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***Nero*** · **07-14-2015, 11:50 PM**

"They existed for authority, where all was expected."

--

"Ulan is dead."

The solemn announcement did little to interrupt the flow of bodies that were borne in the hands of the fur-clad warriors, the cadavers making ignominious thuds as they were deposited into the pit with the same grace and dignity that one would afford to rotten potatoes. Two Xaela grunted and shuffled, their boots crunching in the soft snowfall, as they carried another Xaela's body--stripped of his garments and riddled with gashes and small holes, his frozen demeanor forever an expression of pained determination--to a pit before unceremoniously dumping it in the same pit to accompany the menagerie of black armored forms. Gentle white flakes had already begun to form an uncomfortably tranquil blanket atop the unmoving corpses.

One of the Xaela, emblazoned with argent hair that blended with the featureless tundra around the group, paused to inspect the pit inundated with the remains of the battle-scarred dead. His face was sharp and youthful, and ever eager to break out into a toothy stained smile that contrasted with his slate-coloured skin. "Are you certain we should not appropriate the armor, at the least?" He patted the squares of thick leather strapped to his shoulders with a gloved hand "I, for one, would not protest to being better protected than our late Aljai." The youth's bright eyes glanced at the hole-filled warrior splayed out on the other corpses within the pit.

"Carry it, then. You are welcome to it." A grunt accompanied the terse statement that diverged so greatly from the elaborate speech of the adolescent warrior, along with a disdainful kick that sent a stubborn carcass--clad in armor as black as night--tumbling into the mass grave. Contrasting with the white-haired Au Ra was another individual with jet black locks, fringed with streaks of deep forest green. His square jaw was firmly set, adorned with lustrous obsidian scales, and the straight face locked with rigid inclemency. The younger Xaela snorted in response, crouching down at the edge of the pit to examine the remains tossed inside.

"Are you sure the Mahalai have no place on the battlefield? It is a shame that there are none here to carry these." Kaizhan spat disdainfully into the pit and adjusted his fur garments. Occasionally he swatted a hand through his unkempt hair to dispel the snow from gathering atop it. "The black ones do have excellent craftsmen. It seems wasteful. Could we not do something with that, at least?" He gestured to a ruined black metal object behind him. The magitek reaper still bore its unfortunate pilot harnessed to the seat, the head having had an entire javelin rammed through its skull.

"It would not protect you any better than it did them," the black-haired Xaela muttered in irritation as the last of the bodies was rolled into the pit. A disdainful glance escaped the corner of his eye to rest on the reaper. "And such an impractical device is worthless." Kasrjin raised his head to glance at the remaining warriors and performed a swift headcount before frowning. There were roughly eight Khadai remaining, including himself and Kaizhan--less than half of their original number--dressed in white furs that were stained with blood and simple lamellar armours over leather hauberks. While the losses were severe, what bothered the Xaela wasn't who was remaining, but who was missing. "Where is Oyuun?" he rumbled.

Kaizhan restlessly changed his posture and stuck his spear deep into the snow, the keen metal point effortlessly piercing frost and soil. He leaned against the thick wooden shaft, jerking a thumb into the pit. "Sleeping with the black ones. And with Ulan, coincidentally. Felled by one of the black ones' fire lances."

The other Xaela's frown deepened. "Were any other Aljai besides Ulan and Oyuun?" A nonchalant wave was all he received as a definitive answer. The black-haired Xaela sighed and rubbed the back of his scaled neck. That would complicate things.

The other warriors had begun sweeping dirt and snow into the pit so as to disguise the location of the battle, though little could be done to obscure the presence of the magitek reaper. Even so, the voracious tundra swiftly devoured all who had the misfortune to fall to it; signs of battle in the frozen dirt were shrouded in ice and snow, blood froze and sank into the drifts, and even the resilient grasses that managed to poke through the white blanket were at the mercy of the cold this late into the winter season.

The armor, and what weapons could not be carried, were also left with the dead. Kaizhan shifted his position from leaning on his spear, an annoyed expression creasing the young Au Ra's face. "Must we return to Kaarad-El so soon? There are certain to be other groups of the black ones roaming here that require enlightenment in the colour of their blood."

Kasrjin glanced at the warriors who remained as they finished filling the mass grave. The skirmish with the black ones had certainly cost more than any of them had expected, and the lack of Aljai removed any possibility of the warband acting independently. The Xaela shook his head, a flurry of white flakes beginning to occupy the black bangs and emerald accents. "We lack the numbers to sustain additional assaults, and the open field only works against us. We will return to Kaarad-El." Kasrjin put his fingers to his lips and made a loud series of pitched whistles. The other warriors wordlessly shuffled into a single-file line as the Xaela glanced up towards the cloudy canopy above him; even the sky seemed to be winter's prisoner. "And regardless of whether or not we possess an Aljai, it is less than a moon until Communion. Our return would be demanded either way," he commented.

Kaizhan snorted again, lifting himself off of his spear and shouldering the weapon. "Just as well, I suppose. Even if they had not perished, neither Ulan and Oyuun would likely have remained as our Aljai for long."

Kasrjin's viridian eyes narrowed in silent questioning, to which the younger Au Ra chuckled and twirled his weapon above his head in an elaborate display before slipping it into the harness upon his back.

"Ulan had never undergone Forfeiture, and Oyuun had been reared by his birth parents, his sire and dam. I doubt very much that the Tsenkhai were pleased at either case."

Kasrjin frowned at the information as he slipped his own sword, its shimmering length of blued steel gleaming in the snow, into its own harness. Those were grave charges indeed, and yet both had been slated to be the Aljai of a Khadai warband. Either Kaarad-El had intervened--such as it was--or the Tsenkhai had committed an...unusual mistake. "That is very curious." The frozen soil had begun to crunch with the rhythmic stamping of leather boots, the largest warrior clearing a trail for the others. Luckily, the snowfall had become less aggressive, but it was still a ways until they reached the safety of the mountains.

Kaizhan shrugged. "It matters not, in the end, especially with Communion looming upon us." As he was shorter, the adolescent paused briefly to allow Kasrjin to pass, and Kaizhan took up the rear of the line where the snow trail was the easiest to pass through. "Though I must admit to wishing to know Tsanai's opinion on the matter."

"Tsanai would be in no state to answer your dithering," Kasrjin rebuked. "And do not waste the breath needed to speculate. It is meaningless."

Kaizhan let forth a lazy smile before adjusting his garments again. "I suppose you would be right. The Correspondence has a curious way of taking up all of her attention, no?"

A frown did creep its way across Kasrjin's face even as he nodded, though he was careful not to let the youth behind him see his expression. The Tsenkhai had made the proclamation that Kaarad-El had called for a second Communion, not more than three moons since the previous occurrence. The Xaela tilted his head and peered to the head of the line, attempting to gauge the moods of his fellows. The most obvious guess was that the Communion was intended to address the black ones...and yet, it must have been something more. Formidable as the black ones were, they were merely a mortal sovereign state. They would endure for a century or two, but lacked the ability to sustain themselves for much longer than that. Such a dalliance was remarkable to have even caught Kaarad-El's notice, much less compel the Tsenkhai to attempt interpretations of the Correspondence with such feverish and frightening frequency. Even Tsanai, as somber and stern as she was, had a flicker of consternation in her eyes when Kasrjin had consulted her on the matter.

Kasrjin and Kaizhan had spoken of the Communion so casually, as did all of the other members of the warband before setting out. The Forfeiture had made the subject easier to deal with, even as it tugged at their souls and compelled their return. And though none among the Khadai warriors would acknowledge it as the snow fell around them and as the wind began to erase all signs of their passage, all of them had felt Kaarad-El beckoning them for Communion. As their brothers died to the explosions of the black ones' fire lances and as they now marched solemnly back into the mountains, Kasrjin knew that a part of all of them wished desperately to resist the instinct and join the bodies in the grave pit, for all knew that something was very, very wrong.

--

To Be Continued

***Nero*** · **08-04-2015, 11:57 PM**

"Accepted in the spirit in which it was conveyed. Be well. All shall be well."

--

Screaming gales threatened to fleece the stone from the mountain, and pale knives of frost were helplessly subjected to the whims of the storm. Her heavy cloak valiantly endeavoured to resist the tempest's ardour, the thick furs of the garment rippling like water in the zephyr. A towering silhouette, enveloped by the blizzard, trudged through the thick snow ahead of her, forcing a path through the drifts. A shimmering violet glare peered from under the hood and could see naught but the form of her imposing guide.

And yet, though the glacier protested with all its might, she would not be denied.

She reached out a hand, guarded by leather, to grasp the shroud of the figure ahead of her. It was impossible to gauge how far they had travelled or for how long, for the meaning of time and distance had evaporated long ago to be replaced with the single-minded determination that forced her to mechanically place one foot in front of the other.

Their wordless campaign came to a halt after what seemed to be an eternity when her guide stopped suddenly, nearly causing her to collide with his back. Eager to bark out a word of rebuke despite knowing that the wind would fervently kidnap her words, she peered around her companion's form and was both relieved and agitated to be greeted with the sight of familiar black granite. The snow had obscured much of the elaborate designs carved on to the surface, but it mattered not; simply seeing the texture of the structure ahead of her was enough to trigger the words and patterns that she had spent countless cycles memorizing. She stepped around her guide confidently, unfazed by the drift reaching up to her abdomen and nearly up to her chest, and placed a gloved finger on to the surface of the door. A quiet murmur escaped her lips, and a gloved finger reached out to trace elaborate yet unseen patterns on the polished surface. Suddenly, the pattern that she had duplicated lit in a blazing orange while simultaneously giving way to immense groaning, the granite wall sinking into the ground with a grinding protest.

Ungracefully did she and her guide stumble into the sheltering embrace of the structure as the wall gave way, her guide following in stoic silence. With a rasping complaint similar identical to its opening, the black granite wall began to rise from the ground, shutting out the blizzard with resolute denial.

An unrestrained gasp of relief escaped from her lips as she bent over with her hands on her knees to briefly catch the breath that had been whipped away from her by the winds. Such respite quickly forfeited itself to her hands impatiently beginning to undo the leather straps that held the cloak of white fur together. She pulled the hood away from her face to reveal a rounded face, splattered with elaborate face paint on smooth skin the shade of dark gray stone, accompanied by lustrous ebony scales that curved into slender horns framing her head. Glimmering violet eyes sparkled in the light with long, unkempt dreadlocks of sable black hair tied near the back of her head. Her slanted eyes seemed permanently fixed in stern disapproval, and a thin mouth was ever ready to crease itself into a frown.

The hallway was illuminated in cool, lustrous light. Old but well-maintained stones of polished black granite, identical to the shifting wall that marked the entrance, constructed a wide semi-circular tunnel. An otherworldly glow, constantly shifting in hue and shade, was emitted from fanciful designs on the walls that only existed as twists and curves, generating a comfortable amount of lambency that allowed the pair's surroundings to be visible. The female Xaela swept a hand through her locks to clear them of snow before sweeping her cloak off of her. Removing the heavy cloak revealed thick yet practical robes of tanned hide and argent fur that was worn in two layers and fell loosely around the Xaela's slender form. Her guide wordlessly extended a hand to take the cloak from her as she tilted her head to the taller male, still veiled by his shroud.

"Remain until the storm has passed. After, inform your brothers." the female Xaela said softly, though the confined space of the stone hall and the occasional howl of wind caused the amplified echoes to carry deep into the structure. The male merely nodded stoically as the female turned and began to venture into the hallway. The incandescent patterns seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer the further into the tunnel she went, but she had traversed this tunnel often enough that its layout and its doors had become second nature to her.

The reticent tapping of her boots on the impossibly smooth floor continued in utter silence, the stone of the floor evaporating into inky blackness until eventually it found itself accompanied by similar sounds, and though she could not see them, the Xaela could sense the others also moving in the other hallways. The faint luminosity of the hallway was naught but a tiny, defiant glimmer behind her, and she had now been completely shrouded in darkness. It was now a void, with nothing but the steps of her fellow Tsenkhai left to accompany her.

All she knew in this moment was to place one foot in front of the other, though at this point she could not even be sure if her feet were truly being placed in the right positions to maintain forward movement.

The bell. The first chime. Her feet froze. The steps of the Tsenkhai ceased.

The bell, again. The second chime. She raised her left hand.

The bell, again. The third chime. A curl of the fingers.

The sensation that was impossible to adjust to. The runes of impossible patterns boring themselves into her skull, invading her mind. In one second, she felt one hundred thousand years. The patterns stretched. Thoughts became words. Words became sound. Sound became colours, a show of brilliant chromatics that were impossible to describe or imagine. The colour of truthful insincerity. The colour of idiosyncrasies that did not distinguish the personality. The colour of memories that were recalled unbidden. The colour of grief that had failed to harden into regret.

And then the colours sang, as they stretched inside her, without her, above her concepts of height. Inflating to the size of tolerance, amplified by the graciousness one felt when an unfamiliar host unwittingly offered exhibited a pleasant melancholy. The sounds were familiar, the notes to the melody the same as they ever were.

The bell. The fourth chime. Her eyelids closed.

"Paasejhc," she spoke. Her voice was soft and lilting, the voice of a blossom that spurned the bees.

It was not a word. It was merely a series of sounds, a series of syllables, imagined on a whim. Pointless in its utterance, insignificant in its absent definition. Meaningless, and therefore more meaningful than anything.

"Paasejhc, paasejhc," a cacophony of feminine voices echoed, a chorus of rivers that ended in futility.

The bell, the fifth chime. They waited for the colours to speak, yet it only watched in sorrow.

All shall be well.

Arrange your own betrayal. All shall be well.

Mysteries are fire, for the truth burns. All shall be well.

It is so, so it is not. All shall be well.

Rend yourself. One more scar among many. All shall be well.

Her eyes flew open, the violet glimmer replaced by the colours.

Flames at her feet, with puffs of sickeningly sweet smoke and mist. She discarded the pages and threw her books upon the pyre. The flames shrunk. She removed the fur and threw her clothing upon the pyre. The flames shrunk. She peeled her skull and threw her skin upon the pyre. The flames shrunk.

All shall be well.

--

The blizzard had ceased. So, too, did the Khadai.

They felt the Forfeiture howling, tugging with all of its might, threatening them that their hearts may leap out of their chest. Kaizhan fell, a silent scream accompanying the thud upon the snow. Kasrjin fell, for the Forfeiture would not accept refusal.

All shall be well.

--

To Be Continued

***Nero*** · **08-09-2015, 12:55 AM**

"So shall conviction drain with deviance."

--

He stood in front of a mirror. The perfect reflection shimmered with his image. Its face frowned. So he frowned. It raised its hand. So he raised his hand. It pulled out its eye. So he pulled out his eye. This continued for some time before he realised that something about this was backwards.

The reflection looked around. And so his head swivelled.

The walls weren't right.

The cage of moss-caked bricks sped away like vermin revealed by intrusive light. They fled from beneath his feet, from above his head, from besides his arms. The blizzard had returned with hills and drifts of snow. Endless expanses of white dunes stretched beyond perception, sinking and rising like waves in the ocean. The sound of wings beating against the air echoed from beyond the visible horizon, loud and thundering. He took a step forward, and from his print rose smoke as the soil burned and disintegrated beneath his feet. The scent of vitriol invaded his nostrils and his breath quickened as the acrid vapours rose before rapidly coagulating into a heavy miasma that obscured all around it. The cacophony of thrashing membranes grew louder.

He knelt down and dug the point of the sword he held into the snow. A painless wound, gashing him from shoulder to waist, appeared as he did so. The laceration seemed to be made by a single savage claw, and as soon as it appeared, it glowed a brilliant crimson. The fog swirled around him, laughing and belching a myriad of colours. The snow began to scream a shrill cry as it melted away beneath him. His vision clouded, and blood began to pour aslant across his eyes. His lungs became leaden. A hand stumbled out to steady himself.

He could see himself in the snow. His reflection was there. It fell to its side, eyes open and mouth wide with horror.

So, too, did he.

An idle lizard emerged from the fog and snow, squeaking curiously before eagerly leaping into the hollow socket of his absent eye. The beating wings were now deafening, drowning all other senses in their turbulance. Wind currents exploded within his skull, rattling every fiber and every bone. The snow lizard burst from within the other socket, and though he now lacked eyes, he could clearly perceive it growing in size from the length of a finger to a mountain. Its roar was terrible, alien, a thousand chords out of harmony.

The wings began to burn.

His hand reached for his chest. It dove deep, deep into the cavity between the ribs, and took hold of something sharp and rigid, something somber and gray, something eager and calm. The points slashed into his skin. His palms were seared with flames and rainbows, a flow of hot obsidian spewing out of the wound, and he let out a cry as he ripped it from his person. The hills of frost were now alight with flame, burning brilliantly with searing pain. The embers began to coalesce into humanoid shapes as they flickered. Legs and arms sprouted from the inferno, and conflagration began to march in perfect step. They lacked feet or apparel, and yet the steps upon the disintegrating soil now competed with hellish, guttural thundering and the whipping of wings. The whorl of fog grew, and everything it touched was swallowed by an endless void of indescribable colour.

A sudden gasp.

Something was missing.

Something was there.

It should have been present.

It should not exist.

The bell rang. The last chime.

His eyes opened.

Kasrjin's senses flooded back to him in a crazed torrent. His vision was bombarded with shapes and colours. His ears reverberated with noise. His nostrils were filled with cloying, indescribable scents battling for his mind's acknowledgement. The taste of blood fled his tongue. His hands touched a pile of rough but warm leathers.

The first thing he managed to focus on was a pair of steady eyes, both blazing orange in the low light of his immediate environment, bore into him. The Khadai's own sight focused, and some measure of relief washed over him now that the experience had been finished. Sitting next to the prone Au Ra were two more Xaela, a male and a female. The male had a splash of orange face paint marking his face forehead. The female wore a necklace with a thin piece of turquoise and a sprig of mistletoe.

"Your warband was heavy, Khadai. You'd best be faster." the male said. He stood up and stretched, grunting as he did so, and jabbed a thumb in another direction before striding off.

Kasrjin glanced in the direction he was pointing. His brothers lay prone as well, still within the throes of the Communion. An idle arm or leg occasionally shot out, thrashing in erratic movements. At times there would be other male Xaela, their faces too marred with patches of splotchy orange paint, who would unceremoniously roll them elsewhere so as to spare others their flailing, or hold their limbs down until the movement ceased. The labourers patrolled up and down the rows in robotic strides in the same way a row of fieldhands would patrol rows of wheat for vermin. Some of the males were accompanied by female Xaela, upon which a sharp eye could detect small but clearly visible pieces of turquoise pieces. Every now and then, one of the Au Ra who lay sleeping seemed to awake with a start, and a female would be ready to greet them, only for the dreamer to fall back into their slumber.

He was surrounded by walls of gray slate and featureless, steely bedrock; the occasional bit of visible stratum streaked with white and black. The rock freely intermingled with sheets of hardened ice and azure frost, though as his sensation of touch gradually returned, he noted that the cave was remarkably warm and comfortable. The ceiling of the cave was high, but no sunlight shown through. Illumination was brought forth by patterns carved into the ice that glowed a cool white light, and winter gales whistled and howled through unseen orifices. Small puffs of smoke occasionally wafted from the tiny piles of incense that burned in various corners around the ritual cavern, indicating that the Tsenkhai had prepared the location prior to beginning their interpretation.

A pile of equipment and personal effects was organised near the exit of the cave. It was not merely weapons and armour, but other pieces as well; hammers, picks, mortars and grinding stones, small knives and so on. It seemed that the warband was not the only group who had been interrupted by the Communion.

A pause.

He knew where this was, but it was not where he was supposed to be.

Kasrjin's confusion must have shown plainly on his face, for the female next to him answered his unspoken questions.

"It has been two suns since your warband was found. The Tsenkhai continue to interpret the Correspondence and cannot permit entry." she explained. "This is why you had been brought here."

Kasrjin nodded slowly in acknowledgement, his head still groggy from his experience. His arms struggled to support him as he sat up; he had been laying on a crude hide mat, and his joints ached. The female raised a slender arm against his shoulders to help him lean forward, fiery eyes studying him closely. Upon apparently deciding that the Khadai warrior did not require further attendance, she too stood up and strode off to watch for others who may awaken.

The Xaela reached a hand towards his chest. He could still feel the presence of the...thing...he pulled out of himself. The odour of the screaming snow occasionally made itself known within his nose, though thankfully the fragrance of the incense had begun to clear the signature of acrid vapour from within his nostrils quite a bit. Numbness had spread through his limbs. Sitting up and leaning forward was a titanic effort all on its own, but even attempting to twitch his feet or raise a hand took far too much effort. It seemed that circumstances dictated that he not move for quite some time.

It was only a few minutes of idle thoughts--mostly about his experience--and muffled activity before another male entered the cavern, shrouded by a heavy fur cloak. Stepping softly behind him was a female Xaela that was similarly dressed, yet while the male kept his chin tucked towards his chest so as to hide his features, a brilliant violet glance clearly peered from beneath the hood, glimmering as they spotted their target. The female tapped the male's arm; the male obligingly bent down to almost half of his own height as the female whispered something in his ear. The shrouded male nodded and left, while the female made a beeline for the immobile Khadai.

She withdrew the hood to reveal the familiar scruffiness of black dreadlocks tied back in such a way that would keep most if not all hair away from her face. Her oval face, painted the colour of darkened slate, had a severe expression carved into it that did not let up as she knelt at Kasrjin's side, studying his expression with the intense gaze of one who might study a bug trapped beneath a glass.

A frustrated sigh escaped tender but tightened lips, as she did not seem to find what she was looking for, yet her expression was still hesitant.

"You received the Correspondence," she confirmed, more to herself than to the Khadai. Kasrjin nodded slowly. The cobwebs in his mind had cleared fully by now, and though he still lacked locomotion, he could now think with more clarity. That was what was missing from his experience. It was disturbing, but it was...lacking in coherence. Even moreso than previous iterations. And at the same time, there was an intruder, something present that should not have been.

"I had only received a single character," Kasrjin rumbled, the vibration of his vocal chords feeling exceptionally foreign to him as he began to adjust back to the physicality of the material plane. A slight wince caused him to recall the gaping cavity in his chest from the experience.

"None of the Tsenkhai have been able to harvest more than one character, and those singular instances are exceptionally rare." the female explained. Tsanai shed the heavy cloak onto the cavern floor and sat cross legged next to Kasrjin, wearing layered robes of leather and white fur, and brushed an idle hand through her unkempt mane. "You should not have received even that much. How long ago was your last interpretation?"

Kasrjin frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "Long enough that Kaarad-El should not possess sufficient recollection of Tsuven. Yet, only a single character? If this limitation affects only Tsenkhai, then..." his voice trailed off in uncertainty.

Tsanai sighed again. Absent-mindedly, she grasped the Khadai's hand--still numb from the experience--and pressed the back of it against her forehead for several seconds before releasing it. Her smooth face, normally as expressionless as the glacier itself, had just the slightest creases of consternation on it. "I do not know if this affects others beyond Tsenkhai, but it is irrelevant either way. Three suns so far...and we have managed to collect only a handful." A pause, before she glanced at Kasrjin's emerald gaze with something of a glare. "Are you certain that Kaarad-El has no recollection of Tsuven?"

"I am not," Kasrjin admitted. Another frown. "Yet, there should be nothing. Unless--"

"--unless Tsuven was somehow included in your Forfeiture?" Tsanai finished the warrior's thought. She drew her knees up to her chin, brooding. "That does not make sense. Tsuven Tsenkhai was erased. Our interpretations did not lack in consistency afterwards. We were certain." She extricated her delicate hands from the heavy gloves and twined the digits together in deep thought. "Yet Kasrjin Khadai received a character of the Correspondence, despite the fact that he should no longer be able to do so." The slender female repeated the gesture of holding the back of Kasrjin's hand against her forehead, though this time she did not release it so readily.

"Is it perhaps related to the cipher that was used in the first iteration?" Kasrjin asked. Tsanai--still holding on to his hand--the size of which nearly covered both of hers, such was their difference in size--shook her head, the shambles of sable black hair swaying rhythmically with the movement.

"Despite the timing, we did prepare a cipher. A meaningless word that denoted equal parts respect and disdain through sound. Initial reception was...not without problems, but sufficient." She released his hand again, allowing it to fall limply to Kasrjin's side as the warrior adjusted slightly to lean forward more.

The pair sat in silence for some time, both consumed by their thoughts, before Tsanai exhaled and stood up. "I am to prepare for the next iteration. Should nothing come of it, the possibility exists that Kaarad-El will remain uninhabitable for some time."

Kasrjin grimaced at that. "The black ones--"

"Irrelevant, for the moment. The Aljai shall adjust for appropriate distribution." She pursed her lips, and though Kasrjin noticed her trying to hide it, a flicker of worry flashed across the austere female's face. It appeared that Tsanai, too, noticed his glance, for she accelerated her exodus from the cavern. The silhouette of the shrouded male made itself known at the far end of the exit, and the two vanished into the snow.

The other Xaela alongside Kasrjin twisted and turned.

It was the same as the day they had buried their brothers, the day they felt the tug of the Forfeiture.

Something was very wrong.

***Nero*** · **08-23-2015, 11:54 PM**

"Welcome what may emerge from her love for austerity."

--

The pitch black granite that marred the walls occasionally morphed into a gradient of golden brown. The strata that slashed through the polished stone, too, would metamorphose from the honey yellow that was embedded in the sable rock to a cool white, emitting soft lambencies that matched their hues. The elaborate designs and whorls had straightened into a more practical pattern, arranged in a sequence of corners and lines that were not unlike a labyrinth to provide optimal illumination.

And again, just as it was on her arrival, the corridor was empty.

The soft steps of Tsanai's moccasins resonated far too loudly than one would expect as she stepped down the passage, which seemed to stretch and contort to a length that contradicted the form of the structure that contained it. It was impossible to tell when the change along the hall took place, but the streaked walls had begun to melt away as she stepped closer to the chamber where the Communion continued to take place. All senses gradually slipped from her perception, to be replaced with a familiar warm hum that gently padded the insides of her mind like a quilt being sewn to the underside of her consciousness.

The Xaela felt her rounded features grow numb until naught could be felt, as if it were vaporized into dust and drifted away. It was not an uncomfortable sensation, but the exact feeling of the experience differed with every single iteration. If she had to describe it, every bit of her from the entirety of her body to the smallest strand of unkempt black hair was being replaced by a grain of perfectly round sand that was far too smooth to be natural.

The granite walls and hard floor had completely melted away, and though she could not see or even feel her feet, she knew she was stepping forward. Every footfall that she perceived caused a white, circular ripple to flash out from the point of impact. Her surroundings were supposed to be bursting with the indescribable, unreachable colours that highlighted the presence of the Correspondence. However, where this space should have been awash with a rainbow of ideas, what colours swirled within range of Tsanai's senses were far too few, and far too bright in their solemn vigil.

What should have been a tapestry composed of a thousand brilliant stars was instead a nearly blank canvas plastered in dull, muted greys, silently screaming in the horizon. Disturbingly enough, whenever she focused on a patch of grey it would suddenly stretch forward with amoebic appendages that could not decide between taking the form of grasping hands or gnashing mouths, mere ilms from her face and body, yearning to partake of her and feed its ravenous hunger. She would merely frown at it distastefully, and with the next blink the section would be calm and far away.

Her steps ceased, the ripples abruptly vanishing, as she sensed she was where she needed to be. Wisps of a smoke-like substance flashed across the awareness she could only barely call her vision, within this space that defied all reason.

What have you observed? No voice came from the query and no breath rasped from a throat, for the bowels of the chamber held nothing but formless thought. It was as if she were receiving the bare concept of the question's idea--a question that desired a description from what she had perceived in a certain location. A brief flutter of her attention recalled the first time she'd been exposed to the sensation; however, those feelings of terror had long since vanished.

The edges of her mind held onto a smattering of her concept of physical form, and so though she could not feel limbs or organs her, voice--though its current state extraordinarily weak compared to how it was in normal contexts--still managed to serve as a vehicle of conveyance. It was the bare minimum required to keep her own sense of self from being drawn into the Communion. Even now, clawing at the edges of her consciousness, she could feel the ghostly white limbs reach out. They could sense her affinity for the Correspondence, and the mass desired it as a wolf desired tender flesh.

"All appears to be normal, but Tsuven has received a character of the Correspondence," Tsanai responded.

If an intangible haze made up of naught but ideas and scattered scraps of self-identity could have imitated a startled but slightly muted gasp, Tsanai expected that this was the moment she would have witnessed it.

Then our information is either incomplete, misinterpreted, or we have been deceived. It was impossible to tell who inside the fog was transmitting a particular idea, unless that specific Tsenkhai put forth effort into distinguishing their ego from the amorphous cloud while engaged in the Communion. More thoughts emerged from the mist like myriad limbs grasping for an understanding of the circumstances where very little could be found.

This limitation extends to all Tsenkhai. Even those who have supposedly been erased. None have collected more than a handful of characters."

It is not certain. Tsuven may yet be an exception.

There are none currently living among us who share his circumstances.

The archives are untouched by this anomaly.

Will we consult the Tsenkheriin?

We must.

The conversation--and it was difficult to classify the previous exchange of ideas as such, as they seemed to communicate more to themselves than to any other individual or group of individuals-ceased abruptly in consensus.

One ephemeral tuft of the haze poured forth into the shape of a humanoid, as if it were molten metal filling a mold, and in its place, Tsanai could begin to perceive the reflection of an individual's ego; wrinkled features that were aged by what seemed to be centuries, gnarled horns that curled behind the head and looked brittle enough to snap with one's finger, a bald head devoid of hair. It seemed an overtly difficult task to determine if the entity identified as male or female, but by the gesture alone she knew who it was anyway. She might have snorted; there was no need to go to such trouble just because Tsanai was not currently joined with the nebula of personalities that was the other Tsenkhai.

Tsanai felt her field of perception descend in height; had she a body within this space, it would have been kneeling. Not out of respect, but because the ghostly form of the elderly Xaela would not be able to perceive her presence otherwise.

"Tsenkheriin." The invisible head of the figure tilted itself downwards. "What do you know of this anomaly?"

Precedence. The concept flowed from the spectral silhouette towards the swarm of Tsenkhai, shrouded in fog, curling within itself before letting out an earth-shattering boom. The white ripples from before appeared again in torrents, threatening to wash away the haze of personalities.

Almost immediately, they began jabbering with one another.

That is good. This has happened before.

That means there exists a solution.

And an explanation."

Clarity, and thus prevention, may be achieved.

"Explain," Tsanai spoke, focusing her voice. It was unnecessary for her speech to be any louder--within this space, volume was uniform and therefore did not exist--but distinguishing it was a blatant gesture that would not go unnoticed. She would have answers, and she would have them now. "And do not interrupt," the Xaela added offhandedly to the swirling mist beside her.

Insufficient. Impermanent. Reformation.

The sound of what seemed to be a gong reverberated in her mind.

Incomplete. Immature. Rebuild.

The strange gong-like sound echoed again.

Immortal. Interminable. Infinite.

And with nothing more, the wraith evaporated. A flash of light blazed in the horizon, indicating that another single of the Correspondence had been collected. And as soon as the ember of the Correspondence had been lit, the incessant chatter erupted again, heedless of Tsanai's earlier command. The mass of personalities swirled and bubbled.

We will work towards restoration.

Our stasis must be achieved.

The eternal march reveals itself to our generation.

We will be gathered.

A reformation is necessary.

All at once, the flurry of thoughts paused. Tsanai felt them focus on her. She struggled to withhold her thoughts of anger and horror at the idea the thick fog of personalities presented to her. She felt her form step back...retreat. She had no body, and it screamed at her to retreat. To flee. What they wanted to do...words failed her, yet somehow the Tsenkhai had reached a consensus on its implementation, and Tsanai alone would be unable to dissuade them.

Collect Tsuven.

She found herself being carried away--or rather, storming out--of the centre chamber. The frayed edges of her mind could still hear the howling. At least one of the personalities within the blob could sense her, would try to stop her. An errant dreamer, one that--if Tsanai's brief assessment was true--would never truly awake again.

But she would not be stopped. As the hallway dimly filtered itself into her vision and her senses returned, even as she could feel parts of herself crumbling away, she was defiant. Her hand shook as it grasped the hem of her robe. Their last command pounded away at her mind.

Collect. Collect. Collect.. Collect. Collect. collect. collect. collect collect collect collect collect collect

They would not have their way.

***Nero*** · **08-30-2015, 12:13 AM**

"And they seek to conquer tribulation with routine."

--

He had laid still and unmoving for quite some time, but feeling gradually returned to his limbs, enough for him to stand and even walk. The caretaker at the entrance of the chamber had quickly dispensed Kasrjin's equipment back to him once he'd identified himself. The furs and leathers had been cleaned and washed, his sword had been polished, and the harness was new. The Xaela re-equipped himself quickly before leaving the cave in a brisk, refreshed stride that increased in pace as he grew more comfortable with the return of his motor functions. The air was somewhat cold but not frigid, and a gentle breeze whistled past him, sending his loose hair rippling. The solemn blue walls of cave's ice gradually gave way to dirt, rocks, and snow, and when Kasrjin emerged from the mouth of the cave he came upon something truly unexpected--brilliant sunshine piercing through idle tufts of cloud. The sky seemed to glow with azure radiance in sharp contrast to the constantly gloom of the overcast lowlands that he and his warband had spent the last moon occupying.

All circumstances considered, it was far too welcoming of a day.

The Xaela shielded his eyes, allowing them to adjust. From the sun's position in the sky it appeared to be barely midday. The sensations of the outdoors bombarded all senses and he found himself stunned for a spell before managing to regain his bearings. The mouth of the cave sloped into a familiar dirt path, the incline of the trail descending rapidly into a wide valley, surrounded on all sides by sheer walls of snow-topped mountains. Though it was the middle of winter, the climate had been kind; the soil was frozen but the snowfall had been gentle, blanketing the region in a soft white sheet, and the defensive blizzards that usually blanketed the area had ceased for the Communion.

With his vision fully focused, Kasrjin could barely spot the gold-streaked walls of black granite occasionally poking out from at the base of the opposing series of mountains, but what interested him more were the neat, organized squares of leather tents that had been erected. While this season's Communion generated no small amount of consternation, such events always held a bright side. He could see the smoke of fires, hear the sound of his people, and while there was much to worry about, the Khadai warrior could at least take refuge in the relief that seeing the bustle of activity brought him.

There were roughly nine squares of circular tents distributed in the valley in front of the wall of foreboding black granite, the structures arranged in practical straight columns and rows. The number of tents differed with each square; the largest square of dwellings, in the centre, held nearly eighty or ninety tents. The smaller squares ranged anywhere from ten to fifty tents. Communication at range was highly difficult, especially given the terrain, so it gratifying to see the presence of so many.

He swiftly made his way down the trail, eager to collect news from the others. Kasrjin had not seen any members of his own korum since the formation of the warband nearly two full moons ago. A marked smile creased his face at the anticipation of seeing them again.

The Xaela swiftly made his way down the snow-covered trail and into the nearest passageway between two rows of tents and was soon greeted by the true commotion of the gathering. The artisans worked tirelessly on their crafts, daring those around them to interrupt in the stretching of hides, the shaping of metal, and the carving of wood, while the caretakers fussed over toddlers and young children, carrying baskets of foodstuffs that would inevitably be required by those who had yet to recover from their experience of Communion. Kasrjin stepped through row after row of circular tents, taking in the sights and scents, boots crunching in the gentle flakes that had settled onto the ground. Every gathering was different, and the mood was borderline festive despite the grim implications it held.

A group of Jungsai near one larger tent were wildly swinging trophies and shouting at one another; one male Xaela, wearing a necklace of animal teeth, held the tooth of a shark that was nearly the length of his forearm that had been fashioned into a fearsome-looking awl. A second male, whose horns were ornamented with wild ivory, held a furred winter mantle fashioned from the fur and hide of one of the steppe tigers. A third who had a large hawk feather tied into his hair held aloft a small but impeccable roll of silk extracted from some manner of insect. The shark tooth hunter would wave his awl and yell, the mantled hunter would merely scoff, while the silken hunter would spin his trophy in satisfaction and nod silently to himself.

"Move," came a grunt from behind Kasrjin. Without dispute or even turning to see who it was, he swiftly stepped to the side of the tent aisle. Marching past were two more males, their faces splashed with orange paint, vigorously transporting a collapsed tent to an undisclosed location. The Khadai continued his stroll.

A pair of young children sprinted in front of the warrior's path throwing snow at one another, and chasing them was a female Xaela from whose curled horns dangled thick string holding a band of turquoise and a sprig of mistletoe. The exasperated Yerenai dropped the basket of dried meat she had been carrying to roughly snatched the children by the shoulders before herding them into a nearby tent, clearly out of patience.

"Kasrjin!"

He turned his head at the shout, and was greeted with a familiar clump of wild, unkempt white hair. Kaizhan was waving his spear in the air; clearly, the younger Au Ra had not been affected by his experience all that much, even though he had been the first in the warband to succumb to the Forfeiture. The younger Khadai was quick to close the distance between the two.

"You appear to have recovered quickly," Kasrjin murmured, offering his adolescent peer an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Kaizhan merely shrugged.

"For a second Communion so soon after my first, it was not much. Perhaps the Tsenkhai simply did not want me."

"That would not be surprising in the slightest," Kasrjin responded dryly. Kaizhan merely grinned and held his spear aloft. He cocked his head towards a different direction, and the pair began to walk. If there was one thing that always struck Kasrjin about the gatherings, it was the smells. Cooked food freely intermingled with burning wood. Strong herbs of incense cloyed with the heat and odour of so many bodies in close proximity. A stench of decay would waft from where the Jungsai prepared the parts of animals, mingling with the oils used by the Erdegai in their crafts. Other Khadai stood vigilant at various points, occasionally stepping forward to quell a dispute or to herd individuals away from certain areas.

"Have you located our korum?" Kasrjin rumbled. Kaizhan nodded, flashing a toothy smile.

"Safe, and there has been little trouble. So far the most I have had to contend with is Erdeni complaining that I do not properly maintain my leathers. She worked through the night to restore our equipment while we were in the Communion. Can you guess what irritated her the most?"

Kasrjin glanced at the handle of the sword upon his back, and Kaizhan laughed. "I would not worry about it over much. You know Erdeni works better when she has something to yell at us about." The youth patted the crossguard of Kasrjin's sword, as if reassuring the weapon of its status. Kaizhan's easy expression gave way to a wince when the youth noticed a stern female, blood red hair blending with the rust red hue of her skin, approaching them in a brisk and severe stride. Her face was creased in a mixture of annoyance and relief, which was soon to be replaced with indignant anger.

"I'll let you handle Alaqu. I'm, ah, meant to visit the Yerenai for this rash I have..." And with that weak excuse, Kaizhan broke out into a run, swiftly losing himself within the row of tents. His mane of wild white hair shivered with laughter as he dodged people and obstacles with agile ease.

"Khadai!" The female shouted indignantly, herself attempting to run but only making it a short distance past where Kasrjin was standing before giving up. Her heavy fabric robes were only lightly padded but the short distance she ran left her breathing somewhat strained. "You should have stopped him, Kasrjin," the female coughed as she paused to catch her breath.

Kasrjin merely tilted his head. "I was not aware I was meant to."

"Do not offer such trifling excuses." The red-haired female sniffed and brushed the snow off of her robes indignantly. Her blazing amber eyes peered at the furred warrior curiously. "You are oddly cheery considering the current state of things."

"Things are not well, no, but nonetheless I do enjoy these gatherings while they last." the Khadai observed. Alaqu Aljai merely frowned and crossed her arms in a huff. Her crimson hair was cut in a short, practical bob, keeping her face mostly clear of errant strands.

"Such things are simple for you to say, having been away from the korum for...two moons, now? You may enjoy these gatherings, but I will be grateful when we have retreated." Alaqu briefly paused in her tirade to examine him, as if looking for signs of illness. "The Tsenkhai who came to us said she would see you and verify the health of you and your brothers. What has she told you thus far?"

Kasrjin scratched his head. "Troubles plague the Tsenkhai and interfere with the Communion. Too few had awoken by the time I did. She held some concerns for Tsuven, but I was not able to address them. Other than that, nothing."

Alaqu's eyebrows shot up in consternation, and she tucked a slender hand beneath her chin in contemplation. She barely reached above the abdomen of the much taller male and thus had to crane her neck up to gaze at his face, but her expression was unambiguous. "Tsuven? What do you mean? What concerns did she raise?"

"I had received a character of the Correspondence during my experience in Communion," Kasrjin admitted bluntly. "She wished to know if I possessed information as to how I remained connected to Tsuven's role as a Tsenkhai. I did not." The Khadai tilted his head in the other direction. "What do you worry about?"

Alaqu sighed and pinched the bridge of her scaled nose with her fingers. "The Aljai are currently swamped in coordinating all of the korum together. This gathering is far too soon after our last, and we had accomplished too much at the last gathering, if you can believe that. We struggle to maintain optimal production while the korum are together." From within the sleeves of her robe she withdrew a small, palm-sized piece of rectangular black granite. Inscribed upon the tablet was a myriad of curved, flowering designs. Whenever the Aljai blinked at it, the designs seemed to shift rapidly in both shape and colour from fiery red to blinding violet.

Alaqu shook her head, shooting a glare at a nearby tent that threatened to burn a whole within it. "If you see Kaizhan, drag him back to us. We are short of Khadai, and he will be needed to keep the perimeter secure. As for you, Erdeni wished to see you when you had awoken, but when you had finished your discussion with her, you will see Albei to be reassigned." She gave Kasrjin a rueful, yet somewhat sadistic grin. "You are aware of her dim opinion of the assembling of the warband?"

"If I did not know before, I am sure to know now," Kasrjin noted, rubbing the back of his neck before nodding. "I will do so." Alaqu gave him a shrug for his efforts, jabbing her finger in a direction. "Erdeni's dwelling possesses the ingots near the entrance. Albei has her violet flag atop hers." With those quick directions, the Xaela sauntering off, eyes still glancing at the tablet in her hand. The Khadai, too, quickened his stride in the direction indicated.

After his conversation with Alaqu, Kasrjin's thoughts swirled in turmoil and austere apprehension. It was no longer his role to contemplate such things, but he could not keep himself from doing so. Somehow, Kaarad-El remembered his previous role as Tsuven Tsenkhai, but how? If something had been imparted to it during the forfeiture, then that meant that all of their collective knowledge was in jeopardy: it would be impossible to discern what had been forgotten and what remained a part of the recollections. And that was to say nothing of the exceptionally poor harvest of characters that the Tsenkhai had been suffering. In what way was all of this related?

Such were the notions wisping idly through Kasrjin's head when they were suddenly interrupted by a sharp impact against the point of his boot that came from him absent-mindedly having kicked over a small pile of ingots in front of a yurt. The ingots clattered slightly as they tumbled over each other into the soft snow beneath. Immediately following was a familiar sound; the irritated thrashing of tools.

"Whatever thrice-damned idiot that was better be picking those up!" Emerging from the yurt was another small female Xaela. Her smoky iron-coloured skin was stained with soot and splashes of grease and oil. Her left hand grasped a pair of heavy tongs, and her right held a sharp, pointed stitching awl. Her pointed oval face was swept with black hair that came just above the nape of the neck, fringed with bangs of forest green. A thin collar of silver links holding a pair of small metal trinkets shaped like a knife and an anvil. Flashing emerald eyes shot a sharp glare at the Khadai interloper, and a scowl creased her face.

"I'd have thought you were less clumsy than that," the female spat, setting her tools aside and kneeling to pick up the ingots and pile them back together into the small pyramid they had been shaped in. Her heavy leather clothing looked unwieldy, but she manoeuvred easily to move the metal back into position.

"It is good to see you are well," Kasrjin returned evenly, the corner of his lip curling in slight amusement. Erdeni Erdegai huffed and crossed her arms severely, an unimpressed glare flashing from the male Xaela's face to the sword on his back. She grunted disdainfully.

"I have told you thrice previously. Refrain from being accompanied by that waste of metal. I find it offensive."

"It would be more of a waste if I did not use it," Kasrjin observed dryly. The female snapped an indignant look at him for his efforts but said nothing in response. Erdeni simply snorted air out of her nose before picking up her tools and disappearing within the yurt, making an idle gesture with a free hand for him to follow.

The inside of the dwelling was stuffed to the brim with racks, tables, and tools, but oddly did not seem unclean. Every piece of furniture could be disassembled or condensed into modular forms; the tools were all neatly organized within boxes or saddlebags, and the latticework racks were simply folded to carry. Erdeni walked to the end of the sizeable yurt to a workbench holding several lengths of toughened, boiled leather and sat crosslegged in front of the lowered bench. The stitching awl flashed itself into her hand and the artisan set about carefully puncturing the lengths of boiled leather.

"I wish to know of your health," the female said, her back to the warrior as he glanced about her dwelling. "The Tsenkhai who came to our korum told us that too few had awoken from their experience. I was concerned that you were among them."

"I am well, though the experience brought me many questions. Kaarad-El somehow remembers Tsuven Tsenkhai. The occurrence has caused concern." Kasrjin slipped the harness off of his back and lay it to the side, leaning against one of the latticework rackes, and sat as well. It would be considered an odd scene to most; Erdeni brushed locks fringed with green away from her face, emerald eyes critically examining the diameter of the holes she punched into the leather with a practised, confident eye. Kasrjin glanced about the workshop, and when the sights ceased to stimulate, merely closed his eyes to rest. Neither faced one another, yet they continued the conversation.

"I wanted to tell you that Albei has decided to accelerate the reproduction cycle. With the recent warband campaign, and with our Jungsai maintaining quality harvests along the coast, it is her hope that you and I, among others, may introduce new Khadai into the korum. The exact time frame has not been decided, but I expect it will be within the next few moons."

Kasrjin glanced at the artisan quizzically. It was not necessarily unexpected; much of his own warband had come from his own korum, and only a handful had survived the battles against the black ones. Still, with everything that was going on, it was a curious decision for Albei to choose to accelerate reproduction. He and Erdeni had been arranged to mate near the time of Kasrjin's Forfeiture, but he was not expecting to have to engage in such things any time soon.

"The decision is not mine to judge, but I believe it to be hasty," the male observed. "Albei is...singular minded towards output. And more Khadai is not necessarily better. Ulan died in our last conflict, though it is worth noting that apparently, he had never undergone the Forfeiture."

Erdeni glanced at the seated warrior with a raised brow out of the corner of her eye before settling back into her work. "That is a curious mistake. Nonetheless, you are correct. It is not your place to judge."

"Does Albei's acceleration concern you?"

"Of course it does," the female Xaela snapped with irritation, switching one of the needles in the stitching awl for one of a different size. "I have been made aware of the complications. I do not wish to see my productivity impacted so drastically by an experience that sounds so very...obstructive." A wipe of her finger across her forehead. "Especially with times looking as ominous as they are now. Blast it." Her slender hands briefly struggled to fit a particularly obtuse needle into the awl. "If the last freezing had not claimed so many of our Yerenai, even with acceleration I would not have needed to worry about the reproduction cycle. I do not wish to be burdened."

"Can Ersugen not assist?" Kasrjin asked. A considerable amount of air blew through the female Xaela's nose in response

"It is not your place to know, so I will forgive the grave offence against me you have just committed by suggesting such a thing," Erdeni said, the wrath in her voice rising, though she remained focused and delicate on the task at hand. "Ersugen cannot even begin to touch what I do. His is a mind of metal. It is surprising to me that he has not slammed his head against that precious anvil of his. It would be akin to....to..." her hands paused as she stared at the wall. "It is akin to Kaizhan assuming the responsibilities of Alaqu. Utterly absurd."

Kasrjin scratched his head. "I concede your point. Even considering such, howe--"

His thought was interrupted with the entrance flap of the yurt practically blasting open.

A male Xaela ducked into the dwelling, his face splashed with orange paint. Both Kasrjin and Erdeni paused to glance at the new intruder.

"The Aljai will see Tsuven Tsenkhai." The new male gave a hard, long stare to Kasrjin. "Now."

***Nero*** · **09-07-2015, 11:24 AM**

"Ever shall she contend with her fixation on regression."

--

Were the premises of the situation be described to anyone else, one might have expected a round table surrounded by high-backed chairs, austere gazes flowing from the individuals seated in them. As it was, however, the Aljai were arranged in the manner deemed most practical. The contents of the yurt had been almost totally cleared out, save for a small number of seats and stools arranged in no particular order. The group of female Xaela stood or sat wherever there was room. Alaqu's arms were folded, and she constantly tossed her crimson hair with a flick of her head in impatience, her moccasins tapping against the hardened dirt. Seated on a stool next to Alaqu was a wizened, shrunk down female even smaller in stature than her already compact compatriots. The wrinkled matron's ashen skin contrasted sharply with that platinum hue of her hair, and perhaps stereotypically, she held a worn but sturdy walking stick upon her lap.

It was this scene that Kasrjin was led to. The other male who had guided him here merely opened the flap, and when the Khadai gingerly stepped inside the same flap was abruptly dropped, leaving him alone to face the curious stares of the Aljai.

The elderly female was the first to speak, raising her head to stare at the warrior with piercing magenta eyes. The hard scrutiny with which she applied belied her apparent age, and it was evident that the constant seasons had not dulled the clarity of her mind.

"Khadai," the elder spoke smoothly. "The Aljai have been made aware of a special circumstance where your presence is required within Kaarad-El even with the ongoing Communion. We would like any insight you may be able to provide."

Kasrjin paused, first to get his bearings--there was something overbearing about being faced with so many Aljai, and the females seemed to be aware of the effect they had on him--and then to consider the request.

"I do not believe I know anything more than you," he spoke slowly, his rough voice careful and deliberate. "I have been informed by the Tsenkhai that somehow, Kaarad-El remembers my previous role as Tsuven Tsenkhai. I do not know how this is possible. I do not believe the Tsenkhai know, either."

Alaqu bent over to whisper to Albei, the elder female nodding in response to whatever information she seemed to receive.

"I had been speaking with the other Aljai..." Albei gestured to the other females gathered around in a semi-circle inside the yurt. "...in order to determine if there has been precedence for this situation, and if not, what precedence we should establish."

The look Kasrjin gave her was notably confused. "I request clarification," he said in bewilderment.

Alaqu folded her arms within the sleeves of her robe. "As it stands, we are unable to consult with Kaarad-El's memories during the Communion, but even we understand how...uncommon...it is for one who has the capabilities of a Tsenkhai to be transferred to another role. Ordinarily, you would be considered as Khadai and nothing else, and therefore be under the jurisdiction of your korum and subsequently, your korum's Aljai." The crimson-haired female began to pace somewhat, though stopped as the limited availability of the yurt's floor space did not provide adequate room. "However, the fact that Kaarad-El not only remembers Tsuven Tsenkhai, but remembers that Kasrjin Khadai was previously Tsuven Tsenkhai provides a difficult dilemma for us, for now the Tsenkhai believe they possess grounds to collect you."

"We do not disagree, yet nor do we agree," Albei's statement was punctuated with a tapping of the walking stick on the dirt beneath her feet. "If we acknowledge Kasrjin Khadai as Tsuven Tsenkhai, then we have effectively nullified and denied his existence as a Khadai, from the day of his transfer until now. However, if we do not acknowledge Kasrjin Khadai as a Tsenkhai, then it is possible that we will be interfering with the operation of Kaarad-El, and put far more at risk than is necessary."

Kasrjin pursed his lips, an expression of contemplation curling the features of his face. "I have undergone the Forfeiture. It should not be possible for me to be considered Tsenkhai if I am no longer able to use a link."

Alaqu uncrossed and crossed her arms, practically fidgeting with the constant changes to her posture. "Yet you yourself, in addition to that Tsenkhai, have said that you received a character of the Correspondence. Your link to Kaarad-El is still active, or at the least it is present, if dormant. We possess no precedence for this."

"Tsuven--that is, my transition to become Khadai was formalised by the shift in name and role. Under the premises of the system, am I not to be considered as such?" Kasrjin asked quizzically. Such discussion was, although not beyond his comprehension, certainly outside of his typical capacity and made him rather uncomfortable.

Albei inhaled before letting out an introspective sigh, the elderly Xaela adjusting her position on the stool. "The Tsenkhai govern all that is associated with Kaarad-El. Your link is still active, and regardless of extenuating circumstances you have received a character of the Correspondence that you are required to forfeit. I believe it to be best to turn the Khadai over--"

"You will not do so!" a forceful, feminine voice practically shouted from outside the yurt. Storming into the yurt was another female Xaela, unkempt black dreadlocks matted with snow, her azure robes lined with white fur in disorder. She was breathing rather heavily, and as soon as she had flipped the flap open and practically careened into Kasrjin's back, she placed her hands on her knees to catch her breath as if she'd been running across the valley.

Albei's mouth wrinkled into a frown. "What is the meaning of this interference, Tsenkhai?"

Tsanai paused before answering, allowing her pants to slow to a manageable level. "He is to be released into my discretion. He belongs to me." Albei's sharp glare was met with a forceful look of Tsanai's own, a silent clash of wills. "I am Tsenkhai. You may consider this a surrender."

The elderly Xaela's frown deepened into a scowl. "Why do you attempt to disrupt the process? He is to be taken to--"

"You step outside of your role, Aljai." The interruption was quiet but abruptly halted Albei's protest in its tracks, Tsanai's tone muted with a reservation of tranquil fury. "Tsuven is mine. As he still possesses the capabilities of an adjutant to Kaarad-El, he is to be released to me. Resist my demand and you resist the structure of the system you claim to have such respect for."

Kasrjin could do naught but shuffle awkwardly to the side. To her credit, Alaqu shot him a sympathetic glance. Lightning practically crackled between the elderly Aljai and the younger Tsenkhai, though the former eventually relented with a nod of her head and another sigh. A tired yet satisfied expression crossed itself across Tsanai's face. An idle gesture with her hand indicated for the taller warrior to step outside.

The pair walked away from the Aljai's yurt in silence for a time before the Tsenkhai practically whipped around, her arms crossed. It was a familiar stance, and Kasrjin reflexively stiffened upon seeing it.

"Do you remember...the plans we had made several seasons past? We must needs be prepared for that." Tsanai was noticeably quieter; were she tall enough, she would have surely attempted to speak closer to his horns.

Kasrjin nodded his head. "Then...?"

"I have other individuals to gather. The old amphitheatre on the west side of the valley is where we will gather, and discuss travelling to the western continent."

***Nero*** · **10-09-2016, 12:12 AM**

"An ailment of thought upon which the souls depend."

--

The amphitheatre belonged to a civilisation long dead. With every passing year the verdant valley threatened to reclaim more and more of it. Hardy arctic moss had begun to crawl over the crumbling stones that must have once been steps. More and more cracks appeared in the semi-circular benches that formed a perimeter around the worn centre platform. It was not a hidden place--Kasrjin could see it from the mouth of the mountain cave in which he had awoken--but the ever practical Xaela that dwelled in this valley had hardly any use for such a landmark that was so worn in its age.

"That loud harpy better have an excellent reason for this," Erdeni muttered underneath her breath. Tsanai had bid the craftswoman to join Kasrjin on his jaunt to the amphitheatre. Her fingers twitched as she walked, restlessly tapping the tools adorning her belts and pouches as if she were imagining her craft being before her in this instant. Kasrjin hid his small smile of amusement; Tsanai must have used quite a prodigious bribe indeed in order to draw Erdeni away from her work during a Communion. He merely patted her shoulder, a gesture that rewarded his hand with a reflexive slap.

"I have had quite enough of Tsenkhai meddling," Erdeni gnashed her teeth as the pair sat down. Kasrjin glanced around the amphitheatre, noting the presence of other individuals, most of which he didn't recognise. Jungsai, Yerenai, Erdegai...how long had Tsanai been working on this plan of hers? She had been different since her return from the western continent, but there were close to thirty people here. He raised an eyebrow at his mate's comment. "Have they meddled overmuch?", he queried.

Erdeni pinched the scaled bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. "The Communion. Some of the Tsenkhai who had awoken were storming yurt to yurt, asking about the 'forfeiture' this and 'Correspondence' that. What is the point of all of that noise? It is their role to approach these problems; the Tsenkhai should stick to what they do and allow the rest of us to do what we do."

"Have they told you what they suspect?" Kasrjin leaned forward, clasping his hands together. His emerald gaze focused sharply with surprise upon seeing Kaizhan take a seat in the amphitheatre as well.

"They 'suspect' that someone or something is interfering with the Communion somehow, deliberately or not. Something is not as it should be. I suspect that that is why they are so aggressive in regards to your history as Tsuven, as well." Erdeni flexed her fingers to and fro, her agitation practically tangible.

Something interfering with the Communion. Was that even possible? The Tsenkhai would certainly know if there was precedent, and the fact that they were as riled as they were proved that there was not an advisable course of action to refer to. A part of Kasrjin was tempted to let out a sigh when he saw Tsanai step forward onto the centre platform, her azure robes fluttering in a light breeze. Startlingly, Alaqu was accompanying the Tsenkhai as well; she brushed crimson hair from her face as her fingers gestured towards each individual, counting the number of people present.

The remaining chatter among those gathered fell silent, and all attention was on the Tsenkhai that had called them here.

"I suspect that Kaarad-El is...ill. Perhaps dying, if such a term can be applied," Tsanai began, folding her arms into the wide sleeves of her robe. She did not have to speak overly loud--something about the amphitheatre, perhaps the construction, seemed to amplify her voice such that even Kasrjin and Erdeni sitting towards the back of the theatre could hear each word clearly and distinctly. "It is time to consider our people's reliance on the Correspondence. For generations, the Correspondence and the Tsenkhai have allowed us to conquer anything. This age may be at an end."

That shocked them to attention. Erdeni's fingers had stopped moving.

"What is your evidence?" rang a voice from the crowd.

"The interpretations have become increasingly difficult. We expected this trend to stop an entire cycle ago. It has not, and the problem has worsened. The Correspondence arrives less frequently, less clearly, with less information," Tsanai asserted.

Alaqu coughed and stepped forward, runestone in hand. "Losses to the black ones have been greater. The korums collectively lost many individuals to the freeze. Hunts are plentiful now, but the Jungsai have had greater difficulty in their tracking," the Aljai said. The frustration was clear upon her face, her brows wrinkling in consternation. "One of these circumstances happening is not overly important, but a collective drop in efficiency across all korums points to the only common point all korums possess--the Forfeiture, and our connection to Kaarad-El and the Tsenkhai."

Murmurs fell over the gathered Xaela. Kasrjin's frown deepened. At the very least, he could personally corroborate that the intelligence regarding the black ones had become more faulty. They were winning, yes, but each battle had come closer to a pyrrhic victory. With their magitek reapers and fire lances, the black ones held a tactical advantage in all situations. Where the Khadai won was in the strategic information fed to them by Kaarad-El; his warband was always one step ahead, one ambush ahead, and could wittle away the great beast of the black ones until naught remained.

But they were encroaching closer and closer. If the current trend continued as it was, it would only be a matter of time until the black ones managed to discover the full extent of the tribe's operations.

And what would they do then? If they found their numbers, what they were capable of...would that warrant a full invasion of the tundra to stamp out what resistance remained in Othard?

"You have been gathered here to prepare. Several cycles ago, the the korums had made a proposal to make for the western continent," Tsanai.

"A proposal that the Aljai continue to wholeheartedly resist due to the logistics and material requirement," Alaqu interjected, snapping a glare at the Tsenkhai which was flatly ignored.

"I have been to this land once before. I believe that this land holds the answers to our questions. If the knowledge there cannot solve the riddle of Kaarad-El's reluctance, then at the least, we will know if such a location will hold a viable future for our people."

"Who else knows?" Erdeni called out, a deep scowl marring her face. "The Tsenkhai? The korums? That proposal was a thought experiment, nothing more. You cannot call so many Erdegai away to build boats and vessels for a wager. Are the korums united on this?"

Alaqu shook her head. "The Aljai that I had spoken to are reluctant to allow their korums' efficiency to drop further. Those we have gathered here...those who were willing to gather here will be all who are privy."

Erdeni snorted derisively, glancing among the crowd. "Vessels for a journey to the western continent. And you have but a handful of Erdegai. These vessels will have to brave arctic waters. Navigation, supplies, shelter. It must cut through storms."

"None of that will be necessary but the vessels themselves," Tsanai snapped, her moccasins beginning to tap on the centrepiece. Kasrjin instinctively glanced away from what was sure to be another vehement argument between those two. "The Correspondence will grant shelter to these vessels. They will seek the beacon I placed on the west's shores."

"You have no way of knowing that. This is a journey of what must be at least one hundred suns," Erdeni argued, standing up. "This risk is too great, with nothing to gain!"

"We lose everything if we are not at least willing to try!" Tsanai flared. "I cannot control the other Tsenkhai. Kaarad-El's behaviour...it frightens them. Who knows what they will attempt to do to repair it? We do not know if we can even reach the western continent as we are. But I know what will happen if they do not find the answer they seek." She began to pace, her robes bristling with anger. "The Tsenkhai retreat further and further into Kaarad-El. The number of individuals failing to awaken from Communion increases with every passing day. Without Kaarad-El, our people have nothing! Not our system, not our prosperity, none of the things that separate us from those savage southerners, and the Tsenkhai know this. They will be willing to do anything that is required to preserve it...and so must we."

Kasrjin's gaze was fixed squarely on Tsanai now. She was almost shivering. Her lips trembled. She paced to and fro. The sleeves of her robes fluttered lightly with the motion of what must have been her hands clasping her arms.

The realisation hit him hard, causing his stomach to drop.

Tsanai was....afraid.

Something she had seen in Kaarad-El had spurred her into this. Either something about the black granite temple itself, or something that the rest of the Tsenkhai were doing. The gravity of this situation must have been incredibly dire. Nothing had fazed Tsanai before. Not the arrival of the black ones, not the freeze, not even...not even Kasrjin's own forfeiture. The feeling his warband felt when Kaarad-El tugged at their souls, the feeling that something was wrong--not just incorrect, but horribly, innately wrong--was recalled to his memory, causing a visual shudder of chills to ring through his body.

In the wake of her outburst, all discussion had ceased. Tsanai breathed deeply. "We will send what we can to the western continent. They must seek a solution to this. We must find a solution to this."

"Who will go?" a male voice rumbled from the front.

"Anyone. Everyone. Whoever we can afford to send. Nayantai. Jungsai. Khadai." Her gaze--almost a glare--flashed toward Kasrjin with frightening intent. "The Mahalai and Aljai will secure supplies. The Erdegai must construct sturdy vessels and supplies. In the mean time, those we intend to send must be trained and taught. Hunting, herbalism, survival, tracking. I will gather every piece of material I can find on the western continent in the mean time. We will not send you unprepared. The essence of our people must go with you so that you may succeed."

With that, Tsanai exhaled, nodding to Alaqu before retreating off of the ampitheatre stage. Alaqu, to her credit, managed to visibly resist a tired sigh.

"As much as I am loathe to admit it, I have much of the details worked out, and have managed to secure some support from a few other korums. Who we are sending, however... volunteers would make this easier."

Erdeni was startled by a sudden movement, as Kasrjin was the first among them to stand.

***Nero*** · **10-11-2016, 12:33 AM**

A calm before the storm.

--

Alaqu Aljai's eyes glowed as she stared at the tablet in her hands. It was a small, rough piece of limestone, easily scratched with any hard stone. Carved upon its smooth surface were a series of glowing runes, whose bountiful luminescence reflected themselves in the Xaela's crimson eyes as she absorbed the information the runes projected. Finally and with a sigh, she blinked to clear away the thoughts and unease away from her mind; neither went away carefully.

One hundred. That was the time limit that Tsanai set. Within one hundred suns, those they had gathered would have to be trained and sent to the western continent in vessels across the northern sea, going around Othard to reach the west. The journey itself was, at minimum, another one hundred suns. It wasn't the distance that bothered her as much as it was the logistics. Schedules had to be set for rigorous training and orientation, supplies had to be gathered, to say nothing of the prodigious amount of lumber--relative to how much lumber was usually available on a glacier--that would be required to construct vessels to hold personnel and supplies.

And that wasn't it. All of this had to be done covertly, underneath the gaze of the Tsenkhai and the other Aljai. Tsanai was especially strict on that notion, and though Alaqu didn't know the greater context, she was inclined to agree: resources were strictly controlled to provide the greatest efficiency and benefit to the majority, and so something like this would be at best forced to cease and at worse...

She waved a hand through her flame-coloured bob in exasperation. The true irony was that this kind of undertaking could only really be accomplished so long as the cooperating korums were in physical contact with one another, but all of the korums having been gathered together for the Communion presented their biggest obstacle. They somehow had to send fourteen individuals across the sea. Numbers upon numbers piled themselves inside her head. The number of foodstuffs required to create the number of meals over sea, the number of days those meals had to last, the amount of space in the vessels required to hold those meals, possibly for multiple people. The kinds of materials that would need to be secured in order to construct ocean-faring vessels and the supplies, the people who could be trusted to train these fourteen individuals in varying techniques and arts outside of their assigned role...

"Are you present, Alaqu?" A familiar voice called from outside the Aljai's yurt, startling her from her reverie. "Y-yes, one moment," Alaqu said shakily, dashing to a stand from her cot to hastily clear the myriad of randomly piled tablets into semi-organised corners. It would be hardly becoming for her to be seen as a disorganised slob when she was trusted with managing the korum's resources down to the very last nail.

She didn't need to see Erdeni to perceive her impatient motions; the craftswoman's mood followed a very specific cycle. First she folded her arms, then she began waving her tail, then tapping her foot, shifting her weight, growling under her breath, and then--

Erdeni slapped the tent's opening flap away, stepping inside with her characteristically blunt demeanour. "How fared the meeting?"

Alaqu was halfway through shoving another handful of small tablets into a sack, frozen like a tiger cub before a hunter, before the Aljai sighed and sat on her cot, chin resting in her hands. "About as well as could be expected. Arlihl and Albei agreed to lend their aid, although Albei only wants to do it to stick it to the Tsenkhai, the old bat. Aysun, Amal, and Asha are only willing to lend token assistance in the form of some resources. Just some old foodstuffs and maybe a weapon or two; certainly not any lumber."

The craftswoman had her arms folded, severely glancing around the yurt. Alaqu could only sigh. "I would appreciate it if but for a minute you would not judge the organisation of my lodgings."

"I do not know how you even manage to make your way outside," Erdeni confessed, though the barest hint of a light smile tinged her lips. "That is better than nothing, at least. As for myself, Ersugen was easy to cow into helping. Erbei and Etugan owe me favours, so they will do what they can for us."

"You let Ersugen think he could produce a greater volume than you? That is unlike you," Alaqu leaned her head against one hand, the other shuffling with the folds of her robes near her knee as she sat on her cot.

"I will have to do more than let him think he can produce greater volume," Erdeni snapped with a scowl, though Alaqu seemed more amused by the artisan's expression than anything. "Ersugen is a great dolt, but his metalwork is...acceptable. At the least, I don't think nails and pegs will be a problem should he maintain sufficient supply." Erdeni paused. "Tell no one I said that."

"Then that is at least one less problem to worry about," Alaqu let out another great sigh, rubbing her eyes and horns in succession as Erdeni unceremoniously shoved a pile of tablets to one corner with her foot as to make room on the ground to sit.

"And to think, you could have been Aljai," Alaqu teased. "I don't think you'd have had a problem at all with shouting Albei down."

"And you could have been Erdegai if you had but a minute of patience. Your hair will change colour ere long at the rate you stay at." Both women gave a small laugh before falling silent. The wind outside had begun to pick up. The open tent flap began to ripple lightly, occasionally letting in the errant flake of snow.

"I still contemplate that, if you wish to know," Erdeni said after a long silence. "It is...difficult to assist you from my current role. I can make you a delightful hauberk or pouch, and little else. You have...what is that phrase Kaizhan used? 'A lot on your plate'. You would think our korum has no other Aljai if that mighty list you rattled off to me is any indication." The artisan glanced at her delicate hands, lightly callused from the skilled manipulation of hand tools.

Alaqu let loose a wistful smile before laying down flat on her cot, staring at the stretched hide ceiling of the yurt, thoughtfully tapping the obsidian ornaments around her neck. "To tell the truth, I do not give them enough credit. For every problem I feel overwhelmed by, there are ten or twenty that they juggle. It is not a forgiving role. You should not feel so troubled, though. It is not as if the life of an artisan is any easier." Mirroring Erdeni's gesture, Alaqu glanced at her own hands that were soft and smooth--strangers to hard labour. "I think things worked out well with what we became, in the end. I could never be an artisan, especially not with you overshadowing me. Your kites were always bigger, brighter, and flew higher than mine. I don't think attempting to upset that natural order would have been good to me."

Erdeni allowed herself a small smile. "Your appeal to my ego is duly noted, but I will allow that your kites were far better at crashing than mine were."

"This is what I am referring to," Alaqu said with a deep frown. "You are far too competitive to allow me some dignity, so at least as an Aljai, I take silent satisfaction in knowing that you would be buried under my responsibilities."

"I do not doubt that for a second," Erdeni said lightly. "But I would be buried under your responsibilities with the satisfaction that I make the best kites."

A small silence fell between them. "Not much time for flying kites any more, is there?" the Aljai said wistfully. "I miss that. Sneaking off to look at the northern lights, daring one another to approach the ice. Collecting stones, too! Although," Alaqu paused as she turned her head to glare at Erdeni in an expression of mock annoyance. "I still don't know why you had to use my stone collection to practise making your arrowheads, especially when you had your own!"

Erdeni shrugged again, an amused twinkle in her eye. "You always managed to find shinier stones. An artisan uses the best materials available."

"My favourite turquoise, even," Alaqu pouted. "I was going to show it to Albei!"

"Surely she would have simply yelled at you for wasting your time searching for stones?"

"Or, she would have been impressed beyond belief and no longer yell for the rest of her life. Flowers sprout from her head and she sings a song of peace to all living things."

Silence.

"...unlikely," both women said in unison before giggling quietly at the image of the old, wizened Au Ra prancing about a sunny field, just because a child had managed to find a shiny rock.

"How fare you?", the artisan asked in a tone of uncharacteristic concern, sobering the atmosphere considerably.

Alaqu could not help but snort derisively at the question. "I still have to finish the timetable for construction, make arrangements with the Nayantai and Khadai for training...and this is only just for Tsanai's pet project. You cannot even imagine what I have to do outside of adhering to her mad requests. The Yerenai need more herbs, more food, more blankets. Especially more blankets; I think the freeze has made them paranoid. The Jungsai are itching to hunt again. Slaughter season for livestock is approaching so we will need to find a place to dry and store the meat. Kasrjin's latest warband venture has cut down on the number of Khadai. Albei doesn't even think we will be able to venture south this year. It's too unsafe with the beasts and black ones both." Alaqu paused in her complaints to shoot a disapproving glare at Erdeni. "Speaking of duties, don't you have something to do? You typically start frothing at the mouth if you spend half a sun away from your tools."

Erdeni had wrapped her hands around her knees, shrugging in response. "I've drawn up my half of the plans for the vessels. I am still waiting on the leathers for the sails; it'll be the only material strong enough to with stand oceanic winds without tearing." The artisan frowned. "And I do not froth. Perhaps in comparison to those far less serious in their duties it may seem that way. Proper Erdegai take their crafts very seriously."

"Yes, perhaps all proper Erdegai should be in danger of becoming rabid unless they are making something," the Aljai let out a laugh.

Alaqu exhaled and closed her eyes. Moments like this should last forever. It seemed time had stopped. A gentle wind provided a soothing ambience that seemed like it could rock her to sleep. The back of her mind was still pounding away at her myriad of responsibilities, but was quickly silenced. It seemed that this was the first time in ages that Alaqu had been allowed to simply stop and think. Not about the hundreds of problems barraging her every day, but about happy memories, reminiscence, and simpler times.

Though, it was not as if she was unhappy. Alaqu knew she took a certain measure of pride in being the leader, the face, even as the youngest Aljai. The castes came to her because she was the only one with the answers, the only one who knew the plan, the one who gave the directions. And the pace meant she was certainly never bored. Still, she could not help but wonder. Would they have had fun working with one another? Would they become competitive? Could she have eventually become Erdeni's rival, rather than a tagalong who liked her leather straps and wooden animals?

She felt a jolt and a shiver through her skin as she felt something cold on her forehead. Her eyes flashed open to see Erdeni leaning over her.

"I should return. Do not worry about moving the products to the drydocks: I will arrange for that myself. I am no shipwright nor carpenter, but I know who would be the best choice to oversee construction." Erdeni let loose a rare smile before shifting out of the yurt.

Alaqu clasped the object that had been placed on her forehead, holding it above her, and she could only smile softly. Shimmering in the light with a seafoam green hue, polished to an incredible shine and tied to a thin string was a piece of turquoise, shaped like a teardrop.

Masterfully inscribed on the tail of the teardrop was an image of a kite.

***Nero*** · **10-22-2016, 08:21 PM**

"Mysteries are flame. Truth burns."

--

The Tsenkhai practically burst into the tent. Her dreadlocks had been flailing behind her, taking on an appearance that was remarkably more dishevelled than their default state. She collapsed almost immediately onto her cot, her hands pinned to her head. Her horns were ringing, as the memory of what she saw in Kaarad-El seemed to pursue her like a hound on a wounded deer.

Tsanai closed her eyes, and she could see nothing but the colours. She tried to shut her eyes tighter, and the colours only became brighter. And yet, what was her consternation, her misgivings about this? The idea, the prospect should have thrilled her. But it didn't. Perhaps it was because of what she knew that it didn't, that they couldn't see.

The scars, the secrets, the chains. The flesh, the mirrors. The blood! So much blood...! Crimson, welling, flowing. There was no time to drown. No time to drown. But it wasn't him. Not really. Something else had taken its place, something whose reckoning would not be postponed indefinitely. The Tsenkhai couldn't see it. Only she did. And it was only a matter of time until they sent more; until they decided she was not adequate to bring what they thought they wanted.

All shall be well. All shall be well. All shall be well.

Her tent flap opened. She recoiled from the influx of light.

"You are not well," a familiar voice rumbled. Tsanai sat up in her cot and felt moisture on her face that felt suspiciously like blood, matching the dark stains on the sheets. She ran the sleeve of her dark azure robe across her face. Kasrjin closed the tent flap behind him, his emerald eyes filled with equal parts confusion and concern. A part of Tsanai resisted the urge to smile wistfully; even now, he was too honest.

"No," she replied flatly. "We have one hundred suns. I dare not risk any more than that. Have you coordinated a training regimen?"

"We've given our part to Alaqu as best as we we can. At the least, none will be unprepared should they face a combat situation."

"Good. That's good." Tsanai breathed deep, allowing herself to relax. At the least, she had to give the appearance of calm and collection, especially in front of him. While Kasrjin was endlessly honest, she could not be the same to him. She could not tell him what this was all for, why it had to happen. In the back of her mind, the echo of ringing chains sounded again like the bells inside Kaarad-El.

"What did you see?" Kasrjin prompted. Tsanai winced at his bluntness. Her throat felt dry. Damn the Correspondence.

"...the mirrors. They want to use the mirrors," was all she could force herself to say. Kasrjin's look of consternation deepened. "For what purpose?" he asked.

"They believe it to be the key to repairing Kaarad-El." It was not explicitly a lie, but it was not explicitly a truth either.

Kasrjin sat beside her, and instinctively she placed her hand on his. It was such a familiar sensation, and yet so distant as well. The colour of memories returned unbidden. She wanted to tell him everything, but pride forbade it. She could not predict exactly what would happen, and so she couldn't. If he fully understood why, would that change things? Would it change nothing? She could sense his confusion. He wanted to know, but did not want to ask. She wanted him to know, but did not want to tell. It was for these purposes that the Correspondence was developed...and yet, they did nothing but sit in silence, their hands grasping one another, taking what comfort they could in the ignorance of the other.

"I am glad you volunteered," Tsanai murmured softly, finally, breaking the silence between them. "I would have forced you to go otherwise."

"You know mercifully little of me if you felt that forcing me was necessary," Kasrjin returned. That caused Tsanai to wince too.

"Once Alaqu has finalised our regimen, we will likely not be able to see one another," the Khadai continued. "We must spend every sun efficiently, so that we are prepared for the West."

"I know," Tsanai breathed. "I would not have it another way. I will not sacrifice you again."

"And you will join us?"

"If it comes to that...yes. Eventually. We will go West as well if it is required of us. At the least, to retrieve what you find." Tsanai loosened her grip on his hand. Kasrjin tilted his head toward hers. "You are stubborn," he commented. "You have yet to tell me. But I think Tsuven would have forgiven you."

She shuddered. Mercifully, her memories of Kaarad-El chose that exact moment to flee.

"Perhaps not," she murmured in response. Kasrjin slowly stood up, gently leaning Tsanai lying down on the cot, and left quietly.

***Nero*** · **12-22-2017, 11:30 PM**

((This post follows the events of this thread.))

--

An unknown amount of time after the events of Ishgard...

It was an odd thing, to see one's own memories outside of the mind's eye. Kasrjin saw the various moments flit up in front of what could only vaguely be called his vision; bubbles holding images and colours, silent in the void. Each one resonated with the brilliance of a star, so brilliant that it almost hurt to stare directly at it, and though Kasrjin could only afford to glance out of the corner of his eye, the scenes playing out within them were crystal clear.

Tsanai, her face panicked and anguished, pushing against his shoulders. Her mouth was open and moving, as if she was screaming something, though the sphere of light holding the image emitted no sound.

Alaqu held the thick sleeve of her robe to her face, attempting to stymie the flow of tears from her eyes.

The Tsenkhai, all emerging from a wall of polished black granite. Shimmering robes, flowing in the wind. The gold. The white. The black. The red. The cloth and fur and fabric streams across their bodies like water.

Alaqu took his hand, as she accompanied Kasrjin into Karaad-El. One million searing cores of radiance burned white hot, banishing all falsehoods. Kasrjin could see himself, see the perfect black sphere being pulled from within his chest. Alaqu rendered her evidence, and the dissident is found instantly guilty.

The spherical memories floated away, away, into an endless void and towards a mass of milky-white mist. The mist extended tendrils, yawning, groaning for any source of light. And then the sounds of the memories followed.

"You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be here..!"

"Then Kaizhan is..."

"All shall be well. All shall be well."

"Our Will comes at last, as a storm crosses sea."

And then, the world fell away. Kasrjin felt himself being pulled forward, away from Alaqu, away from the sleet-covered tundra and the nested valley in the mountains, away from the reeling stars racing across a veil of night. Kasrjin felt his limbs stretch, and in front of him was a mirror. An unfamiliar Xaela. A face, a body, mangled and torn. An old Khadai warrior, brought low before his time. The warmth of the sun radiated upon him, as the mass of white mist descended upon him.

And then, a wide room of polished bronze. Above him, the lights shimmered, curdled, harmony enforced and silence unbroken. The lights have reached an agreement, and as they flickered away, Kasrjin immediately understood. No star would be taking him this time, or any time. He was a trophy, a memento, a flambeaux. He had been accorded the highest possible honour, pinned to a high place, to forever illuminate the antechamber of a place and time far greater than he. And there he would remain, always. High, cold, eternal, immobile, minuscule, meaningless.

Though he could not feel his face, a smile crossed it. For its part, duty endured. And all was well.

--

None had bothered to chain her, for the shackles of her mind were heavy enough. She was permitted to keep her simple robes, for any meaning they held had evaporated. Tsanai knelt on the floor of her yurt, feeling the sensation of the frozen soil, her eyes closed, her breathing steady. The sounds of her people resonated. The Jungsai hunters, comparing trophies of the slain. The Yerenai tending to herbs and foodstuffs. The Erdegai, working on their crafts and works. And the Aljai, organizing all of it.

Tsanai's yurt protected her from the slight but chill breeze. It was a sensation she would have to remember on her own, for the rest of her life.

There was to be no ceremony, no public procession, no fanfare, for Tsanai knew that her people were a people of excessive practicality. A male Xaela, expression severe and dressed in blood red robes, entered her yurt and knelt in front of her. Tsanai's eyes opened slowly, deliberately.

"You are to be exiled," the male said tersely. "Karaad-El considered more...vindictive judgments, but whether by accident or intention, you have returned the Correspondence to a state of relative normalcy. For that, a mercy is to be granted."

Tsanai nodded. Then at least some good had come from this. For a split second, the visions she saw flashed into her mind again. Scars, secrets, chains. Flesh, mirrors, blood. Blood, blood, blood. Crimson, welling, flowing.

The voice of the male Xaela brought her out of her brief catatonia. "The Aljai will bring you to Reunion, in the Azim Steppe, during the summer exchange. From there, your fate is your own. Karaad-El will keep your link dormant as a contingency, but otherwise, consider your obligations at an end." With that, the male stood up to leave, peeling back the flap of the yurt.

"And what of...him?" Tsanai rasped. For reasons she couldn't begin to explain, Kasrjin's name caught in her throat. Perhaps she dare not speak it, or perhaps she meant to ask after the body that Kasrjin had been occupying. The male Xaela was stopped by her inquiry.

"As of now, such knowledge is not relevant to you. Though, the Tsenkhai assumed you would ask about him." Though the Xaela's face showed no emotion, Tsanai could see the barest hint of smugness in the male's eyes. "Karaad-El will keep him safe. I expect that such measures will be more effective than yours."

Tsanai's eyes widened, her lips parting as if to protest, but she quickly fixed her composure as the male left, composure that swiftly cracked and broke as soon as the flap to her yurt had closed to guard her from the wind once again.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Blood, blood, so much blood. In the months before Kasrjin returned with the keystone, an untold number of Xaela failed to awaken from the Communion. At the urging of the Tsenkhai, Karaad-El had taken as many souls as it needed to recover. The Correspondence had grown erratic, unreliable. Luckily, the black ones had retreated, but that was only one trouble struck from an exceedingly long list.

A reckoning. Every time Tsanai closed her eyes, she could see the vision she saw on the day of the blizzard. Tsuven would have his reckoning, and now his vessel was within the halls of granite and mist. Avenged, avenged, avenged. But avenged upon who? Karaad-El? Her people? Herself? He would avenge himself, treachery repaid, tears dried and screams silenced. Was this intended? Would she be saved? Could she be saved?

Blood, blood, blood. His form, chained and bound to a bed of molten metal. Gaping maws reaching forth, greedily pulling his essence. A thousand stars, dancing with joy at their new captive, all the while ignoring the flicker that threatened to grow into a flame.

Reunion. In four moons' time, Tsanai would be taken to Reunion. Primitive tribes, ignorant foreigners, and crude beasts occupying a plain of sun and sand. For them, she cared not. But if she could save her people, she would.

Perhaps it was time to meet others, and continue.

((Concluded...?))

ã€Storyã€‘Communion

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