The constant buzzing drove Sunday mad as he fell through an impossible night sky, constantly breaking into countless little bits and becoming whole again, as if Chaotic Step was malfunctioning. This was nothing like the meeting with the young master. The silhouette had been there for but a moment, before his talent had gone crazy and he was flung through existence without a care.

  Now he was disoriented, panicked, and worst of all, absolutely helpless to change anything. No talents nor spells responded to his call, and he felt naked in desperation. It didn’t feel like some sort of an out-of-body experience. It all felt too real, in fact. Especially the constant shifting into the chaotic realm his talent showed him. The whole experience made him appreciate his spells more, as they had always been there for him even if he had treated them as simple tools.

  The clouds parted before Sunday as his body fell through them only for the buzzing to strengthen again. It was as if his foot pushed away from a hard surface to accelerate, and a moment later he was mere feet away from the top of a stone tower. He caught a glimpse of the dark fortress surrounded by mountains it belonged to, before bracing for impact.

  For once he was grateful as all faded into tiny dots and lines and he passed harmlessly through the stone.

  He crumbled onto the floor and looked around in panic. He was glad to be touching something solid, but his mind was too shaken to appreciate the relief. Was this supposed to be part of his reward? If so, maybe failing would’ve been better. Chaos swirled around him, making the world seem like a reflection on a grainy lake’s surface. There was nothing for him to vomit, and for the first time, he lamented the inability to do so. Any sort of relief would’ve been appreciated.

  “Will I burn for having doubts? Is that why you brought me here?” a voice spoke with trepidation.

  Sunday instantly quietened down. The accent was strange, and the words were even stranger. This was a language he had not heard before but understood. Shadows played all over as three massive bonfires raged from stone and steel braziers as wide as a table and as tall as a doorway. He was crouched behind one of them, obscured by the fanning edge. The heat gently brushed against his skin, and he made sure not to touch any of the steel parts melted into the stone.

  “The great God does not punish moments of weakness, General Grivald. It is but a human trait to doubt when faced with perfection. This room is blessed, and so we’re safe of ears. Speak your doubts.”

  There was a pause and a heavy sigh. Sunday crept forward only to stop at the edge of darkness. Chaos swirled even faster around him and for a moment he felt like it was protecting him from something. Was this part of the talent, or a bonus from the one who had thrown him here?

  The hall was almost barebones and was situated in what he assumed was the tower he had seen, or perhaps below it. It was much larger than the tower’s diameter. Underground? The fiery fire in the brazier was picture-perfect, and it took him only moments to realize that the other two were burning just the same. Each flicker of the flames, each tiny gap, each crackle. All lined up in perfect synchrony without an ounce of deviation. It was oddly eerie.

  Far into the other end of the hall, between the other two braziers, were two shadows. One was bulky as if dressed in heavy armor and rose up and down as if taking deep uneven breaths. The other was tall and lanky. There were no chairs or tables. Only the burning fire, and the stone.

  “Is this the fire I keep hearing about?” the general spoke instead. He remained motionless, and it was difficult to see any of his features.

  Sunday remained motionless. He was growing curious now. This was not Blumwin, but the talk of a God had drawn his attention.

  “Underwhelmed? Rest assured. This is but a temporary shelter, created by the will of my Lord. Times are turbulent and with the loss of the mirror lake…”

  “So, it’s true? You have lost your ability to read the fate lines of the world?”

  This sounds familiar…

  “It is so,” the voice answered. “You of all should know that nothing is guaranteed. Like a battlefield, fate always changes, and while we expected the outsiders to interfere, we didn’t know it would be so soon.”

  “I’ve put my armies under your care, Great One. I’ve sword myself and my soldiers to you, who serves a Divine. Don’t tell me it’s all in vain and we’re still doomed. Don’t tell me we’ll fall into madness, after all the trust we’ve shown. The chosen have come, just like it was written, and they sow death and chaos, taking control. I fear—”

  “Please, rest assured general. Your faith in me, and my Lord, will not be misplaced. It is the lesser Divine who drive their followers mad as a means to find some relief from what tortures them. My Lord is many times stronger, and his fire is enough to oppose the plague trying to affect his mind. While the loss of the lake of fates we took after so many sacrifices was unexpected, and I shall bear the scars for all my life, I’ve been given other advantages.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “The alliance of the Emperor with the Corpse Kings weights heavy on us, Great One. We only seek reprieve and salvation from battling the constant horrors coming from the fallen realm.”

  “We know. Our efforts have given fruit. One of the outsiders has sworn fealty to my Lord, and it is a matter of time for them to grow enough and be granted an audience.”

  There was a long pregnant pause as the general seemed to tremble under the flickering shadows.

  “Truly, Great One?”

  The taller figure nodded. “They’re but tools sent to our world bearing great power. Their minds, however, remain simple and easy to—”

  The chaos around Sunday grew frantic and the fire in the braziers exploded in the next moment, creating three pillars that struck the ceiling and covered it in tongues of fire that crawled around like smoke.

  For a moment, Sunday saw the face of the taller figure. A man in red robes, and a scarred face. Cuts littered the space where the eyes were supposed to be, and instead, they were hollows of mangled flesh. Now though, tiny flames filled them.

  “WHO DARES?!” the man yelled.

  Sunday felt an impossible danger rush toward him, and then the world buzzed again, and he was gone. A myriad of tiny pieces of his mind felt the fire lick at his feet as it tried to track him down through the chaotic mess he was thrown into. A heat as grand as an inferno trying to swallow him, and burn him alive.

  It was all lost in a moment, and he fell again. With the familiar coldness of stone beneath him, Sunday looked up terrified. He didn’t make a single noise as darkness slowly parted before his eyes, revealing hanging jagged stalactites.

  Something scratched his conscience and he looked down, only to find himself on a ledge. And below it, he was the universe. Stairwells and alcoves were carved with great skill around the walls, and the interior of it was lavish with rugs and chairs. Figures of all sorts roamed about.

  In the middle of it was something familiar, only many times grander. A cauldron like the one he had seen in the Arcanum. A hole in reality filled with slow swirling chaos. He was confused, but that lasted only for a moment. Panic replaced all else as the stump of his cut-off arm moved. There was a new arm there now. Illusory. A lie that lasted only for a sliver of a moment.

  It was not his and didn’t feel like it was his. It shook and moved, despite Sunday’s attempts to stop it. Something fell from it and into the center of the swirling chaos. He couldn’t see what it was, but the world shook as it touched the darkness.

  Figures rose as the mountain started to shake. Essence exploded and many eyes looked toward his hiding place. A few of the figures flew after him, but before any reached, Chaotic Step activated once again.

  Again, Sunday was falling.

  “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!” he screamed.

  A throne hall. A woman. Young and beautiful, then old and waning, and finally crowned and mighty. She was all three at once, and she met his gaze the moment he appeared in the middle of the hall.

  “So it’s one of you,” she said slowly.

  Guards on all sides rushed forward, drawing their weapons, but she stopped them with a wave of a hand.

  “I thought it a great offense to burn my book so, but now I realize I was given a favor. You will know of my gratitude one day.”

  Sunday opened his mouth in confusion, and then he was in the sky again. Was it the sky or just a sky? He was not sure this was the same world anymore. It was all too much.

  “I’m not your puppet…” he muttered weakly.

  The sensation of helplessness was becoming too overpowering. The night sky smiled mockingly, and Sunday found himself among tall dark trees. The sky was different here and once there was no stone beneath him but grass and earth. It was all oddly warm. Leaves rustled all around him, and a whisper came with the wind as it moved the branches, making them part in all directions.

  “At last, you come to me… friend of CHAOS.”

  A figure of tattered clothes and thinning hair. Boney fingers as long and pointed as daggers. She was all Sunday could see in this moment, and the forest seemed to fade into the background.

  Sunday screamed as the hand reached for him, making the hood covering the face part just enough for him to see his own face. Not the undead one, but his human one. A child lost in the streets of a big city, thieving and lying.

  For once he was thankful when he was whisked away again. He saw the hand and the face follow for a time, but after a brief cackle, the being seemed to give up after leaving a few parting words that sounded like a breath of death.

  “You and I are of the same mettle, and we shall meet again.”

  Sunday wanted to cry as he fell upon familiar black sands. They brought comfort to him, and he let himself sink into their embrace. He didn’t know how long he spent like that, nor did the expectation of being thrown around again disappear. He couldn’t make sense of what was happening, or why he was shown this.

  A wretch clings to the dust of dead Gods, awed by his own gift and having forgotten the words spoken not so long ago.

  The narrator’s voice made Sunday jump up. His mind was reeling, but the ethereal voice brought along some other emotions—emotions that helped him.

  “What words?!” he screamed. “Stop toying with me you fucking bastard!”

  He saw the silhouette in the night sky. The face. It stood there, grinning at him, two red stars for eyes, stardust for the mouth.

  Chaos reigns where order has failed and if one’s mad enough to make use of it, the world will fearfully spin to the whims of a dice! Opportunities lie everywhere, and a shift of perception is all it takes to find them. Take a step and laugh, and cry, both in frustration and joy, and know it is the work of chaos.

  No plans are safe. No plots are absolute. No power is hidden.

  Don’t trip too soon. Don’t fall.

  The silence was almost too much. Sunday stood up, mulling over the words. It was like lightning went off in his brain. He remembered now. The Prophet and his lake shattering like a mirror. The mention of a maiden, crone, and an empress. The one who butchers hope and burns dreams…

  Were all those things shown to him related to the words spoken so long ago? He had ignored it all, accepting it as a feverish dream. Now he was seeing a glimpse of those same people—no. Those same beings. And they knew of him.

  Who was an enemy, and who was a friend? What was the purpose of it all?

  As if reading his mind, the voice of the narrator came again. It was hungry now, enthusiastic. Almost mad.

  Chaos reigns where order has failed. Walk the lines and set forth the events that will turn a falling pebble into a landslide.

  For the last time, Sunday was back at the square in the ancient abandoned city.