As he scrambled away Istroama took up another stone, turning and hurling it with impressive force. The thrown stone went wide, but Istroama didn’t even notice. He was already sweeping up another projectile from the beach, this one apparently a broken fragment of a skull. “Move, man, move!” This command, directed at Symeon, was accompanied by another throw. The skull fragment was relatively flat, helping the throw stay relatively true to course. The impact resulted in a hollow thud but no other reaction from the struck claw. Regardless, Istroama was already readying to hurl more projectiles.

The shouted order to move broke Symeon out of his shock. As the skull fragment made contact Symeon was scrambling away while focusing on bringing his obscuring manifest down. It vanished during Istroama’s fourth throw, the stone being no more accurate than his first, revealing the projectile sailing harmlessly over one of the giant rib cages that littered the beach. It was the tips of the ribs that had pierced through the top of the blue field.

Istroama’s confusion was evident, though he kept a rock he had picked up ready in hand. “Wait… that thing is dead. It has been for a very long time.”

The following silence didn’t last long before it was broken by Symeon’s laughter. “Well, we just got ourselves ambushed by a pile of bones. Glad it’s just us buddy, we’d never live that down otherwise.”

“Quite. Not exactly a shining moment of triumph. Still! A valuable learning experience.” Istroama gestured toward Symeon with the rock in his hand. “You, my friend, we need to work on your reactions. You froze up.”

“We need to work on yer aim.”, Symeon countered. “What was the plan? Throw at the sky ‘n hope gravity dropped the rock on target?”

“Be fair! I’m not used to such mundane means. Hurling chunks of crude matter in a high Presence field? Who’d be able to…” Istroama trailed off. Symeon had just picked up a fist-sized rock. With a glint in his eye, Symeon squared up toward the offending bones, drew back, and whipped the rock forward. The shot was a touch off centre, but still tore a hole in one of the desiccated ribs, which proceeded to crack and tumble onto the sand.

Istroama’s gaze lingered on the damage for a moment, and then turned to Symeon with a broad grin. “Well! That’s promising. If I can guide that talent for mundane mayhem into magical chicanery, you’ll make a most excellent artillerist, friend Symeon!”

“What? It’s just throwin’... man, we’re both bein’ stupid.” Istroama’s smile fell away as Symeon continued. “Mostly me. We’re makin’ too much noise, I got us wanderin’ around with screens blockin’ our lines of sight. Might as well just close our eyes ‘n yell for the Imps ta belly up for a meat-snack.”

Istroama had nothing to say in response to this.

“I wanna figure all this weirdness out, but now isn’t the time or place. I’m gonna stop distractin’ us. We’ll end up makin’ camp sooner or later, we’ll probably have time to catch up on readin’ then.”

Istroama was already moving toward the beach again. “Fear not, friend Symeon. Our inevitable triumph over the mysterious manifests will be all the sweeter for having defeated the… uh, what did you call those things on the beach?”

“Chrysalises.”

“Chrysalises! Will be all the sweeter for having defeated the menace of the chrysalises!” Istroama proceeded to stride confidently past the giant ribs. “Forward, friend Symeon, forward!”

“Uh, we’re not really lookin’ to defeat the chrysalises, buddy. And they’re at about two o’clock.”

Istroama came to a halt at this, his confidence replaced with confusion as he turned to face Symeon. “They’re at two what now? I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“It’s… it’s a way of tellin’ direction. It was part of the thing about time. Came to me early on with all the survival stuff.” Symeon gestured with his hands by way of demonstration. “Twelve is straight ahead, three is right, six is rear, nine is left. Numbers in between are, well, in between.”

Istroama spun back to his original facing, and pointed out in front of himself. “So, twelve?” Without waiting for an answer, he pointed to his right with his other arm. “Three.” Then he brought both arms closer together, concluding, “Then that’s one and this is two. Hmmm. That works fairly well. OH! That’s that six thing you were on about before! Though I don’t understand why you’d have twelve in the high position instead of one.”

Symeon wasn’t sure himself, now that it was mentioned out loud. The fact that the information seemed to be incomplete was a development that left him deeply unhappy. He’d come to realize his questions often didn’t stay unanswered, and while the answers sometimes put him something like a fugue he got answers. Moments passed without further revelation regarding the genesis of the terminology.

“Huh. Well, for some reason I don’t know why that’s the way it is. Weird.”

“Weird indeed, friend Symeon. Still, we’re well on our way to this ‘two o’clock’ business. I daresay we’ll have it well in hand by three!”

“No, no, it doesn’t… eh. Ya know what? This is a later conversation.” Symeon gestured ahead as they drew closer to the crysalisises. “Looks like the coast is clear.”

Indeed, a cursory perusal of the area around the glittering slabs seemed to be free of Imps, barring the pulverized carcass of Flappy. Symeon led Istroama to the central area of the chrysalises, where the corpse was still pinned beneath the lid of the chrysalis Istroama had emerged from.

“Your handy work, friend Symeon?” Istroama lifted the lid with both hands to expose Flappy’s remains to further scrutiny without waiting for an answer. “I don’t know what it looked like before, but it certainly seems like you gave it a proper seeing to. Well done!”

Symeon was well back, regarding the body and surrounding filth with obvious distaste. “Just leave that thing alone. It tried to cough up a wad of nasty worms when I was scrappin’ with it. Might still be crawlin’ with ‘em.”

Istroama stepped back, placing the fallen lid back on the battered corpse. “I’m not terribly alarmed, but ensuring it is not further disturbed is fundamentally sound. I would ask the same of you while I investigate the lines of magic hereabouts. Please, refrain from touching anything! Most of these structures house intense magics.”

“So, you’re manhandlin’ that lid because?”

Istroama glanced at the lid with momentary alarm before his usual bravado returned. “Because I am an expert on matters magical, friend Symeon. You can be sure there is no cause for alarm. Regardless, I would ask that you remove yourself to a safe distance while I consider the powers at play here.”

Symeon had no idea what a safe distance might be, but further away seemed better in general and so he retreated toward the ocean. The downside to this was that he was left to watch while Istroama alternately walked and crawled amongst the chrysalises, humming and hawing as presumed lines of magic caught his attention. It didn’t take long before Symeon found himself frustrated by his own nervous energy. This was the first point since waking beside one of these very crystals that he wasn’t in action in some way. Of course, he took the precaution of being on the lookout for more Imps, though it seemed moot at this point. The feeding frenzy that had been at the distant carcass earlier had remained dispersed to wherever knee-high abominations went when rotting meat wasn’t ripe (or more accurately, overripe) for the taking.

With little else to do, Symeon’s attention turned to the blazing, steaming ball of fire he had previously seen hovering over the waves. It was still difficult to look at directly, but it wasn’t as if it was blinding like the sun. Shading his eyes with his hand helped greatly, but regardless he didn’t get any rush of information. Instead, it felt like a vague pressure in his head, something that was just out of reach.

“I say, friend Symeon! Your attention, if you please?”

Symeon realized that he’d gotten lost in examining the distant flame. “Sorry. What?”

“I have a theory, but I need you to move closer to test it.” Istroama paused while he considered the footprints they had left in the sand. He tentatively scuffed his heel into the sand, shifting some aside. Seemingly satisfied with the result, he then dragged his heel to make a line. “Right here will be a good spot to start. Move to this mark, slowly, on my word.” Istroama turned back to face the crystal slabs, gazing intently at the cluster. “Now.”

Symeon advanced with a pause between each step, while at the same time Istroama moved away from the chrysalises to take in more of the view. Symeon saw the look on the doughy fellow’s face as he passed, and while Istroama’s lack of eyebrows made it challenging to be sure he thought the look was one of surprise.

“Now that’s very interesting indeed. Please be so kind as to move”, and here Istroama paused as he quickly counted to himself, “same speed, nine o’clock. Nine o’clock is that way, yes?” Istroama pointed to his left, and Symeon nodded in confirmation. “Ha! No trick of time is too twisted to topple the triumphant Istroama Claimant!”

Symeon didn’t have much to say in response to that, limiting himself to a gentle shake of his head as he sidestepped to his left several times. Istroama’s attention moved to the left as well, leaning in closer to a seemingly empty space in the air that roughly matched Symeon’s pace.

“Tell me, friend Symeon, when you were struggling with that horrid beast, did you make physical contact with the structure I emerged from?”

“Well, yeah. I fell onto it, ‘n then I smashed Flappy with the lid.”

“Flappy?” Istroama moved a few steps to get a clear line of sight on the ruined creature. “It had a name?”

“I kinda called it Flappy in my head. It’s got this wing on top...” Symeon trailed off with a sense of vague embarrassment.

Istroama did not respond to Symeon’s discomfort, instead moving quickly around the collection of chrysalises as he spoke, having to shout as he passed the far side. “That chrysalis was the only structure you made contact with?”

“They’re Manifest Chrysalises, actually, but yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the only one I touched. Hey, could we not shout? This beach was crawlin’ with trouble earlier.”

Istroama was coming back around the other side of the cluster, no longer shouting but muttering. As he came closer Symeon could hear Istroama more clearly. “Six, six again, and six again. Can’t say I’m happy about that.” Istroama pointed to Symeon. “I don’t think this is your doing, but you’re linked to this ensorcellment in a very serious way. More accurately, it’s linked to you.”

Symeon again found himself at a loss for words as Istroama hooked his thumbs near the shoulders of his robe and took a deep breath. The pose was clearly intended to express gravitas, but the combined activity caused Istroama’s robe to fall open, revealing the Innocent Boxer-Briefs identical to Symeon’s own. Symeon found it hard to maintain eye contact as Istroama proceeded.

“First and foremost, the chrysalises themselves. Twenty-one of them, laid out in the formation of an equilateral triangle, six to a side. That’s some very bad luck, by the way. Threes and sixes? Positively reeks of the divine. The chrysalis I surmise is the one you emerged from isn’t central, not that there’s a true central position within such an array. Rather, yours is in the middle of the third row. Mine is just behind it, at… hmm.” Istroama faltered for a moment as he thought. “Five o’clock? About five o’clock, in row four.”

Istroama turned toward the crystals as he continued, obscuring the contents of his open robe to Symeon’s relief. “Each one of these chrysalises is holding staggering amounts of both ordered and chaotic power, and each appears to be housing a living being. As far as I can tell the order magic is keeping the occupants locked in time and space, while the chaotic magic is keeping them alive. I mean, look at Flappy there.” Istroama hurried over to the corpse. “His flows are broken, primarily the red ones, and his cycle is ruptured. You can clearly see the various young he was carrying are dead too, though they largely broke in the yellow.”

“Uh, these flows are somethin’ yer seein’ with that magic line trick?”

“Correct. Now you, conversely, are very much alive. No broken flows, though your reds and yellows do seem a touch worn. The beings trapped in those chrysalises have flows of much like your own, and I assume like mine as well. However, their flows are frozen in time. I would say as long as the chrysalises are closed, they will remain just so.” Istroama turned again to Symeon, robe waving languidly in the breeze. “The part that I find most interesting is that all of the aforementioned workings of Order and Chaos are linked to you. Your blue flow, to be precise.”

Symeon was about to ask what Isroama meant when he was hit with a wave of mild nausea. New information had been acquired, answering the question before he could ask it. The colorful flows Istroama was speaking of were the same colored circle that he had seen around his image in the panel’s orb. He willed the blue frame into his vision. Symeon’s gaze was directed up and to the right as he stared at the blue portion of the circle as if daring it to react. “That blue bit on my picture frame is Power. Magical power. You said it’s the Chrysalises linked to me, yeah? It’s not actually costin’ me anything?”

“Correct. While I don’t know why you seem to be at the center of this ensorcellment, I theorize that those chambers will only open for you. Alternately, if you cease to exist they would likely all open at once.”