Fading through reality has this odd sensation that very few people have ever and ever will experience. It isn’t the same as dying. When a creature dies, its body and spirit are separated; the body is left to decay while the spirit, untethered from the mortal world, is drawn back to the body of the serpent, Boral, the being from which all life sprang. To fade through reality itself, to shimmer through all things as the manifestation of a void, is to witness something really and truly unreal. And Flip’s spell, his beckoning of the chains, had done just that. It was not teleportation magic, not banishment, not truly, but true calling magic. It was a spell that, while never replicated exactly, allowed one to feel the strength of all their connections and let them exert real force and power. The stronger the connection, the stronger the pull. And even with a fain connection, that power was enough to drag Flip through reality as though he were a black hole—stationary in the universe while every atom that ever was moved around him.

And it was not just Flip that had felt the beckoning of his chains, of his connections. Selian had passed through the void as well. Likewise, and though it had not occurred to Flip at all during the casting of his spell, the sentient armor that Flip wore on his head had held on to the wizard as well and passed along through the fabric of reality as well. This was not the direct intended effect of the spell of course, but a side effect. The intention had been to rely on the lack of connection that Helbrin Velsaffe had remaining in the mortal world. With connections only in the planes beyond mortal reaches, Helbrin would be dragged out back to the plane he had found himself after his death—when his spirit had been pulled to the edges of the planes and found itself anchored in the realm of his patron deity.

The feeling of fading back into reality, of returning to existence where the spell anchored them was nearly uniform for all of them. At first they could only hear, and only the sound of a distant and all encompassing whine that gradually faded. Then they could see, but at first only a black void; it made them realize that during their transport that they had experienced no visual sensation, not even darkness. But as the darkness subsided, and as the whining of existence faded, all senses came flooding back to them. First the pain of their aches and wounds suffered as they had traversed the tomb, the weariness of an unknown period of exploration, and the fear of being trapped. But those feelings were quickly overpowered by a sense of miraculous safety, the warmth of a fire, and the smell of home cooked food.

“There you are.” A voice familiar to Flip said with a sigh. “You have no idea how disconcerting it is to feel an unknown magical force call out to you and then have it linger without manifestation for hours.”

Flip couldn’t place the voice at first, only recognizing that it was familiar. But as his eyes adjusted to the light of the space around him, he saw the form of the person he trusted most in the world. And that was all it took.

“Oh, hey… Flip? You okay there?”

Cheska leaned down to where the wizard had collapsed on the floor of her temple in Builend. She felt his neck and was relieved to feel a pulse, but the unease was not completely dispelled. The priestess’ eyes met those of the elf that had appeared with him. She was still standing; bloodied and worse for wear, but still standing. Cheska towered over her, causing the elf to take a step back into a more defensive stance.

“Relax.” Cheska held out a hand as she spoke. “I’m his sister. I don’t know what kind of magic he performed to get here and drag you with him, but I’m pretty sure it drained him completely.”

“He’ll be fine, but his magical capacity has been strained to its limits.” The helmet said.

“Obscurity! Who is that?!” Cheska leapt back in response to the disembodied voice, reaching for the large sledgehammer by the hearth just behind her.

Selian, finally snapping out of her stupor and alarm at her surroundings, held her hands out to stay the orc woman’s hammer. “Hold on. Let me… let me sit down. No one’s… we’re… it’s just Faengil, and me, and that helmet on his head.”

“I am the helmet.” The helmet said with a deep artificial sigh. It was an odd sound, as the helmet did not have lungs or require air or have a real mouth. The sigh was more of a low dull vibration that sounded like a sigh. “Miss Farwysher, if you do not mind… would you please lift me and place me on a table or level surface so that I can look at something other than the ceiling.”

Careful not to scrape Flip’s head on the metal of the helmet, Selian removed the sentient piece of armor and placed it on the stone outcropping just by the open hearth. The elf didn’t feel comfortable placing it anywhere else, as everywhere else felt private, as if she had not been invited to touch any of it. The helmet said nothing more, but there was a sense of patient understanding that neither woman could quite grasp the source of.

“Would you mind explaining, elven lady, what you’re doing here?” Cheska’s hand was wrapped around the grip of her hammer now, but her body was relaxed. “I don’t mean to be discourteous, and normally all peaceful folk are welcome here, but you’ve been transported by magic into a place you shouldn’t have been able to... and you’ve got a piece of living armor with you. Even if you’re traveling with my brother, I know he’s gotten mixed up in something and been taken advantage of by unscrupulous folk before. So forgive me if I’m cautious.”

“No, that’s… you’re right.” Selian found herself staring at the orc woman in front of her, suddenly completely lost in thought.

The last ten minutes of her life had been utter chaos. Really, the last month of her life had been utter chaos. Suddenly she felt calm and safe and secure, this woman seemed to radiate peace and kindness. And there was so much information being shoved on her at once, Selian was at once overwhelmed and calm. It was a forced mixture, a magical influence, which seemed to be having a very negative effect on her.

“Can I have some water?”

“Of course.” Cheska let go of her hammer and retrieved a nearby bucket with a ladle and handed it to her guest. “I’ll trade you for your full name, for courtesy sake.”

Selian accepted the bucket of water graciously and nodded as she slurped up a ladle full. “Of course. My manners… my name is Ra… Selian. Selian Farwysher.”

Selian had felt the immediate compulsion, stronger than her impulse to obey the rules of civil society, to lie about her name and her face went red with shame at that realization. Luckily, she was not the focus of attention at that moment. The helmet was.

“I care not for water, but if you place me in the warm coals to the side of your fire and let me look out at the two of you I will give you my name.”

“I hadn’t thought you would have one, and I apologize for that.” Cheska picked the helmet up with a pair of tongs that had been sitting by the hearth and placed the helmet just out of reach of the flames within it. “Is that good?”

“Excellent. Thank you, shrine maiden. For the crumbling of the ichor from my plates you have earned my name.” The voice vibrating from the helmet had a slight shudder of long overdue comfort. “You may call me Archimus Stoll.”

After finally coming to terms with what she was talking to, Cheska concluded the exchanging of names, now comfortable enough to do so. “And my name is Cheska Devo. You are in the hearth home of Builend. And, now that I know your names, you are under my care.”

“Stoll? Is that a sir name or a title?” Selian asked with genuine curiosity.

Cheska gave a look between the helmet and the elf, as if questioning the exchange. She quickly realized the gap in understanding. These were two creatures that were not fully acquainted.

“It is my father’s sir name. He was the mage you found the remains of in the tomb. May he rest in peace now that his work is done.”

With a slight nod of growing understanding Cheska sat down by the fire, encouraging the elf to follow suite. It was more ease than she expected that she asked the question, “So the mercenary that hired my brother out, where is he?”

There was no proper answer given, and with Flip still unconscious on the floor, Cheska asked again. This time more demanding. “What happened to the one who paid for the excursion? Better yet, what happened, full stop. What did my brother get himself into?”

Selian still had not fully recovered from the shock of what had happened, but attempted to answer all the same. “It is… a complicated story. Perhaps we should get Faengil off the ground first. And I should… put these somewhere.”

The elf held out the pile of remains she had collected and somehow managed to hold on to after all that happened. The prominent feature among the remains was Dovhran’s skull, the sight of which caused Cheska to freeze. Rather than ask the question that she really wanted to, Cheska stood and scooped up Flip’s limp body—leaving the wooden hatch the wizard had carried the whole way on the floor—in one hand and carried him under her arm to a couch on the edge of the room. She checked her brother’s pulse again, just to be sure he was alive, and felt it strong and clear.

“As for those… I don’t have a place for bones. This is a hearth home, not a statuary of the tomb masons or a crypt of the order of irons. If you want, I can use the material to strengthen a blade, but beyond that, I don’t have much use for bones.”

“No. These are. These are what’s left of Dovhran.” Selian shook her head, partially in disbelief, partially in denial of the suggestion to burn them. “Archimus… why did you tell me to collect them?”

“We needed to distract the beast. Whatever was left of Helbrin’s arcane intellect was corrupted by an influence I cannot understand or hear the whisperings of. But I knew he might suspect some kind of retribution on his stolen flesh if we held those bones. What we do with them now… I have no suggestion for. Though perhaps, that orb among the bones should be explored somewhat.”

“Orb…” Selian slowly and gently placed down the bones that she had collected on the floor in front of the hearth.

The elf had knelt down to complete her task, while Cheska returned to the large chair by the fire and looked over her. Selian laid out the skull, a shoulder blade, a femur, two small bones that were either from a foot or finger, and an odd metal orb that had been in the pile when Dovhran’s body collapsed into bone. It had felt strange when she picked it up, but she hadn’t had the time or peace of mind to contemplate what she had collected. Now that there was no imminent threat, Selian began to piece together what she now had in her possession.

“He said he was carrying something. Changelings can carry things in their bodies.”

“So he was a changeling…” Cheska murmured. “I wasn’t entirely sure.”

“It was his demise.” Archimus chimed in. “The beast in the tomb was a changeling at one point. Had they not been of the same origin, the young man’s flesh might have stayed in the possession of its rightful owner. Or so I suspect. It is not something I expected to happen.”

“If you’re telling me that what Helbrin did was some kind of advanced shape changing, that would warrant it’s own discussion.” Selian spoke with empty tone but her glare was all the intonation she needed as her attention shifted to the helmet among the coals of the fire.

“It was something I did not expect, but far from the strangest thing I have seen.” Was the only answer the helmet gave.

Knowing she would not get a more satisfactory answer, Selian turned back to the orb. “He had said this was hazardous. Whatever it is, it would place us in danger if we found out about it. But it wouldn’t harm us directly. And he said he was going to get rid of it after we had completed our work in the tomb.”

Archimus let out a hum that sounded like a tuning fork before he asked, “And what work was that? You did not seem to be there to complete my father’s work.”

“We were supposed to find Velsaffe’s private journal and research notes. But I am beginning to doubt that Dovhran was looking for that.” Selian growled as she continued to put pieces of what she had experienced together. “He did a searching spell for the journal and it pointed to the room we found the two of you in, so I suspect he was really looking for Velsaffe’s remains. Whether that was to try and stop the disease from spreading or not is anyone’s guess.”

All eyes turned to the skull, as if hoping it would begin to speak and answer all their questions. It would be no stranger than Archimus’ existence. But nothing came of the prolonged glare. Cheska, who was stunned into silence with all the information she was being fed pieces of could only watch as the elf pulled her fingers through her own golden hair and strained her mind into unpuzzling the adventure she had just been on.

It was Archimus that asked the question which would bring them closer to unpuzzling it. “What disease?”

“What?”

“You said that your companion had said he was trying to stop the spread of a disease. Which one?”

“The same one that killed Velsaffe… initially I guess. It started back up again, apparently, in Isol.”

“Interesting.” Archimus hummed. “Perhaps then, a completely different story should precede the events that have transpired more recently. And if you will not stop me, I will share just that. And then we will all understand the events that have transpired.”

No dissent was voice.

“Many years ago, I am unsure of how many passed while I was within that tomb, before the death of the archpriest… there was indeed a disease. Ghovu, god of sympathy, still walked among the mortals of this world. Notably, he still walked among those of his own creation, the changeling folk. There were many then. But some time after the arrival of the elves, disease broke out among them. Ghovu himself was immune to the touch of disease, but he had transmitted it when he assisted with the security of the elves. That disease spread among all the mortal peoples of the age, but only caused harm to the changelings. And so Ghovu was distraught that he had caused the deaths of his own creation. This incident caused a convention among the gods, which resulted in a law being made among them that they should not leave their realms beyond the mortal plane so that they could not be willful or unwitting instruments in the destruction of all life.”

Archimus paused to sigh. The sound was long and deep, and sounded personal. There was more that Archimus would never say about his time spent during the plague, mostly sorrow that he had been the only one who could not transmit death but had still been so ineffectual at helping anyone. Cheska and Selian felt that pain, but said nothing. It was clear Archimus had no desire to tell any particulars.

“But the damage was done, of course. Changelings were dying en mass. And when Helbrin Velsaffe honored his god in the ultimate act of sympathy to take on all the disease that threatened his people, he was considered a sacred memento to Ghovu. A holy figure in and out. He performed a divinely guided ritual and drew all the disease into his being. And then he sequestered himself. All of the higher minds of the age had worked to cut short the path of destruction dug out by the disease, researching a cure or a medicine to treat it… and in one act it had been brought to a certain end by a martyr. The elves had long quarantined the source of the disease, and if Helbrin died in his illness, it would be over. And that is how he died.”

Archimus sighed again before adding a final element to the story. “The first time.”

“The first time?” Selian asked, after a moment of silence.

“I am unclear of what transpired in the realms beyond mortal existence. But Velsaffe had tethers to all living changelings and creatures from which he had sapped the disease. And the force was strong enough to pull his spirit back into his bones. But by that point, his successor in the order of irons had stripped the infected flesh from bone and burned it. The disease was no more. And Velsaffe’s body was as well. When he pulled himself back to the mortal realm he was just bone and what sinew survived the fire.”

“The horror.” Cheska breathed.

“Indeed.” Archimus offered in flat agreement. “He had to be caught and brought under heal in his rage. My father was the one who finally did. And he was contracted to seal the fiend away as well. We could not destroy him completely, he proved to resist all damage that would force his spirit back to rest and no magic could banish him. So we locked him away in his tomb as far from all life as we could manage and as securely as we could. My father had spent his whole life developing magical security before he created me, and I proved to be his most powerful security measure. He knew he would die as he searched for a way to remove Velsaffe from this world, though he hoped to find a way before that. And he left me to watch over the madman while he did.”

“You’re saying the disease can’t be the same one then?” Selian had nearly lost track of the purpose behind the story after learning the shocking truth behind the legend of one of the world’s most celebrated religious figures.

“Affirmative,” came the helmet’s simple reply.

Selian thought about the events that had brought her to the tomb and all the convincing that Dovhran had tried to use on her to get her to join his cause before he had flat out paid her for her services. There had been a lot of talk of the greater good, of helping him and all the other changelings avert a crisis. He had seemed so convinced that history was about to repeat itself. But if the same disease had resurged in modern times, it would have taken an act of deific power to incite.

“What if it was the same disease?”

“Impossible. You would know with certainty, the mere fact that you are uncertain is proof enough.” Archimus was bluntly confident in his assessment, but Selian still had doubts. Doubts that the construct could decipher from the elf’s expression. “It would have spread far and wide in a matter of months, thousands would be dead. You would know. Moreover, I felt the strain of the many connections bound to Velsaffe as I contained his body. They interrupted my own being, they were so numerous. Each held the pain and suffering of disease. Velsaffe took every last trace of that disease with him when he died.”

“But, when Faengil cast that spell…” Selian muttered, more to herself as she attempted to grasp what had happened. “There were only two chains that still connected to Velsaffe.”

“One to the plane of Prismil, where his god has his domain. Another to something else I do not know. The rest faded with time as the persons on the other end passed away from more natural causes and he forsook them in his hate of the afterlife. But the chain to Prismil was hardier. Hardier than whatever twisted link he still held on to.” Though Archimus could not move his head, if you could call it that, to face Flip his attention was now clearly focused on the wizard. “I have no doubt my prisoner was dragged beyond the power of any force that could keep him here. And for that act, I am permanently indebted to this wizard.”

“He saved my life more than once, too.” Selian was nodding along in agreement with the helmet. “Granted he put me in danger nearly as many times as he saved me, but he’s… a friend. I think I would call him a friend. A powerful ally doesn’t seem to do it justice. If his instinct was to run face first into a fireball I’d do it. He hasn’t failed me yet.”

Cheska, who had remained mostly silent up to this point, was wiping quiet tears from her eyes. “You have no idea what the praises you have given my brother mean. To him and to me. He’s never had someone’s trust like that before. My grandmother and me, we don’t count. We’ve cared for him since his childhood. Every other person he’s ever met has held a mix of fear and resentment for him, and he’s never been able to escape that. It is amazing to know that with all the insanity you have all endured, you have stuck with him.”

“I’ve heard about his past. A little at least. I can’t imagine how hard life has been for him.” Selian offered a comforting smile to Cheska, reassuring the suddenly very emotional woman that her relief was safe. “I wish he was awake, he’d know exactly what to do next. He’d probably even know what this thing is.”

All eyes returned to look at the orb on the floor. It was two tones of metal, a black matte finished inner core with a polished brassy ornamental exterior that crossed the whole surface in a webbed pattern and left uniform elements of the core exposed. There was no seem that indicated the object could be opened or any sort of arcane markings that indicated it had any sort of magical significance. If anything, it looked like a piece of art. Maybe something of religious significance.

“I could break it apart, if you’d like.” Cheska offered after a long period of silence. “Wouldn’t be too hard.”

“No. I think there’s more to it than that.” Selian waved off the suggestion. “Maybe as a last resort… if it turns out to be really genuinely dangerous to have.”

“I think, given our inability to identify this object, we should stow it away for the time being.” Archimus concluded. “I sense an arcane ward nearby that is suitable for sealing items into a locked space.”

“Is it over there?” Cheska gave a huff of a laugh as she reached out with the fireplace tongs to turn the helmet to face the back of the temple.

“Affirmative.”

“That’s the temple lock box. I can store it there for a little bit, but I don’t want it here too long if I can avoid it.”

“Take it. I don’t have the energy to think about this anymore.” Selian waved to the orc to have her way with the orb. “I need to find a place to sleep. Is there an inn in Builend?”

Cheska let out a deep and hearty laugh, as if the question was an unnecessary one. “There is, but you’ll stay here. I insist.”

“Affirmative.” Archimus said with a sigh of relief. If he still had legs, it would not have been hard to imagine him stretching out his constructed metal body out in a posture of comfort.

“If you insist.” Selian looked down to avoid the confident cheer of the orc as she accepted the invitation.

“I do.”