Stargazer

by Keltoi

"Every end crawls from the same pit, rising from the schism to swallow matter, Light and life. It cannot be stopped, but here, it can be slowed."

77. Chapter 72: Broken Truths

Chapter 72: Broken Truths

"Well," Ikharos said aloud, "this has been a grand waste of time. I don't see any Hive. Harmony neither."

Neuroc stepped past him, looking up at the mountains. They were all but a day's march out. Two, maybe, if they took some time to rest and replenish their energy reserves. "Are you so sure?"

"We're not in the range yet," he replied. "They could have a lovely little ambush set up for us, yeah, but here? Out in the open? I see nothing. I feel nothing."

"And you can feel Hive?" Neuroc asked, slowly turning around. "You can sense them?"

"They're not subtle creatures."

"I don't know; they hid away within our carrier quite well."

"The Broodqueen's ploy, I expect," Ikharos grunted. "Wizards and Witches - all so clever, so cunning, so sly. Though I can't imagine the Darkblade has many of those left, what with his sister and her coven dead."

"So they are dead?" Neuroc inquisitively pressed.

Ikharos nodded, gaze drifting over to the sea to their left. The weather had it riled up, angry, crashing against the rocky shores with a vengeance. "I made sure of it," he said softly.

And so he had. A broken body was one thing - but a shattered spirit? That was death, final. It was an end where the road just stopped. He knew that much. It was his deliverance to gods and demigods and whatever other twisted forms of divinity thought to outplay him, outflank him, outwit him and break down all he stood to guard.

---

"What happens next?" Ikharos whispered. He leaned forward on the low sofa, bottleneck of sweet, sweet cider pinched between his fingers.

Eris sat stiffly across from him; her wounds hadn't healed properly, had they? Bones broken, scarred muscle tissue - and then there was the trauma. "Bury what remains."

"You mean that corpse orbiting Saturn?" Lennox asked. She was leaning against the couch's arm. Something in her voice gave away that she thought it a joke. When no one laughed, she said, "Wait, you're serious?"

"Not the husk," Eris hollowly explained, all three eyes - stolen eyes - trained on Ikharos. "Just the heart."

"I speared it," he retorted without heat.

"You cut it out. Gathered it up. I know you did."

"Tried to burn it."

"Fires can't remove a King."

"Then what? Drop it in a pit ten feet down, cover it up with dirt?"

"Nothing so primitive. Cage it." Eris held out her shaking hand. "Give it to me."

Ikharos dubiously looked the limb over. How long he'd wanted her to do this, to offer a hand, to make peace - but it wasn't for him, was it? It was for the monster he'd killed. "Fine."

"I will return it to you."

This was her last favour to him. Ikharos didn't need to be told to know that. He picked up on it handily enough. "Fine," he growled, cutting his hope and concern away once and for all.

Damn. Her.

---

Raksil shuffled up to them from where the others had settled down for the night, shock rifle leaning against his shoulder. "Kirzen."

"Hey." Ikharos craned his head around. "What do you think? Of the view?"

"Pleasant."

"Desolate - but yeah, in a nice way. Horrible place to live, though a visit wouldn't hurt. Perspective and all that." His budding smile disappeared. "Even a taste of scarcity - it's educational."

Neuroc hummed. "Scarcity is a Hive trait."

"Scarcity is an everyone trait. We all suffer, we all lack. Hive just grew it into their identity; into who they are as a people. Hunger's their driving force."

"Just hunger?"

"A hunger for life," Ikharos replied. "They all want to live. That's why they take the Worms - to live forever. That's why they kill - to continue living forever."

"You despise it."

"It's an inherently selfish practice, their Logic. Don't you?"

Neuroc looked away. "I am not Uluru. I was not born to rights and luxuries."

"You've risen pretty high."

"Despite mounting hardships. What the Hive have is perseverance. Is that not something we should emulate?" She tilted her head - a humanism picked up during her time in Carvahall, surely.

Ikharos lifted his chin. "Determination is to be given its due respect, but that doesn't excuse anything. The Hive made a selfish choice. They're still making those same choices."

Neuroc nodded. She was more approachable than before. Ikharos knew it was intentional; she had been planted with his team to watch him, study him, disarm him if need be - and she had done it all splendidly, taking to the task with a rare talent for deception. A part of him, a huge part of him, wanted nothing more than to believe the personality she built up around herself was sincere, that she was a friendly person, a possible acquaintance, a comrade. But the rest of him knew otherwise.

Flayers didn't rise so high within the legions because of psionic power alone.

---

Sometimes Ikharos took to his Sparrow, when he leaned towards his own company with a distinct lack of all others (oh, the bliss), but he just as often remained landlocked with the rest of his mashed-together contingent. Arahynn, Javek, Raksil and Ästrith; he found rapport with them all, to varying degrees. Neuroc, even, he found easier to march with than most companions he'd kept in the past, despite her false amiability. If nothing else, it was educational - being close enough to a Psion to make mental notes and add to his many theories and hypotheses concerning the mannerisms, subcultures and behaviour of an enlisted Flayer outside of combat.

The dread tickling the back of his mind, though - it never dislodged, never retreated, refused to leave him in peace. It could have just been the stock of his macabre rifle brushing against the messy tail he'd tied his back into, but... no. No. It was in his chest too, beating in a slow, mocking imitation of his own racing heart. Xiān was little help, having made no move to suppress the anchored core of anti-life as she unknowingly had before; their relationship had quickly become a strained one. They worked together, spoke with one another, acted in tandem to help others - but beyond that, the warmth had all but disappeared between them, leaving a frosty uncertainty in its wake.

All that said, Ikharos found some satisfaction - or at least contentment - in what he presently had. Having lived more than the first half-century of his life on the move, alone or in small huddling groups, their current tact appealed to him on an intrinsic level. That a majority of his little group were suspicious Cabal, constantly watching him for the first sign of betrayal, deducted some joy from their present state, but he soldiered through it as best he could - most often by falling back on those who weren't poised to riddle him with slugs and microrockets the moment the Dark worshippers were dealt with.

"Your people really never came this way?" Ikharos asked. "Not once? Not even a little?"

Arahynn gave him a dry, exasperated and somewhat amused look. "Lady Láerdhon did."

"I know. She told me."

"Does she not count, my lord?"

"She didn't see much and she was a Rider at the time. I've been lead to believe the Dragon Riders were a separate body to the elven queendom." Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"So..." Arahynn gestured behind them. "That oak tree we passed twenty-seven leagues back?"

"Marker of your border, I know."

"Planted by Iirsúr, the first älfa to settle Alagaësia. He planted those oaks to mark where our realm ended and the wider world began. Our forebears were happy with Du Weldenvarden; the forest held magic, this place did not. As creatures raised in magic, where would we find our new homes but a place that mirrors our own wild, mystical spirits?"

"Your own 'wild, mystical spirits'," Ikharos quoted, a ghost of a grin making its way onto his face.

Arahynn, rather than give in to irritation, humoured Ikharos's soft ridicule with patience and reason. "Do you not see this in us? Have you not noticed this reality during your time with Lady Láerdhon?"

"We try to keep our conversations grounded. Dreams are good - but flowery talk can only press a point so far."

Arahynn hummed thoughtfully. "And how would you describe the natures of your own people, Lord Torstil? Of yourself and your fellow dauthné, of a trait shared by all?"

Ikharos didn't even have to think about it. "Vicious," he said, before the weight of the question properly settled in his mind.

Arahynn blinked with surprise, his own smile faltering. "'Vicious'?"

"No. Well, yes. Sorry. How about..." Ikharos paused. "I want to say 'capable', because we are, but that's not fair. How about... I don't know. I could say a lot of things, but some of those are subjective and others are biased. What do you think?"

"I have only met the one dauthné," Arahynn pointed out.

"Let's hear it all the same."

"Dire."

"Dire?"

"Dire," Arahynn confirmed. "Your countenance and moods are often dire, according to my own experience in watching and conversing with you."

Ikharos took it with a shrug. "Suppose."

"Would this apply to your kin?"

"No. Most Hunters and Kinderguardians are exempt from... 'dire'."

"Kinderguardians?"

"Kids. Young Guardians. The recently rezzed." Ikharos basked in the sudden silence; it marked understanding on both their parts. "Can I... ask a question?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Don't, he groaned

Arahynn smirked, ducking his head. He was so, so easy to get along with; he would have been a carefree Hunter in another life. "Ask your question."

"Why do you refer to Formora as Lady Láerdhon?"

"Because... she is my superior in rank and standing?"

"Yeah, but..." Ikharos looked around. "Ästrith?"

"Yes?" The other elf, keeping pace, stepped closer. She led her steed behind her, drawing it onwards with kind hand and whispered word rather than with leash and reins. "What is it?"

"Why do you call Formora Lady Láerdhon?"

Ästrith gave him a puzzled look. "Because that is... that is her title?"

"But you frame it as if she is your... your leader."

"She is."

"But... before." Ikharos waved into the air, as if to propel them back to the time he was referring to. "It wasn't just in greeting, but in... in all matters. You deferred to her again and again, before Däthedr handed over leadership of the fyrnvard."

Ästrith nodded, slowly. "Ah. Because her drive, experience, and professionalism cut her out as the first and most obvious authority."

"But why?"

"Because it was the right choice to make? I worry I am not understanding the question, lord."

"I believe he is concerned," Arahynn explained.

Ikharos reluctantly dipped his head. "I suppose I am. I am... fond of Formora, and this... it worried her before. It's confusing me still."

"I believe I see your point," Arahynn said, though not without a hint of something. "Call it unrest if you will; we are looking towards another figure of authority, one who is set to take decisive action."

"You speak like you've already broken ties with your queen," Ikharos warily noted.

Ästrith offered him a wry, solemn smile. "Haven't we?"

---

"Kirzen!"

The call came from ahead, further up the snowy hill they were making to hike up. Ikharos glanced forwards, towards the summit, and spotted a four-armed figure waving to him. Ikharos Blinked his way up; he felt more than saw Neuroc follow suit, racing up with short, controlled jets of her jump-pack to boost her sudden run. The bursts of Solar- absent of paracausality, but still so full of power - warmed the surface of his Light. It felt... cozy. And alarming; he half-expected an Incendior's scorching burst to follow the familiar sensation, what with the scent of sizzling Cabal oil in the air.

"Kirzen," Javek blurted when he caught up, pointing northwest - towards the shore and the sea. "I... I saw something."

"Hive?" Ikharos pressed, drawing his cannon. "Harmony?"

Neuroc caught up with them then, slug rifle in hand and eye glowing with Intention. "Are we under attack?"

Javek shook his head, suddenly eyeing the Psion with suspicious caution. "Nama, I... they were small."

"What were?" Ikharos demanded. "Animals?"

Another figure joined them; Kida, silent and methodical. "Query: Danger?"

"I don't..." Javek pointed down the hill. "There!"

A shape had straightened up into view some distance away. It was humanoid, that much Ikharos could tell at a glance, and yes - it was small. Smaller than himself, that was for sure. Stockier, though. Wrapped in thick furs and with a coat of rusty mail beneath. Its face was hidden beneath two hairy eyebrows, a conical fur hat and a great big bushy beard. It was holding something, too, in both hands - pulling back with one. It wasn't going to... wait, was it really...?

The short humanoid creature fired. The arrow arced through the air almost lazily, slow enough that Ikharos could have tried to catch it out of the air, but he just stood by and watched as it fell down with velocity and deadly intent... and bounced right off Kida's reinforced optic and rebounded onto the snow at their feet.

Javek lowered his arm, glancing between their assailant and the Frame - who looked like his heuristic systems had only just short-circuited, frozen in place as he was. "Dwarf," the Splicer lamely reported. "It is a dwarf."

Kida's head raised up, optic fixed on the dwarf. "Homo Chthonicus specimen attempted to dismantle this unit." He even sounded like he couldn't believe what had just happened. The Frame raised his rifle. "R5 Specialist: Ikharos. Permission to terminate hostile?"

"No no," Ikharos held a hand out towards Kida, motioning for him to disarm. The Frame lowered the barrel of his gun towards the ground. "No harm done, right?"

Javek chittered lowly. "The dwarf is loading another arrow, Kirzen."

"I'm sure he's just making a show of it, to tell us who's the boss."

"He's shooting again."

"Yes, well..." Ikharos watched the next arrow fly and fall - and ricochet off his own helmet with a dull clang. He hadn't even felt the impact. "He's not doing a very good job. At killing us, I mean."

The third arrow Neuroc caught out of the air with her mind's eye. She glanced at Ikharos, looking for all the world utterly bewildered. "Dwarf?"

"Neohumans," he supplied, still watching the unfortunate archer load another missile to his primitive bow. "Human subspecies. They live in the Beors, far to the south."

"Far from home," Javek murmured. "Why is he here?" The fourth arrow was directed towards him, but the Splicer just stepped aside. It hit the ground behind him and stuck. "He is... very determined."

"He is that," Ikharos agreed. He hesitated. "Maybe... maybe we should talk with him?"

"You don't sound sure, Kirzen."

"So we should engage?" Neuroc inquired.

"No. No, I think it's best we let this play out." Ikharos crossed his arm. The fifth shot deflected off his raised wards, fuelled with a sparse level of Light. "Bless his little heart, he's really trying... Kida?"

"Sir?"

"Go tell Raksil and the elves we're being shot at. Actually, wait a second. Hey!" Ikharos raised a hand in greeting. "Hello! You there!"

The dwarf froze - then bellowed something along the lines of "Barzûl!"

"Yes, you! Who are you?!"

"Akh sartos oen dûrgrimst!"

Another arrow was loaded and fired. It glanced over one of the horns of Javek's helm. The Splicer blinked at the little man, perplexed in a whole new way. "Ikha Riis, he's still shooting us."

"Ah, let him have some fun. He'll run out at some point." Ikharos motioned to Kida. "Go - elves and Raksil. Ask if anyone knows dwarvish, please."

Kida saluted and speedily marched back towards the trundling little convoy. Neuroc caught the next two arrows and spared Ikharos a disbelieving look. "You find this amusing."

"I am having a little inside giggle," Ikharos admitted. "But you have to admire his spirit."

Javek shook his head, suddenly exasperated. "We are insulting him."

"You want to play dead? Be my guest."

"I don't mean that, just..." Javek raised his upper arms into the air. "Nama!" he shouted. Then, in English, "No shoot!"

The dwarf kept firing - at Javek five more times in quick succession too (not one pierced the Eliksni's armour) - right up until he reached into the quiver slung at his hip and came away with nothing. To which he drew a curved hunting knife, released a boisterous warcry and ran up the hill faster than Ikharos expected from something with the physique of a barrel.

Arahynn and Ästrith reached them just as the dwarf was closing in. The first elf, Ästrith, looked at Ikharos, opened her mouth and said with a frown, "What do you mean, 'we're being shot at'? Are we under atta-" Then she noticed the dwarf quietly and doggedly trucking up towards them, knife clutched tightly in its right fist and feet kicking up snow behind it. "Lord!"

"I know." Ikharos strode towards the dwarf, grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the knife and said, "I take it you don't speak English? Common? Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Parlez-vous français? Nǐ huì shuō zhè zhǒng yǔ yán ma?"

The dwarf wriggled against his grasp with no luck. Ikharos turned around, one eyebrow raised, but found most of those present giving him odd and curious looks. With a sigh, he pulled the dwarf forward and let go, but not without muttering, "Jierda."

The knife blade snapped and cracked, right over the hilt, and fell into the snow. The dwarf jolted and froze on the spot, looking between all of them with wide eyes as if just realizing how badly outnumbered he was.

Honestly.

Arahynn cleared his throat. "Knurla."

The dwarf twirled around and snarled, spitting at the elf. "Sheilven!"

Arahynn splayed out his empty hands. "Vrron. Hwatum il skilfz gerdumn! Vrron, vrron."

Ikharos watched as the dwarf's attention came to rest on him. The snarling continued. "Formv menotho Hrechborith!"

"I imagine that was an insult?" Ikharos inquired.

Arahynn frowned at him, troubled. "He... he called you a 'faithless Shade-chief'."

"... Huh." Ikharos knelt down - and the dwarf tried to headbutt him. He ducked back, just in time, and Javek and Raksil shot forward to grab the dwarf's arms and pull him up into the air, where he kicked at nothing and shot dwarvish swears in all directions. "Wait, wait - put him down."

"They don't like us kneeling," Ästrith whispered in his ear. "They think we mean to insult them.."

"I'm not... oh." Ikharos hastily stood back up. "He called me Shade-chief. Ask if he means... if he means if I'm like Elkhon."

Even before Arahynn translated, the struggling dwarf stilled the moment he mentioned the name. His eyes narrowed thinly. After the elf was through, the dwarf grunted, "Oei. Vren-otho."

"War-faith," Arahynn whispered.

"Like machine above?" Javek questioned.

Ikharos hummed in the back of his throat. "Maybe. Or... or something close to war-child. Which... well, could mean two things, but one of them isn't here so..." He held out a hand. Solar sparks caught and culminated in a single fiery orb. "Right, how about this: my name is Gvîsthrun."

The dwarf gasped, and dramatically at that. His once furious visage faded away to... awe. Shock. Reverence and regret. "Gvîsthrun..." He stumbled back as if struck, pale skin going even more bloodless. He looked like he hadn't seen sun in months - or even years. A shaking finger was raised towards Ikharos. "Gvîsthrun arûna."

"Blessed... blessed Gvîsthrun," Arahynn supplied. "I don't recognize the term. Ikharos?"

Ikharos sighed. "I'm getting really tired of this."

"What do you mean?"

"... Ask where he came from," Ikharos ordered, then muttered, "If he just wandered up this way from the Beors, I swear to all the Ascendant gods elsewhere, I'll... I don't know what I'll do."

Arahynn posed the question in dwarvish, though he glanced at Ikharos curiously. The dwarf answered in kind, with less shouting and spitting. "He... says he's just out from his village, Gorbelgond. He's a hunter and ranger, guarding the borders and hunting for food."

"Where?"

The dwarf, perhaps realizing he was being pressed for a location, pointed northwards - to where the mountains met the sea. "Dûrgrimst Orodüm."

"He's..." Arahynn paused. "From the Fated Clan."

"The what?"

"Fated Clan. Clan of Fate. The meaning is unclear; one or the other, I cannot discern which."

"Lord Torstil," Ästrith began. "'My name is Gvîsthrun'?"

"Long story," Ikharos replied. "One that involves a conscious storm, a mysterious benefactor, and a fight with the ontological predator that left me with my marks." He gestured to where the glowing blue marks ran across the side of his head, hidden beneath his damaged helmet. "We'll get to it later, promise; for now, though, I'm more interested in what our new friend has to show us..." A throat was cleared. Ikharos turned to face Neuroc. "Yes?"

"This creature fired at us," she pointed out.

"Ineffectually, I might add. I mean, his aim was good, but he didn't achieve much, did he?"

"He shot at…?" Ästrith looked around at the ground studded with fletched feathers and slim broken shafts. "Oh. Arrows."

"Yeah," Ikharos drily agreed. "Arrows. You missed the fun."

"You were shot at?"

"I mean, no one was hurt." Ikharos saw Javek motion to the dwarf out of the corner of his eye. "No, pride doesn't count."

The Splicer shrugged and shuttered his inner eyes. "I don't entirely agree, Kirzen."

"Well, I don't pay you to agree."

"You don't pay me at all. We pay you - with all the spare Glimmer we have left over."

"Figure of speech; we're getting sidetracked." Ikharos turned back to Neuroc. "Look, they're causal, they're primitive - no threat. Let's not make a big deal out of this."

"Then we move on," she replied.

"No." Ikharos glanced at the dwarf, who was still gawking up at him. "I have a few more questions that need answers... I think we should pay his village a visit." His eyes darted back to the Flayer. "That's not a euphemism for 'let's go raiding' by the way. I mean visit-visit."

She stared at him too. Of the pair, Ikharos preferred the dwarf's gaze. It felt less insidious. "If that is your decision," the Psion said, tone neutral and expression unreadable.

"It is. Arahynn, stick with me and... what's his name?"

Arahynn quickly rounded off the question to the dwarf. The short and stocky neohuman, who stood just as high as Ikharos's waist, humbly uttered, "Eorlegh."

"Eorlegh," Ikharos echoed, just to get a feel for the word. "Right, okay then. Arahynn, I need you to translate. Does that suit?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Fantastic. Neuroc, Raksil - if you two could relay this to the patient soldiers waiting at the bottom of the hill for us, that would be splendid. Everyone else: follow or wait, your call." Ikharos gave the dwarf a hopeful look. "Gorbelgond?"

"Oei!" The dwarf pointed in the same direction again and started walking. A wide, happy smile curled up behind Eorlegh's massive coal-black beard. "Ignh az Gvîsthrun grimst!"

"He says," Arahynn said softly, head cocked to the side, "that he's 'bringing Gvîsthrun home.'" He looked back at Ikharos. "What does Gvîsthrun mean?"

"I don't have a Traveler-damned clue."

---

Eorlegh slowly but surely led them out of the open and into the shadow of the mountains. The dwarf cast a number of suspicious looks over his shoulder - at Neuroc, at the Eliksni, at the elves, and at Kida in particular - but all Ikharos had to do was say Gvîsthrun at the right time to get him back on track. Every time he did, the dwarf's face was split by a radiant, hopeful smile, as if he'd been promised worldly salvation from all the universe's mortal rigours.

"This is the third time this has happened," Ikharos murmured. Ästrith, Arahynn and even Raksil each gave him a strange look. Javek just strolled along; what was happening was nothing new to him. "First with Inapashunna, then the Dûrgrimst Quan, now... this."

"Why?" Ästrith asked, bewildered.

"Because my forebears obviously didn't quash this kind of attitude. Highly irresponsible, I know, but here we are." He glanced at the elves. "How come you didn't know there were dwarves here?"

"We don't explore north."

"Why not?"

Ästrith looked at Arahynn, who opened his mouth just as a puzzled look crossed his face. "Because... because there is nothing to be found this way," he lamely explained.

"Obviously not," Ikharos said, motioning towards Eorlegh. "What's the real reason?"

"I... I don't know, lord." Arahynn frowned. "Curious…"

Ikharos pressed his lips together. "Genuinely?"

"Truly."

"... Huh." He frowned. Ikharos murmured to himself, "Low-power memetic repellant, subconsciously activated, possibly spread through an unseen semiotic virus originating within an incantation made in the Harmony tongue - likely from a Harmony specimen too, given the power necessary to cover such a wide range and time period. Likely ineffectual when in contact with an influence founded in Light - in externally exerted paracausal presence. Guardians make their own fates - and everyone else's while at it."

"Lord?"

"Nothing. Just... rambling," Ikharos flippantly explained. "Have a few theories to work through."

Arahynn nodded slowly; Ästrith not at all. They just kept looking at him. Raksil had given up by that point, whispering to Javek. The Splicer chattered back, "Leave him be. He is lost to us now, in another world."

Ikharos shot Javek a look. "I can-"

"I know, Kirzen."

Ikharos rolled his eyes. "Well, what do you think?"

"That you will figure this out."

"No theories of your own?"

"None of substance."

"Feel free to share them with me at any time. Fresh ideas could be just the key I need to understand... whatever any of this is."

---

The village, Gorbelgond, wasn't what Ikharos anticipated - it was a hamlet, really, but not styled after the human norm. The place had been built right where a number of hollows (some natural, some artificial) tunneled into the mountain's rocky base. On one side they had a straight walk down a gentle slope to the sea, and in the other direction they could have trekked a dozen miles right to a narrow valley shadowed over with an icy mist, where the silhouettes of so many leafless trees stood upright. A few ice-huts and, the biggest structures present, a couple of cottages stood out before the honey-combed caves carved into the mountain, all surrounded by a wall of solid carved stone about as high as Ikharos's forehead.

Three figures raised spears by the gates, alerting the rest of huddled village and tossing a challenge his way - one Eorlegh answered by gesturing to Ikharos and excitedly shouting, "Gvîsthrun! Gvîsthrun!"

The guards fell silent. One of them repeated, hopefully, "Gvîsthrun?"

"Gvîsthrun!"

"Gvîsthrun," Ikharos repeated.

"Gvîsthrun!" the guards exclaimed.

Then the Goliaths raised over the hill behind them, their Uluru soldiers milling around the hovertanks, and the cries quickly shifted back to alarm. Ikharos turned to Neuroc. "Could you order your troops to stay put? We don't want to startle these people."

Neuroc didn't answer, just flashed her eye. The Goliaths behind them paused, the infantry halting in place.

"Thank you."

"What is this about, human?"

Ikharos feigned a clueless shrug, though he suspected it was wasted on her. "Just... trying to find answers, I suppose. Maybe snag some local advice while we're at it; we don't know this land, they might."

"... That is... acceptable." Neuroc holstered her slug rifle over her back, right over her jump-pack.

"Of course it is," Ikharos chuckled, eying her carefully. "I'm entirely inept."

"I never claimed you as such."

"Suppose not." Ikharos twirled about, faulds swinging in the air. "Raksil, Javek, Kida? Stay, please. Keep us alerted of any developments that warrant concern, and cover us if so. Ästrith, Arahynn - you two are with me. Neuroc-"

"I will accompany you," the Flayer told him.

"I don't think... fine. But wear a complete mask. We're trying not to unsettle, and these people might not take kindly to nonhumans."

The Flayer hummed her reluctant agreement and donned a helmet just like he ordered, one crested with a classic Flayer-halo. It still managed to unsettle him, but Ikharos attributed that to his own experiences rather than appearance alone. "Now, human?"

"Perfect," Ikharos muttered. He gestured to Eorlegh. "Eh... Gorbelgond?"

"Oei," the dwarf solemnly agreed. He gestured for Ikharos to follow and marched forward. The three guards, by then with two friends up on the walls with bows at the ready, warily watched them approach and, reluctantly, pulled open the gates, but they crossed their spears in front of it.

Arahynn argued with the guards for a bit, Eorlegh backing him, and eventually they were allowed inside. A crowd had gathered just beyond the threshold - dwarves all, clad mostly in leathers and furs. All looked weathered and pale, like Eorlegh, and some bore elaborate scars on their faces, assumedly self-inflicted with knives. Ceremonial, Ikharos presumed. Perhaps to prove something.

One dwarf, wizened and getting on in years, pushed his way to the forefront. He stabbed a finger towards Eorlegh and barked, "Etzil nithgech!"

"Farthen-"

"Eta! Jokk iz frekk bragha?!"

"Farthen, etzil!" Eorlegh wildly gestured to Ikharos. "Formv carn Gvîsthrun!"

"Gv-Gvîsthrun?!" The old dwarf's eyes switched over, and he fell to his knees in reverence. The rest of the dwarves followed suit.

Ikharos withheld a sigh; he... didn't like what was happening. He didn't like the implications, he didn't like how it appeared to everyone else, he really didn't like thinking about how it came to be, but... "Arahynn?"

"Lord?"

"Ask these people if they've seen anyone like me, please."

"Like you?" the elf hesitantly echoed.

"Anyone who can do this." Ikharos summoned an orb of bright Solar in his hand. An awed gasp rippled through the gathered dwarves. Arahynn quickly rattled off the question, but the reply was slow in coming.

"Yes," the elf translated. "It was they who foretold of your coming."

"Who?"

Another question was fielded. Arahynn gave Ikharos a troubled frown as the answer was shot back. "The clan chief says... it was the gods. Their gods, I think."

The old dwarf raised a shaking fist into the air. "Akh Guntéraz dorzâda!"

"For Gûntera's adoration," Arahynn murmured. "Lord... what haven't you told us?"

Ikharos looked at him. "You say it like I've hidden it from you."

"You have not explained this."

"And I have a duty to? None of this is my doing. Just..." He cycled in a breath. "Just the Six who came before."

"The Six?"

"Guardians. Risen. Arrived on your world just a little while after life here begun. Six of them. Made some waves with the dwarves, as I'm sure you've just realized."

"Your... people are the dwarven gods?" Ästrith pressed, disbelief written on her face.

Ikharos shrugged and stepped forward; the old dwarven chief was ushering them on, towards the largest building in the hamlet. "We're not gods. It's honestly worrying how often I have to repeat that."

"Then what?"

"Six arrived, they made an impact, time and superstition painted them as something bigger."

"What of this Elkhon you spoke of before?" Arahynn said, eyes wide.

"Shade and Risen."

"But... are Shades not naturally dauthné as well?"

"Not as Risen are." Ikharos stopped before the doors and turned on the two. Neuroc looked between them curiously, then stepped past and into the stone/wattle-and-daub structure. "I'm Risen. I live, I fight, I die, and then I live again. Elkhon is Risen and Shade both."

"What does that mean?" Ästrith worriedly pressed.

"It means that you can stab her through the heart, but she's going to come back." Ikharos grimaced. "Worse yet: she can still use Light."

"Like...

"Like I can."

"Was she one of the Six?" Arahynn asked urgently. "Which god?"

"Kílf. Her real name was Kelf, back... back when she used to be someone."

"This is… ridiculous. Fantastical. How do we know any of this is true?" Ästrith heatedly demanded, eyes narrowed. She looked disturbed, frustrated and suspicious at the same time.

Ikharos swung out his arms, almost clipping Eorlegh on the head as the dwarf passed by. "Allr eka hàvr bara ilerneoí er iluma."

The expressions on both elven faces very quickly turned dire. Ikharos sighed. "It's not... alright, it might be just that bad, but that's all the more reason to put an end to this twisted ploy as quick as we can. If Nezarec can turn a Risen into a Shade, he needs to go. There's no two ways about it, we have to-"

Neuroc reappeared. Emotion emanated off of her as a humming echo, energy coalescing around her helm's halo. "Merida-X8."

"Yes?"

"Inside," she uttered, voice unnaturally grave.

With a frown, Ikharos stepped around her, ducked beneath the short door frame and glanced about the inside. The cottage was more like a small feasting hall, with tables laid out and rug lining the door below. Hunting trophies lined the walls, in the forms of skulls and claws from numerous beasts, along with other prizes like arrows, axes and the rare sword. At the end of the cottage was a small hearth still alight with embers, and above the mantlepiece hung the biggest prize of all.

Ikharos's blood froze over. His breath caught in his lungs. His heart started thumping so fast he genuinely feared it was about to fail him.

It was the head of a Vex Hobgoblin.

---

Ikharos pushed his way back out and fell onto his hands and knees, tearing his helmet away and heaving air. How? How? Why? HOW? A Vex construct, forged of green steel and with a shawl of evergreen moss hanging over its lifeless optic. Sol Divisive. It was a Sol Divisive Hobgoblin - except it wasn't in Sol, it was in the Kepler-186 star system, over five hundred lightyears away.

It was on Kepler-186f.

It was here.

Everything was already lost.

No.

No, wait.

No, it couldn't be.

No, everything wasn't lost.

Eighty-thousand years and everything was still standing.

Why?

Why?

Ikharos stood back up, ignored the questions and cries of alarm clamouring for his attention, marched back in and ripped the Vex skull from above the fireplace, marched out to the shouts of surprised and upset dwarves, and tossed it onto the ground. Ikharos pointed a hand at the empty green head, absent of radiolaria, and released a Chaos Reach. The remains disintegrated on the spot, as did the slush of snow and mud below - right down into the earth and then slicing through solid stone. He closed his hand into a fist, twirled around to behold the clan chief and glared at the dwarf. "Where did you get this?"

"Gvîsthrun-"

"WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?!" Ikharos roared. Fear and rage battled within, the latter winning out - but the former gave it an edge to cut both ways. He gave Arahynn a meaningful look; the elf hastily repeated the demand in dwarvish. The clan chief stammered back, gesturing east.

"It came from beyond the mountains," Arahynn explained. "A curse sent unto them from the traitors and the demons."

"How did it die?"

"His forebears of old brought the steel beast down, with blade and hammer and valor."

Ikharos felt something bubble up in his chest, from beside his heart; it was something awful, something hungry. An exultance in the heat of anger. "Did it... did it bleed on anyone?"

Arahynn asked and waited for the answer. "Three warriors received the beast's curse. They were bade to leave the village so to spare their kin from what they would become."

Three at least. Three more at large. "Who advised you to do so?"

When Arahynn heard the clan chief's reply, his eyes widened - was that recognition? "The Wise One."

"The Wise..." Ikharos shook his head. "What?"

"The Wise One. She-"

Neuroc stepped close, cutting the elf off. "Vex presence, human. We must excise this rot."

"Like the Hive and Harmony," Ikharos bit out. "I know." He looked away. "Psekisk... right. Where did they go? Arahynn, ask the chief where the warriors marched to."

The chief gestured to their west.

"A pass in the mountains," the elf supplied. "A place they call... the Mourning Grove?"

Ikharos's head snapped in the indicated direction. "Hell. How long ago?"

"I will... clan chief Akrûnd says it was before his time. Many years and seasons ago." Arahynn exhaled. "He does not know exactly."

"Well, that's just great." Ikharos pulled his rifle out of transmat and shoved a clip into the chamber, much to the vocalized surprise of the dwarves. "If this means there's a Vex foothold, we have to burn it out immediately." He glanced to where the Vex skull had once lain, where a scorched hole in the ground had overtaken its resting place. "Sol Divisive... This is just the cherry on top, isn't it? Fuck."

"Lord?" Arahynn pressed cautiously. He and Ästrith back a few paces at some, like everyone else. "What... what's wrong?"

Ikharos leveled them with a look that hopefully translated as: more than you can ever know. "Get back to Javek, Raksil, whoever - tell them the Vex are here. If that doesn't make any sense, say 'screaming machines'. Got it?"

The elves exchanged Ästrith worried looks - again. Arahynn bowed his head, said, "Of course, lord," and ran away and out of the village. Ästrith remained, one hand falling to her sheathed sword.

"What are you doing?" Ikharos challenged.

"It takes only one to deliver a message."

Ikharos rolled his eyes and trudged past. "Fine. Neuroc, alert your soldiers; we're going to block off this valley and hunt them down."

The Flayer offered no complaint. She retrieved her radio and quickly rambled off Ulurant war-talk, snapping harshly at whomever was on the other side of the comms. Neuroc followed while she did so, grabbing her rifle with her free hand and falling into step beside him.

Ästrith followed. Ikharos had half a mind to tell the elf to remain, maybe try to ease things over with the assuredly horrified dwarves - but who was he fooling, elves listened to no one. He had bigger fish to fry, besides.

---

Nothing kicked tired Eliksni and Cabal (and Guardians) into action faster than the mere mention of 'Vex', Ikharos mused. Nothing. Hive gave way to rage, Taken to fear, Scorn to disgust, the Black Fleet to animal terror - but Vex, for all their causal and occasional acausal limitations, were something else, something almost instinctual.

"We haven't seen any prior evidence of Vex presence," Xiān rattled off. There went the silent treatment, but Ikharos was under no illusions that either of them cared. Not in that moment. "Vex aren't clever. Not in a subtle way. They have no cunning."

"You know as I do we can't take that chance. We CAN'T. Screw the Hive, screw the Harmony, screw the dragons, they're all bad news - but Vex..." Ikharos shivered. He picked up the pace. "Neuroc, does Invoctol know?"

"Affirmative," the Flayer reported. "The Amarz Amalz is approaching at this very moment. We will cleanse the valley with Imperial fire."

"Not enough. Not these subtypes." Ikharos looked around. Ästrith stubbornly trailed just behind and the rest of their contingent were racing to catch up. The mountains cracked open only a few miles ahead, just a slim fissure in the huge monumental walls of rock, ice and earth. "They're Sol Divisive; as Dark as Vex can get."

"Vex don't worship the Dark," Neuroc said sharply. There was a question hidden beneath her words.

"Not at large," Ikharos corrected, "but these bunch... they're Garden-born. Creatures of pure logic who calculated the only way to survive what they found within was to worship the core of it - to adapt religion. They're as much a cult as the rest of the monsters we're trying to exterminate. Worse, if they get loose."

"They will not," Neuroc vowed.

That was all he wanted to hear.

---

They reached the nearby valley without incident. Both Goliaths and Interceptors stood firm at the entrance, with a pair of Threshers hanging above. Cannons whined to life, flak guns whirred, energy weapons charged - and they prepared. The Amarz Amalz trundled closer far in the distance behind them, still a day's worth out, and Ikharos...

He couldn't wait.

Not for the Vex.

"If the Vex really had a handhold," Xiān whispered, "we would have seen signs of it before now. Ikharos, this feels... weird."

"That was a Hobgoblin's head."

"I know."

"A Sol Divisive Hobgoblin."

"Exactly. What's it DOING here?"

Ikharos frowned. "They said it came from the north, right? The Harmony..."

"I don't know any more than you."

"Could this be a trap?"

"Honestly, if this is a trap, you have to give kudos to whoever set it - because how the hell would they have known it would catch anyone?" She paused. "I don't see anything. Do you?"

Ikharos peered into the valley. The icy mist had only intensified the closer he got, veiling everything within. All he could make out were the shadows of spindly trees grasping at nothing, clawing at the air with leafless branches. "I see-"

"Vex don't grow trees."

"These are Sol Divisive. Plants are their thing." Ikharos pulled his rifle's sight up to his eye. "Dead trees, in any case."

"Weather's not great for vegetation."

"Pines could have survived this. This is their type of biome."

"Those aren't pines. They're... I don't know. And again, the weather. Someone's hiding all this. Vex don't hide. They just don't. They'll go under the radar sometimes, but that's unintentional, not their aim. This... this is someone hiding with purpose."

"Why are they hiding the Vex?"

"... Maybe it's not the Vex they're hiding," Xiān muttered.

"Psekisk," Ikharos hissed. He straightened up. "Arahynn, how long is a typical dwarven lifespan?"

The elf perked up. "Eh... longer than humans, lord. A hundred and fifty years, with fortune on their side."

"And he called them forebears of old..." Ikharos murmured. He turned to Neuroc. "Vex might not even be here."

"But they have been converted," the Flayer asserted. "We must comb for them."

"I know." Ikharos sucked in a deep breath. "We should have a look, before your Primus levels the place - check if they're present, find clues as to where they went if not."

"And what clues would you hope to find?"

"Something small. Nothing compromising."

"And if there is?" Neuroc pressed. "Something compromising?"

"Then we have even more work ahead of us," Ikharos tiredly answered. "Do any of your number have experience fighting Vex?"

"All."

"Thank the Light." Ikharos sighed. "No coddling, then. Or - just the bare minimum necessary." He turned around. "I'm going in. Keep this place locked down. If there's another way in and out of the valley, I'll call."

Neuroc nodded and repeated it in Ulurant to the Centurion behind her. The Uluru officer thumped a heavy fist against his cuirass, saluting. That settled, the Flayer gestured for another Psion, the resident Optus, to join her. "We will accompany you."

Ikharos inclined his head. "Kida? You're with me. Be ready to shoot to kill."

The Frame stepped forth. "Understood."

"Javek? Get Calzan to do a cursory scan of the surrounding areas. Update Formora's group too; see if they can't spot anything. Advise everyone to steer clear if they do."

"As you decree," the Splicer said with a miurlis salute.

That was enough. It had to be. Even so, when Ikharos disengaged and began trekking into the mouth of the narrow wooded valley, Raksil and the elves followed. He turned on them and very quickly demanded, "What are you doing?"

Raksil bowed his head. "I know how to fight screaming machines, Kirzen."

"Do you, now?"

"I learned from Kiphoris-Veskirisk."

Ikharos grunted. "Suppose he's the right person to teach it... Fine. But you two-" he gestured to Arahynn and Ästrith. "Neither of you are cleared for this."

"What is happening, Lord Torstil?" Ästrith questioned, brow furrowed. "Why... why did you-"

"Vex," he barked back. "I'll explain later; you need to stay. This isn't safe."

Arahynn pulled his sword out of its sheath. "We answered Lady Láerdhon's call to arms so as to preserve our people from further harm. I respect you, lord, and commend you for your willingness to take action - but you can no more order us than the Primus Invoctol can."

"We are älfya," Ästrith added. "We make our own choices."

Frustration made its way to the surface of his mind, coupled with a strange sort of fondness. "On your heads be it," he snapped without conviction, turned around and stiffly marched on.

"You aren't really going to let them-"

"I hate babysitting," Ikharos grumbled.

"Ah. Alright then. Carry on."

---

The trees were tall. That was clear even through the murk of the chilly fog blanketing the snowed-in valley. They threw long shadows - but their skeletal branches reached farther yet. They had a presence too, oppressive and merciless. Ikharos had felt it at the valley's approach, he'd felt it when he marched in, he'd felt it as he approached the very edges of the 'Mourning Grove', but as he crossed the threshold between the first giant growths tearing out of the ground, it culminated into something heavier, something with impact.

"Darkness zone," Ikharos gasped out. A pressure wrapped around his chest, constricting his Light and leaving him breathless and light-headed. He staggered, stopping only when Raksil and Ästrith took his arms, but he straightened up and shook off their grips and concerns not a moment later. "This... yeah, this is worrying." He shot Neuroc and the Optus Vekarian an inquisitive look marred with unease. "Can you feel it?"

Vekarian shivered. Neuroc nodded. "We can."

"It's strong. Densely packed."

"But contained."

"By a valley with near-vertical mountain faces on either side." Ikharos glanced up. "More like a little den; place for stray nihilists to continue their twisted worship in peace."

"The Vex are not nihilists. They are builders."

"Again - these are Sol Divisive." Ikharos filled his lungs with air. "You have no idea what they're like."

Neuroc hesitated. "Can they... wield-"

"No." Ikharos paused. "Not directly. Still, it pays to be careful. Watch your backs, keep an ear to the ground, be ready to move." He looked back at the elves. "If I tell you to run, you run."

Neither gave him any trouble. Maybe they were regretting their decision - but the looks on their faces spoke only of grim determination and more confusion. They had no idea...

"Maybe your idea about this being a trap isn't so wild," Xiān said with a shudder. "Traveler above, this is horrible."

"Not as bad as the Hive nest," Ikharos commented.

"Not any greater either. Nest had an actively oppressive sphere of influence, fueled by soulfire crystals and live Hive. This... this is cold. Just cold. Sharp - but not like a sword or knife or whatever other spell the Worms use. This is... like teeth hanging over our throats. And I don't even have a throat."

Ikharos tightened his hold on his rifle; he could feel it just as keenly, the difference in sensation from the weapon in his hands to the aura surrounding the forest. Both Dark, but that was all the similarity they shared. Otherwise the difference was like night and day. At least Blight and Taken essence he knew - this alternate force was more like the energy wielded by Orainthairr in Aroughs. Completely alien. Unimaginably dangerous.

It was pure.

Singing wafted towards them, gentle and soft. It wasn't human or beast, or anything even remotely close. Ikharos paused and listened - and his resolve hardened. Vex. It was Vex-song; humming in tandem with a noiseless, lightless force from beyond the material realm. It felt... odd, to hear the notes so obviously hailing from a Sol Divisive construct outside of the Garden. Where is the rampant plant-matter? his runaway mind asked. Where are the brass towers? The fields of flowers-in-the-shape-of-Ghosts? The rivers of glittering radiolaria and skies of choking dust? Thick Voidsmoke and shrill screams - all flooding out from the broken golems of the perfect pattern, falling beneath his bloodied claws of purple Light?

Where is the Black Garden?

Where is your home?

Almost as if they heard his last question, the humming cut off. The mist around them thickened with static and purpose. Ästrith reached out as if to touch the new presence, to meet the cloud of foreign telemetry, and it raced to meet her. Little electrical discharges stood her hair on end, danced across her thin armour of sung tree-bark and warded lámarae and crackled in the air around her. Ikharos's hand snapped out, grabbed her shoulder and forced a gaping Blink just as the construct teleported on their position - only managing to save them with milliseconds to spare. Ästrith gasped as her surroundings shifted, and Ikharos twisted around with his gun already spraying rounds of malignant purpose.

Solar slugs and Dark-wreathed bullets riddled the towering Minotaur's carapace, shattering through its purple overshield and piercing its vulnerable internal systems. A single bright crimson optic fixed on Ikharos and a Torch Hammer fired, lobbing great blasts of anti-matter and causal death - but he was paracausal, he was above such things, he could not fall to this. Ikharos raised a shield of his own, Light-turned-hunger, and it ate up the process of erasing undesirable existence with gluttonous abandon.

He thrust out with an opened palm, violet energy ripping from his skin to cook the towering construct alive. Radiolaria boiled; algae-covered brass buckled and crumpled amidst black-indigo flames. The Minotaur died on the spot, annihilated.

That was one.

Ikharos twirled around, hairs on the back of his neck having stood on end - because he'd felt the gaze and tracer of a line rifle taking aim. He twisted out of the way, the high-velocity particle jet traveling over his ducked shoulder to bury in the rock of the opposite mountain - the construct behind the shot incapable of calculating how he was going to move. Ikharos responded in kind, aiming not with his rifle but with a pointed finger, unleashing a thin concentrated beam of Arc like a mini-Chaos Reach. The Hobgoblin sizzled away into nothing.

That was two.

The third Kida picked up on first, rifle snapping into place and opening fire with controlled, concise bursts. Ikharos turned about to face the next hostile - but he stalled in place at the sight of it.

Okay, he thought. This is different.

It was tall - but no Gatelord, nor a Hydra. It looked, if anything, vaguely similar to a Harpy if one adapted two fins on its flanks waving an abundance of blue energy-tendrils, and walked on a pair of long double-jointed legs. There was nothing casual or multipurpose about the the way the tentacles solidified into a pair of crackling winglet shields, nothing harmless about the way Arc sizzled along the claws of its feet, nor even anything unthreatening about the cannons bulging out on either side of its multi-eyed, frill-crested head.

A new type of construct. One so obviously designed for combat too; not building or converting or charging power or even directing other Vex units, no. This was a warrior. A fighter. A true Vex soldier, at long last.

And it was stomping towards him.

"Wyvern!" Neuroc shouted.

Wyvern? Is there a dragon coming our way as well? Ikharos almost turned around, almost tried to glance about for the Ahamkara he feared was sneaking up on them just then, but then the colossal Vex construct tilted its energized wings and lifted into the air. Oh. Is that what she means? Suppose it's-

"Move!" Xiān yelled.

The Wyvern crashed down. Only - he wasn't there anymore, having Blinked himself and Ästrith out of the way again. Arc discharged with a roaring fury at the point where the construct's claws impacted on the ground, instantly melting the snow all around it. Mud and meltwater churned below its brassy, taloned feet.

There was a glowing white milk-pack on its back, nestled between its wings. Ikharos brought his rifle up and shot five times in quick succession, each Dark round hitting the radiolarian core dead-centre. Crystalline glass cracked and split; white mind-fluid spurted out. The construct stumbled and staggered, spraying the liquid all around, but that wouldn't do. Ikharos loaded the Void in his hand and unleashed it as a single shrieking, bellowing singularity - one that hit the swaying Vex unit and crunched it all into a pinpoint speck, then ate that up as well. The mushy ground below - a mix of water, wet earth and radiolaria - was dragged up and devoured along with it, chewed up without a second thought. Soon nothing remained of the construct; nothing but memory.

That made three.

"Vex," Ikharos spat derisively. He straightened up, pulling Ästrith to her feet. "Everyone alright?"

He looked around. Ästrith was shaken but fine, Arahynn wasn't much better, Raksil was sniffing the air, the Psions and Kida were searching their surroundings for further hostiles - all alive.

"Well. That went better than I expected."

"Dark's still strong," Xiān reported. "It wasn't their doing. And they attacked. Unless..."

"Unless they built something. Like a shrine." Ikharos exhaled. "That wasn't them counterattacking like they usually do when we find them in the wild; they were reacting to presence alone. These ones were territorial. Something's... drawn them here. Kept them here. But..." He emptied and reloaded his heart-toting rifle. "This isn't the end. We're not finished yet."

"More Vex?" Vekarian nervously demanded.

"I don't know. Best we find out ASAP. If it's a factory they've made..." He trailed off.

The more left unsaid, the better.

---

"These trees... they aren't actually trees."

"Xiān?" Ikharos questioned, stopping in place. They'd only just started walking further into the grove after having alerted the rest of the Cabal about the Vex by radio. Kida stopped with him; the others ranged another few steps ahead before realizing he'd halted. "What do you mean?"

"Get us closer."

Ikharos turned to the closest tree - a dark, spindly thing reaching high - and cautiously edged towards it. As he did, the aura around his Light tightened, became sharper, easier to make out; it was Dark, pure. Almost as pure as the crystalline negentropy wielded by the Harmony in Aroughs. Ikharos reached out, almost touched the bark of the tree - right up until he realized it wasn't bark. Those weren't rough randomized patterns ranging across organic material, but purposefully-cut etchings marked in a black obsidian substance, as sleek and reflective as smooth, processed metal. If anything, it resembled a perfectly carved piece of hadium drenched in the Dark, so much so that the base colour of the paracausally-absorbent material had changed - that it's core chemical, physical and ontological make-up had been altered irreparably.

"It's not the Garden," Ikharos observed, "but it's a garden nonetheless - planted and tended to by forces we can't comprehend. Or maybe we can; this isn't Vex work. There's only one other Dark-aligned group on this world who've been here long enough to groom something like this place into shape."

"The Harmony made this place?" Neuroc asked, venturing close. "They herded this... Dark into material form? The strength necessary..."

"No strength," Ikharos argued. "Just plain favouritism. The Deep may say otherwise, but it has its preferred patrons. It sees nothing wrong with rolling over onto its belly for its prize servants. Anything to keep their loyalty."

"You believe the Deep engages in bribery?" Neuroc inquired. She sounded morbidly amused.

"Doesn't it? Charming thing, the Deep. Makes all sorts of offers to garner a following. What are the Books of Sorrow if not a hiring manifest?"

"The King would have disagreed."

"The Dark King is bloody dead," Ikharos drily retorted. "I don't think he'll be disagreeing with much right now."

Neuroc sent him a piercing look, one that was all the harder to decipher for the helmet in the way. Ikharos dipped his head, waiting for her next question. Or was it a scolding of some kind? A disregard towards his claim? Psions were so... hard to read. It was a fascinating mix of wonderful and frustrating; people could always surprise him, that was a given, but a people with a species-wide affinity for telepathy and clairvoyance? Now that was unique altogether.

Ästrith gave a low gasp; Arahynn too. The elven pair twisted around to face something in the fog, swords pointed and clenched in tight grips.

"What is it?" Ikharos whispered loudly.

"A voice," Arahynn mutedly reported. "It sounded like... There!"

Ikharos heard nothing. Still - the elongated ears had to account for something, right? More sensitive hearing, he expected. More sensitive everything, actually, but hearing in particular. Otherwise what was the evolutionary point?

The two flinched, looked at one another, looked at Ikharos, and then they were off - running ahead.

"Wait, don't-" Ikharos yelled, but they were gone. "Fucking elves," he quietly swore, and gave chase. Raksil passed him, bounding ahead on all six limbs, and the Psions sped past with small jump-pack Solar boosts. Ikharos weighed the pros and cons of forcing a Blink, but in the end decided against it. Burning up Light in a Darkness Zone only bit into stores he couldn't afford to lose out on while restricted - as he currently was.

Still - he forced himself into a breakneck run and skidded to a stop behind the elves once he'd caught up. Arahynn looked back at him, an expression of horror affixed to his face, and Ästrith simply stared ahead.

Ikharos stared too, once he noticed just what they'd happened upon.

The grove gave way to a clearing; a small glade arrayed in a perfect circle. Hanging from branches on the side of the not-trees facing inwards towards the clearing were bodies, each of them skewered through the centre with huge dark claws - clutched in the cruel grasp of the Dark. The bodies were unclothed and unarmoured, boasting only metal shell and ripped synthetic skin.

They were Exos.

Military-grade Exos.

Arrayed all around like... like an offering to the Dark. A sacrifice. Blood sacrifice. Sacrifice of soul and Light and whatever else the human spirit had squirreled away. Each of them pierced through the abdomen, hooked onto limbs stretching out from the obsidian trees.

"Ikharos," Xiān uttered, tone grave. "Look. Ahead. Other side from us."

Ikharos's head snapped around. His blood turned to ice. On the farthest tree, as if placed so that the gap in the clearing they'd just come in from was the entrance and thus perfectly able to see the worst of it all upon arrival, was another Exo - but its frame-type wasn't military; it was custom. Its hands and legs stretched out across the trunk of its tree, hammered in with jagged stakes - and instead of a head, a Ghost had been nailed into the obsidian bark just above where the neck had been roughly sawed off. A single long blade pierced the Ghost's eye, running right through its core and into the tree behind.

It was one of the Six.

"What is… This is cruel," Ästrith whispered, voice thick with emotion. "This is... this is cruel. How could... anything do this to another living being?"

"Are these the ones who attacked Osilon?" Arahynn asked Ikharos. He didn't answer. Couldn't - not with all his focus brought to bear on the dead Guardian. The dead Ghost.

"Attack Ceunon," Raksil darkly replied, growling with anger and not a little panic.

"Even on our worst enemies, I would not wish this," Ästrith continued. She stepped to the side, to the closest Exo. "Why would anyone do thi-"

Her words cut off, followed by a yelp. Something moved on the periphery. Ikharos pulled his rifle up and twisted around, pausing out of concern and a terrible sort of awe; Ästrith's wrist had been grasped by the Exo, its metal fingers curling tight around her arm. The dead thing - only it wasn't dead, was it? - shuddered and groaned, its internal systems smoking, sparking and hissing with disuse. Green optics flickered on within the recesses of its skull-like eye-sockets, then off again.

"Hold your fire," Ikharos snapped, keeping his voice low. "Kida, help Ästrith, quick."

The Frame marched forth, grabbed the Exo's hand and pulled it from the elf in one quick, forceful motion. Ästrith stepped back, cradling her arm, and gazed up at the Exo's face. "They're... alive."

Another agonized moan came from Ikharos's left; another Exo had woken up. And another. And another. They were all stirring, all coming back online - all sliding back into the world of despair and torment. All but the Guardian - who was dead, completely, utterly, never coming back.

Ikharos walked up to the Exo in front of Ästrith and Kida and quietly asked it, "Who are you?"

No answer.

"Who are you?" he pressed, raising his voice.

Nothing but a deepset groan and more optic flickering.

"Are you with Nezerec?"

Not a word.

"Did you betray Scipio? And the colonists?"

The Exo didn't reply. Couldn't, perhaps.

"Did the Harmony do this to you?"

Its steel head lolled forwards.

"How..." Ikharos hesitated, voice cracking. "How long have you been like this?"

Too long, his gut told him. Far too long.

As if anyone should have been subjected to this torture in the first place.

Ikharos holstered his rifle over his shoulder. "Kida? Help... help me take this one down."

Kida looked the Exo up and down. "Affirmative. Query: how?"

"Can we..." Ikharos drew his blade, walked around the Exo and lopped at the branch holding them up. Néhvaët bounced right off. "-the hell?" He tried again. No luck - not even a scratch. "This... this is..." Ikharos glanced back at the Exo and bit his cheek. "Dammit... right, we're going to have to tug 'em off. All of them."

Kida's orange optic glittered with another question. "Doing so may result in extensive, possibly even fatal, damage to Exomind-subjects."

"I can heal them. Maybe. No way to know if we don't try. Even death's better... better than this." Ikharos gulped. He stepped back to the Exo's side, where Kida took to the transhuman's other flank, and just before reaching up asked, "Do you recognize this one? Any of them?"

Kida paused. Then, "Affirmative."

"Who are they?"

"Primarily R4 and R3 Troubleshooter Specialists of the Genesis Ninety-Two."

"Troubleshooters," Ikharos realized. "Are they Nezarec's?"

Kida paused again, formulating a reply. "Genesis Ninety-Two alignment status... uncompromised as of Arrival Year twenty-four. Genesis Ninety-Two survival status... unknown as of Arrival Year twenty-six, rediscovered Arrival Year eight-thousand one-hundred and fifty-seven. Survival status: partial. A number of subjects appear to be missing."

"So, you don't think so."

"Affirmative."

"Frames..." Ikharos muttered. He reached up, grabbed hold of both the Exo's right shoulder and right hip, and when Kida had the opposite joints in hand - they pulled. The Exo's groaning grew in volume, body shook and arms twisted; the new sensations and heightened pain had it coming back to life again. In one quick motion, they pulled the Exo off the sharpened branch and dragged them to the ground. Sparks flew from the hole in their chassis, along with a few rivulets of foul oil and then some of their lifeblood - the oh so familiar Alkahest.

---

"You're getting scarily good at this," Lennox cheerfully noted. She held still as he tightened the plate-locks on her shoulder with a mag-tool. She passed him a hydrospanner over her shoulder when prompted. "Y'know, you could turn Exo-tuning into a business. Plenty in the City to avail."

"Better mechanics than me out there," Ikharos muttered, grunting with the effort. "Relax, will you? Your synth-muscles are seizing up; can't get anything done."

"Better mechanics? You're great at this, my man." Lennox laughed nervously. She obviously didn't like getting tuned, but since Exo systems were still a mystery to even Ghosts, well... that didn't leave them a lot of options. Not with an old frame-type like hers, and being exposed to all the worst of tear-and-wears possible what with all the missions they ran week-in, week-out.

"Don't like mechanical work."

"You like it with weapons."

"Ah, see? Weapons are different - not Sparrows or ships or anything like that."

"I'm a Sparrow, am I?" Lennox grinned; he could hear it.

"No." He tapped her shoulder to signal he was done, exhaled and sat down beside her. Lennox pulled her biosuit back over her arm and zipped it up. "Just my friend, is all."

Her head snapped around so quick he half-thought she'd just broken it. "Did... did you just say the f-word?"

Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "Fuck?"

"No, the other one."

"Feck?"

"That's the same word."

"Nah."

"Yeh."

"Nah."

"Yeh."

"Light give me strength..." Ikharos looked up, right at the distant shape of the Traveler hanging high in the air above their balcony. "It's a colloquialization."

"Where'd you hear it?"

"Dublin. Manchester. Normandy."

"Ah." The look on Lennox's face told him she understood. She'd heard the story once before - and had quick learned to never ask about it again. It had involved a dragon. And a pub. And a whole host of people petrified in place with wish-magic. But that was neither here nor there. "No, not that word."

"You're going to have to spell it out for me."

"Alright. F. R. I.-"

"Not literally."

"Shush. E. N. D."

"I hate you."

Lennox-2 snorted, shoulder falling against his own.

"Careful," Ikharos murmured. "I just tuned that."

"If I break it in a way Gecko can't fix, I know who to turn to. My bestest... F. R.-"

"Bloo-dy hell."

"I. E. N. D!" Lennox threw her arm around his shoulders. "You and I, Ike, my man, my buddy - we've got each other's backs."

"If I get hurt so bad Xiān can't fix me, what are you going to do?"

"Find all the pieces of your face and stitch it back together."

"... Ew." Ikharos shrugged her off. "You've been watching too many slashers."

"Not enough, I say!" She cheered.

"While I'm here, that's going to change."

"What, Warlock-approved documentaries?"

"No," Ikharos replied, though he made a mental note to himself 'fine, documentaries are off the board'. "Classics."

"What kinds?"

"The kinds Xiān found in an old Golden Age library. Blockbusters, I think they're called."

"Block-what?" Lennox echoed, standing up.

"Yeah, no idea. The etymology has thus far escaped me."

"Was this some weird pre-Golden Age ritual? Leveling a civilian block in celebration of a movie?" She scoffed. "Savages."

"Savages," Ikharos agreed, smile ghosting his lips. "Uncultured ingrates and retro-nationalist warmongers."

"We have to watch 'em. In honour of city blocks crushed beneath the boot of pre-Golden Age tyranny."

"'Course."

"Can I invite Nadiya?"

"It's your flat, your rules, your choice."

"Oh yeah," Lennox said wistfully, optical ridges furrowing. "It is..."

"When?"

"Tonight. Ooooh, yes. Tonight. Have one picked out?"

Ikharos turned his head. "Xiān?"

His Ghost appeared over his shoulder. "You betcha. How does... wait, gimme... here. Spirited That Way. No, that's not right... These old files are weird. Spirited... a Way? Maybe? Who even uploaded this?"

"Will... there be a problem?"

"What? Oh, no. Just some lousy file-sorting. I'll have this up on the screen inside in no time. Len, go call your girlfriend. Ike, go get popcorn. Gecko?"

"Yes?" The shy green Ghost peeked out of the hood of Lennox's discarded cloak.

"Go be adorable."

"I..."

"That's it, keep going."

"Okay..."

Ikharos sighed - but... it was a sound of reluctant satisfaction.

He could live forever like this.

---

Ikharos pulled his glove off his hand and shoved it against the wound, wincing as sparks and boiling Alkahest burned into his skin. His Light flushed down his arm as sympathy and pity, as emotion, and it pushed past the blockade of Dark out into the external world. Steel, carbon-fibre and synthetic organs stitched back together - filling in the outrageous chest wound as if it hadn't been there in the first place. The Dark let it happen. Ikharos felt as much; the Dark retreated before his Light, content with all it had done and curious to see how he would mend things over.

Finished at last, though it couldn't have been more than a couple of seconds, Ikharos fell back onto the snow and waited. And waited. And waited.

The Exo didn't get back up. Optics and jaws still glowed on occasion, body still radiated warmth, but no sign of life. Of anything. Just... a machine, broken. Ikharos knelt back over the transhuman and tapped their chest. "Troubleshooter. Troubleshooter, get up. Get-" He reached out with his mind and... found the Exo's consciousness shattered. Almost thoroughly. "Oh. Oh no."

"What is it?" Arahynn asked, kneeling opposite him.

Ikharos sighed. "This one's dead, or near as much. Memory cores are... corrupted. A jumbled mess. No thoughts left but pain. Cognition experiencing nothing else but the sensation of everlasting death, reliving the same torture over and over again - even unto unconsciousness, plagued by dreams of the only thing they know, of the life lived on the claws of the Dark." He paused and summarized it with a breathy, "They're... gone."

"Machines can be repaired." Vekarian stepped forward, standing over the Exo's head with morbid curiosity. "Databanks can be de-cluttered."

"But living entities - not quite." Ikharos slid his hand up to the back of the Exo's head. "Next best thing is giving this one a reset. New life; new memories. It would be... the more humane option."

"More humane than what?" Ästrith asked.

Feeling queasy, Ikharos only managed to whisper it out. "A final death."

Silence. The Psions looked at another. The elves, though... "We can't," Ästrith said with sudden vehemence. "If... if these are people, we can't."

"They could be compromised," Ikharos reasoned. "Carrying viral-memetic kill-orders under it all, buried in their subconsciousness. Sleeping agents poised to stab us in the back."

"They are people, dauthné!" Ästrith approached, fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword. "I understand things may be different where you come from, but we älfya are not so quick to throw away lives - even those we don't trust."

Raksil growled and forced himself between him and the elf, but Ikharos waved him away. "No, that's fair. I don't like the idea any better than she does - but... Ästrith." He narrowed his eyes. "Human decency can only go so far. If we reset them, they could carry phantoms of their previous life. Nightmares unending. That wouldn't be living. And if they are under Nezarec's spell... we won't stand a chance if we give in to mercy and trust."

"All the same."

"I suppose, yes." Ikharos drew in a shaky breath. "Fine. I mean, I agree - what's the point of fighting for right if we lose sight of who we are..." He stood up. "But we have to be careful. Let's go through them. If any can give us answers, then this venture has already paid off. If not, we still have to drag them out." His gaze fell on the dead Guardian-Ghost pair. "All of them. And keep a look out for Vex. If you suspect anything, raise the alarm on the spot. I mean it."

"Are you proposing... what? We ferry these subhuman constructs to the Amarz Amalz?" Neuroc asked.

Ikharos scowled. "I propose getting them out of this place at the very least. Just shut up and help out."

"These are not our orders."

"Your orders don't apply to us. We're not your auxiliaries."

Neuroc went quiet. She stood by and did nothing - except for watching. Ikharos muttered curses and grievances under his breath as he set to work on the next Exo.

---

Most of the other transhumans were the same - wiped clean of all that came before, riddled to the core with the worst of memories. A few, though, closer to the dead Guardian - which one is that? - had snippets of who they used to be, from what Ikharos hastily saw within their minds. He never stayed long; beyond being a breach of privacy of the highest order, being surrounded by so much pain weighed on him and imparted a sense of foreboding and danger and hurt - more than the usual, at least.

The last Exo, who Kida identified as, "R4 Troubleshooter Specialist, designation: Aphix-4," onlined properly as Ikharos was in the midst of healing her, grabbed his wrist, and then blacked out all over again. Her memories had been the most enduring of the entire group, with orders and directives still fresh in her mind - surviving the throes of the Dark's insidious grasp. Two others had been near the same, though neither had stirred; Otron-6 and Valyse-2. Ikharos paused over each of them, debating whether or not to plan a reset with them - because if there was something left, anything left... wouldn't wiping their minds be murder?

He wasn't a murderer.

Or... he didn't want to be.

Not like this.

The reason for the three retaining some of themselves, he discovered, was because they had the back-up spinal databank-discs like the other Troubleshooters had, the ones who'd tried to kill him on so many occasions. All the others in the grove, however, did not; all theirs had been messily clawed out, torn away with no consideration for the owners. The why of it all quickly became apparent as Ikharos dipped into what memories remained - because the three R4 Specialists were officers, leaders, figureheads who ferried double the responsibility. They had been cursed not only to suffer for all eternity, but to know - and to watch - their comrades suffer along with them.

"Here's the last of them." Ikharos motioned to the prone Aphix-4. Kida and Arahynn grabbed the Exo's arms and started dragging her back the way they'd come in from, to join the rest of the half-alive bodies they'd mended and removed. There had been twenty-five in all, a shadow of their original number according to the Frame. Either there were more groves scattered around the Ezraldn mountains, or... they had been mercifully killed on the spot.

It was sick that he considered death a mercy, but given the presence of the Dark and the Vex both... it was.

Ästrith and Raksil returned, having carried the second-last out. Optus Vekarian, oddly sympathetic, had hurried back to organize for the rest of their Cabal squadron to help organize and shelter the seized Exos. Neuroc remained to offer cover, throwing her mind through the trees in search of more Vex - and coming up with nothing. It had only been the three constructs, it seemed.

But if there had been one Vex to start the conversion of three more, then there were bound to be more. Where had it come from? Why the Harmony lands? What were they doing with Vex of all creatures?

Ikharos's burgeoning questions faded away, however, as he approached the dead Guardian at last - only to be replaced with a whole host of new ones. The Exo Risen had been savaged, thoroughly, and the Light pulled out of their body - like the meat of a live shellfish, shucked right out with no consideration for the life within. Nothing remained - no consciousness, no thoughts, no person, nothing.

The Ghost, though.

"I feel something," Xiān admitted. "Like with Morgan's Ghost - faint traces of Light. But... something's different. Something's watching."

"Harmony? Did they put a spell on its shell?"

"No. The thing I felt earlier. It's been watching us since we arrived. And... and it's here. With us."

"The Dark, then." Ikharos closed his eyes. "Dammit." He reached for the Ghost's core.

"Wait, are you sure? Something's wrong; I can sense that much."

"We have to know."

"I don't think that's such a good ide-"

Ikharos's fingers brushed against the cold metal of the Ghost's inner shell. It did not grow warmer, not like Morgothal's had. But the Light - it rushed to meet him, drawn by his own inner power.

Along with something else.

---

His name was Hezran-4.

He was a scholar, a scientist, a diplomat, and he was the one-hundredth and twelfth Monochromatic Initiate; an ambassador between the people of the Exodus Prime, his own immortal family, and the silver-skinned Qulantnirang. He was an honoured guest of Tirahn, Father of Elves/Vanyali/Älfya. He was the one-hundredth and twelfth human to follow in the footsteps of the revered Doctor Halleen, the one-hundredth and twelth to walk down the avenues of the ethereal Mierodrewn, the Grey City, the City-Without-Colour, the Embassy of All Peoples.

He now walked in the wastelands turned barren by war and carpet-bombing and deadly magic between the lands marked as the Exodus-colony and the new Qulantnirang territories. He wondered if Tirahn and his children still lived. He wondered if any of the pacifists had yet survived the Fell Prince's ambitions. He wondered if he would ever see the clever elves, hopeful urgals, and curious dolphins ever again.

Dwarves he did not miss, not because he didn't like them (never, they were too earnest and loyal to ever be upset with), but because he met with the survivors of the clans whom had answered Morgan's call at the Blasted Mountains. They followed Uren now, scarred with blue poison and filled with red rage.

They all had anger to work through. Only - neither of his siblings so much as expressed a desire to fix themselves. All they wanted was to return the pain, tenfold.

"For Morgan," Uren swore, struck senseless by the Plane-Hound's bite and the corrupted dragons' theft - theft of a brother, a friend, a comrade.

"For Gunther," Kelf swore, rendered unreasonable with soulful grief and a deep-felt horror - for it had been the Prince's own blade that had pierced through the mountaintop into the massive hollow below, that had cut down her lover.

"For all," Hezran swore.

The world was what he meant to avenge.

The world and everything on it.

All they'd originally wanted was to escape the war.

Why this?

It wasn't FAIR.

The ragged remains of the Genesis Ninety-Two, Troubleshooter security long before ordered to guard the colonists so recently lost, met with them by the Ezraldn mountains, joining their strength with Uren's dwarves, Kelf's dragon and Hezran's learnings. The Exos had come on Sindral's orders, while she fled west with all the Enhancers and Warriors she could find. To save them from the Strife Cult's bite.

Hezran would have told her there was no escaping it, had she been there in person.

The Strife Cult could FLY. They could be anything they wanted, courtesy of the all-powerful language they shared with their pacifist cousins - and they had chosen to become the End.

"We kill Nezarec!" Uren announced, climbing atop a boulder and hefting his fusion rifle into the air. Dwarves raucously cheered; Exos loaded their rifles; Kelf's great dragon bellowed with fire.

It was not enough. He knew it wasn't enough, but Hezran-

He couldn't tell them that.

He couldn't tell them that they'd already lost.

The Strife Cult knew their secret. The Shades... they were just the beginning. The secret to immortality was being unraveled. He suspected Nezarec, Fell Prince and Final Sin, already knew. Had already availed of it. Had already secreted his soul somewhere, elsewhere, away from prying eyes and hungry blades.

He let them prepare for war. To tell them otherwise would have been cruel - and would have changed nothing.

War found them on the fifth eve of their arrival. SHE came unto them, heralded with dragonfire, Shade-mist and the traitorous Submind's own bullet-barking warcry. SHE cut the Genesis Ninety-Two down to size. SHE plucked Kelf's soul right out of her body and filled it with her paramour's own dreaded spell.

SHE was Ezyrax, Consort of Nezarec, and she-

"I AM THE SINGER-AVIATRIX! I AM THE LEAD SONGSTRESS OF THE FINAL ARIA! I AM BELOVED OF THE FINAL SIN! I AM GRACIOUS; PROSTRATE YOURSELVES BEFORE ME AND RECEIVE MY MERCY!"

Some, an Exo and a pair of dwarves, threw down their weapons. They were hollowed out like Kelf was and remade in a shadowy twist of Risen nature, baring filed teeth and retreating into the mass of Ezyrax's royal retinue. Kelf did not retreat, however. Though she was Kelf no longer, some elements of her previous personality shone through.

And Kelf did not retreat.

Not when she still had the upper hand - and now, on the side of the Strife Cult, the upper hand was in her grasp. She wielded maul and shadow, brought it down against those who remained, those who fought on, and in the end even those who lived had broken against the roar of her Light.

"I am merciful," Ezyrax called out in a voice of pure melody, her twin spears - Harmony-Sting, bearing memories of the weaponized polar jets of a hungry black hole - cast her voice around the mountains. "For every three we defeat, I will make one Example, one Witness, one Child."

Not-Kelf dragged Hezran and Uren before her new liege, beaten and pummeled into defeat. "I offer these to you, All-Mother."

Ezyrax's receptacle shone down on them. "I have already collected the Child." She pointed at Hezran with one spear. "You, wielder of philosophy and thought - you shall be the Example." She pointed to Uren with the other. "And you shall be the Witness."

Uren raged, he shouted, he begged for mercy - on Hezran's life, please, spare him, take me, take me.

All Hezran said to the Consort of the Fell Prince was, "We never wanted this. We never wanted war. We only came here to rest - to find peace."

Ezyrax solemnly nodded. "There is only one peace in this universe; it is a lesson hard learned. Be still, child - I will give it to you."

She killed his Ghost first, and as the pain of sudden separation, or mortality, of watching his oldest friend die right before his very optics hit him - then she killed him too.

It wasn't fair.

But, at last, he had his peace.

Don't you agree, o Witness mine?

---

Ikharos pulled out of the memory with a ragged gasp. "It was her!" he panted breathlessly. "Ezyrax was there; she did this to the Exos, she killed Hezran and his Ghost, to the dwarves who-" He tried to pull his hand away, but it was stuck fast. Ikharos glanced back, curious more than anything else, and his eyes widened as he beheld the crystalline grasp tearing out of the Ghost and slithering over the skin of his hand, bared to the world. The cold formed it, cold ingrained as a part of the Dark's manifestation - but it wasn't cold once the perfect alignment of molecules was arranged.

And then it dug in, eating through the flesh of his hand, splintering through his bones. Ikharos screamed and pulled away - but his hand, his hand, he couldn't shake it away. He summoned the Void, mixing crystal blue with red and violet - but it wasn't working, it wasn't working, it was tearing into his forearm, crawling through his limb, and itwasntworking-

A blade, crackling with Arc and superheated as a result, tore through his arm at the elbow. Raksil pulled Ikharos back, the Risen biting through his tongue as the pain- the blood- the lack of sensation- oh, the pain- as it all hit home. The tip of his tongue followed the hand and blood filled his mouth.

What remained against the tree burst into crystal shards, Ahamkara feathers scattering across the ground.

"Lord Torstil!" Ästrith rushed to help Raksil, but the grove around them shook and shuddered, it rumbled, it groaned - the not-trees came to life, acted on their impulses because the Dark had come to the decision that no, it didn't appreciate them trespassing on its land or stealing away its captives.

A clawed branch swung in for them. Ikharos snapped out a garbled, "Eitha!"

Raksil and Ästrith dropped to the ground, forced below the wild strike of the Dark's talons by the spell. Ikharos, having fallen with them, crawled onto his knees and pressed the burned, bloodied remains of his arm into the front of his robes, and it fucking hurt. When the branch came back around, he held up his remaining hand to break it apart with his Light - but all that he threw at it were sparks.

It had waited for him to burn himself out on selfless acts.

Clever.

A low, buzzing boom tossed the obsidian limb back. Two hands pulled at Ikharos, dragging him to his feet and pushing him on. "Thanks," Ikharos hissed out, speech mangled.

"Never forget this debt," his saviour murmured back. Neuroc's very form radiated power, so different to his own - reliant on neither Light nor Dark. She moved the two of them onwards, deflecting further strikes with a ward of psychokinetic energy.

Raksil and Ästrith were already on the move ahead of them, but the two skidded to a stop when the exit suddenly became... well, not an exit. Branches interlocked ahead of them, growing dark thorns. The ground along the edge of the clearing splintered, roots coming apart and spiking up out of the frozen earth.

"Call your friends," Ikharos gasped, coughing red. So much of it. It tasted something foul. Oh, his tongue, his hand! It all stung fiercely. "Burn us a path."

"Can't get a signal out," Neuroc hastily replied, helm swinging this way and that - but it was the same case in all directions, no way through.

"Metaconcert."

"That neither."

"Psekisk..." Ikharos grimaced. He was starting to feel faint; the cut had been clean, but the cauterization not so much. And without Light to heal it...

Except there was Light.

Just not his own.

Ikharos looked sharply in the direction of the flaring sensation. He could feel something, something warm and cool at the same time, just like him. Light. Actual Light. Not his, not Xiān's - an entirely separate signature.

Dammit. Elkhon.

"Back." Ikharos shoved Neuroc away with his good hands. "She's... for me."

Two Voidwall grenades kicked up fire, forcing branches up away from the ground, carving a path through the grove. Even the Dark knew not to press its luck where the Void was concerned. The trees swayed away from the gluttonous intrusion, instinctively edging back. A figure marched down the avenue of Voidflames, fusion rifle in hand and a finger on the trigger.

It wasn't Elkhon.

Where were the pauldrons? The tank-grade armour? Why... why was there a cloak? A damaged racing helmet? Bracers rattling with strapped dragon-teeth, whispering so loud Ikharos could barely hear himself think?

"Sharjaví, skýnn," the figure barked. "Orono thornessa ília weohnata vergarí onr." (Move, quick. Or this place will kill you.)

Ikharos almost buckled, breathing heavily. Red dribbled out the corners of his mouth; there was just too much. "You're...," he coughed.

The figure stepped forward, aimed the fusion rifle at Ikharos's chest and snarled, "You half-witted, ignorant moron. You... ruined everything. Come on, come on." Rifle lowered, free hand grabbed Ikharos's good arm - much to the vocalized chagrin of Raksil and Neuroc - and snapped, "Sharjaví, pessu!" (Move, now.)

What choice did they have but to obey?

---

AN: Huge thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!

Finally got Divinity, but Ager's Scepter with the catalyst is all the Trace Rifle I need. It absolutely shreds. And the Stasis shards counting as elemental wells? My word...