Chapter 22

The burning in his lungs was a welcome sensation. Ikharos panted and leaned heavily on the simple steel sword, the blade notched and chipped away to the core, and grinned as he shook his burnt hand. The Arc crackled unpleasantly between his fingers, sending waves of pain lancing up his arm. It had been a good strike. The entire duel reminded him of Crucible, and no respectable Guardian would ever say no to that.

His opponent, likewise exhausted, braced herself against a mossy stone wall. She reached over her sabre's oak-coloured blade and pulled away the shimmering ward. Ikharos didn't know why she bothered with it in the first place.

"I have nothing else to teach," he said.

The elf looked at him sharply. "Are you sure?"

"Unless you die and come back as a Guardian, I am. I'm not a Psion; I haven't mastered their abilities. I've passed on all I know on their powers - which is, admittedly, not much." He forced himself to stand, tossing away the useless sword. "And there's not much else I can pass on."

She was displeased - he could tell. She masked her feelings well, but he had solved that puzzle some time ago. Her hand would move ever so slightly closer to her side, where a sword would be sheathed, when she grew angry. It indicated that she was accustomed to casual acts of violence. The trouble was deciding if those acts were perpetrated by her or another. Ikharos didn't want to bring her anywhere near innocent people; he couldn't tell if she was a casual killer or merely a hardened veteran.

"There may be one practice," he relented. He didn't know why. Ikharos had already held up his end of the bargain. Maybe he just didn't want to finish up… whatever this was. He liked teaching. He liked having his mind occupied with something else, rather than the matter of dragons.

Formora's eyes gleamed with a ravenous need for knowledge. "What is it?"

Ikharos sighed. He was playing with fire. She was dangerous, more than any other human he had encountered on this world. "Understanding the nullscape. It has no offensive potential, but it is the greatest mental defense developed. Anyone can do it - paracausality is not required. Walking the nullscape is to achieve a mindset completely clear and focused that no offensive can break it."

"That is how you withstood the combined effort of Enduriel and I." He had to give credit where it was due; she was sharp.

"It is," he inclined his head. He grimaced as his burned hand brushed against his leg. He coldly pushed the pain aside. It wasn't important, only a weakness of the body. "Waíse heill," he muttered. The flesh mended itself. His gauntlet, however, was not as fortunate. He mentally berated himself. They didn't have near enough Glimmer to make constant repairs. "Interested?"

Formora rose and put away her sword. "I am." Then she paused. "Later."

"Fair." Ikharos ripped the ruined gauntlet off. The metal weave was thoroughly burnt - melted and scorched throughout. "But this isn't."

"You chose to spar without wards," Formora accused. She walked out of the courtyard and headed back to her hideaway, leaving Ikharos with the curious owls that always accompanied their sessions. The birds looked down at him from an ancient tree, perched on a branch as thick as his arm.

He smiled wryly and met the stares of the wraith-like creatures. "Enjoy that?"

"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness," Xiān sang, as she appeared beside him. She inspected the damage and tutted. There wasn't much they could do to repair the resilient metal cloth.

Ikharos grunted. "It's a good thing I'm not talking to myself."

"Yeah, because talking to birds is so much better."

"People talk to pets all the time."

"The owls are pets?"

"I like them." Ikharos stood and held out his arm. "Eka weohnata néiat haina onr," he said. Commiting the ancient language to memory was a relatively simple matter when Formora was well-learned in the matter. She had been reluctant to share her knowledge at first, until he pointed out that she was getting more than enough in return.

One of the birds flitted away from the branches. It chittered like a squirrel and landed on his arm. It was large, for an owl, but didn't weigh much. It prodded him for food; Ikharos could never deny those adorable mottled faces. He rolled his eyes, reached into his bag, and tore off a piece of fried fish. The owl eagerly dug in. He loved how it avoided catching his fingers with its beak, careful not to bite the hand that fed it. They were animals of startling intelligence.

"You should keep one," Xiān said. "They keep you from being too..."

"Too...?"

"Intense."

"Harsh." His eyes were trained on the owl. "What about this one?"

"Morri? Nah, he's an asshole."

"Why is he an asshole?"

"He looked at me funny."

"They look at everything funny."

"Go for Sigrun over there. She's nice."

Ikharos looked in the direction of the other owls. "There's three of them. Which one is Sigrun?"

"The nice one."

"Ah." Ikharos said. "I get it."

"Do you?"

"Not really." He removed his helmet and set it beside him. Morri flew off to rejoin his friends.

Ikharos' Ghost hovered in front of him. She didn't say anything for a brief moment. It was bliss. Then, "You should do that more often."

"Do what? Feed the owls?" He asked, frowning. "I do that everyday."

"No, the armour. Take it off, use normal clothes."

"I'd be unprepared."

"Not every day is a battle." Xiān said. He sent her a pointed look. "Well, it isn't here. We haven't had any substantial trouble in a while."

"The Darkness almost killed us."

"I said a while, didn't I? Look, what I'm saying is if you stay in your armour any longer, you'll turn into a fungus."

"That's... nevermind." He brought out his lunch: fish and strawberries. He didn't have much in terms of options. At least he knew the strawberries were safe; Formora had promised him in the ancient language that the fruit was warded from radiation.

Xiān contemplated the sparse meal laid out between them. "It was awfully nice of her."

"It's only a handful of seeds."

"Radiation-free strawberry seeds are a rare commodity here."

"I think that for something to be a rare commodity, there needs to be a little more than two people."

The Ghost ignored him. "Why do you think she did it?"

"Perhaps it was something along the lines of an apology?"

"As apologies for murder go, this isn't great."

Ikharos shook his head. "Sure, terrible apology, got it."

"We deserve two handfuls of radiation-free strawberry seeds!"

The Warlock spared her a confused look. "Are you alright?"

"Bored."

"Go tease the giant snails."

Xiān chuckled. "It's fun, but it gets old really quickly. Or slowly, in their case."

"Oh?"

"Only so many times you can lead them on low-speed chases across the island."

"Ah."

"Or poke their eyes."

"That's a bit cruel."

"Is it? Nah, snails don't have souls."

"And that's overly harsh."

"Maybe we should cook up some escargot."

"No thank you. Some of us have standards."

"See? Isn't this fun?" She landed on his knee. "Just like old times, traveling the world and enjoying great banter along the way."

"You and I remember 'old times' very differently." Ikharos dropped the gauntlet; it was a lost cause. "There was a lot more screaming from what I recall."

Xiān didn't pay him any mind. She twirled her shell around. "What's next?"

"Hm?"

"Now that you know how to cast magic on a basic level, what comes next?"

Ikharos shrugged. "I don't know."

"What about..." She trailed off.

"What?"

"The Exodus Prime. We could-"

"We're not talking about this." Ikharos stood and walked away. Xiān flew after him, eye flickering with sudden anger

"Yes, we are! This is just so... so stupid!" She huffed. "There's no harm in asking a few questions. Stop acting like... like this!"

"I'm not going to humour an Ahamkara." Ikharos said coolly.

"There aren't any Ahamkara!" Xiān replied furiously. "We have an opportunity here! Golden Age tech, someone who can tell us how to defeat the Hive, the answers for everything on this planet! We need to use that!"

"We're not arguing about this again." The Warlock stated. "I won't change my decision."

"Then I'll do it!" Xiān snapped. She turned around and floated away.

A fear unlike any other filled Ikharos' heart. His blood went ice-cold. "You're not going to..." He began

"Watch me." She called back.

"Wait, you can't just... It's too dangerous!"

"Nowhere near as dangerous as the Dreadnought was. Or the Dreaming City." She bit back. "This is our duty, right? I'm going to uphold my obligation and find out all I can. To give us a better chance of surviving this war." Xiān flew off beyond the courtyard, disappearing from view.

"Psekisk!" Ikharos cursed and ran as fast as he could. Her Light signature was easy to track. Catching up was another story - Ghosts were unexpectedly speedy.

He found her sat on a weathered rock staring at the horizon. The sun was out of view, and the sky was painted in a mix of oranges and purples. The gentle wash of the low tide lulled them into a calm.

Ikharos knelt beside her. Neither said a word, content to enjoy the beautiful scene while it lasted. When they were thrust into the gloom of dusk, the Warlock cleared his throat. "I don't like this. You're forcing my hand."

She barely glanced at him. The Ghost shivered; her fins twitched. "Go on then, try to guilt trip me. You know I'm right. We can both save a lot of time and trouble if we throw aside all pretensions of civility and get to the heart of it; the Exodus Prime."

"You-"

"I know why you're afraid. Ikharos, I know everything about you. I'm in your head. Even if I weren't, three centuries is a long time, and I've been at your side for all of it, ups and downs. You're afraid because of what happened. You're afraid it will happen again."

"I don't want to lose any more than I already have." He admitted reluctantly.

"I know. But, and I'm sorry, tough crap. This isn't a small battle; this is a war for everything. We might not play a big part again, but every little effort is necessary. It's an uphill battle, and if we lose, it's all over. No second chances for anyone."

"Ahamkara are different. Every time we fight them, it's a gamble. They aren't like Hive or Vex. They're not entirely beings of the material plane."

"On the off chance they're alive, we still have to fight them. I trust you to do what's right, always, but sometimes you need a push. So... consider yourself pushed."

"Thanks," Ikharos drawled.

"That's what I'm here for."

The dolphins were only too happy to see him again.

"killer - friend - current - warm - air - poison - keep away - friend - safe? - alive - swim strong - swim slow - happy! - help!"

They swam with him all the way back to his laboratory. There, Ikharos readied himself for a fight. He and Xiān counted out their weapons and ammunition, then concluded there was enough for a brief skirmish. After that, Ikharo would be down to his knife.

"Your armour's not doing too well either." His Ghost remarked. "I don't think it'll hold up much longer."

"What do you propose?" Ikharos asked. "The claws?"

"The fancy robes too."

The Warlock hummed. "That would be easier on how fast we expend Light, and boost the Void. Perfect for paracausal foes, less ideal than Braytech against conventional weaponry. I'll stick with what I have for now."

The swim to the wreck of the Exodus Prime was uneventful. More dolphins swam by to look at him, but not one so much as touched him. He doubted he could withstand a smack of their tails, unarmoured as he was, so he appreciated the space.

The hanger bay was just as he left it, littered with scrap metal and the husks of irreparable jumpships. Ikharos ignored them and donned his haggard Braytech suit, the metal scratched and dented, a gauntlet missing. He drew his Lumina and delved deeper into the long-dead vessel.

This time, he took the time to analyze the reddish-brown paintings of dolphins and sharks on the wall. Xiān scanned it. "It's blood," she reported. "Human, probably."

"Yeah," Ikharos said. "Probably."

There were no other remains. No bones, no ripped clothes, no fallen accessories. It was as if the people had disappeared. Spontaneously eaten by Ahamkara, he supposed. But what would drive them to sketch symbols of the war between Light and Dark? Or was he misreading it?

Ikharos, hours later, stepped into the SMILE pod room with his cannon primed. The fusion-turret tracked him and whined to life. Almost a second too late, he dropped the barrel. The whine came to a halt.

The pod hissed and opened up once more, cryogel mists flooding out to cover the floor. The Frames appeared to help Taox out of the chamber. The ancient proto-Hive rasped and shook her rickety wings. Another robot walked past Ikharos with a crate full of minced fish. He waited as Taox gorged herself on the tribute gathered by dolphins and then stated, "We need to talk."

She waved at him. Go on, so. Talk.

"Why are you here?"

The Frame next to her trembled and turned to him..

"Directive 1: Protect humanity.
Directive 2: Eliminate extrasolar lifeforms identified as Airan - translation: Hive
Activate: CANARY CAGE
IMPERATIVE: CONTAIN TEMPORAL ANOMALY
IMPERATIVE: CONTAIN TYPE(I)-INFECTION
IMPERATIVE: CONTAIN ENTITY CONTAINING TYPE(I)-INFECTION."

"Wait, slow down, what's type i?" Ikharos asked.

"Experiment: [1] object contains [O] energy. [1] object contains type(i)-infection. Objects are placed in close proximity. Objects cause WILdFIRE ALERT.
Hypothesis: [O] energy causes damage in objects bearing type(i)-infection. Type(i)-infections cause damage in objects bearing (O) energy.
IMPERITIVE: DESTROY ENTITY CONTAINING TYPE(I)-INFECTION
Hypothesis: (O) energy IMPERATIVE."

Ikharos took a step back. "I don't understand."

"Date: ?
Subject: Foreign object approaching.
Directive 1: Destroy foreign object.
Summary: Object destroyed.
Directive 2: Analyze entity emerging from destroyed foreign object.
ANALYzE: [1] lifeform(s) contains [O] energy. Location: Sector 2. Query: [O] status. Query: [O] activity.
Analysis complete.
Lifeform sustained by [O] energy."

"... You mean me." Ikharos muttered. "O energy must be... Light. I am sustained by Light. Then... Oh, you idiots. Morons!" His voice swiftly built in volume. "You practically gave them a smoke signal to follow! Let me guess, the Hive found you before you could finish... well, whatever you were doing!"

"Negative." The Frame was a simple caretaker model, but Ikharos could still feel the suffocating presence of the Warmind behind it. Scipio was as intense and ruthless as his brother.

"You said there was an entity with a type i infection. I can only assume type i is Darkness. Nothing else would have such a volatile reaction to Light."

"Affirmative."

"But it wasn't Hive?"

"ANALYzE: [1] lifeform(s) contains type(i)-infection.
Analysis complete.
Lifeform sustained by type(i)-infection."

"That doesn't tell me anything."

"ANALYzE: [7] lifeform(s) contains type(i)-infection.
Analysis complete.
Lifeforms sustained by type(i)-infection."

"It's reproducing. That sounds like a Broodmother."

"Negative. Additional lifeform(s) infected through unknown means.
Analysis complete.
Lifeform vector for type(i)-infection."

"Not reproducing. Spreading. Infecting. That can't be right, I've never heard of anything like..." Ikharos' eyes widened. "There's a Darkness here. It wasn't trying to kill us; it was trying to probe our defenses. But why?"

"Unknown."

"Thought so. Warminds are smarter than we are, save for matters of paracausality..." The Warlock grumbled. "This has all the hallmarks of a Hive deity. All except that this world is still alive. Only other example of that was when Crota... When Crota went into hibernation, leaving Earth to survive another hundred years. He was weakened and... vulnerable to us, but only if we understood the workings of Hive, of their Sword Logic." He holstered his weapon. "Whatever you have is waiting, building up lost power. You attacked it upon arrival?"

"Affirmative."

"You could have told us that," Xiān complained. The Frame didn't respond.

Ikharos looked at Taox. "Do you want me to kill this thing?" A thought struck him. His words took on a solemn tone. "Is this why you've allowed me to live so far?"

The proto-Hive, on death's door, growled out one word in the language of her twisted people. "Yesssss."

The Warlock sighed. "I hate this planet. So be it, tell me where to go."

000

When Formora met Ikharos the next morning, an hour before midday, she was surprised to see him pacing nervously in the courtyard they used for duels and practicing magic. The yard had once been the gardens of a gentle Rider named Yesma, but had long since fallen into disuse. Formora was no longer bothered by the memories dredged up by Dorú Areaba. Having something to do gave her a suitable distraction and encouraged her to think on matters of the future rather than the past.

The... though he looked it, she could never think of him as human. Formora chose to use the term he named himself. The Risen looked up and caught sight of her, relief colouring his gaunt features. "Finally," he muttered under his breath.

"What is it?" She asked, frowning.

"I need to ask a favour," Ikharos began. "I need to get somewhere really quickly, but there's a large stretch of water in the way. When you arrived here, did you sail on a ship?"

"... I did," Formora admitted at length.

"Is it still here?"

"Why?" She inquired. She didn't like where this was going.

Ikharos nodded to himself. "I need it. This is really, really important. Please."

Formora crossed her arms. "Will I get it back?"

"If I'm alive to do so, sure."

"I can't settle for that."

"Look, I'll teach you about the nullscape, but this is the first priority. I'm talking about something impacting your entire world."

Formora's eyes widened. "My world?"

The man froze. Then he swore, "Shit."

"What do you mean, my world?" She pressed. Her hand drifted to the hilt of her saber. The feel of the smooth-cut garnet embedded in the pommel reassured her in a way nothing else ever could. Even if it wouldn't work, the feeling of having a weapon by her side was comforting.

Ikharos stood straight and exhaled. "There's no time. I promise, I'll tell you everything when I return. I'll swear it in the Ancient Language."

"What is it that's so urgent?"

"I'm not sure. A malevolent entity, to be sure, and one I need to kill."

"That's all you'll tell me?"

"It's all I know. Who knows, it might be a deity. All that I know is that it's Dark and millennia old. And it won't bode well for anyone if it wakes up."

Formora closed her eyes and tried not to let loose the harsh words swirling around her mind. She hated how he danced around issues, how he made up his own rules and how others had to follow them, how he could get what he wanted and no one could stop him. "I have little choice, do I?"

He remained quiet. He was capable of being polite, that much was true.

"So be it," she relented. Formora opened her eyes and sent him what she hoped was a pointed look. "But I don't trust you to return my ship."

"Look, I'll swear that if I-"

"Live, yes, I know, but I'm not going to take the risk of being stranded here. We'll both go. I'll remain in my ship while you hunt whatever it is you seek, and then..."

"We'll decide what happens after when we get there," he promised. "Thank you," Ikharos added softly. "I mean it. I'm glad I didn't kill you."

Formora bristled. "Yes, I am too," she said in a dangerously even tone. She saw him wince out of the corner of her eye, but paid it little notice. She might have tolerated his presence for a month, and in that time worked closely with him, but she didn't trust him. Their bloody introductions had ensured that. "I've hidden it in a cove to the northeast. Follow me. I need to grab my belongings."

The ship was nameless and of basic design. It was small enough that, with some effort, one person could sail it. It was designed with a small crew in mind, however. Formora pulled the old cloth canvas off of it and, together, they dragged it over the pale beach to the water's edge. They wordlessly pushed it in, waded into the surf and climbed aboard. Formora found the oars and tossed one to Ikharos. "We'll have to row out," she explained. "Then we can lower the sails."

"I know, I've sailed before." Ikharos paddled water behind them.

"Is that how you reached Vroengard?"

Ikharos nodded.

"What happened to your ship? Nïdhwal?"

"Yeah."

They didn't talk much more after that. For a few hours they rowed, testing their combined strength against the tides. When they were free and floating listlessly out onto the almost calm waters of the open ocean, Formora tugged the sails free. They fell outwards and billowed as they caught the wind.

"We're headed north," Ikharos told her. Formora raised an eyebrow.

"Not Alagaësia?" She asked curiously.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Northwest, maybe?" He held up a strange metal contraption with a blinking red light. She wanted to ask, but held off. Formora didn't want to test his patience. She didn't think Ikharos would keep up the polite persona for much longer, especially if aggravated. "This'll tell us. Just head in that general direction for now."

Formora steadied the sails, and once they were secured, sat down against the side of the ship. She glanced back. "This task of yours... Have you known all along? What brought this along so suddenly?"

Ikharos shrugged and warned, "Safer if you don't know."

"You promised to tell me everything."

"And I'll say this; there's forces at work that see creatures like us as little more than ants. Are you sure you want to know?"

Formora didn't even wait a second before answering, "Yes."

To her surprise, Ikharos chuckled. "It's your life. You know, you're like a Hunter I knew... a long time ago..." He trailed off, then inhaled sharply. "Alright. It started with a pod of dolphins and the aftermath of a Nïdhwal attack. The sea monster had destroyed my ship and I killed it for its efforts."

"I saw the body. The wound was grievous," Formora remarked.

"Void will do that to you. Quick to kill and slow to heal. Void scars are nearly as common as those caused by Hive. Anyways, the dolphins were kind enough to..."

Formora listened closely as Ikharos briefly recounted all that had happened before he left the city of Vroengard after their first true conversation, and went on to speak of the search for the dolphins. She felt there were pieces missing in his tales; parts not adding up or details ghosted over. Largely, though, she felt he was speaking the truth, only a modified version of it. It irked her, but she didn't dare complain. He might bring up the topic of her own half-truths or stop speaking altogether. Some information was better than none at all.

"I found the ruins of the Exodus Prime, a colony ship, embedded on the seafloor."

"How did you dive?" Fomora asked. "It must have been leagues beneath the surface."

"Scuba gear. Equipment designed for elongated dives. I've been on lengthy missions in oceans before. I enjoy it."

"You don't have it with you..." Formora narrowed her eyes. "Is it with the engram? How is it you carry objects without physically holding them?"

"Subspace vault," Ikharos replied. "And I deposit and withdraw items using transmat. Transmat means, in short, that the matter of an object is turned into pure information and uploaded digitally to the vault. No, that wasn't very clear. How about this? The object is turned into information, and that information is transported to a place that doesn't really exist."

"That makes little sense," Formora pointed out.

"It's confusing, I agree, but that's the beauty of Golden Age technology. People of that time were making things that no one even fantasized about before."

She sighed. "Back to the dive. You found the remains of a ship?"

"I did. The dolphins were monitoring it, keeping some of its systems operational by controlling repair drones through sensoriums. Sensoriums are miniscule devices surgically implanted into the brain, allowing the mind to interact with complex machinery. Dolphins aren't immortal, but they pass on the tradition by giving sensoriums to those chosen to become new caretakers. It helps that they have a Warmind to oversee the operations."

"Warmind?"

"Vast intelligences created by humanity in the Golden Age. Designed to protect our species from threats both at home and from outside. They can organize flawless strategies for thousands of different battles in a second, no matter the foe. They control weapons powerful enough to eradicate cities, to exterminate civilizations. Only a few were ever created, the first being Rasputin. Most others are Subminds, beholden to the will of Rasputin, but the resident Warmind of here has grown apart from his brother and become completely independent. His name is Scipio." Ikharos paused. "By all rights, he should have his own Subminds. I wonder where they've gone..."

"If he's so powerful, why hasn't he assumed control of all the people of Alagaësia?"

"He has."

Formora blinked. "No he hasn't."

Ikharos smiled sadly. "Yes, he has. You just don't notice it. When night falls, you'll see it if you look up."

"I'd see only the moon and stars."

"And satellites. Constructs and weapons of Scipio, floating just beyond gravity's pull, watching everything that happens down here. They are his eyes and his fangs. They looked just like stars, but if you know what to look for, you can find them."

"How do you know?" Formora challenged. "Nothing can reach that high."

"I did. That's how I arrived on your world. And yes, I mean that this world is not my own."

Formora shook her head. "Impossible."

"You'll see," Ikharos quietly promised. He was silent for a few moments before resuming his tale. "I found the Warmind inhabiting the Exodus Prime. And another being, Taox. She's a refugee from her own people, and perhaps our greatest chance of withstanding the onslaught of Hive."

"I've heard you mention them before. What are Hive?"

"Monsters. They see love and hate as the very same thing. Their entire purpose is to kill everything. They believe that if they kill all there is, what's left must be immortal, must be strong and the rightful inheritor of existence in its entirety. Lesser Hive worship the greatest of their kind as deities, because they have become immortal."

"Immortal? Like you?"

"My immortality is a gift of Light. Theirs is a prize taken and conquered through practices of the Dark. We couldn't be any more different. My people, Risen, are the antithesis of Ascendant Hive. We are designed to kill each other. Hive will never pass up on the chance to kill a Risen, and we will never pass up on the chance to kill them right back."

Formora had a difficult time imagining all that. Immortality through senseless killing? Galbatorix was powerful, but though he had killed many, she knew he was just as mortal as any other. "How do you kill each other, if Risen and Hive are immortal?"

"Ascendant."

"Sorry?"

"Ascendant Hive. Normal Hive are mortal. Ascendant Hive are the immortals, the ones who manage to become gods both minor and mighty. And yes, we have our ways to ensure our enemies stay dead. I've killed more than my fair share of Ascendants. The best way to kill an immortal entity is to destroy its soul, its very being, everything that makes it a conscious person. To do that, I had to travel into the afterlifes created by the strongest of the Hive and kill the Ascendants there, where they are most vulnerable. And most powerful."

"That can't be true," Formora scoffed.

"It takes some getting used to. Let's hope that whatever I'm going to kill isn't like that."

"Do you believe it's a god?" She asked, disbelieving.

"I do. Something powerful enough to warrant such desperate measures from a Warmind must be an Ascendant. Or of equal might. I don't know in truth, but that's my theory. We'll see when we get there."

Formora huffed and looked away. Gods. He truly seemed to believe it. It put everything else he said into question. How much of it was fact and how much was drivel? "The Warmind instructed you to slay this creature?" She questioned after a lengthy pause.

"Yeah. It must have attacked a while back, so Scipio did all he could to keep it contained. I'm not sure what. He's not very forthcoming on the details, but that's Warminds for you."

Formora didn't speak up after that. She didn't know whether to believe him. It far outclassed even the nonsensical tales preached by the dwarves. On the other hand, she couldn't deny that the person with her was immortal. She killed him, and here he was, acting as if it didn't even faze him. Was that a god? With his power and his deathlessness, nothing in all of Alagaësia could ever hope to challenge him. Even Galbatorix, at the height of his power, would stand little chance against the unstoppable might of the Risen.

The hushed tranquility that became the rest of the afternoon was oddly comforting. Ikharos was no stranger to sailing, but Formora gave him instructions regardless. They worked in tandem and made great progress. They laboured away and ensured that every little task was completed. Few words were exchanged in this time, only ever brief conversations to last a few minutes. As the days flowed by and their food supplies began to diminish, Ikharos excitedly exclaimed that they were close. His metal tool was making noise now, a constant beeping that irritated her more sensitive hearing.

The elation died away as the faint mists flowed across the water's still surface, bitingly cold against bare skin. The wind died away, making the weak sloshing of water against the ship's hull alarmingly clear.

"We're very close," Ikharos said. His voice was little more than a whisper, but it carried so very far in the unsettling quiet. He pointed ahead of them. "That way."

Formora lifted her oar. "There's no wind," she murmured. Her eyes darted around, checking for threats. Now would be the perfect time for a Nïdhwal to strike. She expanded her mind, reaching out with innumerous probes. The impenetrable fortress that was Ikharos didn't even notice. She feared finding something, anything, watching them... but now she realized how worse it was when there was nothing. The two of them were the only living things for miles around.

They rowed slowly, neither daring to make any more noise than was necessary. She didn't know how long they spent doing just that; it felt like forever. So when they suddenly ground to a halt, she jumped with fright and reached for her sword.

They'd hit the end of a sandspit. Formora peeked over the wooden rim of the ship, weapon drawn, and found it leading off into the cold mists. Pale sands sparkled with tiny ice crystals, allowing the place an ethereal feel.

"I've never been here..." Formora said. They'd only sailed for a handful of days; the Riders of the past had surely discovered this, yet she'd never heard mention.

Ikharos passed by and jumped down onto the spit. He looked about suspiciously, his ivory weapon aimed before him. "I won't be long," he grunted, and walked further. Soon, the fog swallowed him.

She waited for hours, readied for anything. She waited with her weapon in hand and magic only a few words away. She waited for a fight for her life. But nothing ever appeared. Not even Ikharos.

The faint pink light of evening never faded, even as it turned to night by her count. She bided her time, but even as it turned to an entire day, Ikharos didn't return.

Formora decided he was dead. Or still fighting. Or lost, maybe? Still, he hadn't returned. Though they'd never specified how long they would be here, she hadn't thought it would drag on like this. How long did it take to slay his Ascendant Hive in any case? Surely it would be a simple matter, if his boast was honest and he'd killed them before. Ikharos didn't seem the type to tell such tales, however. He had his secrets, yes, but he'd been truthful in almost every aspect. It was one of the reasons she trusted him not to change his mind and stab her in the back; he was honest. He hadn't held back on information during his teachings, even if it did empower someone he had been at odds with not so long ago - not that she expected the newest skills she picked up were going to increase her chances of ever defeating the Risen.

Even as morning approached, the light did not change. It filtered through the ice particles within the mist as a faint pink hue, bathing everything in an eerie light.

Formora gave into the growing frustration and groaned. "Why me?" She asked aloud, for no other purpose than to amuse herself. "Why do I have to do this? Oh Enduriel, you fool... If you were still alive, I swear, it would be me who killed you..."

At the very least, giving voice to it helped articulate her thoughts. She carried on. "What am I supposed to do? Wait? Leave? If I do and he lives, he'll kill me."

By midday she had taken pacing across the very small deck. When her patience wore to an end, she turned about and faced the direction Ikharos had gone shouting, "Damn it all!"

Formora strapped on the two spare swords she brought over her back, leapt over onto the sandspit, and ran into the mists.

She didn't get very far before she found Ikharos strolling ahead of her, looking about with his weapon held at eye level.

Formora glared at the back of his head, muttered dark things under her breath, and raced towards him. He glanced over his shoulder as she caught up, raising an eyebrow. "You coming too?"

She went still. Her hands shook by her sides. Very quietly, she asked, "What?"

Ikharos frowned. "Are you coming too? As in, are you joining me? I can promise it won't be... Are... are you alright?"

She couldn't help it; she punched him. Straight into the face. Almost immediately she withdrew and winced, cursing her short temper. Ikharos stared back utterly stunned, blood trickling from his very broken nose. He didn't look angry, only surprised and confused. The pain didn't appear to bother him very much

"Ow," he said dumbly. He reached up and, as casually as she had ever seen, realigned it despite the waves of agony she was positive he was feeling. A faint purple glow emanated from his hand, mending the injury effortlessly. "Can I ask what that was for?"

The lack of any true retaliation spurred her back to fury. "Do you take me for a fool?!" She hissed.

"Uh... no? I think you're very intelligent and... I don't understand..."

"Neither do I!" She spat. "This is a poor joke! I swear, if you make me needlessly wait once more, I will leave you here, and damn the consequences!"

"Wait? But I just... left..." Understanding dawned in Ikharos' eyes. "How long did you wait?"

The question caught her off guard, but Formora recovered quickly. "You know," she bit out. Why wasn't he owning up? It was glaringly obvious to both what he'd done.

"I don't," his eyes adopted a sternness that terrified her. "Tell me how long you waited."

An uneasy feeling coursed through her. He sounded serious and… dare she say it, afraid? She hesitantly answered with, "Almost an entire day."

"Psekisk!" He said, turning about with his spiked weapon raised. "Temporal anomaly, of course!"

"Temporal..." Now it was her turn to frown. "What do you mean, temporal anomaly?"

He didn't appear to hear her. He spoke out loud, but the words were directed to himself. "It can't be Vex, there's no sign of conversion, meaning that it's something else. Something that also has a hold on the resident Darkness. It can only mean an exponential growth in power... Unless... this entire planet is held in the anomaly, so it's being used for something. It's not strictly Sword Logic, otherwise everything would be long dead, so it feeds on another source... The theory is backed up by local history. Thousands of years of recorded generations? Impossible, unless temporal anomaly... Which confirms all that. We already knew that there was an anomaly, but now we know why it's there... But what does it feed on?"

"Excuse me?" She felt some of her old anger return. "Don't start spouting nonsense now! I will leave you behi-"

"I just left!" He snapped, surprising her. "I wasn't keeping you waiting!"

"But I-"

"Yeah, time works differently here. There's a different sort of magic at work. Time is... well, it's not exactly linear anymore. But... we might be lucky. It's not linear, but at least there's a path to follow. A winding road. This isn't a Vex installation where time stretches on in every direction. Whatever created this used to be a being borne of linear time, like us. The time trap isn't perfect."

"Time trap?"

"Yeah. What better way to safeguard yourself than to use time to cripple your would-be killers? This trap won't keep us away, but it will prevent anyone - save those with an understanding of acausal and paracausal designs - from coming close." Ikharos set his jaw in a determined fashion. "Which means that there's bound to be other defenses. Whatever this thing is, it's smart."

"That... that can't... only true masters of magic could ever attempt to dabble in the laws of time, and only ever to quicken themselves!"

"Welcome to my world. Impossible just means 'unlikely to occur, but no promises.' Not everyone plays by the same rules we do." His expression softened. "Go back to the boat. It will be much safer."

"At this rate, I'll have to wait years."

"That is the problem." He regarded her curiously. Formora hated that. He might not even mean it, but he was condescending. It made her feel she was with the Order once more, victim to criticism from the elder Riders. What gave them the right to pass judgement? They had accomplished nothing. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" She growled. "If I leave, you'll just hunt me down like before."

It caught her off guard that Ikharos then assumed an insulted demeanour. "Do you truly think so little of me? Ouch." He winced.

"You wouldn't?" Formora asked, surprised and more than a little suspicious.

"I mean, it would be quite the swim, but I'd make it eventually. And I'd be pissed off, sure, but I wouldn't kill anyone for that. It's just an inconvenience after all."

Formora tried to read for any deception in his eyes or tone, but it was difficult. Surely this was a test. 'Quite the swim' was an understatement - it would mean certain death by drowning, Nïdhwal, or even overly-curious sharks. Immortal he might be, Formora couldn't see the act of constantly dying would be anything less than a nightmare. Ikharos had killed Enduriel because they attacked and killed the Risen; would this be any different?

"I don't believe you," she decided.

Ikharos nodded, his expression conveying understanding. "Trust is hard to come by, I know that all too well. So what are you going to do?"

"If I waited by the ship, I would eventually starve. Nothing grows here, nothing swims in the waters, nothing flies in the air. There is nothing."

"That leaves you coming with me. To kill a creature of Darkness," Ikharos gave a thin smile. "How... fortunate."

She shared the sentiment. "Will it be dangerous?"

"Would I be here otherwise?"

"What will I do?"

"Stay out of the way, don't draw attention, and be quiet." Ikharos ignored her revitalized glare. "I've got important things to think over, thank you very much."

He headed further on. She hurried to catch up, casting an uneasy glance all around them.

Before long, the fog began to thin, yet the bizarre pink light from above never changed in any way. When they emerged on the other side, she discovered that night had, in truth, fallen. Unusually bright stars and distant purple clouds coloured everything around them in a vague semidarkness.

The sandspit narrowed ahead of them. On either side, in the waters of this otherworldly shore, rested the fresh wrecks of ships. She saw the usual wooden vessels of humans, the ramshackle floats of Urgals, the sturdy but slow cogs of the dwarves, and the ancient silver ships of her own ancestors. The last were few, but they were a sight to behold. She had never seen them before - all but two had been lost to time. The material they were built from was unlike any other, a-

"What in the-" She turned to find Ikharos staring at something that just did not belong. It was metallic and forged into a triangular form, with a shattered glass window towards the front. The tip of the triangle and one fin stuck out of the water; the rest was submerged.

"What is it?" She pressed.

"A jumpship... Echo-class, built for speed and agility over short to medium distances. It... it really shouldn't be here..." He breathed sharply. "This is a graveyard. For all who came before."

"Let's move on," Formora urged. She didn't like this at all. They all looked so new. Mostly undamaged. And devoid of their crews.

000

The graveyard seemingly carried on for miles. So many ships. And not a body in sight. He'd begun to think that this was yet another time trap, that they were going in a theoretical circle, when the wall reared up before them.

It was colossal. Even that word didn't give it credit. The wall was designed like a piece of gothic architecture, complete with flying buttresses and pointed arches. It spread outwards on either side too far to see. Right ahead of him, where the sandspit ended, a closed gateway loomed. It was built for giants. And over it, so high up, rested like a gargoyle on a ledge, was a Pike-sized greenish-grey lizard with the head of a buzzard.

It opened its eyes and looked upon them balefully. First it regarded Formora with passing interest and spoke up in a voice like knives against a chalkboard. It said, "I am Gatekeeper Qortho. Do you wish to prostrate yourself before the Master of Pain?"

"What is that?" Formora whispered fearfully.

"Ahamkara," Ikharos muttered. He grabbed her shoulder and opened his mind. "Nullscape, now!"

He forced understanding upon her, supporting her as the sudden influx of information made her dizzy. She regained her balance, shot him a scathing look, and assumed the mental stance with all the skill of a Kinderguardian. There was nothing for it. Ikharos grasped his own nullscape and tugged it over him like a veil to guard against the powers of the Wish-Dragon.

The monster's dark eyes narrowed. It focused on him. "I am Gatekeeper Qortho. You shall not pass."

"Afraid that's not an option." Ikharos aimed the Lumina and fired. The bullet tore through its eye socket. The Ahamkara screamed.

"Trespasser!" It shrieked and dove off the wall. Ikharos pushed Formora out of the way and Blinked aside. The lizard slammed down just where they were and thrust its head towards him. The Warlock fired again, a wild shot, and the bullet only grazed its head. The Ahamkara shook off the pain and charged him.

It crashed into him with all the force of a Cabal Interceptor, tossing him onto the ground. Ikharos landed badly, momentarily losing grip on the Lumina. He looked about and quickly found it, ignoring the ache in his chest, and scrambled after it. The Wish-Dragon reached him first, snapping its hooked beak around his leg, lifting him up and then slamming him down hard. Ikharos grunted and sent a Seeker bolt at the monster. The Void caught in its protective feathers, but it recoiled regardless.

Once more Ikharos went for his gun, and was subsequently stopped, this time as razor-sharp claws tore through his shield, armour, and the skin of his back. He cried out and fell to his knees. The Ahamkara pounced on him. He turned around to face it, throwing a punch coated with energy, but it expertly moved its head and caught his arm in its mouth. The force of the bite shattered the bones in his forearm, eliciting a scream from him. It crunched down eagerly, reveling in every wave of agony.

It inexplicably let go and screeched. When the beast moved, Ikharos just managed to catch a glimpse of Formora beside it, stabbing her already bloodied sabre into its side. It swiped at her with the back of a forepaw, forcing her back, and snatched up his injured arm in its jaws once more, then dragged him towards the water's edge. Ikharos tried to grab onto something with his free hand, but the sand and ice just flowed through his fingers. They reached the freezing seawater and the lizard pushed them in with a kick of its hind legs, angling itself for a dive beneath the surface.

Ikharos tried to summon his Light, the Void, anything, though nothing could make it past the building bubble of panic in his throat or the overpowering presence of the Ahamkara pressing down on him. The beast swam fast, going deeper and deeper, its long crocodilian tail powering their descent. Ikharos slammed his fist again and again into the side of its head, but the water slowed every blow so that each was practically harmless. Then he drew his knife and, in a fit of luck, stuck the blade in its remaining eye. It screamed, the impossibly loud sound ringing in his ears, and Ikharos tugged himself free. He kicked away and swam upwards, as fast as he could. He knew it was following right behind.

It hit him as he reached the surface, its jaws clamping shut around his midriff and reaching up with its forelimbs to sink its claws into whatever part of him it could find. They surged out of the water and onto the banks, bloodied water splashing onto the previously clean sands around them.

Ikharos stabbed it again and again, just as its claws sunk deeper and deeper. He heard - and felt - bones crack and snap within him, taut muscles tear apart as the beak sliced through armour and into him. The pounding of his heart weakened as he lost more and more blood. Then a familiar roar... and the pressure lessened. The Ahamkara shrieked weakly and stumbled away, crawling back in the direction of the city. The gates shuddered open.

"Trespassers!" It screeched. "TRESPASSERS!"

Ikharos struggled to his knees. Formora was there in an instant, helping him up. She held in her hand the Lumina, the barrel smoking.

"Thanks..." The Warlock gasped and tried not to buckle under the excruciating pain.

"Waíse heill," she said quickly. Ikharos breathed in relief as the agony faded away, as bones reset and his flesh mended itself.

"It's escaping!" Xiān shouted from within his mind. His eyes darted back to the fleeing form of the wounded and blinded Ahamkara. It was already beyond the threshold of the entrance. He broke out into a run as the gates rumbled once more, this time closing. They slammed shut just before he could reach them. "No!" He bellowed and punched the stone, cracking it.

"Can we get in?" Formora called out.

"I don't... yeah, just give me time, I got to save up on..."

The radar on his helmet flashed red. Red, all around him.

"Oh psekisk," he gasped and twirled around. The waters rippled

Formora joined him in front of the gateway, wide-eyed with terror. "What is it?"

The ripples evolved into waves. "We've got incoming. And not enough Light to get through. Not yet."

"How long?" She asked. The waves turned to splashing. Whatever had killed the crews of all those ships was now coming for them.

"Too long," Ikharos reluctantly admitted. "Xiān, give us all you can."

He didn't care about exposing the presence of his Ghost. Not anymore. She appeared and dropped him as many weapons as he could carry, then disappeared. He hefted the weight of the Nemesis Star and dropped a shotgun and sidearm on the sand beside him. He glanced at Formora. She held a fierce, defiant look. Utterly lost, sure, but defiant.

"Here," he said, and passed over his Zen Meteor. "Don't miss. Our ammo is too limited for that."

"How do I..."

"It's like the Lumina - oh yeah, give it here - and you have to pull the trigger. Xiān will reload it for you. Don't ask questions. We really don't have time."

A metal arm shot out of the water's surface. The rest of the body followed; the rusted 99-40 series Frame stood on shaky legs, but its intent was clear. It shambled towards them, a high-pitched whirring sound emanating from its internal workings.

Ikharos shot it down. "Go for the chest or head. Nothing else will put them down for good. If you believe in any elven god, start praying."

"There isn't any elven god." She muttered, sparing him a look of exasperation.

Ikharos smiled grimly. "Dammit. I was hoping for a chance of divine intervention."

More Frames emerged. The Forsworn and Guardian ruthlessly put them down with precise shots. Just as those robots fell, new ones arrived to take their place, climbing onto the sand and hobbling towards the two intruders with malicious intent. Bullets flew at a rapid pace, and yet it did nothing to stem the tide. More and more rose up, too many Frames to count. Every reload allowed the growing horde to gain ground, climbing over the bodies of their fallen allies. Closer and closer they came, until...

"Light!" Ikharos called out. He tossed Formora the machine gun; she dropped the sniper rifle and caught it expertly, instantly opening fire. She'd caught onto how they worked quicker than he'd thought she would. "Cover me!"

He pushed the Light into his hands and channeled his anger, his passion. Flames flickered and grew, forming in his hands. He created a broadsword of Solar and shoved it into the stone of the immoveable gate. The material immediately melted and trickled down, sizzling on the sand. Ikharos sliced the sword downwards, slowly but surely, wielding it like a plasmacutter. He heard the metal bodies crashing on top of each other, the sound growing in volume as they neared the two.

"Faster!" Formora yelled.

"Trying!" Ikharos called back. The stone was a tougher material than he had anticipated. He just needed to-

"They're on us!" The elf warned. Ikharos twirled around and sliced the Daybreak Blade through the chassis of three Frames. Beside him, Formora had drawn twin blades. The Rider's swords made short work of the weathered drones.

They practically fell onto Ikharos as he slaughtered them by the dozen. Heaps of melted scrap metal began to pile up at his feet, growing into a mound that each new Frame had to climb over. And still there was no end in sight. "Too damn many!" He grunted.

Then his Daybreak ran out, and ended up punching his intended target. The Frame died, of course, but it left him with some very sore knuckles. Fomora wordlessly threw him the sword in her off hand. He grabbed it and planted it in the next robot. He snatched up the shotgun and laid into the horde, tearing them apart in clumps. He kicked the sidearm in his companion's direction, hoping she would notice. He was rewarded with a satisfying pop-pop-pop, each marking the end of another enemy.

When the shotgun clicked empty and no more bullets were transmatted inside, Ikharos embedded it barrel-first into a Frame's neck and brought out his knife. He used the smaller blade to parry the clumsy strikes of the mechanical arms and the purple longsword to deliver fatal blows.

"Can't fight much longer!" Formora shouted to be heard over the incessant, collective shriek of the machines.

Ikharos glanced back. He had almost cut them a hole through. He could even see the other side where he had burned through. If he had any more Light, he might be able to teleport them through, but he was depleted.

"Magic!" Xiān screamed from within. "Use it! NOW!"

"Jierda!" Ikharos roared. The stone cracked. "Jierda! JIERDA!"

The weakened portion of the gate ruptured and crumbled to dust. He and Formora darted inside. Before the Frames could follow them, Ikharos tossed a Voidwall grenade into the hole. They didn't stick around long enough to see whether the robots tried to follow them through the indigo flames.

Inside the grand wall was a classical city of monochrome. There wasn't a shred of colour to be found anywhere.

The two kept running until their breath ran out and they were positive nothing had followed them, stopping in an alleyway between two grey villas. Ikharos doubled over and fell to a knee, utterly spent, gasping for air. It was a few minutes before they could even so much as speak.

"What..." Formora began, "Was... that?!"

"Combat... Frames..." Ikharos replied. "Arti... ficial... soldiers. I don't... know why... they're here. Stolen... most likely..."

"From... whom?"

"Scipio." Ikharos paused. "There must be... more than Frames... here... but... how did the Dark... control them?"

Xiān floated into view. Formora stiffened. Ikharos felt sorry for her. "Later," he said.

The Ghost twitched nervously. "You're not going to like this."

"What is it?"

"The Frames are, or were, receiving a signal streaming orders. Mostly along the lines of KILL KILL KILL, yada yada, you get the idea. And the signal? Guess where it came from."

"Here." Ikharos closed his eyes. "Find anything else?"

"Yeah. They aren't stolen. Those are basic combat Frames, you know, peacekeepers. Security for the envisioned colony. They're working for the same thing they've always worked for. The signature matches that of a ExSec Submind."

"The Submind is here?"

"Yes."

"Not with Scipio."

"That's right."

Ikharos sighed. "That's just great. So we have to-"

A faint howl - shrill with pain - interrupted him. It began to rapidly change to a lower pitch. Ikharos grimaced and checked both exits on either end of the alley.
"The Ahamkara's changing form." He forced himself to stand upright, leaning the longsword against his shoulder. Ikharos sent Formora a sympathetic look. "Want to stay here or come with me?"

"With you," she answered without a moment's hesitation, glancing around fearfully.

"Then we have a dragon to hunt."

AN: Another thanks to Nomad Blue for the editz, and everyone else for being so nice.