5. The Rose of Naveea

Fire Guard

Written by Ryan Kaufman

Part 1

Under the aubergine sky of sunset, a steady drizzle of fiery rain spattered and sizzled down onto the stone battlements. Mt. Volcanus was upset, spewing his dismay into little droplets of lava, which fell onto the shoulders of Cefaphro. His skin was pocked with small scars and burns, but he no longer even noticed the tiny pricks of pain. He had always kept his watch, regardless. Until recently.

Now he had found himself distracted. His calm and consistent surveillance was sometimes broken by thoughts and feelings about his new partner. He found it strange. And even more strange that her presence itself was not the distraction– his own emotions were. Feelings long buried, chained in the basement dungeons of his heart.

A step sounded on the stone stairs, and Cefaphro came to attention. A Sadaari emerged, her long silken hair swirling in the oven-like winds. His heart stopped– but then he realized, this was not his partner, not Paxa. “Who goes there!” he barked.

The Sadaari folded her golden wings backward, and glided up the stairs. “My name is Renna,” she said. The green glow of Death Essence in her chest stood out against the hues of red and orange on the stones of the Barbican.

“Get gone with you,” huffed Cefaphro. “The House of Death has no business here.”

“I am here on behalf of the Wardens,” she corrected. “And you must know that Warden business extends beyond Houses, for the good of all Massina. We come with information.”

Cefaphro was not entirely calmed by her admission. The Wardens did enjoy a good reputation among the populace, for their diplomatic ties across all Houses. But the Imperial Palace took a suspicious view of their attempts at unity. The Emperor saw them as a potential threat– a quiet one, but still– and he did not brook competition. And Cefaphro had risked his life to see Emperor Giotto take the Trials.

“I have not left this station in three hundred years,” said Cefaphro, haughtily. “What possible information could be of interest?”

Renna walked with the sublime grace of an immortal; a Prime Eternal, possessed of everlasting life. In some ways, his superior. “Loxio, a Champion of my House, is missing.”

Cefaphro shrugged. “That is a matter for the Inquisitors.”

“Yes, but we have learned that Loxio was seeking something,” she added. “A book called the Tome of War.”

All the tiny stars in the Guardian’s skin faded for a moment. The Tome of War… He swallowed hard. “Did he find it?”

“That much, we do not know,” said Renna. “He never returned. But it would be unlike Loxio to fail.”

She scarcely need to say more. Cefaphro understood immediately the grave threat this presented. Should someone find the Tome of War, they would possess the knowledge to navigate the dungeons. And then, possibly, to unlock the Gate to Hêla, and there release the Titans again. It would mean nothing less than the end of Massina. Cefaphro looked up at the strong walls of the Barbican. He and Paxa would be all that stood between the world and utter ruin.

“I must find him,” he said. Then, with shame in his eyes, he bowed. “Forgive my arrogance. Many thanks to the Wardens for this.”

Renna nodded. “We thank you, too, Guardian. But of course, we must protect our anonymity. We never spoke of this. You do not know me.” She let her hand drift hypnotically in the air. Some Sadaari were capable of a suggestive power, one that could mold minds into whatever truth they chose. Cefaphro stifled a smile– such things did not affect him.

Renna of the Wardens of Massina, Prime Eternal #4831

Then she disappeared, and he raced downstairs to alert the High Priest.

***

Cefaphro left the Temple Fire-Guard to watch over the Barbican as he stalked the tunnels of the Cauldron. The winding staircases and passageways were carved into the volcano itself, and the path occasionally exited into the night air for a few steps, only to turn and delve back into the mountain. In a long hallway, lit by gutters of open flame above his head, Cefaphro spotted the High Priest, shuffling along in his dragonscale robes.

“Sir,” he called. “I must speak to you. A matter of great importance–”

The Priest cut him off, with a distracted annoyance. “Don’t you have a partner? Where is she?”

Cefaphro stammered. “It’s– yes– her watch does not begin for an hour. But that is not important. The Tome of War–”

“Not important?” the Priest said. He was a young man, but with an old soul. The years had consumed his energy quickly, like fire devours wax. The High Priests were chosen by the Cauldron for their attunement to the cosmic flame– not their longevity. The holy man frowned and stared at Cefaphro’s angelic face. “I partnered you two for a reason.”

The elder Guardian sighed, with undisguised annoyance. “I still find it unorthodox– this pairing. It has never been done.”

The High Priest drew a small brown cigarillo from his robes. All the priests smoked strange cigars, which they used in their prognostication and divinations. He struck a match and held it between their faces.

“Fire never takes the same shape twice, Cefaphro,” he said. Then he lit the cigar and puffed on it, smoke billowing out of his nose and mouth. “You’re too tied to tradition, and old ways of doing things.”

Priests of the Cosmic Flame were known to give lessons in their unique teaching style. The three T’s– taunt, tease and torture. Burning is learning, the priests would say to a wounded but enlightened student. Nothing teaches you about fire faster than touching it.

The Guardian, if he’d had a stomach, would’ve felt it flopping in turmoil. The Tome of War was out there somewhere– why was the High Priest babbling on about Paxa? “The old ways were better. This Sadaari is unusual. She is strange. I … don’t know how to feel about her.”

At this, the High Priest turned slowly, and smiled in a way that Cefaphro did not like. His eyes flickered along with the sacred flames in the ceiling. “Yes. And?”

“I never had these feelings about my former partners,” admitted Cefaphro softly. Then an annoyed grumble rose out of his chest. “It should have been a Gatekeeper! They are responsible for the catastrophe, not the Sadaari!”

“You’re obsessed with the past. What about the future?” The High Priest grinned again, and gestured for Cefaphro’s palm. The Guardian, anxious, tried nonetheless to indulge the holy man. There was much to learn, he knew, from the sacred and strange. Even if he himself wanted to rush off and get things done. He placed his large hand in the High Priest’s. Then the priest turned it over, palm up. Was he going to read the ancient lines there? Divine some strange runes?

But instead the Priest tapped the cigar, and the large thick ash fell into Cefaphro’s palm, like a living ashtray. The Celestial winced but did not move. The ash crumbled into feathery forms, and the Priest leaned over and scoured the shapes with his eyes.

“I see the island of Naveea,” he whispered.

Cefaphro drew a confused grimace. “Naveea? But that’s a myth…”

“Hush,” said the Priest. Then the ash crumbled again, now forming a bud-like blossom. And finally a third time, collapsing on Cefaphro’s palm like a weary pilgrim. The High Priest contemplated this for a long moment, before he spoke. “The Beast and the Rose become children again.”

“The Island of Naveea is but a story, priest,” said Cefaphro, still confused. “A place where all become free. That’s the opposite of my calling. Which is to guard this gate and keep the Titans imprisoned! To keep Massina safe. As I have promised and have done for a thousand years.”

The Priest drew one last draught of smoke, and shrugged. “Fire, like life, is a chaotic process. A forest which has stood a thousand years, may burn away in one night, and reveal what has always been hidden beneath.”

The High Priest returned Cefaphro’s hand to him, and drifted away. The Guardian’s sense of urgency returned, almost like smoke clearing. The Tome of War. Loxio. He did not need the High Priest’s advice. He already knew where to start.

***

A hulking Darulk looked down from a small staircase at the crowds outside the Colosseum. The night games had just let out, and the plaza was flooded with excited and intoxicated plebs, chattering about the match they’d just witnessed. The House of Death had declared a grudge match against the House of the Arcane, and every battle featuring Champions of those combative Essences had a special extra thrill. The public accusations of treachery still rang in the air like a giant brass bell.

If Tinaris cared that the entire controversy was her fault, she did not show it. Her tentacles were impassive as she scanned the heaving seas of exotic beings: scrappy humans, huge Karkadons, crafty beadols pickpocketing, snarling Fenrir… Celestials. Then she felt a presence. Her harsh eyes flicked downward.

A small human woman now stood at the base of the stairs, the dark curls of her hair glinting in the torch and Essence lights of the nearby buildings. Tinaris receded into an alley, and she felt the woman follow.

The human rounded the corner, and Tinaris spoke. “That’s far enough,” she said. “Speak.”

“My Master seeks the Tome,” the woman said, in a low but confident voice.

Tinaris felt her demonic senses shift into a heightened anxiety. But she did not perceive any threats nearby. Not that a threat could not be hidden from her… However, she judged that this messenger brought a legitimate query. There was no real advantage in distracting her otherwise. “How did you find me?”

“My Master knows much and sees much.”

Tinaris snarled. “Then perhaps he can find the Tome himself.”

“He believes he already has.” The woman held Tinaris’ gaze.

She was brave, this one, Tinaris thought. “The Emperor seeks it too,” she said coolly. “Perhaps I desire his favor– or his coin. Either way, he has something to offer.”

The woman’s face did not change, almost like a doll. “That may be, but if my Master succeeds, he can offer you something the Emperor will not. He can offer you a reunion with … The Absolute.

Hearing that name, Tinaris felt her demonic heart burn with sulphuric lust. The Absolute. Her former paramor; a lover unlike any other she had ever experienced. The most powerful being in all of Hêla– and second only to Alteus in the universe. The Absolute– to be with him again, she would give anything. But could it be possible? Perhaps this runty mortal worm was lying.

“If your Master is serious about a deal, then he can prove it to me,” she said. The woman nodded, and Tinaris continued. “Rumor has it that a Guardian has been called to investigate this matter. His involvement may cause me much difficulty. Take care of him, and I will deliver the Tome to your Master.”

The woman bowed deeply. “It shall be done, oh great Tinaris.” Then in a billow of cloaks, she disappeared back down the stairs.

The mighty Darulk shifted back into the shadows and waited for the streets to empty, before she worked her way home. The Tome was safely stashed elsewhere. But her hiding place would not remain anonymous much longer, should the Guardians begin to make connections.

Down on the plaza, the human woman hurried into a storefront, and then along a small water-channel. She emerged in a circular piazza, where a dark obelisk hung in the center. The Sleeping Karkadon was nearby, and she slipped into the alley behind it. A hooded figure awaited her there. She could barely make out the claws of a Vitra hanging down from its sleeves, and the woman made it a rule to avert her eyes when dealing with her Master’s spies. The woman had seen much in the last few months. Her former time at the Colosseum, drinking tea with friends, selling geckoid on a stick; these days belonged to someone else’s life now.

“Contact the Shadows,” said Yujin. “We have need of their specialities.”

***

Cefaphro wandered the Ruins of Dôl, for the first time in many years. Paxa and the Fire-Guard held the Barbican safely, but he was anxious to return. He was away purely out of necessity. The being he needed to speak with could not merely be summoned or given a message.

The Guardian’s powerful eyesight scanned across the city, all the way back toward the Barbican, where he saw Paxa chatting with a human woman known as Elmora. He found himself annoyed. Did she not take the job seriously? Also, what were they chatting about? But their calm demeanor reassured him, and he returned to searching the Ruins.

Then he sensed the rustle of silken robes, and he saw the drifting ghostly cloaks and skirts of the one he sought.

“Emilie,” he called softly. She turned, her eyes somewhere far away. She saw even farther than he did– into the future, into the past. Such vision was her inheritance.

“You were the one they called Cefaphro,” she announced to him, her voice slipping in and out of time.

“Yes,” he said. “They still call me that. Emilie, I come to ask you about Loxio.”

Her luminous face filled with shadow; made her seem more human for the moment. “What of beautiful Loxio?”

“Where is he? He has not returned home for days. We are concerned for his well-being.”

Emilie received his question with little emotion. He had known many Celestials to be distant and unconnected to mortal life, but Emilie’s heritage gave her an especially complex relationship to time and the profane world. She could not perceive death and life and place separately. She wandered through the Ruins, contemplating the question. Cefaphro followed her in silence.

“I had a vision,” she said. “The wharves. Oil and algae.”

“The wharves? At the Harbor of the Fallen?” Cefaphro gasped. “What is he doing there?”

“You will find your answer there tonight,” she said. And then she turned away. As she walked off into the Ruins, Cefaphro heard her speak again. “Do not go alone.”

“Why?” he called out.

He heard her voice on the wind. “You will die.”

***

The Fire-Guard stood atop the Barbican, ready to assist the Guardians in its defense. Four powerful Elementals, tethered to this plane by the power of the High Priest. Their legs were thick as tree trunks, and ended in pools of lava. They held massive ponderous axes made of obsidian– hardened volcanic glass, sharpened to cut the hair of an Il’Gra and whose heavy blow could split a dragon down the center– and they towered over most beings.

“Hey, take a step back, boys,” cracked Elmora. “You’re gonna singe my cards.”

The inveterate gambler huddled against a battlement, protecting her hand. Paxa eyed her suspiciously. They were playing “Blood of Alteus,” a popular card game pitting two would-be Imperial Houses against each for the right of succession.

“You’ve been holding the Emperor’s nephew this entire time, haven’t you?” Paxa scoffed. “That’s cheating.”

“So!” barked Elmora. “You’re hiding a pregnant Duchess up your sleeve!”

Paxa clutched her sleeve and frowned fiercely. Then she gradually broke into a smile. She sighed, and pulled the illegal card from her wrist. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

The two had been friends for many years. Since Paxa’s gambling days, when she was a Champion of some ill repute.

“Where’s your partner,” Elmora asked. “You remember. The handsome one with the starry skin.”

“He’s got business somewhere,” Paxa said. She peered out over the wall, down toward the city. “Boring business, no doubt.”

“Things going great between you two, then?”

“He’s so… uptight, Elmora,” Paxa tapped her spear on the ground in annoyance. “All he thinks about is guarding that gate.” She gestured toward the Barbican.

Elmora shrugged with ambivalence. “Some would call that loyalty.”

“Well, whatever you call it, he’s annoying,” Paxa frowned. She tried to make out details in the city, like Cef could. His unsettling power. “It’s like he can see right through me. I don’t like it.”

Elmora nodded in sympathy. She, too, carried a few secrets that she’d rather not have the whole of Massina know. And Paxa carried a few more than that. But secrets had weight; too much could drag a person down, hold them under the rushing waters of the river. “So, I assume you haven’t told him much about your life before this?”

“No,” said Paxa. “And I hope he doesn’t find out.”

“Paxa, you are who you are,” said Elmora. “You better watch out you don’t become ashamed of it.”

Paxa sighed, and dug her spear into the stones. “I know. But the weird thing is…” She met Elmora’s eyes, and held the gaze for a moment, trying to bring forth the emotion into words. “I actually care what he thinks.”

Elmora grinned. “You’re doomed.”

Paxa began shuffling the cards again. She shot a glance at the Fire-Guard. They hadn’t moved an inch, not even to breathe, which apparently they did not. Why did the Cauldron of Fire require living Guardians when they had these brutal behemoths to guard the gate? The unfeeling, immovable warriors were invulnerable to boredom, or self-doubt, or other troublesome emotions. They certainly didn’t develop irrational feelings about their cohorts. There must be something she was missing.

“I’d walk away in a hot second, if I hadn’t made a promise,” she said.

Now it was Elmora’s turn to puzzle. “You have changed. I’ve never known a promise to get in the way of Paxa Lystera.”

A deep voice broke the moment. “I require you.”

Elmora whirled in shock, as Cefaphro descended into the Barbican on his magnificent fire-tipped wings. He landed with surprising lightness, and nodded to her in acknowledgement. Then he saw the cards Paxa held.

She shoved the cards into Elmora’s hands, with exaggerated annoyance. “Stop trying to get me to play your ridiculous card games, Elmora!”

“We have new business,” Cefaphro said, with a strange awkwardness. “And I… this mission requires your participation.”

“Now?” Paxa asked. Elmora shrugged in confusion.

“Yes,” he said. “And we will be leaving our posts for a short time.”

Paxa glanced back at the hulking Guards standing behind them. “Does that mean we’re leaving them in charge?”

“The Fire-Guard will be supplemented by the Smoldering Ones.” The Smoldering Ones were ten Il’Gra devotees, pledged by a wealthy and faithful Maestro to serve the Temple for a year. As they did, they increased their devotion and connection to their Fire Essence and emerged more powerful than before.

Paxa smiled. “Twenty brains, thirty eyes– should be barely enough to replace us.”

Cefaphro began to answer, and then, he launched himself into the sky. Paxa grabbed her spear and leapt after him, leaving Elmora alone on the battlement. She meekly waved to the Fire Guard and edged slowly toward the exit.

Cephafro and Paxa

***

The wharves were not a place for a respectable Celestial to spend time. Still, Cefaphro found himself fascinated by the flurry of activity in the grimy doorways and warehouses. He had thus far only seen it from a great distance– now he could feel the heat of the food grills, and smell the fried lykes, and hear the burble of the bookies making deals and grunts of the Karkadon and Il’Gra stevedores hauling cargo on their backs.

Paxa, for her part, knew the wharf only too well. She’d been of those, flitting in and out of storefronts and back-door game rooms. The stink of overcooked lykes and cigar smoke hung in the air, and recalled harsh laughter, loud music and easy money. She tried to forget, as much as she could. There was blood and horror mixed in with those other memories.

Cefaphro tried not to watch her, keeping his eyes centered on the world in his immediate vicinity. He was looking for some clue to Loxio’s disappearance. Even a stray Fenrir hair in the gutter might help.

A nearby stall was a unique explosion of soft pastel colors: a greenery-vendor, full of imported flowers. He marveled at the variety of petals and blossoms from faraway lands and dimensions. Massina City was but a small point in a very wide world. One in particular caught his eye: a rose.

As he stood in a puddle of rancid water, he lifted the rose delicately in his fingertips. “I have seen this bloom before. Where is it from?”

Paxa moved up next to him. “I don’t know,” she said. “But they call it the Rose of Naveea.”

Cefaphro gazed intently into the whorls and feathery tendrils inside. “The High Priest mentioned Naveea to me.”

The Sadaari considered this. Then she rolled the sleeve of her garment up, to display a similar rose, inked into her strange grey marbled skin. “I always had a yearning for that place, when I was a girl. A stupid dream, from before– when I was alive and had a future.”

Cefaphro’s eyes drank in the sight of the tattoo, and the exposed flesh. Then, embarrassed, he dropped his gaze down to his feet and the filthy water.

“That’s the problem with being undead,” she said, rolling her sleeve back down. “No matter how I try and carve it off… it always grows back.” She shrugged and continued down the street.

As Cefaphro watched her go, he noticed a shimmer in the distance, one or two miles down the road. “Paxa,” he barked. “Let’s go.”

They hurried along through the streets, until they found the source of the light. A group of Inquisitors stood, lighting cigarettes and conversing. They became suspicious and guarded as Cefaphro approached.

Paxa looked up and realized they were in the warehouse district. Weathered wooden buildings with faded numbers loomed with gaping doors on either side. She could smell that the sewers emptied nearby.

“What is it,” Cefaphro asked the Inquisitors, with no introduction.

The Inquisitors regarded him with reluctance. They knew the Guardians were loyal to the Emperor, but they kept their own counsel when it came to investigations. Still, one of them, a girl who looked to be twelve, addressed Cefaphro tersely. “A Fenrir Champion. Washed up on the riverside an hour ago.”

“Show me,” said Cefaphro.

The Inquisitors clambered down an old iron ladder, bursting with salt-water rust, while the Guardians floated over to the riverbed. On the graveled beach lay a Fenrir, bloated and wet, fur matted with oil and algae.

Paxa leaned in over him, but the Inquisitor warned her off: “We haven’t done our tests yet, Guardian. Don’t contaminate the subject.”

Cefaphro frowned. “I knew him. His name is Loxio.”

The Inquisitor wrote that down. “Likely that the crocammits got him.”

Cefaphro shook his head. “I doubt it.”

The investigators shared disapproving glances. Some folded their arms in annoyance. But Cefaphro continued to explain. “There are no spines present, and no piercings of the skin. In fact, from the small protrusions around his collar bone, I can see his neck was broken.”

The Inquisitors began to talk in agitation among themselves. Finally, the girl turned to them. “If you know so much, then you must also know that your friend Loxio was probably a filthy rebel.”

Cefaphro hid his shock. “Really?”

“Yes,” the girl continued. “They’ve been in and out of the sewers, and all over the Blood Wharf for the past few months. So given your relationship to the victim, I don’t think it’s a good idea, you being involved in the investigation.”

“You need to leave,” said the other. “Now.”

The wearied eyes of the children became hard and accusatory. Paxa reached out to guide Cefaphro away. “We’re Guardians of the Sacred Fire,” she reminded him loudly. “We’ve got better things to do than listen to a bunch of pint-sized freaks whine while we do their job for them.”

The Inquisitors glowered, as Cefaphro and Paxa rose into the sky.

As Paxa flew toward the Cauldron, she saw Cefaphro turn and land on the roof of one of the warehouses. She glided down next to him. “What is it?”

He pointed toward the gathering on the beach. “We need not be invited, in order to participate. They are deploying their spirit strips. Now they shall reveal who killed Loxio.”

Paxa watched Cefaphro watch the Inquisitors do their work. He concentrated intensely with his magnified vision, staring intently at the small group. In the moment of strange silent anticipation, she studied his profile. His skin was like a nebula, a swirling mix of indigo blue and clouds of pink and orange. The little stars that glowed beneath pulsed with a life of their own. She wanted to touch them.

“Fascinating,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said.

He turned to look her in the eye, his expression one of delight and discovery. “A Darulk! Arcane!”

Paxa shook herself out of the moment as Cefaphro grabbed her shoulders. “What?”

“They have detected Arcane Essence! His killer was a Librarian!” he beamed.

Then suddenly, a sizzling crack hissed through the air, and Paxa felt a length of barbed rope choke her neck. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her body began to flop lifelessly sideways and slide off the roof. She felt nothing but despair and hopelessness, and an overwhelming terror.

Cefaphro, in a flash of light, drew his scimitar, Lissa — the blade imbued with the life of his former partner and legendary Gatekeeper by the otherworldly talents of the Osteomancer Merleenken — and sliced through the restraint around Paxa’s neck. The rope snapped and whipped back into the hands of its owner: A Shadow Assassin.

Part 2

Shadow Vitra

As Paxa struggled to regain herself, Cefaphro counted the Vitra assassins arrayed across the rooftops. They wore the robes of Maiax Shadow Assassins, and each held in their hand a Hell-whip: a cursed implement that could render any being immobile and terrorized– even a Celestial. The assassins had come prepared to deal with their particular quarry. This was no happenstance attack.

As the evil whips licked out toward him, Cefaphro charged the assassins, Lissa singing through the air. The Shadow were not easy targets, and sprang from place to place with alarming agility. Cefaphro found himself swinging at empty air.

Paxa grasped for her spear, and swung it in a large arc, catching the neck of one Vitra. Its blood sprayed across the roof tiles, creating a dark puddle, which ran into the rain gutters. The assassins danced back and forth, whips cracking out at the Guardians’ arms and legs. Cefaphro tried to fly, but two whips encircled his legs and he came crashing down onto the alley below. The assassins descended on him like vultures.

“No!” shouted Paxa, and she plunged down into the darkness after him, failing to protect her flank. Two assassins snared her neck, and she too, felt the encircling hopelessness and toppled to the flagstones.

Deep in the alleyway, Paxa fought to stay conscious. The old warehouses, the smell of decay and the harbor. Memories. Her debts. The mocking face of the Dock-Boss. Acrid smoke. And then the bodies.

She blinked hard. Stay in it, Paxa, she screamed to herself. Stay in the fight. The alleyway returned. She concentrated, deeply, on remaining in her body. She would need her strength for what was to come next.

One of the assassins approached, holding a large grey scythe in her hands, which emanated dark smoke and the overwhelming odor of brimstone. Cefaphro eyed it with terror.

He knew it to be a Shadow-scythe, created not to reap flesh, but souls. A specialized weapon capable of killing an Eternal. But they were made by the death-artisans of Narakis– confined to Hêla– how had one emerged into this world? Memories of friends and family lost to the ravaging demons of the undertunnels flooded into his sickened mind.

What would it feel like, when his soul was cleaved away? Without a soul, there would be no reunion after death; no life everlasting in the Celestial realm. Just oblivion. An eternal floating, across the nothingness. Untethered to thought or life, or love. And there would be none to mourn or miss him. After a thousand long years of servitude, there was no one in the world he would leave behind.

The assassin swung back the Shadow-scythe, and made ready to reap– when seven silver strands of the Sadaari’s hair whipped out and stung each assassin in the face. They staggered backwards, as Cefaphro saw Paxa’s face contorted in pain and concentration. The hair whipped out again and again, tiny vipers biting at the arms and eyes of the Shadow assassins. The Hell-whips dropped to the ground as the assassins convulsed and contorted themselves away from Paxa’s hair.

With the slack loosened, Cefaphro and Paxa felt life flood into their limbs again and they seized the opportunity, and fell on their opponents in a righteous rage. The Shadows, now disarmed, fled into the night, save for one, caught by Cefaphro’s powerful scimitar, which split the Vitra from skull to tail. The two pieces dropped like meat onto the stones, and then vaporized. A final trick of Maiax.

Paxa caught her breath, and scanned the rooftops for any return of the assassins. “I guess we pissed off someone powerful.”

“Acolytes of Maiax.” Cefaphro fumed, his Fire Essence flaring. “Why do they want to end this world? What kind of evil is so reckless!” He swiped his scimitar through the air in frustration.

The Sadaari combed through her hair with her fingers, and then laid a hand on his shoulder. “Cef, are you alright?”

He was silent for a very long moment, before he spoke quietly. “I have not been confronted with death in many years.” He took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “It was a very disturbing experience. Lonely.”

“I know what you mean,” she replied.

Cefaphro sheathed his scimitar, and looked up at the Cauldron, glowing red on the slopes of Mt. Volcanus. “Obviously, we must disengage and return to the Barbican. This matter has become too dangerous.”

“No, obviously we need to pursue this,” Paxa countered, her voice strong with concern and determination. “If Loxio possessed the Tome of War, and he was killed by a Darulk, we need to know what happened. Clearly, someone is still looking for it, otherwise why send assassins after us? This is all playing out, right now.” She waited for Cefaphro’s agreement, which did not come. Paxa doubled-down. “We should stake out Loxio’s house.”

“Stake? I do not know this word,” said Cefaphro.

“It means they may return to his house,” she explained. “So we should watch and wait,”

“I am the senior Guardian,” he said, crossing his arms. “I shall make the determination about such things.”

“And I’m the one who just saved the life of the senior Guardian,” Paxa replied, crossing her arms. “So maybe I get a say, too.”

“Hmm,” Cefaphro set his jaw in skepticism. “We shall see.”

***

A short while later, the Guardians lay in wait, staking out Loxio’s house.

So far, they had only witnessed the comings-and-goings of young Daya and a human caretaker. Daya’s mother, Emilie, was nowhere to be seen, which was not unusual. Emilie did not live entirely on this plane. But Cefaphro’s heart ached to know that her father Loxio would never be returning home. She was very much alone in the world. The only possible salve now would be closure– and to do that, they had to capture Loxio’s killer.

This world would no longer offer Daya her father’s warm embrace. All it could offer was a cold and stony-faced justice.

“What if Naveea was a real place,” said Cefaphro, out of nowhere. “What if there was somewhere you could go, and start again? Would you go?”

Paxa, although surprised, managed to smirk. “You still trying to get rid of me?”

Cefaphro gave a rare, genuine smile. “Perhaps I would go with you.”

Paxa’s face went dark, and she turned away. “You don’t know me,” she said.

“Nor you me,” he murmured, his smile fading. “I find that even in my wildest dreams I cannot allow myself to walk away from my station. My fear is that even a place like Naveea might not offer me salvation.”

His partner lay on the roof next to him, knitting and unknitting her lithe fingers in distress. Then she spoke: “Cef, I didn’t always serve the Temple, you know.”

“You were a Champion, as I recall,” he said, scanning the street.

“I was,” she whispered. “I was also a gambler. And a bad one at that. So I bet on myself. I threw fights to pay my debts. Some very powerful people found out.”

Cefaphro said nothing. Paxa had never told him about her past, and he wanted to know– even though the knowledge felt dangerous, as it emerged from her.

“I had to make a deal with a gangster. They called him the Dock-Boss. He promised I could clear my debt if I worked for him one year, as his personal enforcer. And for that year, I used my talents to do a lot of damage, mostly to his rivals. But some of them were just people like me– gamblers in trouble. I got a nasty reputation as a heartless assassin– you know, the stereotypical murderous Sadaari– and I looked forward to the day when my year was up.”

She continued. “I had nearly paid my debt, when he gave me one final job. To burn down another boss’ compound. It was a big place, up in the hills. I’d done a hundred jobs like that. And so I did one more. But in the morning, it turns out…” Here she stopped. Cefaphro waited patiently for her to continue. “In the morning, they found the bodies. The wife. The kids. The whole family was inside.”

Cefaphro felt her deep sadness and remorse. He recognized the scars of guilt, anger and grief on her heart– for they were also on his.

“When I confronted the Dock-Boss, he denied knowing anything about a woman or children. And then he blamed me. Said I should’ve been more careful. So I did what comes natural to a Sadaari Champion — I ripped him into a hundred chunks of bone and blood. The room was spattered with what was left of him. But it didn’t fix anything. It didn’t fix the fact that the bastard was right. Why didn’t I check the house first? I was so focused on myself– doing my last job and getting out.”

“After that, I dropped off the map. I left Massina, and just wandered the Cerulean Wastes. When I finally returned, the Cauldron were the only ones who would welcome me back. I decided I should devote myself to my House. And here I am, still trying to make good on the one debt I can’t pay.”

Paxa kept her eyes fixed on the roof tiles underneath them. She didn’t dare look up, much less into her partner’s eyes. Cefaphro was judging her, no doubt. He probably found her story abhorrent and wanted nothing to do with her anymore.

Cefaphro and Paxa

“Paxa,” she heard him say softly. “We have similar wounds in our hearts. It is good that we tend them together.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his– deep and soulful. Then suddenly he looked away. “Hold on, what’s this now?”

Down in the street, a large shadow clung to the bakery building opposite Loxio’s house. As the shadow emerged, it became a Darulk. Her chest and eyes glowed purple. She slipped across the street with surprising deftness for a Darulk, and quietly let herself into Loxio’s house.

Cefaphro gripped his sword hilt. “Let’s go in there, and hit her hard and fast.”

“No!” hissed Paxa. “The child! And the nursemaid! And who knows who else?”

Paxa stood and crept across the rooftop, toward an open window in Loxio’s second floor bedroom. The drapes waved in the evening breeze, enhanced by the moonlight. Cefaphro watched as Paxa’s face contorted, and the undead fangs and deathly skin emerged. But she did not attack or spring into action.

She merely stared into the window, and with her hand, beckoned into the empty air. “Come to me, child. Submit to my will. Submit to the song of the Sadaari.”

Paxa began to sing a very quiet, haunting song. A lullaby from a dead place. He had never heard it before, but Cefaphro felt it was so familiar. He was drawn to it; he wished she would never stop singing.

Soon, at the window stood the forms of the girl Daya, and the nursemaid. They stared out at Paxa’s horrific image with no emotion; they were transfixed by her power. “Come to me,” said Paxa. The girl swung a leg over the window sill. “Yes, good,” whispered Paxa. Cefaphro became alarmed as the girl swung the other leg over, her eyes still locked onto Paxa.

Just as the girl fell, Paxa swept forward on silent wings, and caught her. The nursemaid too, clambered over, and landed in safety. Paxa sheltered them from view, as she hustled them off down past the garden wall.

Cefaphro admired his partner’s finesse, when he noticed a new flicker of movement in the window. The Darulk rushed into the frame, her face furious, and slammed her palm on the windowsill in frustration. At the sound of Cefaphro drawing Lissa from her sheath, the Darulk hissed and retreated into the house.

The Guardian leapt forward toward the window and crashed through the opening, and the small house became lit up with iridescent purple lightning. Chunks of plaster and stone flew out, while arcs of Arcane energy set off fires in the nearby trees. Then, the Darulk barreled out the front door, and turned to cast a ball of purple energy back into the house. She threw her arms up in defense as a massive explosion leveled the entire house, sending up a cloud of thick smoke.

Paxa rushed into the smoke and dust, and began throwing stones aside, calling out: “Cef! Cef! Are you okay?” A dark indigo hand reached up from the rubble, and Paxa pulled her partner free. As he rolled over to catch his breath, he looked up into her concerned face. “Don’t worry,” he said. “There wasn’t anyone else in there.”

“Yeah, except for you!” Paxa said with annoyed concern, and punched him in the arm.

“Where did the Librarian go?” coughed Cefaphro.

“Her name is Tinaris. She was the Grand Archivist of the Arcane,” said Paxa. Her partner’s face registered shock that she would know such a trivial fact. The Sadaari shrugged. “The Library was on the way to my bookie.”

She stood to survey the street. A flutter of cloak and purple light caught her eye, and she hauled Cefaphro to his feet. “Come on!”

As they pursued Tinaris through the evening streets, the citizens of Massina dove for cover and the Guardians dodged bolts of Arcane energy and curses. Paxa grew more and more alarmed at the reckless damage being cast by the Darulk. She cast a wall of Scorching Smoke across the narrow avenue, to obscure Tinaris’ way. The Librarian turned and fired Arcane Flies back at them– sending a scourge of demonic bugs to pierce their skin and attack their eyes. Cefaphro used a Celestial purification incantation to rid them of the pests, and they sprinted onwards, using their wings to speed them along.

The Librarian turned a corner into a blind alley, and tried to double-back, but Cefaphro was there, blocking the way. He drew his weapon, and the sword of Lissa sought its Celestial revenge against Tinaris’ demonic body, and sliced her arm clean away. The Darulk watched as her limb hit the pavement in a sickening thud, and she summoned her rage to blast Cefaphro in the face with a howling fire of Arcane Anger. Then she completed a Summoned Shield to protect herself from any further weapons.

Tinaris

As Cefaphro rolled in agony, his face scorched, the Darulk moved to crush his head with her powerful foot. Paxa dove in, her teeth piercing the Arcane Shield, and tearing at Tinaris’ neck. The tentacles flailed at Paxa, stinging her, but the undead teeth were sharper, carving chunks of flesh away, leaving the Darulk’s sinister pseudopods a dead mass of blubber. Now grievously wounded, Tinaris showed no sign of flagging. The Sadaari warriors had known of the tenacity and strength of the Darulk, and Paxa felt a rising panic as Tinaris reached up with her remaining arm, and wrapped her fingers around Paxa’s throat. Though Paxa bit and clawed, she was more and more powerless against Tinaris– whose cruel mouth smiled as she crushed the Guardian’s neck in her grip. The Sadaari felt bones popping and ligaments tearing; soon Tinaris would rip her head from her body.

A slice of pure light flashed between them, and Paxa felt Tinaris’ fist loosen; in fact, her whole arm fell away. Tinaris staggered backwards, her tentacles limp, both her arms severed, as the stumps pumped green blood out onto the greasy stones of the alleyway.

The Darulk fell with a thud that rocked the nearby houses. In the silence, somewhere a dog barked.

Cefaphro, panting, helped Paxa to her feet, and they approached the Darulk, swords drawn. The Vigilant placed his blade at her neck. “Tell me why you killed Loxio. Who ordered it?”

Tinaris spit blood. Despite her amputations, she remained conscious and defiant. A typical Darulk, thought Cefaphro. “No one ordered it, Watcher,” she spat again. “I caught him thieving and killed him myself.”

“Then where is the Tome?”

She laughed. “It was in the house we just destroyed, you fool. It burned.” Her face contorted. “As I hope you do.”

“And if the Tome is destroyed, then this matter is brought to an end,” said Cefaphro. He sheathed his sword, as the Darulk’s eyes began to flutter. Tinaris began to pass out.

Paxa leaned down to slap her face. “Stay with us, demon.”

“It is not at an end. The one who seeks it will not stop so easily,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Your part in it is,” Cefaphro told her, as he pulled her to her unsteady feet. “You will answer for the death of Loxio,”

“I do not fear the Inquisitors,” she snarled. “They are bought and paid for by my benefactors.”

“Oh?” said Cefaphro. “And what of the Wardens? Or the Syndicate? There are many who yet remain uncorrupted. They would take an active interest in your judgment.”

Tinaris hissed again at Cefaphro. She leaned into his face, her bloody tentacles dangling over him. “This I promise, Guardian: Meddling in this affair will cost you anything and everything that you hold dear. Prometheus will not forget.”

“Get moving,” said Paxa, shoving the Darulk with her foot. They trudged out of the alley and up toward the House of Death.

***

Yujin trembled in the darkness of the laboratory. The dank air hung about her, and she felt cold to the insides of her guts. Her fingers were covered in cuts: scraped, bloodied and dusty. She had searched for hours in the rubble. But she could not find it. The Tome was gone.

Now she knew she must face the consequences. But what would they be? He was so unpredictable lately. Not at all the man she had known even three months ago. Still… she believed in their cause. Freedom was worth almost anything.

A Grondal worked with a scalpel, and a tray of what looked to be detached eyeballs. Killarn was his name, and he grunted to himself as he labored, cutting them into small slices.

Her Master, Prometheus, emerged from behind a large canister of fluid, and took a drink from a small goblet. “What news of Tinaris?”

“Captured,” she said, her voice dry with fear. “The Shadow Assassins failed. The Guardians handed her to one of the Guilds.”

He frowned. “A pity. And the Tome?”

“It was destroyed, my lord,” she said.

“Do not address me as Lord,” he spat. Then he quieted himself. “How?”

“I believe the Darulk destroyed it. I searched the rubble–” She held up her battered hands.

Prometheus stared at her, and Yujin held her breath. Would he execute her? Would he show mercy? His face was impassive, as he stared at her. Then a sullen darkness came over him, as if a shadow had fallen.

“You searched and…?” His voice was unsettlingly calm and polite. “Your search was fruitless?”

“Perhaps it was destroyed in the battle. The building was in ruins.”

“I see,” he said. “Or rather, I don’t see.” He mused on this. “Yes, or perhaps it is you that do not see.”

“Master, I searched for hours. Believe me.”

“I do,” said Prometheus, sympathetically. He drew near to her. “I do not fault you for the shortcomings of your human form. But there are ways to remedy these weaknesses.”

He snapped his fingers, and the Grondal sprang to attention. Killarn moved with unsettling speed and grabbed Yujin by the arm.

“To the table,” muttered Prometheus, and the Grondal threw Yujin onto an operating table. She struggled, but she may as well have been fighting against a mountain.

“This is my fault, my loyal servant,” said the Doctor, apologetically. “I’ve asked too much of you. Tasked you to be my eyes and ears, and yet, I have not given you the tools you need to satisfy my demands.”

Yujin watched in horror, as Prometheus plucked one of the eyeballs from the tray. He examined it in the light, turning it this way and that, the blood vessels and nerve endings dangling in glistening strings. “Perhaps you’d like to have the eyes of a Vitra. Excellent night vision.”

“No, Master,” she whispered, trying to stay calm.

“Ah,” he smiled. “If not that, then perhaps the eyes of a Seris. Far-sighted. Quick to discern when trouble approaches.” He held the dragonkind eyeball up to her own eye socket, measuring with a scalpel. “A little large but we can make it fit.”

“No, Master!” Yujin squealed, writhing on the table beneath the grip of the Grondal.

“Is it the pain that you fear? I assure you,” Prometheus pleaded. “I am an excellent surgeon. Although perhaps you’re right. We could let Killarn have a go.” He held the scalpel out for the Grondal to take.

“Let me go!” Yujin raged. “You don’t have the right!”

Prometheus paused, staring down at her from above. “Ah, yes,” he said, as if in response to himself– some silent judgment. Then the storm cloud passed through him, and his demeanor shifted yet again. “No matter,” he said. “There is another way.”

Yujin felt massive relief flush through her. Killarn released her, and she rolled off the table. Prometheus busied himself with thumbing through a diary, as she recovered her nerves. When she stood, still shaky, she asked: “What is it, Master?”

“The Emperor has many vulnerabilities. And we have many contacts who wish to help overthrow him. Go to the wharves. Seek out the Rebels there, and tell them– with their cooperation, we have the means to capture a hostage.”

“Yes, Master, of course,” said Yujin, backing away. He seemed balanced again, but she wasn’t taking any chances. “But who is the target?”

“He has quite literally been dropped in my lap.” Prometheus walked to the doorway, where a stair led up the main floors of the Ministry. He gestured upwards. “The Emperor’s nephew, Nepote. He now frequents the Osteomancer’s shop.”

***

As the stars of the young universe drifted through the sky overhead, Cefaphro resumed his watch over the Barbican. For the moment, Mt Volcanus had ceased its drizzle of fire. The world seemed calm again. But he was troubled by a secret.

Paxa emerged from the staircase and stepped out onto the flat stone surface of the battlement. She bore an ornate goblet, and a smile. She held it out to Cefaphro. “I thought you deserved a little victory drink, after a successful mission. A Sadaari tradition.”

Cefaphro smiled in return, but paused before drinking.

“It’s not blood,” Paxa said, her face reddened in embarrassment. “Just wine. I swear.”

He nodded and took a sip. Then he set down the goblet and looked at her. “No more secrets between us, Paxa.”

She nodded, too. “Of course not, Cef.”

He reached into his surcoat. “There’s something you should know.”

Cefaphro withdrew a book, coated in soot. He dusted the black ash off the cover, revealing the seal of Maiax. “I lied,” he told her. “It was not destroyed.”

“The Tome of War,” she marveled. “So Loxio did take it?”

“No. I think Tinaris used his thievery as an opportunity to do some of her own,” said Cefaphro. “And afterwards she hid the book in his house, for safe-keeping. She knew it would be sought after.”

“Hang on,” said Paxa. “Did she not already know her Library possessed this book?”

“I’ll tell you a secret about the vastness of the Library of the Arcane,” he said. “Even the Grand Archivist does not know all the treasures it contains. Loxio was unlucky enough to uncover such a volume.”

“So,” said Paxa, choosing her words carefully. “Will we be returning the Tome to the Library? Or turn it over to the Emperor?”

“Neither.” Cefaphro’s face became very serious. The stars dimmed in his skin. “If Prometheus seeks it, then I believe it is in great danger. We alone can keep it secret, and keep it safe.” He reached out to touch her arm.

“You and I,” he said. “Come what may.”

Paxa felt a confusing thrill, an electric current alternating between the sickening shock of the Tome, and the warmth of Cefaphro’s fingers.

She nodded. “Come what may. I promise.”

From the darkened staircase, Cefaphro noticed that a priest watched them. As he tucked the book back into his shirt, he glanced again in the same direction, but only a shadow remained.