Ashinaro stood atop the smooth ramp of packed earth and stone that led down into the Boneyard.

  It stretched out like a sunken wound, carved between the jagged bone ridges composing its irregular walls, bleached earth dotted with twisted trees and the occasional jutting bone formations. In the distance, Unar’s Tower looked like a crooked, sideways smile against the green sky.

  Even here at the top of the ramp, the air was dryer and hotter than the jungle surrounding Argalis. In his humanform, even with his minimal garb, it was uncomfortable. It would become unbearable once he descended the ramp into the Yard.

  He wore leather armor on his legs and chest, and a backpack with supplies for the journey to Arkalis, to which was affixed his Fossilized Staff in its sling.

  The staff was empowered, the backpack and armor were not.

  But, they were tailored to adapt to his battleform, which he shifted to now.

  Heat flashed across his skin. Hair vanished as his skull was covered by scales along with the rest of his body. His face grew into a muzzle, teeth sharpening. His spine elongated, forming a tail as long as he was. Hands became claws, muscles grew dense. The heat ceased bothering him.

  It was done in under a breath.

  The world felt more alive now, all his senses sharpened, and he flexed his muscles as he always did to take away the tingle of nervous strength coursing through him.

  It, unfortunately, did not fix his height. Even other drakken sometimes had trouble telling each other apart in battleform, but for Ashinaro, it was no escape from standing out when all he wanted to do was blend in.

  With his improved vision, he spotted movement through the Boneyard’s veil of dust that never quite settled. A troll, engaged with a Copper bonechitterer near one of the larger osseous formations.

  He focused on the troll, opening his beyondsight.

  [Troll, Lesser Defender]

  He couldn’t tell the troll’s age, not while the troll was in his battleform, but judging by his renown, he was young, maybe a few years younger than Ashinaro. Most godsworn were at least Greater Defenders by Ashinaro’s age.

  Despite this, the troll was using multiple relics, his massive spear glowing with power as he himself stood back, letting a golem of fire battle the monster.

  [Ignis Warrior, Golem]

  He was decked out in empowered armor like all the Fairwind godsworn who’d ventured to Fayteraus, and made short work of the bonechitterer, waiting to see if the core would transmute before ripping it free and moving out of sight deeper into the Boneyard.

  Ashinaro wondered why a Defender was wasting his time hunting in the Boneyard. Especially one of the foreign godsworn.

  Passage on the trolls’ ship was reputedly expensive, so all the visiting godsworn were rich and equipped with weapons and armor Ashinaro could only dream of.

  He himself possessed no empowered armor, his staff the only empowered item he owned, though it was cursed rather than cleansed or blessed.

  [Fossilized Staff (Cursed)]

  Contains the essence of monsters long dead.

  Grants [Staff Mastery].

  [Staff Mastery (Unholy Boon)]

  You possess an innate ability to wield the staff in battle.

  Using a cursed item was supposed to be painful, but he hadn’t noticed anything of the sort.

  Then again, he was able to use uncrafted monster parts, which he’d seen for himself others unable to do and the dire consequences of even attempting it. That had saved his life once as a whelp. He’d been on his own, training not far from here, having just defeated a boneyroller, when a muckcrawler—those omnipresent little terrors that seemed to have infiltrated every corner of the city, and more besides—had surprised him and caused him to drop his weapon.

  The monster had attached to his face, trying to gnaw down to the good bits, and the only thing to hand had been the boneyroller’s chain-like corpse. He’d grabbed it and beat at the muckcrawler until it broke apart and died.

  He’d almost died himself, so it was a good thing no one had mentioned you shouldn’t be able to use uncrafted monster parts—or indeed their entire corpses—as weapons.

  He’d kept that ability to himself. Being known as the whelp able to wield cursed weapons had been bad enough. It was part of what had eventually led to him being known as the Cursed Initiate, and by that point he definitely wasn’t going to make himself stand out even more.

  It was a good thing cursed weapons didn’t weaken him, because he couldn’t afford a cleansing, let alone a blessing, and his staff was the only thing that allowed him to make what little progress he’d made. Battling monsters, even Copper Beasts, without relics or empowered items was, while not a death sentence, very dangerous.

  While he hadn’t grown up practicing with a staff, Staff Mastery made him more adept than masters who’d been training their whole lives with one. That combined with its empowered nature allowed him to make, if not short work of, then at least defeat weaker Beasts without constantly fearing for his life. While he couldn't yet use monster cores, he had a nice little collection of them ready to go for when he finally got his first relic and advanced to Lesser Defender.

  Unfortunately, in all his years, a divine messenger had yet to seek him out. As far as he knew, he was the only one so old in the city who had yet to receive a divine quest.

  It made him infamous for all the wrong reasons, and with his absurd height, it felt like there was always someone around to recognize him even in a city as populous as Argalis.

  Though at least now with the arrival of the outsiders, some of that attention had been shifted away from him and onto them.

  It was the first time in ages there’d been any outsiders at all. The Troll Trading Company had recently figured out how to create a vessel capable of crossing the Sea of Fear, opening up a route from the Fairwind continent to Fayteraus. They were apparently even now building a ship that could withstand the Sea of Serpents in order to have a direct route from Fayreion as well. As a result, there were people of other races about for the first time in Ashinaro’s life.

  Not that many came to the city. Other than a few trolls working for the Troll Trading Company and doing business with the bank and merchants, most of them stayed away from Argalis.

  After their initial disastrous envoy to the city, they’d set up in Arkalis, the old fay city, and were working on revitalizing Vesalis as well.

  So Ashinaro heard tell of. Getting to Arkalis was one thing, but he was far too weak to venture to Vesalis and see for himself.

  But one day he wouldn't be.

  One day he'd be strong enough to explore on his own.

  Today wasn't that day, but it would be his first step on that path.

  Ashinaro rolled his shoulders, withdrew his staff from its sling, and descended into the Boneyard.

  Ashinaro jogged past drakken whelps battling Copper Beasts near the perimeter of the Boneyard.

  Unlike the trolls, young drakken in their battleform were still obviously whelps.

  They fought around the edges, close enough to the city that they could run back and have the guards save them should they get overwhelmed.

  Why they didn't just station guards at the entrance to the Boneyard, Ashinaro wasn’t entirely clear on.

  Something about needing to be in real danger to fully understand what it was to fight monsters.

  You weren't likely to die, but you would have the fear of monsters put into you as you ran back to the city gates, breathless, the guards just standing there impassively watching your approach until you got close enough that they would intervene.

  No one had ever died, but several had been quite injured. One even lost his tail not that long ago.

  Normally it would grow back, but he’d been so young that he’d been permanently disfigured from it.

  Strangely it manifested as a missing finger in his humanform. Which had spurred all sorts of academic debates on the nature of battleforms.

  Usually any damage you took in your battleform wasn't transferred to your humanform. It was one way to get out of deadly situations. If you suffered a mortal wound in your battleform, you could simply revert to your humanform and be uninjured.

  Of course, you would also be much weaker and unable to use any of the relics you possessed.

  And you might die the moment you switched back to your battleform. But it was a way to survive. Living to fight another day was always the best course of action. And drakken had the trait of their battleforms healing even while in humanform.

  At least those who’d reached Defender.

  A group which did not include Ashinaro.

  Ahead, a whelp of barely ten years jabbed ineffectually at a muckcrawler with a training spear.

  The monster dodged easily, circling for an opening.

  Others thought it was degrading being stuck training where whelps did, but Ashinaro didn’t mind.

  “Keep your guard up high,” he called as he passed. “They always go for your face if they can manage it.”

  In his battleform, his voice was deep and sibilant. It dismayed most of the other races, and even many whelps, but not this one.

  The boy adjusted his stance just as the muckcrawler lunged, catching it midleap with the spear. The monster screeched and died.

  He let out a roaring cheer to Ashinaro, spear thrust in the air, dead monster still attached.

  Ashinaro smiled and headed deeper into the Boneyard, away from these weaker monsters. He himself was still only an Initiate godsworn, but experience was his bulwark. Weak Copper Beasts like these wouldn’t be any challenge to him, even if they had been his target.

  Which they weren’t.

  Before he got far into the Boneyard, he spotted a group running toward him. They were all in their battleforms, and clearly drakken.

  Drakken who he, unfortunately, recognized.

  Greater Defenders, the lot of them, and Ashinaro wondered what they were doing in the Boneyard. There were far better places for Defenders to hunt.

  First the troll, now these four. Maybe there was a pack of Fiends about.

  That happened sometimes, Fiends from Unar’s Tower wandering into the Boneyard, but it wasn’t common.

  Ashinaro considered running past them, but they’d spotted him as well, and avoiding them would just make things worse, so he stopped, letting them approach him.

  “Oh bless our luck, it’s the cursed one,” the one in the lead said when they did.

  Telermin, a Greater Defender who’d already completed three divine quests and had a relic which let him shoot shards of ice from his giant sword—which itself was a blessed weapon that granted not one, but two separate boons. He was only a year older than Ashinaro, yet so far ahead of him.

  “Off to train with the whelps?”

  Ashinaro grunted, studying them. They didn’t look like they’d just come from battle. So what were—

  “I asked you a question, Initiate. Don’t ignore your superiors.”

  Ashinaro bowed, though he was still taller than Telermin. “My apologies, honored Defender. This humble Initiate is indeed joining the whelps to improve his deficient abilities.”

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  The three around Telermin snorted laughs. Norsavik was in some ways worse than Telermin, but the other two weren’t so bad. They didn’t constantly mock Ashinaro, anyway. They weren’t exactly friends.

  Telermin scowled. “With an attitude like that it’s no wonder you’ve never gotten a divine quest. Completing one means you have to follow the rules, which you clearly have trouble with.”

  “Of course, you’re right. You obey. Never a single question of the gods, have you.”

  “That’s awfully close to blasphemy.”

  “That’s for the gods to decide.”

  “Maybe that’s why you’re cursed. You’re so special they created a curse all for you.”

  The curse Ashinaro was infamous for was not actually one of the gods’ curses, but a combination of things, the main ones being his strange height and being the only godsworn so old to not have received a visit from a messenger.

  It didn’t help that he used a cursed weapon.

  But Ashinaro didn’t much care what people thought of him. Why would he? It wouldn’t do him any good, nor change their opinion of him. The only thing which would do that was getting stronger. Which he needed a divine quest to do.

  Which Telermin was quite literally standing in the way of.

  Ashinaro remained silent as though stymied. He didn’t have time to waste trading barbs. Let Telermin think he had the upper hand. The thoughts of others were of no concern to Ashinaro.

  Telermin snorted with self-satisfied disdain. “Come on, let’s leave this whelp to his play.” He jogged off, Norsavik and Ekalin following.

  But Belantris stood there, looking around as though searching for something.

  Telermin noticed and stopped, turning back. “Belantris, are you coming?”

  “I’m going to check on Delarin,” she answered, still looking around, presumably for Delarin.

  “Whatever.”

  Ashinaro watched the three run off, disappearing into the pervasive dust near the edges of the Boneyard.

  “What are you even doing here?” he asked Belantris. They were far too strong to hunt in the Boneyard. One thing Telermin had been right about was it being for whelps. Unless some Fiends had wandered from the tower.

  She finally stopped looking around and focused on him. “We heard Unar’s Tower had been cleared. Wanted to see for ourselves.”

  Ashinaro raised an eyebrow, which in his battleform looked a lot like a sneer. Even for other drakken, it was difficult to interpret facial expressions in battleform. “Really?”

  “I was incredulous as well. But, it’s empty and the Excavator lifeless. The trolls somehow did it. Or, maybe not the trolls. Fensarnis said there was at least one elf in the group, but Wenslik said they were all trolls.” She shrugged. “Either way, they cleared it.”

  “How?”

  She shrugged again, then looked around. “I really do need to go check on Delarin. He already lost a finger, and he’s been getting more and more eager to test out if he’ll regenerate now that he’s reached Defender. I fear he might actually try intentionally. Luckily he hasn’t become curious enough to try cutting off something himself, but he’s been reckless since advancing, taking unnecessary risks during battle.” She shook her head. “I told him taking arnaphen philter was dangerous.”

  “Drinking it does seem unwise.” Arnaphen were Beasts in the Festering Fen which produced a unique kind of poison. They expelled it in a cloud, but also injected it with their terrible barbs. Inhaling it caused delirium that you’d recover from completely, but drinking it had a different effect. While arnaphen parts were uncraftable, they could still be cooked or brewed, and it was possible to either extract the poison directly, or capture the gas they emitted and condense it to a liquid, which could then be drank. Though the poison the monsters injected was deadly, drinking it, while a terrible idea, was not. It was rare and expensive given how dangerous the Beasts were even to Heroes, and drinking too much of it was said to make people slowly succumb to madness.

  “He’s an unwise boy,” she sighed. “Anyway, see you.”

  Ashinaro watched her disappear into the dust clouds of the Boneyard.

  Unar’s Tower cleared? Belantris had no reason to lie to him, but still, he found it hard to believe.

  Well, it was on the way to Arkalis. He could stop by and check it out.

  Hornblade sat at the tower’s ramp, rereading his divine quest scroll.

  A land long isolated from the civilized world has once more been opened to you. Make your way to the city of Crystal Rest on Fairwind, gain passage on the Divide Crosser, and embark to Fayteraus. From there, seek out Unar’s Tower to the south of the drakken city of Argalis. Hidden within this tower resides a record of a false god. Find this record, and bring it to one of my temples.

  He’d searched every nook and cranny of the tower, yet had found nothing.

  It was a divine quest, so it couldn’t be wrong, but he didn’t see how he could have missed anything.

  He supposed it might be on the roof, though that would be a truly odd place for it. It was the only place he hadn’t searched. He’d been interrupted as he was trying to figure out a way to access it by a group of four Greater Defenders, but they had simply wandered the first floor and by the time he’d made it down, they’d already left, and he wasn’t about to chase them out into the Boneyard. Not in this weather. Even in his battleform the heat was unpleasant, to put it mildly.

  He wasn’t sure why they’d come, but if it had been for the record, they’d failed to find it. If they had, his quest would have updated.

  He wished that were the case. At least then he’d have a lead to follow.

  He leaned back on his hands, studying the tower looming above. Maybe there was a hidden room. Or maybe the record really was on the roof. Not that he’d been able to find a way up there.

  Worst came to worst, he could fly up there with his Wind Stride relic. Though gaining that much height would be a chore.

  He sighed, got up, and entered the tower to begin his search again.

  But before he made it more than a few paces in, he heard someone else approaching.

  Hornblade faded into the shadows, annoyed at yet another interruption.

  A few moments later a figure appeared at the bottom of the ramp, peering into the tower’s open door.

  There was only one of them this time, so Hornblade decided to have a bit of fun to vent his frustration.

  The air grew hotter and clearer as Ashinaro moved deeper into the Boneyard, away from the safety of the edges and deeper into its labyrinthian depths. Rarely would there be monsters strong enough to give him trouble, but sometimes he’d encounter a particularly strong Beast or even a Fiend from Unar’s and have to run the other way.

  Today, luckily, was not one of those days. Which was good, because cutting through the Boneyard would take half a day off the journey to Arkalis, shortcutting the main road, and if he had to run all the way back to the guards now, it would somewhat defeat the purpose.

  He skirted a ridge resembling a spine, its vertebrae taller than he was, following it until it let out into a small grassland from which Unar’s Tower seemed to sprout.

  He stood before it, gazing up at its zig-zagging edifice. Red and white stone with a single metal door engraved with symbols Ashinaro couldn’t decipher.

  It had been here longer than anyone could remember, longer than Argalis itself. Even this close, the impression of the jagged edges being bloody teeth within a giant maw didn’t abate.

  He was tempted to stop in and look around.

  Being cleared of monsters would be a first in Ashinaro’s lifetime. And, as far as he knew, in all the tower’s history.

  It was an exceptional feat. One that was assumed to be impossible with the Excavator rejuvenating the monsters within. But now, as he stood peering into the open door at the deactivated machine, he couldn’t doubt his own eyes.

  The machine lay dormant.

  Even his beyondsight revealed nothing.

  The trolls really had cleared it of monsters and somehow shut down the Excavator.

  It wouldn’t hurt to look around. Belantris and the others had. They’d likely taken anything of value the trolls had left behind, but maybe they’d missed something.

  But as he stared inside, it didn’t look like that was the case. There weren’t even any monster corpses. The trolls must have really cleaned the place out.

  Just as he began to leave, diverting around the tower to reach the road to Arkalis, something just ahead of him flickered, coalescing from nothing as it whistled through the air toward him.

  He threw himself to the side, but it was too fast, slamming into him, pain erupting from his shoulder as he was spun in the air and thrown back, landing hard on the grass and losing his grip on his staff.

  “Never drop your weapon,” Instructor Denerik’s voice echoed in his mind, but it was drowned out by the pain radiating from the impact site into his chest like a thousand frozen needles slithering through his veins.

  He tried to get up, but could hardly move.

  Then a figure stepped out from the air itself. Tall, slender, skin like mist, with violet eyes and a dark mass of hair.

  A shade.

  Ashinaro had never encountered one before now, but had heard stories. Masters of stealth, their battleforms able to fade into the surroundings.

  And the only race who could steal relics from another person.

  Or at least, from their corpse.

  The man looked far more human than Ashinaro would have expected. The most human of any battleform, save for the strange skin.

  The shade ambled closer, tilting his head, observing Ashinaro’s pained reaction with detached curiosity.

  “What a fortuitus encounter.” He leaned down, peering at the object in Ashinaro’s shoulder. “Oh dear. That looks rather uncomfortable. My apologies, didn’t mean to startle you quite so violently.”

  Ashinaro gritted his teeth against the spreading cold agony, trying to focus his beyondsight on the ambusher.

  He wasn’t veiling himself at all, so Ashinaro’s beyondsight saw into him easily.

  [Shade, Greater Champion]

  Champion.

  Despair washed over him, colder even than the sensation spreading from the object embedded in his shoulder. This wasn’t an ambush; it was an execution.

  The shade straightened, tapping a finger against his chin. He wore bright, form-fitting clothes of fine cloth, adorned with silver and gold tracery. Like the elves, shades didn’t need clothes tailored to adapt to their battleforms. “I suppose there’s no need to let such a fortuitous encounter go to waste, eh? Let’s see what prizes you contain.”

  He finally focused his own beyondsight on Ashinaro, his violet eyes widening slightly. He blinked.

  Then he sighed theatrically.

  “Initiate? You’re barely a godsworn.” He gestured vaguely at Ashinaro’s shoulder. “Well, that was a complete waste of perfectly good blightbone.”

  He leaned down again, this time plucking a thin obsidian dart from Ashinaro’s shoulder with casual disregard. The sharp pain lessened slightly with its removal, but a deep, aching cold remained and continued to spread.

  The shade examined the dart, turning it over in his fingers. “Interesting stuff, this. Paralyzes pretty much anything below Archfiend or Hero. Next best thing to a battleform collar.” He flicked it away dismissively. It rocketed through the air, crashing into Unar’s Tower with a resounding crack, though the ancient building was undamaged. The shade raised an eyebrow at the tower, then shook his head. “Absolute overkill for an Initiate.”

  He didn’t sound angry, only mildly inconvenienced. Like someone who’d used the wrong spice in a recipe.

  Ashinaro wondered if Kakoris had been the one to sell the blightbone to him, convincing him of its grand uses.

  Blightbone was common and easy to counter—Ashinaro even had the required philter back in his room. But of course, he hadn’t taken it. No one used blightbone here on Fayteraus. Perhaps it was rare on Fairwind, or perhaps the philter to counteract it didn’t exist there.

  Unfortunately for Ashinaro, without the philter, it was a deadly poison. It slowly paralyzed every part of your body until your lungs ceased to draw breath and your heart ceased to beat.

  There was one remaining way to counteract it—he could shift to his humanform.

  It would be difficult with it already coursing through his veins, but not impossible.

  Ashinaro focused, fighting against the poison, willing himself to shift back to his humanform.

  Then the shade withdrew a knife from somewhere and knelt over Ashinaro, breaking his concentration.

  Ashinaro raised a limp arm to fend him off, but the shade easily pushed it aside. Even if Ashinaro hadn’t been rapidly weakening, he was no match for a Champion.

  There was a sensation of slicing and a slight noise.

  The man had just spilled Ashinaro’s guts, and Ashinaro hadn’t even felt it.

  Well, that was a mercy at least.

  Then the shade made another slice and took hold of something.

  Ashinaro found himself rolled over roughly to his stomach then once more onto his back, his tail now pinned at an awkward angle.

  The shade held his pack, rummaging through it. He made a disgusted grunt and tossed it to the ground.

  “Honestly, the quality of godsworn out here. See new lands, they said. See the mighty drakken, they said. All I’ve seen is a wasteland with intolerable temperatures.” He looked off into the distance. “I suppose I should visit the city…”

  Ashinaro once more focused on shifting back to his humanform while struggling to reach for his dropped staff.

  If he could break the link to his battleform, that might be the jolt he needed.

  The shade returned his gaze to Ashinaro, following the motion and seeming to notice the weapon for the first time. “Ah, and what is this? A cursed weapon? I suppose I may as well take something for my troubles.”

  With blurring speed, the shade moved forward and scooped up the staff.

  Despite his swift movement, he made it look eminently casual.

  Ashinaro swiped at him from the ground, but the shade easily stepped back, looking not at Ashinaro, but at the staff he now held.

  “Fossilized Staff.” He gave it an experimental twirl.

  Ashinaro felt his link to the weapon shatter as the shade easily wrested control of it. He focused all his will on returning to his humanform.

  He didn’t know how he’d escape a Champion even if he managed to shift, but one problem at a time.

  “Grants Staff Mastery. How… quaint. Bit crude for my tastes, but I suppose I can find a use for it.” The shade spun the staff again, then winced. “They’re not kidding when they say cursed items have a kick to them.” He shrugged and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll take it. Rosewind will love it.” He got a distant, complicated expression. Then he shook himself and smiled down at Ashinaro. “A small compensation for the wasted blightbone.”

  Ashinaro could only watch, helpless. His body simply wouldn’t obey him and shift to humanform, no matter how hard he tried.

  “Right then,” the shade said brightly. “Sorry about the… you know.” He waved vaguely at Ashinaro. “Mistakes were made. Mostly by you, for being so dreadfully weak and venturing all the way out here. But I suppose I share some blame for not checking first. Must be more thorough next time.” He gave an exaggerated bow. “May Rage fill you and find you wanting.”

  And then he was gone, melting back into nothing as silently and suddenly as he had appeared.

  Ashinaro tried to push himself up, but found he could no longer move at all.

  He lay on the soft grass, staring up at the jagged edges of Unar’s Tower against the clear green sky. It looked more like a mouth than ever. One which was about to close around him and swallow him whole.

  The cold was absolute now, all other sensations scoured away before it.

  He couldn’t even feel his humanform any longer.

  His breathing grew ragged and shallow, his lungs struggling to take in breath. He tried to cling to consciousness, to the quest whose details he inexplicably still recalled. To the hope of finally reaching Defender and obtaining his first relic.

  But it all felt distant, slipping away like smoke.

  His life was draining steadily, inevitably, like water from a cracked vessel.

  He gave one last final push, putting all his will into shifting to humanform.

  There came a brief sensation, and hope welled up in him.

  But he still couldn’t move.

  He could see only a sliver of his body, but enough to see it was still covered in scales.

  He was stuck in his battleform. Stuck poisoned.

  Stuck dying.

  This was it, then.

  No.

  This was how he would die.

  No!

  Not in glorious battle against a worthy foe, not after a long life of adventure and achievement, but at the casual whim of an outsider who hadn’t even considered him worth the effort of a proper kill.

  A wasted life, he thought bitterly. No quests, no relics, no renown. Killed on the first step of my first real chance, by some bored shade wasting time. The unfairness of it stung more than the cold.

  He saw Maris’s face again in his mind’s eye. That flash of horror before the divine light took her. Was this the end for everyone who strived? Just nothingness? Or worse?

  Damn the gods. And damn their messengers who’d not once sought him out. He didn’t care if it was blasphemy. There wasn’t much worse they could do to him. They may not have afflicted him with one of their curses, but he was cursed nonetheless.

  No. He wouldn’t give up. Futile though it may be, he would fight until the bitter end.

  He forced himself to move, to shift to humanform.

  His vision blurred completely, fading to grey smudges.

  The sound of his beating heart receded to dull tapping, then quieted, faded. Stilled to silence.

  He felt a final, profound weariness settle over him.

  He fought it.

  His eyes closed.

  He fought to open them. They remained shut.

  Silence. Utter, complete. A quietness so full it was like he sensed nothing at all, not even his own body.

  Then, a shift.

  Not a sound, but a change in the quality of the silence. A presence.

  His beyondsight opened of its own accord.

  Standing over him, where the shade had stood moments or perhaps ages before, was a figure. It shimmered, indistinct, like viewing someone through flowing water. Cloaked and hooded, its form constantly shifted, defied focus. No features were discernible beneath the hood, only deeper shadow.

  A divine messenger.

  It radiated no emotion Ashinaro could identify. No joy, no excitement, no disgust.

  This was no messenger of any god he’d ever heard of. And where were its wings? Ashinaro saw none.

  The figure tilted its hooded head, seeming to regard him.

  He tried to speak, but no sound emerged. He still couldn’t shift to his humanform. Couldn’t do anything at all except look at this strange messenger.

  Then, from within the depths of its shifting cloak, a hand emerged. It too was indistinct, yet it held something solid: a divine scroll.

  Which it simply let drop from its grip.

  The scroll fell towards Ashinaro’s face. And as it fell, it unfurled of its own accord.

  They aren’t supposed to do that, he thought floatily.

  The text revealed itself, searing into his fading consciousness.

  What was separate, has become joined. What was dormant, has awakened. Now, a great burden is asked of you. Accept, or do not. The choice is solely yours.

  Ashinaro of Argalis has called upon you to embark upon a crusade. This missive finds you in your time of greatest need. Thus, should you accept, you will be made whole, and moved to your quarters in Argalis with due haste. In addition, you will be granted a relic to begin you on your crusade.