As Terlin finished sending the body of the Pillar-Born away… His fiery eyes turned up to glance at the monumental human that had slain the monster. Hoplite, a mortal, had slain a demigod. According to what histories remained from the previous ages… that had never been done before. True, Terlin could only go off of the scraps of the past nine ages… but those scraps covered millennias worth of history; some of it being knowledge that only Terlin was privy to.

Watcher’s from both the day and the night approached the spot where the Pillar-Born’s body had been. Terlin prayed they wouldn’t question the fact that no ash remained after the ‘immolation.’ If any did question… Terlin would have to make them disappear, lest his plans be at risk of exposure to the Harkhall. A mortal had slain a Godling… and not a child of a lesser Pillar-God, but a son Zodd himself, an equal to Saihara and Draoi. A mere mortal should not have been able to pull off such a feat, but Hoplite was no simple man.

Hoplite was an Outworlder.

Terlin knew from his long studies that Outworlders and Pillar-Born had never walked the face of Ahkoolis at the same time. This had been an encounter never before seen, based on what Terlin had read. After over a thousand years of study, that equated to knowing practically all of preserved history. It was just… Well, it was shocking to say the least, Hoplite’s deed of slaying the Pillar-Born…

Terlin watched as Hoplite moved through the crowd of watchers, approaching that loose-leaf Lancela. The arrogant boy-child human seemed eager to close the distance between himself and Hoplite, keeping his finger close to the trigger of his thunder staff as watchers cheered for the death of the Pillar-Born. He was slightly surprised to see that none of the watchers moved to interrogate the human’s, after all, there were two trees here that had fallen.

Likely they assumed it was just the Pillar-Born’s doing, but Hoplite looked as if he were capable of knocking them down as well. The wood was currently soulless, meaning the fae within had evacuated, likely to escape the Pillar-Born. That still shouldn’t have been enough for the watcher’s to let these tree-death’s slide… but the death of the Pillar-Born at the hands of a mortal seemed to draw all their attentions.

Some did spare wistful glances for the mangled clumps of wood, but their attentions were fleeting, almost immediately going back to cheering Hoplite for his part in ending the demi-god. Terlin sneered as he watched them heap praise upon the human, as if he was an ancient elven hero of old made flesh. All save for Lancela, who was weeping like a fool. Terlin looked upon her with disdain. Weeping in front of so many fellow watchers as well as a member of the Harkhall no less?

Vile weakness ran in her blood, an incompetence that would follow her wretched lineage throughout the rest of the ages. He felt the same for the other watcher’s that wept for comrades slain by the Pillar-Born. Could they not see that they had served the Bastion with their deaths? They should be cheering for their great deeds, not weeping for their ended lives. Terlin’s glare intensified as his gaze began to take in the pitiful woman. Lancela was a mediocre watcher and an arrogant young fool who thought that effort alone could make up for her stupidity.

Hoplite then turned his helmet directly in Terlin’s direction, and his blood froze. He without a face will come… clad in the metal of the stars… He shook his head lightly and averted his gaze from the creature.

Terlin would need to hire more assassins to take care of Hoplite. Ferow the Raven had proven to be an object failure with his sad attempt at killing Hoplite. Really, was everyone but Terlin afflicted with some mental ailment? Sadly, even the Pillar-Born hadn’t been capable of putting Hoplite down, Terlin had been secretly hoping during his mist travel that Hoplite would have fallen to the creature. That would have at least meant that Terlin’s suspicions about who Hoplite was would have been false…

But now, Fire-Eyes was more certain than ever that this was the man that the old Spiral Queen had warned him about millenia ago. Hoplite would need to be killed off, or sent away to be dealt with at a distance from the Ilum tree. The problem was… who would he be able to hire that would be competent enough to kill Hoplite? Clearly, so-called ‘legends’ like that fool Ferow weren’t good enough, and even the mighty demi-god had failed to bring down the Outworlder… He grit his teeth angrily, his fists clenched as he glared at a spot on the ground, pondering if he should turn it to glass right there.

Terlin didn’t know if he could bring himself to attempt slaying Hoplite. Their battle may trigger the event the Spiral Queen had warned Terlin of. No, that fight had to be avoided at all costs, and that meant that Hoplite and Terlin must never come to blows directly.

Terlin felt rage and indignation at the unfamiliar cold terror welling within his chest… Certainly he couldn’t actually be afraid of Hoplite? No… Terlin could not deceive himself, he feared this metal-clad human… More so than anything Terlin had faced in his one-thousand and three-hundred years.

Despair quickly began to replace fear in his heart, but before it could fester, Terlin burnt it away with the flames of his sheer rancor and determination.

Terlin had to remind himself that a Spiral Queen’s prophecy was never set in stone. They merely saw potential futures, not definitive ones. He remembered what the old hag had told him, that the ‘future’ technically didn’t exist, only the present. She merely had predicted a ‘potential future present’, in her own words.

He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, ensuring that none of the nearby watchers would be able to see the fear in his eyes. Would Terlin die soon? If Hoplite really was the one the Spiral Queen warned of…

“Clad in the metal of the stars he will come, without face, without respect for your ways.” The words of the distant past echoing through his mind, clear as the day he had first heard them.

Terlin tried to stop thinking of his encounter with the Spiral Queen, but the rest of her prophecy seemed to follow after him as he began to leave. Once the fear was properly killed and buried, Terlin’s rage was the only emotion left to be seen in his eyes. Watchers parted at his furious glare, the sound of cheers for Hoplite following after him but not being near loud enough to drown out the next verse of the Spiral Queen’s prophecy.

“He will come, bearing weapons unheard and being short of word.”

When Terlin was well enough away from the gathering crowd of watchers, he drew Foundation, building the House of Kyria to turn his flesh to mist. Terlin then sped through the forest as a cloud of translucent vapor, seeing more watchers darting towards the site of the Pillar-Born and Hoplite’s battle. Terlin flowed faster than even a prized Akan-Dari horse could sprint, eager to reach his destination as quickly as he could. No watcher noticed Terlin’s form, and he moved to avoid any that drew to close. Terlin would have no interruptions impeding him, for he needed to reach where he had sent that corpse as soon as possible. It was hard for him to rise any higher than ground level in mist-form, but it was faster than simply running and Terlin would not tire.

“He will come, to burn the tree and to bring death to thee, Terlin Fire-Eyes, this is what I see.”

The words made Terlin want to grit his teeth, but being entirely made up of mist prevented him from letting out his anger that way. Something had to be done… but he couldn’t tell the Harkhall of his meeting with the Spiral Queen millennia ago. If the Harkmother even suspected that Terlin had spoken with one of those wretched hags… If she knew what Terlin was about to do with the Pillar-Born…

Terlin would be executed and stripped out of the histories. He would need to be more clandestine about this affair. Terlin would have to try and push and prod the Harkhall to do his bidding for their own good. If he couldn't bring the Hall to heel, the Ilum tree would burn.

And he would not allow that to happen.

He began to formulate schemes that could get the ball rolling as he finally came upon where he had sent the snapped corpse of the Pillar-Born. He had teleported the body to the interior of Terlin’s own personal living tree… one that not even the Harkhall knew about. This would be for a different plot altogether, but it would be one that was also necessary for the preservation of the Ilum tree… Terlin would not change his course, no matter how forbidden or vile his actions might turn out to be.

The fates of the Faewood and the Ilum Tree rested on his shoulders alone.

When he found the body within the tree, Terlin began, drawing on Foundation and building the House of Dandeonla… before promptly tearing his own eyes from their sockets.

…

…

…

Lance collapsed on her bed as soon as she passed the threshold into her bedroom. Night had fallen, and the dim green light of Rehtyna seeped through her open window. The walls, ceiling and floor were all made of the same hard gnarled wood as the rest of the interior of the living tree. Certain sections had been carved into and out of the wood (with the fae’s consent of course) to operate as furniture. A chair sat next to a desk seemingly grown out of the floor of her room, a shelf of old books filling a carved shelf above it. The frame of her feather filled mattress was a square hole, cut deep and wide enough for the Akan-Dari feather mattress she was currently being devoured by.

It felt like it had been forever since Lance had been back in her tree.

In truth, it had only been mere days since she had met Hoplite after he came crashing out of the sky like a giant cosmic pebble, but it just… it felt longer than that. Maybe it was because she had been awake ever since meeting Hoplite. The passage of time felt much longer to elves than the other races. Not having to sleep every day had to be the reason, in Lance's own opinion.

She had heard the common opinions among the elves of the Bastion, and Lance knew that they didn't share her views on the passage of time. They all thought time flowed slower for elves simply because they were the 'wisest race'.

Ridiculous in her opinion. Wisdom didn't affect one's perception on how quickly time flowed. She sighed as she sunk deeper into her bed of down feathers, her eyes growing heavy as sleep attempted to claim her.

Normally Lance didn’t tire out this soon after awakening… but with all that has happened, the Starfall, the meeting with Hoplite and the days of constantly fighting off fiends in the woods, the encounter with the Pillar-Born and the death of Muro… it was all proving to be just a bit too much. She was bone-tired, and the only solution would be to sink into unconsciousness.

That would be nice… for today had felt like it had lasted fifty years. The first thing that happened after hearing of Muro’s untimely death was dealing with all the praise that had been heaped onto her for helping slay the Pillar-Born. Hoplite and Michael had received their own fair share of praise, but Hoplite hadn’t reacted at all to their words in the slightest. Michael had stayed cautious around the strangers, but eased up from having his finger next to the trigger of his rifle at least.

Lance sighed and then grabbed a pillow, pressing it to her face as the warmth of embarrassment rushed to her cheeks. That much praise from people she had been working to earn the respect of for centuries was… unexpected and overwhelming, to say the least. Hearing their applause hadn’t softened the blow of Muro’s death however, and Lance had begun weeping harder once they noticed Lance’s state and tried to comfort her. Then there was the meeting with the Harkhall to request leave…

Thankfully, Terlin hadn’t been there. The Harkmother had said that Terlin had not come back to the Hall after he went after Tuji the Pillar-Born. Perhaps Fire-Eyes had wanted to rest…? That didn’t feel right… Terlin always had a stick in his rear, he never missed Hall duties unless something really important was happening. Maybe he was studying the Ends of Ages by Marlego Arelun to better understand what the Hall was going to face in the coming days?

A rare book that, one she hadn’t been allowed even to touch. Though that was likely because it was in Terlin’s possession, and Fire-Eyes had a vendetta against her. Then again… Fire-Eyes seemed to have a vendetta against everyone that wasn’t him. Lance doubted he would share any of his books with anyone, not even with the Harkmother herself, if she were to ask. He was a selfish elf, that was to say the least.

It was a good thing that he wasn’t there really, for the Hall granted Lance her request of leave unanimously. She was still going to be responsible for keeping an eye on Hoplite if he had to pass through the Faewood again, but other than that, Lance was free to begin her… would the term be vacation?

Yes, vacation. If vacations typically took place on cursed continents of unknown horrors that was.

Then there was the death-day celebration she had to prepare for after coming home… Lance had made sure to complete all her weeping before the party, as to not taint the merry with tears. She had readied her old Ilum leaf dress for this occasion, pulling it out of a forgotten box covered with a thick layer of dust.

It would be somewhat… embarrassing to wear it tomorrow. The skirt was shorter than she remembered it being, ending well above the knee and showing a bit too much shoulder to be proper. Yet this was the fanciest clothing she had, and Lance would not be wearing her watcher attire to the celebration.

She had invited Hoplite and Michael, but Hoplite seemed intent on returning to his pod to restock on ammunition. Michael had simply shrugged and told her that he ‘just followed the big guy’ and left after Hoplite. Yet… Hoplite would get that all done tonight for certain, and he hadn’t outright said 'no' to appearing at the death-celebration.

It was not taboo for elven funeral parties to allow for outsiders to attend. The more people that were at a death-party the better. Human funerals again from what she heard, were not like this at all. They kept outsiders away from the deceased, not allowing anyone to get to know the person who had died through the mouth of family and friends to help share the burden of mourning. It was strange to Lance, but who was she to judge? She was certain that humans would view elven funerals as strange and perhaps even offensive.

She sighed again, removing the pillow from her face and staring up at her ceiling. It was a good thing she washed before this… Lance had been feeling sticky and gross for a long while before she had finally bathed. She felt like a new elf after getting cleaned, and her watcher’s garment should dry sometime tomorrow when the sun is high. Yes while…

Lance’s thoughts turned to mud as her green eyes began to follow the gnarled patterns of wood on her ceiling around in circles until finally she fell asleep.

When next she awoke, the night was just beginning to show its age, the sun only now starting to rise on the horizon. She sat up and stretched, feeling refreshed after getting a full two hours of rest. All the other races on Ahkoolis had to sleep around eight hours or more every day as opposed to just once every two weeks… she struggled to think on how much time she would lose out on her life if she had to sleep that much. Humans especially loved their sleep… Really, humans were no different than cats, constantly napping.

As she rose from her bed, Lance yawned. The weeping was done, and now it was time to get ready to party for Muro. If Hoplite and Michael wanted to come, they knew where they would have to go to meet her. Lance stripped to her shift, and donned the Ilum leaf dress, seeing that yes, it left much of her legs exposed. Perhaps not as racey as what an Akan-Dari woman would wear, but still far too short for Lance’s comfort.

Besides that, the dress had two sections, with a purple winter Ilum leaf making up the thin straps over her shoulders and hanging over her chest, and a green summer Ilum leaf beneath it that attempted to cover her legs and midriff. A bit exposing for public wear yes, but it was for a special occasion and this was the most formal clothing she had on hand.

Still though… Why was the skirt so short?

Then it hit her. This dress was originally sized for her when she was merely fifteen… well before her growth spurt. Of course! She would never have had a dress made that would expose so much, it was just that she had outgrown it! It had been over two-hundred years since she had worn it, so it was no surprise that she had nearly forgotten. Nodding to herself, she smiled.

It was time to head to the death-celebration for night-watch captain Muro, and she was going to party like never before in his honor. Before she went to the foot of the Ilum tree for the event, Lance would go to the place where Hoplite and Michael would meet her… should they decide to come.

She walked a long while, her legs feeling chilly from the cool morning until the heat of this short hike began to warm her up. Eventually, she came upon the clearing where she would meet the two of them, and here she would wait for an hour for the pair to appear. Lance had told them exactly where to find this place after they came back into the Bastion.

It was recognizable as well, for an Akan-Dari carpenter had been contracted to build a fountain here in the clearing, a short wall of red brick encircling the magnificent white marble construction. Flowers of all kinds surrounded the fountain, water lightly sprinkling the colorful petals as it spewed high in the air.

No one but Lance was in the clearing… How many watchers had been slain that elves would be absent from this spot? It was a very popular gathering place… but she supposed that the potential end of the world and the several death-day celebrations would likely be occupying everyone’s time.

Lance adjusted her skirt, and leaned back against the waist-high brick wall.

And she waited.

She waited for ten minutes… then thirty, and finally, when she was about to take her leave to head for the location of Muro’s death-day, they appeared. Lance saw Hoplite first, clad in his armor as always, the black plates catching the morning light of the rising sun with a glint. Michael walked right beside him, waving at Lance with his rifle nowhere to be seen.

As they drew closer, she turned her head and clutched a handful of her hair nervously in one hand.

Her face grew warm when she became all too aware of her exposed skin… what would they say about her in this state of dress? Despite the thought, she smiled.

They would be coming to the party after all.