The fire crackled pleasantly, spreading its warmth through the four huddled around it. Many would say that fire was a destructive force, but not so. Great Mako had gifted fire to mankind, the fire and passion in their souls, the fires to warm their hearth and forge their steel. To aid in shaping their environment and lead to the path of civilization. Fire was nurturing. The sun just another example. Without it, there could be no life. A learned man, or woman, or otherwise – would understand that.

Alex was very thankful for that fire now, letting her hair dry in the heat. It warmed her bones and allowed her to relax after traversing the harrowing storm that had erupted around them from nothing.

“Convenient.” She mused, attempting to break the terse silence. “Not a mountain around but we've found this cave.”

“Naturally.” Iscari chuckled. “The gods have never abandoned their chosen. With that being said, you're welcome.”

Alex wasn't in the mood to fawn over a primus, whether it be jest or arrogance. Not after being stuck in such a situation because one had foolishly abandoned them when common sense would dictate he not do such a thing. “You're a conceited one, aren't you?”

Iscari shrugged. Arrogant to her, maybe, but he was primus. She would never understand the great gift and heavy burden hanging over his shoulders. “You hate Tyr because he does what must be done. It is not arrogance, it's truth. We are better. Higher. We carry the hopes and dreams of all mankind, our kind protect your from that which your petty magic cannot. It is a responsibility the likes of which your mind could never perceive. I mean no offense, but it's the truth. We, as primus, are what we are. I cannot change that. We see and feel in a way that you never could, and I know it makes it hard to wonder at why he does what he does. All I can say is that our fates, unlike your own, are set in the stone long before we're born. We do what we do because our die has already been cast.”

“I don't hate him.” Alex protested. That's all she could say.

“Yet you scorn him.” Iscari replied. “Scorn him for, as you Harani say it, having iron in him. Believe him a villain when all he does is but dole justice. I didn't understand it at first either – but now I do. You all saw those men, but not in the way that I did. Not in the way that he did.. I'm sorry that you had to, for it is my duty to prevent it. I should have protected you. Tyr is a man of great honor and wisdom, weak among our kind or not. You are lucky to have him.”

Alex chuckled at the absurdity of the claim. “It's not just me.” She nodded her head at the two other women observing their conversation warily. They were supposed to believe anything a primus said offhand, but after living with Tyr for so long... If not that, then the sudden and extreme arrogance coming out of Iscari's mouth gave them pause. “They don't like him either. Right, sisters?”

Sigi shook her head. “I've never scorned Tyr. Love and like has nothing to do with it. A primus is, as the prince says, above us. And I accept that. I will be the first to bed him, and create a new legacy of primus, as is my duty. All said, he is not so bad. He is tall and strong and handsome. Not quite my type, but a woman of Trafalgar makes do. We may not be friends, but I have always been honored by the fact that I was called for. There is nothing greater.”

Astrid agreed, in her way. “You think we scorn him, but we do not. He scorns us. I'd no wish to be married, to become a toy – but he's treated us fairly. Given us our freedom to choose. Bizarrely, he even wrote me a letter offering to annul our marriage should I wish to marry Iscari? He is a complicated man, and frustrating, but I accept him.”

“...What!?” Iscari asked, offended by the insinuation. Never would he lust after the woman of another man, let alone his best friend. Or lust at all... “When did this happen?”

“On our trip, just days ago.” Astrid replied with a sad smile. “I fear he's more complex of the heart than I'd imagined, maybe even a bit jealous of our easy friendship – if you don't mind me calling it that. Apologies, your grace, but you're not my type.”

“We are friends, Astrid, and I am glad to know you as well.” Iscari laughed. He'd never had a taste for women. “But I'm gay.”

“...Gay?” Alex asked, tilting her head as Tyr would always do, something the others found quite amusing in the sanctity of their own minds. “What is gay?”

“It means...” Sigi sighed. “He is a boy lover. He likes men. Correct?” She turned her head toward Iscari in askance.

“I will couple with a woman as is my duty...” Iscari nodded. “But yes, I prefer men. There is no shame in this, it is not forbidden in the empires.” The way he said it betrayed some anxiety, as if he'd expected scorn for it.

“...Neither was it in Trafalgar. Do as you please, to conquer and bed your fellow man – there is nothing more masculine. My father had many lovers, both men and women.” Sigi shrugged.

“It is uncommon in Oresund.” Astrid added with a bright smile. The revelation explained a great deal, and if anything just made the prince more human. “But not forbidden. I know that you will find your dream man one day.”

“It's not forbidden in Haran either, but I suppose I don't hear of it often.” Alex shrugged. “As Sigi said, you can do as you please. Even if it were – you are primus. Not held to the laws of men. If you were, Tyr would've been executed long ago for his vigilante activity.”

“Really?” Iscari asked, brightening at the easygoing responses. There was a burden off his shoulders. His father had always hated it, though Octavian claimed he 'accepted' it for what it was. He'd agreed to do his duty and sire children, and that would have to be enough. As it was, he'd been married twice with talks of a third and fourth. And then there were the thirty odd concubines in the palace that constantly harassed him.

They nodded slowly, not thinking it strange in the slightest. Varia was more traditional in a lot of ways, like Haran, and that must've been where the difference lie. Trafalgar was very progressive, and Oresund was... Polarizing, perhaps. But the agency of a free man was sacred. What one did in their own home was irrelevant. “Your sexual preference has no bearing on your character. I've long wondered if Tyr is homosexual, but I suppose he stares a bit too much at my breasts to make that a real mystery.” Sigi shrugged it off. “In any case, we would not judge you for such a thing. I, too, like men. Strong and hairy, with muscled arms and wide chests. I dream of meeting one with the moxie to throw me around and--”

“Sigi!” Astrid choked on the tea that Iscari often carried with him. Tyr's favorite brand, coincidentally. The woman truly had no shame, only a slight blush present on her cheeks after elaborating far more than she'd been expected to. “That's enough.”

“Mmm...” Sigi cleared her throat. “Sorry, I just get so--”

Just them, a rumbling shook their newfound haven, quaking the earth and setting their nerves on edge.

“...Monster!”

–

Confessions was sort of useful, but this stuff... Tyr wondered if he could freely come and go from this place. The books and tools could not be removed – he could pick them up but as soon as he left the room they would generate their own gates and travel back to their places. No pilfering to be had here, Ellemar's mastery of dimensional magic was second to none.

Even with their better textbooks, modern mages paled in comparison to both of the men Tyr was now more familiar with. None could command anima as Solomon had, and Ellemar for all things spatial. Even the experimental amulets held nearly two thousand square meters of internal space. Two thousand! Unfortunately, Tyr could only feel it – not access it, nor could he remove them from the forge room.

Ellemar was an out of the box thinker. Near half of the books present in the library were penned by himself, a true show of arrogance. It left Tyr wondering what kind of author kept his own books in their personal study, but he was thankful the man had. His ideas were abstract, but enough to give him a new understanding regarding runesmithing. To understand how he'd been approaching it wrong. Finesse, not power, not anything to do with 'following the recipe'. Every one of his artifacts were personalized, made differently even if they did the same thing.

Forcing mana into a metal was an amateurs mistake, he said – a mistake made by even those who considered themselves masters. One must resonate their mana with the unique properties of a metal to understand it. He was no blacksmith, but his enchanting was second to none. All around the room were examples of it.

Metals were a natural component of the world. They weren't mana crystals, they were the dried blood of the earth – Ellemar said. Thus, one must be gentle and coax the metal into agreement rather than breaking its resistance. In that, perfection could be approached – but never achieved. To strive was enough for the old mage. In his earlier years, he'd been extremely arrogant – but well aware of his limitations, turning them to his advantage.

It was sad, having read of his final moments written in the confessions. A man gone mad and worshiping a false deity. The loss of one of the greatest minds mankind had ever nurtured, so fearful of his own mortality and claims of a 'second black sun' that he'd lost his sense of self.

There were ample ingredients, too. Mithril, mana crystals, even adamantite. Cronite and moonstone, Tyr guess, based on their colors. Though those were bound to their own cabinet, one that couldn't be opened. He cursed the inconvenience, but three kilos of mithril and several more beyond that of silver, gold, and various mana crystals were worth the trip. Everything more expensive had been stamped with a rune to bind it to the facility. One of his books explained why, because he was forgetful and even a kilogram of cronite was worth a kings ransom. Often he would leave with something in his pocket. He also had a great suspicion that his apprentices had been stealing from him.

Tyr learned a great deal. The problem was converting it to the runes Abaddon has taught him, but he practiced them as well. For weeks and months beneath the earth he labored. Losing himself in the toil and unwilling to give up the tremendous opportunity. Every day was a new discovery, until he began to run out of concepts he understood in those books, some of it still far beyond him. He'd have to leave soon. Tyr was running out of food, near emptying his dimensional ring, and saddened by his need to eat to survive. He didn't care about school, he knew he'd be expelled if he hadn't been already, and was thankful that he wouldn't have to return to the academy. This was worth far more than all of his time with Abaddon and Valkan.

If he left, there'd be no returning. Ellemar had left a message saying as much.

To who might find this place. Take not but what I'm willing to give after I am gone. All else will return to the earth. I congratulate you on finding my home, but I am not so philanthropic a man. I wink at you now, and bid you study carefully my words and works. Let them guide you and serve in the days to come, but do not look too deep. For I have found my end in that abyss. The same gods who nourish us are the same gods that punish any who question.

May you learn eternal, and shed the shackles our kind have worn about them for time everlasting.

Tyr clucked his tongue. Ellemar was the dramatic type after all. Men became like that in their later years. Forced to face their own mortality and becoming soft, thinking of their legacy. Ellemar had died thinking he'd left none but this place. His reputation in tatters, his theories discredited. Low and behold they'd be the source of a golden age for magic. If only he'd known...

Reading the Confessions once more in search of answers, this time – Tyr finished it. Ellemar had sought to directly enter the realm of gods. All things belonged to a dimension, he said, but he'd never found it. Instead, he'd found infinite worlds beneath the 'boughs of the great tree'. Whatever that meant. Worlds of men and otherwise, of wonders beyond counting. Things that boggled his mind and struck awe in him, an awe he thought he'd have lost in his elder years. He'd come up short, but all that planeswalking had shown him enough to ultimately end his life without undue regret. His brief moments of clarity filled with nostalgia.

Whatever answers he found, they were indistinct. Answers gained through communicating with far flung conclaves of humanity living in cities of 'steel and glass as far as the eye could see', in towers that touched the sky. Ellemar claimed that these humans had killed their gods, and been liberated from the shackles that bound them. He, like Solomon, sought to do the same – but for different reasons.

Some worlds were dead, lifeless, plains of ash with only mountains standing tall amidst the devastation. Ellemar would go on to achieve impossible things, breaking the laws of time and space to travel between ages and learn from the ancients. Yet another example of how wrong humanity was in their consideration of magic. He had even claimed to bend time and speak briefly with Solomon, less than a sentence of a claim with the rest scratched out. A place not even the greatest of all primus' could touch, beyond time and space itself. If he was telling the truth, it was hard to know.

Eventually, he'd come to understand the greater phenomena of the rift itself. What he called 'peering into the firmament'. The middle-place in the dark, stepping across the veil. He'd been moving horizontally, but he wanted to move vertically – in a sense. The jargon was beyond Tyr, but that's the way he understood it. Ellemar sought immortality and understanding, twin ambitions, in the force of pure mana – crossing the line to travel outside of the planes.

He found himself barred from entry, but he'd seen things. Claiming 'they' were coming. Coming for all worlds. What 'they' were, Tyr didn't know. Didn't care, his writing became erratic and unstable at that point. Talking about eyes in the dark and a great enemy set to purge all life from the universe as if such a thing could be believed at all. Based on context, Ellemar made it seem like these 'beings' were the selfsame gods man worshiped today. Which was... Unlikely. He didn't explicitly named them, using the broader term of 'god'. Many things could be classified as gods, but... Solomon had killed a wind element celestial, Nobu/Noru. And that god had, in that ancient age, been like any other. If Solomon had been trying to save the world from the same fate, then it implicated all divines. And that couldn't be true. Tyr was no priest but he'd met two things that had claimed themselves divines and they didn't seem particularly concerned with world domination... Or a cleansing, whatever the case.

As soon as he ran out of food, he left the place, a bit unwilling to do so. There was no more wisdom to find here, but...

I've never tried to open the door... He looked at the closed portal with greedy eyes. There was yet one more wonder to experience before he turned his back to the dungeon.

He'd seen it and thought otherwise. This was a portal, a place he'd been nervous to open, but he did so after reading Ellemar's accounting of things. His 'great gate', taking advantage of what he called the 'ark' and the results of a lifetime of study. A place that could take someone beyond the first world and into so many more.

Tyr wanted to see these things. And he did, though he'd wish he hadn't. He saw a crowd of people so vast as to be an army. Staring down at devices and walking amidst each other in a flurry of activity. It was so loud. So many sounds, and the smell of the air was acrid and pungent. All packed together like anchovies in a can, black roads full of men, women, and children. People stared at him, their eyes wide and fearful. Calling to him and pointing frantically, in a tongue he didn't understand.

He was pulled away before he could see more. Soaring through the sky to bear witness to an island far longer than it was wide. A gray land where nature had been overcome by human artifice. Buildings so huge as to dwarf the largest of mage he'd ever seen. So many people down there, all existing as little sparks of light, each with their own ambition. Tens of millions of them, maybe more...

Blackness. A thousand stars, and a thousand more, and a thousand to multiply them – a hulking monstrosity of steel containing countless souls floating through the void to escape their dying planet. A bid for a second chance, all for nothing – the darkness devoured them. The void transcended their understanding, their calculations incorrect, screaming in the darkness with nobody to hear them but themselves. Locked in a freezing coffin and left to die.

A man who was king but refused to claim his title, standing before an army of ghosts in a great war to liberate his land, sword held aloft and a cry for victory on his lips. Dashing from their boats in a wave of phantasmal terror that shook the earth and made Tyr's heart flutter. A hero.

A woman, pulling an apple from a tree at the behest of a great serpent made of light.

Too many things. All burnt into his eyes with the speed of a hummingbird flapping his wings. So much war, devastation, and suffering. Destruction, people destroying the environments around them for no good reason. But it wasn't all so glum and dark. A mother as she cradled her child, naming him with a bright but tired smile. He'd be a great man. Tyr felt it in his bones. He could feel the love and yearned for it, begging the images to stop and leave him here. He wanted her to love him too, but as soon as she had appeared – she was gone.

Aching loneliness wracked his mind. All of these people lost in their own little worlds. And then, yet more war. He fought on a million worlds. Part of armies that stretched from horizon to horizon, seeming to blanket entire worlds. Whether with claw or fist or sword or axe or things he did not understand... It never ended, and it never changed. Everywhere was war and suffering, and he tried. He tried so hard. He wanted to see the mother with her child and cradle them both for he knew that it was his boy.

He loved them. Loved them so much his heart was fit to burst with an emotion he'd never truly understood, but it was stolen away. Hatred was all he was left with. A hatred of fate and a hatred of 'Her'. She who had cursed him to a billion deaths and a billion lifetimes of suffering and loss. Every single time, it never changed. By one setting or another he was pulled into one tragedy after another and made to stare at himself in a mirror of futility.

There would be no happiness for the wolf. The wolf had a duty. A purpose in the balance, or the wolf is nothing. That wolf of light is so much better, everyone loved him. But only 'She' loved the the judge, the wiper of slates, the shaper. He who would only break and never create, never know life cast by his own hand as his brother did.

Not a lifetime, not of time at all, but an eternity. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you! Why would you do this to me? He cried these things aloud, but She didn't answer. Sad as She was, there could be no answer. She was black and white, with such a familiar face... Winged and angelic, yet wretched. Joyous yet weeping, long ribbons of black streaking down her cheeks. He loved her, and he hated her, but one thing never changed. He needed to break her to free himself from this mad labyrinth.

He let the universe know his rage. Faced the only enemy and bathed in their blood. It wasn't Her fault – no – it was theirs. This was necessary. The greatest duty. A trillion sons bleeding beneath foreign suns. He'd always forget them, but he'd know them for as long as he could and would see that their story was told. His father was there, but not the father he knew. This one was old and gray and one eyed, infinitely more cruel than anything that walked with the living. The architect, designer, twister of threads.

They stood together for a time. Sweeping aside armies in their advance, shattering planets and feasting on the remains of those who disturbed the balance. What was he but the silver hand? Who was he but the wolf? Howling through the dark place and throwing himself into their advance. First in, but never out. The others could leave but he would remain in the dark until all became so. Until the end of everything.

Most of all, Tyr searched for his son. All of his sons and daughters. For they were many. All of the lights he'd managed to bring into this world and those beyond it – but they were pulled from his breast and he was impotent to stop it. His words ash and his attempts to wrestle with fate were in vain. He screamed, howled, faced legions in solitude and fell more times than there were stars in the sky. 'They' were infinite. They hungered. They would not stop until the tree was a stump and the stump was dug from the earth and made a meal of as well.

Flashing, grating, tearing his mind apart like a million hooks buried in his sense of self.

And then... There was nothing. He was at the end of this particular road, and all that was left to him was a choice.