Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #36: …The Ninetailed Tyrant]

Log Date: [1/1/12765]

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka, Raikaron Syntaritov

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: The Library Labyrinth

10:25am SGT

“Ah, so our Lord’s been invited to attend the Tyrant’s birthday bash, then?” Mek says, setting a stack of books in a pile to be returned to their shelves at some point. “I expect that’ll be fun. Such celebrations do not come around often, at least by the measure of mortals.”

“It’s a centennial. Raikaron says that deities celebrate their birthdays every hundred years, since they live for so long.” I say, setting down the plate with Mek’s breakfast on it. “I suppose if you live for millions of years, celebrating your birthday every year would get a little repetitive.”

“Rarity breeds appreciation, as they say.” he says, wiping the dust off his pawhands. “What has the kitchen graced us with today?”

“It’s, uhm…” I say, scratching my head as I pull the cover off the plate. “…some kind of crepe, but not, like, the normal kind? Like, crepes usually have creme and fruit and sweet stuff inside them, but this is some kind of Venusian breakfast crepe, because it’s a chicken alfredo crepe with mushrooms? I passed on it; it didn’t really seem like my kind of thing.”

“Ah, a savory crepe!” Mek says, shuffling over eagerly. “Yes, those are not as well-known as sweet crepes. Most people think of crepes as a breakfast or dessert food, but savory crepes should not be overlooked. You should give it a try!”

“Maybe another time. I already had breakfast.” I defer as he starts unrolling his utensils from the napkin they were in. “So you know about Azra, then? Seems like you recognized her name and know her titles.”

“Vaguely so. I wouldn’t call myself an expert by any stretch of the imagination.” he says, pulling a chair up and sitting down. “She’s one of the hypernaturals that belongs to the Rantheon. Most of the gods in that pantheon are young; less than thirty thousand years old in most cases.”

I shake my head. “And here I was, thinking Raikaron was old at three thousand years.”

“Well, everything is relative.” he says, starting to cut his crepe into sections. “Most mortals would consider Lord Syntaritov ancient. Most immortals would consider him young. What you see depends on who you are.” Taking a bite of the crepe, he motions for me to take a seat. “Do you have any insights into the festivities at this centennial?”

“Not really. Raikaron said it was going to be a small one — just a dinner with select guests and some other things planned for the evening.” I say, sitting down on the other side of the table. “I was kind of expecting it to be something more, since she’s a goddess. Figured they’d be pulling out the stops for something like that. Like something along the lines of the Congress last year.”

“Just a dinner? That does sound rather… tame.” Mek muses, spearing one of his mushrooms. “I must agree with you there, I expected something more. Azra didn’t strike me as the modest sort, at least from what I have read about her, and heard in passing.”

“What kind of goddess is she?” I ask, leaning my forearms on the table.

“Rebellious. Arrogant. At least as the texts will have it.” Mek answers. “She is the daughter of two of the Rantheon gods, Maelstrom and Radiance. As the child of deities, she thought she was entitled to the same divinity and power, and when her parents did not grant it to her, she sought it out on her own, through darker means. When her parents found out, they cast her down into the vashaya’reian hell as punishment, but she defied them and attained her godhood by conquering the Maelstrom — which is the vashaya’reian hell, named after Maelstrom, the storm god; yes, confusing, I know — but she conquered the Maelstrom and took over it, and attained her divinity by ruling over the hell she had been sealed in.”

I rub a thumb over one of my eyebrows. “Is it still technically divinity if you’re a demon goddess? Can demons even be goddesses?”

“That’ll depend on how you define ‘god’ and ‘goddess’.” Mek says, sipping from his milk. “It varies from culture to culture. Some mortals view ‘god’ and ‘goddess’ as hypernatural entities that are strictly benevolent. Other cultures will extend the terms to any deitic figure, whether benevolent or malevolent. Here in the heavens and the hells, we tend to stick to the latter interpretation. Any hypernatural is considered a god or a goddess, regardless of their intentions towards mortal souls. Lucifer, Lilith, and Sheol would all be considered demon goddesses. The fact that we append ‘demon’ to the noun helps distinguish them from their counterparts in the heavens, and implies that they have a more maleficent relationship with mortals.”

“Makes sense.” I concede. “So I guess Azra does the same kind of stuff that the Sovereigns here in Sjelefensel do? Rules over a bunch of archdemons that have their own little houses that dish out punishment to the damned?”

“Perhaps not in that exact structure, but the foundational idea is the same, yes.” Mek says, eating another slice of his crepe. “The Maelstrom is a hell; hells exist to dispense post-mortem justice for sins not atoned for. The way the Maelstrom does it, though, requires far fewer staff than the way we do things here in Sjelefengsel.”

“How do they punish the damned in the Maelstrom?” I ask curiously. I was familiar with the many ways that Sjelefengsel punished sinners, and I was now quite familiar with how the Old City punished its residents. But I didn’t know much about other hells, and how they handled their sinners.

“The Maelstrom, as its name implies, is a massive storm. A hurricane, to be precise.” Mek explains. “At the eye of the hurricane, the only calm spot in the storm, is the palace of Azra. The damned within the Maelstrom must make their way from the edges of the hurricane, all the way to the eye. The entire journey, they are fighting constant, gale-force winds, torrential rain, lightning, hail, and tornados to reach the eye of the Maelstrom. There is no respite, and there is no reprieve — these forces are constantly in motion, and do not relent when the damned need to stop and rest. Moreover, the ground surface of the Maelstrom is mostly made of water, with thin, winding paths of land that prevent the damned from making a beeline to the eye of the hurricane. Dark things lurk in the water, often making it impractical to try and cut across it. Beyond that, one has no sense of direction in the Maelstrom; there is no indicator of where the eye of the hurricane is, and what direction you must go to reach it. The damned are consigned to wander the maze of paths, soaked and shuddering and beaten with hail and relentless wind. Never knowing how close they are to the end of their penance, or whether they might be picked up by a tornado and cast further back into the Maelstrom, erasing any progress they had made over the course of days, weeks, or months.”

I mull that over. “And that’s how all of the damned in the Maelstrom are punished?”

“To my knowledge, yes. I believe the length of their sentence varies in accordance with the severity of their unatoned sins, and there may be unique modifications for each sinner’s sentence.” Mek says, popping another mushroom in his mouth. “But my understanding is that the damned of the Maelstrom all share the same basic sentence — a journey of suffering through the eternal storm.”

I snag a lock of my hair, winding it around my finger as I think about that. “I guess I can see it… it does sound pretty miserable. But it feels… I dunno. Like they’re suffering, but they’re all suffering the same thing. Doesn’t feel like any thought gets put into it.”

“You think it would be better if the Maelstrom punished people the way that Sjelefengsel does?” Mek guesses, tucking his fork under another slice of his crepe.

“Well, I mean. The way that Sjelefengsel punishes people isn’t perfect.” I say, rocking in my chair a little. “But at least it tries. Most of the sentences aren’t tailor-made, but they do kinda reflect the bad things that a damned soul never atoned for in their mortal lives. Like slavers and human traffickers get consigned to hard labor, building Sjelefengsel’s infrastructure. The greedy rich and the powerhungry are forced to work as laborers and waiters at Sjelefengsel’s businesses and restaurants, doing sixteen-hour shifts day after day after day under abusive management. The sexual predators and molesters are given new bodies, and are forced to work in Sjelefengsel’s strip clubs and brothels, and you know the customer base is like… you get the idea. The sentences aren’t tailor-made, so to speak, but there’s different types of sentences for different types of sins, and they’re meant to reflect the things that the damned did wrong. To make them suffer some of the pain they inflicted on others. With the Maelstrom, it’s just…” I give a shrug. “…one punishment for everyone, regardless of what you did wrong. And granted, the length of that punishment varies depending on the severity of your sins, but it doesn’t really feel like it teaches them anything. I suppose that’s what I’m getting at, because Raikaron always makes a big point out of it. A punishment should teach you something, should change you.”

Mek smiles and nods. “And that’s how you know a punishment was successful. If you have a different person, a changed soul, at the end of it. I see our Lord’s teachings have made an impression on you.”

“Don’t tell him. His ego’s already big enough as it is.” I say, smiling a little. “And damn, you polished off that crepe pretty fast.”

“Like I said, it’s a good dish. You should try it.” he says, setting the cover back on the plate. “I enjoyed our chat. I’d love to keep you, but I have a feeling you need to get ready for your outing this evening. A centennial is no passing affair, especially one for a goddess.”

I blow a raspberry, picking up the plate. “Here’s to hoping that I won’t have to get too fancy. I don’t feel like prancing around in a dress today.”

“Perhaps a suit, like Danya typically wears? Although you might want to skip on the pinstripe; I don’t think Danya would take kindly to having her signature look appropriated.” Mek suggests with a smile.

I chuckle at that, heading back into the labyrinth. “Like I’d ever be caught dead wearing pinstripe. Thanks for taking the time to chat, Mek. I’ll see you later.”

“And you as well, Jayta. Take care.”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Hautaholvi: The Gates of Hell

1:42pm SGT

“A suit?” Danya says, arching an eyebrow. “Quite a decision for an occasion such as this.”

Raikaron and I step down onto the black sand at the center of the dim hollow, and I motion a hand in her direction. “You’re in a suit, aren’t you?” I point out.

“I am always in a suit.” she counters, reaching up to straighten her tie. “I had thought you would elect for something more befitting your station.”

“Which one? Avenger, or Mistress Lady?” I say as we move to join her in the shaft of light in the center of the hollow.

Danya purses her lips, and Raikaron chuckles. “She has a point, Danya. A suit is business attire for an avenger, and visiting another hell qualifies as business of a sort.”

“Far be it from me to give counsel on how we should present ourselves at such an event.” Danya says, checking her phone for the time. “I simply fear that we are not telegraphing Jayta’s status to the staff at Azra’s palace. With attire like that, they may assume that she is your subordinate, and not your partner.”

“We can correct them if it comes up.” Raikaron says, glancing down at the polished crate beside Danya. “Our gift for the Tyrant is in good order, I take it?”

“All twelve bottles are accounted for, and in presentable condition.” Danya says, tucking her phone away. “I am sure she will appreciate such a large sampler. A full case of Dreaming draughts is of exceptional value.”

“Worth as much as a cask of Amontillado, I’d imagine.” Raikaron says, giving an upward motion with one hand. The crate rises off the ground, hanging in the air beside us. “Hopefully the selection will leave a positive impression on her.”

“What’s Amontillado?” I ask.

Raikaron smiles aside at me. “Oh, it’s a mortal alcohol that’s to die for, I hear. I’ve never tried it, and I don’t think I ever will. Nor should you ever trust anyone that’s offering it to you.”

I narrow my eyes at that. I have a feeling there’s a joke being had, but when I look to Danya for confirmation, she shakes her head. If there’s a reference being made, she’s not getting it either. “Whatever. Let’s get going.” I say, giving his arm a push.

“Certainly.” he says, turning to consider the openings in the sides of the hollow. After a moment, he locks onto a specific one and moves towards it, the crate following him as he does so. “This way.”

“Do you know how long the dinner party is going to last?” I ask as we follow him towards shadowed cleft.

“A few hours, at least. I don’t imagine we’ll be staying more than six hours, though the afterparty might well go longer than that.” Raikaron answers, taking off his glasses and handing them to Danya so she can spritz them and wipe them clean. “It may seem like a long time, but for a centennial, it’s really quite modest. Most hypernatural centennials have at least a few days of celebration, if not a full week.”

“This one is mercifully short, as such matters go.” Danya says, handing Raikaron’s glasses back once they’ve been cleaned. “We might even return to Sjelefengsel quickly enough to go to bed at a decent time.”

I make a face at that. “I don’t understand how people could hang out at a party for six hours or more. I’d get bored after three.”

“There are those which have a higher tolerance for socializing.” Raikaron says, putting his glasses back on as we near the cleft. “The three of us are not among them, but we do what we must for the roles we have. If you find yourself growing weary of the frivolity, you can come join me, and remain in my company so that others do not trouble you.”

“You say that like I want to leave you and socialize with other people in the first place.” I mutter, checking my champagne-hued tie. I’d picked it to match my hair, and Raikaron had helped me with tying the knot — it’d been a while since I last wore a tie, and I’d forgotten how to tie a double Windsor.

“It never hurts to try and make new friends.” Raikaron says, leading the way into the dark opening. “I can’t attest for the composition of Azra’s court, but there may be some people there worth befriending. And I imagine there will be a few other guests that may not necessarily hail from the hells, and might be more well-adjusted as a result.”

“Try to keep an open mind. You may find you enjoy yourself more than you expected.” Danya adds as we follow along behind him.

“That’s rich, coming from the person that never has any fun.” I mutter as we tread through the enveloping blackness.

“Ladies.” Raikaron says, his tone and delivery putting an instant stop to our bickering. He says it right as we emerge from the shadow into what looks like docking area of some sort, replete with a tiled floor and benches lining the walls. At the far end, what appears to be a shuttle or a flyer of some sort is docked, the hatch open and waiting for us to embark.

“Wait, that was…” I say, turning and looking at the darkened arch we just came through. “Really? That only took us five seconds. It took way longer back when we were traveling to the Old City.”

“There are many factors that affect the length of the walk.” Raikaron says without breaking stride on his way to the shuttle. “The Old City is held at a distance from all other hells, primarily at the choosing of the Witchling. But then there are layers of protection and filtering around each hell that are there to help screen out those that are not supposed to be there. There are some situations where a token of some sort,” He holds up Azra’s centennial invitation at this point. “will allow you to bypass those layers and expedite your transit.”

“Hail to the Lord of Regret; our honored guest, the Blackthorn Demon.” The greeting is given by a feline vashaya’rei dressed in a colorful, sleeveless uniform that exhibits his biceps. His legs are digitigrade paws from the knees down, and he has a silver-blue tail and ears, but aside from that, the rest of him seems human. “The Ninetailed Tyrant eagerly awaits the pleasure of your company.”

“It will be an honor to provide it.” Raikaron says as we reach the shuttle door where the vashy is waiting. “My lieutenant, and my Mistress Lady. And this crate here contains our gift for your liege.” He motions to the floating crate, the lid sliding back slightly enough to display the contents. “A sampler of a dozen Dreaming draughts, hand-brewed and bottled for her enjoyment.”

I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t quite understand the significance of the draughts; he leans forward, glancing in the crate, before nodding politely and motioning to the shuttle’s open hatch. “Everything seems to be in order. You may board; enjoy your flight.”

Raikaron inclines his head as the lid slides back into place. “Much appreciated.” he says, stepping along the ramp and up into the shuttle’s hatch, with the crate floating behind him. Danya and I follow with polite nods to the vashy on our way past, and the hatch slides closed as soon as we’ve entered.

“They seem a lot more… casual here.” I remark, looking around the luxurious cabin with its plush seats and armrests. It looks like there’s an entertainment holoarray in the center of the cabin, and lifting one of the broad armrests on one of the chairs reveals that it’s hollow, with a refrigerated section for drinks beneath. I pull one of the cans out, looking it over; I don’t recognize the logo or drink type. “Nice digs, though. They really know how to treat guests.”

“Honored guests. The reception for the damned is far less generous, I would imagine.” Danya says, waving a hand past one of the tinted windows. It lightens in response, revealing the glass is being slammed with rain that’s being streaked across the window by the force of the wind, even while we’re still stationary. “ Most others that arrive here are likely greeted with howling winds and lashing rain.”

“Wait, is this…” I say, squinting at the can’s graphic. It’s got a nine-tailed fox vashy on it, striking a cute pose. “Is this Azra?”

Raikaron glances over, and I turn the can to face him. “Oh yes, that’s Tyrantea. Mortals often use mythological figures as branding for products, since they carry cultural clout. Have you never had it before?”

“No, I’ve never seen this brand in my life.” I say, looking it over.

“It’s a brand of canned teas that can only be purchased in Ranter colonies. Since the Diaspora isn’t part of the Colloquium, many Ranter food products and beverages are not sold on Colloquium worlds due to regulatory issues.” Danya explains as she takes a seat. “Ranters don’t care to follow Colloquium regulations on what they can put in their food. Or most of their other products, for that matter.”

“Honey lemon and cinnamon.” I say, sitting down next to Raikaron as he settles in, the crate lowering to the floor. “Honey lemon, I can understand, but cinnamon…? I’m not sure I’d want that in tea.”

“Some Ranter products are an acquired taste. But that goes for many cultures, with many different types of food.” Raikaron says as the shuttle detaches from the dock, and starts moving. “Since Azra belongs to the Rantheon, you may get to sample some traditional Ranter dishes this evening.”

“I’ve got my doubts, but I’ll try to keep an open mind.” I say, setting the canned tea down and looking out the window. It’s dark grey out there, the clouds close and whipped by the wind, with the occasional flash of lightning. “Are we gonna fly straight through the hurricane to the palace?”

“Up and over, actually.” Danya explains, taking a holobrochure from one of the pockets on the wall, and idly leafing through it. “The shuttle usually heads upwards on a steep diagonal climb, then once it clears the top of the hurricane, it cruises straight towards the Eye of Maelstrom. Our flight will be smooth sailing once we get above the clouds.”

“And the Eye is the center of the hurricane?” I guess.

“It is. It is called the Eye of Maelstrom because it is the only calm spot within this hell, and the only place you can see a clear sky from the ground.” Raikaron explains. “And because it has a clear sky, it is the only place in the Maelstrom where you can see and feel the warmth of the sun — which in the Rantheon mythos, is Radiance, the sun goddess. Radiance is married to Maelstrom, so there is symbolism in the fact that her warmth and light can only be found in the Eye of Maelstrom.”

I take a moment to absorb that. “So the damned that are punished here — reaching the Eye at the center of the Maelstrom is like the end of their sentence?”

“Essentially, yes. They leave behind the brutal storm, and finally reach the calm. Feeling the sun’s warmth on their skin is the confirmation that they have atoned for their unforgiven sins.” Raikaron says. “And just like the Old City, and the Weir of the Witchling, Azra’s palace is where punished souls may decide whether they wish to return to the aether, or whether they would like to go for another round on the mortal plane.”

“So they can be reincarnated, if they want?” I ask.

“Indeed. It’s an option that appeals to many souls, especially those that never got to do or try certain things.” Raikaron says, turning towards me a little and draping an arm along the back of the leather seating we’re on. “For those that had rough or difficult lives, reincarnation can be appealing. A chance to perhaps be born into a more fortunate circumstances, and perhaps live a more felicitous life than they had previously. Of course, it’s just as likely that they’ll be born into impoverished circumstances, but that is the risk one takes with reincarnation.”

That snags my attention. “So reincarnation, it’s… completely random? You don’t get to choose what kind of life you’re born into? Well, I mean— of course you don’t. But, like… I suppose what I’m asking is… your previous life doesn’t have any effect on your next life? Like, you don’t get rewarded for having lived a good life?”

“That would be quite unfair, since our environment often helps shape who we are.” Danya says at this point, adding her two cents. “The poor and impoverished are predisposed to crime, very often due to their circumstances and the influence of the environment that they are born into. If you damn them when they die, and then condemn them to be reborn into poor circumstances because of the sins of their previous life, you create a reinforcement loop, and set them up for failure. Born again, and again, and again, into poor or difficult circumstances, and punishing them for their failure to overcome them. A system like that is the very definition of the injustice that the afterlives are supposed to correct and guard against.”

“Danya is right. Such a system would create a bifurcation of souls.” Raikaron nods. “Where the unfortunate are punished for their misfortune, and the virtuous are rewarded for their easy circumstances. It makes it hard for the damned souls to live anything other than difficult lives, and it makes it easy for the exalted souls to just cruise along through a series of increasingly easier lives. Factoring in a soul’s previous life into their next life is a fundamental flaw that taints and corrupts the entire concept of reincarnation. Which is why most systems of reincarnation do not use it.”

“Additionally, there is usually a step between death and reincarnation.” Danya says, dropping the holobrochure in one of the cupholders, and folding one leg over the other. “Instead of sending a soul straight from one life into the next, there is usually a period of time it must spend in the afterlife. Time to reflect on the prior life. For the damned who lived bad lives, it is a time to be punished, and to atone for those sins. So that when you reach the point where you can be reincarnated, you do so without carrying any debt of malice from your previous life.”

“And for those that lived virtuous lives, they know that if they choose reincarnation, there is no guarantee of the sort of life they will have during their next mortal excursion.” Raikaron continues. “They could be born into the lap of luxury, or they could be born into poverty and misery, or anywhere in between. Just like everyone else who chooses reincarnation — the only fairness in such a system is the fairness of randomness.”

I rub my wrist, looking down at the manacle mark there. “I guess I never really thought about that. It does make sense, though. The reinforcement loop, and why you’d want to avoid it. There’s a couple reincarnation religions I know that run on the assumption that your previous life affects your next life, and it made sense to me, but when you point out how that just makes the unfortunate more unfortunate, and the privileged more privileged… I can see why that’s a bad design.”

“Well, I’d call it well-intentioned, but misguided.” Raikaron says.

“Misguided does not preclude bad design.” Danya says curtly. “There are many bad things that proceed out of misguided intentions. Virtuous origins do not exonerate an ill-executed plan.”

“Mm. That is fair observation.” Raikaron concedes. “But yes, that is how reincarnation functions in the afterlives. There is a space between lives; the great in-between, some call it. A time for the damned to atone; a time for the middling to reflect; and a time for the virtuous to enjoy felicity and peace. And if they choose to be reborn after they have completed their time, they are all equal before the hand of chance — the damned are not weighted by their past, and the exalted cannot use their history as a crutch.”

My eyes widen. “Wait, that was the problem with the Unending Cycle! Back when my people were still stuck in it, when Aurescura sealed the heavens! People would die, and then because Aurescura had sealed the heavens, their souls couldn’t reach the afterlife, and so they would immediately be queued up to be reborn again. No time for atonement or reflect or exaltation. Just straight from one life to the next, with minimal delay, and almost no time to reconcile the sins of your previous life.”

“Tainted souls, trapped in a relentless cycle of reincarnation, yes.” Raikaron concurs. “It was driving your people mad by the time the Witchling finally broke the Cycle. The memories of millions of past lives, leaking through into current lives, because there was no moderating step between the previous life and subsequent life. And it is why the Old City currently works the way it does — the old souls of Aurescura have many past lives to reconcile with.”

“It starts to make a lot more sense when I look at it that way.” I marvel, leaning back in our shared seat. The light turbulence we’d been experience has started to fade away, and I can see through the window that the clouds have started to lighten, scaling from dark grey to almost entirely white. It isn’t long before they start to thin out, and within a minute, the shuttle levels out as well, cruising over a vast, spiral-churning storm that extends for as far as the eye can see. “Wow. That’s a view.”

“It certainly gives one an appreciation for our expedited transit.” Raikaron remarks, turning his head to look. “I’ve always enjoyed hurricanes. They’re a perfect representation of power so vast that you have to change your perspective to fully comprehend it.”

“How do you mean?” I ask, looking at him.

“From the ground, it is hard to tell that a hurricane is a hurricane.” Raikaron explains. “It is a storm so large that its perimeter stretches for hundreds of miles, far beyond what the mortal eye can see on its own. Perhaps you will see the cloud bands before it arrives, but otherwise, it looks and seems just like any other storm. But then it arrives. And where a normal storm would pass over in a matter of minutes or hours, it takes a day or more for a hurricane to pass through. And it only grows stronger the closer you get to the eye. All you know, from the ground level, is that there is relentless rain, brutal wind, and tidal flooding. It all feels like chaos. But then you come above it, like we are now, and you can see the pattern. The tightly-wound spiral of clouds, the arms on its edges, and the moment you realize it takes the same shape that so many galaxies do — and you realize that what looks like chaos from the ground is actually order. Shapes and patterns, repeated in so many things, big and small — the fingerprints of the universe’s laws and fundamental constants. There is an incredible beauty in it. And it’s something you can only see if you change the angle from which you view it.”

Listening to him describe the brutal grandeur and design of nature, I can’t help but lean into him, bumping my forehead against his shoulder. “You should’ve been a scientist, not a demon Lord.” I sigh happily. “It would’ve suited you well.”

“Sjelefengsel would’ve been poorer for it.” Danya says. “Though I am sure the scientific community would’ve appreciated his contributions.”

“I’d hardly want to steal the glory from mortal scientists.” he says, draping an arm around my shoulders. “Besides, I enjoy an advantage that most of them do not: time. Better that I spend my time doing the work they cannot.”

“If you say so.” I say, getting cozy. He smiles, tilting his head to rest his cheek against the top of my head, and we all enjoy a mild lull in the conversation as the shuttle cruises over the swirling clouds of the Maelstrom, headed for the palace and party at its center.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The Maelstrom: The Eye

2:28pm SGT

“Well, that’s certainly one way to make the world revolve around you.” I say, staring through the window a little later as our shuttle takes a slow descent spiral within the eye of the hurricane. Below us is a mountainous island in the middle of the ocean, carpeted with lush greenery and rimmed with pristine beaches. Encircling the waters around the island are walls of the hurricane’s eye — a dense, churning barrier of grey clouds that extend from the sea level all the way up to the sky, so thick it looks almost like a slow-flowing wall of liquid granite. “A little bit of heaven in the middle of hell.”

“Heaven for some.” Raikaron says, resting his arm across the back of our seat as he stares through the window with me. “Souls that make it to the Eye don’t usually linger too long. Azra doesn’t permit it — this place was not designed for their felicity. The amenities and delights of the Eye are here for her enjoyment, and any guests she might invite to the Maelstrom. Damned souls that make it to her island are merely passing through on their way to reincarnation or dissolution — they have paid their penance, but that does not entitle them to any reward. It merely means that they have atoned for their sins, and can go into their next life with a neutral slate.” He points out one of the isle’s blackstone peaks. “Typically, after arriving to the island, they take one of the paths leading up to the peaks, where they can choose to be born into another life, or to be dissolved back into the aether of the universe. Azra’s demons usually hunt down souls that leave the paths and try to explore the paradise she has created for herself.”

I follow the line of Raikaron’s finger, and see that some of the blackrock peaks hold structures, while the main palace itself appears to be nestled in a slight dip among those peaks. The architecture is a far cry from the city buildings of Sjelefengsel — this palace looks like it’s built in the Moksan tradition or the vashy archipelago style, composed mostly of wood. As we get lower and closer, I can see detail on the broad, sloping roofs, and the wide porches ringing the palace’s edges; the wooden columns supporting the eaves that hang over them. A couple sections of the palace, towards the back, are stacked pagoda-style, to gaze over the rest of the sprawling palace, and the center of the palace contains a large pond and a garden within. Most of the wood used to build the roofs and columns has a rich, dark red hue to it, while the paneled walls and porches have lighter, sand-colored tint.

“Damn, this looks really nice.” I say, noticing the fields that seem to be situated a little further from the palace. The grounds around the palace look like they’re well-kept, with a managed stream winding through the rolling lawn and the flowerbeds, and pink-flowered trees lining some of the paths. Off to one side of the palace is a landing pad where shuttles are delivering guests, before taking off again. “You don’t expect to see something like this in the middle of a place that’s supposed to be hell.”

“Hell can look like many things.” Raikaron says as our shuttle begins its final descent. “And hell doesn’t always work the way we do things in Sjelefengsel. It’s a little different for each culture — the Old City and the Maelstrom are proof of that.”

“That being said, I would not have any complaints if Sjelefengsel decided to take some cues from the Maelstrom.” Danya says, eyeing the palace and the manicured grounds surrounding it. “All this life and color is a breath of fresh air, compared to the standard geography of Sjelefengsel.”

Raikaron chuckles as our shuttle comes in for a gentle landing. “Come now, Danya, let’s not get carried away. You know the looks that Sheol would give us for suggesting that Sjelefengsel is anything less than perfect.”

“Mm. Is it heresy if it’s spoken where the Sovereigns cannot hear it, I wonder.” Danya murmurs, standing as the shuttle door starts to open.

I get up while Raikaron motions the draught crate back into the air, and we make our way to the hatch, disembarking down the ramp to the landing pad. There’s a vashy welcoming committee waiting for us outside, a mix of felines, avians, and a couple reptilian types all dressed in attire similar to the vashy that first greeted us when we arrived to the shuttle. We’re welcomed with smiles, and flowers woven into rings — Danya and I both receive bracelets like so, and Raikaron is given a larger one that’s been woven into a crown.

“Man, this is a whole lot better than the treatment we get in Sjelefengsel. I’d take this over the Congress any day.” I murmur aside to Danya as we’re led to the palace.

“You see the benefits of having friends in high places.” Danya replies, examining her flower bracelet. “This is why networking is important, and why Lord Syntaritov makes a habit of it, even if he is not social by nature.”

“If it gets us invited to events like this, I’d be tempted to make a habit of it.” I say, studying the flowers that make up my bracelet. They’re richly hued, and the petals are decently thick and soft, almost fleshy. It’s heavier than I was expecting. “What kind of flowers are these? I don’t recognize them.”

“Spirit blooms.” Raikaron answers as we ascend the stairs up to the palace’s porch. “It is a gift worth keeping, because spirit blooms only grow when you feed them bits and pieces of a soul. As such, they are typically rare flowers, especially on the mortal plane. They are sacred to the morphoxes of Rantecevang, since morphoxes are capable of extracting souls from people and consuming them to lengthen their lives, and the number of tails they have.”

“Oh.” I say, suddenly seeing the flower bracelet in a new light. “So this is like… bits and pieces of someone else’s soul… that we’re wearing?”

“More or less. Spirit blooms contain memories and memory fragments from those whose souls were fed to the blooms.” Raikaron says as the carved redwood doors are pulled open ahead of us, and we’re led within the palace itself. “They are particularly valuable on the arcane market, since they are used as catalysts and elements to power a wide array of powerful spells and potions. So do not discard it — it can fetch a pretty sum at the Exchange when we return to Sjelegengsel.”

“Is that what you’re planning on doing with yours?” I say, looking around the wide room that we’re in. The walls are paneled with decorative carvings and art, portraying scenes from a history I don’t recognize. Vashaya’reian, if the number of vashies portrayed is anything to go by.

“Mine? Oh no, I plan on keeping mine. There are some rare draught recipes that could make use of spirit blooms, and I might be able to extract highly concentrated emotions from them by crushing the flower and distilling the resulting liquid.” Raikaron says, touching a hand to his flower crown. “For most people spirit blooms have monetary value, but for me — someone that brews draughts and works with ancient magic — spirit blooms have material value. I can actually make use of them, unlike most people that come into possession of them.”

“Oh. Well, you can have mine, if you want.” I say as we’re led into a hall that looks like it joins the previous room to the next one. “I’d rather give it to someone that will actually use it, instead of trading it in at the Exchange.”

“You’re too kind.” Raikaron says. “I’d hate for you to give it away for free; perhaps I could make one of those rare draughts for you as payment.”

“Not every act of kindness need be repaid, my Lord.” Danya adds at this point. “Gifts given from affection or affinity do not require reciprocity.”

“They don’t require it, but it’s still nice sometimes.” I say, sticking my tongue out at Danya. “Some acknowledgement that the gift is appreciated, you know? Or maybe you don’t know; gifts don’t seem to be your thing.”

Danya raises an eyebrow at me as we pass into the next room, even larger than the last and supported by broad, ornately carved redwood columns. “Then perhaps I should set an example for you. My Lord, you may have my bloom bracelet once we have concluded our business here. I require nothing in return.”

I roll my eyes. “Are you actually offering that out of kindness, or just to prove me wrong?”

Raikaron glances over his shoulder at us. “What has gotten into you two today? You’re butting heads more than you normally do.”

“It’s likely because your Mistress Lady has finally realized the privileges of her elevated position, and has come to the conclusion that there are fewer consequences for talking back now.” Danya observes drily.

I scowl at her. “You just don’t like that you can’t boss me around as much as you could before.”

Danya checks her nails primly. “I will admit that you were more manageable when you were expected to keep your tongue in check.”

Our back and forth is interrupted by someone cheerily shouting Raikaron’s name, and I glance to see a ninetailed morphox heading our way, trailed by three or four attendants that look like they’re trying to figure out an outfit for her. Unlike everyone else we’ve seen so far, she’s dressed extremely casually — ripped daisy dukes and a sleeveless crop top that shows off her enviable physique. It looks like she’s gearing up for a day down at the beach or out on the boardwalk, rather than getting dressed up for a centennial celebration. Her hair, like her tails and fox ears, is a hot red, and her eyes are violently green — so hot and bright they seem to glow with egotistical confidence. It’s not quite the same brightness that Raikaron’s eyes have — his seems far more stable.

“Blackthorn! Heeeeeeey! You made it!” she calls, skipping the rest of the way over to us and grabbing him by the shoulders. “This is perfect, I was worried I’d be the only green-eyed ginger here! Redheads represent, baby!”

“Azra. It’s good to see you again.” Raikaron says, bowing his head with a polite smile. “I trust the Maelstrom has been treating you well?”

Azra blows a raspberry, rolling her eyes and making a talky motion with one hand. “It’s the usual bitch bitch bitch, whine whine whining. You know how the damned are. Everyone thinks they were a saint.” she says as her attendants cluster behind her, taking measurements and writing them down while sorting through different rolls of silk, murmuring among themselves. “Glad you were able to come, though! I recognize your lieutenant, though I don’t remember her name. This one over here, though, this is new.” She leans to the side, sizing me up. “Cute liddl’ thing, innit she? Lookin’ sharp in that suit. Spill the beans, Blackthorn. Did you finally get yourself a pretty liddl’ lady to keep you company?”

“Well, she is here for more than just company, but yes.” Raikaron says, turning towards me. “This is the House of Regret’s avenger, and my Mistress Lady — Jayta Jaskolka. Jayta, this is Azra Guile, the Ninetailed Tyrant of the Maelstrom.”

I smile nervously. “It’s nice to meet you, your… Majesty.” I say, offering a hand out.

“Oh, how quaint! Handshakes!” she laughs, taking my hand and shaking it. “Are the mortals still doing those? I had no idea.”

“It is one of the more common forms of greeting in the current era.” Raikaron confirms. “There are some fringe cultures that do other things, but a handshake is the default for most humanoid societies at the moment.”

“Huh. And here I was thinking fistbumps were all the rage. Shows what I know.” Azra says as she lets go of my hand. As she does so, I notice her freckles — lightly sprinkled across her shoulders, under her eyes, and forearms, but unlike normal freckles, they glow with a hot red incandescence. It has the effect of making her look like she’s freckled with a constellation of crimson stars, and I find myself quietly envious of how pretty it looks. “How are things in Sjelefengsel? You made any progress on those reforms you were so fired up about, or is it the same old shit as usual?”

Raikaron gives a shrug. “There’s been some movement in the areas over which I have dominion. On the whole, though, Sjelefengsel is… resistant to change.”

Azra hitches a hand on her hip, giving a dismissive wave with the other. “Pfff. No surprises there. Top brass over there only care about maintaining the status quo. Doing anything more than that would be work, and god forbid they should have to do any of that. I know you turned me down a while back, but if you ever change your mind, offer’s still open…”

“Tempting, but I’ll have to refrain for now. I’m not quite sold on the futility of trying to reform Sjelefengsel.” Raikaron says, nodding to Danya. “Not to mention, Danya here would be disappointed if I gave up on the dream.”

Danya gives Raikaron a deadpan look. “I would hardly consider myself the most enthusiastic advocate of your altruistic ambitions, my Lord.”

“Well well, look who’s willing to stick it to the boss!” Azra says, leaning back and folding her arms.

“It is not intended with any sort of malice; merely realism.” Danya clarifies. “One must recognize that reforming Sjelefengsel’s current structure is an undertaking of epic proportions. But that does not prevent me from supporting my Lord in his endeavors to make it come to pass.”

Azra chuckles. “So you’re aware that he’s working on a lost cause, but you’ll stand by him anyway. Aren’t you jussa loyal liddl’ soldier.”

“What was the offer you mentioned earlier?” I interject at this point. “Did you ask him to come work for you in the past?”

“I did, yes.” Azra says, lifting an arm so one of her attendants can take measurements. “Your Lord is a remarkably smooth operator. Well-mannered, very knowledgeable, impeccable sense of fashion, and very persuasive. I could really use someone like that managing my followers out on the mortal plane.”

“The flattery is appreciated, but I’d still rather not run afoul of your parents.” Raikaron says. “I’ve no doubt I could facilitate your ambitions as one of your archdemons. Whether it would be wise to do so is another matter altogether.”

“Ugh. My stupid parents, ruining everything again.” Azra says, rolling her eyes. “I’m never gonna get out from under them at this rate. How’s a girl supposed to reach her full potential when her dad keeps scaring off potential employees?”

Raikaron’s mouth quirks a little. “I think you know what my recommendation will be, and I am fairly certain it is not to your liking.”

“If you’re going to tell me to wait out the rest of my sentence and behave, then you’re right — I’m not going to do that.” Azra says, flaring her nine tails. “I’m not just gonna sit down here for centuries and millennia, twiddling my thumbs and waiting for Mom and Dad to tell me I can finally come out of my room. There’s so much I can do on the mortal plane. Plenty of tyrants and dictators that could be worshipping me, turning to me for guidance and direction.”

“Your Majesty, the clothiers have your outfit designed now.” one of the attendants says. “Measurements have all been taken; the silk is being cut and stitched as we speak. Most of it should be ready by the time you return to your room.”

“Just in time. I guess the rest of the guests will actually get to see me dressed up and acting proper and all that.” Azra says, turning and heading for the stairs with her attendants following. “I’ll catch up with you later, Raikaron! Let my staff take you on a tour of the palace before you settle into the feast hall! We’ve made some renovations to the place I think you’ll like.”

“Of course. Thank you for your hospitality, Azra.” Raikaron says, inclining his head as the goddess and her attendants depart.

“That was, uh… not what I was expecting.” I say once Azra has disappeared up the stairs.

Raikaron glances at me. “You were anticipating something a little more formal?” he guesses.

“Well, yeah.” I say, reaching up to tug at my tie a little. “Kinda figured a goddess would, y’know. Be a little… different than that.”

Raikaron smiles. “Hypernaturals may command the cosmos, and they may be the sentient manifestation of concepts and fundamental forces, but they are also people. They have personalities; likes, dislikes, pet peeves and favorites. They are more than just the roles they fulfill. Just as I am more than just the Lord of Regret, and you and Danya are more than just demons.”

“Yeah… I suppose so. That makes sense.” I concede. “So do all deities behave like that, or…?”

“Deities are often as varied as the people and concepts they represent.” Danya says, folding her arms behind her back as the palace escort starts walking again, leading us deeper into the palace. “The Sovereigns of Sjelefengsel are a microcosm of this. Sheol embraces the ancient dignity, while Lilith prefers the modern sensibilities of the upper class, and Lucifer is decidedly more… casual with her day-to-day behavior. The Witchling, as you saw at the Congress, is firmly in the tradition of the old gods — an imperial force of nature unsympathetic to mortal trifles. And there is Wicked Wolf, living like a jet-setting popstar sensation, attending all the parties and soaking in the adoration of the crowds. And Azra, as you just saw—”

“Wait.” I say, suddenly realizing something. “It just occurred to me — all the gods we’ve met are women. They’re all goddesses. Is that just me, or…?”

Danya looks to Raikaron, who raises an eyebrow. “Turning to a man for commentary on the preponderance of women in the hypernatural community? I sense a trap being laid.” he says, attempting a deflection.

One of Danya’s rare smiles surfaces for a moment. “You know the community better, and have more exposure to it than I do, my Lord. Besides, we all know you do not consider yourself exclusively one or the other. Your spare vessel is evidence enough.”

Raikaron sighs, rolling his eyes. “Very well. My opinion on the demographics of the divine… to answer your question, Jayta: yes, in the hypernatural community, the population divide is considerably biased towards the female gender. It is an objective, measurable fact, not a matter of opinion. However, the reasons for why that is… those are more subjective, and will depend on who you ask. There have been many theories floated; one is that the Gathering is more lenient towards ill-behaved goddesses than it is towards ill-behaved gods. Another is that for the Zealous hypernaturals, being a goddess draws more followers and worshippers, as women are more often portrayed as being benevolent, loving, caring, or sexual. Of course, these theories assume that the hypernatural is molded by the pressures of their mortal constituency, or that they reflect the pressures of their peer community. Another angle to consider is that hypernaturals that start out as one thing may wish to try new or different things as they mature and grow older; ergo, that gender decisions are not a matter of community pressures, but personal decisions or interests. Still another theory is that the road to apotheosis tends to filter out males fairly harshly — those that make it through to godhood, and survive for any length of time afterwards, tend to have more feminine qualities and predispositions. They are more social, more inclined to forming connections and participating in a wider community, although…” His eyes wander at this point, taking in the large garden in the center of the palace that we’ve arrived to. “…one might reasonably point out that hypernaturals such as Azra and Wicked Wolf seem to disprove this theory with how antagonistic they can be, and the Witchling’s gender has no bearing on her antisocial tendencies…”

“So there’s no settled science on why goddesses are more common than gods.” I conclude, pausing at the edge of the stairs leading down into the garden. It’s the large, open space that we saw from above earlier, the pond taking up the center of the area. I hadn’t quite realized how large it was from above; the pond easily has the surface area of one, maybe two competitive swimming pools. Stones are dotted across its surface in a little paths that branch off in a couple directions, and every now and then you can see the fin of a fish breach the water.

“Nothing settled.” Raikaron concurs, standing beside me at the top of the stairs. “My personal opinion is that it is likely the product of a confluence of factors, and not something that can be attributed to any single causation. The hypernatural community has not bothered to study it either; it does not seem to matter all that much to them. After all, gender is merely a product of the mind; sex is merely a feature of an organic form. There are a handful of genders and sexes beyond the male-female binary that dominates the vast majority of sapient species in our galaxy, and the many surrounding it. And as for hypernaturals, well. When you can change your gender, your sex, your body, your physical form, as easily as you might change your clothes… whether you are male or female doesn’t seem like much of a big deal, does it?”

“Suppose that’s a good point.” I say, thinking that over. “It just doesn’t… matter as much when you can take whatever form you want.”

“Indeed. Male… female… giant eldritch dream wolf with a chest maw… you know. As one does.”

“Ah yes, your favorite gender. Eldritch dream wolf with a chest maw. As one does.” I snort, studying the smooth-stoned paths winding through the garden, and some of the trees and fruit bushes lining its sides. “Azra doesn’t seem to have a very good relationship with her parents. Mek told me a little bit about it — they imprisoned her in the Maelstrom because of something she did, and she can’t leave, or something like that? That’s what I’ve been getting out of everything I’ve heard so far, at least.”

“She is sealed within the Maelstrom, and there are very specific conditions governing her departure.” Danya says, motioning for the staff attending us to head off. “Unlike most deities, she cannot visit the mortal plane at will.”

“It impacts her ability to act on the mortal plane.” Raikaron says, reaching out to stroke the petal of a flower nearby. “Where most other hypernaturals can walk among mortals and interact with them, Azra cannot do the same — she must act through her intermediaries on the mortal plane. As a result, her influence on the mortal plane is considerably diminished. And for a hypernatural that embodies that concept of tyranny and dominion, that is particularly crippling.”

“Doesn’t sound like a nice concept to embody.” I say, starting down the stairs. “We probably could do with less tyranny in the galaxy.”

“Tyranny need not always be villainous.” Raikaron says, following down the stairs behind me. “So long as a tyrant rules with benevolence and competence, one could argue that it benefits the population that is being ruled. And a regime may still be tenable if it is ruled with at least one of those qualities. The issue is when neither of those qualities are present in authoritarian regime.”

I wrinkle my nose at that. “Still doesn’t sit right with me. People should have a say in their society, instead of one person making the decisions for everyone else.”

“Democracies and republics are not perfect by any stretch of the imagination.” Danya points out drily. “One might argue that the problem with such systems is precisely that: everyone has a say in what decisions are being made, even the people which shouldn’t. It is an unfortunate fact that within any given society, there is always a large chunk of the population that lacks the wisdom, judgement, or integrity to make informed decisions about how their society should be run.”

“No form of government is perfect when it is administered by imperfect individuals.” Raikaron says before I can give a retort. “A government is only as good as the people that administer it, whether it is a democracy or a dictatorship. The form and structure do not matter as much as the people that are charged with its sober duties.”

“I still think a democracy has better guardrails built into it than a regime.” I mutter.

“A debate which can be held at a later time.” Raikaron says, lifting a hand out so that a dragonfly can perch on one of his knuckles. “But this is a time of leisure, and celebration. And we have the unique opportunity to enjoy a little bit of heaven in the heart of hell.” He turns to me, offering out the hand that has the dragonfly on it. “We should enjoy it while we can.”

It’s hard to remain obstinate at that, and I lift my hand, brushing my fingers against his. The dragonfly shuffles off his hand, finding a new perch on my finger, and I can’t help but smile as it tilts and twists a little, flicking its wings to keep its balance. It’s a little jewel of life and color that you’d never see in Sjelefengsel; a piece of the larger paradise that we now found ourselves in.

Heaven in the heart of hell, indeed.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The Maelstrom: Azra’s Palace

3:43pm SGT

“…must admit that I miss it. I miss it terribly. My parents would take me to visit Ailuron when I was young, so I could see the country they ruled over when they were mortal. Sometimes it would be a family trip, with Arcadia and Heartsinger and Druls and all the rest. We’d visit Cranberry City; I always loved going there. The Flying City, the Star of Rantecevang. Home of the Wildcats.” Azra says, idly tracing her middle finger along the golden rim of her glass. “I’ve heard it’s only gotten more beautiful since then.”

“It’s been a few centuries since I visited, personally.” I say, lacing my fingers together. We’re currently reposing on one of the luxurious couches in the feast hall; many of Azra’s guests are socializing on similar couches while partaking of the luscious bounty of dishes arrayed on the tables. Hovering in the center of the room, there’s a shifting, undulating mass of water that contains an array of exotic fish, swimming about within the liquid as it slowly morphs through different shapes — a sphere, a twisted prism, a curling möbius strip. The whole affair is far more muted than I’d been expecting, considering what I knew of Azra’s massive ego and domineering personality. “Even so, I can attest that it is a worthy destination. Pricey, certainly, but that’s what you expect of such a legendary city.”

“That’s the real torture of this place.” Azra says, setting her glass to the side. She’s now dressed in a long, white silk shirt with wide sleeves and a silk-bow sash tied about her waist; her sleeve cuffs have a thick golden border, while her sash is a rich red. The front fold of the shirt has been left loose and open, probably to show off. “People go on about how it’s paradise in the middle of purgatory, and it’s a beautiful place. But they’re only visiting. I’m trapped here, year after year, decade after decade, century after century. I can change things around here and there, but it’s so painfully boring, and there’s only so much you can shuffle around before things start finding their way into places they’ve already been before. I want to go places. See something other than the same old island in the middle of the same old stupid hurricane.”

“And Cranberry City would be one of your first visits?” I guess.

“If I had time for leisure. I have things I’d want to do if I got loose on the mortal plane once again.” Taking a grilled shrimp by the tail, she looks it over, and then dips it in one of the bowls of sauce on the couchside table. “And I’d probably have to hurry to get them done. Mom and Dad usually have a party of heroes on my ass within a month of me getting loose from the Maelstrom. The turnaround time is unbelievable; I wonder sometimes if they keep heroes on standby specifically for that reason.”

“I assume you cannot simply wave them away, due to the Rules.” I say, swirling my drink a little.

Azra gives a gusty sigh, flopping her head back. “Yeeaaaah. Gotta give them a fighting chance, and all that other bullshit. And the seal’s conditions keep me from just running from them indefinitely. Dad fixed that little loophole once he figured out I was using it to avoid facing the heroes he sent after me last time.”

I sip from my drink, musing on that. “Was there ever a time at which you got along with your parents, Azra?”

Azra narrows her eyes at me. “Are you going to try to play therapist with me? On my birthday, of all days?”

I shrug. “I am… you might say I am predisposed to seeking harmony, especially where it regards family. I find that the relationships which cause the most stress and pain are family relationships, and as a result, it is important to keep healthy family relationships if you wish to be happy. Aaaaand, despite how cringeworthy you may find it… I do care about your happiness. Or rather, the fact that you are clearly unhappy.”

That earns a scowl from her. “This is what I get for making friends with a Syntaritov.” she mutters, nibbling on her shrimp before chomping on it altogether and chewing moodily. “My relationship with my parents is complicated, and not so easily fixed. There are some things we simply don’t agree on, and will never agree on. I suppose you might say that it’s not a fixable situation. You know what they say about trying to change hypernaturals, and all three of us are hypernatural.”

I cant my head to one side, conceding the point. “Fair enough. Hypernatural personalities and convictions are not quite as mutable as the forms they take. Perhaps then, maybe what you and your parents need is some distance. Sometimes that is more healthy for a family than close proximity.”

She gives me a deadpan look. “My parents never visit. And I like it that way.”

“They never visit, but there are echoes of their influence around you.” I point out. “The seal which binds you to the Maelstrom, for example. It is a reminder that your parents still have a hand in your life; that a good deal of your potential independence is stunted by their control. Imagine what you could do without the seal that binds you to the Maelstrom. The places you could visit, the things you could get up to in the mortal plane.”

“Yeah well, problem is that seal’s still got a couple thousand years on it.” Azra grouses. “What do you want me to do for the next two thousand years, behave? That’d be conceding the argument to my parents. It’d be admitting they were right, that they were justified.”

“And let me guess, you simply cannot abide that thought.” I sigh. I can already see where this is going.

“I refuse to admit that they were right because they’re not.” Azra says, twisting on the couch so she can pull one of her tails around and preen it. “I deserved apotheosis for everything I did during the Void Wars. And after being Mommy and Daddy’s good little demigod soldier, how did they repay me? ‘No, you’re not ready to be a god yet’. Bullshit. It’s not like I fought for decades to keep Rantecevang safe, risking my life on the frontlines, but that wasn’t enough to qualify? They saved Rantecevang once and that was enough for them to get their apotheosis, but when I do the same, I get denied? It’s bullshit. I wasn’t gonna sit and take that.”

“Far be it from me to point out the obvious, but whenever you escape from the Maelstrom and get into trouble, another few centuries or millennia get tacked on to the length of the seal, correct?” I say, taking another sip from my glass.

“Yeah, well my parents could always choose not to do that whenever I get loose and do something they don’t like.” Azra retorts.

“Yes, but you could also not do stuff they don’t like.” I point out. “And the seal wouldn’t get any longer, and you’d be free of it sooner.”

“I’m doing stuff that needs to be done whenever I escape.” Azra declares proudly. “Helping restore balance to the galaxy and making sure that my people have a future. And if Dad doesn’t like the way I do it, he can suck on my tails.”

I pause on my next sip, tilting my head a little. “Can’t say I’ve heard that one before. I assume that’s a uniquely vashaya’reian insult.”

“It’s the vashy equivalent of ‘kiss my ass’.”

“Ah. Lovely.” I finish my sip, leaning back against the couch. “Well, I’ll make a final attempt: you do realize the irony of your situation, correct? You’re trapped in the Maelstrom, and you want to get out. But every time you escape and get in trouble, your sentence gets longer. If you would just stop doing that, you could eventually be freed permanently, instead of only getting to have freedom for months at a time before being imprisoned for another few centuries or millennia. It’s the classic impulse control experiment that behavioral scientists love to reference.”

“And I thought I told you that I refuse to concede to my parents.” Azra says primly. “I am not going to concede that I deserve to be in here, because I don’t. And whenever I have a chance to get out there and make a difference in the galaxy, I’m going to take it and use it to prove to my parents that they were wrong.”

“Well. I’ll give you points for stubbornness.” I say, shaking my head. “Can’t say you’re doing yourself any favors, but I’ll respect that you’ve picked your hill and you’re willing to die on it, again and again and again. How many times have you died on that particular hill, out of curiosity?”

Azra starts counting up on her fingers. “Uhhh… eight? No, seven. This next time will be the eighth.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Seven times? Really—?” My question cuts off a little when I feel someone sitting next to me on the couch, and I glance over to see Jayta settling in against me, picking up my idle arm and pulling it around herself. “Hey there, little flower. Social battery dried up already?”

She just gives a little nod, resting her head against my shoulder and collarbone. I settle my arm around her, giving her a quick kiss on the head. “Fair enough. You can hang with me for now.” I say.

Azra smiles. “Awww. That’s just adorable. Aren’t you just a doting little demon Lord, Rai.”

I adjust my glasses with the thumb that’s holding my cup. “I’m allowed to have a soft side, thank you very much.” I say snootily. “Anyway, like I was saying. Seven times? You mean to tell me you’ve managed to find a ninetailed morphox to possess on seven different occasions?”

She swats a hand at me. “Don’t act so surprised. I’ve been around for a little over fifteen thousand years, and there have been plenty of ninetailed morphoxes during that time. Although it was a lot easier back in the old days… finding a ninetailed morphox nowadays is a bitch and a half.”

“I assume that’s on account of how morphox culture and society has evolved since then?” I posit. “I’d imagine morphoxes can’t feed on people’s souls quite as easily as they once did.”

Azra blows a raspberry. “Yeah, that. Used to be no big deal for them to defeat their enemies in battle and eat their souls, but then they started getting picky about it. Only wanted to eat the souls of ‘worthy’ opponents, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. And then it started becoming something that frowned upon even in battle, and eventually it became something you didn’t do except in very specific, very unique circumstances, and only for certain kinds of people.” She throws an arm out. “You know morphoxes used to be proud of having a lot of tails? And now it’s practically a mark of shame if you’ve got more than three of them!” She huffs and flops back on the couch. “It’s a goddamn shame. All that potential, going to waste. How many other species do you know that are naturally capable of eating souls? We’re special, dammit! They should embrace it, not shy away from it.”

“Have you considered that part of the aversion to having a lot of tails is the fact that you can possess morphoxes that have acquired the maximum number of tails?” I suggest.

“What? No.” Azra scoffs, waving off the suggestion. “It’s an honor to be possessed by me, to enable my return to the mortal plane. Considering I’ve spent most of my life cooped up in this windy cage, any time I visit the mortal plane is a special occasion that should be celebrated by all.”

“Mm. For some reason, I don’t think most mortals feel the same way.” I say, relinquishing my glass as Jayta gently pries it from my hand so she can take a sip.

“Well, they don’t know what they’re missing out on.” Azra asserts, her attention shifting to the crate of draughts off to the side. “Speaking of which. You’re tempting me something terrible with that birthday gift. There’s a few in there that I haven’t tried before that I’m itching to get a taste of.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t opened one yet.” I admit. “I was expecting you’d try at least one of them during the celebration.”

“Oh, I’m tempted, trust me.” she says, picking up her glass from the side table and taking a sip from it. “If this was a normal centennial, I would. But I can’t afford to get shitfaced before the main event; I need to be sober and on top of my game.”

“Oh, so this isn’t the main event?” I say, taking my glass as Jayta hands it back to me. “I thought the whole affair seemed a little… quiet.”

Azra grins, showing her sharp canines. “C’mon, you didn’t think I’d waste my centennial on a quiet little affair like this, did you? No, no no no. I’ve got something much bigger planned for this milestone. Might as well kick it off right now, come to think of it.”

“Is that so?” I remark as she stands up. “Any hints, or will I get to enjoy the surprise along with all the others?”

“I’ve already given you all the hints you need, Rai.” she says with a mischievous smile, straightening out her shirt and making sure she looks proper. Once that’s done, she starts striding out to the center of the feast hall.

“Mmm. That smile has me… concerned.” I murmur once Azra’s out of earshot.

Jayta looks up at me. “You think she’s up to something?”

“Undoubtedly.” I say, sipping from my glass and watching as Azra saunters across the hall, tails swaying behind her. “That she has something secret planned is not surprising. The nature of that thing, however, is what I am concerned about.”

“Are we in danger?” Jayta asks.

“No, I don’t believe so. But just because we’re not in danger doesn’t mean that there isn’t trouble brewing.” I say, leaning forward to set my glass on the table. “You learn to stay on your toes around hypernaturals like Azra and Wicked Wolf.”

Azra chooses that moment to clear her throat, and it’s amplified, echoing across the feast hall. The guests in attendance — most of them middling authority figures from other hells, like myself — quiet down and turn towards where she’s standing at the end of the hall. They start to migrate in that direction, and I push myself up off the couch, helping Jayta up along with me. We all gather towards that end of the hall, many of the guests still nursing snack plates or drinks, or sometimes both.

“Perfect, perfect. First of all: thanks to all of you for coming out.” Azra says, smiling at the little crescent of guests gathered before her. “I know I’m not the oldest or most popular hypernatural in Myrrdicato, so it means a lot to me that you all chose to attend. I know there’s plenty of other parties you could’ve gone to at the start of the new year. A luxury which I, unfortunately, do not have, thanks to my parents, who keep me chained in this cursed paradise.”

There’s a slight shifting of fabric on my left side, accompanied by a familiar murmur. “She’s planning something.” Danya says, her lips barely moving. I give only the slightest of nods in response, keeping my attention on Azra.

“Really, honestly and truly, you all do not know what a privilege it is to be able to visit the mortal plane, or other hells. To meet and see your followers in person! To handle problems with your own two hands, instead of having to act through others.” Azra goes on. “I miss it. I crave it! The freedom, the ability to act on your own behalf—”

“You’re not gonna ask us to try and break you out of here, are you?” one of the guests asks in a flat tone. “You know we’re not going to risk crossing your father for that.”

“Or her mother.” adds another guest. “Never a good idea to piss off a sun goddess.”

“Well, at least the cowards are willing to self-identify.” is Azra’s witty rejoinder. “But to answer your question, I don’t need your help to get out of here; I can do that all on my own. No, I brought you here so you could watch.” With that, Azra turns and strides towards the doors behind her.

“Wait, did you find a way to break your father’s seal?” one of the guests asks as most of them start to drift after her, following at a slower pace. I start moving as the others door, Danya and Jayta moving along with me as I listen intently.

“Oh, if only. No, he’s been very consistent about maintaining the seal, and it can’t be broken with strength alone. But in order for it to have binding power, it must have concessions built in, and I am about to take advantage of one of them.” Azra says, holding her arms out as servants on either side push the doors open for her. “I’ve met the conditions needed for a temporary reprieve, and thanks to my faithful on the mortal plane, all of you will get to witness to my return to the mortal realm!”

With that, our earlier conversation falls into context, and I know what I’m going to see in the room beyond. The other guests are still moving forward, following after Azra, but my mind is racing ahead of that, reaching into the future and the possible ramifications of what’s about to happen. Whatever Azra’s planning for her return to the mortal plane, it’s going to be consequential — with it becoming harder and harder for her to escape nowadays, it’s obvious that she’s going to make the most of her walkabout on the mortal plane.

“I’ve been looking forward to this for millennia. And once I’m there, oh, are we going to have some fun.” she says as she crosses through into the room beyond — it’s large and circular, with nine redwood columns holding up the ceiling, and banners hung on the walls between them. I notice right away that there’s a certain haziness to the room, a ghostly overlay, and I can smell the magic on the air — it’s similar to the magic that Sjelefengsel uses to send demons to the mortal plane by linking a door in Sjelefengsel to a door on the mortal plane. The difference is that this is on a much larger scale and most of Sjelefengsel’s door portals — this entire room is being used as a link point, synchronizing to a similar location on the  mortal plane.

“Kneel in the presence of the goddess of tyranny, Azra Guile, the queen of the Maelstrom!” The greeting comes from further within the room, which appears to be terraced in descent — the floor is arranged in rings that each sink lower than the preceding one, ending in a circle at the center where a throne is located. Moreover, the room is populated — by bodies and people alike, though their outlines are hazy and wavy. As expected, there’s a nine-tailed morphox restrained on the throne, and beside it is a woman with dark hair and complexion, raising a club towards the opened doors. She’s wearing a red coat with split tails, as are most others in the room — the only ones that aren’t appear to be restrained on the floor at the foot of the throne, their hands and feet bound.

“Looks like there was an attempt to stop this ritual.” Danya murmurs to me.

“And there’s my vessel.” Azra says after the other morphox gekkers at her. It seems fairly clear that this ‘vessel’ isn’t a willing one, considering how she’s straining against the red threads binding her to the throne. I sense movement at my side, and look to see that Jayta’s bolted forward, too fast for Danya to grab her and hold her back. “She’s a spicy little thing, but she’s got nine tails, and that’s what matt— hey!”

Azra finds herself interrupted as Jayta runs past her and down the terraced rings of the room. “JAZEL!” she shouts, making a beeline for someone that looks like they’re crumpled beneath a cloak near the throne. I can feel my heart drop when I sense the echo of stress emanating from Jayta — and I realize, from her reaction alone, that this must be her brother.

“Jayta!” Danya hisses, starting forward, but I put a hand out, stopping her. She looks to me, and I start after Jayta, about to call out to her.

“Bro, seriously? I was having a moment here. Like, I had a speech and everything.” Azra says, before turning to me, looking vexed. “What gives, Raikaron? You can’t keep a leash on your pet?”

I take a deep breath, mindful of the fact that the other guests are watching. “My greatest apologies, your highness; I did not foresee this particular complication.”

“A complication? Is that what you’re calling it?” Azra scoffs before I can offer any explanation. She turns back to the scene playing out before us, then tilts her head. “Wait, hold up. She knows him? Is that…?”

I press my lips together, but there’s no point in trying to hide or deny it. “That… is her brother, yes.” I admit quietly.

“Hah. Family drama. The irony’s not lost on me.” Azra says. It’s a clear reference to her own contention with her family, and the irony isn’t lost on me either. “We’re really checking off all the boxes today. Well, I suppose she’d be torn right up if I killed him, wouldn’t she.”

I don’t hesitate to speak, though I ensure that my words are measured and calm. “I understand I may be speaking above my station, but yes, if you would honor us by sparing him — I would greatly appreciate it, and so would my avenger.”

“Mmm. I’ll consider it.” Azra says without turning around. I manage to keep my expression neutral, but beneath it, there’s a sense of dread growing. Jayta’s currently knelt beside her brother — she’s unable to touch him because the entire room is just slightly out of phase with the one that it’s layered over. It’s clear that he’s injured, and he’s struggling, and with the way things presently are, she cannot help him.

“My Lord.” Danya murmurs, low and urgent, as Azra starts talking to one of the restrained persons in the room that called to her. “We need to get her back up here. If she interferes with Azra’s return—”

“What would you have me do, Danya?” I mutter back at her. “That is her brother. You want me to drag her away from him while he’s in mortal peril?”

“Would you rather risk the wrath of a demon goddess?” Danya counters. “We are guests here, my Lord. This is Azra’s domain; we visit here at her pleasure, and if we displease her in her own home, especially with something that is so important to her—”

Danya’s interrupted by a shout from Jayta. “Raikaron, he’s bleeding!” she calls, looking at me with a wrenching desperation in her eyes. “Help me! Can’t you do something about this?”

I can feel the breath go out of me with the way she looks at me, begging for my help. I start to move in her direction, but Danya grabs my arm. “My Lord.” she said, maintaining her quiet but urgent undertone. “Remember where you are. Remember your station. If you do not act wisely, her brother will not be the only one in danger here.”

Those words burn, but I know they’re true. Despite the situation, I cannot act on emotions; I have to consider the other factors at play, and the risk they pose to us if I fail to give them proper consideration. “I cannot.” I say reluctantly, speaking to Jayta. “I know this is hard, Jayta, but please, come back over here.”

The betrayed look in her eyes cuts me to the core, and with my refusal, she turns back to her brother. “No, no, I’m not gonna leave him!” she says, frantically passing her hands through him again, trying to grab him. When that fails, she activates her manacles to see if she has any chainlinks that will allow her to reach across the divide between the Maelstrom and the mortal plane, even though I already know she does not.

Azra claps her hands together. “Well, this is positively heartwrenching and all that jazz, but I have a return to the mortal plane to get on with.” she says, turning back to her assembled guests. “I must thank you all again for attending my centennial; it was a pleasure to have you all here. There will be goodie bags for everyone on your way out the door when you’re leaving; feel free to stay a little longer if you want to socialize. If you want to take any of the food home, just let the waiters know; we’ve got plenty of to-go boxes in the kitchen.” With that, she starts down the stairs towards the throne. “Now, let’s get this party started…”

“You are a fool, Azra Guile!” the silvertailed morphox shouts at her. “Our parents will know you have fled the Maelstrom, and they will send heroes to stop you and send you back, just as they have in the past! Flee the Maelstrom before your sentence is served, and you will only end up lengthening it!”

Azra walks through the ghostly outlines of the bound people at the foot of the throne, leaning forward to rest her hand against the back of it. “Considering I’m fifteen thousand years old, and you’re only four hundred, I’ll take your advice with a grain of salt, little sister. Besides, I have work to do, and you’re going to help me do it.”

Having said that, Azra turns and sits to the throne, her spectral outline superimposed over the restrained morphox. Lines of orange start binding their respective outlines, pulling them together, and though the other morphox thrashes and struggles and screeches, those orange threads slowly begin pulling her into alignment with Azra. It’s like watching a parasitic wasp; unsettling, but difficult to look away from.

“My Lord. The boy.” Danya murmurs beside me, nodding to the space just off to the side of the throne. I look, and see that Jayta’s brother is struggling to his feet, teeth bared and clutching his side, which is soaked with blood. “He has spirit, but I am not sure his body can keep up with his aspirations.”

Though I agree with Danya’s assessment, I don’t say anything. The boy does look small, at least relative to many other humanoid races, and his frame doesn’t appear altogether too sturdy. Still, when one of Azra’s cultists moves to confront him, he catches her off guard with sudden throat chop, and immediately follows it up with a vicious backhand that sends her staggering back, tripping over one of the bound prisoners. All of it appears to be service of reaching the throne, but the downed cultist throws her charged club at his back, bringing him down just short of the throne. As he goes down, convulsing as crimson lightning crackles over his body, Jayta scrambles over to him, shouting at me. “Raikaron, DO something!”

I cannot help but close my hands into fists, fighting the impulse to intervene. “I cannot act here, Jayta!” I stress once again, although a loud snap-click interrupts me before I can say anything more. I look to see that the orange threads have fully pulled Azra and the silver-tailed morphox into alignment, and they sag forward on the throne. After a moment, they open their eyes, and I can see the heated glow of Azra’s green eyes as the silver tails start to turn red. The crossover is complete — Azra is now in the mortal plane, and it shows in how her outline has become hazy and ghostly. With the transition complete, the shimmering overlay in the room starts to fade away, evaporating like a mirage in the desert.

“No, no no no no!” Jayta says as the outline of her brother starts to become faint and indistinct, fading away before her eyes along with the rest of the scene on the mortal plane. “Raikaron! Raikaron, bring them back! Or take us there, I don’t care—”

I start down the stairs towards her, Danya following a step or two behind me. “Jayta, I need you to calm down.” I say, keeping my voice even and aware that the rest of Azra’s guests are watching.

“Calm down? Don’t treat me like I’m a child!” she snaps. “You need to get them back, I need to get back to wherever Jazel is and stop Azra—”

“Jayta, I cannot do that.” I say as I reach the bottom where the empty throne now sits. “There are laws that govern the interaction of hells—”

“I don’t care about hell’s laws, that was my brother!” she shouts at me, throwing a hand out. “I need to help him—”

“Do not raise your voice at your Lord, young lady.” Danya orders curtly. “Your distress does not justify disrespecting the rank, especially in front of so many others. You are embarrassing our House, and Sjelefengsel at large—”

“Shove it, Danya! I don’t want to hear it right now!” Jayta shouts at her. “What’s wrong with you two? You’re just going to sit by after all of that happened and do nothing—”

Danya shakes her manacles to life, and as they manifest, she makes a sweeping motion with one arm, a wave of darkness washing around and encircling us, sealing at the top and cutting us off from the rest of the room. “I understand you are upset, perhaps rightfully so, Jayta.” Danya says harshly. “But there is a time and a place for expressing it, and the time is not now, nor is the place here. Your intemperance may cost us in the eyes of other hells, and will do damage to our reputation if you do not rein in your emotions. You need to comport yourself as an avenger of the House of Regret while we are still in the Maelstrom. Once we have returned to the House, you may vent your ire if you desire, but until then, you need to control yourself, and remember your place.”

Jayta edges away from the wall of darkness encircling us, staring at it suspiciously before looking at me. “And you’re just going to stand there and do nothing?” she demands. “You didn’t do anything to stop it! You just stood there—”

“If I had tried to stop Azra, then it wouldn’t have just been your brother in danger.” I say, maintaining my calm. “It would be yourself, and myself, and Danya as well. I did nothing because doing nothing is what kept us safe, Jayta. I know you care about your brother, but I was not going to risk your life, and Danya’s life, trying to intervene in something I would not have been able to stop.” I give that a couple seconds to sink in, then go on. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to help. I know you’re worried about your brother, and I will do my best to do check on him. I have the means to do so, but they are at the House — I cannot do it here, on the fly, without the proper equipment. So I need you to compose yourself so we can leave the Maelstrom without further disruption, and return to Sjelefengsel as quickly as possible.”

“Fine.” she puffs, her fingers curling into fists. “I’ll… fine. Fine. I’ll behave. Let’s just get out of here.” It’s obvious she’s still roiling and agitated within, but her voice is no longer raised.

“Good.” Danya says, waving her arm again, with the dome of darkness coming down around us. The rest of the room comes into view once more, and it looks like many of the guests have wandered back to the feast hall. Some are still in the ritual room, looking over the banners on the wall or studying the carved columns, casting furtive looks in our direction as I turn and start back up the stairs at a firm stride, Danya and Jayta following behind me.

I ignore the looks, largely because I do not have the time or the mindshare to worry about the opinions of others right now. Jayta’s unhappiness and concern is consuming the largest portion of my attention at the moment, and the rest is being taken up by figuring out how to leave politely and quickly, and what I will need to do to locate her brother once we are back at the House. None of these things are questions with easy answers, and it’s not helped by the fact that the answers will not solve the underlying issue. Azra has returned to the mortal plane, and she has done so by possessing a morphox that seems to be close to Jayta’s brother.

Even if Jayta’s brother is still alive by the time I’m able to check on him, I’m not sure how much longer his life will be if he decides to pursue the ambitious task of trying to break a demon goddess’s possession.