"I hear his sacred hymns when I slumber—the soothing melody that shapes my mind''s eye to see his intention for me. In time, all will bear witness to his return. For we who waste away shall be made whole again."


    A roar of agony shattered the hierarch''s meditations, jolting him awake. The disarray of his thoughts reassembled as he recoiled from the shockwave of the Metahorn''s echoing wails. "We have reached the edge of creation, Hierarch. All ship functions are reporting as normal." The ship''s Aquilian, Gevra, relayed the report as the hierarch slowly roused, the disorienting effects of the Metahorn fading. Even after millennia of use, the Metahorn''s power never ceased to unnerve. It was the fastest and safest means of traversing the deep, but its residual effects left scars—both visible and unseen.


    The walls reverberated faintly with another hail. "Hierarch, the Metahorn has been badly damaged. It will take time to heal its wounds."


    Now fully awake, the hierarch murmured a brief prayer to the Watcher in the Dark and summoned his servant, Pelo. "Tell the captain to push no further. No more tunneling until the Metahorn recovers."


    The edge of creation was the furthest the Metahorn could go. Beyond this point, the deep held no promise of return. To press further would mean the death of the sacred creature.


    His attendants moved swiftly, aiding him in peeling away the rejuvenation leeches still clinging to his body. The creatures had borne the brunt of the radiated journey, sacrificing themselves to shield their master. Dead or dying, they floated lifelessly as the hierarch stepped out of the suspended fluid. Drops scattered onto the floor as gravity gradually returned to the ship. "My lord," Pelo intoned with a deep bow, "the priesthood awaits you."


    The hierarch remained silent as his attendants completed dressing him. The final piece, a crown, was carefully placed upon his head by Pelo. The Hierarch walked onto a large open platform. Priests looked on from a distant platform as he stopped just shy of stepping into the darkness beyond. With an inhale of the thin air, he began his lamentation.


    "Should we weep for what we have lost—this living death—because our Lord is bound in the draining quiet, set to suffer a slow deterioration? Look at all the true believers of our Lord. Are they not pale husks, immortal yet always in hunger? Our survival is the only thing that feeds our Lord. Belief in Belivos is not enough—we must free him. For every day our number wanes, those of the other bloodlines destroy our sanctuaries, continually desecrating the most sacred of our worlds. If we do not free our Lord, we shall wither and die.


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    Thus, I say to his champions, the legendary hosts who fled to the edge of known existence: come to us. We have made the bodies you asked for. By that action, my part is done, my bargain met. Now honor yours, and come to us." The void replied.


    "We hear you, Eti. Your cry calling on old oaths, but the power that opposes us is not one we can withstand. The Crucible was a gift from this power, and it was greatly angered upon its breaking. Many among our number fell, for to assail the pillars of creation was no small feat. Even when we won, we lost. Our forms were shattered by the force beyond all. Those who could pull themselves together are not as they were before. Even we, who fled, had to shed our forms to survive. Even now, we risk destruction as we speak. We cannot aid you, but we know of another who can make all things clear. Invoke the Telikra, and all shall be made plain to you." The Hierarch pulled out a dagger, its hilt a screaming head. He sliced his palm, flinging the blood into the void.


    "Sadrakan, Sadrakan—the vile but loyal, the endless but known—hear me. Hear my call. I have served your master with loyal resolve. I have brought the teachings of the unnamed to the ears of the unenlightened. I have stripped the veil. Thus, Sadrakan, honor me so that all may know the power of the Telikra."


    The void rippled and roiled as giant faces of anguish roared at each other. They neared the platform, forcing the Hierarch to move back from the ledge. A single face remained as the others vanished, stopping just shy of hitting the platform''s edge. The face of darkness kept its mouth open, a dark maw within. In silence, a throne of immense heft floated from the overly extended mouth. At its center sat a being clothed in ornate armor, its surface studded with blood-red gems, its head adorned with a crown of charred bone, its visage disdain, its aura the drums of slaughter.


    "Eti! Eti Melos, your call to action pleases us, for among the many of his servants, you have shown ability and boldness; your plea has been granted. All you ask has been made plain and given."


    The Hierarch, in prostration, replied, "Sadrakan, I thank you—the Impaler of the Devourer, the Shield of the Maw, the true Chaos. Through you, the cacophony has been made sane, though... I ask of something else, aid against the others who have abandoned our cause, the ones who stand with the Red Lord."


    Gargantuan vessels materialized through screaming mouths, made from the dark void, their forms haunting, with their bows adorned with the symbol of Sadrakan—a head of silver screaming in anguish and sorrow, with red gems placed as a stream of bloody tears.


    "Let it not worry you, for they have chosen their fate. Continue with your quest to free our King, and to aid you, part of my fleet will join your forces. I wish to give more, but I fight to hold back the Curling and its wrath."


    The Hierarch remained in prostration as Sadrakan''s throne floated back into the open mouth, disappearing into its dark void. Then... a figure stepped out of the mouth, trailed by legions of menacing warriors.


    "Hierarch, I am Veza. My Lord commands me to submit to your will." Veza knelt before the now-standing Hierarch. "My spear is yours."