Metaworld Chronicles

The Yellow Sea.

Some three hundred nautical miles from the forest of cranes that made up Nagasaki’s deep sea port, the Battle Carrier JS Kagemaru floated listlessly in the disputed territorial waters east of Jeju Island.

Surrounding the Izumo-class Carrier was its fleet of support vessels—six Osumi-Class Landing ships, each carrying a Mage Flight of Kyoto’s finest and a dozen smaller vessels servicing the East Sea Patrol Fleet of the Republic of Japan. Together, they were ten thousand souls put to sea, braving the dangerous traverse into a No Man’s Sea where terrible and hungry things lurked.

Few could have guessed or even suspected that the Eastern Patrol Fleet would be so far from its home, for even in times of peace, Japan’s precious Naval Mages were the last bulwark of defence against the endless incursions of Mermen from the Yellow Sea and the North Pacific.

Now, they were once more meeting the foes they had faced since the fledgling nation took to sea—only this time, the meeting was conducted with a disquieting platitude.

Disquiet because they were surrounded by a Merman shoal that could swallow the fleet without so much as a dent in their numbers.

And more so disquiet because none of the Mermen attacked the fleet’s men and women. Instead, they swam in circles around the Kagemaru, some curious, many more clambering too close for comfort.

More absurdly, a creature of legend that the country of Japan had dubbed the nation’s Calamity and had been responsible for almost a million lost souls a half-decade ago was now docked beside the Carrier.

Upon the deck of the enormous flagship—one of the largest in its class, stood the premier Magister of Shalkar and Cambridge, an elfin-looking fellow with a head as smooth as a polished crystal ball. The Mages sent by their irrespective Factions to guard the Magister observed the skinny magician with respect, for they could see from the slight curvature of his pointed ears that the Mage was fey-touched by immortal Shinboku no Okami.

“Edowado-Sama,” a Tokyo Tower Magister wearing military robes styled to match his Shinto origins, bowed his head to intrude upon Ollie Edward’s internal turmoil. “Will Song-Sama be joining us soon? The men… they are nervous as to the… friendliness of these…Kappa.”

“She’s in there somewhere,” Ollie had no idea if his claim was true or when the Regent of Shalkar would make her appearance, though he did receive firm confirmations from both Shalkar and The Shard. “Somewhere…”

Gwen Song, the Regent of Shalkar, will return to the Prime Material on this day. The Quest Missive from the Shard had predicted when Gwen would return to the surface. In addition, the Minister overseeing the development of Shalkar, the Duke of Norfolk, had hand-picked Ollie for the diplomatic mission.

As yet another tentacle, one longer than the Kogemaru itself, rose and fell in the waters around them, Ollie couldn’t help but picture his cherished Regent in his mind’s eye. When she had left, Gwen was already the Regent of a city with a population of a million, involving a cosmopolitan mix of races and species never before combined in a Mageocracy settlement. She was also an icon of worship whose collated “Faith” was carefully observed by the Ordo Bath for fear of its abuse. Finally, she was unofficially the Guardian of the World Tree of Shalkar, a position that the Immortals atop Tryfan had made official with a direct blessing from the Bloom in White.

With his boss already holding titles others could not imagine, Ollie felt stressed by his part as her right-hand administrator in Shalkar, together with Magus Richard Huang.

Now, the Duke of Norfolk, a figure that could have made Ollie shed hair, was informing him that his lady boss had taken over one of the few known Vels from their Mermen masters and that she was in control of one Leviathan plus the carcass of an older, more primordial variant.

Ollie had a poor notion of what a Vel consisted of and had to consult his colleagues. When he finally understood the scope and scale of Gwen’s new conquest, the itch on his scalp grew unbearable. He had consorted with the Mageocracy’s greatest magical physicians and even received a Tonic of Rejuvenation from Sanari for his losses. Yet, the roots on his head seemed to rebel against the idea of once more becoming home to follicles of keratin. Yesteryear, he had even undergone a radical surgery in which a piece of skin from his buttocks was grafted onto his head—yet even that became completely smooth—and now, not even his buttocks possessed the manes many British Gentlemen enjoyed.

Terrifyingly, the young Cleric, Gwen’s constant companion, had suggested to Ollie that it was a matter of Faith. In Gwen’s mind, Ollie was his best when bald—and as such, the invisible psychic energies of belief that shrouded the Regent ensured that those closest to her became as her heart desired.

“Perhaps you could model some wigs for Gwennie…” her milk-white, guileless face had suggested with complete certainty. “Change her outlook…”

Beg for hair? Ollie was of two hearts. Indeed, British Gentlemen can have bad teeth and no hair, but a man without dignity deserves to be bold.

“Edowado-Sama?” The Magister coughed. “You were saying?”

“Sorry,” Ollie snapped back to reality at once. “I am sure she’s on her way—Ah, right on time—! It’s moving.”

As advertised, the enormous carapace of the suburb-sized Leviathan island floating beside the Kagemaru began to shift, rising to reveal vents the size and volume of freighters. Then, like a tectonic shift, whole hills began to yawn and stretch.

Instantly, the atmosphere changed.

The Mermen, previously without a decorum of personal space, simultaneously turned toward the rising dais that was the Leviathan’s spinal protrusion.

Slowly, a “Tower” crafted from coral and chitin and held together with an overlapping carapace erected itself from the foaming water. At its base, a series of flaps stitched together from pure muscle unwound itself, jettisoning a torrent of water before revealing its precious cargo.

“Sugoi…” the Magister beside Ollie stood with his mouth open. “This is a historical moment, Edowado-Sama.”

The equally silent Magister Oliver Edwards could only agree as his boss emerged from the platform, flanked by a row of exotic-looking Merman and Mermaids, each on their knees, legs or fins, and accompanied by the most hideous, monstrous squid fish he had ever beheld.

What a terrible day it is to have eyes! Ollie felt his optic nerves rebel as the monster slid forward, gliding on limbs that could only be more tentacles. This creature was no Elemental Prince of the Vels, yet Ollie understood implicitly the danger it represented and what it could do should it be sufficiently riled up.

Independent of Ollie, the Kyoto Mages who had gathered on deck bowed from the waist, showing the due respect owed to a woman who may have just given them a decade of peace on the eastern seaboard.

“ALL HAIL THE PALE PRIESTESS!” The voice of the terrible creature leaking oil and slime howled like a ship horn.

“Weee—Weeee—“

“Gweee—Gweeee— Gweeee—“

“GWEEE—GWEEEN— GWEEENGH— GWEEENGH—“

The Mermen’s answer was a long, continuous wail without end, sending the sea into a frothing frenzy while the hull of the Kagemaru rang with metallic echos of the bone-deep whale song.

“O-KAMI SAMA!” The Kyoto Mages, long accustomed to the worship of the ya-o-yorozu no kami, joined in the festivity without question, having received the unquestionable visitation of a great, benevolent Spirit.

Amid the roar, Ollie saw once more the Regent of Shalkar, the exterminator of follicles, his lady boss.

Pale, she was, deathly pale in ivory and pearl, clad from neck to toe in a living dress of flowing kelp that must have been resplendent underwater. Her complexion, perhaps for not seeing the sun for a year, was deathly and translucent, showing the blues of her veins.

As she squinted against the sun, he saw the Mana of her eyes adjust, reorienting its pliable tissues through a means unique to a being of her unique constitution.

Like a goddess of the sea or a pale Venus in kelp, the Regent of Shalkar strode forth until she boarded the Kagemaru’s extended planks to come face to face with himself.

“Welcome back, Regent,” Ollie felt his knees grow weak as he affected a bow. “You have been gone too long.”

“Thank you, Ollie. Now hold the fort for a while.” The graceful body of his Regent passed him without pause. “Is my chambers ready?”

“What?” Ollie felt his thoughts derail. “Of course, you had requested…”

“Where is it?” The girl brushed past, and Ollie felt overwhelmed by the sickly aroma of something like congealed fish oil. “I need to use it—now.”

“This way, Gwen-Sama.” His aide from Kyoto was perhaps better at reading Gwen’s needs. He communicated the coordinates mid-ship without delay, and his Regent was gone in a split second through a chant-less Dimension Door.

“What was that?” Ollie mouthed a bit louder than he had anticipated.

“A shower…” The voice that answered him in English was affected by a Southeast Asian accent, though it was perfectly delivered, hinting at the presence of a Translation Stone. “In the Elemental Plane of Water, you must understand that showers are a challenging concept for even the best of our Sea Witches to sing into existence.”

“You must be… High Priest Lei-bup?” Ollie forced himself to extend a hand. He instantly regretted it as a coiled, oil-slathered tentacle slipped around his palms and shook him vigorously.

“And you must be Magister Edwards,” Lei-bup spoke through a face lined with dark mucus. “As you may have heard, I am the caretaker for our Pale Priestess’ Fifth Vel in her absence. If you have any questions or desires, please direct them to me.”

Ollie possessed absolutely no desires he could imagine in the presence of Lei-bup other than to trade his soul for a roll of wet wipes but nodded nonetheless. “I take it that things had gone swimmingly in the deep?”

“Our Pale Priestess’ leadership is without contest,” Lei-bup laughed, shedding slime as he jiggled. “Both the forces of Igih Nin-Iyizm and the First Vel have retreated beyond the reach of the Fifth Vel. Without significant recourse, there shall be no challenge to our liberation of the Prole-Mer-iat.”

Ollie felt his frontal lobe perform a double summersault. “I am sorry, Master Lei-bup—the what?”

“The Mer, who are the plankton of the Seven Seas, its cornerstones,” Lei-bup said without blinking, which Ollie realised was a limitation of his physiology. “Did she not raise the trodden millions of your city as well?”

“Well, if you mean the Rat-kin,” Ollie confessed. Not thinking too much about Gwen’s hobbies was the only way to remain a faithful administrator without specific prejudices.

“And now she has freed billions from the Nobler Mer’s bondage. We always knew there was a way, you see. Only no one has attempted to overthrow the Kingdoms until now.”

“She overthrew…” Ollie felt his feet grow cold. “The Monarchy?”

“Skewered one like a disobedient sardine on a black sword,” Lei-bup burped with pleasure. “The other had her Shoal torn apart by living mouths. From the few that survived, we learned that only a tiny fraction of her allies and their Leviathan could escape the pursuit of the Fifth Vel.”

“Oh…” Ollie was no longer sure how to communicate Gwen’s accomplishments, for it did not sound like a successful, first-time colonisation of the Elemental Plane of Water but something that would make the folks in London sweat.

“Do not fret. She might have a better perspective, hahaha,” Lei-bup slapped his shoulders, splattering ink over Ollie’s collar and neck.

Though suddenly violated, Ollie smiled and nodded, kept calm, and continued. “What are your plans from here on out, Lord Lei-bup?”

“Lord? I am just a kelp farmer.” Lei-bup kept slapping his shoulder, and with each slap, Ollie felt the oil seep into his Magister’s robes. “We’ll be farming kelp, of course. That and recovering the Ancient remains to build our new abode in the Free City of Bright Reef.”

“You’re not afraid the Kingdoms will return?” Ollie asked, thinking of his nation’s recent failures. The Niger Delta’s loss was, in the eyes of the Mageocracy, only a temporary setback.

“The people have tasted freedom, dear Olive,” Lei-bup splattered the air with an expressive arm. “Without the most terrible of costs, it cannot be regurgitated. Even the Kingdoms know that.”

“Still…” Ollie felt doubtful. “And it’s Oliver…”

“Ah—do not fear.” Lei-bup rubbled. “Our Priests of the Grand Purpose are already abroad, Olive! They will also spread the word to the oppressed in the Kingdoms. In time, all shall answer her call.”

“That’s…” Ollie felt his follicles pucker. “That’s… terror—incredible.”

“Oh, yes. we’ve lit a great beacon, Mister Olive!” Lei-bup drew a pie in the sky with a finger that could traumatise generations of Rat-kin. “Harken to her deeds, Edward of the Olive! Mark this moment, for she who devours has this cycle ignited such a passion in the Deep as I trust by the Shoggoth’s grace shall never be put out!”

As if reading Lei-bup’s mood, the Mermen around them once more burst into whale song, joined by the Leviathan beside them, rumbling so loudly that for a second, Ollie wondered if the Kagemaru might fall apart.

Lei-bup raised a hand.

Ollie sensed a whiff of burning mana similar to the magic wielded by the Regent from somewhere in the expansive robes of Lei-bup.

The “Weee—Weeee—“ ceased.

“She comes,” Lei-bup prostrated, an act that made Ollie follow without question.

Stepping from the interior of the Kagemaru, dressed in a tee-shirt and cut-off shorts and with her hair tied back, the flawless visage of the Pale Priestess soaked up the sun with her bare feet.

“Free at last,” the Priestess said to no one, her still-wet hair tied in a ponytail. “Dear Evee, I finally changed…”

Free? Ollie couldn’t take his eyes off his principal employer. Dressed so casually and in the familiar attire of summer, her divinity was somehow multiplied. Free from what?

“The Dress,” Gwen answered when she caught him staring. “Stare all you want, Ollie— I am letting these puppies free to feel the wind. Do you have any idea how long I was in that dress? Now that’s a feat worthy of a Magister.”

An Elf-grown, hand-woven, Bloom-Enchanted attire that’s priceless? Ollie felt himself scream internally. People would put on that thing and die in it.

“Was it that bad?” Ollie noted that the crew from Kyoto was also staring, though their eyes were equal parts reverence and admiration.

The Regent of Shalkar stretched her limbs, tottering clumsily as she regained her “land-legs”.

Oliver Edwards felt his eyeballs straining to capture a scene that would have the Herald Sun run double-page spreads for days.

“So, did you bring it?” Gwen asked.

Only now did Ollie recall the hidden purpose of his presence on the Kagemaru. “O-Of course,” he hurried fossicked through his coat pockets for the prize given to him by none other than Sanari herself. “Here you are, Regent.”

Gwen picked from his cupped hands the subtle shape of a seed they were now familiar with. Once planted and stimulated with Essence, the seed would rapidly germinate into a portal the Hvítálfar used to transport its interests into the lands of its allied Pruners.

The Regent hefted the seed in her palm, her exquisite face deep in thought. “Ollie, you should be able to care for things here, right?”

Ollie nodded. It wasn’t as though he could refuse.

Gwen inclined her head, then touched a finger to her ear as though she was conversing with something that could not be seen.

What followed was a painful groan from the Kagemaru as it shifted right, displaced by the slow rise of an enormous crystal shard half-etched with arcane symbols. From its jagged point to its flanged rear, the Creature Core was almost half the length of the Battler Carrier. Lifting the enormous crystal skyward was the Leviathan itself, its distended tentacles wielding the Core like a skyscraper-sized dagger.

As the waves crashed against the Kagemaru, sending a spray over the deck, Gwen spoke of what he would face in the next month or more.

“Magister Edwards. I charge you with the delivery of the Ancient Leviathan’s many Cores,” his Regent dropped a ninth-tier spell bomb in Ollie’s lap. “This your mission, Ollie. You must see that these Cores are delivered to Shalkar via the Murk-ways accessible in the Bay of Yangon, understood? Meanwhile, I will make haste to Tryfan and then London.”

“I have received your orders,” Ollie replied formally.

“Lei-bup?” Gwen’s eyes turned away from him.

The Mermen prostrated beside Ollie. “Your High Priest is here, mistress.”

“Keep them safe,” Gwen commanded, no less imperial in her tee and shorts than if she was in a full-sashed Magister’s garb. “Establish the coastal base once you reach the coasts of Yangon. Have Lim-duk draw out a trade route between the Vel and my city of Shalkar. Your contacts will be the Regents there, Mayuree and Marong.”

“As you wish,” Lei-bup bowed his head, dipping his face in the dark pool made by his body. “May the Ancient’s Core rise once more in your service, Pale Lady.”

Though the world erupted with maddening industry, Ollie’s mind was already with those enormous Cores being lifted out of the water. If the Leviathan and its Shoal would travel with them and protect the Easter Fleet, then the Mageocracy would need to pull many teeth to appease the Frontiers they must pass.

“Fear not,” Gwen seemed to have read his mind again. “Putting aside the fact that no one would even dare to challenge Aristotle and Lei-bup, there’s plenty of loot in the storage to be dispensed to the autonomous Frontiers along the way. After all, all those sunken treasures had to come from somewhere…”

London.

Ravenloft Grange.

A pleasant distance from the bustle of Westminster, sitting on private land worth a King’s ransom, stood the ancient abode of the Duke of Norfolk with its unbroken succession of Ravenports.

Presently, the Grange played host to a cosmic horror from the deepest reaches of the Fifth Vel. Its guest was a being who had inhabited a Plane few humans had visited for over a year and was a known devourer of cities.

“You have NO idea…” Ravenport watched as the Regent of Shalkar, wearing an attire so casual that he felt offended by it, wolfed down her third serving of Beef Wellington. When she additionally took a swig from a goblet passed down from the fourteenth Ravenport’s private collection, the girl’s eyes rolled skyward as though she had attained a moment of nirvana. “Mmmph—I am human again.”

“Please… swallow first.” The Duke of Norfolk found himself unable to censure his protest. “There is no rush.”

The entire ordeal would have been less awkward had they been alone. However, at present, the Regent of Shalkar was joined by those he considered trustworthy enough to receive the insider information firsthand.

Beside him and watching with equal embarrassment was his daughter Charlene, who had not touched her Wellington for fear of Gwen desiring another share. Opposite and closer to the girl was her ally and compatriot, the young Thomas Holland, who smiled with appreciation and held the gravy ready to keep her plate well-provisioned. Also present was Gwen’s old mentor, the de facto spokesperson for the Middle Faction, Lady Grey.

Mycroft would have preferred that Gunther Shultz be present at the meeting. Unfortunately, a visit would alert their foes in Eastern Europe, and he did not trust their Long Range Communication Towers so much that he would allow information at the current tier to be leaked. When the girl had first contacted him through their mutual contacts routed from Oceania, he and the Tower Master of Sydney had spared no expense scrubbing the news of her return from both official and unofficial channels, and he wasn’t about to let all that effort go to waste.

Yet, the first thing the Regent of Shalkar had demanded upon her arrival via Trellis Portal was meat.

“Give me a full degustation,” she said as she walked through the garden as though she owned it, sending the servants scrambling. “Make it a double order…”

Seeing as they were entertaining rare guests, Mycroft ordered full-course seating in the dining hall reserved for nobility and the rare visit from Her Majesty, which ultimately led to his embarrassment and regret.

“Sorry…” Gwen mopped her face and sat back with an expression of guilty satisfaction. “We did things differently in the Vel, you understand. The…caviar doesn’t call for utensils.”

“You ate caviar the whole time?” Charlene’s curiosity was peaked.

“And kelp. So much kelp. But it was better than eating sashimi,” Gwen replied with a wince. “You get used to it, but it’s disconcerting initially.”

“How so,” Thomas Holland seemed smitten by the raw display of mannerless appetite.

“Well,” Gwen took another sip of her wine, this time more in tune with civilisation. “Imagine you are going about your business. Then, you see this puffer fish Mer, round, cute, at the market with its family, pulling a struggling squid from a coral cage, hollering. While the squid hollers, the puffer guts the thing, spilling its brood of eggs. Then these little puffer fries come out of nowhere, and they all hang around the stall slurping up the vengeful squid and its young… after a month, my preference was for roe.”

Charlene made a gagging sound.

“Mother and children… eating mother and children,” Ravenport observed drily. “The world of the Mer is the world of those who eat and are eaten, a cycle of pain*. It says a lot about why they are the way they are.”

“I’d like to think we do better…” Lady Grey sombrely observed. “Can we do better, Mycroft?”

“You’d be surprised,” Ravenport shook his head, knowing that a straight answer would be a lie. “Tell us more, Gwen, of this Sinneslukare Lich.”

Swallowing, the girl repeated the story, and Mycroft and the others sifted through her memories for details.

“And you say that these Glyphs were the same you found in Sydney during the… Royal National incident, and the Tianjin incident?”

“Absolutely,” the Regent concurred. “I won’t ever forget it.”

“Mori?” Mycroft sends his thoughts to the Raven perched above them.

“Caw—!” The Raven fluttered away.

“I would very much like to have Edmund in the room with us right now,” Mycroft said, his voice growing cold. “That child has much to answer for…”

“CAW—!” The Raven returned, bearing a data slate.

Mycroft performed the necessary rites and then unlocked the information for all to see. The recordings of the Glyphs recovered from the ruins of Almudj’s passing had been sent to the Tower, though compared to Henry Kilroy's death, it had received not nearly enough attention.

“Well, that settles it,” Thomas Holland spoke for the Military Faction. “This is a pattern. If Spectre can awaken Mythics and Ancients, I can see them as responsible for the original Beast Tide with Vynssarion.”

“It has to the be the work of, you know, that…” Lady Grey hinted at something they all knew to be true but lacked the means to confirm. For someone to fathom where these ancient creatures rested or were laid to rest, there must be someone older than Human civilisation overseeing the projects—someone with an infinite life span.

“Tryfan knows,” Mycroft confirmed. “Though whether they are willing to do something is entirely different. As you all know, conflict is a part of the balance they seek to maintain.”

“I am not averse to conflict,” Thomas Holland shrugged. “Provided we come out on top, of course.”

“I don’t think that applies now. Someone tried to burn down two World Trees,” Gwen added from across the table. “Someone had tried to burn down my World Tree. Maybe I should speak to the Bloom to remind her of that.”

“You may, if you can spare the time,” Mycroft tapped the table with his fingers. “But Regent, don’t assume Tryfan will overextend their kindness even then. This is a problem of here and now, which, in the perception of the Elves, isn’t as critical as you might feel. Allowing you to establish a World Tree is already the greatest liberty they have ever afforded The Mageocracy since the inception of ancient Albion.”

“I am a Guardian now, so…” Gwen protested. “That’s something.”

“Please, back to the Lich,” Lady Grey redirected the conversation, for only Mycroft himself and the Regent were known adherents to the Accord. “Suggestions?”

“The Path of Juche can be categorised as Faith Magic,” Ravenport suggested. “It is known that demi-Human can generate the Astral Energy we have categorised as Faith—and it is not unreasonable that it applies to Mermen—as Gwen had demonstrated with her Essence Sympathy. The necrophage, I suspect, is the key culprit. They failed to convert the Rat-kin, but there was no Gwen to disrupt their work with the Mermen.”

“And a Lich is, in essence, a creature of Essence,” Gwen replied from beyond the Wellington. “I should know; I fought one face-to-face. I also choked out a Soul Eater.”

Thomas Holland purred in appreciation. It wasn’t every day that a sorceress socked a Lich in the jaw and lived to tell the tale.

“It’s all conjecture, of course,” Mycroft interrupted with the truth. “Until we capture this unique Sinneslukare… I hope it’s unique… we can only assume that there will be more Undead Demi-humans in the future.”

“The African continent…” the young Holland winced. “There’s a lot of potential there for Spectre to recruit new allies, willing or not.”

“The Demi-humans in the African Continent are no strangers to Undead,” Mycroft shrugged. “It’s one of the original cradles of Necromancy, after all.”

The table grew silent until it was interrupted by Gwen digging into a serving of bread pudding.

“So, back to practicality for a moment,” the Regent of Shalkar said between bites of rich custard. “What advice can you give me on this Russian thing?”

“It’s strange how minor that feels now,” Holland breathed out, slapping his knees to express his dismay. “After all, what are some bandits compared to the fall of Human civilisation as we know it?”

“The Russians are hedging a strange bet,” Mycroft spoke with frustration. “They know that we won’t push them too far. No one wants to be responsible for the Eastern Front this side of Europe and they all know it. It’s the same reason your Brother-in-Craft can’t just appear and put them out of their misery.”

“So what’s the plan?” Gwen asked. “I’ve got enough on my plate trying to bring those new Cores down from Yangon. I’ve also got a Sobel to find once we get my Tower aloft.”

“The outcome the Mageocracy desires…” Mycroft placed his words with great gentleness. “Is the same as Tryfan’s approach. We can’t stop the Russians being thugs, but we also need their tenacity in dealing with matters in the East.”

The girl furrowed her brows unhappily. Having dealt with fish for a year, she lost the habit of hiding her outward displays of emotions.

“What Mycroft is trying to say,” Lady Grey came in to aide him. “Is that you shouldn’t fleece the Russians to the bone.”

This time, the girl appeared more understanding.

“Don’t underestimate them, though,” Thomas Holland gave his two-HDMs. “That same tenacity and disregard for human life is deadly in a prolonged conflict. There’s no possibility that our nations can suffer through what they’ve gone through since the Great War and remain a regional power, yet they’ve thrived like a neglected briar row.”

“They’re not going to… turncoat to the Undead,” Gwen said suddenly. “If I take two more Towers… will they?”

“Not possible.” Mycroft shook his head. “The Central Powers would not allow that. The Oligarchs in Moscow would not allow it. It would be calling the bluff they’ve always used to keep us contained since the October Revolution. To turn against Humanity would end their civilisation as we know it.”

“So I have to beat them… with a soft fist?” The Regent sipped on her goblet, leaving a rich print of her lips on the edge.

“I am sure you’ll figure something out,” Mycroft felt a little happier knowing the girl was vexed. After all, thanks to her little adventure below, he would not be leaving his office for the next six months. “Maybe ask a Dragon for help.”

“Their advice that isn’t free,” Gwen pulled at her lips. “But yes, I’ll sound them out.”

Ah yes, Mycroft felt his chest constrict. To casually ask the Sythinthimryr, the Red Queen of Summer, or converse with Tyfanevius the Eternal for their opinions is all very cool and normal in this part of the Prime Material.

“Fine. How will you return to Shalkar?” Ravenport pondered the resources at his disposal. “We can arrange something discrete from here. I do mean it. You MUST be discrete.”

“No need,” the girl helped herself to more pudding. “That Trellis Gate out back? There are still a few days left until it wilts. I’ll hop back to Tryfan, have tea with the Big T, then catch a ride back to Shalkar through Sanari.”

The gathered nobles all matched their breaths with Ravenport’s. Of the three of them, only he knew that Gwen could not only access Tryfan, but she even owned an abode left behind by her erstwhile Master.

While the rest of the dessert was served and eaten, the group exchanged notes and agreed on a series of policies regarding the immediate threat of terrestrial Human greed against Gwen’s World Tree.

“Whelp,” she mopped her sultry mouth. “If there’s nothing else, folks, I’ll be along to sneak back home… and catch up on a year’s worth of paperwork and a Familiar that should be ready to come out of the cocoon…”

Shalkar

The Bunker.

Within the enormous oval of the Bunker’s central office, its senior management members traded notes and discussed the latest crisis facing the fledgling city.

“I say we kill em all,” Lulan Li, Chief Security Officer, announced she would broker no negotiations with the Worker’s Union seeking to establish a charter of independence from Shalkar’s status as a Protectorate.

“No,” the hulking figure beside the lithe Sword Mage protested, his draconic face cracking with lightning. “I’ll kill ‘em! I’ll tear their leader’s head off and wear it on my horns as a trophy.”

“Golos.” Richard Huang, central executive in the absence of the Regent of Shalkar, battered the two away with a fluttering hand. “They are our citizens. We promised to protect them.”

“They won’t be the moment that petition goes through,” Golos chuckled darkly. “I’ll be there as soon as the ink dries. You can bet on it.”

“The Deep Council of Shalkar would prefer a more peaceful solution,” the Dwarven representative, Engineseer Axehoff, pulled himself closer to the table. “Those Humans may be misled, but they’ve put their sweat and tears into the building of this city. By Dwarven Lore, I cannot judge them entirely as outsiders until an actual act of treason has been committed.”

“Then I’ll gut the Ring Leaders,” Lulan spat with vehemence. “There’s that Colonel guy, the Fish guy, and a dozen others. That’s a reasonable number. We’ll paint their Red Square the colour of their flag.”

“Now, now,” Richard felt exhausted even as he spoke to his fellow city managers. “Perhaps our guest Magister might have a better idea.”

“Who? Me?” Alexander Slylth Morden, who had been asked to sit on the council meeting, suddenly looked up. After his contributions at Shalkar, the Mageocracy had upgraded his position from a self-proclaimed Magister to an actual, certified Magister of the Mageocracy. “I guess we could Fire Ball them? Humans breed quickly, don’t they? We’ll have a new batch in two decades, tops.”

Richard sighed. He turned to Strun.

That Rat-kin gave him such a grin that he decided not to ask.

“It has occurred to me that we should not put this to a vote,” he said to the room. “Everyone! Remember what Shalkar was built on! Was it death and destruction? Maybe… I guess there was a lot of that, but MORE than that, Shalkar is a city of hope! It’s the cosmopolitan city of the Races! Remember? It’s a Shining City on the Hill! It’s something everyone should aspire. Understand? That’s Gwen’s vision.”

The crew murmured their agreement.

“Did you forget there’s two Towers not far from us, harassing our patrols?” Lulan spat with a growl. “We don’t even control the North East corridor anymore. And they’re creeping closer to the construction site of Gwen’s Tower every other day.”

The crew’s discontent grew louder.

Richard was at a loss as well. The city was safe without Gwen, but its territories were only as secure as the lives he was willing to expend. Strun and his folk, Garp, Golos, and Lulan, were all willing to give their lives, but he wasn’t. Likewise, the Russians had made it very clear that they possessed no qualms with the presence of the Dwarves and would allow them to operate as they pleased. Despite this, Axehoff had already expressed that the Shield Guards were at his disposal. Yet, for that same reason, Richard did not wish to sour the loyalty of their closest allies by sending out their Golem units to fight a foe that did not threaten them.

Whatever the case, the city was shadowed by the looming day of the illegal election organised by the Workers' Union of Shalkar.

It was a move that had blind-sided Richard, for he had always kept an ear to the ground to keep a tab on subversions of Gwen’s power. Yet, the Worker’s Union had been innocuous and industrious enough to be left alone… until Moscow declared its “Special Operation”.

In Gwen’s absence, the refugees had been re-organised into two camps, the majority of which fell into the division of pre and post-Yekaterinburg groups. The latter disregarded the Demi-humans in the city and demanded a piece of Shalkar for human habitation only, a demand now backed up by two floating Towers and their contingent of Mages. What was worse, the Towers made it clear that they would be retrieving Yekaterinburg’s remains…

Therefore, the gathered forces sat at a slowly tilting stalemate, waiting for the election and the chaos, while Shalkar’s inner council waited for the return of their Regent.

“Caw—!” a raven interrupted the quiet contemplating of the city’s administrators. “Caw—caw—!”

Instantly, Richard felt a weight slide from his shoulders like Lea slipping away after receiving affection.

Slylth was the first to react, for he turned his face upward as though he could see through the stone ceiling into the World Tree’s spire.

“Ariel has awakened…” the Dragon Mage’s face split into a wide grin. “I think we all know why…”

“She’s back!” Golos huffed, blasting the surrounding air with static. “By Father’s beard, she’s finally back!”