It soon became clear that the crow was leading him out of the compound.

Gorren didn’t think about it. He just rushed to the closest storage room, closed the entrance and then focused. His body crumpled into a heap as his spirit left it, but he didn’t bother with it. He just flew out of the room and the compound, assuming corporeal form as he did.

The noises and smells of the wood wafted over him as he appeared outside the walls, but his senses were all focused on that thin scent of dirt and sickly rot. Just as he picked it up once again, he saw the crow. A moment later, the bird disappeared between the trees.

Gorren started running.

Soon, aside from those plants and ferns obstructing his path, the forest was but a blur rushing him by. Without thinking, Gorren called upon his magic. His feet left the dirt and he started to levitate, riding upon an arcane wind.

He moved fast, but the crow seemed always to remain a step ahead. Its black silhouette appeared and disappeared between branches and leaves, always edging between clear perception and complete disappearance.

It led him on, across the forest and then through the swamp. Gorren dashed above marshy terrain, the focus to keep up with his quarry taking up all of his attention. Questions hanged in his mind, but the better part of him knew that there was no answer to find in thinking about them right now. He could only follow.

The terrain turned from marshy to rocky, from flat to ascending, and he soon found himself scrambling up ridges and jumping over gouges in the earth. He grabbed at tough shrubs and scampered atop moss-covered boulders, magic and muscle working together to carry him over the distance.

In the end, he heaved himself atop a rocky lip. Rolling on the flat rock, he took a moment to catch his breath. His chest felt tight with exhaustion and both his arms and legs ached something fierce. Boy, he hated outdoor excursions.

He peered at the path he had taken.

The valley expanded under him with a sea of woodland green, marred only there and then by the browns of the swamp. The mountain against which his compound laid seemed to brood like a kneeling old man, his cloak made up by the woods clinging to its slopes, its bald pate the barren peak. Gorren noted with some satisfaction his fortress, a crown of wooden teeth perching against the mountain’s slope.

He was quite surprised by the distance he had covered. The island was small, but not small enough to be crossed all in a single day. He reckoned that, in his mad dash, he had traveled at least half of it.

With a puff, he got up, dismissing those thoughts.

The rocky path kept ascending, ending into a small copse of cypresses. The crow circled atop the silent trees, his wings beating lazily.

Gorren nodded. He felt it in his blood, a thrumming, an anticipation. He was at his goal.

Eagerness to see that thing to its end turned to apprehension. Gorren watched himself. His robe was dusted and ripped, showing the padded gambeson he wore under it in multiple points. Judging from that, he could very well imagine the mess his short beard was, not to talk about what little hair he had left.

With a huff, he tried to straighten himself up. The results were less than satisfactory, and he renounced quickly.

Chagrined, with his heart beating just a little more than normal, he marched toward the copse. Who would be waiting for him? The question filled him with apprehension. The convocation was clear, if one had eyes to see it. Whoever it was, Gorren decided that he would meet him with his head held high. He was Gorren An-Tudok, after all.

The cypresses welcomed him with a shadowy embrace.

The moment he stepped between them, Gorren felt a change in the air. It became colder, even if no cold wind had drifted by, heavier with a weight that pressed over his perceptions like a shroud. Dirt and dust and rotting leaves, the mixed scent wafted over him. The sun’s light seemed to dim, as if clouds had moved to cover it.

As he walked under the eaves, Gorren heard whispers tickle his ears, as if speakers had their mouths just beside his neck. They wallowed at the edge of his perceptions, shying away from comprehension but never fully going away.

Shadows were thick under the trees, reducing the undergrowth only to vague shapes in the gloom. Gorren imagined eyes staring at him from every direction, felt their envy, their hunger.

A shudder ran across his spine. Apprehension turned to creeping fear. He stifled it with disdain, and marched forward.

The trees opened into a clearing. A carpet of rotten leaves covered frozen dirt, hard as rock. At the center of the clearing, a strange monolith rose. The height of three men, it showed signs of crude tools, the same having it hacked into a vaguely cilindrical shape and carved the angular runes over its flat face. Pots, melted candles and crushed flowers littered its feet, the remnants of faith and offerings left over the years, now only preys for dust and time.

Gorren stopped at the edge of the clearing, leaves crunching under his boots. That was a sacred place, that he felt with the same certainty with which he knew he was alive. Sacred to death and the passing of all things.

A person was waiting by the monolith. It looked human. Gorren was wiser to it.

He walked towards it, heartbeat rising.

As he advanced, the details of the figure got clearer, like he was watching it emerge from the darkness.

The figure’s long cloak was trimmed with silver, the same color of the raven’s beak. It held a staff in a bony hand. Its topping changed with every breath Gorren took: a heavy lantern dangling from a chain, a skull, a bone charm, a scythe. He blinked, snarling, and the lantern remained.

The figure was cowled, its cloak of such an abyssal black that it seemed to suck out what little light there was in the clearing.

Amidst the awe, Gorren felt a trickle of delusion.

The figure chuckled, a rasping sound like of old sarcophagy being dragged open.

“Only the great Gorren An-Tudok could feel delusion while meeting a God.” The voice was feminine, rasping just as its chuckle, dry as dust.

Gorren straightened up, catching his mistake. He was quick to reinforce the shields covering his thoughts.

He drew a slight bow. “Nama, Lady of Death and Fate.” He said. “It’s a honour, my lady.”

Another chuckle. It didn’t carry far, like the sound sank into the air.

“You hoped for Ur to come.”

It wasn’t a question, but Gorren nodded all the same. There was no point in lying to a God. It was a lesson he had learnt long time ago. Nor he thought the gesture useless since she wasn’t turned toward him. Gods had their ways.

“There are many that court me for my favour, mage. Many that would kill for it.” The Goddess said, conversationally.

“They aren’t Gorren An-Tudok.” Gorren replied smoothly, advancing to stand beside the black figure. Closing in, he noticed that her cloak wasn’t made of black cloth, like he had initially thought. Instead, rows upon rows of raven feathers formed it up.

“The arrogance!” Nama laughed, the sound sweeping as a cold wind over him. “You aren’t changed. This pleases me.”

Finally, she turned at him. A blank mask, smooth and featureless, covered the place where her face was supposed to be. Gorren was reminded of bone made smooth by age and water. The caws of ravens echoed in his ears.

“I am honored to know that i am still in your favour, my lady.” He said, repressing the instict to swat at invisible carrion birds. “I hope that your brethren share that point of view.”

Nama chuckled. “Some, they do. Others, hardly. As always, i suppose.” She shrugged, a gesture that somehow managed to come across as ghastly.

Gorren snorted. “The only thing i’ve ever offered was nothing but the truth.”

“That, you did. Somebody would call it foolish. Others admirable. Myself, i found it hilarious. For a mortal, to treat with us in such a way, like a merchant would.” She shook her head, still chuckling. “Even if i was amongst those you didn’t worship, if i recall correctly.”

Gorren stood silent for a moment, observing the menhir. A vine clung to it like a wizened hand, like it was trying to drag it down in the earth. As he watched, bits of it came flaking away like blackened snow.

“I have made my peace with fate and death a long time ago.” He murmured.

He took a breath, banishing memories that came unbidden.

“Why are you here, my lady?”

Nama hadn’t moved as he stood silent and didn‘t answer right away when he asked. The usual movements of living life, like fingers trembling or chest heaving, Gorren noticed, didn’t seem to belong to her. She stood motionless, like a statue that had stood for centuries and would stand for millennia more.

Despite his unease, Gorren knew better than to press.

“You didn’t court us for our favour.” She began. “But we did for yours, haven’t we? The place you left for us in your tower, my brethren filled it with their images, hoping that you would offer them your devotion. Some you have, and they have blessed you mightily for it.”

Gorren set his jaw, having an inkling of where that was going.

“If you seek to put debts upon me, i fear that you are mistaken.” He hissed. “I offered devotion, but never my loyalty.”

Nama turned of a smidge, the same of a sardonic, side-way glance.

“Not even to Ur?”

The question took Gorren off-guard. Great Ur was known to keep himself aloft from mortal affairs.

“Has… has the Hidden King asked of me?” The thought was exciting and terrifying in the same measure. If Ur would deign to appear before him… he, he couldn’t imagine what he would do.

Nama made a sound that could have been a half-chuckle or a sardonic snort.

Gorren felt a surge of anger.

“I know why you are here!” He snarled, jabbing an accusatory finger against her. “And i offer no apology nor excuse! I did what i had to do! The only thing i had left!”

The chance, even if remote, that the ritual with which he had opened his way into the Crux could have destroyed the Material Plane still burned with shame inside of him, but he wouldn’t take any blame for it. He refused to, not after all that had traspired. Pride and remorse wouldn’t allow him.

“Where were the Gods while Truvia burned? Where were they when your temples were torn down to make space for those at the Flaming Light?” He asked, his wrath only increasing. “Where were you when my apprentices were slaughtered? You weren‘t there. Your weren‘t there! And so i did what i had to do.” He stared hatefully at the Goddess. “I was alone, my lady. Half-mad and starving and about to die. There was only a chance for me to take, and i took it. I don’t regret my actions. I don‘t regret any of it.”

In truth, he did, at least he regretted the remote chance of destruction that his actions could have caused, but wrath and pride wouldn’t allow him to aknowledge it.

“You bark at the wrong tree, mage.” The Goddess said. Despite everything, her tone remained cordial. “I am not here to blame you for your actions. On the contrary, i think they have been charming. If it happened, it would have been… glorious.” Her whispering voice took the hint of a relish that made Gorren shudder.

The mage drew back. He didn’t expect that reaction, and the surprise robbed him of his wrath, leaving him shaken and off-put.

“You are alone in that position, i suppose.” He said, eyeing suspiciously the dark figure.

“Oh yes.” The cloak trembled with a dry chuckle. “You should have seen how angry Helios was. He almost sent the sun plummeting down!”

Gorren felt a knot form in his chest. With Ur drawn away to higher concerns, Helios, God of the Sun, stood as first and King of the Gods. There were others challenging his authority, but even amongst them, fery few dared to face him directly. If he took such a strong position, many others would follow, not like would be necessary, given what it was at stake.

He fidgeted, feeling the desire to have his staff to lean against.

“There are rules…” He began, but he already knew that the topic was pointless. Ur had put rules in place to make sure that the Gods didn’t intervene too much in mortal affairs, but there were exceptions. Risk of complete destruction of the Material Plane was the first of them. It wouldn’t be surprising if the Gods decided that he was too dangerous to be left alone.

Creeping fear and outrage erupted inside of him. He hadn’t gone beyond the Plane, challenged the laws of dimensions to let other judge him and stop him, Gods or not!

“Why are you here?” He asked, struggling to contain his feelings. Nama said that she wasn’t here for his “crimes”, he refused to call them that, but it didn’t mean he trusted her. He calculated how many seconds he would need to recall that projected form into his real body. If he escaped in the Crux, the Gods would have been unable to pursue him. Despite their powers, they still belonged to the Material Realm.

“Your thoughts betray you, mage. Look at your defences.” Nama’s sardonic voice snapped him out of his reverie.

He straightened himself up, refusing to show himself weak.

“Why are you here?” He asked again.

By the little he could pick up from her, Nama was pleased by his determination.

“To do what Gods do.” She said. “To give warnings.”

Gorren’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. Her ironic tone irritated him. “What kind of warnings?”

Nama turned to regard the Menhir. “There’s weight about your existence, Gorren An-Tudok.” She said, any trace of humour gone. “Where you step, you leave great ripples in the waters of destiny. When the Gods have courted your attention their aims were to harness, contain, even impede.”

That last word sent a thrill of alarm rushing through Gorren, but he remained silent.

“Your actions keep on rippling across the tapestry. Each and every of your choice has ramifications.”

“Isn’t it the same for each of us?” Gorren asked.

“Yes, but few leave marks as deep as you.” Nama paused. “Even now, fate changes, moulded by the ripples left where you step.”

Gorren hesitated. Despite himself, he was fascinated. “What do you mean?”

“What i said.” A hint of humour returned in her voice, but disappeared just as fast. “Thread lightily, Gorren An-Tudok. This is the warning of the Gods. Thread lightly and carefully, because your choices will provoke ripples that will raise to become thunder and earthquake.”

“What i choose, i do only for myself.” Gorren muttered, put at unease by her words.

“Maybe.” The Goddess turned her faceless visage upon him. “But now what regards you reaches far. It has already started, even if you didn’t notice.”

Gorren felt a shudder run across his back, seeing the tapestry of future and past and present reflected in that featureless mask. His choices and their conseguences, their earth-shatteringly consequences, slithering to immensity in the far future.

“What do the Gods care?” He said, banishing those images with a surge of anger. “Didn’t you say that they consider me some kind of criminal? What do they care about me?”

“It’s just as you said: there are rules.” She replied. “The Gods could have stopped you when you risked to rip the Material Plane apart. They didn’t then, and now they won‘t.”

Gorren paused, heartbeat rising. “Why?”

“The reason is unimportant. The only thing you need to know is that you don’t have to fear divine retribution. No God will come after you.”

Gorren advanced of a step toward her. “Swear it.” He said. “On your Immortal Soul. Swear that it‘s the truth”

Nama stood silent for a moment. “I swear it.” She said eventually. “I swear on my Immortal Soul that it‘s the truth.”

Gorren felt himself deflate, all the tension leaving him. An oath on one’s Immortal Soul by a God couldn’t be regened upon, nor it could be nothing but the pure truth. So it was true. The Gods wouldn’t come after him. The relief was almost enough to leave him breathless.

He turned at her, blinking.

“Why you tell me this?” He asked. “Why you? Why the Goddess of Death?”

Nama didn’t answer, and Gorren felt that he wouldn‘t earn anything by pressing. Instead, he waited.

“The moment you disappeared from this world, the end of this age has started.” The Goddess murmured, her voice somehow carrying across the air. “It has passed through its dying moments, but those are almost finished. Soon, the new age will begin. Very soon. It’s still to be seen what form it will take.” She turned at him. “Gorren, a hundred years have passed from your escape from the prison the Flaming Light fashioned for you.”

The revelation hit him like a punch in the gut. Gorren stumbled, catching himself from falling only at the last moment.

“A century? Impossible, i…”

“Your conscience slumbered in the Crux for decades. Only recently you awoke. That is why you don’t remember.”

“No…” Gorren felt his head start to spin. A hundred years? No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be!

“My vengeance…. My…” His gaze was almost uncomprehending when he turned it on the Goddess’ mask.

“The Flaming Light still lives.” She said. “Your vengeance is still unfinished, if you still wish for it.”

Gorren blinked. His eyes filled with angry satisfaction, like a child finding his enemy‘s toy laying around, then narrowed in two burning coals.

“I do.” He said. “They will pay.”

Nama watched him for a moment. “Is there any point to it?”

Gorren sneered at her. “They are murderers. All of them! I won’t rest until they are all ash!”

Nama bowed her head, not replying. She turned to gaze at the menhir.

“Will the Gods stand in my way?” Gorren asked.

“They won’t.”

“Of my vengeance? Of my research?”

“They won’t.”

Gorren had to repress the instict to rub his hands together with satisfaction. His vengeance was still there, waiting for him.

He paused.

“You have a question.” Nama said, her voice dry.

Gorren nodded slowly. “The Flaming Light.” He said. “What is it?”

Nama chuckled. “Do you fear to anger another God?”

Gorren stiffened. “I fear nothing.”

“Then you won’t need an answer.”

Gorren grimaced, but didn’t press. It was useless, anyway.

“You came only now because you felt my priest, isn’t?” He asked instead.

Nama seemed to ponder the question. “Oh, it’s true. You have a priest in your hole.” She shook her head. “No need for that. That discordant vibration of yours is enough of a give away.”

Gorren caught himself from reaching for his chest just in time.

Outrage flared. “It’s not a hole.” He growled. “It’s a compound. My compound.”

The chuckle of the Goddess was full of humour. “As you say.”

Gorren would have wanted to say more, but a gust of wind suddenly blew across the clearing. Caught by surprise, he shielded himself with his arms from leaves and dirt.

“Our time together has come to an end.” He heard Nama’s dry voice say. The black figure of the Goddess stood untouched amongst the wind. “Remember my warnings, Gorren An-Tudok. Step lightly, and be careful of the ripples you leave.”

“Wait!” Gorren shouted, struggling to make himself heard over the rising wind. “I still have questions!”

“Do not fret.” She said. “We will see each other again. Until next time.”

The wind rose into a howling crescendo. Leaves slapped against his chest, his face, blinding him.

And then everything ended.

Arms still raised, Gorren slowly opened his eyes.

The carpet of rotten leaves was gone, replaced by unkept shrubbery and grass. The monolith, that had seemed old and about to collapse, was buried under ivy, the offerings lost amidst the leaves. The sun shone high into a cloudless sky, and the air was warm and pleasant. There was no trace of the scent of rust and dirt and rotten leaves, only of summer and sea.

Gorren stood there for a moment, mind still reeling by the meeting.

Exasperation flooded him. Gods. Of course. They came saying that they brought revelations, and they gave an answer and two new questions.

Still, he was too shaken, too full of things to think about to get angry.

He walked toward the other end of the clearing, passing through another row of cypresses. The land gave way right after, falling into a deep ravine that ended into a tight beach.

Gorren sat by the edge, leaving his legs to dangle while he enjoyed the breeze.

Angry Gods, a century of sleep and warnings and destiny. He surely had much to think about.

Strangely enough, his mind ran to the menhir instead.

“It was covered with ivy.” He thought. “That’s why we didn’t notice it.” If his memory wasn’t wrong, the letters carved upon it were Orcish. Some kind of sacred place, maybe.

He passed a hand over his face, sighing.

“Gods and sleep, warnings and destiny. Why things have to always get more complicated?”

There was no answer, at least not one he could see.