An ocean wave crashed against the shore of a frigid beach, its waters rolling over sand to surround the leather boots of two crossbowmen struggling to lift a chest loaded with gifts from a small boat. It took the tiny vessel four trips to deliver Dimitry and his diplomatic party from a distant ship. The one they rode from Malten. Several iron anchors immobilized their transport home to prevent it from drifting away in a rogue current.

If the negotiations went poorly, Dimitry wouldn’t escape.

The myrmidons surrounding him would hunt him down before he could row the small boat back to its larger counterpart. Even if he somehow reached the ship, the time it would take to set sail was plenty to capsize the craft, drowning everyone on board. There was nowhere to go but forward. Dimitry’s life and that of his associates depended on his ability to communicate with a mysterious species.

He wouldn’t let them down.

Warcaller stood idle. Her webbed hand brushed the wet white hair clinging to her face back behind an ear with a blue spike piercing. “Have you mudgills made your preparations yet?”

“Yes,” Dimitry said. “We are ready when you are.”

She pointed her stone spear towards a grassy hill. “The council of ascendants lies not far beyond.”

Dimitry beckoned Klaire, Angelika, and their small group of combat mages and soldiers to follow, then trudged forward.

Her webbed feet slapping moist sand with every step, Warcaller marched alongside her gang of myrmidons. They were tall. Although the females stood at Dimitry’s height, the males flanking him from all sides could have had successful careers as basketball players on Earth. They even had uniforms.

Dressed like scuba divers, their necks’ faintly pink skin vanished under black bodysuits covering everything from their shoulders to their ankles. It wasn’t decorative. Droplets raced down the clothes’ smooth surfaces, indicating they were waterproof. Did myrmidons design them to reduce drag while swimming? If so, they weren’t the mindless savages Angelika described them as. They were intelligent.

When they reached the foot of a hill, Warcaller turned around. “Tell your warriors to stay their weapons. We’ll be entering our dwelling grounds soon.”

Dimitry’s eyebrows furrowed. Surrounding him and his group were robust creatures, each capable of killing several men with their bare hands. Who in their right mind would pick a fight now? A glance back answered his question.

“W-what did it say?” Klaire clutched the book she held to her chest tighter. “Was it angry?”

“She said we’ll be at their home soon and that we should put away our weapons. That means you, Angelika.”

“This is crazy.” With one smooth movement, the curly-haired sorceress slid her gun into its holster. “No one back home’s going to believe this.”

“I still don’t believe it.” Klaire lifted her blue dress to avoid getting it dirty but was too late. Sand and saltwater drenched its flowery bottom portion. “I feel like I’m in an obtuse dream. Or perhaps a nightmare.”

Dimitry continued following Warcaller. “It’d be best if people didn’t find out about myrmidons. They’re not ready. Even if they distrust the Church, learning that aquatic demons aren’t savage beasts despite a lifetime of teachings telling them otherwise would be too much for them to handle. It’s also likely that Zeran informants live in Malten, so the fewer people that know, the better.”

“Yeah yeah.” Angelika groaned. “Mira said something like that, too.”

“Jade Surgeon.”

“Yes, Klaire?”

“Pardon this one’s rudeness, aren’t you afraid that these creatures would attack us at any moment?”

Dimitry gave the woman desperately trying to hide her panic a comforting smile. “I promise we’ll be safe.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because, from what I can tell, myrmidons are creatures that honor bravery. As long as you remain calm, they’ll treat you with respect.”

Angelika shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m just very calm, but maybe they’re showing me too much respect. There’s a guy, I think it’s a guy, who keeps giving me looks.”

A grin spread across Dimitry’s face. “Although we came here for peace, it seems the fortunate amongst us found love.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The suppressed giggling of combat mages reddened Angelika’s cheeks.

Finished teasing his embarrassed guard, Dimitry glanced at the navy blue emblem on his wrist. Its pull strengthened with every step. A cache lay nearby. Although he wanted nothing more than to access it, to claim the relic containing ‘Homeworld Expertise’ within, he would have to escape the myrmidons’ watchful gaze first. Something he could do only after gaining their trust.

He looked up to avoid bringing attention to his glowing knight imprint only to find himself stood atop a hill with a baffling view.

A snowcapped mountain and a wood darkened by gray skies surrounded a village. Like the other settlements on Waira’s coast visible from the ship, hemispheres lay on a level field. However, they weren’t tents like Dimitry thought they were. They were stone domes. Granite, basalt, and even what appeared to be rough quartz ones with fading blue lines cutting across their surfaces, traveling parallel or across one another to form maze-like patterns.

The shells of carapaced devils.

Myrmidons excavated the limbs, heads, and cores of tortoise-like heathens to make houses. They stood apart at irregular distances. Some clustered together to form micro-communities while others remained in solitude among a sea of trees. However, they all had one thing in common.

A crudely hewn stone path connected each structure to a colossal central one. Although blue lines decorated its walls like they did the others, it was crafted from a massive heathen several times wider than the carrier devil that attacked his ship during his journey to Coldust.

Did heathens that size really exist?

Angelika stopped beside Dimitry. “Is that a… fortress devil?”

“Fortress devil?” He asked, dread coursing down his spine. “Are there many of them?”

Klaire pushed up her glasses with two fingers. “There are no records of them appearing near Malten, but before the war, the Church spread word of them striking one down north of Olsten. I don’t know the validity of their claims.”

“Aquatic demons killed that?” Angelika took a step forward. “They may be savages, but they’re damn impressive savages.”

Eyes fixed on the massive structure, Dimitry spoke to Warcaller. “What is the big building in the middle?”

“That is home to this island’s council of ascendants. The hierarch awaits you within.”

Ascendants? Were they the ones who killed the fortress devil? If so, Dimitry needed them as allies. He straightened his gambeson and its overlying cloak to set a good impression for humanity. Even if myrmidons didn’t have similar fashion values, they definitely appreciated order.

A fact Dimitry deduced by walking through their settlement.

Although the narrow streets didn’t have intricate designs like the ones in Malten, their square bricks arranged themselves in patterns. Four rows of granite and an equivalent amount of limestone or slate. Who helped shape them was clear at a glance.

His yellow and black eyes following Dimitry, a male myrmidon sat on a log, carving grooves into a javelin with a tool resembling a chisel. He flashed his sharp teeth from behind what looked like a content grin. Was he taking pride in showing off his craftsmanship to uneducated mudgills, or displaying his discontent at their presence?

Another brother watched from the side of the road. The corpse of a decapitated walrus-like animal in one hand and a knife in the other, he stopped butchering to stare at Dimitry. Then, when he sated his curiosity, he continued to disassemble the dead beast into piles comprising either black hide, blubber, or dissected flesh.

Contrary to expectations, myrmidons didn’t rush forward with rage at the sight of humans—an enemy they fought for at least a century. Even the children stood idle. But that didn’t mean they weren’t prepared. Every citizen had a weapon close at hand, ready to deliver a deadly strike at a moment’s notice.

That was why Dimitry avoided eye contact as much as possible. He didn’t know aquatic demon customs. Although they seemed to value brevity, directness, and honor, culture wasn’t something he could predict based on surface-level impressions. It was best to err on the side of caution.

After trudging past a gauntlet of intrigued stares, Dimitry and his crew followed Warcaller through a fortress devil’s mouth the size of a gatehouse. Intrigued whispers came from the combat sorceresses and soldiers in tow. It was clear why.

Myrmidons modeled the dead heathen’s internal skeleton into furniture. Granite racks protruded from walls, holding spears, javelins, and long, crowbar-like tools. Knee-high tables grew out of a spacious floor. Stone slabs, one supporting a sleeping male resting on leather blankets, filled a corner.

In the structure’s center were seven females with knob-like blue horns. They sat cross-legged on small, black cushions.

Warcaller approached the one in the middle. “Hierarch, we have returned.”

A myrmidon opened her eyes from what appeared to be a meditative trance, her gaze slowly traveling upwards. The beads tying the ends of her neat, white braids gently tapped the fortress devil’s granite floor when her head tilted up. “It is good to see you well, Leylani. May the waves forever guide you home. Are these the mudgills your scout spoke of?”

“It is so. The one with eyes green like a waning moon is the Dimitry our brother spoke of.”

“And the others are of his retinue?”

“Indeed.”

“Stay.” Hierarch cupped her subordinate’s webbed hand between two of her own. “We wish for your school’s council.”

“By your will.” The proud myrmidon and her dozen troops sat on nearby cushions.

Leylani? Was Warcaller just her title?

“Jade Surgeon,” Klaire uttered. “What are they saying?”

“The female aquatic demon in the middle is the one they’ve been referring to hierarch all this time. From what I can tell, she’s like a queen.”

Klaire took a sharp breath and dropped into a kneel. The soldiers responsible for carrying gifts and the combat sorceresses did the same. Angelika exhaled an annoyed grunt before following their example.

The hierarch’s yellow irises met Dimitry’s gaze. “Is this a mudgill greeting?”

“It is how we prostrate ourselves to someone of great respect.”

“Tell them to stop disgracing themselves.”

Dimitry looked back. “The hierarch says you’re all being too polite. Take a seat and try to relax.”

Klaire jumped to her feet, her cheeks burning a deep red color. “Give her my sincerest apologies.” She pulled up the dirtied bottom of her blue dress and sat with grace.

“Finally.” Angelika fell back onto a black cushion. “My legs hurt from standing all day.”

Dimitry massaged his forehead. One was too polite, and the other not at all. Luckily, myrmidons couldn’t understand human speech. He lowered himself into an empty ‘chair’.

“It is strange, mudgill.”

“What is?”

Hierarch folded her arms onto her lap. “After initiating centuries of slaughter through a massacre of our tribes, you come to beg for forgiveness. Do you not find your cowardice pathetic?”

Not the best start to a diplomatic meeting.

To placate the hierarch’s indignance, Dimitry considered blaming the interspecies warfare on the Church, but aquatic demons likely couldn’t tell the difference between a Malten sorceress and a bishop. Damning one human would damn them all. He needed to get a foot in the door before delving into specifics. “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. We didn’t come here to apologize. We came to end the meaningless bloodshed. War arises when the opposing sides can’t communicate, and our goal is to change that.”

“Indeed. Misunderstandings breed conflict.” She twisted a braid of white hair between two webbed fingers of an overloaded hand and brushed it back behind a pale pink shoulder. “Which is why your presence troubles me. How does a mudgill master our tongue despite our mutual animosity?”

Dimitry couldn’t tell her about the dark hall, nor could he claim his abilities were the work of a spell. Myrmidons didn’t accept him as a wielder of convenient magic like Malten’s residents did. It would raise too much suspicion. But there was a dishonest alternative. Despite being corrupted creatures like Precious, aquatic demons haven’t demonstrated the ability to detect falsehoods during either of Dimitry’s encounters with their race.

Lying was the safest choice. “I learned from one of your kind after he saved me from drowning at sea.”

“You speak of the brother held captive within a log vessel?”

“I do, but he was no captive. Your brother stayed of his own volition to bring an end to our conflict.”

“Our brothers would never beg forgiveness from a foe!” a female myrmidon added. “Not during the coastal wars, and not now!”

“Where is he?” Hierarch displayed her sharp teeth. “Why haven’t you returned him to us?”

“I inquired the same,” Leylani said. “The mudgill claimed our brother fell in glorious combat with rock giants.”

“It’s true,” Dimitry said. “He fought bravely amongst us, but our enemies’ numbers were too great. In my inadequacy, I couldn’t return the kindness he showed to me. It is my greatest shame.”

“If your tales were true,” Hierarch said, “you would have known to honor the valor in our brother’s sacrifice. Instead, you defile his death with pity! Have you no shame as a warrior?”

Dimitry looked deep into her fiery eyes, which burned with rage and repressed sorrow. How many of her people did she see die in war? He wagered his life on the answer being ‘a lot’. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

The myrmidon showered him with offended glares.

Klaire was shaking. “W-why are they looking at us like that?”

“Are all mudgill warriors as disgraceful as you?” Hierarch asked.

“I am no warrior. Among my people, I am known as a surgeon. A healer. I—”

“Then why are you here? Have your warriors become cowards, sending forth even their shamans now that they can no longer cower atop enchanted walls?”

Dimitry suppressed the chattering of his teeth and glanced past the many myrmidon glaring at him, ready to pounce. Here went nothing. “I was… I was sent here precisely because I am not a warrior. Just like yours, ours thirst for battle, even the ones standing by my side. But ask yourselves: what has our meaningless conflict earned us? Would you rather have your brothers and sisters amongst you or the glorious memories of their deaths? We humans have already chosen our answer. Now we await yours.”

Hierarch went silent, as did the females sitting around her. Some yellow eyes glazed over and others glanced down at webbed hands.

The tension in Dimitry’s chest loosened, allowing him a breath. Did his plan work?

“W-what’s happening?” Klaire mumbled. “Will they k-kill us?”

“I hope not.”

“Oh…”

A while passed before an utterance pierced the deafening silence. “Humans?”

“That’s what we call ourselves.”

Hierarch flashed a fearsome scowl. Or was it a wry smile? “How odd that we have waged centuries of war against foes we could not name.”

“I share the sentiment. We didn’t know ‘myrmidon’ until I conversed with your brother.”

“Then your ignorance of the tides is no less than ours of the inner lands.”

Dimitry leaned forward. “That is precisely why we must learn from one another. Something we can only do while our people are at peace.”

“We’ve all fought these humans before,” an ascendant said. “They will plot any scheme to slaughter us. It is my belief they offer empty promises of peace so they may attack when our backs are turned.”

“I am in agreement.”

“I as well.”

Hierarch brushed her braided hair back with a webbed hand, inflamed purple vessels spreading across the surface. “Indeed. We cannot trust the sincerity of your words, Dimitry.”

He examined her palm, which had the characteristic symptoms of overload, and glanced around the room. Only ascendants had similar wounds.

Did they use vol?

A sensible conclusion. Aquatic demons have demonstrated their knowledge of enchantments when referring to Malten’s former heathen barrier, and magic was the best way for people otherwise armed with stone and bone weapons to kill a fortress devil. But if that was the case, why wasn’t Her Royal Majesty aware that aquatic demons could cast spells? Surely, more than a century of war would have revealed the truth. Did myrmidon sorceresses avoid contact with humans, or was vol such a rare resource among them that few could afford to learn spells? Their primitive tools indicated they didn’t have the metallurgical knowledge necessary for its mass production.

Dimitry looked back.

“What are they saying?” Klaire’s lips trembled. “This one can’t help but feel their angry gazes.”

“They want us to prove our sincerity.”

Angelika smirked. “Isn’t us not killing them right now sincere enough? They don’t even have reflectia armor. At this range, I could take out half of them with meltia.”

“You scare me when you say stuff like that.” Dimitry glanced at a crossbowman sitting beside a chest full of diplomatic gifts. “Vol ingot, please.”

After a hasty retrieval, the soldier dropped a heavy and cold green block onto Dimitry’s outstretched palms.

Warcaller’s eyes widened.

The ascendants watched on with poorly disguised awe.

“Is that… a moonstone?”

“Could one so massive exist?!”

Their whispers grew louder.

Moonstones? Was that what they called vol? Dimitry brushed the thought aside and placed the ingot, twice as dense as iron, on the floor in front of him.

Hierarch ran a finger along the ingot’s edge, which glistened with light leaking from a hole in the fortress devil’s roof. “Although we have seen moonstones amongst your dead and the wreckages of log vessels before, it is my first time seeing one so large. It would take us many moons to produce an equivalent amount.”

“Our people pride ourselves in the crafting of moonstones,” Dimitry said. “We have many, some larger than this one.”

“How many seafloor forges do you use in their production?”

Did she refer to hydrothermal vents? “It seems our methods differ. We use smelteries and contraptions known as water wheels to refine metal.”

“Smelteries? Water wheels?” Hierarch looked at the clueless faces of her ascendants.

Dimitry pushed the vol towards her. “Of course, we are willing to trade moonstones and perhaps even craft secrets with our allies. No knowledge is too precious to share in our mission to banish the rock giants from these lands.”

The ascendants deliberated amongst themselves with raised voices.

Hierarch cupped Dimitry’s hands. “You are our guests until we continue these negotiations tomorrow.”

Hoping her gesture implied blossoming trust, Dimitry smiled. Not that he minded waiting. Every moment the ascendants spent talking was one he could use to sneak away and investigate the relic cache. “I’m sure you have much to discuss. Take all the time you need.”

“Then you understand. Leylani, show these humans the fire mountains and our hospitality.”

Warcaller wrenched her gaze away from the dark green ingot and stood tall. “Yes, Hierarch.”