Within a dusty bar near the Gate leading in and out of the Yepu Plains, a man sat on a rickety barstool. His normal cheerful smirk was gone, replaced by distant cold eyes. The man looked as if he had just killed someone, which is close to being true. Before him was a bottle of Dwarven whiskey, the good stuff, only a dribble remained. He poured the few drops into his hand, slicking his already greasy hair back.

The stool besides him held a small box. It was the man’s lifeline, his future, and his salvation. He gently picked it up, carefully snapping open the clasps. He opened it just enough to peer through. It hadn’t been in his possession long, but since he was given it, he had not slept. It scared him, but he had come this far. There was no backing out.

The man stood, nodded to the [Barkeeper], and walked out. It was the first time he stepped out in months; the sun blinded him. But he hardly cared. He felt the warmth, he felt the cold nip in the air, he felt the gravel beneath his boots. He felt everything. It would probably be the last time he could simply stand like this. So, he took it all in.

The moment ended. He adjusted his bag, the box being inside. He started off, passing the walls of the outpost, and entering the Plains.

It was time.

Max and Emi appeared suddenly and with a rush of mana. His teleport had been cast with a ferocity and fear. Unknown emotions were drowning him. He was so afraid, so very afraid. But of what? He didn’t know, Emi didn’t know. Only that Clammy had sent a Mana Message of her memories. Bishop was standing, leaned up against a tree and looking into the distance. He reacted quick, turning, and drawing mana at the sudden appearance. Max ignored him.

Clammy looked like death. She was seated against a tree. Max didn’t walk, he teleported the short distance, arriving in a crouch. His fear melted away. He brought his face level with hers. Her eyes were hollow and silver, like a corpse. Her lips were cracked, but a healing salve had been applied. Smears of blood chased across her cheek, originating from the corners of her mouth.

“Oh Clammy.” He whispered as nearby snow melted. He probed her with healing magic, finding nothing inherently wrong with the outside of her body. Searching further in, her lungs were the worst off. He dripped Divine power into his spell, supercharging his capabilities.

It took everything for Clammy to speak, “Save it, you’ll need it.”

He stopped, “What do you mean?”

“The Coalition. Everyone dies unless you intervene.”

Bishop reacted first, “You said Lesterwood was under attack!”

“It is.” Max said, “The fungus-“

Clammy shook her head, visibly cringing as her muscles creaked, “Coincidence. The Coalition is what is important. You must go- Warn Vel- Warn my father.”

Max leaned away, looking between Emi and Bishop. Both looked to him. “I’ll take you to Lesterwood, I can teleport others now. I’ll grab Reep and-“

“NO!” Clammy pulled forward, grasping Max’s arm. “Only you and Emi. If more go, it will be worse.”

“I-I don’t understand. I could take an army, should I get an army from Salae?”

“No. They can’t help.” Clammy’s voice broke, tears began to flow. “Please, Max. Trust me. You and Emi alone. If I explain-“

Max gripped her arm back, a comfort she desperately needed. “I understand. Future sight. If you tell me, everything will change.”

She nodded, thankful. A ripple in space formed causing Bishop to jump back. It took Max a moment of explanation to assure everything was safe and tested with his Pocket World. Clammy accepted instantly, Bishop caving in moments later. They traveled to Lesterwood in an instant. Bishop emerged, dragging along his apprentice. He was surprised to see they were in the main Healer clinic, but graciously accepted a bed for Clammy. Max found Manus, briefly explained the situation to him, and teleported.

He and Emi stood over a familiar outpost in the Plains, facing the direction they last saw the [King] of Salae traveling. Max steeled himself, readying for the ahead battle. Clammy’s emotions fluttered in his head. He knew she was having troubles emotionally, but nothing could prepare him for the assault a simple memory gave him. She was strong. Stronger than him, stronger than anyone he knew.

They teleported forward.

The man walked through the straw like grass using his hand as a wedge. The last half an hour had been rather annoying for him, the grass making the trek much slower than it needed to be. But that was why the Startemplars chose this as the main meeting location. For a Centaur, these grasses proved to be little more than a thin brush. For anyone else, it deterred movement.

A smooth cutout opened into a wide channel of buildings. Tents, rather. A wall of wooden spikes jutted out, encircling the Coalition. Multiple watchtowers stood high in the air; colored banners draped down covering the wooden staircases leading up. They were wider than most watchtowers, accommodations for the Centauri overseers.

Multiple bows were drawn on the man as he stepped up, but he held his hand in surrender. All according to plan. A few moments passed as the man waited, tribal bureaucracy at its finest. A woman Centauri wearing the distinctive war paint of a captain, or whatever the equivalent for their tribe was called, stepped forward. Two flanking and lower ranked soldiers followed.

It was the Coalition host’s duty to protect the leaders and delegates from any potential threat. It seemed to the man the Startemplars took that burden in stride. It was a shame, the man knew. The Templars would take the full brunt of every power of Salarin, ending their tribes live. Many of the younger generation would scatter, joining neighboring tribes or trying to form a startup of their own. The leadership would all surely be executed.

“State your name and business, stranger!” The captain shouted.

“[Sargent] Willow Bluefiend of Esmel. I was sent as an emissary for my home city.” The words flowed from the man with practiced ease. In truth everything he had just said was a blatant lie, but one that would take enough time to check. Hells, he wasn’t even an Elf.

“Esmel? I was understanding that they were unable to attend.”

“Correct, well not quite.” The man shifted his arm, slowly, opening his jacket and removing an envelope. “I was outside the city when the dome sprouted. [Arbor] Salvia is sentient enough to issue orders. A simple parchment, but his seal is unmistakable.”

The captain whispered something to her flanking guard. The young Centaur pranced past, taking the letter, and returning to his captain. She glanced over the writing. The letter was, of course, fake. A specialty of Dugal Fenten, last of his clan. Dugal’s magic was quite unique, at least how the man understood. It wasn’t everyday a single man could enter a [Thieves] haven and walk out with one of the most precious items they had. It was even less often a single man could enter and have the leadership personally hand over said item.

The familiar mana pulse of the Inspect spell over came the man. He smiled, trusting in the veil Dugal had set.

“You may enter.”

The man’s breathing hitched, all according to plan. Truth be told, this part of the plan was the most troubling. It would only take a single wrong word, or gut feeling to throw off Dugal’s magic. Especially since the man had cast this particular spell nearly two weeks ago.

“Right, thank you. Might I ask which direction the meeting is? I assume they are currently in session?”

The captain looked to the sky, judging the sun. “They started an hour ago. Straight in, past the main circle of tents.”

“I thank you.” The man bowed, finalizing the deal.

He walked through the area as instructed but stepped out of sight the moment he could. He popped open the box and withdrew the item. It was cold, something he hadn’t expected. But who was he to question it? With the item freely available, he pulled a second item from his coat. A mirror of sand. Upon its activation, the mirror twisted and formed into a bust of a woman.

“Everything is in place, my [Queen].” The man said, keeping his voice low.

“Good. We are just starting also. How is the item?” The words lingered in the air, overlapping one another. A limitation of the degree of communication.

“It is cold, is it-“

The man cut himself off. He could hear commotion from the meeting. His hairs stood; something was wrong. Was he found? No, no. The noise was limited to the center circle. Guards were rushing past his hiding place. That was good? At least he thought it was.

“Something is happening here. Permission to start?”

The sandy bust watched the man for a moment, hoping to catch a glimpse of her pawn’s hesitance. He stood firm and ready. “Proceed. Contact me at sundown. If you survive that is.”

“Of course, my [Queen]. Good-“ The sand fell, reforming back into a mirror.

The man began to move, but black eyes kept him paralyzed. An Angelic stood at the mouth of the alley, watching. The two watched each other for nearly a minute before a sudden wind picked up. The newcomer disappeared behind a flurry of grass. The man couldn’t think about the encounter for very long, he had a job to do.

It was time.

Max and Emi’s sudden appearance in the center of the Coalition meeting was not taken well. Their unforeseen and aggressive entrance was met with drawn weapons and pre-charged spells. It would only take one shaky trigger finger or ambitious guard to initiate a volley of attacks. But the meeting of leaders was a place for veterans and elder power. No such movements began.

“Max?” Vel asked, a vein in her forehead beginning to throb.

Her recognition of the foreigner relaxed a few weapons, raising questions instead. Whispers rang out, leaders talking with their comrades about the situation. Veline had already spoken of her personal relationship with the new Lost Lord. Was this him?

“Vel, we don’t have much time. The-“

Max was cut off by a raised sword to the neck. It was silver and cascaded with red energy. “Halt in the name of the [King]. State yourself.” The man holding the sword wore knight armor and Salae’s colors. A single, long feather fit neatly atop the uniform’s helmet.

Max teleported a few meters away, ignoring the blade. “Something is coming. It was foreseen.”

The [Knight] pivoted on his front foot, redrawing the sword forward. He snarled, “State yourself, mage!”

“Max, you can’t be here. We talked about this-“

“Vel! Listen to me! An attack, on the Coalition. It was foreseen!” His words boomed with a flicker of mana, silencing the remainder of the gossip.

The [Knight] pivoted again, Max teleported again. He was in no mood. Aura materialized, it was sharp and prominent, more so than Head Priestess Burk’s. It wrapped around the already deadly sword, increasing its striking power and length.

“Stand down, soldier.” The words were spoken in nearly a whisper, but the whole gathering heard them. A skinny, graying man stepped forward. His wrinkles caused a permanent frown, but his eyes held a level of interest. An interest in Max. “What about an attack?”

“A [Diviner] has foresaw an attack on this meeting. Complete annihilation.”

The silence spoke volumes. Breaths passed as no one spoke, until laughter. A woman giggled with a rage unknowing of the situation. “Veline just who is this boy?”

Vel and Max shared a glance, she nodded slightly, “I am Max Fowler, Lost Lord from Earth… This is Emi.”

Dozens of Inspects were cast on the pair, dozens of frowns appeared. The [King] took another step, his guard scrambled to his side. As other leaders shouted questions, Tobyn Salae simply watched. His eyes caught every movement, every twitch. He could tell one of the young Lord’s arms were fake. A spell, he assumed, prosthetics took a true master’s touch. The bond was interesting. Not a species he was familiar with, but it reacted to questions as her partner did which displayed intelligence.

“Was it the Prophet of the Mountain?” The [King] asked, silencing everyone. The Dwarven envoy from the Mountain looked particularly interested, but no expression showed their knowledge of the situation. Many [Diviners] could see the future, but none other than the Prophet would be able to see ‘complete annihilation’. As the King understood it, most branches of Divination were glorified ‘feeling’ mages. They could ‘feel’ the future, not necessarily ‘see’ it.

Max looked between Vel and the King, a mental tug-of-war of decisions. Vel nodded again, her eyes were somber but alert.

“Your daughter, Bella.” The [King]’s world spun.

At some point his children abandoned their chairs, finding point besides their father. The three of them had rather different expressions. The son’s was the most flamboyant. His brow sparked with anger, color finding his cheeks. He thought the words a lie. The daughter had a curious look, as if trying to decide a man’s reputation solely on a string of words.

The father looked sick. A disgust knotted in the back of his throat. Was Max lying? Was he telling the truth? Veline’s smug expression over breakfast made much more sense now. Mentor of a [Space Mage] and his own daughter. Irony. The wife of the one of Salae’s greatest political rivals, tutor of Salae’s youngest.

Bella a [Diviner]? Possible, especially with the royal bloodline. But unless she took a divination class, the bloodline shouldn’t be powerful enough to ‘see’. She would also be plagued with backfire and improper power. Surely Bella would have returned home after experiencing a mistake such as at. Very few could help her, her father and mother being two of them. But then again, Tobyn Salae didn’t know his daughter. He didn’t know how strong she was, how driven. The possibility of Bella being the foreseer was possible. The question is, why lie?

Questions were thrown to Max as the [King] contemplated. Max’s answer to most was ‘I don’t know’, or ‘I wasn’t told’. Some accepted his warning, becoming vigilant. They mainly were the guards of the leaders, the ones carrying swords and wearing armor. Dozens of Centauri moved around the encampment, but none noticed a single man slip through the cracks. He tossed a cube.

Emi reacted quickly. While her partner was focused on crowd control, she scoured the area for movement or threats. She saw the cube just after it landed. She screamed for Max’s intervention. Space twisted in contorted with record speed.

The system took control, fixing errors and circulating the spell. The final structure clicked into place, but the cube didn’t move. Instead, it glowed a deathly blue. Max cursed, drawing attention from himself to the cube. Others tried spells, each failing in a blue glow. The air thickened, a dread set in.

Waves crashed with frenzied cycles, eroding the sand in the infinite beach. Across the horizon a mass stirred under water. Its size would intimidate any, but its presence was the true omen. A hurricane formed in the sky, reinforcing the tide and current.

Tiodepth fully surfaced, looking to Max with bored arrogant eyes. Tiodepth sighed, hundreds of gallons of water were launched into the air as if a geyser blew. Max didn’t know why he looked to the Leviathan for help, it only split is concentration between worlds.

Barriers formed around the cube; their power being broken moments later. A guard rushed to cover it, but his body was frozen solid where it stood. Space twisted again, wrapping the cube in a larger formation. The grass below the magical item disappeared, not the cube.

By now, most of the leaders had abandoned the meeting. They moved away as fast as they could, through the tents and towards the edges of the venue. The cube pulled ambient mana from the air, funneling the spell etched into its core.

Max tried to blast it off the ground like a coiled spring. The mana was absorbed, dropping the water around the area. His mind rung with ideas and observations. His space spells were the most versatile for moving items, but they failed. Water could physically react with the cube, but his mana couldn’t. His eyes widened.

Mana formed beneath the cube; space folded into a flat square much like an Immovable Platform. The spell didn’t fizzle. Emi caught on to the plan, assisting in the next aspect. Water pulled beneath the platform, condensing and pressurizing. They charged the spell in mere moments, the two acting in tandem launched the platform high into the sky, the cube along with it. The platform tried to shift and buckle, teasing to shatter, but Max kept his mana flowing to the impromptu spell work.

The cube’s spell activated. White exploded in the sky, removing all shadows from the ground below. A shockwave was next, followed by a reverb and earthquake. Streaks of off blue hurtled down, catching speed and momentum. Boulders of ice plummeted to the ground, creating craters on impact. Multiple shields were hastily constructed. Max, Emi, Vel, and the three nobles of Salae found themselves under a dome of flowing water. The three [Water Mages] worked together, warding the worst of the fallout.

The comets ended along with the quakes moments later. Hail fluttered through the hazy sky, falling in a torrent of wind. Everything was cold, frozen even. Intact patches of grass were blistered with ice; exhales of white ash filtered with every breath. Those who were alive looked to the origin in wonderment, then to the Lost Lord who gave warning.

Before anyone could say or do anything, the sky broke open into a halo of fiery heat.