“Did you let me win?” Durran asked Garm.

Just as it had been in their fight many months ago, Garm stood on his field of roses, though strangely they were white roses this time. Durran’s desert was black and endless, just as before, in mirror of the Burnt Desert. These battlefields allegedly mirrored their minds, whether here in the White Planes or back then, when their souls had done battle to eat each other.

“Let you win?” Garm repeated incredulously, narrowing his eyes. “I was a head on a stake, and I still clung onto hope of survival. You think I’d really let you win?”

Durran ground his glaive into the sand. “I don’t think you would’ve even risked the possibility of defeat by engaging me in a soul fight if you really wanted to live, wanted to win. You would’ve just let Argrave ferry you around, just as he had been. And hell, who knows—he might’ve come up with a real solution.”

“What do you want me to do about it now?” Garm shrugged. “Cry and confess on my knees? That isn’t how this ends.”

Durran sighed and looked up at the sky. “I don’t know. I…” he shook his head, then focused on Garm. “After Sethia, after failing like that, I really wanted any sort of power I could get my hands on.”

“So you got it,” Garm pointed out. “You’re casting A-rank spells as easy as a kid throws stone, thanks to you chomping down on my soul. You’re a master necromancer. You could make any kind of abomination out of any kind of flesh that you wanted, provided you’ve got the souls to fuel it. It’d be like muscle memory.”

“Shame you weren’t at S-rank,” Durran quipped. “Could’ve made things even easier.”

“My bad. I should’ve been a better sacrifice,” Garm said drolly.

“…nah,” Durran shook his head. “You shouldn’t have been a sacrifice at all.”

“The blazes are you sputtering about?” Garm pressed.

“Not right, what I did,” Durran focused on him. “A man tells me that he wants to die, and I let him because it aligned with my interests at the time. Sethia, banishment from my tribe… I was ruined, but it was no damn excuse to let what happened, happen.” He laughed and threw his hands up. “And then after that, I got all uppity with Argrave, went against his orders in stealing the margrave’s wyvern. Even if it was a misunderstanding… no excuse, really.”

“You’d throw away all the things I gave you? They say hindsight is perfect sight, but these are the words of a blind man.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I would throw it away,” Durran nodded, stepping a little closer to Garm. “Throughout this whole journey, I came to really admire Argrave. Not because he’s talented, or because he’s some kind of saint… but just the sheer level that man will rise to say, ‘no, we’re doing it my way.’” He pointed as he said those words. “Very hard to insist you’re right when the whole word disagrees. But he’s kept up at it, I’ll be damned. And he is a decent person.”

“Are you in love with him? You’re both married. It’ll never happen, what you want.” Garm played the part of a sagely advisor.

Durran couldn’t muster laughter. “Fact is… I should’ve said no, Garm. I should’ve said that you’ll give me whatever I need from you, and you’ll live, you miserable prick.” He thumped his finger against Garm’s chest. “That’s what Argrave was doing, before I came along and ruined it.”

“Maybe you should’ve,” Garm conceded. “But you didn’t.”

“But I didn’t,” Durran nodded, then turned away from Garm. “And maybe… because of that, I did get what I want. But I feel damned empty inside when I cast a spell and just know how. Necromancy comes easy to me, but it feels terrible. I don’t think I could’ve earned freedom for the Burnt Desert without it… but from here on out, I can’t just accept what’s convenient. We’ll do it my damned way. The right way. I’m strong enough to do that. Agreed, Garm?”

Durran looked back to see Garm, but instead he saw Galamon and Argrave sitting on the white ground and talking about something in detail. They spotted him, and Argrave rose up.

“Hey. You’re a fair bit slower than my sister,” Argrave called out. “She already went off to negotiate with the gods. How’d it go for you?”

Durran rubbed his neck, feeling out of sorts. “I, uhh… hmm.” He didn’t feel like talking, especially, after confronting Garm. Well—not quite. He wouldn’t mind talking to Elenore. “Where’d Elenore go?”

“That way,” Argrave gestured vaguely. “Or wherever. Whole places looks the same.”

“I think I’ll go,” Durran nodded.

“Alright,” Argrave nodded with a shrug, possessing tact enough to know not to press him. “Just remember what I told you. Wring those gods dry. You can be damned sure Elenore is.”

#####

Elenore sat on a chair that was cold, yet sunk beneath her weight in a pleasant way that seemed impossible. There was a white table before her, with a tea cup that had a white liquid in it. She dared not drink whatever it was, both in fear of what it might be and caution of those before her.

There was Old Iron Miser on the left, armored in plate with a cowl over his head. There was Yillinillnu, a graceful woman with a certain strangeness to her eyes and a different fashion than anything Elenore had seen before. Scrutiny of her eyes showed several differences from what Elenore was familiar with, the most prominent being that they were monolid. Her black hair had an incredibly elaborate headpiece, and she seemed to command respect and authority.

And then there was the least remarkable, Lira. She had a silver diadem partially hidden by silver hair—and gray from age, not from genetics. She wore a simple brown dress, with a shawl about her shoulders. The shawl looked to have been made by someone young, and indeed Elenore saw a name shoddily sewn in. It depicted a woman holding onto the hand of a child.

“I recognize you,” Elenore said, looking between the three. “You’re gods, each of you. This is it, then? Our negotiation?”

“We are the aspects of gods,” they said at once, each in sync with the other. “We were created by the White Planes. You stand before them, too, in your own aspect. In this way, your will is conveyed where it needs to be, without fear or prejudice. You speak to blank slates that respond on the other side through your aspect accordingly. In this manner, should we come to no accord, there will be no offense, and neither will remember the other at all.”

Elenore blinked, having a bit of difficulty conceptualizing that. Did this mean that, somewhere in these endless white expanses, there was an aspect of her, communicating the desires she held? But after thinking on it deeper, she decided she was not one to question its convenience, doubly so when it came via incomprehensible magic.

“Then…” Elenore closed her eyes, recalling all that Argrave had taught her. She hesitated to divulge these secrets, but she trusted Argrave that this place would ensure no rumors would leak out if no accord was made. “I came here seeking an alliance. We intend to steal from Erlebnis’ realm, to pillage valuable knowledge, and aid in dealing with an undesirable malignance that threatens to invade our kingdom.”

“We are all interested in you, Princess Elenore of Vasquer,” they said, still eerily linked. “And we have offers.”

Elenore nodded, trying to hide the fact that she was pleased before she questioned if hiding anything might be pointless before aspects. “Then… you, Old Iron Miser?”

“I can guarantee reasonable support in a heist against Erlebnis. More than that, I promise you trade,” he began, holding his hand out. A universe seemed to expand before it, displaying a market so grand in size it seemed to threaten to consume this endless whiteness. When he clenched shut his gauntleted hand, it vanished. “You would be linked to my people around the world. Each and all are masters of commerce, just as you are, and have resources at their disposal equal or greater to yours. Be it across the oceans or more simply the continent, you will not want. All I ask is that you aid in expanding my network.”

Elenore nodded carefully, then looked to Yillinillnu. “And you?”

“I can offer little aid against Erlebnis. It undermines my sphere of influence—diplomacy and negotiation,” the goddess’ aspect said. “But in turn, I can give you all of my blessings. The thoughts within your mind will spill from your lips perfectly, and you will always present yourself as you wish to be seen. You will never again suffer an embarrassment, or misspeak. If you wish to lie, your deceitful words will fool all eyes, even a god’s. And a subordinate or lesser will never again doubt your choices as correct. All I would ask is that you accept my envoys, and act as one yourself when needed.”

Elenore narrowed her eyes, pondering the situations in which each might’ve been useful. After a time, she looked to Lira’s aspect, nodding.

“I can give you a chance,” Lira said simply, her voice old and weary. “With my blessings, you can form connections with people that allow them. With them, you may never again be truly separate from someone else. You may converse with them anywhere. You may feel their touch, or offer them gifts, whenever you so please. You may make any door of yours link to theirs, that you might visit them whenever you please.

“But just as you have these privileges, so too may they exploit them. Once formed, connections cannot be broken until death. You must always hear them when they wish to be heard, even vitriol alone. When they wish to visit, you must receive them, even if they come to end your life. When they give, you must accept, even if it is a dagger plunged into your heart. It is an ultimate expression of trust,” Lira cautioned. “And I create, not destroy—you would receive no aid against Erlebnis from this old crone. All I ask from you is kindness to my other champions, and a true chance for them to prove their goodwill.”

Elenore reviewed what Argrave had told her, only to realize all of these gods were offering everything that they could, right from the beginning. There was no room to get more, no room for further bargaining… just a flat choice. The trader, the diplomat, or the connector.

Perhaps what she’d experienced in the White Planes earlier had an effect on her. Perhaps she felt that the others were simply inferior. But given the choice between a global bazaar, a boon to her diplomacy, or connecting with all she wished to… choosing the latter was incredibly easy.

Elenore looked to Lira. “If you would have me, Lira.”

The other two sunk away into whiteness, disappearing, and only the old woman remained. “And why me, child?”

“The other two… I can replicate their abilities on my own, given time,” Elenore declared boldly. “But your blessings… to speak with family wherever they are in the world? To be able to give them things, or to connect two areas wherever I want? Its only limit is my imagination. You say you would not help us raid Erlebnis, but in raiding Erlebnis, your blessings will be more help than you know.”

Lira smiled, the very image of an old grandmother. “I am glad you see the importance of these ties, child. I worried you might shy from me, fearing connections with others for the harm they might cause.”

Elenore shook her head. “Perhaps I might’ve feared allowing my family the power to hurt me, long ago. But now… nothing would make me feel better, I think, than surrendering that vulnerability to them.”

Lira waved. “Well, come then. Let me give you my mark. With it, we’ll enter our agreement, and you can call upon my blessings and my symbol of authority.”

#####

“She asked you to be her consort? Really?” Argrave asked, looking up at the sky. “Weird test, Veid.”

“No better test for a man,” Galamon disagreed.

Argrave looked at him. “You’re saying she was smoking hot, then? Pretty as a picture?”

Galamon sighed. “Another subject.”

“Fine by me,” Argrave shrugged. “I’m glad for you, you know. I can attest that your devotion deserves her recognition.”

“I am unworthy.”

“See what I mean? Honorable types—they absolutely hate themselves. Nothing’s ever good enough about them. They always think they can do better.” Argrave shook his head. “Me? I say, ‘well, I tried,’ and move on.”

“That’s false,” Galamon stared Argrave down. “You care.”

Argrave laughed, looking down at his feet. “Hey, don’t blow my cover.” He looked back up at Galamon as something came to mind. “But you’re blessed by her, yeah? And you have her symbol of authority.”

Galamon raised his hand, and his eyes flashed a bright white. A quaint symbol appeared in the air, almost a spiral, and Argrave received an intense image of Veid and what she governed—honor, loyalty, and contracts.

“Good lord,” Argrave wiped at his eyes. “That’s something. But more than that, you’ve gained all that she could give you. She must really like you.”

“Indeed,” Galamon nodded. “When the time comes, and I stand at the helm of the army you built in the fight against the Ebon Cult… they will feel the full vigor of Veid coursing through them, these blessings her vehicle. I will be the conduit of her righteous justice.”

“You sound like Orion,” Argrave joked. Then he rubbed his brow, looking off into the endless whiteness. “Though… changing the subject, I am worried about Anneliese. What the hell could she be dealing with in there that takes her this long? I suppose both her and Melanie had terrible childhoods…”