Yashas lacked the deftness of Grace’s Champion, but caution mitigated many a weakness. As such he moved through the brush quietly. Methodically. It mattered not. None of the others were here, nor would they arrive for some time. Weeks, perhaps. Months, even.


    By then, they’d be too late. He’d have mapped out every inch of the mighty Cataclysm dungeon that stood before him, still steaming from its crash-landing.


    Yashas had tracked the massive square spire as it crashed down upon Axius. He’d waited for the dust to settle, and now, finally, he sneaked his way to the crash site, optimistic that he would be the first to enter. The first to benefit from its hard lessons.


    There, he would hone his skills and he would learn all there was to learn about this new dungeon. For in all his years serving as a general to Emperor Ashoka, he’d learned that there was no commodity more precious—no resource more vital—than knowledge.


    Approaching the alien structure, he reached out and touched the cool gray structure, and was instantly whisked away.


    The ironclad composure that he prided himself on, however, all but vanished the moment he took in this new dungeon.


    Destroyed roads, wider and made of no material he’d ever seen. Tall, square structures surrounded them, all of which seemed to soar to the sky. Orderly windows of glass were embedded into every floor, larger and clearer than any Yashas had ever seen.


    Strange script was written along their sides, and though Yashas had never encountered the language, he knew what it said. He surmised he was likely the only among the Champions who was literate in the languages of Axius. His patron had insisted upon it.


    The words spelled T O K Y O. As for its meaning, he could only guess though why did it sound familiar? It sounded almost like Ohana’s language, didn’t it? He’d have to ask the Champion of Grace when he saw her next. Likely in here, if the Champions truly were converging on this dungeon.


    Sadly, the buildings all looked to be on the verge of collapse.Far too dangerous to enter, that was for certain. Many windows were broken, and the strange gray material that comprised the structures had fallen, revealing a skeleton of metal rods inside. How did they stand so tall without crumbling?


    And what of the enormous panels that draped their sides? Most were clearly destroyed, yet a few shone brightly, displaying a myriad of garish colors. Yashas took several moments to comprehend just what he was seeing.


    They were… paintings. Paintings that moved of their own volition as though alive. Yashas stared at the sight, transfixed, for several moments before he mustered the will to turn away. Magic was real in this world, after all. He thought he had grown accustomed to that fact, and yet…


    Even so, they were nothing but ruins. Whatever wondrous civilization had once dwelled here was long gone. Transformed, perhaps, into the very monsters that roamed its streets, shambling as though life itself had left them.


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    Yashas swiftly moved into an empty alley before they noticed him. While their senses appeared dulled and they moved sluggishly, Yashas would not take any chances. He was no stranger to combat, after all. He’d fought alone. He’d commanded armies, and through careful planning and an unquenching thirst for information, he’d prevailed time and time again.


    This time would prove no different. It seemed the next few months would prove quite interesting. Once he learned all there was to know about this dungeon, its beasts, its structure, he would acquire all the tools he required to command even the mightiest of Champions.


    Eskil, Son of Magnus, came to mind. Of Convergence rank—the highest of all the Champions Yashas knew, though it was possible Eskil had ascended even higher by now. His information was surely out of date, what with that monster’s rate of growth.


    Speaking of monsters however, Yashas wondered if it was not Richard he should be wary of. Strange names, the both of them. Strange customs, as well. Though his patron deity had warned him to expect those of cultures he’d never seen, it was jarring nonetheless.


    As a pupil of the great philosopher-diplomat Chanakya, Yashas had, of course, been exposed to those outside the great Mauryan Empire. He’d encountered the Seleucids and the Greco-Bactrians by way of Kandahar and Lampaka. He’d even skirmished against them on occassion. Yet though they worshipped different gods and held different festivals, their behavior was still understandable.


    This, however, was his first time interacting with so many truly foreign cultures, and indeed, it had taken quite a force of will to grow accustomed to them. Even now, Yashas found the task to be a challenge, more so than being whisked away by his patron deity—Krishna, in all likelihood. The god was notorious for his many forms, and had always loved his tricks.


    But those concerns were distant. With all he’d learned of his fellow Champions, they warranted far more of his worry.


    Yashas would never match Dominion’s Champion in sheer strength, nor Richard’s strange ability to woo people—and from what he’d gleaned, that Champion’s combat powers were nothing to scoff at, either. The ability to render one’s opponent instantly dead? Yashas would have to be on his guard at all times around that one.


    Or was it perhaps his companions he ought to guard against?


    Yashas thought to the woman who accompanied him. A long-eared woman—though she pretended to be a man. One of the so-called elves. Their kind didn’t strike him as altogether different, despite everyone’s insistence that they were. Did having long ears and fair skin truly separate people more than their customs and values in this world? The giants were far more alien to his eyes.


    He shook his head. It mattered not, in the end. Of far more import was her status. Her miraculous powers. The fact that Passion’s Champion had befriended her—a nobody—almost instantly.


    While Yashas’ patron never admitted as much, Yashas could guess. Only a Champion could have caused such a reaction, and given that Yashas now knew the identities of all the others…


    Certainly, if they were trying to keep their identity hidden, as they surely must be given the lack of fervor, he held quite the potent advantage. One that could be warped to his benefit? What was that deity thinking? Would his Champion elf finally end the cycles? Or was there a hidden motive behind their existence? Some godly agenda? Only time would tell. Regardless, he couldn’t wait to meet them.


    After all, how many people knew that Order had summoned a Champion this cycle? A real Champion? How many knew it was an elf?