Interlude: Future Problems.

The call was sent to all nations. Allies, enemies, neighbors, and kingdoms so distant they wouldn’t interact in the lifetimes of their inhabitants. A message of dread that brought even the most reticent running at what could be summed up in a single word.

Calamity.

A threat so dire it could bring an end to kingdoms and cut the lives of millions short. The sole purpose for the Oraculum to exist, breaking their silence and damaging the Web of Fate to avert ultimate destruction.

Not even the most warmongering would dare to ignore the call, for each time such fools had done so the annals of history spoke the truth of the Oraculum’s wisdom.

The Silent Kingdoms.

The Sanguine Sky.

The Dread Tide.

The Doom of the Achorai.

These examples and more brought shivers to even the most stalwart, for each time the Oraculum had warned the world... and been ignored. Such willful ignorance always resulted in a death toll that shook the very pillars of civilization, casting the survivors into a new dark age.

Haven had only just recovered from the Calamity of Stonemist- a virulent fog that had devoured the western kingdoms and turned everything in them to stone. Exposure to the Stonemist meant certain death and the process had been agonizing; often taking torturous hours before the victims finally succumbed, petrified for eternity with their bodies twisted in a rictus of agony.

However, while the threat of looming annihilation brought everyone to the table- this didn’t mean they’d like it.

Seating arrangements were something of a difficult subject for the poor and suddenly overworked staff of the Grand Auditorium. Despite all coming here under the flag of truce, many of the attendees were currently at war with each other. So it was not a small source of stress to keep all the staff up to date with current politics- lest they wind up accidentally seating warring parties within arm’s reach.

The building, therefore, normally a source of solemn gravitas, had become a madhouse of raucous arguments and disruptive behavior. Ancient frescoes and majestic sculptures were overshadowed by the din of the world's elite behaving like unruly children- several brawls had already been forcefully (if politely) broken up by the Oraculum’s guards just today.

Lyr’Rael was extremely unimpressed.

Mortals. Even faced with Calamity they find excuses to squabble.

Speaking of mortals, she regarded her current form again with similar distaste. Given that her true form was a bit… esoteric for most mortals she’d been forced by the assembly to take on human flesh for the duration of her time on Haven. Naturally, the body she’d made was without flaw; a perfect specimen of human beauty with platinum hair and angelic features that would set bards to song if she allowed them to see it- which she most assuredly would not.

This all meant little to her, as the form still felt incredibly constraining and limiting. She had to use hands to grab things, use clumsy and inelegant legs to walk instead of flying on her beautiful wings. The body even required food just to survive! Not to mention the horrors of post-digestion, which she vowed to block from her memory the moment she left this dirty plane behind.

She would almost suspect that this was a punishment for the aberration affair, were it not that she would already have been on duty when this conclave was called. The temple had reached out and requested a divine representative as soon as they’d been informed, and guess who had the misfortune of being fresh off assignment?

Repressing a sigh to lament her fate, she barely resisted glaring at the High Priest seated beside her, who in her mind was responsible for her continued presence. Yes, in a Calamity the precedent was to have an Envoy present with the temple delegation. Yes, the High Priest followed protocol when informing the Assembly the moment he was aware. She still wished he’d waited until the meeting had actually begun before summoning her- instead of boring her to tears in the mortal world for almost two months now.

The priest hadn’t achieved his position by accident though- or maybe she was just terrible at hiding emotions on her human face- because he smiled politely at her and used magic to suppress the overbearing noise around them.

“Forgive me, Emissary, I know these past weeks have been trying for you. The last delegates should be arriving shortly; Lady Haethram sent word of their safe arrival with her wayward husband not two hours ago. Once they get here the Tyrant will follow, no doubt he’s been lurking close by for a dramatic entrance. He’ll not be anything but the last to arrive lest someone miss out on his supposed ‘grandeur’.”

Giving him a patently fake smile back, she felt a flash of discomfort at the mention of the Tyrant before the heralds on que announced the arrival of Lord and Lady Haethram.

Finally, we can get this over with.

Lady Adelaine swept into the hall like she owned it- as usual- and her formerly missing husband followed sheepishly behind. With almost any other couple this might have raised eyebrows, but if one of the most powerful witches on Haven wanted to flaunt herself then precious few could stop her. Even Lyr’Rael had to acknowledge the legendary Archwitch of Terland wasn’t someone to cross lightly, and most did well to keep their opinions to themselves.

Most being the key word there.

“I see that your time away hasn’t improved your tender disposition, Veris. Still hiding behind skirts?” A voice sneered out.

“Headrick! I thought I smelled manure when I walked in. Shouldn’t you be off frightening children somewhere? I’d thought you realized your true talents and joined the circus freakshow.” Lord Haethram’s timidity vanished at the sight of his apparent nemesis.

“Why you--”

Lyr’Rael lost interest in the resulting scuffle, the two older men throwing fists inexpertly until Adelaine got tired of it and dragged her husband off to be seated. Her eyes widened as the High priest’s words were again proven correct- the Tyrant indeed loved a dramatic entrance.

For while the Haethrams had made their boisterous way in, the Tyrant’s delegation had appeared at their seats without a sound. An already impressive feat for twenty people given the powers present in this room, it was made even more so by the enormous sphere of swirling darkness nearly three meters across that they’d brought with them.

Each wore heavy grey robes that completely obscured their features, though Lyr’Rael knew what was beneath. Once-human bodies had been ‘improved’ by the Tyrant’s twisted designs; metal grafted to flesh, limbs replaced with tools befitting their station in his ‘perfect’ system. Whispers had reached the temples of even darker things, the Tyrant’s armies being bolstered by flesh-crafted monsters— sorcerous horrors formed of his captured enemies.

His presence at this council was divisive for many reasons (ironically this made him the easiest to seat for the staff, no need to worry about politics when somebody’s at war with everyone else) but no one spoke as the swirling darkness calmed to reveal him lounging on a living throne in a casual robe.

Today he’d chosen an appearance as flawless as Lyr’s, every feature of him literally sculpted to perfection. Many were quietly relieved by this, as he rarely took the same form twice and any meeting with him ran the risk of seeing him in an… artistic mood. In response to this relief, he smirked and absently peeled the skin off on his arm, using his magic to rearrange the muscles below.

Lyr’Rael didn’t bother to hide her disgust as the announcer frantically tried to catch up.

“A-Announcing his Imperial Majesty, the Master of the eastern continent— Emperor Amunai the Deathless.”

“Let's hurry this up.” A harsh, mechanical voice reverberated from within the sphere. “Unlike the rest of you cattle, I already know why we’re here and have better things to do with my time.”

A wave of discontent washed through the chamber at his dismissive words, but power was king. No one wanted their country to be singled out by the Tyrant just to score some verbal points with his proxy.

People settled hurriedly into their seats as the Oraculum’s doors slowly opened. A matronly woman clad in the simple yellow and red robe of the Oraculum walked steadily up to a podium in front of the audience. Her voice was clear and reached all corners without the aid of magic.

“Honorable representatives of Haven, welcome. Many of you have already guessed the reason for our summons today, a new Calamity is upon us- one perhaps greater than any that has come before.” She paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“The Web of Fate has been cut, destroyed in its entirety. All prophecies and visions within are lost, and the Oraculum is almost blind to the Akashic for the first time in history.”

Shouts of dismay erupted across the hall, mingled with cries of, “Impossible!” and other denials. The woman futilely tried to restore order until the Tyrant’s power ripped through the air.

“SILENCE.”

Sneering as his gaze wandered the hall, he continued. “You bleat like frightened sheep instead of kings. My Choir of seers corroborates with the Oraculum, the Akashic is veiled to us. I assume there is more?”

The woman nodded hesitantly, uncomfortable to receive the Tyrant’s assistance.

“Yes, while most have been blinded and records rendered obsolete, there are some who’ve been able to pierce the obfuscation.” Holding up her hand, a twisting mark of black energy hovered into the air.

Demon!

The crowd recoiled and many readied defensive magic while the woman quickly dismissed her conjuring.

“Not a true demon, my lords, but a manifestation. Something broke through the veil between worlds and this was a… residue left behind. All we could see is this creature just by arriving has destroyed the future, and we must assume the world is equally at risk. Beyond a few months’ time, our seers see nothing.”

The Tyrant spoke into the silence that followed. “You are suggesting that some sort of… Archdemon, strong enough to rip through dimensions without assistance has arrived? A fatekiller of that magnitude is the only being I can think of to sever the Web like this. Unless…”

His gaze sharpened on the Temple delegation and Lyr’Rael felt her heart jump nervously. Stupid, disobedient organ! I am not afraid!

“I’d heard that there was a… tragedy of some sort with the champions summoned by the gods. One was lost, was it not? Perhaps the temple can shed some light on the cause.”

The high priest began answering serenely, “The gods work in mysterious ways--”

“Ha! Means they’re not telling and you’re just as clueless as the rest of us.” A voice piped up from the crowd.

Lyr’Rael felt fury rise in her gut at the mortal’s insolence. She almost smote him dead on the spot until she felt the high priest gently grab her wrist.

“Forgive me, Lady Emissary, not here. Please!” He whispered, urgently. Doing her best to calm herself she settled back into her seat. The Tyrant’s harsh voice cut across the crowd again.

“Strange, isn’t it? A champion lost- thousands of lives at risk for it and your gods are quiet. Yet at the very same time as your champions were brought here, this creature arrives.”

Standing now, he paced forward within the dark sphere. “Champions. Outworlders supposedly chosen from beyond death by our diligent deities. Carefully grafted into the Web as the gods create their bodies so they can fulfill their duty and avert Calamities. Now one is missing, and somehow the Web is destroyed. What do the gods say, Emissary?”

Lyr’Rael froze as she felt panic spark as connections formed in the back of her mind. The soul! Misinterpreting her stiffness for anger, the high priest cut the Tyrant off.

“That is enough speculation, Tyrant. The timing of these events is unfortunate but coincidental, the gods would not be so careless as to unleash something of this magnitude upon us without warning.”

With every word he spoke, Lyr felt the pit in her stomach growing deeper.

How!? How did it survive?? I have to tell-- she cut off that thought as a darker realization dawned on her.

They’ll blame me for this.

With the high priest’s words, it had already gone too far. The gods couldn’t be found at fault for this- not unless they’d grown a lot humbler than she remembered- and the Assembly would shift the failure onto the Envoy presiding over the incident. Her.

If she was ludicrously lucky they would only demote her and strip her of her wings. If she was unlucky… No. I have to make this work somehow. The Oraculum is already after it, maybe I can help them?

Shoving her panic aside she calmed herself and reaffirmed the priest’s rebuttal.

“Elder Merain is correct, Amunai. The gods are no more responsible for this creature than you are. Perhaps this creature saw the missing champion as a weakness to exploit, and would have attacked eventually regardless.”

She’d injected as much poise and confidence into her voice as she could, but the dark look in the Tyrant’s eyes said he didn’t buy it. With a contemptuous snort, he returned to his throne and the sphere settled.

“The Oraculum does not know the motivation or cause of this creature, and we do not care. What we do know is that if this creature is not stopped quickly we jeopardize the fate of our entire world.” The woman was quick to speak once the Tyrant stepped down.

“To this end, we have mobilized the entirety of our own order to accompany any group willing to assist us in hunting this abomination down. By following the torn strings of fate we will be able to slowly hone in on the creature, and the more teams we are able to send the faster we can triangulate its position. We ask that all who are able will accompany us.”

A chorus of volunteers greeted the announcement, many delegations promising elite teams of monster hunters and the best trackers in their kingdoms to aid the Oraculum’s cause. The Tyrant merely rolled his eyes and vanished with his entire entourage. When the woman was able to speak again, she was almost tearful.

“Thank you. We must come together in these terrible times if we are to save our world, and despite our differences you here today have done exactly that.” She lifted her hands and a rough magical projection appeared, showing a map of Haven’s surface and extending into the Hollows below.

“We are uncertain of its exact location, but we have narrowed it down to roughly this area in the deeps.”

Many studied the image, most hoping to glean something of value, but one man had a very different expression on his face as he looked at a quite familiar section of caverns. Veris Haethram broke out into a cold sweat, facing sudden scrutiny from his now uncomfortably close wife.

Oh, dear.