This was not home. Not quite.

The Titan lifted the giant Orthos, and Lindon’s stomach twisted as he realized what it was about to do. It was about to hurl Orthos at the mountain.

[Deeper!] Dross shouted. [Dig deeper!]

This was the one chance Dross had seen of them driving off the Dreadgod.

The Titan abandoned targets that cost it too much energy. And Lindon could take that energy away directly, but he could only hold so much. His arm had limits, and so did he.

Though he hadn’t rested enough, he returned his right hand to the stony skin and once again used Consume.

As the Titan’s power crashed over him again, Lindon knew immediately that they weren’t going to make it.

This amount of energy loss was nothing to the Titan. It was vaguely aware that there was some kind of flea draining its spirit, but it couldn’t be bothered to deal with him yet. Lindon could drain its power all day, and maybe then tire the Titan enough to make it a little sleepy. But before that happened, it would have long since swatted Lindon away.

And that was the Titan already weakened by the suppression field.

Dross groaned. [I was really hoping this would work. It’s been in Sacred Valley a long time. There were good odds.]

Orthos was raised high over the Titan’s head, ready to throw.

What do we do? Lindon begged.

Time slowed one more time. Distantly, Lindon was surprised that Dross still had enough power left to do this, but he didn’t have time to worry.

[Hey, Lindon. You wouldn’t…you wouldn’t throw me away, would you?]

Dross sounded nervous all of a sudden, and Lindon’s heart dropped as he wondered what the spirit was about to propose. Am I not going to like this?

[I just, well, I’m not exactly proud of this, but I’ve always been afraid of being thrown away. Please, just keep me around.]

Lindon couldn’t understand why Dross was wasting madra for this conversation. I’m not throwing you away, now please help!

Dross let out a relieved breath. [Okay good, I just needed to hear it.]

Then dream aura flooded out of him. In a tide so expansive that Lindon wondered where it had all come from. How had Lindon not sensed vital aura this strong in Sacred Valley?

But he had sensed it, he realized. This was the power he’d drained from the Titan’s thoughts. Lindon had left sorting those to Dross.

Now, the aura flowed out, but not in a disorganized mess. It was being woven into a technique. A technique Lindon recognized.

The Fox Dream.

Dross blazed with madra, so much that even Lindon was surprised. The Titan paused, Orthos still struggling overhead, and Lindon added his contribution. Soulfire merged into the technique, and Lindon joined his will to Dross’.

Because of that link, he saw the vision Dross sent to the Titan.

It was nothing complicated. The Dreadgod saw eight figures hovering over Mount Samara, all Monarchs. It felt their power.

And one more detail: the turtle in its hands had vanished.

The Titan felt no fear, only irritation and disappointment. It had thought it was about to find its ancient home, only to find a patch of nothing. Well-defended nothing, too. And there was nothing it hated more than wasting its effort.

With a slow, ponderous motion, the Titan turned.

And walked back the way it came.

It lowered its arms, absently dropping the giant Orthos to the ground. Orthos hit and roared again, which Lindon worried would break the illusion of the Fox Dream, but the Dreadgod kept walking unaffected. From the pain through their bond, Lindon knew the turtle was still alive.

And each earth-shaking footstep grew more and more distant.

Lindon fell back on his Thousand-Mile Cloud, sagging in relief.

“Dross…thank you. You saved us.”

When no one responded, Lindon stretched his perception into his own spirit.

“Dross?”

20

Iteration 001: Sanctum

In the center of an isolation chamber buried deep beneath the sprawling megacity of Sanctum, Suriel slowly restored Makiel.

His body drifted in the center of the empty gold-walled room, runes all around glowing blue to enhance the effect of the Way. His mind was awake and active, but he gazed into the future. Trying to find a way to preserve Fate.

She could have had him back on his feet in an instant, but his existence had been severely damaged. His power would suffer unless she healed him slowly and carefully.

In the meantime, she was given little choice but to contemplate the situation among the worlds.

A blooming map of existence spread out in front of her at her will, a twisting nest of blue light with bright lights hanging off it like berries on a bush. The branches were the Way, the spots of light the Iterations.

All of them should be bright blue with a core of white, but too many of them were gray. Far, far too many.

As she watched, one of the lights from the cluster labeled ‘Sector 12’ turned black and withered away. Iteration 129: Oasis.

The Mad King and his Scythe had finished their reaping.

Suriel continued focusing on Makiel’s restoration. There was one more thing she could do for the good of all existence, but first she had to wait.

Finally, she felt the touch of Telariel, the Spider.

He rarely left Sanctum, but now even he was on the battlefield, retreating temporarily from a victory to connect her to all the other Judges. She caught brief glimpses of the remaining four, each engaged in battle, as Telariel wove his strands of authority to link them across time and space.

When all the Judges could hear her, Suriel spoke.

“Makiel is in recovery. We faced the Mad King and were defeated.”

She felt the reactions of the various Judges as though they were her own. Gadrael, the Titan, was astonished that his sponsor could have failed. Razael, the Wolf, wanted to test her own sword against the Vroshir. Zerachiel, the Fox, immediately ran to an Iteration farther away from the Mad King.

“By Makiel’s authorization and my own, I send the following command. All Judges, do not engage the Mad King. Abandon any world you cannot hold, and fortify those you can. The Vroshir will finish their raid, and many will die, but soon enough they will leave. We will retreat, and endure, and rebuild.”

The Spider and the Fox immediately sent their agreement. They prioritized their own lives and those of the Abidan above all else.

The Titan was next. Any world he was in would be well-fortified indeed, and he would follow any instruction of Makiel’s.

The Ghost sent no reply, but Suriel took that as agreement. The Wolf was the last to agree, frustrated that she couldn’t vent her frustrations on the enemy, but she satisfied herself with the knowledge that they would strike back someday.

The Hound and the Phoenix already agreed, so the Court of Seven was in accord. Their forces would pull back and let the Vroshir rampage until the pressures of chaos forced them to retreat back to their worlds.

Abidan would spread out more slowly this time, recovering surviving worlds and rebuilding others from fragments. From ten thousand worlds before Ozriel’s departure, they would be reduced to…a hundred, perhaps.

Even her Presence couldn’t speculate on the total number of lives that would be lost. At least those taken by the Vroshir would survive, but the Mad King and his allies would capture only those who could benefit them in some way.