If you are wondering why I did this, then I confess disappointment.

The answer, of course, is simple. I was very, very bored.

Maiz snorted. The light made it a little hard to read the ancient words, but they had been preserved exceptionally well. The script was carefully laid out, deliberate, but with a hint of… something. He had seen a few old texts before, though none nearly as ancient as this one. Often, even when they hadn’t been transcribed by someone with a Printing skill, they had a high degree of formality and impersonality to them. This… didn’t. There was a little curl at the tail of every ‘y,’ each ‘w’ was jagged and messy. It truly felt as though Maiz was communicating with someone who’d lived an age ago.

I suppose you could say that I have won this round. I have defeated everyone who could have opposed me and reshaped the world to my desire--it was not particularly difficult, given my advantage in being the first Chosen of the nine. I am likely the single most powerful human who has ever lived, or number among the greatest at the least.

I could recount for you the story of how I became who I am today, but it is unimportant to you, for the most part. Suffice it to say that I could pretend to be any of the Chosen if I wished. I simply chose to snub Nomenadon because it would be the funniest. These Monks are rather gullible, and suitably impressed with my powers, so I believe they will still be waiting in this place when you are reading these words. I hope that you will get a laugh out of watching them, now that you know the truth.

It has taken me eight years and every one of my abilities to make the Temple. It shall stand as the silent wonder of the world, unknown to any outside its walls. This is the last chamber I have prepared, and it is deep underground, hundreds of miles away from the others. If you are reading this, then you have already pierced the illusion that would trap you in a prison of your own mind until you died of starvation.

If you are wondering why I would risk the chance that you would come here before gaining the second rank of the Mask, it is, again, because I was bored. Besides, you would have thanked me if Nomenadon’s whelp came here first and found this place. I will assume, in fact, that you are doing so. You are welcome.

I am old, now. I have achieved the pinnacle of my title, but even still time has marched slowly on. I feel that I am in my last decade, perhaps even my last year, on this world. Perhaps I shall conquer an empire, and set up some young hero to overthrow me. That would be an interesting death, at least.

I have gone on a thousand adventures and told a million lies, and I have one task remaining to me that I never completed. Our Lord will give it to you, eventually, if he has not yet. I thought I could do it if I collected the abilities of each of the nine. I was wrong. So, I have created the Temple, to help you in your attempt. Somewhat. It was quite an engaging project. I wonder how many Masters will be born of this place, and not remember it.

If you are wondering why I am not telling you what this task is, it is because I enjoy being the cryptic one, for once. I believe I am better at it than Mel, though she may disagree. In any case, you should stop being an ungrateful brat and remember that I have given you quite the resource. If you reach the end of the next section, you will sing my praises to our Lord.

Do not actually do that. I sang for him, once. He did not appreciate it.

Good luck.

Maiz blinked. He suddenly wished that the writer of this… letter was a little bit less personal and a little more comprehensible. All he’d really gotten from the message was what he’d already deduced--the Temple of the Sands was a gigantic trick. And apparently the single greatest prank ever played in the history of humanity.

He winced a little, thinking about what this letter implied. The writer had tricked an entire society into believing a lie. Generations upon generations of Warrior Monks had probably lived and died in the place, isolated from the rest of the world by the Waste and believing that they were carrying out a holy mission.

An involuntary chuckle escaped from. He immediately felt terrible, but honestly, that was pretty godsdamned funny.

There were other things in the letter, bits and pieces. The writer had been a Chosen of Viselys like Maiz himself, but had been the first to be Chosen. He--Maiz decided to think of the ancient God-Chosen as male for simplicity’s sake--had apparently leveraged that advantage to annihilate the other eight and learn all of their powers. But what was this task that he had been given and unable to complete? Maiz had trouble believing that anyone with the power to create something like the Path could fail at anything. It was more than a little concerning, especially because the writer apparently expected Maiz to do it one day. He somehow doubted that would be possible.

And then there were parts that he just plain didn’t understand. Not remember? Not remember what? Not to mention that Maiz himself still didn’t understand why the Temple wasn’t the most famous place in the entire world. What did the writer mean by ‘silent wonder?’ And who was Mel? ‘Why was he such a Massahn-touched vague bastard’ is probably the best question of all.

The bit about the illusion was especially chilling. He had come very, very close to death. Because of the whims of an ancient jackass with a good sense of humor. It was rather infuriating, and also something Maiz could almost respect. The writer hadn’t put much emphasis on it, but this place wasn’t just a very twisted joke, it was also a trap for the most dangerous enemy Maiz was likely to face--the Chosen of Nomenadon. Apparently they would also have been able to access this chamber, presumably by using the physical and mana-based abilities together on the portal enchantment just like Maiz had. He just wished that the previous Nameless could have put the trap further down the Path and avoided the chance of snaring Maiz as well.

However, he hadn’t, and it didn’t particularly matter. Maiz had been running on a set of extraordinary coincidences since he’d stepped through the door to begin his Naming Ritual. He’d come close to death several times, more than he could easily keep track of. This wasn’t even the first time in this day--angering the Jin’Tira could have killed him just as easily as wandering into this chamber could have. He simply had to move on.

And now he had a new goal to focus on. A challenge, even. How long would it take him to reach this ‘gift’ the previous Nameless had left him?

*****************

The image in the mirror was unsettling.

If he’d said that out loud, perhaps Digaratoth or Eva would have cracked a joke about his age or appearance. Shadar might have welcomed it. But he couldn’t tear his attention away from what he was seeing.

Shadar had no issue with seeing the small legion of undead advance across the desert sand. In fact, he was mildly impressed at Eva’s precise control of each individual skeleton, though he knew part of that was because her undead were sentient and self-aware. A quirk of the Lich title. However, the sight of what they were marching towards was what concerned him. An absolutely massive array of soldiers, all perfectly aligned in formation and unflinching in the face of the horrors marching towards them. The front rank carried shields, and the one behind held spears that poked above their heads. The combatants in the front were heavily armored, their titles likely focused on defense, and no doubt the other ranks were also grouped by specialty. In short, the skeletons were marching toward a true army.

The image suddenly vanished.

“Godsdammit,” Eva swore absently, “they got the bird.”

She waved a hand and the image was restored, now from the perspective of something walking toward the army. A skeleton at the front of the legion, likely. Shadar frowned.

“Why?”

“No idea, but I think we’ll see.”

There was a hole forming in the lines of the army. Not in a disorderly fashion, as if they were retreating, but neatly. In a ripple, the combatants in the center of the army stepped sideways, opening a tunnel through the ranks. It was a well practiced effort, but Shadar didn’t see the point of it. He himself didn’t ascribe to such rigid battle formation tactics at all, but he still knew that the integrity of the ranks was paramount to the success of the strategy. So why break it?

The tunnel continued to open. Finally, Shadar could see only few lines of soldiers left. They stepped to the side, and he caught a glimpse--a very indistinct glimpse--of a single figure. The image in the mirror brightened and continue to brighten. Soon it shone pure white.

In the next moment, the image faded, leaving the mirror mundane once more.

“What the hells?” Eva sounded a little surprised, but mostly annoyed.

“Can you connect to a different servant?”

“No, they’re all gone.”

“Hm. All of them were destroyed at once?’” That was Digaratoth, speaking for the first time.

“Yes! I don’t understand…”

“We already suspected that this was Lumia’s Chosen. It makes sense they would be suited to dealing with the undead.”

Eva scowled. There was a strong association between those with necromantic titles and Ulion, and those who served Lumia often received powers which worked best against the undead. She had always disliked that, considering that she herself did not serve the dark god and still had to contend with the Lumians’ hatred.

“Yes. But that isn’t the strange part.”

Digaratoth and Eva both nodded. Digaratoth was businesslike, Eva still angry. She spoke first, like usual.

“Why, in Lumia’s godsdamned uptight name, did they bother lining up like that at all?”

Shadar looked into the mirror. It showed him his own face--still strong, but… old. Weathered.

“A message.” Shadar didn’t say what they all knew. Lumia’s Chosen hadn’t simply been dealing with a strange attack by undead. She’d known what Shadar had been doing, and had decided to reply accordingly. With a direct declaration of war.

“It really is just beginning, isn’t it?”

Digaratoth said the words softly, and Shadar sighed. The Saurian knew him well, to echo his own thoughts so perfectly.