The two of them climbed a series of stairs at the courtyard's edge, carved into the cliff surrounding the temple, and came out on a ledge overlooking the mountain range and Nerithon beyond. Dangling his feet off the rock's lip, Skippii glanced at the treetops below, then outward, past the valleys to where a dirtied patch of red marked Legion IX and V's encampments outside the city.

Morning sunlight radiated from the horizon, shimmering blue in the Eúploos Sea. But a curtain of clouds hung above the city, dampening the sun's rays. No light penetrated its dense centre, whereas its edges shone a silver-yellow as disparate greys drifted over the foothills to meld with the burgeoning storm. An unnatural current turned the clouds like a twisting screw, gathering them a great height above the city, and from within, the spark of thunder began to dawn.

"Kylin's wrath," Cliae said reverently as they both gazed at the epic scale of the storm. "That's the forte of Kylin magus. Their power grows as they gather a storm. They're able to do that, unlike servants of Erymenes, whose magia is like a flash of fire… Like yours."

"How strong do you think they are?"

"Unmatched," Cliae said. "But then, the Coven of the Fifth was regarded with esteem. My father once trained one of their magi while she was still an acolyte. They were the Coven of Hespera. The power of her Luminescence. Their invocations were the most beautiful and mystical, and often elusive. Their ordinatio requires a lot of training, and it's very complex. More so than, say, Erymenes."

"And they were beaten by the heretic of Nerithon," Skippii said bluntly. "It might look impressive, but what power does that storm actually possess?"

"We shall see."

From their vantage, the world was vast, and somehow, at the same time, diminutive. It was as though he only needed to reach out to touch the city's walls, which when seen up-close, had appeared unconquerable. A bird flitted above the treetops, as small as a moat of dust within a magnificent sunlit temple.

"What perspective," Cliae marvelled. "This is the view of the Gods."

"How small we seem." He raised his thumb to cover Nerithon. "Imagine if I could crush the city as easily as a Titan. Do you think that's how the Pantheon feels?"

"If they ever possessed such a power, I don't think they've used it for millennia."

"We could make use of their power against the invading gods. Instead, the fight is left to their subjects, the magi, and the legionnaires."

"They must help in their own way."

Skippii chewed his lip and shook his head. "No. They've grown lazy. Kings and queens in courts. I wonder if they care about humanity anymore."

Behind them came the sound of footsteps on the rocks as Tenoris climbed up to join them. Skippii shook the cynicism from his mind, not wanting to poison Tenoris' mood so early in the day. The two of them did not see eye-to-eye when it came to the Gods. Joining them, the big man laid sleepily on the rock, yawning and smacking his lips. "Let us hope the storm does not come near."

"It won't," Skippii said. "It's the work of the Coven."

"Ah," Tenoris nodded bleary eyed. "Of course. They are preparing for the siege."

"What's next?" Cliae asked contemplatively. "Once we're done here, and we leave, where will you go? To Nerithon? To do what?"

"I'll do my part," he said. "As much as it would bring me a certain satisfaction in leaving the Coven to their fates–to face the enemy alone–the legion's would suffer. I won't do the same as those Pantheonos magi. I won't disregard legionnaire's lives as just pieces in play. Our companeight…"

He trailed off, searching amongst the distant red flags as though he could tell their insignia apart. "They're all still there. Did they say anything about me before you left?"

Cliae shook their head. "We left quietly in the night."

"Well, there's thousands like them. Eirene spoke to me about a grand quest–a second War of Heavens–but every war starts with a single battle."

"It seems simple to me," Tenoris said. "The enemy is there–the Ürkün. We have only to meet them."

"That's true for now," Skippii said. "But our real enemy are these incursor gods. Don't forget that. I have a feeling that things may become unclear in the future."

"It is no longer a case of following commands," Cliae said. "You have the freedom to choose your course alone now."

"All freedoms must follow the natural law," Tenoris said. "The farmer has the freedom to not sow his crops, but he will starve come the winter. The legionnaire has the freedom to disobey an order, but he will surely be executed. The way is different, but the task is unchanged."

"That's a sobering analogy," Skippii said. "We're deserters, remember."

"Departers fits better," Tenoris said. "We shall return."

"The superiors won't see it that way," Skippii said, but couldn't help smiling at the farmhand's naivety. "But maybe you can charm them."

As the sun came into view, the spirit of Chrysaetos brightened the land.

"But as for clarity," he started. "What I meant to say was, I don't know how the Gods will react to my awakening. They might not like it. They might like it less than the invading gods, even. Who knows?" He laughed shortly. "Let's admit it, we're all just guessing at this point. I know what I want to do, but how the Gods will respond… I don't have a clue."

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"Then we shall make a statement such as they cannot ignore," Tenoris said. "We shall take Nerithon and restore her temples in their worship. What greater way to demonstrate your allegiance?"

"Make a play on the grand stage," Cliae nodded. "It could change things for you and the legion."

"Maybe," he deflected.

"When shall we go?" Tenoris said. "I am tired of waiting. Why not bring this mountain to a boil and pour liquid lava down the mountainside to melt the city's walls. Are we not rested enough? Is it not time to fight?"

Skippii laughed to himself. "I can't do that. Or, at least, I don't think I can."

"We saw that you can," Tenoris said. "Before you returned to us, there was a great fire in the sky and a glow atop the Sleeping Mountain's crown."

"That was…" Skippii faltered. "Even if I could do that, I wouldn't be able to control it."

Tenoris gazed at him dumbfounded.

"My magia… I take that power and forge it into something useful. But the power which you speak of always exists beneath us. It is the Primordial essence of the earth. But, it's not all at my fingertips. The explosion… that was as much the mountain as it was me. We were joined, for a moment. It's hard to explain because, well… it's kind of unexplainable."

"No, I understand," Tenoris said.

"And it's the same power which Seismroix, Quakelord possesses?" Cliae said. "According to Eirene."

"Magia was their most deadly tool," Skippii repeated the hermit's words. "Yes, though, the Gods have their own powers, they twisted the essence of the Primordials to their whim, and used it to subjugate them."

"And gave birth to mankind," Tenoris added. "All is not evil amongst their spoils of war."

"True," Skippii conceded. "Listen here, I'm tired of theology. Let's talk tactics. This area, here." He pointed at the northern edge of the city, where the forested foothills stretched towards the city walls. "It's contested, but the legions couldn't establish a perimeter. The Ninth tried a few nights ago, that's when the cyclops attacked. That's where the Ürkün run their supply lines."

"You wish to strengthen the blockade?" Tenoris asked.

"No, think about it. The defenders don't expect an attack there, not so soon after our loss to the cyclops. I imagine it will be less well defended than the rest of the wall. Look, you cannot see them clearly from here, but do you remember the moment we arrived, the First Cohort were put to the task of building siege towers and ladders. They will do so within eyeshot of the defenders. And with those storm clouds gathering above, the Coven are preparing for battle. The time will come soon, any day now. The legions will strike the walls and the Coven will challenge the heretic magus. All the defenders will be looking west and south for an attack, where our legions muster."

"Then the north is weakest," Tenoris said.

"For good reason," he said. "It would be difficult to move siege equipment–ballistas and the like–and legionnaires in formation–through the hills and forests. But it won't be a problem for the two of us."

A sharp grin flickered across Tenoris' lips, which gave Skippii a shiver. In that moment, he caught an unnerving glimpse of the killer who remained hidden when within the company of friends–a ferocious instinct to move forward against the enemy.

"And you'll sap the walls?" Cliae asked.

Skippii considered it, locking eyes with Tenoris. "That's one option, but I'd rather scale them. Open the gatehouse. Invite the legions in."

"Yes," he hummed eagerly. "Face to face."

"But how?" Claie said. "It might be less well defended, but you can count on there being at least a few hundred Ürkün skirmishers in the watchtowers. How will you scale the walls beneath their noses?"

Skippii's gaze fell upon the untamed forests at the foothills of the Sleeping Mountain. "With a little help from some monsters."

***

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Skippii asked Eirene.

The old hermit's expression sank, but she hid the lowness from her voice. "This temple, its walls and I are at your service. Use it as you wish."

"You have taken such good care of this place."

Eirene laughed sharply. "I have had little else better to do. And often, it seemed of little importance. But now I see all my doubts have cleared like clouds on a spring day. Do as you wish, Skippii Cor-son. Do not delay for my sake."

She and his companions left him in the courtyard alone, climbing up a path of rocky stairs to an overhang above, shaded by an ancient fruit tree. Gathering his magia, his chest rumbled with each exhale as he dug deep, unearthing the Magmatic Core at the depths of the source.

It rose willingly, and he set his core into flux. The magia of his surface layer–Eruption Aura– flowed easily as a sheen over his flesh; so too did his Lava Essence surge through his veins. Yet this magia of the third layer–Magmatic Core–churned like stones in a bucket. Still, he drew more as the earth groaned beneath him.

Branches of the sparse trees which sprouted from the courtyard shook loose twigs and leaves. A small bird sprung from their branches with a startled chirp. Sweat coated his forehead and his veins popped as he formed the evocation in his mind like hammering the edge of an iron brand.

With a powerful inhale, he wrenched the earth towards upwards. Magia ignited and tore the cobblestone asunder. A hail of stones erupted as two fangs of rock burst from the ground. As a cloud of dust cleared, and the last of the stones fell about him, Skippii overheard Tenoris cheering from above.

He inspected the spires. Each was at least three times his height, jutting at obtuse angles. Anything standing above them would have been impaled, or at least upturned. He hadn't intended to produce two spires, but had indeed wrenched the earth with both his fists.

Shaking, a little depleted, he drew the magia into himself again, and quickly felt replenished.

Again, he brought the Magmatic Core bubbling to the surface and unleashed it on the courtyard. An outcrop of fangs impaled through the ancient stones. It was unlike any of his other abilities–stronger, an expulsion of brute force–but measured well so as not to exhaust himself. If evocated at a steady rate, he felt he could fight in this way for an hour or more, before succumbing. It was a huge improvement from the first time he had used Seismic, or even since he last fought the stone golems in the Trial of Rupture.

"Rockfang," he said to himself, ordaining the ability. But as confident as he was, he needed to test that theory. He needed to test the limits of his strength, and prove that each new machination would work on the field of battle. Luckily, he had the perfect means to do so.

Delving into the source, he entered a deep meditation as quickly as drawing a curtain over his eyes. The power of the mountain lit up beneath him, awaiting his command. His mind delved to the earth's recesses and there discovered embers, buried beneath the ash. He blew upon those embers, sensing their strength grow, forming glowing crystals and awakening ancient stone.

Opening his eyes, he receded from the source. At first, there was no change. Then, heavy footsteps clattered in the mountain passes and temple halls. Skippii drew into himself all of the magia he could sustain. Casting aside his tunic, he stoked a radiant layer of Blazing Armour, which burned over his torso and arms. Boiling Blood cast his flesh red as his heart raced and his mind quickened. Beneath it all, the tremors of the earth swelled in his chest, shaking the stone beneath him. Each layer of his core swirled like the vortex, filling his body to the brim. But the banks did not break, his body did not shiver. His power was contained, ebbing and flowing with his breath. His heat magnified. His wrath was potent.

From the stairs, and temple entrance, and other passage ways came seven stone golems, lumbering on crushing limbs, their faces ablaze with beards of fire.

Skippii did not wait for their attack. Turning to those which had risen from the stairs, he roared, and brought the rock of the courtyard up to meet them.

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