"I never managed to understand how the hierarchy amongst of the Changelings managed to work for this many millenia... It seems that the High Lord and his council of elders think of the others from their kin as simple peasants. And the Changelings act like ones in the presence of their leaders. It's confusing, to say the least."

Excerpt from an unsigned scroll, belonging to one of the Inner Fantasy's royal dynasties

***

Rehlin the Seventhborn, High Lord of all Changelings, dined under the light of stars from eras long since gone. Captured in ancient crystals in times before the goliaths’ birth, they were now part of the chandeliers in his palace. Each crystal costed more than a whole village in the Outer Fantasy, but nothing in the world produced such hypnotic, warm and deeply fulfilling light. They were worth it.

The High Lord ate the best food avilable. His meal consisted of many kinds of meat, vegetables and fish, suited for kings and master sorcerers of the highest echelons of the world. He drank pale purple wine made of the fruits of one of the rarest trees in the whole Inner Fantasy. Rehlin loved this luxurious way of life that he led for almost three centuries now. As the leader of all amongst his kin, he was not only rich, but immensely powerful. All the Changelings in the world – almost three thousand men and women, most of them over one hundred years old – were to abide by his commands according to the ancient traditions. Those were set by the Firstborn himself long ago, while the old man was in his prime. Back then his rule seemed eternal and even those that arose directly after him were almost servants, not to mention those like Rehlin. He was part of the second generation of Changelings. The Seventhborn hated these times and scorned his memories of them, trying to hide them as deeply as possible. Back then he was like a commoner in the face of leader of his kind, despite being the seventh one ever. He shook his head and made the unpleasant thoughts disappear with a large sip from his goblet of wine. The alcohol's sweet taste was getting too boring after three decades of drinking it. Maybe he could switch to something harder from now on?

The dining hall in his palace was enormous and fascinating in its sheer size, more akin to that of a cathedral. His whole palace was no smaller than a military fortress, which was rare even amongst the biggest kingdoms and states of the Inner Fantasy. But it was understandable, given the fact that it was build during the Firstborn's reign. And he was a megalomaniac in the purest sense of the word. His titanic residence was occupying half the city it was in. Its dozens of towers pierced the skies like the spears of some army of granite and marble. The few hundred houses next to it were like ants in the feet of a giant. A large part of those dwellings were unpopulated most of the time. The city had no permanent residents, except for its ruler, the council of the Elder Changelings and all the servants surrounding this small group. Hundreds of other mages that served them came and went by, using the houses as their temporary homes. Those men and women rarely came to see Rehlin himself. In the eyes of most the Seventhborn was too important to communicate with some lowly magicians.

And yet someone arrived while he dined and went as far to go into the hall while the High Lord was enjoying a finely-made dessert. The guest wasn’t anyone of spectacular importance, either – just a man dressed in plain and simple travelling attire. There was a badge on his cloak marking him as a messenger of a greater power. Only this saved him from being kicked out by the pair of heavily armed men guarding the door.

“What do you want, commoner?” asked the Seventhborn, giving his voice additional depth and power with magic.

The messenger instantly fell on his knees and let his head touch the ground.

“I greet you, Rehlin the Seventhborn, High Lord of all Changelings. I am honored to be in your presence."

"I hereby accept your greeting", replied the ancient wizard in a serious and yet annoyed way. Those greeting were boring, but also a tradition. "You can freely roam my palace and seek refuge in my lands. On whose behalf are you here?"

"I'm sent by the Great Master of the Assassins' Guild of Tarha-Nan, a city state of the Outer Fantasy." The man's forehead was still in solid touch with the mosaic marble floor.

Rehlin's face twisted from confusion, but he managed to hide it quickly enough.

"What would some guild leader from a place such as this want to do with me?" There was mockery in his voice but no hostility.

"He says it's for your eyes and ears only." The messenger's tone remained as respective as before. "I've brought a magical device with me. I can't use it, but I'm sure that you know what it is."

"Of course, of course." Rehlin stood up slowly and walked to the kneeling man. "Get up and give me the item. You can go and rest afterwards. I won't be in need of you."

The messenger nodded while mumbling some words of praise and took out a simple stone disk with a metal piece within its center. It was rintium - the Seventhborn recognised it instantly. He took it slowly from the man's opened arms and thanked him coldly before letting him leave under the guards' cautious gaze. After a minute the High Lord himself left, too, but he went in the opposite direction - towards the terrace of the dining hall.

The vast balcony had a mosaic floor creating an image of the Firstborn in his full glory - clad in red rintium armor from head to toe. He had a sword of lightning in his hand and a mantle of white flames. It was a respect-inducing sight. The rails around it were richly covered in engravings. From this balcony one could see the entire city beneath. It was protected by high rocky cliffs from almost all sides.

The High Lord stood there all alone with his hand on the stone disk. The device had a simple magical mechanism of Control. It could be easily unlocked by someone with the Seventhborn's knowledge. He did it immediately, and the message within - recorded through Creation - started playing. But the voice speaking was far, far too familiar.

By the end of the message, Rehlin's expression had changed tremendously. And he, the ruler of the Changelings whose capital wasn't attacked since the Ascension Crisis, felt deeply terrified. He, who could lead thousands of sorcerers to war with ease, trembled and was covered in cold sweat.

"Absurd..." He mumbled. And yet... It was possible. He gritted his teeth in despair. The first generation was alive... Fucking alive! He gasped for air. Somehow he had dropped the stone disk. "Farnaraen, you old bastard... How did you survive?"