The sun shined brightly in the sky, not a cloud in sight to mar the pleasantly warm day. There was even a cool breeze. The perfect climate to lounge about, which Foy was doing plenty of. A shame such a comfortable moment was being tarnished.

Echoing around her, at a volume making infants weep. Foy listened to the endless ensemble of vows be proclaimed. The noise mingled with hordes of casual conversation. To say her ears rung was an understatement. Even with them pulled down she couldn’t escape the noise. Nor could she flee.

She, like so many others, is stuck. Sitting as cozily as one could next to a follower. Waited within the confines of caravan, her own hooded wagon moving slower than a snail. All because it appeared half the city was trying to leave at once.

The reason for this most bothersome outcome?

Gods, and their pestering priests.

Echoing louder than all the other buzz in the air. Their preaching stabbed into her eardrums.

“Malan refuses to release his grip.” They chanted to the hordes of people. “But fear not followers of Wargain, for his time draws near. As I speak our mighty gods, and their faithful are striking down the Ruiner lairs, removing his corrupting influence from the land.” People cheered, believing soon, or near enough their children would be saved.

It was hard not to give a mocking smile or laugh at their expense. ‘The young, the young, so naive and blind.” She hummed in her mind. It’s clear as the day that the curse taking place had nothing to do with her god. Malan never harmed the innocent personally, that was what she and Bronduff were for. Nor would he use his power on something so ineffective.

But the masses needed someone to blame, and who better than the source of all their troubles.

At least that is what they’re taught from birth. Few knew how inactive her god had been for the past three hundred years. Planning some great work, while she and her fellows maintained his religion as best as they could.

‘All that work.’ She mused. ‘Puff, up in smoke.’

How much she was unsure, but from Malan personal warnings, and his order to embark towards a location burned into her mind. It revealed enough for her to accept what the priests were shouting had tokens of truth. The gods were at play, shrines of Malan were being desecrated.

She would know to what extent once she got out of the city. With its wards up, casting out the dead, the Shadows among them. She had ended up blind to the affairs taking place. ‘Got complacent,’ she thought chiding herself. The centuries of hiding in the dark, unnoticed, and unbothered by the Patheon had caused bad habits.

Now she was paying for it. Stuck in a line with her wagon, hordes of heretics in front of her.

“This is unbearable.” Screamed a hulking Kolune, though nothing compared to Bronduff. “Father please.” Said a younger one half the size of his parent. If she were to guess, he is one or two years old. “You can’t expect the guards to get this line organized, just look how many of us there are.”

“You think me blind boy.” snapped the father, she could see scars on him. Likely a warrior that had once been in Wargain army. But low enough in the rank not to receive proper healing. “These people need to get out of the way. Only trained warriors through.”

“Father not so loud.” The young man pleaded, already wiser than his father. From the corner of her left eye, she could see the loud mouth was already drawing attention. Regardless of the fine weather and the preaching of evil meeting its end. Tempers were beginning to flare. Everyone wanted their chance of glory. To somehow find and skewer a heretic. As if Foy brethren would setup a base right outside the stronghold.

‘Why would we do that, when there’s a perfectly good city to house ourselves in.’ Shame it was all ruined now. To many miracles being worked, to many eyes open. She, nor the three followers with her in the wagon, could risk making offers to Malan. That and with the Shadows removed, thanks to god empowered wards. It was time to find new lands to settle. Or at least that had been the case before Malan vision.

Now her plan was to head north. ‘Why god, why the north?’ She didn’t actually send that question to him, she kept it to herself. ‘God I hate the cold.’ She didn’t have the fur for such climate, which meant wearing the skin of others. She was going to have to procure a Kolune coat, or end up making one herself.

‘Maybe I’ll get lucky and end up running into a fool hunting in the wilds.’ If this stronghold was so up in arms with righteous zeal, then others had to be doing the same. The lands filled with stumbling city folk braving the wilderness. Believing, quite foolishly, their gods were watching over them.

The thought comforted her, and alleviated some of her ill mood.

‘Couldn’t they have waited another week.’ She justly complained. Everything had been ready for a great offer to Malan, A night of poison within a mead hall. Now it was all for naught. She couldn’t risk forming a shrine, not with so many priests, and their gods on look out.

‘One day I’ll return to this place.’ She thought, mind roughing out a plan. ‘And I will poison every priest within it.’ Maybe even start a raging fire out of spite.

“It’s going to be a long wait princess.” The follow next to her – one of her kit - who currently controlled the pack beast, said. While at the same time, petting the top of her head. “But papa promises, we’ll get out of here by the nights end.”

She puffed up her cheeks and huffed out a breath. Playing a well-worn role. “But papa.” She said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “You promised by noon.”

The son posing as her father sagged his shoulders “Papa sorry princess, the gods have deemed otherwise.”

She huffed again, long ears going half straight in mock annoyance. “That not fair papa, how am I to complain when gods are involved”

The follower smiled. “You’re already are darling.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, he doing the same a moment later. Then playing the role too much. He placed an arm around her, pulling her into a half hug. The perfect sight of family bonding.

None of the heretics around them aware of who they were, or how lucky they had been. Staying pressed against a son who dearly wanted children of his own. Foy watched the slow movement of the caravan. The hundreds of souls whose Devotion could have been drained, if circumstance had been different.

Truly it isn’t fair, all those sacrifices dangled in front of her. The wagon held plenty of poisons, once mixed properly. She could start throwing components about, while her few remaining followers hurried about forming a shrine. The power collected would be a worthy sacrifice.

Alas, she and those with her would be cleansed from creation not even half way through the act. If not by the miracles of priests, then by a god. She, and anyone with a hint of sense, could feel the attention of the divine. Someone was watching, who? She couldn’t tell, given her nature and occupation. Being noticed enough to get a feel of a god wasn’t something she wanted.

To her relief the attention wasn’t focused on her, it felt broad, all encompassing. Someone on high watching for a spot of mischief.

‘They’ll be disappointed.’ She’s no young bun, regardless of her appearance. Not a hint of trouble would find this lucky stronghold. They would get to live under their tyrant in peace. Maybe in a century or two that would be different, but for all those around her they would be long dead.

“Can you feel it blessed followers of Wargain.” A priest shouted, “the wonder that is our pantheon watching over us.” People shouted praise, bellowing the names of their gods. “Malan has no influence here, his ilk and Shadows gone.” More zealous worshiping followed. And Foy fought down the raging urge to both roll her eyes, and promptly throw a dagger into the priest eye socket.

“The time of Wargain fallen brother is at an end. Our Pantheon is striking throughout the lands.” The priest laughed, a dim aura of light radiating from him. “He runs from shadow to shadow but he won’t escape this time.” Hands claps together, then raised in a sign of devotion. “This is a blessed time brothers and sisters.” Voice booming, the priest added. “Let the people through, so they too can aid in this final push to rid our holy lands of its last shadow.

Cheers erupted, deafening her. Pulling her ears down passed her shoulders, Foy forced a girly smile on her face. Hiding the scowl that wanted to form.

“Blessed day, blessed day” Her son said. “See princess the gods provide.”

“they sure do papa,” she replied sweetly.

‘It’s settled.’ She thought as the mob began to move faster. ‘When I return, I’m going to burn this place to the ground.’

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Huffing out of reflex rather than bodily need. Derrin scampered up another slope, his pack of notes and neatly rolled scrolls shuffling about. “Why now god, why now?” He shouted to the empty air. The vision burned into his mind pushing his thoughts to the side. The act disrupting his work. “I can’t categories like this, can’t think.”

He is in fact thinking, a great deal of it, but that’s not the point. The vision hampered him. Malan wouldn’t normally do this, which meant the words of warning and visions were important. Enough that his understanding god was being forceful. Something very much unlike him.

“Damndable pantheon and their constant meddling.” He rambled. “Can’t they stop destroying for a few decades at least.” He knew the answer, they’re a thickskulled lot, a group of thugs mostly skilled at breaking things. Anything else required to much concentration on their part. The ruins around him voiced the truth of his thinking. Another society smashed apart and its god withered away to nothing. All that remained were the skeletons of the civilization. The structures and preserved pieces of parchment.

It’s a common tale and most living in these uneducated times were clueless to the fact. Only he, and his fellow devotees to Malan knew the truth.

“So much lost.”

Humming a note of power, Derrin jumped over a large gap in the cave floor, easily bypassing the room sized hole. The sight meant he was almost back to the surface. How long had it been? Month, three? Or was it a year? No matter, time is a meaningless thing to him. Though his followers might be a tad worried if he’d been gone too long. “They’ll understand.” They always did, since they’re fellow scholars.

Slowing his pace, he came to a small galp, cool wind hissing through. He shivered as his stone dusted clothing rippled from the touch. The season had changed, which meant more than a month had passed.

“Can’t blame me, there’s no light down here. How am I to track time?” Sure, he could have asked his god, or checked the surface occasional. But oh, how he’d gotten so distracted.

“Maybe a small amount of blame then.” Placing a hand on the rock, voice rising with power he spoke: “I am the will, and I command thee, part.” The small gap became a well-formed opening. Wind howled through, but he was ready this time. Voicing protection, the wind never touched him. It instead collided with a transparent wall.

Stepping into the light, himself encased in a warm bubble, Derrin stared out at the open landscape of small mountains. Snow blanketed everything, the forest asleep for winter and the many animals in hiding. But that was meaningless details, what truly held his attention, and eyes widening. Was instead the large monstrosity in the air.

High up above the mountains themselves, and guarded by an army of Ascendants. Flew a thickly feathered creature with black unblinking eyes surveying the area. Searching for something.

Derrin, a reliquary of arcane knowledge, spoke one of particular usefulness in situations like this. “I will it to be, so it is truth, I am unseen.” The incantation rendered him unseeable to mortal eyes. Considering himself safe, he watched the spectacle.

As a scholar, aware of the nature of enemy gods. He deduced the creature before him is in fact one of Lisoe pets.

Interest taking him, he tracked the flight of the creature and warped stone to gain better leverages as he moved higher up. All the while Malan vision pulled at his conscience. The location he is to head for calling him. But he persisted, not only because of the sight, but because of its heading.

Recalling Malan warning, the need to flee away from his shrines. Derrin watched as the creature headed directly towards one. A certain one that he and the throng of followers had bult in the region. A place full of notes, bond books and great scholarly works to one day enlighten the people under Malan rule.

“No no no no.” He said at the howling wind and pulled at his drooping ears. Horror taking him. “Don’t you do it, by Malan wrath don’t you do it.” He already knew in his heart what is to take place. And the fact he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

No amount of arcane knowledge could change the fact he didn’t have the stored Devotion to fight such opposition. Nor his fellow scholars.

Powerless he began to pray to his god. Request aid. ‘Send them warning,’ he pleaded as he felt Malan link with him. Though him, his god saw the force. Understood the situation.

‘They are already fleeing and have moved as many scrolls as they could.’ Hummed Malan voice within his mind. ‘But your vision has been sent.’

He sighed in relief, not all was going to be lost then. Some would be saved; the rest would have to be rewritten from memory.

‘Thank you.’ He sent offering what Devotion he could.

‘Keep it Derrin, your journey is a long one and our enemies prowl the lands.’ Malan presence heighted, pressing on his shoulders. ‘Make haste, the time of my great work is at hand. And I need you five together.’

‘Of course, Of course I haven’t forgotten.’ He bowed to the empty air. ‘I will not tarry god, I will be there.’ the sensation of a hand resting on his scalp, and a feeling of thanks- announced Malan despatcher.

The vision pulled at him; the urge stronger than ever. Yet he remained there, standing on a peek. Long enough for the flying beast to let out a shrill and descend. Its mass slamming into distance hills, razor claws tearing into the ground as it dug a hole into his home.

“One day it will be your lots turn to face ruin.” Words of power on his lip, Devotion flowing through his veins, he pushed from his perch and hurried down the mountain. Heading towards the lands his god had chosen to be an altar.

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

Running through a forest that was quicky being trimmed away. Thanks to Wargain army of fortune seekers and labors using it for raw resources. Rimean focused on the vision in his mind. The pull guiding him. The journey is going to be long. He would have to use Devotion to maintain his body while he continually ran. He didn’t have time for rest or a meal.

Alas even with these obvious facts, sons of his followed. Many with haggard breathing. Their bodies almost at their limit, not much longer now. A minute or two and majority would flatter. Would listen to his words and continue his work without him.

“Please father.” The closest to him cried out. A stubborn son, but intelligent and diligent. A fine student who would spread Malan cult of healing to these distant lands. “A moments rest.”

He didn’t answer, he ignored them. Even as he heard sons lag further behind, then disappear from his hearing altogether. This tread continued till all that remained was the stubborn son.

Slowing his stride and finally coming to stop under the cover of soaring trees, Rimean turned to take in his boy.

The child collapsed to the snow, and pine needled floor. He barely had the strength to remain on all fours, taking deep panicked breaths. He looked so much like his mother, covered in a mix of blond and specked brown fur.

Rimean remained quiet, his breathing calm as he approached his laboring son. “You have your orders, I must go alone, such is Malan command.” The was vision clear, it was to be only the five of them present. No one else.

“We’re not ready,” the boy heaved out. “We need you.”

“Perhaps,” he answered. “But such is life, you all will adapt and be made stronger by it. More dependent on each other.” He planned to do this anyway, they needed to be able to operate on their own if the cult is to spread through the region.

Leaning down, pressing his mouth close to his son long ears, he whispered: “Pray to Malan, he will give guidance in my absence.” With that he left, and this time none followed. They no longer had the strength and he the patience to delay for them.

Life coursing through his limbs the forest blurred passed. Weaving a miracle of sound, enhancing is Heon hearing even more. Rimean listened to the heretics.

“Hurry brothers the highway is behind schedule and our fellows have need of it.” Calls of understanding sounded out, mingled with grunts. “This new continent has some gods with spine. A real fight, for a short time anyways. So hurry!” The overseer yelled. “Maybe we’ll get our own chance to father glory and honor.” That got cheers.

The sounds of trees falling to floor echoed all around him, joined with the sound of harsh labor. A fertile ground for his cult. So many would need healing, and ultimately end up with crippling wounds that would have them cast out. In a tide of Hundreds of thousands, the loss of a few souls meant nothing. Easily forgotten in the wave of souls hurrying to garner the attention of neglecting gods.

Those abandoned will be susceptible to whispers, to follow a new path, and a god that cared.

‘My sons and daughters will have an easy time here.’ Counter to their beliefs, they were ready. He hadn’t been light on their training; they knew almost everything he did. Except for key intel that couldn’t be shared.

Surveying the area, all of it still clear to him as it hurried passed. He spotted numerous herbs that will benefit his cult. They would allow his people to heal the wounded without the need of miracles. A display of might that would draw to much attention. Best Wargain eager mob believe them traveling herbalists.

Only those discarded, looking for a new life would learn the truth and receive healing normally reserved for the pantheons chosen.

Countless times that had earned the faith of a new initiates, turning them into loyal unwavering followers of Malan.

This fact hurried him, the sooner he reached his god, allowed Malan to enact a plan long in making. The sooner he could return to this new front of war. And convert Wargain followers into his own.

It was always good to gain new blood, a fresh stock of people to breed and secretly carry-on Malan religion. This new continent would be no different than the old. Its many villages devotees to Malan rather than Wargain pantheon. A blessing, seeing the heretics are out for blood. Many brothers and sister must have been lost by now.

Unlike his own sect, who never settled around a shrine to Malan. He was aware others frequently did. The act now costing them greatly.

‘I might be the mightiest of the five now.’ When it came to followers anyways. He’d yet to lose anyone to the heighten caution of their enemy. But a shrine they’d made had been found and destroyed. So the enemy knew there was some kind of presence.

‘A test for my sons.’ The unwise and careless would be whetted out. Leaving behind those fit to serve Malan in life. The rest would become Shadows, perhaps one day earning the right to be revived or bestowed a new body to inhabit.

Either way the visons bestowed to him by his god were untroubling. They would continue on, a light that would never be extinguished. Only dimmed from time to time. But like life itself it will bloom anew.

A necessity with how fate was going.

Jumping high and latching on to a thick branch, Rimean took a moment to study the forces swarming the land. Before him a endless caravan fanning out over the horizon.

From the vision of his god and Shadows alike. He was informed of the heartland current state. The god of war, conquering, and subjugation, had run out of foes. Worth ones anyway. And was rapidly solidifying his domain while ramping up his conquest to take a new continent. But from the sight, people wouldn’t except that. It looked more like a mass immigration than an army.

Few warriors made up their number, most were followers of the Architect. The pantheons planner of great works and unifying strongholds.

Enhancing his sight, he could already so the highway of stone being constructed. Once completed future armies and settlers would have a set path providing smooth travel.

It meant this expedition was here to stay and what land was taken, would never be returned. Not unless the pantheon against Wargain had significate strength to do so. A god who had never been bested in the realm of war.

The local pantheon was putting up a fight though. Far off into the distance, hidden behind hills, he could see the flashes of large miracles. The most obvious were from Wargain himself. From the heaven’s portals opened. Linking to his afterlife. Through it Ascendants rushed out. Souls contained within suits of armor, each bellowing out flames, and manifesting wings of fire that let them fly.

They were equipped with weapons of a similar make, swords, axes, and spears. Whose bladed parts glowed searing hot and could cut through almost anything not ward with miracles. In Rimean mind the outcome of the war was already done. He’d seen it first hand to many times not to know the pattern. Wargain would send wave after wave of Ascendants to attack the rival gods. Decimating their followers, while his own remained far behind the front lines, working on logistical matters.

Only the old, or those with too much independent thought. Would be allowed to head forward to actually face the enemy.

From the flashes of far-off battle, he knew the pantheon of these lands were falling prey to Wargain oldest trick. Getting them to waste themselves destroying constructs, rather than aiming for the source of the problem. The followers, the millions sending Devotion daily to powered it all.

It mattered not if the battle was won, the armies destroyed. As long as Wargain had his followers he could simply reform them. It was known to all under Malan care, that fighting Wargain on the open battlefield was the fastest way of handing him victory.

These foreign gods would learn this truth eventually, but by the then, like so many others, it would be too late. Their lands and followers will be consumed, added to Wargain growing domain. The march of conquest ever reaching.

Yet he wasn’t afraid, conquest couldn’t go on forever. If Wargain ever achieves his dream and conquers the realm. It would soon bring forth his demise. A culture of warriors can’t accept peace, not for long. One day, far off from now, Wargain own customs, his followers, would turn on themselves. For if there is no outside force to face, then the masses will turn inward.

Till then he would continue wandering the lands of war. Saving those left and provide them a new path to follow.

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

The realm trembled under his paws, quaking by the weight of heretical might. It made navigating his escape tunnel a tad treacherous. Portions were beginning to crack and flack to the floor. Hand resting on a wall he steadied himself and hurried the best he could.

Counter to what he’d preached to his sons and daughters, Ryan was afraid to die. And it wasn’t about the expenditure of Devotion needed to revive him. It was from two fears.

The first a common normal to his race. The fear of being left behind, that Malan, after to many failures, would replace him with another. Which in turn tied with the second. His fear of no longer being special. Just another skulking vermin in an endless horde. Thus, the fear of death nipped at him while his children gave their lives willingly in his and Malan name.

He sighed inwardly. ‘Rimean is going to lecture me over this.’ He always said establishing a base centered around a shrine was too much of risk. That it provided the heretics to large of a target. Naturally Ryan had refuted the claim, the danger was only to be had if the shrine could be found. And since most were in remote places, the danger mostly imaginary.

How wrong he had been, he’d only taken into account the acts of mortals. Not the searching eyes of miracle worked beasts and their gods.

‘It will be inconvenient, but there’s nothing else that can be done.’ From now on he would follow Rimean advise, cults and shrines would be separated from each other till the time to meet was necessary.

‘I hope he doesn’t gloat.’ Ryan thought before stumbling to his knees. This thanks to the rock under him shifting violently. Hissing he got back up, wiping his robes of the dust collecting on the floor. “Damned Heretics.” He muttered and hurried on. ‘They will pay for this, undoing my work.’ Even if it was only a small sect in the region. Loss was loss. The sons dying to keep the enemy distracted could have been better used elsewhere. Such as spreading Malan religion.

It is his main responsibility. A task handed down by god himself, due to Ryan skills at persuasion. A task he kept up for decades. Slowly building his own personal army of followers. Unlike other gods, hoarding power for themselves, Malan shared his and secrets.

For Ryan work, so his god could perform his own undisturbed. He got a small portion of Devotion each time a follower sent their faith to Malan. In terms of power, he likely had the most Devotion at his call to use.

He could turn back around, face the minions of Wargain and come out on top, for a time. Till greater foes arrived, or a god decided to interfere and smite him.

But that didn’t change the fact he is powerful, is special. And most importantly, needed. The vision called to him, Malan beckoning he arrive at a valley of mountains far to north of his location. The pull for him to do so was strong. Something so outside his god soft, undemanding nature.

It’s important, and Ryan would answer the request. Malan needed him desperately. So despite his growing irritation of heretics smashing his hard work. He continued retreating.

Down the path he went, going deeper. After a few more minutes it leveled off. The trembling a distant rumble. And in that dark tunnel, a portion of it lit by the working of a miracle. Ryan was met with his dead children. Shadows now, a show of faith and dedication that they were able to ignore the Glen. Or weak impulses to convert to another god.

He showed them a large toothy smile while they bowed in his presence.

With thought alone, rather than words, his children conveyed their happiness to see him well and far from the danger that had taken them.

‘Malan protects,’ he sent. ‘Now show me my children, your final moments.’

Images flooded his mind. Their once growing village, nearing that of a stronghold, in ruins. Constructs of steel and burning flame marched as one, heading for survivors. His kin fought well, sending down miracles of water and corrosive acid. But there was to many, and his children only had so much power within themselves. It was a given the battle would turn into a melee. One his kind weren’t suit for. Not when it came to one-on-one duels. They required superior numbers to win such acts of violence. Plus, against foes that bled.

‘All of you will be avenged.’ Ryan sent to his still fuming children. Shadows were angry, wanted to continue the fight. But Malan refused to send more essence to them. They, like most souls in the Glen, were now helpless as they watched their home be desecrated.

‘Peace my kin,’ he sent. ‘This is the heretics battlefield, open conflict.’ Shadows nodded reluctantly, some bowed. They did their best to quell the hate within their etheric hearts. ‘They will pay for this.’ He announced. ‘Villages will burn, heretics sacrificed to Malan. But for now we must flee.’ He sent orders to them, to guide the living away, and spread the order to the newly dead. The place is to be abandoned. With the area known to the enemy now, it would never been use again.

A new place had to be discovered and it would be the dead who would start the search. Normally he would have aided but, the pull from Malan. It kept him focused.

‘Our most divine god as called for me.’ The Shadows stilled. ‘I will be gone for some time, aiding the divine to unleash his great work.’ Excitement took his children; all had been waiting so long for Malan to act.

‘Gather our kin and settle new lands. I will find you when the time is right.’ An easily act since Malan would guide him to the location if requested.

All bowed once before the Shadows disappeared. Leaving him to the ongoing tunnel. He embarked with haste, for the Shadows weren’t the only ones to be thrilled. He had been around when Malan was active, a force behind him, always providing support. In those times Ryan had little to fear, when the fighting got tough Malan was at his back, bolstering his strength. Proving an endless stream of varying miracles. Only the works of other gods posed any real threat.

A squeak of joy left him, thankfully no one around to hear. ‘It’s been so long.’ The waiting had been trying, and for it to be coming to an end? Ryan legs couldn’t move him fast enough. ‘I can wait.’ He thought heart racing. Not only to see what his god had planned, but for the time that came after. For them as a whole to return to the times before. A force pushing back the blindness Wargain spread, to free the masses from their ignorance. To bring on the age of Wonder.