I am so sorry for the incredibly long delay! I was suffering from an extreme case of writer's block which I am still attempting to recover from, so this chapter is shorter than what I wanted. Also because of this severe case, I completely lost my train of thought. It vanished completely, so I had to create a new one. Let me know if any problems/questions arose because of this. I will try to fix things!

Darth Granger - I'm sorry I made your head hurt

Shadowrayne - I'm so glad you loved that part! It was my definitly my favorite to write

Thanks to anyone else who reviewed!

There with vast wings across the cancelled skies,

There in the sudden blackness the black pall

Of nothing, nothing, nothing -- nothing at all.

-- Archibald MacLeish

She looked down upon her small, dark chosen one. He was nothing like the lovely boy she had placed upon the throne, but he would do to help sustain him. She was sure of it. She always had been. Now, this girl that smelled of cold winters and strange flowers was distracting him from the path she had wanted for him. The Graveyard Hag rolled a coil of her thinning, oily hair between her crooked fingers as she thought. This girl was not meant to be sitting beside any of her own, but that much was obvious from the bloody brand of Chaos that clung to her like a fever. Something had gone wrong. The trickster goddess leaned closer. No, she decided, something will go wrong. Her gleeful cackle crashed mercilessly about her as she inspected the girl more closely. Yes, there really was no mistaking it. The girl had an unusual faintness to her aura that often spoke of death, but there was no death looming in the horizon for this child. The Hag knew that without even a moment's glance. She sighed and looked at her grizzled hands as she reached out and stroked her rat minions, "She is an unexpected guest, but that does not make her anymore unwelcome. Go, welcome the girl. I will speak with the God Born myself. She could be – most useful. Her gift is extraordinary."

The small, scraggly mercenary disappeared with an agreeable squeak. Yes, she thought, Perhaps it was time to offer a test to her young, handsome Prince. Mithros knew he was ready for one. She stared mirthlessly down upon the small specks of life flickering threateningly in the winds of chaos from her throne in the clouds.

The sweet, heavy scent of decay and death shifted slightly in the ghastly dark breeze. There was nothing in the darkness swirling beneath the colorless, shapeless eyes. A mouth stretched, yawned, in a parody of delight before it melted into a hollow gash ripping eternally down, down, down. Lungs screamed and gasped as they expanded; life flooded through veins dry and dead before shriveling into lifeless corpses once more. Never solid and eternally horrifying, Chaos extended one hand, claw, talon into the surrounding shadow. Her world of nightmare and havoc split with a cascade of light over the shroud of darkness. Humanity slipped into her vision. And she smiled.

The Queen of Chaos bared her fangs, teeth, and she snarled momentarily down upon her victim. How gently she glided over the soft grass beneath the burning, human sun! Uusoae watched with a wicked eye as the girl aflame with copper slid her hand into the long fingers of another. The fool of a child was becoming attached. How much turmoil would the loss of this one girl cause? She laughed brokenly as the possibilities stretched before her eyes. This mistake, this blemish on the face of her power, her plan, was becoming a more potent end than what she had originally seen. Here, in this land where the shroud of terror had not yet fallen, she had the chance to set a plan in motion no one would see, no one would fear until it was far too late. The light rippled and she saw the girl curled in the arms of her lover, arms around a small creature; a dark man shadowed their thoughts. Humans were so easy to manipulate. Humans were so weak, so fallible.

In the golden sunlight bathing the land in a burning halo, Arram led Daine by the hand along an obscure pathway through the sweltering heat. Swathes of gold and yellow brushed their flesh slicked with sweat as the moved through the air thick and heavy with untold tales. In this quiet field so far away from reality, they could feel no worry. For the first time, Arram was truly happy; he was focused on the here and now. He was smiling at Daine. He was listening to her chiming laugh. He was waiting for her next breath. Her every movement was novel to him. Love was so mysterious; the light and dark of mankind.

Daine saw the face floating so near to hers. His face was flushed with heat and joy; his lips as pink as hers from spontaneous kisses. She smiled broadly again as he took her hand in his. He was thinking about her. The professor's words were carefully stored in the back of his mind for later perusal, and he was smiling at her. She had not been so happy in a very long time. Her dreams as of late had been darker, more horrifying. She found herself forgetting the present and slipping into this past; it was less painful here after the initial shock eased. Numair still tormented her thoughts; her longing for him wrapped her in a melancholy she had never before felt. It was an emptiness she had not even felt at the end of her life in Galla. He was a part of her she was letting herself believe that she would never see again. The sudden understanding inspired her to cling to Arram all the tighter.

Arram ran inquisitive fingers through her hair as her hands squeezed his. There was something about her. He almost laughed aloud at the thought. Of course, love makes everything new and special. His eyes darkened as she released him and crouched down in the golden grasses. Small black eyes and a quivering, scarred nose protruded from the scarce shadows as she leant closer to the furry rodent. What an odd thought love was. In fact, did anyone truly understand it? What is love that twists the heart and ensnares the senses? He watched Daine scowl darkly at the scavenger beneath her gaze and he knew, this is what love is. It is the feeling of floating and never needing fear the unknown because he had loved and was loved by her. What was there to fear in death having lived with her?

The rat twitched its whiskers at Daine in irritation. She listened to its callous prattle with distaste. Rats were sly vermin not to be trusted. The resulting memory flashed before her eyes with a single heartbeat, but it was long enough. She remembered now. Rats were the chosen of the Graveyard Hag, patron goddess of Carthak. While in Carthak, it made her a Great Goddess with the power to match. Did the Hag not owe her from her first time in Carthak? What deals would a trickster goddess be willing to entertain? Was it worth it to tempt the goddess's interest? Daine thought of Numair, and she thought of Arram. Who would she be willing to sacrifice? Was it selfish to not want to be hurt anymore than she was already?

The small, sad smile that tugged at the corner of Daine's lips caught Arram's attention. He knew that look. It was her expression of pain, of goodbye. She was leaving. The thought crushed him. Anger coursed through his veins unexpectedly. It was the greasy vermin's fault for what it had said to her that brought her attention back to the notion of leaving him. Alone. She was leaving him alone with his thoughts and memories. She was leaving him the dusty halls of his mind where his friends had never stepped and only books and texts knew existed. He felt the cold creep up his spine and he remembered the empty stare of the professor's black eyes. That was the look of a man who had retreated completely to those dark and musty corridors.

Daine smiled sweetly at Arram's disturbed countenance. His expression warmed her; she would not tell him of her thoughts, at least not yet. She still had some thinking to do, especially after hearing the rat's message. It seemed the goddess had the same interest in her as she did the first time. Or the last. A wicked glint flashed in her eyes as once more she tangled herself in her thoughts of time and now.

The dark shadow moved and slipped into the surrounding ambiguity. He had seen enough. There was a method, a procedure that must be followed. He would not break from that. Marlon Salor slowly slid over grass and branch alike without a thought to the terrain ahead. He knew what he had seen. He knew what was ordered of him and what was expected. He always attempted to achieve more. Emerald eyes flashed hauntingly as he slipped through the sparse shadow. Salor was always the cold fear in the night, the despair that stalked the darkness.

Marlon Salor stopped beneath the sheltering awning of a tree older than time. The bark was warm to the touch and rippled with unseen memory. A shuddering breath tore past his lips as he cradled his head in his hands. What things in life were assured? Death was a certainty, just as the promise for the taste of life. Pain was a certainty. Wherever life and hope led those two followed. Tears stung at his eyes like sharp knives before he lifted his golden head. In a life where there were few certainties, he had to walk the path he had chosen. This was his life. This is where he had placed himself.

Long, golden fingers curled about the dark, teak handle of the paper thin blade buried deeply in the folds of his tunic a deeper red than blood. The razor sharp blade bit into the soft fabric and tore the fine threads with its silent jaws. A new sense of determination flooded Salor's veins with a semblance of hope as he lurched once more into action. The dagger slid easily without protest into the innermost folds of his clothes once more.

It does not seem to be much, but the act of living is harrowing as it is. When the decision to remain in the confines of the Hell one has created for themselves comes about, it is not weakness to submit to this darkness. On the contrary, it is courage of infinite proportions to step out of the web woven about one's self. Very few possess this courage, and Marlon Salor, the golden shadow of the emperor, was not one of the courageous. His courage, his bravery was the type to continue living when joy was rapidly slipping away. He was brave enough to stand before his fears, silently, without protest, though they howled in his dreams and tormented his thoughts. He endured the consequences of his choices because that was the bravery he possessed.

He slowly sank to his heels and drew another, smaller blade from his boot. In the hard, dry dirt he began to sketch his plan. It would fit all the parameters of assassination, without the actual death of the man in question. Arram Draper held promise for the Empire; therefore, it was necessary to keep a body and mind, but a heart would not be needed. The thin lines in the red dirt gaped back at Salor's emotionless gaze. He did not smile; his face did not move, but victory gleamed softly in the gentle glow of his eyes. The emperor wanted Draper, but he had said nothing of the girl.

Anyone notice how everyone seemed to like to smile? Just a random observation.