“Ok, so what do I need to do to prove myself fahvalo?”

“In what way do you believe yourself able to serve as a whetstone for the blade of the Moonchildren?”

“I would assume that I don’t have much in the way of direct combat that would be better than what you could offer. You are obviously individually impressive, and I don’t imagine I could match you in a fight. On top of that, I don’t know… anything about you and your people. Would you be willing to explain in what ways this saharliard could prove himself fahvalo?”

“You understand, but not much. Come, walk with me as I find a proving ground.”

It was strange to me that Bloodpriestess Ana didn’t frustrate me. If I’d had any other teacher talk to me the way that she did, I would have been boiling with anger. Additionally, my khatif blood would have been just as incensed at her obvious disdain for me, but I felt nothing more than slightly confused while still respectful. Maybe it was the absolute “other”ness of her, or her obvious strength and capability, or even something else entirely. Whatever it was, her blatant disrespect and dismissal of me didn’t irk or infuriate, and I welcomed the feeling.

[The primary reason that you do not feel superior to “Bloodpriestess Ana” is because she is a more highly evolved specimen than you, and your innate bloodline recognizes that.]

So you return. Where were you during the stalking and hunting of our swarm? We… Oh, Nievtala…

The reality of what had happened finally settled into me and I stumbled to a stop. I looked around at what was left of my swarm. I took the time to count, and I subconsciously noted that Ana waited patiently as I took in the sight of my beleaguered, devastated swarm. It almost would be better to call us a pack at this point, with only 76 individuals, myself included. Of the twenty nine spawnlings from the youngest clutch, twenty lived. Of the remaining 56, I recognized many faces: my advisors, Sybil, Took, Foire, Vefir and Silf; Alaster, Ytte and the rest of the 9 surviving Alqat; Joral and his female hangers on, Shemira and others I was familiar with.

“Come here, all you.” I spoke in Keelish once again, and my swarm gathered around me. “You all… have come through something unimaginable to the weak. You have waded through literal water and blood to come to the other side. We stand at the peak of a mountain, one that continues to grow as we pile the bodies of our foes upon it… the bodies of our comrades upon it… where we are now is established on the backs of the felled and fallen, and I am proud to have you with me. Let us move ever farther along this path to newer, higher, bloodier peaks. Remember your fallen friends, especially those who turned back to give us time to complete our escape… and move on. We will remember them and build upon their legacy.”

Alaster spoke, his voice quiet yet piercing through the assembled keelish, “Forged in war and tempered in blood, I follow.”

The swarm, in twos and threes, repeated the rallying cry of the Alqat, “Forged in war and tempered in blood, I follow.”

Looking around I saw mostly determined, focused faces. A couple, like Shemira, simply nodded at me then went back to their own thoughts. But, for the most part, this small tenth of my original swarm looked at me with nearly fanatical eyes to hang on my every word.

“Bloodpriestess, can we go to collect our fallen? We wish to add their strengths to our own.”

Our guide stiffened, and I immediately knew that I had somehow committed an error, but wasn’t yet sure how.

“The blood and flesh of your fallen has been offered to the Bloodsoaked Mother through her vassals the Nard’ul.”

“... the fish?”

Bloodpriestess Ana sighed and began to speak even more patronizingly, as if attempting to teach a dim child. “Yes, the Nard’ul are fish. They also exemplify all that the Bloodsoaked Mother values most–savagery, fertility, and respect for the night.”

“I didn’t realize that Narsha’at was also a goddess of fertility.”

“Why else would we call her mother? From what else than blood does life come? Without blood there cannot be life, and the Bloodsoaked Mother Narsha’at reigns over that most important commodity of life–blood.”

“I wish I had time to talk religion with you. Why can’t we collect our dead?”

“Frankly speaking, there is naught more than bone remaining of your fallen. The Nard’ul have surely devoured all the flesh that remains, and to steal from the gods is inviting death, even if the Moonchildren were not present to prevent you from doing so. The offering has been made and accepted.”

“Fine. Could we collect the bones of the largest? That is neither flesh nor blood.”

“The gods are not petty.” Ana grinned, almost baring her teeth. She then made a brief, quick series of those nearly avian noises and three of our escorts peeled off, heading back towards the river. “They will collect the bones in your stead and bring them to you at your earliest convenience. Is that satisfactory?”

I nodded deeply. “Thank you for your consideration.”

Ana smiled and continued walking, idly settling into an easy silence. I turned my focus inward and began questioning the [System] about its recent absence.

[In answer to your question: your individual [System] cannot give any advice or growth when in combat with another [System] user.]

So one of those Veushten soldiers was humankind’s [System] user?

[Reiteration: your individual [System] cannot give any advice or growth when in combat with another [System] user.]

So you cannot give any specific detail or advice regarding another [System] user to me?

[Correct.]

I groaned internally then turned my attention back to our path. The forest was truly not a jungle any longer, with thicker trunked trees beginning to dominate the space, with long grasses growing underfoot instead of the complete, all-encompassing greenery of the jungle that had once been our home. Our escorts mostly ascended the trees and swung and navigated adroitly above us, ranging all around and screeching communiques to each other in brief, contained bursts of sound. All had freakishly long fingers, just like Bloodpriestess Ana, but how many of their fingers were so different varied from one individual to the next. None had the scythe-shaped fifth finger that Ana did, though.

I finally forcefully pulled myself out of my thoughts to ask another, possibly stupid question. “So… why don’t those on the other side of the river qualify as fahvalo to the Moonchildren?”

Ana scoffed, scorn dripping from her tone, “Oh. The Veushten, the Veratocracy, the warlocks. They are dangerous, yes. Not honorable. Their magics a bastardization of the divine, their gods an affront to the Pantheon, their peoples a slaughter-maddened menace. Dangerous. Honorless. A blood-maddened nanuk too dangerous to leave alive but too powerful to put down. Thus, we keep the complete people caged.”

“You don’t let them cross?”

“Or establish a presence on our lands, ever. Some are weaker and have allowed small incursions, and they are shamed for it. Yet, we of the Samutelia have never permitted any attack any measure of success.” Ana smiled, pride evident in her bearing.

“But this is not the question you should be asking. Instead, ask why I think you may yet qualify as fahvalo.”

“... Why do you think you may yet qualify as fahvalo?” I was only barely able to keep the dry, sarcastic tone out of my response.

“The answer is variety. Ponder that.” Then, Ana picked up the pace and shut down any further attempts to speak with her.