“In silence they dwell, in the darkest of stars, in the oldest of void. They stand atop dead wombs, their writhing forms drift, held aloft by fell powers. In aeons they have seen life exist, yet they are neither alive nor dead, neither good or evil. Yet, they hate us.”

- Hak’Zartel Prophet of Sands; Lies of the Gods

“I am embarrassed of this.” Benedict murmured softly as he was led across the titanic branches of the colossal trees they stood upon. His tall form was being pulled gently by his better half, who locked arms with him as a soft hum escaped her lips.

“They are looking at me, like some… Monster.” He continues, his brown eyes gazing out to the buildings and breathtaking sight before him. The bustle of people was clearly heard as they headed to another tree, one that held the equivalent of a market square. This made it so that they passed by people, who looked at Benedict with both curiosity and surprise.

The boy himself mistook this as judging and scornful stares, which reminded him of the ones he had gotten from his fellow summoned. The memory itself stirred anger, but it paled in comparison to the embarrassment Salia brought to him by forcing him to walk with her.

“No they do not, you’re simply a curious oddity Benedict. Your position as the Despot is not yet told to the greater populace of our people, in addition.” she gently touched his scythes, “You have this, a curious aspect of yours that marks you out as something else. It will soon be the very thing that lets our people know, that you’re the twelfth.”

“Will they accept it?” He asked with what seemed to be worry, as Salia’s soft hand soon pinched his cheek for a moment. “They will, for the twelfth position has always been held by someone not born an Ancient.”

Softly with uncertainty brewing within his mind, Benedict continued to walk with her as she lead him to a place with clear intent. He lapsed to silence, as he felt the eyes of others bore at him. In an attempt to ignore them, he examined his attire and found it to be quite pleasing. As it was the armor he wore initially, before it was taken off of him when he first woke up. It retained that dull metal sheen it had, when he first acquired it months ago.

It for the most part was whole, save for the two holes his scythes had made to the back of his chest plate, and the dent the Forlorn had dealt upon it. Thankfully his cloak was there to help hide such a thing, letting him at least look dignified as he walked with his ‘wife’. But try as he might, the scythes of his made him look more akin to a monstrous guardian than anything else. As the curved blades of his limbs tapped away at the wooden surface of the branch, which soon met what seemed to be the concrete of a solid ancient bridge.

But as they walked and reached an area where various stalls and stores were present, his eyes noticed a peculiar statuette upon a dilapidated stall. It was made from a strange greenish-onyx material, twisted and shifting under the light and seemed to be wholly wrong in its entirety. A strange bout of familiarity overtook him, as he gazed at it with strange fondness and longing.

It could not be properly described in any capacity, as with what clarity his mind had. The statuette resembled a strange hybrid. Where one could say that it was an anthropomorphic caricature of an octopus-like thing, yet it held a modern quality to it that should not be possible for this world. Like a moth drawn to fire, Benedict found himself urged by an instinct to reach out and try to acquire it. Yet the voice of his better half rang out and broke the growing trance that took a hold of him. Letting his eyes for a moment stare in intent at the statuette.

Trying to burn the figure of the humanoid, yet inhuman form of the small thing to his retinas. As if compelled by something not wholly of his own will. But the voice of Salia held far more weight than that compulsion, making him turn to face her to be met with her gentle smile. Her eyes conveying a sort of curiosity as to what had taken his fancy, with his own expression taking a momentary look of confusion. Which was met by her speaking again, repeating what she seemingly had said moments ago.

“Has the traders of our people taken your fancy?”

It was a question which he could only reply with a short nod of his head. His eyes moved to look at the stall that had the statue, but much to his surprise it was no longer there. Instead it was a clear space, flanked by other stalls manned by traders of the Ancients. This perturbed him, as the sheer memory of what he saw was still fresh and burnt into his mind. The form of that strange statuette pulsated within his memory, reminding him of something he could not exactly grasp. But he shook it off, looking instead to the other stalls that grew in numbers as they continued to walk.

“What drew your interest then?” She asked as she motioned to one of the stalls. “Weapons? Armor? Or is it food?” Though she smiled teasingly at the end of her sentence, as she referenced his hungry nature for the past week. Which for the most part he could not help, as it was due to the very changes his body was experiencing. With a stiff and weak smile of his own, he replied.

“Magical items.” He flatly said, his eyes drawn to one of the many stalls that held such wares. They were for the most part, meant for some task obviously not related to battle. It was clear with his own eyes that they were magical, for a strange aura obviously surrounded their form. From the confusing spinning orb floating from a pedestal, to even what seemed to be jewelry crafted from exotic to mundane materials, they all held this. A sign of the spark of magic within them, that shone like a pyre to his eyes.

His answer was half truth and half lie, as his mind still drifted to the thought of that statuette that seemed to be a hallucination. Brought up by his changes, or some fell powers he could not comprehend. It made his skin crawl, fear threatening to follow as the thought of helplessness crept into his mind. All of it could not manifest however, as Salia’s proximity brought only comfort, that for once he was actually glad for.

“Do you wish to acquire one?” She asked thoughtfully, as he thought she mistook his gaze upon the items as curious wanting looks, but it was not. It was mere confusion on his part. But he could not help but wonder, would he even need one? They looked so unique and strange, but they felt strangely mundane. For they had no clear purpose in battle, that he mused over, until he decided to answer truthfully.

“No, I don’t think they’ll be useful to me. None of them are weapons, and I don’t believe I can afford any of these.” With that admittance, he was made fairly aware that he was, with all the simplicity he could thought of, a penniless parasite mooching off of Salia and that old man’s goodwill. It made him feel uncomfortable, ashamed even. But it did not last.

“So, you wish for nothing here then?” She began, almost disappointed as if the very reason for him being dragged out of that room, where he spent mostly resting and sleeping, was an attempt of a date. “None of these interest you at all?”

“No…?” Unsure and akin to a question to himself, he dragged his eyes hesitantly to look at her, and gasped. She was pouting towards him, those eyes of hers seem to implore him to reconsider. This was something he did know how to respond to, lending him a sense of confusion that felt different from all others. In his eyes, he felt he had done something wrong, but to others that watched these two, all they saw was a woman trying to convince her lover to do something she wished.

In the end he relented with a sigh. His mind unable to do anything but fix this ‘mistake’ of his. He knew fully well that it was their link, their binding, but it felt so real that he might as well follow it.

“On second thought…” He began, his words laced with reluctance but a finality to it that brought a smile to Salia’s face. “May you help me find new clothing?”

That was an hour ago, mused Benedict as he found himself half naked within the equivalent of some clothing shop. The time from then to now blurred like fine mist in his mind, as Salia eagerly brought him to stalls and what could be stores to fulfill what he asked for. He felt bad for that the answer was just a sudden gambit in appeasing her, but was glad for it as he did need new clothing. For this time, like the many times he was forced to come with his parents to buy clothing, was a tedious but welcomed change of pace.

“Your scythes…,” She told him in slight annoyance, as she stood before him and pulled taut a pale blue shirt of eastern-like design over his chest. “Proves a problem in getting you new shirts…” This drew a smile from him, as those scythes were unfurled, resting and arching behind her like a protective cage.

“I’m sorry.” He idly said, as she clicked her tongue and looked to his eyes, a strange fire burning within those amber eyes of hers. “We’ll need to have the seamstress sew new sets of shirts for you… It’ll take days, weeks or months until you can have your new set of clothing.”

“It can’t be helped.”

“You are right.” She admits, that fire within her eyes fading as she smiled. “But, I can’t have you wear your armor everyday, nor can I have you dress so plainly.”

There was a slight insistence to her sentence, as she made to turn around and present the shirt to one of the workers in this shop. They conversed with their tongue, and if Benedict idly chose not to listen, it merely sounded like some strange and ancient song to his ears. Though he understood that Salia was asking if it was possible to make some slight changes, to accommodate his additional limbs. She did this without even his input, as if it was natural. It was humbling in its own way, as he could not help but remember how out of place he had felt a week ago.

Though he was loathe to admit it, but he realized that this new world was in its own way, a great boon. For in here, in these simple moments, there was a sensation of belonging that could not be found in the memories of his own world, where he felt important. But such a thought was squashed down, as he remembered the reason why he was even here in this world.

With a momentary grimace, he chose to immerse himself in the memories of what he did in the past week. Finding it better to review such a thing, as Salia and the worker began to converse on what kind of attires would fit him best. No doubt due to the fact he was the twelfth. This he was well acquainted with due to how Salia had told him of it, of how she explained that her people cared the most for their traditions above all.

That the Lords are set on a pedestal of standard and expectations, which could not helped but be suffocating and domineering in its own right.

“What is expected of me?” He hears the voice of himself ring, as recollection overtook him. Robbing him of the sight before him, and replacing it with the scene that occurred six days ago. After the day where Salia spoke truly, that she will help him kill. There she saw him, gently touching upon his scythes curiously. As he knelt there upon the wooden floor, attempting to meditate

“To kill.” She replied ever so gently, her soft hands caressing the bone of his scythes, feeling out and aiding the mana within, letting it flow through the veins within it.

“No… I did not mean that. I meant… As a Lord, as a Lord of our…” He paused, hesitation gripping his words as he opened his eyes. Only for him to continue with a sigh. “People…”

“To be a Lord of course.” A hint of amusement was obvious on her words, as that answer was in its own way a jest. It sparked mirth within him, as she continued her answer, knowing full well he wanted to know more. This saved him some concentration, as he had half of his mind dedicated to the managing of mana within him. For all the comfort she brought him, he was a man and his pride howled out for him to be stronger. To not rely on her touch to stop the pain that coursed within his flesh.

“Though it is not as simple, for unlike the humans you were once a part of… A Lord is not a mere title of ‘nobility’, my Grandfather would argue that it is not even similar to such a thing, and would say it is higher than that. According to him, it is a position of great importance and duty, that no Ancient may hold just because they were unique or strong. For each Lord that exists, they represent a facet of our people and life, a living embodiment.

My grandfather is the Elder of Delving, he represents the ancient art of our people. A great power that is known to be Delving, yet he also says it is a curse. For what power there is, has both its boons and damnations that other races are blind to. Still he fulfills his role my Despot, in which where he guides the many Delvers we have, and offer insight and divination to the Conclave of Lords whenever they happen.

But as for you…”

She paused for a few moments, as she shifted her position and chose to sit on the edge of the bed. There Benedict could only assume what expression she held, but he knew fully well that she was smiling based on that tone of hers. How odd it was, that in just such a short time, he could confidently deduce such a thing. When it was even hard for him to discern what emotion the other summoned heroes held, each time they spoke to him, which was an extreme rarity before they hunted him.

“That is for you to decide, for you to find. I have been told that it comes to you, that calling of your name and title. Where after days, weeks or months, you will gain an insight on what you are destined to do. Till that time comes however, what is expected of you as a Lord is… Well, to be one. To be an inspiring force, a grand reminder to our people, a living lesson and God in many ways than one. It is why that I insist for you to learn to manage the mana within you.

As much as I love you my Despot, there will be times that I cannot be at your side to alleviate the pain your body feels.”

Then with just that, Benedict understood that he was wrong to assume he would be forced to take on a mantle of duty. It was his choice to accept it or not, that he mused over. As when he thought about it, this was a far better deal than being a Champion of a God within the Lonesome Frost, made to fight whatever the creeping dark was. Though he could not help but blush as he knelt, his grasp on his flow of mana fluctuating for a few moments due to this.

She so casually said she loved him, and that was all that rang in his ears for the seconds that followed. How strange it was, that she could dredge up such a reaction, even with their link it was too easy. Though he did not allow himself to dwell upon it, as silence was his answer to her. For he was focusing on his meditation, to find a way to make his body do this act of expelling excess mana out without conscious effort.

Which for the most part took up the majority of his time for the days that were to come, only broken by the words of Salia as she answered what inquiries he had. Through that, he found out that those that attacked him two days ago, were called the Seekers of the Forlorn. That what they did was a sort of test, to find out if he was worthy to lead and command them. Needless to say, he was quite displeased, that he had to go through such a thing unarmed and unarmored. Though the unarmed part was quite debatable.

Not even the knowledge that he could command them now, was enough to stem the growing displeasure he had within his bosom. If he had his way, he wished to bend them and turn them into useless chunks of metal, to be melted and forgotten. Such was his displeasure, that only Salia’s words brought a measure of peace, as he relented. For she argued that though they nearly killed him, they will be useful to his purpose in the future.

And from there, he did little else. Save for the fact he was idly controlling the new Aberrations of his, which did their work with a cunning that perturbed him. As they mimicked the actions and concepts of some fictional races that he knew of, almost as if they knew his deep rooted fascination for it.

Then he was broken out of his remembrance, as Salia gently tapped his cheeks. Making him blink his eyes in confusion, as his immersion within his memories made it as if he was reliving them fully, enough that he was unsure where he was for a few seconds. Until the memories of the present came surging back, eliciting a slight frown on his face. To which Salia reacted with curiosity, as she spoke.

“Is something wrong?”

“No… Nothing, sorry. I was lost to my thoughts.” With that explanation, Salia nodded as she gently offered the shirt he wore beneath his armor. It was modified in a way, to at least allow his scythes to be able to pass through his back, but it was a hasty addition, which was quite clear due to how large the holes were. But he didn’t mind, as he took the shirt and put it on with little thought.

“What were you thinking about?” Idly as she spoke, she turned to the countertop near her, where pieces of his armor laid. She displayed a rather surprising knowledge of how to remove platemail, something which Benedict was glad for. As it was quite hard to put on and remove platemail, without the aid of another person.

“Last week.” He curtly replied, moving closer to her as he raised his arms to the side, letting her begin putting on his platemail for him, while he himself helped her in that regard. There was a meticulous ease in how she did her part, and he was quite curious as to how she even knew of this.

“Ah, is it about your role as a Lord?” She smiled once more, always she did Benedict mused, as if everything he did could make her smile.

“Yes.” He shortly replied once his chestplate was tightly fastened on his torso, with his scythes receding back to rest on his shoulders. Next came for the parts meant for his arms, which was easy enough without her help. Yet he did not stop her, instead allowed her to help him. It was a tender moment in many regards, and once he was fully armored, Salia gently locked arms with him.

“Did you find an answer?” She inquired as wordlessly they began to move, with Salia waving her hand in goodbye to the owner of the store, as Benedict was uncertain on how to reply. What was his role? That very question was worthy of many nights of pondering, which he didn’t do, and now it seems that it really did need an answer.

But for now, this was not the time to ponder upon it. With that thought, he turned to look at Salia as she lead him to another place, which he stopped with a gentle hold on her hand. Which would feel soft under his touch, if not for the fact his hand was armored at the moment. Almost instantly she stopped, levelling her gaze to his as she waited for him to speak.

“No, I have not found the answer to that… But, I think we’ve found enough clothing already. It’ll take time, but I’m sure I’ll have enough.” Almost wryly he smiled to her, as a look of disappointment once more crossed her face. She did not seem to want to stop this casual thing they were doing, and if he were to assume, she did not like seeing him stay within his room for days on end. It was what he did since last week, and he sympathized with her on that regard.

“Instead, I suppose I want to see more of our home.” At that, she brightened up and nodded. Excitement was clear on her expression, as ideas flowed into her mind, which Benedict reacted to with a gentle smile of his own. Perhaps, it’d be good for him to enjoy this new ‘life’, even if it was all going to lead to something dark one way or another.

-

High above on one of the many titanic trees of the forest itself, there stood three Lords. Their eyes drawn to the sight far below them, on one of the many branches and stone platforms of their ancient home. The three were the Lords assigned to watch over Benedict, to help him grow as a proper Lord. Yet they did not act at all, and seem to watch. One of them tilted her helmed head, her gloved hands softly caressing her cheeks as she sang.

“Oh how our Brother has finally walked, searching and yearning with his better half. He seeks an answer he is yet to find, yet he moves so surely with uncertainty binding him in his act. It is time for our guidance, time for him to walk the path meant for him, for if he continues in this uncertainty, then there shall be no greater purpose for this Despotic Child.”

With a frown threatening to cross her lips, the Master of Hymns stopped with a sigh, only for the Lord Mender to speak as he shook his head.

“You are right in that regard, but also wrong.” He began, his plant-like hand motioning to the scene below them. There they could clearly see, despite it being extremely far, the sight of Benedict and Salia visiting many places. There was clear wonderment in the eyes of their youngest brother, with Salia leading him to places that brought great awe from him. Slowly letting him see more of the splendor of their home.

“His uncertainty is brought about by ignorance in his part. He does not know our culture, he does not know of our traditions. Yet look now, with Salia leading him, showing him more of our people’s home, he learns. The uncertainty fades, and with it curiosity. Which we will need to nurture and temper into honor, into acceptance into our clade.”

In reaction to his statement however, came a bassy laugh. Neither male nor female, yet one and the same. It was the Warborn, who brought her hand to the air, curling it into a fist as his laughter echoed out for a few more seconds.

“He will know it Lord Mender. He shall know honor and what it means to be a Lord. As the successor to our dear Centerious, he will face great adversity. But I wouldn’t have it in any other way. I shall make him into a warrior, a true successor to the Forlorn.

We have given him a week, a week to recover and now we shall begin his test.”

Like a great beast lusting for a feast, the Warborn let out something akin to an excited growl. His very form seemed to quiver despite its metallic nature, where one couldn’t really deduce what she was really feeling. But it didn’t matter, as the two lords near him knew well enough that she was excited for this.

“Of course, the test will begin soon enough.” Interjected the Lord Mender, as he idly turned away from the sight below. Where Benedict could be seen curiously picking up what seemed to be a book. To which Salia began an explanation of what it was. This sight, though normal in many ways, brought a sigh from the Lord Mender as he looked to the Master of Hymns.

“What do you think? Should we allow him to experience the test so soon?” Cautious and unsure, he asked. To which the Master of Hymns merely nodded, as she turned to motion towards the Warborn.

“Though soon it is, the Warborn cannot wait anymore. She wishes to test our brother, to make him take the mantle of the Despot truly. He wants it, like a beating of song, to make him control the progeny which he has birthed. I am not blind oh dearest Mender, I know you are worried for our young Lord, even when his monstrous sons stalk our forests.

Rending and tearing at the beasts there, bringing them deep into their growing territory. Insatiable, deadly, inhuman. They are a beast in many ways, yet they are our brother’s progeny. We must make sure, that when he meets with the Conduit, he will be a Lord that can stand the Conduit’s soulless gaze.”

Conceding to her point, the Lord Mender chose not to reply. Instead he turned to the Warborn, looking at the golem-like Lord that seemingly waited for its turn to speak. Sensing that the Lord Mender had no intention to talk, the Warborn took its turn.

“I see the worry within your eyes Lord Mender.” He laughs, as she drew his eyes back to the sight below. Intent at studying what Benedict was doing, as if this act could allow her to discern more about this Lord. Though she knew very well that it was fruitless, but found it quite pleasing to at least know something about the Despot with his own eyes.

“It is baseless. I will not be like Lord Umbra, that callous bitch thought she was honoring Centerious’s will. Nay, I dare say she insults it. Testing an unprepared Lord like that, is paramount to treachery.” Fury colored his words, as if she had any way to express her emotions, his face would display it in full. But before she could continue, the Lord Mender raised his hand in respect.

“I know.” He grimaces, as the furious gaze of Warborn is directed to him. If it were not for the mutual respect they all had for one another, the Warborn would have gone to a full tirade about his displeasure towards Lord Umbra. “Lord Umbra is… A treacherous sort, that I understand. Her treachery however is for those not of our kind, she did as her nature dictated. The shadows demand such a thing from her, just as the fires within your bosom demands honor from you Warborn.”

“It’s not an excuse. It’s cowardly, what if the Despot died? You know fully well that his progeny is nothing like we’ve seen before. The Weaver himself admits that he does not understand how they even live, considering they don't have any sort of mana within them. Yet they absorb it all around them. They are a foreboding presence Lord Mender, if he had died, I am confident that his progeny would have ran amok.

You’ve seen how the Despot fought, imagine if he did not exist and his Aberrations were allowed to exist without a leader. You cannot refute this worry Lord Mender, I know war like none other, and these Aberrations are a threat to us without our brother.

So do not just dismiss my distaste for Lord Umbra. She may be the Mistress’s younger sister, but that does not mean I have to like her dishonourable methods.”

With a huff, the Warborn finished his piece. The energies within her form bristled, and turn to an inferno as it came out of the spaces on his body. Fury was what she felt, and the Lord Mendor could not help but rub the bridge of his nose.

“Yet he survived. That is proof enough that Lord Umbra made the right decision, in addition to that, is it not already enough that she elicited displeasure from the Conduit? She knows the consequence, if she acts in any way against the Despot, then she will earn the ire of the Conduit.”

Reluctantly, the Warborn nodded. It was true that the premature testing of the Despot with the Seekers was disgusting, yet it drew a surprising result. Which showed that the Elder’s soul-binding was not unwarranted, and the fact that the Despot was a deadly force that they needed to reign in. That wasn't even factoring the fact that his progeny was spreading, turning a part of the forest into their twisted nesting ground.

“Fine.” She grumbled, raising one armored hand as the fires within him came to a forced calm. With her hand she pointed to the Lord Mender. “But I will train him first, I wish to see the anger that made the Forlorn let go of his own hate. I wish to see the extent of his control on his progeny, and most of all, I wish to see how he fights.

It has been so long since a war has occurred, and my Warforged yearn for such a thing. I will satiate my and their need, through the Despot I shall vent much of my frustrations on this long peace we have. Of course, I will not kill him, quite unlike the Father.”

With nothing more to add, and choosing to ignore an insult to one of their sibling Lords, the Lord Mender turned around. Walking to a large entrance into the trunk, which held a spiralling staircase that led down. This left the Warborn with the Master of Hymns, who now only chose to speak.

“You lie.” She began, a smile crossing her lips as she clapped her hands together. “Oh you lie Warborn, it’s not that War has not graced your silvered form, it’s that you wish to find someone to relate to. Someone as bloodthirsty and as wanting of conflict as you.

Is that not why you supported the bonding between the two? Is that not why you did not warn him of the coming Seekers? When you could have so easily done?”

At the sudden accusal from the Master of Hymns, the Warborn tried to say her piece, but couldn’t once he had heard the rest of what the Master of Hymns said. This forced a growl from her, as her horns seem to burn more brightly, just as his energy did so.

“How did you know?” She asked, bitterness coloring his words as the Master of Hymns giggled as if this moment was funny. “How did you know this? What makes you think this is the truth?”

“I can hear it in your voice, oh Warborn. No lie can go pass my hearings, no yearning lies still and silent, when I hear all that is in the voice of all. Worry not, I shall not tell anyone. Not even the Lord Conduit. In truth… I wish to see what happens, as I know that the Conduit plans to intervene in the rising conflict in the Fae Lands.”

With disbelief coloring her words now, the Warborn moved closer, with the Mastery of Hymns standing her ground. Looking up to him, the Warborn who was taller than her by far. “What if you are trying to trick me?”

“Look to my nature, you shall find that I care not for lies or tricks. Only truth in song.”

“That’s not enough to convince me!” The Warborn bellowed, her hands almost moved to try and choke the girl before him. Yet she did no such thing, for honor and tradition demanded she does no harm to a fellow lord.

“Then, would you believe me if I said, I wish for the Fae Lands to be covered in blood?” Now with a grin not unlike that of an excited monster, the Master of Hymns raised her hands and gently clasped the Warborn’s own.

“I know you loved Centerious, you were the first to call for his acceptance into our arms. I was young back then, I found that act to be out of character. But as the years went by, I knew then that those embers that act as your eyes, lighten when you saw him. You loved him dearly, and you wish for him to be back no matter what.”

“Lies.” The Warborn quickly said, yet there was no strength in his words. Only surprise and embarrassment, which she herself did not like. “I am the Warborn, I am born from war, there is no time for love in my part.”

With what could only be a sneer, the Master of Hymns let go of the Warborn’s hands and turned to face the sight below them once more. “You were once flesh, that I know. You may be the second oldest of the Lords that exist now, but you cannot be as emotionless as the Conduit. I know you, just as how I would know our sibling Lords, you loved him, as we all did. Yet yours was no normal love, not akin to the sibling-like love we treated him, yours was that of lust and longing.

I chide you not for this oh Warborn, I seek only truth and honesty from one such as you. I understand such a longing, for your role is one so lonesome, so damning that your mind seeks something else to balance all the deaths you have and will commit.”

Silence came then, the Warborn expressing nothing as he went to stand near the edge once more. Looking down and daring not to look at the Master of Hymns, who continued her words in her apparent refusal to speak.

“However, I have a grand request to you Warborn. For you who shall train our youngest brother in the arts of war, and what it means to be a Lord, be it in honor or in wrath, there is something I wish to be set forth. It is no assumption, no fell hope, that the Conduit seeks to bring balance to the turmoil upon the Lands of the Fae.

I am no callous one, but I desire for you to prepare the Despot quickly, for I know within what hearts I bear, that he can become my vengeance.”

“Against the humans?” The Warborn quickly interjected, turning her head to the Master of Hymns as her words were colored in shock. The Mastery of Hymns had never, in the centuries she had lived, ever expressed a desire for vengeance.

“No.” She says with that disgusting grin returning, her hands pointing towards the Despot, as she attempted to try and catch him. Yet she couldn’t do so, as she was too high up. “Against the Fae. They have scorned me for so long, denying me of my rightful prize that is there ancient songs of their people, their shames and glories.

They wish for us to not hear them, even when they owe us more than our fair share of flesh in debts. For such, the debts must be paid, be it the honoring of our ancient oaths, or their deaths.”

“The Conduit will not like this.” The Warborn said, his voice bearing uncertainty as the Master of Hymns continued to look to Benedict. The Despot was moving from place to place, being led still by Salia, both having a good time, even going as far as for Benedict to ignore the stares he was receiving.

“I desire not the death wails of an entire race, I have no use for their dirge Warborn. You misunderstand, I am no fell being, I am merely wanting. Just as how you and my elder sister the Mistress wants the Despot, I desire those songs. To add to the arsenal of our people of course, I am not that greedy.

So you see, I wish for you to train the Despot well. Nurture his lust for war, his hate and loathing, make him akin to a true heir to Centerious. Yet let him stay true to his title. Then, and only then, may I tell you how he has a place in my vengeance.”

Now she turned to look at the Warborn, whose fiery eyes looked to her own. As now his voice rang out in uncertainty, with those fires of hers seemingly in a constant state of flux now after all that he had heard.

“You wish for him to... Rule?”

At the Warborn’s question, the Master of Hymns let out a sonorous laugh. Before replying in a discordant voice.

“To conquer.”