I was, as a child, born with the misfortune of being... Flawed.

  I was born in a plane of low magic, a place of kings and men without gods, with only their mortal tools and their false idols to guide them. I was born into a life of misery, sold into service as a serf's assistant—a particular lowlife who favored himself a magi. His magic was entirely deceit and manipulation, fancy tricks and prestidigitation to fetch himself enough coin to survive—or, some nights, enough to inebriate himself beyond coherence. He was no wise man, as I'm sure I need not inform you. He was a drunkard first, and a sorcerer only to those more foolish than himself. And I think it was perhaps only a misfortunate happenstance which led to him being lent the king's ear.

  As his assistant, I was to wash every room of every floor of his mansion, up and down all four stories. I was to replace the linens and scrub the laundry, to get down on my hands and knees every single day and brush the marks out of the wooden boards with such vigor that my hands would bleed. Then I was to cook, of course, three meals a day, plus whatever snacks the man fancied. I was butler, servant, slave, and maid, all at once, at all times, forever. That was my station.

  And to defy my station was to invite lashing upon my flesh from the man's whip, or for him to pluck my fingernails out one at a time, or for him to carve my face vilely, to leave cruel markings in the skin to be covered by my mask—for I was not to exist within his domain without wearing the mask of the fox.

  There were other masks too, but they were never worn. I took it to mean that he had always intended to find more slaves, but had never taken the initiative. Or I had proved sufficient. Though, the word slave was never one he would have preferred. That was far too callous for all of the kindness which he wielded.

  One day, during the fiftieth winter of the sixth era, a man arrived at the door of his mansion. There had been a strange happenstance some time ago, and it was one of the king's men who had been tasked with sorting it out, tasked with seeking advice from my master. I eavesdropped when they took to the library, though I know now that my master was aware of my presence—he told me only on his deathbed that he had known all along. As for why he hadn't abused me that night, I cannot say.

  I didn't know it at the time, but there was a particular reason why the king sought out my master, and that was the same reason as for how my master had inherited such a lavish manor in his state. It turned out they'd known each other—yes, the king was one of the many fools who'd been conned by my master, promised a seat upon the throne in exchange for a lofty sum of gold. And when that promise came true, the king paid it back doubly to my master. I'd say by that point my master could have safely given up his trade, but that isn't in the cards for those who scheme. Always more, never less.

  As far as why the king had sent for him? Strange blue crystals had been appearing in number within the Ruined Capital, a wasteland long since abandoned by all but the grittiest, hardiest of scavengers. There were plentiful rumors for why the place had turned into such a wasteland... The eventual truth was that the leylines had grown weak and died, leaving the area borderline uninhabitable. Without ley, the air becomes thin, water becomes scarce or toxic, and life begins to wither away without cause. This was later dubbed Calamity by the scholars of the realm. We didn't know what leylines even were before the discovery of these crystals. We hadn't the slightest clue that magic had been around us all along.

  These aforementioned blue crystals bore strange effects, causing things to move or multiplying applied force—if you were to place one such crystal within the head of a hammer and strike it against steel, the impact upon the steel would be at least double the norm, depending on the size of the stone, and its potency. This was a strange principle, one so far unexplainable by our understanding of the world, unexplainable by all but the most fantastical of magi.

  My master, of course, didn't know. He made up some lie and bid the subject farewell, then holed up in his study for weeks in search of what secrets those stones might truly hold. He traded them to scavengers in the form of powerful weapons that they may be researched in the field, created imitation magical staves which, in reality, were slings which launched those stones like boulders at their targets. He created swords which could cut even the sturdiest of armors, hammers which could crumble mountains with a single swing...

  And he began to conquer his corner of the world with that technology. I won't get into the war which spawned from this debacle—the king was at least too clever to let my master be the only one with such weapons. But that bloody war waged on and on, even beyond my fleeing the realm. To return now from Caloria, a realm which shares a timetable with it, one would witness still the highest height of that war. It will likely never end, perhaps only when their sun finally burns out. They've been enveloped completely by chaos.

  And that chaos was what spawned those very stones. An unforseen element, something which did not belong within the strict order the realm had once held. There is a god who was parallel to our realm—a god named Azafel. The story goes, whether true or not, that Azafel slew the god who once presided over our realm, and that event spawned that first Calamity. And from Calamity, the ley could not be suffered to not exist—what remained of it formed into blue glowing crystals brimming with magical potency. Godstones, we called them. Little did we know.

  The Godstones held one secret which my master hadn't discovered—they were elements of pure ley, of course. And ley has a trace. Every magical event, every spell, every rune and hex has its own identifying slate, and every one has a "scent" which it leaves upon the air.

  Imagine for a moment that the leylines aren't lines at all—imagine the leylines are a field of perfect snow, untouched by man. And then, when man takes his first step through the snow, those steps are left. It will keep snowing in our proverbial tundra, and so those steps will eventually be covered. But until then, there's a trace. That's the "scent" which is left behind.

  And the scent upon Godstones was that of another realm. I discovered once I'd stolen one which had rolled under my master's desk, I held it tight and closed my eyes, and I could see the story the king's man had gone through in delivering it to us. I could feel every bump of his carriage, I could smell the grass and the fir trees... I wasn't sure why, but that sensation came so naturally to me. It came as easily as seeing through my own eyes, as easily as witnessing, as easily as breathing. It was meditative. Perhaps it was my aesceticism which had made it so easy. My desperate need for escapism. I cannot say. Truly, I cannot say if Caloria even exists, or whether the entire thing is a dream which I've invented to escape into my subconscious. But that's too philosophical for me to bother pondering. If it's all a dream, why do these scars yet plague me so?

  An untouched Godstone was different. My master had requested one, once. He wanted one directly from Calamity's maw, as freshly made as possible. He wanted many more than one, I'm sure, but one was all that was delivered. It arrived in a perfect wooden box, cushioned inside to resist impact, slowly and painstakingly delivered by airship over the course of a year to ensure not the slightest tingle interrupted its trace.

  But by the time it arrived, my master was dying. The Godstones were spreading Calamity around themselves, and he died as a consequence of his continued involvement with them. Many times, he had the opportunity to retire. He was too full of greed, too driven by ego. The package arrived for me, instead, and I was free to do with it as I desired. It was the last thing he had left for me, and the only true possession he had ever given me.

  When I looked into this stone, untouched by human hands... I saw Azafel. Black and red, as large as a world, infinite in his cataclysm and driven by sheer entropy. He was a monster, a true evil. Something beyond the mortal evil of my master—something which commanded all life to suffer at once as I had, and would stop at nothing to see that fate met. He was the new god of our universe, and he would destroy it all.

  But by witnessing that, I discovered the exact method he had used to venture into our world. I discovered how the ley should look, how the Godstones should be placed... I invented the library of Shogal-B?z, the only place of serenity which still lies within my home plane. I created a way by which any and all human creatures, and some nonhuman, could venture beyond their designations. I designed a way to resist our natures, to break free from our stations. I decoded the very rules of life, our universe, and the ones in parallel to it...

  And then I discovered Caloria.

  I was only nineteen years of age. I had been traveling the universes since I turned sixteen, but never had I found one so perfect, left completely untouched by man or demiman.

  And in Caloria… I rid myself of my ability to make mistakes. I invented a new man using the power of the Etherians there. I created Talek. A man without misfortune. And he created Kogar. A man with all the power in the world. And in delegating my responsibilities to them, I secured myself interplanar passage. I secured myself a seat in the Deadworld. I secured myself as more righteous, more powerful than Evra herself.

  Because Kasian is still, and will forever be, human...

  Faunia Vleren trespassed carefully, with quiet trepidation, into the library where she’d wound up. It was dark wood, rotten and decaying, built up high to the ceiling in almost an imitation of Shogal-Baz. She stuck close to the bookshelves, her eyes scanning every spine in search of an answer to her first question.

  Okay, good. They speak Huntish here. Or, whatever they call it in this plane.

  Then she made her way toward the center of the room, following those curving bookcases through the labyrinth which seemed to lead to one center chandelier, just barely visible in the gaps up high where books had been missing.

  But I have no plans to do any talking.

  She held a short sword in her hand, far too heavy, far too short for her liking. But it was a weapon all the same. It would do enough to kill that coward once and for all, to put an end to their goose chase.

  So reveal yourself, bastard.

  She stepped out into the center, then, to where a large table was surrounded entirely by those bookshelves, surrounded then by benches covered in scraps of papers and abandoned books. It appeared that this place had been untouched for some time.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Faunia ran her fingertips along the top of the table and confirmed that; she pulled up nearly an inch of dust, and she could smell the sulfur of a battle upon it.

  Somebody fought here. Then they retreated. Perhaps this is where Kasian originally ventured from? His study?

  She picked up one particular scrap of stained parchment and examined it under the light. There was a circle drawn in the center, surrounded by a very strange contraption which she couldn’t make heads or tails of. The words on that paper, however, were not Huntish.

  Something moved behind her, she lunged in reaction.

  But it was only a rat scurrying across the floor, running out from the labyrinth’s center.

  Her eyebrows twitched. Looks like he knows his way around.

  And she set to following it.

  It went first to the left, around a column of ashy books. Then it veered right down an opening in the shelves. It took a shortcut through a gap where a foot-level book had been removed, and Faunia kicked her foot through the rest of the collection of books to make space. She fell low, crawled behind it, then quickly rose and chased after it before it could get away.

  It was becoming darker. The center chandelier no longer illuminated this far; all she had to go by were the blue-glowing bulbs inlaid every few feet, up over her head.

  Those aren’t mage bulbs. At least, not the kind we’d see in Caloria.

  By the time she looked back down, her new accomplice had gotten away in the dark. She clicked her tongue dejectedly.

  Then let’s try.

  “Lum.”

  No light flared out from her hand. She thought she heard something skitter beyond her sight but shook the thought from her head.

  No ley. Is this world operating on a different source of magic? Maybe it was a bad idea to come here after all…

  She had, after all, lied about Evra telling her to enter the rift. She’d merely been woken up by Hunters looking for her, feeling rejuvenated after her short slumber.

  And then she'd seen Kasian get away.

  Her hands clenched.

  Cedric didn’t fail. If Kasian is returned to Caloria, it would take only a fraction of a second for him to obliterate Kasian entirely. He’d got more power than we ever thought was possible. I just need to get him back… Dead or alive.

  She looked down to her hand. Therein, she held her secret weapon: the shard of broken mirror Ivalié had procured for them. She didn't know exactly what it even was—but it felt nice to the touch. It was refreshing, like a cool drink of water on a hot summer night.

  Stay low, she reminded herself. Keep quiet.

  And she did lower herself, crouched smaller to the ground, better to hide beneath the shade. For once, she'd regretted donning the reflective silver armor she'd been wearing almost her entire life. And not just for how it glinted with the distant light—but the room was stuffy, warm like the evident fight had just happened moments ago. She wanted to cough on whatever dust was floating in the air, but she couldn't risk it. She'd sooner let herself asphyxiate than give Kasian the satisfaction.

  Then she paused. She took a very deep breath, released it so that the shudders would clear from her body.

  Even if you suffocate on his realm's stagnant air... That would be more satisfaction than he's deserving of.

  She jumped, forced her yelp into a tight hiss as two more rats sprinted at her from ahead, just black blobs rushing across the floor without anything more than those azure bulbs to guide her.

  Something must be there, something has to have scared them.

  Frozen in place, she carefully considered her next move. Was it worth shouting out, alarming the prey before it became predator? Or was it worth getting the jump on it?

  Hell, maybe it was worth dropping the whole damn bookshelf on whatever was hiding beyond it.

  That sort of barbaric idea struck a familiarly pleasant chord within her. It was exactly the sort of thing that would have worked for Cedric.

  And with little more hesitation than that, Faunia Vleren charged with her full speed at the bookshelf.

  THUMP.

  The force of the impact hurt her shoulder considerably more than it injured the bookshelf. She exhaled the pain as quietly as she could, grasped her arm, sucked in a breath. "Tir...!"

  Her heart sank when she remembered. But then came a bright blue glow from beyond the bookshelf—there wasn't time yet to mourn.

  Shwish!

  In one cleaving vertical strike, the bookshelf was severed in twine, scattering books all across the floor in an avalanche of fluttering paper.

  Faunia backpedaled, her sword hand shook as she raised it, her breaths became heavy.

  There was Kasian—now his face was donned in the expressionless mask of a red fox, though his black robes hadn't changed. But he approached with a glowing sword to his hand. In a world where the ley seemed not to exist, he approached with a weapon of pure magic.

  "There you are. Curious about my armament, Vleren?" He raised the sword, inspected each pulsating side of it. "The ley here is dead. What once remained of it... Nevermind. I've once again found myself unable to restrain my words. I should know better than to waste my breath."

  "I agree... You'll want to save them—you've got so very few left."

  She drew the shard of the mirror from her pocket, held it up to face him in her offhand.

  Nothing happened. Then Kasian jabbed his sword forward through the air.

  A blast of azure magic chased from the point of the blade, exploded outward with a reverberating screech, shattered the mirror in two and exploded the fragments like shrapnel through the air.

  Faunia lowered her hand. A hole had been bored right through it—her fingers were barely hanging on.

  When she looked up Kasian was bearing his weapon down upon her. She raised her sword horizontally at just the last second—

  CRASH.

  The steel exploded like wood, splintered off in every direction. Kasian's blade fell just past her shoulder, carved out a wet chunk of meat as it dropped. Then he was only one step away, his hand vying for her throat; Faunia was on the retreat, gripping her arm, holding back her tears, her nausea. The air crackled between them with the gently bated breath of lightning.

  Is this all Ivalié had for us? Was this the big secret!?

  "Sorry, Vleren. It was most impressive to watch you grow—" His gloved fingers brushed the soft, tender skin of her throat.

  THUD.

  The wet impact of her fist against his cheek loosened blood from his nose, rocked his head back and left him dazed for just a second. By the time he looked to her again, she'd raised both of her fists in defiant pugilism.

  Kasian wiped the blood away, reseated his mask. "Always just want the last word, don't you? That's what makes you humans so worthless."

  He swung the blade from below. The arc of light from the weapon chased on, split the floor in two with a rumbling which shook the earth, ran all the way to the far wall through every bookshelf, brought the whole room apart in a cacophony of ruin.

  But Faunia Vleren had sidestepped the attack without the faintest stutter.

  Kasian raised an eyebrow beneath the mask. "Still?"

  She swung her left. Kasian cleaved upward and her already devastated hand was severed. She howled out, but still brought her right hand over her twisting shoulder, rammed it dead center into his face.

  The mask buckled and shattered, much like she'd wanted his bones to do.

  Kasian was left stumbling backward. Then Faunia leapt for his waist, took him down to the floor. He tried before he fell to angle the blade for her spine, but that movement loosened his grasp—the weapon slipped from his sweating fingers, the blade struck the ground and blasted a dent where it landed, fallen just out of reach.

  "No—"

  "Stupid. Fucking. Worthless. Damn. PIG!" Faunia struck another blow into his face with every insult. "Useless. Fucking. COWARD. Damn hypocritical FUCK!"

  "Pl..." Kasian gargled as his face became shattered beyond recognition. Blood poured out in every direction like an overflowing bucket.

  "Mother. FUCKER. Fucking BASTARD!"

  Her blows were slowing.

  "Every... Fucking... Toy... And nothing..." She dropped her hand limp upon his unmoving chest. "Nothing inside the man... Nothing but a fucking sob story. You have it so fucking bad? What about us? What about the people you devastated?"

  Lastly, she spit onto his face. And that was enough for her. She slowly clambored up from her seat upon his chest, slowly took account of her possessions... Just the mirror, then. That's all that was left. And as she picked up the fragments again, she could see the visage of Kasian within it. When she averted her gaze from the mirror back to the man... He was gone. Yet, in the mirror he remained. And in the mirror he would forever remain—she took it between her working hand and her teeth, snapped it in half, cut her lip and tongue in the process. She spit the blood onto the floor, wiped the sweat from her brow...

  And then she collapsed upon the floor of his palace. Too exhausted to move. Too bloody to know the way back.

  Too damaged. Too fatigued, mentally and physically...

  Her eyes began to shut. Pleasant dreams and nightmares began to dance within the insides of her eyelids. She felt a fever coming on—but she felt so cold. She felt the blood pooling around her still body.

  And a black robe swept like a shadow upon the library, whisked her away, took stock of her flesh and replanted as much of it as could be managed...

  And Faunia Vleren was gone.