Formenos
Chapter Twelve - Of Mirrors & Memory
The battle at Stålmannen’s towering Shadow domain had ended, the echoes of combat fading into silence as Joshua departed on his perilous journey into The Abyss. With the immediate threat vanquished, Kyle turned his attention to the place where the demon gate had once loomed. This gateway, now vanished without a trace, had inexplicably manifested in a Shadow Kyle knew to be under the absolute dominion of its creator, Stålmannen - a Shadow where no such anomaly should have occurred without its master’s knowledge or consent. Yet the gate was not merely closed or deactivated - it was gone in a way that defied examination. No residue lingered, no telltale distortion in the air, no ripples of magical energy. Only a hollow impression remained - an eerie void, a sense of wrongness in the very fabric of space where the gate had stood. It was as though its presence had leached substance from the Shadow itself.
Corin, sensing Kyle’s unease, joined him in the investigation and summoned her Logrus Sight, hoping to glean deeper truths from the metaphysical threads of reality. But she too was met with nothingness. The result was the same: complete absence, a finality that eluded even the probing tendrils of the Logrus. The sensation unsettled her. It reminded her of the Abyss - the same oppressive emptiness she had felt when standing near its edge. The parallel was more than coincidental. The gate hadn’t simply been removed; it had been eradicated in a manner evocative of the Abyss’s own unnatural void, leaving behind a psychic residue that could not be explained by any known power she understood.
This unsettling familiarity sparked a theory within Corin. She began to wonder whether The Abyss might be sustained or empowered by a primal force - a foundational wellspring of power akin in scale, though perhaps not in nature, to The Pattern and The Logrus. The Abyss had existed before Abaddon’s imprisonment, this much was known. But perhaps it was Abaddon’s presence, his corruption, or some transformation born of his essence, that had reshaped the Abyss into the dire and consuming power it now represented. The thought gnawed at her - a terrifying possibility that The Abyss was not merely a place of banishment, but a living, evolving entity nourished by ancient and corrupt energies.
Meanwhile, Kyle’s thoughts were turning inward, haunted by what he had seen. The appearance of Brand - his long-dead uncle, whose madness had once nearly brought about the unraveling of Reality - had shaken him. Though they had never met in life, Brand’s legacy loomed large in Kyle’s understanding of the great threats to existence. Now that legacy was no longer just a historical specter. Brand lived - or something wearing his face did - and Kyle could not ignore it. The need to understand who or what this figure truly was had become urgent. With Stålmannen preoccupied with matters of his own, Kyle proposed a return to Amber, where he might pore through the ancient archives, question those who had known Brand firsthand, and seek clues that could explain this disturbing reappearance.
Bannoq, however, chose a different path. Intrigued by their new ally and curious about the nature of this mechanised, gleaming Shadow, he elected to remain behind. His intent was to wander Stålmannen’s cityscape, to learn more about its technological marvels and unearth the truth behind the Blood Droids - those formidable constructs that had stood beside them in battle. Perhaps, he reasoned, knowledge of this place and its inhabitants would prove invaluable in the trials to come.
Bannoq, ever curious and wary of the strength displayed by the Blood Droids during the recent conflict, set out in search of a training facility - some kind of proving ground where he might better understand how these machines became such fearsome combatants. He wandered deeper into the heart of the city: a marvel of design and scale, dominated by impossibly tall, spire-like towers that stretched into the heavens. Sleek, metallic transports glided overhead on unknown missions, while ground-based droids zipped along polished streets at astonishing speed, their internal guidance systems allowing them to weave effortlessly around the Amberite without incident.
Now firmly within the city’s limits, Bannoq was struck by its sheer immensity. The urban sprawl seemed endless, with the horizon itself swallowed by the shimmering forest of spires. The architecture was uniform, each building sheathed in a matte argent finish that shimmered in the sunlight with an almost uncomfortable glare - an aesthetic that was both alien and strangely elegant. Failing to locate anything resembling a training ground, Bannoq shifted focus, reasoning that there must exist a facility where the Blood Droids were being designed, assembled, and refined. A place where their abilities were forged.
Without warning, a Blood Droid descended from the sky. It dropped at speed, only for retro-thrusters to fire in the final moments, allowing it to land gracefully in front of him. The droid stood tall, its silvery exterior catching the sunlight like burnished steel. It addressed Bannoq directly, asking what purpose he had in wandering the city. Bannoq, keeping his tone casual, explained that he was simply exploring. The droid noted that his companions were preparing to depart and politely suggested that Bannoq should do the same. But Bannoq was undeterred. He made it clear that he intended to see more of the city and assured the Blood Droid that he meant no harm.
The droid stood silent for a moment, unmoving. Then, with the unnerving stillness common to sentient machines, it stated that the city was not a tourist attraction, and repeated its question - what was Bannoq’s true purpose? Bannoq adjusted his stance, ready for trouble if it came, but kept his voice even. He explained that they were no longer strangers here, that an alliance had been forged with Stålmannen, and that mutual understanding required transparency. If the Amberites and the Droids were to fight alongside one another again, knowledge of each other's capabilities was essential. He sought only to observe, not to intrude.
The droid turned its gaze toward the recent battlefield where Stålmannen remained in discussion with the others, then back at Bannoq. After a pause, it nodded. “It has been agreed,” it said at last. “You may go where you wish.”
Moments later, an open-topped transport arrived - sleek and aerodynamic, humming with quiet power. Bannoq climbed aboard, and the vehicle surged into the air, with the Blood Droid flying in close formation beside it. Together, they traced a wide arc over the sprawling metropolis. The city, by Bannoq’s estimate, extended at least thirty miles in radius. Dozens - hundreds - of spires pierced the cloudline, the sky above impossibly clear and warm. The droid narrated as they flew, pointing out buildings and their respective purposes, though much of it was inscrutable to Bannoq. All around them, droids of varying sizes performed complex tasks with speed and precision.
Eventually, the droid gestured toward an unassuming building below. “You will likely find this the most relevant,” it said, and both transport and escort descended rapidly. The structure had a vast surface footprint - at least 100,000 square meters - and extended deep underground. Inside, the scale matched the city’s ambition: every corridor and doorway was built to accommodate creatures at least the size of a Blood Droid, perhaps more. Bannoq was guided through numerous passageways, up and down sloping halls, as they passed through a staggering series of workspaces and chambers.
All around them, he saw fragments of droid superstructure being fabricated, manipulated by robotic arms and specialist drones. Droids in various stages of assembly stood inert on platforms, awaiting final components or software integration. Yet what struck Bannoq most was the pace: this was no industrial conveyor belt akin to a Shadow Earth automobile plant. Instead, it was a painstaking and meticulous process. The construction of each Blood Droid was a feat of layered engineering and arcane refinement.
When Bannoq asked how many were completed daily, the Blood Droid replied that approximately twenty units reached full readiness each day, while many more remained in various stages of development. Bannoq inquired about casualties from the recent demon battle. The figure was sobering: losses numbered in the hundreds, and the extent of salvageable remains was still unknown.
In response to Bannoq’s questions about calibration and training, his guide explained that the mechanical and physical systems of the Blood Droids had been honed over centuries of experimentation and refinement, far from this Shadow. At this point, the designs were stable, and changes were incremental - focused on marginal improvements rather than revolutionary upgrades.
Bannoq was permitted to witness the final stage of a Blood Droid’s assembly. The unit before him was nearly complete, though its chassis lacked the finished silvery polish of an active combatant. Still, even unfinished, it radiated menace. The chaperone explained that once mechanical testing - limited to engine function, hydraulics, and basic targeting systems - was complete, the software would be installed. That final installation would render the unit fully operational and combat-ready.
The software itself, he learned, had its origins in the work of Annael - the original architect of the Blood Droids. Though improved and evolved by Stålmannen, the foundation remained Annael’s. The integration of Pattern insights, gleaned when Stålmannen walked the sacred design, had further refined the software’s capability. It was this union of programming, mechanical precision, and cosmic awareness that made the Blood Droids so formidable.
Bannoq raised a further question: were the Blood Droids capable of learning, or was their software static once deployed? The answer was both astonishing and deeply disquieting. Each Blood Droid was independent, capable of autonomous thought and decision-making. But they were also networked - permanently and instantaneously connected to one another. Anything one unit learned, all others would know. Experience, tactics, enemy weaknesses - all information was shared in real-time. It was a hive mind, constantly evolving. Only Stålmannen, their master and origin, remained outside the collective - his mind private, singular, and unknowable.
The implications settled heavily on Bannoq. These constructs were not mere soldiers; they were a unified, learning organism of metal and will. Thankfully, their reach appeared to be confined to a single Shadow - at least for now. There was no indication that their shared awareness could yet span the boundaries between realities.
With his mind full and his perspective expanded, Bannoq thanked his escort and returned to the location where he had left his companions. They were readying to depart. With no further reason to delay, Bannoq joined them. Together, they stepped through a Trump back to Amber. Kyle, however, had other plans. He intended to travel almost immediately to Terra Prime, speed up time as far as it would allow, and begin his research in earnest - seeking any scrap of truth that might unravel the mystery of Brand’s return.
Now back in Amber, Corin turned inward, seeking answers from the immense forces now housed within her. She had come into possession of three primal powers - The Pattern, The Logrus, and The Abiding Flame - each a manifestation of one of the ancient Old Gods, and each with a distinct origin and purpose. With careful focus, she began experimenting, attempting to call upon two of the powers simultaneously. Her goal was to identify commonalities, subtle harmonics or resonances that might suggest a deeper unity or a path toward their integration. But the attempt was sobering. While she could summon them, she could not harmonise them. The powers felt too foreign to one another - utterly incompatible, like water, fire, and stone unwilling to mix.
Though each of these forces defined Reality in its own way, Corin found no shared language between them. The Pattern pulsed with geometric order, the rigid lattice of structure and causality. The Logrus writhed with primal Chaos, fluid, unpredictable, alive. The Abiding Flame burned with creative fire - shaped, perhaps, but still inherently elemental. There were no threads she could see to weave these three together.
What struck her most, however, was her solitude in this effort. She alone among all known beings held all three powers in her small form. There were precedents for dual wielders: Dworkin had held both Pattern and Logrus, as had Oberon in all likelihood, and perhaps even some of his older children. But never had anyone mastered a third, let alone one forged in the divine forge of a god like Bennu. Corin’s path was wholly unique - unprecedented even among the First Powers. Yet it was clear: perhaps because two of these powers were still new to her, their natures had not yet fully unfolded. For now, she could only study and wait.
Meanwhile, having overheard Kyle’s plans to retreat to his technologically advanced Shadow, William stepped forward and asked to accompany him. His own objectives were clear. As a son of Bennu, he felt it was time to forge a weapon worthy of his lineage - one imbued not only with power but with identity, a blade that echoed his divine parentage. Armor, too, would follow in time, crafted with precision and enchanted to reflect his emerging stature in the world.
Kyle agreed without hesitation, seeing no reason to withhold the considerable resources of Terra Prime. The two of them made Trump contact, and moments later they stepped through to Kyle’s high-tech domain. Upon arrival, Kyle gave William unrestricted access to engineering workshops, advanced forges, and raw materials from every corner of the Shadow. While William began shaping steel and sorcery into a blade that would one day be spoken of in legend, Kyle turned his full attention to a different forge - that of knowledge. He immersed himself in research, combing every archive, system, and source he could find for any detail that might shed light on the mystery of his uncle Brand.
Back in Amber, Corin continued her quiet, tireless study of the vast forces she now wielded. Her attention turned to the third and most recent addition to her arsenal of powers. While she had long been a master of the Logrus, and had spent some time familiarising herself with the intricacies of the Pattern, it was The Abiding Flame - bestowed upon her by the divine entity Bennu - that remained the most enigmatic. Determined to understand how, if at all, these three cosmic forces might relate to one another, she began a series of structured meditations and metaphysical experiments. Could they be brought to bear together? Was there overlap in their nature or purpose? Could their interplay unlock deeper truths - perhaps even grant her access to other primal energies or hidden realms, like the elusive Mirror Realm?
With scholarly rigour, Corin explored what she knew. The Logrus, she understood intimately. Born of the Serpent, it had been shaped from the raw substance of Primal Chaos, drawn into form by the collective will of the Serpent’s children - those who would become the Lords and Ladies of the Courts of Chaos. It was a thing of writhing potential, chaotic yet sentient, a force that demanded constant will to master. The Pattern, by contrast, had emerged from the Eye of the Serpent - better known as the Jewel of Judgement - under the guidance and vision of the Unicorn. Where the Logrus was shifting and alive, the Pattern was absolute: an immovable lattice of structure, clarity, and fate.
And yet, despite their linked origin in the Serpent, Corin could detect no true commonality between the Logrus and the Pattern. The sense was more than academic - it was visceral. The two forces not only opposed one another in principle; they seemed inherently incompatible, their natures so divergent as to defy synthesis. Every attempt to draw them close within her psyche was met with a deep, instinctive resistance, as if the universe itself recoiled at the idea of their unity.
She turned again to The Abiding Flame, and sought comparisons with the Pattern. At first glance, there appeared to be potential. Both were powers of structure - defined, ordered, intentional. Yet even here, the similarities proved superficial. The Flame lacked the crystalline inevitability of the Pattern. It pulsed instead with a deep, forging heat - a transformational essence. It was less a template and more a crucible. Corin found the connection too tenuous to pursue further.
Strangely, it was the Logrus and The Abiding Flame that seemed to share the greatest affinity. Not in purpose, but in origin. Both had been wrought from Primal Chaos, albeit through radically different methods and intents. Where the Serpent had pulled forth the Logrus as a living, shifting labyrinth of potential, Bennu had taken a massive portion of Chaos and slowly, deliberately bent it into something refined - structured, enduring, and imbued with his own divine will. Eons had passed in its creation. It was not merely a sculpting of power but a transformation through essence. And therein lay the warning: to attempt to blend the Logrus and The Abiding Flame now, after such labours, would be to risk undoing the ancient work of a god. Their mutual ancestry did not imply compatibility - only contrast.
In the end, Corin was forced to a sobering conclusion. These three powers - The Pattern, The Logrus, and The Abiding Flame - were far too distinct, too alien to one another, to be merged. They were elemental forces with their own laws, origins, and purposes. To force them into union would be to risk annihilation, not enlightenment. And yet, though they could not be fused, she sensed they might still be wielded in parallel. Each was powerful. Each was agile. And though their paths might diverge, perhaps they could be orchestrated, maneuvered in concert - not as one, but as three harmonised instruments in a greater symphony yet to be composed.
On Terra Prime, Kyle wasted no time accelerating the time dilation of his Shadow to its maximum - twenty-to-one - granting himself the equivalent of weeks in the span of a single Amber day. Immersed in this accelerated environment, he began his exhaustive research into the mysteries surrounding his enigmatic uncle, Brand. It was well established that both Amberites and Chaosians were capable of extraordinary Endurance - reserves of vitality far exceeding those of ordinary beings born of Shadow. Yet, by all accounts, Brand had not been especially notable in this regard. His true strength lay in his Psyche. Contemporary accounts suggested that his mental prowess was on par with Fiona’s, perhaps even rivalling it.
Despite pouring over every source available - archival records, personal testimonies, ancient documents, and every technological method of analysis at his disposal - Kyle found nothing new of substance. The known facts remained frustratingly static. Brand had always been volatile, perhaps unbalanced, and his descent into madness had only accelerated when he underwent the mysterious transformation into a Living Trump. There was no record of where that metamorphosis had occurred, or who, if anyone, had aided him. That void of knowledge gnawed at Kyle. It was as though Brand had stepped off the path of history and into myth.
Unable to unearth anything further through conventional means, Kyle turned instead to Trump Casting. He focused his will on the central question: How did Brand become a Living Trump? The casting, subtle and impressionistic as always, yielded a vision of four distinct powers converging in a single location. It was a fragmentary insight, but enough to confirm that the transformation had not been spontaneous - it had required an immense confluence of forces. Kyle attempted to probe further, to draw connections to the Spikards - those ancient, potent artifacts of power - but found no resonance. His Trump sense revealed nothing of them directly.
It was known, however, that Brand had once wielded a Spikard. Like Corwin, his Spikard had been transformed into a blade - Werewindle - thus severing its link to distant Shadow-based power sources. Unlike most Spikards, which drew energy from realms far afield, Werewindle had internalised its power, becoming a self-contained reservoir of magical might. Curiously, when Kyle had seen Brand at the demon gate, he had not been carrying the sword. Its absence was troubling. Where was Werewindle now? Could it still exist? Kyle briefly entertained the notion of crafting a Trump of the blade, but without a psychic impression of it, even his formidable Trump skills were insufficient for the task.
The final image revealed by his casting was of a fortress - monolithic and indistinct - yet radiating the unmistakable sense of convergence, as though the four mysterious powers had once come together there. This structure might be key to unlocking the truth of Brand’s transformation.
During these long days of research, William remained in Terra Prime as well, diligently working in Kyle’s industrial and arcane forges. He poured his focus into crafting a weapon worthy of his divine lineage, a blade imbued with the strength and character of a child of Bennu. It would soon be joined by equally distinguished armor - a full set befitting a warrior who stood on the threshold of cosmic war.
Eventually, weary from research and frustrated by the lack of definitive answers, Kyle resolved to consult the only being who might yet shed light on the mystery: Dworkin. He reached out via Trump, inviting the ancient sorcerer to join him for food and drink. But Dworkin declined to leave the Primal Pattern, citing duties too important to be set aside. Unbothered, Kyle prepared a generous hamper - laden with delicacies, strong spirits, and his usual attention to comfort - and stepped through to meet Dworkin directly.
Settling in near the glowing expanse of the Primal Pattern, Kyle posed his questions. He asked what Dworkin knew of Brand’s condition as a Living Trump. Dworkin admitted that the transformation bore resemblance to the function of Spikards - at least in effect, if not in form. He speculated that it may have involved one of the hidden sources that fuelled the Spikards themselves. These sources, he explained, predated even the Pattern and the Logrus, and were older than most records of power in the multiverse.
Dworkin elaborated. Spikards were both immensely powerful and inherently fragile. Their strength came from the ability to draw power from distant Shadows - anchoring themselves to external wellsprings of Reality. However, this dependency was also their vulnerability. A being with sufficient mastery of Shadow could sever that connection, rendering a Spikard inert. Most beings lacked this capacity, of course, which was what made the Spikards so dangerous - they multiplied magical power, facilitated the manipulation of Reality, and served as amplifiers of primal force. But against someone with true authority over Shadow, their weakness was glaring. It was the paradox of their design.
Perhaps, Dworkin mused, the fortress Kyle had seen was one such source - a place that fed the Spikards. Or perhaps it was a Spikard, crafted in a shape far removed from the jewellery and weapons they knew. But even he, with all his ancient knowledge, could not say how Brand had become what he now was. The power required for such a transformation was vast, likely unique, and fraught with peril. It had clearly driven Brand mad.
Kyle then relayed what they had seen at the demon gate: Brand, alive and seemingly whole. Dworkin’s expression darkened with concern. The implications were dire. If this was truly Brand, then Caine’s arrows had failed to kill him. Something in the Abyss must have intervened, preserving or perhaps remaking him. Worse, he had not yet succumbed to the Taint that seeped from that terrible place. Dworkin confirmed that Brand had not possessed Werewindle during the final battle of Patternfall, further deepening the mystery of its current whereabouts.
Back in Stålmannen’s gleaming, argent Shadow, Bannoq took the time to offer a final gesture of gratitude. He sought out Stålmannen personally, thanking him for his patience and the alliance they had forged in the battle against the demon incursion. Stålmannen, ever formal, returned the sentiment with equal gravity, expressing thanks to Bannoq and the other Amberites for their timely assistance.
As they parted ways, something curious occurred. Stålmannen, usually so precise and composed, faltered. He stumbled - ever so slightly - as though an internal system had momentarily failed. The moment was barely perceptible. The Pattern Droid righted itself almost instantly, freezing briefly before resuming motion as if nothing had happened. Bannoq, though alarmed, said nothing. But the seed of doubt had been planted. Could the machine be failing? Was Stålmannen - this construct of will and programming - beginning to break down?
There was no way to be certain. With no answers and no tools to diagnose such a being, Bannoq simply pulled out a Trump of Amber and stepped through, rejoining his companions and leaving behind the gleaming horizon of an uncertain ally.
Having come to the sobering conclusion that the three great powers she now wielded - the Pattern, the Logrus, and the Abiding Flame - could not be forced into union, Corin shifted her focus. If their integration was impossible, perhaps their individual insights might reveal another path. Her thoughts turned to a different mystery: the Mirror Realm. Long veiled in myth and speculation, it had recently become far more real - tangible even - through Kyle and Joshua’s earlier reconnaissance. They had reported on The Verdant Tree, a site steeped in emerald energy, deeply resonant with the same signature that had accompanied Annael’s strange escape. That encounter, too, had hinted at a connection with the Mirror Realm. Across these disparate moments, a recurring motif had emerged - vivid green energies, suggestive of an underlying power yet to be fully understood.
Despite meticulous examination, Corin had found no way to use her own powers to pierce the veil that separated the Primal Plane from the Mirror Realm. She had pushed each of her abilities to their limits, hoping that one might reveal a hidden passage, a resonance, or a thread to follow. But the result was the same: silence. Whatever barrier protected the Mirror Realm, it was beyond the reach of even her unprecedented combination of forces.
It was then that she recalled something Dworkin had once said. As the living embodiment of the Pattern itself, Dworkin theorised that he might be able to force a breach into the Mirror Realm - though such an act would come at great cost. The effort, he had warned, would be tremendously destructive, shattering the Shadow in which it occurred and potentially destabilising nearby realms as well. Still, if anyone could punch through the barrier by raw force of will and essence, it was Dworkin.
Acting on impulse, Corin reached for an ancient Trump - a rare depiction of Dworkin, crafted long ago and only granted to the most gifted students of Suhuy within the Courts of Chaos. A standard issue in form, perhaps, but not in function. It thrummed with age and memory. With practiced ease, she activated the card and initiated contact, hoping to speak with the one being whose connection to the Pattern might still unlock the path forward.
Dworkin was in high spirits, thoroughly enjoying Kyle’s generous hospitality - both the comforts of food and drink, and the rare pleasure of conversation with kin. When Corin arrived through Trump, he greeted her warmly and invited her to join them with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. Without delay, she raised the matter that had brought her to him: the Mirror Realm.
Once again, Dworkin confirmed his earlier assertion - he believed that, as the living embodiment of the Pattern, he might possess sufficient power to force open a passage into the Mirror Realm. However, he reiterated his grave warning: such an act would likely be catastrophically destructive, obliterating the Shadow in which the attempt was made and inflicting damage on adjacent realms. There had to be a better way, he mused aloud - one that did not involve detonating reality itself.
Kyle, deep in thought, offered a connection. He brought up The Verdant Tree - the strange nexus he and Joshua had previously discovered, which seemed suffused with energy strongly linked to the Mirror Realm. He reminded them of the time he had repaired a rent in reality, one created by the Golem, and speculated that perhaps this knowledge, when combined with what they now knew of the Tree, could offer a safer method of breaching the barrier to the Mirror Realm.
Corin then introduced another thread to the puzzle. She spoke of The Glazier - a name Dworkin did not recognize. Once the chief aid of the Goddess Macha, The Glazier had long faded into obscurity, possibly even myth. Corin explained her suspicion that he might still exist, perhaps trapped or dwelling within the Mirror Realm itself. They debated whether such a figure might be an ally or a threat, but Dworkin noted that Bennu had personally shared information about The Glazier with them - something he would not have done lightly if he believed the being to be dangerous. That alone was reason enough to pursue him. Corin then added that Bennu had passed her a psychic impression of The Glazier, a gift she now intended to put to use.
Elsewhere on Terra Prime, William completed the forging of his new blade - a weapon worthy of his divine heritage - and initiated Trump contact with Kyle. Without delay, Kyle pulled him through to the Primal Pattern, where the others were gathered.
Corin transferred the psychic impression of The Glazier to Kyle, who spent the next several minutes drawing and enchanting a Trump from it. His craftsmanship was impeccable, his lines and focus honed by his extraordinary skill in his craft.
Meanwhile, Bannoq returned to Amber and found the others gone. He reached out via Trump and was soon pulled through to the Primal Pattern. Once there, he updated the group on what he had discovered during his extended stay in Stålmannen’s city. He described the Blood Droids’ hive-like learning capacity, how they shared knowledge instantaneously, and the potential implications of such a collective intelligence. But more worryingly, he spoke of Stålmannen himself. The great Pattern Droid, once the epitome of perfection and control, had suffered a momentary physical glitch - a stutter in his movement that hinted at internal failure. Bannoq had said nothing at the time, but the memory lingered. Something might be wrong.
As the group reassembled, Kyle considered reaching out to The Patriarch for counsel, but quickly dismissed the idea - Trump did not work across Realms, and his card remained inert. He tested Delwin’s Trump as well, and it too was unresponsive, suggesting that Delwin might be outside the bounds of their current Reality.
Together again, the companions revisited the questions that loomed largest. Chief among them was the reappearance of Brand. His current powers as a Living Trump did not appear to be a mere enhancement of Trump ability, but a wholly different phenomenon. Fiona and Bleys had long theorised that Brand’s transformation had birthed an entirely separate discipline - one that allowed him to travel instantaneously to any location he could envision, bypassing the constraints of traditional Trump entirely. His return posed a dire threat, and understanding his capabilities was paramount.
They also discussed the Spikards - those relics of unimaginable power - and the being encountered within The Verdant Tree, who apparently possessed three of them. They reflected on the vulnerability of Spikards to those with high mastery over Shadow, and how the Pattern Blades - Werewindle, Grayswandir, and Bleys’ sword - differed from Bannoq’s own blade, due to their origin as transformed Spikards rather than Pattern-forged weapons.
Kyle summarised the situation with clarity: there were now two major figures demanding their attention - Brand, newly returned and shrouded in uncertainty, and the mysterious figure at the Verdant Tree in Trebernaxus. Corin added a third name to the list: The Glazier. If he was truly Macha’s chief servant, he might possess knowledge of the Mirror Realm that no one else could provide. Kyle agreed and resolved to attempt Trump contact, not to engage directly, but to observe - quietly and cautiously.
Expecting failure, believing that The Glazier would likely reside within the inaccessible Mirror Realm, they were astonished when the Trump activated. The connection held. Through Kyle’s Trump-induced vision, they watched The Glazier moving through a bustling market street in a clean, orderly Shadow that resembled a Victorian Steampunk version of 19th-century Earth. The air was crisp, the streets bright and well-kept, and the people numerous and courteous. The Glazier moved with familiarity, visiting various shops, often greeted with recognition and warmth by the locals. Kyle took a psychic impression of the Shadow and stored it, confirming it existed in a place balanced precariously between Order and Chaos.
They observed for the better part of an hour. As the afternoon gave way to evening, The Glazier continued his rounds - serene, measured, fully integrated into his environment. As they watched, Kyle created multiple fully functional Trumps of The Glazier, distributing them among the group for future use.
While the others remained fixated on this new development, Bannoq took a brief detour. He Trumped back to Amber to visit Annael. Upon arrival, he found the guards outside Annael’s room still alert and professional, straightening as Bannoq approached. He knocked, and from within came the familiar sardonic invitation: “Enter.”
Annael was seated comfortably in an armchair, book in hand. Bannoq asked whether he was comfortable and being treated well. Annael confirmed that he was, even noting that Alesha had kept him company now and then, and she too seemed well. The unexpected kindness of Bannoq’s visit seemed to catch him off guard. Despite his usual barbed remarks - most aimed at Benedict, Bannoq’s father - he offered a genuine thanks.
Bannoq pressed the conversation further. Would Benedict’s death truly bring Annael peace? Annael replied that it would, though he couldn’t know for sure until it was done. They spoke of contingencies - what would happen if Annael failed, or if he was killed in the attempt. What would become of Alesha then? There was a moment of doubt, quickly masked by Annael’s returning conviction that justice - his version of it - must still be done.
The visit ended with mutual courtesy, and Bannoq Trumped back to the Primal Pattern, rejoining his companions as the next steps of their journey loomed.
Back at the Primal Pattern, the group concluded their observation of The Glazier. They watched as he returned to a large, elegant townhouse - clearly his residence - on a gaslit street now cloaked in night. The market crowd had thinned, and soft golden light from ornate lamps glinted off polished cobblestones. Their impressions were unanimous: The Glazier was no ordinary being. His aura pulsed with unmistakable weight - an authentic, ancient presence - and within him resonated a Primal Power unlike any they had previously encountered. It echoed the energy they had sensed at the Verdant Tree, though not identically. The flavour was distinct - possibly a sibling essence, drawn from the same primal source but shaped along a different path.
Cautious of the unknown, they agreed that a direct Trump contact would be unwise. They opted instead for a more diplomatic approach. They would Trump into a nearby side street, within the same Shadow, and send William ahead as their emissary. Among them, he was the most neutral - empathetic, approachable, and least likely to provoke suspicion. If anyone could establish peaceful contact, it was William.
They briefed him thoroughly before departure. He needed to understand who The Glazier was believed to be - the former chief aide to the faded Goddess Macha, and one of the few beings who might hold insight into the Mirror Realm. William’s task was clear: approach with humility, seek dialogue, establish rapport, and - if welcomed - pave the way for the others to follow.
They Trumped into the Shadow, choosing a quiet, lantern-lit street just off the main road leading to The Glazier’s home. Kyle maintained a steady connection to William through his Trump, ready to pull him out at the first sign of trouble.
William approached alone. The street was immaculate, its ironwork gas lamps glinting like polished silver. The area exuded Victorian precision - clean, ordered, and subtly enchanted. While not densely populated, people were still out and about: ordinary humans, it seemed, though this close to the midpoint between Chaos and Order, nothing could be assumed. To avoid any impression of threat, William left his weapon with Kyle.
He stepped up to a stately front door - heavy wood with gleaming brass fittings - and rang the bell. A smartly dressed, middle-aged woman opened it and, after a brief exchange, escorted him into a finely appointed study. Leather armchairs, an ornate desk, and an array of mirrors adorned the walls, catching and refracting the warm light with curious effect.
A few minutes later, a middle-aged man entered - his thick salt-and-pepper hair immaculately cut, his bearing composed. William greeted him cordially, but there was caution in The Glazier’s eyes. He remained impassive and deliberately kept distance. William, guided by whispered Trump suggestions from Kyle and Corin, seated himself calmly, raised his hands in a gesture of openness, and smiled disarmingly. The Glazier took his place behind the desk.
Kyle, still observing from afar, used his Pattern Sight to scan the room. The Glazier was already drawing on power - not aggressively, but as a matter of caution.
William wasted no time. He told The Glazier that he had come to learn whether he possessed the power to ward against Abyssal Taint. He explained that he was an emissary of Lord Bennu and that Bennu had spoken of The Glazier as Macha’s most trusted aid. At this, The Glazier’s composure faltered. The name struck deep. Surprise flickered across his features, followed by a stunned silence.
Apologising for his bluntness, William reiterated his purpose. The Glazier, regaining his balance, asked what manner of being William was. “A son of Bennu,” came the calm reply.
The Glazier rose, crossed to a drinks cabinet, and poured two measures of amber liquor. He handed one to William and sat again, studying him. When asked why he had come, William explained: they were seeking allies - beings capable of resisting the Taint of the Abyss and prepared for the coming war. He spoke of the Old Gods, of Abaddon’s feared return, and the battles that had already begun. The names William invoked clearly struck a chord. The Glazier’s expression grew dark.
He repeated: “An emissary of Bennu… the coward.” William, unfazed, asked why he used that word. The Glazier, with bitter precision, explained that Macha might never have faded had Bennu not fled in the aftermath of Abaddon’s overthrow. William offered his condolences but pointed out that he had not existed during those ancient days. He explained that it was Bennu who had directed them to seek out The Glazier, following an attack by Mirror-Wraiths - an event they now understood to be of existential significance.
The Glazier nodded slowly. It was true - very few in existence even knew of him. That Bennu did, and had sent emissaries, was a powerful gesture. He asked again about William’s companions. William explained they were from both Amber and Chaos. Would he like to meet them? The Glazier demurred. Not yet. He could already sense their presence nearby. With quiet frankness, he admitted that few could send Mirror-Wraiths, and he was one of them. The others remained within the Mirror Realm. He wondered aloud what the Amberites had done to provoke such attention.
Prompted by Corin and Kyle, William shared what they knew: there was a connection between the royal family of Amber and the Shroudlings. Oberon’s first wife had been one. That legacy still echoed.
The Glazier nodded and, gesturing to a nearby mirror, passed his hand over it. “A curious way to travel,” he murmured cryptically. Kyle, observing through Trump, focused his Pattern Lens on the action. He saw power at work - arcane and subtle - but could not determine its nature.
Kyle prompted William to reassure The Glazier. They had been watching not out of suspicion, but out of care for William’s safety. He was their envoy into unknown waters. William relayed this, and The Glazier, after a pause, inclined his head slightly in understanding.
With the moment feeling more secure, William accepted his companions through the Trump. Kyle, Corin, and Bannoq appeared in the study. The Glazier acknowledged their diplomatic courtesy and even thanked them for sending the most inoffensive among them as a first gesture. It had not gone unnoticed.
They explained their purpose in more detail. Kyle spoke of the growing threat from the Abyss, and of Brand’s alarming return. They had come in search of allies, particularly those who might aid in exploring or resisting the Taint of the Abyss. They also sought insight into the Mirror Realm and its inhabitants - knowledge they lacked, but desperately needed.
The Glazier admitted he had not returned to the Mirror Realm in a very long time. It had likely changed in ways he could not anticipate. He, too, was disturbed by the mention of Abaddon. He had believed the dark god destroyed, cast into the Abyss forever.
After studying Corin with growing interest, The Glazier addressed her directly. “A child of the Serpent,” he said quietly. Corin nodded, explaining that the Serpent had departed Reality after the death of the Unicorn. The Unicorn’s essence, she explained, was now dispersed across all of existence. She also mentioned that its mark had been passed on to another - one who might one day reconstitute that lost power. She spoke, too, of the imprisoned Old Gods. Their bindings were weakening. Any knowledge of their current condition would be invaluable. Finally, she reiterated the Verdant Tree’s suspected connection to the Mirror Realm.
The Glazier was unfamiliar with Trebernaxus, but he knew of Savik, her offspring, and the denizens of the Mirror Realm. He clarified, however, that the Abyss was beyond his reach - only Macha had ever possessed power great enough to stand against it. Still, he conceded that he might be able to help them access the Mirror Realm - if it served his interests. They had taken him by surprise. He needed time to consider.
Kyle nodded. He produced a Trump of William and handed it over. “When you are ready,” he said, “you may contact us through this.” The Glazier tested it and confirmed the psychic connection.
Before leaving, Corin remarked that they could not presume to judge the actions of the Old Gods, responding to another pointed comment from The Glazier about “Bennu the coward.” But The Glazier remained resolute. He had witnessed those ancient events firsthand. Their understanding was, at best, second- or third-hand legend.
With farewells exchanged, the group withdrew via Trump, returning to Amber beneath The Glazier’s keen and contemplative gaze.
Once back, they reflected on what they had learned. Kyle was less than impressed - he felt their progress had been minimal. Corin, however, was more patient. They had established peaceful contact, and The Glazier now possessed a Trump of William. That alone was a victory. He had said he would reach out. Now they had only to wait.
They found Benedict on the castle walls, surrounded by a small cadre of guards and engineers, engaged in a detailed discussion about the ongoing renovations and improvements to the castle’s defensive systems. When the group relayed their encounter with The Glazier, Benedict listened attentively and appeared pleased. He considered it a promising development, particularly intrigued by the suggestion that The Glazier might be one of the oldest beings still in existence - possibly even older than Dworkin. If he truly remembered events from the age of the Old Gods firsthand, then his age would be beyond ancient. That alone made him a potentially invaluable ally.
Still, there were curious details. Bannoq voiced one of them: it seemed strange that The Glazier appeared to know nothing about Trump. They speculated this could be due to the nature of his powers - perhaps his mastery over mirrors rendered Trump unnecessary. For The Glazier, every mirror was a potential gateway, a portal from one reflective surface to another. Such innate capabilities might have made the pursuit of Trump irrelevant. They also wondered how he had known that the rest of the group was present in his Shadow while he was only speaking with William. It likely had something to do with whatever subtle action he had performed on the mirror embedded in his desk. Regardless, one conclusion was now certain: The Glazier could not help them combat the Taint of the Abyss. Only Macha might have possessed such power. Still, Benedict was satisfied that The Glazier could become a strong ally, and that in itself was a meaningful gain.
Turning the discussion to the subject of Abyssal Taint, they considered alternative methods of purging or resisting its corrupting influence. Bennu had suggested that he might possess the ability to cleanse it. Walking the Pattern was another possibility. Benedict, however, was highly sceptical about the Logrus as a viable option. He noted that surely many had tried that route already, given the proximity of the Abyss to the Courts. If the Logrus were truly effective, its power as a cure would have been widely known by now. He did agree that walking the Pattern was far more plausible as a solution - especially given what he understood of the experience. To walk the Pattern was to be torn apart and rebuilt anew, both physically and metaphysically. It was a crucible of annihilation and reformation, and such a journey might very well purge even the deepest of Taints.
With these considerations behind them, they returned to their next major objective: the Shadow of Trebernaxus. The group agreed it was time to revisit the Verdant Tree and investigate the Spriggan-like figure they had once encountered there. That being, radiating powerful green energy and wielding what appeared to be three Spikards, remained their strongest lead on a possible inhabitant of - or connection to - the Mirror Realm.
However, before they departed, Kyle chose to visit Annael once more. They knew - though he might not - he had almost certainly come into contact with energies or agents of the Mirror Realm during his long exile. Kyle opened the conversation by asking Annael if he had ever heard of Trebernaxus. Annael replied that he had not. Kyle pressed further, asking if, during the long years he had spent wandering the Shadows after his first escape from Amber - amid all the strange magics and encounters - he had ever seen or used magic that manifested with flashes of green energy. This triggered a memory. Annael recalled a time, long ago, when he had met a group of magicians in a remote Shadow. They had sold him a kind of enchanted dust, designed to enhance magical travel. It had worked well, but he had eventually run out. All his efforts to replicate its effects had failed. As for the magician who gave it to him, he remembered little - just that he had paid dearly for the powder.
Before departing, Kyle asked if Annael was being treated well. Once again, Annael expressed a kind of baffled amusement. Kyle was now the second person to ask such a question - as if he were not a prisoner. Still, he confirmed that he was comfortable and lacked for nothing. Kyle stated plainly that they wished for Annael to become an ally. Annael replied that he held no particular grudge against anyone outside the bloodline of Cymnea. As Kyle made ready to leave, he warned Annael of the threat posed by Mirror-Wraiths. While Annael himself had not yet been attacked, the danger was very real. Kyle told him he would station a sorcerer nearby as a precaution. Annael nodded, genuinely grateful.
Reunited once more in Amber, the companions gathered to review what they knew of Trebernaxus. Benedict had long advocated for the Shadow’s inclusion in the Golden Circle, which would make travel to and from the region more efficient and less risky. It had been Kyle and Joshua who first visited Trebernaxus at Benedict’s request. Their investigation of a peculiar church had led them to the Verdant Tree, a place of deep spiritual resonance. There, Joshua had encountered a demon. Though the two had exchanged words, Joshua had refused to engage or offer any kind of assistance. The real revelation, however, was the Spriggan-like being - an entity of immense magical presence that appeared to command three Spikards. The sight of its green-flamed magic had driven them to retreat rather than confront such overwhelming power. The link to Savik, and through her to the Mirror Realm, seemed more than speculative.
Now, with more context, more caution, and greater resolve, they agreed it was time to return.
Kyle prepared a fully rendered Trump of the Shadow of Trebernaxus, anchoring it just outside the walled capital city, close to where the Verdant Tree had once stood. Upon completing the Trump, he opened a visual link and carefully scanned the area for any signs of disruption or irregularity - anything to suggest Spikard activity or lingering power - but saw nothing. With no immediate threats apparent, the group stepped through together, materialising just beyond the city gates.
As they arrived, Kyle and Corin immediately activated their respective sensory abilities - Kyle employing his Pattern Lens and Corin her Logrus sight - each scanning for the telltale energy signatures of Spikard-derived power lines. Their goal was clear: if such power connections existed, they intended to neutralise them before any confrontation could occur. Yet, they detected nothing. No energy lines, no magical threads to disrupt. Still, the tension remained.
Bannoq voiced concern. If their aim was to speak with the Spriggan-like entity - and possibly form an alliance - was it wise to pre-emptively shut down its source of power? Such an act could provoke hostility before words were even exchanged. However, both Kyle and Corin stood firm. They understood all too well the peril of confronting a being empowered by three Spikards. The threat was simply too great to leave such power unchecked. Besides, Kyle reminded them that the last time he and Joshua had approached the being, it had launched an immediate attack, without provocation.
They resolved to follow the same strategy they had used with The Glazier. One of them would make the approach, while the others held back, ready to observe and intervene if necessary. Should it turn hostile again, and should Spikard power lines manifest, they would act to sever the Shadow from its external power sources. Yet even with a plan, unease remained. The proximity of Trebernaxus to Amber meant altering the fabric of the Shadow quickly - on the fly - might prove difficult, even for the most adept among them.
Before they could move further, the ground beneath their feet trembled violently. A low rumble echoed from the city’s flank, lasting nearly ten seconds. A minor earthquake, perhaps? All eyes turned toward Corin, who immediately cast forth a wide net of Logrus Tendrils, allowing them to slither outward through Shadow, seeking the origin of the tremor. Within moments, her tendrils located the disturbance. It had occurred on the far side of the city, near the Verdant Tree - and more troubling still, they detected several figures now fleeing the scene at speed.
The group moved quickly, circling the city’s perimeter in haste. As they neared the source, a great tree came into view, seated in a wide dell dotted with smaller buildings between it and the capital’s main gates. As they drew closer, a wave of humanity surged toward the same point - locals abandoning their homes and rushing toward the tree. The party blended into the flow, careful not to draw attention.
When they reached the site, they were met with devastation. The Verdant Tree - once a towering, sacred symbol - had been cleaved straight down the middle. Both halves now lay sprawled on the ground, collapsed and lifeless. As the first locals arrived, many fell to their knees or collapsed entirely, stunned into catatonia. Others screamed and fled into the nearby woods, overcome by grief or madness. From the broken trunk, smoke or perhaps steam rose into the air, its curling tendrils adding an eerie stillness to the chaos.
Those citizens who retained their composure desperately sought answers. They called out, questioning whether anyone had seen what had happened, though most responses were babbled fragments of fear. Amid the confusion, a few coherent details emerged: a group of four individuals had been seen leaving the area moments before the tree split. They had worn cloaks and hoods, obscuring their features, and moved with urgent purpose.
Kyle studied the ruined tree with his Pattern Lens, probing for signs of magical tampering or lingering power. To his surprise, there was nothing - no residual magic, no energy trails. The damage appeared physical, not metaphysical. They continued speaking with nearby witnesses, trying to gather clearer information, but the picture remained murky. Then they noticed something else: a ritual circle carved into the turf around the tree. Strange sigils and symbols had been etched into the ground, forming a wide arc around the now-ruined trunk. None among them recognised the markings.
The scene had shifted from a diplomatic mission to something darker. The Verdant Tree - their only known link to the Mirror Realm - had been destroyed, and someone had gone to great lengths to conceal their involvement. A new mystery was unfolding before them, one rooted in ancient powers and darker agendas.
Bannoq was the first to act, launching into pursuit with a Power Word Burst of Speed. William responded instantly, shape-shifting to extend his stride, scooping Corin into his arms and accelerating after him. Kyle followed, not far behind, pushing his limits, but quickly fell behind. The locals - initially stirred by the spectacle - tried to keep pace, but were quickly outdistanced and soon gave up the chase.
Minutes later, the trio spotted four hooded figures moving along a hillside off to their left. Adjusting course to intercept, they spread out as they approached, reverting to normal size and speed to better control their encounter. Bannoq, in the lead, slowed his pace as he drew near, closing the final distance cautiously.
The cloaked figures halted. As Bannoq came within fifty feet, one lifted an arm, unleashing a torrent of wild energy that detonated against the ground nearby, blasting a crater and showering Bannoq with dirt and sod. The other three drew their blades, while the spellcaster barked instructions to "prepare the gateway."
Bannoq remained calm, calling out, asking where they were from. His question was met only with a silent charge from one of the sword-wielders. Bannoq braced himself, ready to counter with a sudden burst of speed and strength, and launched a kick at his attacker’s chest - only to be surprised. His opponent was faster than expected, ducking low and sliding forward, delivering a brutal kick to Bannoq’s thigh that sent him tumbling. Regaining his footing, Bannoq exchanged a glance with William - concerned recognition passing between them - and readied for a more serious fight.
Bannoq summoned his Pattern Blade just in time to meet the flurry of strikes from his assailant. Their blades clashed in a blur of steel, parries and ripostes traded with blistering speed. Bannoq quickly realised this opponent was alarmingly skilled - possibly surpassing even Corwin in sheer finesse. William, meanwhile, managed to Trump in Kyle before his own opponent closed the gap. His weapon morphed from his belt into a long pike in response to the enemy's spear. The clash began in earnest, William landing an early probing strike that forced his opponent back - surprised, but more cautious now.
As Kyle stepped through the Trump contact, he quickly assessed the battlefield and launched a potent Mental Paralysis spell - targeting William’s foe. But something unprecedented occurred. With the briefest wave of a hand, William’s attacker appeared to reflect the spell back onto Kyle, striking him fully and freezing him in place, utterly vulnerable.
Recognising the threat and seizing the brief opening, William pressed the offensive and delivered a deep gash to his opponent’s shoulder, staggering the man and drawing a cry of pain. William didn’t relent, following up with relentless strikes. Above the fray, Corin took to the air, empowered by Logrus magic and clad in her Logrus-summoned armour, evading the enemy paired with William’s attacker. She summoned multiple Logrus Tendrils, aiming to overwhelm all their foes and shift the tide.
Corin targeted a third assailant descending the hill, but he conjured tendrils of his own. A vicious struggle of primal magic erupted midair. Corin’s Logrus mastery gave her the edge, her tendrils overwhelming and consuming her opponent’s.
Then the sorcerer at the hilltop raised his staff and unleashed a beam of light energy directly at Corin. The bar of light linked to her Logrus shield, funnelling raw energy against her defences. Her armour flickered through danger hues, the shield’s stability faltering under the pressure.
Watching Kyle fall prey to his own spell, Bannoq avoided Power Words. Instead, he channelled the abilities of his Pattern Blade, using its psychic and prescient feedback to gain an edge. The blade whispered intent and motion, helping him anticipate his attacker’s movements by fractions of seconds. But his opponent mirrored the same technique. Their duel intensified, evenly matched in speed, skill, and quality of arms. Bannoq suspected the man might hold a slight edge in swordplay, but Bannoq possessed greater raw strength. Their advantages balanced, the fight became a test of endurance and tactics.
Strategically, Bannoq began manoeuvring his fight closer to William’s, remembering that target switching had disrupted their last foes - the Mirror-Wraiths. Perhaps this tactic would work again.
Meanwhile, William’s opponent, clearly on the defensive and bleeding, unleashed a Power Word, surging with speed and catching William with a slicing blow that cut across his cheek and ear. Blood flew, and William faltered, now the one on the defensive. Calling upon his weapon’s inner power, he ignited it in white flame, shifting its form into a blade. Using its semi-sentient insight, William waited for a committed strike, then executed a sudden riposte - driving the blade through his enemy’s upper arm. The man screamed in pain, but countered instinctively, landing a punishing uppercut that sent William tumbling. Clutching his bleeding limb, the wounded enemy turned and fled toward the summit.
Corin, meanwhile, saw her Logrus shield buckling. Drawing deeper into her Primal Chaos reserves, she supercharged her tendrils with raw chaotic force, sending them streaking toward the sorcerer. He tried to defend, creating his own tendrils and abandoning the light beam attack, which instantly vanished. But his defences were overwhelmed - his tendrils turning to ash in midair as they grappled Corin’s. In panic, he stabbed his staff into the ground, invoking Mirror Realm power. A translucent mirror surface flared into existence before him as he screamed a name - “Marcus!” Corin’s empowered tendrils struck him in the back just as the mirror-gate stabilised. He collapsed, vomiting and convulsing, half-conscious, yet his gate remained.
With Kyle’s paralysis beginning to fade and William down, Bannoq landed a strike that cut into his opponent’s arm. Though the blade met quality armour and the wound was shallow, the impact caused a small explosion of fire - Blood reacting to Pattern. The cry of pain was unmistakable. Believing his foe to have Chaos affinities, Bannoq risked a Chaos-disrupting Power Word, counting on his resistance to protect him from a potential rebound. The spell struck true, stunning the attacker long enough for Bannoq to land another hit. Another burst of blood and flame erupted, but still the man fought on.
Now furious, Bannoq’s opponent backed off, composed himself, then charged again, wounds smouldering. Meanwhile, William struggled to his feet. Corin’s shield stabilised. Kyle fully recovered from the paralysis and rejoined the fight. The momentum shifted. William’s attacker fled toward the summit, and Corin’s attacker, now overwhelmed, began to retreat. William turned to aid Bannoq, as did Corin. But at the top of the hill, something new emerged.
From the mirror gate - a figure stepped through. Tall. Pulsing with power.
The moment Marcus stepped through the mirror-like gate, both Kyle and Corin saw them - multiple distinct lines of power flaring into existence, radiating from the rings on the newcomer’s fingers. They were unmistakably the marks of Spikards. Marcus brought his hands together with impossible speed, and the very earth responded. A shockwave, both physical and magical, erupted outward in a terrifying surge, rolling across the landscape with crushing force and deadly speed.
The wave struck Corin’s attacker first, then Bannoq’s, but it did not harm them - it parted around their forms as though intentionally avoiding allies, reforming in their wake before continuing onward. Bannoq, attempting to leap over the surging terrain, would have succeeded - had it only been a physical effect. But an accompanying invisible wave of force hit him in mid-air, flinging him thirty feet or so backward. He slammed into the ground with brutal impact, arcs of electricity rippling across his armour. His body convulsed uncontrollably, cries of pain torn from him as power surged and danced across his frame.
Corin, still airborne and protected by her Logrus shield, weathered the wave, though her defences flared through several stages of depletion once more - less dramatic than the earlier light-beam assault, but draining her nonetheless. Below, the wave rolled toward William and Kyle. William stepped forward, calling upon his inner strength. His voice rang out in solemn words of Power - an invocation of purity and authority that sanctified the space around him. The wave met his sanctified aura and split, shearing off to either side. Though William was pushed back slightly, his invocation drained the wave’s force into a bubble of calm. Minor arcs of energy snapped across the edge, but the worst of the impact was nullified. Still, William was left drained, knees wobbling as he fought to stay upright.
Marcus moved swiftly, reaching down to grab the injured sorcerer. It was clear - the enemy was preparing to retreat. But Kyle had other plans. Broadening his Trump awareness, he scanned the area and sensed that all but Marcus carried Trump decks. With surgical precision, he willed their Trumps to unravel. In an instant, all enemy decks detonated.
The Trumps worn by Bannoq and William’s retreating opponents exploded at their waists, sending both men sprawling. Their enchanted armour protected them from lethal damage, but the force was significant. The sorcerer’s Trumps - still fastened to his belt - exploded as well, and the blast left him unconscious, bleeding and motionless. Corin’s attacker, unfortunately for him, had kept his Trumps in a chest pocket. The resulting explosion obliterated his torso. He collapsed in a heap, unmoving.
Marcus barked an order to the surviving attackers - “Take Severin!” - and they moved quickly to collect the unconscious sorcerer. But Marcus wasn’t finished. Raising his arms, he uttered a summoning phrase. From the open mirror portal, two enormous figures emerged - mirror-like armoured constructs, gleaming and deadly. Towering at over twelve feet, they were fully armed and radiated menace. But they were clearly not Mirror-Wraiths. They were soldiers - purpose-built and filled with lethal intent.
Bannoq, still struggling to recover, drew on his armour’s healing capabilities to regain mobility. Kyle handed Grayswandir, Corwin’s Spikard derived Pattern blade, to William, while Corin descended briefly to envelop Kyle within her flight bubble, then lifted them both back to a safer aerial vantage point. From above, Kyle attempted to levitate one of the mirror constructs using his magical command over matter and forces - but the beings were simply too heavy, resisting his magic with sheer mass.
Corin, meanwhile, summoned the refined might of magical Prime. Combining it with her forces mastery, she launched bolts of potent electricity toward Marcus. The energy danced violently across an arcane shield surrounding him, forcing him into a defensive posture.
On the ground, William adjusted to his new blade - his own weapon morphing into a morning star - and charged the first construct. At the final moment, he dropped into a controlled slide, passing between the creature’s legs and striking out with both Grayswandir and his own weapon. Above him, the construct's axe slammed into the earth, narrowly missing. William’s strikes hit true, half-shattering one of the construct’s legs, causing it to collapse.
Bannoq intercepted the second construct. He rolled beneath its swinging arm, then sliced across the back of its knee. As it faltered, he delivered a Power Word Burst of Strength and followed through with a second slash, severing its wrist and sending its weapon tumbling.
As Bannoq and William dismantled the dangerous towering constructs, Kyle focused on drawing a Trump sketch of Marcus, even as Corin maintained pressure with her magical assault. But she felt it - the shift. Marcus was drawing deeply from his Spikards now. Power flared from his hands, his energy surging back against Corin’s attack, overwhelming her force bolt by bolt.
Realising the situation was escalating, Kyle halted his sketch, dropped back to the ground, and instead tried to seize control of the Shadow. If he could sever it from external Spikard power, Marcus’s advantage would be neutralised. For a moment, he felt traction - until he hit resistance. Marcus was countering him, contesting the Shadow itself.
Bannoq, seeing the magical struggle play out, hurled a rock with all his might, augmenting it with a Power Word. The stone struck Marcus’s shield and bounced off harmlessly. In response, Marcus enacted a complex feat of spellwork. He wove his own defence against Corin’s assault into a self-sustaining arcane structure - then redirected his focus entirely to contesting control of the Shadow.
Kyle had been making progress. But now, as Marcus concentrated his full power, the terrain shifted. Kyle felt his control slipping - his grip crushed beneath a the weight of an irresistible force. Desperate, he reached out via Trump to Fiona. No response.
With Marcus on the verge of seizing total control, Corin redirected her attention. She summoned Logrus Tendrils to surround Marcus’s bound spell and drain it from multiple angles, attempting to collapse its framework. But she could also see the bigger danger: if Marcus succeeded in taking the Shadow, they would all be at his mercy.
Out of options, Kyle turned to his final resort. He reached for Dworkin’s Trump and made the call. The contact was accepted instantly. Kyle pleaded for aid - and without hesitation, Dworkin stepped through.
There was a moment of absolute stillness - both physical and etheric - as Dworkin emerged onto the battlefield. Across the hilltop, recognition passed instantly and wordlessly between him and Marcus. The air vibrated with unspoken history, thick with tension. Whatever Marcus had been doing - his domination of the Shadow, his channelling of Spikard power - it paused. His effort ceased, if only briefly, and Kyle felt the weight lift just enough for him to push forward. He resumed his attempt to take control of the Shadow and began regaining ground.
Marcus let his arms fall to his sides. He made no aggressive move, yet Kyle could sense he wasn’t surrendering the contest entirely. Marcus was still holding something back, a quiet resistance that stalled Kyle from achieving full dominance. It was a standoff - but one now tilted.
Below, Bannoq and William continued dismantling the two mirror constructs with methodical precision. Though the constructs were undeniably formidable - engineered to be near-indestructible - the outcome had become inevitable. Blow by blow, the Amberites gained ground. Bannoq, seeing an opening, leapt onto his opponent’s collapsing frame, running up its extended arm and driving his Pattern blade down through its head, cleaving through its neck and deep into its core. The construct spasmed once, then dropped motionless to the ground.
William’s battle ended moments later. With a series of heavy, precise strikes, he shattered the last structural joints of the second construct, splintering its mirrored limbs into sparkling ruin. The foe fell apart under the weight of its own broken design. Both warriors turned uphill, blades drawn, eyes fixed on Marcus. Without a word, they began their ascent.
Corin descended from her aerial vantage, landing beside Kyle. Without hesitation, she extended her power to bolster his - feeding her Logrus-fueled might into his Pattern-guided grip on the Shadow. Together, their combined efforts surged forward. The balance shifted definitively.
Marcus took one step backward, then another. Without breaking eye contact with Dworkin, he retreated through the mirror-gate behind him. As his foot crossed the threshold, the portal shimmered - and blinked out of existence.
The moment it vanished, Kyle felt the resistance melt away. With a final push, he seized complete control of the Shadow. The battlefield stilled once more, the weight of Marcus's presence lifted. The air, crackling with conflict moments before, now hummed with the aftershocks of exerted power and the retreat of a formidable enemy.
In the silence that followed the battle, the group gathered around the fallen attacker - the only enemy combatant left behind. The atmosphere was heavy with both exhaustion and lingering tension, but the worst had passed. Their first words were of gratitude. They turned to Dworkin, thanking him for his timely arrival. He simply nodded, accepting their thanks with the faintest smile. It had been enough, it seemed, for him to appear. Marcus had recognized him instantly, and that recognition alone had changed the course of the encounter. His retreat had required no battle of wills - just the presence of a peer he had not expected to face.
They speculated among themselves about the identity of the enemy commander. The name Marcus had been called out, and the power he wielded could not be denied. They suspected the figure to be none other than Marcus, son of Oberon and Savik. Dworkin confirmed it. The tall, commanding stranger had indeed been Marcus - child of Oberon, and brother to Darrius and Nimueh. All three had been born in the Courts of Chaos, in the distant past, long before the Pattern was scribed. It was said that Savik, Oberon’s first consort, had also borne children to her eldest son, Darrius. If true, it was likely that the fallen sorcerer - Severin - was one of their offspring, as might be the other unnamed attackers.
The body before them was real - this was no conjured illusion or shadow projection. Yet none among them recognised the attacker’s face. Whatever Trumps he had carried were completely annihilated in Kyle’s counterattack, their remnants charred and unreadable. No sigils remained, no clues to his origin. Even Corin’s detailed inspection yielded nothing.
Dworkin studied the ruined remains for a long moment and then added a final piece of insight. As far as he knew, Marcus had once been a superb student of Trump - a practitioner of immense promise. He had likely been taught in the deep traditions of Chaos, perhaps by Suhuy himself or by another of the now-forgotten masters from the earliest days of Trump lore. Whether he had ever rivaled Kyle in technique, Dworkin couldn’t say. But Marcus had clearly been afforded a long lifetime to refine his knowledge, and from what they had seen, it seemed plausible that he had attempted to blend Trump with the powers of the Mirror Realm. A dangerous synthesis, if true.
Reflecting on the mirror-gate Severin had summoned, Dworkin seemed more convinced than ever that it might be possible to breach the Mirror Realm through force. His own power could likely create such a passage. But he warned again: the process would be profoundly disruptive. It should only be attempted far from the great centres of power - Amber, the Courts, or any vital strongholds. The risk of reality-shearing chaos was too great.
They speculated further. Marcus’s Spikards had clearly fuelled his power in Trebernaxus - but in the Mirror Realm, those same Spikards would likely be inert. Their strength derived from Shadow-based connections, and the Mirror Realm was no such place. That offered a sliver of hope should they meet Marcus in the Realm of Mirrors. Yet there was also fear: within the Mirror Realm, Marcus might command natural advantages of his own. It would be his home turf - his domain - and there, his power might be much greater.
With the battle concluded, they turned to stabilizing the Shadow of Trebernaxus. Though scarred by recent trauma - the destruction of the Verdant Tree and the surge of wild magic - the realm remained fundamentally intact. They began the subtle work of calming its essence and attuning it to the greater reality of Amber. These preliminary adjustments, guided by Kyle and Corin, would eventually allow the Shadow to be more easily integrated into the Golden Circle. With the Tree’s influence now removed, they hoped rational minds would soon rise to take charge of the region’s governance.
Their final evaluation of the fallen attacker confirmed several things. He had worn high-grade defensive garments and wielded quality weapons, both seemingly imbued with Chaos-based enchantments. However, beyond his equipment, there was little else of value on his person. What remained most remarkable was what could not be physically examined - the powers the enemy had demonstrated. Powers that clearly originated in the Mirror Realm. Most notably, the terrifying ability to reflect other magical or metaphysical forces back on their source. That, above all else, stood out as a signature trait of the mirror-born.
As the dust settled over the shattered hillside of Trebernaxus, the group gathered to discuss their next move. The options before them were stark: they could attempt to track their attackers into the Mirror Realm or descend into the Abyss to uncover its deepening mysteries. Both choices carried immense risk, and both were critical to understanding the rising tide of chaos. Though the mystery of the Spikards remained unresolved, their power lines had become untraceable now that the artifacts had exited the Shadow. The tools of power had gone dark, their influence slipping beyond Kyle's reach.
Given that Joshua was already focused on matters concerning the Abyss, the path forward became clear. Their primary task would now be to investigate the Mirror Realm - both to learn the nature of the powers being wielded against them, and to discover who truly stood behind Marcus and the other mirror-born attackers. There was also some consideration of returning to the Realm of Knowledge, to consult its vast records and insights for further clues.
Dworkin, having lingered long enough to ensure the Shadow’s stability, made his excuses. Before he left, Kyle stepped forward and handed him the finished Trump he had sketched of Marcus. Dworkin took the card with a solemn nod - there was no telling when it might be needed - and stepped away through Trump, returning to the Primal Pattern.
Kyle then reached out to Benedict, drawing him into the discussion via Trump. He brought the commander up to speed, detailing the events of the battle, the destruction of the Verdant Tree, and their confrontation with Marcus. Benedict was pleased to hear that Trebernaxus was now free of external influence. He agreed that the time was right to reassert order and said he would dispatch an ambassador to take up residence in the capital, laying the groundwork for the Shadow’s eventual inclusion in the Golden Circle.
It was then that Bannoq and William exchanged a glance - both of them uneasy. It wasn’t a warning per se, not the urgent alarm their blades typically gave in the face of imminent danger. Rather, it was an itch - a subtle tension vibrating along the edge of their perception, as though their weapons were aware of a potential threat that had not yet taken shape. They described the sensation to the others, who immediately began speculating on its cause.
Could it be the residual energies of the destroyed mirror constructs? A returning threat from the Shroudlings? Or perhaps something more mundane, like an approaching mob of disoriented locals, desperate for answers in the wake of the Verdant Tree’s collapse?
Bannoq, not content to leave anything to chance, strode over to the remains of the constructs and began smashing them further. Shards of mirror-like material splintered under his blade as he made absolutely certain they would not rise again.
Corin, never one to overlook utility in even the strangest forms, made a different suggestion. She offered to turn over the body of the fallen attacker to Stålmannen. If nothing else, his forensic capabilities might allow him to extract insights - or even harvest its blood for further analysis. Without hesitation, she slung the corpse over her shoulder, ready to transport it across Shadow.
Despite the uncertainty, they now had direction. The Mirror Realm awaited.
Yet even as they made plans and stabilized the Shadow, the strange sensation nagging at both Bannoq and William grew stronger. It wasn’t urgent danger - no alarm from their blades - but an intensifying itch of awareness, an intuitive pull. Their senses fixed on a small, hooded figure that had come into view, slowly shuffling through the encroaching evening gloom. The figure was headed - deliberately, it seemed - toward the very spot where the mirror-gate had once shimmered.
From a distance, they studied the lone traveller. Their enhanced vision confirmed it was a real, living being. More significantly, they sensed a faint but unmistakable connection to the Mirror Realm. The impression was faint, like the afterimage of a powerful source long dimmed, but it was there.
Bannoq moved to intercept, positioning himself well ahead of the figure’s trajectory. Corin dropped the corpse she had been carrying and followed close behind, while Kyle and William trailed, flanking her cautiously. As they approached, they continued to assess the figure. She was small and hunched - slightly built, no taller than five foot seven if she stood straight. In one hand, she carried a walking staff. The hand grasping it was delicate and feminine.
The figure halted about sixty feet from them and stood still. The unease Bannoq and William had been feeling only intensified. Then, from beneath the hood, a quiet female voice called out. “Let me pass,” she said simply.
Bannoq asked her where she was going. The reply was hesitant, but clear. “I am trying to find my way home.”
They offered to help, pressing gently for details - where was her home? Could they guide her? But she declined, her voice tinged with sorrow. “You cannot help me,” she said. “You do not have the ability to find it.”
Kyle stepped forward, asking gently, “Does your home have… many mirrors?” But the woman only repeated, more firmly, “I want to go home.”
Corin tried a different approach. “Tell us how we can help. What do you need?” The woman tilted her head slightly, and asked in return, “Who is your master? Who is your Lord or Lady?”
Corin replied, “I have no master.” But the woman responded with quiet certainty. “That is a lie. Every being has a Lord or Lady.”
Corin mentioned Suhuy of Chaos. But the woman did not know the name. “Then he cannot be a Master,” she said softly.
They asked if she knew Benedict of Amber. This name, too, seemed foreign to her. Confusion gathered in her posture, her voice.
They stepped back and spoke among themselves in hushed tones, pondering the ancient names of the Old Gods. Some had been known by animal forms - Abaddon as the Scorpion, Bennu as the Phoenix. Might the Unicorn or Serpent have true names as well?
At the mention of the Serpent, the hooded figure suddenly reacted, crying out: “Treachery! Opportunistic! Evil!” Her voice rang with pain and ancient fury.
They fell silent, turning back to her. Corin stepped forward and said, gently, “The Serpent is gone. It has left Reality. But I… I am linked to the Serpent. And also to the Unicorn.”
At the mention of the Unicorn, something changed. The woman straightened slightly. Her voice, though strained, was filled with yearning. “Where is the Lady Unicorn? Where is my sister?”
In that moment, Corin’s Logrus Tendrils returned from Shadow, carrying chilled drinks she had casually summoned earlier, before the stranger intrusion. She offered one to the woman, who accepted it with trembling hands. “I need to rest,” the woman murmured, and slumped to the ground.
Corin knelt beside her and, with care, began recounting the history of the Unicorn: the schism with the Serpent, the rise of the Pattern, the ancient struggles, and eventually, the Unicorn’s death and the dispersal of its essence. As Corin spoke, the woman wept softly, sipping her drink between murmured sobs. Her tears were not of this world - slow and heavy, filled with weight and memory.
Then, as though speaking to herself, the woman whispered fragments from a time long past. Words laced with grief. Names lost to history. And finally, one name rose clearly from her lips.
“Macha.”
Corin froze. The pieces clicked into place. The truth struck her like a thunderbolt.
This woman - this fragile figure, cloaked in sorrow - was Macha. The Goddess of Magic. Creator of the Mirror Realm. The Lost One who had faded after aiding Bennu in the fall of Abaddon… and who, somehow, had returned.
Corin leaned forward and embraced her tightly. Macha wept freely now, tears spilling into Corin’s shoulder, until at last she pulled away. With slow hands, she lowered her hood.
Her face was revealed - strikingly beautiful, though not in the way of softness or charm. Her features were sharp, elegant, timeless. Her skin was pale as moonlight, her hair raven-dark, and her eyes… her eyes were the most vivid blue any of them had ever seen. They shone with unfathomable depth, as though they held eons of time behind them.
She looked around briefly, taking in each of the Amberites, then without another word, lay down upon the earth and slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
With night drawing in and Macha deep in slumber, the group agreed to make camp. Kyle opened a Trump gate to Terra Prime, summoning a host of comforts through the portal. In short order, their makeshift site was transformed into a luxurious encampment: food and drink flowed freely, elegant tents were erected, plush seating and camp beds were arranged, and even chefs and guards arrived to provide security and service. The party settled into comfort, grateful for a moment of reprieve.
As they dined, Kyle requested updates on Random and Gerard. There had been no change in either’s condition. The question hung heavy in the air: how long might it take for Gerard to regrow or reconnect his spinal cord - even with the full resources of Kyle’s advanced technological Shadow? No one could say for certain.
Conversation turned to Macha. Now that she had returned, should they take her to the Primal Pattern to meet with Dworkin? They speculated on how she might react to the actions of the people from the Mirror Realm - her creations, in a sense. Yet none of them could say for sure whether she would approve or condemn their behaviour. Corin voiced particular caution. They needed to be careful not to overwhelm Macha with memories or revelations too quickly - not until they knew what her returning mind could endure.
There was also brief discussion about informing The Glazier. While he certainly had a right to know that Macha lived, they ultimately agreed to wait. The situation was still too delicate.
By morning, as the golden sun rose fully over the now peaceful Shadow of Trebernaxus, Macha emerged from her tent. She was transformed. Gone was the hunched, fragile figure from the night before. She stood tall now, graceful and serene, her back straight and her presence commanding.
Kyle approached with a respectful stride and offered her a courteous bow. “Good morning,” he said warmly.
Still somewhat disoriented, Macha looked around and asked where she was. Kyle explained gently that they were in a Shadow known as Trebernaxus and recounted how she had approached them following an altercation with emissaries from the Mirror Realm. Macha furrowed her brow at the terms. They sounded vaguely familiar, but clear understanding eluded her.
They told her who they believed she was: Macha, Goddess of Magic, sister to the Unicorn. At the mention of these names, something shifted behind her eyes. Recognition sparked, faint but real.
As they spoke, Macha sat and was served breakfast. She ate slowly, thoughtfully, listening and watching. She recalled Corin’s story from the night before - the tale of the Unicorn’s demise - and her expression clouded with sorrow.
Kyle showed her the reverse side of one of his Trumps. She stared at it with piercing focus before looking up and speaking with quiet certainty: “You are related to the Unicorn.”
Kyle acknowledged this, explaining that though the relation was distant, it existed - and the same was true for many of his family. Macha smiled, her expression suddenly younger, almost girlish. “Then you are my nephew,” she declared with a soft laugh.
Her gaze passed over each of them until it came to rest on William. “You are not of the Unicorn,” she said with certainty.
William replied simply, “I am a child of Bennu.”
The moment the name left his lips, Macha’s demeanor shifted again. Recognition flared. Tears welled in her eyes as she reached out and gently grasped William’s arm.
“My brother…” she whispered. “Bennu.”
“Is he still alive?”
William nodded. “Yes.”
Macha’s voice was breathless, filled with quiet joy. “Then I wish to see him… though not just yet. I am not ready for a long journey.” She paused, then asked, “And the others? My brothers… my sisters?”
They explained what they knew of the Old Gods - dividing them into categories: those who were active, dead, imprisoned, departed, forgotten. They shared what they had learned in the Realm of Knowledge.
Macha shook her head. “I do not know this Realm of Knowledge,” she admitted, “nor the Great Spikard.” But she did recognise the term Spikard itself. She had known them once, long ago.
When they spoke of Abaddon and Cygnus - particularly Abaddon - Macha’s eyes widened. She had believed him destroyed, cast down forever. They explained what they knew of the Abyss and the strange phenomena within. Their growing fear was that Abaddon had not perished… and that he was stirring once more.
Macha nodded slowly. “I need time to think,” she murmured. “I remember names… but not much else. Only feelings. Shadows of who they were.”
They asked her where she might wish to go next. She replied that she needed to relearn the shape of Reality, to understand the new order of things. A library, they suggested - someplace vast, filled with knowledge. Kyle offered to take her to his home Shadow, which was equipped with just such a library.
She agreed.
Kyle handed her a Trump of himself and explained how it worked. Macha examined the card with quiet reverence, as though she were holding a key to a forgotten world. Her fingers traced the etched lines carefully.
Gathering their belongings, the group travelled to Kyle’s high-tech Shadow - Terra Prime - bringing Macha with them. Once there, they settled her into a beautiful, tranquil apartment designed for comfort and dignity. Kyle ensured that everything she could possibly need was provided: attentive servants, fine furnishings, calming surroundings. But more importantly, he granted her full access to the digitised libraries of Terra Prime - comprising not only his own collected archives but also everything he had managed to acquire from Amber over the years.
Kyle gave instructions for every scrap of available material - historical, magical, philosophical - to be scanned and formatted digitally, making it accessible to Macha through the advanced systems of his Shadow. If knowledge was power, then Macha would want for nothing.
Later, they gathered and spoke openly to Macha, holding nothing back. They shared everything that had occurred since their journey to Malkeva, including even the darkest truths - such as Joshua’s deactivation of technology on Veddarth, Annael’s Shadow, which had led to the deaths of billions. Macha listened quietly, absorbing their words. Her expression remained composed, though shadowed by something deep and unreadable.
When she was left to settle in, the others convened in a nearby chamber, staying close but giving her space. Corin insisted that restoring Macha’s strength and memory must remain their highest priority. They returned again to the question of The Glazier. Should he be told? After some debate, they agreed that it was the right course. By informing him, and facilitating a reunion with Macha, they could place themselves clearly on the side of both parties - an alliance of old and new. Even if Macha’s memory did not return, The Glazier still possessed the knowledge and the power to access the Mirror Realm. Earning his goodwill now could prove crucial later.
William was tasked with initiating Trump contact. It didn’t take long. The Glazier responded swiftly - and was visibly intrigued by the experience of Trump itself. But his mood shifted the instant William explained whom they had found. The Glazier’s curiosity hardened into something else: disbelief laced with intensity.
“I must come to her at once,” he demanded.
Kyle quickly stepped in, taking over the Trump contact to ensure nothing of Trump power could be observed or exploited. Once satisfied, Kyle pulled The Glazier through.
The moment he arrived, Kyle made things clear. “She remembers little, almost nothing. Her mind is still fragile.”
But The Glazier didn’t care. He brushed past the warning and moved immediately toward Macha’s chambers. When he saw her, he stopped for only a second - and then rushed forward, falling to his knees before her.
Words poured from him - uncontrolled and raw. He spoke of sorrow, of devotion, of grief and unbearable longing. Macha, startled at first, seemed unsure… until a flicker of recognition passed across her face. Slowly, she reached out and pulled him to his feet. They embraced tightly.
Then, stepping back just enough to see each other fully, they began speaking in a language none of the Amberites recognised. It was old - very old - resonant with power and familiarity. They laughed. They cried. They touched each other’s hands and faces as though verifying memory against reality. And as they continued to speak, the change in Macha became unmistakable.
Her gaze grew sharper. More knowing. Awareness returned piece by piece.
Recognising the sanctity of the moment, the Amberites quietly withdrew. Kyle arranged for food and drink to be delivered to the chamber, ensuring the two could remain undisturbed. In a nearby room, they waited patiently. Kyle also ensured that their exchange was being recorded, hoping the private words between Goddess and Glazier might yield insight in time.
While they waited, Kyle worked. With deliberate care, he began crafting new Trump cards - detailed, powerful renderings of their newest acquaintance: Macha, the reborn Goddess of Magic.