“It is an honor to present myself to our congregation today. This has been a day of homecoming. I can say for certain that I have finally found the home I have been searching for my whole life. Thank you all for your warm welcomes.”

Veximarl stood at the altar of Fogblooms most prestigious church, Rosemary Cathedral. The elite of Fogbloom came here every Satyrday to pray and gossip, making it the perfect place for his social introduction. There were already gasps of horror when Laurent had spoken Veximarl’s name moments ago. Now they were all staring at him with wide-eyed terror.

“I’m reminded of a story from the Book of Tria.” Another muffled gasp rippled through the crowd. Tria’s texts had been illegal for over two-hundred years, so their reaction wasn’t all that surprising. “It was humanity’s decision,” whispered Veximarl. He then raised his voice. “Humanity is at fault for causing the division within the church.

My noble ancestors were the ones at fault. It was easier to blame a god rather than fix the flaws that they had bred. Their followers gladly tossed my mother out of their church without any regard to how her siblings would feel about it. We hold celebrations in honor of Iath, Eatha, and Mart and pray for their guidance, but not one of you have ever felt their presence during your lifetimes. Why do we force ourselves to follow rituals that will bear no fruit?

Neither your parents, nor your grandparents, or their grandparents have been allied with any of the gods. We must remedy our ancestor’s wrongs before we can carry on into the future.” Veximarl rested his palm against the bible on the altar. “I refuse to carry on the tradition of ignorance. Either we accept the gods as they are or we abolish the church.”

He wouldn’t have felt so bold if he had not Laurent Aconite on his side. The congregation should’ve tied him up and thrown him into the ocean. With Laurent here, taking action against Veximarl was the same as acting against the crown. His very existence was now an informal royal decree. Necromancy and Tria will be legalized.

Such actions would still face opposition, no matter how much support he had. Panic was now sweeping through the pews. The voices were growing louder and louder. Men barked over the crowd while women stood up and threatened to faint.

“I am reminded of a story from the Book of Tria!” Veximarl’s voice boomed against the walls of the cathedral. He waited for there to be enough silence for him to continue. “Tria often traveled across Lustro and helped those that she found along the way.

She stopped by a town and discovered that they still had a small shrine dedicated to Tyrtain. The town had a church dedicated to the Four, but they told her that Tyrtain’s shrine answered prayers that were beyond the Four’s influence. Tria felt struck by curiosity. She and her siblings were powerful deities. How could there be a wish that they themselves could not grant?

Tria decided to see what sort of man would choose to pray at such a shrine. The only worshipper she found was a man wearing the robes of a beggar. She asked him what he was praying for and he replied that he only wanted a bit of honey. Having seen a bee’s nest on her way to the town, she told him its location and said that the hive was overflowing with honey. He would be able to gather it himself.

He had thanked her for the help and went along his way. Tria may have helped the man, but her curiosity had not yet been sated. She waited for another worshipper to appear, to see what sort of prayer they had, but no one came. The next day, she returned and found the beggar had once again appeared. He was praying for a log of timber. Dry and ready to work with.

Tria told him the location of a tree that had died while standing. Its wood would be free of rot and already dried and ready for use. All he would need to do was cut it apart himself. Once again, he thanked her and went along his way. Still unsatisfied by his prayer, Tria continued to wait at the shrine for her answer. She still desired to know of a wish that the gods could not answer.

On the third day, Tria was unsurprised to meet the beggar again. She asked him what he was praying for, and he told her that he wished for it to rain. This, out of any wish he had had before, had confused her the most.

The snow had been heavy during the last winter and the rains had been plentiful during the spring. There was no reason to wish for rain. All the rivers were still fat with water and there had been no problems with the aquifers. He had no reason to wish for water.

When she told him this, he hesitated. The beggar explained to her that he was once a blacksmith. Age had destroyed his shoulders and he could no longer maintain his profession. Without any children between him and his wife, and no living relatives for either of them to rely on, he was forced to turn to begging in order to make ends meet.

Their poor lifestyle left his wife on her ill and on her deathbed. Her only request for her last meal was some tea sweetened with a bit of honey. She passed that evening, and the next day, the beggar sought out lumber to build her a coffin. Since he and his wife only had each other, his only desire was to plan her funeral for a day which it rained. He wished for the skies to weep with him.

Tria asked him why he didn’t choose to pray in the church. A god could have helped him earn a fortune, or cured his wife’s illness. The man replied that such miracles were unpredictable. It was better to rely on the kindness of his fellow man rather than ask a higher power to solve his problems for him.

Tyrtain’s shrine was beside a busy road. There were many who needed odd jobs done and the beggar was willing to put in the work for a quick coin. He had even met doctors who were kind enough to look after his wife. One had told him to make comfortable during the coming days, so that is what the beggar chose to do.

A merchant could spare a spoonful of honey. A carpenter might spare some wood for a coffin. A farmer would have an almanac that could predict the weather. This shrine had not been a place of worship for Tytain, but a place where a man could make the connections. Though Tria was a god, all the beggar saw was a woman who had helped him treat his wife with kindness and respect during her final house.”

Veximarl let out a sigh. He felt so unbelievably tired. Society was placing a vice on his patience. “We cannot claim our good fortunes as favors from the gods. Humanity works for humanity. It is our responsibility to shorten the divide between the weak and the strong.” He bowed his head forward. “It is my sincere hope that you take Tria’s story to heart and consider the fact that not everyone in this world has had the opportunities that you all have had. All we have is each other.”

He stepped away from the altar and went to a backroom. Veximarl then buried his face in his hands and quietly waited for mass to end. Though he was supposed to sit next to Viokern during services, he couldn’t bear to do so. These people were a curse upon his existence.

Sybil was imprisoned and he had been told that Alton was in a coma. He wasn’t certain what problems Zaniyah was going through and Chickadee wasn’t replying to the inquiries that had been sent to his letter. Veximarl was now scrambling to put together the tattered pieces of last night. His friends were depending on him.

Laurent stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “You neglected to use the sermon we agreed on.”

“Apologies, but cannot bring myself to smile and act merry in front of such a crowd,” muttered Veximarl. He kept his head down, choosing to stare at the floor instead of looking up.

“There are those who are claiming that you are taking a stand against the church. Your sermon openly declares that religion is unnecessary for society to continue.” Laurent took a seat across from Veximarl.

Veximarl shook his head. “The church should be more charitable with its actions.”

“The church or myself?” Laurent asked in a half-amused tone.

“Both,” replied Veximarl flatly.

Laurent folded his hands and leaned forward in his seat. “Miss Twist is at the White Palace. I’m aware that you are wary of the establishment, but I have sent them word. They are expecting your arrival. Please take your time speaking with Miss Twist and verify the information I need.”

The White Palace was a prison built into the cliffside that bordered Fogbloom. The inside was an elaborate maze coated with runes that inhibited magic. Divine magic supposedly still worked within, meaning that Veximarl could bring one of his summons inside. Alessia once worked there. She would be the best choice.

Veximarl didn’t care about what information Laurent wanted. Sybil’s safety was far more important to him. “I understand.”

“I expect it to go well,” added Laurent. “It will take some time to properly prepare Miss Twist’s room. We’ll work together to help the transition proceed smoothly.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Veximarl. “Do I have permission to bring the requested documentation with me?”

“You do.” Laurent watched Veximarl for a moment. The necromancer was clearly suffering from stress. “There isn’t a need for us to rush through this. I guarantee the safety of your friends and allies, that is, as long as you make no plans to ally yourself with Duxton.”

That felt like a lie. Veximarl existed in that ill gray area where he was easily disposable. They were only trying to make him happy because he was useful to them. People like him were only destined to be thrown away the moment they were no longer needed.

Veximarl thanked Laurent for his time and fled the cathedral before anyone else tried to trap him into a conversation. He first picked up the documents he needed, then made his way to the White Palace. The prison’s entrance was well guarded, but they let him pass easily. Alessia walked beside him, acting as his guide.

Gwyn and Shaw were waiting by the entrance. Shaw was loudly attempting to find Zaniyah while Gwyn quietly waited off to the side. Veximarl pulled up his hood and walked past the pair. If there was one benefit to being treated nicely by the rich, it was that no one seemed to recognize him if he wore properly fitting and regal looking clothing.

Alessia glanced over her shoulder as the pair walked past. “Are they friends of yours?”

“Only the woman, but I doubt she will wish to speak to me ever again,” quietly replied Veximarl. He held up an elegant looking key. The guard at the entrance had given it to him. “What do I do with this?”

Alessia took it from his hand and walked ahead of him. “It tells you where to go and opens up the path. We should go to the second block.” She hit a button on the wall, and a seam opened up within it. A set of doors opened and revealed an elevator. “I’ve always been told that one has the nicer rooms.”

The two stepped into the elevator and Alessia pressed another button. Veximarl steadied himself as the elevator went not up but sideways. It continued to shift until it opened up again, revealing a waiting room. There was faint music vibrating out a large crystal by the elevator door and several benches had been scattered about. As if people had moved them around for their own convenience and no one had come by to straighten them.

Alessia let out a sigh of disgust. “Always hated the music here.” She looked up at Veximarl. “It’s been stuck on that for five hundred years. No one can figure out how to change it.”

Veximarl held a finger to his lips. “Someone is here,” he whispered.

There was a set of voices talking in the corner of the room. One was being objective while the second was attempting to get the first to shut up. Veximarl gestured for Alessia to look out first. Likely someone here on Sybil’s behalf. Anyone in that position would be someone that Veximarl wanted to avoid for the time being.

“Are you with the church?” Patterfall had noticed Alessia’s attire before anything else. He stood up and approached the elevator as Alessia stepped out of it. “I am here to inform you that you cannot speak to Miss Twist unless I am present. I’m acting as her legal counsel.”

“You’re truly not,” whispered Duxton. He was the type of person to use up two benches, with his butt on one and his feet another. His eyes narrowed as he watched Veximarl exit the elevator next. “... Vex,” he greeted with disdain. He set down his feet and sat up.

“Duxton,” replied Veximarl. There was another door across the room. That would likely lead him to Sybil’s room. He began to walk that way, leaving Alessia to deal with Patterfall.

Alessia smiled and placed a hand against the upper part of Patterfall’s arm. “We’re here to discuss her release. There isn’t a need for your council.”

“Forgive me, miss,” replied Patterfall, “but I must insist that I be present while you negotiate the terms of her release. I fear that you may attempt to coerce her into a deal that is not to her advantage.”

“Shut it, Patter.” Duxton kept his gaze on Veximarl. His elbows rested on his knees and he folded his hands together as he hunched over in his seat.

“Duxton,” snarled back Patterfall. It wasn’t much of a snarl. He didn’t have the gusto or snark that his cousins had. Regardless of that fact, he did his best to sound intimidating.

“It’s Vex.” Duxton gestured to Veximarl.

Patterfall frowned. He knew that there was a Vex that Sybil had mentioned in her notebook, but he had no measure as to what sort of man this was. Other than the fact that Sybil trusted him, that is. Veximarl had shown up with a member of the church and wearing an insignia related to the palace. That didn’t give Patterfall a single reason to trust him.

His wary glare was annoying Duxton. “It’s her old captain. He won’t go against her best wishes.”

Veximarl continued to ignore the pair. He finished crossing the room, pressed the button on the wall, and waited for the second elevator to open. Once it did, he stepped inside and held the door open until Alessia joined him. She had somehow picked up a basket during her journey across the small room.

“What’s in there?” Veximarl glanced over her shoulder as she took a peek inside.

“Smells like food,” muttered Alessia. “The wimpy one insisted I bring this to Miss Sybil.”

Veximarl stared blankly at her for a moment. “... I see.” Sybil had a strange way of making friends. He felt concerned that she had become close to a lawyer.

Alessia took the key she had gotten earlier and placed it into a slot on the wall. She gave it a twist and their elevator began to move. “More of Thomas’ descendants?”

“Indeed,” replied Veximarl. Patterfall had a violet crest brooch idling at his neck. A symbol used by Duchess Elbellziara.

“Huh…” She shook her head with amazement. “They’re everywhere.”

“They truly are,” grumbled Veximarl.

The elevator let out a ding as the door opened. This prison cell wasn’t as inhospitable as Veximarl imagined. It was almost as nice as the room he had at the palace. Crystal lamps acted as the lighting as well as provided musical ambiance to the room. There was a writing desk as well as a bookshelf that had been stuffed with some ancient texts, as well as some lifting weights and a prayer mat in the corner.

Sybil sat on her bed, dressed in a simple white prison tunic and slacks. She was reading a book and ignoring the pair that entered. She gave a sideways glance towards the basket that Alessia set down on the desk. It had a charm hanging off the handle. A sphere carved from white wood and embedded with an amethyst. This was Patterfall’s way of signaling that it was from him.

She continued to ignore Alessia and Veximarl as she got out of bed and approached the desk. Sybil immediately reached inside the basket and grabbed a fruit and nut muffin. A second, more careful look was given, and she next pulled out a notebook. It was the one that she and Patterfall had been passing back and forth. Nice to know that she’d have some homework to do while she was in jail.

“How are you doing?” Veximarl asked.

“... Eh,” replied Sybil.

She smacked the wall by the desk. A panel that had nearly been invisible before opened. Sybil began to mess with the dials inside, turning off the music and turning up the lights. Dim lighting suited her fine, but she didn’t want Veximarl to suffer from eye strain.

Alessia watched as Sybil messed about, completely dumbfounded by what she was seeing. She had worked at the White Palace while she was training to be a royal guard and had never heard or seen any of these panels. Sybil double-tapped the wall next to the panel and it shut before Alessia could get a better look.

“Is that all you have to say?” Veximarl couldn’t help to feel hurt by her welcome.

“Let me take a moment for some real talk, alright, Vex?” Sybil leaned against the edge of her desk. She took a bite of muffin and chewed it while she spoke. “I come here trying to kill the bad guy, right? But this stupid priestess in my body,” she said while she tapped her temple, “chooses to ruin my well thought out plans and murder someone else instead. I can’t get my rhythm back and end up arrested because of it.

So I end up waking up in… I don’t know where this place is. It’s probably a jail of some sort. There’s some mana dampening runes on the walls, I get food trays via this dumb waiter, and there was a damn mana dampening collar on my neck when I woke up. I’m pretty sure I’m in prison. Either way, I’m trying to adjust to my new life and you come in dressed up like that villain and you have a golem by your side. How exactly do you expect me to be doing?”

Veximarl understood that she would be upset, but she seemed to be handling everything… Sort of well? She at least seemed healthy. “It’s somewhat surprising that you would recognize her as a golem.”

“Look at me.” Sybil pointed to herself. “I’m the golem master.” Sybil opened a drawer and pulled out the magic inhibiting collar. “See this? The locking mechanism was rune operated!” She scoffed as she shook it. “It doesn’t even need a key! All I needed was a fork to change the engraving from shut to open!”

“... At least you seem to be keeping yourself busy,” replied Veximarl.

Sybil roughly dropped the collar back into the drawer and slammed it shut with a fist. “Plenty busy.” She shifted into mist and reappeared behind Veximarl, nonchalantly biting into her muffin the moment she reappeared. “I’m still able to use magic here. Half as good as normal, but I can still cast. You are too by the looks of it… Load of good this place is. Run by absolute idiots.”

Veximarl frowned. “My time is limited and-”

“I mean, look at this!” Sybil poofed and reappeared next to Alessia. “I don’t even have to try to escape now! Stonetoe is gonna show up at any moment, kick down that door, and find a way to blame the existence of this thing on me!”

Now Alessia was the one that was frowning. “... Miss Sybil is rather rude.”

“Frequently, yes, but that is hardly the point,” replied Veximarl. “Sybil.”

Sybil turned to face him. “What?!” She was completely exasperated. No doubt he came here to give her sudden and tragic news. That’s normally the only reason anyone ever talked to her these days. Ever since she left the core, all the fates had done was constantly barrage her with life-altering events.

Her attitude was starting to make Veximarl feel snippy. “If you’re so tired of this place, then leave. You seem more than capable of doing so.”

She held up a finger. “I’m waiting.”

“Waiting?”

Sybil’s lips spread into a wide grin. She had a hint of insanity glowing behind her eyes. “That bastard is gonna show up and gloat at me at some point, right? Interrogation or something?” Her hands started to choke the remaining bits of her muffin. “And when he does, I’m gonna fly directly into his lungs and suffocate the life out of him! Rune your way out of that, you Aconite bastard!”

Veximarl sighed. She was clearly under a lot of stress. He glanced over to Alessia, who was still glancing warily at where the panel was hidden. “Are you able to work?”

“I am,” she replied. She sat down on the edge of Sybil’s bed and closed her eyes.

“What is she doing?” Sybil’s gaze snapped between Alessia and Veximarl. “... What is she doing?”

“This is my distant cousin, Alessia Fogbloom,” explained Veximarl. “We’ve been working together since I arrived in Fogbloom.”

Sybil glanced at his spear. There was a metal bracelet tied to it. If her memory served her correctly, Omira Alcea had crafted that by taking several blood iron donations from her. By using it, Alessia had become the first Fogbloom in several generations to be able to cast time magic.

“... So she’s doing some sort of time thing?” Sybil was starting to realize her situation. “Is this my interrogation? You’re the one doing it?!” Alessia was going to probe her past for answers. She was going to lose her chance to burst out of Laurent’s chest like a victorious phoenix hatching from a blood volcano.

“It is part of the reason I am here, yes,” replied Veximarl.

“But my blood volcano,” whispered a dismayed Sybil.

Veximarl squinted at her. “... What?”

“You never understand what true sadness is until your greatest desires are torn right out from your grasp,” quietly replied Sybil.

No matter what she was babbling on about, Veximarl had to press on. “I’ve come here today to give you some honey.”

“I have honey,” replied Sybil. “Patterfall put a little jar of honey in that basket, along with some butter and jam. He’s often very generous when it comes to his bakery baskets.” Shame there wasn’t a heater in here. She could have made some cheese and honey toast. Oh, and he hadn’t put in any clotted cream. Was there a way for her to get some clotted cream?

“It’s a metaphor, Sybil,” said Veximarl.

“I’ve never been good with metaphors, Veximarl.” Sybil scowled at him like he should’ve already known that about her.

He was growing very tired of dealing with her when she was like this. Veximarl took out a journal from his jacket’s breast pocket and took a step towards Sybil. The world around him became blurry for a moment. Alessia’s casting him was starting to drain him dry.

“What’s that?” Sybil met Veximarl halfway and took the book from him. She began to flip through it.

“It’s a-”

“Omiro Alcea’s research journal,” interrupted Sybil. She had to sit down again, in order to better absorb what she was reading. “... On manufacturing a would-be.”

Veximarl knew that easing her into the truth wouldn’t be easy. It was better to be upfront and honest. “The Order of Alcea is a cult that believes that the gods of old have abandoned us. They believe that the morality of man cannot be upheld without religion, thus they seek to create new gods through the murder of the old ones.” He paused, if only to let his words set in. “That journal is the foundation for the Order.”

Sybil studied one of the pages. It was covered in runic writing. Everything she was looking at… These were the rantings of a madman. “Then I wasn’t wrong.” She had every right to target Laurent. “These people have to be stopped, Vex.”

“I do not know who to side with,” replied Veximarl.

“Vex!”

“I’m not going to tell you what you should do or who to side with,” added Veximarl. “My wish is that you read that journal. Honestly read it. None of this… Random assassination business.”

“That man doesn’t deserve to live,” spat back Sybil.

“Then name a single crime of his,” retorted Veximarl. “Tell me what he has done to wrong you. Especially nothing involving blood volcanos.”

Sybil hesitated. “... He’s obviously done something wrong.”

Veximarl shook his head. “Alessia?”

Alessia opened her eyes. “I’ve verified the information. It’s accurate.”

“Ah, that’s…” Veximarl was saddened by the news. “Yes, that’s… Possibly unfortunate.”

“... Eh?” Sybil tilted her head. What was he on about?

“I’m going to do what I can to help you, Sybil, but you have to be willing to work with me. It will take some time, but you are going to be transferred to the main palace. I am still trying to get the information I need to keep you safe. Please be patient and try not to run away in the meantime.”

“I guarantee nothing.” Sybil held her nose high and turned away.

Nothing was at least a start. “I’ll return when I’m able to.”

Sybil had already worked out most of the secrets in the room in a few hours. Veximarl was worried that a few days would lead to her burrowing through the walls. Worse, she could figure out how to reprogram the rooms and turn this place into an absolute deathtrap.

“Promise nothing,” muttered Sybil.

Veximarl gestured for Alessia to follow and made his way back to the elevator. Alessia used her key to open it and the two went inside. He then leaned against the wall and struggled to catch his breath.

Alessia kept him steady by bracing a hand against his shoulder. “Will you be able to make it back alright?”

“It will be better to unsummon you and speak again once we’ve returned to the garden,” gasped Veximarl.

Alessia shook her head. “A moment.” She held up a hand. “... I wish to speak to you about Prince Duxton. It’s quite important.”

Up in the waiting room, Duxton was back to sitting on a bench. They were making him wait on purpose. As crown prince, he should’ve easily had access to a prisoner’s cell. Now he was forced to wait for Patterfall to return and see if the title of Duchess Elbellziara’s son would do them any better. He had expected there to be some disrespect towards him, but they were being far too severe.

He sighed. It wouldn’t be long until his titles were officially stripped from him. Duxton would be forced to become a commoner. Once he had found himself at the bottom, those in charge will find a way to permanently silence him. Most likely through death. It was always death.

The elevator doors dinged and Duxton stood up. Veximarl was standing there. Next to him was a pile of clothes. “Afternoon, Vex.” He then nodded at the clothes. “And Vex’s dress.”

Veximarl held up his hand and Martyr appeared in front of him. She leaped at Duxton, who had also held up his hand defensively. Orange light sparked about his palm as his spell snapped before he could properly cast it.

Martyr knocked him into the ground. His shoulder and ribs let out a sickening crack as her teeth pierced through them. Duxton let out a gasp. He dug his nails into the stone floor and kicked his boots against the ground as he struggled to get free.

“Afternoon, Duxton,” growled Veximarl. “We need to talk.”