Janaxia spent the next few hours in nervous anticipation, waiting and dreading for her mother to call her, sorting out her few possessions in anticipation of a swift departure, and spending some time with the skull-wand. It was less active now, limbs only stirring ever-so-slightly when she held it. But with it in her hand, she did feel more powerful, even if it did seem rather lacklustre for an allegedly potent and powerful item. She tried to calm herself, to seek the blank, featureless darkness within, but felt too nervous and unable to focus. She startled nervously as the wind blew, twitching away from the door, before calming herself.

To try and distract herself, she opened up her book, the text spiralling into existence, ink scratching itself onto the page. It seemed strange that no-one else could read it, it seemed simple enough to her, meaning conveyed directly to her mind. Clearly they were insufficiently attuned to magical arcana, focusing overly much on the petty bric-a-brac of “learning”, rather than relying on simple intuition as she did! It was somewhat worrying that Mother was investigating into such matters though – would she want the book back? It had been a useful tool, attuned to her on a deep level, such that she had been able to recall it, even when it had been forgotten in that subterranean city. Although Stathis’ intervention had left her uncomfortably mute for quite some time afterwards! She rubbed her throat again, still feeling sore and bruised, wishing she wasn’t here. But she had nowhere else she could go, at least that was safe.

She was saved from her ponderings by a heavy-footed shuffling outside the door, a heavy fist knocking against the wood, almost breaking the door from the hinges, before it was opened. A large, cloth-swathed figure stood there, reeking of preservative fluids, unsettling stains marring the thick cloth wrapped about the bulky form. Metal and leather creaked as it moved, although it had no weapons beyond the spiked metal gauntlets strapped, or possibly welded, onto its arms.

It stared at her, or at least an un-nerving pale green glow shone from beneath the shroud wrapping its head and face. She was clearly being summoned! It took an effort of will to appear calm and controlled, as she rose and approached. It didn’t speak, merely backed off slightly to allow her to step past it. It was going to keep her under watch and guard, then – as she walked forward, so did it, staying close behind her, in striking range, or able to grab her and drag her the rest of the way. She tried not to think of how strong it probably was, easily able to overpower her if needed, or the thought of what those spiked fists would do if they connected. She was tempted to summon up her magical shielding, but that might provoke a reaction by itself.

She walked through the house, glad that there was no-one else around to see her. There was the temptation to go the wrong way, but that would almost certainly provoke an unpleasant reaction, or at least get her dragged the rest of the way. But her heart was starting to race inside her chest, a nervousness rising up within her, the memories of past punishments too strong to dispel, her palms starting to itch and sweat already.

It seemed to take far too little time to reach Mother’s chamber, the hallway probably dark and foreboding, not that Janaxia could tell anymore. It was certainly decrepit and dank – the stairway down to the dining room would be a far easier way to access it, but that was only permitted by Mother’s express permission. Warding spells flickered and waned as she passed, lightly brushing over her skin like frigid bubbles, making her shiver.

When she approached the final doorway, she took a deep breath, trying to settle herself, before opening the door. Air rushed past her, a foetid stink coming from close by, that of raw meat and fresh blood, raw and charnel. The devices were much the same as before – magical fields surrounding strange floating things of darkness, the difference between “jet-black magical stone” and “utterly black void” impossible to tell without touching, and that likely being a very bad idea. A scream sounded out, harsh and agonised, before ending in a brutal-sounding wet gargle, making Janaxia shiver again. For once, she wished she was in armour, something more overtly protective.

It was hard to tell, but the room was probably dim and dark, with only a few flickering mage-lights shedding illumination, but Janaxia could see everything, all the desiccated and withered body parts that had been experimented on and discarded, all the malformed and misshapen stubs of metal and bone, etched with half-formed runes. It was unlike Mother to be so… hands-on! She was an adept and accomplished practitioner of the necromantic arts, but personal experimentation was something she had traditionally taking a dim view of, behaving quite brutally towards Trakatha until she had proven her worth and skill at crafting undead servitors.

She slowly walked forward, not wanting to intrude, but also not wanting to get in any trouble for being tardy. On a scarred wooden table, surrounded by warped and malformed bones, there were stubby and broken chips of metal, looking like they had been flaked off some greater surface. The way they gleamed was like obsidian, a glossy black, drawing Janaxia’s attention. They were laid out at random, one or two in the middle of chalk-drawn magical circles, but most simply sat there, unwarded and seemingly passive. She reached out and quickly tapped one with a nail – it crumbled under her touch, disintegrating into messy black powder. It must have been a failed experiment, unable to bear any pressure.

A floorboard creaked, and she spun around, nervously wiping her hand on her robe, to hide any incriminating powder. Mother was emerging from a doorway, a magical aura strong around her, setting some of the nearby apparatus into anxious movement, her guest close by, their form still shrouded.

‘Come. We must talk.’

Janaxia let out a deep breath, glad that she wasn’t being summarily punished. Was she going to be let into a secret, told something of what was going on? Or maybe have had advancement over Kivata formalised? She tried to think if she had done anything that would get her punished, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to even go far in the last few days.

‘Follow.’

She walked towards what was clearly a new doorway, the stone around it fresh-cut, rather than old and worn. It must lead towards the strange new building erected in the gardens. She strode forward with as much confidence as she could bear, despite the chill magic throbbing around her. The stranger was still shrouded – was that a touch of blonde hair emerging from beneath the hood, catching what little light there was? The thing, whatever it had been, suddenly vanished as they moved away. There was a sword sheathed on their hip, a long, black sheath, tipped with silver, that looked far fancier than the rest of their outfit – it must be an enchanted blade, from the look of the thing.

Mother walked slowly, her staff tapping against the crowd. As Janaxia went to follow, she passed the chamber Mother had emerged from and glanced inside – it was a vivisection room, with a subject stretched out on a wooden table, bound in place by heavy chains. From the still-gleaming blood and the softness of their flesh, they had only recently died. At least that explained the sound and the stink. Their ribcage strangely bent, and the way their face was contorted in agony; Mother had been doing something painful. A spike of black metal was shoved into their chest, the ribs bent out of the way to allow their heart to be penetrated directly. Janaxia winced – research was all well and good, but did it have to be so messy? Mother could at least get some cleaners in, some of the stains were probably decades old at this point. Although at least the subject didn’t seem to have soiled themselves this time.

She followed Mother towards the doorway, which opened without a sound. The stone passage beyond it – almost a tunnel, for all that it was raised above the ground – was completely enclosed, with no windows, the air chill. Janaxia resisted the urge to change her clothing and summon up a shawl or wrap, but didn’t want to betray any weakness. The stranger moved as well, their footsteps almost silent, gait eerily smooth, their entire body moving with utmost grace. Where they pushed against the loose robes, it betrayed a humanoid shape, almost as tall as Stathis, but less muscled, looking to have a lean and wiry build. With that sword, they presumably had some martial skill, but such types typically wore armour, and those robes clearly weren’t enchanted. Janaxia followed along behind, not wanting the stranger to be behind her, still wondering who they were.

At the far end of the passage was a metal door, the surface itself shaped to bear runes of warding, several skulls embedded into the metal. The eye-sockets started to spark to life with baleful green glows, their jaws chattering, a faint moan sounding from empty air. The sound was cut silent as Mother gestured, a mote of light sparking from her staff towards the door, the runes winking out as she lowered whatever warding spells were in place.

The metal door swung open, so large that Mother had to stand back or she would be squashed against the wall. A bitingly cold wind rushed out, making Janaxia shiver again. Why could magic never be used to make things comfortable temperatures?

On the other side, the place seemed to be a single chamber, dug into the ground as well. The whole thing was stone, every brick etched with a symbol of protection. What was being done here? To collapse it would require the destruction of the entire foundations, it was enchanted to be virtually impregnable – that seemed rather excessive, no matter what research was being done! An orb hung from the ceiling, shedding a pale red light. Cages hung from the ceiling as well, a few containing humanoid figures, although they were either silent or dead, none making any movement or sound as they entered.

On the floor, sunk a level or more beneath the ground, as far as Janaxia could judge, was bedrock – an impressive find, given how marshy the surrounds were! A huge spell-circle had been daubed there, parts with chalk, some with paint, some parts actually cut into the stone itself. In the very centre was a stone plinth, almost an altar, although a very plain and utilitarian one. A sword was resting on, or hovering above, the stone. It was a large and jagged-looking thing that was floating in the air, without any apparent means of suspension. From the size, it looked made to be wielded two-handed, a large grip ending in a red gemstone, the blade jet-black, edge looking chipped and fragmented.

The air in here was cold and still, the outside world seeming very far away, rather than only a pace or two, on the other side of the stone walls. Although she suspected they were warded against more than just physical destruction – protection from being scryed and to ward away anyone attempting to teleport into the space seemed likely, making the doorway the only entranceway.

A short and curving stairwell led the way down, Janaxia following along behind, nervousness increasing. This represented a huge investment and amount of labour – simply building the tower alone must have taken a fortune, never mind what the protective spells and whatever it contained! But for what seemed to be a magical sword, it seemed a touch overblown. But, still, she followed Mother downwards, the air getting even colder, to the point that condensation was trickling down the walls, and her breath started to steam.

There was a narrow walkway around the edge – any further in, and they would have to intrude into the magical circle, probably unleashing defences of some kind, or falling under the effect of the blade or the circle. Closer to the blade now, she could see that it was even less well-formed than she had thought, with strange, jagged lumps and protrusions emerging, a few shards on the ground around it, along with lots of dried bloodstains.

Mother gestured with her staff. ‘Behold, the blade of Kinnevar, the blade of broken souls! Wielded by the Black Triad in their destruction of the most powerful Empire the world has ever known, sealed away, and then lost.’

It looked… well, a little tatty, to be honest. Such a potent magical item should surely at least be cleanly formed, not lumpen and warped, as though it were somehow damaged and re-growing. And strangely familiar – she was sure she had seen a similar-looking blade somewhere before, although she couldn’t quite place it.

‘This blade has slain emperors, gods, dragons and demons. It is said that the children of the heavens were extinguished from the earth by it’s edge. The stones of Per Tolith, their cathedral-sanctum, ran deep with their blood, as the Slayer of Halos purged them from the world. The greatest weapon ever known, and know it is mine.’

Janaxia managed to resist looking disappointed – it wasn’t a particularly nice-looking sword, although the gem on the pommel did give it a certain barbaric appeal, but it was too large to be practical to carry outside of combat situations, and certainly wouldn’t mix well with most outfits, being too worn-looking even to add a touch of martial pep. And it was so large that using the thing seemed impractical – even if it were magically light for its size, it would still require a considerable amount of room to swing to full effect.

She tried to school her features into what she hoped was guarded enthusiasm, nodding appreciatively. It might be a potent magical sword, but, well, a sword required someone to swing it, and to get within a distance where one could be stabbed back, which seemed far worse than staying at a safe and sensible range and issuing forth a stream of ranged attacks. Hopefully Mother wasn’t starting to go senile and had some purpose behind this acquisition!

‘It is almost a living thing, a spirit-form bound into corporeal being. But starved and quiescent now, awaiting a master that could use its true power.’ She raised her staff high, a slash of light appearing at the tip. It shot upwards towards a cage suspended in the centre of the chamber. A scream sounded out, echoing around the confined space, cutting away to pained, wordless whimpers. Blood splashed downwards, falling onto the altar and the blade. A mist surrounded the droplets, a crimson haze getting drawn towards the blade. Well, at least it truly had magical properties then, although a vampiric blade sounded as though it could be somewhat dangerous, at least for a wielder that could bleed!

If it had truly been Kinnevar’s blade, then it must have some power. Although he had been, by all accounts, and judging by the size of his armour, a rather large individual, probably capable of using a weapon to full advantage. Janaxia certainly had little desire to be that close to an enemy, and her siblings were even more lacking in the martial proficiencies required. Giving such an allegedly powerful artefact to an outside party certainly seemed risky – maybe that was who the shrouded individual was? A magically-bound or charmed patsy, to deal with the messy practicalities of using a blade, maybe to serve as a figurehead?

Janaxia nodded, hoping she looked appropriately impressed, unsure what to say. A magical weapon, no matter how powerful, was quite outside her area of expertise! Fortunately, Mother continued, not yet requiring any answer or response.

‘The Blade seeks its kin, it is said. Blade, Book and Bell, the items wielded by the Black Triad. Glutted and fat, fed on countless Elven souls, ancient prophecy speaks of the new world they shall forge, when the ancient darkness they command shall shatter the world and make it anew. And I shall control that.’

Her voice was cold and deadly certain – if this was some artifice or fakery, the item must be truly convincing! But ancient history, outside of that directly involving her ancestors, had never been Janaxia’s strongest suit. She could vaguely recall stories of the Bell, Book and Blade, normally as harbingers of doom and destruction, but nothing more specific. And this still did nothing to answer who the newcomer was!

‘The Bell was sealed away in the Sacred City, but vanished centuries ago. I believe it to have involved during that incident at Redcastle. Did you see anything useful, or were you too busy indulging yourself in idle pleasures?’

Janaxia jolted at the sudden question, trying to gather her thoughts, not wanting to be punished. Galondwyn had certainly been more potent than a usual demon, and there had been that angel that had appeared to deal with her… Misutira had aided in her summoning or some such, hadn’t she? It had all been a little confusing, not helped by having to overcome her own muteness as well.

‘There was a group that summoned Galondwyn. They were using the old catacombs as a hidden space in which to engage in their practices, I believe. Although I saw no evidence of anything more advanced than the usual summoning practices, but I was a little more concerned with trying to drive the beasts back.’

A dart of magical energy shot out towards Janaxia, slamming into her stomach and knocking the wind from her lungs. ‘Your laziness is disappointing, but sadly predictable. The Bell is the key to summoning and commanding a demon army – with that, led by the wielder of the Blade, then the world would tremble. And with the Book, then the power to reforge the world to my will would be mine! But that was lost centuries ago. The Unread Tome was said to point the path towards it, but the fragment you bought back provided nothing useful. According to ancient legend, then when the Blade of Heaven fights with the Spear of Heaven’s Wrath, and a false servant is defeated, then it shall start to manifest. But Ronteah has been absent from the Heavens for a long time, and I have been unable to determine who defeated her.’

Janaxia looked away with a discreet cough, covering her mouth – it seemed unwise to point out that a shard of Ronteah was currently in the stablehouse. Or clambering about the rooftops. Semari might be an irksome wretch, but having her dissected seemed a bit excessive, no matter how much she might deserve it!

‘My ally was done a grievous ill by the Iristari. It was they who bought the blade to me, seeking an ally to help them fight their foes. They have proven themselves extensively, and have more worth than you do. Although you certainly performed a service in ridding the world of the Iristari heir, there is still the mother and the other one to eliminate. I imagine the priestess will be sufficiently suspicious that you cannot repeat your approach?’

Janaxia nodded, trying not to show any upset on her face. She would have to try and explain herself to Carissia at some point, but surviving such a conversation might be problematic.

‘Hmmm. A shame. Nevertheless, I am dispatching you to the city of Belazaan, to speak to the Crystal Princes. They are attempting to be neutral in the imminent battle. They are said to guard much lore from the time of the Black Triad – I am expecting you to discover everything they know about the Book or Bell. Their vaults are known to contain many artefacts sealed there by the elven empire in their heyday. Within their vaults lies the Dragon’s Eye, and you are to acquire it. Prince Anytha Vel Penrithar is said to have a wandering eye, I’m sure such as you can contrive to be appealing to his vulgar tastes.’

More darts of force appeared around her staff, making Janaxia flinch away reflexively. But they didn’t yet attack, instead hovering in the air, a promise of future pain.

‘As blood alone doesn’t seem enough to ensure your loyalty, then measures will be taken to enforce it more vigorously.’

The bolts shot forward and impacted into Janaxia. Except they didn’t hurt, but she felt her body stiffen as she was paralyzed, only able to croak in answer, not even able to properly speak.

‘I will leave you to make the appropriate changes. I suppose she needs to be able to operate independently, so try not to break her too much.’

All Janaxia could do was breath, and that took effort simply to drag air into her lungs. Mother started walking back up the steps to the exit as the figure approached. Janaxia could now see beneath their hood, see their features – a bland-faced young man. And then their face started to shift and warp, scars and burns fading into view, a face ravaged and destroyed by grievous injuries. And then that faded as well, to be replaced by elven features, sharp-eyed and high-browed. They lifted an arm, the sleeve dropping backwards to reveal a hand, unnaturally jointed fingers holding a finger-length shard of gleaming black metal.

They spoke, voice strangely mundane, light and female, the tone conversational as they raised the shard of metal towards Janaxia’s face. She couldn’t make out the individual words, but could feel the effect, her spirit being violated and warped, suggestions being implanted into her. Too late, she tried to struggle against the magical paralysis, nervous sweat starting to slick her body. Was she going to be sacrificed after all?

‘We’ve met before, but I doubt you remember. But if you should err, then the punishment will be severe. Although that would bring a satisfaction of its own, I feel.’

They took the metal between their fingers, the shard reshaping itself into a long needle, which moved, with a terrifying inexorability, towards Janaxia’s face, towards her eye. She tried to move, to blink, but even that was beyond her, her body locked and immovable. The dark tip filled one eye, the tip getting larger and larger, until it was all she could see. When the metal touched her eyeball, she felt a momentary chill, as it faded into her. Her vision blurred for a moment, flashes of text from her book appearing, greetings and queries, as the fever-sweat spread over her body, her vision and senses stolen from her.

When she came to, she was all alone, crumpled up on the floor. What had happened? Why was she here? Her eye… Had something happened to her eye? She waved a hand in front of her face, glad to see as well as she normally could, glancing around and trying to recollect what had happened. Mother had been speaking to her of ancient lore, of the Bell, Book and Blade, and then… And then the stranger had done something to her, bound her in… some magic? She coughed, feeling a sudden stabbing pain in her mouth. She spat, and there was a tinkle as something metal fell to the floor – a pointed needle of metal, now bloodied and dirty, crumbling to dust. She spat out more dust, feeling nauseous, the taste bitter in her mouth.

She suddenly realised she was in the centre of the chamber, by the altar-plinth. A mote of energy was pulled from the dust and shot towards the blade before she could do anything to stop it. The blade, was it a different shape now, or had it moved to present a different angle? It looked cleaner, more straight-edged and, well, blade-like, without the strange nodules growing off it. There was the temptation to reach out and touch it, but that could well trigger an unwanted reaction. She caught a glimpse of her own reflection in whatever material the blade was forged from – in the blade, her eyes seemed to burn with green fire, while all around her was a land of ash, grey and lifeless. Her teeth weren’t that sharp, surely, were they? She ran her tongue around her mouth to reassure herself that they weren’t actually fangs, feeling them and finding them normal.

She looked away and stood up, feeling the wound with her tongue as the taste of blood filled her mouth, her head spinning. Hopefully it would heal swiftly! The sword remained on its altar, seemingly unmoved and unaffected. Did the edge look slightly less ragged now? All blades looked much the same to her. What had happened? Other than the needle, she was uninjured, and there didn’t seem to be any blood on the blade. She slowly took a step away, holding her breath, hoping that some defence wasn’t about to activate.

Something crunched underfoot, another shard of metal crushed to powder beneath her feet. A light flared, as a barrier flashed to life around the blade, a curtain of spirits and wraiths appearing, tormented-looking faces silently screaming. A few looked familiar – was that Uncle Larthral? Although he normally looked a little plumper, and rather less… agonised. She slowly backed away from the whirling curtain of spirits, nervously picking her way over the lines of the greater circle, hoping not to activate anything and get flayed alive or sucked into the blade herself.Whatever self-examination was needed, it would be safest done elsewhere. Hopefully Mother wouldn’t be waiting for her, or the worrying stranger. With her heart pounding, she slowly moved over the ground, the wailing of the spirits fading as the ethereal curtain faded away, presumably only activating when people were close. Even when she was outside the magical circle, she didn’t relax, instead slowly walking up the steps, scanning the ground and floor for any traps or tricks left behind. Fortunately, Mother wasn’t in her study, allowing Janaxia to make a swift exit.