PATCH NOTES: We here at Narcissistic Productions are happy to announce that, after much hard work, we've implemented Dusk 1.1: Anthromorphology. This is our first patch, and Celestia willing it will be the last as well. Fuckretcons. Anyway, now that I've actually got what anthromorphology means down, there's a few alterations. Here's an appearance change summary:
Rinnai's hair is now strawberry blonde.
Pree's skin is now bark (East African)
Swebei's eye colour has changed from amber to blue/green.
Scittila has been renamed Secola, to avert any "Taste her, Rainbow" jokes. Whoops.
Ayb's hair colour is red (Coincidentally) and her eyes are now pale blue with amber flecks.
Nour's skin is now bark (East african) and his eyes are now amber.
Ruloi is now a barkskin (West asian/middle eastern) with green eyes.
"Praise the Flock" originally came from Aurora Dawn's rather better-known Rainbow Factory fic. That and a couple other things basically ignited my imagination to create the Flock as I'm presenting it here. Permission to use the chant "Praise the Flock" and other such things was requested and gained for my first attempt at this story. While I don't think that a revision of the tale requires permission be gained once again, not giving tribute to the inspiration wouldn't be kosher.
A glossary is now up ( /2ndwarglossary ). It shouldn't ever be necessary to reference this in order to follow the story, but it's a good place for people who like fluff/find themselves a bit confused.
'There shall come a day where two who manifest the Flock's ideals shall appear outside of it. One will proclaim Herself an Avatar of Light, Her sister the Avatar of Darkness. They shall wage war against us, and in that war blood shall fall as freely from our clouds as water. Not all shall be spilt by battle.
So powerful will They be that fate warps around Them, and the Voice cannot clearly see what lays beyond Their actions. It can only be known that should the Flock fall to Them, They will lead it out of the Age of Plenty to one unlike any the reaver people have known.'
-Excerpt, Prophecies of Anna
106th Day of the 4504th Year of Purpose / 26.3.2572 SE (Three days later)
Haven
Fessa's stomach growled, as she knew it would all day. The line moved, she moved with it. She was glad to feel cloud under her feet again, to see Haven's white and grey platforms floating freely except where connected by an occasional ramp (Though right then she didn't like thinking about the people who used those ramps). It was also nice to see many different wing colours again, and seri wearing clothing rather than uniform. Her own dress, pale and simple though it was, felt a wonderful luxury. She'd missed the feeling of fresh air on her bare back, and had forgone binding her breasts so that even the skin just above and below her wings could breath. She hadn't planned on any strenuous flying anyway.
In the common market area of Cenhaven, which floated between the two major living districts and was surrounded by the many smaller district cumuli, seri from every flight of life intermingled. Women and men and males, acrobats and soldiers and interpreters, cloud-born returning home and earth-born tourists and even the odd cripplewing, all shopped at the same stores and exchanged jokes both clean and filthy. There was a hierarchy here, enforced by high and low alike, but it was not the class division that marked the cities and towns below them. Amongst the clouds all were sisters and brothers of the Flock, feathers on the same wing. At times like this, after seeing the casual cruelty of the earthbound's system, Fessa felt she could know Ryda's devotion.
Someone gestured for her to take an opening. Dyed wings drew almost as much respect here as interpreter's robes, which helped Fessa cope without Ryda to look out for her. She nodded thanks and kneeled before the hairwood platform. Its front was laden with the offerings of other seri, kept fresh by a spell maintained by magi who also walked on the boards. Even with Skywalker enchantments, few wingless felt comfortable standing on cloud. Beyond that was the massive statue that dominated Cenhaven, three figures honouring the Martyrs of Haven: a wrinkled crone, who represented those too old to fight. A woman missing one wing, who represented the crippled. The last, a young girl, represented those too young for battle.
Fessa knew them, and couldn't not know them, even though she was sure to never look directly at the statue. She laid the offerings she'd brought amongst the others, and whispered the words more for Ryda than herself: "To those who made the ultimate sacrifice in times of famine to keep our troops strong, we pay tribute. Though we lost the siege…" (She squeezed her eyes shut, the better to banish heretical thoughts and speak the truth wiser women had taught her) "...Though we lost the siege, know that your sacrifice was not in vain. However misguided your actions, your dedication ensured our place and our Purpose to the Whole Beyond the Flock. See our gifts distributed among our people, and know that no strife has befallen under Avatar's rule. Praise the Flock."
She rose, and left as hurriedly as she could. She wasn't hungry anymore.
"My little Fessa, all done up in blue." (Her dress was yellow, but it wasn't her clothing that her mother was talking about). "Have they been treating you well? I'd expect your skin would be darker by now." She poured two mugs of tea, since water had never been scarce during the siege.
"It's not like that at all, some of my officers are snowskin." Fessa had actually forgotten how nice it was to sit in a cloud-backed chair. She'd also forgotten how many loose strands of seri hair tended to collect in a house, but even that was a sign of home. "Has all the silver been getting through? I keep worrying some will be lost..."
Her mother chuckled. "You'd have to be a poor seri to steal from a soldier's package, and a stupid Sanhaven postwoman to think of thieving from Raider Ryda's girlfriend. Oh quit that look, I know you're not together like that, just don't let the post office in on it." She gave Fessa her mug, then sat down on a chair across from her. "The hospital's done plenty with the money you tithe, don't fret a bit. But speaking of her, where is Ryda?"
"Oh, she had other duties to attend to."
107th Day of the 4504th Year of Purpose / 27.3.2572 SE (One Day Onward)
Parents, teachers, and girls soon to be called young women flew between the platforms. The adulthood ceremony was no longer as significant as it had once been, when a girl's first blood came earlier and signaled it was time for her to begin shedding that of others, but even with years of schooling left it was an important marker in a girl's life. Many children were being fussed over by doting mothers (And a few sons by their fathers) but the girl she was looking for stood with a group of friends that had escaped their mothers' attention.
Secola looked very much like Ryda had at her age. Dark sand skinned and sharp featured with wings covered in long red feathers (Though they were lined black instead of trimmed beige, so it probably meant something completely different). And like everyone else at that age, her head was shaven and her arms lightly muscled from practise with the bow.
Secola spotted her some distance off, and rose to the air so quickly that her flaring wings nearly knocked one of her friends over. She covered the distance between them so quickly it made Fessa start back, but the girl barely seemed to notice. "Fessa, what're you doing here? Are you on leave? Where's Ryda?" She rose a little higher, searching for her idol amongst the crowds.
"I'm sorry," Fessa had felt that same desperation for that same woman more than once before. "Ryda couldn't come."
"Oh." Secola dropped to the cloud, wings downcast. "Sorry. It's great to see you."
"It's good to see you too, Secola." Silence. "She got her mission from the Minister of Defence herself, you know."
"No, it's fine." Secola forced a smile. "I know the Forces keep her busy. I was just hoping, since I told her my mom couldn't make it…" She looked at the ground, nails biting her palms. "It's fine."
Fessa put a hand on the girl's shoulder, wings instinctively moving forward as if to wrap around her. "She treasures all of your letters, you know. She'd have loved to come, but-"
"But she never does! She's the one that convinced me to leave all my friends, she's the one that convinced mom to send me up here, she's the reason they let me in at all, but she never…" Secola snorted. It was a hurt, angry sound, which brought to Fessa's mind eyes of teal and cyan.
"I'm sorry." It was all she could say.
"It's fine." Her wings rose, and Fessa's snapped back. "I should go. They'll be calling us soon."
"Oh, okay. Good luck out there!"
Secola's grin made up in pride what it lacked in joy. "Luck's for people who suck at adapting."
The show area was a wide, open patch of sky some distance below Cenhaven. The students and their chief instructors waited on a cloud at the area's head, most sitting down but some still waiting in one of the lines for their turn to prove themselves. A much larger platform on the opposite side, nearly two hundred metres below and twice as far horizontally, held the parents and what few other spectators were present. A pair of long, thin curving clouds sloped to connect the two and hold the honour guard, glaive wielders standing at attention while archers flapped above them. These ring clouds also acted as a border and reference point for the children, who were expected to infer the size and shape of the roughly spherical area they were allowed to fly in from the curves.
Fessa, who held an unstrung bow in her hand, had been hovering in the same spot for over two hours. The ceremony was only one of many being held simultaneously around Haven, each allowing twelve girls to fly at the same time, but even so the process took an excruciatingly long time.
Secola was near the end of the lists, which meant she'd done well. Very well, for an earthborn. As soon as her turn came she launched herself upward, forsaking a momentum-building dive to show off the strength of her wings. Passing the mostly unmarked sphere would be an embarrassing error, but her rise ended safely below the area's invisible roof and turned to a fall. Fessa watched with trepidation as her speed continued to increase, deftly dodging her fellow demonstrators with spread wings. She prayed Secola had taken the lesson of one boy, who had tried to stop too quickly and injured his wing mid-air. There were no clouds beneath the demonstration area, and nobody assigned to catch him (Fessa and the rest had been explicitly forbidden from any such intervention). A girl's parents might have dove after, but not his. Nearly all graduation ceremonies made one such example, but rarely two: the remaining children were more mindful of their limits.
Secola did not become an exception to that rule. She transferred the momentum of her dive to an upward curve that led to the rest of her routine, sharp turns and corkscrews and other displays of skill that well matched those around her and left her landing safe.
The line behind Secola had been short, so it wasn't long before the schools' valedictorian ended her extended performance (Good, but not as good as Ryda's had been) and the interpreter stepped forward. Her robes were white silk belted by a youth guide's green rope, backless and ending above the knees for freedom of movement. Her skin and hair were the same tone as Fessa's, but her motions were sure and her words confident.
"I am honoured to witness for the twenty-fifth year in a row the adulthood ceremony of Haven's youth," her magically amplified voice boomed. "Though you come from different schools and districts, know that today you are all sisters and brothers of the Flock!"
"Praise the Flock," the assembled seri chanted.
"Each seri here has proven their potential, shown that they have in their hearts the power to serve our Avatar and lead Her Illian Empire to ever greater glory. To conquer those realms which deny Her power and to protect those realms which are under it! These are the commands She has given us, our Purpose to the Whole Beyond the Flock, and as I watch these young seri display their merit I watch the Flock become stronger still!"
"Praise the Flock!" Her audience chorused back, none more enthusiastically than it's newest initiates. Fessa did her best to match the invigorated tone of the soldiers around her.
"Know that today your childhood has been left behind! Know that new responsibilities rest on your shoulders, that your strength shall be tested as never before! Know that you shall not falter and need not fear, for you are but one of many! Rise, my young siblings, rise and let your wings beat the air! Meet the future with the sureness of the Martyrs in your hearts and the strength of our sisters and brothers at your back! Destroy our enemies, defend our charges, and praise the Flock!"
"Praise the Flock!" Cried all once again, and the graduates dove in a great stream to the countryside kilometres below. This was the end of the ceremony, an ancient tradition dating back to the Age of Plenty when the new adults would sweep across the land to rape, pillage and generally do everything in their power to prove their worth as reavers. The celebration was less violent now, but just as unsupervised, both a blessing and a curse to the towns below.
With no small relief, Fessa saw their captain sign a dismissal.
Ryda might have joined her in Haven. Fessa knew her memories of gulch were mixed at best, and she was nearly as fond of Secola as Secola was of her. But there'd never been any question of her returning to the cloud fort. There were too many memories here.
Fessa stood on a small cloud. It was inconsequential, except that it connected three puffy ramps to one another: One led up to the medical cloud her mother worked and lived on, another led down to the small Sanhaven school, and another was the start of a longer trek to Cenhaven. The injured and crippled sometimes went through here, but it was rare. More common were children traveling from the school to the higher cloud at the beginning and end of the day, but even they were few. Ramps could be removed easily. It was a bad place to be trapped.
87th day of the 4489th Year of Purpose / 87.1.2557 SE (Fifteen Years Ago)
"You know what the worst part is?" Asked their ringleader. Fessa didn't know her name, they were all at least a year ahead of her. "I mean the really disgusting thing. You're not even that bad." The other two gave her quizzical looks, so she defended. "I mean, she's not good, but I've watched her with the dummies, she knows how to swing a glaive. But put her in a spar and she pees herself!"
One of the three shoved her into another, then their game started again. "Who ever heard of a seri too scared to fly?" The rough hands pushed her from all directions. "Freak." Someone tripped her, and she fell to the cloud. She didn't move, even when one of them kicked her.
"You're right Venna, she's a coward. Get up, coward." The next blow brought more tears to her eyes, so she just huddled there and wished for it to stop.
"I know what to do!" One of them hauled her up by her armpits, and then she was surrounded by the cruel smilkes again. "My boundmum told me what they used to do with seri too scared to fly," one of the faces said. She grabbed one of Fessa's wings, stretching it out and freezing her with the violation. "They took 'em to the edge of the cloud and tossed them off. But first…" A flash of intense pain, and the older girl held one of her feathers in front of her. "They plucked 'em. I wonder what you'd look like plucked, prey?"
"Pretty funny I bet," said another, and then she felt a hand on her wrist yanking her back and she knew she needed to fly and tried to remember everything otherwise when they threw her off she'd die, but then she realised the motley wings that moved in front of her belonged to a girl too short to be one of the three. Those wings were thrown wide open, and the strange soilskin guardian barred the bullies from reaching her.
"Back off unless you want a bloody nose!" Fessa knew that voice, it belonged to the girl that'd been advanced a year and was still at the top of their class. She couldn't see her face, but whatever expression she wore made one of the tormentors take a step back. The biggest just grinned arrogantly.
"Raider Ryda?" She turned the title to a mocking insult. "You got a girlfriend now? Fly away."
Ryda's fighting stance didn't alter. "You fly off, pugface."
"Three to one? Hardly a fair fight."
"I could tie a hand behind my back if you're too chicken."
The ringleader laughed, and it began. She'd been right: it wasn't a fair fight. There was a reason the women in blue leathers sometimes came to watch Ryda. She was a class to herself, moving with power and finesse and most of all speed marking her for greatness. But she lost that fight. They were bigger, and longer trained, and outnumbered her. Fessa was nearly as scared for herself as she was for her would-be saviour, but by the time they'd finally stopped punching her their taste for violence had been sated. They flew off to nurse their wounds, leaving Fessa to nurse Ryda's.
She was young and untrained, so at the time she'd been fairly certain Ryda was going to die, but when she shook her shoulders Ryda pushed her hands away.
"Ohmygoodnessareyouokaythanky ousomuchbutyoushouldn'thavedonethatmymother'sasurgeonwe'llgetyouto-"
"Shut up please." Ryda rose to an unsteady sitting position, one hand bracing her and another on her temple. "My head is killing me, and you're not helping."
"You're bleeding!"
"Yes, blood is often a side effect of being beaten to a pulp. You're welcome by the way."
"Yes, thank you! I mean I alreadysaidthankyoubutIguess youdidn't-"
"You're doing it again. You alright?" Ryda turned golden eyes to her. Well, one golden eye, the other had nearly swollen shut already. Her lip was split in a few places, bruises were starting to show across most of her face, and the rest of her body wasn't in much better shape.
"No I'm not alright I need to get you to my mother!" Fessa swung her head around, but all of the ramps still had big gaps in them and she couldn't even fly for long enough to set them right.
"Please tell me you live up that one," Ryda said, pointing to the shortest of the three broken paths. Fessa nodded. "Okay. Gimme a minute, my wings are still fine."
"What? You can't when you're like this!" But she did.
Fessa's mother clucked her tongue when she saw them limp into the kitchen. "Another bird with a broken wing? This one's bigger than the others."
"Nothing's broken, just… Sorry about that." Ryda cupped a hand under her chin to stop more blood from dripping onto the floor. "Just a few bumps."
"Hmph, you must be part agri to still be standing. Don't act all offended, it's half a compliment and the one sewing you up gets to be half rude all she likes. Sit your bird down, Fessa, I'll get my kit."
"I thought your name was Fesha or something." Ryda shunned her help and quite independently collapsed into a dining chair. "Fessa's much better."
"You didn't know who I was?" That both stung and confused her.
Ryda winced halfway through a shrug. "Someone weak being picked on by someone strong, that's all that mattered."
Fessa wasn't sure what to say. She knew she was weak, her teachers and classmates hadn't kept it a secret, but nobody who'd said so had ever stuck up for her. Thankfully her mother came back before the silence stretched on too long. She took the seat beside Ryda, and Fessa sat across.
"Rough spar?" Her mother asked sardonically, threading silk through needle. Fessa watched intently so she'd know what to do next time (Next time?).
"Saw some older kids were picking on your daughter, decided to send 'em running." How anybody so badly beaten could still look proud was, at the time, beyond Fessa. Her mother just shook her head and took Ryda by the jaw.
"Well if you can't be modest you might as well be brave. Open your mouth bird, this is going to hurt but you're too young for an opiate." Fessa's heart went out for the girl when the stitching started, but her mother just said "Hush up, I know it hurts", and that served to quiet her. By the time she was done with the silk, half a spool had been used up. "That should keep you from bleeding to death, now let's take a look at that leg."
"I told you it's not broke," Ryda said, but with her tongue and lips all stitched up it sounded like I dol' ye ith no' 'roke.i Fessa giggled, the girl shot her a glare.
"Sorry."
Her mother was kneeling, groping down Ryda's bad leg, making small thoughtful sounds whenever Ryda grunted or winced. "Well you're right about it not being broken, but you've sprained your ankle and with these bruises you'll be sore for weeks." She stood. "Spread your wings out as best you can. Flex. Bend them back. Wrap them forward. Good." Her mother must not have seen anything troublesome, because she never asked permission to touch them. "You can fly I take it?"
"Best in the class!" ("'eth en the clath!" Fessa covered her smile with a hand).
"Good, I'll take you home after dinner. Shut your mouth; you need time to recover and I owe you more than a few stitches for keeping my Fessa safe."
Once presented as a hero's reward, all the stubbornness went from Ryda's face.
Through the next day's first classes, she was terrified that the three would come for her. They had stitches of their own, but the smiles they gave her in the halls were no less vicious. Maybe if she went straight home after school ended, or used a different route...
She'd decided to spend that lunch in the library rather than the lunchroom, she probably wouldn't run into them there, but halfway down the halls she heard someone call her name.
"Hey Fessa, where do you think you're going?" Her breath stopped, but then she realised that 'Fessa' had come out 'Fetha' and she turned to see Ryda standing with a group of friends, waving at her. "Come with the lunch hall to us! If anyone bothers you I'll tear 'em up!"
The others seemed unsure, but not cold, and all were strong athletes. Fessa fell into the safety of the group, listening to their chatter on the way to the lunch room and trying not to do anything embarrassing. She was looking guiltily at Ryda's bruises when she realised something. She opened her mouth to ask, but closed it before she managed the first word.
Ryda shoved her, almost gently. "If you've got something to say, say it," she prompted.
"It's just… Are you lighter than you were yesterday?"
"Told you!" One girl exclaimed. "You owe me your desert, Vila!"
Ryda groaned.
'Darkness shall escape, and try to dim the Light.'
"Not there. Stand there. Yes. Check the snow, did you fuck it up? If you fucked it up I'm freezing your tongue to the roof of your mouth." Ruloi had almost entirely run out of patience.
'Treat them kindly, We cannot commune with them as We commune with you.'
'Can't You do whatever it is You do with Nour?'
'No, else We would do so with you.'
That was vaguely unsettling, but he pressed on. Everything about communicating with a goddess was unsettling, particularly when an agri had told him how to break the spells that had prevented Her from telepathy. How he did that without… Forget it, he had less confusing things to take care of.
"The symbols are unmarred," Sov told him. "Can we please get on with it?"
The seven each stood precisely thirty-eight centimetres behind seven intricate evocation circles carefully and exactly carved into the snow, forming a ring eight metres across. Nour had done the carving, then Ruloi had weaved magic into them. He'd never done such enchantments before, and he suspected that without Her giving him explicit instructions along the way he'd never be able to duplicate it. But as each circle became activated, tendrils of midnight had arisen from the earth and the magic She radiated became more apparent. Carrinth's tit, she radiated visible magic.
'We have asked you before not to slur Our sister so.'
'Old habits.'
Of course 'visible' was an inexact term. He could see it, sure, but he'd long thought that the way magi detected magic had more in common with hearing than vision. Explaining how was impossible to the magic-blind though, which made it bloody annoying since he couldn't talk with anyone about how he was experiencing the incarnation of night on every level of detection. Without sight in their eyes his companions had no context to understand him, so he kept it to himself. Doubtless they felt it in their own way anyway.
For one thing, nobody was tired. Odd, since he'd felt like they were walking for days when they found this place and he was pretty sure at least one had passed since they started the ritual, but he didn't even feel like a nap. Doubtless that was Her doing, though She'd said nothing on the matter.
'Siv must move three centimetres to her left.'
"Siv, left a bit. Right. Face inward." Suddenly the many wandering tendrils of night grasped onto them, each latched onto their chests like harnesses. Or leeches. It was like moving a light puzzle's last crystal into place and having the scattered beams coalesce into a sharp, sensible shape. Except with a goddess' divine touch. "If anybody moves, I'm plucking eyes out," he told his crystals.
"The Lady tells me that this next part will be difficult. Brace yourselves," Nour warned.
She was telling Ruloi things as well. He focused on his tendril, following its trail to the centre of the ground they all stood around. Through it he felt a dark shell of immense power, seeping past wards worn down over centuries of embattlement. His mind and soul was pulled around that shell, then journeyed down the other six magical limbs. "Kneel." He couldn't hear his own voice, only feel his lips moving and the strum of his vocal chords, but the others did as he bid. "Place your hands on the edge of the circle. Agri close their eyes and sense, seri spread your wings and feel the currents." She gave him one last command, and he barked laughter. "Try not to scream." So far as he could tell, they all failed that.
Life force was ripped from them, drawn down to feed the runes they'd made and the Lady they now served. Through wide eyes he saw the night crackle at the ground in their centre, felt the stars and the moon and the wanderers seeping through the snow even as he seeped into it, saw the leeching magic rise and lift the Lady of Dusk from the ground past seals he only now realized had been written into the stone far, far beneath them. The glowing white barrier still surrounded Her, but with one great thieving pulse that dimmed his vision near to blindness it burst to dust. He saw one foot touch the ground, white as the snow it stood in, before collapsing
Her touch was gentle, but it brought him wide awake despite his tiredness. He felt hollow, exhausted not just physically and magically but at a deeper level as well. His entire body ached terribly, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep and never wake. "Am I dead?"
"No, simply drained. Your strength will return in time." Her voice was a silken lullaby. "Can you stand?" He found he could, with some pain, and inspected what they had risked execution for.
The first thing he noticed was Her height, not so tall as Her sister was supposed to be but still tall enough that he only stood to Her chin. He looked up and thought for one ludicrous moment that She was bald, but then realized that Her flowing, lockless hair was night's blue-black shade. Her sight was the same silver of the moon above them, Her wings two perfect windows to the night sky with shining stars set against the black. Her skin was so pale it put the term 'snowskin' to shame, but did not make her appear at all sickly despite the slenderness of her frame, which for all her size was still slight: Her face was narrow but soft, breasts modest, slender hands ending in long fingers and a thin waist that led to narrow hips. It was only then that his beleaguered mind realised that the Silver Mistress was naked and his eyes shot straight back up to Hers before they wandered any lower and he lost them.
She looked down at Herself. "Oh," She said, "We had forgotten clothing." She shot an annoyed look to Nour. "Why did not you realize We were naked?"
Nour, who it seemed She had awoken first, looked as surprised as Ruloi was. "I suppose it hadn't occurred to me that the Night needed clothing?" he proposed.
Lady Laaren waved Her hand, and an outfit similar to Night Guard leathers appeared to cover Her. "A pious reason, at least."
She woke the other five by brushing Her hand across their heads, each rising just as quickly as Ruloi and looking just as worn. He tried to see what sort of magic She was using, but even activating sight was beyond him at that point. When at last all seven stood, She began to speak.
"For two thousand years, We have been imprisoned by foul magic. Our sister thought Us defeated, thought We would succumb to slumber or madness. But She was wrong! Within our prison We have learned much, spent much time growing stronger in mind and body. And now we are FREE!" The last was shouted at deafening volume, booming across the small, dead realm. "Free to continue Our work! Free to see the dream We died for become reality! Free to break the chains Our sister has bound Her subjects with!" She was mad with exultation, radiating so much power in her victory that Ruloi could feel his magical stores being replenished. Looking to the others, whose sense of magic was more innate, he saw faces fluctuating between wonder and fear.
"And you!" She focused her attention solely on Nour, who straightened as best he could as she walked toward him. "Our prison's walls have been weak enough to sense past for many seasons, but only when You stepped to Wild did We reach consensus." She placed a finger beneath his chin, and spoke as she might to a loved one. "Our folly in the last war was attempting to free the people by Our power alone. But that err shall not be repeated: the illia must help break their own chains. You shall be Our messenger, Our prophet and preacher. We place this burden on Your shoulders, Nour."
"What is your command?" Their leader asked.
"First, We would know what has transpired in Our absence," their goddess replied. "Then, our war shall begin in the shadows."
