And so in that season, two hundred and eleven years after the passing of the Desert, came to the land of Gaurlante a split – between those who believed the line of Gaius, which inherited Aivor, were correct in forming an empire, and those who did not. The “traitor” Karla El-Kir was quickly cast out of the Imperial priesthood and Gaurl society generally, with her Risir forming a rival faction primarily based out of the parts of the Crescent Land bordering the south of Gaurlante.

The Invictans claim that in order to bring about the desired withering of the Veil, to end the separation of mystic from mundane, it is necessary to acquire land. The Risir contend that this is not only unnecessary but counterproductive – that war and division cannot bring about unity.

One may wonder how the Risir, while following the spirit Aivor which they regard as both living and divine, may oppose the human host of that selfsame spirit. But that is a surprisingly simple matter: the Risir hold that Aivor is not infallible, and may be misled by a human. For there is no infallibility in the world, not for anyone, mortal or otherwise.

It should come as no surprise to the reader that this disagreement has led to much bloody conflict in these past three decades. The authors can only hope that by the time this volume is widely read, that blood will be a memory.

-From the History of Gaurlante compiled by Iltha of Ir-Hashkrim

The festival house of Kivv. Late Autumn, 243 YT.

Antonin Voloshko grinned at those gathered at table as he poured oil and sprinkled pepper and fennel over a large sheet of flatbread. “The ovens here are working harder than ever,” he said, a smile in his voice, his steps lighter than they had felt in many days. Around the bread sat dishes full of sauces and stews, platters of pickles and even a few fresh vegetables. In Antonin’s corner sat a large, elaborate and multi-spouted pitcher filled in its core with that signature Valer brew, strong coffee mixed with chamomile, laurel, anise seed.

Outside this small, warmly lit corner of the festival-hall, it was growing quieter and colder in the city by the day. Voloshko had taken to wearing his long, thin open-front coat, though it was not his fashion when he was young. The Valer men preferred this style, although the coat was not heavy enough to warm him during Sibiri winters.

The Zelenkos were gathered, all rubbing their hands together in anticipation and looking at the arrayed breakfast with open joy. Stepan, still red-faced from the road here and misty-eyed with lingering grief, took a sip from his cup of brew, and the steam of it hung about his eyes. He grimaced, and then smiled. Voloshko considered him from a distance. He’d long written Stepan off as something of a bumbler, a coward and a fool, but Antonin Voloshko was quite proud of his ability to read people’s worth by the way they held themselves, they way they moved, and the way they spoke. He felt there was something different in this one now. Whether it was the loss of his wife Marga, or the mess that had transpired since, the weeks spent rebuilding Etyslund or the long road to Kivv, Antonin couldn’t truly say.

But maybe he could do some good in holding this city when the armies inevitably came.

Kamila Zelenko looked strangely serene as she sat with a sword belted to her side and an unloaded crossbow over her shoulder. She reclined in the seat, taking a sip of her own brew and looking out at the contents of the table. Voloshko felt a cold shudder pass through him when he looked at her – to think this young woman would be a Hunter! But he had delved deep, tracking her actions before she made them, and every prediction he could make about her pointed to one thing: the deep thirst for vengeance.

It was hard to picture now, of course, when she was seated and calm and smiling at her family. Kamila and Hilda even exchanged words, friendly words that passed through Antonin’s mind without being processed. He forced himself to keep smiling, to appear at ease. But it was so strange! Kamila’s path had not changed, Antonin could still feel the choices she would make and could predict where they might lead her! He’d studied deep enough of Reaper magic to know just how far the Veil’s weave could reach. Yet she was more at ease now than Antonin had ever seen her before.

And as a girl she’d wanted so badly to be a Reaper! She’d known nothing of Reaper magic – of the cost she’d pay for that power! He felt the Words inscribed on his back when he thought of it, heard the din of the echoed voices of everyone, Aether-touched or human, he’d ever Banished in his long life. He winced when Kamila stirred her cup and the spoon jangled against the ceramic interior just a bit too loudly. For all that he could Read Kamila, for all he knew (with sorrow, despite his own hand in it) the pain she’d will herself into, he couldn’t help but be glad that she would never be a Reaper.

Some people simply didn’t have the strength of mind.

And so as he came to sit at the end of the table, Antonin looked toward Hilda Zelenko. The girl was so small and unassuming (he didn’t need to Read her to know how much she’d silently bristle against a statement like that). But there was something in the way she sat, the way she held her eyes down, that gave Antonin pause. It couldn’t be just that she was troubled by her vision when she became a Reaper. Antonin sighed inwardly, tore off a piece of the flatbread, and held it up. “Go ahead, everyone, eat,” he said. “You don’t have to wait around like that.”

As he bit down on the bread, closing his eyes and leaning against the table, he reached out across the Veil, gently, to Read Hilda – only a little, not enough for her to take notice. She was not yet practiced in that skill, and Antonin was an old Reaper, so she would not take note of his intrusion. Antonin Voloshko was practiced – when he manipulated the Veil, his fingers on the physical plane did not even twitch.

He felt the presence of an unnatural echo. There was the faint echo of the one whose memories Hilda surely sometimes felt in her dreams, yes, but over that was the clear voice of one who let himself drown in his contempt. A soldier of the Invictans, who tried to follow the siblings all the way to Kivv. Even now the voice spoke in Hilda’s head, quietly, though she ignored it with admirable strength: Kill Kamila Zelenko. Kill your sister before she kills you.

She will try again, you know. I have seen what she is like. I know as well as you.

For the echo of a mere Aether-Touched, it was oddly strong. But Hilda was a new Reaper, after all, and this was the first Banishment she’d performed in her life. And indeed, she’d performed it before properly receiving the Words. In all Antonin’s time of training Reapers he’d never presided over a thing like that. There was no way of knowing for sure what effect it would have.

Antonin was shaken out of his pondering by Kamila’s voice. “So…” The eldest child of Stepan Zelenko leaned forward in her seat, grabbed a piece of bread and scooped up some stew in it. She took one of the cuts of trout (fresh-caught in the lake north of town) and set that on her own plate as well. “Let’s not beat around the bush, Antonin. It’s been days since we spoke and you wouldn’t give me a straight answer last time. The Invictans are going to come here. What are we going to do about it?”

Stepan frowned at his daughter’s disrespectful tone, but Antonin waved a hand to signal his lack of offense. “In addition to the militia reinforcements at Etyslund and Oxdal, among other villages, there is coordination going on with the Adma and Risir in the far south. Aleks, I believe you can speak as to that.”

Aleks Zelenko cringed at the mention of his name so close to talk of war. But his eyes lit up a moment later when he said, “Kotire and I have been working to build a map of the fronts the Invictans have set up. It’s an elaborate structure and they move regularly, but we’re beginning to discern a pattern in those movements.”

“Oh!” Kamila grinned. “So the Adma will be striking from one side, and we’ll strike from the other! Brilliant!”

Aleks chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his head. “I guess so…”

“It still feels strange that we’re working with them,” Hilda said. “And Risir too, for that matter.”

“Don’t you want to hurt the Empire?” Kamila asked, smiling at Hilda. “This is how we do it.”

Hilda quickly looked down, her cheeks reddening. “Of course,” she said quietly. “Of course I do.”

“Moving on…” Stepan said, perhaps a little too forcefully. “Luca is planning to take some saboteurs with her to the border town where the Invictans are building their army. She hopes she might be able to stop them there. At the very least, perhaps she’ll be able to prevent further reinforcements from coming from the Gaurl Core and force the army to march earlier rather than later. She says she’s figured out how to sneak into their border town without getting captured.”

“And how does she know something like that?” Antonin dared to ask.

“Couldn’t tell you,” Stepan grunted. From that Antonin felt the spark of a pivotal decision in Stepan’s mind. “She has her ways, so I wouldn’t worry about how exactly she managed it.”

“Is that all?” Aleks asked, a bit overeager. “Do we have to talk about this now?” From him Antonin felt great hesitation and fear, the strong desire to withdraw. The boy was bright and had a gift for understanding machines. Perhaps he would be some good, so long as he was kept away from the real conflict. For what use are soldiers without someone who knows where to send them? If one can do a task, it does not matter if they know what the fruits of their labor will be used for.

“Zil-Antonin,” Hilda said, “You mentioned Risir – they have their own kind of magic, don’t they? So they can help us that way…”

Zil-Antonin nodded. “The Primordial spirits that once inhabited the Aether, and were left on our side of the Veil when it was formed. The Risir, like the Invictans themselves, hold to these spirits and gain some measure of power from the relationship. That is Solist magic, if you’re not familiar with it.”

“Like Luca!” Hilda commented, and Antonin frowned. He didn’t know this Luca, but Hilda and Stepan had both mentioned her. It sounded as though this were someone the family knew well.

“Indeed,” Antonin replied, nodding shallowly. Had he been a Sower, he would have delved into Hilda’s memory to learn of this Luca – but it was her future, not her past, that he glimpsed when he tried to read her spirit. “Our friends in the south will be of great help to us in averting disaster, and I do mean it when I say they are our friends. Today, at least, they are our friends.”

Antonin smiled and poured a mug for himself from the pitcher, and raised it. “But really, enough politics. I’m sorry for dampening the mood. Go on, eat, all of you!”

Fully an hour later, as the meal came to a close, Antonin leaned back against his chair, singing quietly under his breath. He was relaxed, his mind relatively untroubled. A bottle of wine stood uncorked on the table, still mostly full. A little of the wine swirled in a cup in Antonin’s hand. He took a sip and looked to the family across the table. Kamila and Hilda were talking quietly, both smiling. Aleks and his father Stepan likewise leaned together and spoke to one another, words Antonin couldn’t hear.

“I suppose I’ll be on my way,” Antonin said. “But this has been lovely. I look forward to seeing each of you again.”

As he went out of the room, in a moment of quiet, he heard Stepan whispering to Aleks, “Careful around that one. He’s too clever for his own good.”

Stepan glanced over at the door as Antonin left, then looked out the window at the city beyond. “Kids, I’m going to have to go back to Etyslund soon. You can come with me if you want.”

Aleks shook his head immediately. “I’m sorry, dad. I have to stay here. I’ve got responsibilities. But you’ll hear from me every day, I promise that.”

Kamila sighed, and wouldn’t meet her father’s eyes. “There’s things I have to do,” she said. “But if I get the chance to come back, I will. Does… does Luca need any help with –”

“No,” Stepan said harshly. “You’re not going with Luca. I’d rather you stay here than go with Luca.”

“Dad, I can take care of –“

“I know you can take care of yourself!” Stepan said. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of.” Kamila cringed at that. “But I still want you to stay safe, at least for now.” His expression softened. “I know I can’t keep you out of harm’s way forever, Kamila, but… please, for a while. Just…” He made a sound half between a laugh and a sob. “Don’t go running to the Invictans. Okay?”

“I’ll stay here as long as Zil-Antonin thinks I ought to,” Hilda said. “I’m a Reaper now, I have to do what the Order needs me to do.”

Stepan sighed and glanced back over his shoulder, toward the door where Antonin had departed. He was glad Antonin was not there any longer. Had he been, the old Reaper might look into Stepan’s eyes and see a roiling void staring back. He might see in Stepan’s eyes the question: What plans do you have for my children, you bastard?