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Hot winds blew from the bare northern sky, scouring the expansive orange desert, but died as they came to this place. Here, in this space of rainbow shadows, deep clouds, and boxy black buildings, where resurrected farmers tilled the land and planted seeds in the loamy dirt, gentle flashes of white light glittered through clouds, bringing cool wind, and more. Platinum rain fell, cold and vibrant, onto a resurrected Farm, sending green shoots into the air that became grains, vines, and tall stalks of vegetables.  

Farmers worked fast to gather the bounty; to harvest rice, pluck potatoes, and gather corn. Others, who were not all farmers, ghosted out of the dark city, to stand in the open, exposed to the rain. These others wore nothing more than rags. They faced that sky with grey eyes, wide open. Glowing waters fell upon faces. If they cried as those glowing raindrops traced down their skin, it was impossible to tell.  

The overseer of the platinum rain hovered over the farms, his many wings keeping him stable in the storm, while his eyes maintained an uninterrupted vigil on the production below, ensuring that the rain fell exactly where it needed to fall. He had done this many times before; he knew when the farmers were getting too much production, or when they had too little. Ophiel ensured that nothing overgrew in his presence, and that everyone was keeping up with their tasks.  

Other feathered [Familiar]s were more light than substance. They dashed around the Farms like ethereal oozes, touching those who stared at the sky, turning rags to clothes and cleaning off wounds, and dirt. Matted, wet hair, became simply wet. Nails were trimmed. Nakedness was covered by copied clothes from neighbors. Some were able to stretch those wet clothes over their bodies. Some of the more dazed shadelings had those clothes turned to light, then stretched over their forms, to cover those who could not cover themselves. Shoes were in short supply; most would have to go without, for now. But this was good.  

Clothes, good... Food was growing in the Farm right now…

A hundred eyes turned to other issues.

Other parts of the dark city that had fallen to the spider horde, or the automatons, it was hard to tell which did more damage in some locations, now fell completely, to orchestrated efforts of shadelings working together. Other buildings were built up; restored to their former blocky selves. Fights broke out here and there, but they were either stopped by nearby people, or with gentle touches of light, and white blips that sent the offenders to other sides of the city.  

And then there were the bodies. Mangled. Broken. Bloody, with guts strewn out and half eaten—

Ophiel paused over one. A human male, smallish. Some might even call him mousy, with brown hair and brown skin. Erick knew this lad as the one Justine introduced, that first time Ophiel came to Candlepoint. His name was Irkil. And he was dead. Disemboweled by some horrific action.  

Clinically, Ophiel stuffed the outsides back inside, cast a [Cleanse] over the tragedy, turning blood and otherwise into thick air, and blipped the body to the fields, in the south. Irkil landed in a dignified position on the ground, aligned with others who had fallen. There was no jumble of bodies, here. These people would be sent off with as much respect as Erick, and the people of Candlepoint, could muster. This organization did not happen at first. Erick had had to adjust the bodies three times, putting them in parallel rows, before others started to copy his methodology. Gazing across the field, Erick saw the cost of Bulgan’s actions, in cold, stiffening bodies. The fields of the dead had expanded over a quarter of Candlepoint’s total area. None had yet been consigned to the fire.

Most of Candlepoint had been killed. Nine out of every ten people had perished. Almost as fast as the extraneous buildings came down, that land had been filled with the dead.  

And yet, life went on. Buildings went up in the west and the east. Someone burrowed through the stone below the city, creating something like a sewer system. It wasn’t great, but it was better than what the city had had before. Someone repaired broken cisterns on roofs, while another created more cisterns, and others attempted to pull water from the damp air with widespread [Watershape]s. It wasn’t the easiest use of the spell; a hundred mana made a liter of water. It was not efficient. But it was good enough, for now. Erick would institute something better, later.  

It was then, though, that Erick noticed something.  

The farmers in the fields did not keep themselves dry with [Weather Ward]s. The plumbing in the city did not use [Gravity Ward]s to pump water from below. Did they not have [Ward]? Everything in modern Veird society used [Ward]s in some way or another. Erick had over twenty [Ward]s active in his house in Spur, right now. Every house had at least one warder...

Erick left Ophiel to his tasks, as he went about another.

- - - -

Inside his house, Erick sat up from his reclining chair. Poi sat on the other side of the room, reading, but at Erick’s movements, he closed his book.  

Erick asked, “What spells do shadelings not have?”

Poi looked to the air. “[Mend]. [Cleanse]. Spatial Magic. [Control Item]. [Fabricate]. [Conjure Item]. We have not seen any shadeling in Candlepoint use any of those spells. We are not sure about [Ward]. The city has wardlights, but we haven’t see much beyond that.”

Erick mentally went through the list again. He said, “That’s gonna be rough.” He got up from his chair, saying, “I need to get started on dinner. I’m gonna need help cooking, too.”  

Poi frowned a little, saying, “But it’s not even noon, yet.”

“I’m cooking for ten thousand, Poi.” Erick teased, “But you knew that already.”

Poi looked to wrestle with something for a moment, before he got out of his own chair, and said, “I don’t think you should copy that much food.” He added, “It’s bad enough what you’ve already done with the clothes. People will know you have [Duplicate].”

“But—” Erick paused. He frowned. He said, “Okay. You actually bring up a good point. I have money that I have acquired through normal means, and Candlepoint needs goods to start its own trade. I should pay actual money for stuff.”  

“… But you’re still going to copy stuff?”

“But I am still going to copy stuff tonight. Yes. One night only!” Erick said, “It’s an emergency, Poi. I won’t copy that much.”

Poi offered, “Or you could pay people to cook for you?”  

“… No one is going to be able to make that much food in ten hours.”

“That’s not true.” Poi said, “I know of at least two places that can do it.”

“… Oh?” Erick said, “Then… Let’s do that. I like that idea. Okay. That’s what we’re doing.” He went to the entrance to the library, asking, “Where is Justine, right now?”

“Third floor.”

Erick looked back to Poi. “Is she going to be okay?”

Poi briefly struggled with something, again, then said, “She is emotionally sound. She is a lot tougher than most people. I do not think she is a threat, in any normal way, but she will go poking around where you let her poke around.”

Erick waved off that concern, saying, “I can live with that. “Let’s find Teressa.”

Teressa was in the cold room, taking stock of resources. Apparently, the house needed some essentials, too, and she was just about to head out to get them. Erick decided that they could all go together.

On the way out of the house, with his guards in tow, Justine stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking stuck between going up, coming down, and deciding if she really wanted to ask what she wanted to ask. Erick solved the problem for her.   

He asked, “We’re going out to get some necessary things for the survivors. Do you want to gift them anything in particular? I’m buying.” He offered, “Or do you want to go out with us? Is there anything you’re lacking at the moment, that I could provide?”

Justine stood shocked for a moment. She said, “Uh. I should stay here.” She glanced to Poi, then back to Erick, saying, “I should not leave the house, unless it is an emergency.”

“That’s fine, and probably a good idea.” Erick asked again, “Anything you want, though? I’m mainly just hiring a caterer to prepare the food, and getting bolts of fabrics and such. And getting a few groceries for the house.”

Justine smiled, a tiny expression, holding back floodgates. She said, “I would like some nice fabrics, thread, and needles. I haven’t had [Fabricate] in a century, and I would like to make some clothes for myself.”

“You used to be an alchemist, too, right?” Erick asked, “Do you want one of the verandas for a garden? It’s still inside the [Prismatic Ward], so you should be safe there, too.”

“I would love— I would love to have one of the verandas.” She asked, “The one on the third floor looks lovely.”

“We have one on the— Oh! Right.” Erick said, “If that small one isn’t enough, there’s the eastern one, or the larger western one.”

“The smaller one is fine.”

“Very well then. I will get you your stuff. We’ll be back soon.”

Justine nodded.

“One more thing.” Erick asked, “What spells can shadelings not use?”

Looking briefly in her element, Justine rambled off, “[Mend]. [Cleanse]. Spatial Magics. [Fabricate]. [Conjure Item]. These are absolutely locked to us. But… that was the story I was required to tell you, back then. It’s true. But it’s not the full truth. Some of us who know aura control are able to recreate some of them. Those people were not allowed to come to Candlepoint, though. They’re stuck in Ar’Kendrithyst.” She said, “Anyone who knew any aura control at all was forced to stay in the Dead City and work on magic item creation.”

Erick asked, “What about [Ward]? I don’t see anyone wearing [Weather Ward]s on the farm. Everyone is just standing in the rain.”

Briefly confused, Justine said, “There are some people with [Ward] in there. There’s lights in the city; that’s how we got them. Through [Ward]. But everyone tried to keep their defenses down while Bulgan was in charge. He took joy in tearing apart those who walked around with [Personal Ward]s.” She added, “Any defense, actually…” She got a distant look for a brief moment, then turned her attention back to Erick. “Most Shades are like that.”

Bulgan might have nominally moved on, but his shadow remained. People were not comfortable in Candlepoint. They likely wouldn’t be comfortable for years, if ever, but maybe things would get better after a few months had passed, uneventfully. It was possible that Bulgan and the other Shades were dealing true, and had really given up Candlepoint to him, but it it was also possible that a sudden [Gate] to Earth would open up, and drop a few dozen more earthlings on Erick’s doorstep. In other words: never going to happen.

- - - -

Spur was a city of over a quarter million people, spread out over 113 square kilometers. A year ago, there had only been 80,000 people in the whole city. Maybe less. Erick’s arrival and the production of cheap food, as well as the security of a public archmage willing to put down encroaching threats, and generally be present in the public eye, had done a great deal for population growth. There were few needs more primal to the mortal condition than the need for security. There were also few needs harder to come by on Veird, than security.  

Erick walked out of his house, with Teressa and Poi in tow, while Justine was left at the house to her own devices, and to get acquainted with her new home. But the ex-shadeling wasn’t the only new person in the neighborhood.  

The flat, orange land of the Human District, ringed in the greenery of the Gardens, held two houses, until today. One was Erick’s. The other was the Mage Trio’s, just to the northwest of Erick. But now, there was a third. It was a house of a similar size as the other two, built to the southwest, but built more like a castle or maybe a hotel, than the other two. The building hadn’t been there yesterday, but it was going up fast, as workers piled up blocks of stone off of pallets and guided them into place on top of the rest. The overall structure was readily apparent. With three stories, organized windows in lines around the outside, no verandas, and a slanted roof, it looked like…

“A noble’s summer home! A big boxy thing. Kinda nice,” Erick said, walking across the flat, orange land, headed west. He already had an idea of who’s house could be, but he asked, “Who’s is it?”

Teressa said, “I heard it was some people called the Clayfields. Nobles out of the Greensoil Republic.”

“Exactly right.” With tendrils of thought touching his head, Poi said, “They got approved yesterday. Construction started a few hours ago.”

Some of the workers at the house paused, as they looked up from their jobs and saw Erick and his guards walking north of the rising house. One of the guys waved at him. Erick waved back, just as one of the other construction guys slapped the back of the first one’s head, saying something loud enough to hear, about ‘not bothering the archmage’. Erick smiled, and kept walking.  

“Good for the Clayfields.” Erick said, “We’ll have to get them a housewarming gift.”

Teressa hummed. “Nobles in Spur doesn’t sit right. I don’t like it.”

Erick said, “Poi and I were there when Gwynewyn Clayfield, the head noble— I think she was a ‘Lady’? What was she, Poi?”

“Alandria Clayfield, the daughter and the main proponent of moving the Clayfields from Frontier back to Spur, is the ‘Lady’.” Poi said, “Gwynewyn Clayfield is a Baroness. The family is from a small holding known as Steelbend, across from the Fin river, from Redder, under Greendale’s flag.”

Teressa pulled in a sudden breath. “Big nobles. Damn.”

As they walked through the wide road between the various fields of the Garden that surrounded the Human District, Erick asked, “Greendale is the main city, right?”

“Correct.” Poi said, “Steelbend is actually a very prosperous town. Maybe a hundred thousand people.”

“Oh. Wow.” Erick said, “I did not expect that. She talked like it was some village, or something.”

“She was being modest.”

Teressa hummed again. “Well… If she’s modest.” She rapidly added, “She was just playing a part. You never know with those types.”

Erick chuckled as they left the Human District, headed toward some caterers Poi knew.  

- - - -

“All you want is meat, bread, cheese, wine, and beer?” said a skinny incani man behind the counter, equal parts delighted, terrified, worried, and hopeful.  

Poi had taken them to an event caterer, that dealt with large scale events. Most of the building was full of Grand [Prestidigitation] stoves and walk-in ovens and all sorts of heavy duty mixers, along with the smells of everything good to eat under the sun, but this room was a smaller front room. It was just the space where customers spoke to representatives of the company. There was little more than a register in one corner, and a nice, homey kitchen table. More than a few wedding paintings adorned the walls. This place did a lot of weddings with guest lists in the range of ten to fifteen thousand, according to Poi.

Erick repeated his order, as succinctly as he could, “Enough for 5,000 people. Yes. In seven hours.” He said, “There’s going to be lots of vegetables and such provided by others, but I want this stuff to be good, and a lot of it; enough for double meals. I’d say I want to order for 10,000, but I know that would be impossible given the time frame. And I know it’s a rush order, so double your price.” He added, “And you don’t have to serve any of it. I’ll serve it all myself, and take it directly from your kitchens, when it is ready. It doesn’t have to be ready all at the same time.”

“Oh my gods,” the man mumbled to himself. He suddenly focused, with laser intensity, as he asked, “Is 7 hours a hard limit? We can do 10 to 12. No one can get you better timing than that. And our price will stay the same. Our price normally includes waiters and such, but— I need to start cooking.” He almost got up from his chair, but he sat back down, saying, “I’m going to need half the money up front. We cannot provide service on a seven hour timeframe, but if you do not need the service, then we can just provide the food itself. There will be roast meats, mostly shredded. We’ll make the bread here, too. We were not expecting this, but we can do this. We can do this, sir.”

Erick smiled. “What is the menu going to look like?”

“Shredded beef. Shredded pork. Both with lots of sauce for dipping. Those will be made here, and be the bulk of what we will make. Loaves of good, white bread, will be purchased through several bakeries around town and elsewhere. We normally make bread here, too, and we will make some of it, but there is not enough time to make it all. The cheese is bought elsewhere. We order fifty-kilo logs of cheese all the time from a few different producers, and we can get you both hard and soft in about a 50-50 split. Beer and wine— Were you thinking one person per one bottle of wine, or two? One keg of beer is usually enough for 50 people, or 10 orcol-people.”

“Two.” He added, “Five per keg.”

“About how many orcols? Any wrought?”

Erick glanced over to Candlepoint, then came back to himself. “I’m going to say 1500 orcols. Zero wrought.”

“We can do that.” The incani man said, “I’m going to quote a price, and it should be correct, but it might be off by 20 percent.”

“That’s fine.”

“12,000 gold upfront. 18,000 afterward. About 4 gold, 6 silver per lot of food, considering 6500 people.” He added, “It’s the best price you could get, too. Me and my people will be working extra hard to make sure this works.”

“You take Mage Bank, right?”

The man chuckled, saying, “Of course we do!”

Erick handed the man his Mage Guild badge, saying, “Go ahead and get started.”

The man took the badge, like it was a precious gem. He asked, “Where is this food going, may I ask?”

“To Candlepoint.”  

The man went still.

Erick expected some sort of reaction, so that was fine. He kept going. “They recently lost nine out of every ten people to the Ballooning Horde, when the Shade in charge let it happen, on purpose. I’ve stepped in to help where I could. Bulgan has left the city, too.”

The man, now still, and thinking, said nothing for a moment. He broke his silence, saying, “I thought they were monsters.”

“One of them cleansed themselves of the Darkness and was resurrected by Koyabez, in order to help facilitate some sort of understanding between shadelings and the rest of civilization. Her name is Justine, and she’s staying at my home, right now.” Erick said, “I still have no idea what’s up with Candlepoint but I hope that the people there can come back from being monsters, just like Justine. Whatever the case, that’s all above me, quite honestly. I’m just here to help people who need help, and right now I feel as though the shadelings are people who need help.” He added, “But I wouldn’t go there myself, in person. Maybe in a year, if it continues to be okay.”

The man softly said, “My brother died in Ar’Kendrithyst, last year. He was at Candlepoint, in the beginning. I don’t think he’s there anymore.” He asked, “I thought they were just another trap?”

“They are, and they are not. Don’t go there yourself and don’t get involved if you can help it.” Erick said, “I’m going to be prudent, too, and stay away. But I can’t not help people who need help.”

“Yeah...” The man stared at Erick’s badge. From one moment to the next, professionalism took over. The man sat straighter. He grabbed a ledger, and wrote down the numbers on the back of Erick’s badge, as a tendril of thought trailed away from his head. In a moment, he handed Erick back his badge, saying, “You’ve been approved— Of course you were. But. Procedure. Thank you very much for your business.” More tendrils radiated from his head as he concentrated hard for a long moment.  

Erick counted the tendrils. Only eight. The man had none of the usual calm, twenty-radiating talks going on at once, that Poi sometimes had. But that was to be expected.

All at once the tethers snapped. The man smiled, and stood from his chair. “We’re good. It’s happening. Thank you.”

Erick stood with him. “Thank you. I know it’s short notice.”

“Not a problem.” The incani man said, “A pleasure doing business with you, Archmage Flatt. My employees are already purchasing what needs to be purchased. We have many things to cook, rather fast. Thank you for choosing Palasio’s Caterers for your catering needs.”

“Thank you for being able to fulfill the request.” Erick asked, “By the way: Are you Palasio?”

“Yes. But the business is my father’s. Same name.”

Erick smiled. “A pleasure to meet you, Palasio. I look forward to a good outcome.”

Palasio said, “And you shall have it!”

- - - -

Erick walked down a wide road where the air smelled of flowers, and wind flowed freely.  

Before Erick started controlling the weather, causing ‘natural’ rains every two or three days, almost the entire city had been constructed with wide open spaces and thick, stone walls, with more concern given to making the [Temperature Ward]s inside houses last longer, and little regard for how water would flow across the blocky architecture. Outdoor places where people were meant to hang out were not quite so blocky, but instead had stone overhangs and airy arches and more than enough space for breezes through. The fabric district of Spur, while not a true District, was one such place that kept its architecture unchanged, after the rains began. Their outdoor fabric market was ancient and blocky, and they were not willing to change for anyone. They did put up some really nicely colored [Weather Ward]s over the whole place, though, like a woven roof.

Fabrics fluttered in the breeze, showcasing their lightness or thickness, their transparency or opaqueness. Reds, golds, blues. Blacks and whites. Bolts and bolts of plain white cloths, waited for an order to be made, ready to be dipped in inks for custom colors. One store had extensive geometric patterns that reminded Erick of Islamic architecture. Some stores were filled with fabrics layered in flowers and water designs. Some of the most intricate expensive fabrics, on display in front of what was practically an art gallery, were crafted with goldfish with glittering gold-orange-black scales, upon backdrops of blue skies. Another store had trees, landscapes, prints, and designs, all contained on bolts of fabric, ready to be cut and styled into wearable art of all kinds.  

All of this was contained on a single street, down three city blocks and their adjacent buildings —premium locations, according to Teressa and Poi both— where the wind flowed easy from north to south, and the sky was a stained glass cathedral window of [Weather Ward]s; layered by master Warders, every day, no doubt. Erick was just as enamored with the ‘roof’ of the market as he was with the market itself.  

He smiled to himself, as he looked up, muttering, “Someone has to put that up every day?”  

The street was not overly crowded, but there were a lot of people here, searching for fabrics and haggling over prices. Most of them were rather well dressed. Some of them even had clothing like Al’s; looking like mobster-sultans.

Poi said, “Every day. This place hasn’t changed in 300 years, because no one wanted any permanent artistic changes, and that would certainly include wardlights. But this street is full of artists. It’s my understanding that there has been a recent compromise on the roofing, but look down, and you’ll see that even the signs are relegated to orderly boxes.”

Erick looked slightly down, below the geometric canopy, but above the well dressed people, to the signage over the various stalls, here and there. Every hanging wardlight sign was contained to a physical stone box above the entrance of each individual shop. Some of the shop names were scrunched to fit in those boxes. Very few of the typography looked ‘good’ constrained like that, for any definition of ‘good’.  

A young incani woman in almost-floating blue fabrics, with blue skin, stepped away from the right wall, closer to Erick, but not too close, saying, “Greetings, Archmage! I can’t help but see that you enjoy today’s [Weather Ward] design?”

Poi gently placed himself to the side of the path between the woman and Erick, but said nothing. He did frown a little, though. While most of the people around him, avoided him, this woman did not. Erick had noticed her noticing him, preparing for the moment that he would walk closer, but he did not think much of it since Poi hadn’t made much of a move. She probably wasn’t a threat. Her dress was a multitude of blue fabrics, just like those that hung in the shop at her back. She likely wanted to sell him something. That was fine.

Erick smiled, saying, “It’s a lot of work to put up intricate [Weather Ward]s like that, every day. Do you get ten people together, to cast all the colors up there, or do you change your own color of magic?”  

“I did the blue, white, and black, up there. My sisters did the rest.” She grinned, as she gestured to the sign above her shop, saying, “But that display is just one of the many intricate creations we’re capable of weaving, here at Three Sisters Textiles.” She stepped into the door of her store, saying, “Come on in and see our wares.”

Erick figured he might as well start at this place. He followed the woman inside, asking, “How much fabric does it take to make a dress like yours? I’m interested in purchasing bulk cloth, but I need to know some basics.”

Erick followed the woman into the depths of a shop lined with rows upon rows of bolts of fabric, of every color in the rainbow, and more than a few outside of the normal spectrum. Two other people were in the shop, shopping, though one was speaking to another incani woman behind a counter, who had the same blue complexion as the first woman Erick met; she must have been another sister, of the three sisters?

With a gentle grip, the woman grasped the curtain of her dress as she turned a quick spin in the aisle. “I made it myself, using our fabrics, here.” She dropped the hem of her dress, letting it flutter on the air, as she touched the fabrics on the wall, saying, “My dress requires seven meters of any of these meter wide bolts, in any of these colors, which would run you, my dear archmage, a paltry one gold, four silver per meter. The usual price is one gold, seven silver, per meter. If you are looking to buy in bulk of any order over a hundred meters, we can drop the price a further ten percent.” She added, “Orcol sized options would double the needed fabrics.”

This woman spoke quick and accurately. Erick appreciated it, but before he committed to anything, he looked over the choices. A casual glance showed nothing ugly. The coloring was good, the feel was good. People would probably like these options? Sure. Why not. But if it was 7 meters to a dress, and Erick needed to account for 2000 dresses, or something like that, it meant he would need to buy 14,000 meters of fabric, which meant… 17,500 gold, or thereabouts. He smiled as he touched a nice red cloth; he was getting better at this mental math.

This red was good, but the people of Candlepoint needed sturdier fabrics, as well, for every day wear. Erick needed to purchase about the same meterage in brown and tan cotton.  

He asked, “I’m also looking for brown and tan, every day fabrics, for working in fields and such.”

The woman balked for a half second. She recovered. She said, “I have some good people across the way I can direct you toward. They deal fair and true, just as I.” She put her hands on the fabric to her left, asking, “Is there anything I can get for you, though?”

Erick laid it out there, saying, “I’m going to need about 14,000 meters of fabric, total, in practically every color, and then the same of that in browns and tan cottons.” If he ordered extra, that was fine. People could still use it.

A crazy grin passed on the woman’s face, lingering for a half second, before she said, “We can work with you to make this happen— Any colors in particular?”  

“A variety is fine.” Erick said, “I am aware I will have to shop multiple places, though.”

“No need to make that many stops! You’re a busy man, and like any reputable sellers, we carry a surplus in the back. We have around twenty thousand meters of dress fabrics, in our total inventory. We can easily fill at least half of what you want.” She said, “If I may ask, though, what are you purchasing for?”

Erick said, “The city of Candlepoint.”

The woman recoiled, but recovered to a calm exterior.

“Bulgan has vacated Candlepoint, after allowing a Ballooning Horde and the city’s own defenses to kill nine out of every ten shadelings.” Erick said, “The Shades are certainly evil, but I don’t believe the shadelings are bad actors, according to what I’ve seen. But if they don’t get help then they’re going to have to resort to awful methods to keep alive. I wish to circumvent this and help them become an independent city, though it will take years before anyone should think about going there in person.” He asked, “Did you hear about the woman falling from the sky, yesterday?”

The woman was thrown for a loop for a moment. She recovered. “I heard… Something about that.”  

Erick looked her over, and decided that she was lying. But that was okay. A white lie about being caught up on the news was not a cause for concern. She wasn’t screaming profanities about getting in bed with Shades, or looking very worried at all, and that was more important than knowing current events. Besides: He could start the rumors himself. Erick liked that idea, a lot.

Erick wasn’t just speaking to this woman, though. From casually looking around, Erick saw the cashier and her customer had gone silent, to listen. They likely weren’t the only ones.

Erick said, “Justine Erholme, is her name. She’s was an Underworld incani from another part of the world, who was killed by the Darkness, and transformed into a shadeling. I don’t have the full story, but she lived at Candlepoint for a time, where she called out to the gods for help, and they pulled her out of there, and transformed her back into incani.”

The woman gasped. “That’s possible!?”

Her sister at the counter, and the customer there, both gasped, as they looked away.  

“Apparently it is possible. I was surprised, too.” Erick said, “Justine is on a mission now, from Koyabez, to ensure that Candlepoint is bridging the gap and stopping the threat of violence, or something. Maybe to prevent any future wars with Ar’Kendrithyst? I’m still not clear on that.” He added, “But I’m going to give them a fair chance. Maybe in a year or two, I’ll go to the city in person. But not right now.”

“Of course not right now!” The woman said, “That would be insane! No matter what the gods might be up to, I wouldn’t want to be crushed between those sorts of wills.”

“Me either.” Erick said, “But I’m still going to help the people of Candlepoint. I’ve already got food coming, but they’re wearing rags, and nine out of every ten shadelings were murdered when Bulgan killed their city.”

“That rotten arsehole.” The woman said, “I almost went on a date with him, once, years and years ago. Glad I never did.”

Erick chuckled. “You did?”

“I dodged a boulder, for sure.” She said, “But anyway: My name is Liquola Reedzith, and the Three Sisters would love to fill your order, Archmage Flatt.” She stepped just past Erick, and pointed toward another shop down the way. “That one. Burton’s Browns. They have the best worker textiles on the street.” She shifted her finger toward a place directly across the street. “The Sewing Box has all the threads and needles and such you would need. I did hear that shadelings can’t use [Fabricate]. But you can never tell with these rumors. Is that true?”

“True, as far as I know, Liquola.”

“I’d much prefer them making clothes than war. Hopefully it stays that way.” Liquola brushed a hand against the rolls of fabric on the wall, asking, “Would you like to make some selections?”

Erick nodded. “Yes.”

Picking out fabrics was kinda fun. Before he knew it, he had spent 20,000 more gold.

Upon summoning another Ophiel, the front room of Three Sisters Textiles ended up in Erick’s foyer, mostly in a pile; he would organize the whole thing later. Erick thanked Liquola for her time, and left for next door.  

As Erick stepped into Burton’s Browns, three women behind him squealed in joy. The talk with Burton proceeded much the same as it had with Liquola, though he was a bit gruffer. His prices were cheaper, thankfully.

Erick soon left Burton’s Browns 10,000 gold lighter and with another another semi-positive story and warning of Candlepoint floating in his wake, along with a few more happy people.  

A similar event occurred at The Sewing Box.

- - - -

In the middle of a normal street, under a normal, cloudy sky, Erick suddenly said, “Some alchemy plants!” He added, “I can ask the Mage Trio about them, too, but multiple sources is important.”

Poi, half serious, said, “You didn’t seem to care much about multiple sources when that woman batted her eyes at you. You could have spent less money if you shopped around, you know.”

“Ohh, Poi.” Erick said, “It was convenient. And I doubt I would have gotten that much cheaper, elsewhere.”

Teressa said, “He got a good deal.”

Poi hummed, noncommittal.  

Erick said, “Anyway! Ramizi is the alchemist. I should introduce him to Justine— Oh! And?” He pointed toward the north, as he asked Poi, “Is Apogee in, now?”

Poi looked away for a moment. He turned back, saying, “Yes.”

- - - -

The Ranch of Spur was half of a three kilometer addition that bumped off of the northern wall, forming a pocket of green, rolling hills, and tall trees. The other half of that expansion held the Lake.

In a white flash, Erick, Poi, and Teressa, reappeared near the Lake. Warm winds blew from the north, under a cloudy sky laden with the promise of rain, while blue waters splashed in the breeze below. Gold flickers danced below the ripples in groups of five or six, while silver flashes prowled the deeper parts of the Lake. Rainbow flits scurried in the shallows, like sequins, glittering their rainbow scales into the light, as they hid and reproduced under broad, green lily pads, and bright blue flowers. Reeds rustled in the wind.  

Erick enjoyed the scene for a long moment, while lush grasses cushioned his feet, tall trees further shaded him from the clouded sun, and the smell of waters and life drifted on the breeze.  

Candlepoint needed one of these, for sure.  

A cow mooed on the other side of the Lake, past the short wall that separated this land from the Ranch beyond.

Candlepoint needed cows, pigs, and chickens, too.

The air blipped bronze next to Erick. Apogee, all brownscaled and thick tailed, and with a fang-filled smile, said, “Hello, Erick! I hear you’re in the business of getting duped by shadelings.”  

He didn’t say it meanly, so Erick chuckled. “Possibly. They’re in their city, though, with no plans to expand or separate out into the world, so it’s better to keep them there than to let integration happen too soon.”

Apogee looked out across the Lake for a moment. He said, “Good enough for me.” He asked, “I heard a rumor that the farmers at their ‘Farm’ are some of ours?”

“True.” Erick said, “Valok, for sure. I already managed to steer his daughter out to Oceanside, though, so hopefully she doesn’t have to deal with that for a while.” He said, “Apogough’s father is there, too. Daetroi—”

“What!” Apogee laughed a mournful note, halfway between joy and a groan of despair, before shifting fully to delight. He said, “Oh my gods! That old prick! FUCK.” He spat, “Shit!” He said, “Fuck.” He went silent.

Erick let the breeze fill the silence, as it rippled waves and rustled trees.

Apogee said, “I owe him some booze.” He added, “And at least twenty herd.” He asked, “You doing right by those almost-monsters? Is that right?”

“I’m trying.” Erick said, “Everyone in Spur has been remarkably nice about it so far, too. I expected a lot more anger.”

Apogee smiled. “People in Spur tend to make their livings adjacent to everything the Shades do, so they look the other way for everything that isn’t a direct danger. Just look at how much money you threw around today. I sold ten cows, overpriced, because of some caterers needed the meat, right now. That’s when I found out about you. It was pretty nice.”

Erick said, “Daetroi wants to raise cattle again.”

“I don’t got any to sell today. I’ll send some that way, though. I do owe him twenty herd.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll send them.” Erick said, “He says he’s unstable. Doesn’t want to deal with people from this life yet.”

Apogee looked off over the water, nodding. “I can do that. I’ll give you some booze, too. My first batches came off the still yesterday.” He looked to Erick, adding, “You’re going to [Cleanse] everything you buy before you send it out to Candlepoint, yeah?”

“Yes. I’ll do it out of sight of the vendors, though.” Erick said, “This place is going to be a lot of problems. I’ve already got my Ophiel over there, blipping intruders away from the city. I’ve stopped two kidnappings so far. Thank the gods that [Teleport Other] is so rare.”

Apogee smirked. “You going to ask me about The Worldly Path?”

Erick looked to the man. “Would you want to tell me?”

“Not really.”  

“What I wanted to ask you, and why I asked to talk to you, was to ask about that [Spatial Curse].” Erick said, “I already talked to Silverite. She said to talk to you.”

Apogee breathed in deep, then let it all out. “That was the other option I was afraid of.” He said, “Curses are not nice magic. This one is no different. You take all the possibilities that a person could be, the bigness of the world, lives not yet lived, and you curse them with stability. Mediocrity. Smallness. It’s wishing for the worst for a person; that they’ll never improve and never become more than what they are.” He said, “It’s a horrible thing to make, and creating that curse made me a worse man than I was before.” He added, “All curses are like that. That’s how they work. To curse another, you must first curse yourself.”

Erick said, “If you have another idea on how to prevent a Shade from fleeing a fight, then I’d love to hear it.”

“You could search for a way to negate their [Teleport Lock]. Try for a blessing, rather than a curse. A bolstering of your own soul. I’ve never heard of that succeeding, either, but it could, theoretically.” Apogee said, “I don’t think you should try to curse a Shade with [Spatial Stability]. It’ll end bad for all involved.”  

Erick had already considered what would happen if a Shade couldn’t avoid a fight; it’d be the same thing that happened to anyone that couldn’t avoid a fight. They’d either go to war, run away using whatever method they could, or freeze. The chances of the third option seemed astronomically small, but it was still a possibility. But besides that—

Erick said, “If they’re aware that starting a fight means that it will be ended, one way or the other, then maybe they won’t start one with me in the first place.”

“Wishful thinking! Deadly thinking. However...” Apogee nodded slowly, then said, “Maybe. If that’s the angle you’re going for…  Even assuming that you could get a curse to stick to them, if you come at them with an ultimatum, you will get your fight, and all the following horrors.”

Anger simmered through Erick’s body, as he said, “If I get into a fight like that, then it means that they’ve started the war, first, but I mean to end it—” Erick blanked, his thoughts completely derailed by another idea.  

Apogee glanced at Erick, expecting him to say something else.  

But Erick was thinking. His anger vanished. He asked, “Shades call their [Teleport Lock] a Blessing, don’t they?”

Apogee side eyed Erick. “Aye. They do.”

“So it’s a bonus from their god?”  

Apogee directly looked at Erick. “We don’t know a lot about how Shade magic works. What are you getting at?”

Erick asked, “If curses are negations and blessings are enhancements…? Are they? Enhancements, I mean?”

“… Broadly.”

“Maybe their [Teleport Lock] is a blessing to ensure a fight happens. That’s what Melemizargo is about, isn’t he? Ensuring that conflict happens, and that everyone is made stronger or dead.” Erick asked, “Is that how a [Teleport Lock] works?”  

With a scrunched face, Apogee looked out at the Lake, thinking. He relaxed, then said, “Blessings aren’t as powerful as a Shade’s [Teleport Lock]—”

“But all it does is deny the ability to run away from a fight. According to everything I’ve read and heard, there’s nothing in the air, no active spells on you to [Dispel]. It’s just an automatic lock, the second they choose to expand their aura-like Lock—” Erick said, “It barely costs them anything to cast their spell. I heard most of them have it on all the time.”

“Aye. And that sort of effect is too large of a spell to keep running like that, all the time.”

Erick said, “For one mana per second, my aura can bring platinum rain across the whole of Spur, and I never need to stop.”

“… Okay.” Apogee frowned. “If their Blessing really was a blessing...” He shrugged, “I’d laugh.”

“How much does your curse cost?” Erick said, “What does it look like?”

Apogee looked at Erick for a moment. Then he popped a box into the air.  

--

Curse of Locality, ten seconds, sight + sound + understanding, 1820 mana

--

Erick read at the line of text several times; there wasn’t much to read. “… What the flip is that?”

“Curses aren’t normal magic.” Apogee said, “If your theory about [Teleport Lock] being a Blessing is correct, then you should go to the church. Talk to a few gods. Don’t try to make a Blessing yourself; get some divine backing.” He waved off at nothing in particular, saying, “I never liked dealing with gods, though. Can’t stand the idea of anyone that powerful.”

“Eh.” Erick said, “It’s a premature idea, anyway. I’ll run it past a few more people; see what they say. I’ll swing by the church, too. I got some alchemist shops to visit on the way. Thanks for the talk.”

“Anytime.” Apogee said, “I’ll have some cows for you to take to Daetroi, soon.”

Erick stressed, “I still want to know how to make that curse… But... Maybe not today.”

“Blessings are better.” Apogee said, “If you change your mind, I’ll try to talk you out of it again.”

Erick smiled. He doubted he was going to change his mind, but there was nothing wrong with fully exploring an idea before he committed one way or the other.

“You getting into alchemy now, too?” Apogee asked, “Why the alchemy shops?”

“Justine, the former shadeling, is staying with me.” Erick gave Apogee a small explanation of Justine, then said, “She used to be an alchemist.”  

“You’re a braver man than I, letting one of those things into your home.” Apogee said, “Especially one that had godly backing. I suppose you’re already in the deep end of the shadows.” He laughed. “Maybe it is I that need to stay away from you.”

Erick brushed over that concern with a small laugh, then said, “I’ve given Justine permission to grow some plants, but I want to know what she’s actually doing before she does it.”  

“As well you should!” Apogee said, “Smartest thing you said today!”

Erick smiled, as he said, “It was good to talk to you, Apogee.”

“Same to you, Erick.”

Apogee blipped away in a flash of bronze light.  

- - - -

Erick stood in front of his chosen alchemy shop. Poi had listed off a few options, and Teressa supplied some other options, but this one was the one Erick chose. He had seen this place on the way to and from the Adventurer’s District, and it always seemed interesting. But The Greenhouse wasn’t in the short list of options from either of his guards.

Teressa looked up at the blocky building, with its glass roof and glass upper floors, and said, “This place is overpriced by half.”

Poi said, “The Greenhouse’s products are overpriced, but they do not lack in quality.” He added, “We should still go to the Army supply shop.”

“Bah!” Erick complained. “We can go there some other time.”

 He walked forward, ignoring the minor complaints of his guards, and stepped nearer the wide open doors of The Greenhouse. He paused. Where was the greenery? Erick’s first impression of the place was that it was a bank with tellers and rich people.  Rich brown woods composed the interior of the first floor, completely obscuring the orange stone that Erick knew laid beneath that wood. The Greenhouse was certainly popular enough, though. The people wore such fancy clothes! Brocade. Lace. Engraved armors. Elegant looking swords in gilded gold or silver sheaths.

This place even had a greeter by the door, a young woman who looked the part of either a farmer or an alchemist, with thick gloves and a thick apron, who spoke pleasantries of ‘come again’ or ‘welcome to the Greenhouse’ with each passing customer. As Erick stared at the store, the greeter glanced away from some of the other people who walked through the doors, to land her gaze directly on Erick, and then to Erick’s shoes, and then to Poi and Teressa. She went from disgusted at the hobo to perfectly professional, in half a second, flat.  

Erick scanned the room beyond, as he tried to step past the greeter. A display of the usual potions had been placed to the front left of the Greenhouse, probably for the young man standing in front of them, beside a cash register, to sell those potions to whoever wanted them, without people having to walk further into the ‘store’. But other than those Crimson, Cinnabar, Ultramarine, and Cyan buffing potions, the only other potions Erick saw were some orange ones on display in the back. They were practically orange sunshine in a bottle, and placed rather conspicuously in the front room. What magic did they stuff into that orange liquid?  

The greeter, an almost-tan incani woman, stepped to Erick, but kept her distance. “Welcome, Archmage Flatt. Could I show you around?”

After noticing the dress of the people behind the counters, and how everyone who worked at The Greenhouse seemed to wear the same sleek burgundy vests and black pants, Erick recognized the greeter’s farmer/alchemist clothes as a costume. Her cheerful tone sealed his opinion; this woman was an actress, playing the part of an alchemist. The Greenhouse had a mascot.

Some people looked over when she said ‘Archmage’, but that was fine. People had been looking at him from the corners of their eyes whenever he showed himself outside of his house, all the time.  

Erick said, “I was actually looking to get into some alchemy. Get a starter set of seeds and such. I thought this place had such offerings.”

“You wish to ‘get into’ alchemy?” The woman paled, slightly, but she recovered. She put on a smile, and said, “I know just who you can talk to.” She gestured forward, deeper into the building, as she said, “And I can give you a small tour, if you’d like. Do you know anything about the Greenhouse?”

Erick checked the Ophiels at Candlepoint, briefly. They were doing fine. They were out of rods of [Treat Wounds], though. He could go to Ulrick Ulrick’s after this, or maybe just send Teressa out for that errand. He had time for a tour, but not a lot of time.  

He came back to himself, and said, “I’d love a small tour, but I am rather busy at the moment. What is your name? What is this place?”

“Berry,” said the woman, leading Erick onward, into the shop, past tellers and customers. “I can make it quick.” Berry spoke, “The Greenhouse is an alchemist’s union. We’re not a full guild, but we do have chapterhouses in most every major city of the Crystal Forest, ‘cept for Portal and Frontier. What we do, is allow buyers to come up to any of these counters, and through our assistants, get whatever potions they want, made to order, with Greenhouse Certified alchemists. Quite a few alchemists get their starts here in greenhouses like ours. Since most potions have a shelf life of weeks, at the most, so if you don’t have buyers, then you aren’t make a living.”

They walked through the store, stepping around the table of orange bottles. A small sign in front of them read ‘Spell in a Bottle, 100G’

Berry noticed Erick inspect the bottles. “That’s a Greenhouse exclusive. One of our people in Outpost invented that. It’s an oil that lets you imbue a hundred mana worth of aura into the potion, and then throw it, smashing the bottle and expanding that spell from the point of contact.”

“Ooh?” Erick looked to the orange bottles again. “That’s interesting.”

Berry moved ahead a few steps and waited for Erick to rejoin her. As he moved on, she moved on, toward the staircase in the back, saying, “We’ve got hundreds of potions you can custom order. Most of the specialty potions are ready in a week, but a great deal get done faster than that, and a rare few take a lot longer.” She grabbed a paper pamphlet from the wall as she stepped up the stairs, and handed it to Erick, saying, “Here’s a list of what we offer.”

Erick took the list, and briefly looked at it before he stuffed it in his pocket. They stepped up to the top of the steps, passing through a [Ward] that kept moisture separated from downstairs, to arrive at the second floor. Now this was more what Erick was expecting to find when he came into the Greenhouse.  

Vines with glowing cyan flowers hung from the western wall, while redcap mushrooms grew on artfully arranged logs. Some plants that were almost like tall, super thin palm trees, grew in a corner of the room. But those were just the displays. The actual sales floor of the room was filled with racks upon racks of small potted plants that he could likely buy and take home. Each of the racks was listed with what they were, and their usual uses.  

Berry smiled as she stepped into the first rows of plants. “Here is where we sell starter plants to beginner alchemists, hoping to help them get their starts, and stick around with us for a little while afterward.” She gestured to her left, as an older incani man walked through the aisles, toward Erick and Berry. “This is our site manager, Karoi Wellah. Karoi—”

Karoi smiled wide, interrupting Berry, saying, “A pleasure to meet you, Archmage Flatt! How can the Greenhouse assist you, today?”

Berry stepped away, smiling.  

Erick spoke to Karoi, “A book of potions and some starter plants. I have the vaguest ideas of how alchemy works, so I would like to toy around and see what happens.”

“Of course!” Karoi moved into the aisles, asking, “Were you interested in Health or Mana potions? Or the whole set?”

“The whole set. Each major Stat.” Erick was here for more than just Justine, or to add another goal to his ever expanding list. He was also here to solve a problem he’d been working on for a while; [Renew]. He said, “I’d like to know more about how mana rejoins the body, for use by the caster. So if you have anything that would point me further in that direction, then I’d love that.”

“Ah. Uh.” Karoi’s exuberance faltered for a moment. He said, “I apologize, but theoretical alchemy is a field of expertise that I cannot help you with, and is not a field I recommend for beginner alchemists. When used improperly, these plants kill, archmage. I can point you in a few directions, however?” He gestured to his potted plants, saying, “But I can certainly set you up with a starter set and a few books on the subject of basic Mana and Health potions. Everyone has to start somewhere, don’t they?”

“Of course.” Erick smiled. “That will do, just fine.”

Erick ended up purchasing ten potted plants, several vials of fertilizer, four books, and one wild, glowing neon, radioactive-looking succulent. Bright blue and red, it was shaped like the top of a pineapple. Karoi insisted that Erick purchase one of them, and when Poi nodded at the extravagant cost, Erick bought it, because of what it did. The plant was called ‘Alchemist’s Friend’, and was a standard version of any example of its species found in any reputable alchemist’s lab. People who dumped potions down the drain often found themselves on either the receiving end of massive fines, or oozy tendrils coming up the commode.  

The starter kit cost 250 gold, but Erick bought two; one for him and one for Justine. The Alchemist’s Friend cost 2000 gold, apiece. Erick bought one, for now. He wasn’t even sure when, or if, he was going to get to alchemy, but Justine could certainly use the supplies for now.

The last thing Erick did was pick up a list of alchemists he could talk to, about how potions refilled the body with mana. He’d probably leave that for another day, too. He needed to talk to Ramizi, first.

… He could also swing by the Mage Guild, and see what Sirocco Zago had to say on the matter of [Renew].

- - - -

Sweet smelling breezes flowed through the vineyard surrounding the Interfaith Church of Spur. A few priests and priestesses traveled in sync under the twining plants, ritually picking the grapes, singing songs as they placed bunches of ripe purple fruits into large, wicker baskets. Erick did not know the songs, but congregating parishioners must have; they gazed upon the ritual from outside the grapevines, singing softly as the harvest proceeded.  

Erick watched for a minute, before moving on, into the open doors of the church. Inside the carved white cathedral, and under the light of countless rainbow stained glass windows, people sat silently or whispering softly, in their own individual places scattered around the room, on wooden pews. Some lit white candles to the sides, while some lit colored candles, and set them down upon specific altars.  

In the front of the pews, central to the church, was a flat white wall, behind a podium. That flat white wall, along with others in the church, would be transformed based on the occasion, by accomplished stone artisans, whenever such a service happened. To both the sides of that central place was a curving hallway of gods where individual, larger shrines lay, where a person might meet their deity in person, if their need was great enough. Erick had met a few deities down that very same hallway, months and months ago, when he was searching for a patron for his Particular Insight, Class Ability. He likely didn’t need to go down there again, today, but he might.

A redmetal wrought, in the shape of a dragonkin and shaped with priestly robes, greeted Erick by the doorway. Erick knew this priest.

Abraxis said, “Greetings, Archmage Flatt. What brings you in today?”

“Hello, Abraxis.” Erick said, “I’m looking to find out about blessings. In particular, I’d like to talk to anyone who knows something about the Blessings that Shades say they have, that blocks [Teleport]. Most people call it a [Teleport Lock], I think. Or maybe just I do.”

Abraxis almost said something, but instead silently regarded Erick.

“Ah...” Erick lowered his voice. “Did I say something offensive?”

“No. That is not...” Abraxis said, “If that is all you came for, then I am sorry but you have been steered wrong. The gods have many answers for those with ears to hear, but no one knows how—”

A voice rose above the quiet whispers of the cathedral.

“I’m taking this one!”

High Priestess Darenka, the old silverscale leader of the church, strode down a side aisle, toward Erick. He had not seen her appear, but he had certainly heard her voice. Many people had heard her speak, but most immediately went back to their praying, or their own private problems. Some turned to see Erick, and they did not look away; their eyes full of emotions.

Darenka walked closer, and dropped her voice. “Come with me, Erick.”

The High Priestess did not wait for him to respond. She took off, back the way she came. Erick followed. A few short turns down a short set of hallways and up a staircase led to a decently appointed sunroom that overlooked the vineyards outside. Darenka didn’t say anything as she led Erick here, and a few passing nuns scurried to get out of her way.  

Darenka swept into the sunroom and plopped down into a comfortable chair, and directed Erick to the other chair, across from hers. With a fast glare from the old silverscale, Poi had almost come inside, but he backed up, fast, directly into Teressa. A short jostle later, Poi shut the door. Darenka and Erick were alone.

Darenka rubbed her head with the dull side of a talon, and said, “You have given me a sudden headache, Erick. I’ve got multiple gods talking to me, right now, about [Teleport Lock].” She adding, “And Sininindi is complaining that you have yet to even start on your [Control Weather] machine. But that is just a small—” She shouted at the air, “Fine! It’s a major problem!” She looked up at nothing, then lowered her eyes to Erick. “You need to work on what you promised before she is truly pissed.” She said, “But then there’s today’s problem!” She stared at Erick. “The Relevant Entities of the Script, as a whole, are very interested in helping you devise a way to counter one of the Darkness’s greatest weapons.”

Like butterflies in his stomach, Erick felt a sudden elation. And then Darenka killed those butterflies, as she rapidly spoke in a few distinct voices.

With strength, she said, “But creating this magic would also be a direct attack against Melemizargo’s power and he would be forced to respond in kind—”  Softer, but more violent, “It’s a weapon we should have!” Calm and collected, “But escalation—” She returned to her own voice, banishing the others, saying, “But, but but! Over and backwards and forward and twist-ways. These are the arguments running though my head, Erick. Should versus should-not.” Darenka said, “Of all of them, I would listen most to Sumtir, the God of Righteous War, or Zephyrspray, the goddess of travel. But first, they would like to listen to you, and your ideas.”

Flickering flame caught on the ambient mana of the room, like ethereal wisps here and there in the upper corners of the small sunroom. Phantom eyes peered out from that fire; watching. Erick felt cold; like a bug under a microscope.   

Erick asked, “Did I stumble into the right answer?”

The fires above did not answer. Instead, a blue box appeared in front of Erick.

--

If you think you could do it this way, you can. You are a wizard, Erick. All you have to do is get the spell rolling, and I can do the rest, to ensure it works perfectly. But if you’re wrong, this could kill you. It would be [Zone of Peace] all over again.  

I cannot save you again. I am sorry.

~Rozeta

--

Erick read the box a second time. It vanished before he read it a third. He looked to the air, and asked, “How does creating new Basic Magic cause damage? I never understood why it is that way.”

--

Come to the Orrery and I can tell you.

--

The box appeared in a flash, and disappeared just as quickly. Erick got the distinct impression that he was not supposed to know the answer to his question.

A strong voice came through the air, “Because we will not suffer wizards to live.”

A caring voice said, “Wizards destroyed everything.”

A light voice said, “All wizards must die, so that we can survive.”

A heavy voice, Atunir, said, “It is the way that things must be, now that we are here on this small world, where the smallest touch that used to birth worlds, would simply kill us all.”  

The windows turned dark. Light became small, and weak.  

“More divine lies! But that is not a problem to tackle today.” Melemizargo spoke, “I propose a ceasefire.”  

The air filled with a crashing chorus of disjointed noise. Darenka slapped her hands over her ears and shouted something that Erick couldn’t hear, for his own head was already filled with words and speech in languages he had never known before. Voices raised. Voices shouted. Some silently strong while others pulsed the air with their constrained strength.  

The air stilled, all at once.

A chill pervaded the room as a familiar shadow slinked out of the walls, filling the mana with unseen gloom, invisible to anyone not Meditating. Darenka went stock still —or maybe Melemizargo’s manifestation was visible to everyone?— as she watched the Darkness slink through the walls. She gripped her chair with strong hands, while eyeing the beast. Erick just stared.

Then his mouth got the better of him. “I was wondering when you’d show up again, you old shadow.”

The shadow wrapped around the base of the room, licking up the walls, as a dark voice said, “I never left.”

“I heard you taunted my daughter!” Erick said, “That’s pretty rude.”

Darenka stared at Erick, like he was suddenly someone else. The divine fire remained silent.

Jovially, Melemizargo asked, “Would you prefer I taunt you?”

“You have to stop taunting me, first.”

A subtle, dark laughter echoed, before Melemizargo cleared the air of divine fire, to say, “Ask of me a boon, Erick. A path forward to peace.”

Divine voices rose around him, decrying Melemizargo’s words as a trick, a feint, an attack, but Erick immediately said, “Rozeta, Koyabez, Phagar! Suggest something.”

The room dropped away. Walls became smokey air. The ceiling became a cloud, as the land changed from white stone to the blackened crater of a long dead volcano, where mist flowed through the teeth of the crater walls, and Erick stood at the exact center. He had been here before, back when he first invented [Call Lightning]. Back then, every god and other Relevant Entity of the Script seemed to float in the mist flowing through the crater. But now, there were only four gods.  

Rozeta, all white wrought and angry, demanded of a shadow, “Cease your attacks on my people!”

The shadow laughed, saying, “It is possible.”

Koyabez, all displayed lithe body and tiny loincloth, said, “Destroy all currently appointed Shades.”

“I would, if I could have another.” The Darkness looked to Erick, saying, “How about it? Up for a Championship?”

All eyes turned to him. Erick said nothing.

“No.” Phagar said, looking like Erick. “I already have the strongest claim on him, and not until he gives that up willingly and after much thought, will I allow you to take him.”

“Death! Ha! Claim your claim on anyone you wish. You have as much power as a cow’s fart!” Melemizargo laughed, his serpentine neck forming out of the shadows, ending in a maw of white teeth. Unseen wings flapped around the congregation of gods, and Erick, as the Darkness spread through the mist, coming right behind the only mortal in attendance. Warm words flowed past Erick, “They’re not real, you know. Gods. They’re all fake. The only real people in this place are you, me, and my lovely daughter. Death is a concept that does not exist if we do not give it power.”

Koyabez’s shoulders slumped a fraction, as though he had heard a new story of a usual tragedy. His words were calm, but tired. “My ancient friend, we did not die with the Sundering. We are still here, still with you, and Rozeta, and everyone else who managed to escape the end of our universe, and the children who came after.”

Melemizargo slipped around to the side, his white eyes glowing in the gloom, turning faint for the briefest of moments, as his wings went silent. He said, “My ancient friend, you are a ghost. A fraction of yourself. You are no more yourself than I am. We are all lost in this tiny world; this tiny existence.”

Koyabez pleaded, “We are not ghosts—”

“Exactly what a ghost would say,” said the Darkness.

Koyabez, like a grandchild talking to a grandparent falling to dementia, said, “Please stay with me, Melemizargo. You are here, in this place, right now. Stay in the present. The Old Cosmology is gone—”

“Ha!” Melemizargo flowed around the crater, saying, “It is not gone! I have merely misplaced it! If I kill enough of these nasty metal people then it could come back! They are blocking true magic, figment-of-Koyabez. Surely you see this truth?”

Koyabez ignored Melemizargo’s argument, saying, “You’re organizing your people into true Fires, instead of all of them murdering indiscriminately. These additions to the Script are not some of your best work, but they are good, though you could temper Charisma to something lesser. Perhaps make it more empathy, and less enforcing of a will? Candlepoint was a partial failure, too, but now that Erick is in charge, it might actually become something good. Something wholesome.” Koyabez said, “We need something less violent from you, my ancient friend. A gentler Fire; a softer shadow. I need you to be who you used to be.”

“… I can leave that spot of land alone to satisfy you specters.” Melemizargo said, “Surviving this [Mesmerize] requires certain prudences, and this Erick-narrative is the best attempt I’ve seen this spell construct, so far.”

Rozeta’s face went from concerned to absolutely disgusted, as she yelled, “Back to that old shit, dad? Stop it! Just stop it! We are not in a mind trap!”

Melemizargo rounded on his daughter, saying, “We could be!”  

Rozeta’s eyes fluttered as her shoulders slumped. She looked down at the ground. “We are not.”

Melemizargo conceded, “Maybe you’re not fake. Some of the people in here with us have to be real, otherwise the spell would be too easy to see through.” He looked down to Erick. “He’s likely real. His daughter, too. In fact, I’ve decided that most planar people are real.” He swept his gaze across Koyabez and Phagar, saying, “But you two are fake, for sure. Gods are always fake; some more fake than others. Collective delusions, all of you. Dragons are real, which is why only we can truly shape the mana. You are all merely leeches.” He turned to his daughter, saying, “And you have signed your soul away. You believe this world is real. Talking to you is like talking to an old woman dying of dementia.”

Rozeta gathered her wits in a flashing second, then laughed, “Ha!” She said, “I thought you were getting better, but you’re still drowning in delusions.”  

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Melemizargo said, “I am your father.”

With her words dripping in sorrow, Rozeta stared at the shadows, saying, “You haven’t been my father in 1450 years.”

“Hurtful.” Melemizargo declared to Erick, “I doubt Rozeta would actually speak to me like that. Maybe you’re fake, too.” His white eyes glowed bright in the darkness, as he said to Erick, “There’s only two real people in this space, and I demand an answer of a boon. What do you want, Erick Flatt, Particle Mage, the Fire of this Age?”

Erick thought back to a list given to him by another, tweaking it slightly, as he said, “An end to Ancient empowerment. An end to the attacks on Geodes. An end to Shades killing people. An end to monster attacks. An end to—”

“Too many options! And none of them for yourself.”  

“Other people matter, too!” Erick tried.

“Weren’t you listening? Those other people don’t exist.” Melemizargo reared back, smiling. “I shall choose for you.”

“Shit,” said Erick and Rozeta, at the same time.  

Melemizargo laughed; an echoing boom of a sound that destroyed the world and remade it all, at the same time.

The black caldera vanished. Mist and shadows swept inward, and suddenly Erick was back in his chair, in the sunroom, sitting across from Darenka. Divine fire danced across the ceiling, but that too vanished while Erick watched, leaving him and the Head Priestess alone in the small room.  

“What happened?” Darenka asked, calmly concerned. “You vanished for a second, and all the gods went silent.”

Erick said, “Uh... I do not know.” He added, “Maybe I should not have direct confrontations with the Darkness.”

Darenka said, “A good idea.”

Feeling shaken as to what might be coming, Erick stood from his chair, needing to speak to Poi and other people in charge. He mumbled something about needing to go, and, likely feeling the same sort of agitation, which was strange to see on the unflappable Head Priestess, Darenka waved him off, as she mumbled something about gods and dragons. And then Erick realized that he was probably in the best place he could be right now. Silverite and Spur knew what to do when it came to Shades. But Darenka was a line to the gods.

Erick paused before he got to the door. He turned around. A different concern overtook what he was going to say, as he saw how small the Head Priestess looked in the moment. “Darenka? Are you okay?”

She looked to him, with worry in her eyes. “What happened?”

“… I had a disconcerting conversation with a few higher powers. I did not like it. Melemizargo said that he was going to… Give a boon.” Erick said, “I asked him to stop his violence, but he did not seem keen on that idea.”

Darenka breathed deep. She stood up, and glanced to the window. The world outside was still the same green vineyard and orange city beyond that it had been before the divine visitation. As moments passed, Darenka centered herself. She stood taller. She set her shoulders.  

She turned to Erick, and said, “Melemizargo is almost conversing coherently. The last time he was like this, was 1450 years ago, directly after the Sundering. In the short years after that event, he raised Ancients. He created monsters. He orchestrated the downfall of the Old Demons, by first causing the Death of all Halves.  

“I am being warned, right now, by multiple Relevant Entities that I need to make Sundering preparations. I will be informing the leadership of Spur of this development, as well as informing a few trusted people, who I know will not spread this information outward.” She said, “You should do the same. Tell no one. Not yet. It could be that the chaos of an expected Second Sundering is exactly what he wants. It could be that we are not at the beginning of a Second Sundering.  

“But hug your daughter the next time you see her, and pray to all the gods who have done you well, that we might prevent the next Breaking of the World.”

A cold shiver rippled up Erick’s arms and legs, to linger on the back of his neck. He nodded. He left the room.  

When Poi turned to Erick, he was two shades paler blue than normal. Teressa knew something was up, but she kept silent. Her green eyes bored into Erick, but she was a soldier; she could hold her questions for later. Erick took Poi’s hand, and then Teressa’s; his was cold, while hers was tense. He forced a smile, and squeezed a bit tighter as he blipped the three of them all home.  

- - - -

Justine was in the foyer, picking up rolls of fabric and moving them to the side, organizing them, when Erick, Poi, and Teressa appeared in a flash of white light.  

She flinched, then calmed, saying, “Ah! Hello! I put the plants away upstai—”

Erick turned and vomited bile onto the floor. Teressa leapt out of the way, avoiding the watery slop. Erick collapsed to his knees, dry heaving. Poi moved to his side, but Erick waved him away, as he puked up air.  

Justine stepped backward, asking small questions of Teressa, while Teressa spoke of having no idea what happened.  

Poi tried to console Erick, saying, “Sir. It’s not happening yet. It might not happen.”

Erick wheezed, “BuuuughCHH—” He breathed.

“You’re just having a war response. Nothing is happening right now.” When Erick had no idea what Poi meant, Poi said, “Panic attack.” Poi tried to laugh and joke, saying, “You almost gave Kiri a panic attack when you talked of the size of your universe. I had to help her the next day.”

Justine’s voice took a wobbly edge, as she asked, “What’s going on?”  

“Nothing, yet.” Poi said, “Something, for sure. But we don’t know.”

Teressa whispered, “Fuck.”

Erick thought for a long moment, as his stomach rebelled and his skin felt hot and cold at the same time. Eventually, he managed to still his stomach. His nerves were still shot, but something was happening, right now, and he needed to be secure. He forced his thoughts in any other direction than his current one, and put himself back on track.

“… Shit.” Erick cast a [Cleanse] over himself, calming down. He wiped his face, brushing away tears, as he said, “Kiri never told me that.” Erick sat on his ass, on the floor of the foyer. Poi stepped back. Erick stared at the ceiling, as the hot-cold sensation running down his neck abated. He said, “I haven’t had one of those since I heard I was a dad. Passed about as fast, too.” He slapped his pants, saying, “Ah. Shit. I still had more errands to do.” He stood up, saying, “That can happen later. I think I need a drink—” He looked around. “What’s stronger than alcohol? Anything legal?”

Poi said, “Bluereed is a common herb for people dealing with the stress of violence.”

“Thank the gods!” Erick said, “Where do I get some of that?” He looked around, adding, “I thought I’d have to reinvent pot for a hot second.” A glance over to Candlepoint almost made him change his mind about reinventing certain drugs. He said, “Shit.” Then he got mad. “What the fuck is that fucking dark dragon doing at Candlepoint!”

Justine fumbled the bolt of fabric in her hands. It clattered to the floor, spilling red cloth over the ground.

- - - -

A dark crystal rose fifty meters into the air in the center of a city square, while the city beyond the Crystal was a patchwork of houses and rubble. Shadelings moved rock into the ground, or lifted it from the soil, leveling out a brand new city plan, orchestrated at the command of a red horned incani. To the south of the city, laid rows and rows of dead, lined up a thousand to a line, facing the sky with as much dignity as uncovered corpses could muster. The people of Candlepoint had no death shrouds to cover them, and no [Conjure Item] for a quick solution, but there were not that many bugs out in the desert. Even the scattered glowbugs that had infiltrated the city, by virtue of proximity, were not capable of surviving on anything found inside Candlepoint’s dark walls. A few big black bugs, the size of footballs, were feeding on the dead, but the living squished those bugs as fast as they appeared.  

The future survival of Candlepoint’s citizens was still up for question. But they had help. Almost-oozes of house-sized white lights floated among the dark streets, helping when they could. Ophiel hadn’t had to separate any fighting shadelings in an hour, or banish any combative interlopers in few hours. So mostly they just floated, looking for ways to assist with the take down of a building, or the clearing of a street. Most of them did that, but the tenth supplied [Mend] and [Cleanse] services at the gazebo base of the Crystal.  

And then something shifted.  

The Ophiel high above the city, floating below the clouds, watching for all possible incomers, had the most obvious view, but those on the ground saw the event, as it happened.  

In the western end of the city, where the land was rubble and people worked to clear the destruction, the ground cracked. Dark streets folded downward, like the opening of a great void. Plumes of dust shot into the air. Shadelings turned to shadow and rushed to get away, though some stayed behind to work their magic trying to prevent the collapse; it was a futile effort. The ground opened. Most got away.

Water shot up, into the air; a great fountain of rushing blue to rival the size of the Crystal, that sparkled like diamonds in the light of an overcast sky. That plume of water rushed down from on high, like a great hammer punching into the surface of the planet. It struck. The land folded inward, and westward. The western wall of the city collapsed, as the very land decided it did not want to be land, anymore. A fifth of the city, in under thirty seconds, churned with tumbling water and stone. And still, the waters expanded westward.

People evacuated east. Erick prayed they would be okay. He almost prayed for the attack to end, but he saw that it was not an attack at all. It only looked like an attack, for its affect. This was a deep magic at work, changing the landscape, molding it into something new.

Destruction reigned on what had once been the western edge of Candlepoint, but that destruction came no further east. Erick was not the only one who noticed. Shadelings stood upon the tops of buildings, watching the change rolling away from their city. Orange land became dark mud, that dipped down under crashing waves, to expand, and expand. Crystal mimics died under crashing stone. Some of them tried to run, but only a few got away from the changing surface of the planet.

Erick dove an Ophiel into the spellwork, to see what was going on under the waves.

A familiar shadow in the depths noticed, pausing his destruction for a brief second to nod his head toward the feathered [Familiar], and then continue on his reshaping of the world.

Ten minutes was all the spellwork took, from start to end. The water was clear when it was over, too. Clear, and deep.   

The original city of Candlepoint had become an arc of buildings, farms, and land, that hung onto the coast of a lake four times the size of the city.  

Under the new waves, Erick watched as shadows vanished down cracks in the deepest parts of the waters. That water, pure and clean, flowed upward, from underground. This lake would never dry out. Erick sent an Ophiel down the hole in the lake, but stopped when Ophiel ended up at a vast underground cavern, where water ran fast and he could not see the other side, even though the river was clear and Ophiel was made of light.  

That space was terrifying.  

It reminded Erick of the time he sent a [Scry] down the river under the Sewerhouse. This lake was connected to the Underworld, to Melemizargo’s domain, and gods knew what else.

- - - -

“What was that?” Erick asked Poi, “Was that what I think it was?”

Poi looked away from the air, tearing himself away from his feeds, to say, “Yes. That was a [City Shape]. Candlepoint is now one of the best watered cities in the Crystal Forest.” He added, “Melemizargo hasn’t let a [City Shape] work in the Crystal Forest in a thousand years.”

Erick breathed out. “I hope that was the boon.”