“We are born in the shadow of fading memories and fallen dreams, living our days within the decaying bones of an age long gone.”

- Darran M. Handshaw, The Engineer

The evening sun shone through large windows. The desktop was strewn with documents, and even as the surroundings were luxurious with a thick embroidered carpet and a painting spanning the whole ceiling showing fauns and nymphs at play, there was a cold breeze somehow having found a gap in a window and the queen turned uneasily while shivering in her sleep.

Exhaustion marred her face, and if Alyssa, Alea, or Mireille had seen her, they would have thought her thinner than remembered. Wearing green and gold, she half-lied on the table, shifting in an uneasy sleep.

A piece of parchment lay open just before her fingertips, curling slowly back toward the form of a scroll.

‘…..seek urgent aid. The fortress of Windkeep has fallen, and the army is fighting a delaying action. It would help greatly if refugees were permitted to cross Thundersplit Pass. Undead are everywhere, and with the unrest in Andria….’

The parchment turned in on itself and rolled to a stop against a pale cheek.

The papers seemed like white faces imploring her for aid, for answers.

Turning restlessly in a nightmare she had none.

“Are you sure?”

The words resonated in his head as he looked at the envoy. The old baron von Hofstedt was a respected elder in aristocratic circles. His fiefdom was neither populous nor wealthy, but his lineage was impeccable, and he could trace it back to the world gate and another plane of existence.

The old man was humming as he filled his pipe with tobacco and tamped it down before looking around for a lighter.

The room was not fit for one of his station but the situation being as it were, they had nothing better to offer. The inn was situated some miles before the coast, nearer to Kronenburg than the rebels, the ‘Republicans’ he reminded himself, strongholds.

Heloise, the acting regent, had sent the baron with a strong personal guard to secretly talk to the rebel leaders trying for a less bloody solution.

And that would not do.

The man was in no doubt what the rebels would want and what the crown would not hesitate to give. The first steps toward self-determination and rule by council. For domestic matters concerning the *then* free cities, at least. And for the noble families that had drawn heavily on the populace's wealth and manpower, that would be a disaster.

Noble families, like his own.

“Are you sure?” The words tumbled around in his head, spoken by the old steward as he last left the castle.

Wearing the nondescript clothes of a servant, he entered and smiled at the baron. “Mylord, would you care for a bit of refreshment?” A plate holding cut fruit and cheese, along with a decanter of wine, was presented with a flourish.

The old man with kindly features and a sly look in his eyes rubbed his bushy, white mustache, slightly stained by nicotine, and grinned. “Put it over there, my lad. I will first partake of this fine tobacco. My father always said- Have one vice and one vice only. If more, you are an undisciplined lout, and if less...not human.” He laughed heartily. “And when my wife complains, I always tell her to choose another one for me- wine, women, gambling. For unknown reasons, she does not want that.” He chuckled and reached for his pipe. “Ah, that reminds me. Do you have a lighter for me?”

The young man put down the plate and walked up to him, one hand firmly grasping the dagger in his pocket.

And then he stabbed the old man in the throat.

The movement was quick and precise, and gurgling frantically, the baron grabbed at his throat, looking at the man uncomprehendingly. Stepping back, he saw the flecks of blood seeping into his tunic, and the man cursed under his breath and, with shaking hands, pulled on a coat that hung from a rack to the side. Blood spread beneath the cooling body as the ‘servant’ quickly left the room.

Outside, the corpses of two guards lay side by side.

And so talks for peace turned into a call to war.

A line of men and women stood before a cushion haphazardly thrown on the ground. An old woman in the attire of a traveling wizard sat near a burning brazier. Grey coat with practical pouches sewn into the front, a wide-brimmed hat with a carved jade plaque depicting a heron- the last a personal vanity.

The room was the council chamber of Storms Cove, a small town at the northeastern edge of the sea of origins.

Inside the rune-inscribed dark metal brazier, several brands were heating up, and as soon as they reached a usable temperature, the woman gestured. “Get on with it. I don’t want to be here longer than necessary.”

A young man nodded hastily and grabbed one of the brands with thick gloves shielding his hands.

The wizardess intoned a complex formula, and the brand began to emit a slowly brightening glow.

The first in line kneeled and gritted his teeth. Pressing it against the biceps, the brand shed its glow amid a subdued howl of pain as the kneeling man bit into his sleeve to stop himself from screaming. The one holding the brand hurriedly stepped back and promptly ripped off a scorched piece of flesh, causing blood to drip down in rivulets. “Sorry! Oh, I’m so…”

“Silence! Get yourself back here and grab the next one.” The wizardess frowned. Two burly men grabbed the newly branded and dragged him to the side, where several blankets were spread on the ground.

“I said- NEXT!” With a shout, the wizardess urged her hesitant helper, who hurried to the brazier, grabbing the next glowing piece of metal.

“For the Republicans! For freedom!” The next man bellowed before kneeling.

“Oh, for fucks sake. I hate politics.” The woman grumbled, then patted the pouch at her side. “But it pays the bills.”

Heloise nodded at Lieseleta, “It is time.”

Swallowing nervously, the queen nodded. They stood before a gigantic portal hewn from dark rock and carved with runes. Each rune was crude and primal, nearly the size of a grown man, and the portal itself could have accommodated two horse-drawn carts side by side with more than three times that in height. The air was stiflingly hot, and moisture wept in great drops from the rough-hewn walls.

Behind them stood a score of golems fashioned of dark steel holding great staves topped with magelights. A winding tunnel double the size of the portal vanished into the darkness behind them. Between the ancient steel constructs, a line of people walked forward.

Step by step.

“We are protected by the covenant, but you must never show weakness.” Heloise’s golden eyes bore into Lieseleta’s own.

The queen closed her eyes before steeling herself to look at the offerings. Even the worst of the worst were still her subjects and she had never hated her responsibilities so much as of this moment.

With a deep reverberating groan and dull grinding noise, the two wings of the portal ponderously opened and revealed a cavern with an endless chasm leading into the earth.

“We are pleassssed.” A voice came from the darkness, and a person slowly coalesced out of the faint mist hanging in the air. Attired in a cowled robe, pale flesh drawn over a craggy jaw. The thin lips tried to form a smile but failed. Gesturing, he pointed at the chasm. “Your offering is welcome and timely. Would that your forebears had been so conscientious every time.” A hint of cold laughter seemed to resonate with those words.

Pale, pupilless eyes fixated on Lieseleta. “We don’t know you. Are you the next contractor? Or the heir, perhaps? We can never tell.”

The men and women chained to each other walked forward step by step, eyes devoid of intelligence; the line vanished behind them into the tunnels, into the darkness.

“Y..yes. I am the next queen of Margrinar and come to honor the covenant.”

The creature, in the guise of a man, nodded. “Then we have to taste you.” Seeing her alarm, there was another attempt at a smile. “Your blood, I mean. It wouldn’t do to mistake you for someone else. You all look the same, after all. Your souls, though.” He drew a deep breath through clenched teeth.

Walking forward hesitantly with a last questioning look at Heloise Lieseleta neared the being. Forcing herself closer step by step, she felt a strange prickling sensation, and her nose began to bleed. Suddenly the creature stood beside her, its hand beneath her face gazing raptly at a dark drop of blood which slowly sank into the white parchmentlike skin.

Lieseleta stumbled back before gritting her teeth and facing the being head-on.

“Ah. You do have some spine, after all. I worried.” It laughed before withdrawing into the mist. As it walked back, she saw great shadowy tentacles vanish beneath the robes like the strings of a marionette extending from the dark chasm, and the last she saw were the white eyes staring sightlessly into her soul.

“You gave more than owed, and we are in debt. Lovely golden-eyed soul, your request will be granted.”