Am’aleh changed. Her shimmering silver hair became ordinary blonde, golden and alluring, but mortal. Her serous skin became opaque and cream colored. She became a normal woman with haunting blue eyes, who collapsed into the sea beneath the weight of the Thaynebinder.

Power flooded into me like water into a steam engine. My connection with the Tap grew to such a proportion I had never imagined, a tidal wave of magic I could safely ride, and harness. Arcane potential flooded in through my ears, through my eyes, through my nose and mouth, increasing until I felt like a giant among mice, like a mighty redwood among blades of grass.

I raised one hand, the hand with the bracer burning to my forearm, and the water surrounding me leaped back and up in every direction. Effortlessly, I kept the press of the ocean at bay, and looked down on the blonde woman Am’aleh had become.

She sputtered and wretched on the wet sandy ground, vomiting up seawater as she huddled on her knees. Her golden hair trailed wetly over her creamy back, soft skin glistening with salty droplets. She pressed her manacled forearms over ordinary breasts and glowered up at me.

“I am the ocean-” she said.

“No,” I replied, “now, I am.”

I spread my hands and rose upwards, lifted by invisible wings of air. I left Am’aleh in a prison with water walls and took a great step over the eastern horizon. My black boots landed on the western shores of Scara Brae. The thick-growing trees of Brokenthorn Forest covered the loamy landscape, as closely knit as bristles on a comb. The waves lapped timelessly at the shore, and I could feel each wax and wane, like a second pulse beating through my body.

My hands came up in front of my face as my fingertips turned translucent. The change to liquid spread up my forearms, and I became pure water, and then steam. I flew on the will of the wind across the small continent, to the city of Scara Brae itself. This far east, the sun already rose, half of the great fiery orb peering over the horizon. Need drove me; desire gave me direction. I knew not what I sought, but through force of will, I found it.

I slipped under the door of a great library, nought but a cloud of vapour. I flew past ranks of quiet people and over shelves laden heavy with books, following a spiralling staircase upwards to an office on the top floor. The door was barred but I crept through the keyhole, and without ears or eyes, I perceived.

“The Thaynebinder will be arriving in Gisela as we speak,” said the voice of a man, his tone even and confident. He had the broad shoulders and posture of a fighter, but the ink stains of a scholar. “Khal’jaren will be proud.”

“The Elder Sage? Proud?” The brunette woman scoffed, her sharp eyes and sharp face drawn up. The slashes of color in her tailored dress were as fierce as her tone. “I do not think he would stoop to such emotion.”

“Well he will be… something.” the tall man brushed short blond hair out of his eyes and steepled his fingers. “Surely he will reward us. Surely now.”

“He has not rewarded us for anything else we have done,” the woman reminded him, arms crossed over her breasts. “What do you think he means to do with the relic?”

“Control one of the Lesser Thayne, I expect. Perhaps Trisgen has stepped beyond his capacity. As we know there is war and strife in Corone, with the arrival of these strange cat folk.”

“Perhaps,” her reply hung in the air like a foul smell, but the sound had barely faded when she spoke again, “or perhaps the sage has finally tired of Am’aleh’s tryst with Joshua Cronen.”