Around noon of the next day, Lydos made his way to the Throne Room of the Abyss. That was where the Frostridden, the Worldrenders who lived in Agreolfor, met every week to discuss and debate everything from legislation reforms to epistemological arguments. A single subject could span hours, and he hoped that he wouldn’t have to stay longer than needed.

Agreolfor was a complex system of large tunnels and caves that ran throughout the northern mountains. That intricacy was one of the three reasons that the Worldrenders didn’t keep a garrison to protect Agreolfor.

The second reason was that there was danger abound the icy terrain: sharp crags, blinding hailstorms, sudden cliffs, and frozen lakes that masqueraded as calm oases. Then, there were the Abyss Maws. One might be able to outrun a bear or lion, but it was near impossible to escape those beasts.

And the final reason, of course, was that because they were Worldrenders.

Lydos knew the mountains by memory; a common exercise was to leave a young Worldrender in the frigid wilderness and have them find their way to a certain area. The throne room was almost impossible to miss. All tunnels connected to the abyss that lay at the center of the underground pathways.

There was no real throne or throne room. The name referred to the upper levels that were used for the assembly meetings. There were easily at least a hundred gaping caverns that hung over the abyss and each one was assigned to a Frostridden.

Lydos was considered his father’s ward, so he made use of his cavern, which was on the highest level. As a ward, he had no voting power, but he could join in on the discussion. There were no light sources in the throne room – one was to announce their name before speaking or voting – and the most he could see of his neighbors was an occasional dull flash of their eyes.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t see him though. He had long suspected that the Worldrenders could see through the inky darkness.

“The Hollowed will never be subjugated,” one of the Worldrenders was saying when he joined. “They are an incorrigible race! I have read all the records. Their history is one of open rebellion, and as we speak, a horde of them are making their ways from the Higher Wilder.”

“My name is Bthlzar,” announced another Worldrender. “I have read all the records on the Hollowed as well and I disagree. It is our duty to provide shelter for all who do not abuse it. Citing pages three thousand and five of the Oaths of Greater Cognition, a Wor–”

Lydos tuned out of the discussion. Xyk, the Worldrender language, was harsh on the ears; it was a cacophony of slithers and guttural sounds that made use of their long jaws and tongues. He’d wait for a lull to make his report.

The Throne Room of the Abyss reminded him of a well, one of unknowable depths. He always felt unsettled there, and on his first few visits, he had concluded that it was the complete darkness. But he knew that wasn’t it. The Worldrenders never spoke of what lay at the bottom, but he somehow sensed its presence.

Something was watching them from below.

After what seemed like hours, there was a silence in the throne room. Standing up, he hastened to speak first.

“I am Lydos, ward of Ogyobz,” he said, bellowing to be heard. The Worldrenders were at least twenty times his size. “I have made first contact with the humans and have come to seek further instruction.”

He was greeted with silence. Had they understood him? Xyk was a tricky language for a human mouth.

“Proceed with an account of your encounter.” The voice, deep and booming, came from the lowest level of the caverns. It was Hx, the oldest Worldrender.

He retold the events – per his father, he had traveled to the Veant plantation and received hospitality from the Overseer, Xafryk. During his three months there, he began a daily count of the farm animals and noticed that a small quantity of henchhead sheep had gone missing two days in a row. Suspecting thieves, he surveilled the farms and discovered that it was the work of twelve humans. He killed nine of them and gave a message to a survivor.

What he omitted from both the Frostridden and his father was the reason for his lengthy stay in the Veant plantation. The Overseer, Xafryk, had disdained to meet him. It had an endless list of excuses, often sending Veants in its stead, and had bristled when he’d first mentioned the missing sheep.

The Worldrender was young, no older than a millennium. Most Overseers were. The young ones were, in his father’s words, “emotionally imperfect.” Petty and disdainful, they refused to accept a lower creature amongst their ranks. He wasn’t sure how the Frostridden felt about him, but at the very least they hid it well. No one interrupted his recounting and by the end of it, his voice was hoarse from the yelling.

“We thank you for your report, young Lydos,” Hx said. “Let the records show that your next charge has been voted on and approved by the Frostridden seventeen years ago.”

Lydos stifled his surprise. If the orders were pre-written, then did Father already know?

“Now that you have made first contact, you will travel to the land of the humans,” Hx continued. “Haxylcl, ward of Pyrxophyny, will accompany and aid you. If he detects any sign of faltering or hesitation, he has been given the right to execute you as a traitor.

“The humans have committed one of the most grievous taboos, but they are still young and we are lenient. Conquer them with whatever means necessary. If they refuse to submit, you are given the right to extinguish their race and then yourself.”

He blanched and tilted his head down to hide it. “I hear and obey,” he said, his voice too soft to echo across the abyss.

And somehow, he knew the thing that lay at the bottom of the abyss was gazing intently at him.

He left immediately after receiving his charge and went to his father’s room, a small cavern in the western tunnels.

“Father, it’s Lydos,” he called into the room.

There were no doors in Agreolfor. Etiquette was to announce oneself at the entrance and wait for permission.

“Enter.”

His father’s room was always immaculate. He and his father had the smallest rooms of course, but even those were massive. There were rows of bookshelves of dark granite lining the center of the room. Torches hung on the walls and underneath them were wooden chests and closets of varying sizes. In one corner was his bed and in another was a moss garden.

Father sat at the single wooden table between his bed and the bookshelves. He held a light gray scriptstone slab in his hands – he was writing something in Xyk.

“You already knew, Father,” Lydos said. “About my next orders.”

“Yes.” He placed the stone down and rested his hands on the table. “I helped write them.”

“I see.” He wasn’t surprised, but a slight bitterness tinged his emotions. He didn’t know what else to say. He had always known the reason for his existence was to conquer the humans. He just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

Father looked up at him, and though he lacked eyes, his horns seemed to be appraising him. Lydos averted his gaze.

“When you killed those humans,” Father said, “you felt nothing.”

He hesitated and then shook his head. “No. I felt disgusted. At their weakness. But that’s it. I feel neither pity nor sympathy for them. Nothing that will hinder me.”

Father said nothing, so he continued.

“I will not disappoint you, Father. And if the time comes when I must kill them and then myself, I swear I will do it without hesitation.” The thought terrified him, but Worldrenders did not lie. He would either conquer the humans or he would put an end to them.

“I also want to apologize for the strange question I asked you yesterday. It was foolish. I am a Worldrender above all else.”

Father was quiet for a moment. “They are weak, that’s true. If you wish to extinguish them, that will be easy. But if you wish to conquer the humans, you will need to become one.”

Lydos frowned in contemplation. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

His father turned to the bookshelves. “I would like to hear a poem today.”

“Very well,” he said, though he was still confused by his father’s words. “Which one?”

“‘Crown of Waste.’”

It had been over a decade since Father had lost his eyesight, and on occasion, he’d request Lydos to read for him. It had been an endeavor, learning to read and speak different languages based on verbal instruction alone. Father requested everything from Nulerian history books to near-illegible journals from extinct races. Father had a particular fondness for poetry.

Lydos approached the shelf closest to him and grabbed the book from the third shelf. It was a small weathered volume, the yellowed pages dog-eared and individual lines marked. Though it smelled musty and the binding was falling apart, it was well taken care of, just like everything Father owned.

Poems were especially difficult because certain words were interpreted or read differently. However, “Crown of Waste” was written in Ai’ha, the language of the Ai’zaar race and one of the four he was fluent in, and authored by a poet that his father requested most often.

He sat across from his father and read aloud:

I was younger once,

ask the time wraiths,

and I scaled the walls

for I was poor

and other worlds were free.

In the lands beyond stars,

I sat in burnished squalor.

Look, there is a god

who sells sweetbreads and trinkets and war,

and peace is purchased

in pouches to be kept hidden under beds of hay.

Now I am wrinkled,

I am caged.

Between frost ferns and hyacinths,

I trained a kite to hunt sea stars.

It will drown.

Call me cruel

and I will tell you

a horned sprite holds the crown.

Aside from the crackling of the torches on the wall, the room was silent. Father’s head was bent downward, his horns almost grazing his clasped hands.

Lydos wondered what expression his father wore if any. He often felt that he did not know the man who had raised him. Other times, he was scared that if he did know more, he would lose what little understanding he had of him.

When Father finally spoke, his voice was as clear and measured as always.

“Once more.”

And so Lydos obliged.