《The End of an Aeon》


 Foundation (Prologue)

    The day she changed the world arrived without fanfare or distinction. As always, the morning aurora came with the tide to brighten the sky in pastel waves. The tide was a gentle one that day, befitting the calm weather so typical of the season, and the sweet spring breeze that accompanied it carried a new crop of coral spores to dance on the cool updrafts in shimmering, immaterial clouds as they made their languid way to the atoll mountains above the city.


    Gabriel intended to oversleep that morning, but a lifetime of punctuality saw her awaken with the tide as she had every day before. Unlike every other day before, she lay on her palette after awakening, unmoving, as she contemplated the rebellion of returning to sleep and counted all the reasons she did or did not need to rise at that moment. She lingered as the dawn broke outside, illuminating her chambers with the dreamlike reflections of the colours above and, almost accusingly, bringing to light the wall-sized painting of the capital city that hung opposite her palette.


    She had painted that image herself well before the room it now hung in existed, back when the city was little more than a dream she intended to see realised. For many thousands of seasons now, it had been a flawless depiction of what a flight over the main city would show. Not a single detail out of place in the painting, not a single detail changed from her initial vision. Gabriel rose to begin her morning routine before the dawn¡¯s light could reach the top of her walls, as she had every day before.


    Her first act of the day was, as always, to retrieve the journal in which she logged her nightly dreams. Gabriel settled at her writing desk with the logbook, opened to the appropriate page, and, after gathering her trailing sleeve in hand so as not to smudge the ink, marked the date on a fresh line and wrote her daily entry, which read, in its entirety: ¡®As expected.¡¯


    Every previous line on the page read the same, barring the date, as did every preceding page in the journal. That duty thus concluded, Gabriel returned her brush to its holder and the journal back to its place on the bookshelf, alongside the hundreds of identical filled logbooks. It had been several dozen journals past since Gabriel had dropped the initial three words of her account. Shelf upon shelf contained logbooks with pages of long-passed dates and the same concision written over and over in her precise hand. ¡®The day proceeds as expected.¡¯


    The rest of her morning routine endeavoured to prove that statement accurate. Gabriel dressed and broke her fast in her private courtyard per the allowance of the cool, clear weather. The meal was excellent, as always, and accompanied by her favourite tea, perfectly brewed. She turned the cup in her hands in a show of contemplation as she sipped at it, but if pressed would have to admit she barely tasted the flavour. The soft frond trees decorating the courtyard were beautiful in the morning light, the pastel pinks of their gently undulating branches catching the reflected colours of the aurora in a way that was most aesthetically pleasing even without their blossoms in bloom, but that was the reason they had been chosen for this location.


    The morning council with her court offered no surprises. Gabriel was the first to enter the council chamber, as was proper, and took her seat on the high throne at the head of the room with faultless grace. As soon as she settled herself, drawn her silks around herself in the tasteful arrangement, her Saerim filed into the room to take their places, arriving in the order they did every morning. Gabriel¡¯s expression never faltered as they greeted her with the appropriate respect and she granted them leave to take their seats. The opening niceties were observed yet again, and without wasting any further time, her Regent called the meeting to order.


    The daily reports were not worth Gabriel¡¯s commentary, so she kept her silence, observing her Saerim and listening to their accounts with placid complacency.


    ¡°We now have the results from the spring census,¡± Regent Haziel said, seemingly unaware that she had just spoken the first words of the day repeated on a seasonal basis rather than a daily one. ¡°The results are as follows: Population growth within the capital remains stable, as predicted. The number of fadings within the past cycle was within the single digits, as predicted. The number of new Source-born admitted to the Nursery was as predicted. No new Union-born this cycle, as predicted. The number of admittees to the Academy was as predicted. The number of graduates from the Academy was as predicted.¡±


    And so it went. Gabriel shut her eyes as she listened, seeing the statistics to be listed well before their categories were reached. The world reduced to little more than predicted outcomes of scenarios she had foreseen long ago. She had endeavoured to chart the most stable course for their future and in that there was no doubt she had succeeded.


    ¡°The capital¡¯s long-term food storage vaults are at maximum capacity following the season¡¯s harvest,¡± Regent Haziel reported midway through the supply accounts. ¡°Seeing as this season also marks the suggested expiration date of the earliest deposited supplies, we now find ourselves with a high surplus of perishables, a number which is set to increase dramatically now that we will no longer be able to divert the majority of our unused produce to the vaults.¡±


    Gabriel opened her eyes to observe her Saerim¡¯s reaction to this news.


    ¡°Construction of the primary infrastructure on the southern archipelagos has been completed, leaving the area prime for expansion,¡± offered Saerim Yunel. ¡°With the construction crews idle in the area, we could begin work on another series of vaults ready to begin receiving supplies within a season, if desired.¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, but to what end?¡± asked Saerim Balthiel. ¡°The vaults in the capital alone are capable of caring for our entire population for a minimum of several hundred cycles, assuming any new production is stopped entirely. Each season we produce triple the supplies needed to care for our current people. We will not have the number of citizens our infrastructure is slated to support for many cycles to come. My Aeon, I do not question your foresight, for to do so would be the basest stupidity, but is continued expansion at this point truly necessary?¡±


    Gabriel inclined her head ever-so-slightly at his question, her expression as placid as always as she held his gaze. ¡°Patience. All will be clear in due time. Remember that it is oft less harmful to prepare for the future than it is to attempt to force a change.¡±


    Saerim Balthiel ducked into a respectful bow to hide the flustered tinge in his cheeks. ¡°Of course, my Aeon.¡± He would not speak again for the remainder of the council.


    ¡°The southern archipelagos are finished for now,¡± Gabriel continued serenely. ¡°There are no new projects to begin. All idle construction crews will be relegated to maintenance duty, beginning here in the capital and working outwards. Particular attention shall be paid to structural stability as well as the integrity of the waterways. All appropriate measures will be taken to ensure the continued stability of the island foundations. Any units that cannot be reasonably assigned to this service will be placed in reserve.¡±


    If Saerim Yunel felt any surprise at this order, for there had never been a time when the primary construction crews were instructed to idle on maintenance work, she kept it from her countenance well. ¡°It will be done, my Aeon.¡±


    ¡°Beginning next season, food production will be scaled down to just more than one-third of maximum potential, precise numbers to follow, though the full fields are to be maintained at all times,¡± said Gabriel. ¡°Use this season¡¯s production to replace any foods in the vaults set to expire within the next tencycle. Any surplus, as well as supplies removed from the vaults, may be used to throw a grand feast for the people.¡±


    ¡°Is it prudent to indulge in such excess outside of a festival?¡± Regent Haziel asked.


    ¡°It would be a far less prudent show of excess to allow those supplies to go to waste without seeing use. A citizen council must be arranged to discuss the relocation of those who will be removed from agricultural duty, as well.¡±


    Regent Haziel nodded. ¡°Yes, my Aeon. It will be so. Moving on to the non-perishable supplies, the census reports are as follows.¡±


    Gabriel brushed a hand down her skirts, perfectly smooth though the silk was, as it always had been since the moment it was first woven. The reports continued, to a fault as predicted.


    Following the dismissal of the morning council, Gabriel left the palace for her daily constitutional, accompanied, as always, by her handmaiden Sunel. The one break in routine was Gabriel¡¯s request for a parasol despite the mild weather. If Sunel thought it odd that Gabriel requested a parasol on a cloudless day only to carry it unopened, she said nothing of it. They passed under the painted main gates of the palace in unhurried silence, following a path that had been taken countless times before.


    The morning was in full swing as they walked through the city. The polished coral of the unpainted flagstones they trod on reflected the brighter swatches of blues and purples from the daytime aurora overhead. The waterways wending through the buildings and under the bridges were crystal clear, as always, and filled with schools of ocean fish brought in with the tidal influx, bright and fantastic against the white sand floor. They passed a fair number of daeva as they went, the average number of citizens out on their morning routines, each of whom greeted her with the appropriate level of respect and cleared the path ahead of her. Gabriel saw each of them, knew many of their stories without ever having spoken to them directly, but none of their faces registered in her mind. She knew them well, but she would not have been able to describe a single face from memory.


    Gabriel followed a winding, seemingly arbitrary path through the districts surrounding the palace, maintaining the same placid pace throughout. In time she made it to the edge of the city, to a small, seldom-used pier overlooking the ocean surrounding them. The waters were clear, the slight swells sparkling as they rolled in to lap at the land¡¯s edge, a soothing, eternal melody to her ears. The taste of the sea permeated the wind that tugged at her as if in greeting; it threatened to undo her hair from its elaborate twist, but she had planned accordingly and little more than her bangs were ruffled. A bloom of airborne jellyfish milled above the swells, drawn in by the mass spawn of coral spores seeking the wind to travel inland. A sea dragon circled the water under the jellies, a rare sight this close to land, though it was currently impossible to see from the shore. In a few moments, it would breach to snap at the lowest of the jellyfish, but staying long enough to witness it would be a mistake.


    Closing her eyes, Gabriel allowed herself to wallow in the closeness of the ocean. It had been many thousands of seasons since she had seen a sea dragon outside of dreams. Irresponsible though it was to consider, at that moment it was a very real temptation to linger. She saw it in her mind¡¯s eye, the shining silver of its scales gleaming in the light, its translucent fins breaking the surface foam as it swiped at the luminescent jellies it sought. Ten breaths longer and that sight would become a reality. Nine breaths longer and she would be too late. The sea truly was lovely today. She had yet to see the edge of it or the full scope of its depths. Perhaps the boundaries of it did not matter, perhaps they did not exist. Hopefully, the day would come soon when she would be able to answer those questions. Four breaths to go.


    Gabriel turned from the pier to return to the city, no part of her countenance betraying her thoughts. Behind her, the distant splash of the sea dragon breaching and playing in the surface waves echoed over the breaking surf, but she did not turn to see it.


    This time her course had clear purpose, though it remained winding and she kept a steady, seemingly unhurried pace. She headed for the residential district on the southern edge of the Academy grounds, where the low buildings had wide canals between their gardens and many of the doors were painted according to the preference of their inhabitants. This city was her pride and joy, the result of immaculate planning where no detail was left unaccounted for. As she walked, Gabriel pondered at when, exactly, that pride had ceased to impress her.


    A modest square stood watch at the boundary between the residential area and the Academy grounds, if one could call it a ¡®square¡¯ in the traditional sense. It was a junction of three major walkways, wide stretches of polished coral that arched over the canals to form an elevated platform suspended over the waters, hosting an elaborate statue and ringed by low benches sheltered by more of the same soft, tree-like corals favoured in the palace courtyards. The statue was of little interest to Gabriel - in fact, it was of her, standing with her eyes closed and hands clasped before her as if in slumber while a pair of sea dragons rose from the waters below to twine around her - but the local daeva had adopted it as both a meeting place and a token of good luck to visit before major life events. Students from the Academy, in particular, visited it with such regularity to place a hand on the base of the statue in a naive search for guidance that they had worn a shallow but lengthy dip into the path in front of its base.


    Gabriel approached the statue at the same measured pace as the rest of her stroll, by all appearances unaware of her surroundings for all the attention she paid them, Sunel three paces behind her, as always. She rounded the base of the statue to reach its front at the same time as a young daeva from the Academy; the boy had run ahead of his group of friends, the rest of whom were still laughing and chattering amongst themselves as they approached the northernmost bridge accessing the square. Whatever they had been discussing was still in the front of the boy¡¯s mind, for he was looking over his shoulder at them, laughing, while he ran, only looking forward at the last moment to avoid running into anything.


    He skidded to a stop just in time to avoid colliding with Gabriel, at the outer edge of the shallow dip in front of the statue. At the realisation that he¡¯d nearly run into someone, he clasped his hands together apologetically, bowing quickly even as he was unable to dispel the grin from his face. ¡°Pardon me, Elder, I meant no disrespect, I was merely¡­¡± A glance at his goal, the statue, midway through his sentence stopped him from finishing that thought. His grin vanished. His eyes widened. He bowed again, properly this time. ¡°M-my Aeon! Please, I beg your forgiveness, I -¡±


    Gabriel silenced him with a slight wave of her hand. She had wasted too much time this morning to indulge in pleasantries now. Instead, she held out the parasol she carried towards the boy. ¡°Carry this two steps to your right.¡±


    The thought of questioning never appeared to cross the daeva¡¯s mind as he took the offered parasol with trembling hands. He clutched it to his chest as he moved where she had indicated, in the process setting himself in the nadir of the ditch. Overhead, a pair of daeva flew low over the buildings with a polished stone table suspended in a sling between them. To the north, a second, more lively group of Academy students were joining up with the group the boy had broken away from, a pair of them passing a ball back and forth as they laughed. From the south, a gaggle of young children were being herded across the bridge by a supremely even-tempered Nursery attendant. Gabriel shut her eyes and took a breath, remembering each of these details before they had a chance to play out.


    ¡°Just so,¡± she told the boy. ¡°Now, hold steady.¡± She flicked her hands free of her trailing sleeves and held them up for the boy to see. Once he had turned the proper angle to face her fully, she clapped her hands together once.


    The adolescent enthusiasm from the Academy students to the north reached a crescendo when a playful jostle resulted in a two-man tumble to the ground; the second student fell on top of the ball, which shot out from underneath him, ricocheting off the railway of the bridge and into the square proper, where it slammed into the shoulder of the boy Gabriel had given her parasol to. He staggered to the side with a shocked squeak but managed to keep his footing as the ball bounced from him to slam into the statue at precisely the right angle and speed to snap a front foot off of one of the two dragons depicted. The severed claw sailed free and embedded itself, point-first, into the handle of the parasol the young daeva clung to, the sharp tip of the severed part held at bay from his neck by a scant fingers width of perfectly positioned lacquered wood.


    For a moment, no one moved. The ball landed harmlessly beside the boy, rolling to a stop in the shallow ditch by his feet. The two daeva carrying the table overhead passed by without stopping, unaware that anything had taken place below. The boy gasped sharply as his sense returned to him at last, turning the parasol in his grasp with shaking hands to better look at the dislodged piece of the statue that had nearly removed his throat. His mouth opened and shut without producing any sound, his eyes darting between the claw, the statue it had come from, and Gabriel in a frantic, repeating circle as he struggled with his shock. Gabriel pointedly tilted her head to look behind him. The boy followed her gaze, turning on his heels to see the group of Nursery children milling through the square, taking particular notice of a young girl no older than her fourth cycle in the direct path the claw would have flown in had no one stopped it. When the daeva turned to face Gabriel again, he was nearly in tears.


    ¡°M-my Aeon,¡± he stammered, his awe so palpable it nearly stirred her sympathy. ¡°How can I ever¡­¡±


    ¡°I would have that back,¡± Gabriel said, inclining her head to the parasol still clutched in his grip like a lifeline. Once the boy complied, she plucked the severed claw from the handle of her parasol and placed it on the base of the statue, at the curled tail of the dragon it had been split from. Next to the polished dent where daeva frequently placed their hands to ask for guidance. Almost as if an afterthought, she told the boy, ¡°Your exam will go well so long as you keep your head. You¡¯ve studied adequately to know the correct answers, provided your mind is not clouded with panic.¡±


    The boy squeaked again, seemingly unsure how to take this news. ¡°Th-thank you, my Aeon.¡±


    With nothing else to say, Gabriel opened the parasol to keep the coral spores from her hair and left the square, Sunel following behind her as always. The rest of the Academy students hurried into the square to check on their friend; the first one to recognise her stopped the rest of the group in their tracks. Gabriel barely heard their greetings, her mind already elsewhere as she set a course for the centre of the city.


    ¡°My Aeon, if I may be so bold as to ask, what was the alternative?¡± Sunel questioned once the square was behind them.


    Gabriel did not turn to face her handmaiden, spinning the parasol in her grip to feel the break in the wood passing under her skin. ¡°Seven lives four summers from now, six of them before their fifth Nameday. Were its course not interrupted, the ball would bounce off the statue to hit the daeva moving the table overhead. The table, in turn, would break upon striking the platform; a fragment of the leg would kill that young girl, while the main body would hit the platform at just such an angle to create fractures in the base and splinter two of the supports below the waterline. It would go unnoticed till the summer solstice, the night after a storm when the platform would shatter during a Nursery outing to decorate for the festival. In the chaos, several children would be trapped under the rubble or swept into the canal pipes. Furthermore, that boy will now rededicate himself to his studies with renewed consideration to his path. In time, he will be instrumental to the development of the southern archipelago districts.¡±


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    ¡°What a relief that such a tragedy was avoided,¡± Sunel said. ¡°Shall I send for someone to see to the statue, my Aeon?¡±


    Gabriel thought of the sea and of the sea dragon she had almost stayed to witness. Her fingers dug into the hole in the handle of her parasol, probing the depths of the wound. ¡°No need. It will be cared for when necessary.¡±


    Sunel did not argue with her.


    A wide lagoon claimed the centre of the city, an elevated basin of crystal clear water ringed by a crown of coral and white sandbars. From the heart of the lagoon¡¯s still waters rose a tower, and from the top of that tower, a blinding pillar of pure light cut to the top of the sky. The thrum of its power was tangible even from across the lagoon. It hummed in the back of her mind and caused her fingers to tingle. There was no path across the lagoon, no bridge over the water, but Gabriel did not alter her course.


    ¡°Sunel, you are dismissed from your duties for the day,¡± she decided, quite on a whim, as she approached the water¡¯s edge. ¡°Enjoy your afternoon and I will see you at the palace tonight.¡±


    While no doubt surprised by this unprecedented order, Sunel kept her composure well. She bowed to cover her hesitation. ¡°As you say, my Aeon. Please, have a nice day.¡±


    A response that could only be described as expected.


    Gabriel did not respond as she stepped onto the lagoon. The water rushed up to support her steps, and her walk across the surface of the lagoon was as easy and unhurried as her stroll through the city. Under the glassy surface, the lagoon came alive in response to her presence. Thousands of fish in hundreds of colours schooled through the calm waters and the swaying plants. The braver of them darted to the surface to investigate the ripples left by her trailing hem, only to scatter at the approach of a giant silver sea turtle. This creature, at last, Gabriel acknowledged: she retrieved a biscuit wrapped in dried seaweed from her inner sleeve and dropped it into the water. Such was only polite; the turtle had accompanied her for this crossing every day for over two hundred summers. Though there were few visible signs of its venerable age, Gabriel knew its spawn would soon return to the lagoon, and, in time, one of those spawn would take its place, as it had taken the place of its parent before it. Many generations of turtles had passed since she had stopped naming the individuals.


    Her companion left her when she reached the base of the tower, the thrum of power near the Sanctuary too overwhelming for any animals to approach. Gabriel opened the door with a touch, setting aside her wounded parasol at last as she stepped inside.


    The Sanctuary tower was lit from below by the pillar of light that rose to the top of the sky to mark the heart of the Sphere, the mark of her eternal covenant with the Source. It filtered through the water below, casting soothing waves of refracted light through the glass floor to play across the walls and ceiling. The walls of the entry room were painted in a complex branching pattern that wrapped around the room in an endless spiral. To an outside observer, the missing segments might have appeared random and the pattern meaningless, but Gabriel saw every potential future, every possible choice each branch represented. She trailed her fingertips over the one branch out of many on the wall as she made her way to the stairs. Her choice to send Sunel to her own devices had no doubt impacted this chart; determining the scope of that impact likely ought to be her focus for the day. Gabriel ignored the stairs leading down to the reservoir containing the Sephirah Yesod, instead climbing up to her private sanctuary on the floor above.


    Calling the room a ¡®sanctuary¡¯ was a misnomer she would never utter before another soul. It was unlikely such a conversation would ever take place, however; no one else was permitted to enter the tower, and from the outside, her private sanctuary was hidden by the curtains of water cascading from the top of the tower. It was a simple enough chamber, lacking even solid walls; careful application of open piping and gullies atop the domed roof encouraged the water to ring the room. Most of the floor was taken up by a shallow pool of still water host to painstakingly curated white lotus plants. No noise from the city reached this place. Only the melodious sounds of falling water and the eternal, comforting hum of the Sephirah.


    Gabriel shed her slippers and left them by the edge of the pool, as she did every day. She made her daily round inspecting the flowers, diligently pinching off any petals or leaves that were soon to wilt and setting what she removed by her slippers to be taken with her when she left. Her breathing was even and slow as she worked, her mind blanking easily as she prepared for her meditation. The bright pattern painted onto the ceiling was clear in the still water, but she took no notice of it. Once finished with the flowers, Gabriel knelt in the centre of the pool, facing the Sephirah¡¯s light but not seeing it.


    She heard nothing but the silent song of the Sephirah Yesod now. It beckoned to her as it always did, the sound of the heart of the world, her very soul singing for her attention. There was no reason to ignore it any longer. The water around her shone as her eyes shut and her body ceased to matter.


    She was unmade, returned to her basest components and reborn. The waters of the sea of futures swirled around her, infinite in every direction and alight from within with the glow of eternity. Yesod was everywhere and everything; the waters were her soul and every branching current a future she had yet to think into being. Entire worlds were made and erased with the changing tides, paths not taken and choices left unmade altering the course of all that came after them on a cosmic scale. She witnessed all of them, the choices long passed, the alternatives that had not come to be, and the branches yet to come.


    At the centre of everything was, as always, the awesome and terrible power of the Source binding all else together. It was the sole constant, the unchanging foundation in this ever-shifting dreamscape, the point from which every thread began. It was the force that pulled the tides, the winds that stirred the waves, the power that gave her life and called her to action in a language that transcended words or meaning. A shadow of Its power brushed over her head in greeting, the softest trace of It alone more tangible than any of the possible futures surrounding her as she was welcomed.


    In that moment, she knew true peace. Here was the root of her purpose, the very meaning of her existence, the origin of her Word, her soul. The moment passed, as it did every day, and the Source illuminated the waters around her, ready to guide her power as It had countless times before. It was time for her to study her choices, to chart the consequences of her actions as she had every day since the dawn of time.


    That day, however, she had a request. It rose to her mind unbidden; how long it had lurked beneath the surface, ignored by routine she could not say. As she stretched her hand over the waters, ready as she always had been to fulfil her duty, her plea was quiet and heartfelt. ¡°Please, show me purpose once more.¡±


    The response was instantaneous. The sea of futures lit up with all the colours of the daylight aurora, bright enough to illuminate the empty, endless Void overhead. In the depths of the Void, eight points of light burst into being, so far away they appeared small enough to fit in her hand and yet too bright to look upon directly and growing brighter by the moment. Her heart fluttered at the sight; the other Sephiroth, her fellows, were as familiar to her as her own soul, the Sephirah Yesod, though they had never been this close before. The sky lurched above her, drawing the others closer still and revealing what distance had previously obscured: delicate threads of golden light stretched the impossible distances between them, binding them to each other. More of these threads rose from the sea around her, interwoven chains made from the purest aether linking Yesod to the neighbours she had never met. How she had failed to notice the link before, she could not explain, but the sight of them now brought laughter to her lips.


    The other Sephiroth were so close now she could almost hear them, could almost make sense of their scattered thoughts and half-forgotten dreams. The childish want to reach for one gripped her better senses, and she reached out a hand towards one of the two she was bound to as if she could stretch across the Void itself and introduce herself; of course, the distance was too great, no matter how large in the sky the other Sephirah appeared, but she was delighted to find she could feel an echo of them even so, a powerful warmth so intense it turned her touch away even from such a separation.


    If Yesod alone was a song, the nine of them connected in tandem was a symphony, a collection of seemingly disparate pieces that balanced each other perfectly to create a harmony beyond description, beyond scrutiny. She revelled in it, this moment of perspective, this reminder of scale.


    Her awareness of the sour note undercutting the song was gradual. It was not a scream, nor was it a cry, not here in this place that defied such physical things, but that was how she would have described it if pressed. A note of fear, of pain, of hatred sung at the very edge of her awareness so intense it froze her breath in her throat. She had to find where its origin was.


    A Sephirah hung in the Void overhead, suspended in a web of golden threads, so low on the horizon that at first glance it appeared to be falling from the sky. A river of the golden threads hung limply from it, the exact colour and light of fresh blood; it might have been disembowelled, were it possible for such a thing to happen to a Sephirah. The severed threads fell to Yesod, falling into the sea of futures and mingling with the water like blood in the currents.


    She hurried towards it, seeing the way every thread changed every possibility they touched, seeing the future reshaped and remade before her eyes. The sour note grew louder as she approached the wounded Sephirah. It grew sharper, more painful to listen to until it drowned out the rest of the song entirely, but it carried no meaning, no words, no warning. Only raw suffering and bitter, fearful hatred.


    A bundle of golden threads shimmered in the waters before her, an exposed, raw nerve dragged into the light and altering the flow of the current around it. These were her waters, however, and she knew how to gleam answers from them. She knelt and dipped her hands into the water over the golden lines, willing the current to show her where it was being led.


    A chain of golden light burst from the depths of the water to wrap around her neck. She clawed at it, struggled to remove it, but her fingers slipped through it as if it were not there. She could not touch it, but it could touch her; it tightened into a collar, heavy and burning on her neck, as eight more chains erupted from below to fasten to the collar. The chains tightened. They pulled down. She could do little more than gasp as she was pulled under the surface of the water and the world became black.


    White-hot agony coursed through her as the chains wrapped around her. They drug her deeper into the blackness, further away from her purpose until the song of her own Sephirah was nothing more than a distant, wishful dream. That terrified her more than the pain alone. What would she become without her soul, her link to the Source? Her bonds tightened once again, crushing her slowly. A force pressed against her forehead, hot as a searing brand and bright enough to blind her. With it came a new type of agony: piece by piece, her mind was stripped away and burnt to nothing. Her memories, her plans, her hopes, her very Name were being taken from her. Throughout it all, the wordless, keening cry persisted.


    It was only once her sight was taken from her, once she was broken and split open and held in place deep in the darkness and still horribly aware of it all that she understood what that cry meant. The words leapt to her lips unprompted, a quiet whisper repeated with the last of her fading strength. ¡°What did I do wrong?¡±


    A presence watched her from the dark, the source of the hatred behind the pain and fear. She felt the pressure of it on her chest, shoving her away, straining against the bonds. The chains snapped. The trance broke, and she could breathe again. The waters of Yesod rushed to comfort her, quick to wrap around her and ferry her to the surface, holding her aloft to allow her to catch her breath.


    The face of the sea of the futures had changed completely. The previously calm waters roiled in upheaval. Futures that had been set for thousands of seasons vanished without a trace. Their replacements were yet too volatile to show themselves, little more than a chaotic jumble of changing possibilities. The other Sephiroth in the Void were so close now their gravity pulled at the waters, further churning the surf. She threw herself into the sea, wading through the heaving waters in desperate search for anything familiar, for any point stable enough to orient herself with.


    There was none. An odd smear reflected on the surface prompted her to look up. Behind the other Sephiroth, an impossibility hung in the Void: an indescribable, barely there weakness in the very fabric of the world, all but imperceptible even as she strained her senses to perceive it. Reality itself strained under an unknown pressure as she watched. The pressure worsened, creating gaps through which thick, tar-like darkness oozed.


    The world broke open with a sickening lurch. The darkness between the Spheres exploded, tearing through the Void and descending on the Sephiroth themselves. She could do nought but watch as it struck the first of them, devoured it from the inside until a lifeless husk was all that remained, and then used the threads binding them to move to the next. Each one lost cut too deeply, a vital piece of the world gone forever, and they were falling too quickly.


    The threads bound them to Yesod, as well. She remembered that with a horrified cry too late. The others resisted the darkness - she could feel them fighting it, feel them failing - but it was only a matter of time before they too burned from the inside. She ran for the nearest anchor connecting her to her neighbours, unsure what she could do but knowing she must try, but for the first time in her life, the water worked against her. Drops of the black sickness were already falling into the sea like rain around her, polluting her waters to sickly sludge that congealed around her legs and made every step a struggle. She could do nought but cry as the last of the others fell and the darkness took Yesod.


    The shock of it, icy and cold as it devoured her piecemeal, dropped her to her knees. Her hands fell into the sea of futures and, corrupted and disturbed though it now was, it responded to her presence as it always had. Fragmented glimpses of this new future pressed upon her no matter how she turned her eyes. The Spheres were dying husks of their former glory, their purpose lost and abandoned. The Sephiroth had shattered in the overflow and darkness, irreparably broken under the strain of their own failure. The people were dead. The sky was burning. The wounded child who ran from her for her own safety. The dying bird who must be reborn in its own ashes. The betrayal that ought to have been obvious which ended them all. Two distant figures stood before a great rip in the world, behind which lay only destruction and death. The world was dead. She had failed them all.


    She felt rather than saw the corruption take root in Yesod, her soul. Her sight dimmed at last as a coldness beyond what she had thought possible settled in her. The numbness brought with it may have been a kindness as her awareness of the shattered remnants of the world faded at last. She was no longer coherent enough to know if she was relieved or utterly terrified as darkness rose from the depths to drag her under.


    A trace of the Source ghosted around her head, comforting her as she waited for the end. Its presence brought her to tears, pitiful, helpless sobs as she was slowly consumed. She had tried to build a good world, she really had.


    The words reached her even through her blind terror, forceful as a peal of thunder and tender as the sweetest kiss, the first words the Source had ever Spoken to her: ¡°Stop. This.¡±


    Then, she understood. She saw the nine Spheres, brilliant and connected and alive, overtaken by a shadowy sickness. She saw them fight against it and fail. She saw them ripped apart and defiles. She saw that if this course was left unaltered, they would not survive.


    Most importantly, she thought as the blackness of oblivion overtook her and her last breath was stolen from her lips, she saw that it was coming.


    Gabriel awoke from her trance with a start.


    She pitched forward with a sob, catching herself on her hands only by instinct. For a terrifying moment, she did not know where she was. Pervasive numbness held her body, as was typical following a vision, save for an unexplained burning in her throat. Physical awareness returned to her slowly, as did her bearings. She stared at the clear water rippling around her hands uncomprehendingly, unable to understand how her sudden movements had disturbed it. Even once she had stilled, a steady drip of water droplets upset the surface, blurring and distorting her reflection into something unrecognisable. Tears, those droplets were tears. She was crying? Behind the blurred, dark reflection of her hair, a bright pattern twinkled down from the ceiling above.


    Heedless of the tears still streaming down her face, Gabriel rocked back to look at the mural of the cosmos she had painted on the ceiling of her sanctuary long ago. The pattern of the nine Spheres stared back at her, illuminated by the eternal pillar of light marking the Sephirah Yesod casting bright spots along the walls. She had drawn the pattern with bright golden strings tying the Sephiroth together.


    Gabriel leapt to her feet as fast as her silks would allow and hurried to the outer wall of her sanctuary, a thin sheet of falling water all that stood between her and the world outside. Lifting one hand to the cascade, Gabriel created a small part in the curtain to reveal what lay beyond.


    Yesod spread out in all directions before her. The morning was in peak form, cloudless and untroubled as any that had come before it. The lagoon surrounding the tower was the same as she had left it, the daylight aurora lending the distant waters a play sheen of colour. The city beyond the lagoon remained standing. It had not changed in over a hundred thousand cycles and seemed disinclined to begin changing now. The blinding pillar of light which marked the location of the Sephirah Yesod, her eternal link to the Source, thrummed with life in the Sanctuary beside her. The Sephirah itself hummed in the back of her mind, as it always had, a soothing, untroubled constant.


    In the sky above the city, barely visible behind the omnipresent vibrancy of the aurora was a twinkle of light. Due to the season and time of day, she knew it to be Hod, one of the two closest neighbouring Spheres. She had dreamt of Hod in passing perhaps a handful of times. She had sent messages warning of avoidable troubles to them twice. Logically she had always known they existed, that they lived lives no doubt similar to those of her own people. Yet that was as close as they had ever been. With an uncrossable Void between them, she allowed their lives and their problems to feel less important than those of her own Sphere. They may have been bound in purpose and origin by the Source, but that only meant so much when they could never meet.


    The darkness had found a way to cross between Spheres. Gabriel shuddered, her hand dropping to her side and allowing the falling water to once more block her view of Yesod. Every future she had planned for died the instant whatever sickness she had foreseen found a way to cross freely between Spheres.


    If there was a means of traversing the Void, only one of them would know of it. Her course decided, Gabriel unfurled her wings and stepped through the wall of water separating her private sanctuary from the outside, taking flight back to the city.


    Her Regent met her at the steps to the central district¡¯s communications centre, no doubt alerted by the reports of Gabriel¡¯s odd behaviour. The Regent of Yesod wasted no time with unnecessary pleasantries in light of the atypical scenario, falling in step behind Gabriel with an appropriate bow. ¡°My Aeon, is something amiss?¡±


    Gabriel did not break stride to turn and face her, focused as she was on her goal. ¡°Regent Haziel, I have had a vision. The future has changed. It must be changed once more.¡±


    Regent Haziel let out a soft breath. Gabriel presumed it to mean she understood the gravity of that sentence. ¡°What must we do to aid you, my Aeon?¡±


    ¡°I require all information pertaining to crossing the Void brought to my study.¡±


    ¡°My Aeon, we have no such information,¡± Regent Haziel reminded her. ¡°No one has made it past the auroral curtain to enter the Void, much less cross it. The very attempt is lethal.¡±


    This gave Gabriel pause. She had known that, of course. Her urgency was clouding her clear thinking and causing her to issue unnecessary, counterproductive orders. That would not do. ¡°I require all information, not merely official studies. Idle speculation will qualify. Furthermore, I require all information we have pertaining to the other Spheres and any darkness or illness that may have afflicted them.¡±


    ¡°Shall I include the writings pertaining to the Golden Legend and the Shattering, my Aeon?¡±


    The Golden Legend. It had somehow escaped Gabriel¡¯s consideration. That it could be related to her vision was a dire thought indeed. Yet another reason her first instinct had been the proper reaction. ¡°Yes, you shall. Regent Haziel, you will speak of this to no one.¡±


    ¡°I will not, my Aeon.¡±


    ¡°I am not to be disturbed before I return to the palace unless it is an emergency. Use your discretion to determine if your findings qualify as urgent.¡±


    ¡°Where will you be, my Aeon?¡±


    There was only one place she could be, now that her new course was set. Gabriel held her head high, keenly aware that she had left her slippers in her sanctuary and that her hands were still trembling. Hidden away under the lengths of her silks, no one would know. What mattered now was her actions, more than perhaps ever before. ¡°I am to send a message to Most High.¡±

 The Future Sanctuary

    It was nearing midday when Michael entered the unfinished hall depicting the Golden Legend, a long, somewhat narrow room that branched off of the main corridor of what would someday be the Grand Sanctuary of Hod. Large sections of the high ceiling and outer walls had yet to be finished, allowing great columns of warm daylight in to illuminate portions of the interior, though no other lights had yet been placed inside to brighten the shadowy far corners. Standing silhouetted in the main doorway, Michael thought the dim, empty room to be a stark, unpleasant contrast to the bustling construction taking place outside. A glance around revealed no one inside, prompting Michael to proceed further indoors; this was the only section of the Sanctuary he had had no involvement in planning and he was curious to see how it was developing.


    The area directly inside the main entrance was dedicated to the Aeons, each of the nine portrayed by a grand statue over three times the height of a man and holding their Sephirah in hand. Rather, there would be nine of them eventually; at present, four of the sculptures were missing. Michael sidestepped the empty pedestal that both plaque and placement announced was reserved for the statue of the King and idly wondered if there was a reason why those four, in particular, had been delayed. He was distracted from that line of thought when he turned and was confronted with his own sculpture.


    The statue depicting the Aeon of Hod portrayed a compelling young man in peak physical condition. In his right hand, the statue held aloft a luminous crystal sphere representing the Sephirah Hod, and in his left, he gripped an odd relic: a cruciform arming sword with a complex set of seals carved along the length of the blade. The height of the statue made it difficult to judge his expression when standing on the ground before him, but his pose implied high-energy movement, his body and wings arranged in such a way that suggested he was either landing after a flight or preparing to launch into one. A golden laurel wreath crowned the statue¡¯s curly hair and a ring of fire danced around his feet as if following his steps.


    It was a deeply flattering depiction, Michael thought as he scratched at his chin with a wry grin, for all that it failed to be unbiased; he supposed it could be considered artistic license, but Michael himself was by no means as grandiose as the statue that supposedly depicted him. There was no use denying that he was indeed quite tall - not to the exaggerated degree of the statue, though still enough that he towered head and shoulders over most people he met - but, unlike the statue, he had yet to leave behind the lanky posture that often came along with a rather sudden growth spurt. Also unlike the statue, Michael kept his blond hair cut short enough that one could hardly guess it wanted to curl, and he certainly never paraded around with any crown of laurels. Staring at such an overblown yet highly detailed depiction of his own face quickly grew unsettling, and Michael found the majority of his focus shifting to a seemingly unimportant matter: the fact that the statue held the sword in its left hand to lift aloft the Sephirah in his right. The symbolism of it was all well and good, but he couldn¡¯t recall a time he had ever held the sword currently strapped at his hip in his off-hand, much less wield it that way with any degree of skill or grace. He also made a point of keeping a length of red ribbon tied around the sheath at all times, which the statue lacked. No doubt it was a small and petty thing to complain about in the face of such artistry, yet it bothered him. With a quick shake of his head, Michael left the statue behind and proceeded further into the hall, too flustered to spare more than a glance at the equally artistic sculptures of the other Aeons; it wasn¡¯t as if he could verify their accuracy, but he had no doubt they were about as accurate as his own sculpture. The hall was far more interested in depicting the ideals each Aeon represented rather than who they may have truly been, after all. Michael, however, was far more interested in the works relating to the daeva.


    Once past the dedications to the Aeons, the carvings and murals on the walls began to depict the history of the Sphere Hod. It started with the most recent, the yet-ongoing construction of the Grand Sanctuary that contained this hall, with the stories growing older the further one went. He meandered by images related to the foundation of the major festivals, laws, citizen councils appointed by the Saerim, then the early meetings of the Saerim themselves. His pace slowed to a crawl as he reached the image that, according to the plaque, was meant to symbolise the materialisation of the first daeva into Hod. Further images showed his designation of the Saerim, the formation of the Sphere around the Sephirah, then the separation of the Aeons and their Sephiroth from the divine realm of the Source. The entire back half of the hall was dedicated to the Golden Legend itself, the destruction and loss of the Old Kingdom, but Michael had no desire to see that story and so stayed in the unfinished front half.


    He was still considering the mural related to the foundation of Hod¡¯s capital city when he was found.


    ¡°My Aeon?¡± called a voice he recognised as belonging to his Regent, Saerim Remiel.


    ¡°There is no one else here, Remiel,¡± Michael answered. He continued to peruse the images on the walls, forcing Remiel to walk inside as well if he hoped to hold any form of reasonable, non-shouting conversation.


    ¡°Michael,¡± Remiel corrected himself. He crossed the room with quick strides to join his Aeon in observing the artwork depicting the various feats the daeva had accomplished since the creation of the Sphere. Remiel was a tall man by normal standards, though not so tall as Michael, and as his powerful build did little to hide his stiff posture, it was easy for Michael to infer how uncomfortable Remiel was with this turn of events. Remiel came to a stop beside him, his back straight as a board and his arms folded behind him, a marked difference compared to Michael¡¯s relaxed contemplation of the murals. They stood in silence for a beat. At last, Remiel cleared his throat and said, almost hesitantly, ¡°This is the hall of the Golden Legend.¡±


    Michael sighed deeply. ¡°I appreciate that your tone implies I somehow failed to realise where I was.¡±


    ¡°You can hardly fault my surprise when you ordinarily avoid this place as if it were some sort of highly contagious rot,¡± Remiel said with a grin. Michael didn¡¯t disagree. ¡°Were you searching for something specific?¡±


    ¡°Nothing in particular, no. I suppose I finally grew curious as to what they thought it ought to look like,¡± mused Michael.


    ¡°And how does it compare?¡± asked Remiel. He walked to stand in front of the section devoted to when the Spheres were first given form under the guidance of the King of Aeons, gesturing to the image for clarity. ¡°Is this at all what it looked like when the world was made?¡±


    Michael moved to stand next to him, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He took his time forming an answer. ¡°This is a true work of art. As I understand it, most works of art are judged not on their factual accuracy but on their ability to invoke strong emotional responses from their audiences. Keeping that in mind, I believe the question ought to then become ¡®does this create within me the same emotions as the exact moment the world was made?¡¯ The answer to that question is, of course, completely subjective and always dependent on the perspective of the viewer and their personal relationship with the symbolism used as imagery devices by the artist. Take, for example, these lines here, surrounding Most High, King Elion. I must assume the artist meant for those lines to represent His unfathomable power, or His lingering, tangible connection to the Source, or perhaps even the action of the world settling into place around Him, but at this exact moment, all I can think is that it looks to me as if He is surrounded by some force of inexplicably floating noodles. I suspect I may simply be hungry, rather than that reaction being caused by any explicit failure on the part of the artist, however. Perhaps if the lines were not quite as thick, do you think?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll never understand the enjoyment you appear to derive from pretending to consider a question you intend to deflect,¡± said Remiel, sounding caught between exasperation and amusement.


    ¡°I¡¯ll never understand your persistence in asking questions you know I will not answer,¡± countered Michael. ¡°I am hungry. If we¡¯ve finished here, would you care to join me for lunch?¡±


    ¡°Gladly.¡± They turned to leave the hall, walking back towards the racket of the construction taking place outside. ¡°I can only speculate on the emotional response triggered by walking past a giant version of yourself,¡± said Remiel as they passed the knees of the states of the Aeons.


    ¡°I would describe it as a call for crippling self-reflection. I had not realised my head was so overinflated,¡± said Michael.


    They left the empty hall behind and returned to the active construction zone that comprised the rest of the eventual Sanctuary. The open corridor they walked into would one day be the main public hall of the Sanctuary, though the lack of a completed roof and unfinished walls caused the cavernous space to feel more like the wide outdoors than a future temple. The bright midday light and the sudden onslaught of noise was, in Michael¡¯s opinion, a welcome change from the tomb-like stillness inside the hall depicting the Golden Legend. The area was swarming with daeva, both on the ground and flitting through the unfinished levels above, some of them focused on a specific task or location and others relaying information, work orders, and materials as needed. Construction was progressing smoothly, though the Sanctuary was yet skeletal in many areas, the great supports and structural beams mapping out what would one day be a spectacular temple. Michael paused as he tried to picture what the Sanctuary would look like once completed; architecture had never been an innate talent of his, but it was becoming easier to imagine how the bare beams and incomplete ceiling would look when they were finished.


    He was jolted from his musing when a large scaffolding sheet slammed to the ground behind him, the heavily weighted bottom of the sheet colliding with the ground with a loud ¡®thud!¡¯ less than an arm¡¯s reach from his back. Michael spun around with a surprised shout; a thick sheet of waterproof material had been flung from the roof, evidently to cover the gaps in the hall¡¯s walls, the lower edge of the sheet lined with substantial weights to prevent it from moving overmuch in the wind. At the sound of his shout, the daeva who had dropped the scaffolding sheet peeked his head over the edge of the roof to see who had made the noise.


    ¡°Sorry!¡± the daeva called down to them. The boy vaulted over the edge of the roof and fluttered down to stand in front of Michael, folding his wings into his back and out of sight once he landed. ¡°The hall was meant to be empty; I didn¡¯t think - My Aeon!¡± He realised who he had nearly squished with a horrified squeak and dropped into a low bow. ¡°My most sincere apologies, my Aeon; I did not know anyone would still be inside, much less you! Are you injured, my Aeon?¡±


    ¡°No. You missed, thankfully, so no harm¡¯s been done,¡± Michael assured the young daeva. He knelt to inspect the weights lining the bottom of the sheet; he could lift one section with a bit of effort, but the whole thing combined proved to be more than he could easily move. The idea of being struck by such a force unawares was not a pleasant one. ¡°Though, perhaps, in the future, some manner of warning before you throw something such as this off a roof would be wise.¡±


    A shout interrupted them before the young daeva could respond. A petite blonde woman marched towards them with a burning purpose, the bright red cap she wore marking her as someone of authority as much as the way the other daeva scattered before her incoming wrath.


    ¡°Kafziel!¡± the woman yelled, her expression livid. ¡°My eyes must have deceived me, for I surely did not see you fling already weighted scaffold sheeting into an active zone. I could not have seen that since no one working at my site would be daft enough to do such a thing! Tell me, then, Kafziel, exactly what I saw you do just now.¡±


    The boy - Kafziel - blanched. ¡°Saerim Ciel, I was told to secure the hall to prevent weather damage and - ¡±


    ¡°And you thought you figured out how to streamline the process by letting gravity do the work for you, is that it?¡± Ciel accused. ¡°I doubt very much you were instructed to disregard the procedure we¡¯ve used to prepare for foul weather since long before you were scarcely more than a wisp of thought from the Source. Were your exact instructions to fling the weights onto the heads of whoever was standing below you?¡±


    ¡°No, Saerim Ciel,¡± mumbled Kafziel, his face glowing with embarrassment.


    ¡°I thought not,¡± said Ciel, reaching into one of her pockets.


    A pang of sympathy for the boy tugged at Michael; Kafziel was clearly quite young, the patch he wore on his shirt announcing his apprenticeship still shiny and unblemished. ¡°Oh, come now, Ciel, you¡¯re carding the poor boy?¡± Michael asked. ¡°Do you truly feel the situation warrants an official reprimand? No one was hurt, after all. Since it seems an honest mistake, surely a touch of leniency would not be entirely without benefit, at least in this case.¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, my Aeon, I do not agree that disregarding basic safety in favour of expediency deserves leniency, but as you wish,¡± said Ciel. She pulled a small, brightly coloured card from her pocket - yellow, rather than the red card Michael suspected she had originally reached for - and scribbled a short note on the back of the card before passing it to Kafziel. ¡°One more of these and you¡¯re out of the programme for good, do you understand, Kafziel? Thank the Aeon for his leniency, but I will be having words with your instructor tonight. Gather your things together; I want you off my site for the rest of the day.¡±


    While Ciel shooed the boy off, Remiel leaned towards Michael and muttered, ¡°Perhaps I agree, my Aeon, that this is not a case which would benefit from overly indulgent leniency.¡±


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Well, yes, but you always say that,¡± Michael said.


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± said Remiel with a small shrug. After Kafziel was out of range, he spoke to Ciel again in a normal tone, ¡°Perhaps you would consider transferring the boy to the guard? We both know Mahariel would sort him out sooner or later if it comes to that.¡±


    Ciel wrinkled her nose and tossed her hair over her shoulder with a dramatic huff. ¡°If one can call training a dog ¡®sorting a boy out¡¯, I suppose I can¡¯t argue.¡± At once, her expression became guilty. ¡°That was uncalled for and beneath me, I apologise.¡±


    ¡°I take it you have your hands full with keeping things running smoothly, Ciel?¡± Michael asked, struggling to keep from grinning.


    ¡°You could say that, my Aeon,¡± Ciel said with a sigh. ¡°It¡¯s been so many seasons since we¡¯ve attempted a project of this scale; many of the younger daeva have no experience with the protocols required of such a project. Still, that is no excuse for me to speak poorly of our colleague, much less so when she isn¡¯t here to defend herself. Please don¡¯t tell her what I said, Remiel.¡±


    Remiel scoffed. ¡°Why would I?¡±


    Ciel gave him an indulgent look but shook her head with a slight shrug. ¡°At any rate, present dramatics aside, I remain optimistic that Kafziel will settle in and thrive with us here, given enough time. Please allow me to apologise on his behalf, my Aeon; Kafziel is fresh from the Academy and his first few days with us have been, shall we say, somewhat trying. He¡¯s a bright boy with great potential, but his head has always been so far up in the clouds he was bound to be shocked by the aurora eventually.¡±


    ¡°No need to say more, Ciel; I believe we¡¯re all familiar with the perils of youth,¡± said Michael. He gestured to the thick sheeting now draped over the front of the hall of the Golden Legend. ¡°I take it you¡¯re expecting foul weather?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my Aeon, we are,¡± said Ciel, an uncomfortable expression darting across her face. ¡°We are likely to see some development later today, though how severe it¡¯s predicted to be is a matter of some contention. As a precaution, we¡¯re preparing to shut down all outdoor work if the weather proves it to be necessary. I am quite embarrassed we are in such a state of disarray during your visit, but I assure you that the site is typically far less chaotic than what you see now.¡±


    ¡°You intend to shut down the entire site? I was not aware a storm of such magnitude was expected,¡± Remiel said. He withdrew a small information pad from one of his pockets and flipped to his notes for the day with a slight frown. ¡°I don¡¯t believe I¡¯ve noticed a single cloud in the sky all day today.¡±


    ¡°Nor have I, which in itself is a touch odd for this season, you must admit, as is the unseasonable wind,¡± said Ciel. Her statement was punctuated by a particularly timely gust moving through the site, whipping up plumes of dust and knocking over any small objects that had not been properly secured. Ciel lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and leaned in closer, keen on ensuring they were not overheard. ¡°There¡¯s an odd energy in the aether today; though not an opinion I¡¯d put on an official record, my guess is that someone Out There is either in trouble or very angry.¡±


    ¡°That is an unsettling thought, albeit one founded on unverified superstition,¡± said Michael, no longer bothering to hide his grin. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen any direct correlation between my mood and the weather; I don¡¯t see why any of the other Aeon¡¯s moods ought to affect our weather, either.¡±


    ¡°I doubt they mean to affect our weather, my Aeon,¡± Ciel said, crossing her arms stubbornly. ¡°Whoever it is, I¡¯m sure they¡¯re focused on whatever troubles them and not thinking of us at all. Why would they? But still, that¡¯s the impression I get from the aether today. Someone somewhere is very upset.¡±


    ¡°That, I suspect, is liable to be true and very difficult to argue against, though I still doubt it¡¯s enough to affect the weather,¡± said Michael, but he had gone still, a slight frown clouding his features as he reconsidered what his own senses were telling him about the wind.


    ¡°We¡¯ve had storms before,¡± Remiel said. ¡°It¡¯s some time in the past now, but I distinctly recall there being nothing mystical about the storm that flooded most of the city in seasons past.¡±


    ¡°No, but would you prefer to repeat that experience?¡± Ciel said with a pointed look. ¡°It was a disaster, and so unnecessary. If anything, that perfectly illustrates the reason for my caution today. What is the point of our mistakes if we do not learn from them? Our own failure to account for how much damage a true storm can cause was responsible for flooding the city and everything that followed. Now that we understand the potential power such a storm can carry, there is no reason to allow our mistakes to happen again. If the Source is willing, today will blow over peacefully, but we have the opportunity to prepare for the worst this time and I see no reason not to take it.¡±


    As the two Saerim bickered, Michael looked upwards to study what patches of sky he could glimpse through the construction. The blinding white pillar of light emanating from the Sephirah Hod which marked the heart of the future Sanctuary, of the entire Sphere, created a shining beacon which cut to the top of the sky itself and illuminated the entire clearing around them. At a glance, there was not a single cloud in sight to obscure the colourful curtains of the daytime aurora adorning the firmament, and he could see a neighbouring Sphere hovering above the horizon behind a vibrant swirl of blue; Michael guessed it was Yesod based on its position, but he wouldn¡¯t have been willing to wager anything of value on his hunch. The wind carried with it a brisk sharpness that was indeed unseasonable for mid-spring, but more importantly, it also brought with it an electric energy he couldn¡¯t readily identify. Now that it had been brought to his attention, the unnamed power steadily building in the aether proved to be impossible to ignore.


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Michael muttered. ¡°Whatever the cause may be, it¡¯s better to be prepared for however this turns out. Besides,¡± he added cheerfully, ¡°time is hardly an issue with this project. I can think of no reason to disregard caution in this instance.¡±


    ¡°In fact, my Aeon, construction is proceeding ahead of the initially predicted schedule,¡± Ciel said. ¡°Even expecting the occasional, inevitable setback involved with such a large project, I believe the Sanctuary will be functional by next spring.¡± Another strong gust of wind blew over them, tugging at hair and clothes and knocking over a half-finished scaffolding platform that had not yet been properly fastened down. Ciel grimaced. ¡°That is assuming, of course, that today does not develop into a natural disaster rivalling that first monsoon. I humbly beg your pardon, my Aeon, but there is much to be done before the storm. If you would please excuse me?¡±


    Michael nodded. ¡°Keep up the good work, Ciel.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, my Aeon,¡± Ciel said, bowing quickly. She turned and darted back into the bustle of the construction site, already shouting to a group of workers that they needed to be absolutely certain the upper levels were safely secured against the wind.


    ¡°Whatever the cause may be?¡± Remiel parroted incredulously once she was gone. ¡°Are you truly prepared to blame the weather on the foul mood of another Sphere, my Aeon?¡±


    ¡°I doubt I¡¯ve ever been truly prepared for anything, Remiel. You of all people ought to know that,¡± said Michael with a light shrug. ¡°No, I don¡¯t believe there to be a correlation between anyone¡¯s mood and our weather, but something does seem¡­ off. I don¡¯t doubt that there will be a storm, and it will likely be a bad one. And, I don¡¯t know about you, but I have no desire to relive the mess of our first monsoon.¡±


    Remiel made a vague, non-committal noise as he jotted down a quick entry in his information pad. ¡°I¡¯ll send out an alert to ensure all appropriate preparation measures are taken, shall I?¡±


    Michael chortled at his tone. ¡°Has the weather offended you, Remiel?¡±


    ¡°No, that would be ridiculous,¡± said Remiel, tucking his information pad back into whatever pocket he normally kept it in. ¡°Monotony offends me, as I believe you well know.¡±


    ¡°So a storm ought to be quite welcome to you, then,¡± said Michael brightly. ¡°All the better if it turns into a disaster, yes? Anything to break up the horrendously dull routine of peaceful stability.¡± He shuddered dramatically at the words.


    ¡°That is not what I said, nor do I want a disaster,¡± Remiel said. ¡°Though I think at this point in Hod¡¯s development, even the worst of storms would be, at most, little more than an inconvenience and a temporary setback. Our days of flooding a city because we forgot to account for drainage that can handle a freak monsoon are long past.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m getting the impression this upsets you,¡± said Michael. ¡°Speak freely of what troubles you, Remiel, I¡¯d like to hear it plainly.¡±


    ¡°There is no challenge anymore,¡± said Remiel. ¡°How are we to prove ourselves with no challenge to overcome, no adversity to triumph over?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I ought to have known,¡± Michael said with a sigh. ¡°Why are you so convinced there is anything to be proved by suffering?¡±


    ¡°I have no desire for needless suffering, but I would relish an opportunity to truly test the mettle of everything we have built here, to definitively answer whether we as a people possess the individual and collective strength necessary to flourish despite overwhelming hardship,¡± Remiel said.


    ¡°The primary thing surviving hardship proves in your ability to survive hardship and precious little else,¡± said Michael. ¡°Which is certainly commendable, but I see no reason why it need be celebrated as a core value if hardship is sensibly avoidable. You seem quite eager to forget that proving you can survive the worst involves actually living through a worst-case scenario. How much would you be willing to sacrifice to find out if you were able to merely survive? When would the damage incurred no longer be worth the bragging rights? Before or after you¡¯ve lost the ability to sleep peacefully through a night?¡±


    ¡°You misunderstand,¡± said Remiel, choosing his next words carefully. ¡°I am not suggesting raw torment or tragedy benefits anyone. I am suggesting that reasonable trials and healthy challenge benefit growth of character. There is a type of inner strength that can only be gained by learning from one¡¯s own mistakes, by facing a particularly difficult challenge directly and conquering it through one¡¯s willpower and ingenuity. It is easy for anyone to boast that they would be able to weather whatever difficult times they may encounter, but for it to be demonstrably true, to watch someone who has been knocked to their absolute lowest find within themselves the strength to pick themselves up and continue onward, that, I believe, is genuinely worthy of admiration.¡±


    ¡°You make it sound as if you view personal tragedy as a badge of honour,¡± Michael said.


    ¡°That is vastly oversimplifying a personal opinion on a matter you asked me to discuss,¡± countered Remiel. ¡°It¡¯s not as if I intend to seek out some manufactured conflict to throw myself into, but I would appreciate a naturally occurring opportunity to prove to myself, if no one else, that I am capable of doing what needs to be done regardless of how easy it is to accomplish. But what opportunity is there to perform deeds of glory and valour in a paradise?¡±


    ¡°Glory does not hinge on conflict!¡± Michael snapped. The scaffold sheeting on the ground directly behind him burst into flames and there was a brief scuffle of activity as they hurried to stomp it out. Once the fire had been extinguished, Michael sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Okay. I understand that things have been less-than-thrilling lately and how that would leave you with little else to think about, but consider the matter from this perspective: you are the Regent of Hod. Any challenge that would be sufficiently problematic for you to overcome would likely come at the potential risk of the health and safety of the many innocents who rely on your choices. Is your rhetorical question worth their suffering?¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Remiel said, affronted by the very notion.


    ¡°We ought to be grateful for the peace we have been blessed with,¡± said Michael firmly.


    ¡°We are grateful,¡± agreed Remiel.


    ¡°I appreciate that you answered me honestly,¡± Michael said, his tone suddenly sincere.


    Remiel shifted his weight from foot to foot in discomfort. ¡°I would never dream of attempting to deceive my Aeon.¡±


    ¡°And I appreciate the honesty,¡± said Michael. ¡°You¡¯re a good Regent, Remiel, and a good man. I¡¯ve seen enough of your character that I don¡¯t need to watch you struggle to believe that. Though I will try to find something more academically stimulating for you to do, as well. There is no reason you ought to be bored to the point of frustration.¡±


    ¡°It is humbling that you would go to such lengths on my behalf, my Aeon,¡± said Remiel.


    ¡°Well, a distracted Regent is a potential liability in many ways, right?¡± Michael said with a grin. ¡°On to more pressing matters: have you got a pick for lunch?¡±


    The wind drowned out any response Remiel may have offered, howling loudly through the bones of the construction site with sudden ferocity. Michael shielded his eyes against the dust disturbed by the wind out of instinct. He opened his mouth to comment on the onslaught when a loud, sharp whistle sounded from above, an urgent call for attention. Following the source of the noise, they saw a daeva perched on a platform near the unfinished ceiling along the outer wall of the main chamber far above them. The daeva was shouting and pointing at a large, decorative metal plate, one of many tiles that would eventually comprise the mosaic ceiling, which had been in the process of being moved into position when it was caught in the wind. The brunt of the wind struck the plate in the broadside, causing the heavy metal tile to swing wildly and the lifting straps securing it to snap in rapid succession. Michael¡¯s stomach plummeted in horror at the sight; the plate was solid metal, easily twice the height of a man and suspended over several levels of stone balconies and pillars as well as a tangle of temporary scaffoldings and platforms. No matter which way it fell, it was about to cause dangerous amounts of damage.


    Someone nearer to the ground - likely Ciel - whistled three times in rapid succession, the signal to fall back to a safe distance. The daeva scattered from the site, picking up what tools they could salvage and hurrying out of range of the impending accident. Michael was about to unfurl his wings in preparation to leave alongside Remiel when he saw a single daeva, a young man, ignore the warning, drop the bag he was carrying and fly towards the precariously swinging metal plate, likely with the intention of securing it properly before it fell.


    ¡°Kafziel, get away!¡± Ciel screamed from near the front of the site, but the howling wind ensured her voice did not carry to the boy.


    Michael felt himself moving forward without thinking about what he intended to do.


    The final strap holding the metal plate broke with a resounding snap and the plate fell to the floor below, triggering a deafening avalanche of stone and mortar as it took every obstacle it encountered to the ground with it. A metal pole was thrown from the debris and struck Kafziel in the shoulder, knocking the boy from the air and pinning him to the ground under the falling plate. Remiel was, as always, faster than Michael and reached the trapped boy first. He flung himself over Kafziel, no doubt hoping to shield the injured daeva with his own body, just as Michael had known he would. Realising there was no time to get them out of the way, Michael planted his feet beside them and took a deep breath, bracing himself for the inevitable, the hum of his nearby Sephirah deafening even in the face of the oncoming collapse.


    He suffered a strange moment of clarity and saw with terrible detail that the falling metal plate was decorated with the emblem of the King. Then the mountain of rubble was atop them and the world went black.

 The Weight of the Crown

    The darkness was absolute and suffocating. It threatened to crush the breath from his lungs and cause his knees to buckle. It pressed down on his shoulders with all the weight of inevitability, as if it meant to grind him into dust. He resisted due to instinct more than anything else, refusing to bow under the pressure only because, in his confusion, he could think of no reason why he ought to. He couldn¡¯t think of anything, really; it was so dark he couldn¡¯t see, he couldn¡¯t breathe, he couldn¡¯t think, why was it so dark? It was never meant to be this dark!


    He squeezed his eyes shut against the blackness, although it made no perceptible difference, and fought to catch his breath under the crushing weight bearing down on him. He wanted to straighten his back and stand upright but couldn¡¯t, and his attempt to do so created a distant rumbling noise that was barely audible over the ringing hum causing his head to spin. Panic began to claw its way out of his confusion to latch onto his chest, but panic, at least, he recognised. He knew what to do with panic: hold still and focus on breathing until it became manageable.


    Each breath was a struggle and gave him precious little air for his efforts, but he kept at it anyway, forcing his body to repeat the motions of deep breaths despite the ache in his chest. The familiar repetition had the intended effect of chasing away his panic, and his mind began to clear. The pressure on his back that was preventing him from drawing a full breath was very real, as was the grinding rumble he heard at the edge of his awareness. He wasn¡¯t in pain, exactly ¨C his body tingled with the buzzing numbness that always came alongside proximity to his Sephirah ¨C but he certainly was uncomfortable. The weight of the debris from the collapse was doing its best to squish him, and although it hadn¡¯t managed yet, it was an ongoing struggle to keep from giving in to its pressure. The longer he focused on his breathing, the clearer his mind grew and the more aware he became of his surroundings. Michael remembered visiting the Sanctuary construction site, the wind knocking one of the ceiling tiles loose and causing a disaster, his own stupid decision to try to catch said ceiling tile so it wouldn¡¯t fall on top of ¨C


    Remiel.


    Michael forced himself to open his eyes, counting his breaths as he waited for his sight to adjust to the darkness. Despite his best efforts to maintain a steady rhythm, his breath came in shallow, wheezing gasps that echoed in his ears, not helped by the thick layers of swirling dust and dirt agitated by the accident.


    As he stared into the oppressive gloom, the plumes of dust clogging the air became visible, illuminated from below by the weak golden glow of fresh blood. It was just enough light to take rudimentary stock of his surroundings: he had managed to catch the falling plate on his shoulders and prevented it from hitting the ground, but doing so only bought them a small pocket of space under the debris of the collapse. They were enclosed on all sides by pieces of their would-be Sanctuary reduced to rubble. The decorative metal plate that had started this mess formed the ceiling of their cramped shelter, but only so long as Michael could hold it up; the relief of the Crown¡¯s emblem carved into the plate was digging into his shoulder and his arms had gone numb, but Michael hardly registered either of those things. His attention focused on the unidentifiable lump at his feet, the point where the golden glow of blood was most concentrated. In the darkness, he couldn¡¯t tell whether the shape was more rubble or a body.


    ¡°Remiel,¡± he hissed, his voice hoarse and shaken. After a few ragged swallows of air, he tried again, stronger this time. ¡°Remiel!¡±


    There was a startled gasp, followed by a series of rasping coughs. The lump at his feet lurched upright as Remiel sat up from his protective, likely unconscious hunch over the fallen daeva. Michael¡¯s knees went weak with relief and the ceiling lurched downwards threateningly before he could right himself, costing them that much more of their precious space. Remiel turned to face the noise, looking dazed and somewhat battered but relatively whole. His expression at seeing Michael would one day make for an excellent joke, caught between utter disbelief, relief, and sheer annoyance. ¡°Michael! Are you injured, my Aeon?¡±


    What manner of question was that, given the circumstances? Michael bared his teeth in irritation, attempting to shift the weight of the plate across his shoulders to something more comfortable, an effort he soon abandoned as the haunting sound of grinding rock echoed around them. ¡°Never been better. This close to the Sephirah, I couldn¡¯t feel my face even if I somehow set it on fire. Everything tingles a bit, is all. You?¡±


    Remiel gingerly reached behind himself to run a hand over his lower back before he stretched as far as their cramped space would allow with a wince. He still had his full range of motion, then. Michael fought against the rush of weakness that accompanied his relief. ¡°I''ll be sore tomorrow, but it¡¯s fine for now,¡± Remiel said.


    ¡°Good. And him?¡±


    Michael waited in tense silence, grinding his teeth while Remiel checked the boy¡¯s wounds to the extent that he could in their poorly lit shelter. Michael couldn¡¯t see the boy, but the golden glow from the daeva¡¯s blood was growing brighter as more of it spilt. He hated himself for the gratitude he felt towards the light.


    ¡°Well, he¡¯s got a pole in his chest,¡± Remiel reported at last. ¡°He isn¡¯t fading, so it must not have damaged his heart. He should live if the bleeding isn¡¯t too bad. Made a proper mess of his shoulder so he won¡¯t be flying anywhere for some time, but that will heal. I can¡¯t tell if there are other injuries, I¡¯m not a healer.¡±


    Something shifted in the weight above them and the metal plate groaned in protest. Michael hissed at the change and their already tight shelter grew just a touch smaller. He pushed back, straightening his shoulders as best he could and fighting to keep the ceiling from descending any further. ¡°Can you move him?¡±


    ¡°Not easily, if at all. When I say he¡¯s got a pole in his chest, I mean he¡¯s pinned to the ground,¡± said Remiel. There was a soft rustle of fabric as Remiel moved to the side to tug on the pole impaled in the boy, but true to his warning, it refused to budge. After adjusting his grip, Remiel gave a second pull, harder, but with similar non-results. The injured daeva stirred weakly and let out a breathless, gurgling noise of agony.


    ¡°Enough!¡± Michael flinched at the sound. A shower of dust and rubble fell on them at his involuntary movement. He held his breath for a moment to remain as still as possible until the terrible noise of grinding rock and metal ceased. ¡°It was a hypothetical question, anyway. We¡¯re not going anywhere just now, so there¡¯s no reason to torture him. We¡¯ll just have to wait until Ciel can dig us out.¡±


    Even as he knew it to be true, the reality of waiting in this dark, cramped space with only the weak glow of Kafziel¡¯s blood for light seemed heavier than the rubble threatening to crush them. As his head spun so badly he thought he might be sick even with the closeness of the Sephirah numbing his awareness of himself, Michael screwed his eyes shut. His breath grew fast and shallow as he fought to maintain a steady rhythm and failed. It was far too easy to confuse the scraping sounds of rock on metal for other, far more terrible things in the dark.


    Kafziel lurched away with a shuddering, wet gasp and a terrified whine.


    ¡°Try not to move around over much; you¡¯ll only make things worse,¡± Remiel said as he held the boy in place.


    The wounded daeva struggled to reply, but he was incoherent and couldn¡¯t seem to get enough air to manage more than a gurgling wheeze. Then, the worst happened: each of the boy¡¯s joints locked into place and a radiant golden halo exploded around his head, a blinding light that blinked in and out of existence with the building intensity of a failing heartbeat.


    ¡°He¡¯s drifting!¡± Remiel shouted as he struggled out of his jacket to press it against the daeva¡¯s wound, hoping to staunch the flow of luminescent blood.


    Frantic runoff energy of the young daeva¡¯s soul struggling to maintain the life in his body even as his pain and fear pushed him away flooded the air of their cramped shelter. The scent of blood and primal panic became as thick as the choking dust as the daeva¡¯s scattered life energy interacted with the latent traces of aether permeating the air, amplified by the nearness of the Sephirah Hod. It was strong enough to knock the breath from Michael¡¯s lungs. The Sephirah pressed urgently on the back of his mind, further numbing his awareness of his body and calling him to take higher action to stop this, to stop Kafziel¡¯s suffering and fear, to do something. Michael jostled the plate without feeling himself move. The downpour of small rocks and rubble caused by his unthinking movement and the distant rumble of shifting debris above him was the best counter he had against losing himself entirely to the Sephirah¡¯s call; this was perhaps the worst place to lose awareness of his physical self, he argued to Hod, but the distress of the drifting daeva was too much to ignore.


    Michael locked himself in place, shutting his eyes as he tried - and largely failed - to block out his surroundings. ¡°Call him back, talk him through it,¡± he hissed through gritted teeth.


    Not letting up pressure on the boy¡¯s wound, Remiel leaned over the downed daeva to be level with his face, ignoring the quickening pace of the flashing halo. ¡°Kafziel, listen to me. Focus on what I am saying and hear the truth in my words: you are not an animal, subject to petty wounds and mere time. If this injury was fatal, you would have faded at once. Your Word is safe in the Archive and your body will recover from this so long as you persist. Stay your fear and show your Aeon that you will not be undone by a mere accident here, in the house of the Sephirah of all places!¡±


    The blinking of the boy¡¯s halo was brighter than ever before, though the pace was less frantic than it had been as he struggled to stabilise. It wasn¡¯t enough. Hod could not ignore this child¡¯s pain and he could not ignore Hod forever; the power of the Sephirah was singing through him, an ancient, soundless tune that wielded the weight of eternity against him. The pressure in the air was building with each moment. Nothing had broken yet, but he was beginning to fray. No, he was coming undone. Hod was unfurling in his mind and clouding his vision; he could no longer see Remiel and Kafziel in front of him, though he could feel every beat of their lives more clearly than he could feel his own wings itching to burst from his back. If he moved, if he could not keep the ceiling steady, they would die. That thought floated to the surface of his mind even as Hod¡¯s power jolted through his body and took hold of his throat.


    ¡°Kafziel, Word of Trial and aspect of Glory, you are a Beni Elohim of Hod and you absolutely will survive a bit of roof falling on you!¡± he heard himself shout. The voice that had spoken was not entirely his alone, however, and echoed with a power that shook loose a scattering of dust and debris from the pile atop them.


    Kafziel¡¯s halo stopped blinking, a blinding, steady light in the darkness that persisted as the boy fought to obey and stabilise himself. His panic and fear faded from the air, and as it became less tangible, so too did Hod¡¯s insistence ease from Michael¡¯s mind. He could almost think again, though he kept his eyes shut to lessen the spinning in his head. It was enough to know that he wasn¡¯t accidentally dropping the plate atop them, at least.


    Seizing this progress, Michael continued. ¡°You are a daeva, forged from the Will of the Source! You have been gifted the ability to outlast any pain so long as you possess the sufficient mental fortitude to continue living, regardless of what your body may tell you now! Remain calm and be at ease remembering that breathing is a habit daeva can temporarily do without. I know you are hurt and afraid, but nothing has happened here that will kill you unless you choose it and you do not have my permission to die. Is that clear? Answer me, Kafziel! Repeat what I just said!¡±


    ¡°His mind may survive without breath, my Aeon, but the body requires it to speak,¡± Remiel said.


    The sound of his Regent¡¯s voice returned him to the present. While he had been in his daze, Kafziel¡¯s halo had faded from sight and the desperate energy was gone from the air along with it. He could dimly make out the boy squirming weakly in pain on the ground despite Remiel¡¯s efforts to hold him still. Remiel was staring at Michael, his expression cautious.


    Michael swallowed. ¡°So it does.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s getting a bit hot in here, Michael,¡± said Remiel. His gaze flitted upwards to the metal plate threatening to crush them; the areas in direct contact with Michael were heating rapidly. The spreading glow of red-hot metal added a much harsher light to the faint golden luminescence of Kafziel¡¯s blood.


    ¡°So it is,¡± said Michael. He attempted to shift his stance but froze when all he did was drop a few - blessedly small - rocks on them. The surrounding air shimmered as the temperature rose. Distant sounds of their attempted rescuers struggling to move the rubble atop them echoed through the mess, but the integrity of the plate was already failing as Michael¡¯s unchecked power melted it. The heated metal was warping under the weight of the rocks even as he tried to hold it steady. ¡°Right,¡± he said, his mind racing. ¡°Remiel. Does your comm still work?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Would you kindly send a message asking everyone outside to back up, please?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Remiel fished his handheld communicator from his pocket and hurried to relay the message as fast as possible in the gloom. An angry red glow dominated most of the surface of the plate and the air was sweltering by the time he finished. ¡°Sent.¡±


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    They waited in tense silence for a reply. Sounds of the panic and chaos outside their collapsing shelter were little more than whispered echoes over the sounds of the shifting rubble, muffled by the debris but unmistakably there. With a terrible, metallic shriek of protest from the plate, the ceiling lurched downward, forcing Michael to one knee with a grunt. Remiel did his best to shield Kafziel from the pebbles dislodged from above, but the boy whimpered as a fist-sized chunk of rock fell too close for comfort to his head.


    ¡°Hurry up out there, please,¡± Michael ground out through clenched teeth. Fat, sluggish drops of molten metal fell from the plate as gravity distorted the super-heated emblem of the Crown into something unrecognisable. It was impossible to tell if the noises of jostling rocks crashing around them came from the people outside still trying to reach them or the steady crumpling of their pocket sanctuary. Michael fought to hold it steady, but their only shield from the rubble was melting around him and their shrinking shelter was rapidly on its way to becoming an oven.


    ¡°They¡¯re clear,¡± Remiel announced at last.


    ¡°Keep your heads down and cover your faces,¡± Michael ordered. In a smooth, well-practised movement, he drew the sword at his side.


    A pillar of fire shot from the depths of the rubble, too brilliant to look upon directly. Much of the rock and metal before him ceased to exist as Michael cut his way to freedom. He took to the sky and with only a few beats of his wings, he was far above the bedlam of the construction site. The great pillar of fire followed him into the air and away from the others. He flew away from the capital, his back turned to the light of the Sephirah, a fiery comet of raw power, bright and prominent against the backdrop of the daytime aurora.


    By the time Michael found a comfortably secluded spot to land - a sparsely wooded riverbank not far beyond the outskirts of the city - most of the flaming nimbus around him had faded, though the heat was yet enough to cause the grass at his feet to wither and die. The sword in his grasp was still wreathed in fire. As he folded his wings into his shoulders and out of sight, he took several deep, theoretically calming breaths as he fought with the powerful thrum of adrenaline and the lingering fear that was responsible for the tremble in his hands.


    Desperate for some semblance of stability, Michael looked to the sword, the one focus he could reliably use to direct his power. He brushed the flames from the blade with his free hand; though the divine seals carved into the blade were glowing with harsh white light, the blade itself remained untouched by the heat of the fire. Michael concentrated on the design of the seals. He traced their pattern over and over until the glowing sigils supplanted the remnants of shadows in his mind when he shut his eyes. Gradually, his power faded to a somewhat manageable state. Hod returned to a distant, comfortable echo in the back of his mind. He sheathed the sword with a sigh. The ribbon he kept tied around the scabbard had been burnt off and would need to be replaced once more.


    The clearing was calm and bright, illuminated by the cheery aurora and alive with all the sounds of spring life in the wilds, the city far enough away to not interfere with the forest birdsong. If he craned his neck, he could just see the top of the tallest aqueduct over the trees, but from here it was easy to dismiss the greatest city of Hod as something as distant as the mountains lining the edge of the basin, the rim of the known world.


    Wearily, Michael trudged to the edge of the river and considered his reflection in the water. He looked about as well as one would expect, dishevelled and covered in ash and dust. Thick streaks of grime only highlighted how pale with fright he was underneath it all. His hair was so covered in soot it may as well have been black; he reached up to touch it and realised his hands were still trembling. Michael stared at his hands, shaking and dirty but unscathed, for a long moment. He thought of Kafziel, pinned, bleeding, and broken under a pile of debris. They were both foolish enough to run headlong into a collapsing building to try to keep it upright. They had both lost control when it mattered most, yet Kafziel had almost been killed and Michael had not a scratch on him. It felt fundamentally wrong, unjust. Michael ran a hand over his face with a sigh, not caring that it was only making the grime worse, as he shut his eyes and allowed himself, for only a single moment, to remember how crushingly dark it had been while they were trapped. Even so, that was no excuse for his failure. This episode had nearly cost him Remiel.


    ¡°Stupid,¡± Michael muttered as he slapped his face and glared at his reflection in the river. ¡°You have to be better than this, Michael. You have to be better for them. What¡¯s your excuse this time?¡±


    His reflection didn¡¯t have one, naturally. With a sigh, he lowered his hands into the river to rinse off the grime. His hands were washed clean and the ash was carried away downstream until not a single trace was left behind. Michael cupped a handful of water between his palms and raised it to clean his face; the water he was holding evaporated with a hiss of steam the moment it left the river. Startled, he lowered his hands to try again. The river churned and boiled at his touch.


    With a strangled noise of frustration, Michael slapped and kicked at the surface of the water in an admittedly immature display of impotent rage before stomping into the river and flinging himself underwater. A thick column of steam exploded around him that lingered over the river long after he had dragged himself back to the bank and flopped dramatically onto the shore. He still longed for a proper bath and a fresh change of clothes, but he was calmer after getting that little outburst clear of his system.


    A handful of small fish floated to the surface of the water, boiled alive by his antics. Guilt immediately consumed him.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± he said. He wasn¡¯t certain he was speaking only to the fish he had killed. ¡°I ought to be better than this, I know. I want to be better than this, but I...¡±


    He didn¡¯t know how to finish that sentence, so he collapsed onto his back and stared up at the sky overhead as he ran a hand through his already-dry blond hair and tried to find a word for what he was feeling. There was a certain comfort Michael found in the grand dance of the celestial lights that always brightened the sky above, and today proved to be no different. The sky was alive with gossamer curtains of colour that breathed in time with the Source, crowned with the faint sparkles of the other Spheres moving through the infinite depths of the Void far beyond. The Sephirah Hod was a comfortable, comforting thrum in the far back of his mind and the Sphere was alight with the hopeful rhythm of spring life, just as it had been for the past hundred thousand spring seasons before. With a final, deep sigh, the tension eased from Michael¡¯s shoulders at last.


    ¡°What a strange sense of humour, casting my Word as Glory,¡± he mumbled aloud with a wry smile. He tugged at the remains of the collar of his likely ruined shirt, feeling too young and unworthy and ruffled, and wondered how he differed from Kafziel.


    Before he could follow that thought too deeply, Remiel landed in the clearing behind him. Remiel was also sporting an uncharacteristic coat of soot but appeared to be lacking any crippling wounds.


    Michael anxiously turned to face his Regent. ¡°Injuries?¡±


    ¡°From the accident, reports so far account for a handful of cuts and bruises and one broken ankle,¡± said Remiel. ¡°Kafziel is still being treated, but the healer I spoke with was optimistic that he will make a full recovery in time. Your¡­ departure prompted a few unexpected tans, but nothing else worth mentioning. Ciel says you knocked over an unfinished wall, but, as I said, not worth mentioning.¡±


    ¡°And you?¡± Michael asked.


    ¡°Nothing a hot meal and a good day of rest will not mend,¡± Remiel assured him. He hesitated before adding, ¡°Shall I assume you did not mean to call upon Hod? Was it because we were so near the Sephirah?¡±


    ¡°That had something to do with it,¡± Michael said. He rubbed at his face with a tired sigh. ¡°Kafziel¡¯s distress was very upsetting, is another thing. But being so near the Sephirah made it all but impossible to ignore.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve been too careless with the Sephirah,¡± Remiel said. ¡°This was too close. We¡¯re lucky this accident wasn¡¯t any closer to the Sephirah; we¡¯ll need to figure out a safer method to build around it.¡±


    ¡°I doubt we¡¯d be able to hurt it if we tried everything in our power, much less so by accident,¡± Michael said. He flopped onto his back once more to avoid looking at Remiel. If he wasn¡¯t looking at Remiel, the urge to yell at him for endangering himself wasn¡¯t so strong; as tempting as it was to throw a tantrum, it didn¡¯t seem worth getting into a fight over it when he knew Remiel¡¯s reckless actions had likely saved Kafziel¡¯s life. He knew that, and he was grateful for it, yet he was still furious.


    Remiel, for once, didn¡¯t notice his mood, or at the very least misunderstood the reason for it. ¡°Your presence during the accident was most fortuitous, my Aeon,¡± he attempted to reassure Michael. ¡°Had you not been present at the exact moment and place of the collapse, Kafziel would doubtless be lost to us, to say nothing of other possible injuries. The story of how you smote a falling building to protect the defenceless is already circulating and will be widespread before the night is up.¡±


    ¡°Can we squash that story?¡± Michael groaned, covering his face with his hands. ¡°Or at the very least re-title it?¡±


    Remiel¡¯s hesitation lasted for nought but the length of a single breath, but it was enough for Michael to read his displeasure as plainly as if he had screamed a string of obscenities. ¡°We can,¡± he intoned.


    ¡°Handle it however you think best,¡± said Michael, suddenly dismissive. He didn¡¯t want to argue, not now. ¡°You were there as well. I¡¯ll leave it to your discretion.¡±


    ¡°Your daeva wish to view you as a hero, my Aeon, and consider this story evidence to support that claim,¡± Remiel said. ¡°It would take significant effort to convince them otherwise. I fail to see what the point of trying would be.¡±


    Michael¡¯s stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, but he nodded. ¡°I trust your judgement, Remiel.¡±


    ¡°Let them recognise your actions, my Aeon,¡± said Remiel.


    ¡°No,¡± Michael said before he could stop himself. ¡°It¡¯s better they don¡¯t.¡± He shook his head and sat up with a sigh. ¡°You know my thoughts on this, Remiel, there¡¯s no point getting into it again now. I¡¯ll leave it to you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand the issue in this case,¡± Remiel said. ¡°You did a great thing today, why -¡±


    ¡°Is that what you saw?¡± Michael demanded. ¡°You were there, you saw what happened, how I lost control. Don¡¯t stand there and tell me that losing my mind was great.¡±


    ¡°What I saw was my Aeon coming to the defence of someone who needed the aid despite all the reasons not to,¡± Remiel argued. ¡°It was a horrible situation, but we would not have survived without you. In fact,¡± he said boldly, ¡°things were so tailor-made to set you off that I would consider it very great that you held off as long as you did.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that,¡± Michael said as he leapt to his feet. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare stand there and praise me for having a somewhat delayed meltdown in the middle of a crisis where I needed to be calm and collected. How can you possibly think that is acceptable, that it¡¯s in any way good enough?¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s progress, and I think it¡¯s progress we wouldn¡¯t have seen if not for this accident,¡± Remiel said. His hazel eyes were bright with fervent energy; Michael realised with a pang that his friend looked more excited to be alive than he had in seasons. ¡°If I may, Michael, regarding our earlier conversation: at the risk of sounding borderline tactless, I would like to add that I believe Kafziel will be better off for his experience today. It¡¯s all well and good to give second chances when someone makes a mistake, but sometimes consequence is the best teacher possible, particularly when the impulsive nature of youth is involved. I expect Kafziel will use his time recovering from today¡¯s events to reflect upon how he came to be in that position and adjust his future behaviour accordingly. His well-meaning recklessness was an accident waiting to happen and while I am grateful no one was killed, I believe he will learn from his experience and grow to be a wiser man.¡±


    ¡°Is there no other way to learn?¡± Michael pleaded. His raw desperation threw Remiel off-balance, who opened and shut his mouth without a sound. Not truly having expected an answer, Michael turned back to look at the still-steamy river once more, running a hand over his face and working to school his countenance back to a calmer expression.


    A polite noise from his communicator prompted Remiel to retrieve the handheld device from his pocket. As he read the brief message he had received, his shoulders squared and his posture straightened. ¡°Saerim Ananel is looking for you, my Aeon,¡± he said, his manner entirely professional once more. ¡°Your comm must be fried again.¡±


    Michael pulled his comm from his pocket to check. The frame of the device was warped and it possessed the distinctive smell of burnt technology. Disgusted, he chucked the comm to the ground. Almost immediately, his guilt got the best of him and he scooped the device up once more, pocketing it to be properly disposed of later. ¡°What¡¯s the message?¡±


    ¡°Your presence is requested in the central communications building,¡± said Remiel. He squinted at his comm dubiously before adding, ¡°Apparently the Aeon of Yesod is calling for you.¡±


    Michael laughed. ¡°Right, what¡¯s it really say?¡±


    ¡°That is what it says,¡± Remiel said, annoyed. ¡°Don¡¯t laugh at me; Ananel would have sent it to you directly if she¡¯d been able to. Take it up with her if you want, but that¡¯s what it says.¡±


    ¡°What, you¡¯re serious? The¡­ The Aeon of Yesod, truly? It¡¯s not just another message, it¡¯s actually the Aeon of Yesod?¡± Michael glanced up at the sky in surprise. The distant, twinkling light of the Sphere he continued to assume was Yesod was still visible above the horizon. ¡°Did she say why?¡±


    ¡°Only that it appears urgent,¡± Remiel said. He gestured in frustration at the comm. ¡°I¡¯ve read what she sent. You¡¯ll have to ask Ananel yourself if you want more information. The central communications building, she said she¡¯ll be waiting in the lobby.¡±


    ¡°Right, I¡¯m going,¡± Michael said. ¡°Can you double back to the Sanctuary site and check with Ciel? I¡¯d like to know the damage estimates and get to work on the cleanup as soon as possible.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t require my assistance with the Aeon of Yesod?¡±


    ¡°Assistance with what? Yesod is far removed from us, but the damage at the Sanctuary is something we can and must tend to,¡± Michael said. ¡°I¡¯ll see what the Aeon of Yesod wants but I need you to see to the Sanctuary.¡±


    Remiel sighed, his disappointment visible, but he nodded. ¡°As you say, my Aeon. I¡¯ll see that it¡¯s taken care of.¡±


    ¡°And speak to one of the healers about yourself, Remiel. I don¡¯t care that you feel fine. I¡¯ll be asking Ciel to verify that you did, mind, so don¡¯t pretend to forget.¡±


    ¡°I would never, my Aeon,¡± Remiel drawled. ¡°I do not share your aversion to bed rest, after all.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve got me there,¡± said Michael. He then remembered that he looked as if he had spent his morning buried under a pile of rubble at a construction site. ¡°Er, Remiel,¡± he began as he picked self-consciously at the sleeve of his ruined shirt.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have someone send over a change of clothes from the palace,¡± Remiel offered.


    ¡°Thank you, Remiel,¡± Michael said with gratitude. ¡°You are the best and I do not know how I would manage without you.¡±


    ¡°You are too kind, my Aeon,¡± said Remiel with a quick roll of his eyes.


    ¡°Once this is sorted, if it¡¯s not too late I¡¯ll contact you about lunch,¡± Michael said as he unfurled his great wings in preparation.


    He waited just long enough for Remiel to give him an affirmative hand gesture before he took flight towards the capital, equal parts curious about what his neighbouring Aeon would want to say to him and giddily nervous at the prospect of speaking with her; though Aeon Gabriel had sent word of her visions in the past, it had only been through impersonal messages rather than asking for him directly. Perhaps she had had another vision, but even if that were so, Michael wondered what she could expect him to do about it. There was a whole Void between them, after all.

 Messages to the Void

    The flight back to the city gave Michael time to think, which was not a thing he was particularly grateful for. To be called directly by another Aeon was unprecedented. They certainly knew of each other, bound as they were through the common link they shared in the Source, but to date, their interactions had been limited to simple coexistence. The other Aeons had their Spheres and Michael had Hod. So long as they each maintained their own Sephirah, there was little they needed from the others.


    Indeed, there was little they could do for the others even if there was a need. Aeon Gabriel had been the most proactive - and the most successful - in this regard; it was no secret she sent warnings to the other Spheres of avoidable disasters glimpsed through her innate gift, including Hod three times in the past. But her warnings were always sent as simple messages read by one of her Saerim to whoever was available to answer the call, a show of trust they would deliver it where it needed to go. Aeon Gabriel had never asked to speak with Michael. Ciel¡¯s theory regarding the odd energy in the aether nagged at him; someone, Ciel had guessed, Out There was either in trouble or very angry. Michael suspected he would be able to confirm or deny her speculation soon enough.


    The crux of Hod''s communications system was located in the inner ring of the capital city, one of many civic buildings constructed outside the forest left untouched around the Sephirah. Built to accommodate constant, high-volume public usage that in truth it seldom saw, the communications centre featured dramatically sloping walls and multiple enclosed amphitheatres of varying sizes capped with domed ceilings. The roof of the main hall was shaped into a great concave dish pointing towards the sky, a colossal spire that stretched from the centre of the dish to the boundary of the Sphere and the Void beyond functioning as the dish¡¯s antenna. It had been, Michael recalled, a constant and terrible pain to construct, but it was the only way to send or receive messages between the Spheres. Saerim Ciel and Saerim Ananel both considered the centre one of their proudest accomplishments, though for different reasons. Michael wasn¡¯t fond of it himself; that he had relayed the required specifications of the building provided by the Source did not mean he understood how it functioned, to his embarrassment. Still, it had provided a solid blueprint for them to establish a useful local network and there was a certain, slight comfort in the reminder that they could at least speak with their neighbours should they desire to do so. He doubted the centre had been used to contact another Sphere more than a handful of times, including today.


    A moderate amount of traffic wended through and around the centre as he approached, the standard contingent of technicians and messengers attending to their business as they did every other day. To his delight, there was also a small group of children from the central Nursery soon to be entering the Academy touring the grounds. Were circumstances different, Michael would have been tempted to tag along on their tour if only to see the looks on their little faces. Instead, he avoided their sight as he landed. This wasn¡¯t the best time to get distracted and in all honesty, his frazzled, just-escaped-from-a-construction-accident appearance might have frightened a few kids.


    True to her word, Saerim Ananel waited for him in the lobby, scanning through a stack of reports while chewing on her lip in distress. That alone was a powerful indication that something was amiss; Ananel¡¯s reputation for possessing an eternally cheerful and light-hearted disposition had not developed without fair cause. As soon as she saw him enter the centre, she set down the report she was reading, scooped up a bag from the floor and hurried towards him, her large brown eyes bright with determined concern as she took stock of his appearance.


    ¡°My Aeon, I apologise for the short notice,¡± said Ananel with a quick curtsy when she reached him. ¡°I heard of the excitement at the site of the future Sanctuary. I would rather you have time to recover; have you spoken with Umahel yet?¡±


    ¡°No, that won¡¯t be necessary,¡± Michael said with a quick wave of his hand. ¡°I understand you have a message from the Aeon of Yesod for me?¡±


    ¡°No, my Aeon, the Aeon of Yesod is on screen even now requesting an audience,¡± Ananel said. She shoved the bag into his hands. ¡°These arrived for you from the palace. The closest washroom is down that hall. And I suspected you may need this; you will have to activate it yourself at a later time, of course.¡± She produced a blank local comm and offered it to Michael, her other hand also held out, empty and expecting.


    ¡°Thank you, Ananel. You know me too well,¡± said Michael as he traded his burnt-out comm for the undamaged one. He peeked inside the bag and felt an undiluted wave of gratitude at what he found; inside was a complete change of clothes, freshly cleaned and pressed. They¡¯d even sent over a new pair of boots. Michael vowed to himself to ensure everyone involved was properly thanked before the day was over. ¡°Do you know what this call is about? Is it another one of her visions?¡±


    ¡°I would assume so, my Aeon, though she declined to share the details with me,¡± Ananel said, doing her best to usher him down the hallway towards the washroom without appearing rude. ¡°I assured her you would respond as soon as you were available, but she was insistent on leaving the transmission active until then. She even made use of the word ¡®emergency¡¯. It would be best if you did not keep her waiting overlong, I believe.¡±


    Michael froze in his tracks. ¡°An emergency? Here? What room is she in?¡±


    ¡°Theatre nine. But my Aeon! The washroom is that way.¡± Ananel pointed in the opposite direction of theatre nine.


    ¡°You said it was an emergency,¡± Michael protested, annoyed.


    ¡°It is also the historic first live communication with the Aeon of another Sphere and you look as though you¡¯ve been struck by a falling building.¡±


    ¡°Well, as it happens, there is due cause for that,¡± Michael said. ¡°Do you suggest I go home and take a bath?¡±


    ¡°Please don''t be obstinate, my Aeon, we both know you requested a change of clothes for good reason,¡± Ananel said. ¡°You are wasting time fussing when you could have been freshening up.¡±


    She was right, and he knew it. However, he also knew what a difference a mere few moments could make when responding to an emergency. He withdrew the clean jacket from the bag and shrugged it over his ruined shirt, passing the bag to Ananel so he could button the jacket in hopes it covered the worst of the damage. ¡°There. Is that an acceptable compromise?¡±


    Ananel knew him well enough to recognise a lost cause when she saw one. With a grim frown, she produced a clean handkerchief and held it out, tapping the left side of her neck to show where he needed to apply it.


    It came away coated in soot and ash. Perhaps she had a point. Even so, if there was an emergency, he could only assume Aeon Gabriel would be willing to forgive his poor appearance. He set off at a brisk pace towards theatre nine, Ananel close behind him. ¡°Remain nearby until we know more about what the situation is, but don¡¯t contact anyone else just yet.¡±


    ¡°As you say, my Aeon.¡± Ananel nodded. She positioned herself next to the door leading into theatre nine, then made an excited, abrupt gesture to catch his attention before he could open the door and go inside. ¡°Oh! My Aeon, wait! There''s a bit of¡­ something in your hair.¡±


    He was sure of it. He was sure his hair had dried awkwardly and was full of many unwanted somethings. Michael ran both hands through his hair and ruffled it quickly with just a tinge of anger. If only whatever Aeon Gabriel had to tell him didn¡¯t have to be so urgent that it denied him a proper bath, but of course it was. ¡°Is that better?¡±


    Ananel¡¯s face told him quite plainly that it wasn¡¯t, but she smiled encouragingly regardless. ¡°I am certain it will be the least of Aeon Gabriel¡¯s concerns.¡±


    ¡°A technical truth, but a likely one.¡± Michael nodded. He took a deep, steadying breath, opened the door, and entered theatre nine.


    It was one of the smaller rooms of the centre, about twice again as wide as Michael was tall. Though sparsely furnished, it was lavishly appointed, meant to convey in a glance all the prosperity of Hod. The curtains on the arched windows overlooking the garden outside were closed for privacy, and a lone, stately table and chair stood in the middle of the room facing the enormous screen which dominated the entire wall.


    It would have been easy to mistake the image on the screen for a painting at first glance had he not been prepared. The Aeon of Yesod sat in perfect stillness with her hands folded in her lap, her expression serene and eyes closed as if in deep meditation. Thick ribbons of silvery mist swirled around her, a shimmering veil that lifted and toyed with her hair and the flowing silk of her robe so that the blues and greys twined together like gossamer fins trailing in a deep ocean current. Her long black hair was pinned in an elaborate twist atop her head, her loose bangs swirling in the gentle touch of the mist in a way that perfectly framed her round face. A delicate pattern of fine lines and flower blossoms was drawn across her cheeks in shining silver pigment to highlight her doll-like features.


    It was as if Michael had forgotten how to breathe. She was identical to her statue in the Sanctuary, the artistic ideal of what the Aeons were meant to represent that Michael could never hope to measure up to.


    He tugged on the hem of his jacket to ensure it was straight without drawing too much attention to the action as he shuffled to the table in the middle of the room. His stomach tumbled in chaotic loops. If only he had listened to Ananel. Aeon Gabriel did not break from her meditation at his entrance. He waited a long moment, not wanting to disturb her and fascinated by the bright red of her lips, but she seemed oblivious to his presence, lost in her own world.


    At last, Michael reluctantly cleared his throat. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to intrude, Gabriel, Aeon of Yesod, the Word of Foundation and Base of Yetzirah, but I understand you wish to speak with me?¡±


    The mist around her dissipated as she opened her eyes, though her posture never once changed. Aeon Gabriel took stock of him in a single, silent glance, and when her slanted eyes met his from under her perfectly straight bangs, a shiver raced up Michael¡¯s spine. The statue in the Sanctuary had not done justice to her eyes: brilliant light blue and clear as ice.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper yet crystal clear as she acknowledged him. ¡°Michael, Aeon of Hod, the Word of Glory and son of the King. Have you been attacked?¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Michael said, his voice squeaking with embarrassment as he realised she must be referring to his dreadful appearance. He cleared his throat as he straightened his jacket once more. ¡°No, nothing so dramatic. I must apologise for both my state of dress and the delayed response; there was an incident and I was away from my comm. When I received word of your transmission, I decided we had left you waiting long enough and did not stop to tidy up. I presumed whatever was afoot was important enough that you might be willing to overlook my offence.¡±


    Aeon Gabriel¡¯s expression hardly changed as she leaned forward ever so slightly, but there was a quiet intensity behind her gaze. ¡°What manner of incident?¡±


    ¡°There was an accident at a construction site,¡± Michael told her. ¡°There were a few injuries, but blessedly no casualties. I will say it is less than comforting that your initial reaction is to wonder if I had been attacked. Shall I presume the worst, that such a response is related to your need to speak with me?¡±


    She inclined her head as she straightened, her countenance guarded and neutral. ¡°Please excuse the dramatics of this call, but I fear we face an unprecedented situation. You are aware of the visions of the future gifted to me by the Source, are you not?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± Michael nodded. ¡°You have sent warnings of tragedies seen in your visions that have allowed us to prevent unnecessary suffering, and we are grateful.¡±


    ¡°It is not so simple. Please allow me to explain as best I am able,¡± Aeon Gabriel said before he could continue. She raised her hands and the mist once more leapt into being around her. It swirled in time with her subtlest motions, forming rivers and lines and vague outlines to illustrate her explanation. ¡°No future is set in stone. My visions show me potential futures formed by the potential outcomes of actions taken. While no vision has ever proven false, there are many more possible futures than can be counted, and many of them apply to futures where certain actions are required but have not been taken. For example, observe this clip.¡± She removed the shining clip from her hair and held it for him to see it was carved in the shape of a bone-pale water serpent. ¡°It is carved from local coral which has very low impact resistance and would not survive a fall from this height. If I were to drop it now, its future is to shatter beyond repair.¡±


    She dropped the clip. The little sea serpent tumbled towards its doom, only for Aeon Gabriel to snatch it from its fall with her other hand moments before it vanished from sight. She held it up for inspection. ¡°And yet it did not shatter. Its future has changed. Why?¡±


    ¡°You caught it before it could fall,¡± Michael said.


    She nodded. ¡°Forewarning that it would break and knowledge of when and how it would fall allowed me to catch it. Alternatively, knowing that it would not survive the fall would give me the choice to not drop it in a demonstration. This is my favourite clip. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Our actions shape the future, I believe is your key point.¡±


    ¡®Actions have consequences, and knowledge adjusts our actions, often in ways that are not readily apparent,¡± Aeon Gabriel said as she returned her pin to her hair without ever once breaking his gaze. ¡°If, for example, I were to tell you that following your preferred lunch routine three days from now would set in motion a chain of events that would result in the loss of fifteen daeva, what would you do?¡±


    Michael let out a nervous laugh before he could stop himself. ¡°First, I would like to know how bread and noodles could be so dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Your trip to that eatery distracts a nearby daeva working on renovating an overhead. You never speak, but they are so flustered they fail to notice the incorrect bonding agent has been applied to the sealant. Four seasons later it dissolves in the rain and collapses, killing a group of daeva in the courtyard below.¡±


    ¡°Why must it always be construction related?¡± Michael mumbled as he rubbed a hand over his face. He shrugged helplessly. ¡°Knowing that, I would stay home that day.¡±


    ¡°And if staying home set in motion a chain of events that results in the loss of four dozen daeva?¡±


    Michael threw his hands up in agitation. ¡°I would ask if there was anything I could do that resulted in no losses.¡±


    Aeon Gabriel nodded. ¡°That is what I search for. To be aware of the consequences of many actions and find the course that offers the least loss and greatest boons.¡±


    Michael let out a slow sigh but nodded to show he understood. ¡°There¡¯s a reason you¡¯ve chosen to tell me this now.¡±


    ¡°I hope it is so that you will understand why I cannot share every detail I have seen,¡± she said. ¡°Just as I hope you understand why it is imperative that what I tell you now remain confidential, even from your own Saerim. I do not yet know what the consequence of telling you everything will be.¡±


    Intentionally keeping anything from his Saerim made him itch in agitation. He didn¡¯t know if he could agree to that. ¡°Why tell me any of this at all if there are such potential consequences? Why now?¡± Michael asked instead.


    ¡°I do not know that there is a choice,¡± Aeon Gabriel said. The mist surrounding her settled into the resemblance of a map of a hundred rivers intersecting with no visible reason. ¡°This is an approximation of what I have been able to chart of the future. Each of these branches show the choices different lives might make, the twists how those choices change the direction of their future and those around them.¡±


    ¡°Do you track each possible choice every person might make at any point in the future?¡± Michael asked.


    ¡°Of course not. Such a wide scale of observation would require more time devoted to searching than exists each day. I am shown choices that lead to great changes, as well as the lives that lead up to those choices. There are many lives I have not seen, some of those lives quite influential. I cannot chart them all. There would be no point in trying. This is what I have succeeded in charting. This point is the present.¡± She pointed to a narrow cross-section of the jumble of streams. ¡°These futures not attached to the main branch are holdover potentials from choices that were not made in the past. This area ahead of it represent the choices that might be made in the future.¡± She pointed to a rapidly ballooning set of branches that were too intricate and insubstantial for him to see across the screen.


    ¡°They all cut off in the same place?¡± Michael asked, his brow pinching with concern as he studied the surgically clean line where the branches ended at the same point, no matter how separated they were.


    ¡°We are approaching an epoch, the end of an era,¡± said Aeon Gabriel. ¡°Our world will change drastically soon, as it did when the Spheres were first formed. I have seen possible versions of what our next era will be, but I cannot say which version we will face. I have been unable to see anything definite beyond this boundary.¡±


    ¡°Until now,¡± Michael guessed.


    ¡°Until now,¡± Aeon Gabriel agreed. She twitched her hands once more and a large patch of dense, dark mist pooled at the bottom of her makeshift map.


    The weight of this addition threw everything above it into chaos. Entire sections of the map collapsed under their own weight or twisted in abrupt and confusing patterns that ended in jarring, withered points. The movement caused the map to spill over the invisible boundary of the epoch and thousands of currents spread forward, some as thin as hairs and others as thick as an arm as they surged onwards. One by one, however, they lost momentum and faded from sight. Unlike the clean line of the epoch, the edge of the map now was jagged and unpredictable, some streams ending almost immediately and others reaching further forwards before they died.


    ¡°Where we stand now, these are our futures,¡± Aeon Gabriel whispered.


    ¡°They all end,¡± Michael said.


    She nodded, her grim expression saying more than words could.


    ¡°What is that you added to the chart?¡± Michael asked with a gesture to the dark section.


    ¡°My latest vision,¡± Aeon Gabriel answered. ¡°I discovered this undercurrent this morning only, and its impact cannot be overstated. If something is not done, there will be no survivors. The Spheres will die.¡±


    Michael ran a hand through his hair with a heavy exhale. ¡°That is a bold, dangerous claim.¡±


    Aeon Gabriel pressed her lips into a thin line. ¡°I am aware. There is much about this situation I am uncertain of, but I know that it must be stopped. This was unlike any vision I have witnessed before. It might already be too late to stop entirely. According to what I have seen, events have already been set in motion during the formation of the Spheres by an injury I did not sustain.¡± She raised a hand to her throat, a flicker of distant confusion racing across her features before it vanished just as quickly.


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Michael asked. ¡°What is it you claim will end the world?¡±


    Aeon Gabriel shook her head apologetically. She dismissed the misty map of the future encircling her with a twitch of her hand. ¡°I cannot say. I am reaching the end of what I can safely share. Perhaps I have even crossed it.¡±


    Michael pressed his hands against the surface of the desk before him to hide that they were trembling. ¡°Then why contact me? What has the King got to say about this?¡±


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Aeon Gabriel considered him, her icy eyes watching his every movement and her face revealing none of her thoughts. ¡°None of my attempts to contact Highest Yetzirah have been successful. The transmissions are being sent but no one is receiving them.¡±


    The bottom fell out of Michael¡¯s stomach with a sickening lurch. He plastered an uneasy grin onto his face and spread his hands wide. ¡°There must be some mistake. Equipment malfunctions are not impossible to imagine; it is a very delicate system. Are you saying that no one in all of Kether is answering your calls?¡±


    ¡°No. My calls are not reaching Kether as if the very Sphere itself were gone,¡± said Aeon Gabriel. ¡°It is the same with Chokmah and Binah, as well as Tiphareth.¡±


    Four Spheres. It was impossible to imagine that four out of nine Spheres were experiencing the same crippling malfunctions with their communication equipment at the same time, not without also assuming a shared, devastating cause. Michael met her gaze and held it. ¡°What do you need me to do?¡±


    Aeon Gabriel leaned forward. ¡°Do you have an alternate method of contacting Most High?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Michael answered at once.


    ¡°If this is our future, if it is already in motion, we will be unable to stand against it alone,¡± said Aeon Gabriel. ¡°We must have the unifying guidance of King Elion if we are to have any hope of preventing a catastrophe equal to the Shattering.¡±


    Michael flinched. ¡°You go too far.¡±


    ¡°No, I do not,¡± insisted Aeon Gabriel. ¡°The Source Spoke to me to order that this future be stopped, and for that, we need the Most High. You are His son. You must have another way to call to Him.¡±


    ¡°I must, and yet I do not,¡± said Michael. ¡°I doubt there is anything I could try that you yourself have not already done.¡±


    ¡°You must try. Perhaps He will hear you where my calls have gone unanswered, Aeon Michael.¡±


    ¡°I find that very doubtful. Most High does not condone favouritism if that¡¯s what you¡¯re counting on. I have not spoken with the King directly since¡­¡± Michael hesitated, his brow furrowing as he attempted to recall his last conversation with his father. The memory of the creation of the world lingered in the back of his mind, indescribable and unreachable, but he could not summon any others. Something far older, long forgotten and nonsensical, lurked beneath the surface that made him long to run outside and enjoy the warmth of the day, but it skittered out of reach before he could register any details. Since the creation of the Spheres, he had never spoken to any of the four Aeons whose entire worlds appeared to have vanished, not even to the King. His father. He had taken the space between them as a blessing and assumed the others did as well. What if their silence had not been by choice?


    Rightly interpreting his lack of response for what it meant, Aeon Gabriel corrected her posture and folded her hands in her lap once more. She was every bit as composed and pristine in appearance as he had assumed her to be at the beginning of their conversation, but now Michael was certain he had not imagined the note of underlying tension in her voice. ¡°If the events I foresaw are already in motion, our every choice now is more crucial than ever. We must find a way to contact Highest Yetzirah, if only to verify their condition. Please, do whatever you can to contact King Elion.¡±


    ¡°I will.¡± Michael nodded. ¡°If you think it will help, I will.¡±


    ¡°I will remain at this console and continue my own attempts at establishing a link to Highest Yetzirah.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Michael said, ¡°just as I understand your reasons for not telling me everything. However, if the situation is as dire as you claim, surely there must be something more you can tell me, particularly if I am to be of any assistance to you.¡±


    For a long moment, Aeon Gabriel merely watched him in unmoving silence, perhaps considering her next words. Her clear gaze grew distant and glazed before drifting to the side, focused on something only she could see. At last, she blinked as if waking from a deep daydream and returned her attention to him without ever having changed expression. ¡°I believe there is something in the Void we have been unaware of. I cannot say what it is or what its purpose may be, for I do not know, but I believe it to be hostile, or at the very least dangerous. If, during your attempts to contact Highest Yetzirah, you encounter any entity you cannot identify, do not engage. Do not allow yourself to be exposed to whatever lurks outside my sight.¡±


    Michael wanted to laugh. He wanted to be sick. This was ridiculous. This was obscene. If nothing else, it was in very poor taste. Instead of any of that, he nodded as if any of what she had said made sense in the calm, untroubled world they had worked so hard to build. ¡°Thank you for the warning, Gabriel, Aeon of Yesod, the Word of Foundation and Base of Yetzirah.¡±


    Aeon Gabriel inclined her head at his words. A flicker of some softer emotion fluttered across her features. ¡°I am relieved to find you well, Michael, Aeon of Hod, the Word of Glory and son of the King. I only pray that we find the other Spheres in such good health.¡±


    ¡°We are all bound through the Source,¡± Michael said without thinking, as much to reassure himself as her. ¡°Surely we would know if anything had happened to them.¡±


    It was difficult to know what she thought of his comment behind her serene expression, but she nodded. ¡°Yes, surely. One can only hope.¡±


    He did not miss the concerned shadow behind her eyes as she ended the transmission. The screen reset to standby mode. The room was darker and less colourful for the loss of her image.


    Michael slumped in the chair. He ran a hand through his hair as he struggled to come to terms with what he had just heard. He cast a sideways glance to the windows overlooking Hod¡¯s capital city; the drawn curtains prevented him from viewing the world outside, but he knew even so that there were millions of innocent, trusting daeva going about their business, trying to make the most of their lives and it was his eternal duty to protect their best interests. He could not allow the world he had built for them to come under threat. He would not allow it.


    The control console for the screen was built into the top of the desk. Not allowing himself time to think about what he was doing, Michael keyed in the sequence to send a transmission to the Sphere of King Elion, Kether. The wall screen lit up and a bright block of text announced the transmission equipment was searching for his requested target. Michael held his breath as he stared at it; on the rare occasions he had needed to contact any of the neighbouring Spheres, the transmission had not taken so long to connect. He understood Kether was much further away than Yesod, Netzach, or even Geburah, but he had not expected the extra distance alone to have such an impact on the efficiency of the equipment.


    The image on the screen changed at last. ¡°Invalid pathing request,¡± it now said. ¡°Unable to locate user-defined receiver.¡±


    Michael let out a slow breath as he pressed the button to end the transmission. He double-checked that he had entered the correct identification sequence for Kether and carefully entered it again. The hope that the error was on his end struggled to stay afloat in his mind, but it lacked any genuine conviction as he stared at the screen, attempting to will it to connect and prove this entire affair was little more than well-intentioned paranoia.


    ¡°Invalid pathing request,¡± the screen changed to announce. ¡°Unable to locate user-defined receiver.¡±


    He turned the screen off and rubbed at the back of his neck in a feeble effort to relieve some of the tension building there. Was it possible there was something wrong with the equipment? It had been working fine while he spoke with Aeon Gabriel, so that seemed unlikely, but it was a far more palatable answer than her foretold apocalypse - and far easier to rule out. Michael stood and opened the door to the hallway. Ananel remained where he had left her as she worked through a thick set of reports to make use of her time, but her attention was fully upon him in an instant, her gaze keen with curiosity and worry.


    ¡°Ananel, could we get a diagnostic run on the equipment used in this room?¡± Michael asked.


    ¡°I can, my Aeon, but every piece involved in theatre nine was examined and optimally calibrated earlier this morning,¡± said Ananel as she brushed a stray lock of her curly brown hair away from her face without seeming to notice she was doing so. ¡°That is why I selected it for your use. Is something the matter?¡±


    ¡°Possibly, though I¡¯m uncertain what,¡± Michael said, sighing. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about the diagnostic, then. I doubt it¡¯s the equipment. Tell me, do you know the sequence to contact Kether?¡±


    Ananel¡¯s expression grew curious. ¡°I have the contact registry here with me,¡± she said. She pulled a small information pad from one of her pockets and flipped to the appropriate section before passing him the pad and pointing out the sequence for Kether.


    It was identical to the one he had entered. Suppressing a frustrated grimace, Michael handed the pad back to her. ¡°Would you mind humouring me a bit longer and check that I¡¯m using the console correctly?¡±


    ¡°Of course, my Aeon,¡± Ananel said. She followed him into theatre nine and activated the console on the desk. ¡°Shall I presume you wish to contact Kether?¡±


    Michael nodded. ¡°Please.¡±


    Ananel entered the sequence exactly as he had, and the screen on the wall changed to announce it was searching for the First Sphere.


    ¡°That¡¯s odd. I¡¯ve never seen it take so long to contact any of the other Spheres,¡± Ananel said with a frown. Michael made a non-committal noise in response, and they spent a long moment watching the screen in silence. When at last it changed to display the same error message it had shown to Michael, Ananel appeared as openly baffled as he had felt. ¡°How unusual! That message typically indicates an improperly entered identification sequence but I was certain I entered it correctly.¡±


    ¡°You did,¡± Michael said flatly. He had yet to turn his gaze away from the screen, lost as he was in thought.


    ¡°The equipment appears to be functioning normally,¡± Ananel said. She was tapping away on the console, no doubt making use of the diagnostic tools built into the console itself. ¡°I¡¯ll have my technicians look at this station right away, but I can¡¯t imagine what would cause this. Could the transmission be lost in the Sea of Consciousness?¡±


    Michael turned to face her with a start. ¡°Is that possible? What could cause that to happen?¡±


    ¡°Presently, it is only a theory; we have no means of approaching the Sea of Consciousness to test our theories, of course,¡± said Ananel. She tapped a quick command into the console and the screen flickered to life to display a crude map of the approximate layout of the nine Spheres. Bright lines of colour were drawn atop the black space between the Spheres with no apparent pattern to their direction, made even more confusing when they began swirling and expanding without any clear rhythm. ¡°I find peace in charting what I can see of the aether flows from here,¡± Ananel explained. ¡°I assure you I only make use of the equipment to pursue my hobby in my spare time when appropriate, my Aeon. It seemed such a shame not to make use of the equipment we have here to learn more about the world around us.¡±


    ¡°I was unaware you fancied such pursuits,¡± Michael said. He did not try to hide that he was impressed. ¡°You did this work yourself?¡±


    ¡°With some assistance gathering general data, of course,¡± Ananel said. She was beaming with pride. ¡°This is an average compiled from data dozens of us have gathered over a few hundred thousand seasons. It is accurate by our theories based on our observations, but there is still much we do not know. This represents what we can gather about the Sea of Consciousness.¡± She pointed to the area separating the three Spheres of Highest Yetzirah from the six Spheres of Lower Yetzirah, the area where the lines of colour were swirling together in a tight, chaotic mess of incomprehensible knots. ¡°Not only is it far larger than our ability to measure, but the aether is uniquely dense and active in the Sea of Consciousness as it is nowhere else in the Void. I¡¯ve heard some compelling arguments that the unusual behaviour of the aether there would be a considerable obstacle for anything attempting to pass through it, including light. That¡¯s the reason we cannot see the Spheres of Highest Yetzirah from here as we can our neighbours. Well, according to the theory, at any rate. But it seems sensible to me that such a force would be capable of disrupting our communications.¡±


    Michael nodded without thinking, staring at the image with a frown. Of the four Spheres Aeon Gabriel was unable to contact, three of them comprised Highest Yetzirah. Kether, Chokmah, and Binah were all located on the far side of the Sea of Consciousness, separated from them by the swirling mess of aether that constituted the only fixed point within the Void. The fourth ¡®lost¡¯ Sphere, Tiphareth, was far closer, located in almost the exact centre of the nine, on the same side of the Sea of Consciousness as Hod.


    ¡°Ananel, would you please go check the records for me and find out when we last successfully communicated with Highest Yetzirah?¡± Michael requested. He barely heard her agree and hurry from the room while he reset the screen and entered the sequence to send a message to Tiphareth.


    A pleasant chiming noise indicated the connection was successfully established and the screen on the wall went black. Michael stared at it, waiting for a change that never came. Confused, he tapped a few buttons on the console, which assured him that the feed was live and evidently functioning within normal parameters. The viewscreen supposedly showed an undamaged connection to Tiphareth the way he had spoken with Aeon Gabriel in Yesod, but all that was displayed was blackness.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Michael called hesitantly. There was no noticeable response or change on the screen. He killed the connection and entered the code once more to try again.


    Again, the pleasant chime indicating the call was successful was followed by the screen changing to a solid black wall. Drumming his fingers on the table, Michael considered what he ought to do next. There must be something amiss with the equipment, particularly if it was insisting things were functioning normally, but at least it was attempting to connect with Tiphareth. A poor connection was better than no connection at all.


    ¡°This is the Aeon of Hod calling for the Aeon of Tiphareth,¡± he said. ¡°I repeat, calling for Raphael, Aeon of Tiphareth, the Word of Beauty and Point Which Binds, this is Michael, Aeon of Hod, the World of Glory and son of the King. Please respond, if you are able to.¡±


    The blackness of the screen distorted. An unidentifiable smear of pale colour lurched across the screen as if the entire image had been roughly jolted in one direction. Michael leaned forward, squinting as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. A lower-pitch chime announced the transmission had ended and the screen returned to its cheerful standby mode. Scoffing in disbelief, Michael checked the console; the log claimed that the equipment had been working perfectly on both ends before someone in Tiphareth closed the line. He keyed in the sequence and called again.


    The same black screen as before answered him. This time, however, there was a smear of pale colour in the centre; it was too vague to identify, but it slowly grew larger as he watched.


    ¡°Please check your equipment, Tiphareth, you are broadcasting a blank screen,¡± said Michael. ¡°This is the Aeon of Hod calling for the Aeon of Tiphareth. We have a potential incident in progress and there appears to be something amiss with your transmission equipment. Do you require assistance? Please respond.¡±


    Once more, an unidentifiable smudge of bright colour flickered across the screen. The pale spot filled a good portion of the centre of the image now, still unfocused and blurry, and the edges were lightening as well.


    ¡°There appears to be some heavy interference involved, Tiphareth,¡± Michael said. ¡°We have yet to get a clear response from you. This is Michael, Aeon of Hod, requesting a dialogue with Raphael, Aeon of Tiphareth. What is your condition? We have reason to suspect an incident is in progress and would like to confirm your status. We wish to extend an offer of support, if necessary, but we must first know the nature of your situation. Please let us know you¡¯re all right; it would ease a great burden to hear this is a mechanical failure. I repeat, Tiphareth, this is Hod, asking if you require assistance. Please respond.¡±


    As he spoke, the light patches on the screen spread ever further, encompassing increasingly complex shapes and patterns to form a blurry picture. The image slid sharply into focus all at once, and the screen that ought to have been showing a view from Tiphareth was abruptly shadowing a vibrant reflection of Michael standing behind the desk in Hod. Michael stared at his mirror image in shock, scarcely registering what he was seeing. Then the cheerful goodbye chime announced that the call had been ended by the other party and the screen switched back to its standby mode.


    A powerful, keening energy rippled through the surrounding air, a sharp and sudden amplification of the agitated restlessness that had been building in the air all day. Michael pressed the heels of his palms against his forehead to relieve some of the horrible pressure building inside his skull as the soundless ringing in the air reached its powerful crescendo. The right side of his body was oddly energised, nearly electrified, with a sensation not unlike the empowered tingling that accompanied close proximity to his Sephirah. His hands still pressed against his forehead in a fruitless effort to ease the splitting discomfort building in his skull, visible sparks of power raced along his right arm before his face. The sleeve of his jacket began to smoulder and smoke before bursting into flames; Michael staggered backwards, flapping his arm like a fool, and was successful in putting the fire out before he caused any damage to anything beyond his new jacket.


    A distant scream echoed from outside. Michael ran to the window and ripped the curtains from the wall in his rush to look outside. This side of the building faced the capital city and not the forest surrounding the Sephirah, so he had an unobstructed view of the crowds of panicked daeva in the streets below. More daeva were flocking outside to join the commotion, shouting and frantically gesturing at the sky above. The tall buildings around them prevented Michael from seeing the sky itself. Planning on vaulting directly outside, Michael tried to force the window open, but it refused to budge. Not wanting to waste more time trying to determine if he needed to push or pull a window that likely wasn¡¯t designed to open, he abandoned the idea and ran out of theatre nine. As he sprinted through the halls of the communications centre and out to the plaza in front of the building, the heavy pressure in the air caused his breaths to echo loudly in his ears.


    The daytime aurora were bright and colourful as always, but behind the vibrant blues and purples, four gargantuan spirals of golden light slowly descended from the Void towards Hod. Each of the spirals appeared to be evenly spaced over the central forest and not the city itself. Even though the distance between them did nothing to downplay the massive scale of the situation, Michael took a small measure of comfort in the fact that no occupied buildings were in immediate danger. The daeva around him did not appear to find comfort in that thought as he did, however, and the panic in the streets was slipping into hysteria. Michael could not fault them for being afraid. Nothing had ever come from the Void before; there was nothing in the Void. It was, almost by definition, completely empty of identifiable matter.


    Michael put his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly to catch the attention of the crowd around him. ¡°Everyone, your attention, please! I appreciate the impulse to react strongly to the unknown, but this is not the solution! We will temporarily evacuate the inner ring of the city, but you must do so in an orderly and sensible manner!¡±


    ¡°My Aeon, what is happening?¡± one of the daeva asked.


    ¡°There will be a public announcement as soon as we have verifiable answers for you,¡± Michael said. ¡°In the meanwhile, we need to focus on ensuring everyone is safely evacuated to the outer districts of the city as quickly as possible, as a temporary precaution. We will have further instructions for you shortly.¡±


    While the daeva around him scrambled to comply and spread the word, Michael retrieved the new handheld communicator Ananel had given him from his pocket and struggled to activate it. The device had never been turned on before and did not recognise him as a valid user, and his efforts to go through the proper start-up procedures were not aided by his awareness of the steadily growing golden structures in the sky extending ever closer towards their world with each passing moment. Ananel appeared at his elbow, her mass of bushy brown hair whipping around her face in the sudden onslaught of wind.


    ¡°Is this the emergency the Aeon of Yesod warned you about?¡± she asked. She had to shout to be heard over the din of the frantic daeva and the constant howling of the wind.


    ¡°Not directly, but it¡¯s likely related. Ananel, I need you to - Why is this not working?¡± Michael snapped as he shook the communicator furiously. Ananel rescued it from his grasp and began tapping away at it. ¡°Ananel, I need you to work with the others and get everyone out of the inner ring immediately. We will not take any chances with this; prepare to evacuate the middle districts as well. No one approaches the centre of the city until we know what we¡¯re dealing with, understand?¡±


    ¡°It needs your palm imprint here,¡± Ananel said as she pressed the communicator back into his hands. Her dark eyes were wide with terror. ¡°My Aeon, we cannot abandon the Sephirah!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not. I¡¯ll take care of it, but I need you to first make certain all of our citizens are safe. Get them ready to empty the city if that¡¯s what it comes to. I don¡¯t want any heroics from anyone, are we clear?¡± Michael insisted.


    She nodded fretfully. ¡°The Archive -¡±


    ¡°We seal it, completely. Full natural disaster protocols,¡± Michael said. He watched the spirals loom ever closer to the ground by the moment rather than look at her. With a distressed shake of his head, he corrected himself.  ¡°No, contact the Nursery first; send the kids to the shelter there if they¡¯re likely to have trouble with the evacuation. Then lock it down until we know whether it¡¯s safe to move them. Tell Ephriel they must be ready to go if they need to, though, all of them.¡± He waited just long enough to see Ananel nod in compliance before he turned and sprinted, not daring to fly with the wind in such an uproar, towards the nearest of the four breaks in the sky, away from the noise of the panicked city and into the untouched forest at its heart. He fumbled with his new comm and keyed in a familiar sequence from memory. The device was blessedly agreeable and the local call was picked up instantly. ¡°Remiel! It¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡°My Aeon! What -¡±


    ¡°Remiel, listen! We¡¯re evacuating the inner ring of the city for now; get everyone working on the Sanctuary to the outer districts right away.¡±


    The sound of Remiel relaying the order to someone else echoed dimly over the comm, prompting Michael to experience a surge of gratitude towards his Regent. ¡°I¡¯ll get them out, but, Michael, we cannot abandon the Sephirah,¡± Remiel said tensely. ¡°If anything were to happen to it¡­¡±


    ¡°No one is abandoning anything! Remiel, I¡¯m asking you to stay with the Sephirah. You understand what is at stake; I trust you to guard it with your life.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± agreed Remiel grimly.


    ¡°Good man,¡± Michael said. ¡°Make certain the others get to safety. I¡¯m approaching the contact point for the nearest one of these things; I¡¯ll keep you informed about what I find.¡±


    ¡°Michael, the Source will keep you,¡± said Remiel. The wind grew stronger the closer Michael got to the golden spirals descending from the sky; he could barely hear the comm over the gale-force wind howling through the surrounding trees.


    ¡°You still owe me lunch,¡± he quipped. He cut the transmission and turned his attention to the task at hand, and not a moment too soon; the wind ripped a smaller tree from the ground and tossed it in his path. He skidded to a stop and slipped on the slick turf in his scramble to avoid being crushed, the leaves from the tree whipping against his arm in his narrow escape.


    By the time he regained his footing, the nearest of the golden objects reached the top of the forest. The bottom of the spiral of light continued to extend inexorably to the ground. The closer he got to it the more he appreciated how massive it truly was, dwarfing all but the largest buildings in size. He thought, for an absurd moment, that it looked like a spiral staircase made of solidified blood descending from above. The spiral was approaching the ground in a large, mostly flat clearing in the woods, empty save for the whirlwind of leaves ripped from the trees by the gale.


    Aeon Gabriel¡¯s warning echoed in the back of his mind. ¡®Do not engage¡¯, she had advised. ¡®Do not allow yourself to be exposed¡¯. Well, it would appear it was already too late for that. If nothing else, perhaps he could stop this here and now. Whatever lurked within the Void would not spread through Hod if he had anything to say about it. Michael stood his ground and drew his sword, scarcely daring to breathe as he watched, helplessly, as the pillar of golden light lowered the final stretch of distance to the ground.

 Exposed

    A flash of blinding light and a rush of wind marked the moment the foot of the spiral anchored itself to the dirt. A luminescent heartbeat pulsed from the point it touched the ground and up the entire height of the structure, far above the clouds and out of sight. Then, for a moment, all was silent and still.


    A column of light appeared in the centre of the spiral and expanded to bathe the structure in an incandescent glow. The wind returned with a vengeance, now centred on the spiral descended from the Void, so strong it threatened to drag Michael into the forming vortex. Dust and leaves carried whipped through the clearing and scratched at Michael, threatening to blind him in conjunction with the building intensity of the light. The power that had been lurking in the aether all day followed the wind as the light reshaped itself and broke free of the spiral.


    The form it took was massive, an entity composed of raw light and untamed power that struggled to define itself into a single shape. It began fragmented and chaotic, disjointed parts that lacked identifiable intent or purpose. Then, as a familiar sensation of certainty thrummed through the air, a pair of wings burst from the light, still immaterial and dazzling and large enough to spread over the clearing. A person unfolded from the chaos to shape themselves from the light. The brilliant shadow of their wings was enough to dispel the wind in an instant and infuse the air with a burst of power that tasted like the sky before a storm. The aether came alive in response to their presence: a rain of sparkling motes scattered from the wings like lost feathers, tiny pinpoints of shifting colours that drifted to the ground in slow motion, casting miniature rainbows as they fell and causing Michael¡¯s skin to tingle with recognition he couldn¡¯t quite place. Hod stirred in the back of his mind with curiosity; the aether was heavy with the unmistakable signature of a Sephirah, though it was an unfamiliar one. The sky crowning the radiant figure¡¯s head shimmered and warped as the endless power of the Source coalesced around it and a steady, inaudible ringing shook the clearing.


    It came apart in an instant. The power that had been building in the aether all day broke with a snap that caused Michael to gasp in pain and press his hand against his head. The forming figure did not fare as well; there was a scream he felt rather than heard followed by an explosion of light and wind strong enough to stagger him backwards. By the time his vision cleared, the wind had died, the light and the figure formed from it were gone, and in their place lay an unmoving body of flesh and blood in a crumpled heap on the ground.


    The world was deathly still. The only sound in the clearing was Michael¡¯s breath - amplified in his ears by his stress - and a steady, immaterial thrum of power emanating from the spiral structure. He adjusted his grip on his sword and shifted from foot to foot in agitation. His gaze darted between the unmoving body at the foot of the spiral and the structure itself as he waited for whatever dark force had caused this manifestation to go so very wrong to swoop from the Void and attack.


    That didn¡¯t happen. The figure on the ground drew their first breath as if they were convinced it would be their last: wet, struggling and shuddering with whimpering agony. They were collapsed on the ground facing away from Michael and didn¡¯t seem able to right themselves, didn¡¯t seem able to move at all beyond weak squirming. The golden light of the spiral bathed the clearing in a discomforting glow the colour of fresh blood that made it difficult to tell from a distance whether they were wounded. The wheezing death-rattle sound of their breath was a convincing indicator that they were.


    ¡®Do not allow yourself to be exposed,¡¯ Aeon Gabriel told him. Michael had every intention of obeying her to the best of his abilities, but what was he meant to do now? He couldn¡¯t walk away, surely, not with this thing descended from the Void and an injured person evidently from another Sphere possibly dying in his backyard. He wavered in distress as he waited for something to happen that would make the proper course of action clear. The golden spiral from the Void cast the clearing in an eerie, bloody light and thrummed with a resonant power that lingered at the very edge of his awareness, but the spiral itself showed no sign of changing now that the initial event had passed. One of the last motes of light to fall landed on the back of his hand holding his sword and disappeared with a twinkle; the trace of aether it carried bore a signature that Hod instinctively recognised. Tiphareth.


    Michael swallowed thickly as he glanced between the golden spiral from the Void and the broken figure on the ground struggling to breathe. Tiphareth. Then that must mean¡­


    ¡°Please let this be the right choice for once,¡± he pleaded to no one in particular as he returned his sword to its scabbard with perhaps more force than was warranted. Without daring to turn his back on the spiral, he hurried across the clearing to the body he strongly suspected belonged to his fellow Aeon, shrugging out of his jacket as he went. The thrum from the spiral pressing on the back of his mind nagged at him despite his best efforts to ignore it. He needed to focus on assessing what was wrong with his first visitor from outside his Sphere without making physical contact.


    She was in terrible shape. That much was obvious immediately. Distance could no longer disguise the long, bloody lines looping around her limbs, her torso, her chest and her throat. He couldn¡¯t see her face, lost under a mass of shockingly red hair and pressed into the ground as she wheezed and whimpered. Her hands clutched convulsively at nothing, trembling with effort. She needed proper help, but Michael didn¡¯t dare call for anyone else to come this close to the spiral and risk exposure to whatever had done this. He needed to move her somewhere safer before anything else.


    She howled before he could reach her, as best she could with no breath in her lungs. ¡°G-get away f-from me!¡±


    Michael froze as she tried to crawl away from him in a blind, uncoordinated panic. She didn¡¯t make it very far before her new body failed her and she collapsed onto her face, keening and coughing in distress as she spasmed uncontrollably. Unable to help himself, Michael glanced up the length of the spire, but he could see no new threat descending from the Void to finish its work. Meanwhile, her shaking was worsening until she was in the beginning throes of a seizure.


    ¡°Easy,¡± he said, continuing towards her. ¡°We will get you help, but first we must move somewhere safer.¡±


    ¡°D-don¡¯t,¡±  she tried to shriek. Her voice caught on the word, hoarse and breathless, as her seizing grew worse. ¡°I-I-I won¡¯t¡­! Never¡­¡±


    She rasped in a final, desperate breath, and then she locked in place. Her head snapped back and every muscle went taut and shook with an overflow of uncontained tension. A radiant halo exploded around her head, white like the light of a Sephirah but laced with traces of too many other colours to name and bright enough to blind. The clearing was washed in an immaterial wind that carried the taste of a foreign Sephirah. Tiphareth.


    And she was dying.


    ¡°Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no no no.¡± The spiral to the Void forgotten for the time being, Michael nearly tripped over himself in his hurry to kneel beside her. What would happen to Tiphareth if she drifted from her body, much less here in Hod? They couldn¡¯t afford to find out.


    He wrapped his jacket around his hand as many times as he could in a poor attempt to avoid direct contact and rolled her rigid form onto her back. Eight of the bloody lines converged on her chest in a raw, golden cluster over her heart that pulsed in time with the flashing of her halo. It was a frantic, panicked rhythm that flooded the air with desperate energy so powerful it would have been overwhelming had it not been equally scattered, confused, unfamiliar. Broken. He needed to stop the bleeding, at least the external bleeding if he could.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, this will be uncomfortable, but I need to apply pressure to this wound,¡± said Michael as he pressed the bunched-up jacket against her sternum.


    She choked on a scream. The flash of her halo grew more panicked as she tried to wrest control of her seizing limbs to fight him off. She failed, but he thought it somewhat promising that she retained enough awareness to try.


    ¡°Easy, easy, you just need to stay calm and I will help you through this,¡± Michael cooed. He lifted the edge of his jacket to check the wound underneath, and how bad the bleeding was.


    There was no blood on the jacket. The luminous golden lines on her chest remained unchanged. He rubbed the fabric gently over one line, trying to gauge the wound, but it reacted¡­ oddly. There was no tear in the skin, in fact there was no blood at all, merely a straight line that was glowing the exact golden shade of fresh blood etched into the surface of her skin.


    She tried to scream again, but could no longer draw enough breath to make any noise at all. He could see the flutter of her pulse pounding in her neck, too weak and arrhythmic by far. Her back arched clear off the ground, her hands clawed at nothing as her halo flashed faster and faster, flickering with panic. She was fighting for her life with every ounce of strength she had, but Michael knew too well the double-edged blade raw fear could be.


    ¡°You appear to be going into shock. It is vitally important that you remain as calm as possible and conserve your strength. It helps if you focus on your breathing,¡± Michael said. He draped his jacket over her chest in hopes of keeping her warm.


    With a jolt as if she had just been stabbed, she lashed out to fight off an attacker, keening in distress all the while. That she has such limited control over her basic motor skills made it easy to avoid her blind strikes, but Michael couldn¡¯t help cringing with guilt over her distress even as he readjusted the jacket to keep it over her.


    ¡°I know, I know, but you¡¯re safe now," he said as soothingly as he could. ¡°You¡¯re in Hod now, and we will do everything we can to help you, but you must remain calm. Breathe, just focus on your breathing. You are safe now, I¡¯m here to help, you will get through this, but you must breathe.¡±


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    There was so much he didn¡¯t understand about what was happening that his words felt dangerously close to a lie. He had never seen markings like these before and did not know what sort of wounds they signified, much less if they were survivable. But no matter his disposition towards the truth, he knew better than to say as much to someone obviously in need of comfort. So he kept repeating variations of the same platitudes while he readjusted the jacket over her whenever she threw it off. She hissed and shook each time, but couldn¡¯t form coherent sounds.


    The flashing of her halo slowed, stabilising into a steady light as he spoke. Her gasping grew deeper, still laboured and rasping but surely any air was better than none. The worst of the seizure passed and she slumped onto the ground, panting, as her halo faded from sight at last. He could see the red of her hair again, could see the blood-coloured lines that were not wounds marking her face. Her eyes were open but unfocused, feverish, clouded white. He strongly suspected that she could not see.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, you¡¯re doing well. The worst has passed. Just keep breathing,¡± Michael said. ¡°You¡¯ll be all right.¡±


    She wrenched away from his voice with a racking cough and a whine, succeeding at last in tossing his jacket aside. ¡°Wh-why would you do this?¡±


    The question wasn¡¯t what he had expected. Michael rocked back on his heels in confusion and sent a cautious glance over his shoulder up the spiral to the Void. Still, he saw nothing descending from the blackness beyond his Sphere. Unsure how badly he had misjudged the situation, he let out a slow breath. ¡°Is there any reason why I wouldn¡¯t help you, Aeon Raphael?¡±


    At the sound of her name, Aeon Raphael lurched onto her side and heaved; her body was new enough that she had nothing in her stomach to expel, but the effort of trying looked and sounded uncomfortable.


    ¡°We can¡¯t stay here,¡± said Michael with another glance at the spiral. ¡°We must go somewhere safer.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t ever t-touch me,¡± Aeon Raphael hissed.


    ¡°That is a promise I can safely make,¡± Michael said, ¡°however that does not change the fact that we cannot stay here; help is waiting in a more stable location, though I can¡¯t say how long we have.¡±


    ¡°There is n-no escape,¡± Aeon Raphael whispered. She struggled to push herself onto her hands and knees; her shaking arms buckled under the strain and she collapsed face-first into the ground, where she lay, wheezing and trembling as she fought to catch her breath.


    Michael was abruptly, horribly aware of the fact that the top Aeon Raphael had manifested in was little more than a strip of white fabric wrapped around her upper torso and held in place with a ribbon tied behind her neck. Despite his better judgement, his eyes wandered across her shoulders. More of the same golden lines marked her back. Some ancient and oft-ignored part of his mind nagged at him that he ought to recognise the pattern they formed, but he was shamefully distracted by the state of her dress. It left her shoulders completely bare; he inadvertently caught a direct view of the joint where her wings folded into her shoulders before he realised he was staring and averted his gaze, flustered.


    ¡°I-I-I knew it was there,¡± Aeon Raphael stammered, bringing him back to the present. She had given up trying to right herself for the time being and lay on her side facing away from him as she grasped blindly at the grass underneath her. ¡°I w-wanted to run, but I knew what would ha-happen if I tried. I couldn¡¯t wake up. I kept the Paths closed. I kn-knew it was there.¡±


    ¡°What? What happened to you? What did you see?¡± Michael asked, leaning forward.


    ¡°No, I w-was dreaming,¡± Aeon Raphael continued as if she hadn¡¯t heard him. Her voice was absent-minded, breathless, and her convulsive shaking was returning to her hands as she mumbled to herself. ¡°I couldn¡¯t wake up. I kept the Paths closed; it w-was all I could do. I-I thought it w-would help. Why did I think that?¡±


    The spasms in her muscles worsened by the moment, and her wheezing mumblings took on a feverish tone that implied she was not aware of her surroundings, much less what she was saying. The hum of latent power from the spiral behind them vibrated throughout the clearing, an ever-present warning of the newly arrived unknown. This was neither the time nor place to prioritise questions over action.


    ¡°I have no answers and many questions, but I¡¯m afraid they must wait for now,¡± Michael said. He retrieved his jacket and began tying the sleeves together to fashion it into a poor sling. ¡°If you can still hear me, I¡¯d like you to focus on my voice. Right now it¡¯s most important that you remain calm so we can help you.¡±


    ¡°If y-you can still hear,¡± Aeon Raphael parroted deliriously, oblivious to what he was doing. ¡°If you can still hear. Y-you can h-hear it too?¡±


    Michael froze. He was almost afraid to ask. ¡°Hear what?¡±


    Aeon Raphael locked up with an agonised gasp, the onset of another fit. A mere heartbeat later, Michael realised what she was reacting to.


    The thrum of power grew to a painfully intense crescendo. The entire sky lit up with a pure, blinding presence and a voice rang down from above. The voice came from everywhere at once and resonated with an undeniable power that caused Michael¡¯s very essence to vibrate with each syllable. Guided by instinct, Michael felt himself folding into a deep bow before it registered that he was doing so; at the edge of his vision, he saw Aeon Raphael fall on her face, spasm violently one last time and then go limp. Even if she had lost consciousness at last, he doubted it would do anything to muffle the voice of the King.


    ¡°The Paths are now open,¡± the voice of the King of the Aeons came down from the sky. ¡°Do not fear this change. This is as it should be. We are all one in the eyes of the Source, and now We may act as such. Come to Me, Aeons of the Spheres. Join Me at the Throne of the Crown so that We may discuss the future. We will convene by nightfall on the morrow.¡±


    The brilliant, powerful presence of the King faded from the sky, and with it went the overwhelming compulsion to kneel. Sense returned to Michael slowly as his mind fought to shake off the daze left behind. His head was so fuzzy he couldn¡¯t feel his tongue.


    ¡°Wait,¡± he whispered, the loudest voice he could muster from his numb throat. Urgency prompted him to swallow and try again, louder. ¡°Wait, please. We¡­¡±


    He trailed off. The presence of the King was gone from the clearing. The golden spiral from the Void - a Path? - hummed with barely perceptible power in the back of his mind, but it was a quiet, non-intrusive, stable presence. Nothing else in the forest moved; the King¡¯s brief visit cowed even the animals. For all intents and purposes, he was alone.


    Aeon Raphael had not stirred following the end of the King¡¯s announcement. When Michael turned to face her, he wasn¡¯t sure she was even breathing. In a mildly numb panic, he used his jacket as a protective barrier once more and rolled her onto her side. She did not respond to this in the slightest; she had gone slack. The new angle allowed him to see the pulse still fluttering in her neck, but it also showed her utterly vacant expression and the worrying grey of her skin; as he watched, what little healthy colour in her face was draining away until only the bloody golden lines to coloured her skin.


    ¡°Aeon Raphael? Can you hear me?¡± Michael called.


    No response. He thought her fingers twitched, though he could have just as easily imagined it. Her white eyes were half open, but they were glassy, unfocused, unmoving. Empty. Fear clawed its way out of Michael¡¯s persisting numbness to settle in his chest.


    ¡°Hang on, I¡¯ll call for help,¡± he said. He glanced at the spiral Path one last time out of the corner of his eye while he fumbled to retrieve his communicator from his pocket. ¡®Do not fear this change.¡¯ The King had ordered it, and so he couldn¡¯t. A ¡®Path¡¯, was it?


    His communicator rang shrilly while it was still in his hands, the sudden noise startling enough that he fumbled the device. Once he fought his hands under control, he recognised the identification code attached to the incoming call and accepted the transmission.


    ¡°Remiel,¡± he greeted, gratitude heavy in his voice. ¡°You¡­ I¡¯ll venture a guess that you heard?¡±


    ¡°I doubt there is a soul alive who did not hear, my Aeon,¡± Remiel said. Of course there wasn¡¯t. ¡°Michael, what -¡±


    ¡°Wait, Remiel, wait. I need an emergency response team sent to my location right away,¡± Michael interrupted. Using his covered hand, he eased Aeon Raphael the rest of the way onto her back in hopes she would be more comfortable. Still no reaction. ¡°It¡¯s urgent. Is Umahel with you?¡±


    ¡°No, my Aeon. He returned to the city before this mess started. Are you injured, Michael?¡± Remiel asked. The tenseness in his voice was evident even across the comm.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not for me. Someone came down with the Paths, but she¡¯s in bad shape. Get the response team here and have Umahel meet us at the Sanctuary; we¡¯ll keep her there until we know what¡¯s caused this. Tell him I¡¯ve never seen a case like this before.¡±


    ¡°And you want her brought here, next to the Sephirah?¡±


    ¡°Less chance of a spread there than in the city. Remiel, don¡¯t argue with me, this is important. I can¡¯t get any reaction from her anymore,¡± Michael said, a note of panic leaching into his voice despite his best efforts.


    ¡°They¡¯re on their way, Michael.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. Remiel, I think this is the Aeon of Tiphareth,¡± Michael admitted in a hush.


    ¡°Ah,¡± said Remiel shortly. His tone made it clear he had no idea what to make of this information. ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll get Umahel myself.¡±


    ¡°Good. Ah, you may as well call off the evacuation, I suppose,¡± Michael said. ¡°If everyone heard the King, there¡¯s no reason to evacuate over these Paths.¡±


    There was a pause long enough to make him wonder if the transmission had been dropped by mistake before Remiel agreed. ¡°As you say, my Aeon.¡±


    Michael cringed. ¡°Get the emergency team here and we¡¯ll talk at the Sanctuary.¡±


    ¡°As you say, my Aeon,¡± Remiel repeated. ¡°They¡¯re en route; do not take any unnecessary risks until they arrive.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡± He ended the transmission and returned his focus to his ¡®guest¡¯.


    There was no change; she remained as still and pallid as a fresh corpse. The golden lines marking her brightened and dimmed ever-so-slightly in a slow rhythm, more in time with the concept of breathing than her actual, barely existent gasps. It took him a moment of watching to realise the light of the Path shared the same rhythm.


    Michael had no idea what to do with himself. He covered her with his jacket once more, if only to pretend he was helping make her more comfortable. In all honesty, he doubted it made any difference at this point.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be all right,¡± he said, more comforted by the act of speaking than he expected the act comforted her. ¡°You made it through the worst of it. We¡¯ll take care of you now. Everything will be fine.¡±


    Aeon Raphael never responded to him. He kept talking anyway. Michael was still talking to her when the response team arrived and continued talking as they loaded her onto the stretcher for transport. He did not miss the alarm in the healers¡¯ otherwise professional reactions to the scene, both to the colossal Path itself and their new patient¡¯s condition, so he continued the platitudes for their sake as well. So long as he was talking, repeating over and over that things would be fine, he wasn¡¯t panicking. He was in some semblance of control. And the daeva, bless them, but they believed him. He had to keep talking once he realised that.


    He finally fell silent as they took flight from the forest to return to the Sanctuary. The beacon of light from the Sephirah Hod was their guide, as it always had been. That it was now ringed by four spiralling Paths connecting their world to the Void beyond was inconsequential for the moment. Numb with too many questions and a confusing gamut of emotions, Michael put the Path behind him out of his mind. He wasn¡¯t sorry to leave it behind.

 Aftershocks

    Compared to how he had last seen it, the construction site surrounding the Sanctuary was all but abandoned when they arrived. Gone was the lively bustle of daeva swarming over the unfinished building, the bright promise of a future still under construction. The silence left behind in their absence lent the air a dismal overcast the cheerful spring weather did not account for.


    True to his word, Remiel was waiting for them when they arrived alongside Saerim Umahel and his most trusted healers. It wasn¡¯t a complete surprise to see they were also accompanied by Saerim Ciel, though it was a minor disappointment; Michael hadn¡¯t entirely expected her to evacuate when ordered if it meant leaving behind her work, but he had hoped she would have been reasonable during a crisis. He ignored her for now, focused instead on trying to read Umahel¡¯s expression as the healer took quick stock of their ailing guest.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t exaggerating, my Aeon,¡± Umahel said, prodding at one of the golden lines crossing Aeon Raphael¡¯s throat. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a case like this before, and I would remember these markings if I¡¯d heard of them. What can you tell me?¡±


    ¡°She manifested alongside the Path when it first appeared,¡± Michael said. He preemptively gestured for Remiel to hold his questions for later, which was rewarded with begrudging compliance. ¡°Something went wrong before her body could fully form, however, but I don¡¯t know what. There was a¡­¡± He cast for words to describe something that likely defied practical explanation. ¡°There wasn¡¯t an explosion, but it felt as though there was. When it had passed, she was on the ground, like that. She was talking then, after a fashion. She started to drift, but I was able to call her back.¡±


    ¡°I thought only daeva drifted,¡± Remiel said. He did not sound happy with the idea being proven otherwise.


    ¡°We have been blessed to never find ourselves in the position to verify whether that¡¯s true,¡± Umahel muttered, distracted, as he tried to check Aeon Raphael¡¯s vitals. His grim expression at what he found did nothing to ease Michael¡¯s worries. ¡°We¡¯ll need a clean, controlled space to work.¡±


    ¡°The on-site infirmary,¡± Ciel offered. ¡°We try to keep a relatively well-stocked infirmary for any project of this scale, particularly one outside of the city. It¡¯s this way.¡±


    ¡°Umahel, a moment, please.¡± Michael stopped Umahel before he could follow Ciel alongside the other healers with a quick gesture to come closer. He leaned down so the shorter man could hear his murmur, concern creasing his brow. ¡°It goes without saying to do everything in your power to help, but I urge you to do so with some semblance of caution. At least until we know what caused this condition and are confident it cannot spread.¡±


    ¡°You have reason to believe this is a contagious sickness, my Aeon?¡± Umahel asked, his round eyes narrowed critically.


    ¡®Do not allow yourself to be exposed,¡¯ Aeon Gabriel had warned him. Nothing for it now, but he intended to minimise damage where he could.


    Michael crossed his arms over his chest with an uncomfortable sigh, hunching lower still as if that had ever made his agitation any less. ¡°Not as such, no, and certainly I have no evidence. What I do have is a feeling, if you will indulge me, that things are not as they seem here. See what you can find, if anything, and we¡¯ll go from there.¡±


    Umahel scrunched up his nose, his disquiet plain on his face as he pieced together what had been said and what was left silent. Michael braced himself for a barrage of questions, but the chief healer merely nodded after a pause. It would seem he was unwilling to waste time while a patient required treatment. ¡°All necessary precautions will be taken, my Aeon. Take care; I will deal with you as the situation permits,¡± he said, as much to Remiel as Michael, before he hurried off after the others.


    As soon as they were gone, Michael sank to the ground with a heavy sigh and covered his face with his hands. It was only in the act of massaging his brow he realised his hands were shaking.


    A soft scuffling sound prompted him to open his eyes. Remiel knelt on the ground opposite him to meet his level, his dark brows drawn heavily over his hazel eyes.


    ¡°I suppose you have questions,¡± Michael said with a tired grin.


    Remiel spread his hands wide in a gesture that asked ¡®what can you do?¡¯ Instead, what he asked was, ¡°Are you well, Michael?¡±


    Michael let out a slow sigh. ¡°I still haven¡¯t eaten.¡±


    Remiel nodded. ¡°Ciel always keeps a stash of treats in her field offices to celebrate hallmark achievements. They¡¯re too sweet by half to be proper, but better than nothing, I would imagine.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± Michael hauled himself to his feet with an exaggerated groan and toddled in the general direction of the construction site¡¯s head office, which just so happened to be near the on-site infirmary. He waited until Remiel tsked at his dramatics and fell in line beside him to correct his posture. ¡°Ask your first question.¡±


    ¡°What did the Aeon of Yesod have to say of all this?¡± Remiel asked.


    Michael inclined his head. ¡°Very little specifically. She warned we were approaching an epoch, ¡®the end of an era¡¯ she called it. She could not say what awaited us, only that care must be taken in our reactions to whatever we face, which I believe we¡¯ve already seen good reason to agree with. What of the evacuation? Do we yet have the initial figures on the damages?¡±


    ¡°Not that I¡¯ve heard yet,¡± Remiel said. He retrieved his trusty information pad from a pocket to double-check, but shortly shook his head and returned it to its hiding place. ¡°I expect the comms system will be in disarray until Ananel can resume her post; it might be closer to dayset before we have first estimates. These¡­¡± he fumbled for the word, scowling, ¡°Paths, you called them, we¡¯re certain they¡¯re harmless?¡±


    ¡°We have the King¡¯s word,¡± Michael said numbly. ¡°What more can we need?¡±


    ¡°Not having a dying outsider dumped on our door would be a great start,¡± Remiel said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Michael warned, coming to a halt.


    ¡°Of course, I¡¯m certain everything will be done to assist our guest so she will not die, and the King¡¯s word carries every imaginable weight,¡± Remiel said carefully. He waited until they had walked a while in tense silence, chewing on his lip in agitation, before he cleared his throat. ¡°If I may ask, Michael, regarding the Most High, before today, had you¡­?¡±


    Michael ran his hands through his hair with a groan. ¡°You know very well that I haven¡¯t. I certainly meant to, of course, but there was always some reason or another to delay. There was an endless supply of issues closer to home to distract myself with, problems that needed solving or projects that needed a finishing touch before they could prove what we¡¯ve built here is worthy.¡±


    ¡°It is worthy,¡± Remiel said, offence heavy in his voice.


    ¡°I know that,¡± said Michael. ¡°Look, it¡¯s¡­ Mayhaps the worst part of this is the fact that I didn¡¯t even realise how much time had passed until an ¡®outsider¡¯ pointed it out to me; I had no idea I couldn¡¯t contact Highest Yetzirah even if I wanted to until Aeon Gabriel alerted me to it. What excuse could I offer for such negligence?¡±


    Remiel perked with interest, frowning. ¡°The Aeon of Yesod called to say that you couldn¡¯t contact Highest Yetzirah?¡±


    Michael shook his head, then shrugged. ¡°Highest Yetzirah as well as Tiphareth. I tried myself from the communications centre before the Paths appeared. There was no connection to Kether and I was failing to get a proper answer from Tiphareth when the Paths happened.¡±


    Remiel¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°And yet we all heard the voice of the King while the Aeon of Tiphareth appeared in poor shape from one of these Paths.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d be stating the obvious to say I expect they¡¯re connected,¡± Michael said. ¡°What remains to be seen is how.¡±


    Ciel met them under one of the portable arched gateways she insisted on erecting around the command centre of any new construction. The arches were a holdover from the early days of Hod, back before Michael had known any better and relied on habits from the Before like a crutch; grand gateways such as these had fallen out of favour in newer structures, but Ciel had clung to the practice of lining unfinished sites with ward gates with an almost religious fervour. Michael had never been able to decide whether or not he wanted to dissuade her, so he said nothing.


    ¡°I was beginning to worry you¡¯d forgotten where the offices were,¡± Ciel said by way of greeting. Her posture was friendly, but her tone was tired and her face was fraught with worry. ¡°Though I could understand if you found yourself turned around; the state it¡¯s in now, this place looks like something out of a different world when it¡¯s empty,¡± she said, placing an affectionate hand on the gatepost as she glanced over the half-finished bones of the eventual Sanctuary. ¡°Come inside, then; I¡¯ve orders to keep you calm and comfortable until Umahel can have a go at you, my Aeon.¡±


    Michael stood his ground, crossing his arms over his chest. ¡°You had orders to evacuate.¡±


    At once, Ciel dropped into a deep curtsy, low enough to hide her face from view. ¡°And I did, my Aeon. I escorted the daeva to the capital and saw them integrated into the evacuation to the outer districts.¡±


    ¡°I watched them depart myself, my Aeon,¡± Remiel said.


    ¡°Meaning you immediately turned around and came back, then,¡± Michael inferred.


    Ciel did not rise from her curtsy. ¡°As you say, my Aeon.¡±


    Michael let out an exasperated huff. ¡°Ciel, why? I ordered the evacuation for a reason. We had no idea what could have happened!¡±


    ¡°As you say, my Aeon. That is precisely why I came back.¡± Ciel straightened, her blue eyes burning. ¡°I could not in good conscience leave the Sephirah during such a crisis. All else we could rebuild, but the Sephirah is too vital.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t exactly unguarded,¡± Remiel grumbled under his breath.


    Ciel met his gaze, her chin held high in defiance. ¡°And we leave no one behind to face the unknown alone.¡±


    ¡°Fine, enough!¡± Michael snapped, rubbing at his temples to ward off the headache threatening him. ¡°Don¡¯t think this is over, but we¡¯ll talk about it later.¡±


    Ciel¡¯s eyes brightened in victory, but she was tactful enough to keep her expression neutral as she nodded and ushered them into the offices proper. ¡°It¡¯s too soon for news on the Aeon of Tiphareth, but Umahel said, at least at first glance, he doubts it¡¯s a sickness. At least, not a contagious one, at any rate. He has promised to keep us updated should any changes occur, of course. Have you had the opportunity to check the Sephirah yet, my Aeon, to verify that its condition has not changed?¡±


    Michael paused on the threshold, his attention drawn to the pillar of light radiating from the centre of the site that marked the location of the Sephirah Hod. It appeared the same as it had since the first dawn of the Sphere, an unchanging reminder of their eternal covenant with the Source. Hod itself lingered at the very edge of Michael¡¯s awareness, thrumming with life and an excess of energy that bordered on manic, but it lacked the focused agitation that accompanied a crisis. If there had been a change, it was too subtle for him to notice at a glance. Michael nodded. ¡°Everything seems fine.¡±


    Both Saerim deflated in synchronised relief without making a sound.


    ¡°So the question now becomes: how do we proceed, my Aeon?¡± Remiel asked. He retrieved his information pad from his pocket while Ciel fetched some drinks.


    ¡°That is an excellent question and I am open to suggestions,¡± Michael said. Knowing that wasn¡¯t good enough, he sighed once more. ¡°Since none of us seem to know what to do, I suppose the first thing we ought to try is to contact someone who might. It could be prudent to return to the communications centre and check if we¡¯re able to reach Highest Yetzirah now.¡±


    Remiel fixed him with a look trapped somewhere between pride and concern, so it ended up meaning neither. ¡°It would be wise to verify the meaning of Most High¡¯s order. Surely Most High does not intend for you to leave Hod, my Aeon.¡±


    A wave of dizziness prompted Michael to sit down before his sudden unsteadiness became obvious. What was there to verify? The King¡¯s order was incredibly straightforward. What was less clear was how he was meant to obey. In all the history of the Spheres, the only person he had known to cross between them was Aeon Raphael just today, and, well. Her present condition hardly inspired confidence that the age-old belief it was impossible was now false. Michael didn¡¯t say any of this, instead shaking his head in an obscure gesture somewhere between a nod and a shrug. ¡°It would also be good to hear Most High¡¯s thoughts on these Paths and the Aeon of Tiphareth.¡±


    ¡°Seeking council sounds like a solid plan,¡± Ciel said. She offered him a full glass of dark fruit wine with a reassuring, unfortunately concerned smile. ¡°What would you have us do to assist you?¡±


    The unspoken apology was blatant, and he accepted with a smile of his own. ¡°For now, stay here and keep an eye on things. Let me know right away if Umahel has news. I¡¯ll see what Ananel has to say about the local comms system so we can hear some more home-focused information. Any objections?¡±


    They both shook their heads in the negative, and so his course was set. He hesitated near the entrance to the infirmary, but none of the healers were outside. Presumably, they were all indoors tending to Aeon Raphael. Michael turned away too quickly, not yet ready to brave the infirmary until it was necessary.


    The flight back to the city was surreal and passed in a daze. He¡¯d had every intention of using the time to sort his thoughts and plan his next moves, but his focus slipped away from him and without warning he was at his destination with no memory of his thoughts during the trip.


    The inner district of the capital was still more evacuated than not; distant sounds of large groups of daeva at the edges of the district drifted between the empty buildings, unfocused and agitated with the disruption of their routine, but there was no one to be seen around the communications centre itself. It ought to have filled him with grim satisfaction that at least someone took the concept of ¡®evacuation¡¯ seriously, but in truth it made him shudder to see such a vital section of the city, his city, reduced to a ghost town. He¡¯d need to find Ananel if he had any hope of checking the long-distance communications systems.


    Michael was still fumbling with his comm as he shouldered open the front door of the communications centre and found Ananel engrossed in the main console behind the front desk. She was hunched over the counter, her hands a blur and her dark eyes manic as she navigated a dozen screens at once. She didn¡¯t react to his entrance, so focused on her work.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Michael dropped his comm in surprise. ¡°Ananel!¡± he shrieked, pointing accusingly.


    She squeaked in surprise and dropped behind the counter as if that would hide her. A moment later she peeked over the edge so only the top of her bushy hair and her wide eyes could be seen. ¡°My Aeon! I didn¡¯t expect¡­ I was just¡­¡±


    ¡°You were supposed to evacuate! That means leave!¡±


    ¡°And I was just about to!¡± she protested.


    ¡°What good would that do now? You¡¯re supposed to evacuate during an evacuation, not after it!¡± Michael wailed.


    ¡°I suppose I might have overestimated how much time I would need to finish this,¡± Ananel said sheepishly. She cautiously righted herself, her cheeks flush with embarrassment.


    ¡°We¡¯re having a group talk about your priorities, all of you,¡± Michael groused as he stalked over to the counter.


    ¡°All due respect, my Aeon, but I believe my priorities are in the proper order,¡± Ananel said, straightening her shoulders. ¡°I did as you ordered and coordinated the transfer of the Nursery children to the Archives with Ephriel straight away. It just so happens it was easiest to coordinate such from here.¡±


    He joined her behind the counter and saw that half the screens were indeed complex maps of the city, heavily marked and annotated to show the most common routes and the thickest concentrations of people. ¡°Right, of course. ¡®It just so happens.¡¯ And the rest of this?¡± He gestured to the other screens, the ones covered in incomprehensible readouts and datasets.


    Ananel blushed, wringing her hands. ¡°Ah. Well, you see. Once I realised I could assist best from here as a control centre, I cast the net wide, as it were. Much of this is observation of the progress of the evacuation attempt, some of it is monitoring the equipment, and other parts are trying to glean information about the¡­ they¡¯re called Paths? They shut down all of our long-range equipment, whatever they are, which cascaded into the local systems as well. I¡¯ve been trying to reestablish some semblance of order.¡±


    ¡°That makes two of us,¡± Michael grumbled. He studied the screens with renewed interest. Most of the raw data screens were meaningless to him, but the overview of the evacuation told a grim story: most of the citizens meant to be relocating to the outer districts were bunched up in confused clusters at the boundary to the middle district, still within the ¡®danger¡¯ zone. He gestured to it with a grimace. ¡°I¡¯m assuming this isn¡¯t a traffic jam caused by people rushing back to their workplaces.¡±


    Ananel glanced at it and responded with a grimace of her own. ¡°No, my Aeon. I¡¯ll have the data sent to Remiel for study soon enough, but it¡¯s clear we need a better response plan. Ephriel sealed the Archive safely with the children too young to fly, but that was nearly all that went smoothly. When the Paths disabled our local comms, we couldn¡¯t issue direct orders beyond word-of-mouth. The wind was too great to risk flight, meaning the majority of travel needed to be done on foot and the ground routes are not marked. On top of that, no one wanted to leave the inner districts; as a result, we have scores of daeva clustered on rooftops and bridges waiting for a signal but not realising they were meant to go further, to say nothing of those indoors who claim to have not even known an evacuation was ongoing. Had this been a true disaster, or even another monsoon like our first, things would have not ended well for too many.¡±


    ¡°We were lucky,¡± Michael agreed, scowling. ¡°I dislike luck; the moment you try to rely on it is the moment it¡¯s gone for good.¡± He sighed, scratching at his neck. ¡°You said the Paths shut down the comm equipment?¡±


    Ananel brightened at the change in topic. ¡°Well, yes and no. When they landed, they overloaded our long-range equipment, which we use for contacting the other Spheres, which ended up overloading the whole system. I still don¡¯t understand why, but I was able to get the local system up again quickly enough and believe I¡¯ve just about rebalanced the long-distance one as well.¡±


    ¡°So if I were to try and send a transmission to Kether now, what could we expect?¡±


    Ananel didn¡¯t respond right away; she wiped a portion of her workspace clear with a flourish and ran her hands over the command console so quickly she didn¡¯t appear to be doing anything intelligible. After a few highly focused moments of this, she relented with a satisfied if somewhat puzzled nod. ¡°I¡¯m getting an automated response from Kether¡¯s equipment now. The signal appears stable. It would seem that whatever was stopping our transmissions from reaching Highest Yetzirah has cleared up.¡± She tapped her chin in thought. ¡°These Paths¡­ If they connect all the Spheres, would that mean they cross the Sea of Consciousness? Could that be what¡¯s changed?¡±


    ¡®I kept the Paths closed,¡¯ Aeon Raphael had struggled to say. ¡®I thought it would help.¡¯


    Michael shuddered, shaking his head briskly to clear it. ¡°Remains to be seen, I suppose. But we can contact the other Spheres now, correct?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you remember the way to theatre nine,¡± Ananel said. She did not look up from her furious engagement with the consoles as she waved one hand in his direction.


    Michael doubted she noticed his farewell as he left her to her work. He had only taken a handful of steps before she proved him wrong.


    ¡°My Aeon, wait!¡± Ananel called. When he turned back to face her, she retrieved a familiar-looking bag from under the counter and tossed it to him. ¡°Presuming the present crisis has calmed enough for you to spare a moment, of course.¡±


    Inside the bag was the same set of clean clothes he had been denied earlier that day, minus the already-burnt jacket he was currently wearing. Suddenly all he could think of was how disgusting he felt. ¡°Thank you, Ananel. I also remember the way to the washroom.¡±


    She did not indicate that she heard him.


    Theatre nine was the same as he had left it, untouched by the day¡¯s events save for the section of curtains he had ripped from the window in his rush to look outside. The light from outside glared on the screen until he could barely make out the cheerful standby logo; Michael, freshly clean as he could be in his new clothes minus a jacket, did his best to encourage the remaining curtains to cover the gap with relative success.


    Once seated at the desk, he took a moment to revel in the quiet stillness of the empty room. For a time, within the isolated confines of that room, there was no chaos, no screaming, no desperate urgency or looming crisis. All was as it ought to be.


    It was all too quiet. Michael turned his attention to the console on the desk.


    This was it. His hands hovered over the console as he breathed deeply. He knew what he had to do. He was going to call the King and get answers. He¡¯d thought about what to say to his father countless times, and with everything that had happened, it was doubtful there would be much time to discuss anything personal. It would be fine. This was for the best. He had never for a moment forgotten the contact information for Kether.


    Michael keyed in the sequence for Yesod instead. He needed to connect with Aeon Gabriel anyway, and it made sense to approach the Most High prepared with as much information as he could gather.


    The transmission connected without issue and the screen signalled that it was waiting for the other party to answer. It was only after he had pressed the button that Michael realised how woefully unprepared he felt to be speaking to Aeon Gabriel once more. His mouth fell open and he gripped the edge of the table in a sudden panic. Just as quickly, he shook off his foolishness with a huff. This wasn¡¯t a social call any more than his call to Kether would be.


    That was what he kept repeating to himself while he waited for someone in Yesod to answer. All the while, the screen remained unchanged, unanswered. Michael¡¯s fidgeting began to stem from a different sort of anxiety. He counted his breaths while he waited, willing himself to remain calm, but gave up after reaching the count of ten. Still, no one in Yesod answered the transmission. After a seemingly infinite moment of waiting, he ended the call.


    Perhaps it was a sign. He certainly hoped it was merely that. Without giving himself time to think about his actions, Michael keyed in the sequence for Kether.


    This time, the call was answered almost at once. The face of a sombre, dark-haired daeva greeted him through the thin haze of a translucent veil draped over her eyes. Even with the veil between them, her gaze lowered respectfully as she bowed before the screen.


    ¡°It is an honour, Aeon of Hod, the Word of Glory and son of the King,¡± the daeva said without lifting her head. ¡°Is there something you require?¡±


    Michael had not expected an answer at this point any more than the previous attempts. Surprise rendered him temporarily mute, and he nodded before it occurred to him that she was not watching his movements. ¡°I seek the counsel of the Most High.¡±


    The daeva did not rise from her bow. ¡°Most High has called the Aeons to council at His Throne. An audience shall be granted in Kether tomorrow eve, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°I understand, however, there are some things I must confirm with the King before then,¡± Michael said. A calm settled over him like a familiar habit that had never truly gone away. ¡°I beg only a moment of the King¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡°An audience shall be granted in Kether tomorrow eve, Your Grace,¡± the daeva repeated. ¡°Whatever you wish to confirm with Most High can wait until then.¡±


    ¡°And if I wish to confirm how we will travel to Kether for the King¡¯s council?¡± Michael asked.


    ¡°The King announced the purpose of the Paths, Your Grace. They will bring you to Kether as designed.¡±


    ¡°The Aeon of Tiphareth has arrived in Hod badly injured alongside the Paths,¡± Michael said. ¡°Too badly injured to tell us what caused her wounds. Even now as I have left her with my healers, her condition is uncertain. I would know how the King suggests she make the journey to Kether.¡±


    There was a long pause. The daeva did not move. ¡°I am not at liberty to speak on behalf of the King.¡±


    ¡°Which is why I request His counsel,¡± Michael said.


    ¡°That will not be possible,¡± said the daeva. Certainty rang true in her voice without ever affecting her tone, whatever fleeting confusion she may have had gone. ¡°You will have your audience during the council tomorrow, Your Grace, not before. If the matter were pressing enough to require immediate attention, Most High would have instructed it be dealt with at once. Bring the Aeon of Tiphareth with you through the Paths. I am certain all will be illuminated by the Crown.¡±


    ¡°And if she cannot make the trip due to her injuries?¡± asked Michael. His brief calm spell was cracking, but he knew better than to raise his voice to anyone who spoke for the King¡¯s court.


    ¡°That won¡¯t do. Bring the Aeon of Tiphareth along with you during your journey and be ready for the King¡¯s council,¡± the daeva said. ¡°We await your arrival in Kether, Aeon of Hod, the Word of Glory and son of the King.¡±


    The dismissal was plain. ¡°Wait -¡±


    The screen cut to its standby mode as the daeva ended the call.


    Michael slammed his hands on the table with a hiss of fury but didn¡¯t bother calling back. How foolish he had been to expect any different.


    The console chimed a pleasant alert as a notification of an incoming transmission flashed across the screen, startling him from his sour mood. The identification code signified the caller was from Yesod. Michael hesitated only a moment, largely from surprise, before he accepted the transmission.


    The Aeon of Yesod appeared on the screen. She was as resplendent as she had been during their first conversation, but there was no denying the darkness brewing behind her placid gaze.


    ¡°Aeon Michael, I apologise for failing to answer when you called for me,¡± Aeon Gabriel said with a respectful incline of her head. ¡°I was on the line to Kether seeking the advice of the King.¡±


    Michael hoped his face betrayed only the intended expression of polite curiosity. ¡°You are able to contact Highest Yetzirah now, are you?¡±


    ¡°It would seem that whatever interference was preventing contact has vanished with the appearance of these Paths,¡± Aeon Gabriel said. ¡°Contact with Highest Yetzirah is now as clear as the transmission between our Spheres.¡±


    ¡°And what was the advice of the King?¡± Michael asked.


    Aeon Gabriel hesitated a tellingly long time. ¡°I was not granted an audience with the King.¡±


    This time Michael couldn¡¯t suppress his dry smile. ¡°They told me any concerns I may have could wait until the scheduled council tomorrow eve.¡±


    ¡°But you are the King¡¯s son,¡± Aeon Gabriel said with a scandalised wrinkle of her brow.


    ¡°I told you before, did I not, that the King does not play favourites.¡± Michael shrugged. ¡°All of us are equal in the eyes of the Most High.¡± He leaned forward, his brief mirth gone. ¡°Tell me truly now: did you know of these Paths?¡±


    ¡°Not as such, no. If I had known of them, I would have planned my city accordingly,¡± Aeon Gabriel said. It was clear she was picking her words with care.


    ¡°But you knew something, however, even if the specifics eluded you,¡± Michael said. ¡°If it¡¯s not too much to ask for a little information, I would appreciate it.¡±


    ¡°I had reason to believe the Spheres would be connected, though I did not know how this would be made possible,¡± Aeon Gabriel said. ¡°My vision showed us united against an outside threat before the end.¡±


    ¡°What threat?¡± Michael asked before she could say more.


    She shook her head. ¡°I cannot say now. Please understand. But I did not know these Paths would be such physical things, nor that they would activate today. The timing is most curious. Do you have any idea what might have triggered them?¡±


    ¡°I have a suspicion.¡± Michael briefly retold what had happened since they had last spoken, his encounter with Aeon Raphael at the base of the Path and a summary of her condition. As he spoke, he saw something spark in the cool depths of Aeon Gabriel¡¯s eyes, though her face revealed none of her thoughts. ¡°You said not to expose myself to anything I did not recognise, but I couldn¡¯t leave her like that. She came here for a reason and she needed help. I¡¯ve tried to isolate her, but as you can see I have not quarantined myself and several of my Saerim have also been exposed. Do you have any advice on how we ought to proceed?¡±


    ¡°From what you describe, it sounds as if the threat lies with whatever wounded her, rather than her condition itself,¡± Aeon Gabriel said. ¡°Be vigilant and sensible, as you have been thus far.¡±


    Michael tried not to let his relief show. ¡°I keep replaying what she said before she lost consciousness. She said, ¡®I knew it was there.¡¯ Do you know what could have done that to her before she had a body?¡±


    ¡°No, that is what I had hoped to learn from the King,¡± said Aeon Gabriel. ¡°She said she kept the Paths closed, did she?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I couldn¡¯t get her to elaborate on what that meant, but she said she thought it would help,¡± Michael said. He shook his head in agitation. ¡°Whatever happened, she was terrified. I couldn¡¯t get more out of her than that, and she¡¯s been unconscious since.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Aeon Gabriel said. ¡°I have many questions, same as you, and little chance at answers without more information. Perhaps I will be able to learn more when we meet in Kether.¡±


    Michael let out a slow breath to ward off his frustration. ¡°Do you think it is safe to move her, let alone travel through the Void?¡±


    There was a long pause as Aeon Gabriel considered the question. After a lengthy silence, she murmured, ¡°I doubt the King would order us to do that which would lead to our doom. We have been told the Paths are safe, and for now, I see no benefit in disagreeing. Whatever threat we face is presumably separate from the Paths themselves. Perhaps trust and unity are our best weapons in this new era.¡±


    ¡°A noble enough sentiment,¡± Michael said. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose the appearance of these Paths help narrow down which of the new eras you foresaw is the one facing us now?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°There is yet too much that is unsure, and the stakes are too high to make blind guesses. For now, I remain convinced our best course of action is to rally under the King, and quickly. Unless you know a concrete reason we should not?¡±


    He had nothing but generic discomfort and a bad feeling, so he shook his head. ¡°Even if I did, it would not be wise to disobey Most High¡¯s first order of the new era.¡± Michael tried to say it with a smile, but his tone was strained and likely betrayed him.


    ¡°I appreciate your understanding the delicacy of my position,¡± Aeon Gabriel said with a nod. ¡°I know how difficult it can be to work without all the details, but for now that is the best we can do. Should anything change, I will contact you and hope you will do the same. You must answer that.¡± She looked pointedly at the console on his desk.


    Michael followed her gaze. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a small light began to flash in the corner, an indication of an incoming local call. Michael sent a curious look at Aeon Gabriel, who nodded. Unable to ignore the mounting trepidation nagging at the back of his throat, he accepted the audio transmission.


    ¡°My Aeon, I apologise for the interruption,¡± Ananel¡¯s voice said through the console. ¡°Remiel is trying to reach you; you left your comm in the lobby. The Aeon of Tiphareth is having another fit, my Aeon. Remiel thinks you should be there, if at all possible.¡±


    He looked once more to Aeon Gabriel for guidance. She nodded again, her expression guarded and blank. ¡°I see. Thank you, Ananel; let him know I¡¯ll be there shortly.¡±


    ¡°I will, my Aeon.¡±


    Even after Ananel had disconnected the local call, Michael¡¯s hand hovered over the console as if frozen in time.


    ¡°You should be there,¡± Aeon Gabriel said softly to break him from his trance.


    He met her gaze and held it, aware of how desperate he must look and for once not caring. ¡°But what do I do?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°That I do not know. Good luck.¡±


    Without dropping her gaze, Aeon Gabriel cut the transmission and the room was still and silent.


    He couldn¡¯t just stand here. Michael knew that, but it was a struggle to force himself back into motion, to leave the pocket of theatre nine and give himself over to whatever was waiting outside. He didn¡¯t remember leaving the room, nor picking up his comm from Ananel, nor leaving the capital to return to the Sanctuary site once again. He only became aware that he had done those things in retrospect when he found himself back where he had started as if he had never left.

 Breathe

    It was a surprise to find the hallway outside of the Sanctuary infirmary filled nearly beyond capacity with a collection of stoic daeva wearing the city peacekeeper uniforms. At the centre of the group, three of his Saerim were arguing amongst themselves: Remiel and Ciel, as expected, along with Saerim Mahariel, a slender, ginger-haired woman in a variation of the dark navy peacekeeper uniform. They all turned to face him when he opened the door, and for a moment he was struck dumb for how he was supposed to react.


    ¡°Saerim Mahariel, is there a reason this hallway needs to be cowed into submission by a show of force or have I missed something vital?¡± he asked.


    Mahariel snapped to attention, her chin held high. ¡°My Aeon, I heard there was trouble and came at once to offer whatever support we may. We will leave no threat unguarded this close to the Sephirah.¡±


    Michael laughed before he could stop himself, a stunted bark of frustration. ¡°No, no, there¡¯s been a misunderstanding. Our guest is not a threat, and we will not have a troupe of guards standing watch in an infirmary.¡±


    ¡°As I said,¡± Ciel hissed.


    ¡°Everyone outside,¡± Michael ordered, holding the door open pointedly. When the peacekeepers hesitated with a glance at Mahariel, he pointed for emphasis. ¡°Now.¡±


    ¡°My Aeon,¡± Mahariel protested, but Michael held up his hand to ward her off.


    ¡°I appreciate the thought, but it¡¯s unnecessary,¡± he said. Once the last of the peacekeepers had left, he joined the three Saerim in the centre of the hall. They stood opposite an observation window in the wall that let them see into the treatment room where Umahel and his healers crowded around a bed. Michael couldn¡¯t see Aeon Raphael through the huddle of healers, but their intent postures gave him chills. ¡°What¡¯s happening? Is there any news?¡±


    Remiel shook his head. ¡°She had another fit, like the one you described. They gave her something, must have been to help with it, since it didn¡¯t last long and she didn¡¯t drift again. I don¡¯t know what caused it, and Umahel hasn¡¯t been able to break away to update us, but I thought you ought to know.¡± He sent Michael a look of raw, conflicted helplessness that unknowingly summed up everything Michael himself felt about the day. ¡°I hope I interrupted nothing vital.¡±


    ¡°No, you did the right thing. And anyway, everything important had already been said,¡± Michael said, sighing.


    ¡°Were you able to contact Most High, my Aeon?¡±


    ¡°I was able to contact Kether,¡± Michael said. ¡°The communications department assured me the King awaits my arrival for the council tomorrow and cannot be interrupted before then.¡±


    There was a pause as the Saerim digested this.


    ¡°So we are to leave for Kether, then,¡± said Remiel with a nod. ¡°What must we do to prepare for this trip?¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± said Michael. He turned his gaze back to the operating room just so he wouldn¡¯t have to watch his Saerims¡¯ faces. ¡°I¡¯m afraid there is no ¡®we¡¯ this time, my friend. I need you here in Hod to manage things in my absence.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t prepared for Mahariel to be the one to protest. ¡°My Aeon, I am against the proposal that we are to send you into the Void for any reason, much less alone. These ¡®Paths¡¯ are unknown to us; can we say for certain they are not responsible for the Aeon of Tiphareth¡¯s condition? Or perhaps it¡¯s due to exposure to the Void, or separation from the Sephirah Tiphareth? You have never been so far removed from the Sephirah. We have no way of anticipating what manner of repercussions this could have.¡±


    ¡°I must say I agree, my Aeon,¡± Remiel muttered, looking profoundly grateful that she had been the one to voice it.


    ¡°And I hate to say that whatever we may feel matters very little in this case,¡± Michael said. ¡°You heard the summons just as I did. The Kether announcer was adamant that our concerns are unfounded and the council will proceed as declared. No doubt Most High understands the situation far better than we do. The King would not ask us to do something detrimental to our well-being.¡±


    ¡°That may be, but we need you here in Hod, my Aeon,¡± Remiel said. ¡°You¡¯ve been our guide for hundreds of thousands of seasons. Things have happened today that we¡¯ve believed to be impossible, and we don¡¯t know how to respond. This is your Sphere, my Aeon, and we need you to guide it now as you always have.¡±


    Michael tittered uncomfortably. ¡°No, you give me undue credit. We built this life, all of us working together, and it is stable enough that I have faith it will remain standing for an afternoon without my constant hovering. The King¡¯s only called for a council; I can¡¯t imagine I¡¯ll be gone long.¡±


    ¡°At least bring someone along with you for the trip,¡± Mahariel insisted.


    ¡°Not to worry; apparently I¡¯ll have the Aeon of Tiphareth with me for company,¡± Michael said, gesturing in frustration at the scene of healers swarming around the unconscious body of his fellow Aeon.


    ¡°Michael, be reasonable,¡± Remiel pleaded.


    ¡°Ah, that is one thing I have never been accused of, sorry.¡± Michael shrugged. ¡°Weren¡¯t you complaining that there was no challenge left in the world just this very morning? This afternoon has been nothing but challenging from my perspective; I¡¯d have thought you¡¯d be thrilled.¡±


    He knew it was the wrong thing to say before the words had left his mouth, but even then it was too late to stop them. He winced as Remiel stiffened; the torn expression of guilt and uncertainty that settled over Remiel¡¯s face because of this thoughtless comment was painful to behold.


    Ciel¡¯s quiet voice interrupted before either of them could speak. ¡°It¡¯s happening again,¡± she whispered. She pointed at the window viewing into the infirmary room.


    Inside, the healers had broken into a flurry of activity around the bed. Aeon Raphael clawed at the air, her hands stiff and spasming in the onset of another seizure. Umahel grabbed something from a nearby tray and pressed it to her face, leaning over the bed to hold her in place while he shouted orders to the other healers.


    Aeon Raphael hit him without warning, lashing out and catching the arm that was pinning her down; no sound carried through the window, but Michael could see the exact point Umahel¡¯s arm bone shattered as if it were made of paper. Her next hit sent him flying backwards in an explosion of movement that toppled the bed.


    Michael bolted for the door, the others close on his heels. The room inside was a bedlam of shouting and confusion. The attendant healers swarmed around where Umahel was slumped against the wall, but most of them looked up in surprise when the door burst open. The infirmary bed was overturned on its side in such a way that it blocked his view of Aeon Raphael from this angle, but her keening, animalistic sounds of distress could be heard underneath the panicked chatter filling the room. Remiel and Ciel rushed forward to assist with pulling Umahel from the room; he roused from his daze at their approach and struggled to wave them away with one good arm and a shortness of breath. Mahariel interposed herself between the others and the overturned bed, her expression grave.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Umahel protested, wheezing, as they tried to pull him into a sitting position. He clutched at his ribs with his good arm until one of the healers pressed a gel patch against his chest that seemed to ease his discomfort when drawing breath.


    ¡°This will not stand,¡± Remiel hissed. He turned to Michael, livid. ¡°Michael, this cannot stand.¡±


    ¡°No, wait,¡± Umahel gasped, struggling to sit upright. ¡°It was my fault. It was a panic response. I¡­¡± He wheezed again, wincing at the pressure the action put on his ribs. ¡°I ought to have been more observant. I forgot she wasn¡¯t one of our daeva.¡±


    ¡°And does that matter?¡± Remiel asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Umahel said. ¡°It matters.¡±


    As the room quieted, the sounds from the other side of the bed became more obvious: the soft rustle of fabric, struggling gasps, quiet, choking cries that sounded more like a dying animal than any noise a person ought to make. Suppressing a shudder, Michael turned to the others. ¡°Everyone out, now. I¡¯ll handle this.¡±


    ¡°My Aeon!¡± Umahel protested.


    ¡°Umahel, I understand,¡± Michael stopped him before he could agitate himself further. ¡°You¡¯ve done what you can. I¡¯ll handle it from here. Trust me, please, and go take care of yourself.¡±


    Umahel nodded, hissing only slightly as they helped him to his feet thanks to the spreading numbing effect of the gel patch. He stopped them before they could cross into the hallway with a gesture for Michael to come closer. ¡°I don¡¯t know what this is, but it isn¡¯t a sickness. Those markings are beyond me; I couldn¡¯t guess what might cause them. They aren¡¯t physically there, they cannot be tampered with, moved or affected, yet they are solid and unmoving enough to prevent any attempt to cut through them. They¡¯ve ruined her eyes and I can¡¯t guess what they¡¯ve done to her mind.¡±


    ¡°I see. Thank you,¡± Michael said, frowning. He held the door open as the others filed out with varying degrees of reluctance. Remiel and Mahariel stubbornly lingered behind; he gestured them out with a wave. ¡°Everyone out. Make sure Umahel is taken care of and gets home to his family. I will handle this.¡±


    Remiel cast a dark look at the overturned bed as he passed. ¡°Michael, be cautious,¡± he whispered as he passed.


    Michael thought there were far greater things to be cautious of than a blind woman in an illness-induced panic, but he nodded all the same to please his Regent. He left the privacy curtains open on purpose so they could see things were fine, certain that despite his orders none of his Saerim would leave the area. Once the door was shut and they were alone, Michael peeked around the bed to take stock of the situation.


    He hadn¡¯t known what to expect, not really; despite knowing how unlikely it was, a part of him expected to find a feral, gutted animal was making the keening moans of distress coming from the ground. Aeon Raphael was caught in a tangle of bedsheets, her upper torso propped against the toppled cot as she clung to the mattress for dear life. Her legs were trapped under the edge of the bed, her face pressed into the mattress to muffle her whimpers.


    Michael knelt a respectful distance from the foot of the bed to make himself seem less threatening. When he spoke, he kept his voice low and soft. ¡°They¡¯ve gone now. Are you all right?¡±


    At the sound of his voice, Aeon Raphael froze in place, scarcely even daring to breathe. It reminded Michael of a small animal hoping to go unnoticed under the nose of a predator.


    ¡°You¡¯re safe,¡± he hurried to assure her. ¡°Whatever happened before cannot reach you here.¡± When she did not respond to him, the concern that she had lost the ability to understand language tugged at the back of his mind. He tried to brush it away as irrational until proven otherwise. ¡°Do you¡­ remember where you are?¡±


    Silence pervaded the room. She remained unmoving for long enough that Michael was contemplating his next move. Then, at last, Aeon Raphael sighed as if she were deflating under the prolonged tension. ¡°Hod is v-very close,¡± she murmured as she nuzzled her face into the mattress, presumably for comfort. ¡°That makes you M-Michael.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right,¡± Michael said. ¡°You¡¯re in an infirmary in Hod where we¡¯re trying to care for you. You¡¯ve just had an episode and fallen to the floor. Would you like help back into bed?¡±


    At once, her whole body tensed as if poised to leap away from a dire threat. Not that she could go far, trapped as she was by the overturned cot and rogue bedsheets. ¡°Don¡¯t e-ever touch me,¡± she snarled, her teeth bared in a feral threat.


    ¡°I won¡¯t, I promise,¡± Michael said. ¡°But I could lift that cot off you and set it right for use again if you¡¯d like. Surely it¡¯d be more comfortable than the floor.¡±


    There was another lengthy pause as she presumably considered the offer. None of the tension eased from her muscles, but neither did she try to move away. At last, without turning her head, she whispered, ¡°Did I-I hurt someone?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Saerim Umahel, our chief healer,¡± Michael said. ¡°It happened during your episode. Do you remember what happened?¡±


    ¡°N-no, I was dreaming,¡± Aeon Raphael said. ¡°I couldn¡¯t wake up; I n-never wake up. But this w-was different. There were v-voices and¡­¡± She trailed off, her shoulders hunched around her ears as she struggled to piece together what had happened.


    ¡°He ought to be fine, and he doesn¡¯t blame you,¡± Michael said. ¡°He understands you weren¡¯t fully aware when it happened. Now that you are aware, however, would you be more comfortable if we got that cot off your legs?¡±


    She clung tighter to the mattress; her arms trembled with the effort of holding herself up. ¡°D-don¡¯t take it from me.¡±


    Something in the quiet plea caught him off guard, and he paused. ¡°I won¡¯t take it from you, I just want to set it upright again, to see if that helps. May I?¡±


    ¡°Mmm,¡± was the response she granted. Aeon Raphael turned her face away from him to rest her cheek on the mattress in what would have been a blatant dismissal under other circumstances, but Michael suspected the fact that she wasn¡¯t trying to flee meant more.


    She didn¡¯t let go as he lifted the edge of the overturned bed, and he was careful not to make any sudden moves to dislodge her. As soon as it was high enough, she pulled her legs free, tucking them under herself with a relieved sigh.


    ¡°I¡¯m setting it rightway now,¡± Michael warned. He tried to keep his motions steady, predictable, as he righted the cot. A standing infirmary bed was higher than she could reach while kneeling, however, and she let go rather than allow herself to be dragged upwards with it. ¡°Are you injured?¡± Michael asked. ¡°Do you need help to get up?¡±


    The threat of help caused Aeon Raphael to shrink away from his voice. She hummed nervously as she felt the pile of blankets tangled around her on the ground. ¡°I¡¯d r-rather stay here.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll not force you to move,¡± Michael said. He sat down on the ground opposite her, well out of touching range. ¡°Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°I-I don¡¯t remember,¡± Aeon Raphael said preemptively as she plucked at the blankets around her blindly. Her head was turned away from him so that the tangle of her hair prevented him from reading her expression. ¡°Whatever ha-happened, I can¡¯t remember. The harder I t-try, the dimmer it gets.¡± She raised a hand to feel at her neck, her fingers resting over the golden line wrapped around her throat as her other hand tangled in her red hair in frustration. ¡°I-I remember images, patterns a-and colours, but they mean nothing to me n-now. I can¡¯t describe them. They aren¡¯t coherent.¡± She dropped her hands with a disappointed sigh. ¡°It¡¯s like t-trying to wrestle a cool breeze; it j-just blows away.¡±


    ¡°Some of that can be expected if you¡¯ve only today manifested, as I believe is the case,¡± Michael said.


    ¡°I¡­ manifested?¡± Aeon Raphael repeated, sounding as if she were trying out the word to verify its accuracy. ¡°Something woke me up? I r-remember that I-I had no body. It was s-so painless, but it w-wasn¡¯t safe. I n-needed to think. I c-couldn¡¯t focus, I-I could hear them all, but it didn¡¯t hurt. Is it m-meant to hurt?¡±


    ¡°No, having a body is not meant to be painful,¡± Michael said. ¡°Something has gone wrong here. We¡¯re trying to figure out what so we can fix it; anything you can remember about what attacked you could help, no matter how fleeting it may seem.¡±


    ¡°Nothing attacked me,¡± said Aeon Raphael. ¡°There was n-no reason.¡±


    ¡°You might remember in time,¡± Michael said. ¡°Be patient; your mind is struggling to adapt to your new body. Your entire perspective of reality and of yourself has just shifted quite radically. On top of that, you might be suffering from your separation from the Sephirah Tiphareth. Manifestation is no minor feat. There is a reason daeva manifest as infants, so they have their entire childhood to learn about themselves and their place in the world. The Saerim learned that from us, and we learned it from the Sephiroth. But you chose to manifest here in Hod, away from your Sephirah. We can¡¯t yet know if that¡¯s had an effect on you or not. It could be you need to return to Tiphareth before things improve.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ n-need Tiphareth,¡± Aeon Raphael whispered. She touched her fingers to her lips. ¡°I¡¯ve always known that. B-but if I knew that, why would I-I come here just to hurt myself? Why would I do that?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m hoping to find out,¡± Michael said. ¡°You truly remember nothing about what happened, Aeon Raphael?¡±


    Her breath hitched and she pressed a hand against her chest, her other hand going to her cheek as she turned towards the sound of his voice, at last giving him a proper look at her face. She had soft, androgynous features that would have been pleasant to look at were it not for the lines marking her. Three of the markings met in a knot on her forehead, a golden cluster that was visible under her crimson hair by its bloody glow. One of the lines travelled down the centre of her face, down her neck before it vanished under her clothes, dividing her into two equal halves. The other two lines looped down her face at an angle that crossed over her eyes before continuing down her shoulders, and another line looped around her throat like a noose. Her eyes were milky white, unfocused, and did not follow any of his movements or seek him out at all. Fat tears were rolling down her cheeks even as she tried to wipe them away, her expression a confused contortion of distressed curiosity as she asked, ¡°W-why does it hurt when you call me that Name?¡±


    Michael rocked back on his heels. ¡°Hurt? Uh, where does it hurt? Can you describe it?¡±


    Aeon Raphael pressed her hands over her heart. ¡°Like I-I¡¯m being crushed. It¡¯s about t-to burst.¡± She touched her throat with a hiccuping sob. ¡°A strangled burning.¡± She rubbed at her face again, trying to wipe away the tears. ¡°Like I w-want to scream, but I don¡¯t know why.¡±


    ¡°Because I said your Name? Would you prefer I call you the Aeon of Tiphareth?¡±


    She exhaled through her teeth, burying her face in her hands. ¡°N-no, that¡¯s even worse.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been through a lot,¡± Michael said. ¡°I understand you¡¯re confused and need time to rest. If there is anything I can do to make your recovery more pleasant, please let me know. I am sorry, however, that I need to ask you some questions before I can leave you be, starting with these ¡®Paths¡¯. Would I be correct in assuming you are familiar with these Paths, that you know what they are?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes, I know the Paths.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Michael asked, leaning forward. ¡°For hundreds of thousands of seasons, we¡¯ve been alone with no means of crossing the Void between Spheres. I was convinced that was the design, but now the King has said these Paths were intended and you claim to know them. How did you know these Paths before they existed?¡±


    ¡°They are m-my purpose,¡± Aeon Raphael said. She traced the line of golden light running down the centre of her face, her fingertip following the marking. ¡°They a-are part of me. I am b-bound to them, just as you are Hod. I-I know nothing else.¡±


    ¡°Then why have they only now appeared?¡± Michael asked. ¡°Why did you delay your manifestation for so long?¡±


    ¡°I k-kept the Paths closed,¡± Aeon Raphael whispered, her head falling to one side as her mind wandered. ¡°It w-was on purpose, it was important. There was a-a reason. I-I¡­ There w-was a-a¡­ I thought I could¡­ There w-was something wrong,¡± she whispered in a rush. ¡°I-I couldn¡¯t wake up. I thought I-I would die. Th-there was something that¡­¡± She lurched away from him abruptly, hitting the side of the cot and clinging to the edge with trembling arms. The motion exposed her back to Michael and he found himself very interested in the ceiling at the sight of her bare shoulders; he had forgotten that events hadn¡¯t allowed for her to be given a more appropriate top. ¡°There was a reason I came here, b-but I don¡¯t remember it,¡± Aeon Raphael mumbled, unaware of his distress. ¡°N-now I¡¯m stuck like this.¡±


    ¡°Having a body isn¡¯t all bad,¡± Michael said in what he hoped was a comforting tone. ¡°Once you overcome the initial shock of it, there are plenty of things that are outright pleasant about the experience. Just be patient with yourself, and perhaps after you¡¯ve had some rest near the Sephirah Tiphareth your memory will return. What¡¯s important now is that you¡¯re safe. Now that you¡¯ve taken a body, we can protect you.¡±


    Aeon Raphael went still again, though it seemed a more contemplative stillness rather than one born of raw fear. ¡°D-do you believe that?¡± she asked without turning to face him.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to make it true,¡± Michael said. ¡°But I¡¯m afraid I do need your help as well. Most High has called for a council in Kether. I¡¯m assuming the only way to reach Kether from Hod is via these Paths. You say you know the Paths, but you also say you kept them closed til now for good reason. The King says it is safe for us to travel. Do you agree? Is there any chance that your exposure to the Void is in any way responsible for your current condition?¡±


    There was a pause. ¡°The Paths a-are good things. They¡¯re perfectly s-safe.¡±


    ¡°Is there a chance that whatever left you in this state could use the Paths to gain access to our Spheres?¡± Michael asked.


    ¡°That would d-depend on w-whatever it is,¡± Aeon Raphael said. ¡°The P-Paths enable you to cross the Void. Th-they cannot move a s-stationary force.¡±


    ¡°And what of the trip to Kether itself? Would you feel safe making that trip with things as they are now?¡±


    ¡°Th-the Paths should be safe,¡± Aeon Raphael said, but he could hear the hesitation in her voice. ¡°Whatever this is, it isn¡¯t their fault.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re certain of that?¡±


    ¡°They are m-my purpose a-and I know them well,¡± Aeon Raphael said. Her tone was absent-minded as she trailed a hand along the marking that ran down her arm still clinging to the side of the cot. ¡°They are part of me. I-I can feel them now, bright, w-warm, and wonderful in the darkness. It can¡¯t be th-their fault b-because I wouldn¡¯t do this to myself.¡±


    ¡°In that case, I propose we make this trip to Kether together,¡± Michael said. ¡°The King has summoned us all for this council, so we may as well travel together. If there is any danger to be found in the Void, it would be safer to face as a group. Perhaps on the way we could take you to Tiphareth to see if a reunion with the Sephirah would help you.¡±


    Aeon Raphael shuddered as she let go of the cot to scrub at her face once more. ¡°F-from Hod to Kether? When is th-this council?¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow eve, yet over a day away.¡±


    ¡°Then there¡¯s n-no time t-to visit Tiphareth,¡± Aeon Raphael said. She gagged suddenly, scratching at her throat. ¡°T-talking is awful.¡±


    A gaping pit opened up in the bottom of Michael¡¯s stomach, leaving him dizzy. ¡°Hold a moment, what do you mean, ¡®there¡¯s no time¡¯? Do you mean to say it¡¯ll take a day to travel to Kether?¡±


    ¡°W-well over a day if y-you walk slowly.¡±


    ¡°It did not appear to take you nearly so long to travel from Tiphareth to Hod earlier today,¡± he said.


    ¡°I-I was formless then,¡± Aeon Raphael said. ¡°It is m-much easier to be anything when you¡¯re n-nowhere in particular. It takes p-plenty more time to move a-a b-body from place to place. From Hod t-to Kether, at least a day¡¯s length.¡±


    Michael leapt to his feet as if the floor had bitten him. He pretended he didn¡¯t see how she flinched away from the abrupt movement as he began to pace in a tight, agitated circuit. ¡°If that¡¯s true, then we must leave immediately! We cannot be tardy responding to the first direct order the King has issued since the dawn of the Spheres! Aeon Raphael, I apologise that you won¡¯t have longer to rest, but I implore you to guide the way to Kether. We¡¯ll do what we can to make the trip as comfortable for you as possible.¡±


    ¡°Why d-do you believe you need my guidance?¡± Aeon Raphael asked. She tried to inch away from him, feeling at her surroundings for guidance, but the tangle of blankets around her kept her from making any sudden movements. ¡°Th-the Paths are simple. You could f-find your way.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it may seem a simple request to you, Aeon Raphael, but to me these Paths are a mystery I dare not tackle on such a tight schedule,¡± said Michael. Unable to ignore her distress any longer, he forced himself to stop his pacing and took several deep breaths in an attempt to keep the agitation from his voice. ¡°As I said earlier, if we must both make this journey anyway, why not travel together?¡±


    Aeon Raphael paused, her head tilting to the side as if she was listening to something very far away that only she could hear. ¡°Travel th-through the Void. Something in the Void¡­¡± She shuddered, then sagged forward under her own weight like a puppet whose strings had been cut. A moment later she righted herself shakily, her hand flexing in uncomfortable spasms before she forced it under control. ¡°We¡¯ll follow the Path from Geburah t-to Highest Yetzirah,¡± she said in a more solid voice. She tapped the line of golden light that started at the top of her right hip, followed it up along her side to her shoulder, then up the side of her neck to finally tap the apex knot of light on her forehead.


    There must have been several dozen golden lines intertwining across her body; Michael felt improper trying to visually connect them all, even though he knew there was no risk of her noticing his staring and taking offense. ¡°Do each of those marks represent a different Path?¡±


    ¡°N-n-not each of them, n-no,¡± Aeon Raphael stammered.


    ¡°What do the other marks represent?¡± Michael asked when she showed no sign of elaborating.


    Aeon Raphael did not respond. She was staring at nothing in particular and flexing her fingers as if she had forgotten his presence. Precious moments ticked by in silence. Michael rocked anxiously from foot to foot as he waffled between the desire not to appear rude and his painful awareness of the passage of time. Eventually he could stand the stillness no longer.


    ¡°I must speak with my Regent before we depart,¡± he declared. ¡°Now that you¡¯re awake, would it be acceptable to send in the medical team once more? With your cooperation, they might identify a way of treating your symptoms.¡±


    Aeon Raphael flinched at the sound of his voice as if she had been asleep. ¡°N-no, there¡¯d be no point.¡±


    ¡°The only way you could be certain of that is if you already knew what the problem was.¡±


    This, at least, gave Aeon Raphael pause. ¡°No,¡± she said thoughtfully, ¡°it¡¯s an.. in-instinct. I-I can¡¯t explain it. It¡¯s something I f-feel, but can¡¯t r-reason with. No one touches me. I can¡¯t a-allow it.¡±


    Michael wanted to argue, to chide her for being foolish with her own health, but he bit his tongue. Aeon Raphael was not one of his daeva. She would eventually be leaving Hod, after which she would no longer be his problem. He had offered help and she had refused; his obligation to and influence over her ended there. ¡°Well, the offer stands and I would encourage you to consider it, but it is your decision and no one will force you to do otherwise. I will send someone to bring you a meal and a fresh change of clothes. Is there anything else you will need before we leave?¡±


    There was another long pause as Aeon Raphael slowly gathered up the surrounding blankets to draw them over her head and shoulders like a cloak. ¡°I-I recognise you,¡± Aeon Raphael said, her quiet voice almost lost among the blankets. ¡°At f-first I didn¡¯t, b-but I should know you. It¡¯s s-so important, but I c-can¡¯t recall.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been here since you arrived in Hod,¡± Michael offered.


    ¡°N-no, it¡¯s more than that. I could hear y-your voice while I-I was dreaming. Y-you were speaking of¡­ We were¡­¡± She trailed off, sounding lost and confused as she struggled to remember.


    ¡°I was attempting to contact Tiphareth before you arrived,¡± Michael said. ¡°There was some interference that prevented the transmission from connecting properly, however. Is it possible you¡¯re recognising the Sephirah Hod? Hod certainly recognised Tiphareth; it¡¯s how I knew who you were.¡±


    Sitting cocooned under her blanket shield, Aeon Raphael went very still. ¡°It¡¯s so important,¡± she whispered to no one in particular. ¡°I-I wish I knew why.¡±


    She made no move to acknowledge him again, lost in her own head. Meanwhile, the deadline for the council loomed ever closer. Michael exhaled; it was a struggle to remain stationary when every muscle in his body urged him to move. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to your thoughts for now. Someone will be in shortly to check if you need anything before we leave.¡±


    Aeon Raphael did not react even as he left the room.


    The group in the hallway looked every bit as tense at his return as they had when he shut them out. Ciel had vanished, presumably to see to Umahel, but Remiel and Mahariel remained in the same position and two of the healers hovered nearby. Their reactions to his appearance prompted Michael to wonder what his own expression must have looked like.


    ¡°My Aeon, what happened? What did she say?¡± Remiel asked.


    Michael waited until he had securely shut the door to the room before he turned to the nearest of the remaining healers. ¡°Could you please see that Aeon Raphael is provided with a meal, a clean change of clothes, and anything else she may require? Keep a respectful distance at all times, but she must be ready to travel post-haste.¡±


    ¡°Michael, what have you learned?¡± asked Remiel.


    Michael gestured for his Saerim to follow him a short way down the hallway. Once they had achieved a modicum of privacy, he leaned down and whispered with barely controlled panic, ¡°The trip to Kether will take nearly a day.¡±


    ¡°That is¡­ less than ideal,¡± said Remiel, his face paling. ¡°You can¡¯t mean to leave immediately? We¡¯re not prepared!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know that we have much choice, Remiel!¡± Michael hissed. ¡°The King has summoned us and we must obey.¡±


    ¡°My Aeon, I am against the idea that we must send you into the Void alone,¡± Mahariel said, frowning. ¡°I recognise that the trip is unavoidable, but you are the Aeon of Hod and we cannot allow you to risk yourself. I wish to accompany you along with a contingent of disciplined officers. If there is a threat to be found along these Paths, we will confront it together.¡±


    Michael bit his lip and rocked back on his heels as he waffled. Would it be acceptable to arrive at court in Kether with a full party of armed guards? Surely a certain amount of pomp and pageantry was to be expected from the first official gathering of the Aeons, and when one considered the alarming possibility that something unknown lurked in the Void, powerful and aggressive enough to cripple the Aeon of Tiphareth, it seemed positively reasonable to travel with an entourage. Had the situation been different and he been the one presiding over such a gathering, Michael would have encouraged his people to travel in groups for their own safety. Yet it was likewise easy to imagine how unsettled he would feel if one of the other Aeons arrived in Hod for a supposedly social gathering with a heavily armed force. How would the King view the issue? As difficult as it was to admit, for the moment, he couldn¡¯t say for certain.


    ¡°Four guards,¡± he decided. ¡°You may bring four guards, not an entire company. This is a diplomatic trip and will ideally be very boring. Kit your team appropriately and be waiting in the palace courtyard; we¡¯ll meet you there shortly.¡±


    Mahariel¡¯s face lit up with a brilliant smile and she bowed quickly. ¡°Yes, my Aeon.¡±


    As she trotted down the hallway and out of sight, Remiel scowled at her back.


    ¡°You know I need you here,¡± Michael told him.


    Remiel sighed in disappointment. ¡°Yes, I¡­ understand. I¡¯m not thrilled by it, but I do understand. I am grateful to hear you agree to bring someone you can trust to watch your back. What may I do to assist your preparations to speak with the King, my Aeon?¡±


    ¡°Remiel, I don¡¯t tell you often enough how grateful I am for your terrible attitude and wonderful work ethic,¡± Michael said. Remiel gestured impatiently for him to hurry up and get to the point, readying his information pad for any notes he might need to take. ¡°I¡¯ll be gone, what? Just over two days? Provided nothing else goes wildly wrong, you ought to be able to proceed as usual in the meanwhile. Put together a list of anything you suspect you might need my approval on before I leave.¡±


    ¡°What shall we tell the people?¡± Remiel asked. ¡°There¡¯s already a fair bit of unease over the appearance of these Paths and the evacuation. Knowing you¡¯re gone will only exacerbate their fears.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m worried this will cost too much time, but I think we ought to hold a kindling before I go,¡± Michael said.


    Remiel perked up at the suggestion and scribbled a quick note. ¡°A kindling is an excellent idea, my Aeon. After the events of the day, it would bring much needed comfort to many as well as providing you an opportunity to address their most pressing concerns. I¡¯ll see that the preparations are made in time. It will be a hastily composed ceremony, but I doubt that will matter overmuch.¡± He hesitated a moment, then asked tentatively, ¡°Michael, have you given much thought to what you¡¯ll say to Most High?¡±


    ¡°Yes, more than I care to admit,¡± Michael said, his gaze dropping to the floor in his discomfort. ¡°None of it seemed sufficient and now I am out of time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m certain you will find the words you need when the time comes,¡± Remiel said.


    Michael couldn¡¯t meet his gaze. He wasn¡¯t nearly so confident when it came to matters related to the King.

 The Kindling

    The centrepiece of the palace courtyard was a towering tree. There were no other trees like it in Hod: it was immense, towering above the palace, its broad leaves were a shimmering, metallic gold that twinkled with the reflected colours of the daytime aurora and its bark consisted of white crystal. Soft lines of gentle golden light travelled through the reaching branches and down the crystalline trunk in slow, pulsing waves, providing the illusion that the entire tree was inhaling and exhaling. Nine glass lanterns, each a perfect sphere, hung at key points among the branches with small but brilliant flames burning inside.


    An altar stood in front of the wide trunk of the tree, a shallow basin carved out of a single waist-high slab of rock. The altar and the tree both predated the palace and, indeed, most standing structures in Hod. A well-tended path had been worn around the base of the tree many seasons ago and was lined with colourful rocks and bright grasses.


    Michael approached the tree, gazing up at its shining leaves with thoughtful reverence, and placed his hand against its trunk in silent greeting. Perhaps it would be hyperbole to call the time he had spent in the tree¡¯s presence immeasurable, yet the comfort he found under its branches had not faded even after so many seasons. The thought that the completion of the Grand Sanctuary around the Sephirah Hod might lessen the frequency of his visits to the tree caused him a pang of regret. He resolved that it wouldn¡¯t; he had passed too many sleepless nights in the tree¡¯s soothing company to abandon it simply because the official ceremonies changed locations.


    Turning from the tree, he faced the crowd milling about the courtyard beyond the altar. It was a small and subdued crowd for a kindling, one that lacked the jubilant anticipation the ceremony typically invoked. Michael sympathised with their uncertainty; not only was this an unscheduled kindling, but it had also been announced on the coattails of perhaps the most turbulent day in Hod¡¯s history.


    The assembled crowd consisted primarily of people who worked in or around the palace or individuals involved with someone who did; he recognised a great many of them by face if not by name. The absence of children from the Nursery and central Academy was glaring. This might be the first kindling to take place with no children present. That detail, more than anything else, reminded Michael that this was a ceremony borne of desperation to maintain the illusion of normality rather than the true celebration of life and agency it was masquerading as.


    One figure was isolated from the rest of the crowd. Aeon Raphael sat on one of the low benches lining the courtyard with her back turned to the group, her shoulders hunched in a posture that blatantly discouraged approach. The crowd seemed more than willing to oblige if the wide ring of space around her was any indication. The infirmary staff had provided Aeon Raphael with a simple, loose-fitting long-sleeved shift that covered most of the odd markings on her torso and limbs, though it did very little to ease the illusion that her face was in bloody tatters. They had also provided her with a lightweight crutch, which she clung to even while sitting as if her life depended on its presence. Michael¡¯s initial fears that she could not stand, much less travel the distances between Spheres, had been proven wrong; she agreed to join them in the courtyard even when offered the chance to wait in the infirmary. Though it had been a clear, physical struggle, she refused direct assistance and never once requested help or voiced her difficulties. It was almost as if she was determined that her greatest difficulty would be navigating the world while blind without allowing anyone to touch her. The crutch helped to a limited degree, but her reliance on it to support her weight restricted its ability to test the ground ahead of her.


    It was difficult to see someone so frail and in need of help refuse to allow anyone near her. The way she flinched and slunk further away from every sound his people made was painful to watch. Yet their brief interactions had made it plenty clear that forcing any issue with her would do far more harm than good. Patience was key. He knew that, but even so, it was hard to watch. Michael untied the new ribbon included with his fresh change of clothes from his sword to prepare for the kindling as he pondered how best to help her. The ribbon was halfway to his pocket before an idea stopped him and prompted him to reconsider the length of red fabric.


    A deliberate movement at the edge of the courtyard caught his attention and he tucked the ribbon away for later. Saerim Ananel stood in a door to the palace as she enthusiastically waved a bright green paper fan to draw his gaze over the heads of the crowd. When she saw that she had gained his attention, she raised her free hand in an encouraging gesture. They were as ready as they were going to be, and precious time was passing, inexorably ticking down the moments until the King¡¯s deadline.


    There had been a hurried discussion of what Michael would say during this impromptu kindling. The agreement they settled on was that an adjusted version of the classic kindling ceremony would be best. Michael was to open with a short speech praising the Infinite Source, applaud the many accomplishments achieved throughout Hod¡¯s history, and assure the daeva that today¡¯s events, no matter how chaotic they seemed, were all a natural piece of the Grand Plan. He knew the words, he knew what to say to begin the ceremony, and yet he couldn¡¯t bring himself to speak. A quiet, guiding tug deep inside him whispered that a stilted, overly formal speech imitating a kindling was perhaps not the best way to raise morale.


    Michael unfurled his wings. He fanned them out to their full wingspan and fluffed his feathers in a silent but pointed display. It was enough to catch the attention of the assembled crowd. The courtyard fell silent as all attention turned to him. Michael plucked a long pinfeather from his wing and dropped it onto the altar.


    The feather brushed the bottom of the stone basin. A pillar of blinding light roared down from the aurora overhead to engulf the altar in an inferno of brilliant colours. Without a single thought of hesitation, Michael plunged both his hands inside the fire and was consumed by the power of the Source.


    In that moment, there ceased to be any semblance of difference between him and Hod. In that moment, it was as if Hod had never been separated from the divine realm of Atziluth to form the Sphere in Yetzirah. In that moment, he was one of nine aspects of the Infinite Source and his purpose could not have been clearer to him.


    The world he had built from his own soul spread out before him as if for inspection, presented in glorious swaths of colours that defied description, endless in potential and splendour. Lustrous sparks of light represented its inhabitants. The wind was his breath, the warmth of the aurora his heartbeat, the earth was his bones and the daeva his hopes and dreams. Their souls were transparent and familiar to him, a discordant orchestra that produced the purest symphony in perfect harmony. Their hopes, their dreams, their fears, failures, successes, the very essence that composed each individual brushed against his mind, followed by faint shades of their experiences.


    The group gathered in the palace courtyard was the most obvious to him. Though he could not feel it himself, he shared their awareness of the heat radiating from the altar in blinding waves, their fear-tinged awe at the sight of their Aeon wreathed in the burning, primal light of the Source, as well as their instinctive recognition of his presence. They knew him as Hod, as the will of the world they lived in, as an extension of the Endless Source, and they welcomed his presence even as the raw power frightened them. He loved them for their trust, for being who they were, for all they could accomplish by simply existing. He had built this world for them. That moment reminded him that his work had not been in vain. More than anything, he wished for them to prosper, to grow and thrive and live, and he would protect them for all eternity.


    There was one soul who did not belong. It was a jarring feeling, one that scattered his focus in search of the cause. With his mind encompassing the entire Sphere, it was difficult to concentrate on any one detail. It took effort to make himself aware of the difference in the aether, one he had never felt before.


    First, his attention was drawn to the Paths. There were four Paths connecting Hod to the unknown, brimming with aether from the Source and beyond his understanding. They were oddly intrusive, rather like what he imagined being impaled on a metal pole would feel like, but they were painless. Once he grew accustomed to directing his thoughts around them, they were surprisingly soothing. Though they did not breathe in time with Hod, they carried the comforting signature of the Source. He would learn to adapt to them in due time. The Paths were not the root of what he felt.


    She had not moved, still isolated from his daeva in the courtyard. He couldn¡¯t explain how he had forgotten her presence. Now that he was aware of her, the Aeon of Tiphareth drew his attention like a beacon. Unlike his daeva, her soul was removed from his awareness, obscured behind a vortex of swirling energy, unlike anything he had ever encountered. Only the briefest glimpses of the Aeon of Tiphareth herself were visible through the tempestuous haze surrounding her, fragmented flashes of disjointed shapes lacking identifiable intent or purpose that only reinforced the notion she was not of Hod. She was a piece of something other and did not belong here, not like this.


    Curiosity overwhelmed him. The desire to know her, to understand this foreign aspect of the Source gnawed at his restraint. It goaded him forward to unveil the truth. His power reached for the dark haze swirling around the Aeon of Tiphareth, the very aether in the air rippling and shaping to his whims, only to be turned away by the shadowy bubble surrounding her. An electric, buzzing keen built in his mind, a steady crescendo he associated with the Source Itself. This only intrigued him further.


    His focus narrowed as he directed the boundless power available to him to a single point of the dark vortex to peel back the veil. Through the perspectives of his daeva in the courtyard, he saw the corona of divine fire enveloping his body spread to engulf the entire tree; the heat of the flames forced the daeva back, but he was incapable of understanding why. He was fixated on burning away the whirling haze that obscured the answers he sought. The flames crashed against the edges of the whirlwind, but it was not enough to dispel the shadows. The droning keen of raw power had become all-consuming. A feeble tug in his lesser mind was urging him to return to his body, but he brushed it aside. If he could only concentrate, he would be able to pry open this mystery and uncover the truth within.


    Something was watching him with calculating interest from inside the shadows. He froze, unable to explain the sharp vulnerability he felt as the shape within the haze stirred. His hesitation cost him, and he was flung away with all the force of an explosion.


    Michael was thrown back into his body with a startled gasp. He knew he was wreathed in fire - the roar of the towering inferno surrounding him was immediately familiar even as the brilliant light of it disoriented him - but for a moment he could not recall what he ought to do about this. So he held his breath and stood in the fire¡¯s heart, confused, as he struggled to interpret what his senses were telling him. His skin was tingling, he felt nauseous, and behind the steady ringing buzz in his ears, he could hear the murmuring of the crowd gathered for the kindling -


    The kindling.


    It came back to him in a rush. He was standing before the courtyard altar to perform an unscripted kindling as a demonstration of faith, and instead, he had transformed the area into an uncontrolled bonfire. Before the fire spread further, Michael drew his sword with a flourish. He ran his hand along the glowing seals carved into the blade and pushed every other thought from his mind except for the design of the seals. Holding that image foremost, he twirled the blade in a circle, including a few admittedly theatrical embellishments for good measure, as he spun the flames tightly around himself. A quiet calm settled over Michael as the fire converged on him; he could not feel the heat it was surely generating, but he could imagine it as something deeply comforting.


    He thrust the sword towards the sky. The flames gathered around him followed the point of the blade and shot upwards in a blazing pillar of multi-hued fire. A deafening peal of thunder shook the ground as the energy he dispelled was reabsorbed by the aurora and dispersed, followed by a bright flash of light as thin lines of fire descended to ignite the dozens of hastily erected kindling bonfires placed throughout the city.


    When the sky settled once more, the world was calm and untroubled. The air possessed the same hopeful, clean quality of the morning after a great storm. A healthy fire blazed atop the stone altar. The plants around him were shrivelled and dead and the glass lanterns in the tree had melted, but the tree itself was untouched. The intensity of the initial, uncontrolled ignition had forced the gathered crowd backwards for their safety. A timid uncertainty lingered over them as they waited to see if it was safe to approach once more. That he was to blame for their fear cut Michael to the core. A vice clamped down on his chest, restricting him to shallow, panting gasps. Twin desires to shriek in fury and flee in horror fought to control him; he stomped both into submission through pure determination. They were still looking to him for guidance and he would always try to be what they needed, no matter how often he failed.


    Michael squared his shoulders and stood to his full height. ¡°Let that stand as proof that we are guided by the Source!¡± he yelled with a gesture to the flames dancing on the altar. ¡°Never doubt that we are protected! No matter what chaos we may face, we will persevere! Together we have built our home from nothing, and together we will carry it into the future! You are the Beni Elohim of Hod, tasked with showing the other Spheres what Glory can accomplish! Will you allow mere uncertainty to reduce you to simpering children? You, who hold the favour of the Source? I know you are above such things! We are more than our fear! We will greet the unknown with our heads held high and show the strength of our mettle!¡±


    A murmured agreement rippled through the crowd, a whisper of optimistic excitement that warmed his heart. He held up his hand to silence them before they could voice their agreement too loudly.


    ¡°We have been summoned before Most High to speak of the future,¡± he continued. ¡°We will answer this summons gladly and introduce the other Spheres to the achievements of Hod. The trip will take upwards of two days, but you will not be left without guidance. Regent Remiel, step forward, please.¡±


    Michael spared a thought for how unfair it was to call Remiel forward without warning - their original plan did not involve asking the Regent to step onto the stage so literally - but Remiel hurried from the crowd to stand beside him without complaint. Michael returned his sword to its scabbard and began undoing the belts holding it in place.


    ¡°Regent Remiel, I leave Hod in your capable care while I am away. I grant you full authority to act in my stead until I return. With this sword as a symbol of my office, let no one doubt that I believe you will do everything in your power to protect the people. There is no one else I would trust with this,¡± Michael said as he held out the sheathed sword for Remiel to take. ¡°You have my utmost confidence.¡±


    Remiel¡¯s hands shook as he accepted the sword so carefully he might have thought it would explode if jostled. His eyes glistened with emotion that threatened to burst into tears at any moment. Michael hoped he wouldn¡¯t; he doubted Remiel would ever forgive him for triggering such a public display of ¡®weakness¡¯.


    ¡°Thank you, my Aeon,¡± Remiel choked out. His voice was wavering, but still understandable. ¡°I won¡¯t¡­ I won¡¯t disappoint you.¡±


    ¡°Of course you won¡¯t. I know you, Remiel, and that¡¯s why I trust you,¡± Michael said. He turned to face the crowd and raised his voice once more. ¡°You will never face hardship alone. Should you ever doubt that, look to the Sephirah and see the light of the Source.¡± He pointed to the pillar of light that forever marked the heart of the Sphere. ¡°Never forget that Hod is an aspect of the Source and that you are a part of Hod. Have faith. Revel in your vibrancy.¡±


    With the ceremony concluded, the crowd began to disperse throughout the courtyard. A persistent, tense melancholy lingered over the palace that refused to be denied, but the people now possessed an understated optimism that cheered him significantly. It was a far cry from the bright enthusiasm he knew them for, but it was an improvement. With any luck, it would be enough to keep the calm while he was away.


    ¡°My Aeon, are you certain it¡¯s wise to leave your sword behind?¡± Remiel asked as he clutched the scabbard to his chest like a delicate and precious treasure. ¡°What if you have need of it during your trip?¡±


    There was a thought that was causing Michael no small amount of concern. The very idea of losing control in front of the King made his throat hurt and his stomach wobble, so he pushed it from his mind with a sense of dread resignation. If it came to that, merely having the sword wouldn¡¯t be enough to contain the damage.


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be appropriate to carry a weapon before Most High, regardless of how I intended to use it,¡± Michael said. ¡°And at any rate, I ought to be above needing a security blanket just to speak with my father, wouldn¡¯t you agree? No, it¡¯s best it stays here where it¡¯ll be appreciated.¡±


    Remiel gave him a somewhat shaky grin. ¡°Would it have been too much to ask that you stick with the plan?¡±


    ¡°No one¡¯s ever accused me of being cool-headed during a crisis,¡± Michael grumbled as he kicked a bit of dirt over the still-smouldering embers of what remained of the grass surrounding the tree. ¡°Excuse me a moment, Remiel. I must speak with our guest before we leave. Is Mahariel here yet? Why don¡¯t you see if you can find her?¡±


    Now unfocused, the crowd had spread through the courtyard with no discernable pattern or goal, but one area remained empty. Aeon Raphael sat alone, completely unmoving, on her bench at the very edge of the courtyard. Her back was to the majority of the daeva but her ear turned towards the tree. The crutch seemed to be the only support keeping her from falling over and she clung to it with all her might, coiled so tightly it looked as though a stiff breeze could break her in half. Michael approached with a great deal of reluctance and no idea what to say. He was convinced he had done something incredibly rude, though he couldn¡¯t pinpoint what he had done wrong.


    ¡°D-did your ceremony go as you planned?¡± Aeon Raphael asked without turning to face him.


    He ought to tell her, yes, the kindling had been an unconventional but complete success. He needed her assistance and he suspected he required her respect. Perhaps, just this once, it would be justifiable to twist the truth to prevent his fellow Aeon from realising how precious little control he had.


    ¡°No,¡± he said instead, sighing. ¡°Most kindlings only light the altar itself and we usually take notes from the people to offer as a sacrifice. This kindling forfeited many of the traditional customs for expediency and got somewhat out of hand as a result. Are you¡­¡± Michael floundered, unsure what he was trying to ask. A vague impression that something unusual had passed while he had been separated from his body struggled through his confusion, but it was difficult to parse a memory that lacked physical sensation. ¡°Are you comfortable? You could have waited in the infirmary. The heat didn¡¯t bother you over much, did it?¡±


    Aeon Raphael made a casual, dismissive noise, touching her face as she pondered something. ¡°I didn¡¯t r-realise you u-use swords in Hod.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know that it¡¯s fair to say swords are commonly used in Hod,¡± Michael said. ¡°Non-combat swordplay is a popular sport, but that hardly makes swords an everyday accessory.¡±


    ¡°Th-then why act as if leaving y-your sword behind is in any w-way significant?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s become something of a personal signature. I designed it to suit my needs long ago and it¡¯s been my constant companion since.¡±


    ¡°You n-needed a sword?¡± Aeon Raphael drummed her fingers against her chin. ¡°It is a-a weapon. Why would y-you need that?¡±


    ¡°It is a tool, and I needed a focus,¡± Michael said. ¡°That it functions as a sword is incidental to its primary purpose. I needed an object that could be comfortably carried while withstanding the power in the seals.¡±


    ¡°And w-what are these seals?¡±


    ¡°Ah, they were inspired by the Source. It took some effort to design them, I¡¯ll admit, as I had no precedent to work from, but I needed a focus for my power,¡± said Michael. ¡°It took longer still to contain the effect to the blade, but the result was a focus that channels the energy I need while harmlessly absorbing and dispersing the excess.¡±


    ¡°You describe a-a shackle meant to drain you,¡± Aeon Raphael said. There was an odd undercurrent to her words, one buried too deeply for Michael to identify. ¡°W-why would you want that?¡±


    ¡°I would much rather bear a shackle than the guilt of an accident the shackle could have prevented,¡± Michael said stiffly.


    A slow smile lit up Raphael¡¯s features, equal parts delighted and incredulous. ¡°Y-you can¡¯t control it. You can¡¯t control y-your power on your own. How embarrassing. Is that the reason you¡¯re a-alone down here so far f-from the Crown, O son of the King?¡±


    Michael lurched forward as if he had been stung. Molten fury laced with uncertain shame boiled in his gut. ¡°Listen,¡± he snapped, but he stopped himself before he could continue, rocking back on his heels and wrestling his voice down to conversational volume.


    The damage was already done, however. Aeon Raphael launched herself away from his voice before he could say more. Her crutch clattered against the bench as she lost her footing and hit the ground in a jumble of limbs. She scrambled backwards anyway, only stopping when she hit one of the knee-high decorative rocks lining the common walkways in the courtyard. She used it to pull herself up, her back pressed to the stone as if she could meld into it to get away, her breath coming in fast and shallow and her face blank with panic.


    The realisation that he had done this, that his poor control of his own emotions had caused this reaction of raw fear and pain, hit him like a mountain of rock. He lurched forward to help her up with an alarmed cry of, ¡°What are you doing? Are you all right?¡± but stopped dead in his tracks after the first step; he needed to be calm, rational, and to stop acting on impulse. The plants on this side of the courtyard had been far enough from the altar to avoid being roasted during the kindling, but the grass under his feet was now shrivelling from the heat. He had to control himself.


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    ¡°Take it easy. Everything¡¯s all right,¡± he said, as much to himself as Aeon Raphael. ¡°There is no need to panic. Panic causes injuries. Let¡¯s not have any panic, all right? I was just saying that Hod is precisely where it needs to be. I am precisely where I need to be. You would perhaps benefit from keeping implications otherwise to yourself.¡±


    It took a moment for her to fight her frightened gasping under control enough to speak. ¡°I-I made a mistake,¡± she managed at last.


    ¡°And I overreacted,¡± Michael said. He picked her abandoned crutch off the ground. Not wanting the heat from his grasp to warp it, he passed the crutch from hand to hand in a way that most certainly had nothing to do with his restlessness. ¡°Mistakes were made all around, but that¡¯s no reason to hurt yourself. Can you please stand up? You don¡¯t belong on the floor, Aeon Raphael.¡±


    She exhaled slowly through her teeth. ¡°The title¡¯s what hurts? Please d-don¡¯t call me that.¡±


    He hesitated. ¡°Don¡¯t call you what? Aeon Raphael?¡±


    Aeon Raphael hissed in discomfort.


    ¡°What would you prefer I call you, then?¡± Michael asked. ¡°I seem to recall you had no love for the Aeon of Tiphareth, either.¡±


    ¡°J-just Raphael, please. That¡¯s m-most comfortable.¡±


    A shiver ran up his spine that wasn¡¯t altogether unpleasant. ¡°Ah, I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t do that,¡± he said carefully. ¡°Even if we knew each other well enough for that to be appropriate - and I¡¯m sorry to say we don¡¯t - there are certain niceties that are expected to be maintained, and as unfortunate as it is, the title is one of them.¡±


    ¡°I-I know what I am,¡± Aeon Raphael protested. Her argument was weakened by the fact that she was sprawled in the dirt, propped up by a rock as if it were the only thing keeping her from trying to crawl underground. ¡°You don¡¯t n-need to remind me that often. In fact, it¡¯d b-be kinder if you didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a show of respect,¡± Michael said apologetically. ¡°I can¡¯t afford to offend you by denying you your title awarded by the Source. Can you stand on your own or do you require assistance?¡±


    There was a brief pause as she weighed her options. ¡°I-I can¡¯t feel my legs and I lost the crutch.¡±


    ¡°I have it here; hold out your hand.¡±


    Michael wasn¡¯t sure if she would comply. It was with obvious reluctance that she prised one of her hands away from the rock and held it out in front of her. She flinched when the handle of the crutch brushed her fingers, but was quick enough to take it from him and unsteadily work herself to her feet once more.


    ¡°Are you all right?¡± he asked as she tested her balance. ¡°I don¡¯t think you can afford too many more falls like that, and definitely not during the council. Let¡¯s both do our best to keep our reactions to a minimum while in Most High¡¯s presence, yes?¡±


    Aeon Raphael clamped a hand over her mouth and flexed her fingers oddly.


    ¡°You¡¯re not having another fit, are you?¡± Michael asked, alarmed.


    ¡°N-no, I think that¡¯s passed,¡± Aeon Raphael said. Her distressed expression and unsteady stance did little to validate her statement, however. Several times over, she drew a breath as if she were about to speak, only to change her mind at the last moment and remain silent.


    ¡°My Aeon, I¡¯d hoped to catch you before you left!¡± Saerim Ananel called as she hurried towards them, a small box cradled in both hands. Michael couldn¡¯t suppress his smile at the relief of a friendly face. ¡°I promise not to delay you overlong, my Aeon, but I thought you¡¯d like to know the kindling appears to have been a rousing success. Turnout to the bonfires throughout the capital was minimal, as we expected, but those who observed the transmission responded well to it and initial feedback reports are positive. Should I have the daily reports sent to your desk as normal?¡±


    ¡°No, thank you, send them to the Regent for now. We¡¯ll be leaving as soon as Saerim Mahariel is ready,¡± Michael said. A glance around the courtyard showed that not only was Mahariel still absent, but Remiel had vanished as well, most likely in search of her. ¡°Speaking of, you wouldn¡¯t happen to know where she is, would you? Or the Regent?¡±


    ¡°Ah, I passed them in the hallway inside,¡± Ananel said. She glanced at Aeon Raphael, who couldn¡¯t have appeared less interested in or aware of their conversation if she had been unconscious, as if to gauge how much she should say. When Ananel met his gaze again, it was with an awkward smile that spoke volumes of what she had seen. ¡°They were saying their farewells. I expect they¡¯ll be along shortly.¡± Her expression grew troubled and she bit her lip, wringing her hands in agitation as her gaze flicked to Aeon Raphael once more. ¡°There is a situation you should be aware of, my Aeon. During the kindling, we were contacted by the Regent of Tiphareth demanding the release of their Aeon.¡±


    Michael and Aeon Raphael shared a precisely timed wheeze of surprise. Her cough soon turned into a delighted laugh. ¡°M-my Regent did what? You can ignore that.¡±


    ¡°No, no, I think not,¡± Michael said as he rounded on her. ¡°This is the sort of misunderstanding that sets the worst precedents for future interactions. I would appreciate it if you would speak with your Regent and explain the situation before further misunderstandings occur.¡±


    ¡°Shall I-I do that now?¡± Aeon Raphael asked, her head tilted towards him with a dry smile.


    Michael ran a hand through his hair with a grimace of displeasure. They only had so much time before the council, and the King¡¯s order dwarfed all other priorities. ¡°No. Saerim Ananel, please inform the Regent of Tiphareth that Aeon Raphael is accompanying me to Kether but will be returned to Tiphareth as soon as the King¡¯s business is concluded.¡±


    ¡°I will relay the message, my Aeon,¡± Ananel said. Her tone told him she doubted such an explanation would be of much help. She shook her distress away with a smile. ¡°In the meanwhile, allow me to offer you this mirror gem to take on your trip.¡± She held out the box for him to take.


    Michael accepted the box with care and, upon lifting the lid, discovered a thin, circular crystal - cut from a similar material to the trunk of the tree - resting upon the cushion inside. Fleeting sparks of golden light flared in unpredictable explosions of colour across the surface of the gem only to fade away moments later.


    ¡°I use them to map out the communications quadrants to watch for system errors, but with very little effort they can provide a nice map of the capital city,¡± Ananel said with a gentle smile. She reached out and tapped the surface of the gem. In response, a perfect, miniature replica of the palace sprang from a twinkle of lights to hover over the box. Every detail was exact, down to the minuscule figures of the people who lived and worked there, frozen in time by the still image. ¡°I thought, perhaps, this one could be offered to Most High as to showcase a mere sliver of the splendours we have accomplished here in Hod. I am certain the King will be very pleased with what we have built.¡±


    Michael¡¯s throat was tight as he replaced the lid on the box, banishing the phantom tiny palace from sight. He nodded at her in gratitude. He didn¡¯t trust his voice to speak without cracking.


    Thankfully, he was saved by the arrival of the rest of their group.


    ¡°My Aeon, I have completed my preparations for our departure,¡± Saerim Mahariel announced as she trotted out of the palace to join them, flanked by four guards. They were all dressed in the thick navy uniform of the peacekeepers and swathed in heavy travelling cloaks. Remiel was with them, still cradling the sword he¡¯d been trusted with against his chest with both hands. When they were near enough, Mahariel dropped into a low bow, a motion copied by the accompanying guards. ¡°We are ready and awaiting your orders, my Aeon.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Saerim Mahariel, I expect we will be departing shortly,¡± Michael said brightly. He took his travel pack and settled the box with the mirror gem inside.


    ¡°Will it be possible for us to contact you while you¡¯re away?¡± asked Remiel.


    ¡°Not directly, no,¡± Ananel answered for him. ¡°Our personal comms are not built to handle such extreme distances. The primary equipment at the centre can exchange messages with the communications department in Kether, however.¡± Her dark eyes brightened with sparkling excitement. ¡°To be able to speak so easily with those in Highest Yetzirah, much less to be able to travel to visit other Spheres¡­ This truly is an exhilarating development.¡±


    ¡°Exhilarating is one way to describe it,¡± Michael said with a sigh. ¡°I¡¯ll send word if it appears I¡¯ll be gone longer than expected. I trust you to keep things running for two days without me hovering over you. I know you¡¯ll do what you need to.¡±


    ¡°My Aeon,¡± Remiel spoke up suddenly. He led Michael away from the others and murmured, ¡°Michael. I¡¯ve had a change of heart. You were correct. I regret my earlier complaints and that I didn¡¯t appreciate the peace we had. I never wanted this.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Michael said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about what I said, I didn¡¯t mean to imply this was something you wanted. I was just trying to find a positive side in this mess, but you know how I am with jokes at inopportune times. Everything else aside, I do trust you. I know you¡¯ll not let me down.¡±


    Remiel pressed his mouth into a thin line. His gaze flittered everywhere around the courtyard except for the departing party. ¡°Be safe.¡±


    ¡°I intend to try,¡± Michael said. He rejoined the others. ¡°If that¡¯s all, we¡¯d best be on our way. Aeon Raphael, if you would kindly point us to the correct Path so we could be off?¡±


    There was a brief pause before Aeon Raphael started as if she hadn¡¯t been paying attention and was surprised to realise she¡¯d been spoken to. ¡°Oh, y-yes, we can leave. That¡¯s the Path w-we want.¡± She pointed to one of the four identical golden spirals on the horizon without turning her head to look in its direction. She then spun away from them to march directly towards the Path she had pointed to, only to trip over the bench she had been sitting on during the kindling. She caught herself on her crutch to avoid another nasty fall, but it was easy to read the frustration and embarrassment radiating off her as she righted herself. ¡°I-I don¡¯t kn-know where I am in this city,¡± she mumbled.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had a thought, Aeon Raphael, that perhaps it would be easier to navigate the city if you had a guideline of sorts to assist you?¡± Michael suggested quietly as he pulled the ribbon from his pocket.


    ¡°Wh-what sort of guideline?¡± Aeon Raphael asked without turning to face him.


    ¡°I have a length of ribbon,¡± Michael offered. ¡°If you were to hold one end of it, I could lead you through the city and no one would have to touch you. Is that acceptable?¡±


    With a sigh, Aeon Raphael held her hand out in the general direction of his voice. She flinched when he dropped one end of the ribbon in her palm, but grabbed hold and tied it securely around her wrist with an ending flourish of a bow.


    The downside to this plan was that the ribbon had been cut to tie his sword into his scabbard and nothing else. There was sufficient length for there to be no risk of accidental contact to start with, but it was too close for either of them to be truly comfortable. As they made their way through the capital city and passed the daeva who lived there, Aeon Raphael grew more anxious with each passing sound. Each loud noise or new voice caused her to flinch as if wounded and wrapped the ribbon just a bit tighter around her wrist, unwittingly whittling away the distance between them until they were far too close to touching. Michael might have been tempted to think Aeon Raphael found the somewhat-familiarity of his presence comforting if she hadn¡¯t looked so terrifically discomforted while doing so.


    She calmed somewhat when they left the city and entered the central woods containing the Paths. Conversely, Michael could not keep her discarded tension from creeping into him the closer they drew to the Path. The reality that he would be leaving Hod, his Sphere, to venture into the Void pressed on him, slowing his steps and growing more pronounced as the Path loomed ever larger in the sky.


    As they approached Path itself, Michael¡¯s pace slowed in pronounced reluctance even as Aeon Raphael sped up eagerly. She overtook him, stumbling when she reached the end of the ribbon¡¯s length only to drop it altogether in her single-minded pursuit of the Path. While she hobbled ahead, the rest of them lagged behind, trying to comprehend the towering structure confronting them.


    In the brief time since he had last seen one, Michael had already forgotten how large the spiral of the Paths were. His mind struggled to grasp the scale of it; he rationally understood that it was meant to cross enormous distances, but it was one thing to be told of the vast emptiness between Spheres and another entirely to face the structure meant to connect them. The diameter of the Path was at least equal in size to the palace. Michael¡¯s earlier, impulsive thought that the Path resembled a giant spiral staircase descended from above came to him again, and though he now thought it was a terribly inelegant comparison, it served as an adequate baseline.


    The Path Aeon Raphael led them to was not the same Path she had arrived with. The Paths themselves may have been identical, but the area around them was not: a shallow stream wound through the trees surrounding this clearing that the first clearing had lacked, otherwise Michael would never have known the difference. A quiet, powerful energy thrummed in the air around the base of the Path, a soft buzzing that settled in the back of one¡¯s mind, easy to tune out but always at the edge of one¡¯s awareness. The Path itself was composed of golden light given solid form, precisely the colour of fresh blood but hypnotically beautiful despite it. The centre of the spiral was a font of warm, multi-hued light similar to that which emanated from the Sephiroth.


    Oblivious to the impossibility of it all, Aeon Raphael never hesitated as she approached the Path. When she stepped onto the initial slope of the luminescent walkway, she let out a tremendous sigh as if a substantial weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Much of the tension she had been carrying dissipated from her frame, leaving her far more at ease than Michael had seen her yet. She paused at last partway up the spiral, her posture relaxed as she shifted her weight on her crutch and held out her free hand for Michael to replace the ribbon.


    ¡°Y-you will need t-to approach the Path to cross,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s perfectly safe.¡±


    Michael took a slow, deep breath. The four guards whispered anxiously behind his back to each other before Mahariel shushed them. Thoughts of the dark, empty Void that awaited them beyond the aurora, beyond Hod, bit at Michael¡¯s pretence of calm. He would have appreciated his sword at the moment if only so he¡¯d have something to do with his hands. He shoved that thought away before it could take root. He had survived being buried alive this very morning, he reminded himself, just as he had survived being lost alone in the dark in Hod before. Darkness itself could not hurt him, and he wouldn¡¯t be facing this trip alone. Steeling his resolve, Michael staggered the final distance to the base of the Path, counting his breaths as he went to avoid looking up.


    He stepped onto the Path itself. It was an electrifying sensation, though not necessarily an unpleasant one. An echo of the immense power of the Path coursed through his body, causing his fingertips to tingle. For a single moment, he thought he could visualise the invisible threads of energy binding the world together. It passed as quickly as it had come and left him uncertain whether it was an illusion. He relaxed a bit. This wasn¡¯t so bad. He could handle this. With each step, he gained confidence as he made up the difference to where Aeon Raphael was waiting for him.


    ¡°You will n-need to b-be quicker than th-that if y-you want to make it to Kether on t-time,¡± Aeon Raphael told him as he placed her end of the ribbon back in her hand.


    ¡°All right, I hear you,¡± Michael mumbled. He gestured for the others to join them. Mahariel trotted forward at once, her squad quick to fall in line behind her.


    Together, they made their way up the gradually curving slope of the Path as it twisted higher and higher, above the tops of the trees and far into the sky itself. Michael was careful to avoid looking upwards towards the Void. Instead, he focused on the spectacular sight of Hod unfurling below them, endless in every direction. The rail of the walkway, if that was what one could call the wall of golden light that comprised the outer edge of the spiral of the Path, cast the world beyond through a glass of fleeting, twinkling lights. The aurora were satiny curtains draped across the ceiling of the sky, and through the sparse spattering of clouds, the city below was a maze of detail and life. The white stone of the buildings shone from this angle, the high roofs, archways, winding streets and decorative pillars gleaming with the reflected colours of the ever-shifting celestial pattern. Lit pyres burned in the squares, remnants of the day¡¯s kindling, warm points of interest among the cooler colours of the buildings. The daeva themselves were barely visible from this distance, reduced to tiny smudges of activity flittering about their business. The other three Paths rose from the forest at the centre of the city, curving up and away into the sky towards the other Spheres. At the core of it all was the pillar of holy light from the Sephirah Hod that fed the aurora. From this height, he could even see beyond the ring of mountains lining the basin. Fiery rivers crossing the volcanic Outlands stretched forever in every direction, endless and untouched.


    ¡°You know, I¡¯m not certain I recall the last time I was this high up,¡± Michael said when they were almost level with the lower edge of the auroral curtains. ¡°That is to say, I certainly recall the occasion - it was during the construction of the communications tower - but I couldn¡¯t tell you when it took place.¡±


    ¡°Construction of the primary tower was completed approximately two-hundred-and-fifty-seven thousand seasons ago, my Aeon,¡± Mahariel supplied.


    ¡°Thank you, yes. That was one of our first major projects, and we were in no way prepared to deal with the aurora. We didn¡¯t understand then just how much energy they produced. I was all but dropped from the sky by one that was nearly that precise shade of purple,¡± Michael said, pointing to a vibrant swatch of purple swirling around the Path. He then remembered he was speaking to a blind woman and cringed, awkwardly wiping his hand on the front of his shirt as if to pretend that had been the gesture he¡¯d intended all along. ¡°Er, what I mean is that we typically discourage anyone from getting this close, with good reason. They¡¯re beautiful, but it¡¯s really quite dangerous to approach them too closely without first taking adequate precautions.¡±


    ¡°Y-you couldn¡¯t hear them?¡± Aeon Raphael asked, tilting her head to the side. ¡°I-I only know them by the s-sound they make. While I was a-asleep, the noise was constant. Th-the crackling, hissing sound was everywhere. Th-they sound like power. Can y-you not hear it?¡±


    Though muted by the thrum of the Path itself, the hissing static sound of the aurora was unmistakable at this distance. The raw energy in the air caused the fine hairs along his arms to stand on end.


    ¡°Yes, I hear it. This is a noise I typically think of as a warning.¡± Michael chuckled nervously. ¡°To hear the aurora this clearly, one needs to be much closer to them than is safe.¡±


    ¡°You n-needn¡¯t worry; the Path will shield us,¡± Aeon Raphael said. She perked up, adding brightly, ¡°The aurora are f-fascinating, yes? T-to think that mere whispers of aether c-colliding with the upper edge of the Spheres produces such a p-powerful result is spectacular. They ought to p-prove that we couldn¡¯t su-survive direct exposure to the Source anymore than w-we could survive our absolute r-removal from It, yet instead, th-they show how shielded we are. They sh-show how delicate the balance is. F-for that, I love them.¡±


    ¡°I admit I¡¯ve never thought of them in that way,¡± said Michael. By then they were inside the auroral curtain; vast swirls of brilliant blues, purples and greens stretched through the sky outside the Path. The noise was constant and the air crackled with raw energy, but their walkway itself was undisturbed. ¡°I¡¯ve seen them as the lights that mark the day and the edge of the world. I¡¯ve admired them from a distance, accepted they were part of the world and then put them from my mind. To me, they were always something awesome and dangerous and¡­ untouchable,¡± he whispered.


    Aeon Raphael went quiet. She tugged thoughtfully on the ribbon linking them and asked in a timid, subdued voice, ¡°D-did you sh-shackle yourself or did s-someone else do it t-to you?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got it all wrong,¡± Michael blurted out. ¡°The sword isn¡¯t some self-inflicted torture device; it¡¯s a safety measure. We have built a thriving and complex world and yet the Source has not seen fit to bless everyone with our invulnerability. Therefore it would be irresponsible, not to mention cruel, to flaunt our power in any way which would endanger the lives of the innocent we are meant to protect. If it takes a shackle, as you so eloquently put it, to ensure their safety, then I¡¯d not consider it a shackle at all. I would consider it a necessity. But that sword, as I said before, is a tool, a focus, and a very effective one at that. If you¡¯re hung up on the fact that it¡¯s a sword and not something more sensible, I assure you it was a personal design decision that in no way affects the base functionality of the item. I don¡¯t feel the need to justify my actions beyond that.¡±


    Aeon Raphael bared her teeth in a frustrated, ill-at-ease grimace and declined to question him further. The fleeting moment of companionship they had shared evaporated and a heavy silence settled in its place.


    By then they were through the brilliant lights of the aurora, beyond the upper reaches of Hod and entering the Void proper. Michael had always pictured the Void as something out of his worst nightmares: black and empty and infinite. It was an immense relief to discover that, when viewed through the lens of the Path, at least, it appeared to be anything but. Great rivers of formless aether billowed through the emptiness, the lifeblood of the Source appearing not as bright in its raw form as the aurora which lit the Spheres but no less colourful. The aether gathered in grand clouds and pools to form a living watercolour painting in constant motion on a celestial scale. The sparkling, golden light of the Path stretched overhead to enclose them in a protective tunnel that continued forward into infinity towards their first destination, Geburah. Even once they had left the atmosphere of the Sphere, the Sephirah Hod lingered in the back of his mind, lessened by distance but still comfortingly there as it always had been. He could see nothing sinister lurking amid the towering pillars of aether.


    ¡°It¡¯s g-good to be free,¡± Aeon Raphael said, relief clear in her voice. She left the ribbon behind in his grasp and hobbled ahead towards the side of the Path. Just as Michael was about to warn her of the edge, she stopped, took her crutch in both hands and threw it as hard as she could. The crutch passed through the wall of light without resistance, nothing but a small ripple marking its passing, and spun away into the Void where it twirled endlessly until it was eventually lost in one of the aether formations. Aeon Raphael stretched both hands over her head in an exaggerated motion. ¡°Th-that feels much better.¡±


    ¡°It seems wasteful,¡± Michael said, eyeing her renewed vigour with something bordering suspicion. ¡°If you had no real need of it, we could have left it behind.¡±


    ¡°I n-needed it then. I-I don¡¯t need it now. I told you b-before that the Paths were mine. The load is lighter out here in th-the Void.¡±


    ¡°And what will you do when you need it again for the council?¡±


    ¡°R-right, I meant to ask: wh-what is a council?¡±


    Michael stared at her, at a loss for words. ¡°How do you mean, ¡®what is a council¡¯?¡±


    Aeon Raphael gestured vaguely at nothing in particular as if she was hoping to pull the words from mid-air. ¡°Why a-are we going? What¡¯s s-so important? I¡¯d r-rather go home.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going because we¡¯ve been called by the King,¡± Michael said slowly. ¡°That¡¯s really all that matters. I presume Most High means to use the council to speak to us about this new era we find ourselves in. Much has changed quite suddenly, thanks in no small part to you and your Paths. There is also an issue Aeon Gabriel wants to raise regarding one of her visions. She seems to think it also has to do with you, or, specifically, with whatever left you in your present condition.¡±


    Aeon Raphael went still. The golden lines crossing her body pulsed in time with the light of the Path. ¡°Y-yes, I know Yesod. We sh-share the same start, n-not your history.¡±


    Michael looked at her in surprise. ¡°Yes, I suppose that¡¯s true.¡±


    She turned to face where he stood, the heel of her palm pressed against her face. ¡°Michael, y-you would know. What is Most High like?¡±


    ¡°What is there to say? The King is the best of us in every way,¡± Michael blustered, choosing to ignore the use of his name in his agitation. ¡°He is beyond our comment. He is the closest to the Source. He is the reason the Spheres exist as they do. We owe the world itself to the King. His will is unquestionable. We must hurry so that we will meet His deadline.¡±


    ¡°U-unquestionable,¡± Aeon Raphael repeated thoughtfully. She unfolded her wings, the movement stiff and uncoordinated as she held them high in preparation to take flight. More chords of light extended across her wings, giving her feathers a bloodied and unkempt appearance. ¡°Can y-you fly, Michael?¡±


    ¡°Er, of course I can fly,¡± Michael said. ¡°I am not, however, so certain it would be wise for you to fly in your condition. I had assumed we would be walking.¡±


    ¡°If you w-want to walk there, you ought to have l-left two d-days ago.¡±


    ¡°Pardon my asking, but how will you see where you¡¯re going while flying?¡± Michael asked. ¡°If you lose the Path, how would you find your way back?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t lose the Path,¡± Aeon Raphael said. Her red hair fluttered in the lower gravity of the Void, and the golden light of her markings gave the illusion that her head was wreathed in fire. ¡°They a-are part of me. I won¡¯t lose m-myself.¡± She turned towards Geburah as if listening for something only she could hear. ¡°If y-you can¡¯t keep up, just st-stay on the Path.¡±


    She took off, much faster in flight than he would have assumed she could be capable of and was soon out of sight.


    ¡°Your orders, my Aeon?¡± Mahariel prompted him.


    ¡°Above all else, stay together,¡± Michael said. He unfolded his wings in preparation to follow the other Aeon.


    Mahariel nodded and soon they were racing along the Path towards the Sphere of the Crown, always keeping one eye on the depths of the Void for a glimpse at whatever may lurk within.

 The Council

    The day was growing long when Gabriel arrived in Kether, not yet in the onset of evening but approaching it rapidly. She studied the First Sphere as she descended the sloping spiral of the Path. From a distance, the city below appeared orderly and symmetrical. It was nearly perfect. However, the softening colours of the aurora combined with the golden glow of the Path gave the illusion that the Sphere was drenched in fresh blood.


    The Path deposited her in a large, open plaza lined with lustrous stone towards the centre of the city. An extravagant procession of daeva waited in the plaza, silent rows of guards and attendants displaying the device of the Crown. A petite girl hurried from the line of waiting daeva towards the Path, her head bowed and a sheer veil drawn over her eyes.


    ¡°Gabriel, Aeon of Yesod, the Word of Foundation and Base of Yetzirah, welcome to Kether, the Crown of the Source,¡± the daeva recited. ¡°Most High has been expecting you. Please allow me to escort you to the palace.¡±


    With a tiny gesture of her hand meant to instruct her own guards to stay behind her, Gabriel regarded the daeva impassively. She noted the differences in dress and manners from what she was accustomed to. In Yesod it had become customary to clasp one¡¯s hands in front of the chest and bow at the waist, but this girl kept her back straight, curtsying with her knees and fluffing out her skirt. She did not lift her gaze to look upon the Aeon directly. Gabriel lifted her chin in the barest hint of a nod. ¡°Very well.¡±


    Adding a final flourish to her curtsy, the daeva straightened and turned to lead the Aeon into the city itself. With her hands folded under the flowing silk of her sleeves, her posture composed and her head held high and undaunted, Gabriel followed the guide to the palace. Her retinue of attendants fell in synchronised step behind her. A handful of silent Kether guards broke from their rows to flank the procession. Gabriel did not break her stride to acknowledge them, and her trusted guards were too well disciplined to react.


    They proceeded through the city in silence. Her guide would not speak without permission to offer a tour. Gabriel did not prompt her to speak.


    Kether looked nothing like what Gabriel imagined it would. Admittedly it was not a topic she had devoted much thought to, but she had assumed the seat of the Source¡¯s chosen would be as unknowable as the Source Itself. What she saw of the capital of Kether showed a city much like any other. Oh, there were differences that set it apart from anything native to her own Sphere. The buildings were tall and thin, built out of white stone and often sporting towering spires and dramatic, curving lines. They had very little in common with the long, low buildings topped with sweeping roofs and made of cool, dark wood that was the preferred style in Yesod. A pang of longing for the familiarity of her home pricked at her composure. What troubled her most was the lack of open water; in Yesod, water was a common aspect of daily life. It flowed between the streets and often through the buildings. It was incorporated into most fixtures and many small routines. In its absence, she felt far too removed from her natural element to be comfortable.


    It did not escape her notice how quiet the city was. They passed precious few daeva in the streets, and a reverent hush lingered in the air. While the people of Yesod were not inclined to riotous behaviour, Gabriel was certain the arrival of a foreign Aeon would have drawn more interest than Kether displayed.


    The palace in Kether was built around the pillar of light which denoted the presence of the Sephirah. Several rings of thick stone walls surrounded the palace grounds, marked with tall towers guarding each gate. The walls surprised her; walls in Yesod had no use as anything other than an obstacle for animals, and certainly no walls were built as tall as these for the sake of mere decoration. After all, what use was a barrier that could easily be flown over?


    Each hallway inside the palace was lined with silent keepers, servants and guards standing in stoic silence to mark her arrival, heads bowed. The daeva guiding her through the palace stopped in a large antechamber with ornate doors set in each wall. Another contingent of guards stood stoic watch over the room. Many of the guards held large banners bearing the sigils of each of the Spheres. They all had their heads bowed low and did not look up to acknowledge Gabriel¡¯s entrance.


    ¡°Your Grace, the Sanctuary courtyard is ahead,¡± her guide said with a gesture to the most elaborate door at the end of the antechamber. ¡°Most High has requested that the Aeons gather inside to await His council. Your servants are not permitted within the Sanctuary, however, and must wait in the adjoining study.¡± She gestured to the door on the left wall.


    ¡°That will be fine,¡± Gabriel said. She dismissed her personal attendants with a wave of her hand.


    As the palace guards pushed open the heavy doors to the Sanctuary, a tremble of anxiety rippled in Gabriel¡¯s heart. On the other side of these doors were her fellow Aeons, her counterparts who each controlled equal shares of the world. They had never faced each other directly before. She knew their Words well through both instinct and research, just as surely as they would know her. But they did not know that she had seen one of them corrupted. The vision itself had not provided enough information to show her which of them it would be. Gathering that context was up to her own guile. If she were to have any chance of preventing the betrayal of their world, it was imperative she learn as much as she could of her fellows during this council.


    Resolve dismissed her unease from her countenance. She raised her chin and evened her breaths. She would give them no reason to doubt her even as she learned all that she needed from them.


    The doors to the Sanctuary courtyard opened with a resounding boom to allow her a glimpse of what lay beyond at last. A shallow pool lined the courtyard, feeding a modest fountain along one side. The soft whispers of the water were a much needed balm to her fraying nerves. Thick vines of ivy climbed the walls, the verdant bundles of nerves interspersed with clusters of white, sweet-smelling blooms and lit torches. In the centre of the courtyard, a score of daeva performed a lively ribbon dance set to quick-tempo music. Other members of the palace staff floated through rows of stone benches, carrying platters of drinks and foodstuffs as they went. The pillar of holy light in the sky announced that the far end of the courtyard led to the Sanctuary containing the Sephirah Kether. It was curious to note that the sensation of being so near the Sephirah Kether differed from what she felt when near the Sephirah Yesod; the presence of the Source was alive in the back of her mind as if it were a tangible thing, but Kether was a separate entity that she could not commune with. It lacked the welcome familiarity of Yesod.


    The Aeon of Binah and the Aeon of Chesed huddled together near the fountain in excited conversation. The Aeon of Chokmah sat nearby but was uninvolved in their discussion, his eyes closed as he faced the doors of the Sanctuary in meditation. Was he listening to the Sephirah? Perhaps, as the second under the King, he heard Kether differently than she did.


    As soon as Gabriel stepped over the threshold and into the courtyard proper, her guide vanished wordlessly into the palace and the guards shut the door behind her.


    ¡°Ah, I was wondering who would be the next to arrive,¡± spoke a voice to Gabriel¡¯s left. Said voice belonged to Haniel, the Aeon of Netzach, who lounged on a bench wreathed with red flowers, a goblet of wine in hand. Aeon Haniel¡¯s posture was utterly relaxed, her long legs crossed at the ankles, her generous curves wrapped in a heavy cream-coloured fabric trimmed with emerald green. Her thick, dark hair fell over one shoulder and trailed to her waist, small flowers and thin, glittering strands of ribbon meant to catch the light braided into the delicate plaits. Intricate designs were drawn across her warm skin in a reddish ink, pulling attention to the curve of her cheekbones and the grace of her limbs. She met Gabriel¡¯s gaze calmly, her own eyes the same shade of green as a forest during the height of summer, and gestured with her free hand for one of the waiting daeva to step forward. ¡°And to think, you had the farthest distance to travel, too. Join me for a drink, Aeon Gabriel? Shall we get to know one another as we attempt to guess who will be next to appear?¡±


    ¡°I do not know if that would be wise, Haniel, Aeon of Netzach, the Word of Victory and the Nature of Eternity,¡± Gabriel said, clasping her hands politely in front of herself. She remained standing.


    Aeon Haniel took a slow drink from her cup, her green eyes appraising her fellow Aeon shrewdly. She accepted a fresh goblet from the daeva she had motioned for and took the time to readjust her legs before she spoke again, the delicate bands of metal twinkling merrily in the light. ¡°If it pleases you. I do suppose such a game would be somewhat¡­ lacking in sport for one who can see the future, would it not?¡±


    Gabriel met her gaze coolly, her own face a perfect, practiced mask of serenity. She had forgotten what it was to stand opposite one who could match her power. And there was power within Aeon Haniel, though not an ounce of it showed as tension in her muscles. Gabriel saw Aeon Haniel for what she was: a great huntress lounging in the shade after a successful hunt, sated for now but never to be ignored. ¡°Shall I presume from your ¡®game¡¯ that some of our number are not yet in Kether?¡±


    ¡°I presume you shall, and you would be correct to think so,¡± said Aeon Haniel. She swirled the wine in her cup lazily. ¡°We are yet three short. I arrived not long ago, myself. It¡¯s been a game in itself trying to get clear answers from anyone here, but as I understand it, Aeon Raziel was the first to arrive with Aeon Tzaphkiel shortly behind him. As one would expect from the two Aeons of Highest Yetzirah directly under the King, I imagine. And, of course, wherever the Aeon of Binah goes, the Aeon of Chesed is sure to follow.¡± She pointed to where the two were still enraptured in conversation, a soft smile playing on her lips. ¡°I did not wish to intrude. They are nearly identical, don¡¯t you agree? I find it fascinating. I do wonder, however: do you think they are happy, forced apart as they are?¡±


    Gabriel followed her gaze to the twin Aeons, Tzaphkiel and Tzadkiel, their Words Understanding and Mercy respectively. From this distance, at least, she did agree they appeared nearly identical. The twins sat with their hands tightly clasped and their heads bowed so closely together that it would have been easy to think they were in prayer, but their bright smiles made it clear this was a joyous reunion.


    ¡°I believe it would be improper for me to speak on their behalf on such a personal subject,¡± Gabriel said.


    ¡°Yes, I suppose it would be,¡± Aeon Haniel mused. ¡°What can we know of how they feel? Do our daeva even have a proper word for siblings? I can¡¯t recall ever hearing them have cause to speak of brothers or sisters.¡±


    ¡°The daeva know of siblings,¡± said Gabriel. ¡°They have studied the occurrence in animals even if they have not experienced it themselves. They have formed communal peer groups and bonded together even if they are not bound by bloodlines. They are capable of understanding a concept that does not apply to them literally.¡±


    Aeon Haniel smiled sharply, her eyes twinkling with amusement. ¡°Of course. Forgive me, my mind is elsewhere.¡± Her gaze drifted to the group of dancers in the centre of the courtyard. She tilted her head to the side with a wistful expression, the decorations in her hair and draped across her forehead shining. ¡°I will admit, it is¡­ odd to be here. Perhaps I have grown too comfortable in Netzach, but this place is something out of a dream.¡±


    This silent palace of watchful eyes and strange walls was about as far removed as it was possible to be from the one dream Gabriel cared about presently, and she said as much. ¡°It is like no dream I have ever had.¡±


    ¡°No, of course not,¡± said Aeon Haniel, focusing on Gabriel once more. ¡°You dream of the future. This is a dream of the past. How could you dream of a memory you do not share?¡±


    ¡°As you said, I dream of the future. To remember the past seems distinctly less impressive,¡± said Gabriel. She prayed the other Aeon couldn¡¯t hear the pounding of her heart or see the involuntary flutter of her eyelashes.


    ¡°I will grant you that,¡± Aeon Haniel said with a pleased laugh. ¡°Far better one live in the present, at any rate, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±


    Whether or not Gabriel would have agreed, she was prevented from voicing her opinion by the door to the palace creaking open to admit the final three Aeons: first the Aeon of Geburah, the Word of Strength, to whom Gabriel had spoken with only once many seasons ago, then the Aeon of Hod, the Word of Glory, who towered head and shoulders over everyone else in the courtyard but appeared terribly distracted, glancing repeatedly behind himself to the room they had just left, and lastly, Gabriel presumed, the Aeon of Tiphareth, the Word of Beauty.


    Aeon Michael had told her what to expect of Aeon Raphael¡¯s condition. His description led her to guess that whatever may have happened was related to her vision. She had been anticipating the pursuit of that line of inquiry to uncover whatever answers it may reveal to her. She was not prepared for how physical her own reaction was to the previously lost Aeon of Tiphareth. Gabriel¡¯s hand flew to her own throat, the phantom memory of burning strangulation from her vision now at the forefront of her mind. Aeon Raphael struggled to keep with Aeon Michael¡¯s deliberately slow pace. A length of red ribbon acted as a tether between the two of them; Aeon Raphael kept her head lowered as she allowed herself to be led into the courtyard, limping and trembling with effort. The strange markings covering her body were just as Aeon Michael had described them: precisely the shade and brightness of open, bleeding wounds, but lacking any blood.


    Aeon Haniel stood, all traces of her previous casual demeanour gone in an instant. ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡±


    It was the Aeon of Hod who answered her. ¡°We¡¯ve had a long trip. I¡¯m certain we¡¯ll all feel better after we¡¯ve had a chance to rest,¡± he said with a glance at Aeon Raphael to gauge her reaction.


    Aeon Raphael had not looked up from the floor since their arrival, and she did not raise her head at the sound of his voice now. She murmured some quiet agreement and followed Aeon Michael to the nearest bench. As she blindly felt at the bench before easing herself down, her limbs now shaking so badly she looked on the verge of collapse, the movement tilted her head enough for Gabriel to see that her eyes were clouded and white, crossed by more of the same markings.


    ¡°It was wrong to bring her here with open wounds,¡± Aeon Haniel said to Aeon Michael. ¡°She needs her injuries tended to, not to be dragged before a council.¡±


    Distressed crossed Aeon Michael¡¯s face, enough to imply that he had likely shared the same thought.


    ¡°There are not wounds as we know them,¡± Gabriel said before he could speak. She approached Aeon Raphael hesitantly, the sensations from her vision as fresh on her skin as they had been when she had first awoken from it. ¡°This is something else. Tell us what you saw,¡± she implored Aeon Raphael quietly.


    Aeon Raphael pressed a hand against her throat with a wheezing cough. ¡°I-I have seen nothing.¡±


    The memory of being dragged through the Void to be tortured by an unseeable attacker hit Gabriel with enough force to cause her breath to hitch. ¡°Nothing attacked you,¡± she whispered. It was not a question.


    Judging from Aeon Raphael¡¯s shuddering whimper, she understood. ¡°There was n-no reason,¡± she agreed slowly.


    ¡°Let me see your face,¡± Gabriel said. She reached out to brush Aeon Raphael¡¯s red hair away from her forehead.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Aeon Michael started in warning, but before he could speak, Aeon Raphael jolted backwards away from Gabriel¡¯s touch as if she¡¯d been stabbed; only Aeon Michael¡¯s grip on the red ribbon tied around her wrist kept her from launching herself backwards off the bench.


    ¡°Don¡¯t ever touch me!¡± Aeon Raphael cried between shallow, panicked gasps.


    ¡°Easy, you¡¯re safe, no need to hurt yourself,¡± Aeon Michael said as he tugged on the ribbon to encourage her to sit upright once more. ¡°Rest now and gather your strength.¡±


    ¡°No one t-touches me,¡± Aeon Raphael insisted, but as her panic faded, so too did what brief strength she had gained from it.


    ¡°I understand,¡± Aeon Michael said. He turned to face the others with a helplessly apologetic shrug. ¡°She needs her space. That¡¯s been her sole request since we found her. Aeon Gabriel is correct to say the markings are not typical ¡®wounds¡¯, however. Our healers could make no sense of them or how to treat them. We hoped to find answers here.¡±


    ¡°When did this happen?¡± Gabriel asked, her gaze flicking between the two of them.


    ¡°She manifested in this condition alongside the Paths in Hod,¡± Aeon Michael said. ¡°I had hoped her condition would improve with time spent in her body, but it is a slow process and she¡¯s not had adequate rest.¡±


    ¡°Manifested alongside the Paths? You mean to say you¡¯ve been without a body all this time?¡± Aeon Haniel asked, surprised. ¡°Oh, darling. No wonder you¡¯re confused; you¡¯re barely a person at this point, to say nothing else of whatever ails you. Let¡¯s get you something to drink and see if we can¡¯t ease this transition somewhat, shall we?¡± She gestured to one of the nearby palace staff to bring forth another goblet of wine.


    ¡°Perhaps not before we see the King,¡± Aeon Michael objected gently, intercepting the goblet before it could be delivered to Aeon Raphael. He started to set it aside, then paused, glancing around the courtyard as if only now noticing his surroundings for the first time. A conflicted expression passed over his face and he quickly downed the wine himself. He passed the goblet back to the daeva who had brought it with a polite gesture to Aeon Raphael. ¡°Some solid nourishment would be appreciated, I think. Something light and easy to manage, if you please.¡±


    ¡°I would like to know the state of Tiphareth,¡± Aeon Haniel said. ¡°Is the Sephirah suffering as you are? What of the Sphere?¡±


    There was a pause as Aeon Raphael visibly struggled to piece her thoughts together. ¡°Tiphareth is s-safe. Th-they are protected.¡±


    ¡°One of my Saerim spoke with the Regent of Tiphareth before we departed,¡± Aeon Michael supplied.


    ¡°That is reassuring. However, I must say I¡¯ve never heard of a manifestation experiencing these problems,¡± Aeon Haniel said as she settled herself on the seat opposite them. ¡°Pardon my asking, but if you were not attacked, what could have caused this?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t r-remember,¡± Aeon Raphael stammered.


    ¡°I have a theory it may have to do with the fact that she manifested so far from the Sephirah Tiphareth,¡± said Aeon Michael, but his tone lacked conviction and he looked to Gabriel as if for confirmation.


    ¡°That is incorrect,¡± Gabriel said softly. She studied Aeon Raphael as an eerie ringing noise built behind her ears. ¡°That is not what did this.¡±


    ¡°You speak with authority on the matter,¡± said Aeon Haniel. She watched Gabriel sharply, but Gabriel did not turn to face her.


    As they talked over her, Aeon Raphael had not moved. She sat so still she was barely breathing, her head bowed to one side as if listening for something far away. The golden lines marking her brightened and dimmed in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. She could have been sleeping were it not for the obvious tension in her muscles.


    ¡°Aeon Michael, may I speak with you a moment?¡± Gabriel asked.


    He looked surprised at her request. He glanced at Aeon Raphael once, frowning, before he nodded and stood to follow her to a more private corner of the courtyard.


    ¡°Surely Aeon Raphael deserves to hear your thoughts on her condition before I do?¡± he asked.


    For a moment, Gabriel was distracted by how peculiar it was to speak with someone who so thoroughly dwarfed her. Aeon Michael hunched perhaps subconsciously in an effort to make the difference in height less intimidating, but it mattered very little. She stood straighter and held her head higher in response.


    ¡°I do not know what did this, not yet, but I know it is not as benign as separation from her Sephirah,¡± Gabriel said. ¡°During my vision of the epoch, I dreamt the same wounds were inflicted on me, but long ago.¡±


    Aeon Michael frowned as he digested her words. Gabriel wondered if he realised how openly he wore what he was thinking; his facial expressions were animated nearly to the point of exaggeration, so unlike the self-controlled reservation that was expected in Yesod.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose I need to point out that you presently do not share Aeon Raphael¡¯s condition,¡± Aeon Michael said. ¡°You¡¯re certain it was the same? Then you know what caused it?¡±


    ¡°I could not see, and there are aspects that do not align with reality. I dreamt I was injured shortly after the formation of the Spheres,¡± Gabriel said.


    ¡°Forgive me, I thought you only dreamt of the future,¡± said Aeon Michael.


    Gabriel hesitated. Her brow furrowed before she remembered to school her expression. ¡°I do. I always have. This was something new. I must be missing a key detail. What I dreamt did not happen, not to me, not during the formation of the Spheres.¡±


    ¡°This was during the vision that prompted you to contact me?¡± Aeon Michael asked.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Before the activation of the Paths?¡± he pressed. ¡°You dreamt of suffering this injury the morning before it was inflicted on Aeon Raphael?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re suggesting I misinterpreted the context,¡± Gabriel said thoughtfully.


    ¡°I mean no offense,¡± Aeon Michael hurried to assure her. ¡°But you claim to only dream of the future, yet this was a dream of a past that did not happen. But it was dreamt moments before a version of it did happen¡­ to someone else.¡±


    ¡°It would be more than that. I had never contacted Aeon Raphael before today. To my knowledge, no one had. She came out of hiding in response to our actions taken due to my vision. If that was what allowed her attacker to reach her¡­¡± Gabriel trailed off, turning to look at where Aeon Raphael still sat. The Aeon of Tiphareth was not moving even as Aeon Haniel continued to try to coax her into conversation. Aeon Raphael sat with her shoulders hunched, one hand gripping the edge of the bench and the other pressed against her throat. The buzzing hum between Gabriel¡¯s ears grew in intensity. She shook her head to clear it, struggling to focus on her present surroundings as she turned to look at Aeon Michael. ¡°You are certain this happened during the activation of the Paths, not before?¡±


    ¡°I can tell you once more what I saw, though in truth I am certain of very little,¡± he said. ¡°I saw the Paths connect to Hod first, then Aeon Raphael began to manifest. It was during this process that something went wrong, before she had fully taken her body, though I could not see what.¡±


    She had been careless. Urgency and panic had bested her. She had acted without understanding the full scope of the situation, and now she did not even know how much that poor choice had cost them. ¡°Actions have consequences,¡± Gabriel whispered to herself. To her counterpart she said, ¡°I must reiterate my request that you keep all we have discussed in confidence. I need time to determine the results of our actions without unchecked interference from the others.¡±


    Doubt and discomfort were plain to read on Aeon Michael¡¯s face. Gabriel wondered how he ever kept necessary information secret from his daeva, or if he even bothered to try. ¡°And what of Aeon Raphael?¡±


    ¡°We must care for her, and presently the best we can do is to determine what injured her,¡± Gabriel said. She stole another glance at the Aeon of Tiphareth but had to avert her gaze; the image of one of their own murdered by the corrupted one from her vision clouded her eyes. Her head was spinning. The buzzing noise of an oncoming vision threatened to drown her. ¡°We must¡­ It is imperative that¡­ All will fall if¡­¡±


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    ¡°Aeon Gabriel? Are you all right?¡± Aeon Michael¡¯s voice echoed oddly in her ears, distant and distorted with concern.


    ¡°I am to have another vision,¡± she said. It was a struggle to get the words out in a coherent sentence. Her head was swimming. Pieces of the courtyard at the edge of her vision were breaking away to be replaced by swirling mists of possibility. The image never solidified, however, and her awareness of her surroundings remained just pressing enough that she could not transition into a trance. It was scattered, undirected, out of focus as waking visions often were, and she could not find the focus.


    A pocket of clarity bubbled around Aeon Michael. He was the only thing in focus as her awareness of the rest of the world slid in and out of her grasp. The buzzing between her ears was almost all she could hear.


    ¡°I need a focus,¡± she said, slowly to ensure her enunciation was proper. ¡°Please, let me see your hands.¡±


    He recoiled from her, drawing his hands to his chest to keep them out of reach. ¡°I don¡¯t know that that¡¯s a good idea, Aeon Gabriel. It isn¡¯t safe for others to touch me.¡±


    His voice was clear over the buzzing noise that drowned out the rest of the courtyard, but his words held no meaning to her. She tried again to explain her need. ¡°Waking visions often require a focus, something to do with the subject of the vision, to make sense. You are the focus. Please, I need your hand.¡±


    ¡°I will burn you,¡± Aeon Michael said, speaking slowly in an effort to reach her. ¡°I don¡¯t want to, but I will, as I¡¯ve burned everyone who has come in contact with me. It isn¡¯t safe.¡±


    Gabriel was beyond the ability to think on anything other than the vision she was being denied. ¡°I must do this. If this vision holds the answer, I must know it. It is my duty. Nothing else matters.¡± Unable to feel her fingers anymore, she held her hands blindly out in front of herself. ¡°I can still save them. I am an Aeon, just as you are. I am strong enough. Please help me stop this.¡±


    For a moment, she thought he would refuse. Her ability to parse the meaning of his expressions had left her. Then he cautiously took her hands in his. She could not feel his touch, but the edges of her sight exploded into the vividity of a full vision that engulfed the courtyard.


    ¡°Do not break contact,¡± Gabriel whispered. She clasped their hands tightly together and allowed her eyes to close.


    The world dissolved around her and she ceased to be.


    She saw Michael reaching for her from across an impossible distance. His familiar face was a study in concern, fear, and determination. Michael was her only focus; the world around them was little more than a distant pattern of shifting colours and soft, billowing shapes. An aura of brilliant, beautiful power wreathed him, shining as brightly as any of the Spheres twinkling faintly in the background. He was speaking as he reached for her, but the howling wind surrounding them carried his words far away. He gestured desperately for her to come to him, his expression pleading and hopeful. The desire to comply was so crushing she thought her chest would burst, but she knew she couldn¡¯t. Not now. She turned away from him, slowly, agonisingly, to look behind herself.


    She stood before a great weakness in the world, a long gash in the fabric of reality that led to something unimaginable. A thin sheet of reality yet separated their world from what lay beyond, a feeble, failing shield between the Spheres and an alternative that could not exist. There was movement on the other side, unclear but mesmerising for its alien nature. Unidentifiable shadows paced eagerly in anticipation of freedom. She wanted freedom as well, more than she had ever wanted anything else. Such a thin sheet of reality stood between her and her freedom now. It would not take much to break through, and she was holding a sword.


    A solid force connected with Gabriel¡¯s chest, staggering her backwards and breaking the connection. She fell to the ground with a sharp gasp as the present collided with the future in her mind, leaving her temporarily unaware of herself. Fuzzy sounds of raised voices echoed through her confusion. She felt a twinge of annoyance; the palace staff knew better than to make such a racket during her meditations. Reality returned to her in a rush: she was in Kether, not Yesod, in the King¡¯s own courtyard waiting to be summoned for a council, and she had just had a waking vision in front of the Aeon of Hod. Gabriel pushed herself upright with effort, struggling to regain control and awareness of her limbs, and opened her eyes.


    The Aeon of Geburah, the Word of Strength and the Arm of Justice loomed between her and Aeon Michael, arms held wide in a stance that threatened immediate aggression. Aeon Khamael was of average height and build, slim with lean muscles and dressed in an undecorated, understated manner, but the unflinching certainty with which she held herself as she glared up at the much taller Aeon Michael negated any illusion of inequality the difference in their heights may have caused.


    ¡°Explain yourself,¡± Aeon Khamael demanded quietly, her soft voice full of harsh accusations.


    Aeon Michael shrank away from her as if she had physically accosted him. His eyes were wide with horror as he clutched his hands to his chest. ¡°I-I didn¡¯t mean¡­ I wasn¡¯t¡­ She was having a vision, and -¡±


    ¡°And that required you to destroy her hands?¡± Aeon Khamael interrupted.


    Her hands. Gabriel turned her hands over slowly to stare at her palms. The skin was shiny and red and rapidly swelled as she watched. Her whole body was still numb, as was normal when she first came out of a vision, so she was uncertain how much pain her hands were in or how much difficulty moving her fingers could be attributed to the burn itself. She thought they could hardly be considered ¡®destroyed¡¯, however. It was a curious sensation of disassociation to see an injury on her body that she could not yet feel.


    ¡°I am so sorry,¡± Aeon Michael babbled. His voice sounded very far away to her, even though he was barely outside of arm¡¯s reach away. He took a step towards Gabriel, but Aeon Khamael deliberately moved between them to stop him, spreading her arms wide.


    ¡°If you cannot calm yourself, you need to leave before you cause further damage,¡± Aeon Khamael said.


    Gabriel knew she wanted to protest - Aeon Khamael had no right to dismiss the Aeon of Hod when Most High Himself had summoned them there - but she was too distracted watching Michael to form a coherent sentence. Traces of her vision lingered behind her eyes: a ghost of the brilliant aura she had seen hovered around Michael¡¯s head, a colourful after-image superimposed atop reality. She blinked to banish it, forcing her mind to return to the present through sheer will at the same time Aeon Michael let out an agitated sigh and inclined his head in agreement.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. Of course, you¡¯re right. I apologise. Here, I have an ointment that ought to help,¡± Aeon Michael said. He fished a small, dark vial from one of his pockets and held it up as proof.


    This time, Aeon Khamael allowed him to pass, though her purple eyes remained sharp and suspicious, her long platinum hair gleaming a soft violet in the approaching twilight. Aeon Michael eased past her and knelt beside Gabriel.


    ¡°May I see your hands, please?¡± he requested softly.


    Nodding, Gabriel held her palms out for him to inspect. He did not reach out to touch her as he studied her burns intently.


    ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as it could have been, thankfully,¡± he said, relief evident in his tone as he uncorked the vial. ¡°With this ointment, if you can soak your hands in cool water and then keep the burn clean, it ought to heal quickly enough.¡± He paused and looked her directly in the eyes. ¡°Will you feel comfortable if I assist you here? Under most circumstances, there is very little danger when there is no direct, physical contact. I¡¯ll be careful not to touch you, but I understand if you¡¯d prefer someone else to help you.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Gabriel gasped without pausing to think. She had felt such familiarity for him during her waking dream. For a moment, she had felt certain she knew him better than she knew herself. Each facet of his expression had spoken volumes to her, more than she had ever thought possible without speaking, and she was studying him closely in an effort to recapture that curious sense of awareness. ¡°That is to say, I would appreciate your help,¡± she clarified, flustered, when she realised how she was staring at his face without speaking.


    Aeon Michael gave her a somewhat shaky smile in return, evidently unbothered by her intense scrutiny. ¡°This will likely sting a bit,¡± he warned as he tipped a healthy dollop of clear liquid from the vial onto her burns.


    It was bearable. Perhaps she was not yet fully aware of her own body, but she would have described the sensation as more of a peculiarly intense tingling than anything outright unpleasant. The smell surprised her: the liquid carried a pleasant, light scent that reminded her of a cool, summer¡¯s eve dessert rather than a medicine, though she did detect a faint trace of a harsher ingredient underneath. Whatever it was made from, the effect was immediate and the swelling stopped worsening at once. Aeon Michael instructed her on how to spread the ointment over her burns without agitating the wounds further, miming the motions with his own hands as he spoke.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Aeon Michael repeated sadly, ¡°but you will need someone else to help you stand.¡±


    ¡°Leave her the dignity of standing on her own,¡± Aeon Khamael said, crossing her arms.


    ¡°But¡­ she¡¯s injured,¡± protested Aeon Michael.


    ¡°I suspect the greatest injury has been to her pride, and the first balm for that wound will be to stand on her own power,¡± said Aeon Khamael.


    The fog in Gabriel¡¯s mind at last receded enough to allow their words to connect and the reality of her situation hit her with the impact of a slap to the face: she was on the ground, her hair and garments in complete, likely unsalvageable disarray in plain view of the other Aeons mere moments before they were scheduled to be presented before the King. Horror and humiliation fought for dominance in her mind as she untangled her skirts, doing her best to be mindful of her burns and to avoid damaging the silk further, though she was certain it was a lost cause. She stood, keenly aware of the many eyes throughout the courtyard observing their little debacle.


    With one final, critical glance between the two of them and her jaw set in a decidedly unimpressed manner, Aeon Khamael left them to approach the twin Aeons Tzaphkiel and Tzadkiel. The twins had paused their conversation to watch them curiously, their mismatched gazes bright with concern and, Gabriel feared, pity. Grinding her teeth and fighting to keep her outward demeanour neutral, Gabriel returned to the bench they had left Aeon Raphael and Aeon Haniel on. Aeon Michael followed her, his shoulders hunched as if he was trying to appear less noticeable.


    He cleared his throat hesitantly before they reached the others. ¡°If I may ask, what did you see?¡±


    Gabriel did not raise her gaze to meet his. ¡°I saw nothing intelligible. The vision was interrupted before its time.¡±


    ¡°Then it was for naught,¡± he whispered, the words bitter and hollow.


    She stopped in her tracks. ¡°Say nothing of what we discussed to the others.¡±


    He frowned, pressing his lips into a thin line as he turned away from her to look around the courtyard. His gaze fixed on one of the tall towers that stood over the main entrance to the palace, a striking lance piercing the sky, as he said in a wistful voice, ¡°I think you ought to know that there are no secrets in this court.¡±


    Gabriel was abruptly aware of every palace servant in the courtyard. Kether¡¯s daeva ghosted around the edges of her focus, present but never drawing more attention than was necessary and utterly silent. A line of servants stood by the wall, ready to be called forth at a moment¡¯s notice and no doubt watching all that took place within the courtyard through their sheer veils. Her immediate discomfort gave way to optimism; she had nothing to hide, and perhaps their combined observation would be beneficial.


    ¡°I will tell Most High what I know,¡± she said. ¡°The decision of what to do with that knowledge will then lie with the King, as is right.¡±


    This appeared to appease Aeon Michael, who nodded. ¡°The King will know what to do.¡±


    Aeon Haniel watched them closely as they approached, her expression unreadable. Only Aeon Raphael had not reacted to the scene they had created in any way, seated in the same position with her hand pressed to her throat and her head tilted to the side as she listened. A tray of light breads sat on the bench beside her, untouched and unnoticed.


    ¡°Aeon Gabriel, tell me, do you not have any sayings in Yesod warning of what happens to those who try to touch fire?¡± Aeon Haniel asked. She again called forward one of the palace staff and requested they fetch a bowl of cool water.


    ¡°It was my mistake,¡± Aeon Michael said.


    ¡°Believe me, dear one, I saw whose mistake it was,¡± Aeon Haniel said with a sharp smile before he could continue.


    ¡°Waking visions often require contact with the subject to become clear,¡± Gabriel said, meeting her gaze squarely. ¡°In this case, the subject was the Aeon of Hod. The contents of the vision were worth the risk.¡±


    Aeon Haniel retrieved her goblet of wine once more, smiling at Gabriel over the rim. ¡°And what did you see? I hope it was worth the pain.¡±


    ¡°It was interrupted, as you saw.¡±


    ¡°What a shame.¡±


    A daeva appeared before them, her head bowed and a sheer veil covering her face, and offered Gabriel a large, shallow bowl filled with water. Accepting the offering, Gabriel gratefully submerged her hands in the cool liquid and closed her eyes with a quiet sigh, revelling for the moment in the welcome sensation of the water soothing and tending to her burns.


    Aeon Raphael sagged heavily in her seat, all semblance of life gone from her in an instant, before she sat up with a startled gasp and a cough, looking for all the world like someone who had just been prematurely woken from a deep sleep.


    ¡°H-how did I get here?¡± she asked, panic obvious in her voice as she clung to her seat.


    Aeon Michael was quick to respond, moving to stand beside her. ¡°We¡¯re in Kether for the King¡¯s council, remember?¡± he prompted gently. ¡°We spoke of this while we walked the Paths, don¡¯t you remember?¡±


    ¡°Th-the Paths are open?¡± Aeon Raphael pressed her hand against her head. Distress was causing her to shake so badly Gabriel doubted she could stand. ¡°Am I a-awake now?¡±


    ¡°You are. You are ill but among good company and we¡¯ll soon get to the bottom of what ails you.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Aeon Raphael gasped, hysteria causing her voice to break, ¡°no no no no. There was a-a reason I kept the Paths closed. I-I shouldn¡¯t be here, I need t-to go home!¡±


    ¡°The Paths were your doing?¡± Aeon Haniel asked, surprised.


    Aeon Michael ignored her, kneeling in front of Aeon Raphael and keeping his voice low and calm. ¡°Easy, be calm. What reason? What do you need?¡±


    She whined sharply, pressing both hands against her head. Once more she slumped forward abruptly, all tension gone from her muscles. Then she startled awake again. ¡°Wh-what are you saying? Did something happen?¡±


    In the centre of the courtyard, the performing daeva finished their song and moved as one to line up along the wall, never once uttering a single word. The door leading into the Sanctuary itself opened and a man walked outdoors. His posture and the bright scarf he wore identified him as a person of significance. He strode to the middle of the courtyard and bowed.


    ¡°Aeons of the outer Spheres, I am Saerim Azrael, Regent of Kether,¡± he said. ¡°On behalf of Most High, we welcome you to the Crown of the Source and hope your stay with us thus far has been a pleasant one. The King will see you now. If you would please prepare yourselves, I will take you into the Sanctuary.¡±


    A daeva approached each of the Aeons bearing a tray with a veil similar to the ones they themselves were wearing. Sudden fear stole Gabriel¡¯s breath from her; she was not ready! She needed answers, more information before she could present her vision. In a daze, Gabriel removed her hands from the bowl and flicked the lingering drops of water from her fingertips so she could inspect her palms. The burnt skin remained pink and tender to touch, but the ointment and the cold water had done a serviceable job and she would not be in any discomfort. She took the veil from the tray offered to her and placed it over her head. Her overwhelming dread of the situation turned towards how her hair must look as she lowered the veil over her face as she was instructed. The fabric was translucent enough that it did not obstruct her view in any meaningful way, but it was odd to view the world through such a filter. Gabriel stood to join the others.


    ¡°I-I don¡¯t want to go,¡± Aeon Raphael whimpered. She clutched the edge of the bench in a white-knuckled grip, hunched over as if in physical pain.


    ¡°Keep your head lowered and do not speak unless directly spoken to,¡± Aeon Michael whispered to her. He draped the veil over her head and wrapped the red ribbon he¡¯d been using to guide her around her wrist so she would not drop it, taking great care never to touch her directly as he encouraged her to stand. ¡°When you are asked a question, only answer the most obvious layer of the question you can get away with. Never offer more details than you are absolutely required to, but do not be obviously cryptic. Most importantly, under no circumstances will you phrase anything as though to imply you know more than the King or question His words, do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I w-want to go home,¡± Raphael mumbled. Though it was with clear reluctance, she released her grip from the bench and pulled herself to her feet, now clinging to the ribbon like a lifeline.


    ¡°Welcome to the day, fledgling,¡± Aeon Haniel said without turning to face them. Her shoulders were held back and her hands pressed together in front of her waist in a noble pose, but her posture read as confident and natural rather than tense or deliberate. ¡°If you wish to survive, never show that you feel fear. Come along, then.¡±


    ¡°This is for the best,¡± Aeon Michael whispered to Aeon Raphael as they took their places in line. ¡°The King will know what to do for you, how to help you. Just do not panic.¡±


    Aeon Raphael did not respond.


    The inner Sanctuary of Kether was an ample, round room divided into two sections by a billowing set of gossamer curtains. Just inside the door, the floor stepped down to cradle a circular table with eight low seats. A set of stairs led up to the curtains dividing the room. Each step was decorated with lit sticks of incense, the thick swirls of smoke permeating the air with a sweet, soothing scent. The elevated portion of the Sanctuary behind the curtain was much larger to accommodate the Sephirah Kether. The room-sized, crystalline heart of the Sphere hovered suspended in a pillar of light. Delicate, luminescent strings of golden aether bound the unfiltered power of the Source in the Sephirah to the lower worlds. Concealed within that blinding light, at the head of the stairs sat the throne of King Elion, Most High of the Aeons.


    Gabriel took all of this in with a glance. Even with the protection of the veil and the curtain between them, the presence of the Most High was too brilliant to look upon directly. She kept her head lowered demurely as she took her seat next to Aeon Michael. Since the moment she had dreamt of the epoch, her every waking moment had been focused on gaining an audience with the King to speak of her vision. She had achieved her goal, but now she knew she needed more time to gather her thoughts, to prepare herself and sort through all she had seen. Timid uncertainty settled over her, enough to reduce her to a child fumbling for attention. The King was the Chosen of the Source, the Saviour from the Golden Legend, the Will of the Endless. What could she possibly have to say that He did not already know?


    Once the Aeons were seated in their proper places and the door to the courtyard closed behind them, Regent Azrael took his own place at the foot of the stairs. He stood with his hands held loosely behind his back, ready and awaiting his next orders.


    A heavy silence settled over the Sanctuary. For a breathless moment, all was still.


    ¡°And so We are united at last,¡± the King spoke. His every word resonated within Gabriel to the very core of her being, filled with raw power that washed over her in an inescapable tidal wave. It sung to the ancient part of her soul that belonged to the Source, the part of her that had come from and would always belong to Yesod. ¡°Though We may appear separate, We Aeons are each aspects of the Source, direct instruments of the Ein Sof from which all life emanates. It was decided that the Spheres would be formed independently under your stewardship so that all aspects of the Source may freely manifest, but it was never to be forgotten that there is but One Divine. To this end, I had considered each of you extensions of My will and placed within you great trust and many of My hopes. We were to foster life as one, to further the great Plan as a unified force in balance with Our greater purpose. Unity was Our design. Instead We have been kept separate, disparate in isolated chaos by a single choice. At long last this has been remedied. Now united, We see the Plan before Us as it was intended, as well as the cost of wilful defiance of that Plan. Aeon of Tiphareth, what reason will you offer to justify your failure?¡±


    Aeon Raphael had evidently taken the advice offered to her to heart. She sat with her head bowed so low that her hair obscured her face, still as a statue. She did not react to the question; Gabriel feared she had somehow fallen asleep until she finally offered in a meek voice, ¡°I-I can¡¯t r-remember.¡±


    ¡°You were made to tend the Paths which bind the world,¡± the King said. His voice never raised above that of mild interest, but the power from the Sephirah amplified it so that each syllable stung the back of Gabriel¡¯s mind like an icy lash. And Most High wasn¡¯t even speaking to her directly. ¡°That is your sole purpose, to enable those of greater purpose to forward their designs. The Paths were meant to be open from the dawn of the Spheres. What have you done in this time instead of your sacred duty?¡±


    Aeon Raphael sagged forward under the King¡¯s words as if they were a literal weight on her shoulders. Under the table, she clutched the fabric of her dress in an iron grip. ¡°I couldn¡¯t w-wake up.¡±


    A thick silence settled over the table. Next to Gabriel, Aeon Michael coiled tightly in his seat with the barely contained need to speak up.


    ¡°You have no answer,¡± the King said. ¡°Your negligence was intentional, and for what cause? You are a child, a prideful, uninitiated, defective child who cannot fathom the nobility of the goals your self-praising ignorance has jeopardised, and, from this time onwards, you shall be treated as such. Your sole purpose is to balance the Paths. If you are incapable of even that, then what is the point of you?¡±


    ¡°Wait, my King, if it pleases You, I would request Your permission to speak,¡± Aeon Michael blurted out. He looked shocked at his own audacity, his face pale and his eyes wide.


    There was a pause during which no one dared to breathe.


    ¡°Michael,¡± King Elion acknowledged. ¡°What have you to say, My son? Rise and speak your piece.¡±


    Rising from his seat as he had been ordered, Aeon Michael took a deep, somewhat incredulous breath and forged ahead. ¡°My King, all that you say is true, as Your word is our law and always will be. You have built the world for us and will it to flourish and for life to foster safely within. We have done this. I offer this mirror gem containing an image of Hod as proof that, to the best of our abilities, we have each created a thriving Sphere brimming with the potential of our daeva, even without the Paths.¡±


    Regent Azrael stepped forward to take the small box Aeon Michael held out in offering. The Regent did not climb the stairs to pass the gift to the King but instead resumed his silent post by the bottom step. This did not seem to surprise or deter Aeon Michael in any way.


    ¡°It is my dearest hope that You will look upon our works and find them pleasing,¡± Aeon Michael said. ¡°My King, please allow me to suggest that our prolonged separation was not solely the work of Aeon Raphael. Before the activation of the Paths, I was contacted by Aeon Gabriel of Yesod, who spoke to me of a troubling vision she had foreseen.¡±


    Gabriel tried to keep the alarm from her face as she turned to face him. If he said too much now, who could say what the consequences would be? Had he already forgotten the many times she had warned him not to speak of what they had discussed? If he noticed her reaction, however, he chose to ignore it.


    ¡°We knew at once it was a matter which required Your guidance,¡± continued Aeon Michael, ¡°however we found it was impossible to relay a message to you. It was likewise difficult to contact the Aeon of Tiphareth, but, at length, she responded to my call and manifested in Hod to reach me. It is clear that something interfered with her process of taking a body. As You can see, Aeon Raphael is injured and very ill. Since I have known her, she has had constant difficulty remembering and communicating. I do not believe her condition to be mere disorientation from a difficult manifestation, however. I believe it is linked to the danger Aeon Gabriel foresaw and worthy of Your inspection, and likely the reason the Paths were so delayed.¡±


    ¡°You were unable to contact Me due to the absence of the Paths,¡± said the King. ¡°That is the only troubling event I see. The Aeon of Tiphareth¡¯s condition is her own doing; by choosing to manifest away from the Sephirah Tiphareth she has denied part of her soul and damaged herself. If she is diligent and pious, perhaps she will mend with time.¡±


    Against all better judgement, Aeon Michael continued to protest. ¡°My King, that does not align with what I saw.¡±


    ¡°You mean well, My son, but your heart yet bleeds for that which is not worthy of your blood,¡± sighed the King. He gestured with one hand for Aeon Michael to take his seat once more. ¡°You lack perspective. You will learn this in time. Aeon of Yesod, rise and speak of this vision.¡±


    She had known this moment would come, had anticipated and planned for it. Now that it was upon her, however, all she could think was that she was not a disgrace. Gabriel stood with all the dignity and poise she could muster, her hands clasped in front of her chest and her head tilted low under the veil. Satisfied that she appeared properly humble, she began. ¡°Most High King Elion, the Source has gifted me with a vision of a future most terrible. I saw our era of separation end, as it has with the arrival of the Paths, but the new era that came after was one of great calamity. A darkness the likes of which I have never seen broke through to our world and became as an infectious disease that devoured all we have built. I saw it consume the daeva, destroy the Spheres, and contort the Sephiroth, reducing us to mere shadows, hollow shells of our true meaning. I saw the ending, and we did not survive.¡±


    The King considered her words. ¡°You have dreamt of the Shattering of the Golden Legend.¡±


    ¡°No, my King, for I saw the nine of us as we are now attempting to fight against this darkness.¡± She hesitated, wanting to speak of the betrayal she had seen, but caution held her tongue. That was information only the King Himself needed to hear, lest all she accomplish be to alert or inspire the betrayer. ¡°I saw that unless we are unified under Your guidance, it will not be enough. This new era will be our last should this darkness find root in our world.¡±


    ¡°There Spheres are all that exist,¡± said the King. ¡°The Spheres built around the Sephiroth are the boundaries of the world built by the power of the Ein Sof. Where in our world do you propose this darkness come from?¡±


    ¡°I believe it will come from outside of the Spheres,¡± Gabriel said. ¡°I saw a great rip in the Void, my King, a tear in the very fabric our world is made from. I cannot say how such a thing could come to be, but I believe it to be vital.¡±


    No one spoke out of turn, but a blanket of anxious energy settled over the Aeons seated at the table. The only one who did not react was Aeon Raphael; she may as well have been frozen in place. The King ended their fidgeting with a gesture.


    ¡°Our world is blessed with the boundless love and protection of the Source, just as We have been blessed with a power to enforce that protection,¡± said the King. His voice resonated through the Sanctuary without ever raising in volume. ¡°Our home is safe, and We will take every step necessary to ensure that it remains so. You will build great structures of Our design across key points in each of your Spheres. Once completed, these structures will act as beacons of Our power, and the sum of them together will create a network which will strengthen the world and ward off whatever darkness might seek to gain entry.¡±


    Gabriel bowed deeply as she had seen the daeva in Kether do. Relief flooded through her as she took her seat once more. Whatever power this darkness may possess, surely it could not stand against the power of the Source. ¡°It will be done, my King.¡±


    ¡°To see it is done properly, I am declaring My son Michael, Aeon of Hod, the Word of Glory, as Prince over Lower Yetzirah,¡± the King said. ¡°He will hold dominion over all six of the lower Spheres and rule them in My name.¡±


    Everyone with eyes to see turned to look at Michael. His face had gone very pale.


    ¡°My King, I am deeply humbled You believe me to be worthy of such a distinguished and tremendous honour, but, perhaps, for the task of building mere beacons, such intense supervision might not be necessary?¡± Aeon Michael protested weakly.


    ¡°Your reign will not end with the completion of the beacons but will be a permanent installation,¡± said the King. ¡°The Prince will lead Lower Yetzirah as he sees fit, as is his right by My appointment and validated by his blood. His word will be your law, as it is also My word. Your successes will be his successes. Your failures will be his failures, as well. He will report both to Me, regularly. As we enter this new era, never let it be forgotten that the greatest of gifts is life. In this, We have been blessed in abundance. But with this gift We have been given an awesome burden. Ours is not to question life, but to protect and nurture it in all forms, and, in so doing, protect and nurture the Will of the Source. To squander the gift of life, to demean or dismiss any threat to it as insignificant, is to condemn all to darkness and decay. As it was in the Old Kingdom, so it will not be here. As one, We will prepare the world to embrace the spark of the Endless as it was intended, or we shall rebuild it. The rest of you may go. I will speak with My son alone.¡±


    They stood as one and returned to the door connecting the Sanctuary to the courtyard outside in silence, Aeon Haniel leading Aeon Raphael by the ribbon. As the last one to leave, Gabriel hesitated just inside the door to covertly steal a glance at where Aeon Michael remained at the table, watching them go and doing his utmost best not to look utterly miserable. Their eyes met. The memory of Michael reaching for her from across the Void, his expression earnest and pleading, jumped from her vision without warning. Gabriel turned away, her cheeks tingling with warmth, and left the Sanctuary to return to the courtyard beyond.

 Foundation (act 1 epilogue)

    Once the other Aeons had left and Regent Azrael shut the Sanctuary doors, the King said, ¡°You have My permission to speak, Michael.¡±


    ¡°Father, please, I do not wish to do this task You have set for me,¡± Michael pleaded.


    ¡°You do not wish to fulfil your destiny?¡±


    ¡°I do not wish to accept responsibility for that which I cannot hope to understand, much less control,¡± Michael said. ¡°Hod is mine. I will care for it always and with all that I am, but the other Spheres belong to their own Aeons. Their ways are unknown to me. The Source intended for them to fulfil a different purpose than mine, and I fear I will only impede that.¡±


    ¡°No, you will provide them guidance, and, in so doing, you yourself shall grow,¡± said the King. ¡°My son, you will accept this task because I have said it will be so, and you will excel at it because it is what you were meant for.¡±


    ¡°They will not accept my guidance,¡± Michael insisted. ¡°I lack your perfection, Father, and they will resent that I have been appointed over them.¡±


    ¡°They will resent you if you are weak,¡± said the King. ¡°It is not in your blood to be weak. If you lead them wisely, in time, they will respect and even come to fear you. It is imperative that We are united, that We together achieve the harmonious balance of a single unit. If We are separate, all will fall to chaos and destruction. I have seen their hearts and know they require a leader to unite them, to rally them to the potential they can achieve. I cannot walk among them Myself, and so it must be you.¡±


    ¡°Father, I beg you -¡±


    ¡°You will not beg!¡± the King roared. The light of His presence became an overwhelming onslaught in His sudden fury, forcing both Michael and Azrael to their knees. ¡°I have declared that you speak in My name, that you act in My stead, and I will not see you demean yourself by grovelling! You will shoulder the responsibility you were born to carry and you will do so with all the grace and honour your position demands! Your Word is Glory, Michael, and you will remember that as you bear the crown I have set aside for you. Leave, now, and do as you wish with your new domain. I must commune with the Source. The plans for the beacons you are to build will be delivered to you shortly.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my King,¡± Michael murmured. He rose to his feet and exited the Sanctuary.


    The return trip to Hod was uneventful and passed in a blur. There had been no elaborate farewells; Michael had avoided the other Aeons entirely, and the Kether staff did not impede him as he reunited with Mahariel and her four chosen peacekeepers. He left Kether¡¯s palace without looking back, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the ground to block out as much of his surroundings as possible. The tall spires looming over the front gates haunted his peripheral vision no matter where he looked even long after they left the First Sphere behind.


    Michael knew Mahariel was eager to speak of what had transpired during the council, but she must have recognised his mood and tactfully opted to give him time to broach the subject himself. He did not. At some point on the Path between Geburah and Hod, she tried to draw him out of his shell by telling him what she had seen while waiting in the palace of Kether: she commended the discipline of the palace guards, praised the splendour of the palace itself, and shared her observations and varied opinions of the parties brought by the other Aeons. Michael listened with half an ear; he knew Mahariel, ordinarily so sparse with her words, was doing her best to draw his mind off of what troubled him, but he couldn¡¯t muster the will to focus on what she was saying. The last leg of the journey passed in near silence.


    Night had fallen by the time they returned to Hod. The golden light of the Path kept the forest surrounding it well lit, even during the darkest hours. A cool, refreshing spring breeze carried the soft scents of new blossoms from the trees through the woods and freshly burnt firewood through the city. The soft chirping of nocturnal birds melded with the subdued, placid murmurs of a populace largely asleep. The city twinkled with thousands of lights, lamps lining the streets and bonfires in the squares that provided warmth and light even as most of the people slept. The non-existent hum of the Sephirah Hod had remained in the back of his mind the entire trip, but the Sephiroth of the other Spheres they had visited had drowned it out from a distance. Here, the others were but distant white noise and Hod was in focus, as it always had been before. So deeply glad to be home his bones ached, Michael walked towards the palace in brooding silence, his mind adrift in the turmoil of his own emotions.


    They had built the palace in Hod from the ground up, stone by stone, over hundreds of seasons. Over the course of that time, various sections had repeatedly been demolished by either poor planning or various, largely avoidable, mistakes and accidents. At one point they had deconstructed the main hall in order to rebuild it in a better location relevant to where the rest of the city was unfolding. Once the sacred tree had taken root, the rest of the palace had been built around it in pieces. Michael had always been proud of the palace; it was their home that they had built themselves. It was a testament to their progress, their resourcefulness, their creativity, and it was absolutely nothing like the palace in Kether.


    Now, however, freshly returned from Kether itself, Michael could see that had always been a lie. Hod¡¯s palace had no outer perimeter of defensive walls and an altogether more sprawling layout with extensive grounds, but it shared the same white stone base, the same tall, arched doors and windows, and the vaulted ceilings. It even shared the same style of towers, though their placement was different.


    Most of the palace staff had been dismissed for the night by the time they arrived, though a single sentinel was waiting in the front courtyard to watch for their return. Mahariel trotted ahead to meet the peacekeeper halfway across the entrance plaza, all traces of her earlier attempts at uncharacteristic verbosity gone.


    ¡°The palace appears to be in order, my Aeon,¡± she said after exchanging a few brief words with the peacekeeper. ¡°Shall I send word to the Regent to meet you in your study?¡±


    Michael sighed as he looked at the night sky overhead. A soothing curtain of deep blue stretched above them, hiding the Void and the other Spheres beyond it from sight. ¡°No. It¡¯s the middle of the night; let him sleep. We¡¯ll speak in the morning.¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°My Aeon,¡± Mahariel protested, her brow pinched.


    ¡°Goodnight, Mahariel,¡± Michael said before she could continue. He turned on his heel and retreated into the palace to his rooms.


    He arrived in his quarters unbothered by anyone who would stall him and barred the door behind himself. He doubted he would have the fortitude to keep the door barred if anyone did, indeed, come to check on him, but he relished the feeling of clicking the lock into place. Running an anxious hand through his hair, Michael observed his quarters with a confused grimace.


    In his absence, no one had turned the lights on for the night. While it was far too dark for his tastes, the tall windows lining the outer wall let in enough light from the city to allow him to see the basics. The trip to Kether had scarcely taken two days, yet now, alone in the dark, his own quarters felt foreign and cold. Michael crossed the drawing room, heading towards the door that led to his living space, and smashed his leg into one of the low tables lining the sitting area. The edge of the table shared the same curving detail that decorated the furniture in Kether. In a sudden fit of rage, Michael kicked the table over and stomped it into a dozen splintered pieces.


    That helped a little, though the immediate self-degradation his tantrum sparked did not. Come morning he would have to explain why he needed his furniture replaced. Michael spun away before he could continue his rampage, muttering angrily to himself as he stomped into the back rooms, nearly ripping the door from the frame as he went.


    He was two steps into his bedchamber before he came to a dead stop. He hadn¡¯t checked the corners. Suddenly unable to breathe, he turned slowly to face the far wall. His hand went reflexively for the sword at his side, only to find nothing. He hadn¡¯t retrieved it from Remiel yet.


    The back rooms were just as dark and deathly still as the front, but there was a splash of luminescent golden in the corner next to the window, exactly the colour of fresh blood. The splatter of blood shifted ever so slightly at the sound of his entrance, and the faint radiance illuminated the outline of a face.


    It took Michael a moment to regain control of his voice enough to speak. ¡°Aeon Raphael, what are you doing here?¡±


    Aeon Raphael unfolded herself from where she had been curled in perfect stillness in the corner, waiting for him in the darkness. ¡°I-I am here so that we m-may speak, Michael.¡±


    ¡°You go too far,¡± Michael snapped. His heart was pounding furiously from a potent combination of fear and anger. He spared a thought to wonder why she had not turned on any lights, but then remembered it would not make any difference for her. He lit them angrily himself, every light in the room. The relief at being able to see properly once more was immediate. ¡°If you wish to speak with me, you will send proper forewarning through the appropriate channels and never show up unannounced to my personal quarters, do you understand? How did you get in here, anyway?¡±


    ¡°There is a-a window,¡± Aeon Raphael said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world as she gestured to the open window nearest her.


    Annoyed, Michael shut it and latched it. He then latched all the other windows along the wall, just for good measure. ¡°Why are you here?¡± he asked. A moment later it hit him and he pressed his forehead against the window with a moan. ¡°I said I would see you back to Tiphareth but I left you in Kether. I apologise; clearly my head has forsaken me.¡±


    ¡°I can f-find my way back to Tiphareth,¡± Aeon Raphael said. ¡°I found m-my way here.¡±


    ¡°Then what do you want?¡±


    ¡°Why did y-you help me?¡± she asked softly. She appeared tiny and helpless in her blindness, jammed into the corner in an effort to make herself as small as possible. A quiet instinct whispered to him that was not entirely true.


    ¡°You needed help,¡± Michael said. ¡°It was the right thing to do. I treated you no differently than I would treat anyone else under similar circumstances.¡±


    ¡°Th-the right thing to do,¡± Aeon Raphael repeated thoughtfully. ¡°Do y-you also find me a prideful, d-defective child, Michael?¡±


    Michael paused, his hands frozen on the final windowsill, frowning. This was a dangerous question, though she spoke lightly and kept her head tilted down in a rather convincing affectation of modesty. ¡°I do not know you, particularly not as the King does. I would not presume to pass judgement on you without further information.¡± He took a deep breath, feeling reckless and frustrated, and continued speaking even as he suspected he needed to stop. ¡°From what I have seen, I do not believe you withheld the Paths with any intention of malice. From what I have learned of Aeon Gabriel¡¯s vision, I am confident you did not. If you have been attacked by some dark power from outside the Spheres, I¡¯d want to help you no matter the other circumstances.¡±


    She lurched forward as if to reach for the sound of his voice with a desperate cry of, ¡°I-I didn¡¯t do this to m-myself, Michael!¡± Immediately after, she recoiled back into the corner and pressed her hands over her eyes as if fighting a sudden, sharp headache. ¡°I c-can¡¯t remember what happened to me! Wh-why am I like this? Why can¡¯t I a-answer? How do I fix this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I believe you,¡± Michael said. ¡°I can¡¯t answer those questions now, but if we work together with Aeon Gabriel, perhaps we can find a solution.¡±


    Aeon Raphael went very still, her brief bout of animated distress gone in an instant. ¡°Wh-what did she tell you?¡±


    ¡°You heard what she said in the council. That was more detail than she shared with me. All I¡¯d been told was something horrible was on the horizon that must be stopped.¡±


    ¡°And l-look what you did with s-so few details,¡± Aeon Raphael whispered.


    Something in her voice pricked at his agitated sense of alarm. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°I-I could help you, too,¡± Aeon Raphael said. ¡°You w-want to impress but you l-lack control. Your emotions d-drive your power, a-and once it is in motion, you lose all control. I felt it each t-time you became anxious or angry, lurking b-beneath the surface. This, I-I understand. I could t-teach you how to embrace your gift, Michael, so th-that it does not control you.¡±


    Michael removed his hands from the windowsill. The spot he had been touching was warped from the heat. The scent of Aeon Gabriel¡¯s hands burning in his grasp hit him hard. Throughout the entire day, he had tried to convince himself that he had genuinely believed her claim that another Aeon could withstand his power. Michael had never been able to lie convincingly, not even to himself. He had known it was little more than a foolish hope from the beginning. His selfish desires had overridden his better judgement, and someone else had once again paid the price for his mistake. What would it be like to be unafraid of casual contact with another person? How would it feel to live without the constant fear that, at any moment, his volatile state could destroy everything he cared about? His better judgement was screaming at him as he turned to face Aeon Raphael, but he had to know. ¡°May we have the good grace to help each other, then.¡±


    In the gloom of the night, her face highlighted oddly by the unnatural glowing lines crossing her, Aeon Raphael smiled. Michael wanted to pretend it was an innocent expression of joy at the possibility of finding answers, but he could not believe that was entirely true.

 Idleness (Act Two)

    ¡°The Aeon of Tiphareth was in your bedchamber last night?¡± Remiel repeated loudly. Prior to this point, he had listened with commendable stoicism, holding his questions until the whole story had been told, but this appeared to be more than he could tolerate in silence. A mix of horror and disbelief coloured his words as he lost whatever semblance of focus he¡¯d been maintaining, his posture going slack and leaving him wide open.


    ¡°That is what I said, yes,¡± Michael said, grimacing. He rewarded his Regent¡¯s distraction with a sharp jab to the chest, smacking the dull point of his practice sabre against the padded vest Remiel wore.


    Remiel rubbed absent-mindedly at the sore spot, but the hit otherwise did not seem to register with him. He did not move back to his starting point, ignoring the fact that he had lost the bout. ¡°Not the drawing room, even? Your bedchamber?¡±


    ¡°Could you repeat that once again with a bit more clarity, please? I don¡¯t think the entire staff heard you and we could do with a bit of baseless gossip,¡± Michael said. He cast an anxious glance around the room.


    He needn¡¯t have worried. It was shortly after daybreak and training room seven was empty save for their trio, as it was every morning. Michael and Remiel stood opposite each other in the centre of the sparring area that took up most of the room, both of them sporting the thick white vests and gloves designed to prevent accidental injury during a match. Tall, arched windows dominated the outer wall and ensured the room was brightly lit. While the high ceiling meant their voices carried well, the equipment racks lining the walls offered no hiding spots and the doors to the rest of the palace were securely shut. No one was listening in on their conversation, but Michael couldn¡¯t help but worry even as he felt foolish for his paranoia.


    ¡°The point goes to the Aeon. Reset when ready,¡± said the third member of their group, Saerim Mahariel, from her spot at the edge of the strip next to the windows. She was not dressed for combat, there to mediate the match rather than participate, clothed instead in the sharp, dark blue uniform of the peacekeepers she would be joining once they finished here, her ginger hair braided in a faux-circlet around the crown of her head. Her call was short and clipped, lacking her typical comments on their form, and her hazel eyes were shadowed with both displeasure and exhaustion; Michael wondered if she had slept at all since their return from Kether in the dead of the night before.


    ¡°No. I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m having a difficult time with this,¡± Remiel said. He removed the protective mask so he wouldn¡¯t have to speak through it, revealing mussed dark curls and a ghosting of stubble over his square jaw. ¡°During the two days of your absence, my Aeon, the palace was under my supervision, and, at the time you are describing, it was shut down for the day. As far as I was aware, everything was in order and under control. Now you¡¯re telling me the Aeon of Tiphareth pranced in here under our noses, made herself at home in your personal bedchamber, and no one was aware of this until well after the fact. Michael, this is a nightmare. Why, oh why, did you wait to oh-so-casually mention it to me the next morning?¡±


    Michael removed his own mask as well and rubbed at his forehead, grateful to be free of the mask¡¯s protective but stuffy confines. ¡°It was very late,¡± he said, knowing the excuse to be a poor one even before he uttered it.


    Remiel stared at him as if trying to decide whether the trip to Kether had cost him his mind. ¡°You could have woken me up, you know. I would have appreciated knowing you were back safely, to say nothing of this staggering breach of security.¡±


    ¡°I know, you¡¯re right. I asked Mahariel to let you sleep, but¡­¡± Michael sighed. ¡°I needed the time to myself to clear my head. There was too much I needed to think on. I wouldn¡¯t have known where to begin.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± said Remiel. He turned and meandered back to his marked starting point on the strip but did not put on his mask, not yet ready to resume their match.


    ¡°Did the Aeon of Tiphareth explain how she evaded our notice?¡± asked Mahariel. With her back to the windows and the morning light wreathing her, Michael had to squint to make out her expression. Her eyes were narrowed, her mouth pressed into a thin line that screamed of grave insult and embarrassment.


    ¡°She gave me good reason to believe she arrived through the window,¡± he said. ¡°I insisted she leave through the main hallway, but, in retrospect, it seems foolish not to have escorted her from the palace proper. In all likeliness, she left through a different window as soon as I shut her out.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t the Aeon of Tiphareth supposedly blind?¡± Remiel asked, his voice cold as he slipped his mask back into place.


    ¡°I watched the Aeon of Tiphareth during our travels to Kether,¡± said Mahariel. ¡°I believed her difficulties to be genuine. If that was a front, then she is more dangerous than we could have expected.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a front,¡± Michael said. He moved back to his own starting point on the strip opposite Remiel and placed his mask over his face so they couldn¡¯t read his expression. Now was not the time to voice the doubts he¡¯d had while facing her last night. ¡°Her condition is genuine, as is her distress.¡±


    ¡°Then it is inexcusable that she avoided our watch,¡± said Mahariel. ¡°I expected the peacekeepers to be on high alert during our absence. I will have words with those who were on duty last night. Such negligence cannot be permitted twice.¡±


    ¡°I would hardly consider it negligence to be surprised by something previously considered impossible,¡± Michael said. ¡°There was no way to know the Aeon of Tiphareth would arrive in Hod before us, much less that she would defy our boundaries of personal space. I don¡¯t know that it¡¯s fair to blame your teams for that.¡±


    ¡°It is our job to be prepared to respond to any circumstance that may threaten us. How unlikely that circumstance may be is irrelevant. We¡¯ve become too lax, particularly in light of this¡­ vision the Aeon of Yesod spoke of. On your guard,¡± Mahariel announced once both participants were in place. They settled into their stances with an ease that came from many hours of practice. ¡°Ready? Begin!¡±


    Remiel opened with a light attack to Michael¡¯s left, but this was a feint, followed immediately by an aggressive lunge aimed at Michael¡¯s centre; Remiel¡¯s attacks were quick and confident but regrettably predictable. Michael took half a step back and parried the attack, deflecting Remiel¡¯s blade with his own and knocking it aside with a flick of his wrist.


    ¡°How did she get here before you?¡± Remiel asked as Michael pressed the attack and they fell into the familiar rhythm of a match.


    Michael hesitated, and it cost him the initiative of attack. The only reason it didn¡¯t cost him the bout was because Remiel was too distracted to act on the opening immediately. ¡°I forgot to ask. It wasn¡¯t my top question at the time.¡±


    ¡°What did she want?¡±


    ¡°An ally, I suspect.¡± Michael narrowly sidestepped another strike to his shoulder and countered with an attack of his own. Remiel was unfocused enough that he failed to deflect the blow in time, and Michael¡¯s sabre connected with his left shoulder.


    ¡°Point goes to the Aeon,¡± Mahariel said. ¡°Regent, you must watch your opponent and not simply focus on attacking. My Aeon, widen your stance and check your elbows.¡±


    Michael adjusted his stance accordingly before he dropped into a relaxed pose. ¡°Truth be told, I¡¯m not certain exactly what her goal is. I get the impression she doesn¡¯t know how to ask for the help she needs. I¡¯m not even certain what help she needs -¡±


    ¡°She needs to be taught that it is unacceptable to break into anyone¡¯s personal quarters, much less yours, my Aeon.¡±


    ¡°You know, Remiel, I actually thought to tell her that,¡± Michael said. ¡°I was quite insistent on it, as it happens. And in exchange for this revolutionary advice, she claimed she could teach me how to control my gift without a focus.¡±


    Remiel twirled his sabre thoughtfully as he wandered back to his starting point. ¡°And do you believe that to be something she is capable of? We¡¯ve devoted considerable thought and effort to that problem in the past with precious little success. Only the seals you divined from the Source have made any reliable difference. What would the Aeon of Tiphareth know of your situation that you do not?¡±


    ¡°I thought of that, as well,¡± Michael said. He was grateful the protective mask obscured his expression as he went back to his own mark. ¡°It is entirely possible Aeon Raphael will have no useful insight. Perhaps it is a hopeless cause with no solution save avoidance. Perhaps true control is beyond me and the best I can hope for is to mitigate the damage I cause. Perhaps Aeon Raphael possesses neither the ability or intent to help me. Perhaps she does. I believe she does require help, and, for now, that is sufficient cause to humour her. If all that¡¯s accomplished from our cooperation is that Aeon Raphael learns to use the front door as a civilised person ought to rather than crawling through the window like some unholy night terror, that is progress enough to justify the effort. If she¡¯s able to do as she suggests, that¡¯d be nothing short of miraculous. I have nothing to lose by seeing what she wants.¡±


    ¡°On your guard,¡± Mahariel called out.


    ¡°I disagree, and I think you are overestimating how much you stand to gain even if she does intend to help you,¡± said Remiel as he fell into the starting posture. ¡°Most High made it clear she injured herself by abandoning the Sephirah Tiphareth. If she wants her condition to improve, she should be in Tiphareth tending to her duty as an Aeon, not trying to solicit favour from the newly appointed Prince.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t like that,¡± Michael said as he mirrored the stance, but his quiet doubt from the night before hissed at the back of his mind. ¡°If she wanted to appeal to my better nature, there are dozens of better ways. Hundreds, even. And even if that were true, it doesn¡¯t change the fact that she does need help.¡±


    ¡°That may be, but she doesn¡¯t need help from you, she needs to help herself. Michael, the King disagreed with the theory that she was attacked. Do you disagree with the King?¡±


    Michael bared his teeth under the mask. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Ready?¡±


    ¡°Then there¡¯s nothing you can do for her,¡± Remiel said. ¡°Let the problem sort itself out. Send her home to care for herself and focus on your task of leading the construction of the beacons.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Michael hissed. ¡°Remiel, I know what I saw. Or, I don¡¯t, exactly, but it was something. There is more at work here than a dereliction of duty, even a sacred duty. It all comes back to Aeon Gabriel¡¯s vision, I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    ¡°Begin!¡±


    They started forward at the same time and met in the centre of the strip. Remiel opened with a light attack that Michael interrupted by stomping his front foot on the floor, hoping Remiel would misread the movement as a lunge forward and throw off his own timing to defend against it; he did, and Michael pursued the advantage with a volley of quick strikes in rapid succession to prevent Remiel from regaining his balance.


    ¡°Then the Aeon of Yesod can deal with it,¡± Remiel said. He parried Michael¡¯s strikes successfully but could not take the priority of attack. ¡°It was her vision that caused this, and she has more in common with the Aeon of Tiphareth than you do. If she wishes to defy the King¡¯s orders to pursue her vision, then that¡¯s her prerogative, not yours.¡±


    ¡°No one is defying the King¡¯s orders! He said that Aeon Raphael might recover on her own in time; He did not say we couldn¡¯t look for ways to help her in the meanwhile.¡±


    ¡°Since when do you accept technical truths by omission?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t!¡± Michael lashed out, lunging forward with greater ferocity than he intended. Remiel thankfully succeeded in blocking the blow with his own sabre. Michael¡¯s blade, heating up and overstressed, snapped like a matchstick on impact.


    ¡°Halt!¡± Mahariel shouted, hurrying towards them.


    It was a redundant command. Michael removed his mask and threw it to the floor, his mouth dry with concern. ¡°Are you all right?¡±


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°No damage done, my Aeon,¡± Remiel said. He winced as he shook his hand in an attempt to regain his full range of feeling. ¡°It was a good hit, though.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s call it for the day,¡± Michael said. He pulled off the protective glove, hating that he could smell the first traces of burning fabric, and dropped it on top of the mask along with the heat-warped handle of his broken training sabre. ¡°Excuse me a moment.¡±


    Michael left the strip and went to the shelf on the wall that contained his personal equipment to retrieve his sword from the bundle of his clothes. The heavier weight of the thicker blade was a welcome familiarity after the unreliability of the much lighter practice sabre. Retrieving the sword from Remiel that morning had been like reuniting with an old friend whose advice he wholly relied on.


    Remiel and Mahariel conversed softly with each other on the strip, but Michael pushed their voices from his mind as he undid the ribbon tying the blade into the scabbard. The divine seals etched into the blade were his only focus. His awareness of the world around him faded as he concentrated on them, blanking his mind and clearing his thoughts. Fragments of the previous day intruded without warning: the scent of Aeon Gabriel¡¯s burning flesh, the voice of the King speaking of the Golden Legend, the eyes of the others dissecting his shortcomings when he had been named Prince, the first words his father had spoken to him since the Shattering telling him he needed to be better. Jittery, volatile energy gripped him, obscuring the peace the seals normally provided. It was a struggle to push it from his mind, to pretend, for the moment, that the day before hadn¡¯t happened and focus on the present. It took longer than he cared to admit to regain what limited control he ordinarily possessed after a relatively minor incident.


    By the time Michael opened his eyes again, he was unsurprised to see Remiel waiting beside him and that Mahariel had excused herself from the room. Remiel had removed his own mask and glove and was holding the broken sabre, considering the pieces in silence. When he noticed Michael watching him, he held out the shattered sabre blade for Michael to see. ¡°We should reconsider the design of these things. They break too easily.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s for the best they¡¯re lightweight,¡± Michael said. He set his own sword back on the equipment shelf and took the broken sabre blade from Remiel, turning it over in his hands to examine the dullness of the edge and point. ¡°The less likely they are to cause injuries during practice, the better. After all, it¡¯s hardly conducive to learning a new skill when every mistake leads to prolonged recovery times, or worse.¡± He bent the blade of the sabre once to show off its flexibility, then snapped it in half like a twig of kindling with a wry smile. ¡°They do break too easily, however. Shame that those appear to be the only two options.¡±


    Remiel chuckled dryly. ¡°So, do we prefer safe or durable, is that it?¡±


    ¡°That does seem to be our choice.¡± Michael tossed the broken sabre onto the shelf next to his things and began unbuckling the padded white vest they wore to every morning session.


    They were both silent as Remiel considered him. After a moment, he cleared his throat tentatively. ¡°Pardon my earlier interruption, my Aeon. Was there anything else you wished to speak of?¡±


    ¡°If any other details I have forgotten to mention suddenly become relevant, you will be the first to know.¡±


    ¡°That was not the spirit of my inquiry, my Aeon.¡± Remiel took a breath before asking, ¡°How was the mood of the King?¡±


    Michael flinched. ¡°The King was as He has always been. His mood was ineffable and his motives were driven by His focus on the greater good. I was not His primary concern at the council. As was proper, given the changes in the world and the threat of that vision. I know that.¡± Michael sighed, slowly folding his vest into a tight cube just so he¡¯d have something to do with his hands. ¡°Just as I know I ought not to complain. The council went quite smoothly when one considers how drastically the world has changed now. I know that. I ought to be glad, relieved, or even grateful, I expect is the proper response. And yet, no matter how many times I remind myself of that¡­¡± He slammed the vest onto the shelf in an explosion of fury. ¡°I had to open my stupid mouth. I just couldn¡¯t keep quiet, I just couldn¡¯t stay out of it, and for daring to act out of turn I was rightfully stuffed back into the corner I belong in. Isn¡¯t that just what I deserve for forgetting my place?¡±


    ¡°But ¡®your place¡¯ is one of high honour and tremendous responsibility that the King would not entrust to the unworthy,¡± Remiel said. ¡°It is a compliment, one that speaks of your value to Most High.¡±


    Agitation and an inescapable, mounting dread pounded on the inside of Michael¡¯s skull. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡±


    ¡°It is! My Aeon, it is precisely that simple. The situation surrounding it may not be, but the core itself is. Most High is King; His word is law, and whatever Most High declares to be true is true. Most High declared you are the Prince, and you are. No one sane would question the validity of that statement, Michael. You are the Prince, and the King has simply reminded the other Aeons of this. But He would not have done so if He did not feel you were worthy, even I know that. What exactly is the problem here?¡±


    ¡®I¡¯m the problem,¡¯ Michael barely stopped himself from saying, but the words rattled around his head without end. Instead he said in a commendably steady tone, ¡°I am not qualified. I have no business leading the other Spheres in anything.¡±


    Remiel stiffened in visible umbrage. ¡°I would prefer you retrain from insulting my Aeon with such lies in front of me.¡±


    He was so dreadfully serious that Michael couldn¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°What do you think it means? We¡¯re standing in proof that my Aeon is a perfectly qualified leader. Look at our home, Michael! We built this. You taught us how to build this. Do you remember when it was just the twelve of us, before the daeva? We Saerim couldn¡¯t agree on anything, much less set reasonable goals for the future. We would have floundered and stagnated before we even truly began if left to our own devices, but you rallied us together. You gave us focus, you gave us guidance. You mediated our arguments and you taught us how to solve our own problems. You made us who we are and look at what we¡¯ve accomplished because of it. Have you forgotten?¡±


    He had. Well, partially, anyway. Michael remembered the first breath of a new world, fresh and perfect and warm, and the curious sensation of having been remade to suit that world. He remembered the curious thrum of the Sephirah Hod engulfing his mind, too loud to drown out, too powerful to contain in himself alone so it overflowed as fire around him. He remembered the first thing he had seen was his Saerim kneeling before him, innocent, trusting blank slates waiting for him  to shape them. Michael remembered that his first orders had been to tell them to stand, to never kneel before them, to never fear to speak their minds to him. He remembered drowning in loss and confusion and feeling frozen with disoriented panic whenever they weren¡¯t watching. Either he had forgotten more than he realised or Remiel was remembering a version of the past that hadn¡¯t happened.


    ¡°You give yourself too little credit, or too much to me, I can¡¯t decide,¡± Michael said. ¡°What could I have accomplished on my own? A fat lot of nothing, that¡¯s what. Don¡¯t romanticise the past to prove a point, and don¡¯t pretend I¡¯ve always given perfect advice, either. We¡¯ve had our fair share of setbacks, many of them due to my own lack of foresight. I¡¯d try to fix one problem only to cause a new one. This palace is proof of that, as well. Just think of how many times we¡¯ve had to rebuild it for one reason or another.¡±


    Remiel shrugged. ¡°Accidents happen, my Aeon. The important thing was you always got us on track afterwards. We¡¯ve learned from our mistakes. At least we¡¯ve never made the same mistake twice. And look at Hod now! As of this season, the capital has an estimated twenty million daeva living within the city limits alone, to say nothing of the smaller rural communities throughout the rest of the basin. I will not tolerate anyone saying my Aeon is not qualified to lead after he has brought us to this point, not even you, my Aeon.¡±


    ¡°Remiel, has it occured to you that the other Spheres feel the same for their Aeons?¡± Michael asked. ¡°I am not qualified to lead their Spheres and I have no right to even try. The Spheres were created as separate entities for a reason! Our purpose and goals intersect but never fully overlap! It¡¯s absurd to declare that one of us now rules the others and expect no resistance to come of it.¡±


    ¡°Every Sphere has always been ruled by the King,¡± said Remiel.


    ¡°That¡¯s different,¡± Michael said sharply. ¡°Most High is above everything we can imagine. He is beyond us. I, on the other hand, am distinctly not. Would you feel the same about the situation if, say, Aeon Gabriel had been given power over us?¡±


    ¡°I believe you place too great an emphasis on feelings, my Prince,¡± said Remiel, smiling wryly. ¡°If Most High commanded it, we would adapt. They will adapt as well, in time.¡±


    ¡°It ought to have been Aeon Gabriel,¡± Michael muttered sulkily. ¡°She is the one with the visions of the future.¡±


    ¡°She may see the future, but she has no history of leadership during a crisis,¡± Remiel said. ¡°If this vision of darkness is as desperate as she claims, then that is crucial. The King knows you can be trusted. We know you can be trusted, both from what we¡¯ve seen and the stories we know. The other Aeons will know those stories, too.¡±


    Michael flinched away to pace in a tight circle, wringing his hands as his head spun in dizzying panic. ¡°Yes, and that is exactly why I cannot lead their Spheres! They know. They already know.¡±


    ¡°Now I know we¡¯re talking about two different things,¡± said Remiel. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I know you don¡¯t like us talking about this around you, but what could you possibly think is so negative about the -¡±


    ¡°Remiel, don¡¯t. I don¡¯t want to talk about this anymore.¡±


    ¡°Ignoring it won¡¯t erase the problem, Michael,¡± Remiel said gently.


    ¡°I¡¯m not ignoring anything, I can¡¯t. I just don¡¯t see the point of talking about it all the time. Talking about it won¡¯t change anything, will it? I just don¡¯t¡­¡± He trailed off as he came to a standstill in his pacing. A horrible weight of raw dread festered in his mind like an open, aching wound, one that he couldn¡¯t remember gaining and didn¡¯t know how to treat. Prodding at it made the wound ache even worse, so he turned away and focused on methodically stashing the last of his practice equipment on the proper shelf and secured his sword to his hip once more. Its familiar presence at his side was an immense comfort. ¡°I¡¯m being ridiculous, you¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°I never said you were being ridiculous,¡± Remiel protested.


    ¡°No, but it¡¯s the truth. I appreciate your trying to talk me out of my snit, but I¡¯d rather not speak of this further if it¡¯s all the same to you.¡±


    ¡°Michael, I think -¡±


    Michael slapped his hand against the shelf with more volume than force. ¡°Enough! I¡¯m done talking about this!¡±


    A beat passed. Remiel straightened from his relaxed pose. He pressed his mouth into a thin line and turned his attention to putting away his own equipment. ¡°As you say, my Aeon.¡±


    Michael exhaled slowly as he rubbed at his temples in a failed attempt to ease the tension building there. ¡°Look, Remiel, I apologise. I¡¯ll figure out what to do about this mess, so for now let¡¯s¡­ let¡¯s speak of things closer to home. How were things while I was away? Assuming I understood your earlier comments properly, would I be correct to infer that your stint without me was free of further complications? Barring the intrusion of our uninvited guest last night, of course.¡±


    ¡°That is correct, my Aeon,¡± Remiel said, his chest puffing with professional pride. He fell in step beside Michael as they made their way towards the exit. ¡°We were determined to prove ourselves worthy of your trust. The daeva were less than comforted by your absence, as we were, I¡¯ll admit, but the kindling did an admirable job of keeping everyone calm. Once we heard Most High¡¯s declaration that you were named Prince, the mood improved considerably.¡±


    ¡°Of course everyone heard that part,¡± Michael realised with a soft groan. ¡°I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m pretending to be surprised. The King is not known for passively allowing His words to be spread through the leisurely gossip of others.¡±


    ¡°The general reaction in Hod was relief that you would be returned to us so promptly,¡± said Remiel. ¡°I doubt you need to hear my recommendation that it would be wise for you to issue a statement on the matter yourself. Hearing from you directly would do wonders to alleviate whatever concerns yet linger among the public, my Aeon.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sure they have many questions.¡± Michael paused just short of the door as he considered what could be done to preserve the illusion of stability he had so long taken for granted. ¡°Do you think we¡¯ll be able to schedule something for midday? Will that give us enough time to prepare?¡±


    ¡°For a blanket statement of reassurance, yes, quite easily,¡± said Remiel. He produced his well-used information pad from a pocket in the dark grey shirt worn under the training vests to jot down a few notes to himself. Michael hadn¡¯t even known the training uniform had usable pockets and was surprised to discover his did as well. ¡°I expect it will take more time to establish a healthy, ah, foreign relations policy? How we plan to interact with the other Spheres. I suggest you avoid discussing the subject today.¡±  Remiel glanced up at Michael with one eyebrow raised. ¡°Unless you have a plan at the ready, my Aeon?¡±


    Michael shook his head. ¡°You would be the first to know if I did, Remiel.¡±


    Remiel nodded brusquely and returned his attention to his notes. ¡°It is a situation we will need to address, and soon. We¡¯ve already received a number of inquiries from citizen councils wanting to know the guidelines for contacting other Spheres. And, speaking of the councils, I¡¯ve accrued a handful of projects awaiting your final approval. Nothing urgent at the moment, but I see no reason to condemn them to languish in uncertainty.¡±


    ¡°What fun. Have the reports sent over, if you haven¡¯t already. Hey, do you think we could have the morning reports outside today? In the courtyard, perhaps?¡±


    Remiel paused, his pen hovering over his pad in surprise. ¡°It is likely to rain today.¡±


    Michael cringed. ¡°Well, if it did, then we would move back inside. It was only a thought.¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t we use the regular room?¡±


    ¡°No reason. It¡¯s nice out. Shame to be cooped up inside, just thought it¡¯d be nice to be outdoors for a bit. No reason.¡± Michael shrugged, unable to voice the discomfort he felt, and turned away to open the door so his face wouldn¡¯t give him away.


    Mahariel hadn¡¯t gone far since she¡¯d been stalled by a daeva wearing the dark navy peacekeeper uniform. Michael¡¯s stomach lurched unpleasantly at the sight of the two of them huddled together; their expressions and sharp gestures told him this was not a conversation filled with casual platitudes.


    ¡°Mahariel, has something happened?¡± he asked.


    ¡°My Aeon, I¡¯ve just received notice that an envoy from Kether has arrived and wishes to speak with you,¡± said Mahariel. She gestured for the daeva beside her to speak up.


    ¡°One of the Saerim of Kether along with an attendant, my Aeon, waiting for you in the throne room,¡± the daeva blurted loudly, bowing so hastily and deeply that Michael worried he would lose his balance. ¡°They arrived mere moments ago.¡±


    ¡°A Saerim of Kether?¡± Remiel repeated. ¡°Here?¡±


    Michael did not wait to hear the daeva¡¯s reply. He took off at a run down the hallway, bolting through the familiar passages of the palace to the main hall.

 Emblem of the Crown

    The palace throne room was a large, ostentatiously decorated open hall designed to amplify every sound within. Any words spoken from the throne reverberated throughout the chamber, bouncing between the arched ceiling high above, the polished stone floor and the painted murals carved into the walls. Unfortunately, the same bare stone amplified his approach so that every step sounded more like a stack of bricks being introduced to the floor one at a time than a person hurrying to meet an appointment.


    Michael burst through the door behind the high dais for the throne, panting, and took stock of the room. It was largely empty, as was expected for this early on a day when no hearing was scheduled. The main floor was void of benches, as was often the case; Michael wasn''t terribly fond of the lavishly formal throne room and preferred to avoid it outside of special occasions.


    The Saerim of Kether waited by the throne, observing the play of morning light on the colourful ceiling overhead with novel interest. Michael did not recognise the man; he had never before seen a reason to learn the inner workings of Kether''s court. As Michael noisily skidded to a stop, caught off guard by the visitor''s proximity to the door he had chosen and abruptly aware that he had not taken the time to change out of his training uniform, the foreign Saerim turned to face him with a spark of sharp interest in his silver eyes.


    A lifetime of training fell on him in an instant and Michael straightened. He walked the distance to the throne at a deliberate, unhurried pace. "Thank you for your patience. I trust you''ve found your visit to Hod to be agreeable thus far?"


    "I have, my Prince. It has been most enlightening," said the Saerim, a sleek, dark-haired man dressed in sensible travel garb who bowed as Michael approached. "I am Saerim Uriel of Kether. I believe this is the first we''ve directly met, but I know a great deal about you, courtesy of the Most High."


    "The King speaks of me often?" Michael asked, his voice casual despite the tightness in his throat.


    "His desires for your success are well known among the court at Kether," said Saerim Uriel.


    Michael heard the polite avoidance of the question quite plainly and did not push for clarification.


    "Presently," Saerim Uriel continued, "the King desires for you to excel in your title and has sent me as an envoy of this wish. I am to relay His words to you, then return to the King with what will no doubt be a glowing report of your progress." He sent a pointed look at the empty throne and inclined his head ever so slightly to imply that perhaps Michael ought to have a seat.


    Gritting his teeth and hoping his face did not betray his emotions, Michael sat. He would have preferred to remain standing, but he was under no illusions that this was anything other than an evaluation. What he would prefer was in no way a meaningful factor. "Before we begin, allow me to introduce my Regent, Saerim Remiel. He will, of course, be joining us for all discussions pertaining to the governance of Hod." Michael waved a hand for Remiel to step forward from where he hovered just out of sight in the hallway.


    Remiel peeked around the doorframe, the question of whether he was needed now plain on his face. Michael jerked his chin emphatically at the spot to the left of the throne. Drawing his oft-used information pad from his pocket to have at the ready, Remiel hurried forward to take his place beside his Aeon, his shoulders squared and demeanour professional despite the tussled training uniform he sported.


    "Of course, as one would expect," said Saerim Uriel. His sharp silver eyes took note of the similar outfits they wore and their mutually dishevelled appearances. "It would appear I''ve caught you at an inopportune time. Have I interrupted a matter of great importance?"


    "What could be more important than an envoy from Most High?" Michael asked. With Remiel next to the throne, the pressing feeling of isolation and inescapable scrutiny that had been smothering him eased significantly. He could think more clearly now that he wasn''t alone. "What message has the King sent for me?"


    "The King wishes to convey His confidence that you will spread the success achieved by Hod to the other Spheres," Saerim Uriel said.


    Michael perked up at the choice of words; he recognised the fine art of delivering a compliment without giving any direct praise for fear of inspiring conceit.


    "To that end, Most High has expressed that you shall be granted independence for the time being to further your own goals, with the sole exception that your primary focus must be on organising the construction of the beacons," said Saerim Uriel. He gestured to call forward a silent attendant from the lower portion of the room.


    A girl carrying an ornate golden box stepped forward. Her eyes were lowered demurely even without the customary veil worn in Kether as she held the box up for Saerim Uriel to open; either the girl was much stronger than she looked or the box was made of a lighter metal than he thought. From inside the box, Saerim Uriel withdrew a flat, oval crystal the size of his palm that sparkled with fleeting shimmers of golden light - a mirror gem, much like the one containing an image of Hod Michael had left with the King. Saerim Uriel placed the gem in the flat of his palm and traced a quick pattern on its surface with his fingertips.


    An image sprung from the surface of the gem, the golden sparks within solidifying as a fully realised picture hovering midair over the gem. It showed a thin, towering spire topped with a white flame. Michael leaned forward in his seat to get a better look, fascinated; architecture and city design had never been his forte, but he could tell right away that the plans called for a massive construction effort. By tapping on the surface of the gem, Saerim Uriel highlighted various aspects of the projected beacon as he spoke.


    "The King has specified that every detail of the beacons are to be built precisely according to His design across every Sphere," Saerim Uriel said. "All the required information is contained within the image for your reference, including instructions for placement. Each Sphere will be required to build no more and no fewer than ten beacons surrounding their Sephirah. Once more it must be stressed that no alterations to the plans will be tolerated. Once completed, the beacons will safely channel a net of power from the Sephirah Kether to the lower Spheres, tying you together with direct aether from the Infinite Source Itself."


    "Ten of these beacons surrounding the Sephirah on each Sphere?" Michael repeated before he could stop himself. "If I''m interpreting these plans correctly, the scale of these beacons looks to be considerable. Organising ten of them at once will be quite the undertaking for any Sphere, much less all of them working in tandem."


    "Then it will be a good thing indeed that they have such a capable leader unifying their efforts, wouldn''t you agree?" Saerim Uriel waved his hand over the gem to dismiss the image before returning it to its box. He gave Michael a keen glance. "It is entirely your prerogative as to how you approach the matter, by order of Most High, but a clever Prince might consider using the beacons as an opportunity to gather the other Aeons under his name. You now possess information they need - information directly from the King that is key to protecting their Spheres from a dire threat. Perhaps this is the opportunity a clever Prince would use to convince the other Aeons that he will be a just ruler with their best interests at heart."


    They were suggesting a show of power. The King had sent him everything he would need to solidify his appointment. Michael leaned back in the throne, doing his level best not to fidget. "Thank you, Saerim Uriel. I will make good use of this."


    "I expect you will, my Prince, as does the King," Saerim Uriel said blithely. "I look forward to watching your progress; Most High has decreed that I contact you regularly to take your reports."


    "I won''t be reporting to the King?" Michael asked. He couldn''t decide if he was disappointed or relieved.


    "On occasion, certainly, but Most High is too vital to be bothered with the mundane reports of steady, incremental progress," said Saerim Uriel, not unkindly. "Not even the day-to-day running of Kether deserves the King''s ear much of the time, as I am sure is the case between you and your own Regent."


    Remiel pressed his lips together into a thin line but did not speak.


    "Of course," Michael said, his voice carefully neutral. "It will be good to work with you in the future, Saerim Uriel."


    "If one may excuse the informality," Saerim Uriel said, neither his posture nor his tone changing in the slightest as he watched Michael''s reaction closely, "I would like to say that I took the assignment with a certain degree of eagerness. After having studied the Golden Legend so closely, I was most curious to meet you in person."


    This time Remiel could not contain his reaction, stiffening and glancing at Michael in alarm, but he was quick to downplay it by flipping to a new page in his information pad as if what he had read had been what caused the reaction. No one in the room believed it for an instant, but they largely ignored him. Michael took a deep breath, now glad he was seated to cover his abrupt dizziness.


    "I see," he said with surprising detachment. "Is there anything else we need to discuss?"


    "Yes. The King has sent a symbol of your position as Prince that He wishes you to wear," Saerim Uriel said, not missing a beat. He drew a golden metal pin bearing the emblem of the Crown from the box and showed it to Michael - a literal badge of office. "He has requested you wear this as a symbol of His authority. Perhaps you will find it useful to remind the other Aeons of your position."


    "I''ll see to it that the King''s trust is well placed," said Michael with a wane smile.


    "I have every confidence that you will. Most High has demonstrated tremendous faith in your abilities," said Saerim Uriel. He returned the badge to the box and shut the lid.


    Never raising her head, his assistant stepped forward and offered the box to Remiel. Remiel pocketed his information pad with a disgruntled sigh and accepted the box. Michael did not miss his soft grunt of surprise at its weight; the girl must be stronger than she appeared, then. Either that or Remiel had gone soft in his routine.


    "Most High wishes for you to bear in mind at all times that His hopes rest on your shoulders," Saerim Uriel said, crossing his arms behind his back. "He has tasked you with aligning the Spheres to the greater Will of the Source. To quote His words, their unity under one banner may be the only defence against a repeat of the Shattering. The King would not choose such words lightly."


    "I assure you, I know," said Michael.


    Saerim Uriel smiled in a way that proclaimed he was all too aware of the impact the message carried as he bowed once again.


    "If there is nothing else, one of the palace staff will show you to the guest quarters," Michael said. An imaginary fog clouded his head, causing his voice to echo strangely in his own ears.


    "Thank you, my Prince, but I will not be staying," said Saerim Uriel. "I have other duties in Kether which require my attention. With your leave, I would return to the Crown with my report - along with any messages you may wish to relay to Most High."


    Michael had many messages he wished to relay to Most High, but none of them seemed appropriate to send through a messenger. Many of them refused to fully form in his mind. After so long apart, his first meeting with his father in over a lifetime had been brief and entirely business-oriented. He had no idea where to begin. "Tell the King that I will ensure these beacons are built according to design. The safety of the Spheres is my top priority. I will see to it that His plans are realised."


    "I will tell Him," Saerim Uriel promised. "Your Highness, it has been an honour to make your acquaintance. If at any time you should require my assistance, I am at your disposal. I look forward to serving with you."


    "It is my hope that we will work together favourably," Michael said, nodding. "You are dismissed, Saerim Uriel."


    They waited in perfect stillness until Saerim Uriel left the throne room. They waited a few moments long to be certain he was out of earshot and the acoustics of the room would not inadvertently carry their words to him. Once they were comfortable that enough time had passed that he would not overhear them, Michael leapt from the throne and began to pace about the dais and Remiel slouched forward with a loud sigh.


    "Must we now concern ourselves with the threat of unannounced visits from the Crown?" Remiel complained. He shifted his grip on the heavy box he held with anxious energy. "Do you expect he''ll visit often? Cripes, this thing is an unnecessarily heavy method of transporting two very small objects."


    "No, I doubt we''ll see much of him. This was an examination, and an obvious one, at that. They wanted to see how we would react," Michael said, still pacing.


    "For an examiner, he didn''t seem particularly conscientious of the fact that he was speaking to the Aeon of Hod." Remiel glared at the door the foreign Saerim had left from.


    "No doubt that was part of the test." Michael sighed. He motioned for Remiel to hold the box steady and eased the lid open, stealing a peek at the two items inside. The mirror gem containing the beacon blueprint would require in-depth investigation soon, but the badge was an immediate issue.


    He lifted the badge from its velvet cushion, enthralled by the golden emblem of the Crown as he turned it this way and that in his hand to study it. A faintly glowing sigil was carved into the metal on the back of the badge. It was not a seal he recognised, though sections of the design were vaguely reminiscent of the sigils carved into his sword. On a hunch, he pressed the flat of his palm against the seal and concentrated; instead of melting the badge into an unsalvageable sludge of molten metal, his power was harmlessly absorbed by the sigil with no ill effect. Michael spared a thought to be grateful that his hunch had been correct; it would have been unspeakably unpleasant to have to chase down Saerim Uriel to request another badge mere moments after having been entrusted with this one - even as hot shame coiled in his gut at the implication of the King''s foresight. Despite Michael''s best efforts, Most High was aware of his lack of control and had taken steps to correct the problem.


    A whispered echo of Aeon Raphael''s observation of his problem after the impromptu kindling she had witnessed floated to the back of his mind. ''How embarrassing,'' she had surmised. Michael shook his head and forced the thought from his mind before it could take root too deeply, shoving it into the dark corner he stuffed every unwelcome mention of the Golden Legend and pinned the badge to the front of his uniform. His fingers trembled as he fastened it in place.


    It felt as if a part of himself fell away as he donned the emblem of the Crown, felt as if he had become someone else entirely. He was no longer Michael, the Aeon of Hod, he was the Prince of Lower Yetzirah recognised by the King Himself to pursue the Will of the Source. He exhaled slowly as he resigned himself to this fact. With his surrender, much of the anxiety that had been building up since the arrival of the Paths melted away. A detached calmness settled over him, muffling the sounds he heard and muting the colours of the world around him. His thoughts slowed, and the constant fear that he was poised to destroy something he loved by accident faded. He might have called it peace had he been able to muster up the enthusiasm to consider it such.


    "Michael?" he heard Remiel call to him, concern lacing his voice. "Are you feeling well, my Aeon?"


    Michael looked up. Ten of his Saerim stared back at him, the entire group gathered around the table where they routinely made their morning reports, save for the ever-absent Ephriel who never left the Archives. They were in the study attached to the main wing of the palace with the gem containing the image of the King''s beacons placed in the centre of the table. It took Michael a moment to recall meeting with them this morning as they did every day. The entire morning had flown by in a blur; he barely remembered the time between leaving the throne room and now.


    "Er, yes," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I apologise. I must be more distracted by the day''s events than I realised. Please, continue."


    His Saerim exchanged worried glances between themselves and Remiel narrowed his eyes in open suspicion, but no one called him out on his lack of focus. After a beat, they picked up where they had left off.


    "The image left by the Saerim of Kether provides all the information we could need to organise the construction of these beacons," said Saerim Ciel. Her attention flicked rapidly between the projection from the gem and an array of information pads spread before her. She wrote across several of them at once as if they were one continuous surface rather than multiple independent ones. "In fact, they were remarkably detailed with their requirements. Nothing has been left unaccounted for. They require these beacons to be built within a very narrow radius around the Sephirah, forming a ring outside of the Paths. For Hod, that puts them safely within the forest. That makes our preparation work somewhat easier in that we won''t have to relocate any pre-existing structures, but¡­ To build ten of these at once is a massive undertaking. We''ll need to pause all other projects to focus our efforts if we are to have all ten of these finished within a reasonable timeframe."


    "These beacons have been ordered by the King to protect our Sphere," said Saerim Mahariel. "Until they are complete and we are certain the threat has passed, they must be our only priority."


    "That''s easy enough to say, but the reality is a bit more complicated," Ciel said. "Even if we suspend all major new constructions like the Sanctuary, we were in the process of several major infrastructure overhauls. Particularly following the panic of the ''evacuation'' during the arrival of the Paths, dropping some of those projects cold would hamper our city''s ability to function."


    "There''s also the slight issue that we have no way of transmitting the blueprints to the other Spheres," Ananel said. "At least, not using our current equipment. While the signals have cleared considerably since the advent of the Paths, the network was not designed to send or receive nonverbal data and I think we can all see the folly of trying to verbally describe these plans. I''ve some ideas on how to upgrade our system, but for now, the only option is to deliver copies to the other Spheres in person." She perked up at the idea, clearly having been anticipating suggesting it. "Perhaps we could arrange a meeting here in Hod, call the other Aeons to visit us to discuss the endeavour. It would be a wonderful opportunity for everyone to get to know one another as well."


    Someone else responded, but Michael tuned them out. His gaze wandered to the window. It was so bright outside. The sort of weather the others often referred to as ''warm''. To him, it just seemed brighter than normal.


    "Michael," Remiel hissed at him.


    Jolting upright, Michael blinked sheepishly in surprise at the reminder. By now, Saerim Umahel was frowning intently at him, dressed in his healer''s uniform even in spite of the splint on his broken wrist.


    "My Aeon, have you eaten this morning?" Umahel asked.


    It took Michael a moment to gather his answer; he didn''t actually remember eating, but the taste of sweetbread still lingered on his tongue. He vaguely recalled waffling over whether or not he had sent the correct message to the King while he picked at his breakfast, so he supposed he must have. "Yes, I have. Thank you for your concern, but I''m fine, truly. It''s merely that... this is a great deal for me to adjust to. I''ll do better in the future."


    "I would suggest you get some rest, my Aeon," said Umahel with a sympathetic smile, "but we both know that wouldn''t do much good."


    "I''ll be certain to take some time for myself once we''ve sorted out what to do about these beacons," Michael said, waving a hand dismissively. "Let''s not dance around the subject further: I have no desire to strut about and flaunt my power over the other Spheres while hiding behind the King''s judgement to justify my actions. Setting up a display which forces the other Aeons to dance to my whims right away establishes a very negative foundation for our working relationship that I would prefer to avoid. There is no need to screech about our dominance right away."


    "My Aeon, what we are suggesting is less about, er, ''establishing dominance'' as it is about seeing a healthy relationship built between the Spheres as early as possible," Ananel said delicately. "It has already become a matter of hot debate as to how our daeva should interact with those of the other Spheres. I am certain there is much to be said between the twelve of us on the issue, but would it not be wise to involve the other Aeons in the discussion on what we wish to accomplish? These beacons seem to me to present a marvellous opportunity to initiate a vital conversation. We could even turn it into a party, a celebration of the fact that we now possess the means to interact so directly with one another."


    "There must be some gravitas to the occasion," protested Mahariel softly. "Concern for the emotional balance of the other Spheres aside, it must be made clear that the King''s decision to appoint the Prince will be enforced."This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    "And it will be, but the idea of a grand celebration holds merit," said the blue-eyed and honey-haired Saerim Valeriel, tapping her fingers rhythmically on the table as she considered her notes. "If given adequate time to prepare, we could host an event that would place the Prince before the other Aeons in a non-threatening display, illustrate the merit of Hod while praising the values of the other Spheres, and deliver the plans for the beacons while also opening the discussion of our relations policy all at once. It is worth considering, at any rate."


    They looked to him to see his reaction. Michael could envision the manner of ''celebration'' they had in mind; he imagined the luxurious fineries draped across every surface, the stuffy, confining outfits that made it difficult to move, the hushed whispers and giggles of polite conversation overlaying the lilting, playful music, and the hundreds of eyes following his every move, waiting and watching for the inevitable faux pas he was sure to make, scrutinising his every movement like vultures circling a dying animal. His Saerim were watching him now, waiting for his approval for what they considered to be a clever plan.


    "I would prefer," Michael said slowly, "not to make too formal an ordeal out of this."


    "You needn''t worry, my Aeon," Valeriel soothed him. "With your approval, we will gladly handle the majority of the preparations so that you may focus your attentions where they are needed most."


    "Before we begin discussing what such a gathering of the Aeons may require, first I believe we must establish what will be said to our own daeva," Ananel said. "The people have been blessedly patient and well-tempered in the face of recent events ¨C they responded quite well to the kindling held prior to your departure. It was a good plan, my Aeon. I believe now, however, a direct statement is necessary. I could have the preparations ready for your statement before evening."


    Michael barely heard her, staring at the drawn curtains blocking his view of the world outside. He nodded once in distracted approval.


    "If necessary, my Aeon, I could prepare a script for you as well?" Ananel offered hesitantly, her brow pinched with worry. She had once prepared scripts for Michael quite frequently, long ago, but had fallen out of the habit quite some time back when it became obvious he never followed them.


    "It''s in your hands, Ananel. I trust you to do a good job," Michael mumbled. The concerned expression on her face ¨C on all of their faces ¨C troubled him. He felt he ought to say something to ease their concern, to convince them without question that he was merely a bit tired and would soon be back to his normal, clear-headed self, but the words would not come to him. He merely nodded once more, doing his best to appear earnest and relaxed. He doubted it did much of anything to convince them of his well-being, but the effort had been made.


    They fell into a quiet discussion amongst themselves over the mundane needs of the day, leaving the topic of the other Spheres and their new Prince alone for the moment, perhaps deciding to give him some space to himself in hopes he would perk up on his own. Michael took the chance to observe them in motion, completely detached as he was from their discussion. When he had learned the summons to Kether would cost him a two-day absence from Hod, a small, unspoken part of him had been concerned they would be unable to keep things running smoothly without him, despite his largely genuine assurances to them that they would be fine. Hod was his Sphere, after all, built from his soul; surely his involvement was imperative to its smooth functioning. He saw now that his Saerim were more than capable of functioning on their own with or without his constant interference. He wanted to feel proud of them. He wanted to feel obsolete and unnecessary. Instead, he felt nothing.


    Remiel was studying him intently, his dark eyes narrowed as he watched Michael''s face. When he saw that he had gained his Aeon''s attention, he leaned forward in his chair. "My Aeon, if I may, there''s something I am unclear on," he said, looking torn on whether or not to speak. "Both the Aeon of Yesod and the King Himself equated the outcome of this vision with the Shattering of the Golden Legend. Do you also believe the threat to be so dire?"


    Michael flinched, his gaze flicking to the ceiling, the walls, anywhere but at the faces watching him. He had taken it for granted that Remiel would not discuss the Shattering, not now and not so casually. "I cannot speak for Aeon Gabriel or what she may have foreseen in her vision, but the King would not relate it to the Golden Legend without good cause. If Most High believes them to be equivalent, then they are equivalent."


    "If that is the case, then perhaps it would be wise to speak with the Aeon of Yesod about her vision directly," Remiel said, frowning. "She spoke in vague terms to the King out of respect for His time, but if there are further details that could help us learn more, we should pursue them."


    "The King has sent us plans for these beacons to prevent her vision. You said so yourself, that will be enough. There will not be a second Shattering," Michael said, as much for his own benefit as anyone else''s.


    "Still, though, surely it would be wise to consult with her. Even if there is nothing more to be said about this vision of darkness ¨C and I still have plenty of questions regarding it ¨C surely it would also be beneficial to have the favour of someone who can glimpse the future."


    "I don''t know that it will be possible for me to win her favour now," Michael said with a grimace, remembering again the scent of her flesh burning before the Aeon of Geburah had forcefully ¨C and rightfully ¨C separated their hands. "I wouldn''t blame her for turning me away."


    "What happened was an accident," Remiel said. "From what you described, it sounded as if the other Aeons understood that, the Aeon of Yesod most of all. I am certain that if you speak to her as the Prince, she will be more than willing to answer your questions regarding her gift. She''s called here several times in the past due to visions relating to Hod, isn''t that correct?"


    "The last was roughly one hundred thousand seasons ago," Ananel confirmed after quickly checking her records. "It was related to a crop failure in the outer districts due to an irrigation error. Thanks to her forewarning, we were able to redirect resources as needed and no true impact was seen in the numbers for the season."


    "She doesn''t seem the unreasonable sort," Remiel said, shrugging. "At the very least, it will allow you to make amends. I would suggest prioritising speaking with her, my Aeon."


    "As you say," Michael nodded, his gaze returning to the curtained windows as he crossed his arms over his chest. His stomach squirmed and fluttered at the thought of facing her again, of meeting her ice-blue gaze and trying to explain himself as she saw through the very core of his being. He wondered what he could possibly say to her, never mind the fact that facing her as the new Prince terrified him.


    He found his mind wandering to the repeated mentioning of the Shattering. Aeon Gabriel surely couldn''t understand what she was referencing. The dark thought rose to the front of his mind, completely unbidden, that if there was to be another Shattering, he would die while doing everything in his power to prevent it. He would not be left standing alone amid the ruins of the world. The edges of his vision dimmed and his hands clenched at the thought, crumpling the script he held.


    Michael scowled, realising he had allowed his emotions to run away from him once again, and eased his grip, doing his best to smooth out the papers on his thigh. It was a lost cause, the text of the script having been wrinkled to complete illegibility, but he supposed that made very little difference now that it had served its purpose. He now stood in one of the larger auditoriums in the central communications building after having delivered a successful public announcement. Ananel had devised a script which addressed many of the daeva''s fears while avoiding the stickier issues for which they did not yet have answers, and Michael had adhered to the script without issue or complication. His role concluded for the time being, Michael wandered through the crowd of technicians swarming around the broadcast equipment to find a quieter place to attempt to gather his thoughts. He continued fiddling with the ruined papers with no real goal or ambition in mind as he went, trying to pinpoint what was bothering him. The papers, though destroyed, had not been so much as charred. Frowning, Michael came to a halt.


    Remiel was standing in the doorway before him, his arms crossed and an unhappy glower on his face. Ananel hovered by Remiel''s elbow, her warm eyes heavy with concern as she watched Michael.


    Michael stared at them a moment, not understanding their reactions. Was there something wrong with his clothes? He self-consciously checked the front of his shirt and what he could see of the back of his pants, but everything looked normal. He didn''t think he''d sat in anything embarrassing and nothing had spontaneously combusted. "What? Did I say something wrong?"


    "You followed the script word-for-word, my Aeon," Ananel said. She tried to offer an encouraging grin, but it was a watery version of her ordinary brilliance.


    "Then what''s the problem?"


    "The ''problem'' is that you followed the script," Remiel said.


    "How is that a problem?" Michael asked, annoyed. "Is the intended purpose of a script not to follow it?"


    "My Aeon, you''ve been in a daze all day," said Ananel. "You hardly seem yourself."


    Michael shrugged one shoulder dismissively. "I''ve been preoccupied, I admit, but I fail to see how that constitutes a major problem. Is there something I ought to have done today but haven''t?"


    "You''ve performed every task we''ve set for you today admirably, my Aeon."


    "Then there''s no problem, is there?"


    "No, my Aeon, there is not," Ananel said, lowering her gaze to the floor.


    Michael wanted to slap himself. They were only expressing concern for his well-being. He supposed he had been somewhat out-of-sorts since returning from Kether. It wasn''t right to worry them unjustly; if he insisted on having his childish moods, the least he could do was have his moods in private where they couldn''t upset anyone else. He needed to say something to reassure them, something clever and light-hearted to convince them that he''d be fine once he got over this initial tantrum. The problem was that nothing came to mind. He forced himself to smile anyway, spreading his hands in a hopeless shrug. "Oh, Ananel, you know me. I would think you''d be grateful that I''d finally learned after all this time to take the easy route every so often."


    "I''d be grateful if it felt like a conscious choice on your part, my Aeon, rather than a mere symptom of something deeper," Ananel said gently, but her smile showed her relief at his light answer.


    Remiel did not seem so easily pacified, squinting suspiciously at Michael and pressing his lips into a thin line, but he did not press the issue presently.


    "Well, let''s not lose any more light. What else is on the docket for the day?" Michael asked, hoping to distract Remiel with work.


    Sighing, Remiel drew his trusty information pad to check. "We covered most of the necessities during the morning meeting. It''s a relatively slow day; you''ve got a bit of reading and paperwork waiting for you tonight, I suspect, but little else."


    "How exhilarating," Michael deadpanned.


    "There is one matter I thought might catch your interest, however. A daeva in the capital has petitioned the central Nursery for custody of one of the Source-born children."


    Michael perked up at the news. "Oh? It''s been quite some time since that''s happened. I''m assuming Armisael has already approved of the match?"


    "The Nursery sent all the approval paperwork last night," Remiel nodded, passing his information pad to Michael. "Their investigations indicate that the petitioner is well-respected on a local level and will be able to provide a stable environment for the child."


    "And I also assume you''ve verified these findings?"


    "I ran a cursory investigation myself before meeting with you for training this morning," said Remiel. "It was nothing intensive, but there appeared no reason to investigate deeper. The petitioner is a logistics coordinator for non-perishable resources between the capital and the outer districts. He''s fostered twenty-one apprentices to date, all of whom have passed with reasonable marks and appear well-adjusted. He is not courting or bonded, but his coworkers describe him as personable and easily engaged. He was the one who initially delivered the child to the Nursery; evidently, he witnessed the child spark nearby his residence and he took it to be a sign from the Source."


    "How old is the child?" Michael asked.


    "Nearly four seasons. The petitioner has been a regular presence in the child''s life this entire time. The petition indicated that it was, in fact, the Nursery staff who suggested he petition for custody. I can see no reason to deny it. They need only your authorisation to proceed."


    "The standard twelve-season probation period will still apply," Michael said. He flipped to the end of the report and signed the sigil representing his name with a slight flourish before passing the information pad back to its rightful owner. "Standard attendance to the Nursery''s seasonal classes is also required. Beyond that, if Armisael approves, I wish them the best. Please send my regards along with the paperwork."


    "I''ll select the flowers myself, my Aeon," said Remiel flatly, rolling his eyes.


    "Remiel, please. The occasion clearly calls for something yellow," Michael suggested helpfully.


    "I''ll bear that in mind, my Aeon. If I may be so bold, I would now suggest you make use of the communications centre''s equipment to contact the Aeon of Yesod, if you''re feeling inclined to do so." Remiel raised an eyebrow at him pointedly. "Unless you would prefer to assist Saerim Valeriel in planning this gala the beacon-sharing ceremony has turned into."


    Michael cringed, rocking back on his heels. He didn''t recall precisely how they had settled on hosting a gala in the palace, merely that, at some point during the morning meeting, the suggestion that they host a gathering of the Spheres had ballooned far beyond his control. It wasn''t too late to call the whole affair off if he truly desired, but he had nothing to suggest in its place and so was trying to keep his displeasure with the idea to himself. Knowing he was doing a very poor job of it, he wanted to avoid involvement in the matter for as long as possible. Not that he particularly wanted to speak with the Aeon of Yesod at the moment, either; he pictured himself as if he were a small child being corned into a choice between a disliked chore and an early bedtime. He reminded himself that his discomfort was irrelevant; if it was for the betterment of Hod, then he would swallow his complaints and do as was needed.


    Still, he wasn''t prepared to surrender without a touch of defiance. "Do you expect she''ll have had a vision regarding the proper seating arrangements?"


    "I expect you''ll feel better once you come to terms with what happened," Remiel said solemnly.


    "You always know just what to say," muttered Michael. He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh of resignment. "Very well, I will speak with Aeon Gabriel. Ananel, can you direct me to an empty room?"


    He followed her in silence through the winding halls of the centre, already lost in thought once more as he struggled to think of what he would say to his fellow Aeon when he faced her. How could he even begin to make amends for what he had done? He denied Ananel''s offer of assistance ¨C he could work the equipment just fine on his own ¨C and, after saying a distracted farewell to his Saerim for the time being, shut the door behind himself and considered the waiting communications console in uncomfortable anticipation of the task that lay before him. He thought of dozens of possible ways the conversation could go, most of them decidedly unpleasant, and dismissed dozens more potential lines and possible ways of opening the conversation. None of them seemed adequate.


    With a sudden lurch of awareness, Michael realised he had been standing in a dark and empty room in complete stillness for far too long. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his fuzzy mind and grateful that Remiel was not there to see him, he settled down at the console, berated himself for a coward and keyed in the sequence to contact Yesod.


    He had anticipated a bit of a wait before speaking with Aeon Gabriel; he had expected to reach someone in Yesod''s communication department who would alert one of her Saerim who would eventually summon Gabriel herself. He had not anticipated this process would take particularly long, but he had expected enough of a wait to give himself a last-moment opportunity to gather his wits. He had not, however, expected his call to be accepted within heartbeats of his entering the contact sequence, nor did he expect the Aeon of Yesod herself to be the one to answer, yet there she was.


    The display screen built into the wall above the console flickered to life with the image of Aeon Gabriel of Yesod. She was resplendent in her silver and blue silk garments, her long, dark hair twisted up in a delicate bun atop her head, and a fine touch of red accented the line of her upper lip. Her ice blue eyes were alight with a brightness that may have been amusement, though her posture was poised, proper and distant, betraying nothing of what she thought of his appearance. "Michael, Aeon of Hod, the Word of Glory and son of the King of Aeons," Gabriel greeted softly, her voice carrying the lilting ease of a peaceful river. "You honour me with your call, Prince of Lower Yetzirah."


    Every line he had planned vanished from his mind. Michael stammered, his thoughts scattered and disorganised as he struggled to recall the proper greeting required for such an occasion. "Gabriel, Aeon of Yesod, the Word of Foundation and Base of Yetzirah, I apologise for my failure to articulate properly, you''ve caught me on the back foot."


    "Forgive me if I am mistaken, but I was under the impression that you were the one who initiated this call," Gabriel said, her eyes twinkling even as her face remained stoic.


    "Er, yes. I did, indeed, though I was prepared to wait for your presence. Forgive me, have I interrupted something?"


    "You seem surprised that I was expecting your call," said Gabriel, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "Is it so implausible that I, of all people, was prepared for such an occurrence?"


    He was oddly flustered at the notion. "You had a vision that I would contact you?"


    "Not a vision, as such as it were, more of a pressing intuition that I would be needed at the communications building," Gabriel clarified. "Such moments of insight have served me well in the past. I am pleased to see this trend continue. Is there something you need to consult with me over?"


    "Yes, you could say that," Michael said. A dozen half-formed ways of leading into the subject flickered through his mind. Unable to focus on any one thought long enough to bring it to fruition, he pushed them all away and decided he might as well take the direct approach. "I would like to begin by apologising once more for your injury before the council in Kether. I can offer no excuses that would justify my failure, but I wish to make amends for the damages you have suffered."


    "I suffered nought but the indignity of my fall, and for that, I do not blame you," said Gabriel.


    Michael was confused by her response. "Have your hands recovered so quickly?"


    She held up her hands, showing her palms towards the screen. The skin where she had been burned was shiny and fresh but whole. "I am not so easily damaged that a slight burn is enough to reduce me to an inconsolable mess, Aeon Michael. Had it been a moment of true importance, I would have foreseen that it would happen."


    "I am... immensely relieved to learn this," Michael said. A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, one he hadn''t even realised he had been bearing. "Even so, I consider it a failure on my end and wish to do what I must to convey the sincerity of my regret. If there is anything you need that I may assist with, please speak it and I will make it so."


    "My only request, my Prince, is that every effort be made to prevent the darkness I foresaw from gaining a foothold within the Spheres. I cannot emphasize enough how dire the price of failure at this task will be," said Gabriel. She looked away from him for the first time since the connection had been established, her clear blue eyes clouding over as her gaze dropped to the floor. Did thoughts of her more troubling visions intrude on her daily life to weigh on her mind as his own fears did to him? The idea troubled Michael a great deal, though he resolved not to draw attention to it; goodness knows he was well enough aware of his own shortcomings without anyone else pointing out his frequent distractions. He doubted Gabriel needed to be reminded of her concerns any more than he did. In short order, she shook herself from her reverie and returned her attention to their conversation. "If you can assure me that the matter will be given its due concern, I will consider all debts between us even."


    "I swear to you I will do everything in my power to prevent the destruction you predicted," Michael said, frowning. He had every intention of keeping his word on this matter. "I wouldn''t need an agreement with you to motivate me to protect the Spheres, but since that is what you wish, I can safely promise that it will be done. To that end, you may be interested in knowing that the King has sent me the plans for the beacons He spoke of during the council. We intend to reveal the plans shortly." He swallowed thickly before adding, "Our present thought is to host a gala, an opportunity to celebrate the union of the Spheres while also discussing what must be done to defend them."


    Gabriel tilted her chin up, excitement clear in her eyes even as she did her best to keep her expression neutral. "An announcement gala? How long will it take to plan such an event?"


    It was all he could do to keep from cringing at the question. Michael didn''t know much about planning galas beyond the fact that they needed to portray an adequate air of gaudiness, nor was he in any way keen to be involved in planning this one. "It is too early for me to tell you the details just yet, but I can assure you that not only is the team working on it quite efficient and enthusiastic, we understand that time is of the essence. Ensuring that everyone has access to the knowledge necessary to construct these beacons is my top priority and is being handled with the utmost care. The delay is necessary to give us a chance to establish a few basic guidelines for future interactions between Spheres that we can all agree to. The gala will provide a platform for the open discussion as to what those guidelines will be." Steeling his nerves, he decided to gamble and reveal more than perhaps he really ought to. "I will be truthful and admit I feel a touch of reluctance at the thought of hosting such an event; I worry it borders on wasteful and self-indulgent to summon the other Aeons for a gala, of all things when there are other, more pressing matters to be concerning ourselves with."


    "I think it is a fine idea, so long as we do not lose sight of the importance of the beacons," Gabriel said. "There was precious little time to speak during the council in Kether; if I was not able to portray the urgency of my vision to the others then, this gala will provide a second chance to do so. I look forward to it."


    His heart fluttered in his chest at her approval even as a sickly sense of dread settled in his stomach at the knowledge that he would have to live up to her expectations. There would be no calling off the gala now that he had told Gabriel about it. "I''ll keep you informed on the details as they emerge, Aeon Gabriel."


    "Aeon Michael, if I may be so bold to ask, when you spoke with the King, did you have the opportunity to speak to Him more about what we discussed?" Gabriel asked. "I suspect that I was not able to adequately explain myself in the face of His presence."


    Michael stared at her. It took him a moment to piece together what she was asking, and even then, he wasn''t certain he had it right. He felt a wave of frustration towards himself at how slow he was today; he was ordinarily much faster at putting together a coherent thought. Wasn''t he? It frightened him to think he might always be this listless and disjointed and only just now noticing. "My conversation with the King was brief and almost exclusively pertained to the title of Prince, I''m sorry to say."


    "Oh!" Gabriel raised her hand to her lips in embarrassment. "Of course, I am certain Most High trusts you to handle the matter appropriately. I never meant to imply otherwise. Forgive me, with such a focus on the future, at times I lose track of what to say in the present."


    "I may not share your gift for foresight, but I can relate to your difficulties with the present," Michael assured her, his heart warming at her confession. "Today of all days, in particular, it seems. I took no offence to your question."


    "Have you had the opportunity to speak with Aeon Raphael since Kether?" Gabriel asked. "Do you know if her condition has changed?"


    This question again caused Michael to hesitate before answering, though for somewhat different reasons. He wanted to believe that Raphael had come to him as an act of trust, and it felt like a betrayal of that trust to share her moment of weakness with Gabriel. Beyond that, he found he desperately did not want Gabriel to learn that Raphael had been in his bedchambers the night before."We''ve not spoken in any official capacity. She contacted me in the aftermath of the council to assess her standing. She approached me in confidence and I wish to honour that sentiment, but I can say that her condition appeared unchanged from what we saw in Kether."


    "I see," Gabriel said, her brow creasing in a thoughtful frown. "Would I be correct in presuming that her memory has not returned?"


    "It may not ever return," Michael said with a light shrug. "There may not be any memories there to recover. Then again, she may drastically improve once she''s had a chance to rest. Very little time has passed since her manifestation. It''s easy for us to forget what it was like after so many seasons, but I don''t recall it being an easy change for me. Give her some time to adjust before pressing her for answers."


    "Yes, of course, there is always that possibility," Gabriel mused. "Nonetheless, I would like to speak with her about it during this gala of yours. Perhaps I will be able to assist in unlocking what memories she may have. If she has any knowledge that may aid us in understanding and combating the darkness I foresaw, it is imperative that we make every effort to uncover it." She blinked, her bright eyes focusing on his face once more, and she folded her hands in her lap serenely. "It was good to speak with you once more, Aeon Michael, but I have other duties to attend to today. I would ask your permission to take my leave, if there is nothing else?"


    "No, thank you, that will be all," Michael said. "Whether by vision or intuition, I am grateful we were able to have this time to talk today. You''ll likely hear from me again as things develop, if it pleases you."


    "It would please me," Gabriel said. A soft glow of embarrassment tickled her cheeks, cracking at the aloof front she presented. As if realising her control was slipping, she leaned forward to cut the connection. "Farewell for now, Aeon Michael."


    The screen went blank before he had a chance to respond. As he stared at the empty space where her image had been moments before, Michael suddenly became aware of the fact that he had not turned on any of the lights in the room before initiating the transmission. He thought he ought to get up to turn them on. He didn''t move from his seat.


    Alone in the darkened room, Michael dropped his head into his hands and wondered if he had the fortitude to face whatever would come next.

 Preparations

    Preparations for the gala had gone smoothly, to Michael''s continued astonishment. The main hall of the palace had been efficiently into a lavish but recognisable ballroom, the grounds bedecked with twinkling ornaments and nearly every surface in the city was draped in festive finery, proudly displaying banners with the emblems of the Crown atop the sigil representing Hod itself. Excitement buzzed through the air, delighted anticipation at the prospect of hosting such a gathering of the Spheres the topic of the majority of conversations Michael overheard. He did not share their enthusiasm, but he tried to appreciate their liveliness.


    Even that much was difficult at times. His days passed by in a blur of vaguely defined dread and a mounting sense of frustration. He would frequently find himself gazing at nothing in particular, lost in his own thoughts, and when he returned to himself, he would find large chunks of time had passed without his notice. To say this new trend was alarming was a polite understatement. Michael knew his behaviour was frightening his Saerim, but he didn''t know what to say to them any more than they knew how to help him. It was difficult to muster up a proper response to their concern; it was difficult to focus on much of anything, of late. Still, a part of him argued that their reactions were overblown. He was completing his work as needed. What did it matter if he lost his focus every so often while on his own?


    He was currently sitting on a bench in the palace courtyard overlooking the central Source-blessed tree as dawn broke over Hod. He had come here sometime during the longest hours of the night, as he often did when pacing the sleepless nights away in his quarters began to wear on him. The warm light from the tree had long provided solace from the weight of his thoughts, and he had always found a simple, calming joy in the play of the morning aurorae off of the shimmering leaves. It had long been one of his favourite times of day: the fresh stillness and sleepy sounds of the slowly waking world, the dawning promise of the potential brought in by a new day, the passing of the darkness of the night refreshed and invigorated him as very few other things did. Today, he failed to notice any of those things.


    The sound of laughter brought him from his daze. He blinked as a gaggle of palace staff walked through the far edge of the courtyard, laughing and talking quietly amongst themselves as they carried armfuls of decorations and cleaning supplies, and Michael realised the morning was already upon him. The daylight aurorae were out in full vibrancy, chasing away the shadows of the night and illuminating the world with their brilliance. He had missed the dawn. Michael stood, alarmed at the idea that he would be late for the daily match with Remiel, only to remember after a few steps that they had agreed the day before to skip it the morning of the gala. He had already dressed for the occasion, the shining emblem of the Crown a now familiar weight.


    What had he been thinking that had cost him so much time? Now that he was trying to define it, he couldn''t pinpoint what the source of his pressing anxiety was. It occurred to him that something might be truly wrong, that his intuition ¨C while not on par with Gabriel''s foresight by any means ¨C might be trying to warn him of some impending disaster. He might also be simply losing his mind, cracking under the pressure and failing to live up to the King''s expectations before a single season had passed. He wasn''t sure which idea upset him more. Pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead in a vain attempt to ward off an oncoming headache, his morning routine in absolute tatters around him and the rest of the day promising to be just as unpredictable, Michael felt his fraying patience beginning to give way to his temper.


    The courtyard was empty of other people. The majority of decorations had been placed the day before, and it was yet too early to worry about the finishing touches. There would be no one around to witness his meltdown, so long as he kept it quiet. Michael allowed himself to visualise the satisfaction of taking his frustrations out on some unfeeling piece of scenery and stomping around until he had, at last, worked off a bit of this terrible energy, but he dismissed the notion just as quickly as it had arrived. Truthfully, he didn''t want to destroy anything any more than he wanted to be caught throwing a tantrum. That thought alone was enough to deflate him, causing him to slump, drained and hollow, back onto the bench he''d lost his morning on.


    He merely needed to make it through today, he reminded himself. Once this gala had passed, life could return to a semblance of normality. He could survive this. The process of planning the event had been thus far relatively free of complications, even with Michael''s lacking enthusiasm. Nothing he knew of threatened the event itself; perhaps it was naive to take that as a sign things would go well, but Michael clung to that shred of optimism anyway. Everything else aside, the people of Hod deserved better from him. This was for their benefit, after all.


    Steeling his resolve, Michael habitually checked the area around his feet for heat damage, fully expecting to have to put out a few fires after his most recent lapse. There were no signs of recent damage around him. Confused, Michael tentatively plucked a blade of grass and held it up. He expected it to wither and shrivel from the heat of his touch ¨C as had always been the case since the beginning of Hod ¨C but the grass remained unharmed. By all rights, his little episode ought to have easily caused a fair amount of property damage. He felt more unstable and volatile than ever. What could have prevented this outburst from sharing the same conclusion? He hadn''t even drawn his sword or focused on the seals ¨C


    The emblem of the Crown. Michael unpinned the badge from his shirt to study it; as soon as he removed it, the piece of grass he held began to smoulder. The sigil etched into the back of the badge glowed white-hot with barely contained power. Michael stood in surprise, his mind whirling with dozens of possibilities as he stared at the badge he held. If this meant what he thought it did, it changed everything.


    The door to the side wing of the palace burst open and Remiel strode into the courtyard, followed closely by a furious Mahariel and a stubbornly frowning Valeriel. Remiel was quick to spot Michael and hurried towards him.


    "I told you he''d be out here," Remiel said over his shoulder to the others as they approached. He drew short as he took note of Michael''s stance. "Michael, have you already heard?"


    Michael''s hands were shaking with excitement as he clutched the badge, a bright, hopeful energy burning through him for the first time since the Paths had opened. "Remiel, this..." He stopped, cognizant enough to register the suspicious nature of Remiel''s question and the clear agitation of his Saerim. His heart sank. "I''ve been here alone all morning. Has something happened?"


    "We''ve just received word that Aeon Khamael of Geburah intends to arrive with a full contingent of armed guards," Mahariel said. "She means to respond to the appointment of the Prince by bringing a small army into our home."


    Michael had no difficulty believing this to be true. His first in-person encounter with Aeon Khamael had been when Raphael had led him through Geburah on the way to Kether, but he had long known Khamael by her reputation for unflinching severity. Meeting her in person had only enforced his belief that her reputation was well-earned. While Khamael had been accommodating during their brief intermission in Geburah, offering their group refreshments and a brief rest before joining them for the final leg of their journey through the Sea of Consciousness, she had been aloof and shown very little interest in speaking with them during their journey together. Michael had found it somewhat odd then, in as much as he''d been able to notice anything outside of his nerves to meet the King ¨C he certainly had had questions for Raphael when they met, and even more questions when confronted with the Paths ¨C but he had gathered quite quickly that Khamael was not the sort of person who cared for excessive chatter. After witnessing his foolish burning of Gabriel before the council itself, he couldn''t expect Khamael would be pleased with his appointment as Prince over Lower Yetzirah.


    "She views this announcement gala as a display of power and she''s responding in kind," Michael surmised. "She likely intends to show that she refuses to be cowed by a mere declaration that she is now under my rule."


    "We cannot allow such hostility to go unchallenged," Mahariel said. "We must respond in kind."


    "No, my Aeon, we must not!" Valeriel interrupted before Mahariel could say more. "This is a groundless display of protest; to acknowledge it is to give it validity it does not otherwise have. If we react as if it is a genuine threat, we inadvertently state that such empty posturing is enough to threaten us. We would reward those who would seek to control us through threats and instil doubt in those who would support us, and for what gains? Aeon Khamael cannot mean this as a true attack; she would understand that to attack Hod is to also guarantee the destruction of Geburah. What appeal would she see in mutually assured destruction?"


    "Perhaps she believes she has a true advantage," said Remiel. "My Aeon, your description of your encounter with Aeon Khamael in Kether concerns me. She witnessed your mistake with Aeon Gabriel with very little context of the problem surrounding it. If Aeon Khamael chose to interpret it as a sign that you lack the willpower to control your gift, she may mistakenly believe you to be immature enough to be easily conquered with minimal resistance."


    "Even if that were true, how could she expect the other Spheres to passively allow such a thing? Much less the King," Valeriel argued. "The position of Prince of Lower Yetzirah was Most High''s design. Even if she should disagree with it, she cannot defy the King''s will. This performance is meant to intimidate us, not start a war."


    "And we will show that we cannot be intimidated," Mahariel said. "If she wishes to show us that she has well-trained defenders, allow us to show the same. We can take a lesson from Kether''s example and post a heavy guard presence throughout the city and the palace, a constant reminder that we are not weak and will not be swayed by the threat of force."


    "And in the process completely undermine the purpose of the gala!" protested Valeriel. "This is a celebration of the Spheres, not a demonstration of force. If we turn this into a contest of arms, not only are we playing into the idea that such methods are effective, we are drawing attention away from the works of our daeva and alienating our other visitors. My Aeon, this is not how we solve our problems in Hod!"


    "Neither do we simply ignore our problems and passively hope for the best!" Mahariel snapped. "We do not know Aeon Khamael''s intentions with this act, merely that she does intend to act. We have forewarning in this matter; it would be negligent to ignore it while we have yet have the opportunity to pre-emptively respond."


    "Stop!" Michael said before they could continue, holding up his hands to indicate that it was time to make peace. "Please, let''s take this one point at a time. When we travelled to Kether together, Aeon Khamael brought a sizeable guard along with her for that trip as well. At the time, I was willing to accept her action as being the result of not knowing what to expect in the Void. Mahariel, you spent time with her guards during the council. What did you notice about them?"This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "They were well-disciplined," Mahariel said, frowning. "They needed no reminders to mind their form. It was clear to me that their training was extensive. At the time, I found it admirable."


    "But you did not see their presence as an act of aggression then. What reason do you have to believe that this instance is anything other than a repeat of her earlier caution?"


    "My Aeon, you insisted we only bring four guards with us for the trip because you felt it would be in poor taste to arrive at Kether with a full contingent," said Mahariel. "I believe Aeon Khamael does not share your concern for appearing overly aggressive. Truthfully, I was grateful to have additional backup join us to face the unknown Void, particularly in light of the possibility that something within the Void was to blame for Aeon Raphael''s condition. But we travelled the Void without incident, as did Aeon Khamael. There was no need to bring such forces. There is no excuse to bring an army to a diplomatic gala."


    "In Aeon Khamael''s defence, one uneventful trip through the Void is hardly conclusive evidence that it is safe," Michael said. "The argument can still be made that she is merely erring on the side of caution."


    "No, my Aeon, I disagree. There is nothing cautious about bringing an army to a diplomatic gala," Mahariel said.


    "So what do you propose we do?" Michael asked. He held up a hand to silence Valeriel''s protest before she could interrupt and gestured for Mahariel to share her thoughts.


    "I suggest we follow the example set by Most High and have guards of our own posted at key points in plain sight to greet visitors," said Mahariel. "Around the base of the Paths, along the main streets of the city, and throughout the palace grounds, for example. It would show that we possess the means to maintain peace and stability, that we are prepared to defend those under our protection. Given the threat of this darkness these beacons are meant to defend against, I feel this is a positive message to send."


    Michael turned to face Valeriel. "And you disagree because...?"


    "My Aeon, we cannot allow the threat of violence to dictate our behaviour," said Valeriel. "Aeon Khamael would have to be utterly unaware of the consequences of her actions for this to be anything other than baseless posturing for the sake of setting an impression. She will not attack us if she has any care for Geburah''s well-being whatsoever, and I find it impossible to imagine an Aeon who does not care for their own Sphere. More likely, it is as you said and she means to intimidate you to prove she will not be controlled by someone she feels has no right to rule her beyond a title. If we react to this taunting as if it is a genuine threat, we imply that we might, indeed, be vulnerable, and certainly susceptible to threats. Moreover, this is a diplomatic gala meant to unify the Spheres and celebrate our joining. Posting an extensive armed presence on every corner may send the message that we will use whatever force available to us to get our way. This may validate the fears of the other Aeons rather than assuage them as we hope. Perhaps that''s even Aeon Khamael''s intention: she expects us to respond aggressively and irrationally in front of the other Spheres."


    "So you suggest we do nothing?"


    "I suggest we keep our wits about us and focus our attention where it will do the most good: on the gala and forming positive relations with the other Spheres," Valeriel said. "We''ve planned this event to showcase the best of our Sphere. Is an unthinking reaction to meet violence with violence truly the best we have to offer?"


    "Do you have any thoughts on this, Remiel?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow at his Regent.


    Remiel looked distinctly uncomfortable to have the attention drawn to him. "It feels wrong to ignore what seems to me to be a blatant threat, but I agree that Aeon Khamael would be out of her mind to take such literal action against us. This is likely her version of a test to see what our response will be. As to whether we should respond with force or not, I cannot say. I have not met Aeon Khamael, and I have no reliable means of parsing her intentions at this time. I''ll defer to your judgment, my Aeon."


    Michael wanted to laugh at how clear it was to him that Remiel was trying to skirt around the conflict between the other two Saerim. He kept a straight face by remembering the situation they were arguing about. "Could we consider some manner of compromise? Would it be possible to discreetly post a handful of guards as needed to keep an eye out for trouble without alarming anyone? Perhaps the guards present themselves as guides to assist our visitors in finding their way."


    "A handful of guards will be unable to defend our city from the force Aeon Khamael is bringing with her," Mahariel said, scowling.


    "No, and likely, they won''t need to," said Michael. "The rest of your men should be on high alert, garrisoned at key points throughout the city and ready to respond if needed, but out of sight. I don''t want to alarm our daeva by acting as if we''re expecting the other Spheres to attack us, much less what it could say to the other Aeons. We''ll be alert and prepared to react if the situation escalates, but I believe we ought to continue our plans for now. We announced that we would hold this gala. Let us show that we are committed to following through with our plans. I will speak with Aeon Khamael when she arrives and sort this out peacefully. There is no need to panic in the meanwhile."


    "I understand, my Aeon," Mahariel said, bowing. "If you''ll excuse me, I must begin preparations immediately if we are to have the guards in place before guests begin arriving."


    "Please keep me informed if any complications arise, Mahariel," Michael said.


    Mahariel nodded in acknowledgement and trotted out of the courtyard, vanishing into the palace with a determined air to her step. Michael turned his attention back to his remaining Saerim.


    "Valeriel, how are preparations for the gala shaping up?" he asked. "How''s the mood of the daeva about receiving so many visitors at once?"


    "The mood is excited, my Aeon, though not without an understandable touch of trepidation. We''ve had an overwhelmingly positive response from the daeva in the city; volunteers have flocked together to assist in our arrangements. There has been the occasional setback, but nothing particularly noteworthy. Overall, preparations have gone above and beyond my hopes. We should be ready by the scheduled starting time," Valeriel said. She eyed Michael with cautious optimism. "If I may say so, my Aeon, you appear quite refreshed this morning. I hope this means you had a restful night, if possible."


    "It was much the same as any other night, but this morning holds much potential," Michael said, bouncing on the tips of his toes. "I''ll not keep you, Valeriel; I''m sure you''ve plenty to keep yourself busy with, as well."


    "There are a handful of matters that require a more personal touch I have yet to attend to before the gala begins," Valeriel said, clearly understanding the dismissal as she fluffed her skirt out in a brief curtsy. "I''ll speak with you again soon, my Aeon. Regent."


    Remiel waited until they were alone in the courtyard to speak. "Do you truly believe Aeon Khamael will be so easy to reason with, Michael? The fact that she is bringing such a force to our doorstep merely to prove a point suggests to me that she does not hold much respect for our opinions."


    "I doubt she cares at all for our opinions, not after what she saw of me in Kether, but our opinions are not necessarily what matter in this scenario," Michael said. "With luck, proving that we won''t be easily intimidated will be enough to earn some modicum of her respect. This is a period of great adjustment; we can''t reasonably expect everyone to simply fall in line because they''ve been told to. I don''t know Aeon Khamael well, but I can''t imagine she''s completely beyond reason. As Valeriel said, what would she stand to gain by attacking us now? I''ll do my best to deal with her today, but, in the meanwhile, Remiel, look at this."


    "It is the emblem of the Crown sent to you by the King to mark your position as Prince," Remiel said carefully, emphasizing each word with great care as if Michael didn''t understand what he was saying.


    "Oh, is that what this is? I''ve been wondering about it all morning. No, Remiel, look at the sigil on the back of it," Michael said, exasperated, holding the badge out for Remiel to take.


    "It bears great resemblance to the seals on your sword," Remiel noted as he carefully took the badge. He shuddered bodily at the feel of it and was quick to pass it back. "It''s as cold as ice to touch! The King expects you to wear that all day?"


    "I can''t feel it. Far more importantly, however, I haven''t burnt anything by accident since I''ve started wearing it. Remiel, watch this." Michael fastened the badge to the front of his shirt once more.


    He felt himself calm at once. The hectic pace of his thoughts slowed. The weight of his concern over the upcoming gala was removed from his shoulders, and placed instead in a detached compartment of his mind that allowed him to look at it rationally. The world moved around him slowly, muffled and removed as if he stood wrapped in a sheer curtain. He would have to deal with Aeon Khamael decisively today, he realised, if he had any hopes of unifying their Spheres as a group to complete the beacons. It seemed ridiculous that they were devoting so much effort fussing over a title when the true threat was so much greater than their petty differences. He could focus on the need to defend against this darkness. He didn''t know what to do to convince them that he was worth their trust as a leader.


    "Michael?" Remiel called hesitantly, breaking him from his thoughts. "There was something you wanted to show me, my Aeon?"


    It took Michael a moment to gather his thoughts enough to recall the point he''d been trying to make. He plucked up a fresh blade of grass and held his breath. Nothing happened. Thrilled, Michael waved the grass in front of Remiel''s face.


    To his credit, Remiel did not openly acknowledge the strangeness of this behaviour. He held his ground, his eyes narrowed in annoyance and just a touch of concern as he struggled to discern what he was meant to see in the grass. "My Aeon, it is a bit of grass. I fail to see what..." He stopped, his eyes widening as he realised the implications of what he was seeing. "The emblem is effective enough to make such a difference merely by wearing it?"


    "There hasn''t been a single incident since I''ve first put it on," Michael said. "I thought it was odd, but didn''t piece together the cause until this morning."


    "Michael, this is fantastic!" Remiel exclaimed. "With this, there is no need to obligate yourself to Aeon Raphael. You will not be reliant on anything she has to offer and can instead approach your dealings with her from an entirely professional standpoint. This is a huge relief!"


    Michael froze, his face going pale. With a loud exhale of horror, he slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. "Aeon Raphael! I completely forgot. I was meant to look after her and I''ve utterly neglected to so much as check in on her. Where has my mind been? I ought to have sent someone to escort her. Do you suppose it''s too late for that? We''ll have to have someone watching the Paths for her arrival so she won''t become lost in the city. Was there any trouble contacting her about the gala?"


    "Saerim Ananel was the one in charge of contacting the other Spheres, not I," Remiel said. His tone suggested he was choosing his words very carefully. "As I understand it, however, there was no technical trouble sending the missive to Tiphareth, but she did not speak to Aeon Raphael directly. The Regent of Tiphareth did eventually respond to inform us that Aeon Raphael will be attending, along with an attendant to assist her."


    "I take it you don''t approve of the wording of this response?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "It hardly matters whether I approve of anything related to Tiphareth or not," said Remiel. "I think they''ve been consistently rude, but, as you''ve said, rudeness is not equivalent to a legitimate threat. What matters at this moment is the gala, and I don''t expect Aeon Raphael or her Regent to pose any danger to it. I don''t trust them, but I expect they''ll behave for the time being. Allow me to ask, my Aeon: do you have a plan to deal with Aeon Khamael?"


    "I think you know I don''t."


    "I was afraid of that," Remiel nodded, sighing. "We have a bit of time left to us before the guests are scheduled to begin arriving. Is there anything you need before the gala begins, my Aeon?"


    An idea began to form in Michael''s mind, an old, half-forgotten memory struggling to surface through the haze of stress. He bit his lip, allowing what he was certain to be a poor idea to take root and blossom. There were dozens of ways this could go poorly, and yet...


    "Yes. I believe we need a jar of oil and a metal bowl," Michael said slowly. "But first, breakfast. I''ve just had a thought I would like to talk over with you and I''m not prepared to face this day on an empty stomach."