Artur sat in the dank and smelly altar, where the iron and rot of the blood pooling on the floor pervaded every inch of this place. He had refused to follow Argrave into the other realm not once, but twice. He didn’t think the king judged him for that fact, but it still weighed as his mind. He could not quite say why he followed the man into the portal leading to the vast steppes yet not the elven realm… and he hoped that would not make the king hold a grudge.

But waiting here was dreadfully boring. He was glad to have the chance to recover his magic, at the very least.

As he started to drift off, a voice cracked into Artur’s hearing, rousing him immediately.

“Artur Nibwyrm,” the woman said, and he jerked his head upwards to attention.

A white-haired woman with amber eyes stood before him. Upon seeing elven ears he briefly thought the queen had returned to him here, but her voice sounded nothing like the calm and even Anneliese’s. This woman… she was a monstrous spellcaster. People like Castro and Rowe were overwhelming, but Artur had never seen an earthly parallel to the sheer quantity of magic this woman exuded. Immediately, he came to attention, fruitless though it felt to try and defend against her weakened as he was.

“…who are you?” he demanded cautiously when she did nothing.

The woman held up a piece of paper and tossed it. It glided like a jellyfish through water, floating down towards Artur with eerie, unearthly grace. He was alarmed, but he did catch it. And when his fingers met the page, the woman burst into black mist, vanishing like she never was. Artur’s breath quickened, and though he looked around in alarm saw no sign of her anywhere.

Artur eventually swallowed and looked down at what she had handed him. It was a decadent thing as far as paper goes—gold trim, a wax seal. But what made Artur’s heart pound quicker was the fact that it was enchanted. This was no cheap enchanted scroll one might buy in a corner shop for a party trick. This was an elaborate enchantment, deep and rich enough Artur thought its like could only fit onto metal. It was far beyond what he was capable of.

The Magister looked around once again for the elven woman, but seeing he was alone opened the page. he read through it, and as he neared the end, his hands began to tremble. And when he read the last page and closed his eyes, the thing degraded before his very eyes. He didn’t seem alarmed at this—rather, it seemed he expected that. Artur’s eyes gleamed with a thousand colors, and he trembled in uncertainty.

#####

“I told you I could get you what you wanted, didn’t I?” Argrave said even as Merata seemed liable to mince him. “I can’t rebuild the elven empire of old. But I can give it a second chance in the new generation.”

“Are you fearless or ignorant? I cannot tell,” Gunlik joked from behind, leaning on his bow.

“Ganbaatar said it himself. He thinks I’m the greatest hope for the future of the elves,” Argrave pointed to his still-angry companion with his thumb. “With Kirel Qircassia coming, and his coalition surely nipping at his heels… do you think the way to restoration for your people is to kowtow before overwhelming force? Even now, I have little doubt those you call Woodschildren fight against the servants freed from Kirel’s realm. If one side is winning handily, why would there be a need to sue for peace? This is no equal struggle—this is his first wave of conquest.”

Merata’s red eyes narrowed. “A mortal younger than my shortest hair knows nothing of the judgment.”

Argrave nodded. “I’ve never been through one. But I’ve spoken to others who’ve been through it, and they imparted vast amounts of knowledge unto me.” He looked back to Ganbaatar. “The reason why your gods lost contact with those in the Bloodwoods is simple: their position here was weak. Their primary focus was surviving the cycle, and so communication and presence in the mortal realm suffered. In the last hundred years or so, it’s degraded over the years into no presence at all.”

Argrave felt something against his throat. When he turned his head in surprise, he saw Merata holding a crook, its hook already wrapped around his neck. “Knowledge of our situation should inspire caution, not boldness. You are weak. I could kill you with a twist of my wrist alone, and this is despite weakening myself greatly manifesting in this… limited body. Why do you claim to be a help? Why does a human of no grand capability claim to be the spark that would ignite the roaring flame of a dead empire?”

“It’s very simple. I know the mortal realm better than most everyone in it, and I have the freedom to do as I like,” Argrave said, making no effort to free his neck from its precarious position. “Whether Erlebnis, Fellhorn, or a Gilderwatcher ancestor of mine… I’ve soaked up knowledge from all like no other. I know enough of this realm alone that reciting it all would take days.”

Merata narrowed his eyes yet kept the crook firm beside his neck. Dairi, goddess of water, walked up behind and listened closely with her arms crossed.

“The cycle of judgement is the only time everyone is truly mortal,” Argrave carried on unflinchingly. “And though you are very far removed from those already living on the mortal realm… there, you’re not all-knowing. But if you know your opponents, if you know the land, if you know weaknesses and strengths, strategies, quantities, qualities… even a small force can best an overwhelming one.”

“Knowledge,” Merata said lightly, half a question and half a deriding statement.

“Knowledge,” Argrave nodded, chin bumping against the crook. “You’ve seen some of it. I travelled through the Mother’s Steppe of the centaurs to reach your altars. There, I used souls to open the gates. And I offered a medallion stolen from Fellhorn to rouse Chiteng,” Argrave looked back to the still-standing god of flesh and blood. “Do you think that was something I stumbled into by accident? Of course not. I knew how to come here. And I know much and more besides, I promise you. Enough to do exactly as I claim and more.”

Merata twisted his wrist, and the crook came free of Argrave’s neck. He hid it back inside his long flowing hair adroitly as though it never was.

“I keep my promises,” Argrave continued, though inwardly his heart stopped pounding as his safety felt more certain. “I promised Ganbaatar something. I promised him a land where his people would be the only ones within… a land where the centaurs and all other foul beasts making the Bloodwoods named thusly are absent, without exception. The centaurs betrayed you nearly a millennia ago, as I remember. It might sting to think of cooperating with another race.”

“Sting?” Gunlik repeated, and the fire on his bowstring burned brighter. “No, it itches. It’s a rash that needs to be burned away, utterly. A shame that needs to die.”

“…be that as it may,” Argrave continued, “The four I sent to rouse the rest of you—you saw them, surely. Elves, one and all, though of a different descendance than your Woodschildren. One is my wife. I don’t care about heritage, dignity, or pride. I’m just trying to ensure me and mine survive this cycle of judgement. And I hope I can count all of you in that number.”

Words of survival and togetherness seemed to resonate with the gods… though whether it made them angry or contemplative, Argrave couldn’t tell.

As the silence hung, Argrave suggested, “My first act would only benefit you. Freedom to act on the mortal realm before others is a boon not even Kirel Qircassia might expect, and I can offer it to you without expecting anything in return. When your divine forms alight upon soil beyond this realm… perhaps, then, you will believe my claims of knowledge.”

“I will get the others in line,” Merata said before Argrave even finished speaking.

He blinked for a few moments, confused. “You agree?”

“You claim to know so much, but you know not when words spoken inspire agreement?” Merata raised a brow.

“No, it’s just… generally these things aren’t decided on so quickly and unilaterally,” Argrave defended.

“Because you deal with mortal minds,” Merata nodded. “But joining the Qircassian Coalition is no option at all. My family are survivors. We intend to be more. We were like you, once. Leaders of many. Now… the cycles pass us by.” He turned. “Who will all of you speak to?”

“The sisters,” Dairi said, then walked away.

“I suppose I’ll speak to father,” Gunlik said, hefting his bow up.

“That leaves me with our brothers,” Merata finished, turning back. “Chiteng shall give you an item of our favor.”

Argrave blinked. He had intended to ask for that. “Yes, I—”

“Then go, return,” Merata pointed with his crook. “If things are as you say, and you intend to grant us freedom to act on the mortal realm before the arbiter thins the barrier enough for us to pass… then go. Tell Chiteng your plan. He has introduced you—he can serve as intermediary. All of us are in agreement.”

Argrave was pleased things were moving so quickly until he remembered that Nikoletta might need more time. Still, his breath caught in his mouth as the whole of them turned and left, leaving Argrave with Chiteng alone. He turned to look at Ganbaatar, hoping he had yet more to say. The abrupt shift surprised them both, it seemed.

“Go,” Chiteng said, then walked away too.

“Hold on,” Argrave stopped Chiteng. “With Erlebnis… should I…? I mean, you told me to be subtle, but was that really alright to leave it like that?”

“Do not mention it again,” Chiteng stopped. “Say nothing. Think nothing. Do nothing.”

Argrave was taken aback, but he nodded. Chiteng straightened and added, “…it does no good to stir the waters. Put it out of your mind.”

Argrave was surprised that the elven god had justified himself, but could ask nothing more before he walked away. With a heavy responsibility so one-sidedly dumped on him without proper communication, Argrave stood there nearly babbling. But he was reminded of the jeopardy his friend might be enduring, and so stepped back towards where he’d come with purpose.

“You’re content with that?” Ganbaatar asked. “Those… vainglorious people threatening, then taking advantage of you?”

Argrave didn’t speak, passing beneath the portcullis where only Orion and Chiteng’s servant waited.

“Come. Let us return,” the red-robed elven woman said, then turned and walked. Argrave looked to Orion, but his brother looked as clueless to their whereabouts as he was. As they followed down the road, Argrave’s gaze wandered the tiered garden in desperation, fearing what he might find… or might not.

He walked mutely, thinking of some excuse he might have to go out searching in the gardens. Had he asked too much of them? The thought felt like a millstone about his neck, but he saw not a sign of the pair even as they proceeded further.

As they neared the docks where the whale waited, Argrave’s footsteps slowed, and he looked back. Weak excuses bubbled from his mind, yet he feared to say any of them. But he had to go back, search. He could not leave them.

“What are you standing about for?” came a derisive woman’s voice.

Argrave looked back and saw Mina step around the corner, emerging from an illusion. Shortly after, he saw Nikoletta’s pink eyes gleaming out of the shadow.

“We waited near the docks. That place was uncomfortable,” Nikoletta said, breaking past the illusion.

“You’re supposed to be A-rank, but you didn’t notice me,” Mina chided him. “I think I’m in the lead, Grave.”

He didn’t respond as he stared at Nikoletta, wide-eyed and hopeful. She gave a small, knowing nod with a smile on her face as she tapped a satchel on her side, and unadulterated joy welled up in his chest. She’d succeeded. He stepped forth and ruffled her short hair.

“Had me worried there,” he told her enthusiastically. “Didn’t want to fish your skeleton out of some hungry plant.”

As Nikoletta smiled, Mina said, “You would’ve. But I was there.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Argrave walked away, loosely guiding Nikoletta with his arm on her shoulder.

Despite the delicate situation, everything was going well. Perhaps this disastrous arrival of Kirel would be salvaged splendidly, and he’d earn steadfast allies in the Bloodwoods. The fact remained that, though he’d talked of expelling Kirel Qircassia… that was a monumental task, and bore heavy implications on the future of the whole battle against Gerechtigkeit.

But surely that would be the worst challenge faced here.