The sun shines from high in the sky, drowning the potato fields of Springvale in its radiance. A mild wind blows, chasing away the heat. A completely normal idyllic day in Springvale. As if what had happened earlier was nothing more than a fever dream. And standing in a rough circle in the middle of a potato field is Ramon, Loaner and myself.

"You should check it out." Ramon finally says, "You were the one who wanted to bring that satchel with us in the first place."

"Mm." I grunt as the three of us stare at the Order satchel, lying innocently in the middle of the potato field. Looking at the satchel now, you would never have guessed that its the residence of a god's avatar. Most likely making the satchel the most powerful artifact in the entire kingdom. House Robeur would be sent into a fit if they ever found out that something so utterly lethal was hiding right under their collective noses.

Loaner neighs, impatiently urging me to stop stalling. I purse my lips in concern. Retrieving the satchel wasn't what had gotten me so worried. Its the small glyph neatly placed right on top of it.

The Logos.

"It should be fine?" Ramon hazards, "The Word of God is not glowing or doing anything weird. It restored everything even."

"After committing genocide." I note drily, licking my lips. I begin to take a step forward but hesitate, rooting myself to the spot.

"Its not genocide if everyone is returned to life afterward." Ramon nods sagaciously, looking at the farmhands toiling in the distance, "At least I don't think so."

"Yeah. Whatever the Logos is," I muse, "its power is the real thing. Resurrection. Can you believe it?"

"So ..." Ramon's voice trails off as both of us return to staring at the Logos, sitting there inoffensively on top of the satchel. Or at least that's what it looks like to the naked eye.

"We should send Loaner first." I suggest, "If the Logos doesn't react with the horse standing right next to it, then its definitely safe."

"Good idea." Ramon agrees and both of us turn toward Loaner. Before I can give a command to my horse, Loaner stares at me right in the eye and takes a huge dump, spraying the potato crops with his shit.

"Sometimes, I swear he can understand us." I sigh as the we three go back to staring at the Logos, no one daring to make the first move.

"I didn't get my pony back though." Ramon grumbles, "The Logos only revived the residents of Springvale. No one else."

"All the more reason to be careful." I grimace, "I don't want to trigger another crisis just because of touching the Logos wrong or something similar."

"AY!" someone angrily yells at the three of us from behind, "WHAT IN THE WORLD DO YOU STRANGERS THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

Ramon and I turn around, finding ourselves confronted by the elderly village patrolman. Another one of the villagers who had been revived by the Logos. Given the ragged nature of our clothes, no thanks to all the fighting, I'm not surprised that the old man thought we were vagrants looking for a place to bum a meal and generally act shiftless.

Unfortunately for the village patrolman, now that he has closed the distance between us, the old man can get an unexpurgated view of all the blood splatters that cover both Ramon's and my clothes. From the look on the old man's face, I can tell he's already regretting making the choice to confront us.

"Good sir -" Ramon tries to talk his way out of the situation, but that's not really going to work out if you're looking like a butcher.

"STAY BACK!" the old man blares at the top of his voice, "TRY ANYTHING AND THE MILITIA WILL BE ALL OVER YOU!"

"There's no need to be afraid -" Ramon protests in vain.

"I'LL SHOUT! ALL OF SPRINGVALE WILL COME RUNNING!" the old man barrels on. The farmhands in the distance are already starting to look this way. If the patrolman wanted to attract attention, he's doing a good job of it.

"Now look here, its me. Mac?" I say calmly in order to defuse the situation, "Nair's son? No one's a stranger here."

"Nair's son." the old man hums, sizing me up with his rheumy eyes.

"That's right." I nod, "Just back home for a little break from Deshawn City."

Hopefully all the weirdness about my doppelganger is over now that the Logos is inactive. At least that's what I hope.

"THE NAIRS ARE CHILDLESS DUMB ASS!" the old man yells again, "IF YOU WANT TO TRICK SOMEONE, AT LEAST GET YOUR STORY RIGHT!"

"Uh." my face goes red at this renunciation of my existence. OK, the weirdness involving my doppelganger might have stopped. But its been replaced by a new flavor of weirdness. And I swear that Loaner's giggling to himself in the background. As much as a horse can giggle anyway.

"NOW GET OUT OF HERE!" the old man begins pushing at me. Then he suddenly stops, eyes glazed over.

"You feeling fine there?" Ramon waves a hand in front of the patrolman's face. No response.

"Probably gone senile." I joke, "Forgot why he was ranting in the first place."

"No, I stepped because the old fool was attracting too much attention." the patrolman pipes up again. Its the same voice, but the tenor is completely different. Flat and distant.

"Also, I wanted to have this conversation with both of you face to face." the old man drones on, his face frozen in an expressionless mask, "So Mac Nair and Ramon Dasar. Greetings."

"This isn't funny." I protest, an edge of warning in my voice.

"Its not meant to be." the old man rasps, "I am here for a serious conversation."

"So ... who are we talking to then?" Ramon probes cautiously, "You have us at a disadvantage, good sir."

"Of course. Introductions. Manners." the old man nods mechanically, "I often forget these things. Interaction at this level is not something I do particularly often."

"Wow. You're kind of a dick, you know that?" I roll my eyes at this arrogant response. Pretty uppity for a random possession. The mage or ghost performing the trick must be lurking nearby.

"Both of you may call me the Sage." the patrolman's flat voice rumbles.

"That's not a name." Ramon points out.

"No. It is not." the Sage agrees, "It is however what you will address me as."

"Ever heard of making a good first impression?" I snort at the so called Sage.

"No. For someone of my ... standing ... " the Sage hesitates slightly, "I find such affections unnecessary. The name is not my choice at any rate. Its something the Order began calling me. I accepted 'Sage' more out of convenience than anything else."

"The Order of Impartial Justice?" my mouth narrows into a line, a new spirit of caution taking hold "You're with them?"

"I work with them, if that's your question." the Sage answers, "I'm not one of them though."

"You wanted to discuss something?" Ramon asks, his voice subdued. Things have certainly gotten a lot more serious now that the Order ight be involved. Though that's something we should have been expecting, given how the Avatar of Hackal was originally in their possession.

"First things first." the Sage bends over and retrieves the Logos and the Order satchel. He then grabs me by the wrist with a grip of iron, forcing my hand open.

"For you." the Sage explains, gently placing both items in my hand, "Not everyone is lucky enough to escape destiny's pull. The Logos is now yours."

My back breaks out into a cold sweat as my fingers close in around the Logos. But the Word of God remains inert. Sleeping. I see Ramon reflexively flinch before calming down when nothing happens.

"Now to business," the Sage stands as straight as a pole, both arms neatly by his sides, "We have a problem. And I need both your help to solve it."

"And this problem is?" I ask meaningfully, "Someone dissing the Order? An out of control monster in the Beyond?"

"Nothing quite so mundane." the Sage begins but stops himself, "Actually, from a certain point of view, the problem we are facing is one of the most trivial things in the world."

"I'm confused." Ramon says helplessly, going all boggle eyed.

"How about this explanation?" the Sage spreads his arms wide invitingly, "You and Mac Nair settle down for a game of cards and drinks. What do you do when the evening is over?"

"Clean the place up and go home?" I suggest, inwardly scoffing at the sheer obviousness of the answer.

"Yes. When a game is over, the cards are put away and the drinks go back into the cupboard." the Sage agrees, "That is the problem that we are facing now."

"Still don't follow." Ramon shakes his head with a frown.

"Ea created this world." the Sage's voice gains a grating quality to it, "Why do you think that was?"

"For Enn?" I chime up, my church lessons proving their worth, "Ea has always had a soft spot for the first human. The world was literally remade just for him."

"Not precisely." the Sage responds conversationally, "The world was created for someone, but not for Enn."

"Then who's the lucky guy?" I query, genuinely curious. Ramon leans closer as well, the topic right up his list of interests.

"Pahlaver." the Sage elaborates, "Ea created this world for Pahlaver's amusement."

"None of the legends say anything about this." Ramon objects.

"The legends don't say much about many things." I grumble, recalling our lunatic adventure in Springvale.

"But what is the problem, precisely?" Ramon pipes up again, trying to get to the bottom of the matter.

"Pahlaver has tired of playing with his toys." the Sage stares off into the distance, "And so Ea is going to do what comes next."

"Clear the table."