Ahead of you looms the Grey Altar. The main doorway is a massive concrete square, nearly five hundred feet on each side. The Altar is strictly off-limits to everyone — even members of the Grey Court — with one exception: Yang Mills, who resides within its walls, said to be in eternal service to the Grey Mother.
The enormous door is slightly ajar. If you strain your ears, faint voices drift out from the depths. Heart pounding, you step closer and carefully peer inside.
Virelyon stands before a colossal woman — easily twenty feet tall, even seated. Her smooth, silvery hair falls over shoulders the color of pale ash. Lapis-hued eyes sweep the chamber with lazy indifference, and she is draped in black robes so deep they seem to swallow the light. In her right hand she cradles a large wooden tobacco pipe.
Virelyon, meanwhile, studies a stack of papers with intense focus. His own robes are equally rich: jet-black fabric trimmed with ornate gold at the collar, sleeves, and coattails. The only sound is the impatient tap of his foot as he pores over the documents.
The Grey Mother glances at him — half expecting him to speak, half resigned to his obliviousness. At last he looks up, catches her irritated gaze, and smirks, opening his mouth to speak —
But before he can utter a word, the doors on the far left slam open with a thunderous crack.
A figure strides in, clad in a sharp purple Mao suit and a blue theater mask. Mara.
Virelyon flinches. The Grey Mother's pipe slips from her fingers and clatters loudly on the stone floor.
"Afternoon, Virelyon," Mara says curtly, crossing the chamber with brisk, purposeful strides. He heads straight for a large wooden loom on the opposite wall and begins plucking strings from it, winding them into a ball.
"Mara! What brings you back so soon? It's unlike you to be… present." Virelyon watches him cautiously, shooting a quick glance at the Grey Mother.
"Just retrieving a few things I forgot on my last visit," Mara replies, still rummaging.
"No hello for me?" the Grey Mother coos, pouting faintly as she watches him scatter things across the floor.
"Oh — yes. Hello, Canus," Mara replies without looking up.
"You know, Virelyon is dreadful company. Even after all this time he hasn't improved. I do wish I could find a way to get you into a more talkative mood," she says with a sly smile.
"Now, now, Your Highness," Virelyon interjects with a dry laugh. "I think Mara is far too busy these days to waste time on idle chatter with the likes of us."
"I do admire a man with a hobby," Canus muses, watching Mara work. "But even hobbies have their limits. Speaking of which — why do you insist on wearing that hideous mask?"
"It keeps people guessing," Mara says, his voice tightening slightly.
"Why not take it off and try flirting for a change?" Canus teases smoothly.
"The mask is meant to be a silly caricature, not hideous. And Canus, I'm hardly motivated to make a spectacle of myself everywhere I go. I'm not seeking the female gaze. I have loftier ambitions."
"Loftier, is it?" Canus leans back, amusement dancing in her lapis eyes. "I had my suspicions. But now I'm even more convinced you prefer the company of men. Not exactly lofty, perhaps — but certainly brave." She shifts with a smug little grin.
"That's not —" Mara blurts.
"Oh dear, Mara," Virelyon chuckles. "Let's hope we can keep our relationship strictly professional."
"This is getting out of hand — I really ought to —"
"Yes, yes, Chairman Mara," Virelyon interrupts with a wry grin. "Keep your pants on. No need to prove anything to us."
"Fine." Mara exhales sharply, running a gloved hand over his mask. "I've got what I came for."
He leaves without another word.
The room sinks into heavy silence.
Far in the distance, Mara boards the Soul Train, suitcase in hand and a winter coat slung over one shoulder. The faint hiss of steam and the grinding of metal echo through the cold air.
"We shouldn't tease him so much," Virelyon says at last, his voice low and edged with something colder than irritation. "He's far too good at playing the part."
"Why? Is there something wrong with poking fun at the big man?" Canus asks lightly, relighting her pipe. A thin curl of smoke spirals upward.
"Yes," Virelyon replies, his tone sharpening. "It makes that reptile feel human — and I hate how much he enjoys the act."
"You don't think he'll ever let his guard down? Even if we get close?" Canus exhales slowly, her gaze fixed on him.
"No." His voice is hollow now, his brow deeply furrowed. "Nothing gets past Mara."
Canus sighs, shifting in her seat as her lapis eyes darken. "What happened all that time ago… it's still all you can think about, isn't it?" Her voice softens. "It's all I think about too. Living in this mad new world doesn't get any easier."
Virelyon's hands tighten into fists. "He's evil. Truly evil. And no one — no one — could have imagined what he'd do. He killed everyone. Everyone."
Mara walked the narrow corridor of the train, his masked gaze drifting curiously into each compartment as he passed. Eventually he spotted a young woman seated alone. Her form was faint, almost translucent — stitch marks traced her pale skin, and her limbs bent at unnatural angles.
"Hello, Clariee. Sorry to keep you waiting," Mara said, stepping inside. He slid into the seat across from her and unfolded the side table to set down a steaming cup of tea.
"That took longer than usual," Clariee said softly, her voice carrying an ethereal echo. "Did something happen?"
"I got sidetracked," Mara replied. He turned to gaze out the window, watching spectral scenery blur past.
"Something troubling you?" she asked, her tone almost tender.
"I may have given my old enemies too much trust," Mara murmured. "Too much freedom. More than is safe."
Clariee's expression hardened. "I never understood why you let them keep their memories. Why not simply turn them into puppets like the others? If they worry you now, we could kill them all and begin the zombification process sooner." Her words carried a quiet, murderous eagerness.
Mara shook his head. "I thought there might still be value in them — as gods, they may hold insights I lack. And…" He paused, fingers drumming the rim of his teacup. "There's a certain satisfaction in knowing they live with the memory of what happened. Watching them brainwashed into worshiping me blindly would have given me no pleasure at all. That's too easy."
Clariee smiled faintly, her mismatched eyes glinting. "Some things about you will never make sense to me — or to the others. But we're all ready to help when the time comes." Her smile widened, jagged and sweet. "You're our only friend, after all. We really do love you to bits and pieces."