YUVEN

The Warden Echelon, where Warden-Commander Faehariel and her closest advisors came together for new approaches against the endless Derelict threat, to send down the line to the Captain's, and then the Order as a whole. In glass frames, maps from the most recent ages sat preserved with their inked lines, with the most recent one stretched across the floor with beacons of light serving as waymarks. Small pedestals stood over it to provide the best views, and he held himself tall among them. Each one of the senior Wardens considered him when he ascended the steps to the empty platform. Faehariel's ebony horns glinted with the light shining through the glass windows. "Yuven Traye, you have something of note for us?" she asked, her voice firm but kind, as it always had been. Decades, she hadn't changed from when he was a nine Turns old boy. "If you have aught to mention, please, share it. We will heed it."

"I do, Warden-Commander," Yuven said and stepped into the light. "After perusing your predecessor's logs and comparing notes between the current time and the date to when the Pact of Hundred was signed." He sent a whisk of ice to the map to highlight the Burning Abyss. "You were one of the few people in attendance to both the signage and the creation of the Burning Abyss." He stared at her from across the etched world. "We don't have the numbers we did back then... and lost many at both the King's Summit and the massacre at Azahama." He curled his fingers together, small, the youngest. "It had to have been obvious that this measure was temporary even back then. You couldn't kill the Derelict back then, but we cannot let it exist and have the potential to rampage." He tapped his heel against the stonework. "Here are my suggestions, since you are keen for them — so... we let it climb out."

Every one of the senior Wardens stared at him, with some tilting their heads. "Explain?" Warden-Commander Faehariel pushed.

"Due to the confluence of blood magick which recently beset Azahama, it will be drawn to it," Yuven clarified. "But, with its size, it will be slow. It will have its weak points. We need a Hippogryph Vanguard to keep its attention split while we make several camps along the Abyss." He glared at them all. "We blow up the storm spires as it makes the climb. It will send shockwaves of magick through its system. There is something down there that has been feeding it for Turns based on what Fenrer told me before the King's Summit. My next suggestion is we have two teams." He raised his hand, two fingers stretched. "One goes into the Abyss to set up anchors. I'm being led to believe there's a primordial source crystal down there. Corrupted. It must be destroyed." Yuven looked between them for the reactions, and then continued, "The other team, I recommend Adara Sazaka and Fenrer Pyren for. We send them to Irimount through the newly connected route through the Twilight Sea, and there, they find a way to cross the bridge of the dead to free Evyriaz, to whit... they will close the route behind them so the risk of contagion spreading into the Otherworld is cut off."

Warden Haven stared at him. "Warden Traye, what you're suggesting—"

"Is mad?" Yuven asked and glared at the older Warden. "Not any more mad than what the cult must be doing, and we don't know what that is yet, what we do know is shattered remnants that don't fit yet. Besides, wouldn't you agree that having Evyriaz on our side would turn the tide? He may not be an Ancient, but he is an Anima, and we cannot rely on Adara Sazaka, not yet and certainly not with the force he can bring to the table by virtue of being a wyvern." He swept his attention to Warden-Commander Faehariel. "I'm well aware of the fight the desert Wardens are putting up, and with King Reyn reinforcing the wall, we'll eventually need to send scouts into Tebora." He straightened out his spine. "Those are my suggestions based on my experiences at the King's Summit and the recent ambush, and what I've been told by others. Whether it'll limit our losses is another story, but we've all sworn to this, that sometimes victory will require sacrifice — to stop the depraved advance. So, if I must cast two into the realm of the dead for that fleeting chance, then cast I will."

Warden-Commander Faehariel looked between her advisors. "You would need to find a way to do such a feat, Warden Traye."

Yuven looked down at the map. "...I might have one, or, well, Warden Ollain suggested it to me when I told her of my plan." He took in a breath. "It's an ancient Naveeran flower. It's called dreambloom. I'm sure most of you heard of it — it's a medicinal herb, but its potency is heightened through song. If this team takes a bundle, it will be like a sleep unto death." Uncertainty waged in his heart, but he allowed it no quarter to see his goals through to the end. "If I'm correct, the bridge will open, and they will be allowed to cross, especially since Fenrer is an Aurus. He can navigate it."

"You do realise that sleep unto death could very easily become death?" Warden Haven asked.

Yuven nodded. "Yes, which is why I'll be the one making the dreambloom potent, and will be using the shard of my magick within Fenrer to facilitate it. It is imperative we do this while our army lays siege on the Burning Abyss. We will have a small window of time, through which, the Golden Tenet will be used against it, and destroy the Goliath for good," he said. "It's our only chance to cut off the head of this particular snake. They will see the corrupted crystal's confluence being released in the Otherworld, no?" Desperation threatened his fangs, but he kept himself even. "Especially if it's hundreds of Turns old."

I'll make you proud, Miesero. I will help you find an answer to the question you've been digging since I was a boy. Yuven clenched his fists and faced his seniors. And I won't let a cult win, ever again. Children free from fear, terror, and ostracization from those supposed to protect them. His feathers pressed against his ears in silence. "Even if you push away my other ideas, we will still need that Hippogryph Vanguard and those battle camps. We use runeflares and scouts to send messages, and once we're ready, once we see its tendrils, we blow up the storm spires."

Warden-Commander Faehariel shifted on her small, carved platform. "It has merit, but I'll need to send a message to Commander Kamila to be ready for a surge if things go wrong," she mumbled, the small golden hoops along her ebony horns glinting. "As for your other parts of the plan, if you can give me a means as to which you will acquire dreambloom, how you mean to preserve and protect the lives you will commit to the bridge and how to get them out alive before this operation is underway — then I will give you the supplies needed. But know what you ask, Yuven Traye, has many great risks."

Yuven looked over at the map again, his attention trailing at the Fields of Light. "Someone must take the risks others won't," he told her, and her brow smoothed out at his words. "I will carry the burden of it no matter what comes, but I do not intend on letting go of my Oathbound so easily." He let his fingers loosen from their balled up state. "That is all I have to report and give, Warden-Commander. The others await further orders from the Echelon. I am sure Captain Ineha and Captain Yusari are at the ready within Dyrin, as shattered as it is, we are not. We will need some sort of stability, and we can't rely on the Elder Convocation to provide it. They were more intent to put Adara Sazaka as the monster under their bed... and now we've seen that in the face of actual danger, they could not provide much to anyone." His arm dropped against his side, and he put a hand up to his heart with a bow. His final respect to the elders of the Order — those who survived against all the odds.

"Thank you for your insights, Warden Traye," Warden-Commander Faehariel said with a smile. "We will consider every detail. Please, take your ease for the rest of the day. You are dismissed."

Don't mind if I do. Yuven stepped down from the carved platform to head for the doors, which opened with a rumble at his approach. Through the stonework, he left it behind to make his way for the runelift, but took the stairs instead. His magick stretched outwards, and he found himself on another plane, a ghost to truth. He knew all the corners, all the nooks and crannies. Exploratory ventures, he need not his physical senses to navigate the greatest citadel upon Aztryxer. Back into the Annex, he peeked around for Fenrer and Adara, but found their presence lacking, even at the table or Fenrer's favourite chair by the window, right where the sun intensified over the peaks of the caldera. He whipped his head around, then headed up the stairs to the highest rungs of the Annex, before tucking himself into a study corner, surrounded by stacks and little lamps. He shuffled through his armor, before pulling out a box. His finger pressed against the latch, and the glyph responded in turn.

It whistled open, and he overturned the small piece of fabric which held his precious hope. A piece of eternal ice from the compass a monarch had given him to navigate the Frozen Wastes. It remained pure, uncracked, but neither cold nor painful. Akin to stone, he brushed a finger down it, then checked on the fabric. Wavy swirls sewn into the edges, connected at the back by a metal clip. He folded it to place it to the side, allowing the eternal ice to float inches above his palm.

Now that I have some peace and quiet... Icy mist snaked out of the glyph he formed beneath it. Webs wound themselves around the eternal ice, slowly starting to dig into the purity and make it into something new. It was about time he got started on the little project, to make it mean something more than frustration — if he needed another ice compass for whatever inane reason, he would get another, from Neven, who still surely still had one from when he lived in Irimount. Besides, digging into eternal ice will take... a while, but I will have this finished before I rejoin Miesero at the other continent, so he can finally come home with a sense of peace that he had done all he could. As the glyphic tendrils carved the image of love in his mind, he kept an ear out for anyone who attempted to sneak up on a ghost. But... the results are worth it... He let his fingers curl again, causing the eternal ice to angle itself to allow him more to work with. Though footsteps sounded below him, he was content to stay in his nook, one leg folded over the other as ice shavings fell down on the table, which he dissipated and fed into the glyph, to cycle magick through, nothing wasted, and nothing lost. Instinct and focus. He repeated the mantra, to not make a single mistake upon its surface, formed by his memories. The ones which held warmth, and light.

From a young Hanekan boy, who reached his hand out through the darkness to pull him through the light.

From a pale-blonde figure who told stories of wyverns, who showed him their people could be more than what they stubbornly refused to approach.

Among a garden, a young girl studied the flowers and stamped them into a book, before drawing her amber gaze up to him, her hair glowing in the midday sun.

No one came to the higher rungs, so he sat in peace and wiled the rest of his day away, trying to make a sun out of ice to create love.