“The Nightmares continue to grow, both in size and number,” The Messenger stated to Arvas as she viewed the Archivist Shard. “The Soulless, what remain and those that will be born, should be mostly ignored, as arming and training them, in her opinion is a pointless endeavor. As the Spears no longer have the strength to hold back the Nightmares.”

Arvas face remained unmarred, but inside was a war between two emotions fighting for control of him. Anger, which he called upon often to give him the will needed to see his many Tasks completed. And now Fear, before that emotion would be swiftly snuffed out by the raging tide of Anger that Arvas willingly let consume him in times of Strife. Yet now, even as he did so, Fear remained, and grew, fed by the cursed wisdom a mad Archivist provided. If it kept up, then Fear for the first time may win out, leaving him a shivering wreck like Phunars. From the corner of his eyes, he could his colleague, the wisdom the Messenger song was making him worse.

“All Hearts produced should go towards the Chanters assigned to the next wave of Flocks, in her opinion each should have at least one, The Ancients.” The Messenger paused, gaining Arvas full attention as he watched her pale, nearing the complexing of a husk. She began to breathe heavily, her hands trembling, the eyes filling with Fear, and from it, the definition of someone becoming consumed by curses. She closed her eyes, even with her head lowering Arvas could see enough to notice. The Messenger stayed quiet for a Sequence before one of his fellow Anointed lost their patience and called out. “Speak the words Lowly, our blessed time is not to be wasted.” The woman flinched, pulled out of a trance she was using to overcome the curses that were fighting to claim her.

In a whimpering tone, she spoke. “The Ancients have shown on multiple occasion to have the strength to withstand the Givers Wrath.” Arvas felt a cold chill enter the Chamber, the curse let loose and it had begun to spread. Anger began to wither, enough that he could hear Fears whispers. ‘The Soulless and Lowly have failed, the Nightmare grows, all on your watch. The Elders will come and with it your fall.’ His jaw clenched as he felt a shiver work its way through him. His fingers began to flinch, and Arvas slowly hid his hands under the folds of his flowing robes. No one saw him do so, their attention was pulled elsewhere, namely to Phunars. His body shook like rumbling stones and whimpered openly as he covered his face in his hands. The display was not improving things, the curses becoming more infectious as it fed the Fear raging in them all.

“Continue” he spoke loud, he words reverberating around the Chamber, it pulled the attention of those within back to the matter at hand. The Messenger cowered at his hard tone, but did as told, “The Lowly Chanters, what few that dwelled within the Soulless Flocks, lacked the will to bring a true display of the Givers Wrath. With it the Ancients held free reign, there was no longer any means for the Flocks to fight against them. The Archivist states that by now the first wave of Flocks should be no more, all consumed by the Swarm outside, having failed to secure a single Mine.”

Arvas let a moment of weakness show as he closed his eyes, focused his attention on manifesting more Anger. Images of Soulless and Lowly enter his mind’s eye, he pictured their failure, let the vision bring forth rage. That those below him had the audacity to fail a Task he handed down, dared to fail him. He felt a surge of warmth emerge within him, pushing back Fear and its wicked cold. For a passing Breath he believed the war was rescaled back to what it should be, but slowly Fear moved forward again. The seething heat began to cool, and Arvas opened his eyes and pulled his attention from it, lest he add more strength to the Fear growing within him.

He could not refute the Archivist claim, Tempos have passed yet not one Flock had sent word they succeeded in their Task. Only cursed visions that he had no intention of glimpsing, others, Lowly would be Task with that, Whenever he could find any that could last longer than an Arc.

The women continued her speech, unaware his attention had waned. “The Archivist in light of the visions she’s seen, recommends that those on High should ready their Houses for the Elders demands. That Founders should organize lists of individuals they wouldn’t mind Offering to fill the ranks of the new Flocks.” The women paused her Fear fighting to claim her, her words came out slow “She reminds all that future Flocks should only be made of the Worthy, the Soulless have lost all usefulness in pushing back the growing Nightmare.”

Arvas slowly and subtly grounded his teeth together, wanting nothing more to ignore the cursed wisdom, but at this point forced to listen. The Soulless had failed them, completely, the mines remained lost and even blinded by curses the Archivists knew what that meant. He had sent spies to watch her House activities. For the pass Arc, she’d been buying up resource in large quantities, enough that people began to question what was going on Above them. They, like most, would have found her Shards, and promptly did away with them, as they saw how consumed she was, blinded by wicked sights. But even the mad and blind could be right once in a while.

Arvas had Offered that the ravings of the Archivist be shown false. Yet the Giver had ignored him, had instead favored her cursed daughter and let matters fall in the way she predicted.

‘Maybe she’s not mad after all, perhaps she sees things clearly, and you’re the one that is blind.’ Arvas hands balled up into fists as Fear whispered that into his mind, the effect of had a chill run down the length of him. Anger becoming to thinned to stop Fears meddling. ‘They all failed, so you fail, the Elders will come, and you will fall.’ Nails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists tighter, his jaw constricting to the point his teeth may crack. While he suffered the assaults of Fear in silence, those around him voiced their displeasure.

“The woman has lost herself, Flocks made of Worthy? By which I’m assuming she’s speaking of actual Chanters with well-formed channels rather than castoffs.” Viyan said staring the Messenger down with utter disbelief in his eyes.

“It is what you say Anointed, that was the intention I felt through the Shard.” The woman said her body beginning to shake. Viyan laughed, the sound of ringing loudly in the Chamber, Arvas couldn’t help but notice how forced it was, the man trying to hide the effects of Fear that was likely gnawing at him. “Why do we keep this woman? She’s cursed and needs to be replaced.”

A scoff sounded in the room, a glance allowed him to see it was from Uthan. She had been very quiet of late, eyes distant, even now. She turned to look at Viyan “Of course she’s lost, all who take up that Title eventually met that end. She just lasted far longer than any of her predecessors, she perhaps could claim the record for all the Sanctums with being the longest to hold it.”

“Yet you mock me for wanting to have her replaced?” Viyan said, clearly annoyed such a thing occurred in front of a Messenger.

“I mock you Viyan, because of your thinking. That you believe we would find anyone who would want to take up that Title. And by some working of the Giver that we did, the new person would soon be just as cursed as the last, making the whole endeavor pointless.”

“So what? We're to listen to this madness, even though it may curse us as well?” Viyan said, voice rising

Uthan nodded at him “That is one of our Tasks, to decipher what part of the Archivist words hold true and what is the manifesting of lies the curses crawling within her have made.”

Arvas mastered himself as the two argued with each other, both held wisdom, listing to the raving Archivists words was cursing them, but it was one of their obligations, the price of being in charge of High matters.

‘All her words are right, you know. You know and it doesn’t matter whether you accept it or not, those Above you will act, and you will fall.’ Arvas tried to push away the words, but they continued to ring in his mind, loud and clear.

“So,” Arvas said, “Does she provide any wisdom on how long we have before rumors spread about the flocks and the Elders come?” The Messenger, hearing his question plunged her mind into the depths of the Shard

“You can’t actually be falling for this Arvas?” Viyan commented as he looked in Arvas direction. He only half glances at Viyan before fixing his attention on the Messenger. “We should have received word from one of the Flocks by now, yet none have arrived, not a single vision sent to any of the Sanctums involved. With that Viyan, I have to face cursed thoughts and consider that the Mines are all lost as the Archivist claims.”

‘Because she is the one that sees and lists to what happens Below us.’ He wanted to add but the words already spoken had his fellow Anointed looking at him skeptically.

The Messenger bowed in apology before she spoke, “The Archivist never mention a specific time only that the Elders will act swiftly once word reaches them combined with the flow of materials heading to those Above coming to an end.”

Arvas returned to grinding his teeth together, none pleased by the wisdom. The last Caravan had just recently been sent, hailing the last remnants of goods that were once overflowed out the Treasury. They had perhaps a Tempo left before the Elders within their home Sanctum took notice of the failed arrival of goods. They could buy themselves more time, fill a Caravan with goods from their own Houses. But given the amount Caravans took, he doubted any would go along with it. Not with the possibility of the Flocks gone.

‘There gone’ Fear whispered harshly in his ear ‘they’ve been gone, but you stubbornly ignored it, and now, now reckoning comes, and you will fall.’

Fear sunk deeper into him, the heat of Anger diminishing with each passing breath, and through he focused on matters that riled him it wasn’t enough, the curses were working their way into him. If he did not act, he glanced at Phunars, who was beginning to look as consumed as the Archivist had been. That would be his fate if he let it.

Viyan hummed relaxing into his chair, “Then we have plenty of time, the treasures are full last that I checked, word from the Flocks will reach us before things become dire.” Arvas to his regret sharply looked over to Viyan, gaining most of the Anointed attention. Viyan scrunched into his seat some. “What is with the glare Arvas? Did I say something wrong, reveal a truth I shouldn’t have?”

Fear pushed at him, urged him and his mouth open. “I don’t know when the last time you check Viyan, but the Treasury is empty, the last of the goods were already sent, we have” he leaned himself closer towards Viyan using the moment to manifest more Anger into himself. “A Tempo at best before eyes Above turn our way, begin to inquire why the flow of goods have stopped.”

“You lie!” Viyan shouted at him as he straightening in his chair. He was no longer relaxed, and Arvas could see his hands beginning to shake, not wise enough to hide them from view. Others he could see looked worried, some sharing in Viyan opinion, but most were beginning to match Phunars gloom.

“By all means prove me wrong Viyan.” Arvas words coming out harsh as he fed off the situation, used Viyan disrespect to fuel a new wave of Anger. “All you have to do is send your own inquiry about the state of the Treasury, a simple Task, then we’ll see how much of a liar I am.”

Viyan put on a brave face, even as he body began to tremble, Arvas begged that the man did something rash, give him an excuse to feel enraged, to have the heat to push back the growing cold. “I will,” Viyan said, his voice cracking for a brief breath “Then all will see our Prime Anointed to be a fool, allowing himself to be swayed by cursed words.”

Arvas smiled nastily, Joy and Anger mixing together as the words allowed him to grow a new host of Anger to fight Fear. Viyan didn’t react well to his look, concern marked him as he, with shaking hands grasped his summoning bell. It rang loudly, Arvas never took his eyes off the man, letting the image of his colleague aid in the process to fight back the tide of cold.

A new Messenger came hurrying in, only then did Viyan lowering the bell as he turned his attention from Arvas to the woman who was rushing over. “You,” Viyan said with poorly hidden panic. “You are to head to the Treasury inquire of its state. Ask of how much goods remain within. This is an urgent Task, I expect it to be done within a Round. Now go.” The woman bowed and ran off back the way she came. Viyan didn’t look back at Arvas, he instead had his eyes lowered, staring blanking at the table surface, as his mind going elsewhere.

Arvas smile slowly fell, and he only stopped looking at the offender, when the image of him no longer provide a swell of Anger. Fear was held at bay for a moment, allowing a thought of sanity to take hold. ‘Maybe I was misinformed, maybe the curses did get to me, spun an illusion. Perhaps the Treasury is still well stocked.’ His fists and arms stopped shaking, the thought brought some relief.

‘You are safe, all is well, the Flocks have not failed, just late.’ The words that entered his mind soothed him, allowed him to notice how worn he felt, how much Fear had taken from him in his moment of weakens. Arvas looked to the Messenger who during the whole exchange of words, had lowered herself to the floor, bowing fully to them, a show of respect normally. But given her shivering form Arvas saw it had more to do with the cursed sights within the Shard getting to her. Consuming her vessel and leaving it with rot, a fate he could share if he wasn’t careful.

“You may leave Messenger,” he said the heat of anger leaking out “We’ve had our fill of cursed wisdom this Rotation.” Other echoed with words of agreement.

“As you deem blessed Anointed, the Givers Chosen,” The woman said as she rose slowly, the body fighting her, the curses taking hold. She left as quickly as she could, and Arvas felt relief with each step the woman took. As the curses within her and the Shards she carried gained in distance from him. As the door closed many gave out relieved breaths, forms sinking slightly into themselves, as the taint of the curses left them in full.

Viyan turning towards Uthan “I still say we replace the Archivist, or at least send out an Offer to see if there will be any willing to take up the burden.”

Uthan rolled her eyes, eyes that were looking rather tired now. “Best beg for the Giver to aid then, you’d be lucky to get any to put in for the Task during stable times. Now? With the flood of Shards coming in, many will think you’re purposely trying to get them consumed.” Viyan grunted, his hands leaving his side to lay upon the table surface. Arvas notice that Viyan gave him a quick glance, perhaps thinking of the words he said in his moment of panic, regretting what little respect he Offered. But Arvas would let it slide, if the inquiry into the Treasury proved blest. That the words Fear had been whispering to him proved to be false, and the working of a curse illusion.

If not, well, he hadn’t been idle. Or more accurately his Maidens hadn’t, they had taken the Archivist words more seriously, even when he mostly ignored it. He had thought he’d been humoring them when he allowed the Task of Host to search for mining sights near their Sanctum. Thought it was cursed thinking when they started hoarding goods. Arvas would not look forward to his Maidens finding out they’d were been proven right. They would never gloat. The wise ones at least, but it would hang in the air around them, with subtle smirks as they went about informing him of matters they had seen to, to prepare his House. Of how they planned using the river of souls that were pouring down from the Realms Above. Arvas, as did everyone else, spent their time within their thoughts as they waited for the Messenger to arrive and Offer her report.

“The Treasury is empty Arvas, you know this, as I know it, we should be reaching for Peace and begging the Giver for aid.” Phunars said to him, as he finally rose into a straight sitting position.

‘You know, you know,’ Fear whispered in his ear as it cooled the heat within him, drawing ever closer. His jaw tightened, and it took a force of will to have it loosen so he could talk with an assured voice.

“We will wait for the report Phunars.” He said his words blest with neutrality.

Phunars gave out a chilling chuckle, one that began to rise in height before the man forced it down. “You’re holding out for a blessing, and we’ve both seen where that leads, Fear will claim you tenfold for following false hope.”

“I ‘am not holding out for anything” he retorted, Fear laughing in his mind as he did so. “I just wish to be certain on the timetable we have to prepare.”

“Prepare?” Phunars said, as if he never heard the word before, and looked at him oddly. His laugh came back, and it changed halfway through into a snarl as he screamed, “Prepare for what!”

The abrupt change caught him off guard, as Arvas couldn’t recall a time he’d seen his fellow Anointed so enraged. “For the hard choices that will weight upon us.” he announced his own Anger-rising. “How best to ready the Flocks, what we can do to hold back the Elders attention a while longer.”

Phunars Anger broke, not out of Fear or the image of him growing annoyed. No, it broke from a stream of laughter that came gushing out of his lips as he pounded the table roughly with his fists. “Flocks!” Phunars laughed out, as he struggled for breath. When the moment that had taken him subsided he turned to look at Arvas with mocking eyes. “There isn’t time for Flocks Arvas, they would take an Arc at least to form, and by then the Elders will have asked questions, looked down below their paws and found us failing.” Phunars words left the Chamber deathly silent, even Viyan kept his mouth shut.

Arvas was feeling a flux of emotions fighting within him. Anger, lots of it for being so opening mocked. But joy as well, some thankfulness towards Phunars for his insulting words. The rage crashed hard into the waves of Fear sending it far from him, the cursed whispers going with it. Arvas rose from his seat, clarity returning to him in full, the heat making his vessel obey smoothly. His Soul began to rise, his channels pulsing and a Chant on his lips.

Phunars looked up to him, then rose himself, a crazed smirk marring him “What are you going to do Arvas?” he said in an amused tone. The Chant nearly left his lips, but the rushed opening of the Chamber door held him back. He listened to the Messenger hurry over, eyes still locked onto Phunars as they stared each other down. However, they both looked away, when they noticed there was another set of steps, slow and methodical.

Anger withered at the sight of a Voice in their midst. A Messenger from the Elders, and by the looks of her, from those further up rather than the local ones. Arvas own Messenger lowered herself to the floor, shaking horribly. The Voice spoke, “Tell them.” All eyes went to the Messenger her voice small at first but rose in pitch as she continued speaking the words. “The Treasury is empty.” Arvas blood ran cold as his delusion shattered, and Fear came rushing back stronger than ever. He could feel it wrap itself around him, breathing sweetly in his ear. ‘You Knew, and yet you dare act surprised.’

The Voice looked at them, her displeasure unhidden. “Such failure I have stumbled upon.” She said as she studied each of them. “I ‘am to assume the lower Sanctums are barren of goods as well?” Arvas felt the women gaze fall heavily on him, singled out because of his Title. “It’s possible.” He barely forced out as Fear tightened around him, the cold moving ever deeper, Anger reduced to lowly embers.

“You don’t know?” The Voice asked, her tone mixed with genuine surprise. “How can this be, you’re the Prime Anointed? You should be in contact with those of your Title, should be discussing matters to maintain your Task.” Her words rose in volume, “You are supposed to be making sure all is running smoothly that those Above remain unbothered by such lowly matters.” The Voice words were dripping with hate, feeding the fear coursing through him. “You, you caught me unprepared. If I had known of your arrive I'd.”

“You should know it now, at all times”. The Voice screamed out, her channels glowing bright “It is your Task to monitor the state of your Sanctum and those below you.” Arvas shivered, he wanted to refute that he had been. That she arrived at an cursed time, but he found his tongue and mouth unresponsive. The Voice looked at him, disgust marking her well. He focused on that, churned what little Anger was left in him. Feeding it the image, of being looked down upon, being disrespected and made a fool of among his own. Anger ebbed out loosening Fears grip.

“I have” he was finally was able to push out. “All displayed that matters were well at the time.” It was true, though the report was three Tempos old, he had found no need to ask again till the next Arc, as had become their norm. If there was a problem he had expected those Below to inform him of the matter.

“Asked again then.” The Voice commanded, and to his shame, the Messenger left to carry out the Task without his say so. “And while we're waiting, what’s these rumors of Mines lost? Normally I wouldn’t place much Worth on the words I heard, and yet I find your Treasury empty. The next Caravan not even being readied to send goods to those Above.”

“There have been difficulties with the Nightmares.” Arvas hesitantly admitted, forced to answer as the Voice glared at him, promising due Marks.

“Difficulties,” the Voice said, “lost Mines is passed difficulties Anointed, I heard Flocks were sent out, yet the Mines remain unsecured, remain lost.” Her words were exasperated “It’s as if you’re trying to fail, did you not prepare them properly. Did you merely send out unarmed Soulless to accomplish the Task?”

“The Flocks were armed and trained as never before.” Arvas said, his voice returning to its normal note as he continued to fuel the Anger within him, focused on the woman and her enraging form. “Nightmares haven proven to be more ferocious than those in the past. Proved to more of a challenge than we expected. We were about to begin discussions of what steps we must take to accomplish our Task before you arrived.”

“Now?” the Voice questioned, “When you no longer have goods left to Offer to your betters. When it will take Arcs to form new Flocks.” Arvas tongue remained still, even with Anger holding back the worst of what Fear had to Offer, there was nothing he could say to appease the Voice question. They should have begun Tempos ago, but they had ignored the truth, Offered that the situation before them was a trick, the mad rambling of a cursed Archivist.

“We were going to work together to form another Caravan.” Viyan said his words low, and full of his own Fear, gone was the man claiming Arvas was a liar. “We would have maintained our Task, the Elders and those Above would have got their due.”

The Voice turned to Viyan, who sunk into his seat as she did so. “A delay.” She stated, “You had hoped to keep your betters ignorant of your failings, buy yourselves time to mend things.” Her smile was wicked, and Arvas could tell sure was enjoying this, enjoying their discomfort. “Sadly I’m here, so there will be no delay, the Elders will know in full, know how this Sanctum, and maybe all those Below, have failed in their Task.” For a breath the Voice looked away from them, eyes looking upwards as she envisioned a scene they could not see. “Oh, the Wrath they're going to bring down on the lot of you.” Her eyes came back to them, the smile gone, replaced with a vengeful stare. “And all of you pathetic Lowly will find yourselves at the Front, facing and fixing the mistake you all made first hand.”

Arvas Anger flared for a moment at being called Lowly, something that hadn’t been laid on him a very long time. But Anger was snuffed out instantly as the rest of her words sunk into him. Fear growing fat from it, and it squeezed him tight in its grasp.

‘Now you heard the truth, the one you have been running from so, desperately.’ Arvas and never felt so cold, so hollow, as Fear and the curses behind it fed on him. The experience, however, broke when he heard laughter, one that was growing in strength. For Horrifying moment he had thought that maybe it was coming from him. The curses taking control and using his vessel to spread itself. But no, it was coming from his side, from Phunars. One look at him let Arvas now the man was lost, taken fully.

The Laughter continued, getting a look of confusion from the Voice. Phunars looked at her, curses clearly seen within his eyes. “Is that supposed to scare me little voice?” Arvas and everyone else looked at Phunars with utter horror marring them as they registered the words.

Phunars laughed again shaking his head, before returning his attention back the Voice. “Here, or at the Front, it makes no difference, we’re going to die, all of us, one way or another. And you, little voice will be joining us, plus the Elders, and those Above them.” A chuckle left him, then tears. “I was blind like you, but I see the truth now, little voice, so small compared the many screaming within my mind. The Nightmare isn’t going to be pushed back this time, no, No.” Phunars began clawing at himself, pulling at his face, nails sinking in, scrapping. “It’s done with its game, done playing with us. It comes now, to swallow us whole.”

Phunars snarled, the picture of rage as he looked down at the Voice. “And you speak of Elders and their Wrath.” His channels glowed bright, and his hands moved from his face and pointed towards the woman. “I’ll show you how little that means to me!” His words were followed with a hymn, and the Chamber being engulfed in the Givers Wrath.

Arvas screamed caught off guard by the brightness as he stumbled away from Phunars and backed into the others who gave their own cries of alarm. Even when the Chant ended Arvas was left rubbing his eyes, trying to remove the spots that obstructed his vision. When he did, he saw Phunars smiling madly, he followed the cursed gaze, and he wailed “What have you done?!”

Arvas looked down on the remains of the Voice, most of her had been turned to ash, the rest spread out into a thin smear. Arvas found himself shaking so wildly that he clung to the table, he calm completely gone, and Fear laughing to such a degree it sounded as if a whirlwind was in his mind.

The Cursed raised his hands, one pointed in Arvas direction, the other towards the Anointed on the other side of the table, scrunching together looking on in dazed confusions. The Cursed looked at him, tears streaming down his face. “I provided mercy old friend, as I provide for you.” His channels bloomed. Arvas own hands pressed forward, but it was too late, The Cursed channels were already made ready, while his were only beginning to churn to life. Arvas vision was blocked out by white, and he screamed in denial of what was happening as his vessel was torn apart.

---------------------------

Dailin leaned heavily over the table, shivering and gasping in quick breaths as he began to hyperventilate. The Servants that had been cleaning his room rushed over at the sound. As others raced out of the room calling out for help. The rest hovered around him hymning a simple chant to relax his body. Their efforts did little to help him, as dread, and his instinct, pressed hard on him, growing in weight with each second. It felt as if he was going to faint, and in an act of desperation he called out to the Mana. Begging it to fill him with warm emotions, joy, happiness, glee, contentment, anything to push back against the oppressive dread crushing him. He began to hum, the room bathed in bright light as the Mana in him acted. He breathed in deep as he was overcome with bliss, all those around did as well as they collapsed to the floor.

Dailin didn’t know how long he was in that trance humming an endless tune, but when he came to he found his Advisors screaming at him, calling over and over. His spell ended, and the dread pressed down on him, but he was ready this time, was able to stand the pressure of it. Thankfully whatever had just occurred had stopped as the dread he felt wasn’t worsening. But oh how it had grown, undoing all the effort he'd put in to lessen it with improving himself. He sagged back into his seat panting and paid little attention to the wave of people that came streaming into his room. He noticed for a passing second that people were being carried away, they had apparent collapsed the moment they had stepped within range of his spell.

His Maidens and older children crowded around him, began to hymn as the Servants had. Theirs was far more potent, helping his body relax, his haggard breathing returning to one of normalcy. Even when he was fully recovered those around him continued to Chant, pouring all they had into it. They all looked utterly terrified, tears at the edges of their eyes.

He closed his own for a few moments, collecting himself, but also paying close attention to his instinct. It was shouting at him, as it always was when he wasn’t doing some task that strengthened him. But now it was, clearer, a whisper that he focused more and more on until he finally felt the word, ‘doom, Doom, DOOM!’ It rattled loudly in his mind, shocking Dailin enough that his eyes popped open, making those around him flinched back.

Dailin sat up rubbing his face as he did so, mind in turmoil, as instinct continued to hammer him with the impression of the danger he was in. ‘Doom’ that wasn't a word that took much to interpret. He felt his hands shaking, even with a mob of people singing at him he still felt scared. He focused on the Mana in him again asked for its aid, asked it to push away the fear plaguing him. It acted without a second thought, the volume of it eager to be used, and Dailin felt his body relax in full. With that matter dealt with he turned his attention to the people around him, Chanting their hearts out, worried sick that he was unwell.

“I’m fine now” he called out, his voice rising in height as he added Mana to it so it would drown out the noise around him. The room quieted, at his words “Thank you” he said “For your timely aid, but I am well now, you all can return to your Tasks.” People were hesitant at first but began to leave as Maidens turned their head to eye the people not listing. They left slowly though, still fretting over what had happened, but were trained enough to return to their work without a second asking. Those who didn’t have anything to do remained. Which was a sizeable sum, given most of his Maidens stayed in place, and his Advisors. Their main job was to talk with him after all.

A Maiden called out to those leaving, to the Servants “Remove these Shards first Lowly, it was foolish to let this continue on for so long. We can’t have a Divine become cursed.” The Servants hurried over ready to whisk the many Shards strewn across his table away. Shards he’d been viewing when the wave of dread knocked him flat on his face.

“No,” He said loudly, stopping the Servants in their tracks as they flinched back, the Maiden that ordered them scrunched in on herself, fear plain to see, but she still had the will to speak. “But Founder, the Shards, looked at what they did to you, we can’t possibly let this remain.”

“It wasn’t the Shards,” Dailin said in a tired tone. “Leave us, Servants, there are matters most High that must be discussed.” The women bowed to him, rushing off with the rest that began to leave, as did many of the Chanters. They knew that important discussions only involved those who were high enough in his House to accept or send out Offers.

Dailin waited for them all to leave and the door to shut behind them before he returned his attention to those remaining. Over fifty in total, still a large crowd, and while he waited most sat on the floor around him. Except for his Advisors and the Prime Maiden, who he’d never bothered to learn her name, they took their seats around his table, Vollow sitting the closets.

They waited on him, as he remained silent, not all that happy about what he was about to reveal. He found himself playing with his hands, rubbing fingers together out of nervousness. He sighed and looked at his son. “The Giver has blest me many times, one of which it appears none of you have inherited, I find that a blessed thing. For it isn’t a kind one.” His Advisors looked at him worried, even Sounness had her head upright staring at him. “The Giver provided me with the ability to” he paused struggling to find the right word “Feel how much the Nightmares pose a threat to us.”

That got people looking at each other, the women signed quickly to each other, hands fidgeting as they fought with fright. “Their threat has steadily grown over the Arcs, and I have accordingly continued begging to the Giver for more. For the strength to fight against this darkening shadow. I had children to aid in this, to bolster and raise those within these sacred halls, so we would have the strength to push against this growing tide. But a moment ago that feeling, the pressure of it, become that of all mountain trying to crush me.”

Dailin grabbing hold of his son's hand, as Vollow began to breathe frantically, fear marring him. “I need you son” he fused warmth into his words “All of you to find out why. The Nightmares have done something.” He squeezed his son hand tighter, staring into his eyes that were wide with terror. “I need to know what has happened, I don’t care what it will cost, the amount of women I'll have to lay with, find out. For something horrible has occurred, something that has undone all my efforts to elevate us.”

For a moment his son looked at him lost, but Vollow cupped Dailin hand with his own, sick with worry, tears at the corners of his eyes. “Of course Father, This task will be done, I’ll make sure of it. We will find this ailment that burdens you so.”

“Good,” he said filling it with a heavy dose of warmth, those around relaxed, the fears plaguing them chased away as he hummed for few seconds to aid them. After Dailin pulled away from Vollow as he leaned back into his chair. His two daughters talked to each other in rapid hand movements, while Vollow turned to them waiting, but mind also deep in his own thoughts. The Prime Maiden looked at him, eyes downcast “Normal I’d claim a curse was planning tricks on you, but you are Divine, One of the Givers most blessed.”

Dailin interrupted her “And the Giver does not lie.” the Maiden nodded at him, before speaking again. “Accepting her most Divine wisdom I raise the request to bring in more Maidens into your House.” Dailin sighed, this had brought up many times, those around him desperate to fill his House with followers they had left behind. The Prime Maiden continued, “Its only right Founder, your children are needed more than ever, your role above all else, in turn, your House should be as well. A symbol that we shall rise, that the Nightmares will be shown they cannot consume us.”

“Very well” Dailin breathed out wearily. “You all may bring in as many as you think my Estate can handle. But remember” his words growing hot “They are to follow my rule, even now with troubling times ahead of us I will not tolerate such actions. My House will stand united against the coming swarm.”

“Of course Founder, Divine, Guardian, Protector” those around him chanted out, eyes gleaming as if they were looking upon a savorer. He attempted to be one, in his own way, he would do his best to protect his family.

“I have revealed a terrible truth to all of you, and I know the cost of that. So I’ll make amends, I will sing to you all, protect you from the ills that harm you at this moment.” They cheered, and called out “Bath us in your blessed warmth.”

“I will” he said “and then we all will begin our Task, ready our House for the troubles that are ahead of us.” He hummed, and those encircling him gaps in bliss as he loosed a torrent of Mana, forming it into caring emotions and thoughts. He sang loud, banishing his own worries and concerns letting himself fall into his own spell. Enjoying the moment as those around him relaxed, hugging and curling up next to each other. Happy to see a family united.