Chapter: 774 - Epilogue (Patreon)

Previous__________ToC__________Bonus

All across the smaller, settled continent of Zeme, Black Legion automaton bodies were destroyed in massive quantities, especially when they had fallen near civilization. Those that fell in the wild were obliterated when discovered, but many remained hidden or otherwise abandoned. In the coming years, decades, and even centuries, some of those served as the occasional host to passing spirits that were curious about corporeal form, but that almost never lasted long.

The lingering fear and suspicion among those affiliated with the alliance actually ensured that almost no one dared keeping intact specimens. Though quite a few groups petitioned for—and were granted—permission to take pieces for study.

The days of automaton research happening in dark alleys was over, the compulsion and manipulation surrounding the concept of automata utterly shattered, dispersed so completely that it would have to be rebuilt from the ground up if it were to ever be utilized again.

Within the Doman-Imithe, the bodies were less quickly sorted.

Some ancient dragons claimed one or two as items of interest, but most were slowly ground down by the disjointed nature of the backside of reality, their fate far less certain, even while it was likely more thoroughly destructive.

The Pack mourned their fallen members, Botulf being the most powerful of the forever-fallen. Contrary to many’s expectations, however, the Pack did not withdraw or blame humanity for the losses. There was not a new war to wage against lupine kind. On the contrary, the solidarity of fighting and dying side by side caused even the average members of the Pack to raise gated humanity in their estimation. Anatalis proclaimed the death of the Forest Spirit and his herd as recompense for the fall of his sirelings, and many City Stone holders found Pack members approaching their walls for various trades, training, or just to make social calls in the months that followed.

Walden had found his place with his own herd in the southern forest, which was slowly growing to have myriad layers both stoneward and starward.

Given his positive relationship with humanity—and the groundwork that Tala had laid—it was agreed that his southern woods would continue to be the gathering place for the off-cuts of reality, and there were quite the offcuts to handle.

Tala had pioneered and even somewhat perfected a means to repair the patchwork of reality that they knew as Zeme, and with Mistress Holly’s help—allowed somewhat hesitantly by Tala—the Talons received a bit of re-education on the process and were outfitted with inscriptions that leaned heavily on Tala’s power and foundation as a being of reality, void, and magic.

Given their improving abilities to retain magic, many could be gone from Ironhold for weeks before they were forced to return, giving them quite a good range for their repair work.

Lea didn’t stay with her parents, instead traveling with Talax and his unit, the girl feeling a renewed sense of freedom now that the Black Legion had been put down for good.

It wouldn’t be a fast process, but they did have a plan now for trimming and smoothing out the seams of existence. Gravity magic—along with the dissolution and cohesion of the endingtrees—would be critical to gathering the remnants cut free, and all such would be drawn to the southern forest for incorporation by the endingtrees at the borders of the non-superficial portions of Walden’s domain.

When that was complete—whether it took centuries or millenia—gates should no longer be nearly the issue they had been. But that would spawn endless changes in the very fabric of every society on the continent, and no one knew where such shifts would end up.

Walden was rather grumpy about one feature of his domain, the Leshkin, given that their spirits were locked to Zeme by the boon of a long-dead Sovereign. They could be broken free, but doing so wouldn’t be the wisest choice for Zeme at the moment.

As such, Walden confined them to the most outlying regions of his forest, where they wouldn’t be able to cause too much harm. Their surviving spawning trees had cracked—much of their conceptual underpinnings stripped away—but they remained coherent enough for the purpose of anchoring the Leshkin and refreshing their spirits, which… was what it was.

He moved those as well, ensuring a modicum of peace within his new domain for the first time in uncounted years.

The resort holds in the arcane cities without their central column were working well enough but no one saw that as a permanent solution. Unfortunately, there really wasn’t a good permanent solution at the moment.

There was now a solid bit of cooperation between the higher level factions and gated humanity, but that didn’t turn the whole populace and culture around overnight.

It would be the work of years—if not decades or centuries—both to find some solution and bring it about.

The wandering settlements showed there was hope for cooperation, even if most of their solutions wouldn’t be feasible for one reason or another.

Tala just hoped that it wouldn’t take another war to finally unseat the common use of vestiges from the southern cities.

All told, Zeme wasn’t about to be a world of peace and perfection, but for the first time in a very long time, it was at least moving in a very good direction.

*

Barely three weeks after Verity’s fall, an interesting scene played out on the southeastern coast of the continent so recently embroiled in war.

A fleet of ships, laden with magic and warriors, was approaching the land between two arcane cities, but they had been noticed.

A middle-ranked Eskau of the House of the Salt-Mother watched from the shore, doing nothing to hide her presence.

As such, it was no surprise that a tender dropped from the largest ship and was heading her way.

Crathnia stood her ground, protian weapon hanging at her hip, looking like nothing so much as a set of large salt crystals with holes bored through them, linking them together in a cluster.

It took nearly half an hour for the boat to arrive, but she didn’t mind. The sea was calming to her, and she was able to simply bask in its presence, its powerful, salty breeze.

When the boat finally beached itself and three dwarves disembarked, Crathnia’s eyes snapped open. “I am Eskau Crathnia of the House of the Salt-Mother. Welcome to our shores, travelers. Be you refugees, traders, invaders, or do you have another purpose?”

The foremost—a powerfully built dwarven man with a greenish tint to his skin and an intimidating sword at his side—gave a nod of acknowledgement. “I greet thee, Eskau Crathnia of the House of the Salt-Mother, I am King Thron the Ablative, and I bring my forces to the aid of Tala of the House of Blood, Eskau of War.”

Crathnia bowed deeply, even as she blinked a few times, trying to order her thoughts. “I greet thee, King Thron the Ablative. But I’m afraid… Oh… Well… I fear that you are too late.”

The dwarf paled and his left hand tightened on the hilt of his weapon. All around him in a ring, the sand began to sizzle. “She has fallen? Is the war going so badly?”

Crathnia opened her mouth to correct him, but he held up his hand, forestalling her.

“No, that was uncharitable.” He gave a firm nod. “We will avenge her and see her work completed in her name, in her memory.”

Crathnia quickly shook her head. “No, I have misconveyed.”

The dwarf frowned. “Then, please, clarify.”

“The war is won. The Black Legion slain, and the Eskau of War victorious. She has set aside that title and stepped back from that role, though she is still instrumental in the continued relations between the gated and gateless.”

The king’s mouth opened in clear surprise. After a long moment, he closed his eyes, grabbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Of course she did.”

*

Tala laughed heartily as she clapped Thron on the shoulder, much to the clear uncertainty of his guards. “You have quite the timing, my friend.”

Tala and Thron had already exchanged a warm hug of long-separated friends, but when Thron had grumpily explained that he’d sent his army home after learning they weren’t needed, Tala couldn’t help herself. “I do appreciate your coming to our aid, despite the timing.”

Thron grumbled goodnaturedly before giving a genuine smile. “Well, if there’s really nothing to fight, maybe you could show me the land that forged such a woman as you? You did invite me to join you there, once upon a time.”

Tala grinned and nodded. “Absolutely. I’d also love to introduce you to my husband and daughter.”

*

Ra'Drathadaxor usually found the actions of the superficial races endlessly entertaining, but this time? This time, they’d threatened his hoard’s safety.

Their actions had merit, and he would benefit from them, as he always benefitted. He was Ra’Drathadaxor—but they were inconvenient.

The Doman-Imithe, the roiling, dimensionally flexible, void-entwined backside of reality had been a perfect place to gather and protect that which was his, and now it was being slowly eroded as they finally realized that someone needed to repair the world.

Ra’Drathadaxor wasn’t about to do it, after all, and he did think it needed to be done.

That, truthfully, was the only reason he hadn’t struck down the silly creatures slowly bringing it about.

Someone was repairing his roof, and so it would be petty to complain that he now couldn’t see the sun.

The Doman-Imithe was fading, becoming fertilizer for a renewed Zeme.

He growled in a mix of irritation and acceptance. This needed to be done.

His eyes roved over his continents of wealth. When he moved his hold, he’d have to contend with Mansa the Gold.

That thing’s dasgannach were never content to leave well enough alone…

The dragon scanned the totality of Zeme, huffing with amusement as various beings noticed his perusal and hid or threw up paltry defenses.

He was Ra’Drathadaxor.

There… at the north of the little continent. There was a place with lots of magic.

Quite a few little god-beasts were trying to carve places for themselves but that hardly mattered.

The magical density was high, the zeme seemed pleasant, and it was just big enough for the entrance to his holdings.

His draconic grin spread wide. He might even allow the small ones to remain, guarding his gates and bringing him tribute…

Yes.

They would fight and jockey and fret, and that would be of absolutely no consequence. This change could only be to his benefit in the end, but that wasn’t surprising.

After all, he was Ra’Drathadaxor, Harbinger of Discord.

*

Pierce was quite irritated.

While his passion was that which lay among the stars beyond, that didn’t mean he ignored the closer extra-Zemeish bodies, and someone had mucked with the moon.

He checked Mistress Ingrit’s public notices in the Archive. Huh… it wasn’t that girl this time.

Pierce was genuinely surprised, but he supposed she couldn’t be responsible for everything that happened.

Still, it was frustrating to see that the lunar monsters—the subject of endless conjecture and speculation—were fading in number, seemingly starving in an area that lacked magic.

It was as great a confirmation as he could hope for that the Black Legion had been there, and that there wasn’t even a remnant remaining.

That made him chuckle. So, she is the cause, if the indirect one. He took a moment to revel in the humor of that. Ahh, yes. That girl is quite the troublemaker.

He sighed, then, knowing what he had to do. This was important, and he really should do a write up on it, but there were at least six cyclical super novae, three consuming pulsars, and one transcending black hole that he wanted to observe…

He scrunched his face before sighing.

The duties of science came before his own personal desires.

With that in mind, he began the process, creating Archival records containing the relevant memories, conjecture, and supporting evidence.

Unfortunately, this was a large enough deal that he might be called to go and present on the finding…

Pierce sighed.

He would just have to accept the accolades… again… It did help motivate most others.

The knowledge of humanity would march ever onward, and Pierce would speed its steps.

*

Noelle grumbled as she repotted Kevin, moving her into a meticulously carved spellform.

The new management of the southern forest was changing everything.

She growled even as she powered up the magics that would allow Kevin to continue even as all her siblings continued their slow path toward change or death.

Noelle had spent a very long time creating baselines for all of her many lines of experimentation, and now she’d have to start over from scratch.

The zeme of the region moved differently, the flavors of the ambient magic were changing day to day and even dimensionality wasn’t the same.

She could feel the layers of forest both stoneward and starward of her at this very moment, and it made her feel oddly claustrophobic.

It was the first time that she regretted her extremely enhanced senses since—

Noelle cut off that line of thinking before she could summon something truly unpleasant.

She sighed, noticing her assistants and other members of her research group frantically running about, trying to save experiments or starting new ones in this chaotic new world.

A smile began to pull at the older woman’s lips.

She had nothing but time, and these changes meant one thing above all others.

There was science to do, and she would get to do it.

*

Ciaran strode up through the interior of Makinaven with purpose, his peg-leg connecting him with the tree at every step.

The waning was coming for the city sooner than later, but until then, he had much work to be about.

Those that had tried to harm his home had been dealt with by Archons as was right and proper, but he still had to help repair the damage that the great tree had taken.

He didn’t mind. Magicbound as he was to the tree, he wanted to help it however he could.

Ciaran whistled to himself as he passed others going about their day-to-day lives.

It was a good time to be a citizen of the Cycling Cities, and Ciaran was going to enjoy every day of it.

*

Sae had, of course, felt the fluctuations in the world over the last few years, but they’d been little but an irritant as she continued her research.

She was so close. She could feel it.

Sae had felt that for years now, and each year she’d draw a bit closer. She knew that an alchemical solution for Refining—a gentler, more wholesome method—had to be possible.

Her supplier hadn’t shown up for… three years? Four?

Yeah, that sounded about right. She was sure that it had been less than a decade.

She could live off the land, but there were some things that she simply couldn’t live or continue her work without. As such, she’d finally put all her experiments into holding patterns and set out for the nearest city.

She strode through the gates of Bandfast and stopped dead.

There were more than two dozen arcanes within sight, and they seemed to be talking, trading, or otherwise simply existing beside the humans around them.

That was impossible.

Arcanes weren’t allowed in the Cycling Cities. Had Bandfast been conquered? Were the citizenry being harvested?

That didn’t fit, no one seemed scared or oppressed, and she could even see some people laughing with arcanes.

Laughing!

Madness.

Sae wasn’t much of a fighter, but her magics still began to flare as she readied herself to counter whatever madness was happening.

A moment later, a powerful aura manifested next to her, and Mistress Jenna appeared.

Sae bowed appropriately but kept her magics at the ready. “Mistress Jenna?”

“Mistress Sae, it is good that you survived. I’d been planning on sending an expedition your way in the next years. Thank you for saving me the trouble.”

Sae frowned as she straightened her confusion growing and boiling into frustration. “Survived? What are all these arcanes doing in Bandfast? What the rust happened?”

*

An old, wise, quiet turtle sat in a small, sparsely visited, quiet park, feeding not-so-quiet tiny terror birds, among other avians.

He’d taken years, protecting those that came to him and only feeding those that didn’t treat their fellows poorly, and the results showed.

The terror birds had bred smaller as they became more tame, but his efforts weren’t so wide-spread as to affect all those in the city, just those that stayed close to his park.

The lofty heights above him were in turmoil, though the skies were clear.

It had been generations since any had been denied their rightful elevation, save when another already stood at that peak.

The act hadn’t been unprecedented, and none truly objected to the outcome, but many didn’t like that it had been both right and proper.

They didn’t like the portents, nor how it colored the execution of justice upon one under their charge.

The turtle didn’t care much, and none of those above would do anything to make him care.

There was peace in being both uninterested and violently retaliatory, and that thought made the turtle-kin smile.

A passing cloud changed the light just so, revealing cracks across his shell that were all but invisible to even the most trained eyes.

But those cracks were healing. Finally, after centuries uncounted, he might finally be free of this pain, willingly taken up and long endured.

It would be wonderful to break that connection, to no longer be a crutch for reality, being influenced and influencing in turn.

The turtle didn’t like that his own pain and desire to lash out manifested within the world, but it was better than him lashing out and flattening half the continent.

When he’d found a broken mess, in danger of falling apart under its own weight, he hadn’t known that stopping to help would take quite this long.

Still, he couldn’t say he regretted his decision. Protecting the fragile cradles of life was a worthy calling, worth almost any price.

Trade-offs. He sighed, continuing to feed his birds.

He would be grateful to be able to finally put this planet behind him, but as he considered it, there might actually be a few people worth the offer to accompany him.

That wouldn’t be for decades yet, at the very least.

That’s fine. I have all the time in the world. He chuckled to himself at his own joke.

In the end, Zeme, the world-turtle, was nothing if not patient.

*

Yamanther folded his dough just as the politics of the city around his bakery folded itself around the new realities.

He didn’t care.

His customers came; his pastries were consumed; he was left in peace to bake.

Only the occasional fool troubled him.

Even so, he heard everything.

People noticed his arms, and he never hid them, but they didn’t consider just how different from their expectations he was.

If they did, they might not come to his bakery, and it would be sad if his pastries went uneaten.

The odd, luxury hold that provided power to the city of Platoiri was a boon in that regard, as they ordered more of his goods than any other single customer.

He suspected that the bothersome, young Eskau of the House of Blood was to blame, and that made him smile.

It was always interesting to see those like her rise and fall. It was even more fascinating to witness them remain elevated, like stars in the sky.

He’d seen so many stars rise and fall, so many remain until they burnt out.

So, so many… and the ashes were always… delectable.

Yamanther sighed, then focused his considerable attention as something interesting caught his notice.

A small blind boy walked into his shop. “Simon.”

“Yamanther.”

The two stared at each other, neither using their eyes.

They could take the usual path, but Yamanther liked Platoiri, and it would be difficult to establish a bakery in a new city if this one vanished mysteriously.

With a sigh, he decided to take a different tact this time. His voice rumbled out, grating upon the air as he didn’t bother disguising it. “Pastry?”

The boy quirked a smile, his voice almost insultingly innocent. “Sure. Ice cream?”

The extra-dimensional horror sighed, resigned to the peaceful outcome. “If you have some.”

They both chuckled at the very notion, existence rippling around them as the sign on the bakery morphed to display ‘Closed’ in a language unknown to Yamanther’s regular customers.

As the two moved to a table, Yamanther made sure to add magics to get the meaning across all the same.

It had been eons since they crossed paths, and there would be oh, so much to catch up on.

*

Pareshti couldn’t decide if he liked the new stream of travelers he had coming through Howlton from the north, but he knew he was less than pleased by those from the south.

They didn’t come overtly to capture his gated, but they still eyed them with poorly disguised desire.

The southern cities were struggling to find sources of power in this new era, and gates were still the premiere source of magic, despite everything.

Archons from the north made all the gated safer, but no system was perfect, and even his little village lost gated on occasion.

Still, the changing of the tide was evident everywhere. With massively increased trade to the north—and yes, even some more trade to the south—the wandering settlements also had growing incentive to trade among themselves, to increase the interconnectedness of the Wandering Wilds, and that was something that Pareshti heartily approved of.

He’d recently made a deal with Master Kalfeir and Mistress Cae of Astrea, and that gave his people a very secure place to go to if they wanted a larger place to call home without having to risk either the southern or the Cycling cities.

It was a small thing, but having official links between the communities would allow for families separated by the moves to stay more connected, and that was something incredibly new in this dangerous world.

The Wandering Wilds were becoming a bit less wild in these changing times, and Pareshti was sure that this was just the beginning.

*

Mara danced among the clouds, her board beneath her feet, and her sail allowing her to tack or jibe at her leisure.

The demand for goods was up, and she was still the best merchant in the Wilds. No one could say different.

Her amulet crackled, and the storm within flowed forth, dancing alongside her bonded in an unchoreographed display of harmony.

Mara laughed. “Oh, Arashi, you belong up here.”

Lightning cracked and thunder rolled back.

“Oh, I know you wish to stay with me. I wish that as well.” She laughed again. “With all the messages going back and forth, we can be in the weather almost all the time, and we don’t even have to sell.”

More thunder cracked.

“Yeah, I know. Of course I’ll still sell anyway.”

Lightning coursed over Mara and the woman leaned into the crackling touch and turned her flier a bit more toward their destination.

This was quite fun, but she did have a letter in need of delivery.

And Mara was the best messenger in the Wilds.

No one could say different.

*

Vera felt the wind pull at her wings and shifted to obey the prompting.

The wind never tried to control her, but things always seemed to go better when she followed its advice.

Things were in an uproar across the Wandering Wilds, and she had the option to be busier than ever, but what that really meant was that she was better paid than ever, and could take more time to just be… just drift on the winds and feel the freedom of the air.

Things were changing, and she usually was against change on principle, at least since…

But she pushed that aside.

This was her life, and she loved it.

*

Tala waved her hand, undoing the locks on the cell and holding open the tunnel on her own, existence shield in place, Terry and Rane in the antechamber where they would remain, anchoring her in more ways than one.

She strode down the hallway composed simply of the edge of existence and out into a forest that she hadn’t seen in well more than a decade.

Before her, a man was waiting, an owl on his shoulder. “You did return after all, and so soon?” He shook his head. “I felt my power trying to connect to you, and thought the opportunity lost when it failed…” His face changed, a smile growing across his features. “Yet here you are.”

Tala met his gaze evenly “Khesed. Your imprisonment is at an end.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s… delightful.”

It was Tala’s turn to smile, hers was predatory. “It is, isn’t it.”

That pulled him up short, and he seemed to notice something. Then, he let out a mirthless chuckle. “Ahh, I see.” He shook his head again. “You realize that reality will win in the end, do you not?” He let out a long, sad sigh. “The time is almost upon us, far sooner than any of your supporters would like, that reality will once again reign.” He gave a slow nod, then. “My death is but one of the final nails in the coffin, and though I die, I will be remembered. I will be feared even if I am destroyed. I have won, and I will also have found my peace.”

Tala took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could see not only that he believed those words, but existence seemed to shudder as he spoke, reality threads writhing around him in odd expectation. She had a moment of doubt, should she let him live? Let him remain within this cell to rot? 

No… She would not extend this unnecessarily, especially out of fear of what might result.

Tala shook her head. It was time for the end. “Maybe so. It is also possible you are merely deluding yourself. I have no fear of what is to come, and I welcome reality’s healing, and your removal is a part of that. You cannot make me doubt. Reality’s restoration does not negate magic. Magic will always be a part of existence. Every choice made by free thinking beings stems from magic, and each of us will, one day, move on to the next world to be united fully with the power that facilitated our choices. Whether today or at the end of time, all pass on.”

Khesed didn’t seem inclined to argue either. “So, it seems we both see reason to claim victory.”

Tala shrugged. “So it seems, but your story ends sooner.”

Khesed chuckled at that. “Maybe so, but not by much. Not in how such things are measured.”

She didn’t feel like letting that one go, but she also knew that he was in his final moments. “You’ve been wrong before.”

Khesed grunted and shrugged. “Live then, in hope. I am ready to embrace my end.”

The echo of Khesed’s last words only gave Tala an instant’s pause before she decided that she didn’t care. It was time for this being’s death.

He clearly saw the resolve in her eyes, as he gave a final, resigned smile. They’d said all that could be said.

Tala’s chains pulled to the superficial, filling with ending-power as they obliterated the arcane, body, spirit, and soul, shredding any and all reality threads connected to him before they could be utilized, ensuring a final end to this sordid prisoner.

*

Sole wept as he felt her approach, felt the end he’d sought for so long as it drew near.

He was kneeling when the passage opened, and he looked up at his white-clad savior, only slightly surprised to recognize her.

She stared at him for a long moment, seemingly surprised to find him there, or possibly to find him kneeling in readiness. Her pause only lasted a moment before a sad smile crossed her features, and she gave him an affirming nod of respect.

Her attack came quickly, but he still had time to act. He used that time well.

Even as his body hit the floor, his words echoed in the emptiness, “Thank you.”

*

Eliana brushed her red hair out of her eyes for the umpteenth time, prompting Analeia to huff a laugh. “You could just braid it like me.”

Eliana rolled her eyes at her younger sister, even as she picked up her tray, bustling out into their restaurant with the ready orders.

Irondale was growing larger and larger, with more people being allowed to come in whether temporarily or for permanent residence. Strangest of all, more arcanes were being given leave to move into the growing city.

Regardless of anything else, the two were always busy despite their place being a little hole-in-the-wall. People had to eat, and their food was amongst the best in the hold.

Many of the Talons frequented their restaurant whenever they were in town, and Eliana and Analeia were quite taken with a few of them; thankfully, they were taken with different Talons, as no one needed that sort of drama.

Only time would tell if they’d catch the men’s eyes in return, but since they kept coming back for more of the sisters’ cooking?

Eliana was hopeful.

“Ah! Lupe!” Analeia voice came from the back, and Eliana finished with the deliveries and rushed back, finding the dasgannach waiting in the kitchens.

Lupe gave a shallow bow. “Good morning, girls. May I sing today?”

Eliana laughed. “Of course!”

Analeia clapped her hands, rubbed them clean on her apron, then gave the glass woman a hug. “Oh, we always love to have you. Your place is ready in the main room.”

Lupe smiled, the expression almost as radiant as her translucent form. “Thank you.”

Eliana and Analeia shared a look before they both dove madly into preparations for a rush. Lupe’s voice would draw a crowd, it always did.

Analeia hip-bumed Eliana as they passed. “It’s never boring here, is it?”

Eliana laughed. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

*

Tala let out a long, heavy sigh of victory.

Thron’s visit had come and gone, and she’d gotten down to some important business.

She had traveled the continent putting out fires and consulting masters.

She’d even visited the Mountain Kings once more to seek their wisdom.

It hadn’t been a quick process, but in the end, she’d done it.

She had accomplished what many thought impossible, reaching heights that no human had before her.

She achieved true transcendence, the impossible goal of humanity. After consulting with sages and masters of all kinds. It. Was. Done.

Mistress Holly came from the other room, expectation in her eyes. “So… it’s done then? You’ve accomplished it?”

Tala nodded, a grin to end all grins across her features. “I have.” She held up an unassuming ring of indeterminate material. “It is done.”

Mistress Holly sighed, slowly shaking her head. “So, does that mean—”

“Woah, woah. Hang on there.” Tala held up her hand before summoning a mug. “I need to test it.”

The older woman gave Tala a flat look before sighing again. “Very well. Proceed.”

Tala pushed power into the ring—very carefully keeping it to a minimal amount—and dark ambrosia flowed out, filling the waiting vessel.

She set the incorporator to the side and drew the cup to her lips taking a careful sip.

After a long moment, Tala looked down into the cup and tilted her head to the side.

Mistress Holly cocked an eyebrow. “So?”

Tala crinkled her nose. “It’s sort of tepid… and it’s a little darker than I’d—”

The Inscriptionist smacked Tala upside the head. “No! Bad, Tala.”

Tala hunched down. “Hey! But it’s not—”

Mistress Holly’s glare stopped Tala’s words in her throat. Off to the side, a larger woman hovered, practically vibrating in anticipation. “This… This is why I was called?”

Tala grumbled wordlessly for a couple of moments, before glancing toward her sister in law. “Yes, Chloe… I’ll share all that I’ve learned. You can take it from here?”

The woman stood up straight—showing her relation to Rane in height as well as sincerity—before she bowed. “Unquestionably.”

A moment later, Chloe was gone, already hunched over an Archive slate with the data.

Finally, Mistress Holly took a deep breath and released it slowly, turning on Tala. “Now then. Are you ready to pursue your personal advancement? To work with me to advance together?”

Tala looked between her mug and the coffee incorporator beside her. Finally, she set the drink aside and nodded. “Sure, yeah. I guess I’m ready for that.”

*

After the defeat of the Black Legion, years came and went, and with reality slowly strengthening and the world being smoothed over even as the Doman-Imithe was absorbed or dispersed, Tala didn’t know what the future of magic would look like.

There was almost no chance that magic would fade once Zeme was healed, but even if it did, reality could not erase all that they had accomplished, all that they had experienced.

If the magic of Zeme were to fade away, if all that survived of their magic were the memories, the stories, the tales of all that they’d done?

Well, that would be enough.

*

A purple eyed cat purred as it rolled around within the large, dangling magical sphere, uncaring of the light it projected outward upon the hold below.

It was a box.

It was warm.

It was hers.

Yes, oh yes. What a glorious decision she had made.

All was right with the world.

The End of Tala’s story, Millennial Mage

Thank you for reading this winding, fanciful tale; it has been my joy to write it.May your library be ever full.

Previous__________ToC__________Bonuses