A few of my colleagues view the world through the lens of dialectics. It is not a perspective I favour myself - the universe rarely obliges us in our investigations after all, and to be understandable through but a single inferential tool would be highly unusual. The best argument for its explanatory power though would without a doubt be the Desolate Empire.

  The Empire is a tangled web of conflicting interests; a bevy of ruling families that intermarry and war on one another intermittently through the shadows while administering the state as a side effect.

  When viewed through a dialectical lens however, it begins to make sense. The ruling families rise and fall every few generations, and usually climb from criminal syndicates in the heartlands. They compete with one another economically and militarily, but the tools of the state are barred from them for this purpose.

  There is, in fact, a shadow government that rules in truth in the Desolate Empire - the bureaucracy. It is the central bureaucracy that determines what resources each dynasty may use in their eternal war against the other ruling families. They are free to use their own resources, but the central state apparatus - the Spiders, namely, as the foremost assassins and spies in Tsanderos - is barred from them.

  This sounds like an inherently unstable system, where a ruling family is just waiting for enough power to commit to a coup and take the state power from the hands of the bureaucrats and into their own, but the lens of dialectics can help us here to understand why the Empire has been around since the early days of the era.

  The guilds, powerful and enduring and part of the bedrock of the empire itself, are in constant battle with the ruling families that run the economy, and this pull and push, this seesaw of power gives the central bureaucracy enough wiggle room to plot a course through the strife.

  The families cannot take power because the guild militias will not allow it, and the guilds are similarly barred from power by the ruling families and their house guards. The imperial army stays out of the conflict and acts only in the interests of the state as a whole.

  This extraordinary level of military readiness; 3 distinct armed forces within one polity, is likely responsible for the Empire's ability to survive not just external shocks, but the very sacking of its capital early in the era.

  Dialectics is a blind man's wisdom, but the Desolate Empire was built by a fool, and so it should be no surprise that it is useful in this case.

  That is the lesson here, my students. Never turn away from a tool if it suits the task.

  - Harmdell Ess, in his lecture 'the heartlands and their shortcomings' in the White Tower Consortium, circa .256

  The decision came around slowly, Jacyntha kept sedated for two entire days. And yet, when it arrived, I found myself not yet ready for its presence.

  It hung before us, ponderous with its importance, and I found myself watching Nathlan as the barbarian woke. I’d spoken with him in the intervening travel, slowed as we were by the sled and limited to lower valleys with less…vertical…routes, but while his anger had softened, I would not class him as accepting of the suggestion to recruit her.

  Jacyntha’s first words destroyed any plans I may have had to steer the conversation, but they proved more effective than any I could summon anyway.

  She woke slowly, and stiffened as she took in the view; a mountain pass above a cloud-inversion with two great peaks on either side of us. Her sled rested on top of a cairn built to both mark the way and offer shelter from the wind, rocks stacked with deceptive purpose despite their haphazard appearance. We’d removed the straps from her sled to offer her more freedom as she woke, and stood a few meters away, admiring the view while we waited.

  At her waking, Nathlan watched her carefully, hand drumming against his thigh, near to his sword hilt but very deliberately not touching it. Yet. She looked from him to me, to Jorge and Vera. Her eyes widened at Sadrianna’s presence at our side, and then down to the sleeping from on her lap. Her hands rose unconsciously to scratch behind the stubby ears of the Cat-Bear, and it wriggled in its sleep, little legs stretching out into the air before folding back in to cover its belly.

  When she looked up from the creature several breaths later, it was to meet Nathlan's steely gaze. “My father always told me that to hesitate showed a weakness of body and spirit. A lack of commitment. He said weakness was what had killed my mother.”

  Her voice was parched, crackling with dryness, despite the wet towel Jorge had pressed to her mouth and strained every bell during our march.

  “And yet, your hesitation is the reason I am alive,” she said, “so I am left to wonder…was it weakness?”

  Nathlan stayed silent, hand clenching.

  “Do you wish to kill me now, but lack the strength?” She asked, seemingly earnest in her questioning. “Or was my father wrong?”

  It was then that Nathlan spoke, and though he didn't reach for his blade, his words held an edge of their own. “You tell me. You killed him, after all.”

  A shadow passed over her face, and she was silent for long moments. “I did. Tell me - what happened to the creature I fought? That winged serpent?” she asked, changing topic suddenly.

  “I killed it,” Nathlan said, each word clipped in tightly constrained anger.

  She kneaded the little creature in her arms for long moments. “I see. Much of what I believed was not true, it seems. That does not mean I can stop believing it though. It was weakness that killed my mother, and it was weakness that injured your leg.”

  Nathlan’s hand clenched and stayed locked in a fist, trembling slightly. I sucked in a breath, feeling the threat in the air. It seemed we would not be recruiting her after all. The question now became whether we would abandon Jacyntha, or just her corpse.

  “A week ago, I learned that it was my father who had killed my mother, and the ritual that I took part in had started on that very night, years before it reached me. It was my father’s inability to accept his own weakness that caused so much suffering. I believe now that it was my own weakness, and my inability to accept it, that caused your suffering, too.”

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  She looked down at the sleeping cub in her lap for a few moments, and I watched Nathlan’s fist relax slightly. “I am sorry for the pain I have caused you, lowlander,” she said.

  Silence greeted the statement, and Nathlan nodded stiffly before spinning on his heel and walking away. He caught Jorge's eye as he walked past, and gave him a nod, the gesture also stiff, before he stalked off to stare out over the white blanket covering the world.

  I clapped my hands, then grimaced and raised my hands in apology at the reproachful look the little cub gave me as I'd disturbed its slumber.

  “That was a remarkably good start, I'm pleasantly surprised” I said cheerily, and gestured to Jorge. “I imagine she’s got questions, and you’ve shown a remarkable ability to suffer through dumb questions before, so I'll leave you to it. Shout if you need something,” I said as I walked over to stand next to my friend.

  The clouds seemed to be frozen in space, not scudding past like usual. They floated, fluffy little banks of snow, a magenta glow bleeding through at the horizon as the sun began its great descent. I was reminded strangely of a beach, the way the water retreated to leave orderly ridges of sand. Or sand dunes in a desert.

  “It's beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked, and Nathlan turned to regard me beneath heavy brows.

  “You are not planning on workshopping another poem, are you?” He asked in alarm.

  “A cloudbank blanket covers the world, and my soul along with it,” I began, “but we few, we lucky few that sought the sky, on this day we find gold.”

  He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “That was not the worst you’ve come up with” he allowed begrudgingly, and I beamed back at him.

  “I knew you’d come around, mate. ‘Lamb The Poet’ has a bit of a ring to it, now that I think of it,” I said, swaying to the side instinctively from the light punch I knew to be coming.

  No impact came though, and I looked back to see him staring out at the beautiful vista as it inched towards sunset. He looked wistful, a touch sad.

  “You have to admit, it was a pretty good apology,” I said quietly.

  He shrugged in response. “That does not mean I have to forgive her though” he replied, and I conceded the point.

  “Aye, but you don't need to like someone to work with them. When we head back to the Leviathan Coast to sort out the mess the Wavebreakers have made of things, we’ll likely have to work with some fairly unsavory people too,” I said.

  He whipped around like a startled rabbit, his sharp nose nearly taking my eye out as he did so. I leaned back, startled.

  “What do you mean ‘when we go back’!? We have not discussed anything of the sort,” he exclaimed, and if I didn't know him better, I would have thought I detected anger driving those words. I did know him better though, and I could see the shock on his face softening as I replied.

  “Well, you’re not just gonna leave things as they are, are you? If you go back, it won't be on your own, my friend,” I said as I clapped him on the shoulder.

  He turned back to the view abruptly, and I pretended not to see the clenching of his jaw. It hurt to know how lonely he was, how little trust he had in the world and his friends, even now. But I would build it back up, with word and deed, and blood and tears.

  “No matter what, mate. Sadrianna might return for the clans, Vera may have her fill of revenge, and even Jorge might hang up his crook at the end of this. But I'll be there for the next fight if you choose one, I promise you that.”

  I’d never been much for earnest and heartfelt words - I preferred to say cheerful nonsense and let my actions speak for me, but it felt like the moment called for a solemn vow. Just because it didn't come naturally to me didn't make it any less true, though.

  Vera and Jorge were companions and mentors, Sadrianna a peer. Nathlan though…Nathlan was a friend. My only one in all the world, honestly. I’d do a lot for that bond.

  “You really would come to Ship's Rest? Help me fix things? I had thought-” he cut himself off, then started again a moment later. “I had thought it would take years…”

  “Aye,” I replied with a smile, “I like to move fast though. 2nd tier in less than a year? Why, I'm pretty much a prodigy!” I smirked at him out of the corner of my eye. “It’s no surprise you have struggled to keep up with my impressive pace, young Nathlan.”

  “Shall we test the limits of Break-Step so soon, Lamb?” He asked in reply, an arched brow accentuating the threat.

  We both looked at the sheer drop below us, the ground invisible beneath mist and cloud. “Why is it that so many of your jokes are framed around ways to kill me? Vera does it too,” I groused.

  It was his turn to smirk then, and I was glad to see the mirth once more, hidden as it had been these last two days. “It sounds like you are the common denominator there…” he said.

  I chuckled, before sobering once more. “Jokes aside, we will need to push ourselves to survive what is to come, and the more allies in this fight, the better.”

  He snorted softly, returning to gazing over the ‘cloudbank blanket’ as I'd named the view. “Do you truly believe she has changed so quickly? That we can now simply trust her word?” He asked.

  “Not really,” I said, shrugging. “But we can keep an eye on her. She doesn't have much to gain by hurting us, and everything to lose. Plus…if she sticks around, then so does the little Cat-Bear…”

  I left the bait dangling, and he cursed me softly as I saw it catch. That animal was too cute by half, and my friend was thoroughly smitten already. I dreaded the day it could talk and realised I could understand it though - it was already entitled beyond all reason, and I doubted self-awareness and further power would help ameliorate that character flaw.

  The day after Jacyntha joined us, Nathlan broke through to the 2nd tier. He earned himself the Frost-Wreathed ancestry which, alongside a boost to cognition and agility, also conferred a minor cold-resistance, according to Jorge. Nathlan struggled to notice a difference by his accounts, but that wasn't surprising given we hadn't exactly tested our limits to establish a solid baseline first.

  The newly minted Ravenor of Deceit was more settled as he returned from the mountain-top beside Jorge - it was plain to see in his stance. Some of the stoop that he had lived with for as long as I had known him had left, and while he wasn't quite the imposing swordsman I sometimes saw him as, he did have a more regal air. I could well envisage him as the prince to a large kingdom that he technically was.

  He was still wary of Jacyntha, as we all were, but the evening before - the very same day she had joined us - had helped cool our antipathy. Jorge was correct on two fronts, as he so often was. First, she had jumped at the chance of joining us with a surprising fervor. Second, she was indeed broken.

  She had taken the opportunity to apologise once more around the fire that evening as her broken arm recovered. It wasn't often that I witnessed an apology, but it was clear even to me that this was genuine. She was wracked with self-loathing and wore her shame like a heavy cloak, visible to all.

  She then shared her story, and it became evident where that shame came from. Our group was no stranger to sad tales - Vera and Nathlan had very obvious pain hidden in their past, and while Jorge had never shared, it was clear he still suffered from something lurking in his past as well. But Jacyntha was so obviously shaped by her history that it was almost reductive.

  We had all listened to the tale, and then Jacyntha had stood and left, hiding within a spare tent provided by Jorge, with the comfort of the Cat-Bear to cover her tears.

  We all felt sympathy, as far as I could tell, and the story had done a lot to help Nathlan overcome his resentment, which I suspected was one of the things holding him back from his breakthrough. It seemed too much of a coincidence after all, that only a day later, Jorge took him aside and they returned blessed by new power.

  Vera though seemed to be the one to feel the most, surprisingly. She had been angry on Nathlan’s behalf, and disagreed with Jorge’s suggestion to recruit the woman based on the conversation I had overheard the night prior. But today she had taken Jacyntha and disappeared into the grey clouds below us, ostensibly for further training.

  Vera had a nurturing side to her, that both Nathlan and I had seen, albeit rarely. Jacyntha's shame had been evident the night before, but so too was her rage. If there was one thing Vera understood, it was anger, and I imagined the barbarian woman’s plight reminded her somewhat of her own struggle. Or perhaps she was simply more practical than I realised and was determined that our new ally be as strong and capable as possible. Only Vera could know, in the end.

  In that manner, we travelled through the Dragon-Spine Mountains, and the days became weeks. Power was accumulated slowly, and the group that had set off to cross the mountains was very different to the one that emerged at the other side.

  When we left the high peaks behind and headed down through low hills towards the Riverlands, we were a match for anyone.