“As I have said to you before, sober and floridly drunk, I am not asking you to change the past.” Suresh had explored Fallien of old for weeks whilst Mordelain had cavorted with merchant and master to rebuild the il’Jhain after the volcano erupted. He had used the portal to seek a resolution Mordelain had not yet considered. “I am asking you to use this vision to change the future.”

They walked through the teeming bazaar and wove through the spiderweb streets until they stood at the base of the great dome. Towering overhead, the structure was cladded in bronze plate so that in the midday sun it became a second sun. Thermal reservoirs drew the heat down beneath the earth and kept the stores dry and food healthy to survive the bitterly cold winter.

“This stood where the Outpost now stands. Once home to barley and maize grown in the Zaileya Greenhouses it becomes a home for the wayward souls scattered by the Cataclysm.” Suresh pointed to the dome’s peak with his spear.

“Agricultural advances meant Fallien was a master of export, not entirely dependent on the kindness of others to survive.” Mordelain bit her lip. “I helped design the smaller counterparts in the northern towns.” She had drawn on her youthful exuberance to foster ingenuity and greatness in her companions. “It was the first project I completed and my last.”

“You oft spoke of how it made you feel.” Suresh walked on, remaining in earshot of his charge. “To have subverted nature made the Fallieni akin to gods, or so the history books tell us.”

“Not gods, per say.” Mordelain flicked through the mental pages in her mind. “But certainly divine.”

“When this project was completed what did it mean for the people of Fallien?”

Mordelain struggled to remember but drew on the skeins of the past that lived and breathed around them to rekindle her memory.

“Many workers were set free of their contracts to pursue the arts and be with their families. Three years after it was completed, there was no street in Irrakam without a poet or dancer inciting crowds.” She had been amongst them and learnt much of her art from the first il’Jhain.

“That tale was corrupted by time, but it is still found in the origins of the Il’Jhain is it not?” Suresh stopped before the dome’s entrance and took in its size. “That those who now deliver and protect the roads helped pave them?”

“It’s a bastardisation of the truth, but yes.” Mordelain stopped at Suresh’s side. “What does this have to do with the stores?”

“How far down does it go?”

“Half a mile. Vents carry warm air across Irrakam to smaller depositories throughout the districts.” Mordelain looked east. “The vents churn out a fountain of sand over the city’s walls.” She remembered playing there as a child, the joy she felt being shot into the air and descending exhilarating. “I got a few bumps and bruises trying to fly.”

“Those holes are still in Irrakam’s walls. Few people notice them.” Suresh smirked.

“They blend in with the crumbling plaster and scorch marks from sun drake breath.” Mordelain tried to second guess her mentor.

“For a woman of seven centuries you have learnt little.” Suresh walked on, waving to the guards as he approached who signalled for the gates to open. “If the vents are still there, do you suppose the airways are also?”

Finally realising Suresh’s plan, Mordelain’s eyes widened. She took a moment to piece together fragments of the map of Irrakam and laid it over the Irrakam of old. There, clear as day, she saw how they could turn the tide of the Long Summer and save their home.

“Oh you clever bastard! Wait for me!” she cried, breaking into a sprint to slip through the doors as they started to close.