“What the hell is that?” Fayne snarled. She slammed her hands down on the stone windowsill, drawing an impatient jingle from myriad bracelets. “What the hell is that?”

She whirled to glare at the timid faces standing in a semi-circle around her. As one, the group of apprentice Dreamkin recoiled from her flaming form, each hoping not to be singled out. The Queen bounced on the balls of her feet in agitation, flourishing a finger out through the window at the bright-burning sun. Five sets of terrified eyes followed the direction of her animated gesture.

“Well?” she demanded. “It bloody wasn’t there yesterday!”

Across the eastern edge of the great orb, the light seemed to have disappeared. The effect was only a tiny sliver, but it was enough to be noticeable. It was as though the powerful rays of Andoherra’s closest star were being swallowed, disappearing into an unimaginable blackness before they reached their full potential. The density of the shadowy blight reminded Fayne of the darkness of Betwixt, and an anxious shudder almost escaped her.

“By the Grace of Malevelyn!” she cried, “What did I ever do to be cursed with the likes of you lot? You’re Seers, gifted with Vision…! Are you telling me that none of you knows what that is? Oh, for the love of our Blessed Saviour – where is the Grand Dreamkin?”

As though summoned, a sixth figure quietly entered the room. Sighs of abject relief escaped from the other five, and Fayne whirled at them, spitting like a cat.

“Get out!” she shrieked, flailing her hands in impatient dismissal, “GET OUT!”

The snap of her voice was like the start gun to a comedic race. Within seconds, all five had tripped over each other in a gangling bid to vanish into the Betwixt. Fayne rolled her eyes and turned her back on the furore to face the newcomer – an ancient, white-haired woman with a blank, milky gaze.

“About time you got here,” Fayne grumbled.

“Your Majesty,” the woman murmured. Her voice was soft and wispy, and she inclined her head – barely.

Fayne frowned. She wasn’t quite sure if that was supposed to be an apology for lateness or a random statement of greeting. It always was hard to tell with the Dreamkin. She decided to let it go – she had a far more pressing concern.

She flashed out one heavily bejewelled hand in the direction of the sun. “That… was not there yesterday. What is it?”

Galva Zkr peered with rheumy eyes at the blight upon the great star. She pursed her wrinkled lips, uttering soft curses under her breath.

“Warned her…” she mumbled crossly. “Warned her I did… Should have seen you coming. End of her magic, end of us all.”

“What are you babbling about?” Fayne snapped.

“Another time…” Galva said. She looked Fayne up and down vaguely, as if she’d only now realised who stood beside her. “Another Queen…”

“Oh, no! Oh no, you don’t!” Fayne snarled, thrashing her fiery head at the cryptic comment. “No whimsy, witch! I will not fall victim to some ambiguous prophecy! If you had just told Asbeth ‘look out for the Firekin, she’s going to kill you’, instead of some ridiculous vagary, our dear old Queen might still be with us today!” She paused, jabbing a painted fingernail at Galva to emphasise her point. “BE. SPECIFIC.”

Galva’s gaze lost that faraway look in an instant. She snapped her frowning gaze direct to Fayne for the first time.

“That’s better, darling,” Fayne crooned. “Now, out with it… What does it mean?”

Galva harrumphed, unapologetic. “The world is ending, that’s what it means.”

“WHAT!”

Fayne leapt back to the window, the layers of her glamorous green gown lagging half a step behind her action. The Fire Queen glared at the sun, and its dark spot, as though it had personally insulted her.

“Why is it ending?” she shrieked, hammering a fist on the stone sill. “It can’t be! Things are going so well!”

She rounded on the Grand Dreamkin, but Galva didn’t flinch. The elderly woman regarded the sparking Firekin with unruffled calm, raising one bushy grey eyebrow at her ostentatious reaction.

“Something appears to have set it off, Your Majesty.”

Fayne seethed. “How…?”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure…” Galva replied slowly. “The Visions of a Dreamkin are often clouded and difficult to ascertain-”

“I meant,” Fayne interjected, “HOW in all the Realms did you end up First amongst your Order?” She pouted and adopted a dull monotone. “Something appears to have set it off, Your Majesty… Gracious, you don’t say!”

She groaned, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. “Malevelyn’s Mercy – however am I to survive you fools?” Emerald flashed, and she glared at the Grand Dreamkin. “For the last time… Do you have anything useful to contribute about this… this… shadowy sun…?”

Galva looked as though she had a thousand things she’d like to contribute. But she bit her tongue, resigned herself to the Queen’s bidding.

“The Dark of the Sun is-”

“An old wives’ tale!” Fayne exploded. “Is that the best you’ve got? Children’s stories?”

Galva scowled. “The Dark of the Sun is not an old wives’ tale, Your Majesty. It is a terrible omen. Legend says that it happened once before, aeons ago, in the time of Malevelyn the Blessed. Andoherra corroded then, too, consuming itself, and most everything upon its surface.” Fayne cocked her head, fuming as she heard the bad news, but Galva adopted a careful calm, and continued. “Fortunately, Malevelyn put a stop to it nine thousand years ago. Unfortunately, you recently saw to the end of her bloodline, so there is no one left to ask how she did it.”

Fayne spluttered, sparking. Oh! Asbeth was likely laughing from her grave! The Queen’s expression darkened at the thought. “Talk about a well-kept family secret!” she cursed. “Come now, Galva, there must be something. You are the Grand Master of Dreams – Keeper of Histories, Seer of Unseen Things, etcetera, etcetera… Tell me how to fix this!”

“Well…” Galva’s pursed her lips as she thought. “There might be a way…” Her voice took on a quiet drone, dragging out each word as she shuffled through her thoughts. “Hmm, perhaps… No. Yes? Could it work…?”

“Tell me!” The Queen bit out.

She all but shook the woman by the shoulders, regretfully deciding at the last moment that it might not be wise. She folded her itching arms and ground her teeth, resorting to palpable silence as the old woman collected her musings.

“Yes, yes… it might work…” Galva said, nodding to herself.

The film of otherness drew across her vision once more. Fayne mimed pulling her hair out, but Galva appeared not to notice. She was seeing things not of the mundane. All Fayne could do was wait, and she did, but tapped one clawed finger against her pursed ruby lips the entire time.

At last, Galva wobbled her head, dispelling the fog of Vision from her mind.

“I believe there is a way to avert disaster, Your Majesty,” she whispered, her tone sombre. Fayne leaned forward, tense as a spring. “There is an old spell, an Unmentionable, which could divert the corrosion into a… vessel, of sorts. It is not a pretty spell – and can have disastrous consequences – but it is the only possible option open to you. I can make the necessary preparations, but, of course, you will need the Lat’Nemele to achieve the best results-”

“Oh, great,” Fayne interrupted. She sniffed, tossing her glorious head. “Of course we need the Lat’Nemele...”

“Indeed, Majesty,” Galva agreed gravely, misunderstanding the connotations of Fayne’s comment. “It cannot be achieved without her.”

Fayne huffed out a sigh, wondering how on earth she was going to convince Nerys to cooperate, considering how they’d last parted ways.

“Fine,” she snapped, “Prepare the spell in the Vaults. I have no wish to incite panic amongst my subjects. We will work this magic where no prying eyes may bear witness. Commandeer whatever supplies you need from Eoscan’s reserves, in my name. Meanwhile, I will summon the Lat’Nemele. Be sure to have everything ready by sundown. I will bring Nerys then. I wish the whole unpleasant business completed as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Majesty. As you command.”

Fayne nodded her dismissal, and Galva ported away through a white fog that looked a lot like powder. Fayne wrinkled her nose in distaste – the old woman smelled funny, as did her magic.

With a sigh, the Firekin strolled back to the window. She plopped herself down upon the broad stone bench beneath it, rested her magnificent head on her fist with a sulky pout. Outside, the late-summer sky was blue and clear. The sun, bright burning yet shadowed, hung above Andoherra like an accusation. She glared at the disease crusting upon its surface, cursing the promise of disaster.

The Dark of the Sun.

The portent for the world ending.

Fayne growled deep in her throat, balling her fists against her cheeks in frustration. Oh! And things had been going so well. The past two decades truly had been the summer of her life. The influence she wielded as World Queen had proved sweeter than she’d imagined. The games of intrigue between opposing factions across any and all races were like a drug to her.

She liked manipulating people… kingdoms… history.

If the world ended, it would all be for nought. She sighed crossly. Corrosive wild-magic was a little more than she had bargained for. She had an idea of how to fix it, but to do so she had a hard choice to make – of the irrevocable kind. Although she hadn’t admitted it, she was vaguely familiar with the course of action the Grand Dreamkin had suggested.

It really wasn’t pretty… Nor was it guaranteed to work.

And it commanded a high price.

She pursed her lips, forcing a breath through them. She closed her eyes tight against the course of action she was walking herself into. She felt her resolve falter, opened them again in a flash. No, she decided, she had to go through with it; she couldn’t let go of the fruits she’d toiled for more than a century to bear.

Indeed, there was only one thing to do. She would have to swallow her pride, and go find Nerys. She turned her back on the sun to lean against the sill with a frustrated groan.

“Could this day get any worse…?”

Running feet answered her, and a scurrying soldier all but fell through the heavy doors. He opened his mouth to spill his news, but Fayne threw up a hand to stay him.

“Hold!” she snarled, “I swear to Malevelyn, if you do not have good news, I will incinerate you!”

The soldier’s breath exploded out of his nose. His stymied words bubbled at his lips, but he held his tongue in confusion.

“Oh, fine,” Fayne snapped. “Out with it, then.”

“Majesty-King-Droahbar-messenger!” the soldier blurted – as if delivering his breathless words at speed might lessen their effect, “Lat’Nemele-Third-Kingdom!”

“What kind of garbled message is that?” Fayne exclaimed, “Summarise, man!”

“Majesty!” He snapped a salute, breathing hard, “The Lat’Nemele is laying waste to Nova Azuros!”

Fayne stiffened as his words sank in. The soldier cowered, trembling in his boots – he wouldn’t be the first bearer of bad news that the Fire Queen had destroyed. He braced, expecting the worst.

Fayne exploded in a swathe of crimson fire.

“Dammit, Nerys!” she roared.

The soldier found himself engulfed in a fog of hot smoke and yelped in terror. But the red haze shortly faded, and he found himself still standing, still in one piece. He fell to his knees, sobbing unabashed tears, unable to believe his luck.

For the World Queen was gone, evaporated into the Betwixt on a tide of unspeakable fury.