Chapter LCVII: Stories

"I do not like the look of this souffle," the chef complained, fretting over the half-risen lump. "Perhaps there is too much gravity in the oven?"

Ayn looked across the mess hall irritably. As busy as Norg was in these troubled times, only he and a single Galka were seated in the dining area. Yet even with two people to feed, the woman behind the counter was still having a great deal of trouble getting their food out to them.

"I didn't order a souffle," the Galka said, tapping his fingers against the counter. Ayn had opted for a private table, hoping to avoid conversation. As the sturdy-looking man turned towards him, he felt that hope crumbling to dust. "You didn't order a souffle, did you?"

With a sigh, he sank back into the wooden chair where he sat. "No," he replied.

Staring flatly at the chef, the Galka turned back to her. "So neither of us ordered a souffle."

She looked at him blankly. "But souffles are delicious."

Rubbing a hand down his face, he clenched it into a fist as it sank to the counter. "Look, woman, I'm a Bard. I need to take good care of my voice, and part of that is a proper diet. Now all I'm after is some chamomille tea and a salad."

The chef wiped her hands on the white apron she was wearing, looking again at the crumbled mass inside the oven. "Souffles are made from eggs, you know. They're very healthy."

"I ordered my tea half an hour ago!" She seemed unfazed by his shouting. Eyes pleading, he turned to Ayn. The Thief was contemplating an escape from the room, but he was hungry. "Can you talk some sense into her, friend?"

"People keep using that word around me," he muttered. He was hungry, he decided, and he wanted no part of the sad-looking confection the auburn-haired woman was baing. "Miss, I wanted the red curry? How far along is it?"

"Oh that, you don't want that," she shook her head. "Give me a few minutes, I'll make you some fish."

He wondered inwardly how many generations it had been since her relatives married outside the family. "I know what I want or I wouldn't have ordered it. Now kindly do your job and make me some red curry."

"But the flavor is just all wrong," she complained, looking genuinely upset. "The ingredients don't combine dynamically. There's no harmony to it."

"I'll tell you what is and isn't harmony," the Bard rose from his stool, pushing down on the counter. "Now make me my tea!"

She sighed, throwing her hands up in the air. "Fine, fine, gravity looks to be holding down my souffle anyway." Peering again into the oven, she reluctantly began dousing the flames. "You know, space is full of gravity."

"For Altana's sake Quanteria, just boil some water for me and I'll put the tea in myself." Turning to Ayn, the Galka shoved a thumb in the chef's direction, shaking his head. "Can you believe this woman? It's like this in here every day."

Ayn displayed exactly how much he cared on his face, but to his dismay the Galka stood up and walked over to his table, pulling up an uninvited chair. "Don't - " he started to say, but it was too late.

"I'm Gaard," he introduced himself, "traveler extraordinaire, pleased to make your acquaintance."

Looking back at Quanteria, humming away as she threw things haphazardly in a bowl behind the counter, Ayn's hunger began to seem less important.

"Look," he told the Galka, "I'm very hungry and this conversation has a good chance of being very boring. I'd rather avoid it if I could."

To his surprise, Gaard erupted in a deep belly laugh, slapping the table in amusement. The utensils upon is shook and clattered, nearly falling to the floor. "I'm a Bard, pirate, it's my job to be entertaining. And I'm very good at my job."

"I'm not a pirate," Ayn rebuked indignantly.

"Oh?" Gaard raised an eyebrow as Quanteria walked to the table, setting down a pewter platter with a steaming cup atop it. "Aren't you Ayn, the Pirate President's son?" He smirked, taking a sip, but then sputtering and spitting out the dark liquid. "Quanteria!" He fumed at the woman as she walked away. "This is chai!"

"Chai is better for your auras than tea." She called back.

Gaard's face sank into his hands. "Of all the places I could have been stuck, it had to be here."

"The Boss isn't my father," Ayn told him darkly. "He just knows good talent when he sees it. How do you know me?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, to which Gaard smiled again, blowing on his unwanted beverage.

"I collect stories, like most Bards, and this place is always talking about you." He looked down at his cup, flicking his eyes briefly back up towards Ayn before taking a sip. "They say you're about to undertake a secret mission for the President."

"Ha," Ayn scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Hardly. More like running an errand for him." He folded his arms, tilting his head back. As with most things in Norg, the mess hall was inside a cave, with wooden planks laid down to simulate an actual floor and walls. The ceiling was left bare, however, and a craggy gray surface stared back at him. "So, you're a Bard." He gave up, realizing the hefty Galka wasn't going anywhere. "Seen anything interesting?"

"Anything interesting?" Gaard exclaimed. "I've walked through the libraries of Adoulin. I've seen the totem pole dances of Ulbuku. I sang at the princess's naming-day ceremony for the royal family in Olzhirya. Even tried to get up to Rahzowa, once, but my ship was attacked by Gigases from the shore. I drifted at sea for weeks after that, eventually finding myself rescued by an Imperial ship in Arrapago. From there I - "

"You could've just said no." Ayn stabbed his fork into the table, the shaft springing back and forth with the impact. "Where is that curry?" He demanded.

Gaard was laughing again. "I see you're not an easy man to please." He sipped at his chai, sighing as he peered into the cup. "Why such a chip on your shoulder, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I do," he replied as Quanteria came by again, setting down a steaming hot bowl of distinctly yellow curry in front of him. Ayn's knife was half-drawn before he told himself it wouldn't be worth it, and sighed as he plucked his fork free from the table. The Hume woman hummed to herself, oblivious, as she walked back into the kitchen.

Sighing, Gaard leaned back in his chair. He placed his near-empty cup back on the tray, giving Ayn a contemplative stare. "As usual, the source of the story is the hardest person to get information from. This is why so many Bard's tales are full of things so hard to believe. We try to talk to the people actually involved, but they're always so damned unapproachable that we end up hearing everything second or thirdhand, and the story gets a little more exaggerated every time."

"Sounds like a hard life." Ayn had to begrudgingly admit that the curry wasn't at all bad, even if it was not what he ordered. Hunger was definitely the best sauce, he decided.

"Ha, you see there? I can now record your sardonic wit into any songs or stories about your exploits. That aspect of your personality might have been lost to history otherwise."

"You know," he replied in a bemused voice, "I am really amazed at how this place finds a new way to make me hate it every day I'm here." Pushing aside his dish to let it cool a bit, he placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. "I don't want to talk to you, or anybody in this stupid place. I want to do whatever it is my Boss needs me for and get back to living my own life. If you want to make me happy, go spread a song around Norg called "Don't Bother Ayn," I'd be an instant fan."

Once again surprising him, he found Gaard now staring at him intently. "Would that make you happy, Ayn? If everybody left you alone?"

"Oh for the love of - " he was just about to finish his sentence when the double doors to the mess hall swung open, and a noisy procession followed.

"Buona sera!" A ringing voice announced. With a flourish, a dashing figure in brilliantly shining armor burst into the room. It was Celtico, one of the crewmen of President's Charybdis. He stood stock still , one arm extended in the air, the other planted on his hip. Unmoving, he stared at the ceiling, until a burst of smoke billowed from behind him with a loud "poof," and in the next moment four more figures had appeared, stretching their arms out dramatically.

"Ta-da!" They all cried at once.

Ayn pushed his face into his palm. "Just what I needed," he moaned.

Argentina's personal retainers approached the counter separating the dining portion of the room from the kitchen. Celtico was in the lead, striding confidently forward in his heavy armor, meticulously styled silver hair cascading down his Elvaan ears. The two other Elvaan, Illidan and Aramyl, followed close behind him. Aramyl had been in Norg for as long as Ayn could remember, serving under Gilgamesh before being transferred to President's operation. He wore thick, black armor not unlike Zealot's, and carried two axes on either side of his waist. His hair was graying, and his face starting to show his age, but he still wore a wide smile. Illidan, by contrast, was younger by a good ten years, his hair still jet black. Most of his armament was a seemingly random assortment of armor with stiff plates covering his shoulders and joints, with a long great katana as his weapon of choice.

Behind the three Elvaan were Kyraska and Tigs. The former was a Hume with black hair, wearing the signature tabard and hat practitioners of the school of Red Mages gravitated towards. Greyheart's own garb was similar, but Kyraska's included a skirt instead of breeches, and was far more form-fitting. Tigs, on the other hand, was a Mithra in very conservative blue robes, leaving much of her figure to the imagination. As close as Ayn could discern, all five of them originated from the same place, and their native tongue was a language highly dissimilar from his own. Fortunately, they knew a few words here and there, so communication was not impossible.

"Quanteria, signora," Celtico spread his hands out on the counter. "Your cooking, signora, such a thing of beauty, stupendo!" The Elvaan brought the tips of his fingers together and kissed them to emphasize his point. "Your pescatora, I have never tasted its like on this side of the ocean. And your meatballs!"

"Deliziso!" Illidan exclaimed, and the others nodded in agreement.

"You're all so kind," she smiled at the pirates. "What can I get for you today?"

"Meatballs!"

"Fettuccine!"

"Pasta!"

"Slow down, slow down," the auburn-haired woman began writing down their orders, stopping only to argue with them about their choices.

Gaard was watching the group with some speculation as Ayn regretted ordering the curry. It was far too spicy for him to wolf down and leave while the Galka was distracted. Sighing, he ate a bit more, half-watching the antics of the foreigners as Quanteria tried to make their menu for them.

"That must be an interesting story." The Bard tapped his fingers against the table thoughtfully. "Do you know anything about that lot?"

"They're loud and they eat a lot," Ayn blew on a forkful of his own meal before chewing on it. "What do you care, anyway?"

"Being a Bard is competitive work, Ayn. You always have to be on the lookout for the next subject of a song or tale, or there won't be any demand for your work."

Something about that actually piqued his interest. "I would've thought people only cared about hearing things they're familiar with. The classics."

Gaard shrugged, spreading his hands. "Sure, sure, there's a lot of that, but mostly from the older crowd. The young ones, they want to hear about the latest exploits of the great adventurers and linkshells. They want something to aspire to, the way I see it." With a satisfied sip, he finished off the last of his chai, setting the cup down as he leaned forward. "Have you never heard adventure beckon, Ayn? Is there no greater calling you want to follow?"

Ayn bit down on his dish, tearing it from the fork while keeping his eyes on Gaard. He chewed slowly, dark eyes directing an unsettling gaze the Bard's way, before he swallowed and took a moment to wipe his mouth with a napkin. Pushing his chair back, he stood, looking down his nose at the Galka.

"We're done here. Goodbye, Bard."

Gaard sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands behind his head. "Remember, Ayn, we all leave a story behind." Ayn rose slowly, acutely aware of the piercing eyes upon him. "Will yours be worth telling?"

Ayn said nothing, leaving behind the half-finished dish. He had lost his appetite.


"Stupid Bard," he muttered to himself as he wandered the caverns of Norg. The last thing he wanted was people telling stories about him. All he wanted was to be left alone and answerable to nobody but himself. His entire life, it seemed, one person or another was pulling his strings, and just before this demon business got started he had finally started to make his own way in the world. Now he was right back in it, working for other people. Be it his father, his first mentor, or even President, everybody was concerned only with how Ayn could benefit them.

Well no more, he promised himself. He would do the last job President gave him and then catch the first ship headed east. That would take him away from all the grand manipulators trying to use him as well as the idiots he had to deal with along the way.

As if summoned by the thought, Ayn rounded a corner only to nearly collide with Greyheart Hiralda. The Red Mage stopped just short of the Thief, who almost stumbled forward in halting himself. "Ah, Master Ayn," the Elvaan bowed deeply. "So sorry I didn't see you there. Ah, tell me," he glanced about furtively. "Has Miss Kyraska ventured this way? She's a Red Mage you see, from a distant land, and I thought perhaps a . . . cultural exchange would be beneficial."

"Where's Tikinas?" He ignored the gray-haired Elvaan's idiocy. "For that matter, why are you out of your cell?"

Greyheart gave a soft smile. "Yes, that. It seems after ascertaining the stability of the fire crystal, Sir Klistel and Madam Tomiko returned here and were received by Gilgamesh. After hearing the whole story about our encounter with the Duke, it was decided that your . . . fears, shall we say, about us were finally put to rest. We are now allowed to roam Norg freely."

"How great for you." Ayn said flatly. Wonderful, he thought to himself. The crazy dragon lady and her hippy friend were here now, too. "Have you seen Tikinas or not?"

The Elvaan shrugged. "Can she be seen if she doesn't wish to be?" He paused thoughtfully, staring into the distance for a moment. "Though now that I consider the matter, while I was following Miss Pinkfae I heard her - " he stopped, looking at Ayn, and then nonchalantly hooked his thumbs in his belt. "That is to say, our Paladin companion spends much time with Lady Tikinas. Find one and you may find the other - and Miss Pinkfae was on her way to see President."

"Ugh." Ayn's head drooped back, and he rolled his eyes at the ceiling. He drew a frustrated hand down the length of his face.

"Is everything alright?" Greyheart sounded concerned. "Do you need to talk about anything, Ayn?"

"Altana, no," he said emphatically. "Why do people want to talk to me today? Just . . . go make yourself useful somewhere. Get out of my sight."

"Suit yourself," the Red Mage shrugged, "but do be aware that the offer stands, if you ever do - "

"I won't." Ayn brushed past him. He could feel the Elvaan's eyes on him as he walked away, but ignored it. He had nothing to say. Hopefully he'd be able to find Pinkfae easily and avoid talking to President.

Being located within a seaside cave as it was, Norg was a fairly small town. Busy at is was now with pirates, thieves, and spies moving back and forth constantly to try and prepare for war, the central section had become noisy and crowded. For almost two straight weeks it seemed, the harbor was always full with ships moving in or out. Some were carrying refugees brought in from Mindartia or Quon. Others brought in weapons of war, ready to be distributed - for a price, naturally. Occasionally a ship flying a foreign flag would lay anchor, allies from afar called in by Gilgamesh or President. Familiar faces waved at Ayn or shouted greetings as he brushed past the bustle of activity.

Eventually he managed to break through without anyone else trying to stop and talk to him. He thanked Altana for small blessings as he stood before the heavy doors leading to President's office. With a sigh which made his shoulders slump, he rapped on the door, awaiting a response.

It opened a crack at first, and then swung open wide. The stocky, black-coated figure of President stood in the doorway, smiling broadly. "Ayn! Come on in, son, come in." He gestured for him to follow, even as he walked back inside. "Wasn't expectin' ye. Getcha a cup of tea? Brandy?"

"No, thanks," he looked around the room carefully. Besides some basic furniture and a sea chart tacked to the wall, it was practically bare. The only ostentation was an intricately crafted statue resting on the pirate's desk. A black dragon perhaps two feet across was mounted on a wooden stand, gleaming under the torchlight. From the look of it, the scales were actual onyx, and the spikes on its tail fashioned from real ivory. It took him only a moment to realize that two small emeralds made up the eyes, and the teeth were all carefully cut diamonds. The tiny thing probably would have been worth a fortune simply for the level of detail. With all the precious stones involved, Ayn imagined he could buy the port of Mhaura and still have change left over.

He then took a look at President himself as he sat down behind the thick oak desk. With his tattered hat and plain, nondescript clothes, the only thing that stood out about him was his coat. The black-and-gold garment was a masterpiece, probably a greater symbol of authority than any crown or scepter. That was President's way, it seemed. With his room and himself, he picked one thing to stand out, but in a way which left no doubt as to his position.

"I can't stay," he said quickly, "I was just coming to see if Tiki was here. It looks like she isn't so . . . "

"Sit, sit," President gestured towards a chair in front of him. He lit a match, igniting a pipe pressed to his lips and puffing at it slowly. "We've got things to discuss."

"No, I'm really just looking for Tikinas - "

"Ayn." His voice was hard. "Take a seat."

He stood where he was, returning President's flinty gaze. "Look," he began, "I've already agreed to go run your errands for you. There's nothing else to talk about. I only came back to Norg because I had to - as soon as this is done, I'm taking a ship east and forgetting all this ever happened. So I don't have to - "

The knife lodged itself in the wall beside Ayn's ear with a solid thunk, and then a slight ringing sound as the metal vibrated in the wood. He had not even seen the old man move. Even now, he sat at his desk, still calmly puffing his pipe.

"When ye can catch that knife, yer ready t' be calling yer own shots. Until then," he indicated the chair again with the stem of his pipe. "And bring my knife back to me, will ye?"

Ayn felt his face turning red. He had to keep his body from shaking as he reached up, tearing the small blade free. Splinters of the wall came out with it, and with an angered toss Ayn sent it arching through the air, landing point-down in President's desk. The dagger was not nearly as sharp as Ayn's gaze as he sat down.

President shook his head, thin rings of smoke puffing out from his pipe. "Yer so angry at th' world lately," he criticized. "Ain't ye happy to be so useful?"

"Useful," Ayn repeated darkly. "It still means being used."

Tossing back his head, President let out a sigh which sounded more like a growl. His boots stamped on the ground as he leaned forward quickly, taking the pipe from his mouth and tapping ash out into a tray on his desk. "Ye never got over bein' so suspicious of th' whole damn world. I know ye didn't get that from yer father, which means that first master o' yers musta drilled it into yer thick head."

"Let's not bring him up." His tone bordered on acidic. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

President stared hard at him, eyebrows knitting together as his teeth ground down the stem of his pipe. "Fine, son," he finally shook his head, putting another match up to the mouth. "Fine." The old man took a moment to enjoy another long puff, and then his visage drew into the look he always wore when talking business. Ayn had seen it more than enough to recognize the shark-like gleam in his eye.

"Th' first thing I oughtta do is ask ye why we had three people who saved th' whole damn island locked up." He bit into the stem of his pipe again. "But I know ye'll just say somthin' flippant an' brush it off, so, we'll move on." Ayn was a little wounded by that. He had thought of a great flippant response and now it was going to waste. "So let's get down t' th' heart a th' matter. Yer going t' th' Temple a Uggaleppih. Yer takin' th' others with ye, too, because we both know it'll be too dangerous for just you 'n Tiki."

"It's the Temple of Uggalepih, even the monsters in there usually stay clear of people. Don't you need people here? With so many out to sea the security here looks like a skeleton crew."

President shook his head. "We'll be fine. I don't think Norg's gonna fall under attack. But with th' demons stirrin' things up, th' Tonberries are like t' be restless. Take yer friends."

"They're not - ugh, fine." He tapped the arm of his chair impatiently. "Why am I going there in the first place? What in that stupid temple could be so important, anyway?"

"Not what," President corrected, "who."

"Who?" Ayn raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "Only Tonberries live in the Temple."

"Almost true." President took another puff from his pipe before again tapping out the ash. He laid it aside, folding his fingers together as he spoke. "There's one fella in th' deepest, darkest part, an' that sure enough is who yer after."

"You're kidding me."

"Not at all, Ayn. I'm sendin' ye in t' go meet th' South Wind, an' Altana willin', bring him back with ye, too."

Chapter LXXXIV: Agendas, Part One

The evergreen leaves of the Great Star Tree rustled as they were shaken by the late autumn wind. Colder air was beginning to blow in from the north, and soft dirt of Sarutabaruta was hardening with frost as each frigid morning dawned. With no sunlight to warm the air, ice was being seen in the temperate region for the first time in decades. Above, not a single cloud blotted the sky, yet it was still gray and dark as the heart of winter.

Secure's breath steamed as he looked out from the knoll upon which he stood. Windurst still stood, and his gaze matched the temperature around him. He had leveled its buildings, slaughtered its defenders, defeated its champions, yet still they rallied against him. His glorious war machine had been broken, torn apart by the fangs of the Great Beast Fenrir upon the bloodied streets of the Federation.

Yet his numbers were still vast. Though his behemoths now lay dead and bloated, his legions decimated and demoralized, his numerical superiority was still intact. He had spent weeks grinding Windursts defenders down, a strategy which would yet win him this war. Though less than half of what he had started with, once he reorganized his Vanguard and brought the Kindred to heel, he would storm into Windurst anew. All their struggling would yet prove for naught.

He felt a hand gently brush his shoulder. Soft and soothing, a reassuring touch let him know his plans would still come to fruition. He had strength, the only true thing in the world, and it would guide him to victory. All he desired would come to pass.

Like lightning, his gauntleted hand swung back and struck the person touching him. Blood flew from Cullen's mouth and nose as Secure's slap took her from her feet. She tumbled to the ground, coughing as tears of pain ran down her swollen cheeks. Secure looked down his nose at her, the wind whipping through his silver-gray hair. The black-haired woman was garbed in dull red rags, no longer worthy of the rich Eastern gowns he had dressed her up in. Slowly, she rose, wiping the blood from her chin as she gazed up at him pathetically. Remaining supplicant on her knees, she awaited further punishment for her failure.

Secure spit at the ground on her feet. "Heal yourself," he commanded, walking away imperiously. He had thought the woman a useful tool, but her failure to assassinate the Star Sibyl had proven him wrong. She would serve him now in hopes of redeeming herself, and perhaps that was just as well. His uses for a woman who considered herself his equal were limited.

Several of his commanders were waiting for him. Today they would discuss bringing back together the scattered horde still wandering Sarutabaruta and the neighboring Tahrongi Canyon. Some of the more powerful beastmen from Dynamis as well as Kindred from Xarcabard whom had joined their brethren after they broke free assisted him in controlling his multitudes. Once they had fully reassumed control, they would storm into Windurst once more and lay waste to the Star Sibyl, Meowolf, and everybody else still living within its walls. He would yet see Heaven's Tower in flames.

The large canvas tent wherein his command waited down the slope from where he stood, just past the large, shallow stream which fed into Windurst. He had longed to poison those waters, but it would have been wasted effort, he knew. They would have either purified the contamination with their accursed spells or simply drawn from any of Windurst's many self-contained lakes. As it was now, the water was beginning to freeze over, and a thin layer of ice stretched over the babbling brook. He stepped through it, frozen shards breaking off under his heel, heading for his meeting.

Suddenly the pearl tied around his neck jumped. Momentarily, he stopped in astonishment. It had been weeks since any of the others had contacted him. It vibrated against his chest, and he grasped it in between his armored fingers. Immediately, a familiar voice filled his ears, clear as if the speaker were right next to him.

"Secure," Doshu's Imperial accent still irked the Paladin when he heard it. "what are you doing?"

His surprise quickly faded into suspicion. "This had best not be a social call," he growled, stepping out of the water. Frost-covered grass crunched beneath his boots.

There was a quick, biting laugh. "Your welfare is always in my thoughts, my friend." He spoke with all the assurance of a particularly venomous snake promising not to bite. "I just wanted an update as to your progress."

"Windurst is mine," Secure snarled, his grip tightening on the black pearl between his fingers. "Their death throes have shaken my forces. It will be one more week to regroup, and a day or so after that to take the city and kill all those within." His eyes smoldered. In his mind's eye, he could picture the slaughter which would soon take place.

There was no response at first, and Secure briefly wondered if perhaps Doshu had indeed only wanted to inquire as to his progress. Then the man in black spoke to him again.

"I need you to withdraw from the region."

Secure nearly choked. Rage bubbled into his voice as he angrily shouted back. "I have this battle won! I will not flee from these peasants!"

Doshu's silken voice was calm as ever. "It is for the greater good, my friend. Windurst can wait. It has come to my attention that there are elements crucial to our success in Castle Oztroja."

"What are you talking about?"

"Eudon has found the survivors. One of the five souls we need is amongst them. We were already planning to take the castle for the Magicite inside, this merely pushes our timetable forward. March your forces north, we will need them to breach Oztroja's walls."

"I will not leave!" Secure insisted. "Send the thief or the wizard, this task is beneath me."

"No, you are right," Doshu said soothingly. "There is nothing for you at Oztroja. After transferring command of your forces to Eudon, you will return to Jeuno."

"You arrogant worm," there was cold fury in Secure's tone. "to order me around as such. I am not your puppet, Doshu. I will see Windurst fall. Find someone else to run your errands."

"Don't be a fool," this time there was no honey in the Ranger's voice. "Your petty grudge is worthless to our cause now. You can return later and kill them if you like, but trust me when I say such things will soon be beneath you. However none of that will happen if you start being stupid now."

"How dare you - "

"How dare you!" Doshu shot back. "You know how sensitive everything we have worked to accomplish is. Would you jeopardize everything now? Are you going to ruin everything we have spent years building towards because of your petty bloodlust? This is for our cause, Secure. You let me down here and it might as well be meaningless."

Seething, the Paladin ground his teeth in fury. The pearl strained in his clutches, threatening to splinter under the pressure. He could feel his face flushing with anger. He was to be denied his revenge. The thought of watching the life slip from Meowolf's eyes as he crushed the Galka's throat in his hands was fading away.

But the prize they had their eyes on was so much greater. He hated Doshu for ordering him around like some rank and file peon. More than that, though, he hated him for being right.

"Fine," Secure snarled, letting the pearl slip from his fingers. The cold did not touch him at all. There was too much anger setting his blood to boil.

He would abandon the siege of Windurst. He would go into the tent in front of him and order his commanders to round up their errant soldiers and begin marching to Meriphataud Mountains. He would do as Doshu said.

Then one day, when all had been won, he would make the bastard in black pay.


"Yo, I'm happy for your plan, and I'mma let you finish," Greyheart interrupted Ayn, "but that President guy has some of the best schemes of all time. Of all time!"

Ayn slowly turned his head as his eyes narrowed, a look of revulsion quickly spreading across the Hume's face. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. Instead, he turned to the burly guard standing outside the gate of the Elvaan's cell.

"I'll give you ten gil if you beat him into unconsciousness."

"Hey!" Greyheart complained, pushing up against the bars. "That's not fair!"

"You're right," Ayn agreed, looking around the stone floors of Norg's dungeon. It took him a moment, but he located a sizable loose rock, scooping it off the ground and presenting it to the jailer. "Here, use this, I wouldn't want you to bruise your knuckles."

"Ayn," Tikinas said, taking the Thief's attention, "ignore him. We need to focus."

Raking a hand through his wavy black hair, Ayn turned away from the Red Mage's cell. It hadn't taken much to convince President that they should remain locked up. After all, these were uncertain times and you never knew who your friends were. Despite what they had done in Ifrit's Cauldron, it was better to keep an eye on the strangers. The strategem turned out to be a double-edged sword, however. Zealot, Menphis, and Greyheart remained imprisoned for most of the day where they couldn't bother him. Trying to have a conversation anywhere with Tikinas that didn't entail being absurdly ambiguous in order to avoid the hidden ears of Norg, entailed coming down to the dungeon.

So, they unwillingly shared their plans of escape with their unwanted companions, but no one listened to them so it wasn't that big a deal. The guard Ayn knew he could trust. Not out of any sense of loyalty, but because he had lost his tongue to a Sahagin a few years prior. Ayn never inquired how that happened, and the weathered pirate certainly wasn't talking.

"We've got to get out of here," Ayn continued where he had left off before Greyheart's interruption. "President's already cooking up something new for us, I can feel it." He nervously fingered the handles of the twin knives at his belt. "The old man's got us back and now he wants to keep us here. We'll never get out if we don't go now."

Tikinas nodded, her tail swishing back and forth. "The problem is how? He's got every ship in the water, it could be weeks before we even get the chance to stow away. And if we hide in Kazham he's sure to find us out." Leaning back against the dark rock wall, she idly twirled her two kunai in concentric circles on her fingertips. "Maybe we could fake our own deaths?"

Ayn shook his head. "Tried that on him once a few years ago. He didn't fall for it then, either."

The white-haired Mithra curled her lip back in thought. "We could always hide in the jungle if we're willing to rough it out. But . . ."

"But we don't know if the jungle's going to be safe." Ayn sighed mightily. There were still random demons wandering through the bush, and the normal monsters seemed especially agitated. More distressing than that though, Sahagin were starting to disappear from their home in the subterranean tunnels of Sea Serpent Grotto. No one knew where they were going, but the last time there had been a war the fishmen had sided with the demons. There was no reason to believe their stance on that had changed.

"So . . . " Tikinas was out of ideas. Ayn shook his head. He had nothing to offer either.

Both of them slowly turned as the bars of one of the cells clanked loudly. Staring hard at the two of them, Menphis was rattling his cage. The mute guard looked uncertainly at Ayn, but the Thief waved him away. He stood down with a shrug.

"What do you want?" Ayn asked disinterestedly, stepping towards the Ranger's prison.

Menphis's hard gaze met the other Hume's. "Get me out of here."

Rolling his eyes, Ayn turned away. "Once we're gone you'll be either set free or thrown to the sharks. Either way you just have to wait."

"No," the young Ranger hissed, "if you're leaving so am I. I have to get back to the mainland."

"I want to leave, too," Zealot complained from across the room. "It's dark in here, and there aren't any great axes."

"Shut up!" Ayn snapped. "I have my own problems. Let's get out of here, Tiki, this was a waste of time."

The Ninja sighed. "We'll think of something, Ayn," she said reassuringly.

"Oh, Master Ayn?" Greyheart called out as he and Tikinas began ascending the roughly-carved stone steps back up into Norg. Ayn knew he would hate himself for it, but he turned around anyway. The gray-haired Elvaaan poked his face out from behind the bars, smiling brightly. "I just wanted to share an observation with you."

Ayn steadied himself. They surely would believe he slit his own throat. No one would question it. How did all that blood get on your clothes, Ayn? they would ask. I bought them that way, he would tell them, gore and viscera is all the rage in Bastok right now. It sounded totally rational. "What is it?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Well, without much to focus on except the meaningful conversation," he indicated their mute guard, "I've been able to see a number of things down here, and I thought you should be made aware." Greyheart spread his hands through the bars generously, as if offering something of value.

"Get on with it," the Hume said, exasperated.

"I think you should know, your silent friend there has mastered the art of communicating with hand gestures. There's a whole language of the fingers, you know."

A chill suddenly went down the back of Ayn's neck as his eyes widened. Bounding down the steps, he found himself in front of the Red Mage's cage, peering at him dangerously. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

Greyheart nodded. "It's an entire language. And I've observed our guard knows it. Also, from time to time when he stops in to check on us, I've noticed that President speaks it, too."

"Aye," came a voice from the top of the stairs, "that I do."

Ayn clenched his eyes shut, feeling the will draining out of him. "You betrayed me, mute guy." He turned an accusatory stare at the now-grinning pirate. His tone was acidic. "How do you sleep at night?"

Standing with his fists at his hips, President looked down upon them with an expression of mingled anger and pain. "Ayn, what are ye doin? Why are ye tryin t' leave?"

Tikinas stepped aside as the pirate boss slowly descended the stairs. Ayn said nothing as his mentor slowly approached him, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. His shoulders were slumped beneath his heavy black coat, his posture hurt, or perhaps defeated. Ayn had never seen President look this way. He wasn't sure how to feel.

"I can't trust anybody else, Ayn," he told him sadly, "I can't trust them not t' let me down. You, I can always turn to. And ye don't want to help me? Ye're runnin' out right when we need ye most?"

"Boss, I . . . " President waved his words away, stifiling a sob. Slowly, the pirate ran a gloved hand over his face, combing it through his salt-and-pepper hair as he turned away. Trudging up the stairs again, he stopped at the door, sighing heavily.

"Ye really let me down, Ayn. Ye really let me down."

Ayn was about to speak when suddenly President spun around, his arm flashing in the dark. Instinctively, Ayn snatched at the air as something whizzed by his face, missing it by a hair's breadth. The elder pirate's knife struck the wall in Greyheart's cell, embedding itself solidly between two stones. The younger Hume's head arched up as President's booming laughter filled the dungeon.

"Har har har har! I can't believe ye fell for it! The only thing I'm disappointed in is that ye didn't make it off the island before I found ye out. Now round up your friends, I got a mission for ye and ye're leavin' right away."

"Damn you, old man!" Ayn swore, shaking his fist. Defeated, he slumped his shoulders.

"Like I said earlier . . . " Greyheart started saying from behind him. Ayn jerked his fist back without looking, but felt the satisfying impact which sent the Red Mage sprawling.

"President," Tikinas said, giving the Hume a smart bow, "forgive me, but Ayn and I don't want to get mixed up in this." He raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was very rare amongst dealings with pirates or Tenshodo that one so bluntly stated their reasoning. "We appreciate everything that you've done for us, but we've already helped you once. Ayn - and myself - we've spent a lot of time trying to establish ourselves as just Ayn and Tikinas. Not pirates or thieves or Tenshodo, just us. I'm truly sorry, sir," she bowed again, "but I speak for both of us when I say we'd rather just be left alone."

The old man smiled magnanimously at her, placing a hand on her black-garbed shoulder. Creases in his face became pronounced as he offered his toothy grin, and deep, reassuring voice. "Tiki, yer the apple of my eye. I've watched ye ever since ye were a lass, and now ye're the finest Ninja ever to step out of Norg. It would break my heart to turn down so heartfelt a request from ye." Slapping her shoulder brusquely, he turned around and headed back up the stairs. "So, I'll start cryin' first thing tomorrow, after you lot head out for the Temple of Uggalepih."

"Damn you, old man!" Tikinas snarled at him. She sighed as she and Ayn both exchanged the same look.

"Now look here," President said, rounding on the duo from the top of the stairs. "I understand yer wishes and full well intend to honor them. If ye don't want to be tied down by th' life we lead, that's yer decision, and yer well past th' time when I can order you around. But right now th' world's in turmoil and there's a lot of work t' be done." He looked down on them with those wise, authoritative eyes Ayn hated looking into, as they were right far too often for his liking. "So ye're gonna do yer part to pitch in and see us through the storm. When it's all over, I'll grant ye both yer freedom. Ye'll never work another job for me, nor Gilgamesh, nor even Aldo if he's still out there somewhere, unless ye really want. Deal?"

Sighing, Ayn nodded. "Deal . . .but, the Temple of Uggalepih? What could be there?"

A twinkle shone in the older Hume's eyes. "Someone's waitin' there. I need you to pick 'em up for me."

"But," Tikinas protested, "there are Tonberries in the temple."

"Ye'll have yer friends with you," President offered, gesturing towards the cells.

"Right, but what if all three of them die before Ayn and I can safely escape?"

His laughter filled the dank dungeon again. "Ye both are always so funny. But, I actually have made arrangements for ye - or, I should say, somethin' fell into my lap and I'm takin' advantage of it."

"I know I've done that before," Greyheart called out. Ayn's fist snapped backwards, but found nothing between the bars. He craned his neck around to find the Red Mage rubbing a bruise on his forehead, and standing a safe distance back.

"Allow me t' introduce yer newest teammate," President said, stepping aside. "Or, since she can do it herself, I'll let her."

Metal clanked against stone as a figure stepped into the light. Ayn had to strain his eyes to see up from where he was into the bright spot at the top of the stairs. There was a slim figure standing there, and from the silouhette she cast he could make out a tail gently moving back and forth. Two feline ears twitched atop her head, and the armor she was encased in was near-blinding while backlit in the darkness. He could see the fang-revealing smile on her face, however, as she snapped a smart salute. Tikinas practically leaped with surprise as the newcomer identified herself.

"Pinkfae of Those Guys, rrrreporting for duty, and to rrrrepay you for saving my life!" The Paladin was awake and fully alert, a state she had not been in since they discovered her at the entrance to Movalpolas all that time ago. What really caught his attention was the "Those Guys" part. The woman was a member of one of Vana'diel's most famous linkshells.

"You're all better!" Tikinas exclaimed.

"That's rrrright," she concurred. Her voice was of a higher register than Tikinas's, and she rolled her "r"-sounds like most Mithra did. "And believe me, have I got a storrrry for you."


West Ronfaure forest sprawled out before the city of San d'Oria. In brighter times, this had been a lush, green area, home to abundant wildlife. Red foxes would hunt pheasant through the dense shrubbery, when they themselves were not being hunted by the king's hounds. Deer and rabbit abounded, as well as feral funguars, living mushrooms with legs like frogs. The sun would sream in through the canopy, shedding light upon the peaceful glens. The Knightswell, Cheval River-fed waters a haven for carp, would glitter on quiet mornings where many a fisherman left a lure bobbing in the water while they napped against its sun-dappled banks. Travelers would admire the natural beauty of Ronfaure's hills and valleys while walking along its well-patrolled paths, where Royal Guardsmen kept the people safe from roving Orcs or Goblin brigands.

This was not the Ronfaure Ryu Akanei and Shaohuan ventured into. The trees were blackened with fire, rotted husks barely supporting their own weight. Green blankets of grass which had covered the rolling forest hills had vanished. In their place was ground which was cracked and dried, scorched with the flames of war. Even with his dragon's eyesight, Ryu could not see a single living thing in any direction. Not a bird nor mouse nor monster of the forest, nothing still dwelled in the ruined corpse of Ronfaure. Far off in the distance, plumes of black smoke still rose from behind the walls of San d'Oria. Snow was in the air, but falling only lightly, not near enough to cover up the ugly black spot marring the beauty which had once defined the Kingdom.

Clutching the dark cape flowing from his armor, Ryu moved forward with silent steps, keeping his head low. Shaohuan followed noiselessly behind him, the only thing marking her passage wisps of steaming breath which dissipated in the cold morning air. Only the rhytmic beating of Bo's wings made any noise as he hovered around the Dragoon, his sharp liquid eyes constantly scanning the horizon. The tiny party crept through the gloomy, dead forest, heading eastward at a crawl. Through the steep hill passes was the eastern portion of the woodlands, and it was there they would find the tomb of King Ranperre.

Ryu had told Shaohuan most of what he was going there for. He had explained seeing the rift open in Xarcabard, and his encounter with the Wyrmking. She knew what was at stake should he fail. By and large she had seemed to believe him. As long as she stayed relatively out of the way, Ryu found he was actually somewhat happy for the company. After so long trapped in Ordelle's Caves, the Dragoon found he appreciated the interaction. Bo also seemed approving, often protectively pacing around her when they would set up their camp for the evening.

Nevertheless, there were still some things Ryu had not shared. Such as the message the Wyrmking had given him shortly after they emerged from their encounter with Devul. A raging firestorm in his brain which took the shape of words in the language of dragons. He had brushed off his collapse upon receiving it as a moment of weakness following their battle.

The words did not translate directly into his own tongue, but their intent was clear nonetheless.

Vana'diel's judgment was near. His time was running out.

Questions flooded Ryu's mind. How was he to find Vrtra, a wyrm long believed dead? Would freeing him truly stop Bahamut's fires from eradicating life on Vana'diel, or merely buy them a temporary stay of execution? What was it that the Mithra was forcing the prisoners to carve? Who was the man in black, the one she called Doshu, and what was his connection to all of this? First and foremost, could he really accomplish the task which had been set out for him before it was too late?

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed Bo's urgent sense of warning piercing his thoughts. It wasn't until Shaohuan grabbed him by the shoulder that he snapped back to reality, quickly turning his head to see what was the matter.

The Thief had dropped down, belly on the frozen ground as she gestured for Ryu to follow. Beside her, Bo had also left the air, flattening himself as much as he could. Spreading out his cape, Ryu covered both of them in its folds, the dark cloth hiding them against the blackened ground.

"What is it?" He whispered, silently as he could.

Shaohuan shook her head, gesturing with her eyes out over the burnt ruins of West Ronfaure. Ryu turned his gaze to follow hers, trepidation building in the pit of his stomach as he realized what she was looking at.

Outside the gates of San d'Oria, a host was gathering. Lining up in columns twenty and thirty deep, surrounding giant machines of wood and steel, the Orcish army was massing. Heavily armored commanders walked through ranks of grunts, swinging swords and shouting in the throaty Orc language. Demons flitted about, mingling with their ranks of flying above them. Some of their number were the gray-skinned Orcs which had emerged from Dynamis, but by and large they were Vana'diel's own green variety.

As Ryu watched, they began marching south from the city, trampling the already-ruined ground. War machines rolled by as thousands of Orcish feet made the forest tremble, and demons screeched from on high. They kept still as stone as the beastmen made their march past them, headed in the direction of the La Theine Plateau. At such a march, he expected to see woodland creatures fleeing or taking wing, but there were no such beasts left in Ronfaure. Thus the Orcish host pounded through the dead forest, the new-fallen snow the only thing disturbed.

When the first column had passed them by, Ryu rolled over in a flash, tumbling down a short hill to let the earth conceal him. Bo crawled on his stomach down after him, and a nervous fear gripped both of them through the bond. The forest shook all around them as the Orcs made their way by. There he remained hidden, pressed up against the ground as the rocks leaped up at his feet and dying trees groaned. It was a long time before the shaking ceased, and even then he remained there, back to the ground, ears sharpened for the slightest disturbance.

He nearly leaped out of his skin when a whisper hit his ear. "I think they're gone," it told him.

"Shaohuan?" The Dragoon breathed, turning his head both ways, but seeing nothing. "Where are you?"

Then, right before his eyes, the Thief appeared in a flash. He would have yelped if Bo's sense of smell had not warned him where she was at the last instant.

"How did you do that?" He demanded.

"Keep your voice down," she insisted, still keeping herself hunched down low. "It's something you pick up as a Thief. Trade secret. But I was watching them, and they're gone."

"All of them?"

She shook her head. "That was just two detachments. There's still a big bunch of them that I can see near the city." The Hume girl's eyes caught Ryu's and he was surprised to see an uncertain fear lingering in them. "Ryu, what's happening? Where are all the Orcs going? What does this mean?"

Ryu remembered Bahamut's message to him, about the time of judgment drawing near. Resolutey, he drew his cape back, standing into a crouch and resuming his slow trek east.

"It means something big is about to happen, Shaohuan. And we haven't got a moment to spare."

Ducking and hiding, slithering their way through the ruined trees of Ronfaure, Ryu and Shaohuan continued their quest to King Ranperre's Tomb.


"I shouldn't have done that," Bongo reflected for what was not the first time. Sighing, he once more examined the ruined fragments of his broken bow.

"No," Hubby concurred, "but I'm guessing it felt amazing."

"Yes," the Ranger agreed, "yes it assuredly did."

Two weeks prior now they had parted company with North and November. For a brief moment, the two had been united in their victory over Keftenk and the recovery of Guttler. Putting aside their past differences, Bongo and North celebrated the hard-fought battle and acknowledged each other as worthy allies. Then, the following morning, North had made clear his plans to return to the Labyrinth of Onzozo.

"I must reclaim my kingdom," he said as he buckled the still-grumbling Guttler to his side. "This cannot wait."

"Fine," Bongo said, not really wanting to lose the Beastmaster's power, but at the same time understanding of his situaton. "But before you go, you promised you'd have the beasts tell us where we can find more survivors."

"That trifle? They're in Castle Oztroja, if you really want to know." North dismissed the Ranger's question as common knowledge, even as he summoned Panzer Galahad. Fully healed, the beetle happily walked by his master's side.

"Castle Oztroja," Bongo repeated flatly, watching the Elvaan prepare to simply turn and leave.

North flicked an eyebrow up, almost irritated. "I did not stutter. Was there anything else you needed before I depart? I am in a hurry."

"Yes," he replied, gripping the curve of his bow tightly, "you can stand still."

"What - " North didn't get the chance to finish before Bongo broke his bow across the Elvaan's jaw.

November shrieked as splinters of the war bow flew from North's face. The Beastmaster's head twisted around unnaturally as he fell into the sand. Hubby and Luma were there in a flash, holding Bongo back as he struggled to draw forth his knives. The situation rapidly declined from there.

"We were right there!" Bongo shouted. "We were right there and you took us away!"

"You can't . . . possibly conceive . . . " the Beastmaster's breathing was labored, "how much more important this was . . . than your finding your friends."

"You son of a bitch, North!" he raged. "When I get my hands on you - "

"Not if I do it first," a gruff voice growled from behind him. Dantrag tore an axe free from his belt, eyes blazing as he advanced on the fallen form of North. November was there almost immediately, raising her staff defiantly as a tongue of flame burst from its tip.

"Dantrag, don't!" Hubby called, still trying to hold back Bongo

"If you come another step I'll char the flesh from your bones!" November warned him, flames appearing at her feet. The Elvaan raised his axe threateningly as the Summoner called forth her power.

"Stop!" They looked up, then quickly down again, to find Qwid standing between them. The Tarutaru was ablaze with ferocious eldritch force, eyes glowing as he separated the two.

"It's his fault, dammit Qwid!" Bongo snapped, straining to break free from the two Samurai. "We'd be back with the others already if not for - "

"And Keftenk would still be walking around with Guttler." The Red Mage's tiny face was hard. "We know where they are. Let's not waste time fighting amongst ourselves."

"He struck North!" November hissed, the ground undulating beneath her as she pointed furiously at Bongo, crouched down at North's side. "This will not go unpunished!"

Qwid turned his head slightly, sparks leaping from his eyes as they fell on the Summoner. Bongo saw her gulp as a wave of the Tarutaru's power swept past her.

"Don'taru push your luck," he warned.

"I think perhaps," Hubby managed, pulling back to keep Bongo from lunging, "it's time we go."

"Nice meeting you!" Luma smiled at the duo from Onzozo. It was not much longer before they parted ways, abandoning the Valley of Sorrows and beginning their long journey back from where they had come.

It was when they had arrived upon the bleached sands of Valkurm Dunes that Bongo had requested their detour north. After much conversation and convincing, the five had gone across the La Theine Plateau, up into the blighted forests of Ronfaure. They had been appalled at the devastation as much as they were the sight of Orcs freely roaming the forests. Dantrag had stopped cold at the scene, witnessing his beloved city in ruins. Only through intense convincing that they would see this right did he agree to keep on moving. Concealed by the ebon skies of Dynamis, they slinked past the greenskins, and made it safely to Bongo's objective.

As frightening as the prospect of a San d'Oria overrun with Orcs was, equally unsettling was the discovery that Fort Ghelsba was almost completely abandoned.

The sprawling encampment wherein the Orcs made their fortress was practically bare. Naught but some roaming lizards and empty tents whose open flaps beat against the chilling winds. Winter was quickly encroaching, and already a smattering of white was decorating the landscape. The stream which ran through the Orcish base was hidden beneath a layer of ice, though Bongo could still feel the presence of fish running through the frigid waters. Try as he might though, he could sense not a single beastman anywhere in the area. Ghelsba had been emptied.

Whatever that portended, it would have to wait. For now, he was happy for the absence. It made his task that much easier.

"Yughott Grotto?" Hubby questioned as they entered the series of caverns. He eyed their surroundings suspiciously, fingers on the hilt of his great katana.

Bongo nodded. "It's a shortcut." Peering into the darkness, he could see a few bats hanging from the stalactites, but not an Orc in sight. "We'll get there faster this way."

"Ronfaure's connected to the Outpost, the Outpost connects to the Grotto, the Grotto connects to . . .Horlais Peak." Luma smiled her fanged smile, winking at Bongo as she sang. "And that's the way it goes. HA!"

He cocked an eyebrow at the eccentric Tshayan, but confirmed her suspicions. " It's like Luma says. We'll be there soon."

"So what's up here?" Qwid inquired as they neared open air again some time later. The wind was bringing wisps of snow their way, alerting them that they were coming upon an exit to the sprawling caves. The Tarutaru removed his cornered hat, using it to shield his face from the cold.

"It's a long story, but there's really only one important part." Bongo took hold of a rock, pulling himself free of the tunnels. "It starts with my father - Genji Demynix."

"Genji Demynix?" Hubby exclaimed, and Luma's eyes went wide as well. "Your father was Genji Demynix?"

Bongo cracked a smile, brushing a hand through his black hair. "The very same. What, you think these good looks are an accident? It's all in the blood, friends."

"Who's Genji Demynix?" Qwid asked, looking puzzled.

"He's a true genius," Dantrag said, looking at Bongo as if seeing him for the first time. "I never suspected."

"The master!" Luma exclaimed. "Reknowned, a legend in his own time! And also a lover of wine and a cheater at cards."

"Nobody ever proved that," Bongo snapped.

"Genji was the greatest swordsmith of the last era, and perhaps the greatest Samurai as well. If not the best, he certainly trained some of the best." Hubby recited the facts with practiced ease. Everyone who studied the art of the Samurai in the last three decades learned about Genji at some point or another. "They say he could clip the wings off a gnat from fifty paces with an arrow, and cut a treant in two with a single stroke of his blade. He was the Samurai who introduced the way of the spear into standard combat training. I'd heard he had two sons, but I had no idea . . . "

"It's not a fact I put out there a lot," Bongo's voice was distant. Leaning down, he took hold of Qwid's arms and pulled the Tarutaru free from the cave, and all four stood upon the span of Horlais Peak. The view from the top went on for yalms beyond measure. They could see all of Fort Ghelsba and its outpost beneath them, and the entire expanse of Ronfaure beyond that. Stretching out from East Ronfaure, Bongo's sharp eyes could make out the Ranguemont Pass, the mountain trail which was the sole land route to the Northlands. Even there on the horizon, he could see distant snow-capped peaks which could only be Beaucedine Glacier. Further east from Ronfaure was the densely packed woodland of Jugner Forest, and Bongo was convinced that on a clear day, he would be able to see as far as Jeuno. They all paused to take in the incredible sight. Even with the darkened sky above, and the sight of San d'Oria below, there was no denying the breathtaking beauty of Vana'diel.

"From here," Luma's voice was solemn, "it's still so pretty."

No one said anything for a long moment. They simply basked in the truth of the Mithra's words.

Bongo drew in a cold breath, folding his arms over his chest into the folds of his leather jerkin. "Anyway," he continued, "I thought it was more important to make a name for myself. So I don't go touting my last name."

"But you called yourself Demyn?" Dantrag queried. "Isn't that a little on the nose?"

The Ranger shrugged. "Sometimes it's easiest to hide in plain sight. Everyone who knew my father's reputation assumed I was just one more person trying to emulate the master. Besides," he clarified, "Demyn was a name I earned."

"Alright," the Warrior replied, "I'll give you that. But what does your being Genji's son have to do with this place?"

Bongo took a long gaze into the distance. The wind whistled, breathing across the frozen surface of the mountain stream before them. Qwid gestured briefly with one hand, creating a bloom of heat which warded off the chill.

"This really is a beautiful view," the Hume said after a long moment. "I always cursed him for making it this difficult to come see her, but whenever I do make the trip I'm reminded of just why my father buried my mother in this spot."

Nobody spoke, though a ripple of surprise ran through the small fellowship. Bongo slowly raised his finger towards the banks of the stream. What looked like a random gathering of rocks leaning against the water was, upon closer inspection, a polished grave marker surrounded by smooth stones. Etched in its surface in a carefully written script was a simple epitaph.

"Tomoe Aizu Demynix - May Her Grace Light the Heavens."

Bongo paused in front of the stone, saying nothing as he stared down. Dantrag moved closer, but Luma snatched his arm, shaking her head. They remained still, watching the Ranger as he stood over his mother's grave.

"Hi, Mom," he chuckled, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's been too long, huh? I hope you've been alright. I know we don't talk very much anymore." His smile slowly faded as he spoke, drawing in a breath. "I'm sorry I haven't been to see you in so long. And I'm sorry I'll be gone for awhile after this, too." The Ranger sniffed, roughly rubbing his eyes with a leather-gloved hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't find Xaekid, Mom. I swear I never stopped looking."

"Xaekid?" Luma whispered. "What's that?"

"Bongo's younger brother," Dantrag answered quietly. "He almost never mentions him."

The Mithra tilted her head. "Aren't they close? Sibling rivalry, maybe?"

"Xaekid was killed," the Elvaan said simply. "He died during a battle against Orcs many years ago. Bongo spent years searching for a sign that he might have survived, but . . " The Warrior raised his head, looking at his friend with a pained expression. "Bongo's the best hunter in the Middle Lands. And he never found anything."

Luma lowered her head, white hair tumbling over her eyes. She remained silent as Bongo spoke again.

"Things are pretty bad, Mom," he continued, his voice wavering. "I'm not sure what to do. I'm not sure what will happen to me, or any of us. But, I've decided to fight, as hard as I can for as long as I can. I'm going to find out what caused this and make it right again. And if I can't . . . " he sniffed again, running a hand down over his face and then giving another brief chuckle. "If I can't, I'll see you and Xaekid again soon. Okay? So we'll win one way or the other."

Bongo bent his knee, leaning down into the frozen grass before the grave of Tomoe Demynix. From his side, he clutched the hilt of one of his daggers, pulling it out of the sheath with a metallic ringing sound.

"Bongo?" Hubby moved towards the Ranger as he raised the blade upwards, holding it over the stones. Then in a flash, he brought it down, directly into his mother's gravestone.

It sank into a hidden slot in the rock, and an audible click sounded through the mountaintop. Bongo stood, withdrawing his knife as the water in front of the grave began to bubble and froth. The others watched in amazement as he strode out into the pond, breaking through the thin autumn ice to wade into the water beneath. With a sound like shattering glass, a long box made of wood and encrusted with jade broke through to the surface. The Ranger wrapped his hands around its twin brass handles, wrenching it forth from the water and heaving it onto dry land. His feet and hands soaking, Bongo stepped out after it, once again leaning down to the ground and flipping open the latches sealing it shut.

The lid slid aside with the sound of wood grinding against wood. Gathering close around it, the others leaned in to see what was inside.

Resting against a velvet cushion lining the box, two great katanas lay embedded. Taking hold of the longer one, Bongo removed it from its rest. It had a long, flat blade of black steel, on a tightly wrapped grip with no crossguard. Slowly, he slid it onto his back, where it fit perfectly into a gap between the two quivers of arrows strapped across his shoulders. Once it was in place, he pulled out the other sword, a slim weapon still wrapped in its sheath.

"Hubby," Bongo said softly, "this was one of my father's swords. You're letting me use your bow," he indicated the short black-and-white Samurai bow by his side, "it's only fair I return the favor."

"One of Genji's katana?" His voice was almost reverent. Bongo gave a short laugh.

"This one is more of an heirloom, I think. Not my father's best work." He drew out the blade, showing it was chipped in several places. The Ranger slammed it back into the hilt. "Still, I'd prefer knowing it was in safe hands."

Hubby took hold of it, looking his friend square in the eye. "I'll do it honor," he promised.

"And I'll hold on to Hagun for the time being." The Ranger took another long look at the empty box in front of him before sliding the lid back, latching it shut once more. The weapon secure, he slid it back into the water. They watched as it slowly sank beneath the surface, bubbles rising to the top quickly at first, and then gradually diminishing as the box returned from whence it came.

Bongo watched it go, his eyes distant. He turned with a half-hearted smile when Dantrag clapped him on the shoulder. One final time, he wiped his eyes, frozen tears vanishing into the soil below.

"Well," the Ranger said, visibly shaking off whatever was on his mind, "I think it's time to get going."

"You're sure?" Hubby's tone was concerned.

He nodded, a smile breaking through. "Absolutely. Let's get a move on guys. It's time to find our friends."


When she had last been in the Imperial Throne Room of the Empress Nashmeira, Jinxie had been awed by the extravagant beauty of the palace. Even the simpler, far more confined Imperial Chamber held within it a quiet but pronounced power. No one who entered the enormous brass doors which led to the Empress could help but feel humbled by the aura of the palace itself. Jinxie had been no exception upon her first visit. Now she barely noticed her surroundings. They were unimportant, insignificant. Every second she spent here was one that could be out searching for her son.

But she couldn't, not yet. There were things that needed to be done, preparations to make, plans to conceive. She was trying to remain calm and think her way through things, but the thought of her defenseless baby in the hands of the Lamiae was just too much. It was all she could do to keep her focus on what was happening around her.

They had all gathered in the Imperial Chamber, in the presence of the Empress herself. The Imperial Puppetmaster, Aphmau, was there as well, with her two puppets Ovjang and Meijang. Razfahd had removed his corazza, returning to the more official robes of his office. All six Serpent Generals were together, Gadalar, Mihli, Najelith, Zazarg, Rughadjeen, and Kkel, with Pixel by the side of the latter. Not a single one of them wasn't sporting some sort of bandaging or poultice, yet they had managed to make it for this gathering. Isset and Speed stood behind Jinxie, and even Naja Salaheem and Abquhbuh had been allowed in. Conspicuously absent was Xaerus. The Mithra had not been seen since her battle against Medusa.

As much as she hated to admit it, she needed Xaerus now. Her riddles and secrets had grated on Jinxie since the beginning of their quest. Yet she had always been helpful in dealing with others in the Empire, especially Razfahd. Now, when she needed her the most, the blind woman was in the wind, with no clues as to her whereabouts. That left her alone to take on the Imperial Court.

She didn't want to do this. She wanted to go after her son. She wanted to make the Lamiae pay for taking him. She wanted to collapse to the floor and cry. But she couldn't. She had to remain strong. Thus she kept her back straight and her chin up, betraying as little as she could about what was in her heart as Razfahd began speaking.

"I do not know," he began, stepping before Nashmeira's dais, "if the turmoil in the Middle Lands is related to the individuals I have been working with, but I would not find it surprising to say the least."

"Razfahd," came a voice from behind the curtain, "tell us what you have done. Everything you know that might be of use."

The Grand Vizier's lip curled, but he still gave a perfunctory bow. "Yes, Empress, I was about to do so." Clasping his hands behind his back, the Imperial's eyes turned on Jinxie. "Roughly six years ago, I was approached here in the palace by a man who identified himself as Doshu."

"Doshu," Rughadjeen repeated, his eyes narrowing. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"Wait a minute," this time it was Najelith, the Hume woman reflectively staring up at the ceiling. "Doshu . . . there was a Doshu amongst my personal archers some years ago."

Razfahd turned his head to the Galeserpent. "What do you remember about him?"

She put a thoughtful hand against her chin, tapping her foot as she struggled to recall. "He was from the border cities, I remember. One of the outlying territories. A good shot, and ambitious, too. He was always willing to undertake dangerous assignments." Najelith paused, trying to think of anything else, but ultimately spread her hands. "He vanished several years back. We were defending the city from the Trolls, and after the fight he was nowhere to be found. I always assumed he'd been captured, or killed."

"If it is indeed the same man, then he has gone far beyond a simple soldier," Razfahd said darkly. "He exuded a presence I have not felt before. The power he wields now is frightening. He wears a ring and a cloak which appear crafted from the night itself, and holds a silver gun that I would swear had a life of its own."

Kkel gave a start. "Him!" The Blue Mage's hand went for his sword, only to realize that there were no weapons allowed in the Imperial District. Without a blade, he began exuding a blue aura instead. "That's the man in black I encountered in Quon. He's the one who tried to kill Pixel! You were working with him!" He lanced an accusatory finger at the Grand Vizier, eyes full of fire. "It was a set up after all!"

"Kkel, calm down!" Rugadjeen implored, stepping in front of the other Elvaan. Zazarg quickly moved behind him, ready to restrain the Sunserpent even as Gadalar began calling forth a fiery shield.

"Kkel," Pixel said, smiling up at him, "I want to hear what he has to say."

He looked down at the Bard, then to Razfahd's glaring eyes. Frowning, Kkel released his power, standing down. "Let's hear it, Razfahd." The other Serpent Generals all breathed a visible sigh of relief.

"I'll thank you for no further outbursts," the dark-eyed Grand Vizier said haughtily. "The facts are this. I knew nothing about any sort of attempt on your life, Sunserpent. The assignment I gave you was very real, though none of us have any reason to believe the Blue Mages you were sent to track down were not also in league with Doshu. His schemes are like a web carefully woven to catch as many insects as possible."

"What did he offer you?" It was Aphmau, the blonde-haired girl in red, sitting on a large pillow beside the Empress. The two puppets in her command stood languidly in front of her, facing towards the Grand Vizier. Razfahd's eyes drifted upwards, taking on a reflective state.

"He promised me an end to the beastmen raids upon our city. All I had to do was keep the Empire out of the affairs of the Middle Lands." He returned his imperious gaze to the others, not a hint of remorse showing. "I did as I was asked, recalling all of our ambassadors and scholars abroad. Sure enough, sieges against Al Zahbi dropped significantly as soon as the bargain was struck. I'm not sure how he did it, but he was able to keep the savages away from our Astral Candescence." Razfahd faced the gathering, his jaw stiffening. "No matter what else happened, the end of those attacks have saved countless Imperial soldiers and citizens over the last year. I have no regret for my actions."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Rughadjeen asked.

"That was the first and last time. Since then all of our dealings have gone through a surrogate - the man you saw prior to the attack, Chiz."

"So, fergive me, your Majesty, Grand Vizierrrr," Naja Salaheem stepped forward as she spoke. The diminuitive Mithra looked at a loss as to what to do with her hands without her crushing mace nearby. She continually shifted between having her hands clasped in front of her, folding her arms, or shoving them in her pockets. "I have to ask, what exactly was this Doshu fella's plan, anyway?"

Razfahd shrugged. "I only know that he required we remain away from the Middle Lands. The root of his scheming no doubt lies there."

"Whatever it was," Mihli Aliapoh mused, "it must have been, or perhaps still is, very delicate."

Eyes turned to face her. "How do you figure?" inquired Aphmau.

The Mithra's ears twitched as she thought. "This Doshu has obviously gone through a lot of trouble to do whatever it is he's doing. He's calculated things that could interrupt his plot and planned well in advance to neutralize them." She looked around the room, assessing each face in turn. "In making the Empire withdraw, he still planned to remove Kkel Solaar so as to weaken our military, just in case. Attacks on the city itself dwindled, but more and more beastmen have forced us to divert forces away from the capital to defend our outlying villages, even as the war in the Far East grows more intense. Knowing now that Doshu was likely dealing with the beastmen behind our back the entire time, it seems likely each new trouble was another layer of his scheme. In other words, just because he made sure the Empire wouldn't interfere right away didn't mean things would not change in the future, so he planned ahead to further bind us should the situation call for it."

"Sounds like a real character, this Doshu," Zazarg mused. "I wonder what else is going on because he's dipping his fingers into everyone else's business."

"We've got to find him," Kkel slapped a fist against an open palm, his expression resolute. "He's an enemy of the Empire. That's all the justification we need, not that we don't have plenty more."

"I recommend forming an expedition to the Middle Lands," Rughadjeen put forth. "We can begin planning immediately."

"But we can't know how long the beastmen scum will stay down," Gadalar protested. "Now's not the time to weaken our own defenses."

"Can we really let this criminal roam free?" Countered Najelith. "There must be an option which - "

"None of this is helping me find my son."

The conversation dropped immediately. All eyes fell to the center of the room, where Jinxie stood. She was shaking, her fists clenched tightly inside black gloves, eyes downcast as she held back her tears. Whether they were of sadness or rage or frustration she could not even tell herself anymore. Everyone else in the room looked away uncomfortably, save for Isset. The Puppetmaster laid a hand on Jinxie's shoulder, and she was instantly grateful for the support. Pushing back her emotions, she lifted her chin and stared down Razfahd and the others.

"My son." She stated simply. "We're going after him."

The Grand Vizier cleared his throat. "Yes . . . we will aid you however we can, but you can't expect . . . "

"They took my baby!" She screamed at Razfahd, advancing on him dangerously. It was impossible to deny the satisfaction of watching him flinch. "I lost my child to save your city and you're going to help me get him back."

"Of course," he said, trying and failing to sound unruffled. "However - "

"No, Razfahd. We will give her anything she requires."

The Hume staggered as if struck, then swiveled his head to face the curtain before Nashmeira. The Empress was sitting with her back straight, looking directly at her Grand Vizier. Razfahd turned and looked at Aphmau, but the blond girl only shrugged. Clearly restraining anger, he cleared his throat as he addressed the ruler of the Empire.

"Your Majesty," he began, "I realize we must repay the Bastokan, but surely apprehending Doshu - "

"You will do as I command," her voice took everyone in the room aback. "The full resources of Urghuum will be at Jinxie's disposal." Razfahd opened his mouth, but was cut off immediately. "This, I command!"

The Grand Vizier worked his jaw, but no sound came out. From her pillow, Aphmau giggled, and her two puppets hid their faces.

"Thank you, Empress Nashmeira," Jinxie breathed, bowing her head. "But I don't . . . I don't know where to start . . ."

And then a powerful presence asserted itself before her. She looked up to see the calming blue eyes of Kkel Solaar giving her a reassuring gaze. He smiled at her, and then turned to address the Empress.

"Your Majesty, if I may," he asked.

"Of course, Sunserpent."

He nodded. "We know Drake was taken by the Lamiae. We have no reason to believe they would not return to their home in Caedarva Mire."

"It's true," Najelith confirmed. "None of our forest scouts reported seeing any of them venturing away from their normal path home as they retreated."

The Elvaan nodded. "A full military strike against the Mire would be costly and ill-advised, but so would sending Jinxie in when the Lamiae will no doubt be on full alert. Therefore, I recommend we distract them while she and a small team insert themselves unseen to find Medusa and recover her son."

"Distract them how?" Razfahd queried. "And whom would take on this role?"

"Pixel and myself, naturally," he gave a wry smirk, and Pixel smiled at the Grand Vizier. "As for how, I've got a plan." He turned to the other Serpent Generals, and they each took a step closer. "I'll need each of you to handpick some soldiers for me. Once that's done I'll lead a series of assaults against the Lamiae's main outposts. Periqia, Ilrusi Atoll, and Leujaoam Sanctum. Using the Runic Portal, I should be able to practically be in all three places at once."

"This will force the Lamiae to move their attention in three different directions. With the bulk of their army distracted, Jinxie and a small team can move in undetected," Pixel followed up on Kkel's thinking. "It should be no problem at all for her to confront Medusa and take her son back."

"I know she can do it," Isset confirmed, "and I'm with her all the way." Shoki leaped up at the proclamation, spinning in the air.

"Rrright," Naja said, "and Speed, you're going, too."

"Wha? Where? Oh." The Warrior sighed, hooking his thumbs over his pockets. "Alright, alright."

"Lady Naja, will two mercenaries really be enough?" Abquhbuh pushed his glasses up his nose, fretting. The Mithra took on a speculative look, tugging at one of her brown ponytails.

"You're right, Abquhbuh. Jinxie, I'm going to find some more help for you. I've got two people in mind. I'll have them ready as soon as I nail their sorry hides down."

Jinxie took a deep breath. "Thank you, Naja."

"Then it is settled," proclaimed Nashmeira. "Begin making preparations immediately. We will not fail!"

The small crowd converged, plans being spoken at a rapid pace from all sides. The general chatter became a dull roar in the small Imperial Chamber. Kkel conversed with the Serpent Generals. Razfahd shared a hushed exchange with Aphmau. Isset and Naja discussed mercenary options with Abquhbuh. For a moment, Jinxie was left alone in her thoughts.

They were going to go after Drake. Everyone was willing to help her, as much as she needed. She would have the opportunity to lead the quest to rescue her son personally. Nashmeira, Naja, Isset, they were all placing a lot of faith in her. They believed in her.

As the talk swirled around her, she wondered how they would feel if they knew she had lost all her power.

Chapter LII: The Ocean Says Yes

The flight from Ifrit’s Cauldron was a blur, literally. Once Tomiko convinced Tikinas that her tan-scaled monster was no threat, the creature had leaped into the air and then streaked almost straight down. Once the wyvern Vouivre took wing, it took but moments for the Ninja to be deposited at the base of the volcano, over a mile below. With the volcano pouring clouds of ash into the sky, it felt like hours.

“Vouivre won’t leave its home,” the Dragoon informed Tikinas when they reached the outskirts of the Cauldron. “I can’t fly you any further.”

“That’s a pity,” she said disingenuously, more than happy to be off of the wyvern. Tikinas admitted to herself that the big-eyed liquid gaze of Tomiko’s own wyvern, Muffin, was a little endearing. This glimpse at what a monster it would grow to be, however, was honestly terrifying. Its teeth were like daggers. Is scales were harder than iron and hot to the touch. Tomiko might have endorsed the hulking Vouivre as harmless, but Tikinas did not have nor want the kind of bond with the creatures the Dragoon had. In any case, she had more important things to worry about.

In a flash, she was off, the ground a featureless blur beneath her feet. Ifrit’s Cauldron was rumbling behind her, and she tried to ignore the pieces of blackened rock falling around her. Don’t think about Ayn being inside the volcano that could erupt at any moment, she told herself. Don’t think about the panic that had to be sweeping through Kazham, her own hometown. Don’t think about the people of Norg being swept under by a tide of magma. Don’t think about Elshimo itself breaking into pieces. She focused entirely on moving forward, on completing the mission.

Around her, the Yhoator jungle thickened with each bound and leap she took. The environment only sped her along. Others might have struggled with the terrain, their progress hampered by the twisting paths. The towering trees, so numerous their foliage blotted out the sun, laid their twisting roots across every inch of the jungle. The underbrush was thicker still, much of the jungle still unexplored simply because it was deemed inaccessible. This was to say nothing of the Coeurls that slinked through the trees, waiting for unwary prey. Goblin hunting parties often wandered near the volcano as well, residents of the village they had seen inside. Some of the plants were deadly to touch or ingest, the monsters took a more active approach to killing people. An average traveler could take days to safely traverse the dense jungle.

To Tikinas, trained in the art of the Ninja practically from birth, nothing was an obstacle. The leaves on the trees she bounded off of barely rustled with her passing. Her legs pumped ceaselessly. Each step propelled her deeper and deeper into Yhoator, the terrain itself a propellant. Her pace ate up the ground at an impossible rate. Nothing that even saw her long enough to realize something was there had time to figure out what it was they had seen. More often than not, she was a black-and-white streak, her hair blowing out behind her as she ran. Nothing could possibly keep pace with her. She was moving too fast for anything to catch up with her.

It surprised even her when she halted after landing on a particularly thick branch and spun directly around. A row of thin needles lined her grasp, and her eyes searched the jungle intently. She knew someone was following her. She could feel it in her bones, and every sense she possessed was telling her that there was something behind her. When her ears caught the limbs she bounded from snapping back into place, she knew it was a second too late. She knew the brush closed behind her just a moment too slowly. Someone was mimicking her path, taking every step she did. Yet there was nothing behind her. Nothing stirred, not even the faintest breeze in the air. All about her was only stillness.

She held her position, legs balanced precariously on the branch she stood on. Below her, leaves rustled, and she immediately turned to face the source of the disturbance. The noise grew louder, branches snapping in the tree directly beneath the Ninja. Breathlessly, she drew back her fist, prepared to unleash her deadly payload. For a long moment she held steady, unblinking. Something came through the underbrush, and like a whip cracking her arm flashed, and she barely halted herself from unleashing a spray of projectiles into an opo-opo, which peered at her with bulbous eyes through the leaves. It crunched down on a branch it held in one hand, chewing the bark as it looked up at the ninja perched over it. With an exasperated grunt, Tikinas sheathed her weapons. In the distance, Ifrit’s Cauldron rumbled.

The jungle was a green-and-brown blur beneath her feet. The tree line abruptly cut off, and she soared through the air, springing from a tree towards her destination. She hit the ground running, the topography of Yhoator racing through her mind. Tikinas knew she wasn’t far away from where she needed to be now. She had been raised in these jungles, fighting Goblins, running missions to outposts, evading the dreaded Morbols. She doubted even the Onion Samurai, one of Kazham’s urban legends, knew more about the island than she did. This was her home. The realization that the place where she had grown up was now her responsibility to protect raced through her mind. Gritting her teeth, she pushed past the pain she had suffered at the hands of Duke Berith and made her legs move faster. She was close by something that would speed her journey even further.

Tracks on the ground that looked like roots being pulled from the earth told her she was where she wanted to be. With a running leap, she took to the air again. Her feet grazed the side of a moss-covered rock, giving her the surface she needed to spring off of. For a long moment she soared, unclaimed by gravity, and then landed atop her target; the Treant that wandered Yhoator jungle. Old as the jungle itself, the monster was often called the Woodland Sage, as it had borne witness to everything that had ever transpired on Elshimo. As soon as she landed, the plant-like creature gave a startled snort. Violently, it shook its branches, but Tikinas clutched on to the monster. Understandably, it grew quite upset at having a Ninja clutching on to its head.

With a tremendous heave, the Woodland Sage threw Tikinas loose. First bending backwards, it then catapulted forward and sent the thin frame of the Mithra flying. It was something she had wanted to try ever since her instructor had her observe the Sage without being detected for three days straight. There was no time like the present. The incredible momentum with which the Treant hurled her threw Tikinas forward like a dart. Faster than even she could run, she cleared ground at an incredible pace, the Woodland Sage a fading dot behind her.

Tucking herself into a ball, she let her momentum bring her down. She rolled with the impact and sprang back up instantly, not hesitating as she entered the cave mouth before her. She had reached the Den of Rancor.


“Gnnnnn,” let out Klistel, sweat soaking his forehead. The ethereal form of Ifrit enveloping the crystal hunched over, its eyes gleaming like suns. Slowly, another crack which had formed in the crystal began to fuse itself together. Shattered pieces became whole, but it caused a reaction that sent a sound like glass splintering through the Cloister of Flames.

Ayn almost cringed at the sound. Everything going on around him unnerved him. Watching a Summoner and a raging fire monster attempting to piece back together a gigantic magic crystal had not been a part of what he agreed to. Especially since the Summoner had already told him that even if they were successful, the live volcano they were in was going to explode with them in it. Everything came down to the one person in the world he could count on. In a situation like this, though, he wondered if even Tikinas could come through.

“Menphis?” the Thief asked, and the Ranger shook his head in response.

“She’s too far away,” he replied, leaning back with arms folded against the wall. He looked so unflustered at the entire situation that Ayn wanted to slice him down the middle. “I can’t tell you anything.”

The Thief was too worried to even comment on that. Tikinas was the only one of them now not in Ifrit’s Cauldron, but for the danger she was placing herself in at the Den of Rancor, it was small comfort indeed. That dreadful abyss was as much a deathtrap as the volcano.

His concentration on Tikinas was broken when Klistel gave another strained cry. A thin crack started reforming itself, and Ifrit gave a voiceless snarl as its shape lost cohesiveness. It was clear that the loss of the Protocrystal of Fire would mean much more than just the destruction of Elshimo. Klistel’s muscles went taut beneath his robes, and the newest fault sealed itself over again. The Avatar of Fire became clear once more, refocusing its efforts double on the task before it. For man and spirit alike, it was a matter of self-preservation.

Time ticked away in the Cloister of Flames as outside, Ifrit’s Cauldron rumbled ever louder.


Eyes always unblinking, pace a steady, measured shuffle, lantern swinging on a measured rhythm, the Tonberry came forward. The knife in its tiny fist was dulled, spotted with what was either rust or positively ancient blood. Part of the blade was chipped, and as the green-skinned creature walked, it scraped at times against the rocky ground to produce a profoundly disturbing sound. It said nothing even as another Tonberry passed by it, both dressed in the same tattered sackcloth clothes tied with rope belts. In one hand they held their knives, the other an outstretched lantern. In this fashion they had patrolled the Den of Rancor as long as anyone could remember. The Tonberries, the most malignant and ruthlessly deadly of all the Beastmen to walk Vana’diel, called this place their home. It truly suited them.

The Den of Rancor stretched out for miles. All of it completely underground, there was seemingly no end to the twists and turns of the subterranean tunnels. Here and there some monsters roamed; a small clutch of lizards, the revolting Hecteyes, even the odd Pugil, making their aquatic home in the shallow pools which stagnated in the caves. It was the Tonberries, though, who held uncontested control of the area. Hardly an inch of the space was actually dark, despite being well hidden from the sun. At regular intervals, lanterns like the ones the deep green Beastmen held had been attached to the walls, giving off a pale, flickering glow to see by. Those flames, as far as anyone had ever observed, never extinguished. It had been said the Tonberries filled their lanterns with the souls of their victims, trapping them for eternity within their tiny glass prison.

The two Tonberries passed by one another, continuing along their respective paths. The cavern remained still as they both shuffled down connecting tunnels, leaving the open space behind. A moment later, Tikinas dropped down from the ceiling, quickly spinning from side to side on the balls of her feet. Confident she had not been noticed, she continued moving forward. Her pace infuriated her compared to the flight through the jungle. It felt like she was moving at a crawl having to navigate the twisting corridors and avoid being seen by the murderous Tonberries. The tuning fork Klistel had given her was pulsating now against the pocket in her waist, pulling her onwards. Whatever its purpose, it was clear that it had a propensity towards wanting to fulfill it.

The Mithra slid carefully along the wall into another open space. More Tonberries roamed throughout, a dozen or more slowly pacing back and forth. Slinking forward, Tikinas removed a vial from a tiny pouch in the lining of her vest. One hand flashing through a series of motions, she released a tiny trickle of chi into it, crunching it in her fist. A hazy powder flew out of it, covering her with a prismatic dust. She faded from view like a mirage in the desert. The tuning fork in her pocket tugged harder. She had to be close now.

Carefully, she began crossing the distance of the room. The Tonberries made no indication of noticing her. She had no time to wait for them to pace away or try and sneak by. The powder forming a light-bending cloud around her was her best option as she saw it. Footfalls soundless, she cut a straight line through the broad cavern, slipping easily through the beastmen. They gave no indication of seeing her as she ghosted by, gnarled, bare feet continuing their endless walk. She reached the other side of the open space without incident, the tuning fork in her belt guiding her implacably onwards. Knowing she was getting close, Tikinas rounded the corner.

Straight into the all-seeing gaze of a Hecteyes.

The monstrous thing was fully as tall as the Mithra herself. An animated mass of what looked like sloughing, decaying flesh, covered completely with bright yellow eyes. A revolting, horrendous creature, and every one of those bulging, serpentine eyes fixed directly on where Tikinas was standing. There were Tonberry still everywhere behind her. For a moment, she held her breath, praying that somehow her invisibility had kept her hidden.

A guttural bleating rose from the Hecteyes as it shattered Tikinas’s hopes. Tendrils of a fetid ooze shot out of its very body, striking at her in bestial anger. It had no reason to attack her, but like everything in the Den of Rancor, it needed none. Simply being within the heart of the Tonberry lair filled every creature that entered with malice. The Hecteyes’ attack missed her by inches, and she arched backwards to avoid the strike. At the same time, a bag of powder flew from her grasp, striking the monster and exploding on impact into cloud. Tikinas released her chi through the correlating hand sign, and the concoction immediately became as black as night. The Hecteyes was blinded, and began lashing out recklessly, furiously trying to strike Tikinas down. The Mithra somersaulted away, landing with both katana drawn.

The rattle she heard was like a child’s laugh filled with some indescribable darkness. A chill shot down her spine, nearly paralyzing her just from its touch. Before she even turned her head she knew that the Tonberries knew she was there.

Tikinas was no fool. She did not stop to confront the beastmen or see how many there were. She only ran, as fast as she could, speeding down the endless corridors of the Den of Rancor with abandon. The tuning fork pulled her left, and she followed without question. The rattle sounded again, making her bones quiver, urging her to beg more speed out of the burning muscles in her legs. It couldn’t have been closer than before. It was just her imagination, or these damn caves echoing, she told herself. They just couldn’t be closer than before.

The tuning fork abruptly leaped in her belt, then started pulling her towards the ground. The sudden direction shift stunned her enough to give her pause. As she skidded to a halt, her eyes involuntarily turned to the side. They were right behind her. Not running, not even really walking quickly on their stunted limbs, the yellow-eyed Tonberries were practically on top of her. Another rattle sounded, and fear clutched at her as lantern light glinted off of dull and rusty knives held in gnarled hands. They were shuffling towards her, inescapable and implacable. Their blades were extended as they slowly marched towards the Ninja. The walls seemed to be closing in around her. The rattle sounded again, louder and faster, and for a moment it seemed her feet were stuck to the floor.

With a shout of defiance, Tikinas threw down her arms. A hail of powder flew from her sleeves, and she ignited it with a concentrated burst of chi. The tunnel was instantly filled with the same blinding powder she had used on the Hecteyes. Tikinas flew out of the thick cloud, skidding to a halt as wisps of it trailed off of her. Her breath hissed between pointed teeth as she saw unblinking yellow eyes, still visible through the impenetrable fog.

The ninja took off without hesitation. A Tonberry emerged with its knife scraping against the wall, blood-colored sparks shooting from the stone upon contact. In the dim light which permeated the Den of Rancor, Tikinas spotted a hole in the floor. The tuning fork urged her towards it, and she wasted no time getting there. She pushed off with one leg, sailing into the air as she unleashed a deadly spray of shuriken blindly behind her. With an aerial flip, she dove into the darker, deeper section of the cave, landing on her feet below. The item Klistel had given her was practically tearing through her pocket now, and she turned to see a long, dark tunnel ahead of her. At the end of it, a softly-glowing blue light gently shone.

Just in front of it, however, were four more Tonberries.

The Ninja put up her katana in desperation as they came forward. The rattling was everywhere it seemed. She turned and impossibly realized that the Tonberries she had left above were standing perched over the crevasse she had dropped down. One of them took a step forward into the abyss, and dropped straight down, landing on its feet as if the precipitous descent was but a normal step. Knives were scraping stone all around her. One of the Tonberries in front of the tunnel took a slow step forward, and Tikinas realized that the lantern it was holding was empty, with the flame door hanging open and pointing towards her.


“We must escape!” Greyheart insisted as the cavern rumbled around them. Geysers of flame had begun to shoot up through cracks forming in the ground. The Red Mage cried out as he was singed by a white-hot rock shooting through the air, leaving a blister where it struck his wrist. “This whole volcano is about to go!”

“We’ve nowhere to run,” Menphis told him, the youth standing straight despite the continuous shaking. “You shouldn’t waste your breath.”

“How can you be so damn calm about this?” Ayn demanded. The Thief was intently focused on Klistel, the spiritual manifestation of Ifrit now almost solid before him. The Protocrystal of Flame was nearly repaired, and yet the chain reaction its near destruction had set off now seemed inevitable. The Summoner was hunched over, shoulders drooping as he gasped for air. The energy he was expelling threatened to claim his own life. Ifrit gave a roar without sound, yet the intensity of it still struck Ayn on a level far beyond the physical.

“Because I know,” the Ranger replied, watching the events transpire, the intensity of his expression magnified by the red light upon it, “that no matter what, I will not die until I have my revenge.”

Ayn stared at him briefly, then turned away with an exasperated breath. He should have gone with her, he told himself. He should have gone with her.

“I can’t . . . keep this up . . . “ Klistel spat out between breaths, and Ifrit’s Cauldron growled. The Elvaan’s mouth hung open mutely, and his face looked withered with exhaustion. Time had almost run out.


Tikinas hacked with measured precision at the Tonberries coming near her. Each slash touched nothing, as no matter how close they seemed, as soon as she attacked they were once again beyond her reach. She was keeping them at bay, but there were so many, and she was so tired. She saw a knife glint in the air behind her, and she realized her time had run out.

The series of explosions which rocked the cavern were deafening. She instinctively clutched her hands to her ears as shattered stone erupted around her, spraying across the room. The Tonberries turned as one, all eyes shifting left and then right, and TIkinas caught the sight of a blur moving across the far wall. A wall of flame surrounded her, and the Tonberry beside her stepped back, engulfed. It stood there, burning, eyes never moving from Tikinas as it waited for the flames to die down. Its knife never lowered.

The streak of motion suddenly took shape, and Tikinas gasped at the Ninja whose feet touched down, Tonberries now solidly focused on him.

“This is not what I signed on for,” the Ninja lamented, a serrated katana clutched tightly in front of him.

“You’re – ! “ she exclaimed.

“No time,” he admonished, dark eyes darting over a dozen Tonberry faces. “Get going, now. I can’t hold them off.”

She froze for only an instant before turning to see the tunnel to the Cloister of Tides stretching out beyond her, the path clear.

With the briefest bow of acknowledgment, she was off.


Zealot staggered back with a surprised shout as a vein of magma burst, lava spilling into the Cloister of Flames. The entire mountain was heaving, and an acrid smoke had begun to fill the air. Ayn was clutching to a rock face now to simply stand up straight, even as fragments of molten rock splashed across the ground at his feet. Klistel was on his knees, a hand raised weakly in the air as Ifrit struggled visibly in the air over him.

The rumbling suddenly became a furious quake, and a fresh spew of lava burst from the ground. Ayn slid down, unable to keep his grip, as even Menphis sunk to one knee.

“This is it,” Klistel said out loud, and flash of heat and sound that overtook them put the truth to his words.


Tikinas dashed forward, tearing the tuning fork from her pouch. With a frantic dive, she cleared the distance from the cavern mouth to the Protocrystal of Water. The fork seemed to be carrying her through the air now, and an audible shout escaped her as she clutched it towards the enormous, glittering blue gem.

The surface of the Protocrystal rippled like a pond with a stone thrown into it as Tikinas made contact. She sank down immediately, plunging into the clear, cool water which flooded the Cloister of Tides. She sank into it, an amazing sensation sweeping through her. With a gasp, she sat straight up, splashing and struggling to stand again. She caught sight of the surface of the crystal, and stopped immediately. Her eyes were like dinner plates as she watched the Protocrystal. She didn’t even notice the water rising up around her, obeying the call of its master.


Klistel’s outstretched hand clenched into a taut fist.

His other palm slapped against the floor, flesh hissing as it made contact with the sizzling hot stone. Everything was being super heated by the lava rolling in around them. There was barley a safe place to stand. All at once, however, the Summoner rose. As Ayn watched in disbelief, a visible aura flared out from the man who had appeared on the verge of death a moment earlier. The flames surrounding him dispelled, brushed away by a cleansing energy that washed over the Rogue and the entire room as well. Steam began billowing from the ground as the temperature in the room dropped, and Ayn felt like he had just taken a swim through pure spring water.

The visage of Ifrit suddenly became solid. The lava retreated further, obeying the will of the Avatar of Fire. Ifrit looked up, eyes gleaming, and let out a roar that Ayn definitely felt physically. He thought his eardrums might burst as it shook the Cloister of Flames, a match for the rumbling volcano itself.

What was even more amazing was that Ayn heard another voice call out in response.


The true form of Leviathan, Avatar of Water, burst from the ocean surrounding Elshimo. Heeding the desperate call of Ifrit, guided by Klistel, the water dragon emerged in all his terrible power. Blue scales rippled and glittered like the sea itself, stretching onwards forever as his enormous body coiled around itself. The serpentine Avatar let out a screech, and immediately dozens of waterspouts, miles high, surged up around the island. They danced around Leviathan, its fishlike fins stretching outwards to command them. The Avatar straightened, reaching so high as to blot out the sun, and gave another shriek. Guided by its will, the wall of water spiraled together, and surged across the island in one tremendous torrent.

Ifrit’s Cauldron erupted. Ash and lava were belched into the air, forming a dark cloud that multiplied in size by the second, threatening to blanket Elshimo even as fault lines began collapsing inwards all around it. It was cataclysmic. It was a disaster the likes of which had never been seen on the tiny island, nor would again. It lasted roughly six seconds.

As Ifrit commanded the flow of magma down to its source, billions of gallons of water suddenly surged through the mountain. Monsters were swept away, geysers of flame extinguished. The Goblin village experienced the first and only rain it would ever know. Foreseer Oramix held a hand in the air, feeling precipitation leaking down from the caverns above, and looked out around at his fellow Goblins. Not a single one of them was moving. They had no idea what to do.

Ayn coughed as steam too thick to see through filled the Cloister of Flames. He reached blindly forward, and then clutched onto something that felt human. Pulling it closer to him, he saw the face of Klistel emerge. The Elvaan’s hair was matted to his head, and though he barely looked conscious, there was a smile on his face.

“What did you do?” He asked the Summoner.

“There was a . . . plea,” he explained, “embedded in the tuning fork. Tikinas succeeded. We asked the ocean to help.”

“I guess the ocean says yes,” Ayn observed, trying without success to make out his surroundings. Even the Protocrystal of Fire was enveloped in the mist filling the room. Something brushed past him, and he caught a glimpse of something green walking by.

“I told you,” Menphis said, grabbing hold of the ledge and pulling himself up to burst from the steam cloud. Without changing expression once, the Ranger began climbing upwards, out the way they had came.

“The paths Berith sealed off should be open again now,” Klistel realized. “We can go out the easy way. Hey,” he called after Menphis, but Ayn stopped him.

“No,” the Thief said, brushing the steam away as best he could, “let’s let him figure that out.”


Tikinas didn’t know when she came back to her senses, but when she did, the scent of grass filled her nose.

Tearing herself up off the ground, she looked around in amazement. The sun was a fading red marble in the horizion. Ifrit’s Cauldron was belting out harmless steam in the distance, and there wasn’t a single tremor shaking the ground. She was outside, the Den of Rancor a distant blot of darkness. She had no memory of leaving the Cloister of Tides, nor even losing consciousness.

Her hand flinched with surprise as her fingers scraped something in the air. She realized there was a note tied around her wrist.

“Our Little Secret,” it read, spelled out in an easily decipherable Ninja code. The signature on it was also unmistakable.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, she crumpled it in her hand, spinning to face whoever approached her. Then she was spun herself as Ayn lifted her into the air, and when he let her down they came into an extended embrace. She noticed Klistel, Tomiko, Zealot, and Greyheart in the distance, each one trying to discretely look away. She didn’t have time to worry about where Menphis was before the questions began for both sides, and didn’t stop even as the sun set and they trekked the long distance back to Norg.


”Looks like we came out of this one after all,” President commented, staring out into the distance.

Argentina came to his side, leaning her head against his shoulder. The perch they shared overlooked most of the island, and not hours before, it had been the sight of something indescribable. Whatever the cause or outcome, all they knew was that for the moment, Elshimo was safe.

“I knew my boy could do it,” the pirate king said with an unrestrained smile. “’E ain’t let me down yet.”

“And all by himself, no doubt,” Argentina replied with a completely straight face. “Well, maybe Tikinas helped.”

“We’re in interestin’ times, Argentina,” he remarked, stretching out his arms around her. He gave out a deep chuckle, and the Charybdis’s first mate raised her head to see what her captain was looking at.

Hiking through the woods far below, crossing the hidden paths to reach Norg through Sea Serpent Grotto, she could clearly make out a small band of people. They were too far to make out from the distance and in the fading light, but there was no doubt who they were. President removed his arm, turning to the stiff wooden steps leading up to the perch and heading back down into the hidden village below.

“Going to meet them at the gate?” Argentina inquired.

President gave another laugh. “’Course not, lass. I’m gonna make them come t’ Gilgamesh’s office an’ give an official report, all intimidating-like. We can’t let th’ lad get a swelled head just yet.”

Argentina smirked as they both descended back towards Norg. President was right, after all. With everything going on in the world, Ayn had just bought them time and safety they had desperately needed.

And now his work was really about to begin.