Chapter 5

It was rapidly approaching midday and Sophia was learning to read, sitting crossed-legged at the dingy interior of the Corner.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t read conventional letters and scripts— she was rather good, in fact. Finny had made sure that she could write and read a ledger from a young age, which was a privilege compared to most, if not all, other children or even adults. Sophia hadn’t been much of a voracious reader, the idea of learning from a book hadn’t occurred much to her and the concept was rather alien. Regardless of that, she was at least proficient with the language.

However, the moment that Finny pulled out a selection of books — parchments, scrolls, all bound tight in wraps of leather and strings, they’ve rapidly discovered a problem she hadn’t thought of. It wasn’t the question of, 'Why would Finny have so many books', or 'I had never seen so many books'.

That problem was that the texts on the pages were entirely unfamiliar to Sophia. None of the words, diagrams and symbols was ones that she could recognise, even the syntax itself was strange. She had spent a quick moment looking over the tightly-packed writings before quickly asserting that there wasn’t any hope of her ever deciphering it as she was now.

“Finny,” she was saying, “I don’t know, but these…”

It was a struggle to admit that she couldn’t understand a lick of whatever that was written. When she did, Finny didn’t reply with any more than, “I see,” before handing her an entirely different volume.

Finny called it a ‘lexicon’, but all Sophia could tell was that it contained words that she was used to. With that in mind, she spent her time trying to piece together the words and understand the structure. She would have thought that learning about magic to be much more interesting than this but it seemed all educations had to start with writing.

Apparently, the language that they had been using, the ‘Common Tongue’, was not of Bvurdrjordian origin but in fact introduced by the Zweits. In some effort to unite or subsume their subjects, culturally or otherwise, the invaders made attempts to superimpose their own above others. This included the integration of the Reeves, an appointed ‘noble’ that would be in charge of conquered territories along with the education of a completely different language system.

To use the old tongues were thus outlawed — but most other cultural practices were allowed to stay intact.

This ‘Common Tongue’, as it was, had taken hold over the odd hundred years and memories of their previous words eventually faded away from the people. Some were kept safe, however, such as the tome Sophia was currently flipping through with her brows furrowed.

She had expected the process to be difficult but she hadn’t realized the process involved relearning an entire language. Despite that, she was making astoundingly good pace through it, delicately shifting the dusty old parchment pages, memorizing words after words, diagrams over diagrams as she translated and comprehended the meanings of the older texts. Whilst she was doing so, Finny left her to her own devices and had wandered off to ‘collect materials’, of which was said in a most ambiguous tone.

Thus, Sophia sat and learned.

And it was about midday, after some hours of constant studying when she realized that something was very strange.

She picked the book up and inspected its width: it was longer than her pinkie, which was admittedly not that long but still plenty large. However, as she opened back to the page she was on, she discovered that she had already made it halfway through the text.

Halfway.

Slightly confused, perhaps intrigued, she flipped back a little, confirming that she had indeed been reading those hundred pages and hadn't skipped over a few.

I’m reading way too quickly.

She was by no means a master at reading but she was certain that her pace through the book was abnormal. Furthermore, now that she was realizing the oddness, she also noticed that the words she was committing to memory had remained crystal clear despite how droll they were. Every figment and text seemed to have carved into her mind of their own accord, capable of being pulled to the forefront with ease. A recital swiftly proved that she could remember the words she had seen back the first pages with absolute clarity.

Simply put, she was learning too quickly, too efficiently and too clearly for it be natural. She didn’t recall herself having the ability to perform such mental feats. Her initial attempts at learning the Common Tongue had been a painful and arduous process — this, however, was strange.

Magic, she concluded.

Was it the book that was magical? Was she magical?

She had no idea, but she agreed that if she could do this back then, life would have been much easier. Not to mention, she hadn’t gotten bored yet or had headaches from reading too much, which to her was a blessing.

Shrugging in derision, she walked over to the kitchen, assembled a small lunch and went back to work. It was quiet outside the building, the stone walls keeping whatever meagre sounds of activities from reaching within. Again, suddenly struck with a sense of revelation, she noticed that the Corner itself was odd in ways she hadn’t realized.

In the years that she had stayed here, the dreary walls, high ceiling and the tables were a common sight. From pillars to pillars, counters to chairs, she was familiar with everyone one of those as she would to the back of her hand.

However, she felt as if she was looking at the environment in an entirely new way.

The walls were decorated with intricate weaves of red strings, beads and bestial teeth, feathers of some bird of prey forming to create some form of organic tapestry. The strange crafts were strung up along each wall of the bottom floor, each facing a different direction. Before, Sophia would have assumed that these were all merely decorations to improve its appeal, but now upon closer inspection revealed their more nebulous origins and purposes.

Besides the weaves, there were also these jars that could be found, made of clay and painted in shades of blue and red. Stuck up high in the rafters, almost disappearing into the gloom, these suspicious containers formed rows in the darkest little corners and could have been easily lost if she weren’t looking for them.

Had these always been here?

Something in them shifted.

She blinked — a speck of dust fell from the shade and glimmered for but a second before flickering out. Her breath was caught in her chest as she watched intently for any further movement, limbs taut and senses tingling. However, even after some minutes passed, no further movement could be seen.

She supposed that something else was here as well.

Purposefully, she averted her eyes and focused back onto the tome — the one amongst many that she had yet to even touch. Just to go through these would take her days, even with her now-ridiculous pace of reading. It seemed that despite the strange magic affecting her, this task would still prove to be quite arduous.

Then, all of a sudden, she was stricken by an idea.

Feats were dedicated to gods as offerings, yes?

Slowly, she left the tome on the table, its pages carefully closed. In soft, furtive steps, using the soles of her feet to walk as if she was afraid something could overhear her, she went for the stairs and walked up to her room in the attic.

It was just as she remembered it, dusty and dark, pierced through with the slightest blade of light that found its way through the sliver between the shutters. Her pile of leather skins, the mattress, the box that functioned as her wardrobe, it all stayed at exactly where she left them and laid undisturbed.

She stepped in, gently closing the door behind her and walling off the dark interior of the stairs.

It was quiet, peaceful.

With her hands surprisingly steady, Sophia peeled back the layers of the covers and once again revealing the silvery crystal sphere from within. The barest thread of light struck its surface, causing it to glister and shimmer like some priceless jewel. Though she had seen it more than a dozen times, it was still breath-taking in its beauty and lustre.

Her fingers were surprisingly steady as she lifted the egg and onto her lap. It was warm to the touch, its surface smooth and regular in ways only rocks can be.

She paused for a moment, composing the words in her head.

Once again, she was about to act on a whim, driven by motivations she cannot discern. An uneasy smile stretched across her face as she stared intently at the glimmering surface, biting the inside of her lips in trepidation.

Sophia wasn’t much of a praying person — the Zweits made sure that they no longer did. Maybe the ancient Bvurdrjordians did so in the past but piety was something almost nearly forgotten by the masses. As such, she had no idea what she was meant to do in this scenario.

What am I suppose to do? She thought to herself hesitantly. Do I just… pray? Do I need incense? Stones?

If its dedication, sincerity is the only thing that matters, right?

However, as she looked back upon the gleaming shell of the egg, she muttered to herself, “I don’t know if this will work.”

Her head bowed indecisively and remained there for a while, eyes flittering about before settling back on the egg. Then, she spoke on, “I… well, I don’t think I would ever have gone here if it weren’t for finding you. What I wish to say was that you were...”

For a moment, she was at a lost for words.

Eventually, she spoke on, ”I don’t know if it was meant for me, I don’t know it was chance or something similar but something had led me to you. I do not know who you are, what you do. I do not know if I had stolen it from you but I promise… I’ll take good care of it.”

There was nothing else in the room aside from the usual clutter and furniture. There were no ominous winds, creaking floorboards or dancing lights to show that her words were reaching anyone. Despite that, she continued speaking, words tumbling out with the solemnity of the gallows, “I — Allow me to dedicate this learning to you, to show my efforts, t-to see what you had meant for me.”

Sophia is impulsive.

That was something I came to realize as I watched from afar, my ‘self’ located many, many miles off and deep underwater.

However, it couldn’t be denied that Sophia didn’t have an uncanny intuition and sense of intense initiative. As I weren’t there physically, having to operate through a proxy, my surveillance capabilities were greatly limited. Whilst I could look through her eyes, live as her even though we were so far apart, my ability influence was limited to prodding in certain directions or whispering in her dreams. Even my ability to alter [Essence] was subdued and slow to act, like a finger numbed and unresponsive.

While Sophia was by no means the first sentient that I had tested this effect on — the Iasgaireans were plenty, she was also the first to be far away and remote from me, along with the requirement of not being previously taken over by me or altered in any way.

This was an experiment — and one that was shown to immensely fruitful. The knowledge that I had gained by simply introducing an egg to the closest human settlement far outweighs what I spent. The egg itself a vessel filled with malleable [Essence], a set of markers that allow for rapid transportation of [Essence] across large spaces. It was originally meant to serve as a proxy for my abilities to function, almost like a limb that exists away from your own body but it seemed things had gotten out of hand rather quickly.

Sophia, with her luck, had been the first to reach it. Me, with my luck, landed the egg right into the palms of someone that had a strange, dubious family of a magical sort.

Was it fate? Luck?

If it wasn’t, then it must have been quite the coincidence that such an event occurred. I wasn’t about to complain but such incidence should be kept in mind, I think.

Maybe something similar would happen again, who knows?

Either way, by simply riffling through Sophia’s memories and accounts of her life, it was easy to gain some form understanding. The process itself wasn’t invasive, being only surface level in that I didn’t actively change or push apart anything.

As I’ve said, doing so would feel rude — not that I couldn’t, especially when she spent time around the egg. Though I had latched a fragment of my mind onto her, it seemed that my abilities changes in potency according to proximity to me — or my [Proxies]. My egg, being fitted with the altered markers, was one such [Proxy] that would allow me to transport [Essence] and transmit my commands to things nearby.

Even with that limitation, I had learned much.

Firstly, it appeared that two distinct civilizations had appeared onto my proverbial radar. Bvurdrjord seemed to be the native kingdoms or something akin to that, seemingly rather naval-focused. If I were to compare it to Earth analogies, it seemed to be a mix between Anglo-Saxon and tribalistic traditions of native America. Whichever the case, they seemed to have, or at least have been a faith-driven philosophy that dictated their culture.

Judging from their armours, weapons and architecture style, their technology levels should be roughly on par. Through Sophia’s eyes, I’ve spied iron and steel working, simple crossbows and the like, giving me a rough estimate of their strength.

Culture-wise, there seemed to be some form of religion-magical practice hidden behind the abject faithlessness the Zweits imposed upon them. Whether it was from Finny, whose name was Evelyn, or from the words spoken by one Captain Rutherford, it seemed that the religion was squashed or at least laid buried.

Likewise, the magic that was used by the ‘magic users’ of Bvurdrjord was of interest to me. So far, the runic words inscribed by Evelyn was different — far different from the ‘runes’ used by Vrraet. As said by the Iasgairean himself, the runes he used were based upon representing the natural world around him, lines that were meant to capture the [Essence] of simple concepts such as ‘allow’, ‘open’ and ‘deny’, forming what almost seemed to be a rudimentary form of computer engineering, using gold and other precious materials in lieu of … well, copper wires.

Similar enough concept for it to not matter much.

Evelyn’s writing on her beads, however, was nothing quite so esoterical. As it was written original script used by the inhabitants of Bvurdrjord, it didn’t hold any specific meaning aside from the connations of ‘lost language’ or ‘grief’. Whilst under normal occasions it would be fun to mess about with an entire language — or at least try to do so, it would be a shame to ruin it all before I had a chance to see it being used.

Either way, it appeared to be something almost akin to poetry or prayers. By cycling through the words that Sophia had learned, it was clear that the writings on the beads Evelyn once shown to Sophia was some form of prose or in some instances, names.

“Ward against the dark,” was written on a bead and another one, “Protect from horrors.” Obviously, it wasn’t directly translated, especially when the connotations of individual words were considered. The word ‘Dark’ in the old tongue could also mean, ‘unknown’, ‘night’ or ‘evil’, whilst the word ‘horror’ also had the dual meaning of ‘harmful spirits’.

All in all, it was written in a simple, concise manner. It was like a plea, a prayer, but to whom? There was no one that the words were directed to so why would it, or at least I presume so, work? I had some ideas — one being the material of the beads themselves.

The shards that Sophia had been scrounging up days ago were nothing particularly special. During the moments that the egg had spent next to glass — that’s what it was, I had the opportunity to study some of the fragments. Despite taking some apart with difficulty, dragging them back to me through the egg for better inspection through {Appraise}, there appeared to be no intrinsic magical value to them aside for their apparent connection to the divine.

In conclusion as to what granted the power of the beads, if they had any, it would probably originate from the manufacturing process of carving and painting it — Like some weird form of praying that gave it power. If I were to judge it under the lenses of my previously-made theories on magic, they would probably fall underneath sorcery and wizardry, using both symbolism and wishing hard enough.

It made no sense to me — its a matter of faith, I think, and one that I couldn’t learn on my own.

I so wished to do so too — to speak with Evelyn, to interact with her but my self-imposed decorum was in order. I will not directly manipulate or change the world to get what I wished to see or hear, otherwise, it would lose all intrinsic meaning.

Is that why gods do not take part in mortal affairs until they are seriously pissed off?

Either way, I will wait.

Then, let's move onto something else.

Before that, let us note that despite being able to understand the language that the Bvurdrjordians speak — which was definitely not English, I wasn’t able to read their language if the eyes I was spying on couldn’t understand it.

I do not know what that entails, but perhaps this language comprehension ability on mine depends on active intent?....

Either way, it was something to remember.

After that, we could move on to something else that is just as interesting.

Zweits.

From Zweutaland.

There was some sort of invasion, one that had occurred at least a hundred years ago and had resulted in the Bvurdrjord turning into vassals of the empire. Consequences from that included the loss of cultural and religious practices, loss of the right of independent sovereignty and the disbandment of the military, whichever that may have been. Thus, villages such as Ansvil were subjugated under the care of the Zweits.

The Zweits themselves, however, were a mystery. Their armour designs were odd — it was loose, heavy yet seemed oddly manoeuvrable. There were chest plates, heavy metal-studded coats underneath, domed and brimmed helmets that ended in a mask-like faceplate. Despite that, it somehow gave off the impression that these armours weren’t meant to fight humanoids.

Which, they weren’t.

I recognized them and the military might they can dish out, or to be more accurate, the Saighgairs did.

I could recall their memories of a fiery death, of explosions from oddly-shaped staves, of a metal-hulled ship that resisted the piercing weapons of the Iasgaireans. Indeed, these Zweits were the ones that had slain a party of raiding Iasgaireans from before my arrival.

More importantly, however, was that they had a massive technological advantage over the Bvurdrjords and the Iasgaireans. They had guns, firearms. Primitive, limited, but it was unmistakably some sort of explosion-driven weapon that could be used at range. This alone set the empire apart as being some sort of extremely advanced civilization that was probably going through a period of super-colonization.

The question, however, was why they hadn’t expanded further. Did they conquer the Bvurdrjords with guns? It was over a hundred years ago and that would explain their victory over the natives. However, a hundred years had passed since then…

No matter how I think about it, it seemed like a prelude to the 1400s, right about when the rapid expansion and colonization started occurred on Earth. Of course, I’m not a historian and my memories of what I learned by reading was faulty at best — even with my ability to freeze them in a not-so-faulty brain-bag that is no longer physical. Thus, it was all conjectures based on what I thought I know.

Whichever the case, Zweutaland did sound rather formidable.

In particular, the use of explosives and gun powder concerns me.

In that case, what better way to know more than to see for myself?

“My queen, the land strider vessel is about to arrive within our range,” Vahisk was saying, head genuflecting and head bowed, knees laid upon the sandy ground.

The queen’s chamber, or to say, the council chamber that the Iasgaireans used, was held up with massive stone pillars, its previously-overgrown sea life disappearing. From the massive, orange crystal that hung from the top of the cavern, tendrils of strange, naked flesh grew from the sessile bulb that had attached itself to it. They reached down, dangling, like vines of some malformed orchard and coagulating into a serpentine form.

It was a knobby thing, looking as if it's almost an overgrown acorn that had its wooden exterior replaced with slabs of white, pasty flesh and crystalline hull, shards protruding from the meat in visceral, unnatural ways. The thing extends, tubular, lengthy, the veins visible underneath the nearly translucent skin, gargantuan in grotesque ways.

Its vague form shifted, uncoiling, spreading out like origami or from its cocoon of viscera. The heart-like structure unfurled, seams opening along the rubber flesh where none existed, parting into recognizable organic bits. That which once resembled some semblance of life despite having no rights to exist, it grew and morphed into something else.

A face formed, pulling forth from the sack of strange matter. Bones snapped into place strings of meat pasted together, the foul crunching and slurping and grating sounds echoing through the chambers. From the turbulent mass, a pair of eyes emerged from within, swivelling before settling upon the Saighgair.

The Sgnirmah spoke, its mandibles finally moving after a few moments, “BEGIN.”

It was a command.

There was no need for explanation or elaborations.

Vahisk bowed even lower for a moment before retreating out of the chamber.

The Sgnirmah, now my host and where I reside, deep inside her fleshy shell, waited for a few seconds before curling up again, slumbering against the crystal.

She was such a fascinating specimen, her knowledge rich and bountiful. While I so dearly wish to tear it out for myself, it would damage the integrity of her memories and thus her skills. Therefore, I solved the problem by moving tenants and right into her body.

Her ability, or to say, magic that allowed her to shapeshift was surprisingly easy to use and manipulate, meshing perfectly well with my intention. I hollowed out her organs — she had no need for them — and situated my body within. With some finagling, I unhinged her consciousness from her mortal flesh and added it to my collection.

Then, it was easy to start manipulating and modifying her.

Devotion, loyalty and adoration were interesting concepts. By merging myself, the Frayed Serpent that is, and the [Spirit] of the Sgnirmah, they effectively became one in the minds of the Iasgaireans. With that, I gained access to worship and devotion, which appeared to be [Essence] in forms of [Spirit] and [Glow] that spontaneously appeared in my [Deposit].

I haven’t tested out what could be done with it yet, but the Sgnirmah had some pretty nifty powers that bordered on miracles. From the usage of markers, which utilizes specific [Essence] that contains ‘belief in rebirth’ and pumping them with sufficient [Glow] until suddenly, a connection forms between the [Spirit] of the Iasgairean and a Vessel. I thought it was rather nifty, so I set about trying to find a way to mass-produce the effect.

I thought that it would take a lot more to get the configuration right but as it turned out, this effect was rather easy to maintain. Either way, it seemed that the population of the Iasgairean would be heading towards a massive population boom.

That wasn’t all, however, as the Sgnirmah was up to many other things that could prove useful. Most notably, the crystal up above was just as interesting.

It was jagged looking, roughly three to four meters in radius, pulsing a faint orange-red from within its depths as seen with mortal eyes. In my sight, however, it was positively brimming with [Glow], shining like a miniature sun that eclipsed nearly everything. It was a battery of some sorts, containing massive magical potential within its shell.

The Sgnirmah, in her infinite wisdom, decided that it would be a great idea to siphon her power from a proverbial nuclear bomb.

Of course, I took immediate measures to contain and seal off the potential explosion. By covering the crystal in layers of protection, flesh and other [Essence], I also continued the siphoning into the Sgnirmah — the Frayed Serpent.

While I was sure that I could also serve as a major source of [Glow], I wouldn’t want to test if I could potentially run out of it, tapping dry. With that in mind, I also expended my efforts in collecting [Glow] from my ‘worshipers’, which currently consisted almost entirely of Iasgaireans. I was certain that I must quickly set up an income source with my initial investment or there would be consequences down the line.

Maybe that’s why the gods no longer respond.

That’s a troubling thought.

However, it must also be noted that certain individuals have a larger pool of [Glow] at their disposal — some of them disproportionately large. For Vrraet, Elst and the Sgnirmah, they each boasted a sizeable pool of [Glow], the queen having the most. For them, it would be natural to assume their magical skills allow them more access to this [Glow]. However, Vahisk the Saighgair also a sizable pool just as well and I was certain that he wasn’t a magic-user in any way.

All of that suggested some other correlation between [Glow] and individuals, whichever it may be.

But before that, I had something to take of first. With but a thought, my attention moved, shifted, looking from another pair of eyes.

The Saighgairs were moving under the darkened skies, their forms near invisible as they swam under the shades of the kelp forests. There were many of them — thirty and counting, each being able to take on a squadron on their own. They were heading to a foe that they knew and had died to, many of them still remember the wounds they had suffered under their blades and fiery weapons.

This time, however, things would be different.

In their grips weren’t the tridents they had become so familiar with. The nets they would carry were different, made of something else. More importantly, their strategy had been completely changed.

Vrraet was there, amongst them, as was Elst and Vahisk.

His strong, athletic body pushed through the water without trouble. He on his back a weapon unlike any other. Refined, remade, bent back into shape by powers beyond his ken. It glimmered in the dark, the power within malevolent, frothing for a chance to unleash its horrific intent on its target.

He knew for certain that if anything were to be hit by the blast, there would be no corpse to even recover.

Up above, somewhere far but within sight, was a dark splotch against the evening light. A ship, he knew, that was unlike any other the Iasgaireans had faced. Hulls that couldn’t be pierced by blades, nets that bind their fins — the land striders were dangerous.

But, the Iasgaireans had grown wise. Besides, this wasn’t a battle. The will of the Sgnirmah demands an infiltration, so it would be. While Vrraet was slightly miffed about not having the chance to test his weapon, he understood the necessity of secrecy.

After all, why allow the enemy to know your prowess when you do not know theirs?

Vahisk spoke, his voice high and piercing, “Bind the rudder.”

A Saighgair swam forth. In his hands were a rope, strung together with thick strands of kelp until it resembled a cable. It trailed from the deep dark below, its weight hefty. Deftly, the Saighgair strung it once, twice, around the metal rudder, knotting together.

As the waves and winds began to bring the ship away, the rope grew taut, straightening. The Iasgaireans waited as the ship suddenly stopped with a shudder, it’s back almost bending, wrenching as the entire vessel found itself shuddering into an abrupt stop. Some of the kelp tore and snapped, but it had served its purpose in stopping the ship even a second.

Vrraet pushed his body closer to the ship, hugging the bottom of the hull. Next to him, Elst hung from the metal knobs, fingers curled around the ridges. Through the water, he could hear a commotion brewing, his sensitive ears picking up the obscure sounds and voices through the water and platings.

Around their waists, shielded with scale-lined drapes were belts. Clung to them were a selection of items that they would find useful aboard.

Vrraet pressed the side of his head against the hull and listened. Even with the sound of water splashing, the sound of people moving and the metal creaking, he could listen.

There was the sound of tapping, of movement.

Then, there was silence.

He looked at the Bygail next to him and counted.

Then, he looked inward, focusing into his own flesh, his own mind, searching within for the switch that he knew would be present. It was a strange sensation unlike any he had ever felt, almost as if it was a limb he had never knew existed, a muscle that had grown into existence spontaneously. It wasn’t his but a reward, given by the Sgnirmah for his loyalty.

And now, he shall put it to use.

He asked.

And I gave it.

His fingers, spindly and webbed, suddenly gain the consistency of nothingness. Quickly followed then was his body, fading into obscurity as it loses its cohesion with the world for a moment. For a brief moment, he was not there, disconnected, severed from the rules and constraints of the flesh.

There was no cold or heat, pain or pleasure, no senses but the mind. Engulfed in silence, he moved.

His arm reached out and found it piercing through the thick metal shell of the ship. Another arm followed through, congealing once again when it was on the other side. The arms and fingers, returning back to reality, gripped the surroundings blindly, exerting their strength and pulling through.

Silently, his form passed through the ship without issue and remade itself on the other side, all four limbs safely on the ground and out of water.

The room was dry, wooden, the moisture on his body having been left behind in the ocean. The ceiling was low, worn, made for someone of lower stature than a Saighgair. There were boxes, barrels, all secured with heavy ropes, piling up until they reached the ceiling like small hills. The darkness of the environment did not hinder his sight at all as he surveyed it. Besides him, a smaller form emerged from the planks, a pair of ghastly, near-invisible graspers thrusting itself through and hoisting another body up.

Elst.

The floor was quiet.

Above, the wooden planks creaked at where footsteps could be heard. The sound of voices drifted below in dull, sodden throbs, muffled. Around the strange wooden chamber, just by casting his gaze around, he could spy rows and rows of shelves, mountains of items stacking atop each other. On the far end, a set of stairs leading up to a door could be seen, almost out of sight.

Vrraet had many opportunities to see what goods the ships could carry but never personally. From intricately made fineries to perishable food stock and organics, he had seen all variety of merchandises. However, this ship belonged not to men looking to sell but to warriors. Land striders that were armed with weapons and on a mission of sorts.

Who knew what they could have hidden? Vrraet thought to himself excitedly, walking about. He had few experiences on walking on dry land, his suddenly bulky form hindering him as he made his way over to a shelf.

On it was a multitude of boxes, crates and chests. Looking them over, Vrraet could see that these boxes were tightly sealed shut, clearing having been intended to be stored for a long period and not be opened casually.

He glanced to one side and saw that Elst had located an area that relatively was relatively tidy. From around his belts, he retrieved a single, white-coloured stick of some sort, grounded ivory held together with blood. The Bygail bent down and started drawing, trails of white forming images on the floor.

Good.

Vrraet turned away and started ‘perused’ the shelves, hoisting one sample of each over to Elst. They did not have time to go through each container before deciding what to bring, thus the optimal solution was to bring all of it with them. It didn’t take long before he assembled one of each, piling them up.

When he was done, he turned his eyes towards the door.

Slowly, he made his way to it, feet hitting the ground as softly as possible.

This is the difficult part.

His hands reached out and grabbed the handle, locked, but that didn’t matter. With a small push, he walked through the door as if it wasn’t there at all, leaving ghostly ripples behind him. There wasn’t anyone on the other side, having only a U-shaped corridor that leads back along the ship. Again, he was surrounded with even more wooden planks and walls; it seemed that even though the ship was plated in metal, the majority of it was still rather conventional in design.

He listened carefully.

There were muffled movements. The distraction of kelp had worked to keep the land striders occupied, keeping them away from the bottom layers of their vessels but it was inevitable that some would remain under the deck.

But that’s fine.

Remembering from what he learned from examining the wrecks of land strider vessels, he understood that this would probably mean that this level contained the resting quarters of this ship’s crew. Gingerly, he kept his form low as he plodded on, his eyes wide and taking in the land strider’s vessels; the locations of various tools, nets, empty hammocks and weapons, the beams that held the ceiling high, the iron-hinged doors and nails that sectioned it all.

Streams of light leaked in from above, the gaps between the planks allowing for glimmers of shape to be seen.

There were several more doors here, each leading to some unknown space. As he looked around, he couldn’t find any evidence of the shrapnel-fire weapons the land strider had used.

Perhaps it was guarded? He mused, running his fingers over the various items.

That wasn’t what I want, however.

Someone was approaching.

His limbs tingle, tense. He had never wielded a weapon in proper battle at all but that didn’t matter. The gifts of the Sgnirmah will protect him as he served to protect her.

Behind a mast, where it pierced through the upper decks and to the spine of the ship, was a land strider. Armoured lightly, high-collared, helmet having yet to be dorn. He was busy with buckles, clearly late for whatever he was to be at. Above, the sound of someone yelling could be heard, incensed or angry — Iasgaireans were not well versed with comprehending land-strider words.

However, this land strider was alone.

Vulnerable.

Unlucky.

Vrraet walked closer, his trident in his hands. Me, within him, tensed as well. In my mind, I readied {Sunder}, keeping the construct at bay. The stone embedded within the trident glistered, small flakes of ethereal power flickering into existence as the magic within reared to go. At the same time, Vrraet began to tap into my [Library] and I allowed him a trickle, letting him access to the skills and memories of his predecessors, their skills with their weapons and battle experience.

For a moment, even if it weren’t his, his martial prowess was beyond most.

The Zweit soldier was a young, fresh-faced man, not a stubble to be seen. With Vrraet for comparison, humans were much shorter — at least two heads. He was preoccupied with something — his armour, which would have looked pristine on any other, seemed ill-fitted to his body. A new recruit, perhaps?

Even so, it would be fine. No, in fact, it was even better. The less important something was, the easier it is to take it away have none the wiser. The incident revolving around Vahisk’s disappearance taught me that even if they felt like they were never there, logic could still reveal something odd about situations. A recruit wouldn’t be missed too much, surely.

All I needed was a simple insight into the Zweits’ culture and lands, nothing too complicated.

Vrraet twitched, his hulking form closing on its prey like a shark circling some hapless prey. As he readied himself, his legs bent and leapt. His form flickered, losing grip with reality as he sailed through the air soundlessly, his hulking form having no substance to even be noticed.

In a split second, he closed the distance, the blow flawless in execution.

The trident struck, the spell activated. There was a sharp inhale of surprise, lungs pierced, metal prongs stabbing into flesh beyond even the armour that failed to protect from blades that weren’t there.

Then, the body went limp, slumping at where it was held up by the trident stabbed into his chest. The Zweit’s soul had been disconnected, {Sundered} from the rest of his body as I left him stranded somewhere within his meat shell.

It was over.

The prongs of the trident retracted and with a tenderness that one would reserve for a lover, Vrraet caught the body in his arms. There were no wounds, no pierced plates and armour.

Three minutes.

Vrraet moved.

Downstairs, the circle was finished. The stolen goods were all moved to the centre of the circle, sent outward in a dual spiral and jags that resembled so much like the maw of some horrendous beast. Elst nodded, not a word was said. Softly, the body of the land strider was laid amongst the crates and boxes, Vrraet stepping back and allowing his partner to work.

There was a shift — and something happened.

The circle was empty, as it had always been.

Vrraet looked around one last time and with Elst, the two leapt through the walls of the hull and into the sea. Up above, the Zweits had finally managed to cut loose from the kelp trap, freeing the ship from the grasp of nature.

Just like so, Captain Rutherford kept searching for something to fight.

Meanwhile, below deck, all that remained was a circle, a spiral that morphs into a jagged line. In the darkness, it glinted deviously and stayed there, unseen and unheard. Somewhere far away, in the village of Ansvil, Sophia finished her reading, waiting patiently for Evelyn’s return.