"The Gyanyu is glorious and wise," Ki'ang muttered. Tears ran down her snout as she looked out across the Skein, a tangle of interstice threads that dominated the vista. It ran as far as the eye could see. It was as if their tailor had gone mad at the end and no longer knew how to weave the land. Red sands, caught in the wind, billowed and bloomed, trapped in a conflux of gravity wells. "She is the Eyesent, an agent of the Watcher himself," Ki'ang continued, barely whispering, "Her words are like water in the desert. They gush forth and give life to that which was once lifeless. Where they flow, plants take root and barren dunes turn into fertile meadows."

  Ki'ang's companion was also muttering under his breath, she could tell. She did not know his name and he did not know hers. That is how it was meant to be, as they were the Nameless. Even her companion’s snout, like the others in their caravan, was hidden behind a mask of clay. But she could hear his nervous whispers. They were but servants of a higher power and to share one’s name was to claim authority they did not have. It was an invitation to rebellion.

  The caravan was a procession of calavors, chitinous insects large enough for three riders each. Twenty legs propelled each of the mounts forward, which allowed them to climb over hot dunes and burning sands with ease. Smooth segments covered their elongated forms, intermeshing almost seamlessly with one another. They seemed to glide over the desert rather than trot. Their wide, padded feet allowed them to scale even the tallest and driest of dunes.

  The beasts, though insectoid, were protected from the grains of sand they kicked up. They had evolved to live in this harsh place. Membranes of flesh connected their nooks and crannies, preventing the granules from getting lodged in their joints and segments. It had not always been this way. Nature weeded out the weak. Petrified corpses of calavors in ages past showed sand lodged in keratin. Species adapt. They change over time.

  Ki’ang knew this because she was a follower of the Eye. The Eye, sometimes called The Watcher, was knowledge. And so those who followed it pursued that knowledge. The deity, unlike The Hands, was passive, not active. The Eye knows. The Hands participate. The latter’s influence could be felt in all facets of life. They drove the wind. They fed the sun’s fire. The two creator aspects are necessary to sustain existence.

  But the Eye watched. It rarely participated. And yet...when it spoke, its words shook the world. And so there always needed to be a listener. And that listener was the Gyanyu. Those who wish to listen...must learn. Throw away one’s identity and pursue the lore of the universe. Ki’ang was educated and she was smart because she followed the Watcher's path.

  But it was a double-edged sword. It was why she was weeping. Few souls knew about their destination and fewer knew its secret. This would be the last time Ki’ang looked upon the sands of Jalhara. For the place they were all headed to would be their final destination. They were to commit an act of desecration. And so, everybody chanted their reminder: The Gyanyu is wise. She is beautiful. When she speaks, it is the Eye speaking through her. It was the thread of hope that gave them strength to face their horrific fate.

  Over mound and rock, the procession traveled. At night, they dug into the dunes and erected small shelters to protect them from the blowing sands. The desert chilled and the cold of night came like a rebuke to the heat of day. But the sands retained their warmth if one burrowed deep enough.

  And for those that had to keep watch and remain exposed to the chill winds, realm speakers summoned heat, creating glowing spots of warmth on the sand. The art was a precarious one, and the lore was forbidden from most. Realm speaking exposed one to many dangers and only a few could even do it.

  Ki’ang lay in her burrow, covered from head to tail in fabric like an insect in a cocoon. She listened to the wind howl and sand brush against her shelter. It worked its way under her covers and the granules chafed against her wings. She turned from side to side, muttering restlessly. Her eyes were raw with dread and so she chanted softly to herself a reminder: The Gyanyu is beautiful. She is wise. Soon, she will see her family again at the Table of Rest.

  A threat has appeared on Admoran. There have been rumors of storms leaving behind terrors, black clouds that spawned nightmares. A few of them have drifted across The Skein and rent villages. But the storms stopped, and that danger passed. But a newer, graver danger has made itself known. The Northers have found a realm-speaker of their own. Such a thing would have been blasphemous already...but this one has shaken the folds.

  Realm-speaking was what kept the balance, it was what kept the truce between Jalhara and Mid-Admoran. The art was not known by the Northers. It was a lore they did not understand, no matter how many spies they sent. They had a conduit wielder, and they had liacyte constructs. Those were their assets. Jalhara had liacyte lore too, but it was the realm-speakers that gave them an edge.

  This new speaker was a threat unlike any other. It was an aberration, a blasphemy to the creator aspects. It would bring about devastation beyond imagining. And so, this speaker had to die, even if it meant the assassination would trigger war. Ki'ang and those she traveled with would be the bringers of its demise. But first, they had to become something more. They had to leave behind their flesh and blood forms.

  She did not get any sleep. She tossed and turned, prayed to The Eye and The Hands to bring her comfort, but peace was slow in coming. Only when the sun started to rise did she find calm at last. She was to become something more than herself, a small part of a whole. It was a fitting fate for a Nameless. So she donned her mask and stepped out into the morning desert.

  Niftel and Tarn were in the sky, witnesses to their funeral procession, witnesses to the crime they intended to commit. They stared down like celestial judges. Ki'ang ate her breakfast in silence and solitude. One could not eat with a mask on, but it was forbidden for a Nameless to show their face to another. She intended to obey this dogma up to the very end. Even one moment of rebellion could compromise their mission. And so she stayed near her shelter and ate.

  Still…she felt a longing, a yearning to know her companions, to see their faces. All she ever saw was the orange and golden eyes behind their masks and the black horns that curled from their heads. They showed the same trepidation and determination that she felt. And though she did not know them, though they were forbidden from casual conversation, she felt a kinship with them.

  A rattling noise resounded throughout the encampment. That meant it was time to go. A sandstriker walked around the camp, thrusting his staff toward the ground. The sand shifted and the calavors that had burrowed into the dunes during the night emerged, shaking the granules from their carapaces. And so began another day of travel under the scorching heat. Water was scarce, but the calavors, being creatures of the desert, knew how to find it. And so the caravan would occasionally stop and let the mounts dig until a spring bubbled up. Then everybody refilled their bladders and quenched their thirst.

  By noon, the desert became a featureless wasteland that wavered in the heat. It was devoid of any rocks or trees. Only The Skein was there to guide them, its threads dipping in and out of the mounds like mad serpents. They curled up into the sky, tangled with each other, tied into knots only to unravel and dive back down again. One could get lost forever in that labyrinth of gravities and whirlwinds. Mounds of sand grew on on their surfaces and it was common to see sandfalls. When a mound grew too high, the peaks broke away from the threads' gravities and fell…only to get trapped in another gravity field. Sometimes threads were connected to each other by shared columns of sand, granules that were trapped between two or more opposing gravity fields . Others, broke away and fell to the ground, creating dazzling falls. The threads were weeping, but the tears were arid and dry.

  Evening came when rocks dotted the vista. From them stood a few columns, tall and proud like sentinels. Tattered banners hang from their tops. An image was woven into their fabric: an eye being stabbed with a knife. Ki'ang felt a twinge in her gut. To the hapless traveler, those signs had no meaning. But to those with knowledge like her, it was a warning: Do not pass. Beyond those signs was forbidden land. Very few knew about this place and those that did, wanted to stay far from it. When Ki'ang's mount passed the warnings, she felt like she was treading on cursed ground.

  As the sands receded and gave way to rocky terrain, more and more of these banners appeared. Some of them were accompanied by skeletons that dangled from their poles, groundwalkers that have had their wings broken, wrapped around the posts and nailed to their wood. Their jaws hang open in dismay. "Go back," they seemed to be saying. The expedition was getting close. But they still had a day's worth of travel before they reached their destination. Soon, the desert gave way completely and the procession found themselves traveling along red, wind-blasted rock. The surface was porous, making the rock look soft. But one touch was enough to dispel the illusion. The rock's porosity gave birth to thousands of jagged, razor-edged surfaces.

  The procession stopped once they lost sight of the desert. They dismounted the calavors, retrieved their belongings, and then proceeded to slay their mounts, one by one. It was necessary. One must take the last steps toward their destination on their feet and they must leave no signs of their passage. The tracks left behind in the sand would be devoured by the desert itself. But a procession of the insects through this forbidden land would leave traces. After the carnage was done, a realm-speaker stood by their corpses and lowered his snout. The cadavers vibrated, the carapaces cracked and crumpled. Their bodies folded as they were swallowed from within. They shrunk into themselves until they vanished without a trace. They did not disappear from existence, Ki'ang knew, they were simply no longer here, though she did not know what realm claimed them.

  When they set up camp, she stood up on the rocks and stared out at the setting sun, knowing it would be the last one she ever saw. Thousands did the same, but nobody spoke. The red sands in the distance glimmered as the sun sank into the vista. Her companions stood by her side, watching wordlessly. Her choked breath moistened on her mask, wetting her snout. But she did not weep. She was close to it, but she did not want to show grief. No. What she was doing…what they were doing would save the world. It would save existence itself. If the price to pay was the blood of thousands, then it was worth it. Desecration was worth it. Her suffering would be…no. She could not think about that. She could not let fear take residence in her heart. People felt fear. She was no longer a person. She was Nameless.

  The sun set and darkness fell upon them. She turned back toward the camp with a sense of finality. She ate her last dinner and joined her silent companions. They performed a blood-painting ritual: a shard with glinting edges was passed around. One by one they pierced their hands and with their blood, they painted an eye on the rock. And below the eye, they drew a pair of hands. The Hands and the Eye welcomed. Then they went to sleep.

  The last morning came, the last sunrise greeted them. Nobody said a thing. They traveled through tight passes and increasingly hostile terrain. There were no paths to their destination, no trails or markers. Not yet. The means to getting there was intentionally obscure. But their leader knew the way. Thousands of feet scrapped against the sharp stone. Sometimes, they had to climb. Ki'ang received thousands of tiny lacerations on her arms and hands. As they penetrated this rocky wasteland, they came closer to The Skein.

  When the sun was at its apex, the procession encountered a cliff that rose high above them, a circular upheaval of land that stood like an affront to the vista. It was as if an enormous plug had been pulled from the ground itself. When Ki'ang saw it, she nearly trembled and collapsed to her knees. She knew the top of this plateau was not actually flat, but one could not see that from below. No, the cliffs were actually like walls, safeguarding the secret within. And that secret was their destination. Getting there was a trial in of itself. The landmark had no openings, no passes to go through, no paths to climb, no tunnels burrowing through it. Its sides were too steep for climbing. No, the secret to entry was in the tangle of interstice threads that surrounded the formation and entangled it in their weave.

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  The leader headed toward a rising hill whose apex approached one of the threads. But before he reached it, he stopped, turned around to stare at the procession. His expression was hidden behind his mask but Ki'ang thought she felt fear. He untied his cape and robe, letting both drop to the ground. The rest of the processions followed suit, discarding their own capes and robes. The fabric had protected them from the sand, but it would no longer be needed. Beneath the robes were tight fitting leathers that hugged the body. The garments allowed them to move with freedom, but more importantly…they reduced drag. The leader spread his wings and flexed them. Then he stepped toward the thread until he entered its gravity. He fell upward.

  Each of them knew how to airdance, how to weave through the air, how to bounce from thread to thread using The Skein's gravity fields. That's what he did. He orbited around the first thread and used the momentum from the fall to fling himself into the pull of another. He flipped in the air and reoriented himself when he passed from one gravity well to another, never losing his momentum. One by one the procession followed his lead. And soon, the threads were filled with groundwalkers who orbited them, like satellites.

  Then Ki'ang finally entered. The artificial gravities tricked her senses. Up became down, then down became right, then right became left. Sometimes she was weightless as she flew between three different gravity fields. She had grown up on one of the many thread cities. Intuition guided her through the chaotic threadwork and allowed her to navigate the gravitational eddies. She was at home in a place like this. Home…she had a home once. She was once a little girl that leapt from the roof of one house, and landed on a roof of a house above it on a different thread. She would…no. She was Nameless. Her past was irrelevant.

  Still…her wings tickled as their membranes flapped in the wind. It was a pleasant sensation, one that almost made her forget the horrific fate that awaited them all. This would be her last dance. It would be the last time she rode the air. She followed the others as they used The Skein to ascend the cliff, exploiting its attributes to pull them further upward. When they reached the top, the leader flung himself toward a thread that dipped down beyond the cliffs, into the bowl-shaped depression they housed. When Ki'ang passed over the cliffs themselves, she found herself staring down into a circular valley.

  There was nothing overtly significant about this place, other than the cliffs that arose around it. It was just bowl-shaped depression in the land. There were rocks, a few desert-dwelling shrubs…and a small cave near the bottom. This cave was their final destination. It would be Ki'ang's resting place. The thread their leader traveled burrowed into the ground at the bottom of this valley. So just before reaching its end, he bent his wings back, slowed himself, then dropped to the thread's surface, stumbling. Others followed suit, making sure not to hit each other. The air filled with the sound of feet impacting against the thread's stone-like surface.

  A gentle curving path built of stone connected the thread to the ground. It allowed one to exit the thread's gravity and re-enter Falius' natural gravity without stumbling. A thousand nameless adepts left the thread behind. A few of them, upon seeing the cave, broke. They fell to the ground, hyperventilating. They clutched the dirt and their wings trembled in fear. For a moment, Ki'ang wanted to do the same. The dread overtook her and she had to bite her own lips to keep it in. The leader walked right over to the weeping ones and struck them. He demanded they get up. They tried to…and failed. Their hands would not stop clutching the ground. So he summoned the realm-speaker over, who bowed over them. Shrieks filled the air as they writhed in agony. They clawed at their arms as if they were being attacked by a thousand insects. When the realm-speaker was finished, they seemed to have snapped back to their senses. Quaking, they got up and didn't say a word.

  "The Gyanyu…is wise," the leader said.

  "She is wise," the procession echoed.

  "The Eye is knowledge," he said.

  "The Eye and The Hands are our salvation," the procession responded. Terror laced everybody's words. Ki'ang heard a few others break. Yet they kept themselves upright.

  "We…enter here," the leader pointed to the cave, "We will become something more. For The Gyanyu. For Jalhara. We will rest at the Table!"

  Then, without saying another word, he entered the cave. The entrance was narrow and small. Only one or two people could enter at a time. And so, it took an agonizing amount of time for everybody to file in. Finally, it was Ki'ang's turn. She looked at her companions, yearning for them to say something. But they only gave her silence. She stepped toward the entrance, knowing this would be the last time she would see day. She stole one last glimpse at the sky before she stepped inside. The realm-speaker brought light to the cave. It was not a light source, rather, he made everything brighter with his lore. The passage tightened and Ki'ang had to squeeze through it. Once she did, she found herself on a flight of steps carved into stone.

  The breaths of her companions filled the cramped passage as they filed in. They passed by several doors. Behind them were rooms that had not been used in ages, and banners hang from the ceiling, showing the same warning: go back. Every step Ki'ang took felt like her last. She repeated the mantra to herself: The Gyanyu is beautiful. She is wise. Without warning, the passage widened into a chamber in the shape of a quadrasphere: it was domed on one side, but then it abruptly stopped at a wall. A pile of rubble obscured their path. It was not a natural formation. Rather, long ago, explosives had been detonated to collapse the ceiling. Ki'ang knew that a door lied behind the rubble, a door that was never intended to be opened again.

  The realm-speaker approached the rubble and bowed his head. At first, nothing happened. Ki'ang secretly hoped that it would remains that way, that the door would be forever blocked. And for a moment, it looked like her hopes had been fulfilled. The realm-speaker looked up at the leader and sighed. There was nothing he could do. So he stepped aside as several Nameless approached the pile and started lifting stones and shoving them aside. Clearing the pile was a long ordeal and people had to switch places when their companions exhausted themselves. But slowly, as they shoved the rocks into the far edges of the chamber, the door behind them was uncovered. A circle was carved into its surface, a circle with teeth and flames. The pigments were faded, but the colors were still there. Everybody looked upon it with dread.

  When enough rocks were cleared, the leader approached the door and hesitated. He placed his hand on the handle and waited. Until now, his resolve had been steadfast and unwavering. But now, he seemed to be questioning. But then he looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Then he lifted the handle and pulled with all his might on the door. At first, it did not budge. But then it began to groan. His feet scuffed against the chamber floor as he pulled it back. Pitch blackness awaited beyond the threshold like a bottomless void. The leader stepped through and others followed.

  The procession entered a massive chasm, tall and cylindrical. It was a geode so high and so deep that one had to strain to see the dark spiky crystals lining its walls. These crystals were the reason for the dread so many felt. They were black liacyte. Ki’ang once remembered a story she overheard as a child. A mining village was destroyed, all of its people were killed. All because they uncovered a small vein of the stuff. Now, they stood in a cavern whose protrusions were taller than Ki’ang herself.

  A bridge connected the entrance to a large circular platform in the middle of the cavern. Forged of metal, both the bridge and platform were suspended from the walls and ceiling by massive chains. They stretched from the darkness like iron arms. When the expedition walked out into the chasm, Ki’ang could feel the bridge subtly swaying beneath their gait. The links rattled and the metal groaned. Her legs felt soft and wobbly. Every step taken was more difficult than the step before. Far below, in the crystalline pit, skeletons could be seen in the shadows. A few of them had been impaled on the shards that jutted upward.

  Tears welled up in Ki’ang’s eyes. She wanted right then and there to turn and flee. But there were hundreds of people behind her. She was trapped. She whispered to herself the mantra: The Gyanyu is wise. Everybody filed onto the disk, which seemed to float in the middle of the spiky abyss. Ki’ang took her place and waited. Between the footsteps which clicked on metal, she could hear silent sobbing, whimpers that trembled. She flinched when somebody held her hand. It was one of her companions, the man whose name she never learned. The gesture was a forbidden one, but she welcomed it. She allowed herself to escape into that small illusion of comfort. She let herself feel fear for a moment. Then she let go.

  A Nameless had no self. It did not feel fear or pain. Her mind would serve The Gyanyu. She would ascend to a higher plane of existence here and become one with the others. Hundreds of sharp minds would guide a lore capable of rending entire cities. Everybody took their places on the disk, making sure not to fall off the edge.

  A realm speaker stepped forward, making his way toward the center of the platform. He bowed his head and began the ritual. He was reaching across the folds and trying to make contact with something forbidden, a dimension that was so close to their own, it was almost touching. Ki'ang stared at the wall of black liacyte, looking for some sign that it was active, dreading the signs. It remained as dark as night. A hidden part of her, buried deep within, hoped that the ritual would fail, that the dark shards would remain dormant. It was a blasphemous, rebellious thought, yet with every heartbeat, she clung to this hope.

  But her hope was shattered, and a spike of horror pierced her heart when subtle change overcame the crystals. She did not understand what she was seeing. They remained dark and unyielding. Yet they seemed to absorb the images of anybody who walked in front of them.

  Ki'ang lifted a hand in front of her face and moved it in front of her eyes. Though the crystals she looked at were several stone-throws away, she saw after-images of her hand frozen on their surface. They faded away into darkness shortly after. She waved her hand in front of her snout again and the same thing happened: after-images of her hand froze on their surface before dissipating.

  She heard other people murmuring and waving their hands in front of their snouts. When Ki'ang turned her head, the crystals seemed to leave after-images of their own in the air, dark splotches that stayed in her eyes. It was disorienting and nauseating. The world became a blur of frozen images and mimicry. Only when she looked away from them and stare at the ground did the disorientation stop.

  But then she felt something else, something reaching out to her, beckoning her. A vision overlaid her own. She was trapped in stone and could not breath. Suffocation and rock filled her lungs. She could not turn her head or move at all. She could not even scream. The horrific sensation lasted for a moment, but it was enough to send her reeling. And, judging from the gasps she heard all around, others experienced this as well.

  The afterimages on the crystals did not fade as quickly as they did before. They stayed in place, as if the liacyte was absorbing their essence. And Ki'ang knew…that's exactly what it was doing. That vision was not a vision: it was going to be her fate and the fate of everybody in the chamber. The black liacyte was taking them in. The lore needed their minds, not their bodies. It needed to pull their souls into the realm between realms.

  The harrowing sensation returned. She was trapped in stone again, choking on her breathlessness. She was staring out from within the crystal, seeing the circular platform suspended in the middle of the chasm. She watched as people dropped to the ground and grabbed their throats, gasping for air. Then she was released and her consciousness returned to her body.

  Hyperventilating, she broke and ran toward the bridge. This was not worth it, she did not want that fate! It was worse than death. She would remain alive, but unable to do anything except suffocate in perpetuity. She knew this even before coming here and she thought she had prepared herself for that fate. How na?ve!

  But old lore had been activated as soon as the ritual commenced, and a barrier repelled her from the bridge. They were trapped. This platform was their casket. The chasm filled with panicked screams as everybody felt their consciousness being absorbed by the black liacyte. Many tried to escape only to pile up on top of each other at the barrier.

  Some hurled themselves into the chasm, screaming as they fell in a vain effort to die before they were fully absorbed. Their bodies crashed against the liacyte and crumpled, joining the skeletons of the ones that came before.. One could chant loyalty to the Gyuanyu…but when encountered with a fate worse than nightmares…that loyalty wavered and people became like screaming children. Even the realm speaker who commenced the ritual fell to his knees. But they were past the point of no return.

  Ki'ang felt her consciousness being pulled back into the crystals. Panicked, her feet carried her off the ledge and she fell…fell…fell. A shard skewered her chest and blood erupted from her throat. But then she was trapped in stone for the third and final time, watching as her body twitched in its last throes...and died. Nobody would be able to hear her screaming, for she had no mouth…no body to scream with. Her mouth was frozen open and sediment shoved down her nonexistent throat. The liacyte had her. She sank into darkness, leaving the world behind. She felt her companions with her, she felt their terror and she experienced it as if it were her own. If she had lungs and a throat, she would be vomiting…she desperately needed to gag. She wanted it to end…but it was just beginning for her. There was only one way to end it…when the threat up North was killed.

  The realm-speaker had made contact with the fold, imbued it with a song, a threnody that was still playing long after he died. It was a calling, a summoning. And it received an answer. Something terrible was coming forth, something without a mind. When it arrived, it took the consciousnesses of the absorbed with it. Then it departed. And with that…the truce between Jalhara and Mid-Admoran would soon come to an end.