Tenoris strode between the tall black-marble pillars at the entrance, followed by Cliae, whose eyes lingered on the mosaics set into the polished black marble walls. Upon sighting Skippii, the big legionnaire's jaw dropped and his spear clattered to the stone. Cliae–who had been marvelling over the temple's murals–suddenly spun around and beheld Skippii, then without a moment's pause, came running over. The slave stopped like a nervous horse before him, skidding on the smooth floor, eyes wide and joyous.

Skippii strode forward and embraced his companions, lifting the short Clidusian off their feet. Then Tenoris' arm was around them both, jostling and barking with laughter.

"We have found you at last, Skip," he beamed. "What fortune!"

"What are you doing here?" Skippii half-grinned, ensnared by shock.

"Why, we are seeking you, our champion," Tenoris said, slapping his arm, knocking him sideways.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you're safe," Cliae said. "When we discovered that you had gone, I feared the worst. I feared somebody had kidnapped you again, but Tenoris and I received a vision of guidance. We have pursued you ever since."

Skippii shook his head, a smile fading on his lips. "You, too, have deserted?"

Tenoris gripped his shoulder. "Must we speak so gravely, so soon. Let us rejoice instead."

"I would not abandon you, legio," Cliae said. "I owe you too much."

Skippii gazed upon them, amazed, soaking in the very physicality of their presence. The smell of campfire smoke had long since washed off them during their travels, and Cliae's olive-tanned skin had taken on a cold, white sheen. They gripped a crooked walking stick, grey slave's cloak wrapped around them, giving the appearance of an old sage. Tenoris was as merry and energetic as usual, his blue eyes alight with mirth, but there was a roughness to his appearance; like rust appearing on a sword, a ginger beard had begun to sprout across his chin and cheeks, and his red legionnaire's cloak was sodden through.

His shock slowly subsided, and the joy of their reunion fizzled out like a hot poker submitted to water. "I would never ask you to abandon me… It was I who abandoned you. You should not have come here. I had no choice."

"It has been a quandary of mine, why you departed as you did," Tenoris said. "Though Cliae's theory settled my doubts."

"I know why," Cliae nodded, looking into his eyes compassionately.

"The Coven had you cornered," Tenoris said. "Their ignorance and brashness unsettled the legion."

"It must have been horrible," Cliae said.

Skippii backed away dismissively. "It was necessary. I had become a burden."

"One man's burden of stones is another man's bricks for a house," Tenoris said. "It only takes a stronger man to carry the load."

"I understand," Cliae said, stepping to his side, resting their hand on his arm as one soothes a nervous horse. "We don't need to dwell on it."

He flinched at their touch. "How did you find me here? Is Arius with you. Did he help you track?"

"It is only us," Tenoris said. "For we were who received a vision."

"We awoke in the night, restless, and built up the fire to sit beside it," Claie explained. "That's when we noticed you were gone, and the stone which you'd left."

"I was about to raise the alarm and rally the companeight when Cliae convinced me to express prudence, and meditate for a moment. And it is good that he did, as it was discovered that we had shared in a dream."

"We each saw a white path of frost leading up through the mountains, and there were footprints in the snow," Cliae said.

"It was a divination," Tenoris breathed.

Cliae a stone out of their carrysack–the one which Skippii had inscribed with their companight's tattoo, the very same geometric insignia which was engraved into the stone of Cor's Temple.

"We were guided here, every step."

"But, this makes you traitors now," Skippii said solemnly. "Deserters, like me."

"Not traitors," Tenoris scowled. "That is too harsh. We only followed Oyaltun's guiding light."

"I didn't mean…" he winced. "I only meant in the eyes of the superiors. You're good men." He grasped Tenoris' shoulder tightly. "But you are late, and you have missed much."

"Late for what?" Cliae scowled.

"Come." Skippii led them towards Eirene's antechamber, wherein a fire crackled and his haul of smoked wolf meat rested atop the hide of his shield. "Rest and eat and warm yourselves. I will recall the hermit's tale."

"Who is the hermit?" Tenoris said. "You? But it has only been four days."

"Just come," he barked, jubilation returning to his heart. "Can't you smell the meat already? You must be starved."

***

Skippii laid more logs on the fireplace and quickly had it roaring. Tenoris and Cliae hung their cloaks to dry, then sat in front of it, warming their bones. While they ate, Skippii recounted what he could remember of Eirene's tale of the War in Heavens, intending to explain, as she had to him, the origins of his magia. Cliae sat quietly, stripping the smoked meat off its bone, listening intently. Tenoris tore at his leg like a bear, never too hindered by a mouthful of meat to spatter him with questions regarding Gods. Eirene answered as much as she could, but in her frail state, she could not rise to the big legionnaire's enthusiasm for theology.

Skippii pressed on, focussing on the relevant details: he told the story of Oyaltun and the Primordial Cor; how their copulation and passions created a lineage of humans who possessed the Primordial seed.

"I'm one of them," he said, somewhat awkwardly. "That explains it all… this sudden magia. It feels right too. Eirene called it… called me, the Son of Cor. I suppose I was led here by Oyaltun to learn all of this."

"And we, to assist you," Tenoris said.

"And, one more thing," he said. "There are trials of some sort. I was just told of them before you arrived."

Cliae shook her head, eyes drifting over the books piled atop Eirene's desk, and the loft above, lost in thought. "The gaps in my studies… it's all here. The sum of what I strove for months to find… upon each page." Blinking, they came back to the present. "If one was made, there may be more."

Skippii looked towards Eirene for confirmation. Wrapped in blankets, the old woman sipped her tea and raised her face to the firelight. "Maybe. Of all the lore I possess, it is but a grain upon the beaches of history, and for the most part, concerned with Cor and Oyaltun alone. Who is to say if any others of the Pantheon sought out their vanquished foes and made pacts, or bonds of friendship."

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"Who is to say whether such pacts could not be re-forged," Cliae said. They had grasped the lore and its implications quickly–quicker, certainly, than Skippii had, and were asking questions which he had not fathomed. Furthermore, the slave's voice possessed a quality which he had seldom heard in them before. A bold enthusiasm. Pride. They were, after all, a freeman now, having fled the legion… free, so long as the legion did not catch up to them. Dishonour and execution awaited them all at that end.

"If only we could warn the legions," Tenoris said. "The arcanus must know."

"It changes little," Eirene said. "For, much history regarding the Primordials has been omitted from your libraries. However, there are sects amongst your learned priests who know of the invading gods, but conceal this knowledge from others, for it does not serve their purpose."

"How do you know this?" Tenoris said loudly. "You speak ill of our priests, but have you met them?"

"I have met with Oyaltun herself."

That silenced the big legionnaire, but for a moment. "Still, I believe we should carry this message to the legion. With such knowledge, Auctoria would double its efforts to defeat our enemy."

Skippii hummed skeptically. "That might not be the case, Tenoris. Every legion available is already mobilised. They're spread across the world and Philoxenia. What more could the Imperium do? Commit the three legions who remain to defend the homeland? That would be unwise."

"The world is under siege," he said, "If I am not mistaken?"

"You could say that," Eirene confirmed.

"Then, all men must be alerted."

"In due time," Eirene sighed. "It is a bitter woe, one which no senator of yours would wish to disseminate, for fear of unpopularity. And no priest, for fear of being branded a heretic."

"Because," Cliae said. "If the heretic gods are invaders, then… the conclusion can be drawn that ours once were too. The Pantheon may be painted by the same pot."

"And what of dissenters? Cults?" Skippii said. "If knowledge of the invading gods was widespread, it would probably rile them into a frenzy, bolster their ranks. Improve the enemy's morale."

"And spread fear," Tenoris nodded, deep in thought. "It is one thing for a legionnaire to to face the heretic whose god we decry as a barbaric expulsion, rejected from the Pantheon's nest. But it is another to fear them as an equal, descended from dark heavens."

"Yes," Skippii agreed. "The Pantheon were driven out of the north. Is that right?"

Eirene nodded.

"And not for the fault of the Ürkün," he continued. "They themselves are victims, it seems."

Tenoris grunted begrudgingly. "The victim who revels in his violent duty is no victim at all."

"Okay," Skippii said. "That's true, but imagine knowing that our Pantheon failed to stem the heretic tide, or at least, they didn't show up for battle at all. The Ürkün fell, a whole people."

"More than you could know," Eirene whispered. "You use this one word: Ürkün, to describe an entire world… cities beyond your imagining… libraries and temples and people… all eroded away, save a few islands of hope."

Eirene's omen brought silence upon their group. Then, Cliae spoke up. "What do you know of their lands?"

"Very little, but that which I have seen in visions and dreams. And all them, dark."

As the old hermit bowed her head, Cliae rose from the fireplace and fetched with a smoking stick to light the candles on her desk. Next, the young scribe emptied their pack on the floor, splaying the wax tablets in which were recorded the ordinatio of his magia. Picking a brush from the bunch, they stood at Eirene's side, gently combing her tattered grey hair. The old woman purred like a cat being groomed, softly shutting her eyes.

Tenoris spoke as he worked his jaw around the meat. "You will perform these trials then, Skip?"

Skippii nodded softly. "They are perilous. Eirene cannot tell me what they entail in full. But…" He would not admit it. Fear was a dishonour.

"Less perilous when we are at your side," Tenoris said, straightening.

Skippii shook his head. "Thank you, but no. They were made for me and my magia. It's something I have to do alone."

"You're making a habit of doing things alone," Cliae said, trimming and cleaning the hermit's nails with a small knife. "Don't."

"You must have forgotten how difficult it is to light a fire from a flint in the wet of the wilderness," Tenoris said. "These have been cold, tiresome days without you, Skip."

"Yeah, so don't run off," Cliae joked, but their expression dropped. "My legio. Sorry, I just meant…"

Skippii snorted. "I'm legio no more. I'm just a deserter like you. Look, even my cloak is the same colour as yours. So you can stop calling me that now."

They smiled softly and bowed their head.

"Oh, I feel trapped," Skippii sighed. " I don't like it. I don't like being forced to do something, even if it's the right thing. It feels… unstrategic."

"But it must be done," Tenoris said.

"Or else your powers will fade," Eirene said, rousing herself. Skippii had taken her for having fallen asleep, but it seemed the old hermit had been listening. "Avoid them, and your connection shall rot and wither like a limb whose blood has been severed. Fail them, and Cor shall reject you. But conquer them, and you shall become that which the Goddess of foresight has envisioned for you–a champion… A champion to face the heretic."

"I was never going to run." He tapped his foot with nervous energy. "I only wanted to face the trials on my own terms, for my own reasons. Not to be a pawn in play, or an acolyte of the Gods. No…" Standing, he collected Eirene's staff and strode to her side. "I'll master this power. I will wield a magia stronger than twelve warmagi of the Coven combined."

"And then what will you do?" she asked, a worrisome expression in her tired eyes. "Will you oppose the invading gods? Will you seek to form new alliances with the old Gods?"

"In time," Skippii said, turning to face Tenoris, his brother legionnaire. "But first, we will aid the legions… our brothers. We will conquer Nerithon."

***

Skippii set aside his thorax armour, vambraces, bronze greaves and helmet. Whatever the trials entailed, they would likely require him to summon great quantities of power, and the heat would certainly destroy his possessions. Besides, it did not feel right to rely upon legion bronze within the halls of Cor. But as he made for the door, Tenoris called to him.

"Aren't you forgetting? A legionnaire does not depart for battle without his spear and shield."

Skippii thought to rebuttal his fellow deserter, but decided against it. "They might burden me."

"Then discard them, and we shall find more." he laughed. "It is not like you have not done so before. Skippii Many-spears. How many have you burned through now, like so many logs on a fire?"

Skippii snorted, and took up his legionnaire's weapons, keeping his curved kuri at his waist.

With Cliae's assistance, Eirene led them through the temple hall and down a flight of steps into an underground chamber. Descending into dark tunnels, brightened by a torch which Tenoris carried, Skippii felt the air gradually thicken and heat up. Breathing in the steam cleansed his lungs, and he filled his nostrils, detecting the scents of the ancient rock. Down flights of roughly hewn steps they went, coming upon many crossroads, and at each time, Eirene took the correct path with confidence. The roof was deeply fissured, at times, stretching upwards beyond the reach of the firelight, and outwards into hollow alcoves where their footsteps echoed with the clang of Eirene's staff on the stone.

Finally, they reached an archway, cut into the stone like the one at the temple's entrance above. Here, the earthly smell of steam rose strongly from below. Two statues guarded the passage from alcoves set into the rock, their eyes shut, brutish faces cast in disgruntled snarls. The curtain beside them was dyed red and painted with three complex geometric signs, each of which interlocked to form a forth ringlet at their centre.

Eirene stopped before the curtain and turned around. "Here, we can go no further, but for the heres. Skippii, your trials await you beyond this chamber."

"Good luck," Tenoris patted him on the shoulder.

Cliae grasped his hand, face contorted with anxiety. They stammered, but no words escaped.

"Don't worry," Skippii said, shaking their hand. "This is what I was made for. I'll be fine."

Turning through the curtain, Skippii ventured alone once again with only the light of his fire to guide the way.

Many more fabrics draped the chamber, and he slipped through them without pause, eager to be on with it. Behind him, his companion's footsteps grew muffled with distance, dulled by the fabrics, until all that he could hear was the tinkling drip of water over an oppressive silence. Finally, the cave opened up on a large chamber full of steam. A pool was in its centre, and above the pool, many funnels of brass. The metalwork rose like the roots of a mechanical tree, rising to the roof where they splayed out over the walls, bulging in places to form barrels of brass, thinning elsewhere, forming woven ropes of glistening metal.

Skippii paused, taking it all in. At the rear of the room were two massive slabs of black marble, the same as what was used to construct the temple above. In the stone frame above the doors were the words 'Trial of Flux', carved in fire. A soft glow emanated the inscription without flame, seeping through the rock itself.

Riveted into the marble was a heavy frame of brass, and on either side of the hinges were two towers of interlocking cogs, the largest of which were taller than him, and the smallest, difficult to see from a distance. It was like the artisanal clockwork of a giant.

He recalled the words of Eirene which he had thought irrelevant at the time. "...chambers crafted by Oyaltun with tools stolen from Erymenes, the Fabricator, lord of fire and metallurgy." So this was the work of those tools. Skippii's skin prickled with awe. Here, beneath the earth, was a marvel the likes of which any city above would boast its most prized art or industry. And it had been built for him, for one purpose: to bear the way.

Skippii set his spear and shield by the entrance, then strode forward, steeling himself. There would be time for bewilderment once he was done. His trial had begun, and he would not deliberate.

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