CW:

  Pretty cleeeean mupply chappy! Only a few little thoughts about deserving tragedy. not too whirly rough.

  “What is Amwella?” I ask everyone and no one the question I’ve spent the past week trying to answer in earnest.

  Something even my ancient library has no real reply to. Oh, it certainly can talk about the topic for many thousands of pages. Endlessly explain what Amwella can do. How it can be made to fuel Wretched Incantations. Even the nature of its withering and dead should it leave a host’s flesh. More than before, now that I’ve devoted so much to tuning my Amwella back to thrive within the Rifts of the Dream.

  But as to the what? It’s becoming more and more apparent that none of the many writers had more than general theories or observations. Can’t actually explain why we die without some of the soulflame.

  Only Ovellen’s journal seemed to grasp at… something. An idea of why the tuning matters. Like myself and Awnya did all those months ago. The hypothesis that the Dream really is the remains of a Goddess whose will seeks to–

  “If you don’t go get some rest now, I’m going to call in Matron Awnya or Lyra to drag you to bed.” Wren threatens from her own workstation.

  Can’t help but feel such a twitch roll from my headstalks at that, glance over at the vibrantly colored woman. Grinning at her words. “Now… Why would you do something like that? I’ve worked longer hours than even this more times than I can count. And besides, I’m on the verge of understanding. I know it.”

  She ripples in the way I’ve come to observe as an amused rolling of her gemstone eyes. “No, you’re thinking in wibbly circles. I can tell.”

  “Thought you couldn’t sense a soul’s considerations, Lady Wren?”

  “Don’t need to from how your Amwella has spiraled and rippled in the same direction for the past hour.” She replies with a shrug.

  “Really? That’s… Fascinating. Body language of the spirit?” I ask. “We’ve only talked briefly about that. But I seem to recall you saying it wasn’t a good place to focus our energy and time. Could you elaborate on why?”

  “Only if you promise to go find one of your lovers to snuggle with, or join them in bed if they’re already sleeping.” She offers.

  And… I can’t help but smile and nod. Any worry I had about losing a good thought path that could lead to some grand discovery calmed.

  “I promise. Now…” I agree, close all the tomes I was working over after marking their pages. Settling for a single small notebook to jot down my thoughts on her explanations. “Why is pursuing the path of spiritual body language an inefficient use of our time and focus?”

  Already guess at the answer, but… want her to explain it. From the perspective of someone who senses the world so differently than any other.

  “First, Each soul is too different, and everyone would have to be studied personally and individually to establish any commonality.” She doesn’t even seem to adjust her focus from the little series of plants we’ve wove Amwella into as she explains. “Second. Everyone changes too quickly. And not in a manner that follows the kind of logic you’d expect. Trauma is the only thing that can force a deliberate shift. And it’s often… really defensive. Protective. Doesn’t actually tell you about the person as they are resorting to feeling what keeps them safe and little else.”

  Nod solemnly at that last point as I close the notebook without making a mark, set aside the quill. Deciding to treat this as a personal explanation and not a research topic. “And I’m guessing physical signals are just as simple, if not more, to read? Even amidst the sea of differently shaped sorts?”

  “Mhm. Yup.” She confirms. “That was my fourth point.”

  “Did you have a fifth?” I ask gently, expected to be shooed off into the arms of my lovers.

  But Wren surprises me, seems to wiggle in almost… worried patterns

  “Just… that Amwella is… it’s kinda scary? To look at for too long, I mean.” She murmurs, pausing. “And this is coming for a girl who needs to eat soulflame to survive.”

  That, though, surprises me. Not the feeding part. I knew that. And know that when Lady Wren slerps soulflame it is as others take part in an Amwella dance.

  “How so?”

  “Like… I dunno. Just thinking about what Lyra told you all about the Dead Dreamer and the Blighted Sea and like… How much that resonated with my experiences of chewing on the stuff from my favorite people for years and years. Amwella feels so different from everything else in the Rifts. Wrong, in some ways. Might be why without it people die. It’s keeping Her away, while also hiding inside our bodies.”

  “That is an interesting aspect to it all.” I murmur. “The way the Fae tell it, their first kind were like Lyra. From outside the Rifts. Brought their warmth here and helped burn the Dream into something livable.”

  “I don’t trust the Fae’s tales. They… love to forget fact and replace it with either something more interesting or something more flattering to their kind. And um…” Lady Wren pauses, seems to think on something for a few seconds, then just ripples like others would huff and looks back to me. “And Lyra never tasted like other Fae. Nor like someone Blighted. She was just… sweet snuggly warm while other Fae I’ve had the displeasure to bite were… like… sparkly and popping. Honestly, Everflames and Fae taste more alike than Lyra does to them.”

  That… Really is fascinating. Especially since I’ve had it confirmed now by Lyra’s mother that she never gifted her last daughter the Spark that allows forest creatures to spark Amwella.

  “If… I may ask a question? With full promises of it not being something meant to harm or insult, would you allow that before I depart?”

  She nods without hesitations. “Of course.”

  “What did you think my Beloved was?” Is my question. “Those years ago when she spent time with you and your lovers?”

  “Oh… um…” She goes a little still. “Honestly? Matron? I had no idea. None of us did. Other than she was a Reaver. A soul drinker for hire, and her keeper was really scary. If… I had been forced to guess back then, I’d have offered that she seemed a human girl who’d been mutilated in soul, but survived. Consumed others to keep her Amwella stable. Because she um… had little panics. Things that tore her up. And we knew she hadn’t eaten anyone since killing a sibling of Raska’s. I was worried she was either starving or having withdrawals since they were getting worse over our month or so together.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Waking Nightmares? And this… was all before her consumption of Furthonois. Which, despite the threats from within as Spirits bubbled, might… have stabilized that. The Godthings of the Rifts consume soulflame as easily as others drink wine or water. So… Did Thendra keep her so well fed to keep those at bay as well?

  Was it all just Amwella Feasting Addiction I was too ignorant to see and able to help?

  “Um… Matron?” Wren whispers, causing me to twitch from my muses.

  “Hm? Yes?”

  “Your soul’s spinning again.” She chuckles.

  I can’t help but let out a huff of laughter myself, standing. “So it is, and I am a woman of my word. Thank you for your time and company, Lady Wren. Please ensure you spend some time with your lovers today as well.”

  “I will. And you're welcome.” She agrees and returns to her work.

  The path I take back to my Beloveds is not a straight one. Winding through one of the larger and newer communities being established. One filled with partially old members of growing sections willing to weave themselves into the lives of newer souls only recently pulled from Theradas.

  I don't spark up Amwella sight. Even if my eyes weren’t already weary from my work and soul content to just… walk amidst the crowd bustling through.

  While many know my face, long passing are the days myself and Awnya try to manage these good works. The current caretakers of the masses don’t even need to speak directly to our manor. All the basic needs are readily supplied, and any emergency will set our home to call the appropriate soul to help. Very rarely even needs to prod this place’s Matrons to action.

  And… I prefer it that way. In both principle and function. Ruling over people was the delight of my late Matron, and even at least one of my mothers. And after I’d first lost my Beloved and was still trying to grapple with the new budding relationship with Awnya… I struggled. To care for others as one with my power should. Gave away as much influence as I could while focusing on the logistics of creating a self-sustaining community, scheming out the motions to keep my Awnya safe, and… well, trying to find my magic again.

  Wasn’t even angry or bitter about that, honestly. Never… really got the chance to be.

  There was a symmetry in my death, reviving, and following hobbling of power. It felt like a punishment for my past mistakes. So every hard endeavor to reclaim the ability to Incant the Wretched Workings I’d once been so skilled at felt deserved.

  Payment long overdue finally being collected. In all things honestly.

  And soon only a quiet hallway sits before me. Not an overmuch amount either. Just a short path before… ah.

  Smile at the clear message two have now pressed. First Lady Wren, after a long span of research and experiments and other such slow but insistent work, and now… our manor.

  “Of course.” I murmur to it in one of the softer languages it’s grown accustomed to as I stop before the doorway it’s pointedly set as my obvious closure to this day. “Thank you for your patience with me.”

  Then I approach, draw forth the key, and open the door to our private chambers.

  Find it dark, with both my Beloveds, plus one more, nuzzled happily and deep in sleep.

  Lyra’s in the middle, as always. Don’t even bother shifting to spot souls to know that her tendrils stretch out to both sway calmly while a few grip at all other souls about her. Can… already guess that one will sense my arrival soon and hold me just like these other two.

  Awnya, at her front. Face mushed to our Beloved’s chest while arms entwine about them.

  And Raska, pressed to Lyra’s back and gripping her belly to pull ever closer. Like the shell of some big crab. And… quite humorously, Awnya’s back is just at the edge of our side. Leaving the place I normally lie far too small.

  I could, of course, wake them. Try to scoot the bunch. But…

  This Everflame has quickly come to enjoy skinship with Awnya, and once even I drooped into a short slumber against her one relaxing day in a Grove. And apparently she enjoyed how my Headstalks hugged at her while I slept.

  So I crawl up carefully, slowly, and wiggle myself up and into her back. Focus for a moment to ensure my Headstalks don’t overmuch start toying with her hair like they tend to my Beloveds, and then carefully link my arms and hand about till I find others to rest against.

  Fall into rest as I feel our Lyra’s tendrils find and wriggle to nuzzle my Amwella alongside a few of our children, quite enjoying the scent of soot and embers this Everflame smolders with.

  ** ** **

  “Everflame Mictrikia, thank you for joining us.” I greet Raska’s sibling as she enters the room we’ve chosen for this.

  Oddly… I have enjoyed seeing my old family’s home reclaimed and redecorated. The group we’ve trusted to handle those that may wish to live away from this Rift and within our manor have organized it to serve a myriad of purposes. Both housing souls as they consider, and also distribution of food and supplies our home produces in excess while working with a group below to begin growing crops here about the new lake below.

  We’d ask them to find us a quiet but large room we could share a meal with this Envoy. Nothing too fanciful, but comfortable and furnished.

  “Course.” They nod and look about the room, Scarlett spark-flame eyes dancing with curiosity before they move to the seat across the table from us. Gaze settling back on our group as they smirk. “Was glad to see my sis track me so easily too. Cities like this can be a maze and I was right and properly lost.”

  “Just followed the soot trail.” Raska lies easily, moving to sit next to her sibling. Reaching out to lift up a piece of fruit amidst a platter and begin chewing on it.

  Of course Lyra could sense the Everflame and point Raska to the exact location. Ensuring a message quickly delivered, gentle acknowledgement of our ability to keep an eye on them, and to make sure Mictrikia was everything Raska promised they would be. A polite guest with more patience than most Everflames can hold.

  “Honestly, I’m glad you’ve been exploring.” Awnya interjects, “Our girl here said you travel all over the Dream, have been here before, so… what do you think of the new Theradas?”

  Mictrikia reaches out to pluck one of the odder objects the manor has grown. Takes a few heartbeats to consider it before answering. “It’s a mess. A good one. Soft even. But… Well, you gutted all the old strength from this place. Left only the slaves and servants and small sorts without much flame to burn with. And to hear everyone tell it, your Goddess did that without even being seen. Same as the lake bubbling up below. And you’re dragging supplies to sustain the mess from some sister Rift that is basically a one way trip for anyone not helping you all directly. So… I’m burning with fascination and guesses as to how this all happened.”

  “Oh? We’d love to hear most or some of them.” I offer and lean forward, ignoring all the food and trying to read this Everflame like only our Beloved can.

  They drop the morsel after a small nibble to grin at me. “Not sure about this sister Rift, but… I only know one type that can slip about as quiet as she’d need to be. And with Matron Awnya here… Well, your Goddess is Fae too. Yeah? And she’s probably either close by or in this room with us right now. Still invisible I’m thinking?”

  We’d been curious how long we’d be able to speak with this Everflame before they’d guess at that last part. Even Lyra being Fae was something within our anticipations. So my quirked eyebrow is a calm thing. Know that Awnya probably is only showing surprise as our Everflame lets out a sigh while eyeing me.

  And even our Lyra. Sitting at Awnya’s side near the end of the table, doesn’t flinch at the words she probably felt bubbling up.

  “Those are impressive guesses.” I affirm without hesitation. “The Goddess is Fae, and is able to weave songs like no others. Protects this Rift in such a way that should keep all sorts from considering threatening what is hers.”

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