[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 17]

Renner lurked in the dark, deep in the abyss of nonexistence. She felt nothing, adrift in the total flows of what was not when she was so without. Everything she was or had been was simply obliterated, shuffled into the dead static of unconsciousness. There was peace in emptiness. A breach. Something glittered in the dark, casting all in a new light. Suddenly there was, and there was what was not, a binary dredged from the entropy. Renner’s face was illuminated in the depths, and she began to catalyze. The shredded fragments of herself started to draw together, first in loose and haphazard ways; thoughts and qualia connected without any regard. Her thoughts fell apart and would reform. The brilliant mote continued to shine, and she no longer could hide in the urblack. She began to assemble, suddenly everything that came before feeling scant and nonsensical. Renner was ripped into reality.

“Highness!”

Climb? Climb is here- he’s calling- he’s in my room.

Her thoughts crashed into each other, only breaking free and crystalizing as words in staccato bursts. Her entire body rattled, sensations cascading when just a moment ago there were none and no time upon which to mark their absence. Her eyes shot open, and she saw her room was just as dim as when she drifted off to sleep.

His voice. Is something wrong.?

She tried to find him in her gaze, but didn’t succeed before she felt her left side sag slightly as the bed moved out from under her. Before she could comprehend this, she felt cold; the cool mithril of Climb’s gauntlets was stinging her skin and tugging the straps of her dress - which she only now realized was not eveningwear - as he slipped his hands under her. There was moisture too, as well as a clattering noise, neither of which she could not place.

“...Climb?”

She realized she had used her true voice, feeling a dusting of panic at the mistake. She had spoken before she could render her mask, something she always was granted time to do in the earliest spaces of her day. Her ears caught the feebleness of her voice - it sounding faint, soft, and confused - all things she wished to communicate. She had not revealed herself. She let that component of self-preservation in herself relax, and threw herself into understanding the moment. Climb had nearly dragged her out of bed completely, foisting her up.

He almost has me to my feet. Why? This is unbelievably strange.

Her toes brushed the tile floor, Climb trying to set her down. It was devoid of heat, and caused her to cringe slightly. She struggled to get her feet under her, having to untangle them to set them flush. She twitched, feeling a horrid pressure on the side of her head. The sound of metal moving past itself filed her ears, searing her.

The side of my head is throbbing; I’m absent coordination; hurts to see, hear, and think. I’m not yet clear from drink yet.

“Princess, we need to go.”

Before she could grasp what was happening, he was already bidding her forward, she nestled in his left arm. The sensation of wetness grew, something of Climb’s left flank smearing into her. She lagged half a moment behind the progression of events, doing her best to fight her mind fully to the surface, fettered by a tattered drunkenness.

Why is he retrieving me? Surely any cause to do so would be known by others. Is there anyone else present?

They were in the sitting room now, Renner doing her best to piece the pitch of the space. She could pry no one else from the gloom. Climb was taking her from her room alone. Despite herself and the growing anathema of events, her consumption in the revelry prior had wetted her soul and she slipped into indulging a girlish fantasy.

Ah, is he finally ‘stealing me away in the depths of the night’? How wonderful! He called me princess, too. How… intimate of him.

Her mask threatened to break from her again, feeling increasingly like she was dangling over a brink. She began to admonish herself, the risk of her act cracking in front of Climb too likely and grievous an error to be walked back with ease.

This is unacceptable of me, I am failing on every count here. No, by any possible accounting. I need lucidity. Some of the liars-temperance, then.

“Climb… the potions.”

Renner gestured limply to the small cabinet drawer where she kept such things.

“Y-yes of course.”

Is that embarrassment in his voice? I suppose it's only natural of him. I will have so much to make up for after this is said and done. I wonder where we’re going to secret away too?

Climb strode to the cabinet with Renner in hand, her struggling to keep abreast with the swiftness of pace. She twisted slightly in his arms, and in a way she could not understand, this causing him to buck with a sharply hissed inhale. Before she could articulate a response, they had arrived, Climb releasing her and bringing his arm back around to shuffle through the drawer. It was filled with vials of alchemical and medical make, an expense she had made long ago at Laykus’s behest. To Renner’s confusion, he did not grab any of the antidotes to drink, instead snatching at those made to stitch flesh. He popped the cork of one with his thumb and downed it.

What?! Is he- is there a danger?

Stuffing the rest in his pockets, he turned back to the princess, his face not visible to her in the dark. He seemed to double take, and then pivoted back to the drawer, withdrawing what Renner had desired in the first place. He put it into her hands, clasping his around hers. The slurry of her mind knew that this action had been born from an underlying hazard, but only vaguely so.

“Highness, please drink this.”

With a little struggle, she pulled out the cork and dutifully complied, bringing the vial to lips and letting it pour into her mouth. It had a taste so earthen as to be torturous, she doing her best to drink it fast. As the first trickles began to slide down her throat, they slipped through the flesh and were caught in the rhythms of her vitality. Her next heartbeat caused the sides of her skull to sear, her suffering at the headache increasing tenfold at the introduction of abstinent medicines to her body. The pain - feeling like hot iron driven through her clasped eyes - and her tiredness threw her off balance. The second heartbeat only magnified the agony and the third caused her to stumble slightly, nearly slipping from her feet entirely before Climb caught her.

“Your Highness!”

Four more beats passed, the final of which baying her suffering. The lush fog of her mind broke.

The congruity again. He’s here, he touched me, he’s here in capacity, he did that with need; there is an immediate danger. He drank a potion, he’s been wounded, he’s fought in combat; there has been violence. He stocked himself with more healing potions, he’s preparing for further combat; there still is imminent danger. He came here alone, he was separated from the rest, was the only survivor, or was the only participant; the danger is great.

Her eyes snapped open.

“Climb, what happened?”

Even in the dimness, Renner could see his face turn unmoving. He let go of her, his arms falling to his side.

“We- we need to go.”

He bucked me? He won’t tell me, he’s afraid too, something foul has occurred; no, he’s committed an act he sees as foul. I need to cut through his inhibition. Something accusatory.

“Climb, what have you done?”

Her words were soft and delivered forlornly, making them all the more biting. He froze, unable to bear the sickly sweet lashing she had made at his roots. His voice, already shaking, broke at the seams.

“He- Kn-knight Teloran was-”

He strained Teloran’s name; He hates Teloran. Climb is my dog, he comes here not to ensure self-preservation, but to protect me. Climb has fought Teloran. Climb is here alone, it was unsanctioned, no other survivors in known retreat, he has taken the time to gather supplies, the chance of immediate counterattack is low, Climb has killed Teloran. Climb would not kill, wound, or maim, without defensive cause; he knows that there is a danger specifically against me. Teloran was a component of this danger. Teloran would not act without orders from Barbro, Barbro ordered Teloran to assassinate me.

“Coming here to kill me.”

Climb again stuttered, his words drawing off into nothing. She had spoken in an empty yet not emotionless voice. She heard his breathing start several times over. Her deduction was too swift for him, and he seemed to suffer at the rapid pace of her thought. That she could divine the course of events from the scant fragments she had been let to set upon was a dark miracle, and he could not bear it.

Again a mistake! I spoke too soon, I should not have cut him off. My act is slipshod, I can neither construct a persona as Princess acutely nor accurately now. I am not holding fast to that image. Cease speaking before- Gods above Barbro was going to have me killed!

Renner felt her heart skip a beat, and for a twip, she felt pure panic. She recovered before she slipped off her balance a second time, but the matrix of her mind jammed.

He- He wanted to kill me. He was- Teloran was coming to kill me. Had Climb not stopped him, I would have been run through in my sleep.

Phantom tingling appeared in several spots on her front, places which a blade could have slipped through into her. She pressed her hands into her chest and abdomen, trying to drown the sensation in things that truly existed. She could not succeed, her entire body flaming igniting in terror. She felt nauseous. Her eyes wetted. She began to shake. Her thoughts went completely non-linear.

My brother wanted me murdered. He followed through on his anger. He was- no, is consumed by his rage. What happens when he finds out I’m still alive? That Climb killed his adjutant. Teloran is- no, was a Knight-Officer! Climb slew- he- a gods-forsaken Knight-Officer! That’s a mortal crime. Climb could be strung-up from the gallows for that. Silver lining, easy way to fulfill- no, disparity of blood. Execution would be ‘igni nihil’. No chance of resurrection. Gods had Climb not stopped him...

“Climb-”

Renner burst forward, wrapping herself around Climb before he could react. She felt something poke into her when she cleaved herself to him. He gave a stout cry, one she could clearly identify as pain. More wetness on her skin, seeping through her dress. She pulled back slightly, Climb shaking, but standing stock and not returning her embrace. She looked downward, seeing contrasts she did not understand. His armor, even in the night, should still have been bright. Much of it was, but it was splotched and fouled down his left flank; the spot that had prodded her distended and torn. Her mind summed it all together, and she realized that his armor had been blown through. Shrapnel was embedded in his flesh. Terrible visions struck her. That he had been nearly killed without her purview; that she would have been next. She pulled in a sharp breath and screamed, Climb smothering her mouth within a second.

“Princess, please!”

I would be dead by now. I would be dead. Had Climb not stopped him. I wouldn’t have woken up.

Her cry fell off, tears breaking free from her eyes and streaming down her face. Her shaking worsened, and she was no longer able to still her body. Her mind slurried, unable to render anything in detail. She could not muster any thoughts, any coherent train of thoughts. She was overwhelmed with base emotions, formorst of which was fear.

“We need to be quiet.”

Renner nodded slowly, her tears reaching his gauntlet. Climb broke his hand away, Renner swallowing. She tried to find words to speak, but could dredge none from the shattered wreck of her mind. She began to force her thoughts together.

His blood, Gods I’m covered in his blood. I- No, I need to think here. Destabilizing here is sinfully incompetent. I need to find a way out. Where can we go? If Barbro sent Teloran after me, that means that things have destabilized elsewhere. He wouldn’t attempt it unless he was certain it wouldn’t be stopped. He must think Climb was my only defense; he would need to be shielded from counterattack too. The Royal Guard would need to be occupied, Jelka, Galdra, Retha- so many as to be absurd. A plot would need to be at play. My end would be part of a far larger scheme for it to even be possible. A careless attempt on my life, even if it succeeded, would bring any who attempted to do so without fundamentally breaking the hierarchy. The assassination of my father? Gazef would need to be eliminated too- Ah so the scheme with Slane was truly intended as a runup to an exchange of power? So my brother was involved with it, or at least a tool in its coming.

“Climb, who else?”

“No one else Your Highness, it was just… him.”

Just Teloran sent? So- Ah, that would figure. Barbro would only trust Teloran to do such a thing, and he did so with no one else in league. His contemporaries want to avoid as much turmoil as possible. They would want to avoid wasting an asset for me. Having the Golden Princess die the same night as her father doesn’t make for any stronger justification for war, which would certainly be innocent. This is an outright exchange, swapping a King for a half-fit copy made twice as dense. Who could tell what sort of anger would erupt? Ah, and he is dumb as to the implication. Barbro is not the one being swift-handed here, someone else is placing him on the throne. The only two of six who would benefit enough to attempt would be Bollopue or Lytton, but which of the two? Frustrating, I still cannot narrow down to the man. This is so clever as to be beyond him. There are many hands at play here.

“Highness?”

“Yes Climb?”

“What do we do?”

His voice shook, its timbre brimming with a deep agony. The two of them were close, she still with her hands on his armor. She caught the scent of him, the air brimming with the metallic and saline flavors of spilt vitality. They were not clear to her, but she imagined the character of his eyes.

My puppy is looking to me for answers. Saccharine. There can be no other relevant query. There is still lethality waiting in the wings. Who has arms and who would take us? Certainly the Royal Guard- no, not if father has already been slain. How many houses have men-at-arms with them tonight? Who would go with who? Who would Barbro be collaborating with? The number seems near uncountable, no time to think of them all. Who would bring a significant complement? Bolloupe, Raeven, and Urovana have all brought forces. Knights of Vellen, Helgrave, Theiern, Yinra, and Kilijen are here too. So many could turn against me if ordered too by a King Andrean. Bolloupe and Lytton with certainty; Blumrush if wetted; Urovana would do so, but not without guilt; Pespea would be safe to run too, Vena would stand and make a case on my behalf to him; I could compel Raeven to provide me safe passage as well. Safe passage to where? Gods this has become complex.

“Climb, do you know where Marquis Pespea is?”

“No, Your Highness. I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him since-”

We would need to find him, and that exposes us. Flee the palace and- No, the secret ways are a known quantity in this scheme. We ought to flee in the immediate to Zanac. His viewing of Barbro should be as low as mine. I can soothsay a course of action on this in transit. To think flight is a consideration. If only I could send for Lakyus.

“It’s ok, Climb. We’ll go to Zanac.”

Is my father alive? Is Gazef alive? There’s no way to tell.

Renner loosed her hands and broke from Climb. She felt strange, the tempest roiling in her soul having poured so much out that she felt spent. Breaks of character were one thing, but a sword over her head was something she had never before known.

To him, I’m simply his half-sister. Is this retaliation for my rejection of Harlink? I’m sure its only a component of his murderous intent. An odd thing- Ah. My hand in marriage was payment to Harlink for letting such violence occur on his land. Quixotic. I wonder why that did not come to me till now. Perhaps I was unwilling to dismiss the efficacy of my rejections. Now I suffer from a mistake I made months ago.

“We need to leave. Now.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Stay close.”

Renner nodded, Climb pivoting to the door to the corridor. From here to Zanac’s room would be no more than a hundred and fifty paces, yes the distance seemed an impossible gulf. Renner feared inwardly she would see violence, yet quenched the thought immediately before it could materialize as words in her mind.

Why even conduct such a plot at all? Slane did not slay Gazef, how does the dual purpose of hunting my father become plausible? No, perhaps there was an inertia to it. Such a conspiracy, if months coming would be years making. People unwilling to break arrangements; deals made- even binding ones. How they deal with Gazef becomes the question. What of guildsmen? I suppose they won’t dedicate themselves to matters of country anyway; though they are a deadly force. Coin should keep them hinged.

Climb drew, Renner starting at the sight. She had seen him blade-in-hand many times before, but never with true cause. He began to move, she tailing just behind him. They reached the door to the hall, Climb opening it slowly, peaking through the crack. After a moment, he opened it wider and stepped out. He swept his gaze, and upon seeing no reaction, Renner knew they were alone. He bid her outward, and as she entered the corridor. It was far brighter here, even if only by candlelight. The blood on Climb’s armor was no longer simply a contrast in the dark, but an agitated red. Renner’s emotions roiled. She turned her eyes way to the right, and saw a new class of horror all together. It took her a few moments to realize what was crumpled on the ground was a man. He was completely still.

That’s Teloran.

The bloodstains, shards of porcelain broken from a flower vase, and furling of the carpet rendered vivid images of thrashing in Renner’s mind. She was consumed with a number of physical sensations, her nausea growing to outright sickness. She brought her hand to her mouth, baying back the solvents of her insides. Woozieness too, and she tried her best to plant her feet firmly in the ground lest she embarrass herself a third time this evening. All this, yet she did not want to break her eyes away. She was utterly fascinated, choosing to bear her body’s rebellion to stare at him a little longer.

The course of the stuff sweeps around the corner, I suppose he came round already in peril. Ichor, yes, but so little gore. What a strange thing. I have no concept of the material construction of the body. Was anything else supposed to give way? Surely some other biles, no? Again intuition fails me; first in magic, now medicine. A second lagging in the self. Ah, that little spurt there by his right hand. Was he bearing himself up when he slipped on his own blood? Comic. No, more than that. Almost poetic, or at least the false work of a hack. The spilled flowers by his side soaked in him? That feels pastice.

“Your Highness.”

I have seen those in the wake of their ends, and I suppose those in ending. Diseased creatures of warrens and jungles are not an unknown quantity on the streets of the Kingdom. Prior to his uplifting, was my puppy not counted among them? Ah, the contrast here is the violence and intimacy of this. Teloran did not simply meet an end, but was ended. I did not expect this to be so moving.

“Your Highness.”

I wonder what Climb’s end will be like. Will he possess such vigor? What words will pass from his lips as he slips below? How much further could I drive him into loyalty when he comes back? I am beginning to desire such a thing greatly. Odd. When I saw signs of violence on Climb, I felt as if I had been smote; as if my hands were emptied of him. But death in another provokes nothing but an interest in wetworking? The demarcations are obvious; I see strata interposed between-

“Your Highness!”

She pivoted round to see agony and shame in his eyes. He was near to tears, his face mournful and twitching. His blood was a sight of a different caliber, and her emotions quenched into new forms.

By all counts he must feel he’s failed me. To let me spy such rotten things. Indeed, this has disturbed me, even if only a twip. That feeling is not foriegn, I failed you too Climb. I was complacent tonight. I did not anticipate the foolishness of the opposition, that they would choose turmoil and death. After tonight, things will be altered. A new character for the politics of the nation. The sun will rise over Re-Estize nevertheless, but it will rise a little blacker.

“We need to go, Your Highness.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, I have lost that feeling of… loss? A poor way to say it, but one that feels poignant yet again. Identity reigns supreme in such matters. I seem to discern between the lesser and greater species once more. I believe my darling that in some fundamental matter of your being, you qualify closer to me. A being worthy of a collar. A dog among rats. I am back in control.

—

A war mage. What are the odds of that?

Elias and Jelka were huddled behind a thrown over table, two smoldering holes blown through it near its center.

“I didn’t think that boy would ever get so brazen.”

“Who?”

“El-Nix.”

They were deep in the King’s quarters, the sitting room directly adjacent to His Majesty’s bedroom. The pair had been in the company of the King, Elias making his rounds deeper into the night to avoid the intrigues of guests. Their conversation had been cut short as a quartet of men burst into the foyer. Knight Galdra staved them off long enough for the King and Marquis Urovana to flee the room, bartering for the delay with his life. Elias drew and sated his blade on one in the retreat, Jelka fleeing to the back only to find the escape passage was simply jammed, a cruel twist of fate. Attempting but failing to run through a second, a triplet burst of arcane darts had driven Elias and Jelka to seek cover in a table, their charges hiding in the next room. Jelka had snatched a hidden crossbow from its underside, a short exchange of ranged fire negotiating them out of a melee. This had given them time, time that Jelka saw fit to use to identify their opponents.

“What? You think they’re Imperial?”

“Whoever that man is, he’s clearly a product of that academy.”

“You figure?”

“His aim, those spells of his.”

A sharply rising resonance cut their conversation, followed by a crack as the portion of the table behind Elias’s head was blown to pieces. Flaming splinters of wood scattered the space behind them, embedding in some of the furniture. The spot that had broken away was left aflame, Elias sinking down a little farther to avoid his hair catching as well.

This was dire before, but he seems content to chip at us. As if he isn’t expecting reinforcements from the rear.

“I don’t know. He seems to only have one trick.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s the third fire bolt he’s cast. The Veneficus of Arwintar tend to know more evocations than that.”

Moreover, it’s twenty five seconds between every blast. Those are cantrip casts, they don’t have the mana to do anything better. The man by his side always fires a bolt after, hoping to catch one of us in the shuffle?

“You’re saying because he hasn’t blasted us away with lightning, he's not Imperial?”

“I’m saying, why would the boy Emperor send a second rate wizard as an assassin? Why would the Monster send one?”

“El-Nix has the most to gain here. Hitting the border, then the palace while a war council takes place. They’ll break across the border in force.”

Undera, we both know that’s not the case. El-Nix has no interest in provoking a broadfront war, not now. He’s content to grind us down and wait for the right time. He’s twenty-two, he doesn’t need to take a fight any time soon. We both know that this is faction violence. Some noble too stupid to wait for Barbro to take power.

“Well, there is a way to check.”

Elias peeked through one of the breaches and spied that their opponents were also in cover behind a door frame. The bulk of their bodies obscured, neither of those flanking the door wishing to draw fire between castings.

Twenty five seconds up soon. Three. Two. One.

As if on cue, the mage twitched around the corner and shot forth a lance of flame, smiting the segment of table to Elias’s dexter, a bolt sailing through it a twip later. A scrap of wood scraped his face, yet he did not twitch. He flicked his finger towards Jelka’s crossbow, who after a moment, passed it to him. He took a slow and deep breath, preparing himself. He stood over the barricade and raised his voice, loud enough to be heard from the other room.

Twenty two.

“You know, I was wondering to myself how a fatherless bastard like you could have ever been made.”

Nineteen.

No response, but he watched his opposites shuffle their feet slightly. He loaded a bolt and pressed his taunt further. Jelka hissed frantically, not understanding why his comrade was so willingly exposing himself to danger.

“Courier Brendel get down!”

“What sort of things does it take for a man to turn his back to honor and valor? To conspire to cleave King from Country.”

Thirteen.

Elias calmly leveled his crossbow at the left side of the doorframe, the side which the mage was hidden behind.

“Brendel, That’s an order!”

“When it comes to decisions like that, I think of my mother. Her lovely face always kept me on the path of all things good. How can a man turn his back on that smile?”

Four.

“And then it hit me. Your mother must have been a right ugly whore.”

“Die where you stand!”

The caster broke from the doorframe with murderous intent in his eyes. Elias pulled the trigger and loosed, bolt embedding in the caster. He fell without power, hitting the ground with a dull thump. Elias sunk down into cover, dodging a desperate followup bolt that one of his enemies had planned to fire in tandem.

There we go. People like you are too easy to bait.

“Not imperial.”

“What are you- why?!”

“No accent.”

Jelka seemed stunned for a moment, before uttering an muffled expletive under his breath. Elias twitched his head up, drawing another bolt. The remaining bladesman did not charge, instead having shuffled to where the mage had stood. Neither had sought to rescue their dying comrade, who was currently giving a low moan as he clutched his abdomen, his robes fouling.

“Honorless men, they won’t retrieve one of their own.”

How hard can it be to pull him off the floor, sate his thirst for a potion of healing? Surely he’ll die at this rate within five minutes. Are they just trying to avoid ranged attack? We have bolts, and I’d put them down if they tried, but he’s their caster. Don’t they need him ready to fight?

“‘A wicked man finds no role for himself in the after.’"

“Ay…”

Wait, no. Death of their ranged man, they shouldn’t stand still, they should be rushing us down. Why not? How could they have time to wait? Are these men actually ‘second-rate’? If you’re going to attempt to kill his Majesty, wouldn’t you send your best?

Elias began to suspect something was truly wrong. He could not understand why his opponents were not charging forth from their positions in a rush. He shot a quick glance to Jelka, seeing his face was also twisted in confusion.

No, they couldn’t be poor fighters. They slew Yilna. Pity that, he was a good man. None of this makes sense. For the love of all things fourfold, they’re hunting the head of his Majesty! Surely they have to expect others to come ‘round eventually. They can’t hold a counter-assault from behind. How does any of this figure?

Elias loaded a bolt into the crossbow. The table they were behind was nearly torn in half, the wooden surface near the center almost entirely blasted away. He slid the crossbow back to Jelka, not wishing to put himself at any further risk. The thoughts and actions of their enemy remained indecipherable.

“As if he isn’t expecting reinforcements from the rear”... “the rear.”

Everything clicked into place for Elias.

The passage was never blocked.

“The King!”

The pair broke from cover, Elias bolting forward towards the bedroom as Jelka twisted round and loosed a bolt as suppression before following. Elias leveled and flowed himself into his sword, knowing the door was already locked and built to resist assault. He struck it at full bore, the tip of his sword blowing out the wood where it struck as he carried it through. The locks broke from its body, and he maintained his speed going through. Four men were in the room. Four, when there should have only been two. The secret passage was agape, the blackness of its unlit passage seeming to be unending.

“Sire!”

Ramposa and Urovana were eight paces distant from the assailants, both of which bore stilettos dripping with an iridescent fluid. Elias wrenched his sword from the wreck of the door, moving with as much swiftness as he could. He felt a horrid thud, a piercing pain near the square in his back. A burning sensation lit in his veins, the next beat of his heart spreading it wide through his torso; the beat after imbuing his entire body in sensations of flame.

Poison bolt?

He made two more steps in his dash before sinking his steel through the nearest assassin. The toxin was virulent, and by the time he had cleaved his hilt to the body of the man, his body had lost all strength. He tried to grip and drink an antidote, but he failed to provoke any movement in his hand. His momentum carried him and the skulk off their balance, Elias unable to prevent himself from falling. He realized his end was to be swift. His senses slicked, and as his skull was filled with pulsing flame, his mind grabbed at a few scant images of himself. None resolved clearly; vague impressions of the faces of loved ones, errant scraps of training and combat, spent prides that had long since hollowed of any meaning. A twip of regret, as he realized he would have no knowing of the outcome of this night. They were a rushed and poor measure of the man that was Elias Jund Pell Brendel, but he had no time for more, slipping from his feet and the world evermore.

Ah. That’s that then.