I didn't have much time to think, let alone react; all I knew was that I needed to either run or hide and fast. Scanning around, I realised that there was no way I could retreat into the reflection pool garden in time before the owners of those heavy boots reached here and spotted me.

I couldn't run to anything near the path either; it would only be logical for a patrol or a search party to follow the tracks and monitor them closely once they've arrived. For all I knew, they could have had a magical device or some piece of technology that could detect shoeprints or signs of motion nearby; in short, going near the path would be a death sentence right now.

All the while, the sound of my impending doom was getting louder and closer.

In sheer desperation, I threw myself behind a thicket of flowers and bushes that was grown relatively close to the edge of the island while Kliviero clung to my shoulder tightly. I scrambled to get myself behind concealment as much as possible, all the while the thunderous thuds of boots grew yet closer.

In all honesty, I was undoubtedly uncomfortable being this close to the edge of the island. I could see not too far away from me a sheer drop into eternity, the likes of which would most likely bring about my death long before I come into contact with land or something resembling land. Unfortunately, I was all too keenly aware that this fate awaited me if I strayed too close for too long, and now here I was sitting right on the edge of oblivion.

The thuds were no longer indistinct dull thumps; the volume and the sound of leather shoe souls scraping against the stone slab pathway gave way to the gravity of my situation; whoever it was was now in the segment with me.

And there were a lot of them.

I remained as still and unmoving as I could. I slowed my breathing and gritted my teeth; the last thing I wanted was to get torn free from this nightmare sequence, not after how well this night had gone so far. To squander all of it to a stupid mistake on my part would be excessively embarrassing.

Through the fog of noise, I noticed something unusual about the footsteps, that being there appeared to be one set of steps with a very different sound and frequency to the others. While the rest were what one would expect, this set, in particular, sounded much, much heavier with the ear grating squeal of ceramic or metal scraping against the stone floor slabs at the end of each step. I assumed from the volume that this figure must have been at the front of the group, perhaps the patrol leader?

The louder set of boots comes to a stop at what must have been no more than twenty meters away from my hiding place, though I must admit it would be almost impossible to tell the proximity from sound alone. A few moments pass by while several of the quieter steps come to a stop in the same vague direction that the heavier set came to a halt.

The silence was deafening. Did the patrol know something was here, and they decided to stop to listen out for it? Did they know I was here?

The silence was interrupted by a loud, rough voice speaking out in the vague direction that the footsteps came to a halt, barking orders or directions I assumed. The voice spoke in a tongue I didn't recognise; the only noticeable feature of the dialect that I could pick up on was that the words sounded like they flowed smoothly from one word to another, assuming the dialect the thing was speaking used words of course.

Shortly after the rough voice finished speaking, another quieter and softer voice spoke up. Judging by the tone of the voice of this figure, I assumed that there was some kind of disagreement between the rough sounding voice and this one, a theory which was quickly proven true by the raspy voice speaking back, only this time a bit louder and a bit slower.

After the booming voice finished vocalising to the other figures that followed it, the sound of lighter footsteps resumed along with an occasional vocalisation from the other entities present, not including the one I had just heard. From this alone, I estimated there could be as many as five or six of them, not including the larger one. It sounded like the group broke into three pairs who spread out from the pathway. Some were heading towards the hedge by the path they came from, others wandering towards the path leading to the reflection pool. The third group worried me though, the third group was moving a bit faster than the other groups, and it was heading directly towards me.

"What are we going to do?" Kliviero whispered in my ear, hushing her voice as much as she physically could. I quietly shrugged and shook my head; in all honesty, I had not the faintest clue on what to do other than pray to whatever god or deity existed in this place that I wasn't found. My heart was racing. Its pounding beat was so clear that I feared that it could explode within my chest, though one could argue that such a fate might be better than whatever these "masters" could and probably would do instead.

The steps grew incredibly close. In my mind, I was silently counting down what I estimated their distance from my position. Meter by meter, second by second, I could not conceivably believe that they didn't know I was here, and if they didn't then, they were about quite literally to walk right on top of me. The sheer terror of their proximity wasn't helped when the air started to smell faintly of, well, I don't know how to describe it; the air smelt like it was pure, comprehensively devoid of smell or pollen as if it was sterile.

The raspy voice called out again at two meters of separation, sounding frustrated and speaking at a slightly hastened pace. The two pairs of footsteps were almost on top of me when they stopped and turned to face the raspy voice. One of them responded with something that sounded like they agreed with the raspy figure, then they turned about and started walking back towards the path at pace. The weird aura of purified air followed them, and the smell of the flowers returned once more.

I continued to hold myself bolt still and kept my breathing slow and hushed all the same; they could still quite easily see me if I started moving around too much, but the fact they were leaving was quite reassuring.

I quickly took a cautious peek around the side of the bush to try and catch a glimpse of what these things were; I didn't want to risk exposing too much of myself, so I didn't lean around by much, but what I did catch was a fleeting glimpse of one of the figures burgundy robes fluttering in the wind. At the same time, the pair slowly strolled back around to the path.

I darted back into cover; I recognised the design of the robes from that thing that visited me the other night, text scrawled across every inch of fabric which I could see. The only notable difference was a singular gold strip that stretched down the right sleeve, starting from the elbow and ending at the wrist. A rather unusual addition to the robe, regardless of its already esoteric purpose.

While the figures continued to return to the path, I allowed myself to let out a restrained sigh of relief. It was bad enough that I had once again come this close to danger in the Iridescent Abyss, but to come this close to the mysterious masters that Kliviero keeps referencing time and time again was exceptionally harrowing; heaven forbid they found me.

After a few moments of movement pass by, the congregation of footsteps lead me to believe that the patrol had regrouped by the path. This thought was proven correct when the group continued to walk down the track after a short word from the rough sounding one. Judging by their direction, it would be safe to assume that the patrol was heading towards the reflection pool. This made for a rather unfortunate turn of events since it meant my only option, other than risk running into the group again, was to head into entirely uncharted territory.

"Holy shit, that was close," I whisper through gritted teeth. "That was way too close." I look around the corner while breathing heavily, my nerves finally fraying and letting slip the sheer terror I was barely able to suppress.

"Keep it down!" Kliviero hushed me and climbed onto the bush to spy on the patrol. "They're leaving, but something's not right." Her tone of voice betraying a grave concern for something. "Usually, Amethyite patrols only have like three or four Quires, yet I see six, and a..." She hastily ducked down; shortly after that, I hear the deep rasping voice bark something out in our general direction.

"What's he saying?" I murmur while peering at Klivierom, hoping to get some kind of clarity or something out of this situation other than another deeply unpleasant experience in this nightmarish hellscape. "And there's a what with them?" The figure barked something out again while I whispered.

"He's not very happy right now," Kliviero snickered nervously. "He's saying some rather unsavoury things about 'Zhivaq wasting his time' and their penchant for being uncivilised." She covered her mouth and chuckled softly. "He's extremely pissed off."

"What about the bug-men?" I ask, somewhat confused by this individual's apparent interest in the Zhivaq; unless some of them had gotten into the garden somehow, why would they be worried about them? "Are there Zhivaq here?"

"I'm not sure," Kliviero responded while turning her head to look up at me. "but he must have had an encounter with them fairly recently, judging by his exceptionally colourful language."

"But what is he?" I ask. "Must be pretty important to have a group of soldiers following him around here, assuming they're soldiers, of course."

"That fellow is an Archivist..." Kliviero's chuckles came to an ominous halt. "It's rare to see them outside of the libraries and the archives the Amethyites hold, but to see one out here on an active patrol and this angry about something is never a good sign." She tried to peek around the foliage again. "They're supposed to be the most calculating, cold and methodical members of the order, short of the masters, of course. But to see one break from conditioning in such a way is not good, not at all."

The Archivist barks out a few more comments, seemingly at random around the garden space, only to resume his purposeful march towards the reflection pool. The heavy tread of his boots and the lighter scurrying of his followers quickly denoting their continued patrol.

"What about the rest of them?" I ask with a sigh of relief, kneeling behind the bush to check if the coast was clear. At the entrance to the pergola we walked down, I caught one of the Quires hanging back from the patrol and following later than the rest, a designated rearguard, it would seem, though what purpose one would serve in a place with an apparent lack of largescale conflict was beyond me.

"Quires, those these seem to be better armoured than normal." Kliviero fluttered onto the bush then, shortly after, fluttered around in the air while observing either entrance to the segment. "Well, not necessarily armoured but rather warded."

"What's the difference?" I ask while climbing to my feet. "Surely armour is armour, even in this place, right?"

"Not necessarily." She explained. "Warding allows for Protasi energy to be utilised for defensive purposes as well as offensive, such as strengthening the fibres of a padded jacket, for instance."

"That's quite clever, actually," I nod. "So the warding draws the energy into the clothing or armour more efficiently, I assume?"

"Pretty much," Kliviero answered while floating up into the air. "The warding acts like a channel or a magnet to help focus the Protasi into the clothing. It doesn't make the armour draw in more energy, but rather the warding makes the process of guiding the energy into it a lot easier and simpler."

"Very interesting." I nod again, making a mental note to jot this down at some point when the situation has calmed down. "As for the patrol, any ideas what they were looking for?"

"Not really," Kliviero disappointingly shook her head. "However, judging by just how angry the Archivist was, I reckon we might have another Zhivaq problem." She guessed while watching the path they approached us from. "The Amethyites don't get along with the Zhivaq very well. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd bet they came across a group and maybe one or two of them managed to escape the patrol" Kliviero fluttered down to my shoulder. "Somehow."

"I would have thought the Zhivaq wouldn't be overly fond of running away from fights," I reasoned; from what I've gathered so far about the Zhivaq, I assumed that they would rather fight to the death, or at the very least fight until their morale completely broke, rather than run away.

"They might be savage, but they aren't stupid," Kliviero pauses and lets out a short scoff. "Well, maybe stupid, probably stupid, but they're hardly completely inept at what they do. They know when enough is enough, and they know when a fight is a lost cause."

"Can't say they are brainless savages then." I snicker nervously. "A pity, some simplicity wouldn't hurt this place, would it?"

"They have their reasons, not very good ones, mind you, but reasons all the same." She frowned while I nervously laughed. "Since our options are limited here, and I don't exactly feel like sitting around this place for long lest the patrol doubles back on itself, perhaps we should investigate the cause of that flash of light that way." She pointed towards the path they came from.

"Sounds fair, not like we can go back, for now at least," I mumble a response and start wandering in the direction of the pergola. "Say, why is this place built with so many pergola's?" I asked. "Seems rather unusual..."

"Provides shade, which is all-around a good thing for Amethytes," Kliviero fluttered back down to my shoulder and landed. "but it also gives the garden more space to grow; places like this are optimised to fulfil specific purposes. This one, for whatever reason, requires a garden, ergo the garden must be as efficient as possible."

"Why doesn't that surprise me." I shook my head; it came as no surprise that such a group as the Amethyites would be such massive perfectionists and micromanagers for every aspect they could feasibly modify. "I suppose we should keep our eyes peeled and listening carefully; I doubt that patrol is the only one wandering around the garden as we speak." I turn back and give the garden one final scan with my eyes before turning back towards the pergola passage. "I don't feel overly keen on meeting these guys properly, not yet at least."

We walked down the passageway in near-total silence; in truth, we couldn't afford to make any noise lest another patrol or something worse happens to hear us and decides to investigate the noise. It was in this near-complete silence that I noticed something most peculiar about these hedge tunnels. It appeared that sound didn't travel in ways one would expect; noise, especially distant noise, seemed to be amplified and channelled down the lengths of the garden corridors. This strange auditory effect came to my attention because we started to hear something akin to the crackling of embers coming from somewhere in front of us.

The sound of crackling embers grew stronger as we got closer to the end of the pathway, which led into a T junction going left and right. However, much more concerningly was that the air began to bear the smell of burnt flesh and charred chitin or hair. To call it unpleasant would be an understatement of the highest order.

"I've got a bad feeling that I already know what's making that smell," Kliviero sighed heavily. "and it ain't going to be pretty." The way she spoke made me anxious if Kliviero is getting nervous about something; clearly, it can't be good, even by her pessimistic standards.

Once I reached the junction, I turned left, well I would have turned left, but I was immediately stopped in my tracks by the horrific display laying out in the passage before me.

The corridor was the resting place of three particularly badly battered Zhivaq bodies; they all bore the same wounds, only diverging in the severity of said wounds. Each one had deeply cracked and charred wounds stretching out from the eyes and mouths, which still faintly crackled with emerald embers; judging by how the burns stretched out, I figured whatever was the root cause of them came from within the Zhivaq rather than outside. An especially horrific prospect when one thinks about it.

All of the Zhivaq bodies wore armour which appeared typical of the primitive lifestyle Kliviero spoke about before; the wicker and ceramic armour plates and the woven fabric padded jackets and gambesons were marked with crimson markings on the collars and thoroughly dyed with Zhivaq blood. Each of the bodies had various weapons, broken or only partially so, either still sheathed or laying by their side, a broken spear shaft here and a splintered glass knife there.

It was abundantly clear that there was a fight here and a bloody one at that.

"Oh, Christ almighty!" I exclaim while recoiling from the sight; the revolting stench was so much more pungent here, like a figurative wall of revulsion. The only saving grace was that it slowly ebbed away as time passed by, but not fast enough for my liking. I hadn't even noticed the layout of the corridor before us until this point; the sheer horror of the cadavers blinded me to my surroundings. Looking past the bodies, I noticed that the pathway appeared to stretch out a couple of meters past the bodies ending abruptly in an elbow turn to the right.

"Yeah, figured as much." Kliviero sighed while she frowned at the remains. "To be fair, they're lucky they're as intact as this; the patrol must have been feeling merciful with how they snuffed them out." She shook her head. "Far too clean and quick for Amethyites, well Amethyites who aren't in a hurry, that is."

"I have a feeling I don't want to know why they mutilate the cadavers of their foes..." I utter through gritted teeth; while I wasn't a massive fan of the Zhivaq, I found it equally, if not more, revolting to actively engage in such behaviour. "As if the Amethyites needed to be any more disturbing than they were."

"Well, it's less to defile the bodies and more the strikes being far too precise," Kliviero explained, which in no way, shape or form made me feel any more comfortable about the act. "Normally, Quires are far less proficient with their blade work than this. These knew what they were doing." She continued, which brought some relief to my mind.

While she spoke, I cautiously approached one of the bodies nearest us and knelt next to it to inspect the wounds up close. The burns themselves were surprising in that they were entirely unremarkable, other than the way the burns spread from the eyes and mouth, of course. Other than the burns, the wicker and ceramic armour plates were severely battered as well, significant chunks of patchwork makeshift gambeson cloven asunder and splintered across the pathway.

"What about these burns?" I ask Kliviero while pointing towards the strange burn marks.

"Protasi arc burns, nasty stuff." She leaned forward to get a closer look, eventually hopping off of my shoulder to investigate the cadavers closer. "Since you can't really directly use Protasi energy to cause harm, and very few select individuals can contain it, the massed focused transferal of Protasi energy into an individual in enough itself can be dangerous." She elaborates while I continue inspecting one of the bodies for clues about what happened. "It would explain the flashing emerald light we saw earlier; something like that would cast a lot of light."

Upon closer inspecting, I noticed that the bodies also had several significant lacerations and punctures to the upper torso and shoulders. Looking at how the wounds were shaped and how they appeared to get deeper towards one end, whatever killed them was using a bladed weapon with an uneven or non-uniform blade shape, just like the seax-staves depicted in the sculptures. Unfortunately, I hadn't seen what the Quires were wielding, so I couldn't prove the patrol caused it, but I doubted it wasn't.

The only redeeming thing I could find among the bodies was that all of their wounds were to the front; they died fighting, it would seem.

I thought about what Kliviero told me about the burns; the notion that the very presence of Protasi energy in a concentrated enough volume could cause horrific wounds like this was incredibly concerning. If this is what a small group of apparently low ranking members of the Amethyite order could do, I dreaded to believe what their best would be capable of performing. From the sounds of it, this wasn't a challenging feat of arcane might or prowess to pull off, and there didn't appear to be any apparent means to protect oneself against such an attack that could be practical at this time. I would have to do my best to avoid them at all costs lest I suffer a similar fate to the Zhivaq here.

While I continued to observe the bodies, I noticed that one further down the corridor appeared slumped beside something which seemed to be metallic. Curious at the presence of something metallic in this world, a place with a severe lack of metal, I hastily got up and investigated the object.

"Isn't this interesting," Kliviero muttered before promptly hopping off of my shoulder to get a closer look at the metallic object. "Now, this is a very, very interesting turn of events."

The object appeared to be an extraordinary-looking sword constructed from a highly unusual metallic substance; the metal was cadmium green and seemed to have a spirographic Damascus pattern running from the top of the hilt to the tip of its blade. It was a striking piece of craftsmanship from a mere glance alone, and I couldn't imagine the length of time and skill necessary to make something quite like this.

I knelt next to the blade to get a closer look at it. While exceptionally alien in nature and composition, the sword appeared to resemble a Cossack shashka. It lacked a guard and had a very subtle curve leading up to the tip, and the blade bore a single edge with what looked like a crude attempt at a false edge near the tip. The cadaver adjacent to the blade appeared to be the blade's owner, for their belt had a sheath affixed to it designed for the sword, though the craftsmanship was lacking in comparison.

As mysterious as this weapon was, there was one question that stood out above all the rest of my myriad queries about this thing. Why was this thing even here in the first place? It was clearly beyond the technical expertise of the Zhivaq, right?

"I'm going to assume this thing doesn't belong to the deceased here?" I asked Kliviero while looking back at the bodies; the relatively primitive armour and broken weapons strewn around the corridor juxtaposed the cadmium blade to a near ludicrous degree.

"Certainly not in possession of the Zhivaq, that's for sure." Kliviero kneels beside the blade and runs an open palm along the flat. The dark cadmium material appears to brighten around her palm by a few shades, only to darken once more once her hand was gone. "This sword is ancient, not just a little bit ancient, mind you; this thing is probably thrice as old as I am."

"So, what is it?" I ask before quickly correcting myself. "Well, it's a weapon; that much is apparent, but..."

"It's a zab'erim," Kliviero murmurs under her breath. "I think; it's been a very, very long time since I've even heard about these things, let alone seen one with my own eyes."

"So, in layman's terms for strangers like me, it's ancient, rare and exceptionally precious?" I enquire; while an actual weapon would be nice to have in this place for defence, perhaps something as valuable and sought after as this would be unwise.

"I don't know." Kliviero shook her head. "It's been such a long time since these things were thought lost and forgotten in the abyss that even the Amethyites stopped looking for them." She continued after drawing her hand back from the sword. "To be entirely honest with you, I don't think anyone would even recognise it for what it is, perhaps some of the elders within the Amethyites, but even that's a stretch."

"I guess we should take it then." I nod while reaching for the blade; Kliviero shimmied to the side, allowing me to grasp the handle and lift it from the pavement. While wielding the sword, the first thing I noticed was that it is disturbingly light, so light in fact that feel and weight alone could trick one into thinking they weren't holding anything. I temporarily put the blade down and removed the sheath from the departed Zhivaqs belt; while I had no belt myself, I managed to thread the belt clips through one of the buttons for my coat pockets. It was not a good fix, but it would have to suffice for now. Once I had the sheath temporarily attached to my coat, I reached back down and grasped the blade again.

While I held the blade and stood up, I felt a strange and unexplainable warmth radiating from within the grip. This would be strange enough in isolation but combined with how well the handle felt in my hand, how comfortable it felt in my palm, there must be something more to this sword than I could observe at this time. While I observed the blade Kliviero had fluttered up to my shoulder and landed herself there, she watched the sabre as well, though not with the same level of curiosity as I, it would seem.

My inspection of the blade was cut short by a snarling growl coming from the direction of the elbow turn to my left, prompting me to turn quickly to inspect the source of the noise. My heart skipped a beat when I saw what was making the sound.

At the end of the corridor stood a single Zhivaq warrior, presumably the sole survivor of the group I was in the process of stealing a weapon from. While its armour was severely battered like the armour worn by its deceased companions strewn around me, there was a distinct lack of blood or wounds upon this one. It was dressed from neck to toe in thickly padded clothes; presumably, a primitive interpretation of a gambeson like its fallen kin wore, while plates of wicker and ceramic covered most of its chest, arms and thighs. I noticed that the fabric that made up its attire appeared to be of a higher quality than its fallen comrades, perhaps explaining its survival.

Its head was covered entirely by a bulky clay helmet which, while horrifically impractical and indeed exceptionally heavy, was meant to be a status symbol for the warrior, a white strip of dye stretched down from the top of the flat-topped urn-like helmet. The left side of the helmet held a pair of incense sticks and a small candle; it flickered softly while a couple of thin smoke trails wafted from the incense sticks. What faint traces of the incense I could smell reminded me of the same smell from several nights ago.

From beneath its wicker pauldrons on either side stretched a short cloak of woven plant matter, the patchwork dried grass fabric stretched down to its elbows on either side. It appeared to mimic the style and design of a pelt mantle or a short poncho.

The longer I observed it, the more my mind wondered if this was some kind of Zhivaq religious figure or holy warrior of sorts; far too much effort had gone into entirely impractical armour embellishments for this warrior to be a regular soldier.

It carried a large shield fabricated from a mixture of wicker and red clay in its left hand. It was roughly circular with a crescent cut into the top right corner, presumably somewhere to sturdy a spear or a weapon against the shield during combat, a few tuffs of clay and rough strings of bark and wood protruded from the clay. The raider was wielding an especially fearsome spear in its right hand, one would assume the crooked shaft of the spear would present issues for the wielder during battle, but perhaps this was the best they could use at the time. The spearhead was especially horrifying; what appeared to be a crystal glass hewing spearhead was fitted to the top with a viciously thin blade.

Though the shield was intact, what damage there was allowed me to see something strapped to the inside. Considering my experience the other night, I assumed that the strapped weapons were either large knives or throwing darts; the inside of the shield would make for a suitable place to sheath either of those possibilities.

On either side of its hips were a set of knives or daggers sheathed in cloth and leather sheaths, each one appeared to vary slightly in design, one appearing to bear a harsh curve while others were straight. Though I couldn't see the blades, something told me that each one was specialised for different forms of use, whether they be mere work knives or combat knives.

A few moments passed by while the Zhivaq and I appear to study one another for a while; I caught its eyes scanning the weapon I held a few times, only to dart back to me. I could faintly make out its eyes behind the crudely moulded eyeslits in the massively bulky helmet. The very act of it observing me was enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up; this thing was silently standing there, growling and hissing. Was it trying to talk to me?

After a few more seconds of growling, the warrior raises its shield to the front and lowers its spear, crouching the shaft against the crescent cut with the head pointed squarely at my chest. An especially vicious string of grunts, clicks and growls leaves its helmet, followed by its head cocking to the side aggressively, a challenge or threat perhaps?

"Hey, look, I don't want to fight you!" I shouted at the thing while waving my free arm to try and gesture it away. Unfortunately, this was to no avail as the Zhivaq growled violently back and, much more concerningly, took a step towards me, hewing spear at the ready.

"It can't understand us," Kliviero whispered while climbing behind my shoulder and holding onto me tightly. "But I think it knows that we're afraid of it." Not a moment after she uttered these words, it threateningly waved its spear and thumped its shield against its chest, only to resume the same posture afterwards, only now it had shimmied a few inches closer. "I don't suppose now is a good time to ask if you know how to swing that thing, right?" Kliviero asked, her voice betraying a deep sense of dread that gripped her tightly.

"Not really, no," I shake my head while looking down at the cadmium blade in my hand and nervously grin. "But I guess I'm just gonna have to learn quickly, it seems." I lowered my voice and looked back up at the warrior, who had gained another couple of inches on me while I wasn't watching. It could move surprisingly quietly for something so big, a common trend with the denizens of this world; it would seem.

With my apparent refusal to back away, or my unwillingness to relinquish control of the sabre, the Zhivaq proceeded to violently growl one final time while bashing the front of its shield with the head of its hewing spear. Once it had finished vocalising and abusing its already battered shield, the thing couched its weapon once more and began advancing on me, feet carrying it forward in lockstep.

I swing my head around me; nothing obstructed me, so I might be able to run away from it. After what happened the other night, considering the speed these things could move and nowhere to find cover, should it throw its spear at me, it was abundantly clear that there were only two ways I was getting out of this situation; either I die, or it dies.

With no other options available, I tighten my grip around the sabre handle, take a deep breath and raise the blade towards the insectoid beast before me; this wasn't going to be easy...