Archive of Our Own

She has never seen the grounds of Anamnesis Anyder so… still. Not a single soul to be found outdoors… just rubble as far as the eye can see, marring the ordinarily beautiful vista of The Garden of Recollection. The patios and gazebos, utterly abandoned. Naught but fire and ash dance between the myriad of once-colorful plants… now reduced to little more than kindling. The great plaza in front of the building is awash in shadows, no longer lit by the great golden arcs on either side of it, nor the blue lamps on the front of Anamnesis Anyder, nor even the innumerable windows, normally glowing yellow with the light illuminating the research that occurs inside. Not just the plaza, the lamps, the windows… everything is dark, now, save for the comets still falling from skies thick with smoke, orange from all the flames. 

The destruction wreaked by these so-called terminus beasts… Creation run amok in the foulest ways imaginable. It is far worse than anything Venat could have imagined on her own. But that was precisely what the bearer of Horme’s sundered soul had told her, was it not? That these beasts… these Creations… would be borne of the fears held in the deepest, darkest recesses of mens’ hearts. Venat knew Amaurot had its fair share of problems, certainly. It was why the Convocation was needed, was it not? And after finding Horme… getting to know Klotho… She just… never knew the people of Etheirys held within them the capacity for this kind of darkness. Never could she have understood… not until the Final Days were upon them. In other words, until it was far, far too late.

Venat feels nothing as she reaches the top of a ramp up to the entrance to the facility, and looks out over the wreckage of the city - her home, no matter how often or how far she may travel. She feels nothing as she watches a beast the size of a house lift off from the street far in the distance, great reptilian wings bearing it into the sky as it blasts some sort of deadly beam into the streets below… brilliant white light, gone again in a flash - and doubtless more lives taken with it. She has seen similar sights a thousand times in the last few days, from the first moment the Final Days began in Amaurot in earnest… and how ironic, that one of the first locations to succumb to the consuming despair of Meteion’s song should become mankind’s last bastion of hope.

Amaurotines brought the first terminus beast they could capture to Anamnesis Anyder for study. 

The hubris of man truly knows no bounds. This is all Venat can think, repeating in a loop again and again as she pushes open the great doors to the Doxa, the entrance hall to Anamnesis Anyder itself.

The Anyder campuses were Venat’s locations of choice for the events of the Final Days. It was only logical. Both of them were designed to withstand the force of immense, powerful creations… and perhaps more importantly, the ravages of time. Anamnesis Anyder was the better choice in the end. She already had an in - a most loyal and trustworthy friend.

It is he who greets her when she closes the doors to Doxa behind her, holding out a canteen and a clean towel with a worried expression. Poros, Venat's longtime friend, and archivist of Anamnesis Anyder. “Tell me you will stay, this time? You have already rescued so many…” He glances back over his shoulder at the harried souls sitting and standing around the entryway in varying states of dishabille. Perhaps half a dozen.

Venat shakes her head, even as she accepts the canteen and lifts it to her lips. She ignores the towel. Only when she has drunk her fill, does she dare to respond. “I can do more. I must do more. There are more whom I m-” she cuts herself short. She cannot say must. “Whom I may yet save.” Venat refuses to discuss Azem’s sundered shard, or her plan, lest she incite an early and unnecessary panic. Never has she been more grateful for her dear friend’s full faith in her than now - that he did not ask again after she told him she could not explain has been a blessing.

She cannot tell him that the surviving unsundered souls Azem’s shard, her Warrior of Light, told her about, are yet unaccounted for.

Venat nods to her friend the archivist, pushes open the Doxa doors once more, and steps back out into the chaos of Amaurot.

Syntyche cannot stop trembling. Her long black hair forms a vibrating curtain around her, hanging lank and limp before her face and hands and knees... All of her, shaking endlessly. So many monsters... and so few bodies. She may be safe now (Safe? With Amaurot in flames? Safe? The word has lost all meaning), in this empty shell of a building in the heart of the city, with its fancy tile floors and receptionist’s counters, and only two doors (more easily defended, Venat's voice echoes in her mind). Syntyche does not feel safe. She is all but certain she will never feel safe again. How could she? When she watched a creature with a slick, undulating body...

Her best friend's screams play on repeat in the back of her mind, somewhere. Syntyche never knew her screams could reach such a high pitch, but she supposes with a sort of dead detachment that perhaps that is simply what one sounds like when being-

...she doesn't want to think about it. What that creature did. What she saw. The fate of all the people around her when it began... A fate she... only barely avoided.

Lucky. She should... count herself… lucky that Venat came to collect her.

After Syntyche watched that man who always sits across the street from where she sweeps, reading, Create four beasts with vicious fangs and claws in his panic... then disappear forever beneath them, leaving only a grisly smear in his usual seat.

After she watched that terminus beast that dragged itself along the street, leaving trails of slime and blood in its wake, its massive maw, ever-hungry, opening for everyone and everything in its path-

After everyone Syntyche saw on a daily basis... every co-worker, every regular customer, everyone who lingered in the area during that time of day, like the man across the street... after she watched them all die. Every single one of them. Including her best friend, who was coming to visit Syntyche on her lunch break. (Is that her fault? Might she have survived if she had only stayed at her own job today-?)

Is it lucky to have seen what Syntyche has now seen, and live to remember it?

She is not so certain.

The former Azem, her white robes stained reddish black with soot and blood, so very, very much blood, had cut a literal swathe through the clamoring terminus beasts just to reach Syntyche. Venat had needed to half-carry her away from the sidewalks Syntyche just kept sweeping. If she could just sweep away all the ash, all the blood...

Keeping the sidewalks clean was her job. Was. Syntyche watched her manager... Well. Suffice it to say, she will no longer have to wake up early to sweep the sidewalks before most of the city's residents begin their days.

She has not released her broom since witnessing the horrific carnage on the street where she worked. Syntyche is afraid to try. Her knuckles look pale even beneath the layers of dried blood, from man and beast both where they grip the broomstick.

The woman who was with Venat when she came for Syntyche looks busy. Syntyche's white eyes follow her as she flits from person to familiar to person, applying healing magics where she can, and more physical solutions where she cannot. A makeshift bandage here... a sparkle of aether there. Syntyche turned the woman away when she came to check on her. Miraculously, despite working on a busy street filled with many powerful people during the onset of the chaos and the rampant summoning of those terrible beasts, Syntyche has remained unharmed.

The perks of being a wallflower, she thinks bitterly.

Syntyche's head jerks up towards the door as she hears a familiar voice, tense with irritation.

"Where is the last guard? He knew to let me in, I was only gone for an hour- Never mind. Is this not a base of operations for survivors? And do I not have with me a survivor? Am I not a survivor myself? Then let me pass."

Syntyche would know that strident voice anywhere. Aleixos, a clerk who worked inside the shop Syntyche swept the sidewalks of... he survived. And he sounds none the worse for wear. As logical and ill-mannered as he always is...

And sure enough, when the door to this big empty building with its fancy tile floors and fancy receptionist’s desks opens, in walks the man himself, with his white irises and perpetually-displeased expression. He is half-carrying a wounded woman with him who appears to be hyperventilating. A line of familiars follow him into the shop; first comes what appears to be a collection of suspended items that Syntyche suspects may be machine parts, and after it... a series of inorganic familiars that look mostly to be the kind of familiars designed for children. A toy parasol, a collection of marbles, several plush animal toys, and a few sentient blankets hitching rides upon the animal toys.

Syntyche's heart sinks all the way into her stomach at the sight. Of course these would be the kinds of familiars most likely to survive the carnage... ones designed only to monitor infants or provide comfort. Familiars that look like inanimate objects, more easily able to escape the notice of the terminus beasts prowling the streets.

Even as she watches, the wounded woman half-topples Aleixos with her determination to lean down and grab one of the stuffed animal familiars with a blanket wrapped around it, and clutch it tightly to her chest. Aleixos makes a face that Syntyche is quite familiar with; one he makes whenever he deals with a customer he believes to be an utter fool.

This little familiar detail is enough to bring a small, fragile smile to Syntyche's lips.

Perhaps not everything familiar to her is gone after all.

"There we are..." Efthalia nearly overbalances trying to guide the half-dead woman that tall man brought in to sit on the edge of one of two long benches near the door. She manages well enough, and the woman settles with a shaky sigh. "Right. I need to have a better look at that," She nods to the woman's midsection, bleeding barely staunched. "So I'll need you to lift your robes, or I shall have to cut a hole in them that you can mend later." The woman hums noncommittally. Or perhaps that was a groan of pain…? Efthalia forges ahead with her assessment of the wound once she has created a pair of scissors to open the torso of the woman's robes, just enough to bare that nasty-looking wound.

Right. A gut wound. Yes, this looks remarkably similar to some of the goring wounds on creatures Efthalia had been responsible for monitoring in Elpis when a rogue creation had gone on a rampage. Nothing internal appears to have been damaged in this woman's case, unlike the poor creations Efthalia had been summoned to tend back in Elpis. She never could heal them as masterfully as Fandaniel did, not even her preferred tree subjects.

Efthalia looks up at the woman, who still appears preoccupied with the plush toy in her arms. She clears her throat to get the woman's attention. "I will need to seal your wound... erm... What is your name?"

The woman peers around the toy, bright pink eyes blinking down at Efthalia as if seeing her for the first time. "Oh! I'm Klotho. Go ahead and do... whatever you're doing.” Efthalia blinks before nodding and getting back to work. Patient as a tree, this woman is. A good thing too, for Efthalia had forgotten to apply any analgesic! Klotho's attention immediately returns to the toy, which she begins to... coo at.

"Such a precious little familiar you are...! Made of velveteen, aren't you? The sweetest little velveteen kounéli..."

Efthalia shakes her head as she returns her attention to the woman's injury, creating and applying a cleaning solution so her fingers. If Klotho can maintain her composure through the rudimentary healing magic Efthalia needs to use on her, perhaps she can be of some other use to the survivors. There is certainly no shortage of people in shock… but this woman seems to be calming down somewhat now that she has a child's familiar in her hands, and another one in the form of a blanket draped over her shoulders.

She tried to keep that dour man who rescued the woman currently in her care from heading back into the chaos after bringing this woman back, but to no avail. Didn’t he see what was happening out there? The Great Reverting! She’d heard whispers of expanding reversion policy for decades. Her concern over the growing ease with which she was expected to undo living aether was not without merit, no matter what those dratted crop-breeders said. First, it was plants. Plants she could understand, even if she did not agree. Like her role model, she believed all creations ought to be tested to the full extent of their lives. But to simply unmake a plant when it was meant to last for lifetimes after the summoner’s passing, somewhere on the star? Plants did not seem to breathe or move much, but she was certain, after her long observation, that they had feelings and responded differently to different carers. Then, though, came the reversion of animals.

She could never truly stomach that part of her job. But soon enough… She saw it everywhere. Visitors to Elpis would gather animals and unmake them to create something new. “They won’t be missed,” they said. Other researchers would agree, or put the aether of failed concepts to "better uses." Fandaniel’s methods, sending failed creations to Lethe and thus back to the star, were only slightly better.

Efthalia suspected a pattern. As she rations her own aether to knit this poor woman’s muscle walls back together, she shakes with anger. First trees. Then beasts. Now, mankind sought to unmake man! Their conformity in dress, language, and courtesy weren’t enough. Their very thoughts were to be uniform? This must have been why Venat refused to return to the star on their urging. She must have known about the Great Reverting… Efthalia’s fingertips touch raw flesh, which has her patient flinching. She draws back.

Finally getting a good look at the woman and not just the wound, Efthalia can see the deep, dark bags beneath her eyes. What has this woman been doing? The Final Days, and with them the Great Reverting, have only come to Amaurot today… and what of her rescuer? Efthalia gives him a furtive once-over.

That irritable man spoke briefly with Venat, and none too respectfully, before heading back out into the chaos. He has been returning with or sending back survivors since, almost certainly at Venat’s behest. At least there is use in him doing that. The woman under Efthalia's care, for instance, would not be here if not for the brusque man. His combat prowess and level-headedness must be why Venat invited him to their base. Yes. Efthalia feels more reassured once she has puzzled that out. If only her partner in averting the mad plans of the Convocation were more clear… but of course! It is precisely because she’s so good at puzzling these things out that Venat did not tell her.

She shakes her head, refocusing on the task at hand. Efthalia’s hands are shaking as she sets to healing the grievous injury before her with what little knowledge of healing she does possess. She is no healer. No person on the star could have hoped to train on mending such wounds before, save perhaps those who treated career combatants and travelers. But alas, neither Venat nor any other person with training in healing living aether is present, and so… like the rings of a tree, she layers as much aether as she dares onto the wound. Now, to meld the aether to match that of the body around it… knitting muscle back together, filling in a bit of… whatever that is…

Efthalia is confident that Venat chose the right person to be her co-conspirator against the machinations of the wicked Convocation… but she rather wishes that the white-robed woman would have taken the time to recruit a real healer as well. Unless they were all in on it… Efthalia grits her teeth. She will do her best. Better safe than sorry… if she is to become the medical authority for this group, then… she will do what it takes. They are in a research facility, are they not? Perhaps she can find some medical texts preserved in crystal somewhere around here…

Cool fingers probing at a gut wound are much less fun than the warm fingers Klotho was rather hoping to feel in other places, should she ever visit Amaurot. The owner of these cool fingers is also certainly not Klotho’s lily pad… the only person worth visiting Amaurot for.

How unfortunate then, that Klotho’s first visit to Amaurot for Horme is also destined to be her last; destined, because Klotho has not even managed to find Horme, much less deliver the heartfelt goodbye she came here to give them.

The last thing Klotho wants to do is issue any kind of “goodbye” to her precious lily pad… but she has effectively run out of other options.

The Final Days came to Klotho’s small village community much, much sooner than they came to Amaurot. Haggard runners had arrived from other similar communes with news of orange skies and falling stars, and the Creation of uncontrollable, nigh unkillable beasts with a ravenous hunger for nothing but destruction. They would have thought it a terrible joke in very poor taste indeed, had the runners not been trusted friends, coming from three different villages, in three different directions… with the additional news that the rest of their people had already returned to the star.

Once the runners had convinced Klotho’s village of the danger, they implored members of the village to help them spread the word of the impending calamity to still more communities nearby. Their elders with aethersight had observed the Creation of these beasts, and determined that it was the very gift of being such open conduits for Creation that was allowing the beasts to be Created. 

The Creation of such beasts was the will of the star.

Some of her village had returned to the star to lend it their strength. Others returned simply because they understood immediately the danger that they posed to others upon the star, being such effective channelers for the will of the star to make itself known through Creation. Some few returned to the star to attempt to appease it; perhaps it was lacking in aether, and with enough returned souls, Etheirys would calm? 

Etheirys did not calm.

Klotho was the last to depart her village, either for the heart of the star, or for other lands upon its surface. They had sent runners to every single community they had ever been in contact with. Klotho volunteered to guide the others safely on their return to the star, and then to go and warn Amaurot. Someone had to tell Horme that the village would no longer require Azem’s assistance, after all. Klotho had a standing arrangement with Venat as Azem, now with her lily pad, that she would always deliver the holder of the seat of Azem important news that could affect the star; good or bad. This was news of the worst order - the Final Days, that Klotho’s entire village had returned to the star, and Klotho would soon be joining them… but a promise was a promise.

So Klotho made the long, long trek to Amaurot... with the Final Days themselves hot on her heels every step of the way. No chance to stop and breathe; oh no. Klotho was very well aware of the particular danger that her gift for Creation posed, should the orange skies and falling stars catch up to her.

Klotho was careful. She kept ahead of the Final Days, and when they caught up, she used what Amaurot taught Horme to control their Creation; rather than leaving herself open for the will of the star to flow through like an open channel… Klotho shut out Etheirys, and turned her Creation inward. The very trait that she had spent years teaching poor Horme how to unlearn… proved Klotho’s salvation on this day. Her hair and skin and shape keep changing with each distressed breath she takes, but Klotho has not Created a single beast thus far.

Not all of those from Creation-gifted communities were as careful - nor would she expect them to know how to be. Who would want to seal themself off from the will of the star, except those awful Amaurotines? Klotho was not the only visitor to Amaurot from a far-flung commune, here to warn or say goodbye to a resident of Amaurot. She saw a man in the streets of Amaurot earlier that day who she recognized as an outsider purely from his clothing; draped blue robes, in no sort of style even remotely like the Amaurotines rushing around in a panic all around them. She watched the man collapse into a sobbing mess, then Create a beast so much larger, and so much more horrifying to behold than the small terminus beasts running around chasing Amaurotines all around them, it deserved a category all its own.

It devoured the man faster than Klotho could even think to intervene. And when it turned to survey its surroundings... the sense of all-encompassing doom that Klotho felt upon simply beholding it named it for her. Doom. Those gifted in Creation didn't Create so-called terminus beasts, like the Amaurotines... They Created dooms.

A fitting name. Klotho may have doomed Horme by teaching them not to turn their Creation inwards. She is so, so proud of her lily pad for unlearning that horrible, unnatural habit. At the same time, she is so, so sorry. Horme will have to realize they must fall back into that most uncomfortable pattern of channeling all their aether into self-Creation, before they Create a doom much bigger, and much more dangerous than the one Created by that man Klotho saw.

It was all Klotho could do to tuck herself out of the doom's sight and wait for it to pass. She wished with half her might Horme had been there to... to help, somehow. To… defeat it, maybe. Save the man. But no - he was gone already. She wished with the other half of her might that Horme would never see a Creation like that. Especially that they would never Create one themselves. And she prayed with her entire heart that Horme was somewhere safe, or at least being safe about their Creation.

After the doom had passed, gone off to find some other unfortunate victim, Klotho had continued on her way; still searching for Horme. She had to deliver her message after all…

She had only been able to run and hide from the terminus beasts scampering around the city for so long before one of them took note of her, and decided to try to take her out. That is how she ended up with this pesky gut wound. Where ordinarily Klotho would use her Creation to avoid physical conflict with creatures of the star, during the Final Days that was not exactly an option… without risking unleashing more of the Creation the will of the star currently desired: terminus beasts - or in Klotho’s case, dooms.

Klotho didn’t find Horme in the end, and despite how it irks her, she supposes she should count herself lucky indeed that one of Venat’s little helpers did find her and help her here, to this building surrounded by Venat’s wards, still Amaurotine creation to their very core. They seem functional, if nothing else. She is still not willing to open herself back up to the will of the star… which means no Creation for her.

The harried-looking Amaurotine attending to Klotho’s wound appears to have finished her work, and hastens over to treat a returning familiar with a distinct yellow glow. Glad as she is to see him, Klotho’s heart clenches as she watches Argos flinch away from, but then grudgingly accept the woman’s healing magic, when it becomes apparent she intends only to heal him. Argos had always been a little choosy about who he permitted to touch him. What a darling familiar… Ah… of course! Familiars!

Klotho rocks up onto her feet, ignoring the protest of the Amaurotine now healing Argos, and leans down to scoop up as many of the friend-shaped familiars collected in a pile around her feet as she can hold. “Come along, friends! We have new friends to make, and comfort to give!” The first blanket is wrapped firmly around the shoulders of the pale woman with long, lank black hair sitting just beside where Klotho had been mere moments before, and the velveteen kounéli is plopped into her lap. “These are your buddies now,” Klotho says firmly to the woman, who is blinking up at her, beautiful pale eyes looking awfully perplexed. “Do not lose your buddies! They need comfort just as badly as we do. So go on and give them a hug, if you please!”

Her job done, Klotho moves onto the next Amaurotine, performing the same task. There are many more child-minding familiars than there are adult Amaurotines present, but that’s alright; Klotho will simply hug the rest of them herself. She always has more love to give, after all!

Aleixos steps past the remains of the terminus beast his familiar cut down, and allows himself one moment to process the scene before him. A person with pale purple hair is on their knees in the center of the street, covered in ash and blood spatter from the beast his familiar dispatched, arms wrapped tightly about themselves, rocking back and forth. A black mask lies shattered in the street behind them, and Aleixos is only able to recognize it as a mask because half of it is still intact, around an eye hole. If the owner of that mask died defending this person from the terminus beasts... then this will be his last trip to search for survivors. That even Azem should succumb... 

No. It does not bear dwelling upon. The purple-haired figure is not facing the mask, but the street where Aleixos has come from; towards the city center. Their amethyst eyes stare blankly ahead, as tears stream unchecked down their cheeks, cutting pale lines through the soot that covers the rest of them from head to toe. They do not react as Aleixos whistles to his familiar, then nods to the figure.

Aleixos' combat familiar, a collection of floating metal blades to complement his utility familiar, the floating nuts and bolts, carefully lifts the figure in the street up beneath their arms using only the dull sides of the blades, and sets them on their feet. The purple-haired person wobbles in place.

"You!" Aleixos barks, snapping his fingers impatiently beneath their tearstained face. "With me, come along now, we haven't all day."

Never, when Venat first approached him, did Aleixos think he would one day heed her mad ravings. He is not too proud to admit that his first impressions of the former seat of Azem may have been wrong. Venat warned him about the day the skies would bleed, stars would fall, and creation would bring forth only ravenous beasts.

With the other survivors Aleixos has recovered so far, a loud noise and a clear order to follow had been enough. Aleixos turns on his heel and begins to head back towards Venat's aetherically-warded base, before he realizes that he cannot hear the sound of following footsteps over the crackle of flames.

Aleixos makes an exasperated sound, turns, storms back to the figure, and wraps an arm about their waist, after prying one of their arms from around their own chest and slinging it over his shoulders. Thus encumbered, he begins the trek back towards Anamnesis Anyder. Living people are a much higher priority than recovering familiars, the dead, or dead familiars. There are plenty of the latter. Not so many of the former. Aleixos, pragmatic as he is, has been growing increasingly doubtful in even his ability to find any more living souls amongst the burning streets of Amaurot.

His bladed familiar dispatches of another half dozen terminus beasts on the trek back to the Anamnesis Anyer, augmented with Venat’s wards as it is, while Aleixos silently curses the lavender-haired fool on his shoulder for being little better than dead weight. For being so very enlightened, it would seem that many Amaurotines still lack the basic ability to compartmentalize. Aleixos has watched no less than seven different souls give in to their panic and be subsequently consumed, just since leaving Venat's base for the first time to begin hunting for survivors. This purple-haired soul at his side is only the third Aleixos has been able to recover in twice as many hours, and their recovery is not guaranteed at all until they are safely within Venat's wards.

Thinking about Venat and her base and her warding magic makes Aleixos' skin crawl. If he had not paid so much attention to her inane chatter each time she visited him at his workplace, would he have found any other safe place to retreat to amidst all this chaos? Was there even any other safe place to retreat to? If not for Venat, Aleixos may have attempted to reach the Convocation building, despite how little he thinks of their plan, broadcast over loudspeakers and in the skies over the city, to summon an entity to contain the wild creation magics.

He does not think Venat's plan is any better. But Venat has offered him a safe haven without the risk of being sacrificed, whereas the Convocation has asked for fully half of all mankind to give their souls as temporary collateral to this being they intend to summon. Voluntary temporary sacrifices, they had asked for. Aleixos, ever the pragmatist (though many, Venat included, would call him a pessimist), would like to know what happens if fully half of the souls on Etheirys do not volunteer. Will they then fill those "willing" slots with the unwilling? Would being close at hand assure he would become one such unwilling sacrifice? And just how long is temporary?

Aleixos has never been one for gambling, and he likes his odds of survival with Venat much better than with the Convocation, despite how little he trusts her and her supposed plan to end these so-called Final Days. Venat's vague plan, the full details of which she still has not deigned to share with him (or if his suspicions are correct, anyone at all) leaves Aleixos ill at ease, but he truly has no better options at this point.

He spares a moment to consider whether the lavender-haired person on his shoulder will thank him, or curse him for bringing him to Venat. In the end, Aleixos supposes, it doesn't really matter.

Until today, Hythlodaeus had always thought a broken heart was a figure of speech, nothing more. He has never been in... he never thought it possible to be in so much pain, and yet still inexplicably breathing. Every step the sharp man with the sharper familiar makes him take, Hyth's whole torso aches. 

He wonders idly, since nothing matters anymore, whether he could see the cracks in his soul if he turned his aethersight upon his own chest. Hythlodaeus decides not to try. His sight has such range, he could surely watch the few remaining blots of colorful souls throughout Amaurot begin to drift as they are freed from their bodies, to join the myriad mass of anguished souls returning to the Underworld before their time, as the dreadful beasts that keep spawning from uncontrollable creation magics kill the last of the survivors.

Hythlodaeus has barely enough presence of mind to realize such a bleak thought is not very like him. But then... who is left to know that, much less worry about it? 

Both of the two souls Hythlodaeus loves most dearly in the world... are gone. His best friends, Hades, and Horme, holding the Convocation seats of Emet-Selch and Azem, respectively... gone. His guiding lights… have left Hythlodaeus in the dark.

What happened to their promise? To return to the star together? What happened to “together forever”?

Another building tumbles into the street behind them, and Hythlodaeus' new companion looks over his shoulder to watch it fall, but for Hyth, it is enough to hear the structures crash into the street, a deep, shuddering cacophony of stone colliding and crumbling. He keeps moving forward.

Hythlodaeus has no idea how long he was kneeling in the street, just... crying, after losing his two best friends. Judging by the pins and needles in his legs, and the way his knees protest when he tries to put his weight on them, Hythlodaeus suspects it has been at least half a day. He cannot make a more educated guess based on the position of the sun, for the whole sky is red, and flaming rocks fall from it like so many deadly flakes of snow, were it not the middle of summer. Nor would he be able to tell based on the destruction all around him, for all Hythlodaeus can remember without recoiling in physical pain at the memory is that one moment his friends were beside him, arguing, but still here at least, and the next... the next, that familiar composed of floating blades was slicing a terminus beast in half, and Hythlodaeus had jerked back instinctively as hot black blood splattered upon his face.

And now the sharp man with his sharp familiar is hauling Hythlodaeus along to who knows where... and Hyth finds that he cannot quite bring himself to care where he ends up. 

Another horrific wail echoes from the very land itself, and Hythlodaeus flinches, but cannot muster the energy to reach up and cover his ears. As if in response, the street beneath their feet sinks, then cracks and begins to fall apart behind them, sending both Hythlodaeus and his rescuer sprawling onto the pavement. Hyth winces, lifting a palm to observe the damage, which is... considerable. Feeling somewhat dizzy at the sight of so much blood (could that all really be his own?), Hythlodaeus nevertheless does not fight against the arm that hooks beneath his elbow, and hauls him back up onto his feet.

At least the man does not make conversation as he drags Hythlodaeus to his destination. Hyth's lips purse in a tiny, bitter smile, before that, too, fades. Like all things inevitably fade, he is learning.

Venat's heart is full to bursting with regrets as she looks around the Doxa. To think that the site of one of the first Created terminus beasts in Amaurot may be the only safe harbor left to its citizens, aside from the Convocation chambers; perhaps the whole Convocation building, if they are very lucky, or with the combined skill of all its remaining members…

So many dead, so many dying... and this is not even the worst of the carnage. What must the rest of her beloved Etheirys look like now? To whom the Final Days came so very much sooner…

Venat knows what must be done. This does not mean she has to like it. She does not like it.

Venat's blade drips black blood onto the floor, and she wipes it absently on her once-white robes, looking over to where Syntyche sits, wrapped in an uncharacteristically bright quilt. She had had to cut down too many terminus beasts to reach the aspiring chef, current street sweeper. Most of them had not been Syntyche's. Venat dearly hopes they had not come from - and subsequently killed - people Syntyche knew, but she knows they probably had. There is nothing Venat can do about that other than save Syntyche now, and hope the younger woman can heal from the trauma of witnessing it.

Her sapphire eyes follow Efthalia around the room, Elpis researcher turned field medic, and soon, something much more important than that. Venat regrets telling Efthalia the things she did in order to win her over, but it was critical to her plans. At first, she had not understood why the Azem shard from the future had given her Efthalia's name - this woman was almost painfully naive, and gullible to boot. An intelligent researcher, which had confused Venat that much more when she realized the woman believed in all manner of fantastic stories and theories that simply could not be true. She wishes the fantastic story she had spun for Efthalia were not half as true as it is.

Klotho is bustling about the Doxa as well, dispensing children’s toy familiars and using infant-minding blanket familiars to drape the other survivors in. Leave it to Klotho to devise a solution Venat never could have hoped to think of, to solve many problems all at once; keeping the assembled people calm by giving them the task of calming the familiars, and keeping the familiars happy by giving them people to mind… even if not children. Klotho has always been one of Venat’s best helpers… and Venat had been the most concerned about Klotho making it to Amaurot in time, and the threat that her Creation abilities posed. She is most glad to be proven wrong, a surprisingly common occurrence when it comes to Klotho. A truly singular soul and ally… Venat should have known better than to doubt her abilities.

These three and more fill the Anamnesis Anyder lobby, and as Venat looks around the room, she remembers where she met and subsequently recruited each and every one of them to her cause. Her own army of civilians, enlisted to fight the destruction of man... many of them without even realizing they had been conscripted. As the door to the Doxa opens once more behind her, Venat turns - and her heart soars with hope.

"Hythlodaeus," she breathes, reverting her sword and shield into their component aether, and immediately making her way over to where Aleixos, the prickly clerk, has the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect propped against his shoulder. Venat had been so worried about the fact that she could not find him. Horme’s shard had told her he would be there, in her future -

Aleixos catches her sleeve. Hisses into her ear so quietly, she almost misses it. “This one does not seem to want to live.”

Venat’s heart lurches in her chest. No. Surely not…

Familiar amethyst eyes drag slowly up the filthy expanse of Venat's robes, to finally settle on her face, with a most unfamiliar lack of... something. A certain spark, the playful eagerness that makes Hythlodaeus Hythlodaeus is missing. He is covered in soot and splattered with black blood, and as Venat takes his arm and shifts his weight from Aleixos to herself, Hythlodaeus laughs bitterly.

"If you think I can help you win Emet-Selch or Azem to your cause, I can't," he croaks, letting his head hang, and Venat thinks she sees a teardrop spatter the tile beneath his feet. "Their ideals were more important to them both in the end. I am sorry to report that I am completely useless to you now.”

“Hythlodaeus,” Venat scolds him gently, half-carrying him over to the end of one of the long benches alongside the doors, then gently easing him down onto its edge. “That is not true. Your presence is more heartening than you could possibly know.” Oh, would that she had kinder words to speak with such truth… This, at least, she can say with honesty: “I am so glad to see you safe.”

Venat does not like how easily lying comes to her, now.

“A heartening presence,” Hythlodaeus rasps dryly. “Truly a goal to aspire towards.” His ordinarily bright amethyst eyes stare dully down at the tile beneath their feet, when Venat kneels down to check his expression.

Of all the names she was given, she always knew Hythlodaeus would be the hardest to bring into her circle. Syntyche. Efthalia. Klotho. Aleixos. Hythlodaeus. She spent moons tracking down the unfamiliar names; and agonized over how to lure Hythlodaeus away from his inseparable friends in the end… She never imagined he would find his way to her, alone, and in such a state. Venat does not dare ask where Hades and Horme are. She can divine those answers easily enough.

Venat is likely the reason Horme is gone, after all.

Oh, she told Azem her plans alright - but only once Venat was certain that it was far too late to try anything brash to avert the Final Days. Only after the first terminus beast was brought into the city. Only when she could be assured that Horme would join her… or be forced to abandon the city. Whether Horme would join the Convocation in summoning Zodiark was never in question; what she would do when Venat shared what little knowledge she could of the future was.

Hythlodaeus’ presence here, alone, tells Venat all she needs to know. No matter what happens to her successor now, Horme’s soul will be sundered.

His presence is still a blessing; Venat’s collection of souls is complete. All of those souls Horme’s future shard had named, finally accounted for. 

Syntyche, whose trust Venat won with a freely given promise to vouch for her, when it came time for her to graduate from Akadaemia Anyder, despite her somewhat strange proclivities, and unique difficulties with creation… A struggling student when Venat first met her, Syntyche’s desire to channel her passion for cooking into a career has always impressed Venat. A soul with so much determination could make a powerful ally indeed. Syntyche’s ability to turn just about any solid matter into anything else will prove invaluable as well.

Efthalia, lured with the promise of secret knowledge of the Convocation’s inner workings, and their foul designs upon the innocent denizens of the star. That girl needed a stern talking to after all this was over… but by Etheirys, if her naivete did not serve Venat well now… She has no doubts that Efthalia will cooperate with her in seeing her plan carried out; what Venat is worried about is just how far the young Elpis researcher will try to take her twisted understanding of the happenings on the star in the process.

Klotho, her longtime helper… and one who has never been afraid to tell Venat when she is wrong. Oh, how Venat shudders to think what Klotho would have to say to her about her plan now. Of all of the necessary souls, Venat had worried the most about Klotho’s journey to Anamnesis Anyder. Ever since she met Klotho, the other woman had always lived in a tiny village far from the bounds of Amaurot; practically on the other side of the star. She had wondered if she might have to go fetch Klotho from her village; it appeared that fate had smiled upon Venat in this… or perhaps frowned upon Klotho. She makes a mental note to ask Klotho after this, if she can, about her journey to the city.

Aleixos, she simply informed where safe haven would be when the world began to fall apart and dropped a few pointed hints about the existence of a plan, should the worst ever come to pass. Venat dearly appreciates that he listened to her despite how insane he clearly thought her at the time that information was granted to him. His pragmatic nature and surprising combat prowess (for an Amaurotine civilian) have served her well indeed; Hythlodaeus, the last of her souls, may not have found his way back to her without Aleixos’ assistance.

Hythlodaeus… she thought she would have more time to tell him. To try to win him over. Venat had hoped that she might be able to find Hythlodaeus before the chaos of the Final Days arrived in full, shortly after she had revealed part of her plans to Horme. At the Bureau of the Architect, perhaps. But, no. Venat had checked the Convocation building and the Bureau both, and barely had time to return to Anamnesis Anyder to strengthen her wards before the Final Days were upon them. Wherever Hythlodaeus went in the interim, she is just glad Aleixos was able to find him and bring him to Anamnesis Anyder. Even in… this state.

Now that all the necessary souls are assembled… Venat gives Hythlodaeus’ hands a tight squeeze. He will survive; she is confident of this much. He will have some twelve thousand years to learn to live without his best friends. Cruel though that may sound.

She looks out over the assembled souls - survivors - and steels herself to give the speech she prepared for this moment. The prelude to a summoning on a scale to rival the Convocation’s Zodiark. Whatever it takes to bring the Final Days to a halt - unlike the temporary solution that Zodiark embodies.

Her own regrets no longer matter. How many souls lost, how many unique lands, customs, cultures, languages… None of it matters, so long as mankind itself survives to face the ultimate threat that Meteion poses to their star, to their very existence.

It is time to address the group as a whole. She must convince them to aid her. Now begins the delicate task of gaining the support of all without alienating a single one. With so few souls, so few summoners… she will need all their devotion to create a power to rival Zodiark.

Venat clears her throat. “If I might have your attention for a few moments? I would speak to you all of our current predicament, and where we go from here.”

All motion in the normally bustling Doxa slows to a halt, and nearly a dozen pairs of bright eyes land upon her. Venat forces herself to stand tall beneath the weight of their gazes. 

“I met with the Convocation just yesterday,” she begins, looking out over their soot-streaked faces, keeping her own expression carefully stoic as she meets each pair of eyes in turn. “They told me of their plan. To Create a being known as Zodiark, using the young Elidibus as His heart.” She closes her eyes as she waits for the horrified exclamations and whispers to fall once more to silence. “Their plan is to use nearly all the aether from fully half of the souls of the remaining people of Etheirys, then retain those souls inside Zodiark Himself, with the understanding that once the Final Days have been stopped, those borrowed souls will be returned to us to live out the rest of their lives.” Venat watches the expressions of those assembled before her turn confused in some cases, calculating in others. “This will not work without additional sacrifice,” she says firmly, tightening her grasp on the light-aspected crystal in her hand, stowed safely in a pocket, out of sight of her audience. “Such a powerful Creation, summoned with so much aether, will never be satisfied with the loss of that which it once claimed as its own… or at the very least, not without an equal price in aether paid by us in return. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that further living sacrifices will be required to Zodiark to free the souls He was given only temporarily, only in order to save the star. And likewise I know that that cost will be far too high, and will need to be paid in unwilling sacrifices. Lives lost in truth, to return to us those who had only sacrificed themselves in the first place with the understanding that they would return to us in the end.”

There is a small outburst. Some of the assembled individuals cry out in protest, and others take to quietly discussing this new information. Syntyche’s eyes are very, very wide. Aleixos looks most displeased. Hythlodaeus looks… exactly the same, which does not bode especially well. That stubborn spark in Klotho’s pink eyes spells trouble. Venat ignores it for the time being, and prays that whatever her old friend is thinking, she will refrain from disrupting her plans. Venat’s archivist friend purses his lips, but says not a word.

“For this reason,” Venat continues, raising her voice, steeling her nerves. “I have devised an alternative to the Convocation’s plans. A long-term solution to the problem, instead of their half-measure - indebting us to a capricious Created God.” She holds up a hand as one of the souls in the back, a person whose name she does not know, opens their mouth to protest. “I voiced my very real concerns to the Convocation. They summoned me to offer my counsel, after all. I gave them my counsel. And they elected to ignore it. Because of my love for this star… I cannot stand idly by while we trade in the immediate demise of our people… for a death by a thousand cuts to a false God ravenously hungry for ever more aether. I would ask that you join me; I will need your fervent prayers, your love for this star, to help me enact a solution to the Final Days that will truly endure, without bleeding our people dry in the process.”

The silence in the lobby is damning.

Venat nods slowly, just once. “I will answer any questions you may have as best I can. Know that none of you are forced to remain here, to join me in enacting my plan. But I would not ask for your aid, were I not certain that this plan will prove the salvation of mankind.”

Her speech delivered, Venat steps down from the three short steps she had stood upon to address the dozen assembled souls, and begins making her rounds. There will be plenty of questions. She will have to give many non-answers, perhaps even bald-faced lies. But in the end, Hydaelyn will be summoned.

“Light-aspected crystals?” Syntyche repeats, blinking up at Venat, perplexed. The white-robed woman nods, stone-faced. “Why…?”

Venat inclines her head. “I would ask simply that you trust me for now, Syntyche. Please. Know that I will always act with this star’s best interests in mind.”

A non-answer. Syntyche purses her lips, but nods. “Very well.” At least it gives her something to focus on, other than the decidedly abysmal state of the star.

The materials Venat directs her to are mundane; ordinary. Static. Unliving. Syntyche will have no trouble with this task. 

Converting material from one form to another is a task as simple as breathing for Syntyche; this is something she has been gifted at since she was a very small child. Of course, those gifts did not serve her well, and indeed left her lagging behind her classmates as soon as their courses shifted from creation from crystals to creation from the “ambient aether” that supposedly exists in the world all around them… Syntyche is grateful Venat has provided the physical, visible materials she will need to complete this task. She is grateful Venat even has a task to delegate to her, given that her talents tend to lie in areas not generally considered… useful.

Venat has helped her so much already. The former Azem had gotten her the approval needed to graduate from her schooling. Then, she had helped her navigate the aid and services of Deudalaphon’s Words, through which she has… had a modest studio to call her own and a job to keep her afloat. Of course she would repay those favors in kind by connecting Venat to Aleixos. The former holder of the seat of Azem had never been anything but charitable with her.

Light, though, was a very strange request. She’d heard her coworker complaining of some odd souls indeed in the course of their short time at the materiel shop, but usually, Ancients knew exactly what they were coming in for. A tool to visualize fine work? Alright, that was normal enough, Refined metal ores to improve aetheric conductivity? Aleixos himself must have some great need for the stuff, considering how much he takes home. Surely some customers had wanted their elemental crystals.

Syntyche freezes mid-step, the last parchment in her hands wavering between opacities. Some summoning experts, such as the clientele representing the Words of Lahabrea, would ask for this or that aspect… She remembered because they would leave trails of sparkling motes behind them, which were such a pain to sweep out of Amaurot’s textured walkways. Aleixos despised crystals because of how heavy they were to lug around and restock. She turns the half-crystal, half-parchment over, trying to think of anyone other than summoners asking for crystals of a specific aspect. Nothing comes to mind.

Syntyche herself kept some crystals at home as creation fodder. Just a few of each type sufficed. Nothing like the amount Venat seems to want.

Venat didn’t use crystals to create things like she did. Which meant she had to be-

It did not bear thinking about. Syntyche found her mind drawn back to the screams of her dear friends, that beast chewing on them slowly. Summoned terminus beasts, like so many of the things outside had to have been. Did Venat mean to make a beast of her own?

Syntyche drops the crystallized parchment as if burned. It is far too late. The light aether Venat needs is already at hand, and her helper, Poros, is hauling it away on archival carts.

Her throat locks up, and her chest feels tight, like something is physically preventing it from expanding far enough to let air in. She can barely breathe. If Venat is summoning another beast... Syntyche should have listened to Aleixos when he first called Venat mad… She folds herself in half, clutching one hand over her mouth, and the other to her temple, because the room has begun to spin... 

A wet… something collides gently with Syntyche’s nose and she gasps, a ragged sounding thing, but at least she is breathing. The room slowly settles into focus as Syntyche blinks, trying to make sense of the faintly glowing yellow… creature nudging at her arm with a long, furry snout. What comes slowly into focus the more air manages to make it into her lungs… is Argos, Venat’s faithful fluffy familiar.

Syntyche chokes on a grateful sob, and throws her arms around Argos’ neck, burying her face in his lustrous fur. Such a good familiar… a constant source of comfort and companionship. A reminder that one was never truly alone. Perhaps Syntyche should not have been so hasty to entrust that velveteen kounéli to someone else…

Argos is, if nothing else, a reminder of what kind of person Venat is: not one who would knowingly inflict the kind of atrocities that are currently prowling the streets of Amaurot on people. Syntyche has to believe that. She has to. Even if the light crystals she just created are being used for a summoning… they must just be for… something like a bigger Argos, right?

Right?

Please, please, Syntyche prays, don’t let Venat summon something else that wants to eat them.

When Venat approaches him on her rounds, no doubt making sure none of the assembled are about to run out on her, Aleixos cuts straight to the chase. “You won’t tell me your full plan.”

All she has ever told him before is bits and pieces. He has no reason to believe that would change now, just because they are on the cusp of her plan’s execution. 

“No, I won’t,” Venat agrees.

At least she is honest. He can respect that, if nothing else. He has already determined that this is the best place for him to be; at least, if he does not wish to become an involuntary sacrifice to that so-called god, Zodiark, that the Convocation may be summoning even now.

Aleixos inclines his head. “Do I have any true choice in being here?”

Venat looks slightly hurt. Aleixos finds that after a night of hauling around people and familiars, being splattered with blood and who knows what else, coated from head to toe in ash and soot, and nearly losing his own utility familiar… he does not particularly care.

“Of course you have a choice,” she frowns. “I will not force you into anything. But if you were truly interested in another option… why have you stayed this long?”

It is a fair question. If he had anywhere else to go that would guarantee better odds of survival, Aleixos would be there. Gambling is a horrid habit. Would that he had an assured outcome to fall back upon…

He hitches a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I see little reason to answer your question when you will not answer mine.”

Venat’s expression turns steely. “Try me.”

“Very well. What are the odds of your plan succeeding with our continued survival?”

“Full odds,” Venat says with such conviction, Aleixos blinks, startled. “I can guarantee you will survive. If you ask me how I know that, I cannot tell you. But I can guarantee that you, Aleixos, will live a very long life indeed if you trust in me now.”

He’s not sure he likes the sound of that. A guarantee of a very long life. A very long life of what? Happiness? Misery?  But then, who can promise anyone a happy life? A long life sounds… promising, if nothing else. Given the circumstances. On what grounds can Venat guarantee this? He is all but certain she will not answer that question.

Aleixos nods. “Very well. For now. But if I sense anything off…”

Venat inclines her head. “You are free to leave at any time, my friend.”

He is not free to leave at any time. They both know this. But Venat has already called his bluff on that front. There is no point in extending the charade.

“We are not friends,” Aleixos asserts.

“We are not friends,” Venat repeats, with a tiny smile. “Thank you, Aleixos. For trusting me.”

“I do not trust you.” He does not. Anyone would be a fool to trust Venat. What she is doing is flying in the face of everything the Convocation, the best of Amaurot, are working towards…

But what the Convocation is doing is insanity as well. And he does know the whole of their plan. Surely whatever Venat has planned… cannot be worse. He is content with his decision. For now.

“Mm-hmm. If you wouldn’t mind, might I ask you and your familiars to continue minding the front entrance? Just in case anything should break through the wards. I do not anticipate it will happen, but it is possible.”

“Hm.” He recognizes this tactic. Giving him a task of supposed import to focus his attention on - so that he will not focus his energies instead upon divining the true nature of her whole plan. Very well. If she wishes to play that game… guarding a door is not an arduous task enough by half to keep Aleixos’ mind occupied. He will spend as long as he has left, trying to determine just what Venat is truly asking of them all.

Aleixos intends to survive the Final Days, come what may.

Klotho knows that most of the pretty little speech Venat just gave was lies. 

Klotho has known Venat for many, many years by now. Venat may not realize that Klotho also knew of her through the previous Azem, Venat’s mentor, before they even met. Oh yes - Klotho has known her fair share of Azems. And Venat is one of the more… uptight Azems. Easily the worst in thinking she knows best, and taking the decisions of others out of their own hands. Klotho is not afraid to tell her this.

Her task now is to figure out how Venat is wrong this time, so that she can tell her why, and how to be better. She will wait her turn patiently for Venat to come to her. Klotho chuckles… the man Venat is currently talking to looks none too happy about what she has to say to him. He’s not the only one, from the faces Klotho observes around the lobby…

When Venat approaches her, Klotho pastes on a saccharine smile. Venat’s expression immediately hardens. Good, she should be wary.

“Klotho…” Venat begins, reaching up to press her fingers to her temple. Oh, is Klotho giving dear Venat a headache? Good .

“Yes?” Klotho asks, sickly sweet, and cuddles the armful of children's familiars closer to herself while waiting for Venat to make the next move. She spies that lavender-haired person still sitting on the bench where Venat sat him before even giving her speech. The poor dear has not even moved.

“...do you… need to know more about Zodiark?” Venat asks after a long moment of tense silence between them.

Klotho blinks and turns her attention back to Venat. “Certainly not. Your Amaurotine Convocation broadcasted their plans far and wide; I was easily within range to hear them by the time they made up their stiff little minds.” She begins letting the familiars down gently from her arms, one at a time, and patting them on their little heads as she sends them off towards the Amaurotines around the room.

Venat inclines her head slowly. “Then… why are you… smiling?”

Klotho’s smile widens. “Why wouldn’t I be smiling, my dear? The sky is raining fire, the star is Creating monsters, and we are hiding in a building preparing to follow a plan that, unless I miss my mark, has not been peer-reviewed by a single soul, which you intend to use to save all of Etheirys.”

Venat winces. Klotho’s smile turns triumphant. The former Azem appears to need a moment to collect herself. Klotho supposes she can allow it, just this once. She takes a moment to glance around the room and see if she can glean more information about Venat’s plans from those she has already stopped to talk to. Are those… light crystals on those carts? Hm… that does not bode well.

“Klotho, I…” 

There - a moment has passed. “Venat,” Klotho sighs, shaking her head, as she stands to her full height - nearly a head shorter than Venat. “If you planned to keep your plan to summon a being to rival Zodiark a secret- excuse you,” Klotho sputters, as Venat physically lifts her up by the arms, and carries her bodily further into the building.

Venat only sets her down once there is a whole shelf between them and the door, and then she glares at Klotho. “Are you trying to cause a panic?”

“Are you? And why are you worried about causing a panic? Are these not your faithful summoners? They are not fools, Venat, they will figure it out sooner or later. If you anticipate they will panic upon learning your full intentions, then they will panic regardless of when they correctly identify those intentions.” Klotho counters at once, folding her arms over her chest, which flattens to make room for her full displeasure. She wishes she trusted Venat’s wards; having her Creation directed inwards is most discomforting. However did Horme manage it all the time…?

Venat bares her teeth at Klotho, before groaning, and stepping away from the shorter woman, growling and slamming a fist into the shelf beside them. “Damn you, it’s not that simple…”

Klotho laughs heartily at that. Not kindly. “Nothing is ever simple, Venat, dear. Haven’t you known me long enough to know that by now?”

Venat turns, and Klotho expects to be glared at. What she receives is an anguished expression. “You… believe in the extraordinary. Would you believe me if I told you that I knew this summoning would succeed, and furthermore, that it would work. Zodiark would be kept from bleeding Etheirys dry. This insane, fool-hardy, not peer-reviewed plan of mine would work. That… I cannot tell you how, but I can guarantee this plan will work. I would, and have, bet my life on it.”

Klotho takes a moment to process this information. That could mean… but… surely not. Not sensible, safety-first Venat dabbling in long-range time travel magics…

It’s not impossible. Klotho has lived a very long time… she understands that magic - and the people who use it - change and develop over time. It is possible. Distantly, but possible. Far be it from her to be the one to say a thing cannot be done, when it has not been proven decisively to be true. Only… mostly. The last attempts Klotho recalls hearing about in regards to long-range time travel had… not been heartening. The test subjects had never been found. None of the recorded test subjects had ever been found.

She has been silent too long. Venat turns away with a sigh, no doubt wracking her brain for another way to convince Klotho to cooperate.

When it comes down to it… it matters very little how Venat knows. Klotho has known Venat for a very long time. And though she may not agree with her on many, many issues - Venat certainly has her flaws… if she is so convinced that this plan, this summoning of hers will work, will keep Zodiark from demanding ever more living sacrifices in exchange for the star’s continued survivor… Klotho is inclined to trust her.

“Alright. Assuming your plan works…”

Venat’s eyes are shining with hope when she turns to look back at Klotho. “You… believe me?”

“I will entertain the thought,” Klotho corrects her firmly, glaring down at her own nose as it shifts to something much more protrusive. How very distracting… “Assuming it works-”

“This plan… it will work, Klotho-”

“Stop interrupting me,” Klotho chides Venat, reaching up to tap her gently on the nose. Venat blinks, startled. Klotho giggles. How long has it been since anyone dared to bap Venat anywhere? “Now, where was I? Ah - assuming your plan works, what is the summoned entity? What is its purpose?”

Venat has the good grace to look sheepish, at least. She nods. “The entity is called Hydaelyn, and She will keep Zodiark from exploiting the people of this star.”

“Hm. Yes. But how?” Klotho is not in love with this idea of placing their trust in summoned entities, but if Venat is certain that her summoning, her plan will work, then Klotho needs to understand it… so that she understands how best to fix it.

“I… cannot tell you that,” Venat hedges, folding her own arms over her chest and shaking her head slowly. “I cannot allow you to interfere, Klotho. I have no idea what that may do to- to the plan,” she finishes weakly, visibly biting the inside of her cheek in frustration as she turns away. Frustration at herself? Or because she nearly gave something away. Very interesting.

“Hm,” Klotho hums. “Very well then. Know that you cannot stop me,” she adds with a sweet smile up at Venat. “I have what information I need for now. I will aid you in your summoning - it is clear that you cannot proceed without the cooperation of every soul here. There are far too few of us for aught else. Especially if this summoned entity is to contend with Zodiark in any respect.”

“Klotho…” There is a note of warning in Venat’s voice now. Klotho barely resists the urge to laugh.

Klotho waves a hand dismissively as she turns to head back out into the lobby. “I shall not stop you, Venat. I have ever been a guiding presence to you and others, you know this well. I hope this plan works as well as you believe it will.”

There is not a single chance, not in a million, not in a million millions, that Klotho will sit idly and let Venat’s plan proceed unaltered. Aether-dense aspected crystals to aid in the summoning of an entity? Even with someone to guide it as its heart, as with the Convocation and their current Elidibus, no summoned entity would ever have the heart of a man - what was needed to save a star, without sacrificing something else critically important. 

Venat asked for their hopes and prayers, did she not?

Klotho lives and breathes hope - she has plenty of that to spare. Hope is what allowed her to smile and offer reassurances through watching each member of her village as they returned to the star for their varying reasons - each of whom she watched be born . Hope is what carried her all the way from the other side of the star to Amaurot, with fire and screams hot on her heels, and her Creation bottled up inside her like a frantic, caged animal. Hope is what guided her through the burning streets of Amaurot, that beloathed monument to mankind’s hubris, and symbol of him turning a deaf ear to the voice of the very star. Hope is what keeps her moving and thinking and planning even now, in the face of the doom of Etheirys.

Hope is what keeps Klotho thinking of Horme, and praying for their safety, even in light of everything that is going wrong - uniquely, terribly wrong, in the worst ways possible for Horme specifically.

And Klotho isn’t out of ideas just yet.

One of the ideas a brilliant young painter from her village had proposed was to return to the star en masse with love and hope in their hearts, in the hope that should enough of them return, with enough love and hope, their collective will may be enough to sway Etheirys into calming, and ceasing its attack upon them, its children, via Creation.

Klotho had considered the idea each time she heard one of the Amaurotine Convocation’s broadcasts go out, asking for voluntary sacrifices to Zodiark, that He might rewrite the very laws of existence, and thereby save the star. A preposterous idea, as far as Klotho was concerned - but it made her think.

Etheirys - the will of the star - the Underworld… was composed of the returned souls of those who called it home. Was a summoned entity, summoned using the aether of souls, not the same thing, on a smaller scale? 

If there was a hope, however distant, to sway the will of the star by rejoining one’s aether with the aether of the star… was there not a chance to sway a summoned being by offering it one’s soul, too?

So many souls would be sacrificed to Zodiark, and with her village already returned to the star, Klotho had known at once that she would have no chance of swaying Zodiark - or so little a chance as to hardly matter at all. But the entity Venat plans to summon has only thirteen souls vying for its will…

All of this means Klotho stands a real chance of influencing its will by participating in its summoning. Even should she not survive the process.

Klotho wishes she could have had a chance to say goodbye to Horme. But were her lover here, Klotho feels confident that they would have supported her in her decision. If Klotho has no choice but to apologize to Horme in the Underworld later… so be it. She had always done her best to ensure Horme knew just how loved they were. She hopes they won’t miss her too terribly.

Hythlodaeus may not have moved, but he heard Venat’s impassioned speech. He is still working through how he feels about it.

The situation Venat is describing does sound very dire, it is true… but Hythlodaeus knows from Horme that Venat can be prone to obfuscating some portion of the whole truth when she believes she has already reached the optimal conclusion herself. In other words… when she does not wish to risk her helpers arriving at the wrong conclusion. She has tried to shut Horme out in this way in the past; and Venat respects Horme. At least, so Horme says. Hythlodaeus is even less certain that Venat feels compelled to tell the whole truth to the few souls gathered here, when not a single one of them holds any position of significant rank, nor do any of them possess any particularly potent talents. Why would she tell them the whole truth?

Some distant corner of his mind chimes in unhelpfully that this is not a fair assessment of Venat’s decisions; she truly is one of the wisest, most experienced individuals Hythlodaeus knows. That any of the three of them know. And Venat did not have to help Horme graduate from the Akadaemia. Even should she not tell Horme the whole truth all the time… sometimes there are good reasons for that. Like when Horme’s big heart would put the sure solution for many in jeopardy for a chance to save everyone. 

Is that what is happening here? Did Venat withhold the truth from even Horme, even now, years after they had taken up the mantle of Azem, and grown immeasurably in their own right? Or did they receive the full breakdown of Venat’s plan from their former mentor, and simply found it equally repulsive? Is that why Horme came immediately to confront Hades after speaking with Venat? Did they find the Convocation’s plan and Venat’s both to be so unpalatable, they made one last attempt to turn Hades to their way of thinking, and then failing that… struck out on their own  to pursue a solution that would preserve more lives than either plan? But the Convocation’s plan isn’t truly endangering any lives at all… at least according to Hades… Venat has just said otherwise, of course… but based on what information? That, she did not share. Hythlodaeus’ head feels like it is spinning. This kind of politicking… without all the information from all sides, how can he be expected to choose? Especially when two of the three players are those he holds dearest to his heart…?

The two of whom both abandoned him, his aching heart reminds him.

Horme asked them both to come with them to find an alternative - a third plan. Hades refused to abandon the Convocation just because he had been outvoted. Hades had said some… to put it charitably, most unkind things to Horme. Horme left without them, just like they said they would… and had bid Hythlodaeus to remain with Hades. He had tried…

“Do your duty to this star and sacrifice yourself to save it, or get out of my way.”

Hythlodaeus squeezes his eyes tightly shut at the memory of those scathing words. Hades was… hurt, by Horme’s perceived betrayal. Surely that was the only reason he would ever say anything so cruel… Hythlodaeus had told Hades of his plan to sacrifice himself to aid in summoning Zodiark… Hythlodaeus understands now, with painful clarity, that Hades had hidden himself behind the mask of Emet-Selch to hide the pain he, Hades, felt at Horme leaving them both.

Hythlodaeus had simply… needed some few moments… or hours, it turned out… to put the pieces of his shattered heart back into some semblance of order, after the things Emet-Selch said to him… and the lesser pain of Horme leaving him behind. It may have been rather poor timing to take a moment to collect himself, being the end of the world and all… but Hythlodaeus had not exactly had a choice in the matter. Now that he has had some time to begin to move past the pain… he finds he would still sacrifice himself to Zodiark now, despite the cruel things Emet-Selch said to him. Becoming a part of Zodiark sounds a better alternative to whatever it is Venat feels she cannot tell them. And if he aids in His summoning, surely Emet-Selch would welcome him… it would be one step closer to reconciliation after that awful fight.

Hythlodaeus glances towards the Doxa doors. Has he still the time to make it to the Convocation building before the summoning…? No - the limiting factor is not time, he suspects… but his own pitiful abilities. A lone archer against so many beasts… his odds would be poor indeed. The beasts prowling the streets of Amaurot now are so numerous… would anyone here even be willing to escort Hythlodaeus to aid the Convocation, which Venat seems to consider a rival at this point? Even glancing about the room, Hythlodaeus can tell that despite mostly being unhappy, the people gathered here are not willing to depart Anamnesis Anyder. All of them have seen what the city looks like at present. Who would want to risk it?

And at the end of everything… Hythlodaeus does not know what Venat’s plan actually is. A long-term solution, she called it. As opposed to Zodiark… who she clearly believes will continue to drain the star dry after serving as its salvation. Horme had not told them why they objected to Venat’s plan; what pieces of information had Venat given them? Would that they were here now, so that the pair of them could puzzle this out together - would that he had gone with them after all… but Hythlodaeus understands well why Horme told him to stay with Hades.

Hades has always needed Horme; loved Horme. Without them, he is lost. And Hythlodaeus has always loved Hades more than anything. Without him… he would be lost, too. Horme, his dearest friend and greatest supporter… must have hoped that Hythlodaeus’ presence would be enough to balance Hades in their absence. Possibly even that in depending on Hythlodaeus, Hades might grow to see him as something more than a dear friend…

If only Hythlodaeus had ever been enough for Hades.

“Do your duty to this star and sacrifice yourself to save it…”

Venat is working to save the star, too. She has not spurned Hythlodaeus, or abandoned him.

And if her plan works… he will have his chance to reconcile with Hades and Horme both.

Hythlodaeus can muster his faith for that outcome, if nothing else. Venat had asked for their fervent prayers, had she not?

Even should nothing change between them… even should Hades never see Hythlodaeus as anything more than a dear friend…

He will pray for the salvation of the star… that the two souls he loves more than anything else might be returned to him. 

Hythlodaeus cannot live without them.

Efthalia cannot return to Venat’s familiar Argos when Venat is done speaking. He took his master’s speech as an opportunity to slink away from Efthalia. Hmph. Well, if he needs no further healing, then she will set her mind instead to the task of reading up on some medical basics. Venat is counting on her, after all!

She leaves the Doxa through the heavy, enchanted doors opposite those leading to the outside, and steps into the Archive Eternal to begin her search for knowledge. This room is much larger, and slightly better lit, even if it is in mostly cool blue tones. Crystals full of concepts, theories, natural laws, and whole lifetimes of knowledge cover the shelves that line every wall above the ground floor. Crystals in blues, greens, and the odd reddish orange are stacked neatly in their rows, or placed carefully in stands upon tables below for closer inspection, in quantities enough to make her dizzy. However is she to find even a section of knowledge, with so much of it gathered in one place…? She steps further into the Archive, and begins glancing at each shelf she walks past. Sea creatures, land creatures, plants (ooh, she must turn back once she finds the relevant medical documents - now, focus…), extant phenomena…

The temptation to head down that aisle in search of the sort of knowledge the Convocation would not want the average citizen of Amaurot to have is powerful, but stronger still is the urge to prove herself to Venat. If Efthalia can learn enough, make herself that much more useful to Venat, then surely, the former Azem will take her fully into her confidences. She keeps walking. Efthalia has only just located a shelf of crystallized knowledge on various medical subjects when Venat joins her.

“What are we searching for?” the former Azem asks good-naturedly, joining Efthalia in perusing the crystals stacked neatly upon the shelves. 

“I had thought to… brush up on medical concepts,” Efthalia admits, brushing her fingers over a facet of the nearest crystal, purportedly a paper on the different types and efficacies of bandages known to man. “I want to learn to heal more effectively, since it seems no one else here has specialized in the subject… I suppose the role of medic falls to me.”

Venat nods approvingly, and when Efthalia looks over, she hastily smothers the beam that threatens to break through at the sight of the former Azem evaluating her with a smile. Venat approves of her!

“A noble goal. Why don’t you collect some of these to read later,” Venat suggests, lifting one of the crystals off the shelf and hefting it in her hands. “A Treatise on the Treatment of Burns. Sounds useful. But Efthalia…”

Efthalia pauses in scooping as many of the crystals as she can hold in her arms off the shelves, and hastily slides one into her pocket before turning to face Venat, eyes wide. “Yes?”

Venat’s lips quirk up. “I have a much more important task for you to handle first. I have Syntyche creating light-aspected crystals right now, for us to counter the dark aether of the Convocation’s summon, Zodiark.”

Efthalia’s eyes light up, and she hastily pockets all of the crystals in her arms. “We’re countering the Convocation summoning, then? We’re preventing the Great Reverting?”

Venat’s expression tightens, but she nods. “In a way. What we are doing is summoning a light-aspected entity, Hydaelyn, to hold Zodiark’s dark power in check. Do you understand?”

Efthalia’s mind spins with the possibilities this unlocks. A light-aspected summoned entity? An arcane entity then, a very powerful one. How can they hope to make enough crystals, even concentrated ones, to power a being to rival Zodiark, who will Himself be powered by the aether of nearly half the star? Will they be using souls, too? Perhaps the souls that were trapped by the Convocation on their way to the Underworld… as a former Convocation member herself, it is possible Venat would have access to the location of such top secret information-

Venat’s hand on Efthalia’s shoulder brings her back to the present. “Stay here with me, Efthalia. I need you to focus on this plan. It is a secret. Do you understand? You cannot tell any of the others what our intentions are with the light crystals, or the prayers. But we will need both in order to use me as the heart of Hydaelyn, just like Elidibus became the heart of Zodiark.”

“You?” Efthalia gasps. “But Venat, you’re our leader! What if-”

Venat shakes her head. “No, do not consider the ‘what ifs.’ What I need from you is your unwavering faith - your faith in me, and that I as Her heart will guide Hydaelyn in acting with the best interests of the star ever in the forefront of Her mind. So you see, I will not be going anywhere. Everything will be quite alright. I, as Hydaelyn, will prevent Zodiark from demanding further sacrifice from our people, and keep Him and His terrible hunger in check by locking him away.”

Efthalia feels dizzy beneath this sudden torrent of information. An entity to contain the Convocation’s wicked Zodiark? No, not an entity - Hydaelyn - Venat. This is almost too much to believe… Venat’s whole plan, shared freely with her… Hydaelyn. A beautiful name… a Goddess of light to be their salvation from the blackest night… But how… she must ask.

“How will Hydaelyn have the power to lock Zodiark away without an equivalent sacrifice of souls?”

Venat nods sagely. “An excellent question. First, I would ask you a question of my own. Have you ever heard of something called dynamis?”

Oh, now that does sound familiar. Efthalia thinks hard about where she heard the term before. Is it the name of the weapon some believed the Convocation was building to brainwash the citizens of Amaurot? No, it feels too friendly a word for that… She rolls the word around in her mind a few times. Dynamis, dynamis… Oh! Of course!

"Dynamis! The former Chief - Hermes - Fandaniel, now - he was studying dynamis! It had… something to do with Elpis flowers?" Efthalia's mind is off again already. What might Elpis flowers have to do with Venat's plan to counter the conniving Convocation? Perhaps they could be made into some kind of drug to-

"That's right," Venat agrees. "I learned about dynamis at Elpis, through Hermes. Dynamis is very important to my plan. It is… an invisible, almost undetectable force that exists all around us, that can be affected by powerful emotions and fervent desires - things like hope, prayer, and wishes. Determination, too. In order to summon Hydaelyn with enough power to contend with Zodiark, we must use both aether and dynamis."

Dynamis was the key to everything. Every plot, every theory - all of it came down to dynamis, didn't it? That was why the Convocation wanted to stifle the desires of Amaurotines, so that they could not learn to wield this force, and the Convocation would have a monopoly on a new, powerful form of energy to rival aether-

"Efthalia," Venat leans in, a slight crease in her brow signifying her consternation. "Are you with me?"

"Yes!" Efthalia gasps. "Of course, my apologies - yes, I am with you. And I'm following." She really is. In order to contend with Zodiark, who was summoned using most of the aether of fully half of the souls inhabiting Etheirys, those summoning Hydaelyn must give all their aether, and boost the ritual with dynamis, by adding their most fervent hopes and prayers. "In order to summon Hydaelyn, since we haven't the necessary quantities of aether, we must supplement the summoning ritual with dynamis!"

The former Azem nods, giving Efthalia a small, tight smile. "Just so. You are a quick learner. Precisely what I need in someone to lead the summoning ritual."

Efthalia's eyes grow very wide. "Really? You would… entrust such an important task to me ? I mean, of course I'm capable, I just wasn't expecting-"

"Efthalia," Venat cuts her off, laying both hands on the researcher's shoulders, and giving them an encouraging squeeze. "Of course you are capable. It is why I asked you. I trust that you will be able to shape both aether and dynamis, even without being able to see it, into the perfect form to rival Zodiark. I know how strongly you feel about protecting the good people of Etheirys."

Efthalia simply nods, somewhat stunned by Venat's earnest declaration. She is right, of course. Efthalia cares about nothing more than protecting the people of their star from the dark forces which would see them silenced and subjugated…

Venat smiles then, looking relieved. She removes her hands from Efthalia's shoulders, and nods. "Good. I'm glad we spoke. When it is time for the summoning ritual, I will look to you to see that I become Hydaelyn's heart. I have faith that you will not let me down. Thank you, Efthalia."

The level of trust Venat is placing in her… Efthalia can hardly comprehend it. To guide a summoning ritual so powerful… to be in charge of the transfer of aether of thirteen whole souls, including her own… The weight of this responsibility is staggering. Venat has literally entrusted the lives of everyone in Anamnesis Anyder to Efthalia, to see that Hydaelyn is summoned correctly, and with sufficient power to contend with Zodiark, and save the star. 

Venat has walked off, back to the Doxa to continue reassuring the others, Efthalia is sure, by the time her mind slows down enough to process the former Azem's words. "No, thank you…" she murmurs, glancing back in the direction of the doors to the Doxa, then looking down at her hands, still somewhat in awe of the responsibility that has effectively just been placed in them.

All of the aether of thirteen whole souls… all the dynamis that they can muster, with all their most fervent hopes and prayers… and ensuring that Hydaelyn's heart and her strength is modeled upon Venat's own… She must get this right. Efthalia hastens through the rows of shelves, until she finds the shelf labeled summoning magics, then steps inside.

At first glance, most of the crystals on this shelf appear to be for small scale summonings; lesser creatures all. There is something with the seal of Azem in it that seems promising at first glance, but that is for summoning other people, and takes less than an average person's aether. Efthalia sets this crystal back and continues looking. Summoning animals, summoning monsters, summoning familiars… ah, finally… summoning at larger scales.

Efthalia wraps her hands around this crystal and begins to sift through the information within. Warnings, notes about limited testing… ah! There.

When a summoning takes more aether than the summoner has at hand, it will next seek the summoner's own aether. Exercise due caution: a summoner's (and their assistants') aether can be completely consumed in order to power the summon in question. A summoner must be very careful only to seek summons that require less aether than they have in the form of offerings or sacrifices (outdated practice, citations needed), lest their summon take the summoner's own aether. If the summoner's entire person, body and soul, does not contain enough aether to finish the summoning, the summon will consume the next assistant's aether the same way, and the next, and the next, until the summon needs no further aether, or there are no more summoners. Note that a summon which has consumed the aether of its summoners will retain the "essence" of those consumed (citations needed) and the consumed souls may "live on" in a sense as a part of the summon thereafter (FORBIDDEN PRACTICE, no citations will be added - do not attempt). Summons without sufficient aether may form fully even with no remaining summoners…

Efthalia beams, clutching the crystal to her chest. Hydaelyn will be summoned… For the salvation of Etheirys… whatever form Hydaelyn may take, they will all be with Her, always. Part and parcel, soul and aether… they will become Her…

What could be more beautiful?

Venat looks out one last time over the assembled souls in the Doxa, and feels… mostly at peace. Everything is in place. To think that after today, the souls in this room (and three of the Convocation, who Horme’s shard was not able to explain how they escaped the sundering) will be the only unsundered souls left on the star…

Her heart aches at the thought. But Venat has had time to come to terms with what must be done, to see mankind live, grow, and become something new - something capable of defeating the siren of despair waiting at the end of the universe itself. Many, including many of those in this very room, will say that sundered men are nothing compared to their people; the real people of Etheirys.

How a people came to be - what does this matter, in the end, compared to whether that people can stand and face that which threatens to eradicate them off the face of the star? Them, and every other sentient being ever encountered.

Sundered, unsundered - none of that matters. Not anymore. Not with Etheirys at stake; not with mankind itself, sundered or unsundered, hanging in the balance.

Venat closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. One summoning ritual, exhausting though it will certainly prove… one which she may not survive. But the souls gathered here will. The future has assured her of that. And even though she is fair drowning in the number of souls she cannot save from the cruel fate of sundering… she understands now that not to sunder man would be far crueler.

Mankind has grown lazy, complacent; too dependent by far upon their magics, which will avail them naught against this new foe, one of their own… Creation.

No more shall man have wings to bear him to paradise. Henceforth he shall walk.

The sundering itself, no one could be privy to. They would try to stop her. It was risky enough already to tell Efthalia about the summoning. Venat has… some doubts about Efthalia’s ability to perform the ritual to her satisfaction. Oh, the girl will be able to muster plenty of dynamis; that much was never in doubt. And Venat certainly needs all the dynamis she can get, if she is to have any hope of the ritual succeeding without consuming the souls of those who survive to meet her future Warrior of Light… 

At this point, all Venat can do is pray she made her intentions clear enough to Efthalia. And that the others, despite their reservations… will still render unto her their most fervent hopes and prayers for the salvation of the star when the ritual begins.

At this point, all Venat has left is her faith. She prays that her faith, and her ardent hopes for mankind, for the future of Etheirys, for the safety of her gathered souls, is enough to save them all.

When the aetheric balance of the Doxa tips decidedly towards Light, when Venat cries out in fear, and the lobby is suffused with light so bright even Argos has to turn away, he whimpers and buries his snout beneath his paws.

He obeys Hydaelyn’s commands, but he will not let Her touch him.