'We are no longer humans, Zerthimon.'

The Unity of Rings is one of the fundamental truths of the Planes. It speaks of events and processes that have no beginning and no end, the past that inevitably impacts the future, the gravity of decisions made. The Unity of Rings brings a sense of meaning, security, balance – as long as the circle doesn't become a trap with no way out.

'The Unity of Rings' follows the story of the githzerai and the githyanki from the perspective of both factions of the race; genre-wise, it's probably somewhere between dark fantasy and dystopia, and definitely closer to weird fiction than epic fantasy. It's divided into two timelines – contemporary and historical, the former based on Dak'kon's arc in Planescape: Torment and the latter focusing on Gith, Zerthimon and Vlaakith.

The other POV in the contemporary timeline is Aranai. Aranai, not Shandra. Or is it the other way round?

Also, in my world, Zaerith Menyar Ag-Gith doesn't exist. The githzerai need no gods or kings, and a god-king is just too much. On the other hand, Sha'sal Khou, a secret organization that wants to reunite the githzerai and the githyanki, exists as much as possible.

FIRST RING • FAÇADE

Clouds were crowding in the limitless space. They floated in disarray, moving closer and further apart, scattering in all directions and once again fusing in a compact mass. Here and there they collapsed into gigantic vortices, great abysses shivering with flashes of lightning. Some of the clouds glided lazily until they gradually dispersed into nothingness, the other ones trundled on, gaining in speed, to transform into lumps of earth or suddenly burst with living fire.

Slivers, tongues, drops of matter carried from far and near were persistently hitting against a small, merely few-meter air bubble that was moving without haste in the very middle of the whirl.

He didn't want to waste his energy on a bigger or more elaborate cover. He gave up on marking out a continuous path, instead forming single stone plates beneath his feet. Despite everything, he remained calm. The signal that connected him with Shra'kt'lor was strengthening slowly but discernibly. The hazy silhouette of the city loomed far away, its contour sharpening, although an accidental planewalker could still see the distant shape only as a massive mountain suspended in emptiness. Yet Limbo was no domain of accidental planewalkers.

He had a long way to go before first lone pagodas emerged from behind the clouds. When he finally stood at the gates, his cover was infested with sparks; they circled over his head like troublesome insects, settling on the cloth of his coat.

The last stone plates fell into the abyss; he took the next step on stable ground. Armed guards greeted him with solemn bows and immediately closed the gate.

He slowly went along the circle path leading to the nearest inner gate. Every now and then, he stumbled upon guards patrolling the area – there were many more of them now than when he left the city. Single travellers were crossing the few portals that were permanently opened at the outskirts. His arrival didn't go unnoticed, either. Upon recognizing him, the guards would ask whether he needed any escort, if not for safety, then at least for comfort. He didn't.

Secular districts were still the most common ones in the circle inside the gate. For a while, he walked between rows of shops and stalls of a large street market, one of the few places in Shra'kt'lor where his presence didn't attract much interest. From there, he turned towards the stairs going upwards amidst densely clustered houses. The city was already falling asleep when he crossed the third gate. Only now he decided to lift his hood and swing his coat onto his shoulder, revealing the ceremonial armour beneath.

She quickly spotted him, although at first couldn't believe that it was her who would be so honoured. It struck her as odd that a high zerth wasn't accompanied by guards. Instead, he only exchanged a couple of words with the sentinels at the gate, and moved on. He was still clad in his long, worn-coloured travelling coat.

'Greetings, enlightened one.'

He turned towards her with a sudden movement, pulled from his thoughts. He seemed confused, as if trying to recall who he was even dealing with. She didn't manage to decipher whether he succeeded.

'Greetings, sword-wielder.'

'I am glad that your journey has successfully come to its end. Did the Unbroken Circle lead you to your purpose?'

'The Unbroken Circle is the purpose,' he said without hesitation, as if it were indisputable. It crossed her mind that the wording she chose could have offended him, although his voice was still mild.

'Forgive me if my blade struck the air, enlightened one.'

'I believe that my journey brought me closer to my purpose.' They silently walked past the wall of the vast meditation building. 'Know that I saw the ruins of Nirankar on my way. Not all stones have been reduced to dust. The spires of Nirankar will rise again above the sea of Limbo.'

Nirankar. So he did remember, after all. He did remember the day when she arrived here, half-dead, mourning the fall of the city. It meant something else, too – it was a long, exhausting journey. He had to spend entire days in the eye of the cyclone raging outside Shra'kt'lor, most likely not using portals. Nirankar wasn't, however, his destination. Finally – he clearly insisted on turning to a different subject.

'Such is my will, enlightened one. But I'm afraid it's but a spark amidst howling winds.'

'The Rising of the People was built on many ten-turnings of labour,' he quoted from memory. 'You must keep your faith, sword-wielder.'

'It means a lot to me. I am always a guest at Toryg's table here in Shra'kt'lor.' She pondered for a moment. 'Does the enemy still send scouts out there?'

'The githyanki are convinced they have already achieved their goal.' She suddenly noticed that the zerth's hand was resting on the pommel of his sword. Did it catch her attention only now or did he want this gesture to accentuate his last words? 'Know that they will be looking for new goals.'

'The streets are filled with guards. Is that what falls shadow upon your thoughts? There is no safer place than Shra'kt'lor on this very plane.'

He stopped. She lifted her gaze and saw a row of lanterns, warmly emanating light, that hung above the wide door. She couldn't accompany him here. Three shadows – zerths or guards – were approaching them, coming from the temple.

'The teachings of the Unbroken Circle will survive the attacks of all elements the easier, the deeper we will fathom their nature. This element,' he made a short pause, 'we know particularly well. Yet until this time, we need to be careful. The streets of Shra'kt'lor are no longer safe.'

She took a deep bow.

'Let the way of Zerthimon lead you, enlightened one.'

'Let it carry you to the truth of the Unbroken Circle, Shandra.'

She swiftly stepped away, fleetingly greeting three zerths that arrived at the door. She, too, sent Shandra away and called Aranai in her place.

So he did suspect that the attack would come. Did a hidden threat lie in his warning? He chose his words too carefully to use any of them at accident. But he couldn't know, he couldn't be sure. Otherwise, she wouldn't be walking the city's streets freely. For now, she could rule out the greatest danger. Or maybe he wanted to eliminate it in a different way, send her back to the ruins of Nirankar, throw in the twisted elemental vortex.

Ma'aradh. Ekatala. Nirankar. Three fortresses like three illithid scalps at the Liberator's belt. Ma'aradh wasn't even a city, merely a network of watch-towers joined together with fragile bridges swinging over an abyss. It was enough to cut them off and let the Plane itself take care of the rest. Ekatala was a truly intricate mirage – its Anarchs managed to subdue water and make it flow leisurely around the vast castle complex. That is, until Vlaakith's knights subdued the Anarchs. And the stormy current washed Ekatala away, reclaiming its rightful power over the Ever-Changing Chaos. Nirankar topped the peak of a colossal mountain like a crown. Long did the astral ships circle around, long did they look out for a fissure in the misty shield weaved over the city. Nirankar fought fiercely and never truly surrendered, yet the weakened handful of survivors decided to leave its desolate, jagged walls and escape to the nearby fortresses.

For Shandra, a freshly initiated zerth, the most evident direction was toward Shra'kt'lor.

Shra'kt'lor was different. Monumental. Its seven rings encircled an irregular rock block, in places almost completely hidden under the buildings. Each ring stood slightly higher than the previous one; inaccessible sanctuaries and command centres watched her from above, high towers glanced at her threateningly. The guards wouldn't let her go farther than past the third gate. For some time now, she's been only going in circles, wandering around monastic and residential districts, waiting for new orders from Tu'narath or any occasion to accompany one of the high zerths. Such as today's.

Aranai would regard it a wasted opportunity, but she decided to listen to Shandra first. Shandra could draw a lesson from every situation, read the real meaning between the lines; she knew so many parables that carried great and simple truths within. K'atzn'ii at the Gate, prompted Shandra with dignified confidence, and Aranai understood. If that zerth suspected something, then perhaps her guesses were reasonable as well. She smirked at herself. Maybe her path was actually leading somewhere. Although certainly not where Dak'kon, High Zerth of Shra'kt'lor, would wish.

Dak'kon lit up his room with an intricate constellation of candles arranged in the air. He reached out his gaze toward the nearest one and moved it closer to the low table. The fidgety flame curiously peeked over his shoulder at disorderly scattered scrolls and the stone circle put aside; it waited impatiently for Dak'kon to untie the ribbon ornamented with unfamiliar symbols and unroll the tattered-edged, yellowed parchment covered with elegant writing.

A Tale of Unity and Division, the title read. The author remained unknown.

Such a title could indicate a work of purely symbolic or philosophical character, although it was the historical arc that was to predominate its contents. The word "tale" suggested a familiar solemn tone of spiritual agitation, fluttering flags, clashing steel, characteristic of the chronicles that followed the events of the Rising. A Tale was a relatively lengthy text; not only because it was written out on seven scrolls, yet also due to a wider take on the subject matter. Wider – not in itself, but in comparison to many other writings, like Yahara's Sermons or Khayim's Aphorisms.

Like The Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon.

It wasn't the only thing that made it different from other writings of the People. A Tale of Unity and Division was a work never made a subject of study, ever missing in Shra'kt'lor's libraries, a work only to be found in few well-hidden fortresses of the Sha'sal Khou. A Tale of Unity and Division was apocryphal. Non-canonical.

Forbidden.

Candlelight chased the shadow away from the corners of the parchment and reached deep inside the calligraphed letters, where Zerthimon – according to the traditional order – awaited his awakening.