Vincent could feel the heartbeat before he heard it, a sickly pulse that nudged against his cheeks. He opened his eyes to find a somewhat familiar sight: his bedroom back on Earth. There was a television in it, a CRT he had gotten rid of years ago. Underneath it was a Sega Genesis and a Super Nintendo. Skittles waited for him to get up and when he did, the feline slithered under the bedroom door. Vincent stepped out into a hallway that was both askew and whose proportions were wrong.

  Skittles waited for him at the end of it. The feline meowed, but all Vincent could hear was the thrumming heartbeat in his ears. Not even his footsteps against the bare floor made any noise. He followed his cat downstairs and to his surprise, he found the shandan in his living room. They were standing upright staring blankly at him. His father was there too, as were his sisters, and his mother. He could not see her face though. It was an indistinguishable blur.

  "Mom…" Vincent said. It came out as a whisper. She did not acknowledge his existence. She just stood there staring without a face. "Mom…Dad! Sarah! Kris! I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm not dead!"

  The heartbeat answered. Outside, light began to shine through the windows.

  "Guys, we need to go!" Vincent said, "We need to run!"

  Nobody was listening to him. Didn't they know the danger? The light was getting brighter. That meant it was getting closer. He screamed at them, shouted at his family and the shandan both. But they did not pay any attention to them. So he grabbed his cat and ran for the back door. But when he opened it, he stepped right back into his house. Every exit led back to where he was. Every escape was an entrance. All the while the light grew brighter and brighter.

  The walls broke. Windows exploded and flames ran up the sides. The sound of screeching metal, completely disconnected from the scene playing out before him, reverberated through his ears, accompanying the heartbeat. The walls crumpled away and the zeffyr's whirling maw blinded him. Everybody got sucked into it. The shandan, his father, mother, Kris and Sarah. They burst into flames, flesh melted form their bones, and their incandescence created yellow spirals as they orbited inside the roiling funnel. Vincent held onto Skittles, except it was no longer his cat. It was Oscar, the kitten. No, it was Kedia, Ezrai's daughter. It shifted between them both. Whatever it was, it got sucked right out of his hands and screeched as it flew into the fire.

  He woke up panting.

  "Fuck me," he muttered, wiping his eyes, "Well at least I woke up in an honest-to-God bed."

  As always, it took him a few moments to orient himself. Looking at the window, he saw that it was still dark out save for the light cast by the spire. But he heard voices coming from outside. Groaning, he sat up in the bed, stretched, and got up. He saw some of the shandan leaning against a railing, talking among themselves. They held in their hands steaming mugs of…something. He opened the door and stepped out onto a balcony. It wrapped around the monastery, connecting the dorms to each other.

  "Clothes are too soft," M'kari grumbled as he tugged on his robe, "I can't feel them."

  "Your mate is coming to the Festival, right?" Madrian asked Menik.

  "Yes," Menik said, "The Purple Grub is sending a caravan to the festival with one hundred barrels and she is coming with them."

  "The Purple Grub?" Tuls repeated, "The brewery?"

  "Aye. Her family owns it."

  "You look dead, Cordell," Jeris said, finally noticing he was there.

  "Just had a bad dream," Vincent said, "What's going on?"

  Somebody placed a mug in his hand. Curious, he gave it a sniff and his eyes immediately lit up. The scent was not unlike hot apple cider, though it had a more citrusy tang. The mug, designed for Falian mouths, had a long spout. He tipped it into his mouth and had a taste. The drink was fruity with hints of spices, but it was not overly sweet. There was a tray filled with skewered meat. He grabbed a couple and ate. He ogled at the spire and could feel himself getting lost in those glimmering facets.

  "I trust you have slept well, Vincent," an airy voice said. He turned to find Gelani standing there. "I hope we did not wake you. Is there anything you need?"

  "No…thanks though," Vincent said. Gelani stood beside him and looked out toward the spire.

  "It is a dire thing," he said in a lowered voice, "Storms that spawn nightmares, and now Jalhara sends a zeffyr. An offense like this will not go unanswered, I am afraid."

  Somebody must have informed Gelani what had happened.

  "Were you its prey?" he asked.

  Vincent shrugged. He did not feel like talking. He just wanted to be left alone.

  "I think you are asking too many questions," Menik said, "It would not be prudent to discuss these things."

  "Of course, my apologies," Gelani said, "I have sworn to secrecy regarding these events. Though I imagine they will not be a secret for long. When that happens, I fear that we will head for war and blood will be shed."

  "As if there is any other alternative," Jeris said, "This deserves retribution."

  "You awoke just in time," Sperloc rasped to Vincent.

  "In time for what?" Vincent asked. Sperloc's demeanor seemed softer than it had been the past few days.

  "For the awakening."

  "Ah, yes," Gelani said, "Forgive me. Let us forget about war for the moment. Gullreach is about to awaken. If you have not seen it before, then the last thing I wish to do is to tarnish the experience with talks of bloodshed."

  Just what the hell is the 'awakening'? Vincent wondered.

  It did not take very long for him to receive the answer. The skyline brightened as dawn approached. Slivers of sunlight gleamed over the mountains and settled on Gullreach. There were some potted plants that hung from the ceiling. Like all the other flora he had seen, their leaves were curled into themselves, making their branches look barren. To his surprise however, when the sunlight hit them, they began to twitch. It was a subtle thing at first and for a moment, he thought he had hallucinated. But then they twitched again. The leaves unfurled as if he were watching a time lapse of a flower blooming. As the sun continued to rise, it began to light up more of the scenery. All of the vegetation it hit underwent a similar metamorphosis. The previously barren trees and desolate flora came alive.

  The buds on their branches opened up, revealing leaves the color of fire, painting the branches with oranges and reds. The tubular grass he had seen unfurled, exposing their greenery to the sky. Waves of black transitioned into fertile green. The sun's light scanned the vista and everywhere it touched, colors bloomed, transforming the lands as far as the eye could see. The massive limbs on the spire's vines began to yield sky blue flowers when it hit them. Gullreach was like an incomplete tapestry that was being finished before their very eyes by an unseen painter. The air was filled with rustling and groaning as branches shifted. Color came like brush strokes, juxtaposing blues against greens and reds.

  "What…what is happening?" Vincent asked, filled with amazement.

  "The awakening," Sperloc said, "Happens every morning in Gullreach. These plants are the only ones that thrive in The Shard's light. All others will die unless they are sheltered from the light."

  "I see."

  It was incredible! It must have been an evolutionary mutation, he was sure of it. Vincent was not a botanist, but he knew that too much light was bad for a lot of plants. They needed their night cycle. The vegetation here must have evolved in such a way, that they were able to shut off their photosynthesis. Whether they had a means of sensing natural sunlight, or if they were simply on a time cycle, it would explain why they closed all of their leaves and blooms at night. They needed to block Gullreach's light. He leaned against the railing, watching with awe as the terrain continued to bloom. This place was amazing.

  "Gelani?" Sperloc said after the awakening had reached its climax.

  "Yes, Sperloc?"

  "We need some place private from groundwalker ears and zerok alike."

  "This can be arranged," Gelani did not ask any more questions. "When you are ready, there is a meeting room you can use."

  "What was that about, Sper?" Menik asked after Gelani left.

  Sperloc was glaring at Vincent. "We have things to discuss about him," he said, "The La'ark promised to tell you all the truth about Cordell. But she is not here, so I am going to do it for her."

  And just like that, the moment of serenity was shattered. Vincent felt ice in his gut. When they were ready, Gelani led them to a room that had been set aside for them. The chamber, though it was well-illuminated by nytic crystals, had no windows. It had a long table in the middle of it made of polished wood not unlike quilted maple. An alcove for fires resided in one of the walls, though it was not lit at that moment. A small statuette of a woman levitating in the air adorned the wall. Above her was an eye that shed radiance like the sun.

  Sperloc waited for Gelani to leave and then, after making sure they had no eavesdroppers, told them everything about Vincent's strange confrontation with The Puppeteer, its revelations, and its subsequent defeat. His story was imperfect because Vincent's own retelling had been imperfect when he had relayed the tale to The La'ark. He avoided looking at the shandan when Sperloc mentioned the Black Heralds, but he could feel them tense up. When he was finished, there was only silence.

  "Cordell," Menik said, "Do you have anything to add to this?"

  "Is this true?" Madrian added.

  Vincent took a deep breath. "That's what happened, more or less."

  "I do not understand, when it summoned the storm, you had a vision of your past?" Tuls asked.

  "Yeah. But I don't want to talk about it." He never divulged the details of that memory to anybody, about the kitten being burned alive in front of him. Childhood trauma was not something he was ready to share. He just said it was unpleasant.

  "Why would it do that?" the relos wondered.

  "I don't know," Vincent said.

  "But that was not the first time this happened, was it Cordell?" Sperloc said, "You pursued the storms because they had your memories."

  "W-what?"

  "That was your true motive, was it not? The La'ark told me everything after we left Crefield."

  "Sper, what are you talking about?" Madrian asked.

  "Ask him!" Sperloc demanded, "Because the tales he told about having visions from above?"

  "–I never said that!" Vincent snapped.

  "–They are a bucket of landrider shit!"

  "I never said I had visions from above!" Did it really matter though? Divine visions, visions of mysterious origin, a lie was a lie.

  "You will tell everybody why you really came," Sperloc hissed, "or else I will do it for you."

  Vincent focused intently on the empty fireplace, wanting nothing more than to go up in flames inside of it. Of course Sperloc would find out about his lie. He was a historian. The La'ark probably told him all about it. How long had he known? Sometime after they left Crefield, perhaps? How come he never told the others?

  "Cordell," Jeris said, "What is he talking about?"

  "I…" Vincent was struggling to find the words. "When I came into your world…I had amnesia. A lot of my memories were missing."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean…they were missing, like I said. Like, huge chunks of my life were ripped from my mind. But when I encountered those storms, I got some of them back. That's why I asked to come on the expedition."

  "…What?" he heard Madrian whisper.

  Vincent grabbed onto one hand with the other and started digging his claws into the back of his palm. He was not ready for this and he silently cursed Sperloc for forcing this confrontation even though deep down, he knew the shandan deserved to know the truth.

  "People like me," he continued, "people who have the Bane, we're a joke. Our minds fight us, make us believe crazy shit. If I don't want to be like them, I have to fight back against my condition every damn moment. I have to hide it! So when I realized my memories were missing, it scared me. Like, I thought your world was a dream, you all know that, right?" He looked around at them. "I got into an accident, fell unconscious, then I dreamt that I was kidnapped and thrown into this place." Every syllable, every utterance weighed heavily on his tongue. "That's what I thought, anyway. That all of this was a delusion..."

  He was tired of it all. He just wanted nothing more than to rest.

  "Go on!" Sperloc gestured.

  Vincent shot him a look filled with daggers. When he continued, his words had fangs and a familiar venom burned in his chest. "I didn't want to fucking wake up on Earth and think I was the Saedharu. Prophecies? Are you fucking kidding me? Me? Save the world? Or whatever the Saedharu is supposed to do? That's bullshit! Who the hell would believe in that?"

  Air hissed through his nostrils as he bit down on his lip. "Well I'll tell you who…a fucking schizo like me. If I don't fight the bullshit, that's what'll happen. But without my memories, I can't fight it! How can I if I don't remember my past? It made me susceptible to that kind of crap! And people like me…are already susceptible to it! You know I met a schizo who thought he was a fucking fairy?"

  "A fairy?" he heard somebody mutter. Madrian and Jeris exchanged looks. Vincent's memories kept coming back and with them, came fresh new anger because they provided more context to his fears.

  "Yes! A grown man in his forties!" he said, "He thought he was a fairy! He had some other shit wrong with him too besides schizophrenia, but he couldn't get a job, he wasted his family's funds to buy fairy bullshit! He thought the voices in his head were…" He stumbled over his words and gestured with his hands, trying to convey the madness of it all. "He never fought it! He just gave in! Never took his meds or anything! Claimed they suppressed who he really was! And I'm supposed to become like him?! With this Saedharu bullshit?! Wake up in the hospital with brain damage thinking I'm a hero in another world like some fucking otherkin?! It's a sick joke!"

  "Otherkin?" Madrian repeated, raising a brow. "What is an otherkin?"

  "Nobody was telling you that you were the Paradox," Sperloc chuffed, "From my understanding, there was debate among scholars, but no declaration was made."

  "It didn't matter man…your world was a conspiracy. My condition is just that: a condition. But sometimes it feels like it's sentient and that it's out to get me and so, I have to treat it like it is. My brain was trying to tell me that I was the Saedharu. I couldn't afford to let it. People who believe in that kind of shit, irrational, delusional people, they can only cause harm. It's their fucking nature."

  He was seething now. His words sounded psychotic, but the memories, no longer hidden behind fog, fueled them. Almost all the pain in his life and all the pain he had caused others stemmed from irrationality and delusional thinking. Those who called him possessed, the crazy shit he did because of his condition, the people who blamed him for things he didn't even do, everything. Uninhibited irrationality is akin to collateral and he loathed people who practiced it. And since schizophrenia is a delusion factory, he loathed himself for having it. It made him a weak, easy target.

  His existence made him a culprit. Schizos were the villains in everybody's story. They were the serial killers, the rapists, and the cultists. So the only viable option was to suppress it and hide it. Cynicism, meds, and self-denial were his weapons. Self-acceptance was an illusion and a trap. How safe was such a thing when one can't tell reality from madness?

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  But as he fumed over this, the memories from the storms seemed to resonate stronger than the others, especially the last one with the squealing kitten. He remembered Deonte's rage, hot and pure. When he continued with his admission, his words had lost their edge. He told them everything. Why he did it, why he had been driven to lie.

  The shandan were in disbelief, of course, though not quite angry as he expected them to be. He expected outrage. Instead, they were merely befuddled and confused. Like Thal'rin, they struggled to understand the existential crisis at play. Madrian thought his actions were moronic and reckless. The others echoed his sentiment. But they did not condemn him.

  "Well now you know the truth," Vincent said. His voice was almost devoid of inflection. "There's blood on my hands…"

  "Blood on your hands?" Madrian repeated.

  "We never would have gone into that storm…"

  "Never would have stopped it either," M'kari said.

  Vincent was taken aback. It was true, of course. If he had not come along, that storm would have hit Heldair and more lives would have been lost. It was a fact that had not fully registered with him at the time because it had been overshadowed by his own guilt. He had warded this world off with cynicism and doubt. Rage had been his crutch. It was not until he heard the screams and felt the warmth of viscera against his flesh that those doubts began to shatter. He did not feel like he saved anybody.

  "You stopped the Puppeteer as well," Jeris said. A few others nodded in agreement. Vincent did not want to speak. He did not even want to open his mouth. If he did, he would break. So, he kept his jaw clenched and stared at the grains in the table in front of him.

  "Oy, are you going to say something?" Menik asked.

  He bit his lip and avoided their gaze. A silent profanity escaped his lips. "I'm not a hero," he whispered.

  "Speak louder."

  "I'm not a hero. I was being manipulated. I didn't want to give a shit about this world. It's the meddler. They, they did it. Whoever they are, they played me."

  "You picked up your wing," Menik said.

  "…What?"

  "Remember Telo One-Wing? His wing had been severed. But he picked it back up and used it as a weapon in the battlefield against his enemies. Your mind was taken but you weaponized this. Whether the storms were stopped because your causes were noble, it does not matter. Your rack was uncapped, but the result was the same. You have a power and you used it to stop the storm entity. So get a hold of yourself before you start crying and sniveling."

  Vincent could feel his eyes glassing over. He bit his lip and kept nodding, though he was not sure why. It took an incredible amount of willpower and control to pull himself together. The past few days had been a never-ending nightmare. Part of him had been convinced that the zeffyr was some sort of retribution for his sins. He did not know how badly he needed somebody to tell him that he was not the villain that he thought he was. It was a pitiful thing.

  "Are you well, Brother?" Tuls asked.

  "You're making it worse…" Vincent said, "But I'll be fine." He shot Sperloc a brief look.

  "They had to know," the tuhli said, "We will not proceed forward with secrets. I have no shame in bending your wing if it means you do the honorable thing."

  "Yeah…" Vincent nodded, "Yeah…"

  "So, what do we do now?" Menik pondered, "Does anybody believe a Herald did this to him?"

  M'kari snorted, "Ridiculous. Us gloweyes would know if he was Herald-work. The storm entity lied."

  "I have to agree," Tuls said, "It is an unfathomable thing, this claim. He is 'other', that much I know. But to say he is Herald-work…I have given it thought. I do not think it to be true. Plus, the Triasat has made it into his hands. That is providence, is it not?"

  "Providence…" Vincent repeated, "You take a lot of stock in the Triasat marking me as some sort of champion, don't you? You know it belonged to Xalix, right?"

  "But it made it into your hands. It has been bonded to you," Tuls said, "Anything that was Herald-work would be undone by such a substance, I would have to think. Therefore, the storm entity had to be lying."

  Though Vincent was in quite a state, he could not turn off the cynic's mind. The urge to probe and pick apart this logic was strong. However, he stopped himself. He was tired of questioning Falius' insanity.

  "But The La'ark could not risk it," Menik said, as if putting the pieces together. "She had to consider the possibility the Puppeteer was telling the truth. It must be why the Shaydos were sent. The zerok speak to each other too easily. Their 'lips' are loose. But a zerok who cannot speak is good at keeping secrets."

  "Why are you guys so afraid of them anyway?" Vincent asked, "What even are The Black Heralds? When I asked her, she gave me a non-answer. Said you all didn't really know. And I've been left in the dark since. She just told me to keep my mouth shut, or else there would be a target on my back."

  "And there was," Sperloc said, "Jalhara found out. Somebody sent a zeffyr."

  "We do not know that's why they sent it, do we?" Menik asked.

  "I can think of no other reason," the tuhli said, "We do not know what goes into the ritual, only that it comes at a great personal cost to Jalhara."

  "Personal cost is right," Madrian simmered, "They declared war."

  "The point is their reasons would not be trivial," Sperloc said.

  "You all didn't answer me," Vincent said, "Why are you afraid of the Black Heralds? What did they do?"

  "Because they destroyed the yanai," Sperloc said.

  "The what?"

  "When our world was birthed," Tuls said, "The Weaver created with his flames three sibling races. Groundwalkers. Zerok. And the third race, the Yanai."

  "The Lost Ones," Sperloc said, "That is another name for them. They were said to be a great people and all cultures attest to this. Dig into their lore and you will find the yanai's touch. Of course legends are rife with hyperbole. But they were supposed to be a glorious race. Powerful. Abundant in lore and knowledge."

  Vincent had not considered the possibility of a third race inhabiting Falius. Though he seemed to vaguely recall Thal'rin mentioning the name.

  "But they were brought to their knees by the Heralds and wiped from this world," Sperloc continued, "Their cities, their lore, everything. It was not a war, but a genocide. Naikira Laneus stopped the Heralds from destroying the rest of us."

  "She said they would return one day," Tuls said, "and she was destined to return with them for a final confrontation, and that it would be a terrible one."

  "Aye, she was a mystic. The Weaver gave her visions and they had a tendency to be prescient," Jeris said.

  "Which is why I said his claims," Sperloc jabbed a finger at Vincent, "would cause schisms if people were to believe them! There are many cultures who believe it would be better to die than to live through the Heralds' return. Their blights upon this world were said to ruin the soul. To even utter their name is considered an attack on the ears!"

  "Oy, what did your captor look like, Cordell?" Menik asked.

  "What?"

  "The one who brought you into our world. That was never described to us."

  Vincent immediately went on high alert and the room felt too small all of a sudden. The air became thick and stuffy.

  "I told them I didn't want to talk about it," he said.

  "You are among friends, Vincent," Tuls said.

  "I don't want to talk about it here either."

  "That is your right, brother. But I just wanted to let you know you are among friends." Tuls spoke as if he were sending an encoded message. There were hints in his ember eyes. Vincent knew Tuls was telling the truth. He could sense the emotions of the shandan in the room.

  Vincent took a deep breath. "I don't…I don't know," he said, "I can't describe it. It was dark. But I could 'sense' it. I could feel it coming at me with a bunch of limbs. But it was also like it didn't have any limbs at all. It was like smoke. When it attacked, I tried to hit it–" A flash of memory hit him like a bullet. "–but my hand, it just passed right through." He remembered something holding him in place. He tried swinging at his assailant, but his hands found no purchase. "The only thing I saw…was the stinger."

  "The stinger?" Madrian repeated.

  "Yeah. That's how it turned me. It was some sort of venom. And…that's all I'm going to say." It's all he remembered too.

  "Then that will be enough," Menik said. A silence settled in the room, a quiet that was only punctuated by Vincent's own respiration. He needed to calm down. He was safe…he was safe…

  "Mother Naikira described them as being as ineffable as fog," Tuls said, "Abstract, untouchable. Their appearance defied description, but they left destruction in their wake."

  "Cordell's description does not mean it was a Herald," M'kari said, "Echoes cannot be seen or touched. Yet they are known to grab. We do not call them Black Heralds."

  Vincent remembered when he had encountered an "echo" at The Gash. Something invisible had grabbed onto his leg and tried to pull him down the ladder. It was terrifying, but it was nothing compared to Girashnal's attack. He was glad he could not remember the finite details. Just the thought of it was suffocating him.

  "How many of them were there?" he asked, though he was afraid of the answer.

  "Four that we know of," Sperloc said, "The Rot, The Dreamseeker, The Susurrate, and…" he hesitated for a moment, "The Hunter."

  "'They were blasphemies incarnate,” Tuls said, clearly reciting some passage, “'Their gods are mockery and devastation. They lay waste to nations and use their dead cities as beds on which to rest. The Rot laughs as it sows sickness and blights. The Hunter thirsts for the blood of innocents. The Dreamseeker ruins the spirit. The Susurrate speaks from the shadows, its foul words spreading like disease. Every syllable it utters is carrion.' "

  "Yes, we know of Naikira's accounts, thank you," Sperloc said.

  "Vincent does not," Tuls countered.

  "How did she beat them?" Vincent asked.

  "She had a conduit and a helper: The Guardian of the Mists," Menik said.

  "Guardian of the Mists?" Vincent repeated.

  "She never went into detail. She only said it was an entity that had been with her since her childhood, a being whose power rivaled that of a conduit-wielder's. It appeared as an enemy first, but she tamed it."

  "That is a common, yet improper translation," Sperloc said, "In her script, eclast, the original word meant something far deeper than 'tame'. She humbled the entity, but it was not through a display of power. She did not overcome it in a conflict of wills or through physical force. The word she used, that often gets mistranslated as 'tame', was only used by her people in the context of establishing a deep friendship. But that is a whole other discussion and I am not in the mood to delve into semantics."

  "Sperloc is right," Tuls said, "There was no 'taming'. Before I became a relos, my paths involved history and theology. Delve deep into the lore, you will find accounts that considered Naikira and The Mist Guardian as equals in terms of power. We know this from secondhand accounts, but more importantly, she has said it was one of the closest friends she ever had. Which is why its betrayal shattered her."

  "Mmm…the forming of The Hallowed Scar," Madrian said.

  "The Hallowed Scar?" Vincent asked.

  "It is where Naikira faced The Black Heralds," Sperloc said, "For all other conflicts, The Guardian of The Mists was there by her side. But when she faced the destroyers of the yanai and called for its aid, it did not answer."

  "I have been reading that passage lately," Tuls said. There was an unfocused look in his eyes. "In her last journal, she claimed she had been abandoned. The guardian had been her lifelong companion and yet it was nowhere to be found. Its absence shattered her soul and left her on the verge of despair. You read the words…and you can hear her weeping."

  "And yet she faced the Heralds nonetheless," Menik said.

  "Yes," Tuls said, "it is that passage in particular I focus on. Her last lines address the Weaver himself. She tells him she is broken and begs for his aid and asks him for respite. One can practically hear the weeping in her words." "Her last words: 'I am calm now. I fulfill this part of your plan'," M'kari said.

  "Then she went off to confront the Heralds," Tuls continued, "There was a clash so great, it shook the lands. Even the sky itself was said to be shattered. When it was over, they were gone. Naikira, The Heralds, vanished without a trace. In her darkest moment, she won."

  "How…long ago did this happen?" Vincent asked.

  "Three thousand years," Menik said.

  Vincent lowered his snout into his hands and rubbed his temples. Three millennia…these people were acting off information that was three millennia old.

  "Is that skepticism I hear in your groaning?" Sperloc asked.

  "I don't know," Vincent said, "Yes, maybe." "Mmf. Skepticism is healthy. It keeps the mind sharp and allows you to see all the landrider shit the world has to offer. But there is a saying among tuhli: Every myth, every legend has an origin in truth. If a hundred cultures across several countries have tales of a great plague that ravaged the populace, one can surmise that there really was an illness, even if those cultures took liberties with the retelling. The Black Heralds are found in every peoples' history. Just like the Saedharu itself."

  Vincent did not know what to make of that comparison. "But you said they were defeated," he said.

  "They vanished," Sperloc said, "But nobody found any corpses. Not that they would recognize what a Black Herald's corpse would look like. Nobody knows what Naikira did. She could have sealed them away or banished them to another realm. All we know is that her writings claim that they will return. And her predictions have turned out to be prescient."

  "Didn't she say that one of the signs of their imminent return was that the two sibling races would end a bitter feud that had lasted generations, and become allies?" Tuls asked.

  Sperloc glared at him. "Yes…she did. But the zerok and groundwalkers have had many conflicts with each other. We become enemies, then become allies, only to become enemies and allies again. You can find correlation anywhere your will desires. One can look in a latrine and find signs of prophecy if they try hard enough."

  "I don't know what Girashnal did to me," Vincent said, cutting Tuls off before he could respond. "I don't know why he chose me or what he hopes I will do. But if he is a Black Herald, then I hate them just as much as you guys do. You have to believe me. I didn't ask for this Black Herald, Saedharu bullshit."

  He felt like he was being watched by the Heralds right now. They picked somebody volatile and unstable to enact their fucked up plans, whatever those plans may be. Sighing, Menik produced a dagger and placed it in Vincent's hand.

  "What…what's this for?" Vincent asked, bewildered

  "I am giving it to you," Menik said.

  “What for?”

  "I want you to go over and stab Madrian."

  Madrian raised a brow. "What?" he asked.

  "Yeah…what?" Vincent was not sure he heard Menik correctly.

  "Walk over there and stab Madrian."

  Vincent scrutinized Menik's snout. He still found it difficult to read their expressions, so he could not tell if the shandan was being serious.

  "I don't get it," he said, giving the dagger back.

  "I gave you a weapon. I told you to stab Madrian. You refused. Whatever brought you to our world, whatever it hopes you do, you are still your own man."

  “Yeah, I know,” Vincent sighed.

  In some ways, Menik reminded him of Deonte. At this thought, a memory suddenly returned: Deonte was scolding him. Vincent had skipped school to spend time at an arcade. By happenstance, Deonte had been walking by and saw him in there playing Mortal Kombat. He promptly dragged him out and while he promised not to tattle to Vincent's parents, Deonte threatened him with hell to pay if he ever got caught playing hooky again. The man cared about him.

  "So, what do we do now?" Vincent asked, after quickly recovering from the surge of memories. "Thal'rin said he was going to get here in a few days."

  "We stay here and wait," Menik said, "There are wards all around the monastery and it is well-guarded. You should be safe here, but we are not to let down our guard. Though we are near a liacyte surge and we are safe from another zeffyr attack, you are to stay near us. Jalhara rustled the crawler nests…there is no telling what will become of this."

  As if on cue, a knock came at the door. Jeris walked over and opened it.

  "Forgive me for interrupting," Gelani said as he walked in. He was followed by a newcomer, a thin, grizzled Falian with an ebony snout. Yellow lines followed his jawline. Adorning his figure was a dark blue, almost black tunic with a zerok eye depicted on his chest. Though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, there was a haunted look in his intense grey eyes. He surveyed the room until his eyes locked on Vincent.

  "You may leave us now, Gelani," he said. His voice was deep, aged, and calm.

  "Will there be anything you need?" Gelani asked.

  "Only privacy."

  Gelani folded his wings in front of him, left, and shut the door.

  "Shandan, welcome to Gullreach," he said, "I am Salan, the Intermediary."

  The shandan reacted by standing erect, bowing their heads and folding their wings in front of their chest. Vincent, attempting to follow their lead, had to grab his wings and force them into place. He had no idea who Salan was, but clearly he was important.

  "A thousand mountains are falling," he said. Vincent recalled Thal'rin uttering the same phrase when they first met. "Ayrlon's tear…the storm entity, a Jalharan attack. And an otherworlder." He looked at Vincent. "I assume that is you? You are' Vincent Cordell?' You come from…another world?"

  "Yes," Vincent said. Salan's eyes bored into him.

  "I find myself doubting that. If I had not heard the zerok whispering of a being with strange waves, I would give it no credence. Nevertheless, I have been privy to your existence from the moment Kirlon met with the syredel representatives in Meldohv. I will treat you as an ambassador to our lands. I am the Intermediary. That is, I am the groundwalker voice for Nextriix, the Mother of Gullreach. I am not the only voice…but I am in charge of all voices who walk on two legs."

  "I'm…not sure I understand," Vincent said, "I thought Kirlon was the representative?"

  "I cannot fly to other lands and represent Gullreach," Salan said, "That is Kirlon's job. The Shard has been home to the zerok for ages. It has been their sanctuary and their fortress. No groundwalker is allowed to visit it except for those like me, whose role it is to establish and maintain a link between the zerok and the city. I am to ensure we remain good stewards of the land they have granted us. The Shard and the grounds surrounding it are sacred. We shall not blaspheme either with our steps."

  Vincent was not sure what he should say.

  "Nextriix and her brood welcome you all," Salan looked around at the soldiers, "And so, I welcome you. We are one feather."

  "Aye, we are," Menik said.

  "The chain speaks," Salan continued, referring to the network of zerok scattered across Admoran. "They relay news of your comrades. Most survived the zeffyr attack. But a few of the wounded passed. In the effort to escape, it is my understanding that their injuries from the conflict in Crefield opened up and rotwater got in their wounds. They became infected and fevers took them. The fire brothers are alive and are leading the rest of the expedition while Gullreach continues their rescue efforts. All things considered…it is a miracle that more lives were not taken. But there could be more deaths we are unaware of."

  Vincent didn't know what rotwater was. He had never heard of it. But his mind drifted back to the soldier with the mangled wings.

  "Fires rage across the mountains," Salan continued, "Villages are being evacuated. Smoke and poisons from the burning pollute the air. Rivers run black with ash and soot. Water wards and propellents are being deployed to put the fires out, and the fires themselves summon storms. I am told the land is forever changed." Though Salan remained composed, Vincent could hear fury and pain constricting his voice. "As of now, the fliers of Gullreach are still assessing the devastation. News of the attack has not yet reached the rest of The Shard. But it will, and I predict there will be a knelling. And that is all that I have to say for now. I wanted to come here and meet all of you and deliver this news."

  "Thank you," Menik said, "for the hospitality and the word on our brothers."

  Salan grunted in acknowledgement. "For now, you will stay here," he said, "Rest. Relax if you are able. The Atla Monastery is vast, with many things to keep you occupied. There are training grounds if you wish to train. There are meditation chambers if you wish to send off those that were lost. There is a library, if you wish to read. And there is a hot spring for guests to use. There is even a brewery with spirits made by the Bound Ones themselves. Consider this your home for the time being. But you must not leave these grounds…not yet. Not while this situation is still developing."

  "We understand," Menik said, "and we thank you again."

  "If you need anything, Gelani will help you. Or ask any of the Bound Ones for guidance," Salan turned to Vincent. "Vincent Cordell, I am sure we will speak again soon." Then he folded his wings in front of his chest and left.

  "What are 'Bound Ones'?" Vincent asked.

  "They run the monastery," Tuls said, "They have sworn full devotion to living a life of service and meditation. This is symbolized by the ropes they've bound around their wings. They are like the Silent Ones…only instead of living a life of silence and asceticism, they focus on hospitality."

  Vincent didn't know what the Silent Ones were, though he heard Thal'rin mention them before. After they left the meeting room, he accompanied the shandan to a meditation chamber, where they would send off the fallen. Imagery of an all-seeing eye wrapped in divine flames adorned the wall of the dome-shaped room. It was the same imagery Thal'rin had in his guest room back in Meldohv Syredel.

  The eye represented the Weaver and the flames represented his fire. Their tongues wrapped around a pit in the middle of the floor. A few of the Bound Ones stacked some sticks and small logs, then lit them. The fire was not big enough to provide much warmth. In fact, the pit itself was little more than a brazier. The Bound Ones left a bowl of resin next it and departed, leaving the shandan alone.

  He did not partake in their ritual. Instead, he stood by and watched as Menik took a handful of the resin and threw it into the flames. A strong odor arose, fragrant like incense, yet pungent like burning tires. He invoked the names of Falius' champions: Naikira Herald-Slayer, Telo One-Wing, and a few others whose names Vincent did not recognize. He felt like an intruder on this practice. Shame burned within him just like the fires that consumed the resin. Still, he felt as if a tremendous weight had been taken from his shoulders.

  I am also unsure of whether I like the shandan's reactions to this revelation. On one hand, I did not want a prolonged melodrama. They were going to find out eventually, which is why I had Sperloc reveal Vincent's true intentions. I wanted to clear the air between him and his escorts so I didn't have to deal with a soap opera. On the other hand, I feel like the shandan's reactions are way too lax. I feel like they should be more upset? I don't know what a realistic reaction to any of this would be. Which bugs the crap out of me because I don't want Vincent to be surrounded by two dimensional "yes men". They need to be fully-fleshed characters with their own desires.

  I am open to any feedback.