A Vision user was only half as powerful without their treasures. Even this fact was true for Morgan.
“Why is it separated from you if it’s your so-called ‘catalyst,’ your most important treasure?” Burn inquired, a hint of genuine curiosity lacing his tone.
Morgan shrugged. “Three years ago, after rlin stole my entire soul energy, Nemo teleported back here. I enchanted a command for her to return if I ever found myself in a pinch.”
Isaiah piped up, “When Nemo didst appear, I perceived it forthwith. As we didst agree, her visage doth signify mine obligation to remain here until thou grantest the safe signal. Safeguarding our cherished treasure hath beco mine utmost priority.”
He gestured, and a screen—a giant, transparent window—materialized in the high ceiling, revealing a giant crack stretching across the world of Netherre.
“Soon after, the rift did manifest in the void. I was compelled to bite mine tongue to refrain from investigating thyself, for I trusted surely that rlin, thou, or Master Vlad had all matters well in hand.”
“Yet, a re few hours hence, I received a telepathic transmission from Master Vlad. He found thee, unconscious in the frigid wilderness, whilst another assud the role of a most pleasing welcoming committee for those who erged from the breach,” Isaiah turned his gaze toward Burn.
“Well done, Sword of Arthur,” the dragon said.
Isaiah shook his head, anger simring just below the surface. “I was unaware, dear friend, that ’twas rlin who chose to unleash his chaos upon thee and precipitated all those calamities. Master Vlad, too, was yet in ignorance. Thus, we could but bide our ti until thou didst regain consciousness.”
“I should have cast aside all and rushed to inquire after thine welfare…”
“You did right, Isaiah,” Morgan said, her tone dripping with a mix of praise and irony. “That was the right course of action. Clearly, you’re not to bla for this entire disaster.”
Now that Burn had acquired the complete picture, he could understand why everything had spiraled into chaos in the first tiline. Ah, the joys of hindsight.
rlin’s action conveniently knocked Morgan out for a couple of years. In the interim, Burn took it upon himself to fend off the outsiders.
Three years later, Burn killed Yvain—sothing that was completely necessary in his eyes because Yvain himself refused to budge.
And let’s not be too hard on Vlad; he was kind of busy trying to save his church from mobs hell-bent on torching it, all while safeguarding his sensitive vampire community. And don’t forget, Morgan was tucked away in the church’s basent, dying too.
It was painfully evident that Vlad was preoccupied with the second prince of Wintersin’s little drama—pulled between keeping an army of God-worshiping vampires who were still hungry for blood in check and secretly guarding Morgan.
And after the delightful ss of three years caused by the outsiders, poor Vlad found himself utterly incapable of reaching out to rescue Yvain. Proving once again that sotis, even the saviors have their hands tied.
At the sa ti, because of their agreent, Isaiah was confined to the moon.
"One of the reasons you stayed here despite everything that happened in Netherre was not only to guard our treasures… but also to guard—"
The door to the chamber behind Mnemosyne’s Aeons cracked open, revealing a truly unnerving sight: a giant, lifeless body of a black dragon sprawled out in lazy repose.
If it could stand on its back feet, it could tower at a terrifying 100 feet from back foot to head—minus the tail, which could probably clear a small village. It looked like it had decided to take an extended power nap, blissfully unaware of its current predicant. Dead.
Its scales glistened darkly, hinting at an unsettling sheen, as if it had bathed in the essence of despair itself while soaking up bad dreams as a midnight snack.
The wings, folded like the curtains of a morbid theater, lood ominously beside it, while an expression that might have been regal if it weren't so deathly still creased its elongated snout.
While the body was undeniably devoid of life, it bore an unnerving freshness, as if it had been laid to rest just a heartbeat ago.
Perhaps it was simply on a long vacation from life, dying to reclaim its throne of nightmares. In this mont, it seed the dragon might just fly off to the next horror show—if it hadn’t already called it quits for good—
“My father, the Demon Lord,” Isaiah introduced, his voice heavy with gravity. “Nay, but a remnant of his once-mighty essence.”
This weighty truth was but half the rationale for his ceaseless vigil over the moon. It was the real reason he had to live here until today.
“Though his corporeal form no longer wields nace, it remains the vessel of a Demon Lord. To remove it from the planet, away from any source of mana and corruption, is the wisest course,” Morgan said.
“Fuck,” Burn muttered. “I wanna roast it for dinner.”
At that, Isaiah nearly choked on his own saliva, while a grin crept across Morgan’s face.
But lo, all these matters began to align within his understanding. The world had been thrown into chaos three years past, yet its descent had been a slow unraveling over the course of five centuries.
Still, there remained souls like Morgan, Vlad, and Isaiah, who bore the mantle of responsibility, endeavoring to nd the fraying seams of reality, bit by bit.
Until, alas… betrayal.
“I have heard that thou art in want of a blade,” Isaiah suddenly said with a smile.
Burn’s ears perked up.
“Verily, I possess a collection of fine swords from which to choose,” the dragon excitedly lured Burn to follow him, and he was baited like a little boy promised a trip to a brand-new toy store.
On the other hand, Morgan was left there, her face slowly frowning at the rift in the void over the world of Netherre. “Nemo,” she called her catalyst, prompting it to float to her. “Calculate this equation for .”
Mnemosyne’s Aeons started to glow, following Morgan’s orders.
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Lore!
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