The mountains stand, high atop the peak of the world where man and beast and soul cannot tread. Here the drake rests and here he sees all that he may know. It is here that the drake tires and here that the drake shall sleep. It is here, centuries past man's perception, that the drake shall awaken to the new face of the world...or rise to the ashes of the old. It is here that he shall hearken to the call of Malukah.

* * *

A patter of tiny feet beat upon the earth, huffing quickly against the black night air. Howling drifted in over the ice-laden breeze; twisted hounds were turned loose. They were far faster than he, but he wouldn't know that. He struggled to race ahead, beat the fleshy soles of his feet harder, faster until they bled, but he could not escape...Not in the open.

His legs found a hole in the ground, twice as large as his own tiny body. He fell, cushioned by a soft, sticky thread. The booming howls of the dogs drew closer and closer until he could see the massive shadows they simply were in the darkness of the twilight hour. Then he felt the threads shift.

In the darkness, he could not see them, but he could hear. A hiss, tiny gasps of air, then a sharp jab pierced his ribs. He screamed, quickly, silently, and sobbed and wailed as the sticky thread was wrapped around his doomed form.

He hung there for hours, feeling, but not really knowing. Feeling the threads of silk shift and tighten over his limbs.

When the fire came, he could no longer feel.

* * *

Wasted sands washed over restless dunes of the desert badlands. Vast, empty, and cruel, the Savani Desert held only a few small settlements. In small carts, merchants would run trade routes in the onslaught of sand and wind, but even the animals had their limits. There was no traffic on the sand in the desert storm, but on the far side of the dunes, within the dessicated valley, there was a grand temple buried deep beneath.

It was not far inside the reach of the Savani, but close to the ocean at its southern bound.

And all was quiet, save for the howl of the sand around the tower high above the heads of worshippers. There were no whispers or hushed talk from what few visitors were in attendance, for only the devout few actually made it to the temple. The treacherous waste of the desert deterred many more than simply the timid and the weak of will.

She counted four in attendance, not including herself, in the grand hall. Most were bent in prayer, and she was there for the same. She stepped quietly to the massive sculpture of a coiled viper, fangs and rattle bared, flicking its tongue out to the pews before it. There were eight pillars carved to match the image of the serpentine god the temple served, twisting from the ground to the domed ceiling. High above, the twelve scriptures of the Diviners' law were written in the Ancient Tongue, and she marveled at these like she always did.

She knelt before the avatar of the Voyager, and felt a seed take its place within her head. Pray. She bent her head low and clasped her hands together as she muttered silently the words she knew by heart. A ringing pulse in her ears drowned everything out, and the next thing she knew, she was falling toward the temple floor. But she never met it.

She was in a world of darkness, twisting and writhing in the lack of any real physical influence on her being. Vague shadows could be made out in the darkness, darker areas that seemed to move, but the darkest one lay far, far in the distance. Light was dead to her as she stared into it. Just shades darker and darker than the last, the world took a leap and she was back on the temple floor, aching and panting. Her head throbbed and she called for one of the kneeling devout. But there was nothing. She knew the flooring, the tiled mosaic of a drake, a serpent, a spirit, and a rat. The Four of the Eight, Diviners each. Nothing else took form around her, or was even there entirely. It was all shrouded in mist, almost to the point of blindness. That thought did little to ease the ache in her head and she called out once more, but this time, she was answered.

"You are not yet suited to the stench of isolation, it seems." It was oddly rhythmic, the way the syllables rolled into the mist. "You do not yet understand."

A vision fell to her, of a man returning home, to the seat of the jeweled crown. "He will answer your questions."

She woke from the mist with a jolt in her head and a ring in her ears, lying in her quarters with an aid at her side fussing over her waking form. "You've got a nasty knot on your head, Auramun," the aid noted. She brought her hand to her ringing ears and felt around the tender, swollen bone. "Won't hurt for much more than a day, though. I'd recommend that you stay still for a few hours at least-"

She wasn't listening. The sheets were thrown from her bed and her feet carried her swiftly to the wardrobe in the corner. A bag of supplies was tucked away in the corner and it was grabbed alongside a cloak. Her hurried footsteps were followed by the aid's confusion.

"Priestess," the aide called after her. She didn't hear any other footsteps, but there was a viper on her mind, feeding her thoughts and impulses. She was blind to this influence and could not acknowledge her lack of choice. Only when her ascent up the stairs was halfway done did she realize where she was going. No matter how many, green pastures weren't enough to replace the temple in her life.

"Your faith will be spread," the viper's eyes burned a deep ruby red in her green irises as its tongue forked lightning across her mind. It was that man again, but it was different this time...limping, wounded. The man was fine, but his land was not. "You will be my emissary, Priestess. My Oracle. You will find in time that noble blood carries its own burdens atop those it disposes on others."

Nobility...He seemed to radiate it, but he wasn't dressed in any sort of royal seal. A tattered leather cloak was instead on his shoulders and he defied the attention nobility would earn him under any circumstance. "Who is he," she asked aloud. Her voice had carried farther than she'd have liked.

"Rose," someone up the stairs called."Come here, Rose. I need to speak to you."

She hurried higher to the entrance to the monks' quarters and saw the head of the sect gesturing her forward. A man of old age, but perfect health, Angalo was of a lean lifestyle. Grey stubble covered his neck and jaw and his head was shaven, but his eyes and build were of a much younger man. He held all the animosity expected in a youth on a frame to surpass even the most gifted athletes, but he was as cold and disciplined and wise as he was physically able. The marks burned into his brow said this and noted his devotion to the lord Voyager, Saolumn the Eloquent. At one common point between his eyes, four crescents arced to his cheek and jaw -the same marks she had received.

"You needed to see me, master?"

"Yes, Rose. Take a seat, get comfortable. I must talk to you about our faith to the serpent lord." He sat upon the floor and she did the same as he poured a glass of the desert's rarest commodity: water. The cup went to her and she accepted it gratefully.

"What of the lord Voyager of our travels, master?"

"You spoke to Him." She nearly dropped the cup.

"Yes," she nodded. Now she was treading more cautiously.

"I want to know what He said."

"He told me nothing. He showed me a man he thinks can answer my questions."

"What questions?"

"...I don't know. When I passed out, I saw something. It was black and hideous, like some amorphous horror from the deepest shadows of the void. And...He did say something. He told me that I was not suited to isolation. Would you know what that means, master?"

"...I can't say in personal confidence, but the teachings of the Keeper hold that those who seek knowledge of magick, either directly or not, seek to separate themselves from what hinders the flow of such power. It's an unconscious phenomenon, but magick does not originate from ourselves. It is an aura of collective sentience and it, as such, is influenced by others as much as it influences them. The stronger the power one controls, the stronger the influence, the more the presence of certain individuals will hinder its passage," the monk explained. "A subject of considerable power will not be as his family has known him for this."

"What individuals would hinder it?"

"The ones that know how, to be absolutely certain, but those disinclined in the practice may disrupt its flow," he shrugged. 

She nodded. "So what happens now?"

"Now you part ways with this temple. If it is our lord's bidding He wishes of you, then it is most wise to obey His command." They stood and she turned to leave, contemplating her apparent task-at-hand. "Rose?"

"Yes, master?"

"Brace for a difficult road ahead. It isn't simply to answer your questions that this task falls to you. He chose you, and this darkness you described? It is not something to take lightly. Be swift and cautious and you will return." He bowed and she bowed, turning the peaceful din of the quiet air to him. She took to the stair and bounded up to the tower lift.

* * *

The desert was especially harsh the night of her departure. The wind whipped sand into the air like an empty swarm and it filed her sunburnt skin away with every breath of ice she puffed into the cold, dark sky. She couldn't see the temple anymore, she'd lost sight of it long ago. All that filled the landscape around her was a sort of flowing rapture as the dunes changed in the desert. It would all be different in the morning.

With that in mind, she wrapped a length of goat skin over her neck and face and tucked her arms into her garb's sleeves. She was as protected from the sand as she was ever going to get.

In silence, she moved forward.

Hours passed as the sand whipped across the sky and when the sun reared its ugly head, it blew only harder. Water was scarce, bearings were strained, and when she made it to Oceanview, barely past the crack of dawn, it was overrun with imperial guardsmen. Tents were lined up and soldiers were everywhere and on one of the posts at the pier, there was a man tied and nailed to it. Nearly dead and clearly suffering, he was given only the odd glance and those who did look were quick to shuffle off. Except the officers. They stood around with cups, spilling and laughing at the man's expense.

She spared the man one sorrowful glance and quietly offered a prayer for him.

"Hey," someone called. She kept moving. "Hey, bitch! Turn around."
A tug on the back of her cloak sent her tumbling backward into the ground. A plated steel boot glared into her face as the wearer knelt and tore the wrap from her head. He found what he was looking for and waved another to him.

"Is this one of them?"

"Yeah, see the marks? She's in regular attendance at the temple all right. She might know where our Prince has gone," the first said.

"By the Keeper's...are they burns?"

"Yes, pisha. The people of the sand-"

"You cannot take him! He's my son! My son, you heartless cowards!"

"What the hell," the soldier before her grunted. He lifted her from the ground and shoved her into the second guard's arms. "Make sure she doesn't move or you're going to the Overseer before the night is done."

"Yes sir!" His grip was uncomfortably tight as he left, but she could still move. A foot hooked around his ankle as she twisted violently and rammed her elbow into his nose. The damage was done as he stumbled back and tripped. She was free to make a break. A boat would take her upriver north of the seat of the Jeweled Crown and, with any luck, she'd beat the nobleman and catch him in town.

But first, she had the guards to worry about.

"Gods damned, come here," the grunt came from behind her, but she didn't give him a chance to get back up.

Huffing angrily, she ran through the market of piers and boats with the guard hot on her tail. The woman who'd cried out was in the center of the complex of docks, surrounded by several armed men and a large crowd of civilians watching the scene. Most of the smaller vessels were arrested and tied or anchored, but she needed one of the bigger boats. They were on the outskirts and were still coming and going seemingly without interruption.

She drew from the clustered homes of stilts and boards and stopped cold.

"Stop!"

There was a pair of guards just before her and more behind. There was enough ocean, they couldn't swim with the metal plate they wore, but she couldn't swim well either. She'd never needed to.

"Keep still and submit! This doesn't have to get bloody," they yelled. She felt a sharp but gentle jab in her back and a hand in the crook of her elbow, pulling her in. She got a good look at the halberd that she'd felt, steel shining in the early sun, and made a snap decision. She tore loose from his grip and jumped into the water.

The drop was longer than she'd thought, the ocean colder than she'd expected. Her muscles tensed and her head fell beneath the surface, then came back up, gasping for what air she could get before she plummeted back under. Sound was distorted, she couldn't see, heart fit to burst, she couldn't breathe...

...And then she knew light. In a fit of coughs, she took air as quickly as she could and looked to see the soldier that had saved her life. But he was no soldier and she was not on the pier. She was in one of the few smaller vessels still traveling the water and the man that sat at its bow was a lowly fisherman staring into the calm tide. At the other end of the boat, another fisherman -heavier of frame- stood, propelling the boat with a pole. "Where are we going," the question was almost without asking as the first pointed to a ship further along the water, visible just beyond the farthest reach of the Savani peninsula. It wasn't docked, but anchors held it where they could reach it in relative safety. She looked around for the market docks, but they were nowhere to be found.

"You were unconscious for a good few hours, miss," the standing one answered her unspoken question. "We pulled you from the water. You weren't breathing -Elliot saved you."

"I wasn't...Are you pirates? Why did you save me?"

"Not pirates, no...at least, we weren't. We're retired from active duty, for the time being. The Emperor isn't the most forgiving man alive. We hope to work for a more, say, worthy individual. And apparently the imperial guardsmen think you might know where he is," he smiled. No, not ulawful sea-farers. Rebels.

"Is there a question there?" Is that who this nobleman is? The Fallen Prince?

"Let's say, yes."

"...He's headed home," she looked to the silent one and saw the nod. "I would like to accompany you. I must speak with him."

"That's what we figured. The Savani Temple doesn't normally have its priests out scouring the desert," said the large one. "Elliot will vouch for you."

"Elliot?"

"The mute over there," he gestured. She nodded.

"Wait, so-so I wasn't breathing and Elliot," she stammered and looked to the mute in question, who simply nodded to her. "Thank you."

A flat hand went to his chin and towards her, a gesture learned in silence, spoken in silence.

They drew nearer to the ship as the washing tide bobbed them up and down, then up again and down again in an unrelenting cycle. Her head was beginning to swim and she held no doubt that she'd be nauseous before long. The mute reached into the water and pulled a line he'd concealed, strung with several hooks. There were no fish and the long line went beside him, coiled on the wooden frame. The closer they got to the ship, the darker the water seemed to get. It was deeper here, quite noticeably, and the larger man could no longer use his pole to push the small boat forward. It came in to the side of the vessel and was quickly lashed to the hull by the both of them.

The mute gave a high pitched whistle that lasted only a few short seconds, but made her ears ring regardless. A minute passed before the toll of a bell was nearly too quiet to hear and the deck of the ship sprang to life. The mast was raised to reveal a massive seal of imperial power. It was a captured ship, and it was moving to intercept them.

Ropes were thrown down to them, which Elliot wasted no time retrieving. He was a strong swimmer and an able deckhand, it seemed. He returned with the lines and handed one to the larger man as he tied his to the boat. They were pulled to the stolen ship and hoisted on deck slowly and carefully and the added instability did nothing to settle her mounting nausea.

"Everything go okay," asked one of the hands.

"Good so far, but we're in much better shape now."

"She knows where-"

"Yes, she seems to. Get Captain Montrose, he'll want to speak with her."

They helped her onto the deck on her feet, but the swell of the deck was worse than she'd hoped. She stumbled back to the side, leaned over and promptly emptied her stomach. It was mostly bile and burned as she spat, but it did little to help and she still was left with a sickening roll in the well of her gut. She'd have to live with it as a stamp of boots behind her and a collective 'Captain!' signalled his approach. She turned to find an honest captain of the imperial fleet.

Panic swelled momentarily within her until Elliot stepped to him and gave a crisp salute. They seemed to communicate well enough in silence, Elliot nodded and the Captain nodded back. The mute ushered her forward with a gentle hand and the three made for the cabin. The captain sprung forward to open the door and they all filed in to a small room with a desk and two chairs. She fell into the closest, to the captain's amusement, as he and the mute spent a few minutes trading gestures. Then the mute left and it was only the two of them in the dark chamber.

"So, I'm told you know where to find our Prince," he began.

"Yes, sir," she answered. "He is going home to Fayrdal Keep. For what purpose, I can only speculate."

"Fayrdal? Damn it, what is he doing?" The captain turned to her and took a breath. "Maybe you could clear that up for me before we part ways..."

"Yes sir, but only if you can help me. I need to find him."

"Yes, Elliot said you've got business with the man. If it's regarding his current endeavor, it'd probably be best if you caught him before he arrived at the keep. I'll take you as far as I can, but I can't let my ship stop for long at any dock."

"Thank you," she smiled. Her discomfort eased a bit at the knowledge that he was not aligned with the Emperor. Not the current one, anyway.

"So, I seem to have missed your name. I am Sander Montrose and this is my ship. I was a captain of the imperial fleet once. I'm not now, not technically anyway, but I can get by that with a little subterfuge. You don't need to worry about me."

"I'm...My name is Rose DiMalo, Auramun of the Temple of the Voyager in the Savani Desert. It is my pleasure to meet you, Captain Montrose."

"A priestess? Then you lead a charmed life to have lived to see that title. So tell me, what is your business with our Prince?"

"I've seen visions of a terrible thing, but I've no idea what it is. I've been told that the Prince of Fayrdal can answer my questions," she answered. He was eyeing her now, expectantly...suspiciously.

"You're seeking the answers he carries? He went to the temple, you must have met him."

"I assure you, sir, I did not. He never came to the temple."

"Then he might have found something. What, I couldn't say, but you don't go on a pilgrimage and simply turn back halfway through it. Let me think..." he let the sentence trail.

"Do you know something that I might not?"

"He is believed to have disappeared after a little lumber town was destroyed. They thought him killed, and he wasn't seen for months, then he just turns up in the Savani Desert...and turns back home for no apparent reason? There has to be some kind of intervention."

The Serpent Lord..."It wasn't anything normal, Captain. Before I left, my Lord spoke to me, told me that I needed to help him. It may well have been divine intervention that turned him on his way; it may have been the Voyager that turned him back."

He was silent for a long while, scribbling something in a log as he thought. "This help," he sighed. Might it have something to do with this vision of yours?"

"It seems to, yes. And it is nothing this plane has ever known. If the Prince is moving against it, it isn't simply going to end with his efforts. He's just one man, no matter how blessed or charmed. He will need assistance."

"Well, we need to find him then before he moves. I suspect he'll need to sieze the imperial court to make his strokes at home, but he can't take direct action as it would be necessary from the keep. He'll need to maneuver around the court," he nodded. "I'll issue you a room for your private use. Get comfortable, Auramun DiMalo. We've got a week's sailing before we get to Fayrdal port and a day's walk past that to the city proper. It's going to be a long haul."

Captain Montrose stood and left for the deck.

Now the waiting would take its toll.

* * *

Two days into the voyage, she could walk stably, at least. She'd never been out of the peninsula, let alone at open sea like she was. She'd lost her bearings a day into it and was left to dejectedly staring into the stars, wishing she'd learned how to navigate by starlight.

There were no stars on the third night, clouds concealed them and by dawn on the the fourth day, they'd descended over the ship in an all-obscuring fog. It was thick enough that it muffled the shouts of the captain and crew and made communication a difficult endeavor. They were not in danger, Montrose had told her, but she doubted that sincerely. There was something lurking near, she could feel it, but shrouded in fog, she wasn't likely to see it.

At least the water was calm.

She'd gone to bed early, to while the time away until she could gaze at the sky again. Writhing in the sheets of her bed, she didn't hear the knock at her door. She was far too confined in her dreams of blood and a coming tide. The rapping became urgent and a voice cracked her illusion. "Mistress DiMalo, Priestess, please..."

She rose and padded to the door.

"What is it," she asked impatiently. The hinges creaked quietly as she pulled it open. It was dark, no light of any sort could be found, and she could not see the crewman that had woken her. "Hello?" This darkness is not natural. Nothing made a sound, even the wooden hull was silent. The windows were veiled with velvet, the doors and walls shrouded in the deepest black and inside, nothing stood. All conformed, all was bleak..."all is dead."

"This is not its place," a rattling whisper hissed into her ear. "Why doesn't it see? Why doesn't it see that nothing will remain?"

The sound did not die away. It left and it came and it left again, circulating in the absense of all that was...was...what? What was there to have seen? The room behind her was gone, the hall before her was gone, nothing was left. Nothing was there, nothing was all around and, for all that, she knew nothing. Again. Angalo had taught her to let go, but what was there to let go when there was so little to be had?

"It knows, it is the Auramun. The Auramun on her voyage. What is it that brings Saolumn into the fold of this mortal coil?"

There was no longer nothing, but it may as well have remained. A blazing star, piercing and hollow, burned its seething scarlet light through the darkness. Hopeless despair consumed her soul and bared it to be known by the star and the nothing.

"They know it now, the Auramun. They know it and it will burn to glass with the whole of the world."

Tinnitus rang in her ears as she came to. She was on the ship, but the fog was gone and Elliot was kneeling over her, looking into her eyes. There was a light, bright and beautiful, shining painfully in her eyes. Only when it stopped could she see. Captain Montrose was next to him, where the light had been.

"By the Keeper's hands, what happened Auramun?"

"I don't, I don't know. I answered the door and the ship, this crew, I...we all..." she let it trail off. Her eyes were glistening with tears and she was quivering, head to toe. Drenched in sweat, she looked in every way the part of a victim. Bruises, black and tender and swollen, colored her pale neck, face, and arms and likely more that they couldn't see. "The shadow..." The Captain nodded and looked to Elliot.

"Get going, the Auramun is beyond our help right now. Keep an eye out and be alert. We don't even know where we are anymore." The mute gave him a crisp salute as he always would and shuffled off, leaving the two alone again. He offered a hand that she quickly accepted and pulled her to her feet.

"Captain, there are forces at play here. Forces beyond our furthest hope to understand," Rose gasped. She was still shaking fiercely, but she was standing, swaying on the wooden floor. "I need to sit, please."

He lowered her back to the floor, against the wall, and kneeled next to her.

"It, it found me. Without my Lord's protection, it burned into my soul and took everything. It cast it all aside and...Captain, if this entity succeeds, it will destroy us."

"So fight. Your nobleman possesses an unnatural gift, handed from the hands of the Keeper himself. Gain his trust, Priestess, and burn the shadows away." The serpent's tongue twisted in her mind as darkness found her again and as her senses dulled, the last thing she heard was Captain Montrose.

"What is it, Auramun DiMalo?"

"Death." Her mind fell from her as she breathed the word and embraced the peace that sleep offered her.