Enemy of my enemy


    At the edge of the Azuka system, cloaked and guarded by Sadrakan''s Dread Ships, The Deep''s Echo floated in the inky darkness.


    Within the large, gilded vessel, the Hierarch sat in contemplative silence, watching the enemy vessels clash with his fleet. He glared at the hole in his ornate floor. Half of his royal banner was clutched in his hand, his thumb brushing over the burnt fabric. The other half was embedded in a hole on the wall behind him, red dust clinging to it. He clenched the fabric tightly, a surge of wrath searing through his mind like an unrelenting flame.


    "No, this will not shake you," he murmured to himself, the words barely audible. To those around him, it seemed as though a chant was taking shape in his mind—a sacred invocation, the most hallowed of them all.


    "The Churn shall be the prison of all found wanting, their every aspect unwound until they are called to face judgment. In the Churn, they will be held, and in this same Churn, the believers will be reformed for a great purpose. Its master shall be of the great House of Reckon, the bloodline of Belivos."


    His mind found a point of peace as Pentega''s voice broke through his thoughts.


    "The Trulion Guard was fully committed to containing Galrun and his growing armies, now scouring the Azuka system. Their sacrifice is allowing the evacuation efforts to continue."


    Admiral Pentega''s voice carried through the chamber. She stood at the edge of the command platform, addressing a holographic display of other ship captains. Her grim tone matched the dim, flickering light of the room.


    "We currently lack the resources to contain this threat, and with The Deep''s Echo damaged, it won''t happen soon."


    The Hierarch paid her little attention; he already knew everything she would say. He wanted to respond, but his mind drifted deeper into contemplation. Visions and prophecies surged through him as the power of the Deep coursed into his consciousness. Among the countless images, one struck him: a young human child, sitting on a beach, crying in despair. He saw her future, her pivotal role in saving their race, in freeing their King. He saw her dreams—and realized that he was in them, guiding her path, protecting her, motivating her when she hovered on the brink of surrendering to her pain.


    "Get me Veza," he said to Pelo, his voice breaking through his reverie.


    Veza entered the chamber and knelt before him.


    "Rise, Veza of Hearts," the Hierarch said, gesturing him forward. "I see your wounds have healed."


    Veza stood, his gaze averted.


    "This failure is not yours," the Hierarch said gently. "That accursed specter was bound to thwart us. Your men fought valiantly against the scion of a war god."


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    Veza raised his eyes, seeking permission to speak.


    "Speak freely," the Hierarch granted.


    "My lord, I request permission to assist our forces," Veza said firmly.


    The Hierarch leaned back, his tone heavy with regret. "I wish for that too, but we lack the numbers or strength. Our fleets were blindsided and are now locked in battle with Galrun''s forces. It pains me, but we must leave them. We will take those we have evacuated. The final piece of the artifact has been located by one of our allies. Thus, I have a new task for you."


    The Hierarch''s eyes glowed faintly as he transferred the information to Veza.


    "I understand," Veza said, bowing as he left.


    The Hierarch rose from his throne, his guards falling into step behind him. As the room quieted to a reverent hum, he walked down a long, wide hallway, shadows shifting and dancing around him. Pelo walked beside him.


    "Should we be worried that Galrun left Veza alive?" Pelo asked.


    The Hierarch maintained his gaze on the distant end of the corridor. "It may be Galrun''s respect for honor, or perhaps Veza serves a purpose that has yet to unfold. The veil is strong, and I cannot see the answer to your question. We must let this play out under a watchful eye. My communion with the Deep grants me greater power than the Red Lord possesses, but his cunning is a force even I struggle to match. Nothing he does is without reason. I remember our upbringing in the teachings of the Nawi. Even then, when we were still loyal to the Silver Moon and the Great Tree, his power awed and terrified us. While others wielded their abilities with ease, he had none—only wit and a spite that knows no limit."


    "Avanti, my guards do not take kindly to your ways," the Hierarch said abruptly to the shadows.


    A figure clothed in blue emerged, the shadows peeling away to reveal her form. His guards closed in around him, their spears igniting with a soft lilac glow.


    "It is appreciated if you announce your arrival. What is a servant of the Silver Moon doing here? Does your Ama wish to add to my worries?"


    Avanti lowered her hood, revealing a shining silver mask.


    "I come in peace, with a message from Ama," she said.


    The Hierarch raised his hand, and his guards lowered their spears.


    "Then speak your peace."


    The Hierarch walked alongside Avanti towards an observation room, their steps measured and deliberate. Below them, young Devotees sat in orderly rows, immersed in their lessons. The faint murmur of instruction drifted up, carrying fragments of history—the tale of the Navurian-Human conflict, the event that shattered a shared belief and unraveled alliances.


    The Hierarch broke the silence first. "My heart goes out to her. I pray for Sarak''s healing."


    Avanti''s gaze lingered on the classroom below, her expression hidden behind her ornate mask. Yet the Hierarch, seasoned in reading subtleties, could sense a shadow of disdain in her stance. He did not mind; their faiths had always been worlds apart.


    "I thank you, Hierarch," Avanti said, her tone clipped but polite. "My lady thanks you as well."


    Without ceremony, she withdrew a scroll from the folds of her robes and offered it to him. "This is her message to you: a call to form an alliance, to prevent the Red Lord from amassing more power."


    The Hierarch hesitated, taking the scroll with deliberate care. "Sarak wasn''t the only one attacked," Avanti continued. "Azavan... she was murdered. By Galrun."


    At the mention of the name, the Hierarch''s grip tightened. His expression remained impassive, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air. He unfurled the scroll and read its contents in silence. Then, with a solemnity born of ancient rites, he drew his blade and sliced his own finger. A drop of blood stained the document as he pressed his wound against it.


    "We have no other choice," the Hierarch said, his voice low. "For now, we bury our divisions to face this threat together."


    Below, the Preceptor began leading the young Devotees in their spiritual chants, their voices rising in haunting harmony.


    Avanti bowed her head. "Thank you, Hierarch."


    Without waiting for a reply, she turned and slipped into the shadows, her form vanishing as if she had never been there.


    The Hierarch turned to Pelo, his voice steady but weighted with resolve. "Ready the priesthood. Our forces will need solace—and strength."