Zef gave a second and a third glance, diving down and realizing that the water near Zelsys was… Not orange. A stream of this clear water led from her into one of the pool’s drains. The amazon’s heart was beating just fine, and she opened one eye at Zef’s presence, grinning as she wrapped her arm around her, chunks of its now-broken casement floating to the bottom of the bath and drifting towards the drain. After a few minutes of embracing at the pool’s bottom, Zef finally signed that it was time to leave.

Normally, going over their usual departure time was not an issue, but Yvonne had explicitly asked them to ensure that they would be at the longhouse before a particular time, as the clan would convene to discuss further course of action. So, they returned on time and attended the meeting as they were obligated to do, finding out that the elders had collectively decided to send a followup expedition into the jungle. Zel sat as she usually did, kicking her feet up on the table and using her braids to reach for her drink, though this was a purposeful exercise that happened to also fit her purposefully haughty self-image.

Victor was conspicuously absent, having left half an hour earlier claiming to have some business in the city; in Zel’s mind, that meant he was either testing something that he thought would damage the longhouse… Or ruining Borean men for some poor girl. At least the redhead had the good judgment to send her a Tablet message after the fact…

Or rather, a series of messages:

I finally got a response out of the Ivory Scroll.

I will attempt the breakthrough tonight.

I need to be as far from Koschei as possible.

I have gone to a place of seclusion at the westmost edge of the city.

Yvonne will tell you how to find it.

Look for me if I do not return by dawn.

I am sorry for not telling you in advance.

The expedition’s main objective was to recover the bodies of the fallen and assess the danger in the area, with the extra, unwritten objective being the discovery and killing of the masked individuals who had orchestrated the ambush, should they remain in the jungle. It wasn’t unheard of; some expeditions lasted weeks, and there were even hidden settlements in the jungle, mostly far above-ground.

The matter of Jorfr’s upcoming holmgang duel with Svend Ramdall also came up, and though it caused a minor argument, it was curiously enough Fryg who put a stop to it: “I fully believe in young Jorfr’s ability to see his challenge through. Taking into account the undeniable fact of his deeds during his absence, as well as Yvonne’s testimony as to the evolution of his Traits. Despite the boundless foolishness of his decision to flee southward… It would be just as foolish to act as if he had not grown into a true man because of it. Asgeir’s brat knows not of hardship, struggle, or real battle. We shall see a heavy blow dealt to the Ramdalls through the Honor System.”

Always with that honor system. Zel wondered if the crone’s belief in the honor system was the reason for her hostile demeanor earlier. Regardless of whether it was the case, Zel couldn’t entirely trust a system that only did its job when she took care to contravene the schemes of its subverters.

Once it was all over, Zel questioned Yvonne as to where Victor had gone, receiving a complex set of instructions that would lead her through the basement of a Hulson-owned tavern and into what was effectively a bunker deep in the ice sheet.

“It is one of the most warded places available to us,” Yvonne said.

Zel and Zef returned to their room, carrying on with what they hadn’t been able to do at the baths earlier.

That night, Zelsys dreamt. She was in her mental desert, as usual, with the Primordial Self by the Thinking Self’s side. It seemed proud of itself, and it turned out that this was because it had finally found a way to nullify itching and itch-adjacent sensations.

“Was that truly enough to warrant taking us here?” the Thinking Self asked.

The Primordial Self shook its head.

A foreign figure coalesced from the sand some twenty meters before them, a crow-like voice ringing out before it even had a distinct shape: “It was I, who induced this disturbance to your slumber, o teacher of my legacy’s vessel-to-be. I am Koschei the Undying, Second King of the Ikesian Triarchy; Second only to Nameless, Master of Blackstone Equal to Hedan. I place myself at your mercy, knowing that you could cast me out with but a thought. I only ask: Is Victor safe? I was severed from him without warning and I no longer feel his presence. Where he once was, I only found an impervious Black Rod holding within it a boundless, evershifting labyrinth.”

The figure took the shape of a man with a young face and old eyes, framed by strands of red hair hanging down, the rest of his hair short and slicked back. His jaws were framed by plates of bone, he had bone plates instead of eyebrows, and a spike of it protruded from his chin like a goatee. A vertical third eye sat in the middle of his forehead, bloodshot and unnatural, with an emerald-green iris and cross-shaped pupil; his other eyes, too, were unnatural, languid yet overly perceptive, unsettling in their stillness. He wore robes wrought from stitched-together screaming faces, and in his hand was a staff of bone with a claw at the top which grasped an ocean-blue Dragonstone. The stone feverishly rolled about in its restraints before it, too, stared straight at Zel’s two halves.

“He is safe, though I do not think it will be of any relief to you. We have severed your link through antediluvian magic that even you cannot untangle,” the Thinking Self replied, half-lying. “You will not get the opportunity to interact with him until I have made sure that he possesses the same sovereignty over his own mind that I do. You have no hope of making a puppet of him, Koschei.”