The air in Ebonheim, usually thick with the hearty scents of woodsmoke, river damp, and Aslankoyash cooking spice, seemed to thin. It held its breath when the word spread. Faster than Roderick's swiftest bird, whispers darted between market stalls, glances exchanged over forge fires: Xellos was coming.

Not just his influence, a cold draft from the east, but the god himself.

His arrival was preceded by a small, impeccably uniformed Corinthian delegation. They requested a formal audience with the Goddess Ebonheim and her esteemed council, their request delivered by a man whose face held the same placid, unnerving emptiness she had noted in returning traders.

Engin had granted the audience, of course—diplomacy, however strained, demanded it, even with a neighbor whose actions grew increasingly suspect, like shadows lengthening ominously in the late afternoon sun.

But the anticipation that settled over the city in the hours leading up to his arrival wasn't celebratory or even merely curious; it was wary, watchful, a collective tightening of nerves across the diverse populace, like the unnatural stillness in the forest just before a thunderstorm finally, violently breaks.

Even the usual boisterous arguments in the plaza seemed muted today, the laughter less frequent, replaced by lowered voices and watchful eyes turned towards the eastern road.

Ebonheim waited at her shrine, the afternoon sun casting long, creeping shadows across the mossy clearing. She had deliberately forgone her more elaborate robes, the ones woven with starlight and river-mist that proclaimed her divinity. Instead, she chose the simple, practical, silver-threaded tunic and leggings she often wore when walking amongst her people, needing the familiar feel of the fabric against her skin.

She needed to feel grounded today, connected to the solid, familiar earth of her domain, not elevated on a dais of divine formality that might create unnecessary distance or perceived weakness.

Kelzryn stood nearby, a silent pillar of shadow beneath the ancient, protective Ebonwood tree, his humanoid form seemingly carved from moonlight and solidified night, the strange, glowing azure fissures on his alabaster skin pulsing with a faint, rhythmic light, a slow, deep heartbeat. His ancient, unnervingly blue eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the pathway leading up from the main plaza, his stillness more potent, more charged with readiness, than any drawn weapon could ever be.

He hadn't spoken a word since the delegation's arrival was announced, but his presence was a palpable weight beside her, a silent, draconic judgment held carefully in check.

The Corinthian guards arrived first, their disciplined footsteps unnervingly quiet on the soft moss of the clearing path, unlike the hearty tread of Ebonheim's own militia. They marched in perfect, synchronized step, their identical grey tunics and polished steel helms forming a stark, disciplined, almost lifeless contrast to the more varied, sometimes chaotic, leather-and-fur attire of the Ebonheim militia members discreetly positioned among the surrounding trees.

They halted precisely ten paces from the shrine steps, forming two neat, unwavering ranks, their faces impassive, their eyes hidden in the deep shadow of their functional helms.

Then came Xellos.

Ten years had done little, outwardly, to alter his physical form.

He still appeared unnervingly frail, almost brittle, as if a strong wind might shatter him. His gaunt frame was draped in the familiar tattered robe of deepest midnight blue, its swirling, complex silver patterns seeming to shift and writhe subtly in the light, like captured smoke or constellations seen through troubled water.

Intricate, faintly glowing etchings still crawled across his deep grey skin like living tattoos, pulsing faintly in time with some unseen, internal rhythm, seeming to writhe slightly if one stared too long.

Yet, as he glided up the path with that unnerving smoothness, as if he floated just above the ground rather than walked upon it, there was a subtle difference Ebonheim couldn't quite place, a shift in his bearing.

A confidence in his stride, perhaps, that hadn't been there during his 'recovery'? An unsettling lack of the vulnerability he had so expertly feigned before?

The haunted, seeking, almost desperate look she remembered from those days seemed entirely replaced by something… contained.

Controlled. Polished smooth as river stone.

His pitch-black eyes, empty pools that seemed to swallow the light and offer no reflection of the world around them, swept across the shrine clearing, lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary on Kelzryn's imposing, silent form before settling on Ebonheim with unnerving, penetrating focus.

He offered a slight bow from the waist, a gesture that managed to convey perfect, courtly respect without a hint of genuine subservience or humility.

"Ebonheim." His voice was the same unsettling, beautiful melody she recalled—low, smooth, almost hypnotic, each syllable perfectly enunciated, sliding into the ear like silk. "It brings me profound pleasure, truly, to visit your vibrant, flourishing domain once more."

"You are looking exceptionally well," he added, his dark eyes sweeping over her simple attire with something that might have been amusement, or perhaps assessment. "Divinity, it seems, continues to agree with you, lending you radiance."

Ebonheim inclined her head, keeping her own expression carefully neutral, mirroring his formality while trying to ignore the faint prickle of deep unease his presence always evoked, like the feeling of unseen eyes watching from the dark.

"Xellos. Welcome back to my city. Your journey from Corinth was swift, it seems."

"The paths between close neighbors, especially those sharing such a unique and promising valley, should always be swift and open, should they not?" He smiled faintly, a brief, calculated curve of his thin lips that didn't quite reach his cold, empty eyes. "Especially when matters of mutual importance and shared destiny arise between them."

He gestured dismissively, a flick of his slender grey wrist, towards his perfectly still guards. They immediately, without a word or signal she could detect, retreated further to the absolute edge of the shrine's clearing, turning outwards, becoming part of the scenery, still and silent as the grey stones scattered among the trees.

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It was an efficient display of control, clearly rehearsed, meant perhaps to impress or intimidate.

"Mutual importance?" Ebonheim echoed, stepping down from the shrine's low platform to stand level with him on the soft, yielding mossy ground. Kelzryn shifted almost imperceptibly behind her, the movement subtle as a shadow lengthening in the afternoon sun, yet undeniably protective. "Has Corinth's council, then, formulated a response to our formal message? Regarding the… incident… in the deep mines near the border of our respective claims?"

Xellos waved a slender, grey hand again, the movement fluid, elegant, dismissive, as if brushing away a minor inconvenience like a stray cobweb. "Ah, the unfortunate misunderstanding underground." His tone was laced now with just the right amount of carefully measured regret. "Yes, my council received your polite and understandably concerned query just yesterday. A matter of great urgency, naturally."

"Please extend my sincerest apologies," he continued, his voice softening, becoming almost confidential, "and those of the entire Corinth Council, for the regrettable overzealousness of my miners. They are… shall we say, enthusiastic… perhaps overly so, in pursuing the bounty the mountain so generously offers to those willing to seek it."

He sighed then, a sound like dry leaves rustling across cold stone, a performance of weary responsibility.

"New settlers, you understand," he explained, leaning in slightly. "Eager to prove their worth to their new home, their new protector, sometimes prone to exceeding established boundaries in their understandable fervor to contribute. A common challenge in managing rapid growth, as I'm sure your own wisdom has observed."

Ebonheim's brow furrowed, a subtle tensing of her features, her golden eyes narrowing slightly at his words, rich with implied condescension, at his casual dismissal of a clear and alarming transgression.

"I recall the challenges of growth well," she said carefully, keeping her voice measured and even. "The potential for enthusiasm to obscure judgment and common sense."

She didn't miss the faint, barely perceptible twitch at the corner of Xellos's mouth, the briefest flicker of cold amusement that ghosted and vanished, like a fleeting, cruel thought, not meant to linger long enough to be grasped.

"Rest assured," Xellos continued smoothly, as if entirely unaware, or simply unconcerned by her cool tone, "the foreman directly responsible for the accidental breach and the subsequent… unprofessional conduct… has been severely reprimanded for his lack of judgment. New protocols regarding boundary awareness and inter-settlement communication, along with stricter oversight measures from my appointed mining regulators, are already being implemented to ensure such regrettable territorial confusion does not, cannot, recur."

The explanation was smooth as polished glass, plausible on the surface if one didn't know the details provided by Brevin and Lilin, and utterly devoid of verifiable specifics.

Reprimanded how? What measures? By whom? And who defined the boundaries he now claimed were confused?

Ebonheim felt Kelzryn's silent disagreement like a physical pressure against her back, a low, draconic rumble felt vibrationally in the earth rather than heard with the ears.

"I see," Ebonheim said carefully, keeping her voice even, refusing to show the skepticism churning within her. "We appreciate the council's prompt attention to the matter. However, our concerns, as outlined in the message Engin sent, extended beyond simple territorial confusion."

"Brevin Stoneshield, our mine overseer," she stated, watching Xellos's face closely for any flicker, any reaction, "and his geomancer, Lilin, also reported significant structural instability near the breach point, instability directly linked, according to her readings, to the Corinthian excavation methods."

"And, more troublingly," she pressed on, "a… distinct cold energy inconsistent with Vespera or any known geothermal activity in that region."

Xellos tilted his head, his expression shifting instantly, flawlessly, to one of mild, sympathetic concern, perfectly modulated. "Indeed? Instability? And cold energy?" He frowned slightly, as if contemplating a complex geological puzzle he hadn't been briefed on. "That is troubling. Most troubling."

He looked directly at Ebonheim, his black, depthless eyes meeting her golden ones. "Is everyone alright, I trust? No injuries, no ongoing threats?" The question was framed with perfect solicitude, hovering on the edge of overly familiar.

"No, no injuries," she replied, inwardly bristling. "And we took steps to secure the site temporarily while waiting for your response."

"Ah, excellent," Xellos nodded approvingly. "Prudent actions from an experienced, forward-thinking ruler, as expected. Your concern for the well-being of your citizens is touching."

He paused for a moment, seeming to consider something, the smoothness of his performance momentarily marred.

"The deep earth holds many unpredictable energies, does it not?" he mused, his gaze drifting towards the northern peaks as if seeking answers etched on the stone. "Ancient forces stir, old wounds sometimes reopen unexpectedly. Perhaps old wards, remnants of forgotten workings from ages past, were inadvertently disturbed by the mining activities on both sides? A tragic, unforeseen consequence of seeking the mountain's gifts."

"Or perhaps," he added thoughtfully, turning back to her, "these are residual echoes from… other, less hospitable realms, drawn naturally to the Vespera's potent energy signature? Such phenomena are not unheard of near planar thin spots."

He let the suggestion hang delicately in the air, subtly shifting the focus away from his miners' actions towards some nebulous, external, shared factor.

"My own geomancers," he continued smoothly, "did note some minor thermal fluctuations in that sector recently, but attributed them to the Vespera seam itself settling naturally after exposure to air. A common occurrence. This 'cold energy' you mention… fascinating. I must have my experts investigate immediately. And potentially dangerous for us both, wouldn't you agree? A shared, unknown threat emerging from the depths requires a shared, coordinated response, perhaps?"

Ebonheim studied Xellos as he spoke, his words crafted to diffuse responsibility, to obfuscate, to propose 'expert' investigations that would likely yield only more uncertainty.

It was a skillful strategy, she had to admit, subtly shifting the conversation away from Corinth's transgression and reframing it as a mutual problem, a natural hazard demanding cooperation for mutual survival.

"Potentially," Ebonheim conceded, refusing to be drawn further down that specific, diversionary path for now. She needed to steer this back to his stated purpose, to understand the real reason for this sudden, formal visit. "Which brings us back to mutual importance. What specific matter brings you here today, Xellos, requiring such a formal delegation?"

Xellos's smile returned, wider this time, holding a persuasive, almost radiant warmth that felt utterly artificial, chillingly so, against the backdrop of his cold, depthless eyes. It was the practiced smile of a politician, not a deity.

"Prosperity, dear Ebonheim. Security against the encroaching shadows that gather beyond our valley. Stability for our people, who look to us for guidance and protection. A shared, fortified future for both our flourishing domains."

He gestured expansively, his slender grey hand encompassing first the vibrant, chaotic city sprawling beyond the shrine, then turning subtly towards the east, towards his own meticulously ordered town.

"Look at what we have built, you and I, against all odds, in this hidden sanctuary carved from the wilderness. Two beacons of hope in a darkening world, thriving where others feared even to tread."

"Your city, your domain," he continued, his voice softening slightly, taking on a tone of admiration, "a vibrant, sometimes chaotic, but undeniably living heart pulsing with diverse life, untamed energy, and a fierce, admirable loyalty to their goddess."

He paused, then added, "And Corinth, a testament, if I may say so myself, to the profound virtues of order, efficiency, and divinely guided, harmonious growth."

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