Prelude

The sea breeze felt good against the Voice’s skin, caressing his hairless features with a gentle, salty touch; such newfound joys he took great care to appreciate, for they were absent in his home across the seas. He stood at the central balcony of his newly acquired estate, overlooking Helias’ central square with a near bird’s eye view. Though it was not his estate, technically speaking. This very building, a former diplomatic residence of notable prestige, was acquired in the name of his master – Jahan, the Shimmering Vizier, esteemed member of the Elemental Court of Fire. The property was to be used as a base of operations, supporting the Voice with his most critical business dealings that were to take place in the days to come. His master had ordered him to buy land – land fit to host a settlement worthy enough for the Vizier to rule over. Helias, the voice had deduced, was the only such place where the deed to such valuable lands could be acquired – for these monolithic financial institutions dealt in many things, and land of such magnitude was one of them.

The ringing of a single, heavy bell jostled the Voice’s thoughts back to the present; the clamor signaled the beginning of today’s trading activities. From his elevated perch, the man observed a swarm of people make their way through the spacious square and to one of the many counting houses that dotted its perimeter. On their way to their chosen destination, most of the observed individuals partook in a daily ritual which struct the Voice as highly unusual. At the center of the square stood a statue of Dionikos – the City State’s heavenly patron of wealth and the high arts. The divinity’s lugubrious figure, which was positioned atop a golden throne, was a finely detailed masterpiece – with the sole exception of the divinity’s left foot. The foot in question, which drooped downwards from the throne in an almost casual fashion, was unusually smooth and lacking in finer details; as it was customary for locals to rub it for good luck. That very same practice was taking place this morning, as a line had formed before the great statue: bankers, traders, artisans, soldiers, artists, and many others – they all superstitiously rubbed away at the marble foot.

This place, the Voice mused, was filled with many such oddities: some minor, and some major. One of the more strikingly bizarre things the Voice had encountered during his stay in Helias – since the good captain Rysalektos dropped him off here two months ago – was the sense of individuality that permeated throughout its citizenry. This focus on the importance of the self, he was told, was to be found in most City States – with some even creating entire systems of rulership around the beliefs and opinions of each single soul. The Voice dipped back and thought of his initial arrival into the port city, when he had to sign the deed to the estate purchase. The official had asked for a name – his name. He had not asked for the name of his master – Jahan, the Shimmering Vizier, which he had happily provided – but had instead insisted on knowing his name. The Voice had a name many moons ago, one that he could scarcely recall, but that ceased to hold meaning when he came under the service of his master. He was the Vizier’s Voice – when he spoke, it was Jahan’s very will that manifested through his lips. It was a simple concept, really, yet the people of Helias lacked the ability to fully grasp it. Unquestionable obedience, it seemed, went against their culture of selfhood and individual volition. While the man did find such notions to be impractical, for ironclad hierarchical living was all he had ever known, he couldn’t help but regard the aloof philosophy of the City States as curiously charming.

The bell rung once more, reverberating with a metallic baritone and pulling the Voice out of his internal musings once more. The man took a sip of Helian honeyed wine – a delicacy he had grown quite fond of – and scanned the rightmost and leftmost edges of the square in quick succession. Helias had many counting houses, engorging the city with wealth through banking, loaning, insuring, trading, and other such financially inclined activities. The largest of these houses – House Plutos and House Mydas – were conveniently located at Helias’ central square, looming at the very edges of the Voice’s vision. To his right were the headquarters of house Mydas: their leader – Iaso – was said to be inflexible yet fair in her dealings. House Plutos, on the other hand, was… less transparent yet offered considerably more flexibility with its business transactions – ruled by a faceless and enigmatic leadership that few knew the identity of. In his search to find the appropriate institution to purchase land from, the Voice had narrowed his portfolio of viable options to the two aforementioned houses. Simply put, these two great counting houses, though different in their approach and clarity, were the best for the matter at hand – and his master demanded the best. Who the Voice chose, however, would brand not only the Voice in the eyes of the Vizier, but also color the Vizier in the eyes of the world.

The Voice hummed as he weighed the options before him, running his plumb fingers over his barren scalp. Facing him, in the distance, was Dionikos’ ever-present statue, holding aloft a golden chalice in an act of characteristic Helian revelry. In an instinctual gesture that caught him by surprise, the Voice matched the divinity’s gesture with his own wineglass, taking one last sip of sweet honeyed wine before retrieving into his chambers to go over his notes and reports one last time. A choice had to be made today.

Choices

• House Mydas
• House Plutos

Chapter 1

The Voice soared through the main gates of House Mydas, his salmon colored silk robes billowing around him as he did so. Surrounding him were four heavily armored bodyguards, trailing the Voice’s every step with immaculate precision; the guards’ faces were obscured, covered by gold etched masks that were meant to represent leering, inhuman visages. The Voice marched forth, followed by his silent entourage and allowing himself to glance momentarily at his surroundings. A few days had passed since the Vizier’s emissary had made contact with House Mydas, laying out his request before the great counting house and stating that the price was not an obstacle for the great and all-wise Jahan. The initial officials the Voice had encountered appeared baffled, to say the least, stunned at the prospect of someone – a foreigner no less – requesting to buy enough land to host a city. Initially, they thought the man to be mad, but – after the Voice assured them of the frankness of his master’s request – came to realize the potential of the opportunity that was presented before them. The Voice was informed that a few days were necessary to retrieve all suitable contracts, for such documents were stored deep within the Vaults of House Mydas, and finding them was no simple task. Alas, the contracts in question had been unearthed, and the Voice had been summoned back to the great counting house; though the man was a patient creature by nature, the culminating anticipation had aggravated even his desensitized nerves. “I’m getting impatient,” he thought with a note of self-scrutiny. “Perhaps my involvement with the people of Helias is affecting me…”

The Voice was now halfway through the main hall of House Mydas; his sandalled feet tapped against the marble floor with each stride, adding to the step-induced cacophony that reverberated around him. Tap-tap-tap. People marched across the hall in a cascade of activity, entering and exiting in waves. At the edges of the large room were several kiosks; from behind iron-bar encased windows, diligent clerks would handle the constant stream of coin and parchment documents, slowly chipping away at the line of eager customers that never seemed to shrink. The Voice could practically whiff the avarice that lingered in the air; it clung to the people around him, sticking to their skin like a courtesan’s sickly sweet perfume. Soon enough he was at the other side of the hall, opposite the entrance, standing before an ornate gate of carved bronze. The guards by the gate, brandishing spears and clutching shields that bore the sigil of House Mydas, opened it as soon as the Voice approached it – muscles bulged and faint, strained groans escaped their lips as the two sides parted with a loud creak. From the opening, a stick-thin attendant emerged, wearing wire-framed spectacles that barely clung from his beak-like nose. “The lady of House Mydas will see you now,” stated the elderly man with the flatness of stagnant gutter water. “Follow me, if you would be so kind…”

It took a while before they reached the meeting room, following the man through corridors decorated with meticulously detailed frescoes and up winding stairs with solid gold railings – alas, they were finally here. A second pair of guards opened yet another ornate gate, and the Voice entered the room where his most critical transaction was set to take place. As his guide departed with a simple dip of his chin, the Voice swallowed deeply – trying to process the oddity that stood before him. The rumors about House Mydas’ leader, Iaso, were many; in his quest to pick a counting house to conduct business with, the Voice had paid good coin to separate the truth from fiction. Iaso, he learned, has suffered from a rare muscle-wasting disease since birth, progressively losing control of her body as the years went by. To combat this ailment, her family paid an exorbitant amount and commissioned the creation of a special mechanical suit, encasing Iaso in a gear driven sarcophagus that would grant her movement and keep her alive. That same mound of metal stood before him at this very instance, towering over the house guards that encircled their leader. At its apex, the face of a woman peeked out: Iaso had light brown hair, ivory skin that was marred with the etchings of wisdom, and a set of ice-blue eyes that were aimed directly at the Voice. “Please, take a seat,” spoke the leader of House Mydas – her wispy voice polite, yet stern – gesturing at a large wooden table before her with the hiss of a piston-driven arm.

The Voice smiled and headed for the chair; his bodyguards followed him closely, standing behind him as he sat down. Iaso lowered her body in an attempt to reach the seated man’s level, descending on four crab-like legs. The Voice did his best not to stare too intensely; the woman’s mechanical shell thrummed with a power that made him acutely uncomfortable. Once Iaso was sufficiently leveled, she spoke again, never breaking eye contact with her guest.

“I would like to start by apologizing for the delay. It is not every day that someone requests to buy enough land to host an entire city–“

“A mere settlement. Nothing so grand; I assure you,” interrupted the Voice politely, offering a thin smile.

Iaso furrowed her brows momentarily and continued. “Be both know your specifications leave room for much more than a meager settlement, and the price you’re willing to pay reflects that. This also raises the question if others of your kind – those beholden to the Sorcerer Kings – are planning similar escapades in different corners of the world.” The leader of House Mydas allowed for a moment of silence before carrying on, scouring the Voice’s features for a hint of earnest emotion. “Nevertheless, your master is a paying customer, and it is not the position of a counting house to question the motivations of its patrons.”

“How very kind of you,” responded the Voice, never hiding his smile and dipping his chin.

“Before you are the only two contracts that meet your master’s, Jahan, specifications. Ample land, by the sea, with a considerable fresh water source, and with enough natural resources to support a significant population and army.”

“That is the gist of it, yes. I shared the full details with your representatives.”

“And I assure you, they have all been accounted for and considered thrice over. The two contracts before you are for land in the Horn of Thrapsalon – the oceanic passage that cuts into the Allerian Plains. The first is to the west of the horn, closest to its opening, and meets most of you requirements–“

“But not all…”

“Indeed, not all of them. The second is at the horn’s very peak, being the closest to the resource-rich center of the plains – this one fits all of your requirements.”

“Forgive me, but I feel a “but” is on the way. A catch perhaps? Some underlying danger?”

Iaso’s brows furrowed even further, forming a sharp “V” underneath her forehead. “Yes, there is a potential issue with the second option. The City State of Tauria has sought, for some time now, to expand into the Allerian Plains; it so happens that the city claims the area outlined in the second contract – though they have no legal basis whatsoever for doing so, making such a claim null.”

“From what I’ve heard of Tauria and its bull-god Minos, they are not likely to care about frivolous details such as ‘legality’ and ‘binding contracts’…” pointed out the Voice, a single bead of sweat forming atop the dome of his barren head.

“That is correct; hence why I have presented you with two options. To pick one is to fulfill only part of your needs – though the land will be uncontested. To pick the other is to have the best possible base to start a settlement from – though you risk angering Tauria, and whatever that entails. Rest assured that, regardless of your choice, House Mydas will support you throughout this transaction, as the proposed payment will propel your master, Jahan, as one of our most valuable customers!” Iaso pointed at the two large piles of bound documents before her, continuing. “The documents laid before you contain all the details for each location; it is worth noting that both contract prices are roughly the same.” The mistress of House Mydas paused before speaking one last time, staring at the Voice with the intensity of a charging Minotaur. “I urge you to consider these two options carefully – and take your time in doing so. From my limited understanding of your master, I do not take him for one that would settle for imperfection – though angering Minos is a dangerous gamble in its own right.”

As the Voice exited the main building of House Mydas, his thoughts were ablaze with the numerous possibilities and parameters he had to consider. Behind him, his bodyguards carried the girthy document bundles, handling them with the same care a mother shows towards her newborn babe. The Voice was set on studying the two contracts long and hard; though the available time for doing so was limited. Jahan – the Shimmering Vizier – expected a choice, and that choice had to be made soon.

Choice

• THE LEAST SUITABLE ONE, WHICH IS NOT CONTESTED BY TAURIA
• THE MOST SUITABLE ONE, WHICH IS CONTESTED BY TAURIA

Chapter 2

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Rysalektos pulled on his hood as he entered the dingy tavern, letting the aroma of rat-droppings, rotten seaweed, and sweat-ladened skin enter his nostrils through a deep inhalation; behind him, his first mate Theogoni followed in tight pursuit. Aigin was not a pretty city – the minor City State had never risen to the heights of its more esteemed cousins, appearing plain and strikingly mediocre as a result. When entering Aigin’s murky waters, one would not gaze upon marble-encrusted wonders and awe-inspiring machinery; instead, he would see only the works of regular men and women, scrounging a modest living and surviving from day to day. Yet, even for a place as unassuming as the port city of Aigin, there are certain locations that can be fascinating: the Jolly Satyr was one such place, though for all the wrong reasons. This particular port-tavern permeated with a tense excitement and the underlying promise of violence, highlighting its ill-gotten reputation as a den of vice and center for illegal dealings.

Once the characteristic tang of the establishment had settled within him, Rysalektos made his way towards the barkeep – leaning against the repurposed chunk of trireme hull that served as the bar. Theogoni, not uttering a single word, went to her captain’s side, grabbing a worn-out wooden stool and sitting next to him. The duo exchanged a quick glance before Rysalektos, with a dip of his chin and two erect fingers, ordered two mugs of wine – proceeding to drag his gaze over the dank room that made up the bulk of the port-side tavern.

The insides of the building were packed to the brim, filled with a veritable menagerie of unsavory characters that would make an individual of lesser stock succumb to nervousness. Rysalektos felt a tinge of uneasiness creep up his spine, though his olive-hued visage didn’t show it. The captain’s resolve had seen better days, there was no doubt about it: his loss to the Grey Scourge, Ezimdala, had cost him dearly, bruising his ego and heavily damaging Istio, his prized flagship. Wounded and stranded on foreign lands, after the fateful battle, Rysalektos had made a risky deal in return for aid – agreeing to a pact with Jahan, the Shimmering Vizier. The Voice’s last words, after Rysalektos had ferried the Vizier’s lackey to Helias from the home of the Sorcerer Kings, resonated once more in the captain’s head. “Jahan expects you to provide a force worthy of accompanying him across the sea – ships capable enough to carry the spark of his great vision into new lands. Do not mistake his trust in you for leniency; if you fail to provide what you have promised, you will be replaced. Your task is clear, captain. Succeed, and the Vizier will shower you with riches beyond your imagination. Fail, and there will be consequences.” Rysalektos had come to regret the deal he had made in those mystical, foreign lands, but it was too late now for such thoughts. The fiery Jahan expected him to travel back with worthy ships, and the captain had to acquire the funds to meet that expectation no matter the cost.

The Jolly Satyr was a place where lucrative, yet unscrupulous, dealings flowed freely and openly – provided one had the right connections. Rysalektos, due to his many years of experience as a seafarer and pirate hunter, knew such people – and was expecting to meet one such contact this very night. Despite the overflowing rabble that clogged the tavern’s wooden innards, the person he was looking for was nowhere to be found – so Rysalektos waited, sipping on sour red wine as he did so. Theogoni remained diligently at her captain’s side, cocking an eyebrow as she observed the man’s stiffness with a hint of amusement.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous, captain…” muttered the first mate with a dry smirk – eliciting a dismissive snort from Rysalektos and nothing more.

An hour or so had passed when the barkeep approached the duo, placing a curious-looking beverage before the captain. Upon catching a glimpse of the golden-yellow liquid, Rysalektos knew it to be grog – the drink of choice for those that shared a true kinship with the sea. He brought the mug to his lips and took in a roaring gulp, letting the mixture of potent alcohol, lime, and sugar cascade down his throat. “Where?” he asked, hammering his gaze into the barkeep’s own. “Second booth at the back,” answered the man flatly, returning his attention to the other patrons. Rysalektos got up and moved towards the booth in question, his boots sticking to the alcohol – amongst other liquids – drenched floorboards with each nimble step. Theogoni tried to follow him, but the captain halted her advance with an open palm. “Best I do this alone,” stated Rysalektos, catching a glimpse of his first mate’s frown as he moved ahead without her.

A Minotaur stood in front of the booth; the creature was of such girth that he dwarfed even others of his species. Looking down at the human captain before him, the Bred bodyguard huffed with intent – spraying moist droplets towards Rysalektos’ direction and moving to the side. Behind the brute, seated at the booth, was a figure draped in an olive-green hood-and-cloak ensemble. Rysalektos joined the veiled individual without question, sitting down and waiting expectantly. The cloaked person pulled back her hood to reveal a woman’s countenance: her raven-hued hair glistened with oil, and her clay-tinted complexion was marred with a few intricate scars.

“You’re late,” grumbled Rysalektos.

“I had to make sure you were alone and not otherwise followed,” stated Helektra playfully, offering a toothy smile. “Besides her, that is,” continued the woman – raising a single finger to point at Theogoni’s lingering form in the distance.

“Since when am I to be considered untrustworthy?”

“Oh, don’t take it personally, darling. Times change. People change. Each subsequent interaction must be conducted on trust forged anew – such is the nature of such dealings. Now, tell me, what do you need?”

“I need a contract. One that is quick and with good pay – I need coin in my coffers swiftly.”

“Oh! Look at you being in such a hurry… May I ask why the financial rush all of a sudden? This is quite unlike yourself…”

“No, you may not.”

The woman laughed. “Come now, Rysalektos. Since when am I to be considered untrustworthy?” she said – her tone was playful yet bubbling with acute sarcasm.

“Can you offer me anything or not?” pressed on the captain with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“Patience, love. I have just the contract in mind… Two of them in fact!”

“Go on…”

“Our dearest Aigin, Rysalektos, is small – yet it is courted by many great powers. So far, Themicles – the hero turned tyrant – of distant Laurion has attracted Aigin’s allegiance. Nevertheless, diplomatic alliances are fickle things, and others seek to gain influence of this here island state…”

“Get to the point.”

“As blunt as ever I see. Very well… One contract is from Laurion, and the other is from the neighboring City State of Eubron. Both wish to hire someone – unofficially – to sabotage Aigin’s nearby military dockyard. Laurion would like to blame the act of aggression onto Eubron extremists and push Aigin into full vassalage. Eubron would like to make Laurion appear weak and unable to protect their ally from such a distance – pushing Aigin to ally with them instead. Same malicious plan – different conniving benefactor. Do you understand?”

“Which one pays the best?”

“I can secure an equal reward from both parties – not to mention the odd warship or two that are docked at the targeted port, which you are more than welcome to take as your own. I will, of course, be taking twenty percent of all earnings with the added friendly discount – you look like you need a discount.” The woman paused. “You can only pick one contract, Rysalektos, and I assure you the rejected party will be far from pleased either way. Which will it be: Eubron or Laurion?”

Rysalektos’ mind raced – both deals were perilous and guaranteed he would make future enemies of an entire City State. Eubron’s wrath was potentially the closest, yet Themicles was known to be ruthless and harsh with those he deemed enemies. In the end, he had to take one of the deals. He had promised the Vizier capable ships and hardened sailors to accompany them; the coin from such a contract could be used to fix his beloved Istio and charter other vessels to follow him in his ultimate mission.

“Curse you Grey Scourge,” he thought. “Curse you and that blasted storm. Curse you and those blasted lands that stood within it…” his thoughts continued, before he parted his lips to announce his decision.

WHICH OF THE TWO CONTRACTS WILL RYSALEKTOS CHOOSE:

Choice

• Laurion’s contract.
• Eubron’s contract.

Chapter 3

The mission had gone smoothly – too smoothly – and that made Rysalektos nervous. They had attacked the dock as per Laurion’s instructions, donning Eubron associated paraphernalia and playing the part of zealous extremists. What few guards were stationed at the base, during the night of the attack, were subdued easily; rather conveniently, the Laurion naval detachment that was supposed to protect the military dock was otherwise occupied – quite lucky indeed. Various slurs and symbols were painted onto exposed walls and surfaces – displaying an array of creative curses aimed at Aigin, Laurion, Themicles, and, curiously enough, Themicles’ horse. The last part was Theogoni’s idea – Laurion’s tyrant took great pride in his horse, Atrotos, and that has spawned some rather creative rumors from his enemies. All in all, the mission was an overall success: the raid would be seen as a clear act of hostility from Eubron – creating a greater diplomatic rift between Aigin and its neighbor, while pushing the minor city state further into Laurion’s embrace ­– and Rysalektos managed to retrieve two additional vessels for all his troubles. The first was a military transport ship: slow, well protected, and capable of carrying plenty of troops and supplies. The second was a magnificent warship – the Salamos – which was slower than the captain’s beloved Istio, but it offered enhanced offensive capabilities in return.

With their contract fulfilled, Rysalektos and his three ships had fled to the south of Aigin, hiding within a hidden cove and waiting for payment to arrive. Helektra, Rysalektos’ contract, took several days to show up, forcing the captain to stew within his own anxiety while he waited. She finally appeared earlier today, just when the sun was beginning to set, giving the man his just payment; she left just as hurriedly as she had arrived. With his coin at hand, Rysalektos was determined to set sail first thing in the morning, wishing to cast Aigin behind him and begin working towards his deal with Jahan, the Shimmering Vizier. All three of his ships were notably undermanned, as he had to spread out Istio’s original crew, and were barely capable of sailing the open sea; military engagements were out of the question with such a diminished crew, and that left them vulnerable to attack.

As the inky stillness of the night settled in, Rysalektos’ many worries led him into a troubled slumber ­– though he was surprised and grateful that he had managed to fall asleep at all. So tired and adrift within the realm of dreams was he, that he failed to notice the creeping figure that had entered his quarters, waking only when he felt the cold touch of sharpened steel pressing against his throat. A leering Satyr’s visage stared down at the drowsy captain, caressing Rysalektos’ throat with an ornate dagger as he spoke. “Eubron sends its regards…”

The few minutes that passed after the assassin’s piercing words seemed like hours to Rysalektos – for he was about to fight for his very life.

As the Satyr made to slice the captain’s throat, Theogoni barged into the room, rushing towards the assassin with a fearsome roar; this distracted the intruder for a split second, giving Rysalektos enough time to push the Satyr off him – though the dagger careened as he did so, leaving a deep gash on the man’s cheek and slipping from the assassin’s grip. Theogoni proceeded to pummel the Satyr with her shoulder, only to be sent back by a hoofed kick from the intruder – causing her to tumble towards the edge of the room and land on her back. On his feet, but still notably discombobulated, Rysalektos aimed a punch towards the intruder’s head, flinging an uncoordinated fist that was easily caught by the assassin. Gripping the captain’s wrist firmly, the Satyr flung his other hand under the man’s armpit and twisted his entire body around, throwing Rysalektos over his shoulder by snapping his knees and hinging his hips.

Rysalektos’ vision swam as he got thrown, landing on his backside and hitting his tailbone against the wooden floor. The pain rushed up his spine and overcame the captain momentarily, sending him into a gurgling convulsion. As Theogoni made to get up, the Satyr rushed towards her, forcing the woman back down and grabbing hold of her arm as he landed close to her chest. With lethal swiftness, the assassin pinned the first mate’s head with one leg, heaving his bulk backwards and pulling on Theogoni’s arm in an attempt to break it – though the woman did her best to resist the attack by clasping both hands together, locking her fingers. Rysalektos saw what was taking place, crawling towards his bed and getting up despite the sharp jolts of pain that bolted up his body. As he got up, he noticed the glint of the assassin’s dagger, which had slid under his bed. With adrenaline fueled quickness, he grabbed the weapon and leaped towards the Satyr, plunging the blade into the assailant’s skull with a satisfying crunch.

Slowly, both the captain and his first mate got up, groaning and cursing as they did so. Theogoni stared at the Satyr’s limp body and spat on it, grabbing her injured elbow with evident anger. Rysalektos glowered at the woman disapprovingly, rubbing his aching backside before he spoke. “Thank you. You saved my life. Are you injured? Did you break anything?”

Theogoni nodded in return, speaking with a sly smile. “Wasn’t the first time I saved your hide, captain. And it sure as hell won’t be the last. I’m standing still; how about yourself? You look like a bloody mess…”

“I’ll live – though none of us will have that luxury if we stay docked here for much longer. Our position has been compromised. How did you know an assassin was coming?”

“Your cabin guard was supposed to report to me, but he never did. I found him with his throat slit open outside your room.”

“He was a good man; I’m sorry to hear that. Is anyone else dead?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. The hoofed bastard was a right killer…”

“We’ll have to check later. Wake up the rest of the crew, gather our supplies from the beach, and ready the ships. We need to depart as soon as possible!”

“Aye, captain!”

When the ships were ready to leave, dawn had begun to creep across the sky, painting the darkened heavens with faint azure streaks. As soon as his ships had left the cove, Rysalektos spotted the silhouette of two additional ships lingering on the horizon – military grade warships, ready to dismantle the captain’s hard work through a fierce naval assault. From the markings on their sails, Rysalektos knew them to be from Eubron; he also knew that he could not win this fight under any circumstance. Three men were accounted for as dead because of the assassin, and his crew was spread dangerously thin between three ships; if Eubron’s forces reached them, they were as good as dead. The only solution – the only escape the captain could think of – was to sacrifice either Istio or Salamos. The transport vessel was needed for Jahan’s mission, as the Vizier wished to ferry troops and materials to his new settlement, and it wasn’t formidable enough to adequately distract their pursuers.

Leaning against Istio’s railing, Rysalektos saw Salamos approach and cruise next to his flagship; Theogoni, who now commanded the plundered warship, yelled out to her captain – her voice audible over the calm sea.

“Captain! It’s a matter of time before they reach us! They have oars out and the transport is slowing us down!”

“I know!”

“We can’t win this fight! We don’t have enough men!”

“I know!”

“One of our ships will have to take the fall, captain! Either mine or yours – one of us will have to stay on board to make sure the distraction lasts long enough! The transport is not capable of making such a maneuver! Which one will it be?!”

Rysalektos felt the words claw against his throat; he met Theogoni’s gaze from afar and stared deep into the woman’s soul. So, it was decided, one of them would die today – the other would live to reap the rewards from the mission ahead. The captain felt his heart squirm within his chest: his first mate had been opinionated and bull-headed at times, but he had come to care for her like a sister over the years. Were it not for Theogoni, Rysalektos would have died long ago. Finally, his salt-lined lips parted as he gave the dreaded command…

WHICH OF THE TWO SHIPS WILL ATTACK EUBRON’S FORCES AND ALLOW THE OTHERS TO ESCAPE?

Choice

• ISTIO WILL ATTACK THE PURSUERS, KILLING OFF RYSALEKTOS
• SALAMOS WILL ATTACK THE PURSUERS, KILLING OFF THEOGONI

Chapter 4

“Captain,” the young man persisted. “Captain Theogoni!”

The woman tensed at the sound of those words, biting down on her lip until she drew globules of blood. Rysalektos’ death was still fresh in her mind: her captain, her friend and brother by means of adversity, had died as he had lived – on his terms. Istio, damaged and with a rudimentary skeleton crew, had sailed into certain death, clashing against a powerful enemy force of Eubron pursuers so that Theogoni and the rest might escape. The woman, captain Rysalektos’ former first mate, had now taken up the mantle of leadership; she was the captain now, and that remained a hard fact for her to swallow.

With a grunt, Theogoni looked up, glowering at the man that had been calling for his captain. “Quit your squealing! I’m not bloody deaf you know…”

The young man blinked with evident confusion, clearing his throat before he spoke again. “Forgive me, captain. But you were just sitting there; dazed and slumped down on the table like too much seaweed during low tide. I thought you were asleep with your eyes open—”

“Lad,” interrupted Theogoni, “I WILL punch you, and it WILL hurt. Tell me why you were bothering me now, without any of your idiotic musings, and I might still change my mind. The woman offered a toothy smile as she spoke, cracking her knuckles in a lackadaisical fashion.

The man’s gullet resonated with the sound of anxious swallowing; his fear at the thought of getting pummeled by his captain was further highlighted by the crack in his voice. “The candidates for the position of first mate are waiting outside your quarters, captain! Shall I let them in?”

Theogoni’s mind withdrew momentarily once more, weighing the importance of the choice that was soon to emerge before her. After the death of Rysalektos, her two remaining ships had sailed to Leutria, seeking a safe harbor where they could buy supplies and replenish their forces. Leutria had become famous for its immense industrial capabilities and the impressive output of its many workshops and dockyards; ever-seeking to outshine even Rhodea in productivity, the populist City State had become equally infamous for the questionable quality of its products, although low prices softened any associated resentment, and its proclivity for questionable industrial practices. Here, amongst Leutria’s smog-filled streets, Theogoni wished to find brave individuals to join her crew, additional ships to add under her command, and – most importantly – a first mate that would support her with her monumental mission under Jahan, the Shimmering Vizier. Some would question the choice of Leutria when it came to acquiring such important components – as quality was not known to be the city’s forte. Theogoni, on the other hand, considered Leutria to be the perfect choice; the City State’s free-spirited nature and disregard for staunch rules and regulations attracted the exact type of person Theogoni was looking to hire – one with a strategic disregard for personal safety and a burning hunger for adventure. Additionally, though the captain would not admit that beyond herself, her ships would have sunk if they had attempted to sail beyond Leutria without repairs and replenishment.

“Captain?” squeaked the young man once again, beads of sweat forming across his forehead.

“Gods!” barked Theogoni – furious at the sight of the timid sailor before her. “Let the first one in already and get out of my sight!”

A few moments passed, and a tall, muscle-bound woman stepped into the room. Her hair was a messy mane of blonde locks, and her eyes were a deep, icy blue. With a grunt she extended a hand and reached for Theogoni’s own, shaking it firmly as she exclaimed “Erid the Terror, an honor to meet ya!”

Theogoni let go of Erid’s hand after a few firm shakes, never breaking eye-contact as she spoke. “I’ve read reports about you Erid – impressive ones at that! Your father was from Tauria and your mother is a Nord; amidst all that, you choose to become a… How would you put it in your own words?”

“Free agent. Privateer. Mercenary. Pirate. Pirate hunter. If the coin speaks firmly enough, the title doesn’t matter to me, captain!”

“I’m not your captain yet, Erid. It’s up to you to make that a reality. Tell me. Why should I choose you as my first mate? I want to hear your own reasoning – I’ve gone over enough reports and second-hand accounts to know that you’re an immensely capable seafarer…”

“I don’t care if I die.”

“Pardon?”

“Me and my ship, Tromos, have been through a good few battles – and I wish to battle more still. I know that your former captain, Rysalektos, was a great man; one whose name carries weight across the peninsula. I know that you have a dangerous journey ahead – and many like it will probably follow. If I perish under your command, I will do so with glory and honor. I do not fear death – as long as I am remembered after it!”

“Very well,” muttered Theogoni thoughtfully, conversing with Erid for a bit longer, as they discussed practical matters – such as pay and duties – in case she was chosen as the first mate. After the discussion was concluded, the captain called for her frightened attendant, summoning the second and final candidate into the room.

Ol’ One-Horn groaned as he entered the room, his peg-leg creaking with each heavy step. The elderly Minotaur moved to sit opposite Theogoni, his stool creaking in protest as he did so. The woman and the Bred stared at each other over an awkward silence for a good while – until Theogoni finally spoke first with some hesitation.

“Why should I choose you as my first mate?”

“Do you know me?” grumbled the Minotaur with an impossibly deep voice, tilting his head towards the side of his remaining horn.

“Is that a joke? You’re Ol’ One-Horn – a legend of the City States. You’ve seen a hundred battles and have sunk twice as many ships. You’ve served under some of the most notable captains to ever sail the seas; you’ve travelled to the far west, and beyond, and lived to tell the tale. You’re a legend!” Theogoni paused briefly, furrowing her brow with equal measures of excitement and suspicion. “Which raises the question… Why not become a captain yourself – or simply retire? By all accounts, you’ve earned the right to both!”

“Do you know how I got so old?”

“I don’t follow…”

“You see, the position of captain is a dangerous one. A risky one. When you lose a battle, the captain is the first to be imprisoned and executed. When a mutiny inevitably takes place, it is the captain that is thrown overboard…” One-Horn paused briefly, exhaling before continuing. “You see. When sacrifices are called for, the captain will always take the fall. Captains are short-lived creatures, and I intend to live forever!”

“I’m not planning on dying anytime soon!”

“Oh, but you will eventually; that is the fate of all great captains, and I see the makings of greatness in you! With me, I will make sure your reign as a leader will be prosperous and worthy of remembrance. I can’t say the same about the icy-veined young-blood you spoke to before; she has a captain’s aspirations herself and will betray you, given time. Me and my ship, Keras, will serve you better than any other!”

As the Minotaur left after a few more words – discussing practical matters – Theogoni exited her quarters and left the premises of the inn that was hosting her and her crew. They had hired a good few souls during her time here, and the choice of a first mate was critical in maintaining order within her new crew; not to mention that the additional warship would be a great boon for the mission ahead. As her mind processed the intricacies of each option, she made way for the dockyard that housed her two existing ships.

Once there, surrounded by busy workers and the clamoring of mallets and other such tools, Theogoni was greeted by Menelos – the dockyard’s master and a friend to the departed Rysalektos. The elderly man, leaning heavily on a cane, grabbed Theogoni by the shoulder and guided her through the premises, speaking softly as he did so. “My men tell me you’re considering a few of my ships for purchase; simple vessels, but they’ll hold for a few journeys…”

“Yes, but I still need a ship to replace Istio!”

The man laughed, patting Theogoni’s head with a smile. “Child. Such ships take months to build – some take years! I told you; I do not have any such vessels for sale – not within the timeframe you require it…”

“You’re lying, old man. I know you – Rysalektos taught me your tricks. You’re hiding something from me!”

Menelos’ smile vanished, replaced by a creased frown as he responded. “You test me, dear Theogoni. But alas, there is something I can show you.” The old man led the captain into a locked warehouse, pulling back a great canvas drape to reveal a ship – sleek and elegant, much like the fallen Istio. The ship’s wood had a deep, ashen color that unnerved Theogoni – as if the vessel had been charred by fire, though there was no visible damage to indicate as much.

“What is this?” spoke the woman. “It’s beautiful…”

“I’ve had this in my inventory for as long as I can remember… The ship – or so I was told when it arrived to me – was constructed in Milios, before the great fire scarred the city. Some – no, many – claim the ship is cursed, and I have never been able to sell it—”

“I’ll take it. How much?”

“Child…”

“I said I’ll take it! Now quit your yammering and tell me what you want for it!”

“Nothing,” muttered Menelos, defeat gripping his spirit. “I refuse to take coin for whatever misfortune befalls you. Your refusal to heed my warnings is payment enough; let us hope that is all this accursed ship will demand of you!”

“Does it have a name?” asked Theogoni, caressing the vessel’s smooth hull.

“None. I can engrave one if you wish…”

“Rysalektos. I’ll name it Rysalektos…”

As the day gave way to nighttime, Theogoni found herself assaulted by restless thoughts, waiting for sleep to take her without success. She had new ships, new bodies as part of her crew, but the choice of a first mate still eluded her. Which of the two will she choose? The ferocious young-blood with nothing to lose? Or the cautious and aged legend who lacks further ambitions?

WHICH OF THE TWO CANDIDATES WILL THEOGONI CHOOSE AS HER FIRST MATE?

Choice

• THEOGONI WILL CHOOSE ERID AND HER SHIP TROMOS.
• THEOGONI WILL CHOOSE OL’ ONE-HORN AND HIS SHIP KERAS.

Chapter 5

Theogoni stared into the moonlit sea, leaning against the banister of her ship Rysalektos and caressing the wood with human-like care. It had been quite some time since they left Leutria with a renewed crew, Ol’ One-Horn as the new first mate, and a fleet totaling six ships: the warships Rysalektos, Salamos, and Keras and three military transport ships – two of which had been purchased from dockmaster Menelos. After acquiring such a robust force, Theogoni had departed the City State of Leutria with the utmost haste and had made her way to the lands of the Sorcerer Kings; the responsibility of her deceased captain’s contract had now settled on her shoulders and was her burden to carry – she had no choice but to see it through, fearing Jahan’s reaction if she chose to forsake her duties.

The instructions passed on to Theogoni were clear: she was to travel to the Vizier’s sorcerous home, from which she would accompany Jahan’s forces to Helias, where they would retrieve his favorite lackey, and then to an undisclosed location that would serve as the basis for a settlement of some kind. The first portion of her mission had been completed successfully: Theogoni, with the help of detailed maps and a provided magical compass, had followed in Rysalektos’ footsteps and had reached the mystical lands that held Jahan. There, beneath the shadow of a distant, rumbling volcano, she had met the Vizier’s forces in a secluded cove – finding no signs of civilization besides Jahan’s throng. Supply crates marred with strange, magical symbols were loaded onto her three transport ships – along with numerous servants and armed soldiers. The souls crammed onto Theogoni’s ships could have been considered a small army in their own right, yet the captain suspected the bulk of the Vizier’s forces rested within his own vessels.

Akin to floating fortresses, Jahan’s ships dwarfed those of their hired companions. Theogoni found them to be gauche and lacking the sophistication of true seamanship: while their intimidating presence could not be denied, their oversized stature robbed them of the flexibility and speed Theogoni valued so highly in her vessels. “Wooden tombs” was the captain’s first thought when she first witnessed the two ships; that sentiment stood even truer for Jahan’s personal vessel, which was festooned with ornate carvings and ample precious metal detailing. From their meeting point, the combined fleet had made its way towards the city of Helias, never once stopping at another port or settlement. While traveling to and from the home of the Sorcerer Kings, Theogoni had seen the vague outline of some cities in the distance – their forms were more pronounced during nighttime, illuminated by both torchlight and other, less natural forms of effulgence. The captain never dared to approach any of them: Jahan had prohibited all interactions with his people outside of himself and his forces, having stated that the inhabitants of his homeland despised foreigners above all else. It was Jahan that had offered Rysalektos and his crew refuge after the captain’s disastrous loss to the Grey Scourge, sheltering them from a storm induced demise and offering the departed captain a chance at redemption through the Vizier’s contract.

Theogoni had no reason to distrust Jahan, but she was acutely suspicious of the Vizier’s intentions regardless. Since they had merged their forces, neither she nor her crew had laid eyes upon their patron; his presence was only alluded to by an immense palanquin, which was loaded onto his flagship when Theogoni first encountered Jahan’s forces. Rysalektos, when he was amongst the living, had spoken very little of his sorcerous benefactor, further fueling his successor’s suspicions. Who exactly was this Vizier? Could Theogoni trust an individual she had never laid eyes on? Up until reaching Helias, which they had done so just today, the captain had only interacted with lackeys that voiced their master’s will – Jahan, it seemed, had no intention of revealing himself to Theogoni at all.

This lack of clarity was further exacerbated when the Voice joined his master on his flagship – doing so as soon as they had reached the port of Helias – having brought with him a modest following and a library’s worth of documents and packaged scrolls. The arch-lackey, as Theogoni liked to call him, had conversed with the captain only briefly, assuring her that she had all the necessary information needed to complete her duties. “Do not burden your mind with complicated matters outside your station, captain…” the Voice had explained. “Tomorrow, we set sail for the Allerian Plains. You are to accompany us to the very apex of the Horn of Thrapsalon. Do so diligently, and you will be greatly rewarded for your services!”

“You are concerned,” grumbled Ol’ One-Horn, his peg-leg scraping the deck as he approached Theogoni.

“You’re still on the ship… Are you not eager to partake in Helias’ many pleasures this night? This might be the only civilized port we enter for a good while,” responded Theogoni – her thoughts now dragged back into the present.

“I will leave the delights of Helias to those with the youth, vigor, and bodily fortitude to endure them. What troubles you, captain? If these past weeks at sea have taught me anything, it is that your thinking process tends to stir up trouble…”

“Calling your captain a troublemaker; some first mate you are…” exclaimed Theogoni with a sly smile, assuming a veneer of seriousness when she turned to encounter the Minotaur’s stern visage. “I do not trust Jahan, One-Horn. That bloody specter has not emerged once to address us, and I’ve grown oh-so-tired of the bald-headed lackeys he sends out to direct us. An honest man is not afraid to show his face, and I’m beginning to doubt the Vizier is human at all!”

“And what do you intend to do to satiate your suspicions?”

“I was thinking of planting a spy onboard the bastard’s flagship. Irina, she’s young, but she’s been with the group since she was a child. She was raised to be a contortionist before we took her in; she can slither into their ship and cram herself somewhere where no one will notice her.”

“And what if they find her?”

“They won’t. Irina is as nimble as a field mouse. We’ll dress her up in the attire of the Vizier’s servants and send her in with tomorrow’s supplies before we leave port; they won’t suspect a thing!”

Ol’ One-Horn did not say anything; he simply stared at Theogoni, his gazed hued with near grandfatherly concern.

“I cannot stay blinded, One-Horn. Jahan might be brewing all sorts of devious plans right under our noses… I need to understand the true nature of what we are facing!”

Ol’ One-Horn exhaled, the hairs poking out of his nostrils swaying like summer-kissed wheat. “I cannot tell you what to do, captain,” conceded the first mate, “but heed this warning: nothing good comes from prodding a sleeping viper’s nest with one’s eager finger…”

WHICH COURSE OF ACTION WILL THEOGONI TAKE?

Choice

• THEOGONI DISPATCHES IRINA TO SPY ON THE VIZIER.
• THEOGONI REFRAINS FROM PLANTING A SPY ONBOARD THE VIZIER’S FLAGSHIP.

Chapter 6

Theogoni felt her stomach rumble and slosh, sensing the acidic tang of vomit eek up her throat but never releasing its payload; she was nervous, and she had never been this anxious in the past. They had entered the Horn of Thrapsalon a few moons back, slowly making their way through the oceanic passage with lulling speed. The surrounding land seemed empty, from what she could observe from a distance, offering no major signs of civilization. “Why are we here?” she thought for yet another time; said thought was a mainstay within her mind during recent times, as Theogoni failed to piece together any sort of logical cohesion from Jahan’s overt machinations. They were heading towards the middle of nowhere, with enough supplies and manpower to attract the attention of most of the City States, foreign kingdoms, and beyond. Theogoni had come to despise the fiery illumination that came with worldly attention; it was accumulated infamy that had led to Rysalektos’ death, and she had the feeling more such disastrous magnetism would soon follow. Nevertheless, she expected to find out some answers today, for the mysterious Jahan, the so-called Shimmering Vizier, had finally decided to summon her upon his flagship.

With each tentative step, the captain was led further into the monolithic ship’s bowels – feeling her heartbeat thrum with swelling anxiety. She had no idea what to expect; the vessel’s innards were obscenely opulent, overshadowing the external decorations by a considerable degree. Lamps made from precious alloys showered ebony corridors with a sickly, bile-yellow light – illuminating an endless array of complex wall carvings and detailed frescos, which showcased imagery brimming with magnanimity and pride. The Vizier’s form was present across most of the illustrations – Theogoni assumed the repeating figure was Jahan – showcasing a man atop a golden throne, surrounded by bowing servants and wreathed in a halo of vibrant flame. Finally, Theogoni found herself before a large, double-breasted gate, sitting in awkward silence as she waited to be granted an audience with Jahan. Outside the foreign servants and guards that stood before the gate, Theogoni noticed two strange figures, picking out a pair draped in City State garments. The man wore robes lined with gold trim, brandishing a large bound scroll and exuding an overall air of authority; the woman, who appeared to be much older, was covered with simpler clothing, carrying only an unadorned staff with her.

As Theogoni approached her two distant compatriots, they turned to face her, acknowledging the captain with a coordinated dip of both their chins. “Senior trade representative Argyros of the esteemed House Mydas; a pleasure, I’m sure…” exclaimed the man in a flamboyant fashion, gesturing towards the woman at his side with a gentle wave of his hand. “I’m afraid my honored companion shall remain nameless; for she refuses to identify herself on account of officialities. Such is dictated by the unyielding whims of bureaucracy.”

The nameless woman snorted at Argyros’ remark, tapping her staff once in annoyance. “I am here as a representative of Helias and its Scholae. My duty is to observe and report: nothing more, nothing less. You need not know anything beyond that.”

Theogoni blinked at the perplexing exchange, bowing her head as she spoke. “Theogoni. Captain and leader of the hired vessels that accompany the Vizier—”

Before further words could be exchanged, the double-breasted gate swung open, releasing a burst of warm air into the crowded corridor. A hunched servant beckoned both Argyros and the Scholae official to enter the Vizier’s quarters, halting Theogoni when she tried to follow them. “No,” croaked the man. “The master will see you after he is done with these two,” and the doors were barred once more. The captain waited and waited, losing all sense of time within the bowels of this monstrous ship. Has she been waiting for a few minutes or several hours? She could not tell. Her heart thumped regardless, rampaging within her chest as the room swam around her; her stomach gurgled once more, sending the acidic tang of stomach fluids up her throat and into her mouth. She had to keep her composure – Rysalektos would have stayed calm.

Finally, the door swung open and the Helian duo emerged from the room beyond, passing by Theogoni in a hurry. Drenched in glistening sweat, Argyros muttered “Good luck…” as he careened by, leaving in an oddly hurried fashion. Soon after, a servant called for the confused captain, holding the doors open and gesturing towards the room beyond.

Initially, Theogoni could not make much of Jahan’s quarters; the entire room was occupied by a thick veil of perfumed smoke, emanating from the many ornate incense burners that were strewn across the hall. As she moved forward, Theogoni thought she saw shapes within the smoke – ethereal faces would peer out from the smog, only to dissipate into formless fumes mere moments later. Was she imagining things? Theogoni was beginning to believe her nervousness was beginning to addle her mind’s clarity. A few more steps, and the woman found herself standing before a great throne, seeing a man sitting upon its gilded apex. The Vizier’s figure was not fully visible, for it was covered by coalescing plumes of smoke that slithered around him like ghostly serpents. At the base of the elevated throne stood the Voice, Jahan’s most trusted servant, staring at Theogoni with his hands crossed over his pronounced belly. “The great Jahan welcomes you!” exclaimed the Voice, bowing his head and gesturing towards his silent master. “He is most happy with your service thus far and has graciously decided to enhance your reward! A fistful of gold will be given to each of the men under your command in addition to the agreed upon payment – accompanied by a promise of greater riches if they choose to remain at the Vizier’s side.”

Theogoni cursed under her breath; she wished to leave Jahan’s service as soon as possible, but much of her crew was new and their loyalty was untested – she could face mutiny if she chose to depart in the face of such rewards. “You are most gracious, great Jahan…” responded the captain with a forced curtsy, doing a poor job of appearing respectful. “Though I must ask: what is the point of this journey? For what purpose have I sacrificed so many men? To what end did my captain, Rysalektos, sacrifice his life?” As she spoke, Theogoni tried to locate Jahan’s face, struggling to identify anything beyond the smoky partition.

The Voice made no effort to hide his displeasure, waving off the question as one would a buzzing insect. “You are informed up to the requirements of your position, captain. Do not test the great Jahan’s patience with your bothersome inquiries. More will be revealed when the time calls for it—”

“Men died! My captain died! I DEMAND TO KNOW WHY!” roared Theogoni, taking a forceful step forward and glowering towards the Vizier’s location. “What kind of cowardly leader hides behind illusions and refuses to address those under his service? For months, my men and I have toiled towards some unseen goal. We deserve to know—”

“ENOUGH!” boomed Jahan’s voice like distant thunder. The braziers around the throne roared with luminous fire, and the many censers within the hall spat out sparks as the Vizier spoke, flooding the room with unnatural heat. The sorcerous master emerged from within the fumes that surrounded him, standing erect and approaching the captain with long, confident strides. Now fully visible, Theogoni witnessed the Vizier in earnest for the first time: fine crimson silks robed his hefty frame, matched by a sizeable turban that crowned his head. His beard, which was a deep, inky black and reached down to his ankles, was festooned with glistening gems and decorated with fine gold chains – radiating with an effulgence beyond natural light. Theogoni’s nostrils were flooded with the bitter stench of singed hair, and her lungs struggled to keep up amidst the stifling heat.

“Peace, captain…” finally crooned the Vizier, gesturing at the woman with a now calm demeanor. “You have served me well – better than your former captain ever could. Do not mar such outstanding work through pointless questioning. We make landfall in a few hours; ready your men, for a new chapter awaits on the horizon.” Coughing still, Theogoni backed away and exited the room, losing sight of Jahan’s figure amidst the smoke once more. A few minutes later, and she was on her ship, steadying her nerves and barking out orders – the end of their journey loomed ahead.

It took several hours before the ships reached their destination, arriving at the end of the great oceanic horn and making landfall. The surrounding area was relatively empty, save for a modest campsite that lay close to the shore; the tents there were empty, but the central fire was still hot with shimmering embers – the wooden watchtower, the only sizeable structure within the camp, was decorated with a banner depicting a bull’s horned head.

As the stream of supplies was unloaded onto the rocky beach, Jahan observed the proceedings from atop his palanquin, flanked by the two Helians and the tentative captain Theogoni. Once everything was laid on solid land, including crates filled with construction materials, beasts of burden, and other such provisions – all accompanied by a sizable amount of heavily armed soldiers and obedient servants – Jahan finally descended from his perch. What followed, Theogoni struggled to comprehend – for she had never witnessed anything so dream-like during her lifetime.

The Vizier began to dance, spinning around in circles and moving ahead of his accompanying host. As his robes fluttered with rhythmical movement, orange flames emerged from underneath them, extending outwards and forming humanoid shapes that seemed to copy Jahan’s dervish gyrations. The blazing specters separated themselves from their master, spreading hungering fire with each hypnotizing twist of their ethereal bodies. Soon, a controlled blaze had been created, wasting away the dense grass, shrubs, and meager trees of the surrounding area – engulfing the abandoned outpost as well. Once the charred perimeter had been established – creating a large, circular stretch of blackened soil – did Jahan halt his performance, climbing onto his throne and addressing his followers.

“For too long have we been caged!” boomed the Vizier. “For too long have we been blind to the world – deprived of a legacy that is our birthright! No more! By my grace – Jahan, Shimmering Vizier of the Court of Fire – the throngs of the Sorcerer Kings step foot on Alektria once more! Through such rights, I claim this land; from now on, it shall forever be known as Taj’Khinjaha – the Pinnacle of Rebirth!”  

Theogoni witnessed the entire spectacle in cold silence, a single thought pounding through her mind.

“Gods, what have I done…”