We would not leave immediately, of course. There was so much to do. First Mate Higgins and I were the only members of our hunt that had started the day with any kind of equipment. So while the others went off to scavenge the piles for suitable arms and armor, to oversee the repairs of their ship, or to go back to the hospital for a final round with the doctor, I found myself a little moment of rest. We had decided to leave with first light the next morning, and I needed to figure out how to spend my time most effectively.

I found myself breaking my fast with Fjora, who ate standing, answering countless questions of people finished with their meal, and tasking people with work at the Wreckage. Fjora was a burly woman, strong and tanned, with a simple no-nonsense braid to keep her mass of blonde hair out of the way. She was rather intimidating, brisk, and rough with words, but she brought the kind of simple structure to the aimless survivors that made them forget their shock and horror for the day of hard work.

“We would not have invited you, Fjora, if we would not value your input.” I addressed her and the fact she had not spoken a word at the meeting.

“Ain’t never spoken to the likes of you high n’ mighty, m’lord.” She chewed her words with her porridge, clearly a little embarrassed.

I smiled at her. “I understand. But It is expected for knights and lords to take charge. You stood up when your fellows needed you the most. I will not forget that. That is why you were at the council.”

“Well, thanks, I reckon.” She mumbled.

“Keep doing what you do, Fjora. We will depend on you and the other workers in the months to come when food grows scarcer than enemies to fight.” I smiled. “We will need the Wreckage to be shelter and home when winter comes.”

“Ain’t no one goin’ to throw us out again, m’lord. It already is shelter enough, I reckon, but we will make it a home alright.”

I clapped her on the shoulder and went on my way, looking for a place to rest in quiet. I still was exhausted from the day before, one night of sleep had not been enough to wash away the weeks of struggle and fight prior to that, but it was not another round of sleep I longed for, but quiet meditation. More and more I felt the need to recharge in my Demesne instead of sleeping like a mortal. I went up to the Needle. There was no place like the mountains to feel a little bit like home.

It was a place for gods and poets. The Needle towering over the chasm and the mists of the gigantic waterfalls to both sides, above me the floating isles, rocks, boulders, and whole mountains, teeming with vegetation and wildlife. Behind me the strange structure of the Wreckage, the mountain of broken ships, and the bay with the Albatross, which seemed so small from this high up. On the other end of the bay the unknown shoreline and the distant mountains, further out the endless rolling waves of the sea. It was a majestic place and view, magical and humbling.

A moment of awe so pure, my heart melted with joy and reverence in the presence of such greatness. And I could see it. For the first time, I really could see it. The wave breakers and piers finished, spanning the bay. Ships of every size and origin anchoring in the bay or docking near the Wreckage to unload their goods from foreign countries. The Wreckage repaired, built upon, a monument of light, travel, and the spirit of human exploration, brilliance, and endurance. On the dry land across the bay a little town and farms, smoke rising into the sky from the houses scattered in the shadow of the mountains. It was a wild and beautiful place. And I could see myself spending the rest of my days here. A place worth fighting for.

When I had taken in all the view I could handle, I settled in a comfortable position near the top of the Needle, but not right there. I was a friend of heights and the mountains, but I respected them as well. And I did not want to be seen by a random Wyldling on the floating mountains, betrayed by chance where caution would have saved me.

I was just resting there, when a man climbed up the Needle I had not yet met. A gruff man in his thirties, a wild stubble on his chin and dark locks, tamed by hairbands of leather. He was wiry and thin, clad in weathered and worn leather, and he held a bow loosely in his hands. He stood next to me, but not as close as to truly intrude, staring with furrowed brows onto the floating mountains. Time stretched the silence from curious to awkward fast.

“Are you looking for me?” I said, turning to him.

He grunted in agreement but did not turn to face me. “Name’s Grim. Saw you walking up.”

“Did you?” I asked. Then, after nothing happened: “And why are you here?”

“Figured I’d ask you man to man. Heard you are leaving soon. Heard that you are not taking us with you, too.”

“Yes. We decided that Barak Bloodbraid is a threat to high for lower levels to face. I don’t want you to throw away a life we just fought desperately to save.”

“Is not your decision to make, now is it?” He looked at me, his face living up to his name. “See my lord, I would very much like to throw my life at that bastard, if that means he goes down and goes down hard.” He turned to me, pointing a finger at my breast. “I will go over that bridge there.” He gestured with his chin to the rough rope bridge hanging over the chasm. “With or without your permission. I am a [Hunter], sharp with a bow and keen-eyed too. I do neither fear the mountains nor the critters. You wield a bow, too. You should know that a well-aimed arrow can be more deadly than any level or Skill. You will want me on your side.”

He stopped speaking and just crossed his arms in front of his chest, staring at me with defiance and pride. But he was breathing hard as if talking that much had taken all his energy. I thought a moment, but I had to laugh in the end. Who was I to tell a grown man if he could pursue his revenge or not? I was not this man’s lord, nor his father, brother, or friend. And he was right. A bow was a powerful tool, and a safe one as well. In the best case, he could support us from afar, leveling up in the process. And we would have another pair of experienced eyes and a man savvy in the wilderness, to handle the dangers and obstacles of the Broken Lands.

“Do you know how to handle one of these?” I asked, handing him the much larger longbow.

He nodded. “Been part of the militia myself, learned to handle a beast like that very well.”

“Take it then, I am useless with it. See if you can find more arrows, I only have four left.”

“If it means going after my prey in the morrow, I’ll feather them myself.”

“We leave at first light.” I smiled.

I entered my meditative state of mind and my Demesne shortly after, once I had found a more private place. I had the rest of the day left. Lily was around, greeting me happily. We chatted a while, speaking about nothing of importance. It was just nice to be back. The sudden presence of a thousand people was somewhat overwhelming for me. I had been alone for too long. And although no one had approached me about my responsibilities or other work, I knew I somehow had to play my part in organizing the survivors. I was the only nobility here and had taken a leadership role in the revolt. People would look to me for direction, it was just the nature of things. I was raised to expect that and fulfill that role, but a lot had happened since then. It had been a lifetime ago.

“You have come far, Hannibal.” Lily sang joyfully. “Since I got to you know you, you jumped into the worst situations with both feet first and came out stronger for it. You will find a way now, too.”

“You are too kind, Lily.”

“No, I am not. I am proud, is what I am. I know the Wanderer would be too if he knew.”

“He doesn’t?”

“He may already know, yes. But it is not for certain. Although what you did yesterday would be right in his wheelhouse.”

I nodded, staring out to the starry night of my Demesne. “Do you have advice for me, my Wisp?”

“Hit him first and make sure he doesn’t get to strike back?”

“Have you even been in a fight, Lily?” I laughed.

“I’ll have you know that I have defeated dozens – dozens! – of probes and whatnot while you were out and about crawling through the Wyld. With teeth! In the body of the Mastiff of Dread, of course.”

Now I was worried. “Is that a lot? That seems like a lot.”

“Well, yes. It is. Either you have a someone searching for you, or random probes get lost in your Web of Lies and get stuck there, instead of moving on. Their loss.”

I sighed. “Does it ever stop?”

“No, Hannibal. The more you grow, the harder you fight, the fiercer the competition. As much as the gods of freedom will applaud your actions yesterday, the other side will watch you with growing hatred. I am sorry. But you are doing great!”

“Thank you. And it’s a problem for another day. Because I don’t need to worry about a future, I might be too dead to enjoy.”

“You are a drama queen, Hannibal.”

I snorted. “What do we have to work with?”

“Essence wise? I would not have believed it, but it seems to be true. There is nothing like war to grow your power. That’s why the mortals love it so. 2920 EP and a couple of dozen Shards.”

“Time will not allow me to weave it all. I have to get some things done before tonight.”

“What will you choose?”

“What can I do? Whatever I choose, it will not be enough. My biggest trump card is the little sister of our enemy?”

“You have yet to face a foe you were ready to fight. I begin to think that’s your specialty.”

“I have to make a desperate gamble, I fear.” I went through the Skills and made my decision. The rest of the time was spent weaving the most expensive and most complicated pattern I had attempted yet. It was the first Gift I tried weaving, and the intricacies of the task were mind-boggling. After a couple of hours, I was nothing but a bundle of headaches and pure determination. I would unlock the strongest option I had available to me. It was my only chance. I spent 1104 Essence.

Finally, the Gift [Unchained Ancestors] was finished, and I anchored the Gift in a column of ancient marble statues I arranged around the base of my cliffs as if unearthed by time and nature. As hard as I focused, I could not bring a face to be onto one of the statues. I had expected my father, the Bulwark, to be closest to me, and thus easiest to summon, but I failed in manifesting his face. Indeed, I failed to manifest any face at all. It clearly was a Gift I needed to learn how to use to my advantage, but my mind was a muddled mess after the weaving, and I did not want to mess with the forces of fate and death with less than my full attention.

I came back to reality with a shredding headache, close to the evening, stumbling down the Needle to a barrel of water to wash my face and quench my burning thirst. That had been awful.

Zora found me as I sat down, water dripping off my face and drenching my clothes. She ran over to me. “You are finally awake! We could not rouse you! You were out of it for hours!” She was clearly alarmed.

“What? Is something wrong?” I held my head, threateningly close to split in half.

“Hells, yes! Veneir has disappeared.”

“What? What happened?” Suddenly, there was a heavy knot in my stomach.

“Nothing has happened. He just got up and left as everyone was busy. Someone saw him walking up the Needle. We thought nothing of it because we thought he would want to talk to you, but he never returned.”

“The Wyldlings have taken him? Are they so close?” I tried to clear my head and it was not working. But I remembered the night I had found him, that fearful creature. Was he doomed to live through his hell again? And had he just walked past me? How did that fit together?

“No. We have a [Hunter] that swears he saw him just walking away. Casually, as if going to the market. We looked for him but dared not enter the Broken Lands too far. The others are still up there, I came to look for you once we saw you gone.”

I cursed heavily, flaring up my headache to never known intensity. What was happening?