An hourglass hung suspended in the reception hall of Ti Am'arak. The golden disk atop it had collected dust for years, and several cobwebs clung to its base. Apparently, spiders didn't revere gravitational phenomena. But that changed when the last grain of sand finally dropped to the bottom.

An invisible energy rippled through the palace walls, blasting dust and cobwebs away as the hourglass crashed noisily onto the floor, shattering into pieces and sending debris everywhere. For a few seconds, there was silence. Then a sneeze rang out.

A statue peppered with sand from the hourglass's destruction blinked in confusion. Hand cupping its nose, it sneezed again. Stumbling clumsily from its pedestal, it searched the vicinity for its companions. These it found easily enough. Eleven other statues stood vigil in identical alcoves to either side of the massive doors leading to the throne room.

Hands folded, the statue waited. The black resin encasing its body shimmered briefly and disappeared, revealing a handsome elven warrior. Mythril plate armor gleamed, resplendent even in shadow, as did the hilts of the two weapons strapped to her hips. Unsheathing the right blade to check its condition, the swordmaiden confirmed the weapon had withstood the test of time. Its pristine edge flared with the fell crimson of enchantments meant for wreaking mass carnage. Satisfied, she re-sheathed the blade and resumed waiting for her companions.

The other statues woke in clockwise fashion. Relius recovered his composure instantly, aided by the expert observational skills and reaction time of an assassin. Tightening the cuffs at his sleeves, he glanced at Azora expectantly. Jacobin and Cronk did not fare nearly as well, the former instinctively loading an arrow onto his bow and firing at the first thing he saw— the latter. The bolt sent the metal golem reeling into the diminutive form standing next to him.

"Sorry, Bart," Cronk apologized as he righted himself. "You hurt anywhere?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "Yeah. My ego."

Glaring across the hall, the golem scolded, "Damned twitchy archer. With friends like you, who needs enemies?"

Jacobin, having recovered from his earlier confusion, gestured rudely. "It's not my fault the first thing I saw was so disgusting. Who in their right mind would want to wake to a face like that?"

"Please don't fight," a soft, dulcet voice begged. A glimmering blue sphere drifted over to the golem and melted into his chest where the arrow had struck. The tiny crack which had formed disappeared.

Cheeks darkening, Cronk retracted his arm spikes and stared bashfully at the ground. "Thanks, Lucy."

The sorceress nodded and cast an additional healing spell on Bartholomew.

Mia, Tia, Lia, Ria, Sophia, and Gretchen were last to awaken since the servants were more susceptible to psionic manipulation. After all, they were not trained warriors. They struggled with the mental bonds that had kept them dormant even after the hibernation spell's main core had dissipated. Their cooperation was impeccable, however, and soon the group had helped the last girl ready herself for orders. The eleven guardians turned to face their commander.

Azora cleared her throat. "It gladdens my heart to see all of you once more. I'll admit, I was uncertain this day would come." The swordmaiden walked down the line with a fierce smile, her eyes lingering affectionately on each countenance so dear. Her companions answered with smiles of their own. They were more than comrades. They had danced countless times together on the edge of life and death. They were a family.

Striding to the massive doors at the center of the hall, Azora's smile faded. In its place she donned a mask of implacable ruthlessness. "Nevertheless, our heartfelt reunion must be postponed. Guardians, prepare yourselves! We move to confirm the masters' condition."

Cronk came forward to stand beside Azora, spikes bristling with lethality. Bartholomew, Jacobin, and Lucinda took up position behind them, and the maids followed cautiously at the rear, the sleeves of their gowns unfurling into menacing streamers. Relius protected them unseen in the darkness beyond.

Knowing that this was the best they could do on such short notice, Azora took the lead. Tentatively, she approached the massive doors and knocked.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Nothing happened.

Cronk leaned closer to Azora. "Maybe we should announce ourselves?"

"Nonsense. If the masters are inside, surely they know we're here."

A breeze appeared as though to confirm Azora's words. It stirred the floor debris and the maids' clothing in passing, carrying with it a feeling of weariness that sank deep into one's bones. No sooner had it ended than the doors yawned open to reveal the cavernous throne room within. There were no lights. No sounds. No signs of life whatsoever.

A sphere of light floated over the group and landed at the front.

"Good thinking, Lucy." Azora activated the runes on her blades, the crimson flares adding another source of illumination. Then she crossed the threshold into the unknown. The others followed a beat later.

The throne room was a shabby memory of its former glory. Colorful tapestries which had once hung proudly from the rafters were threadbare, mangled by moths. Priceless chandeliers lay scattered in ruins on the floor, the chains attaching them to the ceiling having long since succumbed to corrosion. The velvet carpet which had once stretched from entrance to dais puffed clouds of dust every time somebody stepped on it. But most disturbing were the bones.

Mountains of bones littered the ground to either side of the carpet. Some of them formed intact skeletons with scraps of clothing and jewelry that were faintly familiar to the guardians. These were the remains of the countless courtiers and supplicants which had once flooded Ti Am'arak in their eagerness to obtain an audience with its masters.

"Hey, Sophia! There's Lord Whatshisname, the creep who wanted to marry you!" The uneasiness which had encompassed the group abruptly vanished as Jacobin pointed to a spot within the sea of remains. There, in a disheveled heap, was a skeleton wearing an outstandingly gaudy overcoat which had somehow retained its revolting colors as nothing else in the room had.

Sophia scrunched her nose. "Ew, gross!"

Chuckling, Jacobin tossed her a wink. "Well, well! His looks have improved. You should reconsider his proposal."

Sophia's sister-maids giggled as she hurled a dagger at the insufferable archer. Unsurprisingly, her aim was horrible, and it hit Cronk instead. The metal golem huffed in annoyance.

"Sometimes, I think you plan these shenanigans. Then I recall you're not that smart."

"Keep underestimating me, Big Guy."

"Ahem." Azora held up a hand for silence, and the group ground to a halt. "It's obvious there are no enemies at this point. On that note, thank you, Jacobin, for doing your best to call an ambush down upon our heads. Had an enemy been present, I've no doubt you would have succeeded."

"Oh, come on! There's no way any enemies could've broken through. The defensive formations are intact. It'd take at least an elder god to sneak through those bad boys without setting off the alarms."

"You know, he's actually right," said Bartholomew.

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day," stated Cronk.

"It takes great courage to gang up on a single opponent!"

"Says the long-distance sniper."

Azora ignored the immature squabbling and addressed her second-in-command, Lucinda. "I'm running ahead. Follow at your own speed."

Faster than the blink of an eye, she was halfway down the carpet, her slender legs moving at a pace that had earned her her first epithet, She of the Striking Storm. Thunder cracked in her wake. Despite her speed, and defying all logic, she was able to bring herself to a controlled stop at the dais. There she gazed upon the sorry state of her masters.

They, too, were naught but bones. Their mouldering skeletons sat on the matching thrones, side by side, unable to part from each other for any significant amount of time even in decomposition. It was a spectacle ghastly beyond description, yet Azora's expression smoothed into one of relief. Kneeling, she prostrated before her superiors.

"Masters, your humble servant has returned."

The weary sigh returned, rattling the items in the room. And then time reversed. The chandeliers reassembled and attached themselves to the ceiling, the shabby tapestries glowed with vibrant splendor, the drapes blocking the windows flew open, and the deathly courtiers rose to their feet. Muscles, sinew, blood, flesh, and hair sprouted as though it had never been missing. Vacant faces turned collectively to stare at the being which had foolishly disturbed their rest.

Azora felt their hungry attentions upon her, and cold sweat beaded along her brow. Even she dared not fight the Deathless Court while the hive mind possessed this many hosts. Still, she made no move to defend herself. It was a decision based on trust, one rewarded by the tap of a scepter on her shoulder.

"Rise, child."

The proud swordmaiden complied.

Lo, the avatars of Ti Am'arak's eternal rulers revealed themselves. Ti Am'at, who had spoken aloud, sat on the left. Hers was a grotesque persona. Compound eyes protruding from her temples reflected the images of a hundred miniature swordmaidens. The pale, wormlike strands constituting her hair hissed eldritch secrets, and smokey tendrils spilled from her waist.

On the right was Ti Am'an, Ti Am'at's inversion. Wings of unspoiled white folded round his chair, preventing all but those closest from laying eyes upon him. Yet he was not dreadful. Dark, silken tresses framed a face that demanded adulation, and disks of warm, golden light peeked languidly through the fan of his lashes.

Bowing, Azora treaded closer to her creator, searching diligently for any indications he had moved since last she beheld him. Regrettably, there were none.

"Father, have you been well?"

Expression impassive, Ti Am'an did not answer his prized creation. Despair filled Azora. Pivoting to Ti Am'at, the swordmaiden faltered. "It didn't work?"

The queen chortled. "No, it did not. I warned you, child. The sacrifices of others mean nothing to one so cruel. Am I wrong, Brother?" Again there was silence, but Ti Am'at did not mind. "You see? He ignores me, as well, these days."

A tear escaped Azora but was dashed before her fellow guardians could see it. Gathered around her, they murmured their condolences, none laying blame where surely it belonged. She was ashamed to face them. They had heard from Ti Am'at Herself that the sacrifice they had made— the sacrifice Azora had obliged them to make— had come to naught. The king of Ti Am'arak was lost, perhaps permanently, in apathy.

Ti Am'at observed the antics of the palace guardians, mandibles gnashing with strained forbearance. She did not care for children as her brother did. At last, she clapped her hands, and several long tables loaded with food and drink materialized. The Deathless Court relinquished its grip on the souls of the damned, and the infernal light streaming in through the windows grew steadily brighter.

"Enough!" The queen's throne floated to the fore of the grandest table. Likewise, a force engulfed her subjects and levitated them to the appropriate places. "Precious centuries have been wasted on these futile endeavors, and I, for one, wish to celebrate the return of cherished companions. Tonight, we feast in your honor. Let us forget old sorrows and welcome the beginning of a new era."