Ancient History - Beginnings

[Herald of the Storm]

Heshazde Oasis, Fallien - Present Day

Mitra’s light was fading fast, as it always did out in the dune seas. Sheillal had pushed his caravan hard, promising them that they would make the Heshazde Oasis before the light completely gave out. It would be a close thing, but the caravan master had been right. Sheillal himself had stoically ignored the muttered curses of his wage hands, riding at the fore of the caravan with his eyes firmly locked on the horizon. Complaints over long marches were a part of caravan life, and it was a poor master who took them to heart. Giving in to fatigue was a weakness, and in the wastes weakness meant death. Besides, he had been correct, and his forced march off the regular caravan route had shaved at least two days from their estimated travelling time. An audible groan of relief issued from every throat as the caravan rode into the Heshazde Oasis. Every throat but Sheillal’s.

“Master,” a stocky man called out, approaching Sheillal. Khemal was a hard man. A working of leathery sun-kissed skin stretched taut over the coils of thick muscle. He was stern and sober, and he was also Sheillal’s friend and second in command. The dozen years Khemal had travelled with the caravan had turned him into tough leather, both inside and out, but he’d always been thankful to the man who had given purpose to his life. There was little thanks in him now though, as he approached the lead caravan.

Khemal waved Sheillal’s attention toward the work hands as he came to rest before the caravan master. The men were visibly weary, worn to the bone by the day’s long march. “I did not voice my complaints over your decision to turn us to Heshazde but I must admit that I felt my doubt as surely as the others did. In all my years we’ve never marched that hard, but you were right.” Khemal bowed his head in respect. “Once more your mastery is revealed. Please accept my apologies.” The words meaning did not match the harsh way in which they were spoken, however.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Sheillal said. He either had not heard the Khemal’s angry inflection or else had chosen to ignore it. “I did nothing more than run the figures and exert my will to enforce what was necessary to match their requirement.”

“As you say,” Khemal replied, frowning. His friend had been acting strangely since the caravan left Irrakam three days previous. Sheillal was a smart man, and a shrewd bargainer. He knew facts and figures as well as any in the business, but he had never spoken of them in this manner. Hearing the caravan master speak of facts and accomplishing exertions rather than the effort that his men had put forth seemed somehow wrong to Khemal. Something was wrong with the Sheillal, but Khemal didn’t quite know what it was.

“Will there be anything else, Khemal?” Sheillal asked, flat eyes staring blankly at his lieutenant.

“No, master,” Khemal replied. He wanted to shout at Sheillal, to vent his frustration at his friend’s behavior. We have travelled three days from the Great City, he would say. Three days of travel with a man who is a stranger to me. You have always been bold, but never like this. The safety of our men and our beasts has always been the priority. Why did you order us here? Why did you take this risk, my friend? But Sheillal was master, and he had made it clear his orders were not be questioned.

Instead, Khemal turned and began whistling the hands to rise from their rest. “I shall see to it that the animals are watered and the camp properly set.”

Sheillal nodded and turned back to staring at the horizon, lost in his own thoughts.

[Herald of the Storm]

Oracular Laboratory, Magitect Academae – Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

“I am now adding a vial of distilled Essence of Vixis to the crystalline matrix. Essence of Vixis, as you should all know, is a potent fate weaving catalyst which aids in tuning the natural resonance of …” Vaahnzerekh let his mind wander while he continued to lecture. Creation and basic use of first tier seer crystals was not a particularly interesting topic to the Senior Oracle. But he’d performed this lecture and its ritual demonstration over six dozen times now and knew it well enough that doing so was a rote activity.

Vaahnzerekh was extremely frustrated.

He had so much work that needed doing before tonight’s test and yet here he was, dressed in his teacher’s frock, and lecturing glassy eyed disciples on the formation of fortune telling crystals. He’d been a Senior Oracular Magitect for over three cycles now, yet somehow Vaahnzerekh still found himself slotted to instruct every Fundamentals of Oracular Rituals section in the Basics of Magitect course. He knew as well as any citizen of Krahn that magitect was an important element in the continued development and well-being of the Glorious Empire of Krahn. But the inborn ability to truly comprehend and wield magitect was rare, at least with any appreciable level of skill. Rarer still was the ability to harness the full spectrum of temporal fate weavings required to become an Oracle. Vaahnzerekh doubted that even one of his current round of disciples possessed enough ability to pass the apprentice qualification testing. But the Heralds had mandated that all Krahn disciples were to take at least a beginner’s course in magitect at the Academae.

“Any questions?” Vaahnzerekh asked, his mind catching up to the fact that he had finished the lesson. Not that he expected any answers from the crowd. Most disciples only attended Basics of Magitect long enough to achieve an appropriately passing grade while they focused on their other courses. It was part of the charm of mandatory class requirement. And just like the disciples, Vaahnzerekh found himself wishing that he were somewhere else. But protocol had to be observed, and so the Oracle scanned the row of indicator stones for outstanding questions. Vaahnzerekh was finally about to call and end to the day’s farce when he noticed a single indicator light from a young woman in the third row.

“Ah,” he hemmed, disappointed. “Disciple Hyalla, you have a question?”

“I do, Oracle Vaahnzerekh,” Hyalla answered. “As a senior Oracle, are you part of Master Khotemi’s Seal of Khoalaeris ritual?”

“I don’t believe that’s pertinent to the lesson, Disciple,” Vaahnzerekh scowled. His mind instantly raced to the specifications of the ritual. The same ritual he had been researching since attaining Senior Oracle status. A ritual that was now all but Master Oracle Khotemi’s.

“But …”

Vaahnzerekh stamped his magitect staff on the polished stone floor with a crack, silencing the student. “Class dismissed,” he said in a neutral tone that brooked no argument.

[Herald of the Storm]

Heshazde Oasis, Fallien - Present Day

“How’d it go?” Madi asked. The pack master watched as Khemal stormed by with a dark expression on his face. “That bad?”

“It’s not right,” Khemal spat. He grabbed a random strap on the tent pack and hauled savagely, tearing a small rip in the tough leather’s stitching. Madi clicked once, disapprovingly, then reached around to unfasten the bundle before Khemal had the chance to ruin anything else.

“I tell you Madi,” Khemal snapped in frustration, moving aside to let the other man work. “There is something wrong with Sheillal. He’s simply not acting like himself.”

“You think he’s keeping something from us?” Madi asked, thrusting the tent into Khemal’s arms.

“I think it has something to do with the foreigners,” Khemal said. Both men paused to mutter a curse before spitting onto the sand. “Whatever it is that this expedition has us looking for has bewitched our master. That’s why he disdains our company and has taken his meals with them since we started our journey.”

“Normally I’d tell you that you were being superstitious,” Madi said. He gestured at the exhausted workers who were still working to set the camp. “But after seeing what Sheillal is willing to put us through to gain the devils’ favor, I have to agree.”

The two men fell into a frustrated silence as they worked to put up their tent. As the senior members of Sheillal’s caravan, Khemal and Madi had a tent of their own, unlike the communal tents that the caravan’s lesser members shared. Sheillal, as the caravan’s master, had a tent all his own available for his use. But, another oddity of the trip, Sheillal has thus far refused to have it set up for him.

“There he goes again,” Madi noted as the pair of them put the finishing touches on their tent. Khemal turned to see Sheillal being aided from his wagon by the heavyset foreigner who served as the foreign leader’s assistant. The man, Khemal hadn’t bothered to learn the foreigner’s name, was also a mute, though he supposedly managed communication through hand signals. At least, that’s what Sheillal had told him when Khemal had asked. How a man that limited managed to snare a job as an assistant for a trip into the dune seas was a mystery to Khemal. But then, everything the heathen foreigners did made little sense to the lieutenant.

“Leave him to it,” Khemal spat and entered the tent. “Suravani willing our friend will return to us once these damnable foreigners are gone.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Madi asked as he unrolled his eagerly awaited bedroll.

“If that’s so,’ Khemal replied with a shrug. “We leave Sheillal to himself. I’ll not continue to be a part in this growing madness.”

[Herald of the Storm]

Sheillal sat next to a fire bowl, the sullen coals doing little to keep the chill of the Fallien night at bay. If the caravan master noticed it at all however, he didn’t let it show. Standing beside him, seemingly as always when the caravan was at rest, was the foreigner archaeologist’s heavyset assistant.

“He suspects too much.” Sheillal said finally.

The foreigner thumped his chest rhythmically.

“Agreed,” Sheillal nodded, then turned back to staring at the coals.

[Herald of the Storm]

Magitect Academae – Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

“Wait up, Vaahn!”

Vaahnzerekh grimaced and lengthened his stride. He would rather not have had to deal with Khaaltek at the moment if he could avoid his Terran counterpart, but Khaaltek always seemed to be able to slip his way through a crowd unhindered. One of the benefits of specializing in earth magitect, Vaahnzerekh supposed. Perhaps, when he had more time, he’d work on bolstering his Terran skills.

Khaaltek called out again, drawing curious stares from more than a few disciples. It wasn’t every day that one got to see a Senior Magitect acting like the common rabble. Vaahnzerekh flushed at the thought and made a mental note to have a discussion with Shriaal the Seeker to reinvestigate the topic of transitive archways. The Oracles had eventually learned where the last attempt had led to, after all, so why not tweak it and give it another shot. Vaahnzerekh had more than a few favors that he could call it, and perhaps much more if the today’s test ritual went well.

A nearby class let out, the walkway suddenly filling with dozens of bustling disciples. Vaahnzerekh watched them spill out in front of him and gave an inward groan. There would be no escaping Khaaltek now. Knowing what he had to do, Vaahnzerekh worked the look on his face into one of surprise.

“Well what have we here?” Vaahnzerekh rounded on his pinch-faced companion. Contrary to popular belief Terran Magitect were not all hulking brutes. While many were as stoic and hulking as they stones they worked, Khaaltek was most certainly not.

“I'm glad I caught you Vaahn,” Khaaltek panted, “I've chased you halfway across the Academae. Can't believe you didn't hear me calling.”

Vaahnzerekh winced. Khaaltek and he were quite good friends, but right now he wanted nothing to do with the little man. He knew exactly what Khaaltek wanted and where this conversation was destined to go. Still, he wasn’t fond of treating his associates poorly, let alone his friends.

“Apologies,” Vaahnzerekh offered somewhat lamely. “My thoughts are somewhat distant at the moment.”

“An Oracle with his head among the stars? That’s terribly surprising,” Khaaltek laughed. “Or is it that maybe your head wasn’t in the stars. Maybe it was somewhere else?”

Here it comes, Vaahnzerekh thought, gritting his teeth.

[Herald of the Storm]

“Maybe it’s on an entirely different world, eh?” Khaaltek nudged Vaahnzerekh conspiratorially.

Vaahnzerekh sighed, shifting away from the Terran. What Khaaltek lacked in stereotypical Terran physique, he more than made up for in their vaunted stubborn cluelessness. Still, the more he conversed it became clear that the Terran was more in the know about the Seal of Khoalaeris than Vaahnzerekh would have given him credit for.

And, as much as he hated to admit it, it was good to be able to talk with a fellow Magitect. Even if that Magitect happened to be a stubborn Terran. It was infinitely better than the seemingly endless parade of state officials and grant managers with their ignorant questions but lack of ability to understand the answers to the questions they asked. Purposefully sundering the veil between realities by invoking a hyper-acceleration of a controllable third tier portal was well beyond the Basics of Magitect.

But all the begging and scraping had proved to be worth it. With enemies crowding them from all sides, the Kron’tyr command had finally been forced to accept his proposal and the funding for his project had gone through. The last shipment of rare alchemical materials had been delivered to the Academae yesterday. Master Khotemi’s senior level research assistants had been diligently preparing the last of the preparatory work throughout the night. All according to Vaahnzerekh’s design plans, of course. It was maddening, to have worked so hard only to have the work taken from you at the finale.

Even so, Vaahnzerekh would have been there himself to ensure everything was in its correct place if Khotemi himself hasn’t ordered him away. The Master had said it was because Vaahnzerekh’d be needed at his peak, but the Oracle knew it was simply because Khotemi wanted to share as little glory as possible. He’d grudgingly obeyed Khotemi’s orders, not that he’d had much choice. Rest hadn’t been what he’d gotten, however. He’d lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, his mind burning with a mixture of frustration and excitement. He was angry with Khotemi’s usurpation of his work, true, but no matter who completed the trial it would validate his life’s work. If he was correct, then he would be the one to have changed the Kron’tyr Empire forever.

“I always wondered what made a good Oracle,” Khaaltek laughed, jabbing Vaahnzerekh in the side. “Obviously it’s constantly having your head in the stars.” Vaahnzerekh blinked, taking a moment to realize that he’d been so focused on his thoughts that he and Khaaltek had walked through two wings of the Academae without him knowing it.

“Sorry, Khaal,” he muttered, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. He could feel the heat of embarrassment burning on his cheeks. “I haven’t exactly gotten a lot of sleep recently.”

Khaaltek chuckled. “I’ll bet. It’s not every day that one gets to oversee the opening of a portal to another world. I just hope that you can keep your presence of mind long enough to avoid falling through the portal midway through the unbinding.”

“I very much doubt that will be possible,” Vaahnzerekh sighed. “Especially since Master Khotemi has me stationed in secondary while he oversees the ritual. I suppose I’m there to ensure the procedure goes off correctly.”

Vaahnzerekh sighed, “Or to act as a power funnel in case of a traumatic backlash.”

“I still can’t believe Khotemi took over the ritual,” Khaaltek spat.

Vaahnzerekh shrugged. “It is his right as master of the Oracular Council.”

“But it's your ritual, your theories. History should show that you were the first to spread the Glorious Empire across time and space, not that self-important hack.” Vaahnzerekh shrugged again and Khaaltek muttered a few more angry words towards the Oracles.

“I’m not kidding, Vaahn. This should be yours.”

“I'll be there, Khaal. I'm doing this for the Empire and for the knowledge, not for the fame and power.”

“True but you have to admit that fame and power have their places too. It'd certainly mean that you'd never have to crawl and scrape before those know-nothings again.”

“But those in power are also the easiest to target,” Vaahnzerekh chuckled, “I'm happy being third or fourth in the crosshairs for the lesser races' assassins.”

“You’ve got me there,” Khaaltek conceded. “Anyways, this is where we have to split. I have a lecture to do on the nature of Magitect restructuring of tectonic plates.”

“You enjoy that.” Vaahnzerekh patted his friend on the shoulder with mock sympathy.

“Indeed. And Vaahn,” Vaahnzerekh paused, turning back to Khaaltek. “Good luck.”

[Herald of the Storm]

Heshazde Oasis, Fallien - Present Day

“Master?” Madi asked, approaching Sheillal boldly. It wasn’t exactly unheard of for the pack master to approach the caravan master, but given this morning’s circumstance, and the very visible anger on Madi’s face, it was cause for note. Madi stood, fuming like Mitra’s mid-day stare, while Sheillal calmy went about the motions of reading his wagon for travel. The carvan mater, unconcerned, didn’t even bother to stop and acknowledge his third in command’s breach.

This went on for several tense moments, just long enough for Madi to be brought to the edge of his patience, but before that event could occur Sheillal finally spoke. “I take it the preparations for departure are complete then, pack master?” Madi stared at the caravan master with furious intent, but the nearness of the hired hands meant that he had to hold himself in check. Despite everything, Madi was a professional. Besides, word traveled quickly within the caravan circles of Irrakam, and Madi didn’t want the latest rumors about him to be that he publicly accosted his caravan master. Such things would make future employment quite difficult.

Sheillal never paused in his work, letting Madi’s temper simmer down to the point where the man could make respectful conversation. He started to voice his concerns once more, about how it was foolish to break camp at a time like this, but Sheillal had been quite insistent. “The preparations are complete,” he ground out instead. “Per your orders, Master, the caravan will be ready to depart within ten minutes.” The “master” was barked harshly, and there was something in it that had been broken forever.

Sheillal finally finished lashing his wagon down and turned to face Madi, his dispassionate eyes scanning the pack master’s rugged features. There was something else hiding behind the anger. Was it fear? Worry? Sheillal mused that it was probably a mixture of emotions, all bound up and struggling against one another, putting Madi out of balance with himself. It would pass. Or it wouldn’t. The matter was of no concern to Sheillal as long a Madi did his job and ensured that the foreigner’s wagons were secured and ready to go when he ordered.

“It is a shame about Khemal,” he said, offering a branch to his subordinate. “But Mitra has risen and his fury will soon be upon us. We still have far to travel to reach the foreigner’s excavation. Once we’ve delivered our services, we can collect our pay and take time to mourn in a proper fashion.”

“Mourn in a proper fashion?” Madi blurted, drawing a few scandalous looks from nearby workers. “Master, at least give me the time to embalm Khemal properly with ointments and honey so that his body can be taken back to Irrakam. Don’t leave him in the sand, I urge you.”

Sheillal glanced at the sun, already feeling the morning heat on his weathered flesh. The embalming ritual would take several hours, at the least. Hours that the caravan could not afford. Madi saw the response in his master’s cold gaze and sagged in defeat. It was the bitterest of pills, leaving a dear friend in a shallow depression by the oasis. It was something that Khemal would not have stood for. Nor, Madi would have thought several days ago, would it be something that Sheillal would stand for.

Khemal had been right. Sheillal had changed.

Seeing that there was no further reason to dispute the fact, Sheillal turned from Madi and mounted his wagon, once again assuming a distant, far off stare. He flicked the reins once, lightly, and set the caravan into motion.

[Herald of the Storm]

Oracular Ritual Chamber Six, Magitect Academae – Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

“Preparations are now complete! Stand by for the commencement of the ritual,” Khotemi, First Oracle and Presiding Master of the Oracular Council, announced.

Rather than shouting his words over the chaos of the ritual preparations, Khotemi’s voice echoed in the minds of all present, Magitect and civilian alike. There was a murmur of surprise from several dignitaries or people in their retinues, but most of the assembled viewers were familiar with the Oracular ritual of psychically augmented speech. It was a fairly basic ritual, after all. Even a beginner Magitect of a non-Oracular Tradition.

Still, even a basic ritual such as that required an amount of concentration to maintain, and Vaahnzerekh frowned in disapproval. It was, at best, an unnecessary gesture of arrogance or else, at worst, the beginnings of a fatal distraction.

“Sure he’s powerful,” Vaahnzerekh bitterly mused. “But he’s still working off models for an untested ritual procedure. How is he going to know to compensate for fluctuations in the …”

Vaahnzerekh realized what he was thinking and cut the line of thought off. Of course Khotemi would be able to compensate in problems arose during the procedure. He was, after all, the First Oracle for a reason. Besides, he and Khotemi both knew that his presence here wasn’t simply a courtesy afforded to him as the ritual’s researcher. Should anything go wrong, his familiarity with the process would likely mean that the power backlash would be his to deal with.

“Release controls,” Khotemi’s voice intoned, drawing Vaahnzerekh’s attention back into focus. The Master Oracle was a bear of a man and he cut quite an imposing figure amongst the thinner, more bookish assistants in the primary staging area. Even though Vaahnzerekh was a Senior Oracle, he realized that he hadn’t spent much time with Khotemi. That was not likely to be the case if Vaahnzerekh’s ritual truly managed to open the Seal of Khoalaeris.

Runes of restraint were broken at the Master’s command, and a swirling vortex of energy sprang up from the various adimixtures which had been prepared on the ritual floor. As the energies took shape, commanded by Khotemi’s will, Vaahnzerekh thought about everything that had led him to this moment.

In the days following the discovery of other planes of existence by Khoalaeris the Oracle, there had been no shortage of research into how to reach these other realms. Megitects from all over the Glorious Empire, and even a few civilians, had made it all the rage in positing theories on how to open the seemingly impenetrable barrier between worlds. One by one these attempts failed, and over time the barrier that separated the Glorious Empire from outside realities became mockingly known at the Seal of Khoalaeris. Interest in opening the Seal had faded to a fringe science, fit only for the most esoteric and obsessive of Magitects.

Vaahnzerekh had been one of those. He’d completed his Senior Magitect thesis on an outline of previous failed attempts to open the Seal, why each had failed, and what potential differences could have been made to the procedures to make them more effective. His advisor had been less than pleased by his choice of research subject but Vaahnzerekh had been adamant about it. None of the Oracular Council had been interested in the finished report, but they had grudgingly promoted him to Senior Oracle status despite that on Vaahnzerekh’s sheet aptitude and displayed breadth of knowledge. But if this ritual succeeded where all of the others had failed then Vaahnzerekh’s unappreciated thesis would go down in history as a pivotal moment in the history of the Glorious Empire.

“Assuming Khotemi doesn’t mess it up and either kill us all or sink my credentials forever,” Vaahnzerekh grimaced, as an arc of green lightning erupted from the coalescing orb of power. The lightning flashed across the ritual chamber, drawing gasps and shrieks from all present save Khotemi and Vaahnzerekh themselves. As expected, the lighting struck the ethereal protective field surrounding the alchemical circle and exploded in a bright shower of green sparks which brilliantly lit the chamber before fading from view.

“Initiate third phase,” Khotemi commanded. This time the strain in his words was noticeable, even through the psychic link. There was a burst of energy within the sphere as an apprentice added the Kulthan Spirits to the adimixture. The silvery essence of the spirits flowed in and out of the spectral energy instantly turning the mixture to a bright burning gold. Khotemi nodded at the change, despite having his eyes closed in concentration.

This was it, Vaahnzerekh knew, focusing intently on Khotemi. This was the most critical point of the ritual, where even a single slip of mental control over the energies of the ritual would result in a catastrophic backlash. Suddenly, and without warning, Khotemi gasped. The master’s eyes flew open and the thick muscles of his body went rigid. Vaahnzerekh could see Khotemi’s veins bulging within the man’s leathery hide, and there was blood in the whites of his eyes.

Instinctively, Vaahnzerekh propelled his will into the ether, preparing to syphon as much energy as he could within the confines of the ritual. But all of his efforts ceased when the sphere of energy slowly, grudgingly collapsed, kneading into itself over and over like raw dough.

“By the power of the Heralds,” Vaahnzerekh whispered, stunned. “It’s working.”

“Open wide the Seal of Khoalaeris,” Khotemi screamed aloud, no longer using his psychic augmentation. Multicolored lines formed within the orb, weaving within and around one another. The sphere tightened, pulled inward by those lines until it was almost too small to see. And then it exploded outwards into a yawning portal, spilling bright, warm sunshine into the ritual chamber.

“I’ve done it,” Vaahnzerekh gasped, staring for the first time into another realm of existence.

[Herald of the Storm]

Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

The celebrations lasted for weeks.

[Herald of the Storm]

Magitect Academae – Glorious Empire of Kron’tyr

“So what’s your Praetor like?” Khaaltek asked. “I’ve never met one.”

Vaahnzerekh shrugged. “Supposedly Vyrabron is in the top third of the Praetor Echelons. From what I’ve seen of him in his sparring matches, I can believe it. He moves like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I pity the day one of the lesser races tries to make an attempt on my life.”

The two Magitects had a laugh as they strolled through across the Academae’s grounds, but there was an uneasiness about it. Joke as they might about the possibility of an attack, the fallout from the success of Vaahnzerekh’s ritual, what was now being called the Eye of Khoalaeris, had been violently explosive amongst the lesser races. There had always been those who had been trod beneath the heel of the Glorious Empire’s rise to power, and the threats that had been made against the Oracular Council were being taken very seriously by the Masters. It had gotten so serious that every Senior Oracle had been assigned a bodyguard from the elite Praetor Echelons, the warriors who guarded the Heralds themselves.

“How are you handling having someone around you at all times?” Khaaltek asked. “A loner like you must find it very distracting.”

Vaahnzerekh less than gently nudged his companion with one elbow. “It’s not the company that bothers me,” he said. “It’s that Vyrabron seems to be physically unable to stop talking unless he’s sparring. I swear he’d even give you some stiff competition when it comes to incessant babbling.”

It was Khaaltek’s turn to throw an elbow.

“Overall,” Vaahnzerekh continued, easily side-stepping Khaaltek’s strike. “It’s not so bad. I’ve got no family and other than the constant chatter Vyrabron is decent enough company. I’m not complaining, which is more than can be said about many of the other Oracles.”

“Well your discomfort is a price I’ll happily pay to continue to get samples like the ones that have been coming through the Eye.”

Vaahnzerekh rolled his eyes dramatically. “The Oracles appreciate the support of our Terran brethren in this, our time of troubles.”

“I’m serious, Vaahn,” Khaaltek immediately became more animated now that the conversation had shifted to his work. “There’s something about the samples from this other world that react spectacularly to our Macitect.”

“Oh? How spectacularly?”

“As in, we’ve managed to alchemically treat a particular type of obsidian-like stone to make it hard as steel and self-repairing.”

“Self-repairing rock?” Vaahnzerekh looked at his friend in confusion. “How, by all the Heralds, does that work?”

“I’m not really sure,” Khaaltek said, somewhat sheepishly. “I’m not on that project myself. But it’s been making the rounds through the Terran Tradition now. Some of the Senior Terrans have managed to make a semi-fluid rock that solidifies harder than steel and when broken will seal itself back together. Even if a chunk of it is cut out, it will somehow find a way to replicate the missing area.”

Vaahnzerekh whistled. “Something like that would be very useful. Do you know how much of it has been formulated?”

“I don’t think there’s much of it yet, but I’m sure there working on making more. And get this, the most interesting part, the stone’s malleability is psychically sensitive.” This caused Vaahnzerekh to stop in his tracks, something which Khaaltek found immensely satisfying.

“Let me get this straight. You Terrans have managed to create some sort of …” he paused, hands flopping about as he searched for the right word, “… living stone?”

“I told you it was spectacular,” Khaaltek said, smugly.

Vaahnzerekh thought about the implications of that. It was amazing, but he doubted that it would be the most amazing thing that came from his success. It would likely take years for the full implications of opening the Eye of Khoalaeris to become known. He had literally changed the fate of the Glorious Empire singlehandedly.

The thought both humbled and terrified him.

“Come on,” Vaahnzerekh said, resuming his walk. “I think Vyrabron is sparring down at Chikiirion Field. Maybe we can see one of his matches before he finishes for the day.”