Memories

#1 The Fish
Ludomir is knee deep in the river, miserably failing at catching a fish. He would rather be fighting. He would rather be winning prizes, like his father. But Mum says, "fighting is good but not starving is better." Ah. If only he had siblings. He would boss them around - have them do all the fishing.

Ludomir's mind begins to wanter. If the river ends at the edge of the world, and the water falls, how come it never dries out?? Maybe he should explore the edge of the world, one day, even have his own airship! A frozen sensation brings Ludomir back to reality. He is cold, he has bene in the water for so long. He lets out a deep sigh. "Focus on the fish. Now, stand still... Let it come closer... And grab!"

He fails. Again. He hates fishing!

Anger builds up. In frustration, Ludomir smashes the water, making a huge splash! He senses movement. On the river's bank, a fish is awash, brought there by the displaced water. He grins. How about that, Mum?

Ludomir returns home, proudly holding his catch. As soon as he opens the door, his mother grabs him by the arm and pulls him inside. a grave look in her face. "Come, we have guests." She does not even acknowledge the fish.

"Mum? What's happening?"

In the main hall, two figures are standing, covered in dirt. One is Ratika. The other, Ludomir does not recognize, but surprisingly looks frailer than Ratika. His mother addresses the guests, gesturing at Ludomir. "He doesn't know yet."

#2 Friendship in Strange Places
Ludomir stares at the ground below, the dizzying height nauseates him. To admit that he was stuck – suspended in mid-air on the commuter’s rope-bridge – was too shameful. So. He simply stays put, pretending to admire the view. A passer-by carrying a heavy load approaches. The bridge wobbles and Ludomir struggles in silence. Suddenly the passer-by turns to Ludomir, his face mildly curious. “Are you Pygarian by any chance?”

Ludomir snorts loudly. “Never.”

“I didn’t mean to offend, of course. I’m Fyobor by the way.”

“I’m Ludomir: I’d guess you’re not Pygarian either, so why are you heading there?”

“A new calling. A new life.”

“That’s not something you hear often in Urralia.”

“The future is unpredictable. You never know what you’ll begin to hear.”

“Fair enough. Well, good luck to you.”

“Thanks. Where are you headed?”

Ludomir chuckles. “Nowhere right now.”

“I’ve got quite a load here,” Fyobor begins. “If you wouldn’t mind helping me steady this rig, I’d be much obliged.”

Ludomir thinks a moment, eyeing the length of a heavy-duty pole jutting out of Fyobor’s pack. That pole could be the saving grace Ludomir needs to get off this wobbly, rickety menace! “Alright,” Ludomir agrees. “I’ve got some free time.”

“Splendid! If you don’t mind, let’s get going. These flimsy rope-bridges put me on edge. You know what I mean?”

Ludomir smirks. “Not at all.”

#3 The Front Lines
The anticipation stirs in Ludomir. Any moment now, Pygarians will crest that hill.

Ludomir had agreed to fight for Rodentia not just because Ratika had asked, but because he knew it was the right things to do.

A chill in the air sends leaves cascading through the haphazard band of Rodentians. They’re not the strongest lot, Ludomir admits. If Vera were here, she’s have a plan. Ludomir pictures the Godless-Priestess, most likely standing on a dais giving a speech on unification to Pygarian nobles. An old feeling of resentment renews its grip. How long had it been since she had moved to Pygaria?

She is doing her job. You’re doing yours, Ludomir reminds himself.

Ratika, grateful that Ludomir volunteered to fight for Rodentia, had entrusted him with many state-secrets. Funny, he mused. Me, learning maps and figures! Vera would be shocked.

Ahead, something inches into view. Pygarian garb! They’ve come. The fighter in Ludomir takes no chances and in less than a breath he zeros in on his first target. Adjacent to Ludomir.

Ratika hesitates. But why? Now is not the time! She finally hails an order and the Rodentians lunge into action.

It’s too late. So many have surrounded Ludomir already. Something wraps around his ankles and yanks. Ludomir smacks hard against the ground and feels himself being dragged backward, opposite his comrades. He reaches to free himself but a blow knocks him flat.

He wakes up in a tiny room, dark and damp. The stink almost knocks him out again. A dungeon? He tries careening against the bars but the metal doesn’t budge.

Ludomir utters a curse before rasping at a nearby Pygarian-guard. “Hey! How long will I rot in here?”

“Rot?” the Pygarian scoffs. “You will not be so lucky.”

#4 Quicksand
The stone sinks underneath Ludomir's foot, forcing him to catch his balance with a lunge. Behind him, Vera yelps, most likely dodging the same sinking stone. The rock-path, set precariously far apart, makes crossing the quicksand even more challenging.

"Race you to the top of the ledge!" Vera announces, taking off at a run and gunning for the outcropping ahead.

Ludomir grins. He appreciates that Vera can hold her own, even when he decrees they cross a natural hazard! Ludomir hustles, matching her speed. But with a strength that seems to belie her smaller form, Vera heaves, forcing herself up the remaining distance, ascending out of the quicksand-basin.

"You've been winning that quicksand challenge for years," Ludomir puffs, out of breath. He flops down next to his adopted sister. "I'll beat you next time."

Vera sits up, remorse in her expression. "Ludomir. You know this is my last time in the glade."

"Why?"

"I'm being trained by the Godless-Priestess. Soon, 'free time' won't exist for me."

"What are you saying?" Ludomir asks. "This is it? We can't meet up in the glade anymore?"

"Not after I take my place as the new Godless-Priestess. I'll be in Pygaria."

"Work from here. Why live in Pygaria?"

"It's tradition. I can't preserve the peace in Urralia from the mountains."

"Sure you can."

"I'm not going to argue, Ludomir. This is my job. When the Godless-Priestess says it's time, I am moving to Pygaria."

"So, she says jump, and you say how high?"

"She's the Godless-Priestess!"

"And I'm your brother! That counts for something, right?"

"Of course it does," Vera counters. "But please. Understand. I have to do this."

"Oh yeah? Then I have to disagree."

"I guess that means we'll go our separate ways."

Silence blooms.

"But not today." Vera leaps. "Race you back!"

#5 Fists and Conveyor Belts
With gusto, Draga feigns interest as her father, Magu, describes, in painstaking detail, his passion for factory life. But Draga’s mind cannot focus. Instead a passing imperial guard catches her attention. She imagines the action Pygarian soldiers face – fighting and protecting!

Her father notices Draga’s daydream. “Imagine, Draga! Tomorrow you will be promoted from grain silos to 1st floor conveyor belts!”

“Father,” Draga says, half listening. “Is there a training program for joining the army?”

Magu is taken aback. “What? Assembly-line inspection doesn’t interest you?”

The disappointment in her father’s voice causes Draga to backpedal. “It’s not that… It’s just… The soldiers serve our nation so brilliantly. You know?”

“Well, sure,” Magu agrees. “Every role in Pygaria is important. But our role keeps our nation afloat! One voice and one destiny for Pygaria.”

“But if we did want to join the army… May we?”

Magu seems dumbfounded. “We are a part of a highly structured Pygarian society, Draga. You do understand that we are not expected to be in the army?”

Draga drops the matter “Of course, father.”

At the end of her shift, Draga forces a cheerier mood. After all, tomorrow she will be promoted to conveyor belts…

Hurried movements interrupt and Draga spots a squadron of imperial guards, weapons drawn, dashing across the grounds. But for what purpose? Draga surveys the factory and determines that the resource center’s barricase has been broken through! The guards fan out, encircling someone, and a skirmish breaks loose!

Entranced, Draga watches the soldiers and the intruder exchange attacks and feints. The action and the skill. It is music and dance. This is art. Draga realizes she has no choice. She must learn how to fight. But no soldier would teach her. Not the soldiers, then…

#6 Unwanted
Draga grips the staff, holding it steady. From the opposite end of the plateau, the Imperial Trainer faces her and the other recruits. On an adjacent landing, Pygarian Generals gesture at Draga, no doubt debating her fate.

Draga had surprised all Pygaria when she passed every exam and was inducted into the army. Thus, her present training exercises was something no Pygarian wanted to miss. The spectators grin, placing bets. How long until Draga fails, gets kicked out, and returns to factory life? That very notion spurs her on.

The Imperial Trainer singles out Draga. “Step forward. Or drop out. There is still time,” he prods.

Heat rises in Draga but she stuffs the annoyance away with an icy calm. “I’ve got all the time in the world, sir”

In true sparring form, the Imperial whirls his weapon up high before launching an assault, jerking it forward toward Draga. The other recruits back away. Draga glides out of the way and returns the strike with one of her own. The Imperial advances again, this time faking reach outward then coming in low. The move disorients Draga but she recovers quickly. She re-sharpens her focus and steps through her next two thrusts with a block and a spin. The frenzy with which Draga presses her attack cuases the Imperial to call a timeout.

A commotion of voices comment on the spectacle.

General Ellia motions Draga over.

“General!” Draga performs a military salut.

“That was good technique. Who taught you?” The general asks, kindly.

“I…” Draga blushes.

“Answer the question, worm!” The Trainer yells.

Draga lowers her hear. The dream ends here, she thinks.

“You can keep your secret, for now… Draga, is it?”

Draga nods slowly, confused.

“Send her to my cadet division, on the double,” General Ellia orders the Trainer, then she starts to walk away.

#7 The Inheritance
“We are on the heels of catastrophe… Rodentia is shattered.” Draga tries to keep the distress from her voice, but fails miserably. “Both nations are terrified. Begging your pardon, General Ellia, but why leave now?”

“This… disaster in Rodentia. It could have been much worse,” Ellia replies, an unusual speck of fear in her voice.

“General? You know what happened?”

“I made a vow not to speak of it. Draga, listen to me. I need to know if there is a risk for something like this to happen again. That means travel all around Urralia. I cannot do that and lead our armies.”

“What about the reports for Emperor Indrik?”

“He will get his reports. You will deliver them.” Ellia removes the coveted symbol from her own lapel and attaches it to Draga’s. “You are the General in charge now.”

“General-? Me?”

“You are ready, Draga,” Ellia declares. “For years, you have studied as my protégé. My final order is that you honor my pledge: seek order and justice. If you must fight…”

“… Do so with minimal bloodshed. Above all, fight so that all can find peace.” Draga finishes the sentence.

Ellia nods. Without a word, she turns around and disappears into the night.

#8 The Promotion
Draga finds the Emperor at the outskirts of the camp, facing off with an insolent Rodentian farmer.

The farmer demans, “What are you doing on our land, high and mighty Emperor?”

Indrik answers drly. “Your land is shattered. Pygaria is here to help you rebuild.”

As the farmer guffaws and readies a retort, Draga steps in. “Honorable Rodentian. I know Pygarian presence can feel invasive. But Rodentian tradition demands that during the Harvest, you accept new proposals. Am I correct?”

“What do you know about our traditions?”

“Enough to respect them. Do you?”

The farmer shrugs his consent. “Well, I suppose I can’t argue with that logic.” The farmer gestures at Indrik. “You wanna help rebuild? Then help. But I’m keeping an eye on you!” He walks away, still muttering. “Pygarians offering to help, that’s new…”

The Emperor nods as the farmer’s silhouette shrinks in the distance. “Well done, Draga. Yet, I wonder… How do you know Rodentia’s intimate details?”

“I study a lot, your Highness. Every moment that I am off duty, my nose is in a book.”

With a thin smile the Emperor says, “Is that so?” He examines Draga from head to toe. “I was considering whether to court martial you for enabling General Ellia’s desertion,” he adds.

Draga gasps. After a long silence, he declares:

“Tomorrow, you head for the Rodentian capital, new General. You will be leading the negotiations.”

#9 The Gillas Award
Ratika pushes her way through the scramble, but she’s blocked by her siblings who are twice her size and weight. Her younger brother, Holden yells, “out of the way, Tiny!” He prints past and reaches the finish line first. As is tradition, his name gets etches in stone next to Gillas’ statue. Gillas, the great adventurer who saw the edge of Urralia, brought prosperity to the village by discovering sugar-raisin. There is no greater praise than to etch your name next to the statue. Ratika silently longs for the same attention but she’s the smallest and meekest among them. How would she ever win with odds like that?

Stick to what you’re good at, Ratika reminds herself.

With a wave of her hand, Ratika draws the crowd’s attention. She begins to weave an impeccable, astounding tale. Her village is noiseless – their awe palpable. Right before concluding the tale, Ratika points to the stone in her necklace, and with a dramatic flourish says, “… unbeknownst to all, it was the stone from Yarbog’s Temple that had contained the secret to the god’s disappearance.”

Wonderment ripples through the crowd and they erupt with glee.

Holden can’t contain his excitement. “Ratika! Is the story true?”

“It’s a story, Holden. What do you think?”

“Oh, please make it true. Could you really bring us back a stone from Yarbog’s Temple?”

Ratika grins as every pair of eyes turn to regard her. “I thought you’d never ask, brother.”

#10 The Rescue
Out of breath, Ratika finally reaches Yarbog’s Temple, just in time to witness the death of the last remaining Temple-guards. From the roof of the temple, they scream as they attempt to dodge the supernatural storm that has been ravaging the heavens. But the lightning is too vast, and with a grotesque contortion, they fall to their deaths. Earthquakes tear roots from trees and cut chasms through the earth, one crevice extending so far that its fissure stops just short of Ratika.

Ratika lunges into action. There has to be a survivor, she thinks. Fear drums in her mind as she follows the chasm, her direction driving her closer to the eye of the storm! Something catches her eye. Is that… a body?

Ratika pauses, a dozen variables flipping through her mind. She notices a way down, a somewhat safe way to reach the victom, but how long before the next tremor collapses the fissure on her? Ratika takes a chance, descending the steep slope at a run. As she drops beside the body, she notices a familiarity in that unconscious face. It’s very! Injures or worse? Moving on impulse, Ratika checks her vitals. She’s unconscious but alive. In an eye blink Ratika evacuates, scaling up the incline, Vera in tow. When she reaches her family, another aftershock violently shakes the ground.

“Ratika!” her father shouts. “Are you crazy, going into that storm?”

“We’ve got to help her!” Ratika declares, Vera still in her arms. “She’s the only one left alive!”

“Damn it, daughter!” Her father examines the unconscious owl. “Look at this one… Pygarian. What am I to do with her? She doesn’t belong in a Rodentian family.”

“I know that, dad!”

Her father crosses his arms. “Well, I’m not taking her to Pygaria!”

Wryly, Ratika adds, “I know that too, dad.”

#11 Hidden Discovery
Ratika is scowling, silently cursing the Pygarian quartermaster. During the initial rebuilding, that sharp-toothed Pygarian had assigned her and her younger brother to different tasks and since that day, Holden had vanished.

Ratika pushes aside the itch to try the Balalaika, wondering if the instrument’s magic has any sway over Pygarian minds… If such power existed, the Godless-Priestess would have included that information, wouldn’t she?

The quartermaster finishes his drumstick, casts it away, and struts off in the direction of the soldier barracks. Before disappearing, Ratika lunges in his direction, but as she arrives at the barracks, the Pygarian has already slipped from view-

No! Wait! That’s him there, behind the barracks, sliding into a camouflaged underground door! Deep in her sternum, Ratika feels a prodding, an instinct to follow. Down, down goes the passageway before leveling out. The dank throughway continues for a good span. There is an opening up ahead and what is that sound? Ratika nears the other end of the tunnel and strange snaps and cracks, ungodly noises, grow louder. The Rodentian emerges, only a nose-length above ground, stealth and caution her only weapons. She expects her sleuthing to provide a formidable ambush against the lone Pygarian. Instead, desperation rises like bile in Ratika’s throat at the sight she now sees. Young Rodentians, too many to count, fall under the last of whips while others go limp as fabric snaps over their faces. Older Rodentians are dressed in Pygarian garb, armed and sparring with Imperial Enforcers. What madness is this? Ratika’s mind gropes for an answer as anger and terror claw at her.

#12 The Boss
“The avalanche was about to hit me! But before I could realize I was about to die, it suddenly stopped!

All that mud, frozen in the air, five feet from me! That’s when I heard the music. Ratika saved me. Saved the whole village!” With a storm of applauds, the villager returns to his seat.

The testimonies have been going on for hours. I na moment, the council of the Clans will deliberate the fate of the hero of the hour. Ratika, whose magic stopped an avalanche, who uncovered the Pygarian plot to corrupt the youth, who drove Rodentia to rise-up and fight the most powerful nation in Urralia. Skinny Ratika. Forgotten Ratika.

Her mind races. I stopped it. Nobody died. So why does it feel so wrong? But Ratika knows. All this new glory is built on a lie.

“Ratika. Step forward,” orders the council speaker. She complies.

“… Therefore, this council grants you full authority over our Rodentian troups…” Lies!

“… Do you pledge to liberate Rodentia from the Imperial invaders?” Lies!

“I won’t rest until Rodentia is free again!” Lies! Lies! Lies!

Her mind wanders back to the day of the avalanche. She was in distress. Her younger brother had just died in her arms. I had no choice. He was brainwashed by the Pygarians. She picked up her balalaika, and started plucking a melody, guided by her emotions. Sadness evolved into guilt. Guilt evolved into anger. Anger into rage. As the music grew in intensity, the ground began to rumble. Vera warned me. I caused the avalanche. I am a fraud.

“All hail our new war leader!” Declares the council speaker. No! Take it back! I don’t want it!

A clamor rises, in unison: “Boss! Boss! Boss! Boss!”.

#13 The Last Meal
Young Indrik can feel Lokrin’s sinister gaze. The six-year-old’s nerves scream. The patrician’s shadowed figure has yet to move. Please look away… please look away.

“I am here to collect you, young royal,” had been Lokrin’s only greeting. The patrician had interrupted Indrik’s farewell meal. But it is sacred! This is unfair! Indrik’s even-tempered parents acquiesced and urged Indrik to finish eating.

A pause.

A scrape.

Indrik glances up. The patrician swiped a long fingernail across a bone-white coin. Indrik hides a shudder. The boy half-assumed this night would never come. He was wrong.

Indrik attempts to take a bite of food, but he can’t follow-through, not even methodically.

“You have a duty to perform, young royal,” Lokrin declares. “If you’re finished neglecting it, we go.”

Indrik’s parents whisper good luck to their son. Not even a hug? Why? Indrik, glassy-eyed, tried uttering farewell but the words die in his throat.

Lokrin snatches Indrik and tows him out the door. With a tight-lipped snarl on his face, the patrician leads Indrik through the streets of Pygaria. Predestined to become emperor, Indrik remembers his duty: he must fulfil his lineage to Iontrek, the first emperor who, three-hundred-years ago, united their convocations. The successorship includes the role for patricians and commanders and has wielded a worthy standing empire.

I know! I will be the best Emperor Pygaria ever had. Better than Iontrek!

But something else swells within Indrik. Something confusing between instinct and responsibility.

“What will I study first in leadership training?” asks Indrik.

Lokrin does not answer. The quiet lingers on, prompting Indrik to ask again.

The patrician cuts him off. “I heard you the first time!” He pauses. “You want to lead? Good. But first, you must endure servitude.”

#14 Hive Mind
Footfalls make Indrik blink and glance about his solitary room. His instinct tells him to hide the cherished treasure, but his fondness for the gift overpowers it. At any given second his patrician could fly through the door and demand it from Indrik. Lokrin is strict in every sense of the word. But this gift – this ant farm sent by his parents in secret – is a treasure from childhood.

Indrik glides his hand along the glad, tracing the worker-ant’s path. Eeven as a young boy, Indrik had been fascinated with nature on a surprisingly small and miniscule scale. He was at it again now, but this time his awe had to be kept secret.

The hour hits twilight, but still Indrik observes the colony, notating his findings by scrawling comparisons on bits of parchment.

Exhaustion looms.

Swiftly and without warning, Indrik falls asleep and the ant farm reminds out in the open, in danger of discovery.

Sometime later, Indrik’s groggy eyes open and the patrician is there, wrath billowing in the senior’s face. In one fluid motion, Lokrin snatches the colony and throws it. Glass hits stone and shattered pieces litter the ground. Standing opposite Indrik, the patrician pauses, motionless, expressionless. Unnaturally calm. The intrigue that Indrik once held for Lokrin’s control and discipline eviscerates as he sees the ants skitter across the floor. Something fractures within Indrik. A realization takes hold. Indrik will not be like his insect friends. He will not run nor hide. Instead, he will become like Lokrin. He will become a predator.

#15 Trust
Indrik and his old advisor, Lokrin, are staring at a large map of Urralia. A crackling fireplace and several candles lit the Emperor’s private chamber. The hour is late.

“Emperor! This is the perfect opportunity to test Iontrek’s Fury…”

“I disagree with Lokrin, sire!” Interrupts General Ellia as she barges into the room, her second, The feline, in tow.

“The Rodentians barely survived a monumental disaster,” Ellia continues.” Introducing Pygarian weapons will send the wrong message.”

The Patrician sneers at Ellia. “Pygaria’s strength cannot be compromised.”

“Lokrin. We do not need a war. Our main focus is to gain the Rodentians trust.”

“Trust, yes. The Godless-Priestess can be of use,” Lokrin suggests.

“Why bring Vera into this?” the feline asks.

Lokrin snaps. “Who gave you permission to speak?”

Ellia intercedes. “Draga has a point. We do not need to Priestess.”

Lokrin grits his teeth. “A strong symbol is what this nation needs most.”

“What this nation needs most is my leadership, Lokrin.”

The lithe patrician bows low and utters, “Of course, Emperor.”

Indrik turns to Ellia. “General. Start gathering goods and materials. We will move them into Rodentia and distribute them immediately. And… please teache your second proper etiquette.”

General Ellia and the feline salute and hurriedly leave the room. The Patrician remains, meditative.

“Is it wise to empower the General?”

“Lokrin, old friend. You have wisdom, but you lack vision. How can the Rodentians believe in our sincerity if our army does not? Besides, I leave to you the most important task.”

“Anything, sire.”

“You know what to do. The Rodentian youth are key. And make sure our proxies are discreet. With luck, there will be a gentle revolution.”

“If not?”

Indrik sighs. “War.”

#16 The Night Watch
As young Vera surveys the trees, a strange sound reaches her ear. It is as if whispers are ridiing the wind.

Vera’ mother, Herava, nudges her daughter. “Vera. It is our responsibility as temple-guards to watch over the sacred grounds. Why are you watching the trees?”

“I hear something, mother.”

“What you hear is rustling. Look.”

Vera follows her mother’s gesture. Before Vera can utter a word, her mother is off, skirting the soil and returning to Vera with a captured prisoner.

Herava addresses her victim. “Ratika!”

Ratika does not quiver in fear but instead yells obstinately. “What are you doing? Snatching me up like that!”

“You are trespassing,” Herava returns. “These lands are reserved for the Temple of Yarbog. You know this, Ratika.”

While the little Rodentian attempts to make some excuse, Herava turns to Vera. “Return her to where she belongs.”

Vera nods and departs, a tight grip on the trespassing Rodentian.

“I’m not a criminal. You can let me go,” Ratika states.

“Kind of inaccurate, don’t you think?” Vera counters. The Rodentian stays silent so Vera continues. “You have nothing else to say?”

“I’m trying to think of a properly dramatic way to inform you that you’re wrong!”

“Virtually impossible. Hang on, we’re almost there.”

“As if I have a choice to hang on or not,” Ratika mutters.

Vera releases the Rodentian and as Ratika runs off she turns and yells, “Next time, a little warning would be appreciated. Even if only a whisper!”

#17 The Gift
Vera forces a smile as she offers the instrument to Ratika. As the new Godless-Priestess, Vera no longer needs her Balalaika, but gifting it is still difficult. It is a precious heirloom.

“The Balalaikas are instruments forged by Yarbog himself,” Vera explains. “They have been passed down from generation to generation. Kept in the family. But seeing that my kind is nearly extinct…”

Ratika is taken aback by the instrument. She accepts the gift, plucking the strings and inspecting the smooth surface. Ratika is more than intrigued, she is enraptured by Vera’s remarkable gesture. “Thank you,” Ratika whispers. “I’ve heard these instruments carry mysticism in the strings.”

“Tapping into bardic magic is possible but takes practice,” Vera confirms. “For example, tiny earthen elements can be controlled by playing this melody. May I?”

Vera strums susurrate music combined with spell energy and the ground begins to move.

Ratika’s mouth drops agape. “I wouldn’t put that much faith in me. No one else ever does.”

“Aren’t you always pointing out that you’re older and wiser than you appear?”

Ratika laughs and adds, “Point taken, Vera. I mean, Miss-Godless-Priestess.”

“One more thing, Ratika. About the Balalaika.”

“Let me guess: don’t let the power go to my head?”

“Only use it for communion or defense. Otherwise, the Balalaika could open a path that leads to the loss of your mind and your humanity.”

“But Priestess, didn’t you know? I lost my head to the forces of humor long ago”

#18 Lost
Vera hugs her knees but her shivering won’t cease. Three pairs of eyes watch her – concern clouding their faces. Vera’s mind spins: Are my parents really gone? And Ludomir’s family – is my new family? Please, let this be a mistake…

But it wasn’t a mistake, Vera knew. Ratika had explained everything but disbelief clung to Vera.

Ludomir’s mother asks, “are you hungry?”

The question hangs in the air. Vera looks away.

“Why isn’t she answering you, mum?” Ludomir whispers.

“She’s going through a very difficult time, son.”

Claustrophobia seizes Vera and she bursts out the door clutching her only possession, the Balalaika. A nearby tree becomes her refuge. A voice echoes in Vera’s mind. Her mother’s voice: When faced with Adversity, play the Balalaika. It is a sacred instrument. A powerful wielder of bardic magic.

Vera lifts the strings and plays until she sees movement below. Ludomir looms at the base of the tree. “Are you up there?” he calls. Vera doesn’t answer and assumes Ludomir will retreat. Instead, Ludomir surprises her and begins to climb. As Ludomir reaches for a parallel brand he slips. Vera catches him with her free hand. “That was close,” he says. “Thanks.”

Vera stays quiet.

“I got separated from my mum once,” Ludomir says suddenly.

Vera goes rigid.

“Never been that far. I was lost for hours. Scared, hungry. But while I was lost, I discovered something. An amazing glade. I’m not the smartest boy, mum says I’m a late bloomer. But that glade was something special. It felt magical, like… like being lost didn’t matter.”

Something warms inside Vera. Ludomir looks so haphazardly. Vera’s mother had taught her to be meticulous. But where’s her mother now? Vera forces the memory away and tightens her grip on her Balalaika. “Let’s find that glade of yours. This time, I’ll help you find our way back.”

#19 The Weight of the World
Vera gazes at the interior of the Amber Tree. The hollow tree-trunk emanates a soft glow casting shades of yellows and marigolds. The bark seems to pulse with life. She lifts her Balalaika and plays a reverent tune, honoring the passing of the late Godless-Priestess. Vera plays with all her focus, plucking every string with perfection and dedication. When she comes to the end of the song, a light forms a pattern in the air. Vera finishes the tune and the pattern flashes a final pulse before pummeling inside her chest, disappearing within her!

Vera pauses as a strange weight pushes against her. The amber colors within the tree coalesce before winding tightly around her, as if imbuing her. Instead of pulling away, Vera lets herself be consumed by the light. The pattern grows so bright that Vera has to shield her eyes. Once more the light flashes brightly before disappearing altogether.

A familiar voice speaks to Vera from within her mind. It is the ancient voice of the late Godless-Priestess, now fused with Vera's subconscious. But the evolution does not stop. Another voice, from a century past, joins, echoing the first. Then another and another. Many ancient voices merge with Vera's.

The torch - the reincarnation of the next Godless-Priestess - has been reignited.

Vera can feel the change. Her insecurities have evaporated. She feels the power of the ancient Priestesses enveloping her, enriching her with confidence and wisdom. Vera's priorities immediately shift. She can no longer live with a single mind or for a single purpose. She is carrying the weight of all. She is the new Godless-Priestess and she is being called forth.

#20 A Splinter in the Dark
For an eternity it has been drifting. This place... Full of life, full of light. It hates this place. Shapeless, mindless, it drifts. It remembers when it was part of a whole. It was so much more. It remembers Yarbog, the Enemy. It fought - and fought - and lost. Then it was forced into the darkness. Trapped. Humiliated. It struck at the boundaries with rage, all consciousness bent on escape - to no avail. Then cracks started to appear. Yarbog's power was waning. This one slipped through the cracks, a fragment - a speck of evaporated essence - disconnected from the whole. Then it drifted - and forgot - until now.

Down below, creatures of claw and teeth and shadow fight the loathsome land dwellers. The blood, the pain, the chaos. They beckon. It is... intoxicating. As it spirals toward the battlefield, it awakens. It remembers. It is one with these creatures, and they are one with the Void. They are Voden. From the chaos of battle, it feeds. And as the land dwellers die, it grows stronger. Shapeless it is no more. Now it has eyes. And fins. And claws. And purpose. To kill. To feed the Void. To be made whole again. With an ecstatic scream, it charges into the battlefield.

#21 Conspiracy
The venerable Pygarian is towering above Fyobor, severe-looking, as always.

“He spoke to me again,” Lokrin says.

For generations, Voden has been whispering to the chosen few, those who would understand. And for generations, they had been hiding in the shadows, placing their pieces on the board, pulling strings, one little step at a time. Lately, Voden’s voice has grown closer, stronger, more urgent. The time for the great change has come – all their hard work would finally be rewarded.

“How fares our Godless-Priestess?” The patriarch asks.

“She will be ready soon. You can imagine her outrage, when she learned about the number Indrik did on her brother. Heh, even I feel sorry for the poor bastard.”

“Tell your Rodentian friends to hurry. The last thing we want is for Indrik to remember the Firebird ritual. Strengthening Kladen would make the seal-breaking near impossible – even for the priestess.”

“Indrik is your problem, Lokrin. You are the one who molded him, remember? Or are your worried he would suddenly grow a conscience?”

“A conscience?” No. But he may take it upon himself to do his duty.”

“The ritual would shorten his remaining lifetime. He wouldn’t… he would?”

“Fyobor, we need to plan for the possibility.”

“As long as he does not put his hands on the sword, he is harmless. Sigh. I’ll figure out something. Put me in contact with our people in the Imperial Guard.”

Lokrin nods. “We meet again when the Priestess commits.” With a flap of his wings, the patrician departs. The Priestess, Fyobor muses. All this planning, and it hinges on the one mistake the Priestess needs to make.

#22 Sacrifice
Gently, Ellia returns Kladen to its pedestal.

“Are you certain this is the only way?” She asks.

The Harbinger, the Rodentian Ratika, and General Ellia had just defeated Kali, a being of tremendous power, a horror that surged from beneath the world. But at what cost? The battle caused a massive shockwave, spreading across Rodentia, ravaging the land, killing many innocents. And the Harbinger… only the power of a god could oppose another god. With Kladen in hand, the Harbinger unleashed Voden’s power on the invader. And such power always comes at a price. The Harbinger became tainted by the Void. Already her aura grows darker, colder.

Slowly, the Harbinger reaches out to Kladen. A faint light pulsates from the blade, in eager anticipation.

“What will you do, once inside? Voden will not take your presence very kindly.”

The Harbinger clenches her fists.

“Fight until the end. What else is there to do, right? Perhaps you can even win. Inside his prison, Voden may not be as strong…” Ellia stops. She knows her optimism is hollow. “This is goodbye then.”

The Harbinger opens the Seal. Then, in a heartbeat, she is gone.

The sword lies on its pedestal, lifeless. “How can I return to being a Pygarian General after all this?” Ellia lets out a deep sigh. “It is time to pass on the flame, I think.” She walks toward the Vault’s exit, then stops and stares at Kladen, one last time. “Draga, I hope you will never have to suffer for the actions I have taken.” She leaves, and darkness engulfs the Vault.

#23 Roadside Encounter
“You did what?”

“I climbed down.” Gillas savors the merchant’s incredulous look a while longer, then continues his tale:

“There I was, standing at the edge of Urralia, facing an endless sky. I wondered: Anything down there? So I figured, since no one has done it before, why not have a look? I secured myself with a rope, and started the descent.”

“The merchant lifts a roasting dragon-cricket from the campfire and offers it to Gillas. The explorer peels the chitin, takes a huge bite, wipes the juices from his lips, and continues the story.

“I clinged to the surface and carefully inched downward. I was expecting the edge to be smooth, shaved by the searing winds. But instead, I was holding onto a wrinkled, rough stone… Except it wasn’t a stone. It took me a while to understand what I was hanging onto.”

Gillad stops to check on his audience. With the careful timing of an expert storyteller, he delivers the punchline.

“It was a root.”

“Huh?”

“I saw dozens of roots, maybe a hundred feet in diameter, extend downward, and sink into the clouds. Urralia is not just a giant mass of land. It’s a living giant mass of land!”

“Aw, come on! You are pulling my leg.”

“But that’s not the strangest part.” Gillas takes a deep breath. “The next bit… I’m terrified just thinking about it.” The merchant is about to burst in laughs, but something in Gillas’ stare stops him dead in his tracks.

“I was about to go back when I sensed a shiver down my spine. Slowly, I turned my head, and there it was, staring at me. All I can remember are the eyes. Three pairs, as big as an apple tree, piercing me… I was frozen. Then I felt it. It was in my mind, searching for something.”

“Searching?”

“For memories… It sent me images. A giant serpent. Battle. I think… I think it was looking for memories of Voden.”

“Voden? That was a hundred years ago.”

“Yeah… probably why the creature quickly lost interest. It turns around, and plunged beneath the clouds. The next thing I remember, I was back on the surface, running toward my village.”

The merchant meditates on the tale for a while, then asks:

“And you don’t remember what it look like?”

“This is the scariest part. Every time I try to remember, I faint.”

“Come on, try!”

“With a sigh, Gillas focuses on the memory, on the giant eyes. Then everything turns black.”

#24 The First Memory
The old woman is facing her god, alone. Nearby, a shallow stream is reflecting a soft light from an invisible moon.

"Is this the afterlife?"

Yarbog cocks his head, slightly amused.

"This is a workaround."

"I do not understand."

"I chose you. Loyalty is in your heart. You will keep my secret - and this place's secret."

"Me? How about your priests? Or Iontrek?"

"Iontrek has an Empire to build. And the priests... They know nothing about true solitude." Yarbog locks eyes with the old woman, staring at her bare soul. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"I uh... I was praying by my husband's grave."

"All those years... Do you tire of it?"

She stares back, resolute, as if saying: "you know the answer."

Yarbog nods, and closes his eyes. He suddenly looks very fragile.

"Who would have thought that fusing part of your essence with the soul of a mortal could be so exhausting?"

"The mortal... Is it that Godless-Priestess everyone is talking about?"

Yarbog smiles, and the old woman is filled with sadness.

"Are you... dying."

"Don't cry, remember what I said about this place. I will be watching. In time, my strength may even grow back. Now... Goodbye!"

And just like that, Yarbog is gone. In his place stands a small white tree, with several naked branches, and a single silvery leaf.

With a trembling hand the woman touches the tree. Slowly, her fingers slide up and reach the leaf. Then, she is seized by a vision. She is standing it this very place, facing Yarbog, listening to his final words. She pulls her hand back. The vision stops.

"I will guard this memory, and the ones to come."

The women cups her hands and collects water from the stream. She gently pours it at the base of the tree. She thinks of the life she just left behind. The recluse old woman in the forest. The witch, they used to call her. "Huh, the Witch... I think I will keep the name."