The ruins of the Jaeren estate felt like a heavy, cold weight. The wind hissed through the jagged stone and the deep, silent craters. Kota stood in the center of the wreckage. He looked at the sigil cloth in his hand. The fabric was rough. It was stained with the blood of a clan that had been erased from the map.
Jaeger Whiteflame stood before him. His silver hair caught the dim light of the overcast sky. He watched Kota with a clinical, intense focus. He was the sole survivor of this wasteland.
"The boy hears voices," Jaeger said. His voice was low and resonant. "I can see it in his eyes. He is leaking. He is breaking. You can't fix him with medicine and hope and eventually he'll need a hunter who knows how to walk in the dark."
Kota looked up. His pupils were jagged. They were shifting like liquid lead. The voice in his head was a low, melodic hum. It was the sound of a woman laughing in a room with no doors.
Take him, the voice whispered. He is a tool. He is a spark for the fire you are becoming.
A spark? Kota thought. He is just another shadow in a world of ghosts. Why do you want him?
Because his fire burns with the same hate as yours, she replied. Feed it. Use it.
"He stays," Kota said aloud. His voice was flat. It carried no emotion. "But I need to know if you are dead weight. Fight me."
Jaeger offered a small, grim smile. He raised his hand. A small, white flame flickered to life on his fingertip. It gave off a ghostly heat that made the surrounding air ripple.
I would not expect anything less from a Speedhardt, Jaeger thought.
"I accept," he said. He snuffed the flame.
Far away in the divine verse, the Atrophies watched the white flame on the screen of the world. Krosis looked at the empty seats with a brewing, violent energy.
"Where is Fenris?" he asked. His voice carried the weight of ages.
"She has gone AWOL again, Lord Krosis," Morvathos replied. "She claims the shifting of the lower realms is a tedious chore. We have no eyes on her. She has vanished into the folds of the world."
Krosis turned his gaze toward the god with decaying eyes. "Morvathos. Contact her. Contact Isari. Contact them both. Now."
Morvathos closed his eyes. He reached out through the shimmering veil of the Verse. He contacted them telepathically. The air between the pillars vibrated as the connection sparked.
"Why are you contacting me?" Isari's voice rang out.
"The balance is failing," Morvathos answered. "The cup is tilted."
"You are contacting me for punitive fiends?" Isari snapped. Her voice was sharp and condescending. "Children who do not hold a single fraction of power to become a threat? Do not waste my time with the crawling of ants while I build the Prismatic Veil."
There was a static-filled silence before Fenris's voice filtered through. It sounded distant, as if she were speaking from the bottom of a deep well.
"Never contact me again," Fenris hissed. "The balance is shifting anyway. Why should I sit in a circle to talk about the inevitable? If you pull at my thread again, I will kill you myself, Morvathos."
"Both of you get here now," Krosis intervened. His voice was a tectonic shift. "Or I come kill you both."
There was a long, heavy silence.
"Always so dramatic, old man," Isari replied. "I am busy, but fine. I will descend to your little meeting."
"Fine," Fenris scoffed. "Do not expect me to stay for the pleasantries. If I have to listen to that little stormbringer rumble for another century, I might actually invert the world myself."
Hey that's not fair. The Stormbringer says
Vesperia watched the golden light of the Verse flicker. "Just send me to the human realm, Lord Krosis. I will deal with the children myself. Why do you have such restraint when dealing with them?"
"Isari is the filter. Fenris is the shift," Krosis answered. His voice was a low, cryptic rumble. "Wait patiently, Vesperia. You will be dispatched soon. The balance is not yet broken enough for your touch."
At the Jaeren ruins, Kota shifted his weight. The silver trail of his Yen began to swirl around his boots. It was not a glow. It was a rot that ate at the gray dust of the estate. Jaeger dropped into a low stance. His silver hair whipped in the rising wind.
"Don't hold back, boy," Jaeger warned. "The Whiteflame legacy does not break easily."
Kota did not answer. He vanished. The spar had begun.