"Come my friends, for there is much further to climb." Tenoris looked down from the path ahead, shield and spear in hand. Not to be beaten, Kaesii carried his too, but the rest of the companeight had lightened their loads–Cur and Orsin even forewent their thorax armour for the trek. Skippii leant on his spear as they climbed through the foothills of the Sleeping Mountain. He was gowned in his light silver tunic and a cloth headband to keep the sweat from his eyes. With each step, he drew power from the earth. But it washed through him like a vase sprung leaks. It was only due to his comrades' sleepless conditions that he was able to keep up at all.

"What's the rush?" Orsin squinted, labouring up the incline. "You go on ahead if you're so eager."

"Come on old feller," Cur said, patting him on the back.

"I've been spending too much time with you lot," Orsin sighed. "I've forgotten how much my countrymen drink."

The two veterans had returned to the tower just after sunrise after a night drinking with the sailors. By the black bags under their bloodshot eyes and their sunken skeletons, Skippii reckoned they had gone to war.

Arius strode ahead of his fellow veterans with an evil grin on his lips, long legs carrying him effortlessly into the highlands. Behind, Kaesii huffed to keep up.

"What can we expect at the top?" the hefty man said. "You mentioned a temple."

"That's right," Skippii said plainly, focussing on each step.

"And?" Orsin pressed. "Come on, say something to take me off this headache."

"I've already told you it all," he spoke between breaths. "It's old, the temple. Very deep. Ancient. A volcano at the peak awakened with my powers. I need to go there again. But, let's get to the temple first. Eirene is there."

"How long's the climb?" Cur asked.

"Not short. Eight hours."

"Twelve at this pace," Tenoris said.

"What…" Orsin panted. "What did the Imperator say?"

"Now that is a tale," Tenoris grinned.

"We are to be our own unit," Skippii said. "Like the Coven. Separate from the legion, but answerable to the Imperator."

A silence dragged between them. Skippii realised then his brashness. He had spent the entire night thinking about the Imperator's proposition, but this was his companions' first time hearing it. Upon deserting, he had grieved the loss of his legionnaire life. The Imperator's proposition would not make a significant change for him. But to them all, it was significant news; to some, it may not be favourable.

"That is, if you accept," he added. "I may pick whoever I want for my company, and I would choose you all. My goal is unclear for the moment, but wherever we are commanded to go, my ambition remains the same: to face the incursor gods. To defeat them."

"The who-what-now gods?" Cur said.

"The heretic," Skippii said. "They have their own gods, not spirits or anything lesser like that. They came from the heavens, same as our pantheon. Just as Cliae."

"From the heavens, heretics? What are you talking about?"

Skippii looked to Cliae with a plea. His chronicler led their mule to Cur's side and began explaining all they knew in as simple terms as possible. Arius strolled beside them with a keen ear, but said nothing.

"A special unit?" Drusilla raised their voice. "Does that mean more pay?"

"I would imagine so," Skippii said. "I didn't think to ask."

"Make sure you do next time you meet, and kneed out the details."

"Like the Coven…" Kaesii mused. "We would fight outside the legion's phalanx?"

"It seems that way," he said. "Or, it is up to us. However we can implement my magia best."

"Outside the phalanx suits me," Kaesii said. "Always was too slow for my tastes."

"That's because you have no discipline," Drusilla said. "Every fight's got to be about you."

"Every fight must be about victory alone, and the champion who seizes it. My heart is worth legion shields and fifty spears."

"It's Skip's company," Drusilla said. "Not yours. No one cares about you."

"I-" Kaesii stammered. "I was first to the gatehouse. I was instrumental in Nerithon's taking."

"You were first cause you ran ahead and left all the strong Urkun to me."

Kaesii snorted. "Of course they seemed too strong for you, whose muscles are all statuesque and ungainly. My strength however is not so glamorous, except in its results."

"A pig rolled downhill outruns a horse," Drusilla said. "Until it hits the bottom."

"I'll hit you-"

"Boys," Orsin snapped. "Shut up."

Thereafter, they trekked quietly through the mountainside's shady forest towards its summit. Resting at a streambed in the afternoon, to refill their waterskins, Skippii lay down upon a moss-covered rock. He felt drained and weak, and was struggling to hide it from his companions. He was certain that, by the night was through, he would have regained his strength. Sitting upright, he caught their glances–inquisitive and calculating. It seemed they were all considering his proposal, and how it might change their lives. Now more than ever, he needed their fate in him and his strength.

"Shall we continue?" Tenoris asked eagerly.

"Yes," Skippii said. "But, listen a moment. I think where we're heading will be more dangerous than legionnaire's life. Harder. But… more glorious. More worthwhile. I know that's not what your oaths to the legion demand. So… if you didn't want to follow me-"

"Don't be daft," Orsin said. "Of course we're all coming along. What, and be known as the legionnaire who turned down the great Skippii Altay, burner of Nerithon, only to retire old and bored and wondering what could have been."

"I will help you find the path of your desire," Arius said. "This quest–to seek the incursor gods–is a thing of legend. Who would not want their name spoken in such legends?"

Kaesii nodded resolutely. "I only feel bad for the Second Cohort. They're losing their finest legionnaires."

"And best jester," Drusilla quipped with a sly smile.

"Who, you?" Kaesii said.

"Guess again."

"Can you do it?" Cur raised his voice. "Can you defeat them? Actual gods, if you're right? We're going to fight actual gods?"

Skippii straightened and took a breath. His magia rose as tongues of fire, bolstering his resolve. "We shall seek out their champions at first, but eventually, we must stab the source. Kill the poisoned heart. I can do it. Not right now, but I can get stronger. I know this. Each day, I may become stronger. And there are places… I think, like this one, which brightens and forges the power within me."

He nodded as feelings of excitement entwined with trepidation–a flickering flame in the centre of his chest. "It's what we must aim for. We must trust we can do it. We must trust in one another. But the choice is easy, because if we fail, I don't think there is a future for humankind. I really don't. I've seen the end in visions. It's not like any war of man that's settled with territories and deaths, and the crops rise next spring. What I saw… The end of days. The black sky swallowing the earth. Death of all life. A quiet."

"So what choice do we have?" Orsin echoed his sentiment.

"Many," Arius said. "Many which shall avert this dark fate."

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"I'm honoured." Kaesii's eyes were deep and blue as he stared at Skippii and held out his spear. "Truly, our quest is worthy. I shall not disappoint."

Skippii clashed his spear against Kaesii's and held his gaze. "I'm certain."

"Neither shall I," Drusilla said in earnest, adding his spear to the make three.

"Nor I," Tenrois joined them eagerly.

Silent and grinning, Arius joined them.

"I'll try and keep up," Orsin said. "Beats retiring."

"Who's gonna keep you fools in line if I don't come?" Cur said, adding his spear.

"Companeight Four," Skippii said proudly. "Best legionnaires in the Ninth. First, we conquered Nerithon. Next… we'll see. But no cities are safe. No haven of our enemy impenetrable. No foul heretic unkillable."

"Yeah," they agreed gruffly and raised their spears, then parted.

"You should know," Skippii said. "Cliae is one of our company too. They are an equal now. No longer a slave. They are my chronicler. Tenoris is my vassal. And, there was one more who Eirene prophesied would come with me…"

"Your bull?" Kaesii said. "Your strongman."

"That would be I, the vassal," Tenoris said humourlessly.

"Then who?"

"The evocator," Skippii said, glancing at Cliae for clarity.

"Eirene possessed gifts for us," they explained. "For Tenoris, a necklace forged by Oyaltun herself which allowed her to venture close to the Primordial Cor–the heat essence of the earth. Worn by Tenoris, it makes him invulnerable to Skippii's flames."

"So I may remain close," Tenoris said.

"And for I, the library which we are collecting today," Cliae said. "And, I suppose, my freedom. But there was a third gift for a third member who was not there. Eirene could not explain it, but there is a trumpet which none other than the evocator can perform. Perhaps, it is one of you–" Cliae stammered. "One of us that should play it. But of course, Tenoris and I have already tried."

"Me," Kaesii said. "It's plain isn't it. I am the evocator."

"Only if you play it out of your arse," Drusilla said.

"You might as well all try," Skippii said. "Not, you know…" He laughed at Drusilla's expression. "Anyone is welcome to try in earnest."

"And what does it do?" Orsin asked. "I'm guessing it's no normal trumpet."

"She didn't say," Cliae answered. "She did not know, it seemed. She had tried to play it herself, but it does not emit a sound. Not a pleasant one at least."

"It could be anyone," Orsin said. "In all the legion."

"In all of Philoxania," Arius added.

"Dead or alive," Skippii agreed. "Some ill fate kept them from the temple that day. Perhaps we'll never find the musician. The evocator."

"Okay, last question," Cur motioned at Skippii's tunic. "What's with the shiny dress? You trying to impress someone?"

"Another gift from Eirene," he said. "It's made with Hespera's magia. It can't be damaged by one weaker than herself."

Cur whistled appraisingly. "So no more burning off your tunic and fighting with your bollocks out then?"

"No. Will you miss them?" Skippii grinned.

Cur sighed wistfully. "Like the spring rains."

***

It was nightfall by the time they found the temple steps. Skippii leaned against the rocky wall heavily. His head bobbed with each breath.

"We will have to leave the mule here," Cliae said.

"And Kaesii," said Drusilla. "The stairs are too narrow."

Skippii's knees felt weak just to look upon the climb, but he pressed on, and led them up the long stone staircase into the courtyard above.

"It's not much to look at," Cur said.

Two dilapidated golems lay at the entrance, where days ago, Skippii had destroyed them during his training. The courtyard itself was torn, scattered with rubble and tall skewering pillars. Skippii scrambled over the rocks and led them towards the temple doors. There, the stone was smooth once more. The mosaic inside was cracked only by the wear of time. He rushed to the hermit's den, and found her where he once had, sleeping by the fireplace.

Crouching beside Eirene, he stroked her brow. She came gently awake.

"Heres?"

"Told you I'd return."

"You are well. Then, your quest…"

"The heretic of Nerithon is dead. The city is free. I invite you now to return. Seek comfort, and gifts for your service. The Imperator of the Ninth is aware of your deeds, and has admitted his debt."

"Many owe debts," she said. "Few may hope to repay them."

Skippii tended to the old hermit as she rose in a daze. Meanwhile, Cliae climbed the ladders into the loft and started ferrying books down to Tenoris and Arius–tallest of their companions–who made bundles out of their companeight's cloaks.

The remainder had wandered off into the temple, eager to explore. Skippii wandered outside and considered searching for them, but he was not their minder; he may direct their errand some day in the future, but he was not their superior. While they all risked their lives against the enemy, they were all equals in his mind.

Venturing outside, he sought the path which climbed upwards towards the mountain's summit. There, a wide basin held the heat of the earth in the shape of a candle's melted top. The sky was a deep blue and the moon high before he made it to its lip, sweating and panting like a horse off a long gallop.

Skidding down its edge, he staggered into the centre. The rock was soft and hot. Magia flowed powerfully, entering his body without need of breath to coax it. Vapourous vents sprouted from glowing cracks. At the centre, it hissed and bubbled, black with a crust, but orange underneath. He stood at its edge and let its heat drench his flesh. The energy filled his lungs. Filled his heart. Muscles tingled so pleasurably it was almost painful.

He lay down and stretched his limbs out and felt himself sinking into the ground. But he did not fear its embrace. Slowly, as the hours blew by, his mind and the moulded with the cor. Far beneath the earth was the source, but he came to it easily. It welcomed him like a warm embrace.

In his mind's eye, he saw his core. No longer did it reside in the centre of his chest, but encompassed his whole form. Though the light was dim at first, as he lay there, it brightened. At his centre, his bones shone a gemstone red–the magia of the Magmatic Core–the source of his Seismic Quake and Rockfang evocations. Above it, his blood surged with a liquid orange fire–the magia of his Lava Essence, which performed Boiling Blood, Blister Arrow, and Metalurgic Warp evocations. And on the surface of his flesh burned a yellow flame, golden over his heart and head–the magia of his Eruption Aura, most prolific of all his layers.

Skippii felt lighter and lighter as the aches of battle wore away. He knew the volcano could not give him the same transformative burst of magia as it had before, but what fraction remained was enough to replenish his strength. With morning's first light, he rose and sat upright, meditating in the quiet dawn, reluctant to leave the volcano's embrace.

He thought about his battle with Cosmipox's emissary. His unification with Kylinissa and the Coven, and how their winds strengthened his inferno. Had they not, he would have perished in the dark god's domain, his own lifeforce used up by evocation. He could not make the same mistake again. There might not be an opportunity to rekindle his strength next time.

But against such foes as he pitted himself, might he have the choice, or might it be made for him? There were no half-efforts in war, nor should he be fearfully cautious when battle begins. At least now, he knew his limitations. And that gave him an idea of how to expand them.

Within him was the magia he held–entwined with his life's essence. However, beyond him, flames burned without his pressure. He had learned during his second trial within the temple that he could siphon such a flame and so energise his magia. Was there perhaps other forces–magia or of nature–which he could manipulate beyond his body? Fires, or stone?

His mind went to the temple's golems, and he searched underground for their presence. None responded. Had he already used them up? He had hoped to summon one–to test the extent of his command. Perhaps he could submit one of these strange, ancient constructs to his will? But no matter how deeply his senses wandered, he could detect no more of them.

Perhaps then, he could make his own?

"But where to begin?" he muttered. Sinking his hand into the soft, fiery earth, he withdrew a clump of molten rock. It did not burn his hand, but smoked in the open air and drooped lazily back towards the earth. Rising, he took the rock away from the volcano's centre, up its lip and into cooler air. All the while, he moulded it with his hands into the simplest shape he could fathom: the shape of a snake. Cradling it like a baby, he sat and used his fingers to carve features in the mould. A criss-cross pattern imitated a grass snake, and he provided it with two dots of eyes and a slit for a mouth.

"What am I doing?" he said to himself, observing his juvenile skill. It looked like a cheap child's toy. But closing his eyes, he sought the body of the rock just as he did the ground beneath him. At first, he felt no energy in his hands. He may as well have been holding air. But faintly, a bluish light appeared in his mind's eye. He probed the light–a dim thread–and felt it like a vessel of his own body.

Skippii caught his breath as excitement filled his veins. As carefully as he could, he directed his magia into the bluish light, and marvelled to see it brighten and turn green, then yellow. He grinned despite himself and opened his eyes

In his hands, the stone glowed like a dull gem. The grooves he had traced shone brightest, like the runes he had transcribed upon the temple's walls when he had revealed his transformed ordinatio. The snake seemed lifeless, but he swore it felt different. Softer–but could that merely be the heat of the rock?

Minutely, it convulsed in his palm and he almost dropped it in shock. The glow in its grooves ran the length of its body. Skippii's jaw dropped, but he faltered only for a moment before feeding it more power. The construct came alive in his hand. It wriggled mechanically–snakelike, but without wit or instinct. Eager to test its abilities, he set it down on the rock. Faintly, he felt a fraction of himself go with it–a piece of himself which did not diminish the whole, plucked like a fruit and placed upon the ground to grow…

It crumbled to dust in a heartbeat.

"Ah." His heart sank. Without holding it and empowering it with his magia, the construct had no life of its own. But he had felt something distinct, something unlike any other magia of his core. A new layer to his magia, perhaps? A new depth? He would talk with Cliae about it once they resumed his training. That could not wait. Now that his strength had returned, they must do so tomorrow. For one thing was certain: he needed to start developing some extremely powerful evocations if he was to face the incursor gods themselves.

Descending from the volcano feeling rejuvenated, Skippii found his companions in the main hall of the temple, ready with their sackloads of books to depart. Tenoris carried Eirene in his arms like a bane. Though faded with age, her eyes glinted keenly as she took in his companions' appearances. Wonder was in her face–a childlike marvel. She had not seen so many people in almost her whole lifetime. Skippii approached her with a soft smile and her eyes flickered to his.

"How are you, avita. Ready for the journey?"

"What remains of it," she said. "Will this young man carry me the whole way?"

"We have a mule at the temple's entrance which will bear you."

"Shame," she smiled softly.

"Shall we?" Skippii said, taking up his fair share of the load.

"There isn't a shorter way down, is there?" Cur said.

"Not if you can't fly," Arius said.

"Can you fly, Skip?" Cur asked. "Who is it that can fly? Disciples of Kylin, right? Our guys. You can't do that?"

"Not that I'm aware," Skippii said.

"Well have you tried? Set off from that ledge over there and flap your wings. Or is it magia that you flap?"

Skippii scowled. "Why don't you hop on my back and we'll go together?"

Cur grinned, showing his black and toothless smile. "Called my bluff."

"Alright lads," Orsin said. "Let's get this trek over with."

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