Ar'Kendrithyst

The White Palace’s true name was actually the White Palace of Eternal Light, and with a name like that, it was as magnificent as Erick expected it to be. The place had the same sort of energy as the Spire back at Ar’Kendrithyst, but while that place was made of clear crystal that reached up higher than all the other clear crystal towers of the Brightwater, this place was very much the ‘White Palace’. While the crystal city skyline in the distance was clear-gold with white striations, this place was almost completely white, and opaque.

Located in the heart of Stratagold, just to the south of the center of the city, the White Palace was the only set of crystal… things for ten kilometers in every direction. Erick was hesitant to call the structures of the palace ‘towers’, for some of them were near horizontal.

A central spire of white crystal ascended from the bright lands below, while another descended from the bright lands above. The stalactite and stalagmite crystals reached for each other, but instead of touching each other, they touched the tops and bottoms of a massive splash of white crystals, kilometers long themselves and half that wide, all bundled together in an arrangement of buildings that made a complete mockery of proper physics. Sideways skyscrapers. Dangling dormitories. Teetering towers.

Actual architecture seemed like an afterthought, and only to make the place work as a palace. It seemed to Erick that the people here had taken a natural treasure and added roads, and planter boxes filled with golden plants, and other such niceties, but only to make the place actually functional. The only thing that stood out as a true secondary creation, tacked onto this place, were the concentric circles of white crystal skyway that surrounded the palace. Like highways in midair, those skyways joined together some of the larger floating pieces of crystal held outside of the main splash, like white rock islands, floating in space. All of the whole White Palace seemed held up by nothing but prayers, or, more likely, a whole lot of runework and magic embedded into the crystal. And, of course, the Underworld’s natural propensity to make large objects float instead of fall.

There was no main ‘central’ crystal tower, but any of the larger crystals amid the grand central splash could have served such a function.

The t-station was positioned on one of the further concentric skyway rings around the place; out of the way, but still more or less in the right area. There were no guards here, just an open arcing skyway, ten meters wide and similarly empty of people.

Erick had taken a long second to see everything, and he knew there was lots more to see than he was currently able, but Tasar was already moving off of the t-station, so he followed.

The path ahead circled the main structures, before running into a crystal that split off a path down toward the center. All along that path there were other people, all in togas. All wrought, of course, and all different metals and species, though the various species did walk next to their own; they seemed to be arriving and going to Bright Tea in groups.

The lack of any sort of soldiery was odd, but the complete lack of visible security was simply impossible. There had to be people hidden under [Fairy House]s, or something, watching everyone walk by… Or perhaps they were just using long range [Scry]s? [Scry]s were more likely, now that Erick thought about it.

With tension in her shoulders, Tasar whispered, “You can have Ophiel go anywhere on the outsides of buildings, but not inside. Yggdrasil can watch from outside, too. [Scry] is spelled against once you pass into the White Crystal itself so all of them will be blind inside, anyway. Many basic viewing spells and a lot more besides are protected against.”

Behind them, the t-station blipped with light and a trio of silver dragonkin stepped off of the platform to sedately follow behind, keeping distance from Erick and Tasar. It was then that Erick realized that Tasar was pacing the people ahead of them, as well. It was part of the ceremony of it all. The only thing that mixed were the voices from the other participants; they were quiet, whispers, but their words still flowed on the air, telling of their days or weeks. They were the words of normal people, catching up with friends they hadn’t seen in a while.

Erick summoned an Ophiel and sent him flying up and away, whispering to Tasar, “Can he land in that golden tree down there? Near the end of the path?”

Tasar looked to the right. She narrowed her eyes, and said, “… Not Arbor Gold. One of the smaller trees is fine, though.”

Erick perked up. “That’s an arbor?”

“Yes. He sleeps, mostly.” Tasar said, “He’s aware of everything happening, though. We’ll pass by so he might speak to you, in which case we will stop and talk. Don’t purposefully wake him with Ophiel, though— Ahh. Other people are noticing, now. That took longer than I thought it would.”

One particular crowd of wrought, three groups ahead, were keeping pace where they were supposed to be, but their happy faces and small waves toward Erick let him know that he had been seen. Erick waved at the people waving at him, making sure not to break stride. The crowd waved back with enthusiasm, then turned back to their little group and began speaking fast and quiet. Not quiet enough, though, for Erick not to hear that they were so glad they decided to come today. They weren’t the only ones to notice Erick, either, but they were the only ones to wave. Everyone else just had a bit of surprise and acknowledgment, and then they moved on.

Ophiel landed in a smaller tree, next to Arbor Gold, and the rather small arbor (only fifty meters tall? Odd) did nothing. The land around the arbor —which seemed like a bit of farmland— and all the other trees were covered in a thin layer of gold leaves that seemed to get everywhere, bringing a little bit of color to the white land. Wroughts in togas crunched through those leaves as they passed by, headed toward their destination inside one of the larger central spires.

With a hint of playfulness in his voice, Erick tried to be as happy as some of the other partygoers as he asked Tasar, “This is a fun ceremony, right?”

Tasar would have blanched if she were a human. Her voice came out ragged, “It will be what it will be.”

Erick kept his paranoia in check as he asked, “What are you not telling me?”

“I don’t know.” Tasar said, “I just feel like something is going to happen. Not sure what. Some surprises. Some… Unexpected event. I was on the Path before, Erick, and this feels bad.”

“… Oh.”

Well...

They passed into a short crystal tower, where the path broke away from the circling skybridge to go in four different directions. There were some offices and people in this area, with rooms carved out of the crystal and staircases leading up and down to what looked to be defensive runic cannon emplacements and other assorted high-powered destructive workings, but mostly, the bridge either continued through another archway to another concentric highway, and also down a path to the center of the White Palace.

They hooked a right and continued toward the Palace.

Erick said, “What’s probably going to happen is that the fae will show up, having demanded some sort of capitulation from Stratagold that allows her to be diplomatic in this area.” Tasar made a face of utter horror, and Erick added, “Or, if that is completely outside of the realm of possibility, as your sudden disgust is telling me, then we’ll have a normal party, and perhaps I’ll get to show off my own glowgem spellwork, making the Gemslicers truly angry with me.”

Tasar lost some of her horror as she scrunched her face, then decided, “We wouldn’t accept the fae’s presence here. She’s been too destructive as the Letter Killer. That’s not going to happen.”

“Ah! But what if she kills that persona? Like a proper [Polymorph] change?”

“… Still no.”

Erick frowned at her, saying, “Your people would do what was necessary to get anti-Apocalypse Fate Magic. I know you would.”

Tasar frowned right back at him. “One doesn’t treat with people who have no intention of holding to their word. I believe you even said this a few times, and quite publicly, too.”

“But then… How did the various bargains to not fight each other happen?” Erick elaborated, “Like how you left the Surface to the Shades? I’ve always assumed there was some leave of territory to the undead lands of the Fractured Citadels in Quintlan, too.”

“You are operating under a misunderstanding, then. It never happened quite so organized.” Tasar said, “Maybe there were some angry roars across the battlefield and some cessation of hostilities because no one wanted to escalate and the people who opted for war got themselves killed, but to my knowledge, we do not treat with threats that have no intention of being less threatening to us, or to others. We just sort of… ended up kicked off the Surface, and no one wanted to go back, because then there would just be more endless war. There can be no bargaining with Darkness, Erick.” After a moment, she added, “The Shades won the Surface, and we got the Underworld. Now though…” Her voice trailed off.

Erick tried to tune his words toward sarcasm, instead of spite, as he said, “Maybe I’m just a lowly mortal who needs to make friends in order to survive, but even I know the value of nations not going to true war over every hostility; the value of words over violence. And Stratagold does have some sort of bargain with the fae; Kromolok seemed like he would be able to get Fate Magic concessions from them because of the Letter Killer’s actions.”

“… Okay. Well.” Tasar said, “When you put it like that, I suppose the only forces that we never bargained with at all were the Shades. In the case of the fae and with Ar’Cosmos… And with the Fractured Citadels… Actually. You’re right. I suppose. We do have bargains all around. Nothing cast in adamantium, or even in gold— Truly just words thrown across a battlefield, if I recall correctly. In which case...” Tasar scowled, saying, “Maybe the fae is here.”

They had reached the furthest scattered leaves of Arbor Gold that had blown all the way up the bridge. The bright leaves crunched underfoot, while the air began to smell of autumn harvests. The path branched out, but Erick and Tasar followed the procession, walking toward where the scattered towers of crystal had been connected by a myriad of pathways. Right at the major intersection between three different towers, in the bright shadows of the White Palace, was Arbor Gold’s planter box. Golden wheat and golden gourds and all sorts of golden plants grew alongside the large, golden tree, almost looking wild in their arrangement, but there was no way this bit of farmed land was wild at all. Ophiel hung out on an apple tree to the side. That tree’s leaves were a duller shade of gold than Arbor Gold, but vibrant gold apples weighed down the branches. The golden apple tree was one such example out of several gold-fruit trees, which included not-peachs, tarips, and beanpods of some sort. The center of the pathway here was clear of leaves, but only because so many people had already cleared the path in their walking of it, and the wind didn’t stir this deep in the White Palace.

Erick asked, “Are the apples good to eat? Or is it all for show?”

Tasar glanced at Erick, then over to the apples. “You want one? They taste rather good, but they’re nothing special. No magical plants here— Well. That is actual-gold skin, but that’s all it is.” She added, “They’ll serve a lot of all of those golden foods at the ceremony, though, if you want an apple tart?”

Erick glanced up at Arbor Gold as they passed under his boughs. The gold guy did not speak, or move, or show his presence at all. So Erick and Tasar kept walking.

“Nah.” Erick said, “I’ll wait for a tart. That sounds lovely.”

They passed into the main area of the White Palace, between three of the largest towering crystal spikes. The interior of the palace, between the majority of towers, was organized into layers, all exposed to each other with a vast amount of air between the ‘buildings’. White crystal had been formed into staircases and platforms and decorative archways in the crystal towers themselves. The path to Bright Tea was not marked off at all, and if Erick had come here himself he would have gotten lost for a little bit, but the crowd of toga-wearing wrought was headed in a single direction, so they were easy to follow. Up and around a main central fountain and around upstairs, they went, then through a large archway and into the left crystal tower, into a hallway.

The White Palace was even prettier inside. Expansive hallways. Bright lights above. Pillars of crystal and staircases of the same. Gold filigree and moldings. This was not a place for business, like so many other locations Erick had been to in the past. This was a place for ceremony, with decorative, and yet somewhat austere architecture.

At the end of the grand hallway was another large archway, twenty meters tall and ringed with crystal carved into the shape of clouds. Beyond, were people. Lots of people.

The congregation proceeded forward into a well-lit ballroom beyond, but as people passed the cloud gate, they began to glow ever so slightly. Coppers gained a green glow to their skin. Silvers turned almost teal with brightness. Iron fluoresced purple. Cobalts turned brighter blue than they already were, but it was the white togas everyone wore that turned the brightest blue. Almost Script Blue. But it was still a faint effect, barely noticeable in the bright white lights of the White Palace. It would likely be more pronounced later, as they exposed whatever glowgem they had hanging up in the room beyond.

And then it was Erick and Tasar’s turn to pass through the cloud gate. Tasar’s black-green body gained a purple and neon green hue, and both her toga and Erick’s shimmered with a faint blue light. Erick almost expected his own skin to fluoresce, but nope! Same color as… always…

The whites of his eyes were fluorescing a bit, and especially his white irises, but that was normal-ish. Probably nothing. The effect wasn’t much of a hindrance to his normal eyesight at all, but mana sense was a good way to view the world, too, so mostly, he ignored the slight blue glow to everything…

No. Wait. The white walls were slightly blue, too. Everything white was glowing blue. Okay. Not just his own eyes, but all the white togas, and all the wrought, and practically everything was faintly glowing. This was likely due to the massive spherical crystal up above that was emitting the blacklight effect.

The spherical crystal was a meter across, and it was the only thing on the ceiling not lit up with visible light, while also being the only thing with visible spellwork surrounding it, protecting it and adjusting the effect of the ultraviolet light. With a bit of mana sense, Erick saw grooves in the ceiling where the whole crystal sphere could be moved into the ceiling, into a protected space beyond the reach of the ballroom.

Which meant that the sphere was highly valuable, or rather, that the blacklight wardlight cast onto the orb was valuable. This meant that Erick should probably not cast a dozen more blacklights into the rest of the room to heighten the glowing effect, like he very much wanted to, just to fuck with the Gemslicers who had made that blacklight.

Probably a bad idea.

The room was easily a few hundred meters across, a hundred meters tall, eight-sided, with a lot of balcony space and upper rooms to all eight sides, with places for people to sit, or to dance, under the light of the glowgem above. About a thousand people were already in the space, in every part of the room, but there was enough space to hold ten thousand.

The line of party goers walked along the side of the room, avoiding all the activity in the center, all the way to the other side, where a dais of raised crystal held several gold crystal thrones of various sizes. The royal family of adamantium orcols were mostly seated upon those thrones. Two of the six seats were vacant, though.

Erick recognized none of the royal family; Sitnakov wasn’t there—

Sitnakov stood out among his friends, or whoever they were, in the center of the ballroom, talking and laughing about something or other. His muscular black metal body glowed a brilliant violet, while his short white kilt, the only thing he wore, glowed faint blue. He wasn’t the only one wearing as small of a toga as he could get away with, for many of his friends went topless, too.

A lot of people were all over the place, in various cliques or group discussions, or milling about the banquet set out; either the organic food banquet, or the other one. Tasar had told Erick about how metal tea cups made of specific metals were set up near the foods, but separate and separated into categories, too. They were for wrought to partake, for actual nourishment, with each type of teacup clearly labeled by its location in the setting, and also by runes inscribed into the filled-in metal center—

People were already noticing Erick, but now they truly saw him. Whispers abounded. Erick noticed a group of golden people of various races, all of them glowing gold, too, begin to move through the ballroom, toward where the entrance line let out, near the royalty.

Erick would be dealing with the royalty before he met with the golds, though.

The royal family was close. Almost here.

The line moved unceasingly forward. The people directly in front of Erick and Tasar stepped away from the wall and moved to stand before the royal family. Erick did not know the royal family, but it was easy enough to judge who sat on which seat, based on what Tasar had told him and what he already knew from other people.

There was the empty seat for Second Prince Sitnakov, then came First Prince Abarnikon, followed by King Alfonin in the largest throne, then Queen Strelkova in the second-largest throne, and finally First Princess Yatzeva. There was one more seat for Third Prince Chernom, but he was dead; killed a few centuries ago in circumstances which Tasar did not elaborate upon. She had spoken a bit about the royal family, telling Erick what he would find here at Bright Tea, but not much beyond generalized etiquette and strict advice to acknowledge Chernom’s chair, but to then put it out of his mind and to focus on the living royalty.

All of them were orcols, so it was rather easy to focus on the living royalty, as they were all drop-dead gorgeous, and all of them wore togas of various styles with gold hems. King Alfonin reminded Erick of some sort of Zeus-figure, with a full beard and full hair, with his lower fangs prominently poking out of his mouth. Queen Strelkova looked like Hera, with a sternness to her that most other people could never match. The prince and princess were of similar looks as their parents, and if it weren’t for the larger chairs, Erick would have had trouble telling the king and queen from the prince and princess. He could certainly tell the difference now, and they did all look a little bit different, but if he had met any of them outside of this venue? Nope!

The royal men wore togas that bared a shoulder, while the women wore their outfits like how Tasar wore hers. It seemed that Sitnakov was the only member of the royal family that had opted to go topless, just letting those great big muscles hang out all over the place.

Fucking hell.

They were all hot.

Erick was rapidly finding himself quite frustrated that ‘no underwear’ was normal attire for this sort of thing. Luckily, he was nervous enough that his body didn’t start to betray him by acting the usual way it acted around beautiful people. And yet, even wearing the togas themselves was close enough to Erick’s pre-Jane days that this whole scenario was already doing a number on—

He put all that out of his mind and followed obvious protocol, watching as the people ahead of him took their place atop a circular metal design on the floor in front of the royal family, bowed, received a nod from King Alfonin and Queen Strelkova, and then moved on.

Erick followed beside Tasar and the two of them went to the same spot.

The eyes of wrought royalty fell upon Erick, having a weight to them that he rarely experienced anymore. He almost wanted to giggle and laugh at it all, but he thankfully refrained.

He bowed. Tasar bowed, too.

He raised. Tasar raised, too.

The King and Queen did not nod. Erick and Tasar were not dismissed; not yet.

Alfonin’s voice was quiet, but it carried across the separating ten meters of space like he was right there, “We are pleased to see you accept our invitation. Welcome, Erick Flatt, to Bright Tea.”

Strelkova spoke next, “We will be speaking privately with you later. Avail yourself of our hospitality at your leisure.” She added, “Welcome to Stratagold, Erick Flatt.”

The prince and princess each added, “Welcome.”

And then all four nodded. Erick was dismissed.

He left the welcoming zone alongside Tasar, feeling light on his feet and lighter of mind. In ten steps he ran right into the bunch of Gold Caste wrought who had been coming straight toward him, each of them with large smiles on their faces. Almost all of the smiles were genuine, too. Erick knew of the golds from his various EIPC preparations, but he only recognized some of the people here from Otaliya’s specific briefings.

And just like that, it was time for business. Erick greeted the ones he knew by name, eliciting a surprised and happy round of bright smiles and some fan-ish gushing.

A particularly animated gold incani man named Zooli, who was on the committee for trading regulation around Stratagold and other assorted allied lands, who would likely be filling the merchant caste inquiry position this time of year, asked for Erick’s plans for the Crystal Forest. In a way that Otaliya had already coached him, but also rather honestly, Erick explained how he would need the use of some stone archmages to cordon off walls and then systematically clean the place of crystal mimics, but after that, actually healing the land would require a lot of rains and soil replenishment. It would take time, mostly.

But besides that, all Erick wanted to do was to open up the land for generalized habitation, perhaps like Nelboor did it, with roaming bands of warriors constantly cleaning the land of larger threats. He did not like the Greensoil Republic’s [Weaken Monsters] methods, but he had yet to see those in action, so maybe he would if he had.

Zooli was happy with that answer, though he did want more specifics, and so Erick gave them to the best of his knowledge.

More than once, though, Erick’s answers boiled down to, “I’m just providing space; I don’t really care what people do with it. I’ll likely fill some sort of overview role that people can submit paperwork to in order to help with the tougher monsters, but I suspect the Adventuring Guild or individual cities will want to guard themselves from the constant threats out there.”

“Yes yes. They will.” Zooli said, “But it’s good that you’re thinking ahead. Too many people try to get into this city-building business without making the proper connections before they get to actually building cities. It’s difficult to extend civilization! To carve a new brightness out of the Darkness on the horizon takes a lot of constant pressure and time.”

A different gold spoke up, “I’m more interested in the continued clearance of the larger monstrous threats, which is the usual power that archmages are expected to have, and to wield...”

The subsequent conversation about ‘keeping a revived Crystal Forest clean of monsters’ took up twenty minutes. It could have gone on a lot longer because they somehow got into the nitty-gritty of [Polymorph] potion prices based on rarity increases, but then Archmage Riivo came over to the group, along with Aisha, the celesteel prognosticator who Erick talked to before meeting Kydyr for the first time. Riivo’s presence changed the questions.

They spoke of plans for [Gate] locations.

This time the conversation was a moving target, involved practically everyone, but only in small portions at a time, with golds coming in first to ask after taxes for [Gate] usage (free if the setup and maintenance isn’t too expensive), and then Aisha asking after locations (whoever wants one and can provide proper security), and then the golds moving away, and some adamantium guy (with a goblin form) who introduced himself as the guard captain, asking after Erick’s expectations of security needs (hopefully as little as possible, but at least a good runic web and a contingent of ten soldiers on site).

The guard captain didn’t like Erick’s answer, and many other people didn’t either, but Erick acknowledged that ‘security’ was a moving target until he actually managed to make the spell, and that brought down the worries in the room. Everyone knew what the normal [Gate] spell looked like, but based on what Erick was discovering, crafting a [Gate] from scratch would likely not cost 500 mana. Erick suspected it would cost a lot more, and then have a smaller cost to maintain. Other people had other ideas.

Erick met with more people, with Riivo at his side introducing him to some, while Tasar stood on the other side and introduced him to anyone of adamantium caste. The reason for that division of naturally assumed duties was cultural, for sure.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, people had stopped filing into the ballroom. Everyone who wanted to arrive, had arrived, and though the place was packed there was still lots of room for more.

Erick continued to talk to whoever crossed his path, speaking either of his experiences on the Worldly Path, to what happened in the cavern with the Darkness, to giving a polite smile whenever someone congratulated him on his boon from Rozeta.

And just like that, two hours passed in the blink of an eye. Erick only noticed the passing of time because Tasar had marked it, and then not three seconds later Queen Strelkova stood from her throne and the room went silent. It was time for the actual ceremony.

Strelkova announced, “Welcome, one and all, to Bright Tea.”

In a single, unified action, every wrought faced the center of the room and held out their right hand, palm up. Erick did the same, for he had already been coached on what would happen. The glowgem in the ceiling glowed brighter, sending ultraviolet light out in strong pulses that caused the wrought to fluoresce in response. Like waves in a rave, the glowgem flickered and flashed out power. And then it brightened further, and stayed bright. Every wrought poured out their own light like they were each in lightform.

Another ripple went out from the glowgem and every person gained a small cup of brightly-glowing tea in their upturned hand, little more than the size of a thimble. The glowgem faded then, constrained by some nearly-invisible spellwork, plunging the wrought into the room almost all the way back to normal colors. The glowgem remained on and everything faintly fluoresced, but it was nothing compared to what had happened in those brief moments of actual power.

Erick had gained a small cup of tea, too. The cup was unenchanted, despite the bright white glow of the steaming waters. There was no spellwork here save for the [Mass Teleport Object] which had put the thing atop his hand. Erick sloshed the cup a little bit, trying to understand what he was seeing. And then he understood. It was just hot water and a bit of Light Essence. Almost completely diluted, too, but still bright enough to look like a drop of sun in a cup. It was obviously ceremonial; Bright Tea was not meant to serve as a source of [Lightwalk], though Erick suspected that the wrought were easily capable of gaining this power if they wanted to. There was probably a separate Bright Tea ceremony for that sort of event.

Maybe they called it ‘Brightest Tea’?

Maybe they even had light dungeons down here? Though probably not, if the Gemslicers hoarded their light-based knowledge. And that was kinda funny. Yggdrasil’s innate [Kaleidoscopic Radiance] would eventually fill his cavern with light slimes that needed to be harvested before they turned into light oozes. With that major, extra source of Light Essence, Erick suspected that Bright Tea in Stratagold might eventually contain a full-strength helping of Light Essence in every cup, and that the cups would be larger, in the coming years.

Queen Strelkova spoke, “We thank thee, Rozeta, for the blessings of this life, and for the good fortune to know what we need to do in this life, unlike so many others. We hope that purpose finds all those who lack, and that good fortune comes to all good people of this world. For the good of all, we [Cleanse] where we must, and we keep ourselves fit for that task, for now, and for forever. [Cleanse].”

As one, every single wrought in the room, and Erick too, cast [Cleanse] centered on themselves. The thick air produced from the cleaning was minimal, for this room was already rather clean. Almost embarrassingly, the thickest air in the room actually seemed to come from Erick himself, but that was probably him just being self-conscious.

Strelkova downed her small cup of tea in one gulp, and then everyone else followed. There wasn’t much in the cup, so Erick had no trouble doing the same. And he had been right; the contents were little more than hot water and a hint of Light Essence.

It tasted of sunshine. It was nice.

A band started playing up above, on one of the balconies. Music flowed into the room and people began moving around, taking their teacups and setting them down in trays where they would no doubt be used at the next Bright Tea, five days hence. There were no servants moving anything around, but there were some event organizers among the crowd making sure things worked out as they were supposed to. It was those event organizers who then grabbed the trays and moved them away.

The second half of Bright Tea began with many people clearing the center of the room, to stand beyond a golden filigree circle thirty meters in diameter. A few people remained in the circle, though, and they called out to one another, jesting in proclamatory challenges to any and all who would come forth, to try their skill at a proper dance. It was practically a show, but it was more a matter of everyone here knowing everyone else, and of the people in the center wanting to show up others in friendly competition.

And somewhere between moving out from the crowd to take center stage, the people had put on underwear. How odd! Erick almost laughed when he mana sensed that, but then he realized that if they were going to truly dance then they likely didn’t want anything flopping around, because that would probably make some distracting slapping noises—

The silver incani man moved, blurring for a moment as he twirled and swayed, making the first real opening movements on the field. When he came back to himself, he called out to a copper woman, asking, “Have you mastered that one yet?”

The woman laughed, a trilling, happy sound, before copying the man exactly, swaying her way across the stage to mirror the man in everything but form. At the end of her own actions, she turned to the man, saying, “You’ll have to try better than that to trip me up!”

And then they started dancing, but to call it that would be to ignore the truth of what one could do if they actually moved as these people moved.

It was a battle without touching. What would have been a deadly punch to the throat became caresses of metal skin at the last moment, touching upon a shoulder and then moving on. Kicks that could decapitate were instead grabbed by the one so attacked, and the kicker gently tossed away, using the movement to spiral into the air and come back down on one foot, with the other leg curled up behind them and their back so arched they almost touched their own foot to their own head.

And then the whole dance reversed in roles and action, and the other one ended on a back-curling tip-toeing stance. All the while the band up on the balcony kept a steady, quick beat to their music, helping the dancers time their movements.

The silver man and copper woman showed off only the first of five such public bouts, each between different people, and each more physically demanding and more interesting than the last. Erick got the distinct impression that he was only seeing the latest incarnations of friendly feuds centuries in the making.

After the fifth dance, there was one more.

Sitnakov strolled away from his friends, heading into the center of the dance floor, challenging, “A dance with a prince! Anyone strong enough! Limber enough! Fast enough to come forth—”

“I see the prince requires another lesson in just how far he has yet to go!” A bright red incani woman strode out from the edge of the field, venturing away from her own friends, some of which happened to be the other strong dancers who had been on right before Sitnakov. Erick got the impression she was a teacher of some sort. “This humble instructor accepts the responsibility of teaching you proper movement!”

Sitnakov smiled wide, saying, “I humbly accept your tutelage, Rubikia.”

Sitnakov was half again the size of the woman, but Rubikia wasn’t worried at all. If Erick was reading it right, Sitnakov was deeply worried that he had pulled in a larger fish than he could handle—

Rubikia moved, rushing forward, starting the dance fight with an instant chop of her left hand against Sitnakov’s right hand that he had just left hanging out there for some reason; maybe he hadn’t expected Rubikia’s speed. Her attack became a pulling motion, using the back of her own hand to grab at his and send him careening forward, while Rubikia continued in her own forward direction, her left hand now attempting to take off Sitnakov’s head. Sitnakov recovered, flowing into a sudden limbo-ish maneuver, avoiding the strike to then twist up and out of the attack, flowing into a backhanded attack of his own.

Sitnakov’s hand brushed against Rubikia’s back. If it had been a real attack Rubikia would have been sent flying, or her back broken, but instead, Rubikia used the pressure to soar away, where she then curled into a ball and twisted right out of it, to land back on her feet. A perfect 10 landing by any judge’s standards.

It would not be the last time one of them sent the other flying.

Even though Rubikia had to weigh an eighth of Sitnakov’s weight, she was no less strong for it.

Punches, kicks. Twists and flips. It could have been a thousand times more deadly than it was, but Sitnakov and Rubikia were immortals at the height of their power, for the wrought did not wane with age; they just grew more experienced. They danced a dance that would have killed any mortal attempting it, either from the too-hard touches that sometimes sent sparks flying when metal hands touched metal flesh, or from a non-wrought dancer not knowing how to do the dance itself, which seemed made up on the spot, but also made up of a thousand previous lessons that no one ever saw except in private—

Sitnakov twirled through the air, his kilt flipping up to reveal a loincloth, and landed in a mirror of how Rubikia had landed before, but when his feet touched the ground he accidentally dug in, scraping the crystal floor, causing the entire room to try not to wince at the noise. Sitnakov just chuckled.

Ruibikia chuckled, too, saying, “Less parties, more training, Prince. You should have landed that one.”

“I accept your advice; thank you for it.”

And then Rubikia limbered up a bit and put her body into the same non-ready stance that Sitnakov had had at the beginning of the dance. It was her turn to play his part.

Sitnakov went for it, shooting forward and using the back of his left hand to guide/yank Rubikia forward. She executed his fumbled first steps much nicer than he had. Going under his attack (which she made look perfectly easy, which was both due to her size and her experience) Rubikia flicked her hand and sent Sitnakov across the field, launching him in such a way that could have easily broken a person’s back. Sitnakov curled into a ball just like Rubikia had in that first exchange and twisted out of it just like her, to land daintily, and ready for the continuation of the dance. He did not fumble that landing.

Their bout proceeded as it had already, but with roles reversed and Rubikia pulling off every single one of Sitnakov’s maneuvers with perfect grace, turning what had been a battle in all senses of the words except in effect, into a beautiful dance.

At the end, Rubikia sailed through the air due to Sitnakov’s final throw and landed on her feet, without making a sound. No crunching crystal floor for her. Sitnakov bowed to the red wrought woman, and Rubikia bowed to her black metal prince.

They left the floor, each heading back to their own people.

Sitnakov might not have won, but he had been magnificent to watch. And, fuck him, but he knew what that kilt of his did when he twirled too fast, too. Erick was absolutely sure that there were other people in the crowd that were happy to witness the physical beauty and all the rest, just as much as they were happy to see the physical display of power. Erick was firmly in both camps there, for sure.

Rubikia was pretty damned hot, too.

So many hot people, everywhere—

Erick was thoroughly impressed that people could incorporate so many backflips and fingertip dancing into their normal routine; Stats helped people do strange things with their bodies, for sure—

The starter events were done, apparently, as the band shifted to another song, a bit slower and more musical. Less made for punching and kicking, and more made for multi-person dancing, for a lot of other people took the field, all at once, and began organizing themselves into some sort of choreographed number, and yet the field was empty of a lot of space—

“The show offs are done, so…” Tasar whispered to Erick, “Care for a dance?”

Erick glanced at Tasar. She looked hopeful, but reserved, and ready for a ‘No’.

Heck no! That looked like a lot of fun!

Erick held out a hand, saying, “I would be delighted for a dance, but only if we’re not doing anything nearly that dangerous or precise.”

Tasar brightened with an easy smile and took his hand, pulling him out into the field, saying, “Just follow along.”

Erick took his place next to Tasar at an edge of the thirty-ish people out on the field. She raised her hands in a certain way to match everyone else already on the floor, and Erick copied. Soon, the floor was full, and some drums began to beat out the end of the start of the song, getting everyone ready for—

And then they were off!

Erick took a fraction of a second to understand what he needed to do, and then he did it.

Twirling and shimmying back and forth on the white crystal floor, Erick danced around Tasar, who then danced around him, just as all the other partnered people were doing all around. Erick only needed several missteps to finally catch up to Tasar’s centuries of practice.

It was nice. Friendly. And then the partners came together. He put one hand on Tasar’s waist like he was supposed to, and she put a hand on his shoulder, as their other hands gripped each other and they spun around the white crystal, following in the footsteps of those who came before, while other people followed Erick and Tasar, and the whole group turned into a circle with one partner on the inside and another on the outside.

With a twirl and a hand off, everyone moved one place to their left and Erick briefly danced with a handsome iron human with a beautiful smile, and then he switched back to Tasar. Another handoff had him with a gold dragonkin woman who Erick had already talked with before now, so it was fun to dance with her here and now. She seemed to enjoy it, too.

And then he was back with Tasar and the whole pattern changed; the circle shifted into a star pattern, and then back to a circle, before changing into a square-shaped dance form, before coming back to the never ending circle again. He danced with a blue harpy woman and a petite celesteel man, before coming back to Tasar. He smiled as the music’s pace and the dance quickened. He followed Tasar as demanded by the dance, and then he led the way when it was his turn to pull her forward.

It was a dance of shifting power and presence, and though Erick had a few missteps here and there, his Stats more than made up for the nuance of it all. He held onto Tasar’s bright black and green hands, and smiled at her own joy of just existing.

Erick was glad for the breezy togas; it was getting warm in here.

And it was nice.

Erick smiled and gently laughed, and he wasn’t the only one. People in the audience clapped along in good time, keeping the dancers on track, happy to participate even if they weren’t on the floor themselves. Tasar seemed to be having a good time, too—

The music suddenly cut and Erick kept going for another half step, but the song was over and every single clapping person on the sidelines clapped loud and proud at the fantastic dance, while the dancers began bowing to each other. Erick followed suit, bowing to Tasar and then their neighbors as she did the same. With a bare five seconds between the music ending and then starting up again, Erick rushed off the dance floor, laughing with Tasar as other people rushed in; it was time for other people to have a go.

Erick went to the food and the drinks for the first time of the day, with Tasar close by his side. He said to her, “That was wonderful. Thank you for the invitation.”

“Thank you for accepting!” Tasar seemed to have a deep joy in her heart, and a perpetual smile on her face, as she exclaimed, “I didn’t know you could move that well! You should get a better partner for the more intricate dances later and try one of them. I can’t do the later dances at all.”

Erick laughed loudly, saying, “That wasn’t one of the more strenuous dances?”

“Oh my no.” Tasar said, “That’s the one for us casters. The muscle-brained warriors take the field later to show off all they can do. The music gets a lot faster. But I bet you could do it! You caught on quick!”

Erick smiled as he grabbed a little golden apple tart from the open banquet, saying, “Maybe I will.”

The tart was near-divine. The golden apple cider was delicious, too.

And then people started coming up to him, chatting him up about this or that, and when he could, Erick went back to the banquet. He had to try the fried meat pastries and some of the candies on display, and he was glad he did; they were fantastic.

Eventually, Kromolok showed, shining bright white in a toga of the same. “Greetings, Erick. Glad to see you enjoying yourself.”

“Glad to see you here, too.” Erick was half joking as he asked, “Got any news about the current problems?”

Tasar almost sighed, resigned to getting back to business. She was happy that the fae hadn’t shown, but now, it seemed that something else might be happening.

But Kromolok quickly laid those worries to rest, saying, “Nothing that bears mentioning at this time.” He added, “But after today’s Bright Tea I ask that you stick around for a little while, for the King and Queen wish to have small words. I’ll be there as well, and Riivo plans to attend. Until then, thank you for all that you’ve done for the world, Erick. The Church of Rozeta appreciates your efforts against the Dark.”

Only some small politics, then.

Erick gave a small nod, saying, “Glad to help.”

A few people in the audience were a bit startled by Erick’s ‘glad to help’, as though he had made a social error of some sort, but Kromolok simply gave a tiny smirk as he nodded deeply in turn, and then he left, back through the crowd.

And thus, the floodgates opened. People came to Erick and thanked him for any number of things. First was Zooli, the gold incani, who spoke of how the golds were glad to make his formal acquaintance. Then came Riivo, who spoke of Erick’s accomplishments with the various threats around Stratagold, lurking in the shadows until Erick’s light shone down upon them. More people showed who Erick had never met, but who wanted to meet him and thank him for killing some monster or containing a threat in this or that location. They told Erick of how their sponsored cities were better off now that Erick had helped out, for they simply couldn’t help with all the problems of mortals, and Erick’s help was greatly appreciated. Apparently, a lot of these people were directly connected to the cities out there, mostly through appointed barons.

Erick would have spoken to more of them, but the music revved up and the clapping of the dancers’ audience got loud. He excused himself from his small gathered group to see what was happening on the dance floor. He was glad he did; it was time to witness the warrior dances.

The warriors had taken the field, dancing this way and that, and Sitnakov was on the floor alongside thirty other well-muscled or superbly lithe men and women. Gods, was it annoying how beautiful that asshole Sitnakov looked out there in just his kilt. He twirled and stomped along with all his cohort in a supreme display of physical acumen, with every single one of the people, no matter their species, moving in unison. The single goblin in the group, of pale green copper caste, was perhaps the most impressive, for he kept up with the human-sized people, and even with the orcols. He moved around like a puppet on a string in order to keep up with everyone else. No one was overtly using magic, either, so that was definitely pure skill out there on display.

And the audience loved it. They clapped right along in time to the music, and to the rhythmic stomping of forty-four pairs of feet slamming into the crystal all at the same time, over and over. The dancers danced, getting low to the ground and kicking out this way and that, but then they flipped onto their hands for a moment between synchronized twirls that sent togas spinning. Sitnakov’s kilt spun up, too, revealing his loincloth again, and Erick just chuckled. He wasn’t the only one out there to spin fast enough to expose himself, though almost all the people out there wore underwear. But besides that, the titillation was purposeful; Erick wasn’t the only one taking a minor joy out of seeing dancers in peak physical condition show off the goods.

Seeing Sitnakov and all the rest of them out there, having fun, almost made Erick forget the threats the man had made to him and Jane and to everyone else Erick knew and loved. And yet… It seemed like those threats were truly just to get a fight out of him. The man loved fighting.

Sitnakov was just like that, Erick supposed.

Erick enjoyed the show and clapped along with everyone else in time to the ever increasing pace of the music. Getting over his dislike of Sitnakov was easier than Erick had supposed it would be. It helped that Sitnakov was absolutely beautiful, and part of Erick felt foolish for being taken in by a pretty face and a rocking body, but whatever!

Only one thought kept Erick from fully enjoying the experience; if these people ever found out that he was a Wizard, there would be real war, and real fighting, and that was just kinda sad. But those were thoughts for later. For now, he enjoyed the show.

Sitnakov and his friends, and a great many of the other warriors out there, stayed for three dances in a row, each more dangerous than the last. The final dance was full of knife-edge hands and whip-fast kicks, barely missing each other in some dance that surely would have ended with someone dead if anyone else but immortal wrought were to try. Even with their precision, though, some people got togas clipped, and shredded. As Erick saw smiles at bouncing breasts and other bouncing body parts, he knew that even this much was likely just for show. They could have not clipped togas, but they chose to do it, anyway.

The music cut. The warriors stopped.

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, and Erick heard more than a few people talk about how this was the best Bright Tea they had been to in years.

After the warrior dances, Queen Strelkova chimed some sounds into the room and the glowgem above brightened once more. The crowd turned to their royals, silent and patient, as Queen Strelkova brought the Bright Tea to a close.

Strelkova stood upon her dais, saying, “We thank our Goddess for these bodies that she has bestowed upon us, and for the honor and privilege of acting in her name, the Most High Goddess of the Script, Rozeta. Let us [Cleanse] this world as she demands, and for the benefit of us all.”

Queen Strelkova cast a [Cleanse]. And so did everyone else. Erick joined in half a second later, following along like he had for most of the night. Like before, there wasn’t much thick air. Erick produced a bit because he was sweaty, but then that was gone.

King Alfonin spoke, “Please take whatever food you wish to have, to enjoy at your leisure. All who we have asked to speak with, come forward.”

The ceremony of it all rapidly began to disintegrate, with people going outward as they were wont, or gathering food from the banquet. Erick asked Tasar if she thought this would take long, or if breaks would be provided, and Tasar suggested he grab something to eat if he was hungry, but otherwise there would likely be normal breaks; she had no idea how long this next part would take. Erick grabbed another meat tart and a drink of cider from the banquet—

Sitnakov sidled up to him, smiling as he said, “I was waiting all day for you to talk to me, but it seems I must confront you, first. So what do you think about my offer?”

Erick was caught off guard for multiple reasons.

Sitnakov was very tall, practically naked in a kilt, and he had removed his loincloth sometime since the last warrior dance.

Erick crushed down that part of himself, and focused on the politics of the moment.

The room still had lots of people in it, and some of them turned to watch whatever was happening between Sitnakov and Erick, and to judge it for the spectacle Sitnakov was trying to create. Erick was trying to decide what sort of spectacle he wanted this to be, too, but… Erick noticed that there was a complication. Sitnakov had already decided that he had been wronged, somehow; that Erick had left him hanging. About what, though?—

Oh.

Sitnakov had not asked, but it was heavily implied that he wanted to be allowed into Erick’s Worldly Path going forward, and—

Oh. Sitnakov was trying to head off the discussion that Erick was heading into with the King and Queen; Stratagold was likely going to try and lay down some rules, or something, regarding Erick’s Worldly Path. Sitnakov wanted to fight alongside Erick, on that Worldly Path, but unless he forced the issue, then his parents were going to tell him to stay home—

Or.

Ah. If Erick didn’t accept Sitnakov here, then the large man would not be on his side against whatever plans his parents had for Erick’s Worldly Path.

… It was something like that, anyway. Erick wasn’t sure. As Erick held a pie in one hand and a cider in the other, he decided that it was better to have Sitnakov on his side, than as a potential enemy, or whatever.

Erick said, “There will be some rules elaborated upon later before we finalize this arrangement, for I will be the leader of my Worldly Path. Not you. Or Tasar, or anyone else, or even Stratagold. But other than that— Welcome aboard. Glad to have you, Sitnakov.”

Sitnakov had tried to keep a straight face all the way through Erick’s declaration, but he couldn’t help but smile halfway through. His fears had been unfounded! Erick had seen the light. Erick had accepted Sitnakov’s superiority… or at least that’s what the man was thinking.

At the end of Erick’s words, Sitnakov clapped his hands together, laughing loud, and happily proclaiming, “Then that is how it will be!” He leaned in a bit, politely demanding, “But you will accept valued advice, yes?”

“Of course.” Erick sipped his cider, then said, “Now let’s go meet your parents.”

Tasar, who had stood to the side like many people, watched in horrified fascination as Erick invited disaster into his party. Other people gave varied reactions, from smiles (Sitnakov’s bros), to raised eyebrows (most other people, who rightly knew exactly what Erick had invited into his life). And—

Tasar sighed, and her disapproval drowned the rest of Erick’s investigation into what other people were thinking. She said to Erick, and unfortunately to Sitnakov as well, “Come along then!”

Erick scarfed down his small pie and gulped his cider. A small [Cleanse] cleaned away the remnants of the snack as he followed Tasar to the side of the room, near where a door beside the royal dais led into another large room. Sitnakov followed right behind Erick, giving a wave to his bros as he stepped lively onto the Worldly Path.

- - - -

The room beyond was done in the same gold-inlay, white crystal style as the ballroom, and while it was much smaller, it was still large enough to comfortably hold a good twenty people. There were less than twenty people in the room at the moment, but it was still rather full of wrought, all standing around standing tables, their crystal cups sitting on those tables as they watched Erick walk in. He knew of everyone in the room, and he had spoken with some of them already.

Archmage Riivo, of Archmage’s rest, with his characteristic joy at everything on full display, while Prognosticator Aisha from the same location had a small grin of joy. Gemslicer Awir looked like he had sucked on a lemon and chose to keep eating because it was the only thing to eat. The gold incani from the Merchants, Zooli, along with a gold orcol woman who Erick had only briefly chatted with, both were overjoyed, but quiet about it. Then there was Kromolok, of course, looking resplendent in a nice toga; he gave Erick a small nod of greetings as Erick walked in, and he seemed to be happy. Uchena was beyond pissed, but she was in the same boat as Awir, it seemed, and was forcing herself to be content in the face of royalty, and destiny.

And then there were the royals.

King Alfonin and Queen Strelkova stood at the far side of the room. First Prince Abarnikon and First Princess Yatzeva stood to their parents' opposite sides. All of them looked pensive and reflective, but the remaining royal, Sitnakov, stood at Erick’s side, looking like the cat that had caught the canary. Sitnakov’s family eyed Sitnakov, and Sitnakov only grinned wider.

Tasar stood tall and secure, showing off her pride as a Geode Guardian, or for her station, or something, but she was trying to make herself small at the same time, so she stepped to the side to stand near Riivo and Aisha. A lot of people in the room had that sort of reaction to being around the royals, Erick realized.

Erick might have shown a bit of deference, too, but that seemed dishonest. Respect was easy to have and to display, but not deference. That just wasn’t in him… Unless the situation required it, he supposed.

He ignored his trains of thoughts, and walked forward, into the center of the room. Kromolok was the nearest person to that location so it seemed like the right place for Erick to put himself, and it was, apparently; Kromolok gave Erick a second nod.

The room was silent with gathering purpose—

Ah. This was probably going to be the inquiry, then? Not officially, of course, but it seemed like a correct assessment. Erick almost frowned the second he had that thought. The inquiry was supposed to be in front of a tribunal of twelve, and public, not held in a smallish room directly after a ceremonial get together. It seemed that back room deals abounded even in wrought society. Oh well! Erick was ready for the inquiry, anyway, that was why he spent so much time going around and attempting to make allies.

King Alfonin took a step forward, into the silent, waiting room. His voice was quiet thunder, “Archmage Erick Flatt of Spur, planar of Earth. You may kneel.”

“I do not wish to kneel.”

Erick’s answer had come out faster than his thoughts could have prepared him. A few eyebrows raised around the room, while Uchena and Awir seemed to get even more angry. But nothing came of Erick’s refusal. King Alfonin was stoic, and completely unreadable. If he had found offense, Erick could not tell. Whatever had just happened had been a test of some sort, and Erick had… Well. He had gone through the test. No idea on the outcome, though.

Queen Strelkova stepped forward, saying, “This room will be made private now. Riivo.”

Riivo gave a half bow, then turned around and touched the inlaid gold around the archway door—

Erick gave a quick sending of ‘Don’t worry!’ to Ophiel and Yggdrasil—

Suddenly, reality seemed to end at the edge of the room. The space had been cut from everything else. Erick and the wrought here were the only ones in existence.

Queen Strelkova spoke, “The official inquiry will occur as normal. You will venture into the White Room of the embassy and you will be bombarded by invasive questions for four hours, from 12 different people. But since we have certain sensitive questions that need answering before that date, before our Abarnikon interrogates you at the inquiry, here and now is when the outcome of your inquiry will truly be decided.

“Or, at least, whether you receive our vote, or not.”

Oh? This was just for securing the royal vote? That wasn’t so bad, then. Not nearly as shady as Erick had suspected it of being.

“Kromolok. Please enact your [Truth Ward].” Strelkova said to Erick, “Kromolok will also be providing Mind Mage insight into your words, so if you choose to lie then it will be found out, and that will likely impact your chances of a successful inquiry.” She added, “We Heavies have a lot of weight on the inquiry board, after all.”

Erick’s whole body tensed as Strelkova spoke of truth magics, worry climbing into his head like a terrible fate. And then the paranoia came around; it had been lost amid the fancy party, but it was here now. If the people here wanted to kill him they could all easily do so. As Kromolok’s white spellwork filled the air around Erick, and no one else, Uchena looked a bit happier, and that was worrying for all sorts of reasons.

Strelkova continued, “We have three questions. Acceptable answers to this first question include Yes, or No. Our King will ask the question, and then you must say Yes, or No. Choose one.”

Ah. Shit. They were going to ask him of Wizardry, weren’t they?

Alfonin asked, “Have you ever made deals with the Darkness, any of his minions, or anyone representing his interests, with regard to the destruction of this world, the destruction of the wrought, or the destruction of any peoples living or dead or planned to exist?”

Erick did not expect the lawyer-speak. His paranoia was suddenly confused. Erick had heard the king’s question correctly and understood it all the first time, but he had to run it through his mind again to make sure that he knew that he wouldn’t be lying, and then he said, “No.”

The white dome around Erick did not shift at all. Everyone looked to Kromolok and the Inquisitor just nodded. Whatever small tensions that had existed in the room had vanished after Erick’s passing of the first question. Even Uchena seemed less angry. Awir gave up on his lemon-eating expression completely, opting for quiet acceptance.

Strelkova said, “That was the large one. We appreciate your honesty. I would ask my own followups. First: Have you ever made any deals with anyone regarding the creation of new worlds? Have you thought of how to make new worlds? Please elaborate as you deem necessary.”

Erick answered, “Not… really. No deals made for creation, or anything like that. That is beyond me at the moment, and probably for always. I barely know where to even begin—” The air around him gained a hint of shadow. “Okay. I would know where to begin.” The air cleared, turning white again. “Yggdrasil seeds floating out into space, each holding a perfected Script with a strong Edge, gradually gaining mana… somehow? No people on a seed to supply mana, though, so… Bind a Creation Wizard’s power to Yggdrasil and have them make infinite mana that can then be gifted to the seeds, which will then [Duplicate] dirt and air and whatnot until planets form, and then… It goes on from there, I suppose. Sort of a rolling system of life creating life. But that’s long, long term space travel ideas. The main method will be planting seeds on the other worlds of this system, and transforming them into habitable worlds. That will be a lot easier. Still going to take many centuries to accomplish this, though.”

Kromolok’s spell had remained white after Erick’s initial flub. There were some reactions to that flub, but nothing too dangerous, or which demanded more answers that Erick wasn’t already giving.

Strelkova gave a tiny nod, then she asked, “Does Rozeta have plans for you?”

“Oh, sure!” Erick said, “I don’t know what those plans are, exactly, but yes. She has plans.”

Strelkova said, “List the current threats to your person that you know of, in descending order, until you come to the wrought.”

Erick tensed. That was a loaded question. The other wrought in the room did not tense; they knew this sort of thing was coming.

Erick thought for a moment, then said, “I will give you them in no particular order, for I am not sure which ones are more dangerous than the others, for danger comes in many forms. There’s the fae. Melemizargo and his Shades, though the only Shade I am actually worried about is… I don’t know. They’re all still dangerous, I think. Then there’s Sininindi and her nascent World Tree; no idea what’s going on there. Whatever is happening with that one Patriarch of Terror Peaks which we never caught and I never Blessed. Some black swan type of event, like an assassin I never saw coming. Which brings me to the dragons, actually. I was in the area when one of them tried to kill a lot of people, and also near when a dragon of Olooraptoor tried to soul-mutilate a man to throw me off of the dragon’s tail. And then there’s the wrought.”

“Why do you consider us a threat to you?” Strelkova asked.

“Aren’t you a threat to everyone?”

No one reacted to that; they knew that Erick spoke the truth.

Strelkova, however, disagreed with the breadth of Erick’s assertion. “We are not threats to those who do not threaten, so what do you threaten, Erick? What dangers are you hiding from us, and from the world? What horrors will you unleash if we let you leave this room alive? What sort of country do you hope to build out of those horrible shadelings up on the Surface?”

Ah.

Being angry was easier than being scared.

Erick’s blood rose at the mention of ‘horrible shadelings’, but he maintained that part of himself to a quiet fire, and said, “I am hiding a great many magical dangers, such as the true nature of light, the true nature of sound, and several apocalyptic magics that I hope are more fantasy than reality, but, if I understand correctly, Kromolok is already working on the solution to those apocalyptic magics, and I already know the danger of letting out more knowledge than the world can handle. There will not be a repeat of the Particle Magic lectures.”

No one reacted to that, except to await more words.

Erick continued, “If I can get away with it I hope to expand civilization quite a lot, but not because I have any particular need to go back to Earth or to become some sort of emperor of the world. I don’t want to become the king of shadelings, or anything else like that, either. In fact, I’m not even for the generalized expansion of civilization, but expanding civilization will naturally come about because of the peace and prosperity which I do hope to foster, and to let grow as much as it can. That’s all I actually care about: helping people become more than what they were before. This naturally leads to children and to growth and expansion.” Erick said, “If any unforeseen horrors are unleashed because the population of the world increases and people begin to encroach upon the hidden horrors out there, then I hope for your assistance with taming or destroying those horrors. Rozeta already asked me to respond ‘With Light and Ash’ to upcoming troubles my proposed changes might bring into existence, so… If you ask me what I threaten, then I threaten the world with betterment.” He added, “I don’t know exactly what that means yet, though; I’m still figuring it out.”

This answer seemed decent to everyone there. The part about Rozeta asking Erick to kill things in her name was a surprise, but it was also highly welcomed.

Strelkova lifted her head slightly; an expression of queenly discernment. And then she gave a polite, “We wish you well with accomplishing your goals, Erick. As long as those goals remain focused on the good of all good people, then we will not be enemies. Know now, though, that we disapprove of your recklessness with venturing into the Core. We disapprove of your Blessing of the Shades, when you could have annihilated them. We disapprove of how you disseminated Particle Magic out into the world.

“However.

“We approve of your alliance with Rozeta. We approve of your goals. We approve of your accomplishments against the Quiet War, against the Sects of Nelboor, against every threat you have ever gone up against. You have made the world a better place by ending or mitigating those threats.” Strelkova glanced at her husband, then back to Erick, saying, “Please answer my King’s next questions with a similar level of thought as you gave mine.”

Erick felt a weight come off his chest—

King Alfonin asked, “If you were to acquire [Gate], would you ever allow your specific Gate Network to fall out of your power for any reason?”

Erick said, “Yes. Since summons eventually outgrow their summoners, eventually, Yggdrasil will control [Gate] all on his own. I might create more [Gate]s, though, because I can easily imagine wanting a private [Gate] system.”

Erick’s answer was accepted, but a few people raised eyebrows at ‘private [Gate] system.'

And then Alfonin stared at Erick, his eyes gaining a hardness to them that they had not possessed before. Erick felt a sudden sweat. Ah. Shit. Was this going to be the big question—

“Are you still mortal?” the King asked.

Erick flummoxed for a moment.

“… I don’t think so.”

As the white spell around Erick remained white, the people in that room were too well guarded to let their true emotions show. Mostly. Tasar openly gasped. Awir glared. Riivo sighed, but barely. And then King Alfonin lost his stoicism, completely, his shoulders slumped a bit as his expression went soft; caring.

Strelkova had about the same reaction as her husband, but she was the first to actually speak. “Oh… It seems we must have this particular conversation after the fact. I did not expect that.”

While the words were worrying, her body language was nothing but caring. Everyone in the room had similarly shifted toward something less serious, and that was perhaps more worrying than most other possible reactions. Erick had not expected… Whatever this was.

Erick glanced around. “Uh? What's wrong?”

Another silent outpouring of compassion filled the room.

Alfonin said, “I’m so sorry, Erick. You’re going to have to see everyone you love eventually die.”

Erick almost shot back something unkind and probably stupid.

But Riivo spoke up, “I did not think that Rozeta would do this to him, either.”

“I can understand why she would do this.” Strelkova spoke casually, “She would literally never find anyone better to walk Yggdrasil into eternity.”

Uchena scowled. “Yggdrasil losing Erick is just a longer term problem, now. This man is going to get himself killed and then Yggdrasil will break. It won’t be pretty.”

“Or the rigors of immortality will break Erick first,” Riivo said softly. “And then it will be a disaster of a different sort.”

Erick frowned a little, completely unprepared for… whatever this was. Back when he first met Sitnakov at the edge of the cloudgate in the Core, the man had tried to tempt Erick with an offer of immortality through ‘any number of methods that Erick should be able to cast, given his history’. So this sort of reaction from these people now was a bit incongruous.

He decided to say as much. “What’s wrong with immortality?”

Everyone else went silent. The non-royals glanced to Strelkova.

Strelkova resumed her queenly mien, “All mortals with the desire to continue will reach for eternity, but few ever get there. To fail to grasp eternity is a blessing for them, on this Veird, for this world is full of mortals, and there is no true separation between our different societies. Mortals live as children, enjoying the world for what it is, and then they grow older and contribute to the causes, while in their old age they hand the governance of the world off to the younger generation, always coming up behind them. In this way, mortals are the best of us, for they are always challenged in bettering themselves before the end, and to ensure that whoever will come after knows how to take care of what they were granted.

“And then, at the end, they die, and join the gods in perpetuity, returning to all their loved ones who chose the same path. Or they join the mana, and become part of the cycle of forever, assisting those who come afterward in ways they never could while alive. It is that final journey that makes mortals strive for betterment. For growth.

“But as an immortal…” Strelkova’s voice turned softer, and harder at the same time. “The world will never change unless you make it change. There is no hope except that which you provide. There is no growth except that which you demand. When you get the urge to help people, and I imagine you, specifically, Erick, will get that urge a lot, it will be through the mortals where you will enact the most changes in the world. You will grow attached to them. You will watch them age and you will not. You will watch them die and you will not. You will watch their children age and the children of their children age, each of them putting their own mark on the world, each hoping for a better world for their children…

“And you will watch them all die.” Strelkova said, “This is what it means to be an immortal living in a mortal world. What Rozeta gave you was a boon that you will likely one day return, as so many of our people do whenever they venture out into the world and come back to Stratagold, beaten and broken by living among mortality.”

Erick had no words, but in the silence of Strelkova’s ending speech, it appeared that they wanted him to have some. So he said, “If I could make everyone immortal and healthy, I would.”

All around the room was silent pity.

Strelkova simply nodded, saying, “Of course you would. If such a thing were possible, I would do the same.”

Erick scowled at that, but his sudden anger was met with more pity, and he felt unmoored.

Strelkova continued, “Apologies for the rough interview.” She glanced around. “Does he still have to do the inquiry?” Her eyes fell upon her son, Abernikon, “We’re helping him now, fully and completely.”

First Prince Abarnikon spoke up, “He still has to do it for everyone has been waiting for the event, but I can make the inquiry as painless as possible.”

Strelkova agreed, “This will have to do.”

Tasar whispered, “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

Sitnakov stepped closer and put a hand on Erick’s shoulder. His eyes were full of sorrow, as he said, “It’ll be okay.”

Erick’s unsure frown morphed into narrowed eyebrows and a small scoff. Nervousness warred with paranoia and with all the true, caring emotions he saw on display all around. Erick patted Sitnakov’s hand, then slipped out from under the heavy, honestly caring touch, saying, “Thank you for the concern, but… I don’t agree that only mortals can do good things.”

“Of course you don’t,” Strelkova said. “I won’t try to correct this idea at this time.”

… She was condescending, but also truly caring, so Erick had trouble being angry at that.

Erick explained, “My daughter is a Polymage. She can learn the proper way to [Polymorph]-enabled immortality, I’m sure.” And now he was angry. “And! And there are other methods you tried to tempt me with. So there are other ways out there to solve the problem of mortality!”

A few eyebrows raised, but then they went right back down.

Erick added, “Even if Jane is required to abandon everything she knows, including me, I can still visit her after she changes. This is fine. And it’s also 50+ years away! Big deal. There are a lot more immediate problems that need solving.”

No one shared Erick’s positive outlook.

And Erick understood why. They all knew the pain of touching upon mortal society. They had all seen loved ones die way too often to ever allow themselves the vulnerability of living with mortals, which were just people who you cared about who died a whole lot faster than the people back home. So of course these wrought stayed near other wrought; to do otherwise was to invite pain into their life.

Tasar, however, latched onto the positive attitude, saying, “Yes! Of course Jane can learn that skill!” She came forward and took Erick’s hand into both of hers. Her metal was warm to the touch, and though she was more solid than mortal flesh, she still had a pliability to her. “There are a lot of problems to take care of, and at the very least, death is a long way off for everyone of this current generation.”

Riivo spoke up, “Tasar is right. We should all be a bit more concerned with mortal affairs for a little while. Maybe a century or two. It will hurt, but it is good for the world, and for the future of all worlds.”

First Princess Yatzeva, who had remained silent and passive this whole time, gained a sudden edge at Riivo’s words. She tried to be polite through her rage as she spat, “No. I refuse to live with mortals ever again. It was good to meet you, Erick. I’m done here.” And then she walked away, toward a crystal door, slamming it open and breaking the thick crystal into shards which rained upon her, tearing her cloth toga. She didn’t seem to care, for she did not take injury, nor did she walk any faster. She simply went away, trying to be polite but knowing she was not.

The whole world returned as Yatzeva’s actions broke the runic web, or something crucial in the walls.

Tasar sighed, saying, “We should talk about your summons gaining sentience and what to do after. You will likely create several new species in your life and I need to talk with you before you create the next one. Ophiel is going to hurt you a lot, Erick.”

Erick didn’t get a chance to respond to that—

King Alfonin said, “Dismiss the spells, Kromolok.” The white dome around Erick went away as Alfonin said, “Normally, Erick, I would be giving you a lot of gruff for taking my son on your Worldly Path, but you can deal with him yourself. If it looks like you’re going into Ar’Cosmos then we’ll have a lot more talks in a war room setting, before you go there. For now, enjoy yourself in Stratagold. The city is open to you, but please respect other people. You never know who you’ll meet far down the line who you didn’t respect once and they remembered it for all eternity.” Alfonin frowned. “I probably should have asked you that last question first. In my defense, I thought you would still be mortal.”

“I have faith.” Strelkova said, “Rozeta surely knows what she’s doing.”

Kromolok said, “The only danger we truly face is that of Scripts actually opening on other worlds and of the Dark returning to full power, but we have time to decide how that will happen.”

Everything was moving quite fast.

Erick wasn’t happy with any of it.

But he felt unmoored. He had no edges to grasp in any of the conversations happening all around him. There were a few more small words exchanged where Erick gave rote responses, but soon enough Erick found himself walking back through the White Palace, to the t-station. And then he was back at Yggdrasil with Tasar at his side, Ophiel happily singing on one shoulder, Yggdrasil’s [Scry] eye on the other, and Sitnakov saying that he would see Erick later.

As Erick sat in his Privacy in his [Fairy Stronghold], doing his [Renew] and cycling business, and then switching back to his Normal Form as fast as he could, he was still thinking about what had happened at the White Palace.

… What had happened was an objectively good outcome. They hadn't asked about Wizardry, and they told him that he had their vote at the inquiry. And all the people in that room showed true caring for Erick’s newly-immortal life.

Even Uchena and Awir seemed sympathetic to that part of Erick’s new reality, though they disagreed with all the rest of him for certain, individual reasons. Awir was jealous of Erick’s Particle-based Light Magic. Uchena was worried because she knew Erick was a Wizard, and she wasn’t comfortable with that.

But…

The Wizard thing.

They didn’t ask him if he was a Wizard. They could have! They probably should have.

Either they were being polite, in which case his Wizardly status was still a bomb waiting to explode. Or they already all knew and they did not care, so therefore Erick was worried for nothing (not bloody likely!). Or they knew he was a Wizard and they were waiting for him to be more vulnerable? But… No. He had been fucking vulnerable in there. It was weird.

… And Fairy Moon hadn’t shown.

He and Tasar were pretty damned sure that Fairy Moon was going to show.

But she hadn’t been there?

Also weird.

- - - -

Kromolok sat in a room that was not a room.

Fairy Moon sat on the other side with a mischievous smirk upon her face. “Fate’s fickle fingers find Erick exactly who they want that man to be. A blessing and burden! An engineer and eradicator! An averter of dear disaster when all looks lost.”

Kromolok glared. “I am not here to talk about him. He is simply the field upon which the rest of Eternity will be built. He is not for you to touch. Stay away from that Wizard, Fairy Moon. Stay away or be purged.”

Fairy Moon sighed, and said, “He is more than you want him to be and less than he is when he is around you. And if you could have purged me, you would have. Speak no more of tiny threats.”

Kromolok frowned, and spoke in the Old Power, “You broke bargain. You vacated your vow. Tell me today what you want, Fairy Moon. By all the laws both ancient and new, I demand your deference.” Kromolok said, “Tell me what it will take for me and mine to get Anti-Apocalypse magic, and for you and yours to leave Erick alone.”

Fairy Moon relaxed a little, then said, “Erick’s emergence demands our diligence. Our presence and our power.”

“Make plain your pining. Less lies of soft sideways.”

“I want off this rancid rock.” Fairy Moon said, “I want problems purged and justice judged. I want Kirginatharp killed for what he did to my inamorato Idyrvamikor. I want Rozeta removed. I want Melemizargo made whole. I want the Demons to disappear and the Angels to acquiesce! And I want you to be less than you are.”

“Reduce your requirements. I only wish and want for apocalypse averted for all always.” Kromolok said, “This is nothing next to your yearning. What will it take to get me my goals?”

Fairy Moon smirked. “For… ALL… always?”

Far away, someone tsked.

There were too many ways to interpret ‘All always’.

“… I see you Sight this time a waste of wishes.” Kromolok stood, and then began to vanish. “We will pick this up again when you decide to be less of a fae about the seriousness of your transgression and the seriousness of my demands. Interpreting my ‘all always’ as ‘murdering everyone right now to prevent future collapse’ is not a viable alternative.”

Fairy Moon frowned, her smirk turning into a hateful thing of jagged lines. “You play at powers you have no time to tame! I am not being ‘fae’ about fuck-all!”

Kromolok fully vanished, glaring all the while.

Fairy Moon shouted to the room, saying, “Damn you!”

And then Fairy Moon vanished, angrily.

The room remained.

Unchanging.

Unmoving.

And then the room unfurled, revealing itself as the six sides of a cube floating in an endless blue sky. Clouds drifted across the endless horizon like lazy fish. One of those clouds swept across the floating cube space, brushing across it like a giant dishcloth, twisting halfway through the brushing as it [Cleanse]d, like a great big dishrag getting out the burnt-on food. For a moment, the clouds twisted even more vigorously, and then they stilled.

And then the cloud continued on.

In their passing a brilliant white wrought stood upon the space, looking the land over for imperfecti—

“Ah.” Rozeta took another cloud and finished cleaning up the Fae Magic that Fairy Moon had left in her wake. “There we go. All clean, and ready for more talks later.” And then she sighed. “No one holds a grudge quite like old fae, do they.” She frowned, and then she moved to where Kromolok had stood, and said to the empty space across the way, “You know, Idyrvamikor was my son. I’m not happy that Kirginatharp did what he did, but...” Rozeta frowned. She didn’t want to touch upon that particular conversation at this moment, and especially not alone. She pondered aloud, “Maybe I’ll join the next talk.”