The patterns and puzzles presented by the gate would've been difficult to solve by a single person, but the Watcher was more than one Chaos Lord. Every incarnation, though they were ultimately part of him, was also distinct and unique to each other. Each one could think and decide on their own, and each presented a unique perspective to the Watcher’s true self.

As for that self, he had chosen to fracture and shatter it. A radical and nearly suicidal idea, but one that bore bountiful fruit. For as long as a fragment of himself existed, it didn’t matter if others were destroyed, consumed, or utterly annihilated. The remaining fragments would recover. It might take a while, but the deeper he was in the Chaos Sea, the faster the reconstruction process would be. If he was in his stronghold, it would be practically instantaneous.

But fortresses and castles…they were traps. It was a place where he could be cornered, where he could be slain. That was why he had spread himself so thin, and across so many planes. It was why what he was doing now was so risky.

Ascension was a process that needed all of him. If fragments had been destroyed then the process would be less than ideal. So he would have to wait until he was whole. Many of his lesser incarnations had been destroyed or subverted in this stratagem, but it was worth the sacrifice. He was as close as he ever could be to transcending his mortality.

Though Chaos Lords may live forever, they could still be slain. And death was not the worst thing that could happen. Ascension meant a chance to move beyond death, to truly survive no matter the circumstances and to die only when he wanted to.

Several times during his long wait, the Watcher wondered if this was the best path for him to take. Assimilating a plane was one path. It would shackle him to a place too. Even if he would grow omnipotent within, on the outside, he would be merely stronger. But there were different advantages too. For one thing, he would assimilate the plane’s strengths too. And Rumiga… what it contained within could bypass many of the weaknesses of this type of Ascension.

The Watcher shook his head ruefully, well, his heads. A dozen incarnations had made it to the gate and each was solving a slice of the puzzle. Already, two percent of the entirety had been solved, and it had only been a day. As more of him came, the faster it would be. Before the Season ended, he would be through, and the process of Assimilation would begin.

And Rumiga was the best one to be had. It was only a frontier plane of the Empire. The Verdant Empress had not forged true connections to expand her territory. He could feel her vines slowly encircling Rumiga, but with the destruction of the first Gemheart, at least half of them had been torn away. And he believed she didn’t even know what was truly special about this plane, after, it wasn’t as if portal hubs were common.

With this place already connected to a greater plane, it shouldn’t take too much effort to extend his influence there. And if that was not possible, then the portals could take his reach to other possible victims. Should he succeed, he would have a powerful base, one that didn’t need centuries or millennia to expand.

There were hundreds of incarnations coming, though some of them were unaware of their true selves. That was fine, and should those prove troublesome, then new ones can be grown. Or he could simply Ascend with what he had instead of waiting. It would lower his initial power, but nothing that could not be recovered with time and treasure. Hmmm…

What’s this?

The Watcher shifted his focus to a different place, to an incarnation buried within the subconscious. The Watcher was wary of the Threads of Fate, for they could bind and move, despite all resistance. Even he was bound by it. Bits of him. Even creatures of Chaos are under its purview, and only the Primordials, Daemon Princes, or Netherborne were immune. But only as long as they were not purposely entangled.

As it were, over the millennia, the Watcher had learned how to see the Threads. And he could feel how each individual string, should they be strong enough, affect the rest of the tapestry.

He had felt a string growing in power, especially in how it warps and weaves the surrounding threads. All certainly was undone by its passage, but it is imperfect yet. Such imperfections allow flaws where Fate could be shaped.

He could see a tangent thread connecting to that string falling within his purview, and he could see bits of how he could manipulate it to increase his chances of success. For he knew that string would bring ruin to his goal.

Ruinous.

The Watcher shuddered as the full weight of realisation settled on his shoulders. How could he not see it before? It had been occluded from his sight…no, it had been too inconsequential before, but the weight of its passage now threatens to capsize his burgeoning ship.

He had to prepare countermeasures! He would not go into defeat without struggle! How could one so weak be the key to his undoing?

All of the Watcher’s incarnations were feeling the anxiety, even those unaware. They might perceive it as a strange unsettled feeling, or unsteady nerves. What should he do?

His sight went back to the tangential thread and ideas unfolded in his manifold minds. He followed the threads of possibility, discarding those that relied too much on the string’s choices, but soon realising that those choices were his only chance of success. He had to force the string into a path that would divert it from its choice.

There were many tangential threads he could tug, and by looking deeply, he could find where each web could be spun. His heart ached when he realised his past choices had actually put the string into this very path, but he knew that any other choice would only lead to his failure.

There were many, many choices, and he had to make them now while they still had a chance to succeed. The problem was that he was not able to see the reactions and effects of threads who were no longer within the ambit of the Threads of Fate, and there were at least two in the Empire. There were even more of those in the surrounding supernations, but at least they were far away and unaffected by what he was doing.

Gritting his teeth, the Watcher set several threads moving, using some of his incarnations as intermediaries. He would succeed in his Assimilation or he would perish. And if he was fated for the latter, then he might as well bring everything else around him to ruination.

_________

Empress Vietlanna withdrew a fragment of her mind from the dreamscape and opened her eyes to see her dearest friend and confidant, Misha, reclined languidly on the couch. Misha’s almond-shaped pupils met Elanna’s, and both women sighed.

“Trouble?” Elanna asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

“The Fateweaver Loom has detected it,” Misha replied. “It had been calm of late, but suddenly, the reflected strings quiver. I feel something ominous; an enemy, perhaps, will make his move.”

“You know?”

“Of course, I know.” Misha guffawed. “I’ve not stared at that rotting loom for millennia for nothing.”

Elanna chuckled in response. Misha had not been a Fatespinner when she was first wrought out by that old man, but she’s certainly reclaiming her old patron’s Domain. “So who is it?”

“It’s that rotter from four centuries ago. The one who stole your 26th.”

“Ah.” Elanna frowned, feeling the stirrings of wrath in her heart. That mongrel dared to grasp at her work? “Where?”

“Where your 29th is.”

“...He’s too young.”

“Yet he is a suitable vessel.”

“He hasn’t spread his seed yet.”

“You’ve had plenty of seeds throughout the Empire. What is one more bearer? Besides, you’d have to find another plot to have him plant it.”

“Wasn’t your descendant?”

“She refused.”

“Ah. Hmm, a pity.”

“Indeed, since your 29th still hungers for her. He had plans to seek her approval.”

“A pity indeed,” Elanna acquiesced. “But is there no other way?”

Misha raised a mocking eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Elanna bit her lip in frustration and absently noted that Misha licked her lips when she did so. Lustful cat…

“There are other ways…” the Empress said slowly. “But they are much riskier.”

“So? Will you sacrifice your 29th or will you sacrifice everything you’ve worked for since three thousand years ago?”

“Stop teasing. It’s not that extreme. Besides, it is still his choice.”

“He knows his duty. He will not hesitate.”

“Is he my son or yours?” Elanna asked sourly.

Misha grinned impishly. “Any boy who becomes entangled with my descendants becomes mine.”

Elanna couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Only in the slightest sense.” But Misha was right, and even that slight claim was enough of a leverage sometimes. “But he hasn’t entangled himself yet.”

“Sure, keep saying that. You know as well as I once they get hooked, there’s no escape. He will pine for her for the rest of his life.”

“...It’s already that bad?”

“What do you think?” Misha laughed. “That old man’s influence altered many things. Some weaker but some others, far stronger. It’s not merely Lust now.”

“Sure, she gets the less baser attributes.”

“There’s nothing baser that Lust,” Misha guffawed. “But all that means is that everything is affected by it.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Elanna tapped her lips with a fingernail. “Still, I think I will take some precautions.”

“Oh? Are you doing that?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see?”

“Always.”

Elanna closed her eyes and her main consciousness left her incarnation in the palace. She felt Misha’s Anima follow behind her, making sure to take the trail she blazed.

Realmheart wasn’t just the centre of the Empire, it was also at the very centre of the network of planes that consisted of their territory. Elanna’s sight expanded to behold her plane. At a diameter of two thousand leagues, it was one of the largest planes since the Shattering. But it was woefully tiny compared to what came before.

What was utterly special about Realmheart was that its carefully manicured surface, of gardens, cities, oceans, and trees, was only a longstride thick strip on the surface. Everything underneath…

There were no tunnels of earth and stone. Instead, it was an engine of metal, jade, and other wondrous materials.

The plane was no random bit of land flung from the greater continent, it was the heart of a defensive system created by Ancients of the bygone age, to protect their holdings from the deposed Primordial Destroyers.

Elanna sunk into the depths of her place of power. And while her main incarnation could not leave the plane, it was well worth the sacrifice to obtain power, and more importantly, security. Besides, she’d been working long and hard to overcome the inherent limitations of her path, and the eight Core Planes of the Empire was the result. But to continue the chain, she would need sixty-four Stable Planes, but she was quite a bit short of that number. More than half of the territory were actually frontier planes, even if some had already claimed to be Stable. It wasn’t just the fact that no other nation bordered the plane that gave it that designation.

The planar core was protected by several hundred layers. Elanna went through each and every check mandated by her own system. She had to vet Misha through as well, but that was a delay she was more than willing to make. Eventually, she arrived at a chamber that looked more like a secluded valley than the heart of a steel construct.

This was the core chamber, but the actual physical core was no longer there. It was within her now. But this place was also the command centre of Realmheart’s defences.

“Are you sure you don’t just want to send an alpha strike?” Misha asked teasingly.

“It would be the expedient choice,” Elanna laughed. “But it would result in the loss of that plane anyway. Now shush.”

Misha giggled but complied, and Elanna sank her consciousness into the machinery.

“Finan, my child…”