NOXIEL

 

Noxiel awoke to a palate of plum and honey. The air was heavy with sweet, acrid aromas, and as his surroundings came into view, he noticed that the pain throughout his body had almost subsided entirely. He looked upon his wounds, now bound and treated. A bowl of hot liquid idled beside him. Beneath him, cool moss cushioned his back and neck. 

 

Vaeda, no more than a few meters away, rested beside a mysterious pool. It emitted a warm, teal light that infused the encircling foliage with an almost supernatural vitality. Crystals dimly illuminated obsidian walls and an archway through which a tall figure emerged. 

​

She was middle-aged and auburn-skinned, with a winding, serpentine mark along her bald scalp. Her sharp features concealed intentions that the skinthief struggled to discern. She paced toward Noxiel, a flask of green fluid in one hand, a wet ladle in the other, and poured a single drop of the concoction into the wooden bowl. She raised the brew and offered it to Noxiel. 

 

“Drink. The waters of the Ghost Spring heal all wounds of the flesh... The drop of nectar won't hurt either,” the warrior said, wiping dry the ladle in her hand. Noxiel hesitated. Then again, if the woman intended to poison him, why hadn't she already done so?

 

“You needn’t fear me, psion. I am Yasmina Sayf, Guildmaster of the Void Syndicate. The Lam Naraza are not unknown to our order. So long as your coven remains free from the corruption of Crucifixus, you have nothing to fear from us.” She urged the concoction toward him once more. “Psionic storms rampage across the wastes of Obscurum. You’re fortunate I discovered you when I did. Men do not survive long in this purgatory. ” She turned to the brilliant pool and gazed into its depths. “It is by the light of the Ghost Spring that we take shelter here, though for how much longer, I cannot say. Tell me, Noxiel, how did you come to be in this strange plane?” the woman asked, urging the skinthief to drink once more. 

 

Noxiel was not unfamiliar with the Void Syndicate; he'd once encountered an assassin of their order in the imperial city of Danathir during his youth. Sworn to hunt down and eliminate corrupt psions, this esoteric guild maintained a certain ambivalence toward the Lam Naraza: fond of its humanist principles yet as leery of its potential for harm as it was any psionic order. Laying aside his lingering suspicions, he accepted the brew and touched it to his lips. The taste of plum and honey returned, sending a surge of warmth through every inch of his body. Waves of elation, even euphoria, followed with each tear that streamed down his cheek.

 

“The Scourge of Xavus besieged our temple stronghold. We…lost someone dear to us. His sacrifice made possible our escape, though it's by Charybdis’s machinations that we languish in this place, ” the skinthief said, still collecting his thoughts. 

 

“You have my condolences, Noxiel. I know well the pain of losing a loved one. I’ve sacrificed much to travel here myself: made a few enemies within the empire as well. Regrettably, the astral tunnel that led me to this place collapsed shortly after my arrival. I fear we are stranded, skinthief," Yasmina said, pausing briefly as this truth seemed to dawn on her yet again. "The sphere in which we dwell was mysteriously constructed by Ephraxis Thane: nemesis of our order and psion as powerful as he was corrupt. Were Ephraxis not slain by the Void Syndicate a decade ago, he would have unleashed into the galaxy terror and destruction known only in myth, ” Yasmina explained in solemn tones.  “For millennia, farseers have born testament to realms beyond our known universe, concealed from view within the infinite Shroud. Obscurum, Nexus Crucifixus, and the Celestial Fold are but the three we can observe in addition to our own. But despite the efforts of our greatest psions, humanity has proved unsuccessful in accessing these realms directly.” 

 

Yasmina paused, narrowing her gaze in contemplation. “Ephraxis accomplished what no one before him could, inventing a device that can conjure gateways to remote ends of the universe, even those realms of which men fear speaking. I…hope to find my son. He was stolen to Crucifixus years ago.” Her demeanor changed abruptly, struggling to repress her latent grief. “I believe we may be able to help one another,” Yasmina explained.

​

Noxiel possessed modest skill as a farseer. Under the guidance of Morrigane, a master of the art, he’d glimpsed dimensions where gravity held selective sway and tongues of burning animus coiled through the sky. In such places, thought and emotion shaped form in terrifying and unpredictable ways, the line distinguishing dream from reality blurred somehow. To visit such a place in the flesh: he could scarcely imagine such a voyage.

 

His thoughts turned to the fallen Baraza. The memory of his master’s sacrifice assailed him like a knife to his own heart. Tears welled in his eyes as the waters of the Ghost Spring soothed his insides. His relationship with the Archmagus wasn’t without strain. He recalled the many nights he’d spent cloistered within the House of Jade, rehearsing weaves in the Vox Somnia until his vocal cords grew sore. Baraza had been a stoic, calculating man with expectations of his proteges that bordered on the unreasonable, even cruel. But the Archmagus had rescued him from an unkind, narrow-minded world that had abandoned him soon after his birth into it, and Noxiel had felt forever indebted. He could hardly believe the Archmagus was dead: that he and Vaeda had not perished alongside Baraza and now dithered in some post-mortem nightmare.  

 

Noxiel turned to Vaeda, awake and visibly startled.

 

“Calm yourself, Vaeda,” he said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “This is Yasmina; she's an assassin of the Void Syndicate. She's treated our wounds and provided us sanctuary within this strange sphere. She says we may be able to aid her in turn. We've been spirited away to the realm of Obscurum, it seems,” Noxiel explained in amazement.  

​

 

​

VAEDA

 

Vaeda’s eyes fluttered open, the warm, teal glow of the Ghost Spring filling her vision. For a moment, she lay still, her mind struggling to piece together the fragments of memory that lingered at the edges of her consciousness. The last thing she remembered was the crimson portal, the Charybdis’s roar, and the cold, metallic sphere suspended in the void. Now, she found herself in a place that felt both alien and strangely serene. The air was thick with the scent of plum and honey, and the soft moss beneath her was a comforting contrast to the chaos they had just escaped. Her body ached, but the pain was dull, as though the worst of her injuries had been soothed by some unseen hand.

 

She turned her head, her gaze falling on Noxiel. He sat nearby, his wounds bound and a wooden bowl cradled in his hands. His face was pale, his expression a mix of relief and sorrow. Beyond him stood a woman—tall, dark-skinned, and marked by a serpentine symbol that wound across her scalp. Vaeda’s instincts flared, her sharp mind immediately assessing the situation. This was Yasmina Sayf, Guildmaster of the Void Syndicate. Vaeda had heard whispers of the Syndicate, an order of assassins who hunted corrupted psions with ruthless efficiency. Their presence here, in this strange realm, was both a relief and a cause for suspicion.

 

“Calm yourself, Vaeda,” Noxiel said, his voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. He placed a hand on her shoulder, the gesture meant to reassure her. “This is Yasmina; she’s an assassin of the Void Syndicate. She’s treated our wounds and provided us sanctuary within this strange sphere. She says we may be able to aid her in turn. We’ve been spirited away to the realm of Obscurum, it seems.”

 

Vaeda nodded slowly, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied Yasmina. The woman’s sharp features and piercing gaze gave little away, but Vaeda’s instincts told her there was more to this encounter than met the eye. She pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at her injuries. The wounds in her leg and shoulder had been treated, the pain dulled by whatever remedies Yasmina had provided. For that, at least, Vaeda was grateful.

 

“Thank you,” Vaeda said, her voice low and measured. She met Yasmina’s gaze, her expression a mix of gratitude and wariness. “You’ve saved our lives, and for that, I owe you a debt. But I won’t pretend I’m not suspicious. The Void Syndicate has a reputation, and it’s not one that inspires trust.”

 

Yasmina’s lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes remained unreadable. “Your caution is wise, Vaeda Raine. The Syndicate has made many enemies, and not all of them deserved our blades. But you and Noxiel are not our targets. The Lam Naraza have always walked a fine line, but your coven’s principles align with ours in ways that matter. You’ve resisted the corruption of the Crucifixus, and for that, you have our respect.”

 

Vaeda’s jaw tightened at the mention of the Lam Naraza. Her thoughts turned to Baraza, and a fresh wave of grief threatened to overwhelm her. The Archmagus had been more than a mentor; he had been her savior, the one who had pulled her from the depths of despair and given her a purpose. His sacrifice had been a blow that cut deeper than any physical wound. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her emotions in check.

 

“Baraza is dead,” Vaeda said, her voice trembling with barely suppressed anger and sorrow. “He gave his life to save us, and now we’re trapped in this… this place. I don’t even know if we’ll ever make it back.” She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. “You said we might be able to help each other. How? What do you want from us? And what can you offer in return?”

 

Vaeda’s gaze bore into Yasmina, her sharp mind already racing through the possibilities. She knew better than to trust blindly, but she also knew they were in no position to refuse help. If Yasmina had a plan, Vaeda needed to hear it. And if there was even a chance they could find a way back to their own realm, she was willing to take it. But she would not let her guard down. Not yet. Not until she knew exactly what game Yasmina was playing.

 

​

NOXIEL

 

Noxiel was grateful for Vaeda’s skepticism. Her history of persecution and enslavement by the Umbral Cartel had afforded her ample reason to suspect the stranger’s motives. If they were to emerge from this bizarre dimension in one piece, they’d need to outwit the myriad, mysterious forces intent on thwarting their course.

 

“I understand your suspicions, Vaeda. Deceit and betrayal riddle my past as well. Keep me at arm’s length if you must. But please understand: we will never escape this place unless we work together,” Yasmina said. She pulled a small, lioness-shaped amulet from her pocket and strung it around her neck, its eyes glowing briefly.  “Regrettably, the obelisk used to navigate this sphere has become home to some inhuman presence that feeds upon the energies sustaining it. I…cannot approach the obelisk. I possess no natural or developed sensitivity to the Shroud, and my conditioning as a Void Assassin prevents me from using psionic equipment. I still bear the scar of my last attempt,” she said, caressing the serpentine mark upon her scalp. 

 

Yasmina pulled several pieces of salted pork from her rucksack and offered them to the witches. “You must be hungry. Please, eat,” Yasmina said, the hint of a friendly smile upon her lips. Noxiel glanced at

NOXIEL

 

Noxiel awoke to a palate of plum and honey. The air was heavy with sweet, acrid aromas, and as his surroundings came into view, he noticed that the pain throughout his body had almost subsided entirely. He looked upon his wounds, now bound and treated. A bowl of hot liquid idled beside him. Beneath him, cool moss cushioned his back and neck. 

 

Vaeda, no more than a few meters away, rested beside a mysterious pool. It emitted a warm, teal light that infused the encircling foliage with an almost supernatural vitality. Crystals dimly illuminated obsidian walls and an archway through which a tall figure emerged. 

​

She was middle-aged and copper-skinned, with a winding, serpentine mark along her bald scalp. Her sharp features concealed intentions that the skinthief struggled to discern. She paced toward Noxiel, a flask of green fluid in one hand, a wet ladle in the other, and poured a single drop of the concoction into the wooden bowl. She raised the brew and offered it to Noxiel. 

 

“Drink. The waters of the Ghost Spring heal all wounds of the flesh... The drop of nectar won't hurt either,” the warrior said, wiping dry the ladle in her hand. Noxiel hesitated. Then again, if the woman intended to poison him, why hadn't she already done so?

 

“You needn’t fear me, psion. I am Yasmina Sayf, Guildmaster of the Void Syndicate. The Lam Naraza are not unknown to our order. So long as your coven remains free from the corruption of Crucifixus, you have nothing to fear from us.” She urged the concoction toward him once more. “Psionic storms rampage across the wastes of Obscurum. You’re fortunate I discovered you when I did. Men do not survive long in this purgatory. ” She turned to the brilliant pool and gazed into its depths. “It is by the light of the Ghost Spring that we take shelter here, though for how much longer, I cannot say. Tell me, Noxiel, how did you come to be in this strange plane?” the woman asked, urging the skinthief to drink once more. 

 

Noxiel was not unfamiliar with the Void Syndicate; he'd once encountered an assassin of their order in the imperial city of Danathir during his youth. Sworn to hunt down and eliminate corrupt psions, this esoteric guild maintained a certain ambivalence toward the Lam Naraza: fond of its humanist principles yet as leery of its potential for harm as it was any psionic order. Laying aside his lingering suspicions, he accepted the brew and touched it to his lips. The taste of plum and honey returned, sending a surge of warmth through every inch of his body. Waves of elation, even euphoria, followed with each tear that streamed down his cheek.

 

“Our temple stronghold was besieged by the Scourge of Xavus. We…lost someone dear to us. His sacrifice made possible our escape, though it's by Charybdis’s machinations that we languish in this place, ” the skinthief said, still collecting his thoughts. 

 

“You have my condolences, Noxiel. I know well the pain of losing a loved one. I’ve sacrificed much to travel here myself: made a few enemies within the empire as well. Regrettably, the portal back has been cut off to me. I fear we are stranded, skinthief," Yasmina said, pausing briefly as this truth seemed to dawn on her yet again. "The sphere in which we dwell was mysteriously constructed by Ephraxis Thane: nemesis of our order and psion as powerful as he was corrupt. Were Ephraxis not slain by the Void Syndicate a decade ago, he would have unleashed into the galaxy terror and destruction known only in myth, ” Yasmina explained in solemn tones.  “For millennia, farseers have born testament to realms beyond our known universe, concealed from view within the infinite Shroud. Obscurum, Nexus Crucifixus, and the Celestial Fold are but the three we can observe. But despite the combined efforts of humanity’s greatest psions, we’ve been unsuccessful in accessing these realms directly.” 

 

Yasmina paused, narrowing her gaze in contemplation. “Ephraxis accomplished what no one before him could, inventing a device that can conjure gateways to remote ends of the universe, and even those realms hidden which men fear to speak of. I…hope to find my son. He was stolen to such a place years ago.” Her demeanor changed abruptly, struggling to repress her latent grief. “I believe we may be able to help on another,” Yasmina explained.

​

Noxiel possessed modest skill as a farseer. Under the guidance of Morrigane, a master of the art, he’d glimpsed dimensions where gravity held selective sway and tongues of burning animus coiled through the sky. In such places, thought and emotion shaped reality in terrifying and unpredictable ways, the line distinguishing dream from reality blurred somehow. To visit such a place in the flesh; he could scarcely imagine such a voyage.

 

His thoughts turned to the fallen Baraza. The memory of his master’s sacrifice assailed him like a knife to his own heart. Tears welled in his eyes as the waters of the Ghost Spring soothed his insides. His relationship with the Archmagus wasn’t without strain. He recalled the many nights he’d spent cloistered within the House of Jade, rehearsing weaves in the Vox Somnia until his vocal cords grew sore. Baraza had been a stoic, calculating man with expectations of his proteges that bordered on the unreasonable, even cruel. But the Archmagus had rescued him from an unkind, narrow-minded world that had abandoned him soon after his birth into it, and Noxiel had felt forever indebted. He could scarcely believe the Archmagus was truly deceased: that he and Vaeda had not perished alongside Baraza and now languished in some post-mortem nightmare.  

 

Noxiel turned to Vaeda, awake and visibly startled.

 

“Calm yourself, Vaeda,” he said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “This is Yasmina; she's an assassin of the Void Syndicate. She's treated our wounds and provided us sanctuary within this strange sphere. She says we may be able to aid her in turn. We've been spirited away to the realm of Obscurum, it seems,” Noxiel explained in amazement.  

​

 

​

VAEDA

 

Vaeda’s eyes fluttered open, the warm, teal glow of the Ghost Spring filling her vision. For a moment, she lay still, her mind struggling to piece together the fragments of memory that lingered at the edges of her consciousness. The last thing she remembered was the crimson portal, the Charybdis’s roar, and the cold, metallic sphere suspended in the void. Now, she found herself in a place that felt both alien and strangely serene. The air was thick with the scent of plum and honey, and the soft moss beneath her was a comforting contrast to the chaos they had just escaped. Her body ached, but the pain was dull, as though the worst of her injuries had been soothed by some unseen hand.

 

She turned her head, her gaze falling on Noxiel. He sat nearby, his wounds bound and a wooden bowl cradled in his hands. His face was pale, his expression a mix of relief and sorrow. Beyond him stood a woman—tall, copper-skinned, and marked by a serpentine symbol that wound across her scalp. Vaeda’s instincts flared, her sharp mind immediately assessing the situation. This was Yasmina Sayf, Guildmaster of the Void Syndicate. Vaeda had heard whispers of the Syndicate, an order of assassins who hunted corrupted psions with ruthless efficiency. Their presence here, in this strange realm, was both a relief and a cause for suspicion.

 

“Calm yourself, Vaeda,” Noxiel said, his voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. He placed a hand on her shoulder, the gesture meant to reassure her. “This is Yasmina; she’s an assassin of the Void Syndicate. She’s treated our wounds and provided us sanctuary within this strange sphere. She says we may be able to aid her in turn. We’ve been spirited away to the realm of Obscurum, it seems.”

 

Vaeda nodded slowly, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied Yasmina. The woman’s sharp features and piercing gaze gave little away, but Vaeda’s instincts told her there was more to this encounter than met the eye. She pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at her injuries. The wounds in her leg and shoulder had been treated, the pain dulled by whatever remedies Yasmina had provided. For that, at least, Vaeda was grateful.

 

“Thank you,” Vaeda said, her voice low and measured. She met Yasmina’s gaze, her expression a mix of gratitude and wariness. “You’ve saved our lives, and for that, I owe you a debt. But I won’t pretend I’m not suspicious. The Void Syndicate has a reputation, and it’s not one that inspires trust.”

 

Yasmina’s lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes remained unreadable. “Your caution is wise, Vaeda Raine. The Syndicate has made many enemies, and not all of them deserved our blades. But you and Noxiel are not our targets. The Lam Naraza have always walked a fine line, but your coven’s principles align with ours in ways that matter. You’ve resisted the corruption of the Crucifixus, and for that, you have our respect.”

 

Vaeda’s jaw tightened at the mention of the Lam Naraza. Her thoughts turned to Baraza, and a fresh wave of grief threatened to overwhelm her. The Archmagus had been more than a mentor; he had been her savior, the one who had pulled her from the depths of despair and given her a purpose. His sacrifice had been a blow that cut deeper than any physical wound. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her emotions in check.

 

“Baraza is dead,” Vaeda said, her voice trembling with barely suppressed anger and sorrow. “He gave his life to save us, and now we’re trapped in this… this place. I don’t even know if we’ll ever make it back.” She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. “You said we might be able to help each other. How? What do you want from us? And what can you offer in return?”

 

Vaeda’s gaze bore into Yasmina, her sharp mind already racing through the possibilities. She knew better than to trust blindly, but she also knew they were in no position to refuse help. If Yasmina had a plan, Vaeda needed to hear it. And if there was even a chance they could find a way back to their own realm, she was willing to take it. But she would not let her guard down. Not yet. Not until she knew exactly what game Yasmina was playing.

 

​

NOXIEL

 

Noxiel was grateful for Vaeda’s skepticism. Her history of persecution and enslavement by the Umbral Cartel had afforded her ample reason to suspect the stranger’s motives. If they were to emerge from this bizarre dimension in one piece, they’d need to outwit the myriad, mysterious forces intent on thwarting their course.

 

“I understand your suspicions, Vaeda. Deceit and betrayal riddle my past as well. Keep me at arm’s length if you must. But please understand: we will never escape this place unless we work together,” Yasmina said. She pulled a small, lioness-shaped amulet from her pocket and strung it around her neck, its eyes glowing briefly.  “Regrettably, the obelisk used to navigate this sphere has become home to some inhuman presence that feeds upon the energies sustaining it. I…cannot approach the obelisk. I possess no natural or developed sensitivity to the Shroud, and my conditioning as a Void Assassin prevents me from using psionic equipment. I still bear the scar of my last attempt,” she said, caressing the serpentine mark upon her scalp. 

 

Yasmina pulled several pieces of salted pork from her rucksack and offered them to the witches. “You must be hungry. Please, eat,” Yasmina said, the hint of a friendly smile upon her lips. Noxiel glanced at Vaeda as they both reluctantly accepted the morsels. His mouth watered with each bite. He hadn’t eaten in days; a realization that overwhelmed Noxiel the moment he laid eyes upon Yasmina’s rations. 

 

“With your honed sensitivity to the Shroud, two skilled Witches of Lam Naraza should be able to approach the obelisk unassailed.” She regained her footing and fastened a knife to her belt. “Cast out the aberration, and we may yet claim this marvelous contraption as our own!” Yasmina’s gaze burned with determination, her voice impassioned yet pained. “Ishaq may yet live, trapped in a realm most alien to our own. With this sphere, I intend to bring him home. Purge the obelisk of whatever ails it, and I will see that you return to your home planet of Nauthera.”

 

She turned to an ornate chest beside her and ruffled through its contents.  "I discovered these in the sphere's lower vaults shortly after my arrival. Aid me, and they shall serve you well in the battle to come.” She retrieved an ornate, bronze prism and offered it to Noxiel, opening the top with a sudden click. Within, resided a small clump of metallic substance that burned his eyes, even from a distance. “Arrogant as Ephraxis was, he realized that the cherished export of Ixa Prime could do more than prolong the lives of decadent aristocrats. Through years of experimentation, he transmuted Vitae Aeternix into a weapon. Feed the modified nectar to your wasps, skinthief, and their stings shall shock as well as envenom,” Yasmina explained. She proceeded to retrieve a small vial of black fluid from her belt. “And for you, Vaeda: psionic oils prepared by the most skilled shamans of the Lam Jatar. Coat your weapons, and they shall become nearly unbreakable and light as air,” Yasmina regained her confident posture. “I implore you, psions...aid me.”

 

Noxiel pondered the warrior’s words. “Give us a moment, Yasmina,” Noxiel said, pulling his companion aside. “Speak your mind, sister Vaeda. We do not know this assassin, nor what the Charybdis intends by banishing us to this sphere in the first place. Still, if we are to escape this nightmare, we may have no choice but to trust her,” Noxiel whispered beneath his breath.

 

VAEDA

 

Vaeda listened to Yasmina’s plea, her dark eyes narrowing as she weighed the woman’s words. The Guildmaster’s offer was tempting—a chance to escape this strange, alien realm and return to Nauthera. But Vaeda’s instincts screamed caution. Yasmina was a stranger, a member of an order known for its ruthlessness and secrecy. Trusting her felt like stepping onto thin ice, but what choice did they have? The Charybdis had trapped them here, and without Yasmina’s knowledge of the sphere, they might never find a way out. Vaeda’s gaze flicked to Noxiel, his pale eyes reflecting the same uncertainty she felt. They were in this together, and that gave her a sliver of comfort.

 

“Fine,” Vaeda said at last, her voice low and measured. “We’ll help you. But I’ll need time to prepare. Battling whatever’s infesting that obelisk won’t be easy, and I’m not going in without the right tools.” She turned to Yasmina, her expression firm. “I’ll need access to whatever reagents and alchemical supplies you’ve found here. If Ephraxis had a laboratory, it’s likely stocked with what I need.”

 

Yasmina nodded, her sharp features softening slightly. “Of course. The laboratory is just beyond the archway. Take what you need. I’ll ensure you’re not disturbed.”

 

Vaeda didn’t wait for further encouragement. She rose to her feet, her movements stiff but determined, and made her way to the adjacent laboratory. The room was a chaotic jumble of alchemical apparatus, shelves lined with jars of strange substances, and scattered notes written in a language she didn’t recognize. The air was thick with the scent of herbs, metals, and something faintly acrid. Vaeda’s fingers brushed over the jars, her mind already cataloging their contents. She needed to brew healing potions, but more importantly, she needed something that could turn the tide in their favor. Something powerful.

 

She set to work, her hands moving with practiced precision. The first potion was a simple restorative, a blend of Omekunda sap, starflower essence, and a pinch of powdered obsidian. The mixture shimmered as she stirred it, the Shroud’s energy infusing it with a faint, golden glow. She poured it into a series of small vials, each one carefully sealed and set aside. The next potion was more complex, a volatile elixir that required her to channel her blightbending directly into the mixture. This was one of her most potent creations—a pyrokinetic flame known as witch-fire. When unleashed, it would heal her allies while engulfing her enemies in searing flames. The process was taxing, and by the time she finished, sweat dripped from her brow. But the result was worth it: a vial of swirling, crimson liquid that pulsed with barely contained energy.

 

With the potions complete, Vaeda turned her attention to her weapons. She coated her machete and needle rifle with the psionic oils Yasmina had provided, the black fluid sinking into the metal and leaving behind a faint, iridescent sheen. The weapons felt lighter in her hands, their edges sharper, their mechanisms smoother. She tested the needle rifle, the weapon humming softly as she aimed it at an empty corner of the laboratory. Satisfied, she slung it over her shoulder and returned to the main chamber.

 

Yasmina and Noxiel tended to their respective tools, deep in concentration. Vaeda ignored them, her focus on the mossy patch near the Ghost Spring. She sank onto the soft ground, the warmth of the spring’s light soothing her aching body. The remnants of the salted pork Yasmina had given her lay beside her, and she ate slowly, savoring each bite. The food was simple but satisfying, a rare comfort in this strange, hostile place.

 

As she ate, Vaeda’s thoughts turned to the future. The battle ahead loomed large in her mind, a shadow she couldn’t shake. But more than that, she felt a deep, gnawing emptiness—a numbness that had settled over her since Baraza’s death. The Archmagus had been her anchor, the one who had given her purpose and direction. Without him, she felt adrift, unsure of what came next. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. There was no time for grief, not now. She had to focus, to survive. For Baraza. For Noxiel. For herself.

 

Vaeda lay back on the moss, the soft glow of the Ghost Spring lulling her into a restless sleep. Her dreams were fragmented, filled with images of fire, blood, and the Charybdis’s guttural roar. But beneath it all, there was a quiet determination, a spark of hope that refused to be extinguished. They would face whatever lay ahead, and they would do it together.

 

​

NOXIEL

 

The skinthief would make good use of the opportunity to rest and prepare for the coming conflict. He studied the bronze prism he’d accepted from Yasmina, marveling at its fascinating construction. It opened with a series of audible clicks. The stench that proceeded was undeniably rank, even after so many centuries. The modified nectar was soft and somewhat cold to the touch. He fed the morsel to the ravenous wasps who devoured it without regard for the stench. A charged, ethereal mist washed over the insects as they ingested the bizarre substance, sparks of destructive animus now coursing through their tiny abdomens. Noxiel was most eager to don the creatures in combat.

 

He sat upon a patch of moss and cupped a handful of water from the Ghost Spring. A surge of vitality bolstered him once more. With some rest, the lingering aches throughout his body would fade entirely. But before he could retire to sleep, he too would need to make preparations for the coming battle. Noxiel pulled a plain, cloth doll from his rucksack. A series of symbols stained its surface, fibers forming a handle at the base of its head. A scattering of pins and needles pierced the effigy, each representing a prior, hexed foe. He whispered in the Vox Somnia as nimble fingers sewed bits of Astrulite into its eye sockets. The once hollow pits now glowed with ghostly light, leaving an opaque, fleeting mirage upon the walls. If the chance presented itself, Noxiel hoped to ensnare their foe within a nightmarish phantasm of his design. The bejeweled simulacrum would serve as an ideal anchor for his psychic prison. While among Noxiel’s most potent incantations, casting such a hex would require preparation and tremendous focus in actual combat.

 

With a quick hand gesture, a small, jade box emerged from his rucksack and raced toward his hand as though of its own accord. It was hollow and open at one side, the image of a manticore engraved on its face. Through ritual meditation, the Verdant Locus had been charged with concentrated animus. With a trigger world, he could unleash the stored power in a single, destructive bolt. He hovered his hand over its surface, drawing even more animus into its delicately constructed core until it hummed softly. 

 

After hours of tedious preparation, an exhausted Noxiel lay down to rest, taking in the sweet, humid air of the sphere. Vaeda slept nearby, her collection of carefully brewed tonics stacked neatly beside her. Yasmina remained wide awake as ever, preparing her various tools of murder, her determined mien seemingly engraved upon her face. Noxiel closed his eyes, grateful for the food in his belly and the moss beneath his back. However dire their straits, hope remained, and for that, Noxiel was grateful. As he drifted from consciousness, Noxiel repressed thoughts of Baraza, images of his sacrifice at Psithos: the Soul Barb piercing his chest, the hellish portal conjured from blood. The skinthief was eager to be rid of this wretched plane. There would be a season to grieve for Baraza, but for the moment, he refused to let sorrow distract him from his mission: to allow Baraza’s sacrifice to go in vain.

 

​​