Garath stared at the altar, a beautiful thing that sat in the middle of this chamber. It was simple and unremarkable. It was just a stone slab raised from the ground near chest height. There were no embellishments or anything that pointed to a greater significance. The only thing in this entire room, really, was a bronze brazier which he waited eagerly to alive with flame, signifying a message from her. But for now, he marveled at this simple stone structure, the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. This was where gods were born. This is where men shattered their selves and took up the role of the strongest, the most capable. When he had joined this organization, it wasn't because of some philosophical belief or rule like some others, but pure greed. He deserves this power; he deserves it. So much of his time, fighting in the Arkoudan army to receive little reward. He watched friends and family die, killed in the name of the empire to see his actions shunned in the end. And he nearly was killed, saved by some mysterious doctor.

These things pushed him farther and farther towards Talin. And when he joined, under Umerius, he had been promised that his efforts would amount to something, and he shall take part in the splendors they may receive. And as was promised, he quickly rose to the ranks, becoming a captain of his own group within Talin, and was even promised power beyond his imagination. But then, it all crumbled away. The power he sought vaporized to mist, snatched by the hands of the godlings who claimed the power of the gods for themselves and no one else. Talin was driven to a degraded heap of an organization, its leader perpetually incapable, and its pieces are taken off the board mid-game. And when it all returned, when he threw his support behind someone he knew would take the throne confidently, she turned and shooed him away, stripped him of his men, and gave him new ones, new assignments, and the promises seemed to of been forgotten. He was no better than when he had first joined Talin. He was at square one.

The brazier, filled with a viscous oil, began to emit blue smoke from its surface. He walked over to it, knowing what would be waiting for him. He straightened his coat and peered into the oil, dipping a finger into it to disturb its surface and allow rippled to form and cascade against all sides of the container. Once it did so a few times, the reflections of flames from nearby candles distorted into the image of a woman, ghastly looking and hollowed-eyed. It must be one of those soulless Makhai. They seemed so eerie, and he wonders why they ever decided that they must be reused after such a long time without them. They were a recent reedition to their ranks, far more effective than the regular warriors, but also so cold and dead, like machines than actual thinking creatures. It made his skin crawl just to look at one.

"Our lady will hear a report of the recent assignment, captain Garath," the voice was thin and husky, like a breeze brushing against hair.

"We have captured the godslayer, and the child is still secure. We have eliminated any trace of our movements. I am currently standing by for more orders."

The Makhai seemed to consider for a moment, eyeless sockets pacing the brazier. "She will be pleased. However, you have one more assignment before you may return to central base, general."

He raised an eyebrow, trying to keep his anticipation from showing on his face. "And what is that?"

"The child, the one called Massua. Once her treatment is complete, she is to be used to Plithos Hephaestus."

"What!" he exploded, both hands on the rim of the brazier, looking down at the image that warped from his movement. He breathed in heavily, trying to contain his anger. "I believe that it was agreed that I might be given that one as payment for my efforts for capturing a godling."

"Out lady has decided that you will serve better under a different bargain. Besides, she does not believe you are suitable to become the vessel of the brimstone god."

"The promises of the prior seat are under the direct revision of our lady," the Makhai told him. "She has allowed you a placement, sitting. This is thanks for your support, your resolve. However, you will not be mistaken that our lady holds any of the ties that held Umerius. She rose to the throne specifically to cut those ties, as they were what had hung Umerius before. If you truly have grievances with her decision, then I can transfer what you have said to me to her directly."

Garath's jaw set, taking his hands off the braziers and bearing down on it with a heated gaze. He said through clenched teeth. "No. The arrangement. . . is fine. I begin procedures at the appropriate time and report back when all is well."

The Makhai nodded. "May you find the light."

Garath did not reply to the farewell, simply dipping his finger in the oil once more, feeling the aura dispersing. He resisted the urge to flip the entire thing upside down and spilling it all. How dare that witch to go back on the agreement that bonded him here. If he was not to be the god of what he desired, what purpose does he have? Will he simply waste the rest of his days chasing the dreams of someone else. That altar, he never saw it so tantalizing before. He felt as if he was in the middle of the lake, unable to reach the precious fruit of a tree above him. Not only, but he had also been promised that a hand would bend the tree so that he may snatch just one. But instead of this helping hand, he got a spit in the face and watched as his labor went towards someone else entirely. He feared this would happen. He could feel it the moment he laid eyes on that child. Why else would she order her capture? She still had only two days before she would become a Makhai, and a Plithos herself. Two whole days.

(X)

Lyse was getting the hang of their routine now. On the first day, they gave him some food that would supposedly last him his stay here. They seemed rather dry, but he knew they must be packed with nutrients if that was true. Then, every day, they would open the door and pin him to the ground to switch out the waste bucket in the corner. At the same time, he thought each day. They gave no warning; the door merely materialized and opened suddenly, one with the spear forcing him on his stomach while the other quickly replaced the bucket. The whole procedure lasted less than twenty seconds. But that twenty seconds is truly all he needed. With the food and his zoi replenished, he was ready to get his plan underway. He will not let his sister rot in here any more than what he is capable of. Rescuing her is his top priority, followed by killing that bastard Arkoudan when he finds him. He wished he had his sword, but again he guesses that it's still sitting on the Hath street with his hands. Hopefully, his band will pick it up, and hopefully, they are already on their way. They have the map. They know where he is. He just hopes they make it here when he believes they will. He hopes he is not overestimating Makyra's tracking skill. It will most likely be her heading the party with only a few others like Elena, Gray Edlund, and possibly Moxie. If he guesses their travel time accurately, they will only be a day or two behind. He needs to meet them in the middle of this.

He waited for the second time to change his bucket, measuring since the last time they did so. He resisted sleeping, fearing that he may time it wrong. It happened once again, pinning him to the floor under the spear while the other changed it. Twenty seconds. It had been just under twenty hours by his estimate, though he can not be entirely sure how accurate it was. But still, he has to use the opportunity. In this space, he can not use zoi in any offensive manner. But, neither can they. He felt it whenever they pushed him down, and it lacked the sturdiness zoi often provided. He doesn't need to fight them, just outsmart them. He will only have a single opportunity. If he messes this up, he risks even harsher confinement than what he has been given so far and misses the chance to rescue her. Everything can fall apart. As he sat in mediation, he thought back briefly to the plains. The mother and daughter traveling across. He felt a sharp stab of guilt thinking back to them, how he failed to realize the situation, his indecisiveness led to the loss of innocent life he was fully capable of protecting. But as the thought came, he did his best not to wince against it. He did not dwell on what he could have done. He was finished wallowing in his failures; it was time to do what must be done.

An hour before what he thought was the time limit, he assumed a fetal position. He forced even breathes as anticipation began to build within him. His heart was in his ears, and he used every ounce of will he had to hold his zoi calm and collected like he was still asleep. They won't question that; hopefully, at least that is what he thought. The wait was nearly unbearable, but he lay motionless just in case it did occur. This is it, the moment he has waited for. All of Fate's will have coalesced at this moment to seize the opportunity. There is no failure, there is no trying, and there is no next time. It was now or never again, success or damnation. And as he felt the anticipation ready to burst within him, he heard the small crack as the door reappeared and abruptly opened. He lay as still as a dead mouse, not even breathing. He felt a small prod from one of them, and he stirred just a leg as if searching for a more comfortable position. But in reality, he was preparing himself, with an arm under him and a leg positioned in just the right spot. They kept their eyes on him, but even if they anticipated it, that doesn't mean they can stop it. The other seized the bucket, putting down a fresh one. And his signal was the clang of metal against rock.

He sprang up like a coil suddenly being loose, and he leaped from his position kicking out with his leg. The spearman only had a moment to comprehend what was happening before catching a foot to the chest, sending him against one of the walls. He used the momentum of that kick to get himself to his feet and facing the other one. He still held the bucket and the spear in one hand. In such a predicament, he would have been better off having nothing in his hands as Lyse grabbed him by his shoulders and slung him into the wall, wasting the escarpment all over the guard. As both were just momentarily dazed, he did not waste a breath, turning on his heels and bounding for the exit. But as he was near to crossing the threshold, the one he had kicked away recovered and tried to tackle him to the ground. Lyse had the agility to brace himself against the wall next to the door instead of falling, a hand outside of the room, but not enough to get leverage. This turned into a wrestling match, and he had to drag himself out of the door before the other managed to recover as well. He went for a triangle chokehold, dodging an attempt of the guard to grab at his other arm. And using all the force he could leverage, he slammed the guard down against the hard floor, hearing a satisfying snap as his arm, pressed too hard against the guard's head, snapped under their combined weight. He didn't even waste time to stand, instead of rolling out of the cell and turning to close it. He saw as the one covered in piss had finally stood and dashed for the door, but before he could make it, Lyse kicked it shut. They banged loudly against it, but after a moment, it stopped. the door would have disappeared, and they were trapped in there until someone opened it again.

The moment seemed only to last a second, and Lyse found himself on his back panting. But he wasn't tired at all; in fact, out here, he never felt more alive. He felt the sweet flow of aura suddenly spike in his body, as there was no inhibitor to his abilities. Strength surged in every muscle, every vein. His mind sharpened his senses, focused on a prick. He jumped to his feet, stretching his muscles as he looked around anxiously to recount his steps. His memory was still clear, and he remembers back to where the entrance was. But, he was going in the opposite direction. He took a deep breath, the aura within him spread out as wide as possible. But not the mere twenty feet. No, his senses expanded to encompass nearly the entire structure itself. Every nook and cranny, every single room and every floor was suddenly in his mind's eye. He could feel all the aura that emanated from everything, living or non-living. The power of creation, the power to enhance. He could see all that fell within its realm. And he could see her as well. His sister in some room another two floors below him, guarded by two more guards like his own prison. She was still, and her aura seemed odd and slow, not like it was inhibited, but like a creature close to death, leaking out of her.

He felt a sharp pull to his gut, and with the energy he had left, he bounded off towards her. Lyse was coming.

(X)

Celia looked over the deck as men prepared their swords and guns, Theurgy gathering armor and their supplies. The mood was strangely hollow. She had not slept since she found out that Lyse had been captured, despite Makyra's insistence. She was practically healed now, ready to move. But the pain she felt has sharpened from before. As She put on her armor, she found herself surprisingly incapable, and her hands feel as though red hot irons with being driven through her arms. Even putting on her gauntlets was an excruciating experience that caused her to pause to allow the pain to fade before attempting again. She can't believe how painful it was, how could James even function all these years. She can't even imagine getting used to this pain. In this state, she is practically useless in battle. But she was not going to let it stop her from at least using her senses to track him. She had spent his entire life around Lyse's scent. She won't be as accurate as Makyra, but she will still be helpful enough.

They came upon the shore, around where they assumed the ship would dock. Not a mile out of the shore, though, Makyra smelled the strong stench of blood. No ship was found, but that alone hinted at what may have occurred here already. They climbed down the plank and onto the rocking beach, the waves making short lapping as crabs and other smaller shelled creatures scuttled their way across. There were no tracks, nothing hinting that someone was here. But, as soon as she stepped onto the beach, she took a deep, long breath. Her senses were as sharp as a knife, and beyond the blood and pain, she felt the presence of a familiar scent of new corn and a field after a rain, mixed in sweat. That was the Lye she knew, and almost absently, she began to move where it was coming from.

"Blij, keep the men ready to depart as quickly as possible," Moxie shouted up. "In fact, keep the main sails open and the anchor slack."

"Aye, sir," Blij yelled back. "May you have a safe return."

"Oh, I sure hope so," she said softly, looking back at the thinning forest full of tall trees, the mountain's base so close. It brought a chill to her, but she was not some small child; she knew where the monster was and was not afraid of what they may do. But even still, cold memories climbed the back of her mind like snakes preparing to smother her. She followed just behind Makyra, guns loaded and pointed to the grounds as they began to follow the two trackers among them. The Knights watched their backs. If they had only just met, she would not have trusted them to do so. But these people seemed glad to die protecting her ship for some odd reason, so who was she to judge them. She can't imagine what else they must have endured getting this far, but they had a determination only attributed to someone accustomed to this world of danger and madness.

My god, she thought, these poor fools were dragged into this world. I would say Fate has mercy, but I know better.

They journeyed deeper and deeper, more so heading near the base than following the scent of Lyse. Oddly they could not catch the scents of any of the others that captured him. Perhaps there was something about them to prevented others from sensing them, much like the Makhai that ambushed them at that Koraki outpost. They left no obvious signs and stayed away from any regular paths, even taking precautions to make some random false paths adjacent to the mountain. These people were careful. If they had the time to cover up Lyse's scents as well, then perhaps they would have lost their chance at finding him already. The mountain loomed like a jagged knife buried in the landscape. Its feathered edge forming quite unique structures from the rock-like stone arches and pillars of limestone. This made traversing much closer to it a little easier, as they sought after what they assumed would be prime for entrances. Though, for at least half an hour, they saw no signs of one. The scent was thinning heavily by then as well.

"Fan out and use zoi," Celia said. "The entrance is around here somewhere."

As she said this, she already stretched her senses as far as they would go. The area was blanketed by her aura as she took in as much information as possible. Strangely, she could not penetrate into the mountain, some barrier blocking her senses from reaching in too deep. She cursed herself, the Torlakian magic keeping them away. But at least they knew they were close. The shapes she could determine were vague and unruly but didn't quite blend well with the stone that surrounded them. She sighed. No amount of searching with zoi would reveal the location, and they are going to have to search for any clues as to where it could be. But so many blank slabs of rocks protruding from the mountain, searching for clues may take them days. Time that she does not have. Both of her children were in the viper's nest.

She balled her fists, the leather of the gauntlets scrunching up in response. She went on thoroughly searching, pulling aide boulders or piles of rocks. Makyra watched her from the corner of her eye but never quite looking at her face. Every time she did, she felt as if someone had squeezed her stomach. The guilt she felt, coming back to that ship and telling Celia that her son had been lost. She didn't know how to act. She felt deeply that it was her fault, that she could have saved Lyse. And Celia had assured her that she was indeed not to blame. She did all she could. They were simply unprepared for such a bold attack. Lyse's band actually was grateful that she went after them, as they felt like a chicken with chopped heads when they had encountered them. But she wanted someone, anyone, to blame her. She should have been there. If she had been there with Lyse, they could have gotten away. No, more than that, they could have killed Garath and his troop, avenge Wilbur and possibly have gathered leads to find his sister. But instead, they are left bruised, confused, and desperate.