turned to the door guards expectantly, and they glanced at her, then at Orphaniel.

Milenko tapped her on the shoulder, and she glanced back to see him giving her a warning glare. Though she knew the significance of the look, she couldn’t summon the energy to hold back her temper; Rachdhan were known for their ferocity when it came to defending their beliefs, and Orphaniel’s challenge of the Mugen directly contradicted her beliefs.

“What’s this about?” A voice called out as two figures entered the courtyard. Orphaniel sighed heavily.

“As citizens of Vantacor, you should have a position within the High Council,” he said heavily. Kireia glared at him - was he really turning against everything he had just been arguing for?

“We are trying to devise a plan to rid our lands of the scourge of Tumpkee,” he continued. “Your input is more than welcome.”

“Horse shit,” Kireia snapped, “Not five minutes ago, you insulted these men and their kin, cast lies against them. Why not ask them the truth of the information you claim to have?”

Orphaniel glared at her, clearly trying to remain patient. “It isn’t imperative--”

“You insult the Mugen behind their back and be friend to their face!” Kireia snapped, “What kind of leader are you, that you have no spine to stand up for your beliefs?”

Milenko grabbed her at that moment, muttering some semblance of apology to the others in the courtyard as he excused himself and Kireia from the council. Kireia was ready to fight him as well, to stand up for herself, even if it meant the brief, temporary death of battle - but clearly, Milenko was not in the mood to accommodate such a thing.

Reluctantly, Kireia allowed herself to be removed, cursing them in her own language the entire time. To her surprise, though, once they were away from the base, Milenko glanced down at her. The corners of his eyes were creased, as though he was smiling.

“Well done,” he commented, “He’ll probably come hunting for us on the field, but well done.”

“I have more to say to him,” she snapped. “If he wants to fight, let him. I am ready to make enemies.”

The Summoning.

Kireia had only experienced it once before, when she was still learning her place among the rest of the Ismarans and other Vantacorians. In fact, those few days in the realm of Not’ere had been eye-opening for her, and she had formed a tentative allegiance with a formidable foe.

But this time, she knew what to expect. And she knew what she needed to do in Not’ere, before she lost her chance.

If she was being honest with herself, Kireia was tiring very quickly of kings and so-called leaders. Strange things had been happening in Vantacor of late, and from what she could see, the land was being torn apart. Various whispers and rumours suggested that Vantacor was a victim of the havoc being wreaked in the Fae Realm, though what that place was, she didn’t know. For the most part, she was feeling the distress of Nature as it was being attacked, torn to pieces, manipulated, and severely affected by whatever strange curses were being wrought upon it from afar. It was the reason she had decided to abandon the most recent event and return home - the distress of Nature had made her feel concern for the other Rachdhan.

Of course, in the single evening she had been home, she had learned of more discord spreading on Ismara, and the elders had proposed to her a simple idea that could lead to a solution.

Kireia sat in the small base that the Ra’moness had set up for the Ismarans in Not’ere, turning the owl brooch over in her fingers as she watched across the lake, looking for any potential enemies on approach. The land here shifted, and the Mugen had placed their encampment at the top of the same hill Ismara had dominated as the space they had previously been was no longer available. While some of the Ismarans had voiced mild concern for the Mugen’s presence, and while other friendly types had voiced the same concerns, Kireia felt none of these. Although the Mugen had recently decided to declare outright war on Vantacor, she had affirmed with them that her truce with them still stood.

She was torn as to whether the Summoning occurring now was a blessing or a curse - a blessing, because it meant something could be done about the Fae Realm, and a curse because it meant that precious time would be lost in the problems the Ainmhi of Ismara faced.

The fact that the “leaders” of Vantacor were more concerned with their own personal grievances rather than resolve their conflicts for the sake of saving their lands, however, was a more pressing matter.

Kireia recognised one of the men of Legion hiking up the hill towards the Mugen base, and she recalled an incident several weeks prior. There had been a scroll available to help them translate the text that had been found on random artefacts throughout Vantacor in recent months, and this scroll had offered a translation. The house of Legion had claimed it, and Kireia had agreed to help them hold it if they made the information public knowledge - there was something about the leader of Legion that she didn’t trust. He spoke in very specific words, and Kireia had learned that this was typical of people who lied or veiled their insults.

Of course, her allegiance had resulted in a victory for Legion, but she was yet to see the results of her agreement - she’d held her end of the bargain, so why was Legion deferring on theirs?

Kireia was on her feet and chasing the Legion male up the hill, calling to him as she ran.

“You are Legion, yes?” She demanded, upon reaching him. She knew that black and yellow were the Legion colours, but there was a chance that another house from another realm had the same colours.

“Uh, yeah,” the male replied warily. She nodded, certain now.

“You recall, I help you weeks gone, to keep that scroll of letters. You remember, yes?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah,”

“Good. Come with.”

She whirled about, starting back down the hill. The male hesitated, before following her as she paused. He was one of her witnesses.

She had passed the small fort Legion had set up on the outskirts of town, and knew exactly where she needed to go to find the leader. Boneman, they called him. Well, she had a bone to pick with this “Boneman”.

She stopped in front of the fort and called out to the Boneman, refusing to answer any of the other Legion folk that tried to respond. Boneman was the one she wanted to see, and it seemed to take him a few moments to approach the entryway.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said with disinterest. Kireia was taken aback for a moment at the idea that he had actually remembered her despite ignoring his half of their agreement, but she didn’t let it alter her composure.

“I bring your man as witness,” she stated, “Weeks ago, I help defend your clan and a scroll, on the condition you make the scroll public knowledge, yes? Where is this public knowledge?”

Boneman regarded her coolly for a moment, before waving a hand for her to enter and stepping aside. Wary of a trap, Kireia moved forward.

“I was meaning to have someone find you,” he told her as he led her towards a small desk in the main room. The fort was very small, but Kireia reminded herself that this was only a temporary home for most people - no need for grandiose designs if you only used it a few times a year.

“Here,” he stated, holding up a scroll, a hardened wax seal keeping it rolled. “Though it’s addressed to the Ismaran leader, it’s for you and you only. What you do with it is up to you.”

Kireia eyed the man as she took the scroll, before breaking the seal and opening it to read.

“It is cursed,” she stated simply, and he nodded. Insurance, she realised - he had to maintain control or power in some way, so cursing the scroll so that it couldn’t be copied was the easiest way for him to do so. She realised that Boneman wasn’t necessarily an unfair person, he just liked to be the one in control of a situation. Like most of the Vantacorian leaders.

“Now, we are even,” he told her, gesturing for her to leave. Kireia straightened her back and bowed her head politely.

“I had assumed you had reneged on our agreement,” she explained, “I apologise for my assumption, and thank you.”

It became apparent that Reiana wasn’t the only one who had believed her dead, and Kireia had to remind herself, several times, that information within the village travelled much faster and with more accuracy than information on the battlefield. To her surprise, the welcome she received from those who had once alienated her was friendly, almost one filled with relief for many of them. As dinner was handed around and she joined the circle, others begged her to recount stories of her adventures.

At first, being in the central spotlight was daunting, but Kireia remembered after a while that these were not foreigners or strangers - these were her people. Many of them had known her before her ear feathers had even begun growing, and she wasn’t simply another strange little thing picked up on the tide with the rest of the Ismarans. Here, she was Kireia, daughter of the last Rechs and the Inati, descendant of the Kirvid

Because of their obsession with status, Kireia had discovered the Common Tongue had a word for her position among the Rachdhan: Princess.

The evening seemed to wear on almost endlessly, but eventually Kireia was left with her mother and a few of the elders of the tribe. She was tired herself, after several days of travelling from Vantacor, but something about the fact that the other elders remained told her that they needed to discuss something important with her.

Following the death of her father, the Rachdhan had elected several former Inati and Rechs to stand for them until a new Rechs could step in. This group of four began to lead the tribe, along with Reiana’s work, to the point that the tribe decided by vote to have the Elders lead them - and abolish the title of Rechs until such a time as it was needed desperately. It was an action that broke the tradition of generations, but Kireia had watched from afar as the decision-making of the tribe was done by a group of people, and something would only ever be done if all five - the four Elders and the current Inati - could agree together.

“Your return comes at an auspicious time, Dansachii,” the eldest of the group, Ioliin, stated as she settled on her small bed. Her legs were not what they used to be, and the elderly owlblood usually spent evenings in her home, for comfort. But she had insisted on joining the tribe’s dinner tonight. Kireia looked up at the woman - she was easily the oldest of the tribe, and nothing seemed to happen among her people without her hearing of it.

“Trouble?” Kireia asked, sensing the sudden tension in the air. Ioliin nodded slowly, and Kireia sighed heavily. “Is it the Wolfkin?”

“Your mother’s place among the Rachdhan has ensured peace is held between our people,” Tamian, one of the former Rechs, gestured dismissively. “No; this trouble lays within the Ainmhi itself.”

The Ainmhi was the name given to the wildlings of the Ismaran island - half-human, half animal in feature and brain. While the population was mostly divided by the animals each clan shared traits with, they had co-existed with a tentative peace for decades - a peace that, Kireia sensed, was about to be endangered.

“The old High Priestess, the Mother of Mothers, she passed a month ago,” Reiana explained, “She didn’t name a successor, and there are four currently vying for the role. One of them has an especially skilled song, and she has been working to turn the tribes themselves against each other.”

“Then turf her out,” Kireia shrugged, “I don’t see why it’s such a problem.”

“Because the other tribes have begun taking sides,” Ioliin explained, “And, as per tradition, all the tribes must have a Rechs or representative agree that she is to take the title. Many of the larger tribes are pressuring the smaller ones to vote in favour of the Inati they support.”

“Have they approached us?” Kireia asked, standing up and beginning to pace.

“No.” Ioliin stated, “They know that we will be difficult to sway, so they’re leaving us for last, I believe.”

“Who are the claimants?”

“Another Deerkin, a Ratsune, and two Fiachat.” Tamian stated, “They are all rather young, and dangerously ambitious.”

“Ambitious enough to provoke war,” Ioliin nodded, “Obviously, the two Fiachat have caused their own clan to split in favour of their preference, so it’s not only tearing the Ainmhi apart, but also dividing bloodlines.”

Kireia hissed a curse in Common, ignoring the confused stares she received from the group now watching her pacing back and forth.

“The problem is primarily led by the Inati,” Reiana stated, “If we could approach the Rechs of the other tribes to discuss this, without the Inati interfering, then we could reach a resolution. But we cannot.”

Kireia spun on her heel to face the trio. “Well, why not? Ioliin, you’re the closest thing the Rachdhan have to a Rechs--”

“But I am not one, nor have I ever been,” Ioliin stated, “Unfortunately, our cousins have adopted more of the mainlanders’ customs than we’d ever thought appropriate. Only a Rechs may call the other Rechs together to discuss things,”

“And the Rachdhan don’t have one,” Kireia realised, rolling her eyes. “Why do we have to be the most enlightened while our cousins choose to keep to archaic traditions?”

She turned, looking into the flames of the slowly dying fire as she thought about the new information. More recently, she had been becoming exposed to the politics of Vantacor, and she was beginning to find it infuriating that so many self-proclaimed “leaders” allowed their egos to get in the way of what was best for not just their people, but all the people they worked with. The very events that had caused her to fear for her clan’s safety was a perfect example - the troubles were happening to everyone in Vantacor, yet all the leaders seemed to care about was proving their superiority against their rivals.

Of course, the Strangers of the mainland chose their leaders based on bloodlines rather than skill and intelligence. She’d met far too many barons, dukes, even kings, who claimed those titles simply because of who their fathers and mothers were. If the Rachdhan held any weight in Vantacor itself, Kireia proclaiming herself as the daughter of the Last Rechs and the Wolfmother would undoubtedly win her status - but she had found that among their strange customs and unusual words, she preferred that anonymity of “just a wildling from Ismara”.

She turned away from the fire to see Ioliin, Tamian, and Reiana all studying her carefully. “What?”

“The Rachdhan are aware of the potential threat, and of the tensions,” Ioliin told her, “And, for that reason, they agreed to elect a new Rechs.”

“Temporarily,” Reiana added, glancing at Ioliin, “The person they chose was, well, a wild card. Someone who has been off learning new things. Carrying out the tasks set to them by a power greater than the tribe. They’ve spent close to a year doing Nature’s bidding, in fact. So, we held a vote. They agreed, eventually.”

“It’s only a puppet role,” Tamian stated, “Within the tribe, the Rechs holds no authority over others that they haven’t won in the Games. Outside of the tribe, though, they speak on the Rachdhan’s behalf and fulfil the external duties of a Rechs.”

“Makes sense,” Kireia nodded. She didn’t like the idea of a Rechs taking over once again, but if it was only for the purpose of calling a meeting of Rechs, she could see the sense in it. “So, who did they choose?”

Ioliin and Reiana exchanged glances, both of them smirking slightly.Tamian arched an eyebrow as he looked at her.

“Someone who, until recently, we thought had actually been killed,” Reiana stated, “We were due to hold another meeting to find the successor in a few days, but thankfully, we were proven wrong. They still live.”

“Well, who is it?”

“You, feather-skull,” Ioliin laughed, “They chose you.”

Kireia stared at the elderly woman for a moment, then at Reiana and Tamian. They chose... her? Kireia Duskdancer? Why her? She wasn’t skilled in combat, wasn’t a wise warrior, and her hunting skills were adequate for survival but not much beyond that.

“Why me?” She asked finally, looking at the trio. “I... I was basically thrown out of here, last time. I ran away, I was always causing trouble as a nestling, never paid attention to most of my lessons--”

“Kireia, tell me why we want to avoid the tribes turning against each other,” Ioliin stated, tilting her head, “Obviously, we have the strength of numbers, and our treaty with the wolves, they will join us. Just our two tribes together numbers greater than most of the others put together. So, we have nothing to fear from a war of tribes. Is that not correct?”

“No,” Kireia shook her head, recognising the problem immediately, “If it comes to war between the tribes, that risks cutting off the smallest, most endangered of all the tribes. The Goatfolk, the Ratsune, the tree-climbers - if it comes to war, we risk losing them entirely, unless they agree to remain neutral, which they won’t.”

She shook her head as the analytical side of her mind seemed to kick into action. Although the Ra’moness (tried to) keep the peace and even help to protect the Ainmhi where they could (or wanted to), there were still threats on Ismara, and beyond - and now that she was engaging in battles, making enemies and friends, there was a chance that those enemies would take the same challenge as older traders and merchants once had.

“That’s not the only problem,” she realised, turning back to the fire. “With the tribes divided against each other, it leaves us weakened for other, worse threats to approach unnoticed.”

"I have had many dreams in which this happens," Reíana admitted softly, focusing on the fire, her wolf ears pricked forward indicating her attentiveness, though her posture suggested relaxation. "Sails on the north shores, a wedge driven into an already split log, and broken eggs scattered across the ground. Aiidhen has dreamed of it, Ioliin too.”

Kireia kept her gaze on the flames. One of the main reasons Inati were selected was their Sight, their ability to sense or see omens, but her father had argued against sending Aiidhen, her younger brother, away to be formally trained. Mainly because Aiidhen didn’t want to leave the tribe. But Kireia had kept the secret to herself, that she also had these types of dreams occasionally. In fact, it was this premonition, of division causing an exploitable weakness, that had led to her leaving Ismara.

“I was hated by these people,” she said softly, “Why would they choose me as a leader?”

“Because a leader needs to know more than just her people,” Ioliin replied, “You had the knowledge of a Rechs before your father died. Your mother ensured that you knew of the Ainmhi etiquette, regardless of whether you were willing to follow it. But more than that, your isolation, your travelling, your experience beyond the walls of this village, that’s more life wisdom than most people even your mother’s age have known.”

"When you left here last, you were an errant nestling in the body of a youth," Reiana stated, "That was evident for all to see. But you forget, your brother knows the songs of Nature. He has heard your victories, sung by the winds, your successes. He has shared that with us." She smiled gently, reaching out and slipping a paw into Kireía's taloned hand. "You may not be the most skilled at the blade, barely proficient in the language, and struggling to achieve the tasks set for you, but your perseverance, your diplomacy, your ability to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, and the way you have naturally fallen into leading when others have fallen out - it is exactly like your father. The birds are chirping, Kireía. You are not the errant nestling that left this place so long ago."

Kireia was silent as she let this sink in. Her mother had always been the first to chastise her throughout her life, but here Reiana was now, offering her blessing. It was a strange thing for her, Kireia realised - strange but not unwelcome. For the first time, she realised, someone was actually putting their faith in her.

She needed to show them that it wasn’t misplaced.

"We need to hold a meeting," she stated, "The tribal leaders, without the Inati. If things escalate, it means war, and that has never been the role of the Inati, traditionally. We need the Rechses of the tribes to affirm their peace with each other. They can have their rivalries, we won't begrudge them that - but we can't let faith interfere in politics. The two must be kept separated; that is why we've always had a Rechs AND an Inati leading our clans--”

She broke off suddenly, tilting her head as her ear feathers twitched. What was that sound? It seemed familiar, but...

“I told you she’d get straight into it,” Tamian remarked, smirking at the two women, “Just like her father. She hasn’t even considered the fact that she’ll be the first female Rechs of the tribe.”

Yes, she had definitely heard that sound before. Kireía turned to the trio of elders, looking from one to the other.

"Can you hear it?" She demanded. Reíana frowned, already watching her daughter’s sudden change.

"Hear what?"

"Good," Kireía stooped, snatching up her sword and quiver. Her unstrung bow was tucked into the quiver with her arrows, but she knew she wouldn’t need to worry about stringing it just yet.

"I will be back," she promised, "As an adventurer, many things control my life, and this is one of them. I'm about to disappear, but I'll return.”

“Kireia, there is no sound,” Ioliin tried to reassure her, “Relax, dear one, you needn’t rush so.”

“Once I return, we will go to the others, bring the tribes together, and guarantee peace beyond the Inati problems." Kireia turned to face the trio, to see Tamian and Reiana were on their feet and Ioliin sitting up straight, alert.

“Where are you going?” Reiana demanded.

“Not’ere,” Kireia replied, “But I’ll return. I’m being summoned elsewhere, but it won’t take long. I’ll be back within a week.”

There was a strange pulling sensation as the colours around her seemed to bleed into each other, but Tamian was already moving, pushing past Reiana as he grabbed Kireia’s hand, pressing something into her palm.

“Take it,” he told her, “Consider the weight of it while you’re gone. Then, give us your answer when you return.”

Kireia opened her mouth to respond, but the air was sucked from her as an incredible force wrenched her off her feet. She closed her eyes, stomach lurching as she felt the strange sensation of both falling and flying, at the same time.

Solid ground struck beneath her feet and Kireia staggered sideways, collapsing to one knee as she gasped in air. Early morning sunlight greeted her as she opened her eyes, and she realised she was standing just outside of the small town. Others were gathering, trying to work out what was happening, why they’d been Summoned, but she knew it would likely be some time before answers were received.

Looking down, Kireía inspected the object Tamian had shoved into her hand before she had been pulled away. A familiar diamond and sapphire owl brooch glittered in the morning sunlight, and she stared at it. She recognised this; her father had worn it for as long as she could remember.

“Consider the weight of it while you’re gone. Then, give us your answer when you return.”

She knew she didn’t need to consider anything. The role was only temporary, and for months she had been told to find ways to unite others despite differences in beliefs. Had all of it, her travels and education - had it all led to this task? If so, then she was ready to take it - and if not, then it would still be a great place to start.