Alton passively watched Neryx set up a chessboard. Neryx was in a cleric’s body today. Someone named Lavender. He didn’t know what Lavender had done to earn his place among Neryx’s collection, but he likely didn’t deserve it.

“I’m not in the mood to play a game today,” said Alton.

Neryx’s hand hovered over a pawn. “I find that conversations over games tend to be more honest.” They then plucked up a knight and moved it for. “Chess has a way of bringing a man’s soul to the surface.”

Did they mean that playing chess made it easier to tell if people were being dishonest? Weird. What a weird and repulsive way to say that. Alton didn’t have a taste for chess and it had nothing to do with the fact that Zaniyah had beaten him twenty-six times out of twenty-six games. He hated dealing with necromancers.

“I won’t be playing today.” Alton leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

Neryx neither smiled or frowned. “I’ll leave the board as it is. You’ll make a move eventually.”

“Is this your way of playing with your food?” Alton asked with a tilt of his head.

His somewhat worried expression was highly entertaining to study. “You aren’t food,” replied Neryx. “Nor do I have plans to harvest you. My goals are lofty and my patience is eternal.”

“Sure, yeah. You absolutely have no reason to murder me and play dress up,” replied Alton sarcastically. “You must have had some great reasons for the dolls you already have.”

Neryx’s expression continued to be unreadable. “No one chooses death willingly. Nor can I afford to wear you like a skin. Death robs the body of magic, and Lustro needs a prince capable of singing your songs.”

“Prince?” Alton scoffed loudly. “I’m not a prince.”

“You’re the grandson of King Howell. Though we currently plan on having Viokern hold the crown, that doesn’t mean you can’t one day be king. When Lustro is ready for a mixed-race ruler, the crown will be waiting for you.”

Alton dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “You’re clearly mistaken. I’m a member of the Toval family. We hail from Carapace.”

His tone was making Neryx bitter. “Must you feign ignorance now? You spent so long fighting tooth and claw to have your past restored to you. Accept the gifts that I am offering you.”

“The Toval family follows a tradition of taking in lost souls who've been backstabbed by their families,” replied Alton. “I’m not one to go against tradition.”

Neryx didn’t say anything. They quietly rested a hand on the chessboard while they studied Alton’s face.

“Blood carries no weight with me,” Alton added. “I’m a Toval until the day I die.”

That was unfortunate. This child was as stubborn as Wulfric. “A shame that didn’t teach you to be wiser.”

The Tovals taught Alton much in life, but excelling at being an annoying prick was his own special talent. Alton put on a cheeky grin. “I’m as wise as I need to be.”

“Members of the four founding families are forbidden from harming one another,” replied Neryx. “Paladin Zaniyah Arbutus has attempted to rob the Black Palace, King Howell Aconite’s territory. According to the ancient law, he is unable to retaliate appropriately.”

“King Howell is dead,” retorted Alton.

“I am King Howell,” spat back Neryx. “Thus, I will follow the old traditions. A servant of Paladin Zaniyah’s will suffer the punishment she rightly deserves. If you had been an Aconite, I would offer the same courtesy as you.”

Zaniyah had no servants. The closest she had was Vincent, who had been taking care of both her and Alton. Alton had gotten back his letter, but the only one to message him was Zaniyah. She was going off some erotic novel she had been reading lately. Having gone over some of the love scenes in excruciating detail, Alton could swear that someone was somehow monitoring their letter messages.

He couldn’t be bothered to wonder why Zaniyah was being more Zaniyah than usual. Neryx was stating that Alton could shrug his punishment off on Vincent if he was willing to admit he was an Aconite. A bizarre threat that was. Neither option appealed to him.

A sudden worry crossed his mind. That Vincent would be the next victim of Neryx’s collection. Alton didn’t believe that his heritage mattered. Neryx didn’t seem like the type to be swayed once he set eyes on a body. He felt completely helpless when it came to stopping the necromancer.

“... My name is Alton Toval,” said Alton quietly.

Neryx placed the tip of his finger on the knight piece. “I eagerly await your opening move, Mister Toval.”

He felt sick. Alton kept his gaze locked on the table as Neryx left the area. His letter was in his pocket, but he felt too paralyzed by his own mental chess game. Were they monitoring their letters? If he contacted Vincent and asked if he was alright, would they attempt to push into their threats against the paladin in order to control Alton?

That paranoia of not knowing what the right thing to do was spreading like a plague across Fogbloom. Kogin watched as Duxton slept on his couch. The prince’s breath was staggered and he had already soaked through the towel that was set on his forward. There was a fear that he would soon end up with a dead prince in his apartment with no way to explain it.

“... We need to get him to a doctor.”

“Not yet,” replied Chickadee.

He was still working on the brooch that was supposed to resurrect Tria. If he could get Tria here, she could help Duxton. She could put this whole would-be war and trouble with the Order of Alcea. This brooch was all he needed.

Chickadee bonked the brooch against the table a few times. Death removed the spark of life from blood iron, but partial resurrection could be achieved using Veximarl’s blood iron. His gaze slowly drifted towards the Heart of Eishur, which was idly propped up next to the front door.

That thing made the Fogbloom blood iron gem in its scabbard cast time magic. Worst case scenario, Chickadee would end up commanding Tria’s magic as his own. There was absolutely nothing wrong that could happen in that situation.

Kogin fretted about. His nerves were fried. “I’m going to the cafe across the street. Do you want me to bring you back a sandwich?”

“Fried cod sandwich would be nice,” muttered a half-conscious Duxton.

Not the person he was talking to, and he wasn’t going to feed a dying man a fried anything. “Walter?” Kogin clarified his question. “Do you want something?”

Chickadee glanced at him with the corner of his eye. “Jam,” he replied before looking away again.

Biscuits and jam. Kogin faked a smile. “Okay.”

Chickadee fetched the sword of Eishur and began to violently shake it upside down. The blasted thing would only let him pull it out of the scabbard if either Sybil or Veximarl explained to it that it was maintenance time. Otherwise, he was forced to throttle it into submission like this.

“Uhm…” Kogin had put on his jacket, but now Chickadee was blocking his way to the door. “Is everything alright?”

“Percussive maintenance,” replied Chickadee. He then awkwardly sidestepped until Kogin could get around him.

“It’ll be an hour un-”

Chickadee’s attention remained on the sword as he gave a slight tilt of his head. He didn’t hear the door shut. Ah, and Kogin had stopped talking as well. Perhaps someone was at the door, but that was none of his concern. Fixing the brooch was his priority.

He turned his head when he didn’t hear anyone say anything. Much to his bewilderment, the sound of a horn could be heard as a chariot blasted past the door. Kogin stood frozen, still holding the door ajar. Chickadee then looked to Duxton and pondered for a moment if he was also frozen or if he had passed out.

Chickadee shook his head and completely disregarded his better judgment as he squeezed his way past Kogin. What should’ve been a tight hallway leading to a narrow stairwell was abruptly a busy street. Rather than horses, massive, long-legged parrots were hitched to carts and carriages. Some even had harnesses which people were riding.

Even people was a loose word. Humanoids of every size and color, some scaled, some feathered, some tailed, some vaguely resembling something familiar, were along the street. Building surfaces were glazed with porcelain and covered in murals of shell-shaped flowers.

Chickadee looked back at Kogin, to see if there was some expression frozen on his face. Did he see such a scene right before he was frozen? Yet, he was greeted by the sight of a temple. Any trace of Kogin’s apartment was gone. Unlike the vivid scene around him, this temple’s architecture was similar to what he had seen in Carapace, save for the domed observatory on top.

That sense of familiarity implored him to step inside the temple. The steps of his bare feet slowly drummed against the cold floor as Chickadee carefully explored this new realm. Stained glass images of constellations and planets lined the walls. Black glass combined with lighter colors, gems, and sunlight left dazzling scenes.

At the center of it all was a large globe, as tall as Chickadee. He encircled it for a moment, tilting his head inquisitively as he did so. This temple was a place to worship astrology. Something which he had not heard of before. Not even from Veximarl’s swamp mumbo jumbo talks of the god’s past.

“Lustro isn’t there. It did not exist until after the fall of this world.”

A woman’s voice echoed throughout the chamber. Chickadee stood up straight. He still had the sword in one hand and the brooch in the other. Both were held defensively against his chest as he sought to find the source of the voice.

“Over here,” called the woman.

There was a window behind the globe that had no stars nor glass. The material was smooth, yet faceted, and the same color and material as the outer edges of the Heart of Eishur. Behind it was a blurred shadow. One large enough to nearly fill the space.

“Tock had a hand in the creation of this blade,” continued the woman. “It establishes domains which a chosen and a god may converse. My domain is a shadow of a different world. One which worshiped Eishur as their god.” She paused for a moment as she carefully debated her words. “... Forgive me for not making a proper appearance. Many find it jarring during their first time.”

Chickadee approached the shadow. He stared at it in awe for a moment before dropping to one knee. “... My Lady.”

Another pause was given. “... Will you not ask me for a boon?”

Chickadee rapidly shook his head back and forth. That was a request he had for gods he deemed useless and lazy.

“Very well,” continued the woman. “Stand, Walter. There is no reason to kneel.”

Chickadee hesitated for a moment before standing up. He kept his gaze respectfully down at the ground and remained silent.

“The brooch will not work because Semira’s lifeforce has been extinguished. She attempted to halt her decomposition by splitting her memories and body.” The vaguely humanoid shadow extended one hand to her side. “The memories closest to her heart were stored in her remaining bits of blood iron.” She then extended her other hand. “And her teachings were then etched out upon her body and given to the would-be Sybil.”

Then the blood iron and the brooch were useless. “It worked before,” whispered Chickadee. The brooch worked on the same theories as Veximarl’s spear. He had even created a ring that allowed him to summon Cacophony. There was no reason for it to not work.

“Allow me to clarify,” replied the woman. “The blood iron only contains a record of her memories. It is no different than the book which the would-be Sybil gave to you. Unlike the tainted monstrosities you have worked with before, a book has no will to live. It has no drive to defy death. It is merely a record that is incapable of growth and progress.”

“Tria,” spat back Chickadee.

“Is a god of balance,” interrupted the woman. “Balance is the conversion of energy from one state to another. It is neither good nor evil. It simply is. Even without Semira, the cycle continues.” Her shadow lowered her hands, returning to a single, tall blob. “Knowing this, do you believe that the resurrection of Semira is necessary for Lustro to continue?”

Chickadee thought about it for a moment. He then gave a subtle shake of his head. Tria had not played a role in Lustro in some time. Necromancy magic continued to work and there seemed to be no changes to how blood iron functioned. Though her existence acted as a shortcut to end their predicaments, it wasn’t an absolute necessity.

“Do you wish to find a way to resurrect her?”

Again, it was a shortcut to their predicament. Chickadee nodded. Having her on their side would greatly ease their efforts to both overthrow the Order of Alcea and stop the would-be invasion. That was practical thinking. He personally preferred to have her around so that Veximarl would have the opportunity to have his mother returned.

“Then you must find the true god of death,” replied the woman.

The ground shook below Chickadee’s feet. A wave of dust rushed in from the outside. Any sounds of the city had been washed away to dull silence. On the globe, a faint, small light appeared in the ocean. Chickadee stepped closer for a better look. The shape was similar to a map of Lustro, but it was so much smaller than he had imagined. Every other continent dwarfed it.

“The world which is now your moon was once a thriving planet,” explained the woman. “A god named Solace rendered that world to ash. He tore a piece of it off and hurled it toward your world, Eishur. Crea and Bellia bound their strength together. They deviated the energy from that blast and used it to create two gods. Tyrtain, lord of elements, and Tock, the overseer of time.

This temple was carried from one world to another. It still stands, hidden away in a town named Bouldgale. Tock chose this temple as their resting ground when Tuvayl Brayton placed him into torpor.” The ground shook again as the globe slid back and an altar raised out of the ground. “He would later be devoured by a would-be.

Humanity would assign Tria many names, but Tock has always been the true god of death. Time cares not for balance. Only that there is a beginning and an end. The new god born of Tock’s corpse has bided their time and developed mind magic, but they are still a student of time. I wish to propose a deal which will benefit both of us.”

Two items appeared on the altar. The first was a contract, the second was a quill. Chickadee pocked the brooch and tucked the sword underneath his arm. He quietly read the contract while the woman spoke.

“I wish to pay you with information.”

A method to fix Semira. She could give information on how to help anyone else he inquired about today as well. All Chickadee had to do was sign a one-year contract. He would guard the chosen wielder of the Heart of Eishur for the span of one year. That was either Veximarl or Sybil. Chickadee didn’t need to sign a contract to do that. This information was being given freely, without any effort given on his part. He picked up the quill and scribbled down his birth name.

“Excellent,” said the women.

The contract blackened. Chickadee let out a surprised gasp as the quill flew from his hand and stabbed him in the chest. His chest tightened and it felt like his lungs were turning to ice. This sensation was brief, quickly ending as soon as the quill absorbed into his body.

“You will need to take the Heart of Eishur to Bouldgale,” began the woman. “Along with the tome of Semira’s body and her blood iron. It’s likely that None, the god that devoured Tock, still idles within this temple. They will be able to reverse time on Semira’s remains and resurrect her. Were there any others you were concerned about?”

“Zaniyah,” replied Chickadee. “... And Duxton.” Only because he didn’t want Kogin to get in trouble for him dying.

“Ah…” The woman’s voice drifted. “... You must forgive me, but I usually receive news of the world directly through my chosen or Semira. If not them, then the snippets I receive through the prayers of my followers. The only reason we are speaking now is that I sensed Semira nearby and accidentally pulled you in. You will have to elaborate on your current troubles.”

Chickadee told her of the troubles Zaniyah had with paralyzation and Duxton’s sudden illness. The shadow behind the translucent stone was unmoving. She was careful to listen to every detail, as though her only interaction with the world was through the words of others.

“Mart is capable of creating nerve tissue,” she eventually replied. “He never had much of an interest in medicine. A skilled surgeon would be able to guide him through it.” The shadow nodded. “As for that prince… I believe they are suffering from a blood infection. Leave the Heart of Eishur by their side for a day. If there were healers in their bloodline, the sword will allow them to temporarily use that ability.”

That was certainly news that Chickadee could use. Complicated news that he would have trouble relaying later on. He frowned as he furrowed his brow. There had to be something else he could ask. He struggled to cross-reference everything he needed help with and everything he believed this goddess could accomplish.

“If that is all…” The woman raised her hand.

Chickadee opened his mouth but failed to say anything. There was so much running through his head that he couldn’t muster a single word to say at that moment.

“I last spoke to my current chosen nearly a year ago,” continued the woman. “Please take care in finding him. I would appreciate it if he could put an end to this war.”

A flash of light had Chickadee covering his eyes with his forearm. He felt a twisting sense of vertigo as the air abruptly warmed around him. His chest tightened again. It was so painful that he felt like he was going to double over.

“-til I return.” Kogin glanced over his shoulder. “... Will that be too long?” He was concerned because Chickadee was suddenly looking unwell.

Chickadee shook his head. The sudden change from the temple to Kogin’s apartment had taken a toll on him. “Take your time.”

He bid Kogin farewell and unceremoniously dropped the sword on Duxton’s chest. Duxton let out a groan before he set a hand on the scabbard. Chickadee watched his heavy breathing settle before taking a seat on the edge of Kogin’s bed.

Chickadee placed his palm against his chest. He could feel the contract there, as though it had been burned into his soul. The name of his ward, the one who he had to protect over the next year. Elliot Frostwick, a man who Chickadee had never heard of before in his life.