Ar'Kendrithyst

Erick channeled mana through [Plasma Cutter], then through Mana Altering for Fire, then through [Conjure Weapon], then through [Telekinesis]. [Plasma Cutter] was a combination of all of those spells, but picking out the ‘Plasma’ from the rest was a difficult task, not unlike isolating a background rhythm from a song, that was also repeated in the main chorus, and also a part of the lyrics. It was actually too much for him, on his own. So he summoned help, dismissing some of the superfluous Ophiel from Candlepoint and resummoning them to his side.

Ophiel’s help was immeasurable. Once they got going, Erick was sure he couldn’t have done this without them.

The four part song of [Plasma Cutter] came apart under Ophiel’s perfect pitch, each piece of the spell vibrating the air around each Ophiel. Erick discarded the sounds that did not fit ‘Plasma’. Then he moved on to the next part of picking apart Plasma.

With two Ophiel singing before him, one in chorus with itself and Mana Altering for Fire, while the other sang of something purer, both less percussive destructive and higher energy, Erick was sure the second sound was pure ‘Plasma’.

Ah, this was magic. It was nice.

Erick folded the sounds of Plasma into [Force Bolt] and [Force Wave], gifting parts to each Ophiel around him, guiding the VCVD sounds in there as well, like adding a reverb or an echo chamber to the magic; something to pulse the power high, then even higher, but to keep it all contained to a small Bolt, that would then release in a wave, in the target. Agile and easy going, yet containing as much energy as Erick wanted to put into the working. Maybe even enough energy to turn anything it touched to Plasma.

Ophiels’ songs rose to a crescendo, as each feathered [Familiar] caught the harmony all at once, and the idea crystallized.

Erick didn’t even point. The spell took hold in the air between him and his Ophiel. It was a speck of white that flowed warmth into the breeze, as it lazily, rapidly, curved through the air like a cart at the top of a rollercoaster, dropping toward its stone pillar target, almost happily, leaving a rush of wind in its wake. It missed the target, but curved, almost impossibly, spinning around the pillar once before it was inexorably drawn down to strike.

It struck.

The stone pillar was a small one. Only five meters tall by two meters wide, and only a football field away. [Force Bolt]s would normally do nothing to anything of that size. [Force Wave] was a lot better at affecting a target of that size, but this spell had erred more to Bolt, than to Wave.

The bolt of white plasma splashed across the surface of the pillar, causing a minor explosion as a half meter section of stone blasted from the whole, sending chunks of rock to the sand below.

A blue box appeared.

True Plasma Bolt, instant, long range, 50 mana + Variable

A bolt of plasma inexorably strikes a target, imparting 2x Variable heat energy.

High Variables may lead to odd effects.

Erick said, “Ah ha! [True Plasma Bolt].” He turned back to Kiri. Her eyes were already wide, as he handed her the blue box, saying, “Inexorably strikes a target. I guess ‘True’ and ‘Inexorably’ are higher key words than ‘Pure’ and ‘Unerringly’?”

Kiri blinked at the box, saying, “That second part is worrying.”

Teressa looked over Kiri’s shoulder, reading along with her. She asked, “How much mana was that?”

Poi, who was wide awake now, rapidly said, “Please step behind the [Prismatic Ward] before you launch a full powered one.”

Erick smiled at the three of them, as he took a step into the dense air, saying, “About a hundred mana. But now that I have the box, Clarity and 10% reduced spell costs comes into effect.” He paused. He hummed, “But not for Ophiel, I guess.” He turned back toward the pillar, and stuck his hand out of the dense air, saying, “I can spend 4000 and achieve the same effect as Ophiel would—”

Poi said, “Use Ophiel! On a pillar a good kilometer away!”

“Oh fine.” Erick lowered his hand. With a thought, all four Ophiel joined him in the dense air, as he summoned a fresh [Familiar]. The newest Ophiel flew out into the sky, gaining distance. With a little control and direction, Erick guided him to find a target—

There! A mimic; tall spiky crystal, sitting on top of a low dune, just past another low dune. He couldn’t see it from his current position, but the monster was far enough away that the spell shouldn’t reach. Erick guessed two kilometers, distant. That was far enough. Erick smiled, as Ophiel cast, with 99 percent of his mana, leaving just enough stability in his form for Erick to watch a half second of the spell’s emergence from the manasphere. The wind and heat of the white dot destroyed Ophiel.

Erick’s vision returned to his body. He watched, transfixed, as the space where the Ophiel had been became a disharmony of burning atmosphere and casual lightning surrounding a sparking white dot; a flashing white spider of power that zoomed to the ground like the world’s most dangerous toddler. It touched down behind the intervening dune before Erick could raise a [Scry] orb to watch.

The explosion was visible enough, anyway.

Fire pulsed into the air. Lightning arced. A shockwave passed through the world, rumbling the ground under Erick’s feet, like someone had dropped a meteor just beyond the horizon. And someone had. Sort of.

“Holy—!” Kiri cut herself off as she summoned a Sunny that instantly blipped away.

Erick did the same with an Ophiel on hand, to see the destruction.

The crater was not that big. Maybe only a meter deep and a few meters wide. Bits of blackened, half-melted sand, littered the area, but there was nothing else. The mimic was gone, completely. Erick searched the surrounding area, trying to find some crystalline spike or some other remnant of the mimic. But there was nothing. He came back to himself.

Kiri was already back to herself. She looked to Erick, and simply said, “You obliterated it.”

Erick thought back to Syllea’s dice, rolling ‘Air’ as much as it did. He said, “I think… I would say I vaporized it.”

Teressa smiled, saying, “And also fried and burned and turned to ash.”

“The lightning and the fire were side effects of both the particle soup nature of the spell, as well as the energy involved.” Erick looked to the spell box for [True Plasma Bolt], saying, “I don’t think I could have gotten a better result if I had gone the Particle Spell creation route. This is a really clean spell.” He turned to Teressa. “I never asked, but can you go through a [Witness] slowly, to see a scene as it played out, exactly?”

“Of course.” Teressa eyed the area where Erick had killed the mimic, saying, “Want a scene of it?”

Erick smiled. “Yes.”

“Kay. One sec.” Teressa blinked, rapidly, as she settled onto her feet, balancing herself, breathing normally, then slowly. Her emerald eyes turned grey, the same color as her [Conjure Armor], as her short blonde hair tousled on a breeze that was not there. For three seconds, she stopped blinking, and stared into infinity. She came back to herself just as fast, blinking again. She sighed. She looked to Erick, saying, “There’s some degradation because of the mana involved, but here you go.”

Teressa formed a telepathic connection between them, showing him what had just happened, but from a much nicer position, and all slow-mo. [True Plasma Bolt] was quite pretty from this angle. If there was degradation somewhere, Erick didn’t see it.

Lightning wreathed the white-dot bolt as it flew into the center mass of the mimic. Parts of the mimic burned well before the bolt struck, either from electrical flickers, or from pure radiant heat. But then the bolt struck. The white dot seemed to soak into the mimic, flickering even more lightning as it sunk into the barely moving beast. Here was where the degradation started. Parts of the image were simply not there, like scattered blind spots. Erick still saw more than enough, though.

White light flashed from the center of the monster all the way to the crystalline white-blue leaves, causing the interior to cloud, then bubble, then burn with bright white fire. White fire turned yellow, then orange, then red, fast, flashing from the inside out. Steam erupted from every structural weak point. Plant matter turned to kindling.

The mimic exploded from every bit of itself, at the same time.

Erick came back to himself

Teressa smiled, saying, “That’s a powerful spell.”

Erick agreed, “It’s a proper Shade killer.”

Kiri said, “I think I need to go back to the chalkboard… and the books. Are you going to make any more spells?”

“… Not right now.” Erick said, “I want to get dinner started.”

- - - -

On the dark steps leading up to the only round roofed building in Candlepoint, an envelope had appeared on the ground, on the top of the top step. The first time someone noticed it was in the evening, when the clouds above turned the afternoon to twilight, but before it got truly dark. Maybe the letter had appeared between shifts, when almost everyone was asleep. Or maybe it had appeared between the blinks of one of the guards on the scene, who had not truly been awake until the full sun had waned to something less.

It was a well made envelope, slightly off white, like bone, perhaps. It was obviously hand crafted to some degree, as the grain of paper fibers was visible in the envelope. It was not unadorned, either. Black triangles, that some might call open fangs, and other, less knowledgeable people might call simple lines of triangles, had been printed around the full edge of the envelope, in black ink. That same dark ink had been used to write the name of the recipient in the center of the letter, in beautiful calligraphy.

The letter now sat in Mephistopheles’ office, surrounded by the powers that had arisen in Candlepoint.

Ava flicked a hand at the letter, saying, “What’s the big deal? It says ‘To Erick’. Burn the damn thing or give it to him.”

Zaraanka said, “It is not a simple letter.” She sighed. “It is a problem.”

“Obviously!” Ava imperiously said, “But this ‘meeting’ is inane. This letter is not our problem.” She added, “Not directly, anyway. But I can put a few clues together. I assume, from your reactions, that this is from a Shade?”

Valok and Slip watched the proceeding, silent.

Zaraanka, her grey eyes wide, said, “Yes.”

Mephistopheles explained, “These letters go out every year, to every Shade, officially requesting their presence at the Spire, for the official celebration of Shadow’s Feast. If an invited Shade does not go, they lose face. To put it simply: Overt predation against them becomes the norm.” He gestured to the letter, saying, “This is addressed to Erick. He is already a target. If we give this to him, he will… I don’t know what he’ll do. If he’s smart, he’ll stay away. He might be smart.” Mephistopheles said, “But if he doesn’t go, and since he is Untouchable, they will come for us. Knives in the shadows, or worse, just to prove how much power they have. So...” He looked to the group. “We need to convince him to accept this invitation.”

Valok spoke up, “No.” He stared at the letter. “Burn that shit.”

Mephistopheles said, “We knew something like this was coming. We all talked about this—”

“I did not,” Ava said.

“You weren’t here yet,” Mephistopheles said.

“That does not matter. I can guess what your ‘talk’ included.” Ava added, “Do not summarily include me in your schemes for self-preservation, Mephistopheles. If we do this against our benefactor— If we capitulate to implied threats, we prove that we cannot be treated as people capable of working against Ar’Kendrithyst—”

Mephistopheles slapped his hand against the table, next to the letter, saying, “There is no ‘working against Ar’Kendrithyst’! You don’t remember a damned thing, do you? How old are you? 200? 300? You forget your time working in the Dead City because it was too much for you to remember. But it happened. OHHHhh! Believe me! It happened. It happened to all of us. I remember.”

“You are both correct.” Zaraanka stared daggers at the envelope. “But we were already doomed when this whole Candlepoint plan came about. We should burn the letter and attempt to distance ourselves from Ar’Kendrithyst as much as we can. Some of us will survive.”

Mephistopheles said, “The Shades won’t even harm him. Physically, anyway. This is their opening move against him.” He looked to Ava, but caught everyone with his words, “We all knew this was coming, even if you weren’t part of the meeting. If you didn’t recognize this possibility, you don’t deserve to be in this room.”

Ava scowled, saying, “My decision is to burn the letter.”

Slip spoke for the first time. “You say that because it’s not your eternal soul on the line, Ava. You’re not a shadeling anymore.” He added, “I don’t think they would overtly harm him, either.”

“You’re wrong.” Zaraanka said, “They will, and no one will see it coming.”

Ava almost spoke.

Mephistopheles cut Ava off, saying, “You’re free to tell him whatever you want to tell him. I’ll just be telling him the full, complete truth of the matter, as I work to get him to accept this invitation.” He added, “Besides! No one has looked inside, yet.” He flipped the letter over, revealing an intact black wax seal, still undulating with securing spells. “The seal is intact. Maybe it’s good news?”

Zaraanka laughed; a dark sound.

Silence descended upon the room.

Valok said, “I think he should go.”

Ava sharply inhaled, turning to the man. “Valok! I thought you were his friend?”

Valok eyed Ava, saying, “Why are you even arguing for not telling him?” He said, “This is outside of our decision—”

Zaraanka said, “That is false. It was dropped here, in Candlepoint. We are a part of this decision. Burn it, and forget you ever saw it.”

“The next attempt at communication will not go as smooth as this.” Mephistopheles said, “If he shuns them, we will die.”

More silence.

Ava said, “I see the value in convincing him to go—”

Zaraanka glared at Ava. “You just said you wanted to burn the letter!”

“I know what I said. I also wasn’t done speaking.” Ava continued, “But I said that because Mephistopheles was shoving us all in one direction, and I needed to be contrary to see what the true opinions of the room were.” She looked to the red horned man, saying, “He is gathering power to himself and everyone is letting it happen.”

Mephistopheles said, “Be reasonable, Ava.”

“I am being eminently reasonable. I’m the sewermaster. Zaraanka is headed toward leading both guilds. Slip is the guard, and Valok is the farmer. I thought that you were the leader.” She stared at Mephistopheles, saying, “But you have too readily jumped on this plan of convincing Erick to go, and that doesn’t sit right with me. A leader should look out for their people, and Erick is the only reason this town hasn’t been destroyed by everyone around us. You lead him to a trap. Zaraanka is right, we are a part of this decision, by its very nature of being delivered to the steps of this building, instead of the hundred other ways it could have been delivered directly to Erick.”

Zaraanka nodded.

If one were looking closely, they would see Zaraanka’s usual pink dress was of a distinctly higher quality than before.

Ava added, “That said. We should give Erick this letter and if he asks us, we should tell him what we know, and let him decide.”

Zaraanka exclaimed, “What!”

Ava said, “There is no way we’re keeping this from him, Zaraanka. Mephistopheles is correct about that much. But feel free to tell him it's a trap, because it most assuredly is. I will be telling him this much, if he asks.”

More silence.

Some stared at each other. Some stared at the letter. All thought their own silent thoughts.

Mephistopheles asked, “What is our decision?”

- - - -

While Erick rained on the farms, cleared a few more clusters of violet eels, [Mend]ed and [Cleanse]d constantly across all of Candlepoint whenever anyone came to an Ophiel with a problem, he also cooked dinner, in his kitchen, for his daughter, his guest Justine, and his people. Kiri helped by making the desserts; a nice lemon cake with buttercream frosting. Partway through, Kiri asked why there weren’t more sour and sweet deserts; she quite liked the flavor of sour citrus when it was inside some confection. Erick spoke of how he had once thought of making a sugar empire; he could certainly grow enough sugar cactus if he wanted, all on his own.

Jane came in and had some jerky while Erick cooked, saying, “I still don’t have my chocolate yet, dad.”

“Ugh. Chocolate.” Erick sighed, saying, “Chocolate is a pain in the ass. Did you see the tarip trees out front?”

Jane shook her head.

Erick asked, “Do you remember what chocolate tasted like?”

“Barely. I was hoping you’d make some so I could remember.” Jane mocked disappointment, adding to the effect by saying, “I am very disappointed.”

Erick leveled a sarcastic glare at his daughter.

Kiri said, “It’s hard to make new flavors. Almost all the plants out there were made by someone who fell to Veird in the Sundering, back at the beginning. Sure, there’ve been new varieties. But evolution hasn’t had time to properly function; to create new varieties for people to find in exploration.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Jane said, “[Grow] makes new plants all the time. Dad made ninety percent of those plants out there in the garden.”

Kiri frowned, as she folded whipped eggs into batter, saying, “Most new [Grow]-created plants turn out poisonous, or nasty. Erick has done surprisingly well. I hear the potato is causing a cultural overhaul over in the Republic.”

Jane snorted. “You went and recreated the Great Potato Famine, dad.”

Erick scowled. “They can make new varieties!”

“Of course they can make new varieties. Mostly. I heard from my mother that they’ve got priests of Atunir working diligently on that—” Kiri looked to Jane, then Erick, then a light clicked. She said, “Oh! Your world only had the one variety?”

“Not really. Just that one good variety got spread around to a lot of poor people, and no one bothered to plant anything except the best. Some disease spread and killed the potatoes. Famine killed the people.” Erick said, “There are hundreds of potato varieties now.”

“And soon there will be hundreds of varieties of potatoes, here, too,” Kiri said, dumping cake batter into greased tins.

Jane said, “Let’s talk chocolate. Have you tried the tarip plants out there?”

“Have you tried them?” Erick stuck out his tongue as he made a face, saying, “Tarip is disgusting!”

Kiri laughed, as she re-cast a [Temperature Ward] in the hot box that was the oven. Erick guessed that the quicksilver thermometer in the front of the space, must have shown that the original [Heat Ward] wasn’t the proper temperature.

Jane said, “Tarip can’t be that bad.”

Erick turned back to Jane, saying, “Go get one! I’m not even sure where to go with the taste. Real chocolate is bitter, and I certainly got that part correct. But how the heck does milk and sugar go into it? Liquid? Hot chocolate is not what I want.”

Jane said, “Powdered milk. Granulated sugar. A few grinding stones. Then it’s work, work, work. Grind, grind, grind.”

Erick froze in the middle of chopping vegetables. “… Powdered milk!” He shook his head, adding, “Still tastes bad. Too much oil. Too much berry. The seeds are more seed than bean, too.”

“Then make a chocolate vine.” Jane said, “There’s so much preparation that goes into turning the tree pods into chocolate, but you can cut out almost all of that. Besides. I want real coffee, too. Not this coftea stuff.”

Erick said, “I think that’s part of the problem, actually. In normal chocolate creation, there’s a fermenting process and a drying process. Except when it comes to alcohol and other specialty food items, those processes are all considered to take too long. Everyone expects the plant to be ready to eat, right away, and I just haven’t had time to get around to experimenting with those long-paced projects.”

Jane said something, but someone else spoke, too.

As a mental call to action that sounded more like a flute and guitar trill than words, filled his mind, Erick said, “One sec. Something is happening.” He turned his attention to Candlepoint.

Valok, Ava, Mephistopheles, Zaraanka, and Slip, stood on the courthouse steps, in a line. Mephistopheles had called out to Ophiel. The red-horned man held a suspicious envelope in his hands.

A pit opened up in Erick’s stomach.

An Ophiel descended to the five, all winged and made of eyes, as Erick asked, “Hello? What’s up?”

Mephistopheles said, “You have received a letter from the Spire.”

“… Ahh, shit.”

Mephistopheles handed the letter to Ophiel, and there were some words exchanged. While Erick heard it all, he mostly heard the thumping of his own heart, drowning out all other noise. Things evolved rapidly from there.

Poi was involved, almost immediately, then Teressa, then Justine. Erick did not bring the letter to Spur, yet, and Justine’s frozen, pallid reaction only served to prove that leaving it at Candlepoint was a good idea. Silverite came onto the picture minutes later, concerned, but withholding her judgment. She called in Killzone. Then came Sirocco Zago.

Kiri took over cooking dinner, for Erick was no longer in his house at that point.

In the war room under the Mage Guildhouse, where they had all borne witness to the breaking news of Candlepoint’s existence, Erick sat with a few others, watching a screen of a part of the Crystal Forest, pretty far away from both Candlepoint and Spur. In that sandy, twilight space, the letter hung in the air, suspended on Handy Aura hands.

Silverite gave a brief overview of the letter that was mostly for Erick’s benefit. From the looks in everyone’s eyes, they already knew what the handmade, black-triangle edged envelope meant.

Turning her liquid silver eyes to the screen, Silverite said, “Open it, Erick.”

Erick did so. The wax seal broke with a flash of darkness that quickly dissipated. Erick stopped.

Sirocco gasped, small, saying, “It’s a real invitation.”

Erick looked to her.

She explained, “That was a curse that is keyed to the magical signature of the recipient. If you had not opened it, then whoever was in the area would have been targeted for assassination by Tania’s spiders.”

Erick gave a nervous laugh; small and strained. He turned back to the screen. He directed Ophiel to pull out the thick paper inside the envelope. He flipped the letter back and forth, and inspected the interior of the envelope; the letter was only written on one side, and there was nothing else in the envelope. He turned the words to the screen. The first part of the letter was an obvious attempt at scaring him, and by the hairs on his neck standing up, it had worked.

Dear Erick Flatt, Archmage of our Constant Source of Entertainment otherwise known as Spur, [Prismatic Ward]ed house of the Human District, second floor, western facing wall, second room from the north,

You have been cordially invited to attend the Shadow’s Feast of this year of our Lord Melemizargo, 11,493. The festivities begin at the appropriate time, and end at the appropriate time.

Please be on time, or before, or the barest late, but no later.

Dress code is enforced. None of this brown pant and white shirt nonsense.

You will be expected to show off some interesting bit of magic, or otherwise.

You will be expected to carouse and socialize with others.

You are allowed one guest, at their peril.

Casual violence is strictly prohibited. This clause is strictly enforced by the Shades of the Spire.

Formal violence is permitted, but discouraged. This clause is enforced by the Shades of the Spire.

We wish to see you at your best, so bring your best! This year might be the most wonderful Shadow’s Feast we have ever had.

If you decide to forgo this year’s festivities, you will regret your decision.

This year’s host is Queen, Shade of Opulence.

Themes include Particles, Water, Light, and Shadow.

A note from Queen, to all invited: Blood and filth is strictly prohibited. Ignore this warning at your peril. Do not test me.

A personal note from Queen: As you come equipped with [Cleanse], I request assistance in the cleanup of the party, and in whatever small occurrences may necessitate the deployment of your particular skillset. I will not forget how you choose to assist or deny my requests. Bring some desserts.

Sincerely,

Tania Webwalker, Champion of Melemizargo, Shade of the Spire

Killzone said, “You should go. I’ll work with you for a few days to get you knowledgeable.”

Before Erick could speak, Silverite said, “We could also fake your death.”

Erick laughed once, then fell to silence. “… Shit.”

Killzone gestured to the screen, and said, “It looks bad, yes. But Shadow’s Feast is their only holiday. It is sacrosanct to them, for they’re the Priests of Melemizargo, and that is his day. There will be drinking, booze. Drugs, sex. Since Queen is running it, there will be no pain at her party; only pleasure.” He said, “I can train you to defend yourself from her. That’s not a problem. If it were Tania running the show, or Hollowsaur, or Crimsonair? Spiders and traps. Wild animals. Blood Magic. Each one worse than the one before. Queen was likely chosen as the hostess of this year’s Shadow’s Feast, specifically to entice you to go.”

Erick felt like he was at the bottom of the ocean. This was all too much. He could understand the people of Candlepoint wanting him to go; if he didn’t, then they were in danger. But to hear these words from Silverite? From Killzone? Erick asked, incredulous, “You cannot be serious. You really expect me to believe that I should go to this?”

With knowledge in her voice, Silverite said, “This is a genuine invitation. You are Untouchable. Queen is the hostess. The absolute safest thing for you to do is walk in there, spend the night, and then come back. Forgoing this invitation is inviting reprisal upon Spur and everything else you hold dear.”

Quietly, Sirocco asked, “You’re really for this, Silverite?” She said, “I’ve never seen you capitulate to their demands before...” Her words trailed off, as she went silent under the silver woman’s stare.

“This is not a capitulation to a demand, Sirocco. This is prudence, and playing the games of the Dead City.” Silverite turned to Erick. “These invitations rarely go out to non-Shades, and never to someone in Spur. But I have seen these letters find their ways into the hands of people in other parts of the world. The result of an acceptance is they leave the Feast having witnessed horrors beyond imagining, with gifts of artifacts and power. The result of declining the invitation is fire and shadow visited upon you and yours, with thousands dead at the minimum.” With steel in her voice, she said, “This is not up for debate. Do not make me order you to go.”

Erick almost voiced his displeasure, but then he truly saw the look upon Silverite’s face. Resigned necessity, and loss. He turned to see Killzone, looking at him with almost the same expression, but slightly less forceful.

Erick asked, “What would you do if I said—”

Silverite’s voice came to him, ‘Don’t make me threaten you with exile, and make realityof all of my fears of you leaving Spur. This is the only way that you get to continue the life you have been living.’ She added, ‘But to quote yourself from months ago, using a vegetable that I had never seen until you came along: The stick is exile. The carrot would be personal knowledge of every Shade, in the safest environment you could possibly ask for. Think of this as reconnaissance work.’

Erick appreciated the nod to action via incentive, instead of through threat of pain, though everything else about Silverite’s words left him feeling like he swallowed pure bile. She hadn’t even flinched upon handing down her proclamation. She knew what needed to be done, and she was making Erick do it.

He frowned, but he said, “I guess I’m going to the party.” He turned to Killzone. “I wish for some personal training.”

“And you shall have it.” The massive, black wrought, added, “I’ll be needing some time to set a few things right before we can get together, but it’s five days to Shadow’s Feast. I’ll be ready by tomorrow.”

“Okay. That’s fine.” Erick asked, “Did Syllea’s people make it out? If they didn’t...” He left unsaid, that if they didn’t, that trusting the Shades to do what they said they were going to do would lead to the death of them all. Instead, he looked to Silverite, and no one else, asking, “Did they make it out?”

If they didn’t, Erick was going to damn the consequences and blow some shit up when he got to that party. Hell, he might just blow some shit up anyway! Now that he dwelt on the idea, he found he enjoyed the idea of turning some Shady plot to ash. He would even use [Death’s Approach] and put on his crown, and blast the place with 170,000 point [True Plasma Bolt]s.

Silverite said, “Justine’s words proved true. Every orcol that made the trip to the Well was returned to their original form—”

Sudden relief and some other feeling pulsed through Erick in time to his heartbeat, feeling like a warm shower on a cold day and a knife pointed at his chest. He knew Silverite was going to go somewhere awful with her statement, but he dared not look at the faces of anyone else in the room. Not yet.

Silverite continued, “—and let out of Ar’Kendrithyst. They are now recovering in Treehome, under heavy supervision.”

Erick blanked. His brain slowly reengaged. “… That’s it? No unforeseen problems?” He finally allowed himself to look to Killzone, and Sirocco. “Really?”

Sirocco sighed, saying, “I’m surprised, too.”

Killzone reported, “It went exactly as Justine said it would. Twelve people entered through the Crack. Twelve people journeyed a hundred kilometers from there to the Spire, remaining undisturbed their whole trip. The usual defenses around the Spire were pulled back as the people came closer, remaining silent the whole time. The people entered the Well. Three hours later, they all came out, eyes clear. Several hours after that, we verified their Status. They were all level 50. Some of them lost levels. Some gained. Some kept their extra Stats. Most did not.” He looked away, as a tendril of thought connected to him, and he offhandedly added, “They’re not our people though, so Syllea and Treehome are...” He stood up. “I have to go. Nothing too important. But I have to go.”

He left in a blip of black. Erick’s eyes went wide at the sudden departure, but Silverite and Sirocco seemed outwardly unconcerned with Killzone’s withdrawal. Silverite’s voice brought him back to the meeting.

Silverite said, “Keep the letter, Erick, but don’t bring it into your home. You’ll need it to identify yourself properly at the Feast. If you choose not to humor Queen’s [Cleanse] requests then the most likely outcome is that she’ll utilize whatever adventurers she’s managed to capture for the event, forcing them to cast at her decree.”

Erick’s voice dripped with venom, “Great.”

- - - -

Jane sat with Erick at the kitchen table. Dinner was over. It was a fine dinner, but a pall hung over the entire event. It was supposed to be a nice ‘welcome home’ meal, and it was not. And now, dessert sat in front of Jane; a slice of lemon cake with white icing. It looked good, but even the potatoes and meats and buttered vegetables had tasted like nothing to Erick. He doubted that the cake would, either.

Was he being overly dramatic? Was he being melodramatic, for not wanting to go to Shadow’s Feast? Everything he knew—

No. Correction. Everything everyone told him about the Shades, made him think that nothing would happen at the party, aside from nightmares made flesh and horrors paraded around like they were novelties. He had never had direct contact with any Shade before. This was a whole new territory. And it terrified him. The simplest outcome was death and destruction, and that didn’t truly scare him. No. What scared him was another possibility.

The Shades would be on their best behavior, and he’d lose all resolve to kill them all.

Err. No. Death and destruction were probably among the worse outcomes. He would die, and everything he had built would fall apart. Candlepoint was finally looking good. The Community Garden Council was getting along with each other, and selling fresh produce to all of Spur. Jane would be left alone, and though she could handle herself, his death would hurt her. Kiri would face people wanting the knowledge he had given her, but she could probably go to the Headmaster’s Elites…

Jane stuck her fork in her cake, asking, “I don’t think it will be as bad as you think it will be.”

Erick glared at his daughter. Over dinner, he had told her everything that had happened at the meeting. He had told everyone everything. Kiri had nothing to add, but she had quickly vacated the room when dinner was over, and Erick began raising his voice to his daughter, and Jane raised her voice to him. Almost everyone had vacated the room, for theirs had not been a calm discussion, at all.

Only Poi remained; silently cleaning up the mess of dinner, all on his own.

Jane said, “I lived in there for a month. Teressa was there for much longer. We lived at their pleasure, yes, but if we followed the rules, then the fang and claw monsters were more dangerous than the Shades.” She added, “But you already knew that. So what’s the real problem, dad?”

He did already know that. Maybe he would actually be okay attending the Feast.

Except...

Erick said, “I will lose my resolve against them should they prove to be less evil than who they have shown themselves to be.”

Jane sat back in her chair. She stared at her father for a long moment, both love and sadness in her eyes. She said, “I can understand you thinking that something like that could happen, but it won’t. The more likely thing to happen is that once you see what they’re like, you’ll either become a hermit, or… Or do something that you will regret.”

And that was enough talking, for now.

Erick tried to think of a task. He landed on one, saying, “I have to plant grasses and stuff at Candlepoint. I’m going to be in the library.”

She picked up her cake, saying, “I’ll watch over you.”

“Okay.”

- - - -

Blue waters rippled under northern winds, but stilled, as a crash of white light blossomed over the center of the lake, briefly illuminating the cloud-filled twilight. Ophiel floated, revealed to the world, in this place where land was nowhere to be seen, hidden by the very curve of Veird’s surface.

With one wing held high, an orb of light blossomed above. White mist floated up from the lake, quickly taking shape into a meters-wide map. It was only on this map that the coast was visible, yet still nearly 25 kilometers away. Slowly, methodically, the blue dots began to appear upon the map. Today’s scan showed far fewer violet eels than before. Far, far fewer, with all pockets of the parasites gone. Only strays remained, and they would be gone by tomorrow. This was a good time to plant.

With a dismissal and another blip, the light atop the lake vanished.

Ophiel reappeared closer to Candlepoint. The city looked good from this angle. Apartment buildings. Roads. Gentle white lights cast here and there, casting the city into gentle shadows, and illuminating the trees that had been planted absolutely everywhere. There was other greenery, too, that normally wouldn’t exist in this desert climate. But Erick focused on the trees, watching them as the wind tousled their canopies and he worked with another Ophiel, on another task.

That other Ophiel blipped in, carrying a head-sized glass orb filled with clear liquid that was not water, with a thin layer of substance on the bottom that was not dirt. Several stalks of vibrant green grass grew inside that orb, but they did not sway; the enchantments on the orb itself keeping the magical plant well preserved in its alchemical and [Ward]ed bath.

The first Ophiel on the scene turned to light, illuminating the shallow, dark waters below, scaring away a single, large, red mud flit. It was monsterized and close to death, but had yet to die. It likely still held eggs.

The flit would die soon enough, but they would plant their eggs and their children would grow up in a better land. Normal mud flits would grow in the grass Erick was about to plant, hopefully leading less dangerous lives than their parents, now that the enemy eels were on their way out.

… Planting the grass right in front of the city was probably not a good idea. Million fish grass needed some space to grow, undisturbed, for at least a few days in the beginning. It would spread throughout the whole coastline, eventually, though. So…

Erick went and found Slip. The guardmaster was easy to find. He was sitting by the lake, near the northern side of the city. Slip noticed the [Familiar], and sat up straighter as Ophiel descended to him.

“Hello,” Erick said, having Ophiel hold aloft the grassy orb. “Where do you want this million fish grass planted?”

Slip had been stoic, but at Erick’s words, his mouth turned into a huge smile, as his white eyes lit fractionally brighter. “Yes! Anywhere. This is a good plant.” Half disbelieving, he said, “You actually paid for that. I can hardly believe it.”

“I heard it was good. That it kept the water clean and the fish healthy.” Erick spun Ophiel around, gently, so as not to disturb the magically locked-down orb. “This orb will last another five days, but planting sooner is better than later. Where should it go? Any ideas?”

Slip continued to smile. Then he got to thinking. He pointed to the west, and a little north, saying, “There is a rise in the lake bed there. It is a good place to plant this marvel. Plenty of space, between one to two meters below the surface. This grass should spread well. From there.”

Erick said, “I also have water lily bulbs and a thousand kilos of lakeseed to plant.”

Slip shook his head. “Not yet. Let the million fish grass spread first. I can seed the lake at a later date.”

Erick joked, “I might not be here to help you if you wait too late.”

Slip’s jovial mood turned sour. He asked, “Are you going?”

“I have chosen to attend. Wish me luck.”

Slip nodded, gravely. “Good luck, Erick.”

“Good luck to you.”

Erick floated Ophiel in the direction Slip pointed. With some [Greater Lightwalk] probing, he soon found the shelf Slip indicated. He had been right; this was a good growing spot, with pretty much the exact specifications the people at ‘Healer’s Light’ had given him. With a help of a few other Ophiel, Erick fully explored the sand bar. The shelf was between a meter to two below the surface, and shaped like an arrowhead, pointed mostly westward. The deeper parts were further west. The whole underwater rise was maybe single square kilometer, with the area near the point turning deep rather fast. The eastern point of the arrow base was only a dozen meters from shore, with a five meter dip in lake bottom separating the shelf from the coast.

This was a good spot.

Ophiel, surrounded by light, lowered the glass orb into the waters, touching down into the underwater plateau. With a small push, he planted the orb into the sandbar, checking that the not-dirt inside the orb was situated under the level of the real dirt outside the orb. He left the orb there, as per the instructions, waiting the required ten minutes for the temperatures inside to equalize with the lake. While that happened, he prepared his own magics.

When the ten minutes were up, three things happened in quick succession.

An Ophiel dissolved the glass into sand with [Stoneshape]. Another Ophiel held the greater surrounding waters in place with a [Watershape], but left the waters around the plant loose, and free. Erick, himself, cast [Grow] upon the magical plant.

Potions soaked into the water from the broken orb. For a second, the grass was like the tendrils of a squid; reaching and twisting in the waters, trying to catch. Then it relaxed, as normal sand slipped into its space, and the roots of the grass recognized expansion opportunities. White roots shot out from the green grass, snaking into the dirt, twisting out, burying. The initial shoots of grass doubled, almost instantly, then they doubled again.

Roots multiplied. Grasses turned long, and languid, to reach up in the waters with the greatest of ease. Small bubbles rose from the grasses, like in a fizzy drink, or champagne.

[Grow] stabilized the million fish grass. This was a good planting. Erick had done it correctly. If the bubbles had not appeared, if the grass didn’t act like a squid, these were the ways he would know that this planting was a failure, and that his grass was destined to die.

Ahh, magic was wonderful.

He almost wanted to cast [Tree of Light] upon the spreading underwater greenery, but not every spell was useful in every situation. [Tree of Light] was good for trees. Not so good for underwater grass. He had asked the people at ‘Healer’s Light’, too.

… But they hadn’t said it was a bad idea, either.

Erick cast [Tree of Light] upon the grass.

Three seconds later, Erick canceled the spell. The grass had turned bioluminescent, looking like bright green ribbons floating upward in the water, and that was it. It didn’t expand, it didn’t enlarge. It didn’t [Grow] like it should have grown.

He cast [Grow], and the grasses began to expand, once again, more grasses growing up from the sands below. Ideally, he could [Grow] it for several hours, helping it to expand to a good kilometer. From there, he could come back every day, and continue to [Grow] the magical plant. Eventually, [Grow] would fail to expand the grass’s borders. It would have reached a maximum size of a few dozen square kilometers, and it would then have to seed on its own. More patches of million fish grass would then pop up here and there in the lake, over the course of months, and years, as it took that long for flowering grasses to get lucky, and for one of their seeds to actually take root. According to the size of the lake, the people at ‘Healer’s Light’ had said that he could expect five new patches of million fish grass per year.

But that would all take too long.

With another thought, he had an Ophiel on the surface call the platinum rains. Silver flashed in the night sky, high above the surface of the lake. Soon enough, liquid silver turned that wavy surface into a glowing ink. With [Watershape] guiding the flow and a few Ophiel to help him along, Erick directed that platinum water into the million fish grass. He didn’t have to direct those waters for long.

The grass exploded in growth, tripling in size, gobbling up the rain water, spreading in every direction, practically leaping up from the sands to stretch meters long into the surrounding waters. In half an hour, it had spread across the whole sandbar, and into the deeper parts around that higher land. In two hours, meter-long flowing grasses had covered a dozen square kilometers, stretching from the shallows of the coast of Candlepoint, to racing further northwest. And then it stopped growing. Here and there among the grasses, some strands began to thicken with nodules inside. Those grasses split, releasing seeds that floated away on the waters of the lake.

Erick smiled. He cut the rain. The sky remained cloudy, for [Control Weather] made it so, but the million fish grass eagerly consumed the platinum clouds left in the lake, spilling more seeds into the surrounding waters. Maybe one of them would take root, but probably not, unless it got very lucky, or some skilled, hidden alchemists in Candlepoint decided to help it along.

Erick rejoined Slip, who had watched the whole thing from the shore. He joked, “Don’t you have crimes to stop?”

Slip gave Erick a conspiratorial, good-humored eye, saying, “The secret is to be scary, then you have much less work to do.”

Erick smiled to himself. “How are those books working out for you? I’m only through some of them, myself.”

“Mephistopheles is reading them all. I hear he is in communication with Justine?” Slip waved a dismissive hand, saying, “They are working it out. I am just the muscle.”

“Well, thank you for your service.”

Slip bowed, then rose, saying, “It is I who must thank you. So thank you, Erick. We would all be dead if not for you.”

Erick’s fears reignited. But he had Ophiel nod, professionally, then released his control. That Ophiel blinked all over as he rearranged his eyes and his wings, before soaring upward, back into the sky to keep an eye on Candlepoint, along with all of his other selves.

- - - -

Erick sat up. It was late. He patted his shoulder, and the Ophiel on the nearby perch hopped onto his shoulder, singing a happy song, glad to enjoy the ride.

Jane looked up from ‘Esoteric Elements’. “This is an interesting book.”

“Let me know if you figure out how ‘Shadow’ is supposed to work, or how you get Shadow from Light.” Erick said, “I can make the spells, but I still don’t understand them.” He asked, “Have you tried using your [Lightwalk] to empower your [Shadowalk]? That’s another thing I don’t get.”

Jane smiled, saying, “I’m still working on it. Are you headed to bed?”

“… I probably should. Good night, Jane.”

She stood up and walked to him, giving him a hug. “Good night, dad. I love you.”

Erick hugged his daughter tight, saying, “I love you, too.”