Formenos
Chapter Nine - A Little Knowledge
Kyle moved swiftly, stepping over the fallen form of Corwin, his intent clear: to extract Grayswandir from Corwin’s chest and end his maddened uncle’s threat once and for all. But as his fingers closed around the hilt, an unexpected resistance met him. The blade would not budge. Despite his strength and considerable will, it was as if the sword had fused itself into Corwin’s flesh, locked by some unseen force. Kyle’s frustration mounted, but before he could make another attempt, a shadow fell across the battlefield.
Corin, observing Kyle’s struggle and sensing danger, turned her attention from the pitched battle between Dworkin and the Black Unicorn. The vast beast had broken off its engagement with Dworkin and now launched itself high into the air, its powerful limbs propelling it in an arc toward Corwin's vulnerable form. Reacting instantly, Corin invoked her Logrus sorcery, transforming into her gaseous smoke form. She surged upwards in a swirling column, attempting to envelop the Black Unicorn mid-flight and trap it in the air before it could reach its master.
But as it soared overhead, the Black Unicorn released a sudden, concussive blast of sound - an explosive shout laced with raw Order - which slammed into Kyle like a hammer, hurling him bodily away from Corwin’s prone figure. Corin’s gaseous tendrils lashed out, partly disrupting the Unicorn’s trajectory, knocking it off balance, but failing to fully arrest its momentum or gain a solid hold on its form. The creature landed heavily, its hooves gouging deep furrows into the ground. Yet in an instant, it righted itself with a blur of movement, crossing the distance to Corwin’s body in a heartbeat and standing protectively over him, snorting furiously, its mane crackling with the tension of barely-contained power.
Pushing himself upright, Kyle acted quickly. With Grayswandir still embedded in Corwin’s chest and the Black Unicorn looming protectively over him, Kyle attempted to force open a Trump Gate beneath Corwin’s body, hoping to pull him away and sever the creature’s defence. But even as he summoned the Trump energies, he felt a strange interference - a warping in the fabric of power around Corwin, as if some protective field emanating from either the Black Unicorn or Corwin’s own Pattern imprint was disrupting his efforts. The gate flickered, refused to stabilize, and then collapsed entirely. Realizing this approach was futile, Kyle shifted tactics. With practiced precision, he manipulated the remains of Corwin’s shattered Trump cards, infusing them with destructive energy. A controlled detonation pulsed from the ruined Trumps, sending a blast of concussive force toward the Black Unicorn. Yet the beast held its ground, unmoved and resolute, the blast washing over its crackling shield of Order. Though the Unicorn remained unscathed, Corwin’s inert form shuddered under the force - his injuries grievous and worsening.
Corin’s swirling, obsidian column of smoke surged forward once more, tendrils of her gaseous form lashing out with precision as she sought to coil around the Black Unicorn’s foreleg, intent on wrenching it aloft and destabilising the creature. But even as her Logrus-powered sorcery reached for it, the Black Unicorn reacted. Its body shimmered, the air around it pulsing as veins of pure Order rippled across its form, crackling with blinding energy. The primal forces of Chaos and Order clashed violently, but Corin’s power could find no hold; the Unicorn’s ordered essence repelled every strand of her grasp, as though her Logrus was slipping across an impossibly smooth, impervious surface. Still, the creature did not retreat. Hemmed in and wary of renewed assault, it rooted itself more firmly over Corwin, expanding its protective aura in a widening dome of radiant force that shimmered like a polished barrier of crystal, encasing both itself and its fallen master within a sanctuary of unyielding Order.
Recognising the stalemate, Kyle reached out mentally, forging a telepathic link with his companions - and with Fiona, his mother - allowing them to confer beyond the reach of the Black Unicorn’s perception. But while strategies and cautions were exchanged in their private communion, Corin remained locked in her relentless pursuit of victory. Driven by fury and focus, she summoned forth a monofilament net of searing Prime energy, conjured with surgical precision and empowered by the full depths of her unparalleled mastery of sorcery. The net descended like a shimmering lattice of pure power, its strands impossibly fine yet imbued with devastating potency. But as it approached the Black Unicorn, the conflicting essences of Chaos and Order erupted anew. The Unicorn’s ordered field flared, refusing the net any contact with its surface. Instead, the lattice hovered mere inches away, held in a taut equilibrium - a battle of wills unfolding between Corin’s tightening force and the Unicorn’s mounting resistance, as glowing tendrils of Order and twisting strands of Chaos writhed against each other in a silent but ferocious contest.
Within the telepathic link, Fiona’s voice cut through with calm urgency, counselling restraint and urging Corin to cease before the unstable clash of powers triggered unintended consequences. But Corin, consumed by her relentless drive, dismissed the warning. Drawing upon the vast depths of her Prime sorcery, she continued to ratchet the monofilament net ever tighter, her formidable will forcing the strands closer toward the Black Unicorn’s ordered shield. The Unicorn’s massive frame began to shudder under the strain, its muscles tensing as it fought to keep the burning lattice from breaching its protective aura and reaching Corwin beneath. The equilibrium wavered dangerously. Sensing the growing volatility, Kyle acted swiftly. Summoning his own command of Order, he conjured a stabilising wall of power - a gleaming barrier erected between the escalating confrontation and the Primal Pattern itself. The translucent construct hummed with stabilising energy, shielding the Pattern from any backlash should the contest erupt into uncontrolled devastation.
Sensing the rising peril, Fiona grew more insistent, her mental voice sharpening with authority as she demanded a halt to the confrontation. With decisive steps, she physically interposed herself between Corin and the Black Unicorn, her presence radiating both power and resolve. Eyes locked on Corin, she called for negotiation, refusing to allow the dangerous tension to escalate further. For a long, charged moment, Corin hesitated, her expression still hard with defiance. Yet, faced with Fiona’s unwavering stance and the looming risk of catastrophic backlash, she relented - though only partially. The tightening of the net ceased, halting mere inches from the Black Unicorn’s protective field, but Corin left the monofilament construct intact, its shimmering threads still poised and ready, should events demand their renewal.
A subtle shift in the air signalled the arrival of another presence - one of immense power. The manifestation of Corwin’s Pattern coalesced some distance away, its silvery luminescence shimmering against the charged battlefield. Swiftly, yet with a measured grace, it closed the distance before slowing and coming to rest approximately thirty yards away, positioning itself opposite Fiona. From it radiated an unmistakable aura of conciliation and quiet regret, its approach cautious, its intent clearly not hostile. The manifestation addressed them directly, requesting permission to draw closer and speak. Kyle, wary of any further destabilisation, firmly instructed it to remain where it stood and to speak from that distance. The Pattern acquiesced without protest.
Its voice, calm and resonant, recalled their earlier conversation - shortly after the splitting of the Unicorn - when it had first confessed its awareness of Corwin’s growing instability. It had expressed a desire to assist but had been bound by the will of Corwin so long as he remained conscious and capable of issuing commands. Now, with Corwin incapacitated, it proposed a solution: to keep him in suspended animation, thus neutralising the threat while preserving his life. Corin, her voice edged with disdain, remarked that death might be the cleaner solution and noted that, at present, the Pattern had little choice in the matter. As the exchange unfolded, Dworkin limped forward into the tense assembly, favouring his injured leg and wearing an expression of deep concern.
The manifestation of Corwin’s Pattern spoke again, its voice steady and measured. It assured them that it possessed the means to place Corwin into suspended animation indefinitely - holding him in stasis for as long as required while a solution to his fractured psyche might be pursued. Corin, her scepticism undiminished, pressed the Pattern for justification. “Why preserve him at all?” she challenged. In response, the Pattern offered a deeper explanation. Corwin’s misguided actions - his attempt to duplicate the Pattern and his violent sundering of the Unicorn - had significantly weakened the very fabric of Order. That fracture had not yet been fully grasped by the forces of Chaos, but when they inevitably recognized the vulnerability, both Patterns - the ancient and the new - would need to stand together, or risk falling separately before the tides of Chaos. Their survival, the Pattern implied, might ultimately depend on unity rather than division.
Kyle frowned at the implication, his voice firm with rejection. He challenged the notion that two poles of Order could coexist in any lasting balance. To him, there was only one proper solution: the Unicorn must be restored, made whole again, and the unnatural fracture healed. Turning to Dworkin, he sought the elder sorcerer’s counsel. But Dworkin, still favouring his injured leg, admitted his uncertainty. Such a reunification of the Unicorn was beyond any knowledge or precedent he possessed; it might not even be possible. He would need time to contemplate and study the matter further. Nevertheless, Dworkin did confirm the Pattern’s earlier assertion: that Amber’s Pattern - and Order itself - had indeed been destabilised by the sundering of the Unicorn. Whether reunification could occur or not, the fragile state of affairs now made it possible, perhaps even necessary, for both Patterns to cooperate if Chaos were to be held at bay.
Faced with the complexity of the moment, Kyle hesitated, his mind churning through the tangled possibilities. Unable to chart a clear course, he addressed the group, his voice carrying a note of frustration. “What now?” he asked, inviting counsel from all. In response, Corwin’s Pattern calmly repeated its proposal - to suspend Corwin in stasis, preserving him until a cure might be found. As the words were spoken, the Black Unicorn emitted a sharp, defiant snort, its frustration evident, the crackling aura of Order around it momentarily intensifying. But the Pattern’s manifestation turned its gaze upon the creature, its expression hardening with silent authority. At once, the Black Unicorn quieted, the reprimand needing no words.
Kyle shook his head, his voice steady but resolute. “Corwin cannot recover while he carries two conflicting Pattern imprints. His mind is too fractured. If we are to consider working alongside this second Pattern, it can only be under strict conditions.” He paused, locking eyes with the manifestation. “There will be no more secrecy or exclusion. Access to Corwin’s Pattern must be granted to all of us - open and unrestricted. The preservation of Order must take precedence above all else.”
The Pattern studied him for a moment, then inclined its head in agreement. “So be it,” it replied, though it cautioned them soberly. “I strongly advise none of you attempt to walk this Pattern. To do so would risk falling into the same madness that has claimed Corwin.” A moment of silence followed as all present nodded their assent, the weight of that warning understood.
Kyle pressed further, voicing the thought that had been growing in his mind. “If Order is to survive, perhaps the Patterns must be merged - brought together into one.” But even as he spoke the words, uncertainty hung heavy. Not even Corwin’s Pattern could offer guidance on how such a fusion might be achieved. The idea drifted into silence, unanswered.
Seeking firmer ground, Kyle demanded assurance that Corwin’s suspended state would remain inviolate. The Pattern agreed, suggesting that Dworkin - by virtue of his unique mastery over Order - might serve as a reliable custodian. It proposed that, should Dworkin walk Corwin’s Pattern, his exceptional command of Pattern energies might allow him to safely carry both imprints without succumbing to the fractures that had broken Corwin.
Dworkin, though wary, nodded in agreement. “I will attempt it,” he said. “Much of what Corwin’s Pattern has said is true. Even now, I can feel the gravitational pull between the two Patterns drawing them steadily closer.” He glanced toward the others. “That Corwin chose to scribe his Pattern so near to Chaos during Patternfall may seem relevant, but in truth, it is not. Once created, as a symbol of Order, Corwin’s Pattern immediately began to draw new Shadows around itself, filling the void between it and Chaos. Whatever chance Chaos once had to subvert or influence it has now passed. To attempt such interference today would require immense power and would be fraught with risk.”
He paused, his gaze distant. “Yes, the movement of the Patterns may cause disruption across Shadow, but I do not foresee them ever fully merging. They will gravitate toward each other, perhaps even becoming mutually dependent - but I suspect a final convergence may lie forever beyond reach.”
As the conversation reached a temporary lull, Kyle reached out through Trump contact to Bannoq, who remained in Amber. He swiftly briefed him on Benedict’s injuries and provided him with a Trump image of the infirmary on Terra Prime where Benedict was receiving treatment. With that task complete, attention returned to the tense stand-off on the battlefield. At last, and with evident reluctance, Corin allowed her monofilament net to dissipate, releasing both the Black Unicorn and Corwin from its shimmering grasp. The delicate lattice unravelled and vanished as Corin shifted smoothly from her gaseous form back into her solid, human shape. With the immediate threat contained and the situation stabilized, Kyle proceeded to open a Trump gate, directing its destination toward Corwin’s Pattern - preparing the way for what would come next.
The manifestation of Corwin’s Pattern paused briefly, seeking final confirmation that the agreement they had forged would be honoured. Kyle responded with a measured nod, signalling his assent. At this, the Pattern turned its attention to the Black Unicorn and issued a firm command for it to step away from Corwin’s prone form. The Unicorn resisted at first, its hooves pawing the ground, its breath sharp and indignant. Only after the order was repeated - this time with greater force - did the great beast relent, retreating with visible reluctance, its gaze never leaving its fallen master.
With the space now clear, Kyle stepped forward and approached Corwin’s still body. Reaching down, he grasped the hilt of Grayswandir, and this time the blade slid free without resistance, its removal unimpeded now that the accord was struck. He turned and walked steadily toward Dworkin and Fiona, extending the sword and placing it into Dworkin’s waiting hands. As Dworkin accepted the weapon, the energies of Corwin’s Pattern began to surge outward, its power gathering around Corwin’s form, coalescing for what was to come.
With the Trump Gate now stabilized, Corwin’s Pattern led the way, guiding the floating, cocoon-encased Corwin and the Black Unicorn through the portal. The others watched as the trio passed into the realm of Corwin’s Pattern. From the Amber side of the gate, they could clearly see the expanse of Corwin’s Pattern unfurled before them, its lines etched with shimmering authority. At its centre, the silvery dome that had previously shielded its heart now began to dissolve, its radiant surface collapsing inward and vanishing.
The manifestation of Corwin’s Pattern hovered briefly above the great spiral, carrying Corwin’s suspended form to its destination. As it reached the centre of the Pattern, the cocoon shifted, rotating upright before slowly descending. It was absorbed seamlessly into the Pattern’s core, as if merging with its very structure, leaving no trace behind. The Pattern’s manifestation then returned to the beginning of the spiral, turning once more to face the group. With a simple gesture, it beckoned Dworkin forward, inviting him to step onto the Pattern itself.
The group moved as one, following Dworkin through the Trump Gate and into the realm of Corwin’s Pattern. As they advanced, Kyle paused briefly, accepting a Trump contact from Bannoq. The update was brief - Bannoq simply requesting to be kept informed as events unfolded - and Kyle reassured him before severing the link and re-joining the others.
Dworkin approached the starting point of Corwin’s Pattern, his expression calm but resolute. Pausing for a moment, he glanced back at the group and offered a wry assurance. “I know what I’m doing,” he stated, though his words earned a quiet, sardonic mutter from Corin under her breath: “No one knows what they’re doing right now.”
Without further hesitation, Dworkin stepped onto the glowing lines of the Pattern and began his walk. The air around him thrummed with power as he pressed forward, his movements steady and deliberate. The others watched in tense silence as the minutes stretched onward, the currents of Order coiling and twisting around him. What seemed like an hour passed before Dworkin finally reached the centre. There, instead of departing, he sank into a seated position, his body adopting the stillness of deep meditation as he began to attune himself to the Pattern’s essence.
While Dworkin remained seated in meditation at the Pattern’s heart, Corin took the opportunity to quietly reweave and re-rack her prepared spells, ensuring her defences and powers were once again ready should events take a darker turn. Fiona, standing nearby, watched Dworkin with a deepening look of unease. The memory of Corwin’s descent into madness weighed heavily on her, and the possibility of Dworkin suffering a similar fate clearly gnawed at her composure.
After nearly fifteen minutes, Dworkin’s eyes finally opened. Without fanfare, he rose fluidly to his feet and, with a simple gesture, teleported back to join the waiting group. His expression was calm, his mind clear. “It is done,” he announced. “Corwin’s Pattern has honoured its word.”
He paused for a moment before continuing, his voice measured but confident. “I can feel the second Pattern imprint now within me. But my mastery of the Pattern and my deep attunement to Order are sufficient to hold both without falling to the instability that overcame Corwin.” He allowed a small nod of satisfaction. “I have also woven my own enchantments upon Corwin’s stasis. If anything changes - if he stirs or falters - I will know at once. For now, I believe we can place our trust in Corwin’s Pattern. It has proven itself faithful.”
Dworkin stood silently for a moment, his gaze distant, attuned to forces few others could perceive. “I can sense it now more acutely than ever,” he said softly. “The two Patterns are continuing to draw toward one another, inexorably drawn by some deep symmetry. With each passing moment, the distance between them narrows. But whether they will ever truly converge - I cannot say. Nor can I predict how long the process might take.”
With that, Dworkin turned and approached the manifestation of Corwin’s Pattern. As he neared, a subtle but unmistakable exchange passed between them - an unspoken communion of immense power and profound understanding. Though it lacked expression in the conventional sense, the Pattern’s manifestation seemed, for a fleeting instant, almost humbled beneath Dworkin’s steady regard.
Their task now complete, the group prepared to depart. One by one, the Amberites returned to Amber’s Primal Pattern. Corin, however, lingered behind, choosing to remain a while longer - her own matters, private and unresolved, still demanding her attention.
Having received the Trump image of the infirmary on Terra Prime, Bannoq activated it without delay. The Trump pulled him through, depositing him directly into the state-of-the-art medical facility. In this Shadow, time moved differently; Benedict had only just arrived, and the medical team was already working with controlled urgency. One of the attending physicians quickly briefed Bannoq, explaining that while Benedict’s injuries were grave, they were not life-threatening. Even now, Benedict was in surgery, the staff doing everything possible to stabilise him.
Bannoq moved to an observation platform overlooking the surgical suite. Below him, a swarm of precision-guided robotic arms worked at a dizzying speed, weaving their delicate tasks across Benedict’s motionless form. The machinery operated with such efficiency and velocity that it was almost difficult for the eye to track individual movements - a near-symphony of technology racing to repair one of Amber’s greatest warriors.
As Bannoq continued to observe, his keen instincts detected an undercurrent of tension radiating from the lead physician. Sensing something amiss, Bannoq quietly inquired about the doctor’s unease. The physician, after a brief hesitation, confided in a hushed tone. “Martin arrived some time ago,” he explained, his voice tight. “He came to see King Random’s body. Whatever he found - or failed to find - left him even angrier than when he arrived. He departed in a state of barely-contained fury.”
The doctor continued, lowering his voice further. “Flight records show his speeder heading toward the prison where Annael is being held.”
Concerned by this development, Bannoq immediately reached out via Trump to Kyle, relaying the situation. Kyle, though troubled, instructed Bannoq to monitor events and keep him updated. As a precaution, Kyle passed Bannoq a Trump of the prison itself, ensuring Bannoq could intervene swiftly should Martin’s anger lead to rash action.
Without delay, Bannoq activated the Trump and shifted to the prison, arriving ahead of Martin’s impending arrival. He wasted no time in alerting the guards, ordering an immediate lockdown of the facility to prevent any unnecessary complications. Moving quickly through the sterile, reinforced corridors, Bannoq made his way to the cell block and positioned himself directly outside Annael’s cell.
Inside, Annael met him with his usual expression of world-weary exasperation. With his signature sardonic flair, Annael immediately launched into a stream of dry, mocking commentary, each quip laced with biting sarcasm as though to make light of the impending danger. Bannoq ignored him, maintaining his focus.
Moments later, distant echoes of conflict reverberated through the halls - brief, violent bursts of resistance being overcome. Then, with a concussive roar, the heavy doors leading to the hallway were blasted inward, crashing against the stone walls. Amid the smoke and debris strode Martin, his face twisted with barely restrained rage. Cradled in his arms was an imposing firearm - its size and design far beyond conventional weaponry. Without pause, Martin ascended the stairs to the first-level walkway, his intent clear as he advanced toward Annael’s cell.
Reaching the cell, Martin fixed Bannoq with a venomous glare. “Get out of my way,” he ordered, his voice sharp with fury. But Bannoq stood his ground, his tone steady as he urged Martin to calm himself and reconsider. In response, Martin raised his weapon and fired a shot into the ceiling directly above Bannoq. Dust and fragments of stone rained down around him, but Bannoq remained motionless, unfazed by the show of force.
“Annael deserves to pay for my father’s death!” Martin shouted, his voice raw with emotion. Still, Bannoq met his rage with composed firmness. “And what would Benedict say? What would Random think of you executing a man in cold blood like this? Is that the legacy you want to carry?”
Martin’s face contorted with frustration. “No one will punish him! He’ll walk free and live while my father lies dead.” Bannoq’s voice remained calm but resolute. “And you’ll regret it, Martin, if you make yourself a murderer in this place. Whatever satisfaction you think you’ll find - it won’t last.”
Snarling in frustration, Martin fired a few more shots into the ceiling and nearby walls, venting his fury on the unyielding stone. Finally, with a bitter curse, he flung the weapon aside and stormed out of the cell block, his boots echoing angrily down the corridor. From within his cell, Annael watched the scene with amused detachment, offering a slow, mocking golf clap as the confrontation ended.
Bannoq quickly caught up with Martin as he stormed out of the prison complex. “You did the right thing,” Bannoq said calmly, hoping to offer some measure of reassurance. But Martin offered only a dismissive grunt, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. Without another word, he vaulted into his speeder and shot off into the sky, vanishing into the distance at high speed.
Bannoq immediately opened a Trump connection to Kyle, who by now had returned to the Primal Pattern. After receiving the update, Kyle extended his Trump senses to track Martin’s movements. A moment later, he confirmed Martin’s location. “He’s still within Terra Prime,” Kyle reported. “Just moving fast, trying to outrun his anger - but nothing more.”
While the others tended to their respective tasks, Corin turned her attention inward, walking Shadow with deliberate focus. Her path meandered through countless realities as she sought the creature she required - a bird suitable to carry her message. Yet as her steps carried her forward, her mind remained fixed on the chain of events that had led to her capture by Lord Bances, and the score that still remained unsettled.
In one of the many Shadows, she discovered what she sought: a scroll resting before her, already inscribed in her own unmistakable hand. The letter carried the venomous words she intended for the High Priest of the Church of the Serpent. Acting on a sudden impulse, she inscribed upon the parchment the emblem of the Phoenix - fashioned as closely as she could replicate the image she had once glimpsed encircling Bennu under her Logrus Sight.
As she completed her preparations, the bird she had sought arrived - an elegant, otherworldly creature perfectly suited to carry the message. She attached the letter to its leg and fixed it with a single command, her voice cold and unwavering. “Seek Lord Bances Amblerash in Chaos,” she instructed, pouring into her words every ounce of loathing and malice she harboured. The bird took flight, vanishing into Shadow on its mission of venomous delivery.
The letter read:
Lord Bances Amblerash
All the powers of Chaos will desert you. The powers of Order will hound you. I will see your life blood spilled over the alter of the cathedral of the Serpent. And as the last breath of life leaves your ruined body, it will be cast into the Abyss. From this moment your life is cursed, and you will know no rest. Ten thousand years of torture by the demons of the Abyss would be your choice over what I will do to you, before I rip life from your pathetic <inert worst Chaos insult> you call your body.
Corin of Chaos
Unwilling to use Trump for her return - and unable to traverse directly to Amber’s Primal Pattern through the complexities of Shadow - Corin instead set her course toward Amber itself. With deliberate purpose, she began the long journey, walking Shadow step by step, her mind still simmering with the dark satisfaction of the message she had just dispatched.
Back at the Primal Pattern, Kyle gathered the others and sought counsel on what their next course of action should be. Dworkin, now more at ease, voiced his confidence that Corwin no longer posed an immediate threat - at least while his suspended state held. Yet the group’s concerns extended far beyond Corwin alone.
Attention soon turned to the Black Unicorn, whose nature remained complex and unsettling. While the creature remained nominally tied to Corwin’s Pattern, it exhibited a growing independence - though, for now, it continued to defer to the Pattern’s authority. Dworkin studied its nature carefully, sensing that while formidable, the Black Unicorn lacked the full stature and power of the original Unicorn. “The Unicorn was ancient, immensely potent,” Dworkin explained, “but even she had limits. And if she can be healed... it may be that only the Serpent holds the knowledge to do so.”
Kyle gave a wry shake of his head. “Assuming the Serpent would even choose to help. After everything that’s happened, that bridge may already be well and truly burned.”
Their conversation drifted to Corin’s recent visions and the mysterious mark left upon her by the Unicorn - a lingering enigma none of them yet fully understood. Dworkin, however, remained especially preoccupied with another matter: the Blood Droid that had successfully walked Amber’s Pattern. Its existence raised troubling new possibilities.
“There is much still to resolve,” Dworkin concluded. “Corwin’s recovery, the defence of Amber - including both Patterns - and the nature of this Blood Droid. And above all, we must maintain the delicate balance that holds between Order and Chaos. That balance grows more fragile by the day.”
Kyle, thinking aloud, raised the possibility that the Jewel of Judgement might hold the key to restoring the Unicorn. Its power, after all, had played a role in so many primal acts of creation. But Dworkin quickly shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “The Jewel will not heal her. The Serpent and the Unicorn stand apart from Chaos and Order, though they have each aligned themselves to those forces. Their true natures predate both. The Jewel may be the Serpent’s Eye - its very essence - but even so, it served as the tool through which the Pattern was inscribed. It channels vast power, yes, but not the kind that could mend what has been broken within the Unicorn. That healing lies far beyond the Jewel’s reach.”
Back on Terra Prime, Bannoq received a fresh update on Benedict’s condition. The news was encouraging - the surgeons had stabilised him, and his recovery was progressing well. During a conversation with the medical team, Bannoq raised the matter of Benedict’s injuries, noting their peculiar nature. The doctors confirmed that the wound patterns were unusual, marked by the lingering effects of Grayswandir’s potent strike.
At Bannoq’s suggestion, they examined his own injury - the scar left by an earlier encounter with the same blade. The results showed similar damage signatures, though in Bannoq’s case the wound had not reached dangerous levels. Satisfied with the findings, Bannoq volunteered a portion of his blood, offering it to the physicians to assist in Benedict’s ongoing recovery, lending his own strength to aid the healing of Amber’s most seasoned warrior.
Kyle opened a Trump connection, pulling Bannoq through to join him. With Bannoq now present, Kyle turned his attention to a new task: creating a full Trump of the Blood Droid. Working meticulously, he completed the Trump sketch and initiated a covert contact, successfully establishing a one-way psychic link without alerting the Droid to his presence.
Through the connection, Kyle observed the Droid moving swiftly through Shadow. Its passage resembled a predatory insect - a hell-fly - flitting between worlds with effortless speed. Remarkably, its advanced technology functioned seamlessly across the shifting landscapes, its form gleaming with a constant shimmer of Order. Despite Kyle’s intrusive observation, the Droid showed no sign of perceiving the hidden connection.
Eventually, the Blood Droid descended into a desolate, primordial landscape - a barren realm bathed in dull, directionless light. Standing alone in the emptiness, the Droid nodded, as if confirming some internal calculation. Then, with mechanical precision, it drove its polished chrome fist into the ground. The surface fractured like brittle glass beneath the blow. From the breach, a network of slender metallic tendrils extended from its arm, burrowing into the earth below. Kyle sensed something - some unknown essence - passing from the Droid into the land itself. Satisfied that he had seen enough, Kyle severed the contact.
Bannoq weighed the situation carefully, his thoughts turning to the weapons once used to retake Amber. He wondered if they might still prove effective against the Blood Droid. But uncertainty clouded the prospect; those weapons could not function universally across Shadow, and now that the Droid carried the imprint of the Pattern, their effectiveness against such a being was even more questionable.
His instincts warned him that the Droid was unlikely to remain friendly in the long term. Kyle, however, was more ambivalent. “It’s a creature of Order now,” he reasoned. “That may yet make it an ally against Chaos - at least for a time.”
Bannoq, more cautious, pressed for decisive action. He proposed that they Trump into the Shadow, seize control of its reality, and eliminate the Blood Droid before it could evolve further. But Dworkin intervened, advising patience. “If possible, I would speak with it first,” he said, urging caution. There was still too much they didn’t understand. For now, Dworkin’s priorities lay elsewhere - specifically, in checking on both Caine and the Unicorn. With that, they made their way into Dworkin’s caves to continue their work.
They found Caine first, still deep in slumber, his breathing steady, and notably without his Spikard. Kyle immediately inquired after the missing artefact, and Dworkin calmly admitted to having taken possession of it. “I’ve never had the opportunity to study one up close before,” he explained, his tone matter-of-fact, as though examining a Spikard was no more consequential than inspecting an unusual trinket.
Leaving Caine’s chamber, they proceeded into the chamber where the Unicorn had been resting. But as they entered, they halted in collective shock - the Unicorn was gone. The space where she had lain was empty. A tense silence filled the room. Dworkin’s expression darkened at once. “Find her,” he ordered sharply, turning to Kyle. “Now.”
Wasting no time, Kyle pulled out his sketching tools and quickly drafted a Trump connection. As the card took shape, he managed to establish contact, though it was far from easy. Even as the link stabilized, Kyle could feel immense power working actively to resist and obscure his reach. Some force - ancient and potent - was attempting to block him, though not yet strong enough to sever the connection entirely.
Through the tenuous Trump connection, Kyle observed the Unicorn moving slowly through Shadow. Her form looked diminished - ashen, her head bowed low - as though weighed down by exhaustion or sorrow. Though she made no overt attempt to sever the link, it was clear she was actively cloaking her passage, attempting to obscure her trail from prying eyes. Still, Kyle’s Trump mastery was sufficient to hold the fragile contact, maintaining his tenuous watch.
To Dworkin and Fiona, however, Kyle reported only partial truth. “I can’t reach her,” he said simply, feigning failure. Frustrated, Dworkin immediately began sketching his own Trump in an effort to establish contact himself. Anticipating this, Kyle subtly dampened the ambient Trump energies in the vicinity - a precise and careful negation of the local Trump field. As Dworkin attempted to initiate his connection, his Trump failed, drawing nothing but dead air.
Enraged by his inability to connect, Dworkin stormed out, heading straight for the Pattern itself, his temper barely contained. Fiona, visibly unsettled, glanced at Kyle with growing suspicion. “Are you certain you can’t reach her?” she asked, her voice edged with doubt. But before Kyle could answer, she followed after Dworkin, clearly intending to prevent him from doing anything reckless.
Once Dworkin and Fiona had departed, Kyle turned his focus back to the Trump of the Unicorn. He pressed harder, attempting to strengthen the fragile connection, but found no improvement; the contact remained faint and distant, resistant to deeper reach. Undeterred, he projected a message through the link, hoping it might pierce the Unicorn’s defences and reach her. At the same time, he carefully worked to enhance her concealment, extending a protective Trump shielding around her position to obscure her from other would-be observers.
As the connection stabilized just enough, Kyle studied the surroundings she had come to. The Unicorn had ceased shifting through Shadow and was now stationary. She stood within a vast glacial valley, its icy expanse stretching in all directions beneath a muted, source-less light. The open terrain offered little cover, but Kyle’s attention was drawn to a solitary figure ahead of her - a tall, powerfully built, yet lean man waiting at the heart of the valley. Recognition dawned immediately. It was the Serpent, now standing before her in his human form.
Recognizing the gravity of what was unfolding, Kyle severed the Trump contact and moved swiftly. He sketched a new Trump image, targeting a location roughly seventy-five yards from the meeting point - close enough to observe, but distant enough to remain concealed.
Meanwhile, Corin established Trump contact with Bannoq and pulled him through to her position. Wasting no time, Kyle then used his freshly drawn Trump to bring them both to the vantage point he had prepared. As they arrived, Corin acted immediately, invoking her Logrus-powered sorcery to wrap them all in a cloak of invisibility, rendering the trio unseen as they observed the fateful encounter unfolding ahead.
Upon arrival, Kyle re-established his tenuous connection with the Unicorn, carefully maintaining his psychic link to observe and quietly "record" the unfolding conversation between the two ancient beings. The language they spoke carried faint echoes of Thari - familiar in cadence and structure - but diverged just enough to render their words incomprehensible. The meaning of their exchange remained elusive.
The Unicorn, still in her pure and graceful equine form, had lain down beside the Serpent, resting her delicate head gently in his lap. Their voices were soft and tender, their exchange intimate, carried on quiet words and unspoken emotion. Kyle, while watching, extended his senses to evaluate the Shadow itself, noting that it lay surprisingly close to Amber in proximity. It was a populated realm, technologically resembling Shadow Earth in the 1800s, but otherwise mundane. No other forces seemed to exert control over it.
In a whispered exchange, Kyle and Corin debated the wisdom of reinforcing the Shadow’s defences, perhaps to make it less accessible to outside forces. Yet both agreed that any tampering risked drawing the attention of the Serpent and the Unicorn. Instead, Kyle employed his superior Trump mastery, subtly fortifying the Shadow against incoming Trump contacts, sealing it without leaving a detectable trace.
While Kyle and Corin weighed their options, Bannoq kept his gaze fixed on the two divine figures, scanning for any subtle signals or shifts in intent. All he observed was the quiet comfort shared between them - two beings deeply connected, lost in one another’s presence. Yet, beneath the Serpent’s calm exterior, Bannoq detected a barely contained tension, his body quivering with emotion.
As the moment deepened, a faint shimmer gathered in the air surrounding the Unicorn. The Serpent gently stroked her mane, his eyes brimming with silent tears. Slowly, the Unicorn shifted from her equine form into her human guise - an exquisitely beautiful woman, with a radiant golden mane cascading down her back, falling to the middle of her spine.
Both Corin and Kyle felt it simultaneously - a growing surge of power, as though vast energies were rushing past them toward the Unicorn, pulled as if into a void. The sensation was like air being drawn violently toward a vacuum. Instinctively, Corin raised her Logrus sight, and through its swirling tendrils she observed the dense concentration of power converging upon the Unicorn with increasing intensity.
As the Unicorn’s delicate hand reached up to gently touch the Serpent’s cheek, the Serpent slowly shook his head, sorrow etched deep into his features. The gathering energies accelerated, cascading inward at an ever-increasing pace. Then, as though struck by the same moment of dreadful clarity, both Corin and Kyle swiftly erected protective wards around themselves - defensive layers of Logrus and Trump shielding - anticipating the inevitable release.
A pause lingered for a breathless instant. Then the Unicorn’s hand slipped from the Serpent’s face, and with that final motion, a silent detonation erupted in the aether. No blinding flash, no deafening roar - only a soft blast of dust radiating outward from where the Unicorn had lain, as though reality itself exhaled. When the dust settled, the truth became clear: the Unicorn was gone. She was dead.
The Serpent drew the Unicorn’s lifeless form into his arms, holding her close as silent tears streamed freely down his face. Despite the depth of his grief, no sound escaped him - only the tremble of his shoulders betrayed the enormity of his sorrow. In his anguish, he appeared entirely oblivious to the defensive powers that Kyle and Corin had moments earlier unleashed - protections that, under any other circumstance, he could not have failed to notice.
Meanwhile, Corin, her Logrus sight still active, probed the lingering traces of the ethereal detonation. She studied the rippling currents and fractured strands of energy that still hung faintly in the air, attempting to discern the nature of what had just occurred. Yet despite her mastery, the event defied understanding. Its nature and consequences lay beyond even her considerable grasp.
Without warning, the Serpent threw his head skyward and unleashed a howl of unfathomable grief. The cry reverberated through Shadow itself, carrying with it a force far beyond sound. In an instant, an immense detonation of raw power erupted from him - an expanding wave of energy that tore through the fabric of reality like a blade through silk.
Kyle and Corin felt the nearby Shadows collapse and unravel beneath the blast’s fury, while the very ground beneath the Serpent twisted and buckled under the strain. The shockwave hurled both Kyle and Corin from their feet, flinging them helplessly across the fractured landscape. Only Bannoq, bracing himself with extraordinary force, managed to remain standing against the onslaught.
As the initial wave of devastation subsided, all three of them felt the chilling aftermath - a terrible absence. Their connection to their powers, to their poles of strength, had been severed. Kyle and Corin found their abilities hollowed out, their essence dulled and distant. Corin sensed only a faint, ghostly echo of her link to the Logrus, but no matter how she reached, she could not grasp it.
Turning their eyes back to the centre of the devastation, they saw the Unicorn’s body dissolve into nothingness. Only her Alicorn remained, falling gently to the ground and striking the stone with a crystalline chime, as though made of delicate glass. And above it rose the Serpent, transformed - his grief now burned away, replaced by an emerging fury that radiated in every line of his vast form.
The Serpent’s form convulsed and expanded, shifting into his true cobra-like shape - a towering, coiling mass of power and wrath. His anguished screams intensified into an ear-splitting wail, so piercing that it drove sharp pain through the ears of the Amberites, threatening to shatter their very focus.
Then, with terrifying suddenness, the Serpent lunged toward them, his massive form cutting across the shattered landscape with impossible speed. Bannoq held his ground, bracing himself against the oncoming terror, and at the last possible moment, he threw himself aside, narrowly evading the strike.
But with their powers severed, Kyle and Corin could do nothing but run. They broke in opposite directions, sprinting for their lives across the broken terrain. Yet even in the chaos, it quickly became apparent that the Serpent’s fury was not indiscriminate. His gaze followed only one: Corin.
The Serpent expanded further still, his monstrous form swelling to over one hundred feet in length, a towering embodiment of primal fury. His coils swept across the ruined landscape, closing the distance with terrifying speed. Corin, glancing back, saw how little time she had left. Realizing she would be overtaken within moments, she reached desperately for her absent powers.
Though her connection to the Logrus remained severed, her mastery of sorcery allowed her to draw upon a faint thread of power, enough to partially shift into her smoke-like form. Her body blurred, becoming semi-insubstantial - a thin veil of protection, though far from the full defense she might once have summoned.
Bannoq sprinted alongside the pursuit, struggling to keep pace with the Serpent’s immense form. Seeing the inevitability of her capture, Corin made a bold choice. Rather than flee any farther, she turned and advanced directly toward the onrushing Serpent, hoping her partial insubstantiality would be enough to shield her from the worst of what was to come.
The Serpent’s massive tail lashed out with blinding speed, striking Corin’s ankles and instantly shredding the fragile remnants of her defensive spell. In a single, fluid motion, the tail coiled around her, wrapping her body multiple times, pinning her arms tightly against her sides. The coils wound higher, encircling her neck, tightening until her head was pulled back, her eyes bulging from the constriction.
Where the Serpent’s scaled coils pressed against her, Corin’s clothing smouldered and her flesh blistered, the intense energy radiating from his body burning her skin raw. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the Serpent lifted her into the air, raising her nearly thirty feet until she was face to face with his monstrous head.
The Serpent opened his jaws, unleashing guttural hisses and bellowing ancient words of power. Each word struck Corin like a physical blow, the potency of the incantations rippling through her body as though she were trapped in the crushing force of a centrifuge. Her skin cracked and blackened under the onslaught; her hair crisped and burned away; her flesh seared with each utterance.
In the final moments before consciousness fled, Corin summoned the last reserve of her will and projected a single image into the Serpent’s mind - the mark left upon her by the Unicorn, burned into her body like a brand of destiny.
The Serpent’s assault halted abruptly, his eye widening as the image Corin had projected pierced his mind. His rage dissolved into sudden shock. Slowly, he began to lower Corin back to the ground, his coils unwinding with a measured precision. Once her broken form lay upon the scorched earth, the Serpent shifted, his towering coils collapsing inward as he morphed back into his human guise. Now standing over her, he gazed down, his expression filled with stunned confusion, as if confronted by something far beyond his comprehension.
Bannoq, seizing the opportunity, spoke softly but urgently. “She was only trying to help you. She has stood for both Order and Chaos in this struggle.” His words hung in the air, but the Serpent paid them no heed, his attention consumed entirely by Corin’s motionless form.
Amidst the damage inflicted by the Serpent’s fury, one part of Corin remained untouched - the patch of white hair on her chest, the mark gifted by the Unicorn. It glowed faintly, unscathed by the devastation around it.
Cautiously, Bannoq took a step closer, hoping to assess Corin’s condition. But the Serpent reacted at once, turning his gaze upon Bannoq and issuing a low, warning hiss. Bannoq froze, though his voice remained calm as he repeated his earlier plea, emphasizing Corin’s loyalty and sacrifice. The Serpent, however, did not respond. Instead, he stepped deliberately between Bannoq and Corin, positioning himself protectively over her, his attention fixed once more on the woman lying at his feet.
The Serpent slowly knelt beside Corin’s battered form, his expression heavy with sorrow. In the same ancient tongue he had once shared with the Unicorn, he whispered words over her, his voice low and mournful. As he spoke, his head lowered further, his posture sinking into resignation and grief.
Nearby, Kyle quietly scanned the area, searching for the Alicorn amid the debris - but it was nowhere to be seen.
The Serpent extended his hand, placing his palm gently upon Corin’s forehead, with his little finger and thumb resting lightly against her temples. As his touch settled, both he and Corin became bathed in a soft, red nimbus of energy. The healing power flowed through her, repairing the terrible wounds inflicted moments before. Flesh reknit, burns faded, and her breathing softened into the slow, steady rhythm of peaceful sleep.
Gathering a handful of dust from the ground, the Serpent gently sprinkled it over her body. As the grains settled, they shimmered and transformed into a soft ruby-colored blanket, covering Corin like a delicate shroud.
At last, the Serpent turned toward Kyle and Bannoq. Bannoq offered a quiet condolence: “Sorry for your loss.” But the Serpent gave no response, his grief too deep to acknowledge their words. Instead, he raised his hand, and from his open palm the Alicorn materialized, rising as though summoned from the void itself. His voice, ragged and hollow with loss, broke the silence:
“Here!” the Serpent declared, his voice raw and hollow as he hurled the Alicorn through the air. The crystalline horn spun end over end before embedding itself, point first, into the ground at Kyle’s feet with a sharp, ringing impact.
“You will need its power in the days ahead,” the Serpent continued, his words heavy with foreboding. “Death approaches from many sides. The elder spawn of Oberon conspire against you. The Master of the Void stirs, seeking nothing less than the annihilation of all creation. And now - with the death of my beloved - the vaults that have long imprisoned the Old Gods will finally begin to crumble. At first, they will be weak, but in time, they will reclaim the potency stripped from them in ages past. Yes… you will have great need of the Alicorn’s strength when that day comes.”
His voice softened, though the sorrow beneath it was no less profound. “With her death, all my desires have faded. I will carry the weight of our struggle for the remainder of eternity. Your fates are now your own to shape. Perhaps even the fate of all Shadow and Reality rests in your hands. We shall not meet again.”
The Serpent pivoted silently on his heel and strode away, his form gradually fading into nothingness with each step until only emptiness remained where he had stood. In his absence, the oppressive stillness lifted, and Kyle felt his connection to power slowly returning - like breath drawn after a long suffocation.
Turning his attention to Corin, Kyle found her resting peacefully beneath the ruby-hued blanket, lost in a deep, dreamless sleep. He knelt beside her and gently roused her from her slumber. Her eyes fluttered open, filled with quiet confusion but no trace of pain. “What happened?” she asked softly, recalling little of what had transpired since her capture.
Kyle and Bannoq explained the sequence of events - the Serpent’s attack, Corin’s near-death, and the sudden shift that had spared her life. Kyle voiced his firm conviction that the Serpent had fully intended to kill her, but had faltered when confronted by the mark left by the Unicorn. Corin quietly confirmed that she had projected the image of the Unicorn’s mark to him in the final moment, even as his power consumed her.
Kyle then recounted the Serpent’s final words to them, the weight of his farewell still heavy in his voice.
Together, they carefully revisited the Serpent’s ominous words, attempting to piece together the threads of a larger, darker picture. As they talked, Corin once again recounted the story of her escape from the Abyssal dungeons - a tale Bannoq was hearing for the first time. She described the unexpected intervention of a mysterious demon, one seemingly untouched by the intricate and powerful wards designed to prevent both ingress and egress from the heavily protected cells. Its ease in navigating those defenses remained deeply troubling.
Their conversation soon circled back to the Serpent’s warning of the Old Gods. Though much remained unclear, Corin speculated aloud that beings such as the Unicorn, the Serpent, and Bennu were likely among their number - primal forces from an age predating even Amber and Chaos. She hesitated, then added that perhaps the Master of the Void also belonged to this ancient and terrible pantheon. The thought left all three frowning, as the full scale of what might be rising against them began to take shape.
Kyle, however, found his concerns drawn more sharply toward the mention of the “elder spawn of Oberon.” The phrase carried with it an unsettling weight. Together, they methodically reviewed Oberon’s known children, listing those still living and those long presumed dead.
They quickly dismissed any notion that the reference could apply to Benedict - if Benedict had ever desired rulership, none would likely be able to stop him. His loyalty to Amber had never wavered. They noted that Annael, too, was a contemporary of Benedict, but his involvement seemed unlikely in this particular context.
Instead, their thoughts turned to those whose fates were less certain. Finndo, Osric, Delwin, and Sand - names whispered through family history, lost or presumed dead under circumstances that had never been fully explained. If any among them had somehow survived in the hidden corners of Shadow, or worse, had aligned themselves with forces beyond Amber’s understanding, they could well fit the title of Oberon’s elder spawn - and pose a grave threat yet to reveal itself.
With their powers now fully restored, both Kyle and Corin could immediately sense the deeper consequences of the Serpent’s earlier outburst. The Shadow around them trembled with instability, and the disturbance radiated outward, rippling through countless adjacent Shadows. Reality itself pulsed in agitation, as though the Serpent’s grief had unbalanced the very fabric of existence.
Kyle and Corin extended their abilities, reaching out to stabilize the fragile Shadow they currently occupied, as well as those nearby. For several hours they worked in concert, weaving threads of Order and Logrus, bringing what calm they could to the turbulent sea of reality. Yet as their efforts continued, it became painfully clear that the disturbance spread far beyond their reach. The scale of disruption was vast, and powerful Shadow Storms had already been triggered in distant realms - storms likely beyond their capacity to quell, unless they wielded an instrument of greater power, such as the Jewel of Judgement itself.
As they gathered their thoughts, Corin voiced a growing suspicion - that whatever forces now loomed against them might ultimately demand an unprecedented alliance between Order and Chaos to withstand. The scale of the threat felt larger than either side could manage alone. They speculated whether Bennu had already sensed the Unicorn’s death, and once again found themselves returning to the enduring questions that haunted them: who, truly, were the Old Gods? Why had they been imprisoned? Who possessed the power to confine such beings? And where, if anywhere, did the Black Unicorn fit within that ancient hierarchy - was she a new fragment of their number or something altogether different?
Their attention inevitably turned to the Alicorn, still embedded where the Serpent had left it. Even at a distance, its presence radiated immense power, unmistakably on par with the Jewel of Judgement itself. Corin, driven by both curiosity and the mark left upon her by the Unicorn, was eager to explore its mysteries. Yet they all shared an underlying caution; much like the Jewel, the Alicorn might carry its own distortive influence on Shadow, capable of bending reality in ways both dangerous and unpredictable. For now, they lacked the knowledge to proceed safely, and the artifact remained an enigma brimming with untapped power.
After some discussion, they reached a quiet consensus: the death of the Unicorn would remain their secret, at least for now. Yet even as they agreed, all of them knew that Dworkin, in time, would inevitably learn the truth. For the moment, however, discretion seemed the wisest course. With the immediate crisis behind them, they decided to return to Terra Prime - and to fortify themselves with a much-needed drink.
Upon arriving, Kyle and Bannoq chose to check on Benedict’s recovery, while Corin remained behind, her focus drawn to the Alicorn. She made her first attempt to contact Suhuy, hoping to gain his counsel on the unfolding situation. But Kyle’s earlier Trump ward, still actively blocking contact into this Shadow, thwarted her efforts. Frustrated but undeterred, Corin made the decision to leave the Shadow entirely, seeking a location where she could re-establish contact with her mentor free of interference.
Benedict was awake, seated comfortably in a chair beside his bed, calmly reading a book as Kyle and Bannoq entered. Without preamble, he immediately inquired about Corwin’s fate. Kyle explained the events in detail - how Corwin had been contained without the need for bloodshed. Benedict listened, visibly relieved. “Good,” he said simply. “Better this way.”
Bannoq then recounted Martin’s recent attempt to exact vengeance on Annael. Benedict absorbed the report with his characteristic calm, though the faint note of disappointment was evident in his eyes. Kyle, meanwhile, checked Martin’s current location through Trump; as suspected, Martin had retreated into Shadow, his anger momentarily spent.
Turning to unfinished matters, Kyle raised once again the lingering problem of Annael, but Benedict restated his position firmly, holding to his earlier decision. Kyle then carefully shifted the conversation to more delicate ground, sharing the truth of the Unicorn’s death and the Serpent’s departure - revelations he had thus far kept hidden from both Fiona and Dworkin. Benedict understood Kyle’s caution and quietly approved of his discretion.
To ensure nothing was lost in translation, Kyle replayed the Trump-recorded events for Benedict, stopping at the moment when the Serpent’s emotional outburst had temporarily stripped them of their powers. The phenomenon reminded Benedict of a similar event long ago, when Oberon had reforged the Pattern - a disruption of immense power but not without precedent. Kyle then recounted the Serpent’s final, ominous words.
Though thoughtful, Benedict had little more to offer. He admitted he knew nothing of the "elder spawn of Oberon" or the Old Gods. But he agreed with Kyle's earlier conclusions - they would need to seek counsel from beings far older than himself. Benedict speculated that since Oberon had lived as a High Lord of Chaos for untold eons before Amber’s founding, it was entirely possible that other children had been born in those ancient times, unknown to the present generation - perhaps known only to Dworkin, if anyone.
They also discussed the Black Unicorn, wondering if fragments of the original Unicorn’s knowledge might have passed into her during the splitting - knowledge that could include awareness of these elder offspring. But as always, the answer would depend on what, exactly, had transferred during that act.
As their conversation drew to a close, Benedict stressed that contacting Bennu was now of paramount importance; his perspective might hold truths that even Amber could not uncover. With that, Kyle turned his thoughts to checking on Corin - and then seeking out Dworkin for what would undoubtedly be another difficult conversation.
Slipping quietly into Shadow, Corin reached out to Suhuy, establishing contact. The moment their link stabilized, Suhuy all but exploded with outrage. “Joshua has done something dumbfoundingly reckless!” he exclaimed, his voice thick with exasperation.
Corin quickly interrupted him, steering the conversation to more pressing matters. She recounted the fate of the Unicorn, the Serpent’s final words, and her growing conviction that the mounting crisis might soon require both Chaos and Amber to stand united. Suhuy fell into stunned silence, momentarily overwhelmed by the magnitude of the revelation. It took him a moment to compose himself, after which he admitted, with rare humility, that he had no idea what course to take.
Corin then revealed the Alicorn, lifting it into Suhuy’s sight. The display left him visibly reeling, his mind spinning to process what he was seeing. Yet even amid his astonishment, he delivered further troubling news: Joshua had recently deposited the Pattern Ghost of Corwin on the doorstep of the Church of the Serpent. Given the faster passage of time in Chaos, considerable events had since unfolded. Joshua had fled, pursued by agents of the Church, while the Pattern Ghost had been imprisoned in the Cathedral dungeons.
“This is very dangerous,” Suhuy warned gravely. “Especially for whoever provided the blood for that Pattern Ghost. Some within the Church still practice Blood Magic of terrifying potency.” Corin allowed herself a thin smile at the thought.
Suhuy urged her to pass along a warning to whoever had given the blood - that dark consequences might yet unfold. He continued, painting an increasingly grim picture: the demon population in Chaos had all but vanished; access to the Void was now mysteriously blocked; and the Church of the Serpent was rapidly consolidating power, feeding rumors of the Crown’s failure to control these escalating crises. The arrival of the Pattern Ghost was being exploited as propaganda - proof, they claimed, of an Amberite attack on Chaos itself.
Corin pressed him further about the Old Gods, insisting that Chaos must begin preparing for their possible return. Suhuy nodded thoughtfully. The term "Old Gods" stirred some distant familiarity within him, though he could not yet place its full significance. He promised to investigate further.
She also asked whether Bances had received any strange messages lately, but Suhuy could offer no useful intelligence on that matter. Finally, with concern, he warned Corin to avoid returning to Chaos for the time being, fearing how the Church might react if she reappeared.
Before ending their contact, they briefly discussed the question of Oberon’s possible offspring from his time as a High Lord of Chaos. Suhuy promised to pursue that line of inquiry as well. With that, he promised to remain in touch, and Corin quietly slipped back toward Terra Prime.
Noticing Corin’s absence, Bannoq promptly informed Kyle that she had departed the Shadow. In response, Kyle deactivated the Trump-blocking field he had previously established, restoring full Trump access to the area. With the barrier lifted, Bannoq initiated Trump contact with Corin and quickly pulled her back through to rejoin them.
Kyle Trumps through to the Primal Pattern, where he found Dworkin still seated in silent meditation at its center, motionless and deeply focused. Nearby, Fiona remained stationed close to the Pattern’s starting point, her watchful presence steady. Approaching her, Kyle provided an account of recent events - though he carefully omitted certain details, including the fact that he had deliberately blocked her and Dworkin’s attempts to track the Unicorn, and he made no mention of the encounter with the Serpent.
Fiona listened intently, then added a brief update of her own: Caine had awakened for a time but had since drifted back into sleep. With their conversation concluded, Kyle moved to check on Caine directly. Entering the dreamscape of his slumbering uncle, Kyle searched Caine’s thoughts for any signs of knowledge regarding the Old Gods, or secret ambitions to seize power. He found no evidence of either. However, he did unearth a disturbing memory - Caine and Julian had discussed, at length, their shared desire to kill Annael if the opportunity ever presented itself, driven by vengeance for Random’s death, as both were full brothers of the late king.
After withdrawing from Caine’s dream, Kyle quietly sketched a Trump of Annael’s prison cell and left it close to Caine, as an unspoken contingency. His work finished, Kyle returned to the Primal Pattern and then Trumped back to his own Shadow to rejoin Bannoq and Corin.
Corin shared the details of her conversation with Suhuy, including Joshua’s reckless act of delivering the Pattern Ghost to the Courts of Chaos. She spoke with growing conviction about the necessity for both Chaos and Amber to set aside their ancient divisions and face the looming threats together - a task, she believed, that had fallen squarely upon them to orchestrate.
Kyle, however, was quick to temper her optimism. “You’re forgetting how unwelcome you are in Chaos,” he reminded her. “And we are Amberites. We’ll be seen as outsiders - if not enemies. How do you propose we bring them to the table under those circumstances?”
Despite the complications, Kyle immediately set about drawing a Sketch Trump of the Pattern Ghost, hoping to establish contact. As they worked, they speculated on the future of the Church of the Serpent now that its patron deity had withdrawn. Yet, even with the Serpent gone, they reluctantly agreed that little was likely to change. Though the Crown had stood dominant during the Patternfall War, the Church’s influence had steadily expanded in the years since, filling the growing void of uncertainty.
Kyle attempted the Trump contact, but failed to establish a connection. The Pattern Ghost was too distant, obscured behind layers of defensive magic. Kyle recognized the nature of the failure - there were foolproof ways to block Trump contact, and the magicians of the Courts of Chaos were unquestionably adept at such techniques.
Sensing the urgency, Kyle reached out via Trump and pulled Fiona through, immediately bringing her up to speed on the situation with the Pattern Ghost - and the disturbing fact that it carried her blood. Fiona’s reaction was swift and furious, her frustration directed almost entirely at Joshua. She shook her head in disbelief, unable to fathom what had possessed him. “There’s no cure for being a c**t,” she muttered bitterly, quoting a blunt expression she had once heard in some unsavory blackwater Shadow.
Corin struggled to suppress her amusement at Fiona’s unfiltered commentary, barely containing her grin despite the seriousness of the situation - though her reaction was decidedly ill-timed and inappropriate. Fiona, however, paid Corin’s smirk no attention. She had already made up her mind. Without further discussion, she announced her intention to return to Castle Amber and walk the Pattern. Opening a Trump to Julian, she stepped through and was gone.
In the aftermath, the group found themselves debating the long-standing controversies surrounding Fiona’s past actions during the Patternfall War - specifically her efforts to destroy the Pattern itself. Corin pointedly remarked that, unlike Corwin, Fiona had no claim to the excuse of madness for her prior actions. Kyle, meanwhile, silently observed through his Trump as Fiona began her walk along the Pattern’s glowing path. Her agitation was palpable to all who watched; Fiona was far from calm.
Bannoq took a moment to brief Benedict on Fiona’s reaction and her decision to walk the Pattern once more. The update prompted Benedict to reflect aloud on whether it might be time to remind Chaos of the dangers inherent in challenging Amber and her children. Yet, even as the thought was voiced, they weighed the risks carefully; with the growing instability across Shadow, and the ever-present threat of demon incursions, any aggressive posture carried its own perils.
The group also questioned the reliability of the Serpent’s final words. While his grief had seemed genuine, the magnitude of his revelations remained difficult to fully trust. Still, one point remained clear: Bennu’s involvement was now more crucial than ever. Benedict emphasized again the urgency of contacting him. Corin voiced her agreement without hesitation.
They quickly reached out to William, bringing him through and briefing him on all that had transpired. William listened intently, but appeared uneasy at the prospect of disturbing Bennu. “He told me I could contact him if I needed to,” William admitted, “but I doubt he’ll welcome a visit.”
Bannoq pressed the matter, reminding William that the situation had changed dramatically, and that the stakes had grown far beyond what any of them had faced before. Reluctantly, William agreed to attempt contact with his father mentally. Failing that, he would try the more laborious method - with the assistance of someone able to Shadow walk, a skill William himself still lacked, though many often forgot this limitation. Unsure how long the process might take, William quietly departed to begin the attempt.
Bannoq raised the issue of the Blood Droid once more, questioning whether they should attempt renewed contact - or at the very least, gather intelligence on its current activities, in case intervention became necessary. In response, Kyle extended his senses to remotely observe the Droid, opening a covert window into its Shadow.
What he found was both familiar and increasingly unsettling. The Shadow’s time differential had been pushed to its maximum, running at approximately 20:1. Within this accelerated reality, the Blood Droid moved through a sprawling, hyper-advanced metropolis. Towering structures of sleek metallic design stretched into the sky, many seemingly constructing and altering themselves autonomously. Countless objects zipped through the air in well-orchestrated, lightning-fast patterns. Yet, for all the frenetic motion, the streets remained curiously empty - devoid of any inhabitants that resembled those from familiar Shadows.
The Droid eventually entered a massive building clad in a mirror-like silver sheen. Inside, it passed through grand corridors until it reached a large, circular chamber. At the room’s center stood a raised dais supporting an intricate apparatus. The Droid stepped into its heart, positioning itself directly beneath the device. A soft glow began to emanate from above, cascading down onto the Droid, which seemed to bask in the light with a strange, almost reverent satisfaction.
After several minutes, the Droid disengaged from the dais and turned its attention to the perimeter of the chamber, where a series of ethereal screens flickered in and out of existence. Periodically, one of these screens would expand and zoom toward the Droid, presenting it with information or imagery from across its Shadow. Kyle carefully absorbed psychic impressions of the room, cataloging the screens and locations displayed, preparing to create Trumps of them later for future use.
With his reconnaissance complete, Kyle attempted to initiate Trump contact with the Droid directly.
Contact was established. The Shadow where the Blood Droid now resided lay roughly halfway between Amber and the Courts of Chaos. As the link stabilized, Kyle immediately sensed a ripple of surprise radiating from the Droid - Stålmannen had not anticipated the contact, seemingly unaware of Kyle’s intrusion.
Calm and deliberate, Kyle introduced himself and asked for the Droid’s name. It responded without hesitation: “I am Stålmannen.” Turning the conversation quickly, Kyle pressed for clarity on its intentions. Stålmannen, however, remained evasive, offering little beyond polite ambiguity.
Unwilling to accept vague assurances, Kyle applied subtle pressure. “Whatever your intentions are,” he warned, “they will determine how Amber reacts to you.” At this, Stålmannen questioned why Amber should even care. “I have left Amber behind. I am no threat to your people. Why should either you or your enemies concern yourselves with me?”
Kyle shifted the conversation toward the larger instability in Reality, seeking to understand whether Stålmannen might one day become either ally or adversary. The Droid replied with detached neutrality. “I care nothing for your enemies. Most likely, they don’t even know I exist. Why should I fear them?”
Kyle challenged this assumption, suggesting that such anonymity might not last forever. Stålmannen conceded that it had indeed detected certain powers moving through Shadow and, in response, had already taken precautions. It admitted ignorance of Trump’s capabilities but confirmed that it would now add defenses against such intrusions as well.
For now, Stålmannen offered no immediate threat and expressed a willingness to leave Amber entirely alone - if the same courtesy was returned. It had no interest, it claimed, in interfering with Amber or any other power within Reality.
Kyle, recognizing there was little more to gain, chose not to press further. Without another word, he severed the connection and withdrew from the contact.
Kyle relayed the details of his exchange with Stålmannen, making his position clear. “It may not be hostile now,” he said, “but it is still a threat - if only a veiled one. Its intentions remain ambiguous, and its rapid growth in power makes it unpredictable.”
Corin, however, was less concerned. “Right now, I believe it’s simply a new kind of being - one still learning how to exist,” she said. “It’s finding its place, not plotting anyone’s downfall... at least not yet.”
Kyle remained uneasy, voicing his deeper concern. “That’s exactly what worries me. It has no established morality. As it tests its abilities and explores Reality, its choices may not align with anyone’s interests but its own.”
Bannoq offered a more pragmatic view. “It will likely react to threats as they arise, but I don’t believe provoking it now would serve any purpose. So far, it’s shown no inclination to act aggressively unless challenged.”
Corin added that the greater cosmic powers arrayed against them were unlikely to care about a single Blood Droid, no matter how powerful it became. Bannoq, however, noted one troubling comment from the conversation: Stålmannen’s remark that any enemies would need to be “educated.” That, Bannoq argued, suggested the Droid might eventually begin targeting perceived threats on its own initiative. “We need to monitor its Shadow carefully and watch how it reacts to new challenges. If its instincts turn hostile, we need to be ready.”
Corin, for her part, remained curious. “I still think we should try speaking to it directly. It may yet be a source of help.” Kyle shook his head. “I doubt it. It didn’t seem interested in any kind of cooperation.”
Corin smiled faintly, offering a final analogy. “It’s like a child, still driven by simple self-preservation. I don’t believe it’s a threat - unless or until it starts working directly against us.”
Kyle shifted the conversation back toward the Alicorn, asking Corin whether she had been able to study it in any depth. She admitted that she had not yet had the time to properly examine the artifact. This prompted a long, speculative discussion between them, focusing on the possible connections between the Alicorn, the Jewel of Judgement, and the Patterns themselves.
They began by reaffirming what was known: the Jewel of Judgement was a tool - one used to create the Patterns - but it predated them entirely. The Pattern itself was not necessary for attunement to the Jewel. Dworkin had been attuned, likely with guidance from the Unicorn, and had used the Jewel to inscribe the first Pattern. They recalled how Corwin, much later, had assisted Random in attuning to the Jewel following Patternfall.
As they reviewed who else had been attuned, the list became clear: Dworkin, Oberon, Eric, Corwin, and Random at minimum. That naturally led to speculation about why Corwin’s Pattern differed from the original, despite both having been drawn through the same Jewel.
The prevailing theory they settled on was that the differences lay not in the Jewel itself, but in the perceptions of its wielder. Each person’s view of the Pattern within the Jewel might be shaped by the particular facet they saw when they gazed into it - slightly different perspectives manifesting as entirely separate Patterns when scribed. Theoretically, this suggested that any number of Patterns could be created, provided different individuals inscribed them according to their own unique vision.
Kyle, driven by his curiosity, requested the Jewel of Judgement and asked Benedict where it was being kept. Benedict informed him that it remained securely locked within his private quarters in Amber.
Meanwhile, Corin proposed a more daring course of action. She wished to walk the Pattern while carrying the Alicorn, hoping that doing so might reveal a means of attuning herself to its mysterious power. Kyle, however, was focused on testing Bannoq’s theory - that multiple variations of the Pattern could exist within the Jewel, shaped by the perceptions of those who gazed into it. Both lines of inquiry promised insights, but neither was without risk.
Kyle and Benedict Trumped back to Amber, where Benedict retrieved the Jewel of Judgement from the secure confines of his personal quarters. Handing it over, Benedict watched as Kyle began his careful examination.
Gazing into the Jewel, Kyle immediately saw the familiar form of Amber’s Primal Pattern etched within its depths. As he rotated the Jewel in his hand, subtle distortions seemed to catch his eye - small differences that teased at the edges of perception - but each time he focused more intently, the vision resolved once again into the familiar image of Amber’s Pattern. The fleeting variations eluded him, always settling back into the known design.
With his initial study complete, Kyle and Benedict returned to Terra Prime and invited Corin to examine the Jewel as well. As she accepted it, a dangerous thought flickered briefly across her mind: the temptation to bring the Jewel and the Alicorn together, to see what might be revealed. She wisely suppressed the impulse, knowing the potential consequences of such an act were entirely unknown.
Corin peered into the Jewel but saw nothing; the patterns within remained closed to her vision, likely because she lacked attunement. Bannoq took possession of the Alicorn as Corin studied, running his own tests. The artifact tingled faintly against his skin, carrying an undeniable sense of alien energy, but yielded no further insight. Bannoq eventually handed it back, admitting with a shrug that his abilities were insufficient to probe its deeper secrets.
Their discussion turned speculative once more. It appeared that neither the Jewel nor the Alicorn carried any innate alignment to Order or Chaos - both seemed to exist outside the usual dichotomy, drawing from a deeper, more primal source.
Corin, still driven by her curiosity, renewed her earlier proposal. She suggested walking Corwin’s Pattern while carrying the Alicorn, hoping that such an act might unlock a path to attunement or yield some further insight into the artifact’s nature. Sensing potential objections before they arose, she preemptively reassured the others with a hint of sarcasm. “I have nowhere to run,” she said dryly. “I’m not going to abscond with it.”
While they debated, Bannoq took the Alicorn once again, settling into meditation while holding it. The experience was peaceful, calming even - but yielded no revelations. After some time, he opened his eyes and admitted, “Nothing. It feels… odd, but that’s all.” His limited skill offered no deeper understanding of the power coiled within.
With a mischievous glint in her eye, Corin asked after Fiona. Kyle replied evenly that his mother was presently walking the Pattern. His tone sharpened slightly as he turned the question back on her. “Do you have a problem with my mother, Corin?”
Corin’s response dripped with sarcasm. “Why would I?” she said, her voice smooth with mock innocence. “What possible issue could I have with someone who, at one point, thought destroying all of known reality was a perfectly reasonable plan?”
Benedict, as ever, remained cautious - and made it clear he did not support Corin’s plan. Undeterred, Corin kept up her sharp tone, arching a brow as she challenged him. “And what magical expertise do you bring to this conversation, exactly?”
Benedict, unruffled, answered calmly. “None. But I do bring over three thousand years of observation and experience, much of it spent watching others wield powers both great and dangerous - powers that include the Jewel.” His voice remained steady, but firm. “And sometimes, Corin, it is wiser to do nothing than to risk something that may yield consequences none of us can foresee.”
He glanced toward the Alicorn. “The Pattern was created through the Jewel. Introducing a new primal object like the Alicorn into its currents is not a risk I think we should take lightly.”
For once, Corin said nothing more, her sarcasm evaporating under Benedict’s quiet authority. After a pause, Benedict added thoughtfully, “Given that Bennu seems to be of the same order as the Serpent and the Unicorn, it may be that he can offer insight into the Alicorn’s true nature - and how it might safely be approached.”
In the end, they agreed that - for now - the Alicorn should be returned to Amber and secured somewhere safe, where its presence would not risk corrupting the surrounding Shadow. Corin, however, was not entirely convinced. Her disagreement with Benedict resurfaced, leading to another tense exchange. With her usual sharpness, she couldn’t resist invoking the Serpent’s warning, sarcastically referencing the looming threat of Oberon’s elder spawn.
The debate remained unresolved when Kyle suddenly received a Trump contact from Julian. His message was brief, but unexpected: Delwin - long thought absent - had returned. Delwin refused to speak to any of the others alone and had specifically requested to speak with Kyle.
Without delay, Julian pulled them all through via Trump, bringing Kyle, Corin, Bannoq, the Jewel, and the Alicorn directly to Amber’s Royal Court. They materialized within the grand chamber, where a contingent of guards stood along the walls - alert, but relaxed, as though their presence was more ceremonial than urgent.
Standing beside Julian, Delwin appeared relaxed, his posture composed, as though his sudden reappearance warranted no special attention. Without preamble, he turned to Kyle and requested to speak with him privately. The two of them stepped away from the Royal Court, making their way out onto one of the palace’s high balconies, where the cool air offered some measure of seclusion.
There, Delwin explained his purpose. He had returned to bring Kyle to meet his "Master" - and, if desired, anyone else who wished to accompany them. Kyle questioned the reason for such a meeting. Delwin’s response was measured, but urgent. “There are people you need to meet, Kyle. People who can offer guidance - people who know far more than we do about what’s coming. Unless we gain better understanding of both the future and the past, Amber and Chaos alike will fall. The threats ahead will not be survived through ignorance.”
Kyle pressed further, asking where Delwin had been all this time. Delwin answered simply, without elaboration. “Working with my friends. They seek to protect Reality - not to control it.”
As Delwin spoke, Kyle subtly employed passive sorcery, reading his half-brother’s body language for any hint of deception or concealed intent. But as far as Kyle could determine, Delwin appeared sincere. If there were deeper motives, they remained carefully hidden.
Kyle pressed further. “Who exactly are these people you want me to meet?”
Delwin offered little, confirming only one familiar name. “Sand is among them,” he said. “But you don’t have to go alone. You’re free to bring others, or whatever resources you feel are necessary.”
Kyle narrowed his gaze. “Where are we going? Who will I be meeting?”
Delwin’s answer remained vague. “You’ll be meeting my Master.”
Kyle frowned. “Why not simply arrange this by Trump?”
Delwin shook his head. “Trump won’t reach where my Master resides. The place we’re going lies beyond the reach of this Reality - it cannot be accessed through Trump.”
“How then do we get there?” Kyle asked, voice tightening.
Delwin’s reply was calm, almost matter-of-fact. “We’ll need to pass through a realm few have even heard of, let alone visited. A place that cannot be reached by ordinary means. Only a handful in all of Reality know how to navigate there - I am one of them.”
Kyle studied him for a moment, then asked the final, unspoken question. “Why the secrecy?”
Delwin exhaled slowly. “Because when too many voices are involved, the conversation inevitably dissolves into pointless debate. I’ve grown weary of the Barriman family’s endless drama, our father’s schemes, and the exhausting politics of Amber and Chaos alike. My Master believes it’s time for a dialogue between Amber and him to begin - and that it should start with someone unburdened by generations of baggage. You.”
As they returned to the Royal Court, Corin discreetly activated her Logrus sight, studying Delwin closely for any signs of deception or concealed influence. She found nothing overtly unusual - no hidden enchantments or foreign energies at play. Delwin was unquestionably magically active, his aura resonating with Advanced Pattern mastery, but there was no trace of the green-tinged taint she had half-expected to find.
Kyle, meanwhile, relayed the substance of his private conversation to the others, explaining Delwin’s offer and posing the question to the group: who wished to accompany him?
At this, Delwin interjected calmly. “None of my siblings are invited,” he stated, leaving no room for ambiguity.
His gaze drifted dispassionately toward Julian. In response, Julian let out a huff of familiar irritation. “You always were a bit of a tosser, Delwin,” he muttered before turning sharply on his heel and stomping from the chamber.
Benedict quietly dismissed the guards with a wave of his hand, clearing the chamber of any remaining onlookers. Then, after a brief pause, he offered Delwin a small nod. “It’s good to see you again,” he said simply, his tone calm but sincere.
Kyle, in turn, handed the Jewel of Judgement to Benedict for safekeeping. With a silent nod of acknowledgement, Benedict accepted the Jewel and withdrew from the room. Delwin offered nothing more than a brief, almost impassive nod in return, watching as Benedict departed.
Bannoq, still wary, pressed for answers. “What exactly is the purpose here?” he asked, his tone edged with suspicion. Delwin calmly reiterated what he had already told Kyle - this was about forging alliances and acquiring knowledge vital to surviving what was coming.
Bannoq remained unconvinced. “What sort of thing is coming?”
Delwin's expression darkened slightly as he answered. “I am aware of what the Serpent has already told you,” he said. “I echo his warnings - but my Master knows even more, which you will hear in due time.”
Bannoq pushed further. “Can you identify the factions the Serpent spoke of?”
Before Delwin could respond, Corin interjected dryly. “Don’t bother mentioning demons - we’re already painfully aware of that particular threat.”
Delwin nodded and continued. “Before the Pattern was ever scribed, Oberon fathered three children while he lived as a High Lord of Chaos - two sons and a daughter. The eldest of these children later fathered two more children with his own mother, in a bloodline twisted by incest. These are the ones the Serpent referred to.”
He paused for emphasis before naming them. “The eldest is Darrius. His children are Marcus and Nimueh. All of them predate Benedict by a considerable margin. They are Oberon’s elder spawn.”
Bannoq’s suspicion deepened. “And how is it you even know about me?” he asked pointedly.
Delwin answered smoothly. “We’ve been aware of you since your birth. But if you wish to understand the full context, you’ll need to accompany me to my Master. Only there can the entire truth be explained.”
He elaborated further. “My Master is an observer - of time, of Reality itself. Sand and I have allied with him, not to control events, but to protect Reality by offering knowledge to those who need it most, knowledge that may allow them to survive the threats now rising.”
Bannoq remained unconvinced. “Or perhaps,” he countered, “you offer just enough knowledge to lure potential defenders away - to sideline those who could act, and ensure they’re out of the way when they’re most needed.”
Delwin’s expression remained steady. “One has to trust someone, Bannoq. Amber already has - after all, you’ve trusted Corin, and she is of Chaos.” His eyes swept across the group. “Again, I repeat: you are free to bring anyone you wish - anyone, that is, except my siblings.”
Kyle opened a Trump to William and brought him into the conversation, quickly briefing him on Delwin’s return and the unfolding situation. Delwin’s eyes narrowed slightly in surprise upon seeing William. “You already have access to a powerful potential ally in Bennu,” he remarked. “If you can persuade him to stand with you, his strength would be formidable.”
Kyle continued, explaining to William who Delwin was, and more importantly, who Delwin now served. Corin, ever sharp, couldn’t resist a pointed comment. “Yes, well... trustworthiness does seem to run thin in this family. Delwin’s no worse than the rest of our generation. No better either.”
Delwin smiled faintly at her barb. “Perhaps you should ask your uncles and aunts why Sand and I left Amber in the first place. You might find their answers enlightening.”
Kyle, meanwhile, remained frustrated by Delwin’s ongoing evasiveness. Despite his persistent efforts, Delwin still refused to fully reveal the identity of his Master or the precise location they would be traveling to. Nevertheless, after weighing the options, Kyle reluctantly agreed. “Fine. Lead on.”
As they prepared to depart, Corin added with dry humor, “If we get ourselves captured, it’ll probably fall to Joshua to stage some absurd rescue - and none of us will hear the end of it for the rest of eternity.”
Kyle smirked. “No. Even the cosmos wouldn’t allow such an obscene turn of events.”
As Corin quietly set about re-racking her Logrus spells in preparation for the journey ahead, Delwin turned to Bannoq, his tone measured. “I suggest the Alicorn remain here in Amber,” he said.
Bannoq narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Delwin offered little by way of specifics. “I simply want it protected. Where we’re going, there’s too great a risk of it being lost or damaged. I don’t know enough of the Alicorn’s nature to say for certain, but its power is not something I’d risk exposing unnecessarily. Your sword, however - that should pose no problem.”
After a moment’s thought, Bannoq accepted the reasoning. Exercising caution, he handed the Alicorn over to Benedict, who would see to its safekeeping within Amber’s stronghold.
With preparations complete, they followed Delwin as he set off, shifting Shadow at the first opportunity. Kyle, keeping a subtle watch, sensed that Delwin carried a set of Trumps - though whether for precaution or control was unclear.
They swiftly left the familiar territories of the Golden Circle behind and moved deeper into Shadow at a rapid pace. It wasn’t a full hell-ride, but rather something slightly more measured - a hell-trot, as someone wryly observed, prompting a ripple of quiet amusement among them despite the tension.
After considerable travel, they arrived at a remote mountainous region. Set into the face of one of the towering peaks was a large cave mouth, yawning wide and dark. Here, Delwin paused and issued a warning. “We’ll need to pass through a realm where the laws of reality shift,” he explained. “It will be deeply uncomfortable. Your powers will be suppressed - perhaps even fully inaccessible - but we’ll move through it as quickly as possible.”
Before stepping into the cave, Bannoq paused briefly to update Benedict on their current location, ensuring Amber remained aware of their path. With that, they entered the cavern, quickly traversing its shadowed interior.
Soon they crossed an unseen threshold, emerging on the other side of the mountain into the strange, inverted realm of Undershadow. Immediately, they felt the shift - power suppressed, senses dulled. Their abilities weren’t fully severed, but heavily muted, as if reality itself pressed down upon them.
The world they moved through was disorienting, its landscape a stark, negative reflection of the familiar. As they wandered through this unnatural terrain, they eventually came upon a city - eerily quiet, bathed in muted light. Pattern sight, though still present, was severely restricted - localised and hazy. Trump contact was entirely dead here, the channels simply non-existent.
As they made their way through the empty streets, indistinct figures drifted around them. The forms wandered aimlessly, sometimes passing directly through their group, eliciting an involuntary shiver and an odd, unsettling sensation as they did so. In the far distance, bright flashes of intense light occasionally pierced the dim skyline.
Delwin gestured toward the horizon as they walked. “There are other entrances to Undershadow,” he explained, his voice calm. “Some may lie just beyond this mountain range... others could be as far as the Courts of Chaos. Distance here does not follow the rules you’re accustomed to.”
Eventually, they reached a towering, cathedral-like structure where the number of incorporeal beings seemed to grow denser, drifting through the air like lost echoes of thought. Without hesitation, Delwin led them inside. At the cathedral’s center stood an immense dome of pure white energy, pulsing softly with a steady rhythm.
Delwin gestured toward it. “This is the gateway to the Realm of Knowledge,” he explained. “My Master resides within. Once we cross, your powers will return - but know that not everything will function as you’re used to. Shadow-walking, for example, remains impossible here.”
One by one, they stepped through the dome. The transition was instant. They emerged into a vast, open landscape - natural and far more familiar, reminiscent of Shadow Earth’s Monument Valley, with sweeping plains and towering mesas rising from the ground like ancient sentinels.
Delwin led them on foot, guiding them along a winding path through the broad valleys. In the far distance, a singularly enormous mesa dominated the horizon. Built into its face, across its summit and flanks, were massive structures, though much of the mesa itself remained obscured by its scale.
They approached a set of immense gates embedded in the towering structure along the mesa’s face. Two beings flanked the entrance, standing sentinel. Yet as the group tried to focus on them, their vision slipped; the guards seemed to blur and distort, their forms refusing to resolve clearly. Their eyes slid off the figures, as though reality itself resisted allowing them to fully perceive the sentries.
At length, one of the guards became marginally more distinct, stepping forward and raising a hand to halt them. Delwin spoke with quiet authority. “I bring guests to speak with the Patriarch.”
The guard gave a shallow bow and stepped aside, permitting them to pass.
As they moved beyond the threshold, Delwin spoke softly, as much to prepare them as to orient them. “You stand now within the Realm of Knowledge. This is the dwelling of the Great Patriarch and his acolytes - observers and recorders of all that transpires within the Reality stretched between Chaos and Order. Here you may begin to gather the knowledge you will need to face what lies ahead. Though not all knowledge is easily or swiftly acquired.”
He led them deeper into the structure, through vast corridors lined with genderless beings, each engaged in unknowable tasks. The halls seemed to pulse with a quiet energy of their own as they traveled further inward, spiraling toward what felt like the heart of the mesa.
Finally, they emerged into a massive, circular amphitheater capped by a towering domed roof. At its center was a seemingly bottomless pit, twenty feet across, above which floated a brilliant white globe - fully four feet in diameter - radiating a steady, serene glow. A flat walkway encircled the chasm for thirty feet in every direction.
Kneeling at the edge of the opening was an elderly man, eyes closed in deep meditation, his face composed and serene. As the group entered, he stirred, lifting his head. Slowly, he rose to his feet and made his way up the steps to meet them.
As they descended the steps into the amphitheater, both Kyle and Corin instinctively recoiled at the raw force radiating from the hovering gem at the chamber’s center. The power emanating from it was staggering - far beyond anything either of them had ever encountered. Even the mighty Spikards, formidable as they were, paled in comparison to this singular presence. The intensity of the energy was suffocating in its vastness, and as they drew closer, it became unmistakably clear: this power outshone even the Jewel of Judgement itself.
As they approached, the Patriarch offered a respectful bow, then gestured for them to sit. “We have much to discuss,” he said with quiet authority. With that, he turned to Delwin, dismissing him with a nod. Delwin bowed slightly in return and withdrew from the chamber, leaving the visitors alone with the ancient figure.
Kyle took the lead. “What is your name?” he asked.
The figure answered simply, “I am the Patriarch.”
Kyle pressed him again, seeking something more personal, but the response did not change. “I am the Patriarch of the followers of Fintan.”
Corin, studying him carefully, shifted the question. “What exactly are you?”
The Patriarch replied evenly, “I have no gender. I was created eons ago by Fintan. I serve his purpose, as I have since the moment of my creation. My task is to gather knowledge - of all Reality - so that it may be offered to those deemed worthy, those who serve the greater good of existence.”
Bannoq stepped in next, narrowing the focus. “And who is Fintan?”
The Patriarch’s voice remained calm and reverent. “Fintan is my Lord. He was lost to Reality countless ages ago, but his purpose endures through me.” Corin nodded slightly, adding with a faint smile, “So - you are Fintan’s High Priest.”
The Patriarch inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Yes. And know this: Fintan was of the same kind as the Serpent, the Unicorn, and Bennu.”
The Patriarch nodded, his expression grave. “I am aware of what the Serpent revealed to you during your final meeting,” he said. Kyle leaned forward, his voice steady. “Then tell us more.”
In response, the Patriarch gestured for them to follow. He led them down a series of corridors that twisted and ascended, spiraling back upon themselves as they climbed higher within the structure. The journey felt almost labyrinthine, and after some time, they sensed they must now be well above the amphitheatre where they had first met him.
At last, they arrived before a massive iron-bound door, ancient and scarred with time. The Patriarch opened it, revealing a vast, rough-hewn cavern beyond. At the cavern’s center rose an enormous stalagmite, its stone surface carved with a winding spiral staircase that coiled upward into the heights far above. Every twenty feet, arched walkways extended from the staircase, linking to ledges running along the cavern walls.
Etched into those walls were intricate hieroglyphs - countless symbols that appeared to recount a sprawling creation story and the vast events that had unfolded since. As they watched, the hieroglyphs shifted and morphed subtly, as though the stone itself struggled to contain the enormity of the tale. Certain images shrank away into obscurity while others expanded, emerging in greater detail to be read.
From time to time, tiny flakes of dust drifted downward from the ever-shifting carvings, accumulating in scattered cones along the cavern floor. The scale of the chamber was immense, and it was clear that to fully absorb the story inscribed here would require ascending the entire spiraling staircase - layer by layer, chapter by chapter.
At the base of the stair, the Patriarch paused and turned to them. “Now,” he said, “I will tell you the story of the Old Gods.”
In the immeasurable vastness that lay before all reckoning of time or space, there was naught but the void - silent, empty, and without form. Yet even within that boundless emptiness, a seed of being stirred, though from whence it came none may say, nor whether it was chance or purpose that awakened it. And from that first stirring was born the Primal Chaos, fierce and unbridled. Like a great storm it unfurled, roaring into existence with a fury that knew neither master nor measure. It shattered the stillness, and from its convulsions came forth the birth of time and the shaping of space, as molten rivers of possibility surged and clashed. For uncounted eons the Chaos raged, unmaking as swiftly as it made, crafting realms and casting them down, raising forms of terrible wonder and strange majesty, only to dissolve them anew - all beyond the grasp of thought, beyond even the dreams of those who would one day come to be.
And after long ages beyond count, through countless cycles of ruin and renewal, the wild wrath of the Primal Chaos grew weary at last. The tempest of its fury lessened, and in the stillness that followed, there came forth beings strange and wondrous, fashioned by secret design or perhaps by the hand of fate itself. These children of the new calm stood steadfast amid the lingering turmoil, untouched by the ceaseless ebb and flow of destruction and rebirth that yet murmured at the edges of creation. They were many beyond reckoning, and diverse beyond telling - of countless shapes and temperaments, of myriad powers and purposes. Some shone with the light of wisdom, others brooded in shadowed thought; some were gentle, others fierce; and their number filled the breadth of existence.
And lo, though many among these countless beings turned to strife and perished in battles as wild and senseless as the Chaos from which they had sprung, there were others - a remnant wise and resolute - who, perceiving the futility of endless war, gathered in accord. Together they sought to tame the still-heaving tides of the Primal Chaos, and to raise from its maelstrom firm ground where order might dwell. Thus did they fashion islands of stability, havens of constancy amidst the roiling sea of unmaking. Between these strongholds were spun realms of lesser substance - dim reflections of their sanctuaries, yet possessing shape and endurance nonetheless - and these realms the wise called Shadows. A thousand thousand such possibilities unfolded before them, each a mystery to be pondered, each a secret to be unveiled. For though the spark of creation burned within their hearts, yet many of its marvels lay hidden from their sight. With eager hearts they wandered the breadth of existence, and in their wanderings they wrought the first tongues, shaping speech to share their knowledge and wisdom. In the fullness of time, they named themselves the Vanyrie.
Yet the Vanyrie were not alone in the wide expanse of their shaping, for from the same primal substance that had birthed them arose others - their wild and wrathful kin. These were beings of madness and fury, unbridled and without purpose, who stalked the Shadows with dreadful hunger, rending and despoiling all that came before them. Great was the peril they posed, and so it came to pass that the Vanyrie, in their wisdom and unity, stood together and set forth their might as one. With powers combined, they cast down the ravening beasts of the Void and bound them in defeat. Yet these creatures, like the Vanyrie themselves, were deathless, their essence forever renewing, their wounds swiftly mended. Therefore, the Vanyrie devised a final work: they summoned forth their greatest arts and wove prisons unbreachable, each a realm set apart from the others. Into these solitary domains they cast their mad cousins, permitting them to dwell eternally in their own desolation, far from the ordered Realms the Vanyrie had wrought. And upon each prison they set wardens - great constructs of might and will, fashioned without thought or desire, whose sole purpose was to stand watch over the imprisoned, answering only to the call of the Vanyrie should they return.
And as the long ages passed, the Vanyrie grew in the mastery of their gifts, and their knowledge of the vast tapestry of existence deepened. Wandering far through the many Shadows and the spaces that lay between, they beheld countless forms brought forth by the ebb and flow of creation - shapes wondrous and strange, some fair, some terrible, all woven by the currents of possibility. Moved by delight, by wonder, or by their own secret desires, the Vanyrie chose from among these forms those that pleased them. They clad themselves in semblances drawn from the manifold visions of Shadow, taking on shapes of power and beauty. And with these forms they took also names, each a sign of their nature and their choosing, that their deeds might be known and their memory endure.
Among the Vanyrie there arose one whose might surpassed all others, and his name was Abaddon. Of the masculine kind he chose to be, and in his choosing he took the form of the Scorpion - a creature both beautiful and deadly, with gleaming carapace and a tail poised to strike. Great was Abaddon in stature: his mind keen as the brightest star, his body strong as the foundations of the world, and his soul deep and vast as the shadowed abysses. And in the pride of his strength there grew within him a dark ambition, for he deemed himself rightful Lord of the Vanyrie, and of all that was wrought beneath the heavens. But in the secret places of his heart there brooded a blackness, and it whispered to him of dominion, and whispered too of envy, wrath, and malice. Thus was Abaddon set apart from his brethren, for he sought no fellowship among them; and as none stood beside him, so he grew to despise them all.
Now Artio was of wild heart and untamed spirit, fierce in strength and terrible in wrath. Of the feminine she made herself, and took as her likeness the Bear, broad of shoulder and mighty of paw, with eyes that gleamed with primal fire. Among the Vanyrie, she was closest in thought and temper to Centaurus, and together they roamed far through the uncounted reaches of Reality, delighting in the wonders that lay hidden beyond each horizon. The wild places called to her, and she became their champion, shielding them from ruin and defilement with tooth and claw and unyielding will. Yet for all her might, pride dwelt in her breast, and vanity too, quickening her temper and stirring quarrels with others. Most oft did her anger fall upon Hrolleif, and long did the Bear and the Wolf contend as bitter foes. But deepest ran her envy toward Fintan, who possessed wisdom beyond measure; and though she would not speak it, the longing for his knowledge gnawed at her heart like a hidden thorn.
Bennu was he who delighted in the open skies and the shining light of Reality, where the winds sang their ancient songs and the stars wheeled in their courses. Of the masculine kind he was, and he chose the noble shape of the Eagle, whose wings bore him higher and farther than any other among the Vanyrie. In the lofty airs where few dared follow, Bennu soared, rejoicing in the boundless heavens. Of all his kin, he cherished most the fellowship of Cygnius, the Lady of Grace, and of Macha, mistress of enchantments, and with them he shared many councils beneath the vault of stars. Ever did Bennu seek to plumb the deep wellsprings of Reality, desiring to grasp the ancient powers that lay hidden in its secret places, that he might fashion worlds of wonder and give life to new peoples of his own devising. In this, his thirst for knowledge knew no equal, and none among the Vanyrie could rival his craft or vision.
Centaurus was of bold heart and swift foot, delighting in the freedom of the open Realms, and ever eager to race beneath strange suns and over strange lands. Of the masculine kind he was, and he took for his form the Stag, proud and fleet, whose antlers reached towards the heavens like the branches of ancient trees. Oft did he roam beside Artio, his companion from the first days of their arising, and together they ranged far and wide across the wide tapestry of creation. Yet though his bond with Artio was deep, no less dear to him was the Unicorn, whom he loved as a sister, and in whose company he found joy and peace. In wisdom, Centaurus surpassed Artio, and many times did his counsel temper her fierce spirit, turning aside her wrath and guiding her steps from reckless paths. Thus was he a peacemaker among his kin, even as he danced with wild delight through the ever-changing Shadows.
Cygnius was of gentle spirit and deep heart, a soul attuned to the harmonies of thought, of love, and of peace among all living things. Of the feminine she was, and she clothed herself in the form of the Swan, gliding in grace upon the waters of Reality and soaring with silent wings beneath the stars. Of all the Vanyrie, none was more beloved than she, for her wisdom was freely given, and her counsel was sought by all in times of doubt or discord. With eyes that beheld the hidden currents of hearts and minds, she perceived truths veiled even from her mighty kin - save, perhaps, for Fintan, whose fathomless knowledge alone approached her quiet understanding. And by her words and presence was strife stayed and wrath softened; while Cygnius dwelt among them, no quarrel among the Vanyrie grew to lasting war, for her voice was as the still waters that quench the flame.
Fintan was the greatest in mind of all the Vanyrie, his wisdom vast as the firmament, and his thought deep as the hidden roots of the world. He took no gender, though his brethren often spoke of him as though he were of the masculine kind. For his form he chose the Salmon, mighty and enduring, whose silver shape glided through the very substance of Reality, swimming the secret currents that thread all things together. The lore of Fintan surpassed the grasp of any who had been, who now were, or who yet would come to be; and many among the Vanyrie looked upon him with awe, yet also with dread. For though he sought no dominion, some feared the power that knowledge might bring, and they whispered among themselves that Fintan, seeing farther and deeper than all others, held secrets that could unmake as easily as make. Thus did envy and unease grow in shadowed hearts, even as Fintan pondered mysteries beyond their ken.
Hrolleif chose the masculine form, and of all the Vanyrie he was the most fierce and unrelenting. Quick to wrath and swift to violence, his fury was like the storm-wind that tears through forest and field, leaving ruin in its wake. Yet as great as his rage was his loyalty, and to those whom he counted as his friends, he was steadfast beyond all measure. The shape of the Wolf he made his own - lean and powerful, with eyes that gleamed like twin embers beneath the darkened sky. When the fires of anger were kindled within him, few could endure the tempest of his might, and fewer still could hope to subdue him, save by long foresight and careful design. Only Cygnius, with her voice of calm and her gentle wisdom, held the power to soothe his wild heart and lead him back from the brink of ruin.
Maahes was noble in bearing and mighty in pride, and he took for himself the mantle of the masculine. Yet his heart was lifted high with conceit, and in his thoughts he claimed dominion over all of Reality as the inheritance of his birthright. The form of the Lion he chose - regal and terrible, with a golden mane like the rising sun and eyes that burned with sovereign fire. In the arts of war none among the Vanyrie could match his strength or skill, and many were the foes who fell before his might. Loudly did he proclaim his triumphs, and gladly did he recount the tale of his victories, exalting himself before his brethren. But ever did his pride outpace his wisdom, and in his heart the hunger for mastery over all things burned like an unquenchable flame.
Macha was the greatest in sorcery among the Vanyrie, mistress of enchantments beyond mortal imagining. In knowledge she stood second only to Fintan, but in the crafting of magic none could rival her hand. Of the feminine kind she was, and she took for her form the Raven, whose sable wings bore her swiftly across the endless skies. Oft did she soar in the company of Bennu and Cygnius, sharing their counsel beneath the stars. Yet ever did her mind turn to the hidden substance of Reality, probing its deep foundations and seeking to master its secret workings. So great became her mastery that whatever her mind conceived, her will could bring forth into being. The very fabric of existence bent before her, and her spells wove wonders and terrors alike, as though she were shaping the threads of creation itself.
The Serpent, second in might only to Abaddon, chose for himself the guise of the masculine, and took as his form the great Snake, vast in length, with scales that shimmered like burnished emerald beneath the light of countless suns. Of all the Vanyrie, he was the most subtle and secretive, weaving his designs with a patience and cunning that few could fathom. Friends he had but few, yet neither did he make many foes in the early days, for he seldom crossed his brethren openly. Ever watchful, he waited upon the tides of fortune, seeking to turn them to his own advantage when opportunity arose. Rarely did he meet his kin in open strife, for in those elder eons he preferred the hidden path: whispering in shadows, moving unseen, and sowing his schemes like seeds to ripen in their season.
Tauron was of greatest strength among the Vanyrie, a towering figure of might unshaken. Of the masculine he was, and in his choosing he took the form of the Bull - broad of shoulder, with horns like crescent moons, and hooves that shook the earth beneath his tread. Slow was Tauron to wrath, and slow also to forget or forgive once wronged; but when at last he was moved to act, few could endure the weight of his fury, and none who stood against him found victory easily. He dwelt apart from his brethren, content in solitude, shunning their councils and quarrels alike. Yet in the fullness of time, Maahes’ rising ambition and the strife that followed would draw Tauron forth from his seclusion, and his strength would shake the foundations of their war.
Unicorn was fairest of all the Vanyrie, her beauty surpassing song or tale. Of the feminine she was, and she chose the form of the Horse, though of such grace and swiftness that none could rival her. Like to Centaurus she was in her love of the open Realms, yet swifter still, as though the very winds obeyed her will, and the stars themselves bent aside to let her pass. Her mane shone like woven silver beneath the light of countless suns, and her eyes were as deep pools reflecting the first dawn. With Fintan and Centaurus she held closest counsel, though oft would she chide Centaurus for his fondness toward Artio, whom she deemed wild and unworthy, a creature of lesser refinement. Yet despite these reproaches, her loyalty to her chosen friends was steadfast as the roots of the mountains.
And last among them was Watatsumi, Lord of Waves and of all that flows. Of the masculine he was, and he took for his form the Seahorse, strange and wondrous, crowned with coral crests and clothed in glistening scales like beaten pearl. In strength of body he stood second only to Tauron, yet his mind was keen and deep as the fathomless seas, and in the arts of war none but Maahes could rival his skill. When he strode forth to battle, few indeed could hope to withstand the sweep of his arm or the surging tide of his might, for he was terrible in his wrath and peerless in his mastery of the watery realms. Yet though his power was great, wisdom tempered his hand, and many feared him, but not without reverence.
And in the fullness of time, the Vanyrie took for themselves names, each according to their nature and their heart’s desire, that their renown might be known in all the Realms. Thus they were called:
Abaddon, the Lord of the Dark;
Artio, the Wildling;
Bennu, the Lord of Light;
Centaurus, Soul of the Wild;
Cygnius, Lady of Grace;
Fintan, Lord of Knowledge;
Hrolleif, the Ferocious;
Maahes, the Warrior;
Macha, Lady of Enchantment;
Serpent, the Ever Changing;
Tauron, the Indomitable;
Unicorn, the Delicate;
Watatsumi, Lord of Waves and Wind.
Thus were their names set, and under these names would their deeds be sung in the long ages to come.
Long ages swept by as the Vanyrie grew in wisdom and mastery, bending the substance of creation to their will and fashioning wonders beyond mortal imagining. Yet of them all, none delved deeper into the mysteries of Reality than did Fintan. He gathered to himself the lore of all things seen and unseen, of all that was and might yet be, until his understanding surpassed even the dreams of his brethren. But as his knowledge grew, so too did his foreboding, for he feared that such power, if fallen into unwise or greedy hands, might bring ruin upon all that had been wrought. Thus did Fintan weave great enchantments about his secrets, binding them with spells so that none might seize them by force or guile. Now Abaddon, whose hunger for dominion was ever restless, grew impatient at the limits of his own command, and he came to Fintan demanding that the hidden wisdom be yielded to him. But Fintan refused, and in that refusal the seeds of hatred were sown, and enmity arose between them, dark and enduring.
As the Vanyrie laboured and shaped Reality according to their will, yet the ancient breath of Primal Chaos still stirred beyond the bounds of their dominion. And in the places of stability they had wrought - islands of calm upon the heaving sea - there sprang forth new beings, countless in number and varied in form. These were frailer than the Vanyrie, and lesser in might, yet they swarmed like leaves upon the wind, fashioned in myriad shapes and natures. Some whispered that these were but dim echoes of the Vanyrie themselves, shadows cast by their presence upon the substance of Reality. Others held that they were born apart, fresh expressions of Chaos itself, striving blindly to understand its own nature. Among these lesser children of existence, some grew in mind and spirit, and as they beheld the majesty and power of the Vanyrie, they were filled with awe. Many bent the knee and offered reverence, hailing the Vanyrie as gods and lords, seeking their favor beneath the vaulted heavens.
And Macha rose high among the Vanyrie, for she became Mistress of Magic, and in the wielding of its deep and secret arts, none could surpass her. So vast grew her power that it was said no being, now or in the ages yet to come, might ever match her mastery within the bounds of Reality. Her knowledge waxed greatly, second only to Fintan's in breadth, though in the hidden lore of enchantments and sorcery, even Fintan himself was sometimes left behind. Yet with the growth of her might came also a restless desire to fashion works of her own design, unlike any that had yet been seen. Slowly she labored, for the shaping of such wonders demanded long toil and perilous craft. Through long and silent ages she vanished from the sight of her kin, hiding herself even from the far-seeing gaze of Fintan, who in all his wisdom could not pierce the veils she had drawn about her. Many eons passed before Macha returned, and none knew fully what works she had wrought in her long absence.
Now the multitudes of Shadow grew ever more numerous, and many among them bent their hearts in worship to the Vanyrie. Yet this adoration touched each of the mighty ones in different fashion. Maahes, proud and lordly, found great pleasure in the reverence of his followers, and his heart swelled with pride as their numbers swelled. In time, his ambition outgrew all bounds, and he set his gaze upon his own kin, seeking mastery not only over the creatures of Shadow, but over the Vanyrie themselves. At first, he sought to win their allegiance through fair speech and persuasion, desiring that they should freely acclaim him as Lord of all the Vanyrie and of all Reality, for were not his worshippers beyond counting? But his brethren would not yield, nor bend the knee, and his entreaties were met with refusal from every quarter. Thus were the seeds of discord planted among the Vanyrie, and the first shadows of strife crept into their fellowship.
In those elder days, when the world was yet young beneath the hands of the Vanyrie, bonds of closeness were woven among some of their number. In that time, Unicorn and Serpent were joined in love, and for long ages they dwelt together, as one in heart though not always in mind. For though great was their affection, their spirits were unlike: Unicorn, fleet and radiant, rejoiced in grace and harmony, while Serpent, cunning and secretive, pondered the deep and shifting currents of power. Yet despite these differences, their union endured through many eons, a beacon amid the gathering shadows. But at length their bond was broken, when Serpent, in his hidden labors, wrought the great and terrible work that became known as The Logrus. And Abaddon, gazing upon the love that had once flourished between Unicorn and Serpent - a thing his dark heart could neither understand nor truly feel - grew covetous of such devotion. Thus did he turn his desire toward Cygnius, seeking to win her favor and possess what had eluded him.
Yet ever did Fintan’s thirst for knowledge burn like an undying star, and in his unceasing quest he wrought a wonder greater than any before: the first and mightiest of the Spikards. Into this great work he poured much of his own essence, binding his power within it to aid him in his endless pursuit of wisdom. With the Spikard upon his hand, Fintan’s might rose above all others of the Vanyrie, and he accomplished deeds of vast and terrible creation, shaping realities with a thought. Yet even in his triumph, he grew wary, for he perceived the peril of such mastery, and feared lest the power consume him. Therefore, he wielded the Spikard but rarely, and without it his strength was greatly lessened, though he concealed this truth from his brethren. Only to Watatsumi, his dearest companion, did Fintan reveal the secret lore of the Great Spikards. Under Fintan’s guidance, Watatsumi forged a Spikard of his own, though it demanded less of his own being, and thus was less mighty than that of Fintan - yet still a work of high and perilous art.
Yet such knowledge could not long remain hidden, for whispers of the Spikards spread among the Vanyrie, and in time many sought to craft such rings of power for themselves. But lacking the full wisdom of Fintan, their labors bore fruit of lesser might. Thus were fashioned many Spikards, both Minor and Major, though none approached the grandeur of Fintan’s or Watatsumi’s Great Spikards. Through the long ages, most of these lesser works were scattered and lost, their tales fading into the dim annals of forgotten history. Now Unicorn, desiring to stand equal in craft, sought to gain Fintan’s secret lore. She feigned friendship and offered sweet words, hoping to draw from him the knowledge she lacked. But Fintan, whose sight was keen, discerned her design. Yet rather than rebuke her openly, he gave her fragments of truth - enough to veil his awareness of her deceit, but never enough to grant her the full mastery she sought. Still, the lore Unicorn gathered in those days would serve her well in ages yet to come.
And as the long years fell away like leaves upon the wind, certain among the followers of the Vanyrie were uplifted, receiving from their lords a measure of divine power. Thus were they transformed into true beings of potency, and granted the gift to pass between the myriad Shadows of Reality. Meanwhile, Fintan’s wisdom grew yet deeper, and strange visions of what was yet to be began to stir in his mind - shadows of the future whispered upon the currents of time. Seeking refuge from the growing burdens of foresight, he raised the Realm of Knowledge, a hidden sanctuary veiled from the sight of all others, even from the gaze of his own kin. Into this secret haven he gathered those whom he called his people, fashioning for them a place from which they might behold the vast breadth of creation and record its countless happenings. To sustain and defend this sanctuary, Fintan set his Great Spikard at its heart, its power flowing outward to nourish and guard the Realm. To his chief servant he entrusted the keeping of the Spikard’s might. Yet as his visions deepened and the weight of fate pressed upon him, Fintan’s labors ceased, and in haste he turned to scribe all that he beheld of the days yet to come, driven by an urgency none could comprehend.
In the wide lands of Shadow, Abaddon’s longing for Cygnius grew ever more consuming, and with it, his desperation. For he desired not only her surpassing beauty, but believed that by claiming her, he would gain sway over the hearts of the Vanyrie and rise above them all. Yet Cygnius would not yield to him. Hrolleif, fiercest among the Vanyrie, stood forth and warned Abaddon to abandon his pursuit, or face the fury of the Wolf. Abaddon, black with wrath at this affront, concealed his anger behind dark smiles, but in secret he plotted vengeance. And so it was that during one of the great feasts of the Vanyrie, as merriment and song filled the halls, Abaddon struck with treachery. He laid poison upon the cup of Hrolleif, and the venom worked its wicked course. Hrolleif was seized by an uncontrollable madness, his mind unmoored, his hunger for violence unending. Only Cygnius, with her gentle voice and healing presence, could soothe his wild fits and hold back disaster. Yet the strain was great, and as the rages returned again and again, Cygnius was forced to pour forth much of herself to keep the Wolf from bringing ruin upon them all.
In a season of uneasy peace, Abaddon once more approached Cygnius in secret, pleading for her hand. Yet again she denied him, for she saw the peril of his desire and knew the burden she bore in calming the fury of Hrolleif. Wise was she, knowing that her grace belonged not to one alone, but to all her brethren. At this, Abaddon’s rage flared to a blinding fury; his wrath, long smothered, now burned unrestrained. In his anger he struck at the weary Cygnius, and with a single fell blow, he slew her - fairest and most beloved of the Vanyrie. But when the deed was done, dread and shame warred with his malice, though never did his heart turn from its selfish cruelty. Instead, he sought to hide his crime beneath a veil of lies. He sent forth his servants across the many Shadows, weaving falsehoods and planting deceptions, that blame for Cygnius' death might fall upon others among the Vanyrie, and his treachery remain hidden.
When word of Cygnius’ death spread, sorrow fell upon all the Vanyrie, for she had been the bond that held them close, beloved by each in their own way. But none was stricken as Hrolleif, whose soul was torn asunder by grief. In the fury of his anguish, he fell into a storm of madness and violence, striking out against his brethren without reason or restraint. So sudden and terrible was his wrath that the Vanyrie were scattered like leaves before a tempest, fleeing his ungoverned might. And in the wake of this chaos, Abaddon’s falsehoods took root. The Vanyrie, now bereft of Cygnius’ guiding voice, fell to bitter strife, each accusing the others of her murder. Trust was broken, and none would yield to the pleas of their kin. Thus were they sundered into warring factions, and so was kindled the War of the Vanyrie, a conflict destined to darken all the Realms.
Through the gathering storm, Serpent held his own counsel, choosing for a time to stand apart from the fury that engulfed his kin. Patient and watchful, he let the tides of war surge and break, studying the course of events as one who peers into the shifting depths of a hidden sea. Though he withdrew from open strife, he maintained quiet discourse with many, yet most often with Abaddon, whose ambitions he foresaw, and with Unicorn, whose fate he knew would be tightly woven into the fabric of the conflict and the long shadows that would follow. Thus did Serpent weave his quiet web, preparing for the days yet to come, while others waged war.
Maahes, swift to seize the moment, gathered his hosts with great haste and fell upon his brethren with sudden might. In the first onslaughts, his strength prevailed, and many of the Vanyrie were driven back before his blade. Territory and dominion he claimed, expanding his sway across the Realms. Yet his ambition outpaced his wisdom; pressing his conquests too far, he found himself beset on many fronts, and with no steadfast allies to aid him, his advance faltered and slowed. Meanwhile, the madness of Hrolleif raged unchecked. In his fury, he struck at any who crossed his path, caring not for sides nor cause, and many of the Vanyrie’s servants fell beneath his wrath, their households scattered like chaff. And ever did Abaddon, veiled in shadow, continue his work of treachery, whispering falsehoods and planting seeds of suspicion among his kin. Thus did their hearts harden against one another, and hope of peace grew dim, lost beneath the weight of deceit and bloodshed.
Seeking to widen his dominion, Maahes turned his gaze upon Tauron, who until that hour had remained apart from the strife of his brethren. Long did Tauron endure in patience, but when at last roused, his wrath was like the breaking of mountains. In his rising, Unicorn stood beside him, and even Abaddon lent his aid, for he feared that Maahes, if left unchecked, might grow too powerful to oppose. Thus did Tauron march forth, and the hosts of Maahes, stretched thin across many fronts, could not withstand his fury. One by one, Maahes’ strongholds fell, and his power waned. Yet Maahes, proud beyond yielding, would not bend the knee nor sue for peace. And so, at the last, Tauron faced him in single combat beneath the shadow of his final bastion. The battle was fierce and long, but Tauron’s strength proved the greater, and he struck Maahes down, ending his quest for dominion and casting his pride into dust.
From afar, Serpent beheld the fall of Maahes, and in his watching, his keen mind perceived also the dark threads of Abaddon's treachery. Though Abaddon was mightiest in raw power, Serpent knew him for what he was - the most craven of the Vanyrie, cloaked in ambition and deceit. Yet Serpent’s cunning was deep, and he turned Abaddon’s own craft against him. With subtle words and whispered lies, Serpent sowed dissension among the Vanyrie, turning their hearts against Abaddon. Thus rebellion stirred, and in the wars that followed, much of what Abaddon had won through falsehood was torn from his grasp. For a time his power diminished, and his dominion withered. But none fully understood the hidden strength Abaddon yet held in secret. At length, driven to madness and fury, Abaddon cast aside all pretense. With venomous rage, he denounced his kin as unworthy stewards of creation and declared himself Emperor of the Vanyrie. Then did he loose the full measure of his long-hoarded might, summoning dread forces from his secret vaults. It seemed as though he would not rest until all his brethren were cast down and the Vanyrie broken utterly beneath his wrath.
But Serpent, who ever weighed the balance of power, beheld the might of Tauron in his conquest over Maahes, and he grew wary. For should Tauron be granted time to regain his full strength, none might stand against him. Therefore, while Tauron was yet weary from his great labors, Serpent moved swiftly and struck without warning. With cunning and precision he overcame Tauron, whose wearied might could not withstand the sudden assault. And so Serpent bound him and carried him away in secret, concealing him within the hidden depths of the Realm of Prisons - a place warded beyond the reach of all but the most ancient powers. There, beneath the watch of the tireless Sentinels, whose strength was forged for such a purpose, Tauron was held fast, his wrath sealed away from the world.
In time, Artio and Centaurus, discerning rightly that Fintan held knowledge of the true slayer of Cygnius, set forth to seek him and demand the truth. But Fintan, hidden deep within the Realm of Knowledge, eluded all their searching. So they turned instead to Watatsumi, for he alone was closest in counsel to Fintan and might reveal his dwelling. Yet Watatsumi, steadfast and wise, warned them sternly against pressing Fintan, whose burdens were great and whose foresight lay beyond their understanding. Artio, proud and fierce, took his words as insult, and strife was kindled between them.
Now Watatsumi, of all the Vanyrie, bore a rare balance of might in both body and mind, and they had found him within his own dominion, where his power was strongest. Seeing the peril, Centaurus summoned Bennu in haste while Artio and Watatsumi clashed. The Bear fought with legendary endurance, but Watatsumi, master of ancient warcraft and primal sorcery, matched her blow for blow, his strength redoubled by the might of his realm. At length, he overcame Artio and stood victorious, yet he would not slay his sister, for his honor was without blemish.
Then Bennu arrived, and fearing for Artio’s life, he joined with Centaurus in desperate haste. Together they struck Watatsumi a mighty blow, sudden and unforeseen. And by strange chance - whether fate or folly none could say - Watatsumi fell, slain. Great was Bennu’s grief, for he knew Watatsumi to be among the noblest of their kind.
Now Fintan, who had long watched the ruin of his brethren from the hidden fastness of his Realm of Knowledge, returned at last. Though he had held himself apart from the war, favoring neither side - for he foresaw the long weaving of fate - yet the death of Watatsumi drew him forth. At the place of his fallen friend, Artio and Centaurus confronted him, demanding that he speak of what he knew concerning the slaying of Cygnius and the true cause of the Vanyrie’s war. Bennu too joined their plea, learning that Fintan might hold the truth of the murder in his keeping.
But Fintan would not yield. With grave voice he rebuked them, saying that in their rash and unjust slaying of Watatsumi they had forfeited all right to such knowledge. Yet within his heart he knew also that the course of these events had long been written in the deep scrolls of destiny. At his refusal, wrath overcame Artio and Centaurus, and they fell upon him. Fintan, unskilled in the arts of war and far from his Great Spikard, was swiftly overpowered. In her fury, Artio struck the fatal blow.
As Fintan lay dying, with his last breath he fulfilled the purpose that had ever awaited him. He spoke the truth at last: that it was Abaddon who had murdered Cygnius and cast the first shadow upon their fellowship. At this revelation, Bennu stood silent, struck dumb with grief, his soul overwhelmed by the bitter knowledge that their long war had been born of Abaddon’s dark and selfish will. In his sorrow, Bennu withdrew from the strife, seeking counsel only with Macha, that he might ponder the path ahead.
Yet even in her wrath, Artio’s hunger for knowledge remained unquenched. Against the counsel of Centaurus, who would not abide such a deed, she consumed both the body and the mind of fallen Fintan, seeking to seize his vast wisdom for herself. But in so doing, she was assailed by the terrible weight of truth - the full measure of Abaddon’s deceit and the ruin it had wrought upon them all. Overwhelmed by this flood of knowledge, her mind was broken, and madness took hold of her utterly.
Driven by her consuming rage, Artio cast aside all reason and hurled herself against Abaddon, vowing his destruction. But though her fury burned like wildfire, her madness left her unguarded, and Abaddon, still the mightier, withstood her assault. He cast her down in defeat and took her captive. In his cruel hands she suffered greatly, tormented by his dark servants. So grievous was her torment that her form was diminished, her essence weakened and torn, until at last her being faded from Reality, lost to the world of the Vanyrie.
With Artio fallen into shadow, Bennu turned his thoughts to Tauron, and in his searching he uncovered Serpent’s treachery - the secret imprisonment of the Bull God. Filled with righteous fury, Bennu came before Serpent and demanded that Tauron be set free from his hidden gaol. But Serpent, steadfast in his cunning, would not yield. Thus was war kindled between them. Both were yet strong, their might largely unspent in the long conflict that had consumed the others, and for long they contended, each striking with power that shook the very foundations of Reality. Yet neither could claim victory, and the struggle ended in stalemate. From that bitter contest there grew a deep and abiding hatred between Bennu and Serpent, a shadow that would linger upon them through all the ages to come.
At length it became clear that Hrolleif’s wild and ungoverned fury could no longer be suffered, lest all be consumed by his endless wrath. Therefore, Unicorn and Macha joined their powers to Centaurus, lending him strength to face the raging Wolf. Long did Centaurus battle his kinsman, for many days and nights beneath the turning heavens they contended, and the ground trembled beneath their blows. At last, though wearied beyond measure, Centaurus overcame Hrolleif, yet in mercy he would not slay him. Instead, as Serpent had done with Tauron, he bound Hrolleif and cast him into the Realm of Prisons, where his wrath would bring no further harm.
But Centaurus, spent from his mighty labor, was left weakened and vulnerable. Seeing his chance, Serpent came upon him in secret. With a venomous bite he struck, and Centaurus fell into a deep and unending slumber. And so Serpent bound yet another of his brethren, sealing Centaurus too within the Realm of Prisons, where to this day he lies sleeping beneath its ancient wards.
Beholding the ruin and desolation that had come upon his brethren, and knowing from Fintan’s final words the dark root of their strife, Bennu laid the greatest blame upon Abaddon, the Scorpion Lord, as the true architect of their doom. With all his might he rose against him, and Macha, though greatly wearied from her labors in the struggle against Hrolleif, lent to Bennu the fullness of her remaining sorcery. Thus armed, Bennu struck at Abaddon in his weakened state, and a terrible battle was joined.
Yet even as Bennu pressed his assault, Macha, drained of her last strength, faded from existence, her light passing from the world. But Bennu, unyielding, overcame Abaddon at last, casting him down and binding him. He hurled Abaddon and his servants into the Abyss, there to lie in unending slumber, held fast so long as Bennu, Unicorn, and Serpent wielded power over Reality.
Now only these three remained among the living Vanyrie, standing alone within the turbulent Shadows of Chaos. And as the others fell or were lost, a portion of their essence was drawn into the three survivors, raising them to even greater majesty - though their might was bound to the absence of their fallen kin, and diminished should any of the lost ones ever rise again.
Then Bennu, his power now ascendant, turned his gaze back to the ancient wellspring - the source of all, the Primal Chaos from which all things had first been wrought. With the might that now lay within him, he clove a vast portion from the heart of Chaos itself, sundering it from its boundless sea. And as these splinters of Primal Chaos were cast across the infinite Shadows, some realms were shattered utterly, while others were imbued with strange and terrible strength.
Bennu, merging his essence with the portion of Chaos he had seized, wove a great and secret work. Drawing upon this new well of power, he carved a fragment of Reality away from the endless weave of Shadow, shaping it into a realm apart. By what art or design this was achieved, none but Bennu may say, for the knowledge was his alone. None may pass between this new realm and the greater Reality save by his will, or by his hand.
And so did Bennu collapse the stolen Shadows into new form, and from the ruin and the raw stuff of Chaos he forged a realm unlike any before: he named it Eä.
And the Serpent and the Unicorn beheld the great work that Bennu had wrought, seeing how he had merged his being with a fragment of Primal Chaos to fashion his own dominion. Fearing that the balance of Reality might shatter beneath such strain, they set their wills to a mighty labor, striving together to establish a new bastion of order within the unraveling void. Thus were the Courts of Chaos born - a vast and shifting realm, raised in defiance of the tumults left in the wake of the War of the Vanyrie and Bennu’s great sundering.
Yet even with the founding of the Courts, the wounds dealt to Reality sent tremors into every far corner. Chaos surged and recoiled, and the remnants of order clung to what ground remained. The Courts brought a measure of stability, yet beyond their borders the wild storms of Chaos howled unrestrained. The dwelling places of the Vanyrie dwindled, shrinking into fading isles amid the great tempest, as the power of the fallen was dispersed or drawn into new vessels.
But along the fringes of the Courts, where Chaos and order mingled, strange new life began to stir. With the secret aid of the Serpent and the Unicorn, the first shape-changers came into being - creatures of many forms, able to mold their substance at will. And thus were the Courts of Chaos peopled with myriad beings, each bearing the gift of shifting shape, their forms as fluid as the Chaos from which they were born.
Long ages rolled onward, and of Bennu there was no word or sign. The other Old Gods were fallen: some slain, some faded into the mists of oblivion, and others bound in prisons from which none might escape. In time, even the bond between the Serpent and the Unicorn, once strong in their labors, grew strained and withered, until division crept between them. Yet within the Courts of Chaos, life endured. The shape-shifters, children of that strange mingling of order and disorder, began to favor a single form among many - that which in later days would be called the form of man. Yet countless other shapes remained, and many beings preserved their ancient link to the Primal Forms of old, never fully forsaking the deep roots from which they had sprung. Thus, the Courts of Chaos remained a place of shifting marvels, where creatures of myriad visage walked beneath ever-changing skies.
The strained accord between the Serpent and the Unicorn unraveled further as the long ages passed. The Serpent, his ambition unquenched, yearned to bring all of Reality beneath his dominion, and to forge instruments by which his mastery might be made complete. So ancient had he grown, and so vast was his power, that a new and terrible vision took root in his mind. He conceived of The Logrus - a primal force, drawn from the very heart of Chaos, which might rival even the Great Spikard of Fintan.
With the aid of the most loyal of the High Lords of Chaos - many of whom perished in the perilous crafting - the Logrus was wrought: a seething, ever-shifting vortex, whose twisting strands never repeated the same form, a living maze of infinite transformation. Through the creation of the Logrus, the Serpent’s might waxed greatly, and with it, the very Courts of Chaos were reshaped anew beneath his hand.
But Unicorn, no less mighty for her countless eons of existence, would not abide this unchecked rise. She opposed the Serpent’s ambition, and thus was war once more kindled among the last of the Vanyrie, as ancient grievances flared anew beneath the unquiet heavens.
As the Patriarch paused, the Amberites and Corin struggled to restrain the flood of questions that pressed at the edges of their minds - but inevitably, the restraint failed.
Bannoq was the first to speak. “The conversation between the Unicorn and the Serpent - what was it about?”
The Patriarch answered without hesitation. “The Serpent was bidding his final farewell. He was expressing his regret for how fate had unfolded between them.”
He paused briefly, then recited the Serpent’s final words as he spoke over Corin’s unconscious form:
“Alas, my love, even in death you surpass me,” the Serpent had said. “I shall permit this one - and the others - to live. Your foresight has triumphed over the wrath of the Serpent. I will honor your faith in them, and in this one above all. I cannot deny your victory, nor your wisdom. But now, I must depart - for with your passing, my heart has perished also.”
Kyle frowned at the Serpent’s words concerning Corin, his expression darkening with unease. But setting the discomfort aside, he shifted the focus of questioning. “Tell me more about Oberon’s elder children,” he asked.
The Patriarch nodded solemnly. “Oberon was once a High Lord of Chaos,” he began. “Long ago, before the Pattern was scribed, he encountered a Lady of Chaos named Savik. Through her, he fathered two sons - Darrius and Marcus - and a daughter, Nimueh.”
The Patriarch paused for a moment before continuing. “I must admit, I cannot see all things in all places. Savik herself comes from a realm that lies beyond even my sight. She used her... feminine guile to seduce Oberon, though by all accounts, he came to truly love her.”
He went on. “When Dworkin scribed the Pattern and the great Wars between Order and Chaos erupted, Oberon - still residing in Chaos - was eventually imprisoned alongside his brother Joshua. It was during this turmoil that Savik vanished entirely, evading even my ability to track her.”
The Patriarch’s tone shifted slightly, growing heavier. “However, through our scrying, we later discovered that Savik bore two additional children by her eldest son, Darrius - Severin and Victor. These offspring came to our attention only after they traveled from their hidden home into the greater Reality that you now know.”
The Patriarch looked across the group. “All of these - Darrius, Marcus, Nimueh, Severin, and Victor - are the elder spawn of Oberon. And each of them is far older, far more ancient, than even Benedict.”
Corin raised the question that had been lingering in all their minds. “Will we need to unite both Chaos and Order to stand against the Old Gods? And... do we need Stålmannen’s help?”
The Patriarch paused before answering. “On that, I cannot say,” he admitted. “We have not observed enough of the sentient Blood Droid to make any meaningful assessment.”
Bannoq pressed the issue further. “Then what can you tell us of Stålmannen’s intentions?”
The Patriarch’s tone remained calm but cautious. “Very little, I’m afraid. Its development is proceeding at an exponential rate. Attempting to predict its behavior is nearly impossible at this stage. Since its traversal of the Pattern, it no longer requires its original Blood generator to sustain itself. It now moves through Shadow by sheer force of will, fully self-sufficient. Indeed, it has already discarded its generator entirely.”
He added, “We are aware that it has attempted to replicate itself - but has thus far failed. We do not believe it capable of succeeding in such replication, though it continues to try.”
The Patriarch’s gaze grew distant, contemplative. “What is certain is that it will not be long before Stålmannen evolves into something truly extraordinary. Its capacity for learning is unlike anything we have encountered. In time, it may exert an influence on Reality that is both great... and utterly unforeseen.”
Corin asked the question that loomed at the heart of all their fears. “How long do we have before the Old Gods return?”
The Patriarch shook his head slowly. “I cannot see the future. I do not know.” His voice remained steady, but the uncertainty beneath it was undeniable. “What I do know is this: with the death of the Unicorn, as the Serpent warned, the barriers that held the Old Gods at bay - whether by design or by circumstance - have begun to weaken.”
He continued, his tone becoming more reflective. “When each of the Old Gods faded or was imprisoned, portions of the power they once wielded were released, no longer bound to them directly. That power remained within Reality, accessible to those capable of drawing upon it. Over time, both the Serpent and the Unicorn absorbed much of this liberated force, elevating them to levels of potency far beyond what they would have otherwise attained - even greater, perhaps, than they or their brethren possessed when they first roamed Reality together.”
The Patriarch’s expression grew distant. “Greater in what precise ways, I do not know. But their continued existence stabilized Reality itself, reinforcing the rules that hold Shadow and substance together. Their presence maintained the barriers separating the Realms.”
He let the weight of the moment settle before speaking again. “Now, with the Unicorn’s death and the Serpent’s departure, the power they held has been released once more. And that energy will inevitably gravitate back toward its original sources - toward the Old Gods. Whether by design or by nature, their resurgence may follow as that power gathers anew. But how long that process will take, I cannot say.”
The Patriarch’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Understand this, however: I do not believe the imprisoned Old Gods can free themselves. The prisons were constructed to contain beings equal to themselves in might. Without external intervention, they cannot break their bonds.”
The discussion turned inevitably to Abaddon, whose shadow already seemed to be moving against them, drawing dangerous parallels with the Master of the Void. Kyle pressed further. “Are the elder spawn of Oberon attempting to free the Old Gods?”
The Patriarch shook his head. “I do not believe so. In truth, I doubt they are even aware of the existence of the Old Gods. Very few in the Reality that spans between Order and Chaos possess such knowledge.”
He paused, then offered further context. “Savik, their mother, was once closely tied to Oberon. She freed him from his imprisonment within Chaos, but at Dworkin’s urging, Oberon ultimately abandoned her. Though reluctant, he obeyed Dworkin’s counsel and left her behind.”
The Patriarch’s voice grew quieter, almost reflective. “Afterward, Savik returned to her place of origin - a realm even we cannot observe. Since then, though we have glimpsed them on rare occasions, it is clear that Savik and her children pursue their own designs, which appear centered on vengeance against Oberon and his bloodline.”
Bannoq shifted the focus. “Can you see into the Abyss?” he asked.
The Patriarch nodded slightly. “We can observe portions of it - but only the upper levels. The deeper realms lie beyond even our sight.”
Bannoq followed quickly. “Could that be where Savik originated?”
The Patriarch shook his head. “Unlikely. The Abyss is the domain of demons, and Savik is not of that kind. I can easily distinguish between a demon and a being of flesh and blood. Whatever realm she hails from, it is not the Abyss.”
Their questions turned briefly to Corwin. The Patriarch’s expression softened slightly, as though touched by a measure of sympathy. “Corwin’s condition is tragic,” he admitted. “But not beyond understanding.”
He continued, turning his attention to Dworkin. “For Dworkin, however, the burden of two Pattern imprints presents far less danger. His depth of knowledge and mastery far surpasses Corwin’s, granting him a mental structure strong enough to contain both without succumbing to madness.”
As for Corwin’s recovery, the Patriarch offered a measured assessment. “To heal him, one of two paths would be required: either the removal of one Pattern imprint entirely - or the infusion of sufficient power drawn from Chaos, to restore balance within his fractured spirit.”
Bannoq raised the next question. “What of the Black Unicorn? How much does she remember of what came before?”
The Patriarch’s response was measured. “I cannot say with certainty. But I believe she retains no memory of events prior to the split that created her. That knowledge, I suspect, was never transferred.”
Kyle followed up quickly. “Could the Black Unicorn take up the role of the Unicorn in the future? Could she serve as a successor?”
The Patriarch shook his head. “I do not believe so. Powerful though she may be, she lacks the accumulated essence and depth of the original Unicorn. I do not foresee her ever reaching the same level of being or influence.”
Bannoq shifted to one of the larger looming questions. “What happens if the two Patterns meet?”
The Patriarch paused, choosing his words carefully. “That lies beyond my sight. I am but a gatherer of knowledge - an observer. Beings such as the Patterns exist at a scale and complexity far beyond my ability to predict. But I do not believe they will ever truly merge. Instead, they will continue to draw toward each other, solidifying as twin poles of Order - bound in balance and mutual dependence to hold Chaos at bay.”
He continued, his tone steady. “The Primal Pattern of Amber has not been weakened by Corwin’s Pattern itself, but it has suffered from the loss of the Unicorn. Corwin’s Pattern, while a true Pattern, was never equal to the original - it lacks the same intrinsic strength. And the Black Unicorn, powerful as she is, cannot serve as the kind of sustaining icon that the Unicorn once was.”
The Patriarch’s gaze grew more serious. “Corwin, in his madness - burdened by the imprint of two Patterns - was unable to see these truths. But know this: attempting to erase or destroy Corwin’s Pattern would be reckless beyond measure. Such an act would likely prove fatal to any who attempted it.”
Their conversation briefly turned to Alesha - a magician of considerable power, yet still unaffiliated with either Order or Chaos. Her independence left her as a potential force whose allegiance could one day prove pivotal.
They also discussed the nature of the great powers themselves: how one could, in theory, both walk the Pattern and navigate the Logrus. There were no generational limits or inherent restrictions preventing such feats; access was determined by aptitude, will, and often perilous personal cost - not by lineage alone.
Their discussion shifted to William’s encounter within the Courts of Chaos - how he had been drawn toward the essence of Primal Chaos itself, and how the Logrus had reacted violently to stop him from reaching it.
The Patriarch offered clarification. “The Logrus is not merely a power - it is the child of the Serpent’s mind, born as both protector and guardian of Primal Chaos, which remains the very foundation of all Reality. It is deeply possessive of its connection to that primal source, fiercely guarding it against any who would approach.”
He continued, his voice measured. “Although the Logrus did not exist during the time of Bennu’s great act, I believe that - on some instinctive level - it feared a repetition of what Bennu accomplished: the splitting of Primal Chaos. Lacking full understanding of what such a second division might yield, the Logrus sought to prevent any possibility of a similar event occurring again.”
Their conversation drifted briefly to smaller, lingering matters. Corin asked about the Verdant Tree, seeking some explanation for its presence.
The Patriarch replied calmly, “It is an unforeseen Shadow - a link, however faint, to the Children of Savik. Its existence was not part of any design we have observed, but it connects nonetheless.”
He paused, his expression softening slightly as he added, “And I feel sorrow for Annael. His path has been long and cruel - more victim than villain, shaped by forces far beyond his choosing.”
Bannoq turned the conversation to the Alicorn. “What role does it play in all of this?”
The Patriarch’s voice carried a note of quiet gravity. “The Alicorn will have an important role in restoring balance to Reality - perhaps sooner than any of us would wish. It is fortunate that you did not bring it near the Great Spikard; that artifact would almost certainly have attempted to absorb its power.”
He paused, glancing toward the great gem far below. “Even here, I wield only limited control over the Great Spikard. It was Fintan’s gift, and it remains the very heart of the Realm of Knowledge. It must never leave this place.”
As for attunement to the Alicorn, the Patriarch grew more contemplative. “On that matter, I cannot offer certainty. The Alicorn is a new object - utterly unforeseen even to us. I would advise patience. In time, perhaps a willing god may serve as a guide to any who would seek to bond with it.”
He folded his hands before him. “We cannot see into the minds of others. But it is clear that Dworkin, long ago, was instructed by the Unicorn herself. Through that guidance, he was able to attune to the Jewel.”
Corin spoke quietly, the pieces falling more fully into place. “It’s clear now that Annael was never anything more than an unwitting pawn,” she said. “The elder spawn of Oberon used him - shaping him into a tool to serve their revenge against Oberon and against Amber itself.”
At last, Corin voiced a question that had long lingered unspoken. “Who is my father?”
The Patriarch answered without hesitation. “Merin of Chaos. Son of Dara and Corwin. How else did you imagine you were able to walk Corwin’s Pattern without resistance? You are of Corwin’s bloodline.”
He continued, clarifying further. “In truth, anyone may walk a Pattern - provided the Pattern itself grants permission. But for a direct descendant of the Pattern’s creator, permission is irrelevant. The Pattern cannot deny them access.”
The Patriarch’s tone grew more serious. “However, I strongly caution against walking a second Pattern. Without the extraordinary strength of mind and mastery that Dworkin possesses, none of you would survive such a burden intact. To attempt it would risk the same madness that overtook Corwin.”
They paused, wondering aloud how much time might have passed in Amber since their departure. The Patriarch responded calmly. “Time flows strangely in Undershadow. Its currents do not align neatly with the passage of time in Reality. We strive to keep the Realm of Knowledge broadly synchronized with Ygg as a point of reference, but perfect alignment is impossible.”
He gestured slightly, as if acknowledging an ancient limitation. “From here, we can only observe Reality - we cannot directly traverse it. Since the death of Fintan, the ability to move freely between this Realm and Reality has been lost. All access now requires passage through Undershadow.”
Their discussion turned to the powers wielded by the Children of Savik - how their abilities might differ from both the Logrus and the Patterns. The lingering question of the strange green tint to their power hovered uncomfortably over the conversation.
The Patriarch admitted his uncertainty. “I do not know the nature of their power,” he said. “The place they draw it from lies beyond my sight - as do the lower depths of the Abyss. Whatever force they command must originate from that hidden realm. Were it otherwise, we would have seen echoes of its presence across Reality.”
He grew more somber. “What gifts this unknown power bestows upon them, I cannot say. But I do fear it.”
At last, Corin raised the matter that had been quietly gnawing at her throughout. “And one final question,” she said, dryly but pointedly. “Can someone please explain what the f*** is going on with the hair on my chest?”