Realm of Zephyros, continent of Quintaris. 43 years after the events of Ilyenora.

Fahlnem illuminated the cave ahead with a condensed orb of flame. It split off into a dozen other candlelight-sized embers, stretching the flickering glow to most of the cave deeper within. Fairrin, Pyre, and Samuel followed behind him, glancing at more obvious details within the ruin.

"What are you hoping to find in here?" Samuel stepped up beside Fahlnem, passively tapping the walls and dilapidated furniture with his index finger as they went along.

"Goodies, I guess. Loot, in other words. Maybe some ancient pyromancial technique?"

"Seems ancient. Even for a holy shrine." Fairrin trailed behind the two, amplifying the consistent noise via the chains holding his prized glaive to his arm, as well as the echoing drip of blood from his overcoat. "And the majority of the 'loot' we find is going to Cain. He led me here, you two are just here because you begged." The features of his glaive had grown far more grotesque over the years with each empowerment that it received from holy sacrifices. Most of those sacrifices were holy items, such as marble from Ardisia's Tree, but Fahlnem was sure that a few people were tossed into the mix as well.

"Samuel shouldn't even be here, crippled fuck," Fairrin added as a stinging jab at the end.

"If we find any ancient geodes or metals, he can put them to good use." Fahlnem reached across and ruffled Samuel's hair. "For a discount, too. Right? That's what the whole adoption process was for."

Samuel shrugged and kept investigating the cave walls, scanning with expert eyes for any sort of glimmers or sparkles hiding in the uncovered past.

"Speaking of sons," Fahlnem continued. "What did Cain say when he sent you here? I thought Gods didn't typically speak to their followers anyway." Upheaved passageways paved with brick, decomposing remnants of parchment and furniture, and the occasional bone lined the main hallway. Fahlnem had called it a dump when they first weighed anchor and saw it from the outside. It was worse within. Terrible for his hair, with all that moisture.

"Not much. Seems to me like the divine fucker this shrine's for shouldn't be in this realm, to begin with. Cain said he was a new addition to the patron roster but far removed from anything he was used to," Fairrin explained in a stoicized tone.

Fahlnem glanced back to Fairrin as the man spoke, observing his increased level of coldness and dissociation over the years. He had pursued the favor of Cain for so long, but once he absorbed the soul of a defeated frost diety, he became a demi-god of his own and abandoned his championship under Cain. But then he was following Cain's orders again to find the shrine. Samuel, likewise, had grown more distant and pensive after he lost his eye. He seemed more serious. Fahlnem wondered if perhaps it was merely his age as a Human slowly affecting him.

He didn't know much about Pyre. He was just as brooding as Fairrin, but twice as much of an asshole. His magic didn't make a lick of sense to Fahlnem, either. Seemed to him like it just worked when it worked. His strength was impressive, though. His alchemical proficiency had spared him the expense of sleep, providing him with a daily dose that gave him the sufficient bonuses that sleep typically gave. It creeped Fahlnem out, knowing that the guy had just been awake for months at a time already.

The four individuals continued into a circular main chamber at the end of the shrine. Scarce shafts of sunlight still seeped in from the entrance to the ruined shrine, but even so, Fahlnem had to project more light into the room. A larger white ball of light was sent up from Pyre's hand to illuminate the chamber at its peak, driving shafts of light onto the statue in the middle. It was surrounded by head-height bookshelves arranged in a semi-circle, with some sort of mechanical contraption assembled on the opposite side of the statue. The statue itself, while halfway eroded over the many years it had sat in disregard, was a depiction of an Elven figure resembling a scholar. On the top of its head rested a painter's cap, following the statue's gaze onto a scroll held in one hand while the other hand gripped a traditional Elven sword with a curved blade digging into an individual of undetermined race.

Fahlnem immediately made his way over to the bookshelves surrounding one side of the statue, perhaps the only furniture in the establishment that still resembled its original function, glaring up at Pyre's light source while the rest of the group scattered to pursue their individual interests.

"Pyre," Fahlnem began to inquire, searching through pages thinner than butterfly wings covered in faded ink. "What can't your magic do?"

"Subjugation is a form of spellswording. Through the use of one's will, sustained by an indomitable conviction, you can acquire powers far greater in strength than the material forces that seem insurmountable."

"Pal, what makes that any different from Rune Magic?"

"Runic abilities unique to Dwarves are still fundamentally powered by mana, derived from the soul. Subjugation skips mana as the middle man and accomplishes the unbelievable through sheer willpower."

"You ever worry that you take yourself too seriously?"

Samuel piped up from the other end of the room with a chuckle, sifting through piles of debris. "Watch the hypocrisy."

Fahlnem grumbled under his breath and continued investigating the texts scattered around the statue.

"This Elven is super old. From what I can tell, this guy's not actually from here. I'm assuming the rest of this place isn't either."

"How's that work?" Samuel stepped over, holding onto a few metallic items. Fahlnem gestured to the contraption on the opposite side of the statue.

"Seems like the guy depicted by the statue, some Elven God of wisdom, had his followers create that. This," Fahlnem continued, pointing at the degraded scroll he transcribed from, "says that this God had created a realm, Vanopsis, for them. It was free of mana, so they could escape the oppression of warlocks, individuals that used mana to control the environment and establish control over weaker individuals and races. The machine was supposed to protect them from the Flash of Infinity perceived in the void between realms and safely transfer them to Vanopsis."

The two rotated to the machine on the other end of the statue, and Fairrin joined them.

"How does it work?"

"Looks like it doesn't, nowadays. Not sure I would wanna deal with a place without mana, anyway." Fahlnem carefully deposited the scroll in a protective container and then wrapped it in cloth. "You guys ready to leave? Not sure there's anything else here worth looking at."

Fairrin stood in silence for a moment, as if listening for something, before he grunted and shook his head. "Not quite." He investigated the machine for a moment, then stepped over to where Pyre was investigating the statue. He drew his glaive, an amalgamation of holy and cursed potential dripping with blood, and swung at the man. Fahlnem and Samuel both stood in astonishment. He disliked Pyre, but he was surprised that Fairrin had moved to try to kill him.

Pyre immediately understood the feeling in the air, drawing a matchlock with one hand and a Subjugation-infused shortsword in the other. He made bizarre movements at Fairrin, thrusting a series of unseen spells at him. Fairrin absorbed the spells into his prosthetic arm, a magical artifact made from wood that sucked up the mana that came into contact with it, including his own. With one decisive swipe and a clink of chains like a death rattle, Fairrin put a gash into Pyre's chest with his glaive, closing the gap to grab him by the throat. Pyre writhed in agony, suffering from a series of afflictions imbued by the attack, including curses, a poisoned state, and a condemning hellfire that spread from the wound. Fahlnem put a hand on his holy marble rope dart and stepped in front of Samuel, taking a defensive stance as Fairrin dragged the nearly-dead corpse of Pyre to the contraption. He pinned him to the drum-shaped machine and glanced up into the air while Pyre's eyes fogged over.

Fairrin spoke into what wasn't there. "Now." Pyre's body struggled against a fierce spasm as his soul left his body and the contraption whirred to life once more.

It felt like time stopped for Fahlnem. A fiery shiver crept up his spine and a ghostly hand gently caressed his cheek. It spoke to him at that moment.

"Dissolve," it said. And so he did.

Fahlnem woke with a sore ass and a sore attitude. He turned his head and sighed. Forgo was in the act of dragging his limp body down the street by the back of his collar.

"That hurt, Forgo," Fahlnem complained, putting a hand on his stomach. "You know that'll bruise, right?"

"I know," Forgo replied from behind his ivory casque. "You deserve more, but that's for the ecclesiarchy to decide."

"Knew I wasn't the only one that thought 'ecclesiarchy' sounded much more menacing than the Magisterium."

"The Magisterium is the Elven kingdom we're in. The ecclesiarchy is the religious court of justice."

"Ah. Gotcha. Thanks for that clarification. Can I get up and walk? I'll be good."

Forgo stopped and turned his head to allow Fahlnem a moment to rise to his feet.

"Thanks." They kept walking. "Where we headed, pal?"

"The train station. I'm taking you back to Ianann."

"What about my friends in the rebellion?"

"Once you left, the other mage casted a spell that killed most of the Rites in the area."

"Once you beat my ass, you mean. But how nice of him. What about Miranda?"

"We didn't capture any females in the group."

"Speaking of getting my ass beat, by the way." Fahlnem folded his hands behind his neck as he walked. He was surprised Forgo hadn't tried to cuff him that time. "You know I'm super old, right? And I've been doing magic since I was super young. Like, younger than you are now. So why is it," he huffed, "that every time I get in a groove, I get my ass beat again?"

"Perhaps you can attribute it to arrogance."

Fahlnem grunted. He didn't like the answer, but he respected Forgo's honest answer. His mind shifted away from current matters, drifting to his dream. He didn't remember that stuff before. What made him dream about it all of a sudden after getting whipped by Forgo? It bothered him, slightly. He didn't like feeling like he was a piece on the board. I don't even want to be one of the ones playing the game, he pondered. I want to be across the street, eating ass.

"I'm going to knock you out again before we get to the checkpoint."

"Would this be a matter of brain damage?" An unfamiliar voice piped up, and Fahlnem glanced to the other side of Forgo with squinted eyes. A petite Elf woman was walking alongside Forgo with a writing utensil and laminated parchment.

"Who?" Fahlnem inquired, shifting glances between Forgo and the woman.

"My scribe."

She waved at Fahlnem jubilantly.

"Damn. If I become a Pale Spear, do I get one of those too?"

Forgo stopped and Fahlnem thought he could hear a muffled chuckle drift out from behind the Twelfth Spear's helmet as he knocked him out again.

Fahlnem awoke in the middle of the street. He smelled fish, and he felt like burning something. It wasn't a craving that he suffered from often, so when he did, he was inclined to sate it. He rose to his feet and saw that he stood before a warehouse filled with Human laborers. A guard approached him from behind, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"You wear white. Let me see your Crown seal."

"I don't have- what's wrong with wearing white?"

"Are you not an official of the Magisterium?"

"No. Fuck's that? Where am I, pal?"

"You're under arrest. You can't be seen wearing white if it hasn't been ordained by the Violet Crown."

Fahlnem's hands ignited. He wasn't getting any answers, and he was in unfamiliar territory. He didn't feel any mana in the air, to boot, so he got cranky.