In the same instant Hromagh vanished, the polarity of the unnatural pull Breaker had been feeling reversed. Like an undertow hidden in thin air, it threatened to pull him into the waves that suddenly seemed wicked with intent.

The demigod threw himself to the green sand and crawled away from the choppy waters like a worm in the mud. It felt like he crawled for an hour or more before the invisible force dragging at his body subsided.

He panted and rolled onto his back, gazing up at the pink sky. Fighting a Thayne and fighting the tidal forces of Phantaria had nearly been enough to exhaust his endless endurance. For the space of a moment he closed his eyes, daring to relax and rest.

“Joshua Cronen; rise, you stand accused,” a thin voice rasped. The warrior spun to his feet so fast the heel of his sandal carved up a section of turf.

Facing him was Khal’jaren; the sage god. The insectoid Thayne stood of a height with Cronen but was built like a bunch of rails cobbled together with rope. His wiry hands clutched his scroll and quill in perfect stillness, but his bulging eyes seemed to vibrate when Breaker looked directly into them.

“Of what am I accused, oh wise sage Thayne?” Josh demanded lightly.

“Why, of slaying one of our number.
Or do you not remember Draconus?”

An eel forged from hot lead writhed its way into Breaker’s stomach. He had slain the Thayne Draconus for daring to threaten Am’aleh, whose domain the sea deity had shared.

“Of course I recall, how could I forget
One of the greatest battles known to man?” A small smirk played across Breaker’s lips.
“Were you there? Did you linger, watch, record?
How can you blame me for his death, when you
Could have stepped in to save his life?”

The sage god’s robe swayed as he shook his bony skull from side to side.

“Only you and Am’aleh watched him die,” the Thayne said sadly.
“Unless you count your friend, the Telgradian.
It is of no regard; you are guilty.”

“Phaw! I could not have slain great Draconus
Without the permission of other Thaynes.
How many of you were at odds with him?”

Khal’jaren’s second set of hands broke their prayer pose in order to reach up and stroke his chin.

“You do not grasp the nature of the Thayne,” he said at last.
“All of us are at odds with each other.
We have shared this world for countless seasons.
There will always be bad blood in places.”

“Enough to merit the death of a Thayne?”

The sage considered, tilting his head from side to side, and then scrawled a single word on his parchment and resumed his prayer pose.

“So it would seem to all of us, and you.”

His form became smoke, and drifted away lazily on the breeze.