All accusations of madness, of delusion, of sheer narcissism is the praise of fools. They cry their fears against ambition, their mockeries of longing, their cowardice from greatness. They veil their monuments to sin in benevolence and justice to pretend the steps we have taken were never happened. That through thousands years of history, we have not advanced a countless times already.

  The End of Gaia was humanity’s defeat of Arda, else this would have been a world populated by flora and nothing else. The end of monsters was positioning ourselves at the top of beings, for that age settled who would be the cattle and the shepherd. The Concordats were a lesson on power, for we learned how to wield power and leverage for the first time in all history. The tyrannies and magocracies were the necessary foundations for today’s realms, for those states laid the blueprints and found the mistakes in rulership that we do not have to repeat. Heroism proved the inner strength of mankind and that they were not mere animals to be guided into the future. Worldbreaking was a display of strength, unfocused yet now known. The beast that resides within us revealed itself and is now waiting for a master to collar it. The Reconstruction Authority dispelled the myth of Divine authority needing to be overbearing and tyrannical. The re-integration of magicians has proven that we can forgive a crime so great as shattering the entire planet.

  And yet they still cry. ‘Arda will never be united!’ A dismissal of glory. ‘Divinity will never have a place amongst them!’ A rejection of imagination. ‘We will destroy ourselves if we try!’ A total collapse to fear.

  I have but one word to say to them.

  No.

  It is true that Arda has a terrible past and a terrible power. Forged in fires brought on by standing on the edge of extinction and barely hemmed in by chains forged of our own spilled blood. Weak-willed fools and spineless cowards merely see the pattern and not the potential of destiny.

  For Arda’s destiny is to direct its own power. And that destiny will not reach inwards, at one another but upwards, until all the stars know of our name.

  - Excerpt from the private writings of God Arascus, of Pride.

  Iliyal Tremali took a deep breath as he leaned back in his chair. Once, this part of the palace would have been used to host parties or dining affairs, now it was filled with maps that leaned against the wall or that were held up by stilts. A live monitor displayed the last time that a unit had reported in. Another monitor kept track of the Imperial Fleet and every notable ship within it. The INS Kassandora was currently heading north, it had ran out of missiles in its latest engagement and needed re-supply badly. Anti-air was also running low, several of the destroyers and cruisers had been damaged, although with the INS Aris and the INS Zawitz battleships in the latest attempt to stall any flying forces from crossing the Eparika.

  Yet the fleet was not on his mind, nor was it even the preparations that were going on not too far south from his location. Underwater sonar had taken readings of the ground being raised, submarines had taken video of the ground shifting. The land-bridge had to come sooner or later. It was what he would have done in Tartarus’ position. A land-bridge to cross, a beach-head would be secured and then a portal would be opened on Epan territory.

  But that had been prepared for, all that Iliyal could do now was wait. He looked around the room where assistants skittered about like wingless flies jumping from fruit to fruit. One brought papers. Another moved counter. A third and a fourth discussed which port would be best to re-supply in. It did not matter.

  Iliyal stared down at the order that had come from Arascus himself: ‘Garrison troops need to be moved. The Underground needs more garrisons to defend the Core Holds Iliyal. I expect you to find them.’

  Tartarus does not do battle in our traditional sense…

  Olonia stared from the mountains with Tanit by her side. Two Goddesses, one the colour of tanned bronze with violet eyes, the other had only gotten paler in this ashen land. Even Olonia’s white hair had been so tarred by ash that now it resembled something closer to a dark evening fog. The Goddess of Lubska had her massive rifle, effectively a cannon that had been given a magazine, a scope and a trigger, slung over her shoulder. The other stood with no weapons, those had been left back in the ruins of some town. Tanit did not know, save that it could have been any of the minor coastal settlements that had been submerged in ash. There were signs of fighting, of basements and being used to outlast the Ashfront as it passed over them. The bodies of demons and humans, the former shot, the latter cut or stabbed or incinerated lay throughout the city. Some streets had been entirely empty, others were filled with them. Tartarus apparently left their dead where they lay.

  The One-Seventeenth were digging graves in their rest. The men could not stop moving now but they had to stop the trek. These ashes and sands were easy to dig in anyway, and those who did not want to were sent to scavenge water and food from any of the buildings. The gas stations had been blown by the Ashfront as it submerged the entirety of Ibya in its ever-present cloak of drowning darkness. Those facts didn’t matter though, the vehicles had long since been left behind and smashed to pieces by Olonia to avoid reverse engineering, the darkness was just as terrible for the demons as it was for humanity. Men would trek with flashlight in their palm and then turn them off as they crested hills to inspect for Tartarian fires.

  And now, Olonia and Tanit stood in that darkness as they witnessed one such great flame. Or rather, thousands of them spread out across the water. That tranquil sea of the Eparika, once a beautiful turquoise, now was as black as pitch. Foam splashed out across the ground and made great waves as the entire world rumbled.

  Although the individual demons were too small to see in the distance, and even Olonia’s Divine eyes saw them as nothing more than just spots which danced in front of fires, what was happening at large was obvious. Ground was brought up to make a bridge north, across the ocean. Olonia heard Tanit sigh and felt her own breath catch.

  Whatever was happening on the outside of Ashen Skies better be grand or they would never see the sun again.

  …nor can we really describe their war effort as a war effort…

  Kassandora watched the north gate, which had been breached a day ago. War’s Orchestra raged on in her men’s mind. Her grand piano setting a lightning fast beat that would have been impossible to play even for a master. Even Anassa or Elassa, with their sorceries and magics, would have eventually slipped up. Demons poured constantly through that gate. It was obvious that after the destruction of the first ram, Tartarus had brought two more. Each one off to the side, each one forcing those massive blocks of metal that safeguarded Levhen’s North open. Her music played its note, harps and cellos and violins pulled on their strings, each one giving a signal for yet another man to loose a single bullet into the head of some hellish denizen that dared stepped foot within Levhen. Drums kept the men moving, the loaders reloading shells into cannons as their gunners turned them. Men ran in silent formation to the steady tempo of trumpets. A gong would give the signal for someone to pull a trigger, a tank’s turret would recoil back and a moment later, an explosion would stall the flow for just a moment.

  At the same time, through the eyes of other men, Kassandora watched the western gate. The men here played the music almost by themselves. They had been in the fighting for a few days down, fuelled only by the constant convoy of Clerics that brought them more energy that the Goddess of Health by Kassandora’s side endlessly handed out. Back to Kavaa, and back to the men they ran. Dark uniforms topped off with grey cloaks, even then, the Orchestra within their minds would tell them to raise their rifles, aim to a target eyes on a nearby bridge or balcony saw and fire before the man himself even registered it. Another flying demon would fall from the sky, its shrill scream echoing into Levhen’s silent depths. The western gate had been pushed open far enough to allow a steady spill of cavalry to charge forwards. The horses weren’t to be aimed for, they wouldn’t fall at a single bullet from a calibre that had been made to kill humans. That phalanx of undead dwarves would brace each time and a saxophone from within the Orchestra would kick a mage into action. Gemstones lit up, winds were called upon and most of the demons, alive or dead, would be sent into the darkness in which Levhen’s endless mechanical army slept. A quick series of notes by string instruments got whoever had managed to anchor themselves into the stone as single shots rung out in quick flashes from balconies and arrow-slits built into the Hold’s homes.

  And still, Kassandora watched the eastern gate. The one that had been breached first and the one that was most in danger of falling. Here, it had been pushed open to allow a hole torrent of demons to pour through. The gap was huge enough that Kassandora could see clearly the raised pikes and banners in the distance, the flames that the demons had brought to light their way. They stretched off as far as the eye could see, a wall of bodies, even the air was polluted with a flood of imps and demons, both magical and the terrible greater members of their race that were as a large as a house. The torrent here had reached into the spearline, Kassandora had started firing indiscriminately at the eastern gate. A high-calibre machine gun would fire for a second and cut down a dozen of those cursed creatures. Winds rolled constantly from the sides to smash into Tartarus’ ranks.

  Yet those massive demons would not be moved by such winds. Now, the tanks that had come here, tanks that not seen sunlight for months at this point, turned, their gears grinding, their engines roaring and their cannons hissing as steam rose from them. Each one of those massive monsters would need one or two well placed shell to bring down and then it would serve as cover for the demons behind it. One gong sound, another did before the first one even finished its note. Two tanks fired, a roaring demon size of a man, with a cleaver the length of a car was struck down. It toppled backwards. Gemstones from nearby bridges lit up once again and winds rolled in to push the demons back. A coil of water slowly began the huge corpse away, although it was slow. Another greater demon was already its way through the gate.

  An organized cavalry charged sprinted around the demon, horses with blazing red eyes, with manes of fire lunged forwards as the Orchestra opened fire into them. More poured through, another pair of tanks fired. Demonesses fell from the sky, as did their unholy flames. The melee reached the pike line. Kassandora opened fire with everything she had for a moment, uncaring for ammunition.

  Too late. A dwarf fell, another one. Undead he may be, powered only by duty and honour and spite that refused to let bones rest, yet that did not stop him from being yet another casualty to be added to the list. The massive onset of fire gave way, nothing had been left standing against such a hail of lead.

  And still they poured.

  Kassandora felt a tear stream down her cheek.

  She should have not allowed Kavaa to stay.

  …Instead, they have a totally unique view on warfare…

  Anassa hurled up another portion of water and oranges once again, her vision went dark, she forced her eyes open. Even with the fact that other Divines had come to assist in other Holds and she was only to focus on Hold Pimka, the overexertion brought on by holding the front for so long had taken its toll. This sort of fatigue, she would need a full week of rest to recover from.

  They did not even have a few hours. Already, the main gates to Pimka had been breached. There had been no point to count the amount of the rams and explosives and machines that had been flung towards the hold. Easily more than half a thousand. Easily. And even if each one could only get one blow on those gates, it was still one blow too many at this point. The world shook again and Anassa forced herself into awareness.

  Soldiers shot madly into the swarm that was barrelling through. Armoured tanks reversed as they gave ground to an endless horde of bodies. Everything was being thrown at them, from hounds that had hair the colour of charring wood to legionnaires that marched in full armour to an endless stream of cavalry that left her burning hoofprints in the stone. Above, flying demons were securing more space as anti-air simply shot into their single mass.

  On the ground, turrets and men and vehicles fired up at that mass, bodies fell from the ceiling as bullets pierced them. Flames surged forwards and were met by walls of hardened air brought on by magicians, or water that was extracted from the cold atmosphere. It absorbed the flames, it turned to ice, it surged forwards. A tank lifted its barrel, the commander gave a shout that was immediately swallowed into the din of battle and an explosion brought down at least fifty of those flying creatures. The assault on the ears was relentless, screams and shouts and swears came from every angle, although they were drowned out by the rapid gunfire, the marching of boots that rolled on from the outside of the hold and that blood-curdling chant that was Tartarus’ war anthem.

  Anassa waved her hand towards the front and snapped her fingers. A massive flock of succubi that were hurling flames indiscriminately where submerged in a rain of crimson hail that stabbed and cut and tore the creatures apart and Anassa felt her vision go dark again. She took a step forward, barely holding herself up, and then turned. Anassa took another step forward. She teleported a short distance and fell onto the back of a Cleric, utterly uncaring what part of her own body the man used to hold her up. If he was unblessed, she probably would have crushed him. “Wake me.” She whispered.

  Immediately, the soldier in the dark uniform grabbed at the palm she was shoving into his grip and Anassa felt a tiny, measly little flow of energy enter its way into her body only for her fatigue to sap it. She took a deep breath, stopping the shake in her legs and pushing off the fellows shoulders. That knocked him over but he got back up quickly, by his side, the man whose healing Anassa interrupted began to moan in pain from the burns across his body.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Anassa saw the box of MisseM’s sliding out of his pocket. She had taken those pills before and she had thrown up on them. But then, she didn’t know what she was getting into, now she did. She snapped her fingers, that was easier than moving, the box was flung upwards as the man’s trousers were ripped apart.

  For a moment, Anassa locked eyes with the cleric as she tried to fiddle with the box to get it open. Eventually, she just ripped the cardboard in half with her teeth. “If I collapse, burn them out of me and wake me up immediately.” She said, bouncing the box in her hand, spilling a few of those pink pills. The cleric nodded, that was all the confirmation she needed.

  Anassa tipped her head back and swallowed half a dozen of those MisseM pills.

  …the concept of a battle and a war are redundant to them for the former may as well be the latter to them…

  Fer wiped blood off her mouth as instinctively sniffed the air once again. It was pure instinct, her body had chosen the next target before her mind had even caught up to it. The Goddess of Beasthood launched forward, grasping and breaking a halberd that was coming at her stomach. Her jaw wrapped around the neck of a demon, her teeth closed down hard, blood was drawn to keep her energies topped up.

  A storm of flame submerged her, succubi from above, Fer could smell and hear them even over the chaos of battle. Men that had been assigned to Hold Kawathetra did not want to fire at first when the Goddess of Beasthood had launched herself into the melee but that hesitation was swiftly defeated when they saw just how many demons Tartarus was sending through. Fer launched herself upwards, the charred flesh instantly smoothing over as that demon’s blood was burned up. She caught one demon by the wing, tearing it off and sending him falling in a spiral down into the depths. She caught a succubi by the chest. The demoness released a panicked scream that ended immediately as Fer brought the woman to her jaw and bit down.

  And then, claw and hit the ceiling of the hold. They grew for a moment, they impaled. They tilted her head back, her glorious mane of gold now more crimson with all the blood she had spilled as she looked down at the tide trying to swallow Kawathetra. An endless horde of demons roaring, clad in armour or skin or flames. Above them, more of their kind soared through the air. They threw spears, they launched flames, they were met and magic.

  Fer looked for her chance as the tears on her head swivelled from side to side and tried to pick the right moment. Falling into the path of a cannon shell would not be good for anyone, least of all her. Her golden eyes, now blood red with the frenzy of combat, flicked to the battleline of Imperial soldiers. There they stood, behind several blocks on skeletal dwarves armed with pikes and holding interlocking shields that would make them all the harder to dislodge.

  Soldier ran carried ammunition crates up stairs in pairs, trucks more men to the frontlines. Heavy vehicles rolled as they rearranged and made space for each other, all to put yet another gun pointed onto the front line. Turrets swivelled, continuously launching lead from steaming barrels. Even scouting vehicles had been brought in. Off road cars were in the distance, men laying on them to get an angle from which they could shoot at. The catalytic gemstones of magicians would spark up, a rock would be torn from a wall and thrown forwards. Air would condense either into invisible barriers of itself or into water and ice that would dance and break Tartarian fire upon itself. Steam hissed, men shouted, the demons screamed and sung, more battering rams were continually shoving the gate of Kawathetra even further forwards. Fer had made that mistake in the past, she would not dive right into their ranks without having the support of a sister that could extract her. The demons would try to bury her under a mountain of bodies.

  And Fer’s eyes once flicked downwards. She saw the gap. After several explosions, the tanks would always take a minute to cool down their barrels and reload. Shrapnel from a grenade cutting her cheek, the wound closing quickly as demonic blood burned up in her stomach, was the time to go.

  Claws released and Fer dropped into the chaos again.

  …The Gates to Hell are not to keep us out, they are too keep them in…

  Baalka took a deep as she released more energies into the air. Behind her, the defenders of Hold Korkoris opened fire uncaring where their bullets went as long as it was through the flames that tried to devour the mycelium fuelled entirely by the Goddess of Disease’s power. She wiped sweat off her brow, from exertion and from the blazing heat as those flames roared and raised a hand.

  A signal that she would release another bout of noxious gas in a moment and to charge the winds. She took a deep breath, she poured more of her power into her creation. One more modification, the genes of the germs that would float in the ponds on volcanoes. Anything to make it even shred more difficult to burn away by the massed magic of Tartarus. Explosions rang out from beyond that wall of fire. It grew smaller for a second, it’s flames less vicious, and then it regained energy. Maybe Elassa would be able to figure out the specifics but the Empire had never had much success with getting succubi to spill the secrets of their magic. Bullets kept hurtling through past Baalka, disappearing into that superheated inferno that tried to each away at the stone she had poisoned to stall the advance.

  Baalka flat palm fell, she felt the winds immediately rush past her. A storm of charging winds that would knock even greater demons down. And Baalka sent the signal from herself to her creation. Bags of sap that had formed on the ground explode, mushrooms deflated as they released their spores, terrible and vivid flowers wilted to spread their pollen. Another wall of poison was sent into that inferno.

  And the inferno stopped almost immediately. Its blaze, blinding just a few moments before, suddenly turned began to shrink until it was nothing more than the final lapping flames in a fireplace. That terrible song died, more winds rolled in from the sides to channel Baalka’s noxious fumes through the entrance, a tornado pushed them as far as they would go.

  Without the wall of fire, Baalka’s work was clearly visible. The Imperial army, infantry and armour, stopped firing as they took their deserved break to watch demons grab at their throats and keel over. Their skin, once crimson, began to discolour into a purple and black. Baalka had kept her poison easy and cheap, there was no pus, no throwing up of blood, no bleeding eyes and noses and ears. The gas would touch the skin, the gas would penetrate the skin and the gas would kill on the spot. It rolled further and further in. Tartarus may be a flood but this is why pocket-armies were a necessary force. Fortia? Maisara? Even Anassa? Baalka knew she could never take them on. She did not need to know, not when her presence was enough to stall an endless flood, forever.

  Flames began to once again set up to try and break down her poison. At the far end of the highway which lead out of Hold Korkoris, fire leapt from one wall to the other and from the ceiling to the floor. It started off red, then turned to orange, to yellow, to the bright white overbearing heat of a star. And it absorbed the pitiful winds of magicians. Baalka’s poisons went with those winds and just like those winds, they broke apart under tremendous heat. The fire lasted for a moment and then it dissapeared.

  In the distance, past the gate, she saw Tartarian soldiers cheer once again and rush forward. That tide was simply unending. How many did they have?

  Flames leapt through the entrance once again. Iniri took a deep breath and steeled herself for yet another round.

  …for once they are flung open, the denizens of that realm pour four like a river…

  Elassa stood on a balcony, far behind the ranks. There was no reason to come close and put herself in any risk. She was the Goddess of Magic and everything that entailed. Tartarus had managed to shove the gates of Orisontys almost entirely open before she had arrived. To think they recalled her from her planning of tearing down Ashen Skies. To think they actually made her blink with the utter that chaos that Orisontys had fallen into when she arrived.

  A snowstorm spun around Elassa, the gemstones in her gloves, in her earrings, in the fat white diamond on her necklace and those stitched into her dress all shone in a cornucopia of lights that left beams through the dusty air. Orisontys shifted once again as a bridge curled backwards and spun. Its stones split once, split twice, split a hundred times until they were nothing more than mere pebbles. The Goddess of Magic flung her hand forward, she muttered a spell to herself, it was no grand incantation, it was merely a display of the power that flowed within her body.

  Ice and rock charged forwards twice as the lead that leapt from men’s rifles. The elements dived into the melee at the front, where a greater demon that had been pierced at least fifty times with spears and whose armour was glancing even tank shells was busy throwing the skeletal dwarves into the air with each swing of his massive axe.

  Tank shell was one thing. The Goddess of Magic was another. He stood there, fighting with compatriots by his side in on moment, in the next, he was shredded by tiny rocks and impaled by icy javelins. The demon keeled over as succubi drew up their fire. Elassa met them with her own. No fireballs flew through the air, Elassa just chanted to herself as she swept her hand across Orisontys. Demons would suddenly be engulfed in balls of flame and then fall to the ground, their skin and flesh already gone, their bones blackened and collapsing into dust on the way down.

  Elassa wiped the sweat off her brow.

  This was harder than she thought.

  …their generals seem to think purely in terms of land gained and enemy casualties…

  Kavaa pulled Kassandora back. “You can move and orchestrate right?” She shouted. Kassandora took a moment to reply, even though Kavaa already knew the answer.

  “Of course.” Kassandora said and then yelped as Kavaa dragged her hand. She had always known it was possible to leave the Orchestra at will, almost everyone did. Kassandora always said she never forced someone’s hand. It was just… it was almost disappointing. To think that it was so easy to pull away from Kassandora if one wanted to. Kavaa turned back to the Goddess of War, for a moment, Kassandora actually looked small. She stood in that uniform, not controlling her armour. “Kavaa you are needed here. The clerics are relying on you.”

  “I know.” Kavaa said. “But you are not.”

  Kassandora blinked. For a moment, all the gunfire in Levhen stopped. It was an instant, not even a second. And then it came with twice the roar as Kassandora once again kept on maintaining the holds. “What?” Kassandora asked.

  It was honestly incredible she could still speak when managing so much. Every moment Kavaa spent with this woman, she thought she learned something new. And every moment, she wanted to learn something more as well. “Go for if the defences fall, you are needed to manage until there’s no one left but us.” Kavaa didn’t know if it was harsh or cold or brutal and she did not care frankly. There was simply too much on the line, to mince words now would be like to give a surgeon a break because he was blood-queasy.

  “I…” Kassandora said.

  Kavaa took charge, the Goddess of War was obviously not ready for this talk in this space. “And bring me back inside.” Kavaa said. “And head to the central palace. I’ll come to you when we start losing ground.”

  “Oh.” Kassandora said, her word stretched out. And then, Kavaa did not know if it was the most incredible or the worst thing she had ever heard Kassandora say. “Alright.” In the next moment, Kavaa heard War’s Orchestra re-enter her mind as she let it in. Her huge organs once again started to play. The lines rebuilt themselves.

  Even when she was part of the Orchestra, Kavaa turned to watch Kassandora leave through her own eyes. She would not believe it no matter how much the instruments confirmed it unless she saw it herself. The Goddess of War was truly skulking back to the fortified palace that was in Levhen’s centre.

  …it is a sick method of warfare, but an effective one nonetheless. In a way, there is a certain disappointment in it…

  Irinika spat on the ground as she watched the measly little creatures charge into her location once again. This post had been protected by the Goddess of Darkness and the Goddess of Darkness alone for centuries. The junction was part of the ring road around Klavdiv. If they were coming from her south… Well, the ring road had been breached then. But it would end here. There would be no going past the Goddess of Darkness. She was too grand a deity, too ancient a deity, too proud a deity to let such monsters sleep.

  Irinika turned and stared at the wall of ash approaching her once again. That was a new tactic. It had not been used throughout the millennium long conflict. Maybe Tartarus had just decided to finally dislodge her. Still though, if they wanted the very first Goddess to have lived up to Arascus’ standards, the first daughter of Empire, then they had to try harder than that.

  Irinika’s eyes narrowed. She did not move her hands, she did not twist or channel or perform any incantations, no words were said. The Goddess of Darkness stood in her pristine black dress, so still she may as well have been a statue to her own glory. The glowstone lights around her began to glow dimmer. The flames of torches did not go out, they just lost their ability to produce light. They still crackled even as total and utter darkness set spread out from Irinika.

  A darkness born of out humanities sheer terror at what the ancients woods could hide, a need to have a monster by their side that could stand toe-to-toe with such behemoths. Irinika stood alone in that darkness, where nothing existed as she listened to the ash come closer. It drowned out the sound of her torches eventually.

  She felt it touch her. Not her body itself but the rapidly expanding flood of lightlessness that rode out of her body to meet it head on. And then she listened to it suddenly fall silent. She heard a chant morph into a scream, into roar, into panic, into boots that had been surging forwards suddenly try to retreat backwards.

  And then she heard the sweet of silence once again, made all the sweeter by the lapping of lightless flames that burned at oil impossible to make out when the director drew the curtains. The darkness retreated, light returned back to her post and Irinika looked at her handiwork. Yet another hill of broken bodies, of demons greater and lesser had been added to the row.

  No satisfaction to be claimed from disposing of refuse. Irinika released her breath and shook her head. Her dark eyes twinkled in the torchlight. She shook her head.

  She wanted a cigarette.

  …this rival to Arda operates on a level of such strength that I cannot conceive of ever fighting against them with long-term success…

  Olephia watched wood curl backwards. Iniri was lifting dwarves up to the ceiling, branches were flowing out of her dress to make platforms from which they could work on the roots that were trying to flow back in. Each swing of those axes once again the wood fleeing from whatever prayers where contained within. Wood curled and tried to push back against the prayers of the makers, although it was obvious who was in control here. Iniri started to move the dwarves faster and faster, practically throwing them from location to location as they rediscovered arrays of gemstones and pillars curved in the same way that they were in manuals of magic. Behind, the scientists had finished setting up their next set of floodlights, they flicked the switch and cameras immediately began rolling to save the moment.

  And it was as if they had travelled into a different world. Here, the wood did not reveal stone, it revealed gem and crystal. The floor danced and sparkled in the light, shapes within it shifting. The pillars broke up the light into different colours and bounced it around as if they were built specifically to create rainbows. Whether it was ghost or natural spirit or scientific phenomena, Olephia was sure that there were things moving in those gems. Things that she couldn’t quite make out, every time she looked at them, they seemed to notice and escape her eyes.

  And then, Olephia’s breath caught. This must be it in the centre of this great hall. Shaped less like the orb she had imagined it would be, but it was fitting still. It was huge, far taller than Fer several times over. Easily the size of the rocket ships that the Empire was trying to send into space. Not round either but more like an oval, its top thicker than its pointed bottom, it texture fractured and wrinkled like a finger would be after being submerged in water. It was the only thing in the room bar the people themselves that did not sparkle.

  To say this would become a painting was redundant. Olephia would paint this scene a hundred times over. Her, standing there, Iniri and the dwarves pushing whatever those roots were away, Imperial science teams working on analysing everything as quickly as they could. That object in the centre, shaped almost like a rotten seed that had dried out.

  The World-Core.

  I am sure that Arascus and his family can imagine such a plan, whether it will work is another question entirely.

  - Excerpt from “An Internal Perspective of the Great War”, a self-reflective analysis done by Goddess Fortia, of Peace, & Goddess Maisara, Of Order.