We contemplated Brother Augur’s words in silence as we strolled down the path of the Gardens.

In the distance a continuous roar shook the world. Through the leafless canopy I witnessed a cyclone descend from the heavens, far too close for comfort. The sudden squall lifted sheets of snow from the ground. Branches shook and bent. Brother Augur clapped a steadying hand on my shoulder.

The force died down as the cyclone wandered in the opposite direction.

“That must have been the Archon, right?” I said.

Augur took a few seconds to respond. “Yes.”

“Is he coming for us?” said Felix. “Is he going to help?”

The philosopher closed his eyes and whispered something under his breath. A prayer? “No, I believe we will have to rely on ourselves. Everything has been set in motion now. It is only a matter of time until the inevitable.”

I shook my head. “There must be something we can do.”

He gestured at Dasein. “Learn as much as you can from that sword. You have acquired a treasure beyond compare. Go join the others farther along. I will be staying behind to deal with a new complication.”

Felix and I shared a look before obeying. The philosopher remained on the trail, facing the way we had come from, hands clasped behind him. Before we turned out of sight I cast one last glance back; the philosopher had not moved.

The wind died down. The vibrancy of the setting sun waned as the canopy overhead grew thicker and the world made its slow transition into night. Treading the familiar path with my friend by my side was almost enough to forget the recent horrors we had gone through. The iridescent trees seemed to have lost some of their luster, even the snow more grey than white, but that may well have been a manifestation of my fatigue and low mood.

Avarus was the first person we saw. Noticing our approach, he drew his sword and proceeded forward until his old eyes recognized us. Sheathing his blade, he took a few more hesitant steps forward before rushing over. He gathered us both in a tight embrace, shoving our faces into his chest.

“Boys,” he whispered. The emotion in the grizzled old man’s voice was thick and welcome.

Tears stung my eyes. I blinked them away.

The blademaster squeezed us tight for another moment before holding us out at arm’s length, searching our faces for something. “You made it back.”

“Yes, master,” we said in unison. Using that title to refer to Avarus felt far more natural than Paimon.

“Come, come,” he said. “The others will be thrilled to see you.”

He led us to the clearing where we had spent so many days studying the blade.

The others did not look thrilled to see us.

Mara sat off to the side by herself, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins. She hid her face between her legs. Her mane of red hair was a wild mess. No sign of Caedius. Lisara and Johan stood in the center of the clearing, wooden spears dangling from their hands; our arrival must have interrupted a sparring session.

Two familiar figures in brown robes came to their feet. Yuri and Elena, a pair of middle-aged philosophers relatively unknown to me. The most interaction I had with them was attending one of Yuri’s lectures on ethics, a dull affair best forgotten.

“Thank the Increate,” said Elena. A blonde woman with flushed cheeks, she exuded a motherly warmth. “Some more surviving acolytes. Where did they come from, Avarus?”

The old blademaster rested one huge, gnarled hand on the back of my neck. “I did not feel a pressing need to interrogate them on sight. They are here now, and that is what matters.”

“Are these all of the survivors?” I said.

Yuri spoke up in his gruff voice. “No. At least half of the philosophers left during the initial mass exodus from the city. Several acolytes are unaccounted for. Lakken and Elys are here as well, though he refuses to abandon his home.”

Johan approached, spear resting against his shoulder. “Good to see you two again. Did you see what we did to that disgusting scout?”

At first I was unsure what he meant. He must be talking about the dismembered spider-demon displayed near Philosopher Aeron’s corpse.

“We did,” I said.

“Proof we can fight back. At least, with Brother Augur’s help. Lisara and I got that bastard good.”

Felix snorted. Johan’s eyes lingered on him for a second before returning my way, awaiting my response.

I offered a sickly smile. “Excellent work. I know we just arrived, but would all of you excuse me for a while? I need to have a talk with Lakken.”

“You know,” Felix said to Johan. “We never did have that sparring match. How about a little fun? You and Lisara against me.”

Uninterested in watching that particular massacre, I made my way to the elderly philosopher’s residence.

Smoke drifted from the chimney.

No response to my knocking. I tried again, with the same result. A cold pit formed in my stomach.

I pushed open the door, steeling my nerves.

Lakken rested on his usual cushion, eyes open, hands wrapped around a cup. His granddaughter sat on the floor beside him, surrounded by a pile of ruined books, little more than spines with ragged scraps of paper clinging to them. One half-intact tome rested on her lap. With deliberate care she tore out a page, crumpled it, and tossed it into the hungry fire.

“Thank the Increate,” I said. “My apologies for barging in, but…”

Lakken fell into a rattling coughing fit. When it finally subsided he groaned and laid his head back onto the cushion. “Just like old times, Leones. While I am glad to see you again, I hate that I lived long enough to see this moment come to pass. Just as he said it would.”

Elys cast another crumpled page into the flames.

“What do you mean?” I said.

Lakken lifted his feeble head enough to sip from his cup. He grimaced. “Tell him, Elys.”

The woman stopped halfway through tearing the next page from her book. “The man who calls himself Brother Augur first came to the Garden a little over a decade ago. I was younger than you, back then. He had recommendation letters from all sorts of renowned folk. Even Aramadat, the Archon of Earth. He settled in fast. Didn’t take long to befriend most of the people here. A few people, like Sensi, saw right through his charisma, but in time he won them all over to his side.”

“What exactly is Brother Augur’s side?” I said.

Lakken’s voice was soft, weak. “Have you noticed yet, Leones? Colors becoming more dull. The barrier between dreams and reality crumbling. You fall asleep and wake up…somewhere else. If there is judgment in the afterlife…I hope the Increate forgives an old fool…his curiosity.”

So it was not just fatigue. Colors had become more dull, lines and edges more blurred. The light and heat from the fireplace did not quite match the intensity of the flames.

Elys hauled herself to her feet and rested a hand on the philosopher’s quivering cheek. His eyelids drooped, closed. Slow and careful, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead. Lakken did not move again. His granddaughter pried the cup from his fingers, peered down at the contents.

I rushed over. “He’s dead?”

“On his own terms, yes.” Elys sniffed and stepped away from me. “And I will be following him soon, to whatever awaits us beyond. Brother Augur sowed the seeds of corruption throughout this city. Those who opposed him vanished or repented. Now he pretends to protect us from whatever he has wrought. Whenever he achieves his goal, I do not want to be here to see it. Like grandfather said, the barriers between our world and Desolada are growing thinner. When the two merge, your consciousness will be trapped here until the end of time.”

Lakken’s pale face looked serene in death. I rest my hand on top of his. “And you think you can escape through death?”

“What benevolent goal do you think Brother Augur could possibly seek that would be worth sacrificing a hundred thousand souls? The options are eternal enslavement or worse. We decided to take our chances with the Increate,” said Elys, extending the empty cup. “Will you join us?”

I knelt and pressed my lips to the old philosopher’s cold hand. Though I had not heard it in years, the Guiding Prayer came to mind. Under my breath, I plead with the Increate to show mercy and bring that wayward soul back to His bosom. When I came back to my feet, his granddaughter had already walked over to the teapot on the table and refilled the cup.

“We make our own chances in this life,” I said.

Elys smiled bitterly, raised the cup in a salute before drinking deep.

I left them to their peace.

The sun had finally almost set, the vestiges of its soft light soothing the sky above Odena one last time. Artists call twilight the blue hour, that mesmerizing lull before the dark of night. Shadows disappear and the world smooths out, taking on an almost mystical quality.

My feet carried me to the barracks. Memories of a simpler time, when my biggest worries were becoming stronger and figuring out how to get along with the other acolytes. Easy to imagine everyone settling in for the night. Mara and Caedius retiring to their adjacent cots. Irele snored in her little corner, fast asleep before any of us even yawned.

So easy to imagine that I hallucinated their figures throughout the building. Felix tied his boots, ready to head out into the city for a night by himself. I even saw myself laying in bed, hands crossed behind my head, staring at the ceiling as I reflected on something or another.

Hallucinations are a symptom of insanity. How simple it would have been, if going mad was my only problem. No, this was the blurring between my world and the realm of Desolada. Where reality becomes a dream. Maybe I was nothing more than a product of Leones’ wild imagination as he lay there in his cot, and all that had happened was nothing more than me deceiving myself into believing I was the real one.

The barracks door opened.

I blinked and the imaginary figures disappeared. Mara stood in the doorway, armed crossed, not quite able to look me in the eye. Her once-vibrant mane of hair looked copper in the light of that fading world.

“I wasn’t wrong to report you, you know,” she said.

The old rage I had felt at her betrayal was nowhere to be found. “Probably not.”

“I think Caedius is dead. I forgot about him until just recently. I had these dreams of someone holding me. A shadow by my side in so many of my memories. I couldn’t remember his face until maybe an hour ago. But he didn’t come back. You and Felix did.”

I walked over to my cot, smoothed the wrinkles out of the thin blanket. “He might not be dead. He may be on his way here now.”

“No,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I don’t think he is. I wish he was, though. I wish he was here now to comfort me like he always did. I never even got to say goodbye. This seems like a good time for farewells, doesn’t it?”

I sat down on my cot. “Probably.”

“Farewell then, Leones.”

“Farewell, Mara.”

When I looked back she was already gone. Had she even been there in the first place? I settled into the cot, pulled the blanket over me, and closed my eyes.

***

The realm of the One Who Rules exists within a point where eleven dimensions meet. As such, to experience it is to have one's mind fractured into unimaginable shapes. No physical thing can exist within it: all interactions occur within the Mental Realm, anchored to this multidimensional nexus. The One Who Rules is banished from existing anywhere within the Increate's wonders; He must find his place within the gaps.

Though Paimon holds no bonds with the One Who Rules, he responds to the summons in respect of the eternal traditions.

The Fifth, the Betrayer, Morningstar. His power is incomprehensible, to be able to create a bridge from his prison to the Mental Realm. He even creates a representation of a physical space, allowing one to anchor their mind to a familiar scene. Such an effort is useless amongst the Goetia, who require no such tricks. Which means The One Who Rules is entertaining a mortal guest.

The physical manifestation Morningstar has chosen is of an aesthetic plot of land from Savra. A little hut in a stand of iridescent trees, with a calm river winding through. A black-haired man, middle-aged, sitting in the lotus position next to a bonfire. Pale lines of scarring cover his flesh. A humble way to present oneself, in a place where any form is possible. Neither of the Goetia have yet created a homunculus to interact with him. They wait.

Who is this mortal? says Paimon.

Morningstar's words are neither grand nor overwhelming. He does not force his willpower into them for the purpose of intimidation. Such things are beyond Him. He calls himself Augur.