The Gaze of Eternity

[Yui-chan]

"Timothy!" The scream echoed about the cavern as their companion stumbled back, his hand hovering over his burning face. He hurt so much! Kaleyra winced as she rushed to his side, fighting to close the doors in her mind that Jagon's counterattack had fused open. Gyrfalcon's pain and determination, Myth's fear and frustration, Jagon's own confusion and rage and hurt -- they all battered at her, but none with the frantic power of Timothy's. His pain was such a mishmash of physical and mental, past and present, strength and vulnerability. She couldn't close it out, no matter how hard she tried, so she turned her power to easing his aches, taking them into herself as she reached down to try to staunch the flow of blood from the jagged gash down his shoulder.

 

The avian felt Jagon's thoughts behind her as well, whirling chaotically as he watched her put her body between the archangel and her fallen friend. She didn't seem to care that she gave him her unprotected back, so concerned was she with her friend's pain. The archangel frowned, staring down at the wings that were like dirty copies of one pair of his own. It was selfless, this act. Redeeming. Good. His face became more twisted with the contradiction. The mortals were not supposed to be good! They were corrupt! It was some kind of trick!

 

Jagon screamed with rage, once more raising his sword, this time prepared to drive it right through Kaleyra's back and into Timothy's heart. Gyrfalcon surged into motion despite the burning pain from the gash across his chest, but he was too far away. Even as he raced across the room, he knew he would not be in time, and his heart constricted as if bracing itself for grief.

 

"No." The word was quiet, but it brought Jagon's motion to a halt, his sword held poised above his head. He watched as Kaleyra slowly turned her head so that she could look into his eyes, and what he saw in those midnight depths jolted him. "You won't harm him, nor anyone here any longer. You have been corrupted by this realm, seraphim. It's time we helped you regain yourself."

[Gwaihir]

Myth looked at these people and grimaced. She looked at Timothy "You fool, you're going to faint from blood loss soon. Here. If anyone had had the time to think about it, it woudl have been no surprise that Myth had something as practical as bandages in her cloak, but they certainly might have thought it strange that she used them on someone besides herself. Timothy probably found it rather hard to appreciate his extremely rough nurse at the time, because gentle hands were not quite something Myth bothered with, but she did what was needed and to be fair to her she did it rigiht. She could not have stopped the blood or healed the flesh in any way for she had no magic, but unbeknownst to her that was exactly what the avian was doing.

She watched as Jagon advanced at Kaleyra and mentally winced, but she knew there was nothing she could do. The stupid bird just didn't pay attention to herself.

"No." The word had more power had expected and she turned to look. Quickly enough the bandaging was done and Myth watched for her moment to attack and not be noticed.

[Wyvern]

Jagon grits his teeth and grimaces, shaking his head and tearing his eyes away from Kaleyra's gaze. The depths of her eyes seemed so caring, so confident... No, surely a psionic spell... surely! The seraphim's breaths come out in uneven gasps as he turns towards the sound of Gyrfalcon's voice, momentarily dumbfounded by his own inability to strike. Overcome by a mortal's will...? Impossible.

 

"... You have been corrupted by this realm, seraphim. It's time we helped you regain yourself."

 

"Corrupted?!" exclaims Jagon in a fury. "You, you are corrupt! Your kind is a wretched cesspool of sin! Petty mortals, infidels!"

 

The heros cringe as Jagon's voice echoes loudly throughout the chambers, his three eyes flaring brightly in a rage brought about by desperation and rapidly deteriorating hopes.

 

"BLASPHEMERS!!!"

 

Jagon's voice comes out as a bloodcurdling scream, cracking and hoarse yet deafening in it's greatness. Abandoning any faint notion of sanity that remains in him and letting out a broken battle cry, the seraphim raises Gaspoliner and jabs it into the floor of the cavern with all of his might. The very foundation of the room quakes violently and flares up with light, stalactites falling from the ceiling and large rocks caving in. Kaleyra and Myth are too busy clinging to Timothy to even notice the Pool of Eternal Reflection as it becomes utterly buried in an enormous avalanche of cascading boulders...

 

Gyrfalcon curses and ducks, barely maintaining balance and narrowly dodging a number of sharp stalactites. Before the enormous tremor has even ended, the half-even hero is shocked to be suddenly met head on by Jagon. The seraphim appears in front of him like a flash of light, twirling Gaspoliner into an arch of brightness and power so great that even the most legendary of heroes would have difficulty blocking it...

 

Yet, miraculously, Gyrfalcon manages to effortlessly curve his katana in a manner that perfectly parries the blow.

[Ozymandias]

As Gyrfalcon fends off his attack, Jagon has no time for speculation. Out of nowhere, he hears something he almost discounts, it seems so impossible. A battle cry. Behind him.

 

"JAAGONN!", bellows the near crippled scholar as he launches himself through the air onto the angel's brawny back. Sword gone, right arm hanging useless, face blistered, seared, and charred around the cooling metal in his left eye, chest an almost bewildering mass of filthy tunic, tight bandages, and ichor, Myth and Kaleyra almost gape in shock at their charge as his eye had suddenly snapped back into focus, and he had exploded onto his feet and run at the archangel in a flurry of motion that would do the most agile gazelle...or wolf...proud. He had scrambled, unswerving up rocky rubble, and taken a running jump at terrific speed at the angelic warrior's neck. They followed behind almost as quickly.

 

Landing solidly with a muttered "Oomph!" of lost breath that even Gyrfalcon could hear, he clung like a leech to Jagon's head, holding on by way of his hand across the large angel's face- and his third eye.

 

"See," grunts the man whose heart had grown sick and nearly died within him. SEE! he roared, to everyone's shock, inside their heads. Jagon tried to brace against an attack like the ones Kaleyra had launched before, and so was totally unprepared for this new thing. It felt as though a wall in his self had been ripped away and discarded, and a new one grafted onto the gap. A mind he recognized- The deranged young man's.

 

How...? he manged to ask of the voice with some effort.

 

SEE! was shrieked his answer.

 

Jagon mustered his still immense strength and flung back at his assailant- NO! He felt the boy-thing (he was no longer sure the creature was even human) teetering for an instant, so he pressed the mental attack. His efforts came in vain though, as the counterstrike's power more than doubled his own barrage.

 

YES. all heard Timothy's thought-voice say. HUMANITY AND ALL OF ITS BRETHREN ARE FLAWED, DEEPLY SCARRED THINGS BY NATURE.

 

So, you finally admit...? Jagon regained some small measure of confidence.

 

LISTEN, Timothy interrupted him. THAT IS OUR NATURE PRECISELY BOTH BECAUSE AND SO WE MAY GROW IN A HEALTHY OR SICKLY DIRECTION. IT IS LIKE THE ESSENCE OF BOTH THE FLOWER AND WEED IS IN ALL OF US-

 

No! You lie to save yourself! railed Jagon.

 

NO. YOU LIE. TO YOURSELF, TO HIDE YOUR FEAR OF US. FOR IS THAT NOT HOW GOD CREATED MAN AND HIS KIND? TO BE ABLE TO MAKE CHOICES? FOR WHAT IS THE POINT, EVEN TO THE INFINTE, OF RULING A VAST EMPIRE OF PUPPETS AND TOYS? WE HAVE MADE CHOICES, GOOD AND BAD. BUT WE STILL POSSESS THE ABILITY TO MAKE GOOD ONES, EVEN UNDER THE MOST EVIL OF CIRCUMSTANCES. LOOK INTO THE MINDS OF ALL HERE, AND SEE THEM MAKING THOSE GOOD, RIGHT CHOICES EVEN NOW. SEE.

 

No!! The Trickster has taught you these words! YOU ARE ALL HIS AGENTS, EVERY ONE!

 

Timothy McLaggan clung almost reflexively to the giant warrior's head, now. Throughout biblical history, it has been made clearly known that to look upon the face of the Lord God is to die. To touch the mind of even something else eternal, Timothy found-especially in so intimate a fashion- had a much similar effect.

 

His flesh felt like it was ablaze, fire raging at the pitch to burn trees and melt rock ripping through his muscles. Heat beyond mortal ken seemingly flew through his veins instead of blood , drying, cracking, and burning with an acidic touch such as the Hydra's venom could never know into nerve endings when they fired. He felt burned wihtout being consumed, a phrase he only now knew had much more horrific meaning than any social vernacular had ever given it.

 

Those outside, in the realm of the physical, saw only Timothy's body begin to glow with a white light, and heard his screams ascending to the Heavens like those of the damned. Still he held on.

 

 

...I THINK...continued Timothy, heedless of the other's arguement and his own physical state, he battered with each word Jagon's very core as a hurricane will a sailboat, THAT YOU LIE, TOO, TO PROTECT YOURSELF FROM THE POSSIBLITY THAT SUCH 'CORRUPTION' COULD EXTEND SOMEHOW INTO EVERY MIND GOD HAS CREATED. LIKE THE TRICKSTER, FOR EXAMPLE. OR AS YOU PROBABLY BETTER KNOW HIM, YOUR BROTHER, LUCIFER. THE LIGHTBRINGER, HE USED TO BE. NOW, HE IS MORE A THING THAT YOU BEGIN TO RESEMBLE.

 

Jagon screamed his incoherent fury with all his spiritual being and voice. With a fierce snap of his head, he flung Timothy away very like a child's toy. The man who had seen so much, and done so little (or so he thought) until today, hit the wall with a loud SNAP, fell to the ground, and lay still.

 

The tiny, fading consciousness that was now his persecutor's fueled Jagon's fury and fear even more as it whispered to him, I am condemned to Hell. If it be as you wish, then you will join me. But I beg you, hearken, and turn ba-

 

There is a sudden silence in all minds as Timothy's voice stops. The entire fight had taken only a few pieces of a second, the time in which how long it takes to think is measured, but it had rocked them all.

 

Gyrfalcon sees the focus begin to return to their foe's eyes and realizes it's now or never.

[Gyrfalcon]

Jagon snarled at Timothy's crumpled body and wheeled to face Gyrfalcon, raising high Gaspoliner. In the depths of his rage and madness, Jagon did not see that Gaspoliner's light flickered and faded before surging, then faded even further. Deep in the depths of his heart, Jagon knew that his course was wrong, but his pride forced him onward. His plan could still be salvaged, his mind told him. All he had to do was kill these mortals!

 

Gyrfalcon tore his gaze away from Timothy's body and his eyes locked on Jagon's. Gyrfalcon choked his rage down and forced calmness into his voice. "Jagon, you have a choice. Put down your sword and admit to yourself that your path is wrong. Return to Heaven's reaches and seek forgiveness for the deeds you have done, as black as they are-" the half-elf's plea was cut off as Jagon roared, sweeping Gaspoliner in a broad arc. "You dare lecture me, you flawed and failed creation? You lecture one of the hands of God? You shall learn your folly mortal, at the end of Gaspoliner!"

 

Gyrfalcon strode forward, his katana slashing the air before him. "We'll see." the half-elf promised grimly, his katana darting in a feint before cutting a silver arc through the air. Jagon batted the blow aside with his arm, not noticing as the blade sliced a divot off the bracer and bloodied his arm. Grasping Gaspoliner in two hands, the seraphim raised it high once more, and this time there was no one to stop its fall.

 

With a primal scream of rage, Jagon brought Gaspoliner down with all of his vast might behind it. Gyrfalcon raised his katana to block, but Jagon knew that there was no chance the half-elf could stop him!

 

Their blades met, and the perfect chime of metal on metal was changed as metal shattered. The tip of Jagon's sword cut a shallow line across Gyrfalcon's cheek before ricocheting past the half-elf. Jagon stared in horror at the shattered remains of Gaspoliner that he held, and never noticed the half-elf step back, then come forward in a smooth motion.

 

Jagon's armor parted like paper, and Gyrfalcon's steel dove through flesh and bone to pierce the seraphim's heart. Jagon stared at the half-elf in shock. "Not... possible." Jagon whispered.

 

The seraphim jolted forward, driven further onto Gyrfalcon's impaling sword as Myth struck from behind, her dagger cutting deep into the seraphim's back and taking a lung.

 

"Not possible." Jagon repeated, blood dribbling from his mouth. "Gaspoliner... the Sword of Faith..."

 

Gyrfalcon stepped back, and his katana slid free of the seraphim, who crumpled to his knees. "It... is not... possible. To be defeated... by wretched, flawed... mortals..." Jagon whispered, breath coming harder and harder as blood poured down his chest and filled his lungs.

 

"Gaspoliner, Jagon, the Sword of Faith. You abandoned your faith in God's plans when you set out to destroy humanity. You abandoned your faith in your quest when we showed that the higher emotions could and did drive us. And now you've lost everything, Jagon... even redemption."

 

"Father! Please... forgive me!" Jagon whispered, but the blackness of death swirled up around him before any response came, and he began to take the last journey as many flawed mortals did... not knowing what he would see when his eyes opened, Heaven or Hell.

[Wyvern]

Jagon's wounded body collapses to the ground with a thud that echoes hollowly throughout the otherwise eerily silent chamber. The dim halo floating above the seraphim's head of silver hair vanishes while his six wings suddenly begin to shed all of their feathers.

 

"Father! Please... forgive me!"

 

Gyrfalcon stares down at Jagon as these last words are muttered, feeling a hint of sorrow for the angelic abomination as he passes away. Watching him curiously, half elven hero notices his lips opening to speak some final sentence... yet no sound exits as the angelic entity breaths it's last.

 

Gyrfalcon has very little time to consider the lost sentence, however, as his thoughts turn to a more important issue at hand... his companions.

[Yui-chan]

"Shhh... do not try to move..." Kaleyra gazed down at Timothy with soft eyes, gently pressing back the hand he'd tried to raise towards her. Jagon was beyond her ability to help, but this man was well within it, and she had left the seraphim to the others to help their companion, using the knowledge she had earned from her studies to catalog his injuries: four broken ribs, a deep laceration across his shoulder, various contusions to his arms and chest, a third-degree burn to his face with undetermined damage to his eye, fever, blood-loss and a skull fracture and certain concussion. Myth's bandage and the molten metal of his own blade had taken care of his most bloody wounds, but a gash on the back of his head still seeped through the torn wad of cloth she held pressed to it. Still, though he was weak and delirious, life had a tenuous grasp on his body that told itself in the slow, steady beating of his heart.

 

The woman brushed a lock of hair back from his burned face, careful not to touch the wound, and his good eye flickered open to stare up at her unseeingly. She fancied for a moment that she could see the sensations she felt from his mind in that blue-eyed gaze, and the though brought tears to her eyes. The damage to the outside of him was only the beginning and nowhere near as concerning to her as the terrible chaos of his mind, the scattered fragmentation that she could feel down into the very core of what he was. It was a kind of damage within that she had never experienced before, not even in books, and she felt woefully inadequate to help him.

 

Inadequate and ignorant, for she was also certain that there were important aspects of the man called Timothy that she didn't understand, mysteries that had yet to be solved. The raw power of his mind frightened and confused her, and it swirled and rippled, tore apart and merged again like a raging river. It was too much for a human, too keen and expressive, too quick to reach out to her and try to pull her in, and it threw everything she thought she knew about him into doubt. His ruined eye had been able to transcend time. His determination had been able to transcend the limits of his injured body. His rage and desperation had been able to pierce even Jagon's mind with his thoughts and feelings. And the echoes she felt within him, that familiarity of the pattern upon which he was built...

 

Kaleyra tumbled the evidence around in the back of her head, letting it lead her towards a conclusion that seemed as impossible as it was unavoidable. He could only be --

 

"Aah!" The intrusion came from outside them, and she was suddenly recalled to the battle ending behind her by the stab of a blade through her heart. Except it wasn't hers. Kaleyra fought for a moment to separate the sensation from her body, feeling her own organ stutter in sympathy for the seraphim's demise. Timothy moaned softly, and she curled protectively over him, the action both physical and mental as she flung the net of her thoughts around his, walling him off from the emotions in the room around them. Considering that she was still super-sensitive and unable to erect her own defenses, she was relieved to see him relax visibly under her protection.

 

For that reason, Kaleyra didn't realize she was crying until she saw the first drops land on her friend's blood-stained tunic, and for a moment it confused her. They weren't her tears. The fear and anguish weren't her emotions. Perhaps because of the intensity of the sensations, she was slow to return to the fallen seraphim, slow to realize that on the edge of death, he had finally recognized the truth Timothy had tried to show him. He was afraid as he had never been in all of his immortal life, afraid and wracked with guilt and regret, and Kaleyra shook with the reaction his dying body was incapable of producing.

 

The Avian couldn't have blocked away his emotions if she'd wanted to, but she found that despite the pain of it all, despite what he had done to the faithful in that church and the battered man lying in her arms, she did not want to. Empty death crept towards him, and she could not leave him to face his regrets alone; despite what he might have deserved, it wasn't in her to watch him suffer.

 

As Jagon died, the young woman gently extended a thought to him that was little more than a clasp of his hand, a moment of warmth and comfort and forgiveness. Perhaps he felt it, perhaps he did not, but he faded suddenly from her mind, consumed by the utter nothing of death. The tears turned into her own, then, and Kaleyra hunched across Timothy, stealing just one moment to mourn a misguided soul.

 

She was just quieting, swiping the back of her hand across her cheeks to dry them, when Gyrfalcon crouched down beside them both. The Avian didn't need to look at him to know that those tilted, green eyes were clouded with worry, but she wasn't quite sure she was capable of delivering the smile that his victory deserved.

[Gyrfalcon]

The half-elf restrained a gasp of pain as knelt, and saw Kaleyra wince as well. But he was more focused on Timothy, reaching out with a gentle hand to touch the young scholar’s brow. Throwing caution to the winds, the half-elf sought the mana flows that would bring relief to his companion. But exhausted and wounded, the half-elf could not summon the white magic, instead only creating a star fall of useless lights around his hand. Gritting his teeth, the half-elf instead checked Timothy’s pulse before pulling out more bandages, wrapping the back of Timothy’s head to help stop the blood loss there.

 

“He has some broken ribs.” Kaleyra whispered, blotting her eyes unsuccessfully with the edge of her sleeve. Gyrfalcon nodded, doing his best to bandage the scholar’s ribs as well, ignoring his own wounds, so minor compared to all that Timothy has suffered.

 

As the two companions worked over Timothy, Myth took the opportunity to extract her dagger from Jagon’s back, wiping it contemptuously on a wing that shed its last feathers as she did so. Stepping past Jagon’s body, she looked around the chamber for the Pool of Eternal Reflection, certain that while her companions are distracted with Timothy, she could make use of the Pool without interference.

 

Her steps slow immediately though, for the chamber has changed much during the battle. Myth called to mind how it had looked when she had first entered, placed where the pool has to be… and staring straight at what looked to be a new wall to the cave. She growled softly to herself and stepped towards the wall anyway, moving some of the smaller stones and inspecting the cave-in, seeking to determine if it could ever be removed safely to allow access to the Pool again. She darted backwards as the rocks groan and shift, a massive boulder falling forward to land where she had been standing. As more rocks follow, the room is filled with dust as a smaller cave-in occurs.

 

Gyrfalcon coughed and stood as the dust finally settled, his cloak shedding dust as it slid away from Timothy’s ravaged body. “What?” he began, then coughed again, before spitting to the side to clear his mouth of dust. “What was that all about?” he asked.

 

Myth stood and brushed at the dust that layered her clothing. “That was about the fact that the Pool of Eternal Reflection is now buried, probably forever. Unless you can undo that collapse, Gyrfalcon.” She said flatly, angry and disappointed.

 

Gyrfalcon shook his head. “It’s not within my abilities, unfortunately. Many of my spells are meant for combat, and I could collapse the rest of the cavern fairly easily, but I possess no means of unsealing the Pool.”

 

Myth glares at him for a moment, then huffs and walks away, muttering to herself. “All this way for nothing…”

 

Kaleyra stared at the cave-in for a long moment, her eyes filled with loss. “All that knowledge…” she whispered.

 

Gyrfalcon shook his head, then turned sharply as Timothy moaned. Kaleyra turned as well and leaned close as Timothy whispered something, before gently giving him a drink of water from her canteen. Timothy lapsed into silence again, and Gyrfalcon and Kaleyra exchange long looks.

 

“Well? Let’s get going.” Myth said from near the entrance, her face locked in a grim expression. “And let’s hope that ship’s crew decided to stay.”

 

Gyrfalcon bent and gently tried to lift Timothy, but the movement sent lances of pain burning through his chest. Kaleyra touched his arm, then gestured to Timothy’s right-hand side. “Between us, I believe we can carry him. If you would take that side, it should be easier and less painful for you to help move him.”

 

The two gently lifted Timothy, draping his arms across their shoulders.

 

Myth led the way, her torch throwing shadows against the walls, but providing them a beacon to guide their way.

[Gwaihir]

Myth peered ahead of her as she walked on. After all the ridiculous things that had been going on around here she was as on guard as possible, and for her that was saying something. The others were taking forever and Myth internally groaned as she slowed her pace once again. They were still carrying the weird guy, so she didn't want to leave them, because she'd want to be carried if she herself got hurt, but it was high time to be out of this place. She was deeply looking forward to getting back to the cities, where she belonged. It was cold and damp here and her armchair was nowhere in reach....and hell, she even missed the fights. There was just nothing rewarding about fighting archangels...Hell group fighting in general was no fun. She missed her network too. It was hard to keep up with what was going on in the street when you were under some god forsaken temple on a magical island in the middle of nowhere. It was worth it when she was going to get the huge bonus for bringing back these magical waters, but now that she got little more than mileage this was lame and she was deeply ready to be home.

Occasionally she turned to glance at the others when t hey weren't looking and they all looked tired and hurt. It wasn't that she didn't feel these things too--the stupid angel had certainly given her what would be memory aids for a while...until they healed. Reall though, it was the grit and pain that she liked about this. The grit and pain were the only thing about this horrendous experience that felt like home. Grit and pain she knew how to handle...and how not to show either. That realization added an unconscious bounce to her step and she turned to beam at the others for a moment.

[Wyvern]

The passages of the Temple of Isaiis twist onward relentlessly as the adventurers slowly make their way back to the ancient monument's entrance, Myth acting as the guiding beacon of the group while Gyrfalcon and Kaleyra carefully tend to Timothy's inert form. The footsteps of the adventurers echo hollowly over the intricate granite floors, a certain essence forever lost to the stone patterns etched into their depths. The once-majestic stained glass windows of the temple no longer radiate the aura of grace they once did, and the alters and seats of worship now appear horribly aged to the heroes. Without any sense of wisdom to be offered, the sacred nature of the monument seemed to be permanently lost to cobwebs and dust bowls...

 

After what feels like an extensive period of walking and worrying, a ray of sunlight pierces the adventurers' visions, momentarily blinding them and engulfing them in a physical and emotional warmth. The adventurers follow the ray of light to the exit of the temple with their eyes firmly shut, happily breathing in the island air as they step outside of the sanctuary. They are surprised to find that the welcoming scent of fresh air has been marred by a lingering stench of decay, however, and proceed to open their eyes only to be met by the image of countless rotting bodies. The inanimate corpses of previously ressurected monks lay strewn across the clearing like an ocean of gangrene, providing nourishment to a variety of flies, ants, and maggots.

 

"You made it..."

 

The sound of a hoarse yet familiar voice, brimming with happiness and hope, causes the adventurers to turn towards the outer wall of the Temple against which Elena leans. The island guardian clutches at her chest with a dirty, red sheet of cloth that has become dried by the sun, brightly smiling despite her pain.

 

"You made it."

 

Elena shifts in her position against the wall as Myth and the others approach. Noticing the agitated expressions brought about by the numerous corpses as well as her wound, the guardian gestures her hand towards the bodies around her and mutters:

 

"They'll decay over time... eventually providing nourishment for the soil, just as they're providing nourishment for the creatures of nature now. Time heals all things, including wounds."

 

The guardian smiles.

 

"I felt it... the victory that is. I felt it before you even did battle, before you even entered the Temple. Indeed, you were destined to come to this island."

 

"The Pool..." mutters Gyrfalcon softly "it was lost."

 

A moment of silence passes in which Elena slightly shifts the position of the cloth on her chest, her face contemplative, her eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and disappointment. She is about to speak on the subject when she notices the severely wounded form of Timothy in Gyrfalcon and Kaleyra's arms, which causes her to immediatly switch subjects.

 

"Healing herbs..." sighs Elena, restlessly shifting in her position as the happiness in her voice becomes momentarily clouded. "By the river bank, though the undead may have withered them, fragile specimens that they are."

[Ozymandias]

The tired heroes found their task mercifully quick. With Elena's direction and Myth and Gyrfaclon's praticed eyes sweeping the green for what they needed with brisk efficiency, they soon found just enough sprigs of the very plant they needed most- an herb that Elena had named, and indeed all three recognized as a plant that could be brewed into multifaceted potions and poultices for head injury and sickness.

 

The brewing took a scant twenty minutes for the most basic of these treatments; a potion that was summarily poured down Timothy's unresistant throat.

 

He coughed once, twice, and pulled in a deep breath. Gyrfalcon and Kalyera excahnged glances of weary relief while Elena glance dover form dressing her own wounds (she had insisted) with a small smile.

 

Myth on the other hand, had her face already hidden from the sun by her hood, and seemed already settled back into her familiar unreadability. She was first to speak after Timothy had drawn a few even breaths.

 

"If we're done with the heartwarming moment," she said dryly, "We really need to move- now." Though Gyrfalcon was arching his eyebrow alomost at the back of her head, still Myth turned to face him and Kal.

 

"Think strategically. The enemy's down, yes. But we've still go tproblems. First, there's a good chance we no longer have a ride home, so we'd better deal with that swiftly if so. Secondly, we all need more healing now than we can probably get in time in this place." Finished, she sternly nods in Elena's, then Timothy's directions.

 

Disliking the thief's (or so he still mentally named her) callousness as much as ever, Gyrfalcon knew he still had to agree. That captian had no love for him, he knew, and by extension, any friend of his.

 

To top it off, with Timothy still in higly fragile health and the full extent of Elena's injuries unkown, these patients with equally shaken doctors needed better help, and soon.

 

"True, Myth." He made a thorough asessment of Kaleyra's state with a glance. She seemed to be lost in her thoughts (which she was, and was in fact soothed by the fact that they were mostly hers again- something Gyrfalcon did not undersatnd yet) and physically still wobbly with each step or stance taken.

 

He did not want to ask Elena for help for fear she'd say yes and injure herself further. That left only... "Myth, help me make a litter for Timothy?"

 

Kaleyra came out of her reverie then. She gave Gyrfalcon a look of mixed hurt and frustration.

 

"I'll help," she said quietly, then briskly paced off into the trees again, mind already searching through exhaustively comprehensive lists of the hadier yet flexible vines, grassess, and young trees that might be found.

 

Gyrflacon and the other two women watched her leave silently. Myth shrugged nonchalantly, and Elena did not move to get up.

 

"Follow her, then?" Myth asked Gyrfalcon.

 

"Yes. ...thank you," he replied. Hoisting himself to his feet, he turned to Elena. "Elena, are you well enough to watch Timothy for a bit?" Elena tried to sit up to respond, but with a grunt of pain, eased herself back down.

 

"I think so."

 

He offered her a thankful smile too, for it was all the aid he could offer at the moment. "Good. I'm going to start cutting the wood. I'll be back as soon as I can."

 

"We'll be here," she said confidently.

 

After only two hours of work, a serviceable litter was built for Gyrfalcon to pull Timothy along behind him on. He stil ha dhis mind mad eup not tot ask the women for aid. He worried about all of their health. Except for Myth's. She seemed physically sound enough but had also been acting almost bizarrely happy for a while.

 

They loaded their now more quietly moaning companion up, and began the trek back to the shore.

[Wyvern]

The heroes silently march back through the familiar jungle path they had previously taken to the Temple of Isaiis, supporting Timothy and Elena as they make their way towards the beach where the ship is parked. The two wounded heroes of the party slowly sway on the edge of consciousness as Gyrfalcon and Kaleyra help them pace along, the effects of the healing herbs not providing a cure for the exhaustian that slowly gripped at their souls. As the heroes pass the clearing where they had previously met Elena, the former island guardian opens her mouth in the hopes of whispering something, but only manages to breath a short, uncomfortable sigh.

 

As the heroes exit from the jungle onto the beach shore where their ship is located, an icey grip of fear momentarily clouds their optimism. The shore of the beach was strewn with the corpses of previous monks, a line of the fallen undead leading up to the hull of the "Lunging Lobster." Never the less, the ship was still parked in the same position that the heroes had left it, much to their relief... Myth narrows her eyes and squints past several rays of sunshine, noticing that the boarding ramp of the ship is lowered and that a great deal of activity seems to be occuring around that area. Sailors seem to be carrying large bundles down the ramp and unloading them from the ship, tossing them into the Ocean or onto the sand...

 

The adventurers cross over the beach towards the "Lunging Lobster," carefully stepping past the numerous rotting corpses and almost causing the wounded to trip over a few sand dunes in the process. It's only a matter of moments before a few sailors walking down the plank recognize the presence of the adventurers, and point towards them and shout amongst themselves. Several sailors rush out to meet the adventurers for the rest of their short trek towards the boarding ramp, silently nodding towards them as they help them carry the wounded.

 

The heroes and the sailors aiding them arrive at the boarding ramp of the "Lunging Lobster" just as another bundle of corpses is carried down it by two grunting deck hands and dumped into the Ocean. Gyrfalcon and Kaleyra's eyes widen while Myth remains silent and contemplative, and the three adventurers leave Timothy and Elena to the aid of the sailors as they rush up onto the deck in fear of what might have happened...

 

Reaching the deck, the adventurers are met by a catastrophic mess. The corpses of countless former monks lay strewn alongside the corpses of former crew members, with lifeless forms hanging from the sides of railings and ropes. Near a pole that rests next to a torn sail, a sailor with a medic kit tends to a number of wounded men laying on the ground. As the heroes scan the scene in a mixture of shock and confusion, a familiar voice tones to them:

 

"Don't you worry about it. She'll sail."

 

Gyrfalcon turns only to be met by the gaze of Captain Wallace, standing at the wheel of his ship, his eyes interlocking with those of the half elf. No words are spoken as the hero and the captain look at each other for a long moment, the gratitude present in Gyrfalcon's eyes speaking the words "Thank you for not abandoning us. Thank you for fighting for us, and risking your lives for us." more clearly than spoken words ever could. Smiling lightly and stepping down from his position by the wheel, the Captain nods towards the heros and signals to the sailors tending to Timothy and Elena, directing them towards the medic. There is then a long moment of silence between the adventurers and the Captain, after which Wallace softly murmers:

 

"And Y'Tren...?"

 

Myth rapidly responds to this question with a quick shake of her head, then turns away to find some secluded spot, prefering not to speak or even think about the island anymore now that her feet were firmly off of it's shore. A moment of silence passes in which Wallace quietly nods to this, and then he proceeds to loudly exclaim:

 

"After we unload a few more of these bundles of rottin' monsters from the "Lobster," we'll get the crew back in order and will be sailing outta here in a couple hours. Ain't that right boys?!"

 

An enormous cheer raises from the crowd of sailors, surprisingly powerful and uplifting considering the unexpected horrors that they were forced to endure.

 

"Damn right!" Captain Wallace laughs, unseathing his blood-stained pirate cutlass and plunging it into the corpse of a former undead monk, gingerly splitting it's head at the neck.

 

"No more magical monster islands for us! We're going home!"

[Yui-chan]

Home... The heavy word hit the web of Kaleyra's mind and stuck there like a captured fly, its impact ripping the thin strands of control that she'd woven over her swirling thoughts and chaotic emotions. So much had happened. So much had been lost. The Pool of Eternal Reflection, whether a lie or not, had been destroyed, and with it went her only hope for saving her meager race from extinction. It didn't matter that she hadn't collapsed the cave herself. It didn't matter that they'd won against the poor, misguided angel who had. What mattered was that she would be returning to her home with empty hands and ugly excuses. She had failed miserably - failed completely.

 

The thought made the winged woman's heart ache, and she lowered her head, rounding her shoulders against a new kind of pain that dwarfed the bruises and aches from her body. I knew I wasn't good enough. The doubts bubbled up from the dark well of insecurity she held inside, the ripples of their passing flaying her with blades of self-recrimination. The hurt was well-deserved in her eyes, the least she should suffer for the monumental scope of her shortcomings. What had they cost her people? What had she cost her mother and her family and her grand, ancient culture? The questions rose up like a sea of black, angry claws to snare her and drag her down into a miasma of self-loathing.

 

"Kaleyra?" As Myth and Captain Wallace went their own ways, Gyrfalcon's smooth voice interrupted her misery, his tone heavy with concern. He ducked his head down to catch her gaze. "You've been quiet. Are you alright?"

 

No. The young Avian glanced away, unwilling to meet her companion's eyes. "I ... would like to go verify that the surgeon knows how to use the Eriastor nerificus that we picked on the island and check on Timothy and Elena, and then I think I will endeavor to rest. You can find me below decks if you have need of me later."

 

She moved to turn away, but Gyrfalcon gently caught her shoulder. He knew her too well to be fooled by the off-putting answer, and he cut straight to the issue that truly weighed on her thoughts. "Kaleyra, I know it's probably not much of an offer, but if New Muriska can do anything for your people..."

 

"... thank you, Gyrfalcon," the scholar responded after a moment, her face turned in profile to him as she glanced out over the ocean unseeingly. "I'll ensure that my mother knows of your offer when she and the counsel decide our next steps. Now, if you'll excuse me."

 

Kaleyra tried to pull away from the half-elf's hand only to feel him tighten his grip stubbornly. His calloused fingers snagged in the worn blue fabric of her tunic, the pressure just enough to keep her from moving without bruising the tender skin underneath. With an inward groan, she resisted the unspoken command and tugged, unwilling to face him – or anyone – with the turmoil she was feeling, but he proved to be more stubborn and more powerful, despite his injuries. After a moment, the scholar was forced to turn back and face him, her brows furrowed in confusion.

 

"Please release me. As I said, I'd like to—"

 

"Stay here and talk to me? Ah, good." Gyr tried to smile and turn the moment into a joke, but the hurt and uncertainty he found in his friend's expressive eyes sabotaged his attempt. Instead, he just sighed and leaned against the rail beside them, mindful of his injured arm. "You know that even if you had managed to use the Well, you wouldn't be here right now, don't you?"

 

The Avian frowned and pressed her palms against the smooth wood. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Had I lived, I would have succeeded. Had I died, I would have been no worse off than I am at this moment. Indeed," she muttered, her tone so low that even the keen hearing of Gyr's elven heritage had trouble discerning the words, "perhaps I would have been in a better situation..."

 

Gyrfalcon gripped her shoulder tightly. "No, you wouldn't have been," he said firmly. "When there is life, there is hope."

 

Kaleyra let her head drop forward, resignation written in every line of her body. "What hope, Gyrfalcon? The Pool of Eternal Reflection held the last of it, the last of three generations of struggles to find a way to survive, to rebuild. Whether it was a lie or not, it was the end of the path. I was their last hope."

 

"You're still alive, and so is their hope," he answered, his voice as gentle as his hand where it rested on her arm.

 

And what a flimsy and insubstantial hope I am. The black thought stabbed at her despite his reassurances, but Kaleyra shoved it back, summoning instead a weak smile and a hint of gratitude. Whether she could believe the half-elf's words or not, she couldn't deny that pure kindness and care motivated them, and that touched her through her self-recriminations. He didn't deserve to have to suffer through her doubts. He didn't deserve to have this day ruined by her failure.

 

Hesitantly, the winged woman lifted her hand and placed it over his, finally looking up into his bright eyes. "Thank you," she said sincerely, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "You never fail to be kind to me, though I don't deserve it."

 

He smiled and gently squeezed her arm. "Yes, you do deserve it."

 

Kaleyra, feeling her cheeks warm under the ranger's regard, dropped her hand and her eyes and subtly pulled a veil of practicalities between them. "You should come with me to the surgeon so that he can properly treat and bind the lacerations on your chest and arm. They would benefit from some stitching as well, if he has any supplies."

 

Gyrfalcon regarded her for a long moment, then bowed his head. "As you wish, but... please, think on what I've said."

 

"I promise," the Avian assured him as she turned away from the ocean and the first hints of dusk in the cloud-dotted sky. "I will consider everything very thoroughly..."

[Gwaihir]

Home, it had been a long time since she'd been there. Home was where comfortable things were. Home was where Myth was in an enviroment she knew and could manipulate. Home was where she was a story told to frighten young fighters. Home was where Myth knew what was up.

 

But home wasn't a place where life was easy. Home wasn't a place where anyone really cared whether Myth lived or died...No, take that back, home was a place where quite a few people wouldu be mildly pleased if Myth died...but they'd forget their joy soon enough. Home was a place where no one would give Myth anything for nothing. Home was a place where pain was a way of life.

 

It wasn't the way these people lived and she didn't understand these people. These people didn't understand her...didn't like her either probably; the bird certainly didn't and the elf probably didn't either. (OOC: Yes, I know Gyr's a halfelf, but don't expect Myth to make that kind of distinction.)

 

It was odd to think that maybe she liked this uncomfortable messy atmosphere, but in the end Myth had to admit that all of life is uncomfortable. It's just that every part of life is uncomfortable in different ways. The game of life is picking which kind of discomfort to choose and how to cope with it, lessen it. Right now this was a big issue, because Myth got her pay for bringing back some water from that lake with a map and instructions on how to get more..yeah that lake that was full of stone now. Myth wasn't about to get any money for this job she'd done and Myth didn't have any money of her own.

Home was a place Myth missed, but it also wasn't a place Myth could go right now. Home wasn't a place she could go when she was down and out...and this was down and out.

 

Myth shook herself. Time to make plan B and C, because A was shot to hell. Time to adapt herself to this situation...and maybe to these people? Would they let her? The elf, wasn't he someone powerful? What if she agreed to play by his rules, what he called honesty, maybe he'd have a use for a person of her talents? It was time to go find out. This felt humbling and humbling felt sucky, but humble was what you were when you couldn't go Home and it wasn't a new feeling to Myth, not half new enough for her taste.

 

By the time Myth had finished her decision some time had passed. When she looked for Gyrfalcon, she found him already stitched up. The halfelf was walking across the deck. He looked thoughtful, but he didn't look so busy that she thought he would object to the interuption She waited until he was out of the others' hearing distance and then she appeared next to him, out from behind some boxes...(mental note: Was he ranger enough to have heard or was she assassin and spy enough to have hid from him? Could she do anything to impress this man, anything he could find useful?)

 

It was somewhat relieving to see Gyrfalcon jerk when Myth addressed him. Good, so he hadn't seen her there. She smiled, "I have a proposal for you, can we stop here where others can't hear and talk?"

"Yees" Gyrfalcon wasn't dumb enough to trust Myth and he knew her well enough to wonder what she might want with him, but he was still willing to talk.

"I've not got to know you during this journey, but I've been watching you for a while and you interest me. You will have to excuse my ignorance about you, but I've been in the middle of the wilderness and have no access to my spy networks, so I am left with the options of ignorance and simple conversation." Here Myth laughed, because it struck her that these people probably thought that conversation was the normal way to find out about people...like by asking them. Ah, well, no harm if this guy thought she was different, she was. "Well, I know you are a person of some power, though I don't know exactly what. I figured I'd come talk to you, because I'm not just an assassin, I'm also a spy and a teacher of spies. I am the one who sees what is ahead, I am the one who knows what will happen tomorrow and who will happen it. I've come to offer my services, because I respect you and I think we could both gain by it.

Edited March 22, 2004 by Gwaihir

[Gyrfalcon]

Gyrfalcon studied Myth carefully as he considered her words. Over the course of their journey, he and the assassin had talked rarely, only enough to execute necessary tasks aboard the ship and elsewhere. Her approaching him for employment was surprising, to say the least.

 

The half-elf rubbed his wounded arm absently as he contemplated Myth, considering her proposal in light of the needs of New Muriska, and the possible reasons she would approach him with this proposal. The half-elf was quite interested, knowing that New Muriska’s spy network, such as it was, consisted more of military scouts near the borders of his lands to give forewarning of pending attacks then a true network of spies who could ferret out hidden alliances and secrets and give warning of moves made against New Muriska that had nothing to do with force of arms...

 

But what was in it for Myth? She offered him much, especially if she was an excellent teacher... but what could she gain from this association? Gyrfalcon had always had the sense she was a loner, and that type never tied themselves down too far. He glanced over the side of the ship, watching the open sea framed by the harbor mouth.

 

“What exactly do you have to gain from this, Myth? I would gain an excellent spy network, as you pointed out, but you never spoke of what you would gain from me in return.” The half-elf said softly.

 

Myth studied him for a long while in return, weighing her options and deciding how much of the truth she could get away with not telling. “I will find that, once we return, the employer who sent me on this mission will be quite unhappy with me for failing in my mission. I do not believe I will find my normal base of operations safe, and thus I must establish a new one. You offer me two things- a place to build again and the resources to do so, and also the safety, at least for a short while, of your own power. While my former employer is quite powerful in some circles, I very much doubt he would tempt your wrath until he knew all about you... and by that time, you’ll know all about him, through my services.”

 

Gyrfalcon restrained a slight smile, as that was quite possibly the most Myth had said to anyone since she had joined their ill-fated quest.

 

“I will admit that your offer is quite tempting, but I request time to think about it. You might want to consider how much in the way of compensation you are asking for, as that was something else you hadn’t mentioned yet.” he said.

 

Myth bowed her head slightly and moved away, unable to restrain a small smirk as she turned her back on the elf. Despite the ambiguity of his comment, the fact he wanted to discuss pay rather then reject her offer outright reassured her that he would likely hire her. She might have to sweeten the pot a little more to get him to accept her price, but she was sure an arrangement could be worked out.

 

Gyrfalcon watched Myth silently slip across the deck, blending to the sparse shadows as best as she could in the bright sun that graced the island, brighter still after the gloom of the caverns below the Temple of Isaiis. He shook his head and turned to look out over the bay, his thoughts flickering across his companions, from the dead Y’Tren to the horribly wounded Timothy and Elena to Kaleyra, perhaps no less wounded, her hopes shattered by the loss of the Pool of Eternal Reflection.

 

Gyrfalcon leaned against the rail with a heavy sigh, considering his own hopes. He had hoped the Pool of Eternal Reflection would have granted him the wisdom he thought necessary to keep New Muriska clear of the growing wars that were erupting among the mage-lead kingdoms. The half-elf felt the sting of failure as well, though he knew that he most likely wouldn’t have been able to use the knowledge the Pool might have provided, and its sealing prevented Jagon from destroying the world. But like the others, he had hoped to use the Pool to his own ends, however noble they might have been, and his quest had failed.

 

The half-elf sighed and pushed those thoughts aside for later before starting slowly down the deck to where the wounded were being tended to check up on Timothy and Elena again.

[Ozymandias]

On his arrival, he found the two of them fast asleep.

 

To his dismay, the sounds of each of his companions' breathing was still labored, but he quickly took heart as his keen ears told him that not only had Timothy's sharp stacatto eased down into a somewhat greedy, but vastly more measured rhythm, but Elena's had nearly relaxed to normal.

 

Gyrfalcon entered and sat silently on a heavy stool that slid about almost imperceptibly between the bunks they had been given.

 

He watched the two of them for what felt like a long time, considering many things.

 

Finally with a small, but not sad sigh, he stood, turning to leave and very nearly did, but for the odd thing he spied out of the corner of his eye, halting him in the doorway of the gently swaying ship.

 

The spine of a thin book protruded ever so slightly from the neck of Timothy's shirt.

 

That's strange, thought Gyrfalcon. I'm certain he had no belongings with him, other than a sword, as far back as Felleros Cathedral, when we first met. In fact, I'm sure of it.

 

Hmm.

 

He walked easily back over to his friend's bedside, careful not to make any sudden or loud movements, lest he should disturb the much injured young man's well-earned rest.

 

Gyrfalcon leaned over Timothy ever so slightly as he examined the much worn, stained, and slightly odorous binding.

 

Did he find this in the temple? If so, why keep it secret?

 

Or... Is this something else altogether? If so, how did he hide it so well, and why? Oh Timothy. Don't tell me I know Myth better than you, after all. I don't know if my mind can really take another ominous puzzle right now.

 

The half-elf, wearied in body and soul as he was, nearly gave a start when Timothy's eyes fluttered open and giving a glazed glance up at him, reached shakily into his shirt and pulled the strange book free.

 

"Gyr-fal...con", he croaked. Slowly becoming alarmed, Gyrfalcon tried to calm his friend, fearing Timothy was relapsing into his fever dreams.

 

"It's alright Tim. I'm here." The next thing his companion did however, he also little expected. With a weak shove, Timothy thrust the now obviously dark-stained and dusty tome at him.

 

"Give...Kal...book...she needss...", he managed before his eyes went completely unfocused again. Gyrfalcon stood at the head of the bed as Timothy's eyes slowly shut once more. He waited as Timothy's speech drifted off into a softer and softer murmur until he finally lay quiet and snoring once more.

 

 

* * * *

 

Later, on the deck, Gyrfalcon finished his explanation of how he had gotten the book to a silent Kaleyra. She looked at the cover pensively and ran her fingers across stains that looked like water and...blood?

 

"What could it mean?", she asked quietly, face a mask of confusion.

 

Knowing well by now her likely thought pathway right at that moment, it was Gyrfalcon's turn to say nothing as he gave Kaleyra time to absorb the strange gift.

 

 

When she turned to face the horizon, book clutched now in both hands, he knew it was time.

 

"Open it and find out. That he meant for you to read it I'm certain of."

 

She did. To hers and Gyrfalcon's surprise, it seemed to be almost completely gutted; every page ripped out- and none too gently. Every page save five. Three of those five were blank; but the first in the set appeared to be a smudged journal entry. The exact date was obliterated though the season remained. The rest was not damaged beyond Kaleyra's ability to glean their meaning from context:

 

The more I think of the geneaologies we studied, the tales mother and father showed us, the more I am certain.

 

Kaleyra is more than forthcoming, as always. Her aid with the histories of the Avians has been invaluable, of course. Everything from the tidal waves, the apparent location of the mountain refuge.

 

The stories I'd always loved to hear as a child, like the ones of our Great-Great Grandmother, who "rode the wind". I'd always assumed she was a sailor.

 

Who would have thought that my family was not entirely human? What's more, who would have thought I would find our lost ancestors, their history, their fall, and the story of how our family began in that fishing village with a pair of survivors from a horrible tragedy.

 

Tolec and Maradeh. A husband and wife. Survivors who could fly.

 

Did mother and father know? I'm not sure.

 

Surely Kal does not, or she...

 

Surely she would have more hope.

 

How do I tell her? Do I tell her?

 

I wish, God, that I knew.

 

Kaleyra sat down on the deck where she stood. It was almost too much to comprehend, especially following an encounter with a fallen angel bent on destroying the world.

 

But Tolec and Maradeh were the members her own family had lost, back in the time of the waves.

[Yui-chan]

Somewhere very, very far away, someone was calling her name. A part of her heard it, processed the timbre of the voice and the alarm it contained, and then dismissed them as incomparable to the thoughts whirling in her head, to the smudged words on the page before her. That same part felt the impact with the ship's deck when her knees buckled, forcing her to sit. It knew that she was white-faced and blank-eyed and probably scaring the hell out of the timeless mage beside her, but it took all that information and tucked it away to be dealt with later, leaving the rest of her free to process the shocking implications of Timothy's words.

 

And, my... were there implications. They attacked from all sides, fighting so hard for her attention that for a long moment, she could not form a coherent thought under the onslaught of all the incoherent ones. Hope was there, crowded together with fear and some vague misgiving she couldn't identify in the mess. Awe and excitement. Worry. Sadness. Doubt and confidence all mired up into a jumble. She wrestled with them, ignoring all else until she'd finally managed to regain order.

 

"Dammit, Kaleyra, say something!" Anger in a voice from which she'd heard nothing but kindness finally jolted the scholar from her shocked reverie, and she blinked up, finding herself staring into Gyrfalcon's tension-lined face. "Are you hurt?" His hands were on her arms, his calloused fingers digging with bruising force into her flesh. His eyes, a luminescent and absolutely penetrating green, were intense and filled with worry as they fixed on her vacant expression and bloodless face.

 

"I... " The Avian found it hard to form words, her attention splintered by shock and a strange fascination with the feel of her friend's breath against her cheek. He was close, so close that she could have leaned forward and touched her lips to his. ... The very thought made her blush and gave her the focus needed to pull her thoughts fully back to the here and now. She smiled softly, lifting her hands to grip his wrists in an attempt to reassure him. "I... am fine, Gyrfalcon. Please forgive me for alarming you."

 

The words didn't do much to reassure him, spoken as they were in a sort of breathless hush, but as the color returned to Kaleyra's face and her eyes cleared, the mage took a deep breath, concentrating on easing the thud of his heart against his breast. His reaction surprised even him, but she had gone so terribly pale, looking for all the world like she was going to pass out. He'd just ... panicked, his head filling with a dozen terrible reasons for her reaction. That's why it took conscious effort to ease the death-grip he had on the young woman's slender shoulders, and why he grimaced when he realized just how much of his strength he'd been using against her. He took another deep breath, offering quietly, "I'm sorry for being so rough. I must be tired."

 

Kaleyra smiled shyly, shaking her head against his apology. "I think it more likely that you are exhausted. Not only has it been an excessively active day, but you suffered lacerations and contusions that cost you a rather large amount of hemoglobin. Undoubtedly, you are marginally blood deficient, at this point, and should be in bed giving your body a chance to recover." At his amused look and raised eyebrow, she quailed a bit, blushing once more. "Er... that is... well, it might be for the best, but ... of course, that's your choice."

 

Gyrfalcon laughed softly and nodded. "I've lost a fair amount of blood and should rest," he translated for himself before smiling again. "I suppose you're right, though you should probably rest, yourself. You have to be mentally exhausted."

 

The young woman nodded, turning her gaze back out over the water and peering through the wooden slats of the ship's railing with a little smile on her lips. Already, she was slipping away from her surroundings, pulled by the tide of her powerful mind. "I think I shall endeavor to rest shortly, after I visit with Timothy... and perhaps make an entry in my journal..." Her voice started to trail off as she spoke less and less for Gyrfalcon's benefit and more to filter her thoughts. "... analyze the records for mention of them... genealogical study... "

 

As she droned on distractedly, the man beside her sighed and shook his head, rubbing a hand down his face in exasperation. Finally, he interrupted, leaning his face close to grab her attention and spearing her with an intense look. "But you will sleep, right?"

 

It took an extra second for her gaze to focus on him and another in which she had to struggle to recall what he'd said, but at last she blinked and nodded. "I shall sleep. I promise."

 

He looked a little dissatisfied with the answer, but still Gyrfalcon stood, graceful despite his injuries, and bowed politely, wishing his companion a good night. For one moment, her roaring thoughts fell silent as she watched him turn and make his way towards the hold, replaced by a certain glowing warmth that she couldn't quite comprehend. Perhaps she would have taken some time to analyze it further, but it was only too soon that she was distracted by thoughts of the cousin she never knew she had.

 

Very soon thereafter, Kaleyra was striding across the deck to the infirmary, her eyes as far distant as the moon that was just rising through the early night sky.

[Yui-chan]

"Are you sure you've –"

 

"I be as sure as ye are winged, lady, an' I swears tha' if ya questions me medical talents any more, I'll be throwin' ya overboard - Cap'n's orders or no!" The man's voice was as harsh and clipped as it could possibly be while maintaining a whisper, and the sudden incensed rage in it made the woman beside him blink owlishly. Why, with his surprisingly-clean fingers curling towards her throat, she could almost believe the white-haired ship's surgeon actually was considering acting on his threat. Kaleyra blinked, again, realizing far too belatedly that the past five questions she'd asked had all tread heavily on his professional integrity.

 

She ducked her head, fighting a blush that crept up her cheeks. "Ah. Do please forgive my indelicate ramblings, good physician. I fear that incumbent exhaustion and worry over my ... my friend have made me foolish. Of course you've done well. Timothy's wounds were quite distressing, and I can see the talent with which he's been treated." Resting her hand over her heart, she tucked her wings and bowed. "You have my most sincere apologies."

 

Despite his tough words, the old man wasn't proof against her sincerity and humility, and he accepted her apology with a wordless grunt, turning away to check on a wounded sailor that had started moaning in the far bunk of the crowded infirmary. He was ready for his exotic guest's offer of help, and waved a hand dismissively at her before she could do anything more than open her mouth. "I c'n handle the lads, lady. Ye jus' finish ye're bizness with th'warrior an' be lettin' 'im rest. Aye?"

 

"Aye, doctor."

 

As soon as the whispered words left her lips, the doctor was forgotten, and the young scholar's attention shifted, riveting solely on Timothy's prone form. She hadn't meant to, but she couldn't resist a quick examination, her deft hands and keen eyes taking in every detail of his improving health from heart rate to a very gentle exploration of the metal-covered ruin of his left eye. The metal was so thoroughly fused with his skin, that she could only agree with the doctor's assessment: Better to leave it, sealed against infection as it was, than to risk another open wound in his current weak state.

 

Still... he looked like a thing utterly changed from what he had been.

 

And why not? Kaleyra mused as she lifted his limp hand and clasped it between hers, her sad eyes traveling his wan face. Timothy came on this journey ignorant of all that he was. Now, he knows who else is in his blood, and perhaps why he has suffered those visions all his life. He is changed. ... perhaps we all are.

 

She looked down at where her fingers lay against the young man's palm, the contact that would have been strange to her only months before feeling as natural and comfortable as the cover of an aged tome. She wasn't uneasy. She wasn't nervous. She wasn't even inclined to analyze or catalogue the enigma that was Timothy MacLaggan. Nor had she felt those ways about Gyrfalcon, or even Myth, for many days. That realization brought a small smile to the Avian's face, and she whispered softly, "I think this must be what it means to have friends. I wish I had known it s--"

 

The young woman paused mid-sentence, thought crystallizing so suddenly that she stiffened with the shock of it. She wasn't the only one who should have known friendship sooner. This was a feeling forgotten by her entire race, by a people who had been living in strict isolationism for so long that they hadn't considered seeking help from outside themselves, even in the face of extinction. The Avian people had no friends, so they huddled up on their dying mountain, letting themselves feel uncomfortable and nervous about the beings that shared their world, treating them like specimens to be studied instead of peers to be consulted. ... and they slowly died, while humans and elves and orcs and dwarves and all manners of other races thrived and exchanged and advanced. Because they had friends. Because they weren't afraid to be part of the world, danger or not.

 

Because there is strength in diversity.

 

After the pitched battle with Jagon, Kaleyra could never have argued the thought. None of them would have stood a chance against the deranged archangel alone, but together, they had survived and triumphed. Their different talents and abilities and intellects had combined in a common purpose, forming them into a singular power that had done what should have been all but impossible. That disparate unity was the key to everything, the answer she had come into this alien world to find. It was the way to save her people.

 

... and she hadn't even needed the Pool to tell it to her.

 

A choked sound, half sob and half laugh, stirred the quiet of the infirmary, drawing the doctor's gaze to the winged woman as she hunched convulsively over her friend, her head bowed over his chest. For a moment, she was still, and he wondered if he'd imagined the sound. Then the soft-hearted old man noticed the way her shoulders shook, and his face fell into familiar, sad lines. A woman crying over a sick bed meant only one thing - he had failed. He sighed as he made his way through the maze of resting wounded, reflecting unhappily that he'd thought the young man was recovering well. Death could be such an unpredictable mistress...

 

"Ah, I'm sorry, me lady," he said softly, reaching out to press her shoulder with a rock-steady hand. "I ... I thought th' lad woulda survived."

 

She didn't answer right away, struggling to breathe through the sobs that shook her. He thought she must've loved the young warrior very much to be so distraught... until she raised her face to look at him and showed him the bright joy that shone through the tears on her cheeks.

 

Kaleyra smiled at the kindly doctor, shaking under the onslaught of joy and hope and pride that were a blinding contrast to the despair she'd shared only a few hours ago with Gyrfalcon. She wanted him to know, wanted to share her happiness with him, but she couldn't clear the lump in her throat long enough to tell him. Instead, she offered a quiet thought towards his all-too-human mind, letting him grasp it curiously and invite her whisper into his thoughts.

 

He will survive, she said soundlessly, watching comprehending shock descend over his features. We will all survive - as a part of the world, this time.

 

The strange woman's joy was a warm glow around the thought-words, instantly appealing and infectious, leaving the old surgeon stripped bare of any prejudices. Such purity of emotion was too familiar, too comforting to be alien, and no matter what power she had used to share it with him, he was grateful for the gift.

 

With a gummy smile, he patted her shoulder and intoned quietly, "Aye, me lass. I c'n see that ye will do, indeed."

 

With that, the doctor turned to amble away, leaving Kaleyra d'Avie alone to cry relieved tears against Timothy's warm shoulder until the moment came when exhaustion finally dragged her into slumber.

[Wyvern]

The "Lunging Lobster" continues sailing over calm waters as the adventurers are gradually unified in bonds of sleep, peacefully drifting off into dreams of hope and home. As the mighty ship sails over open waves, rays of moonlight illuminate its reflection upon the vast sparkling waters, forming an elegant and majestic image of what would normally look like a casual merchant vessel.

 

The "Lobster" had undergone much hardship to earn its luminous image, as had the many passengers it carried on board. Each had suffered their own tragedies and rekindled their hopes through bonds of life, striving for an optimistic future.

 

When there is life, there is hope.

 

As the ship sails off into the distance in the direction of Mefferius, a group of three silver sea serpents casually glide through the water a few miles away from it. The serpents ignore the ship and its position on their oceanic territory as they gracefully turn and coil in the water, content with simply being together on a beautiful, moonlit evening. They eventually stray from the ships route as they pass into the depths of the ocean, leaving a faint glimmer on the surface as they vanish beneath its soothing ripples.

 

-

 

Questions constantly plague us... Answers elude us, and shall remain forever out of our reach.

 

Together, we can make the best of them.

[Wyvern]

-Epilogue-

 

Darkness in the Astral.

 

Shadows bend and weave as the very air whispers in tones of curious purgatorial spirits, and a dim glow begins radiating in the lonesome plane as the spirit of Jagon slowly floats amongst its unseen ranks. The seraphims spiritual form gradually opens his eyes and blankly observes his solitary surroundings, his lips still moving in the final sentence he had wanted to speak before death had stolen the air from his lungs. Jagons words are finally whispered to the empty void of the purgatorial plane, causing shadows to ripple as they slowly slide off the spirits tongue:

 

"I've lost to the infidels."

 

Having spoken these words, an air of determination falls over the spirits visage, and he immediately turns his head upwards towards the endless limbo of the plane.

 

"Father... forgive me."

 

The spirit then falls to his knees.

 

"I, one of your most loyal and committed servants, have lost the battle to blasphemers. But fear not, for with destiny at my side and You as my guiding beacon, I will certainly win the war."

 

A small smile slowly spreads across the seraphims lips.

 

"I haven't the faintest doubt that I will triumph. The peons only know what they see, they remain stranded in their own material visions and fail to consider destinies course. They know not of what I am, or of what I may become."

 

Jagon pauses and cups his hands in a prayer formation, his smile fading as he continues to stare upwards and pleads.

 

"I beseech you, my sovereign... grant me reincarnation, so that I may return to Terra to complete the mission I was sent to accomplish. If it is never finished, all that will be left for me is the shame of my failures."

 

Jagon continues staring upwards, tightening his hands together and ceasing to glow as no response descends from the endless skies above.

 

"Please my soveriegn." continues the spirit somewhat hoarsely, falling from his knees into a full crouching position. "The Pool has been lost, but there are surely other ways to eliminate the sinners. As destiny dictates, you are the last of my hopes."

 

Jagon remains hunched over in a groveling position as a long moment of silence passes, then slowly lifts his head as a dim ray of light pierces through the twisting shadows of the plane and falls upon him. A smile spreads across the seraphims face as two more rays of light fall upon him in this manner, and he slowly lifts himself to his feet as the rays collectively form a radiant shaft that transcends the darkness. Jagon grins broadly as he finds that his deteriotated wings have been restored to their majestic state, and lifts his hands to the sky as he exclaims:

 

"Oh thank you, great Lord and sovereign! From the very depths of my heart, I knew that you'd never abandone one of your loyal servants!"

 

Jagon stretches only to find that his armor has begun to become restored, and smiles triumphantly as he begins walking towards the light.

 

"This time, I shalln't fail."

[Zadown]

Suddenly, something blocks the rays of light and the restoration of Jagon's armor stops, teeters on the edge ready to turn back into degeneration. The seraphim's face twist into a visage of rage and fear as he tries to recognize the tall, thin figure that stands between him and his salvation.

 

"Who dares? Who dares to stand in the way of the chosen of the Lord, to condemn themselves to eternal torment by such act of heresy?"

 

"Th' eternities hold no torments for me an' the likes of me, Jagon. An' th' gods hold no sway over my fate, either."

 

The last sound the spirit of Jagon hears is the greedy wail of a spectral blade.

[Wyvern]

---

 

"Destiny. A tyrant's authority for crime and a fool's excuse for failure." - Ambrose Bierce