The Column was a Wonder of the distant past. Perhaps the sole remaining Wonder of Vasia that hadn't been abandoned, destroyed, or taken over by someone else. And it was, in Emalia's mind, the most impressive of them all. The Floating Cities—now Sinking Cities, or Sunken, she supposed—were marvels, truly, but lacked weight, meaning, and purpose. The attempted portal cities had both fallen to chaos and ruin, with Neapoli being a scourge on the world as dark as Hazek's Fields. Or what was once Pethya, she thought with a sigh. Hazek is an empty name, then? The myths of the desolate wastes as empty as the land itself.

What else was a lie? What else did the priests teach her, did her mentor Smychnik teach her, that was a falsehood bred of some past propaganda repeated as truth?

The thought was a terrifying one, indeed.

"Em," Sovina whispered, "it's time."

One last deep breath. And then she pushed from the hiding hole and slipped into the dark halls of the Column. Twisting and winding, its corridors, stairs, and rooms were a labyrinth to the uninitiated, climbing ever-higher through the many stories. Most slept and lived in the lower half of the Column. Above the living quarters were scriptoriums, studies, breweries, herbalist and alchemical workshops, and cells for regular communion with the gods. Then came libraries for common use, then restricted access archives, and finally, the chambers for higher communion. Above all, at the zenith, the Crown of the Column, the Highest Chamber, the Hall of Souls—all names attributed to the room off limits to all except the High Priest. It was where she had snuck into and where Souls of past priests had seeped into her, she later learned. Few knew what it was really for—even now, she could hardly say.

They began their climb. It was careful and slow as they watched for the flicker of candle and the echo of footsteps, taking side passages and less-used routes. Emalia hoped that the few who walked the halls at night would be as lazy, unattentive, and predictable as they had been when she and Sovina had snuck out what seemed like years ago.

For the first twenty minutes, there was not a flicker of life in the Column. Large as it was, it felt like a tomb of its own, void of all but the solid stone humming with an energy one could only feel if they concentrated hard enough. It was when they passed the levels of living quarters that they saw their first light. Sovina caught it first, nudging Emalia toward a bisecting pathway, then bringing them inside a room used for storage. They stood there silently, listening with such focus that the noiselessness of the world around seemed overbearing. The vague light of the candle faded from under the doorway, disappearing. They waited ten seconds before slipping out of the storage room and returning to their path.

There were two more close calls soon after, which were not just unusual but highly worrying.

"We can't risk trying to find him," Sovina muttered as they went. "Too many on watch."

Emalia bit her lip, looking up the curving stairwell, legs aching, sweat dripping from her forehead from the many stories climbed in endless anxiety. "I fear we will not find what we need quickly enough without him."

"We won't even begin to search if we risk navigating the sleeping quarters."

Can I do it? Can I find what we need without Smychnik? "Very well. But if I can't, we must find him."

"Understood."

They pressed on, taking longer than Emalia would prefer given the dangers of dallying, but finally reached the floors of locked and secured archives. Here, the more precious, older documents of irregular to outright hidden were kept. She'd snuck in before, viewing the schematics and notes of the ancient Wonders before her journey, most notably. As such, she still had the keys Sovina had stolen for her when they were both far younger. The rooms were designated with carved numerals to signify categorization long since forgotten by most, but she knew where to go. Or, at least, where the best guess was.

With a creaking, old iron hinge, the door to archive four put up little resistance besides its groans of disuse. She locked it behind them as they snuck inside. Sovina lit a candle from her pack as Emalia stuffed her cloak between the ground and the bottom of the door to hide any errant light. Before them were over a dozen shelves of lidded crates, chests, and tomes stored in soft, long leather sleeves, packed vertically in shelves with wrinkled parchment tags dangling from the tops. There were, perhaps, enough writing works here to occupy one's days for years, perhaps even a lifetime.

And she had to find the right thing in but a few hours.

…

"What happened, sir?" a young man, perhaps only seventeen, asked as I caught the rope tossed over.

Feia answered for me, "Pirates. More bear injuries of injustice in the cabin."

"Terrible news! Fortunate for you, you've got the best hand at sea here to help." The fisherman, who also made a living towing and ferrying in ships, began slowly rowing us into the docks.

"Bring us in close," I shouted out, pointing to a section of the bay that was partially empty. "Near the gate, there."

"That's for the navy, sir!" he replied.

"Do as I say."

"Please," Feia called out, "for the injured! Many shall not live long!"

The fisherman complied. I glanced to Feia with a raised brow, who smirked back. "It's about selling the lie, Daecinus. Allow me."

I decided to remain quiet, for it was in part due to her knowledge that we survived out at sea when, by all reason, we shouldn't have. There were a few close calls with poor weather and harsh winds, but we'd made it. It was humbling for me, for there were few instances where I was useless anymore, relegated to a follower, and aboard a ship, I was but another hand at the ropes.

We floated past the tamed waters of the man-made, north-facing bay, where many piers projected out, almost all full of ships of all kinds. It was perhaps the largest array of docks I had ever seen—challenging even Pethya's grandest. The section I had directed the young man to take us to was less occupied than the rest and closer to a gate, which would decrease risks for what came next.

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"The gates will be closed at night," Feia whispered, adjusting the ties on her Sorcerous gambeson.

"We brought coin for a reason." I fetched her a sack of silver from the sole chest we'd brought with us. In the hold, my Dead awaited, watching me with hungry eyes. Already, they would feel the rich flux of Soul energy from the city, beginning to reinvigorate their forms once more. I left them there, returning to the deck and handing over the small bag. With a standard biology, I could imagine how overheated one would get wearing a gambeson and armor in combat, as it was hot and somewhat humid, even at night, this far south.

When the young man towed us close enough, he scurried over to the docks and hauled us in, quickly tying us to the pier. Here, there were a scattered number of warships and other larger vessels I assumed to be imperial surrounding us. Fortunately, none currently manned. He tied us off and helped Feia step from the ship. She swayed on stable land after some time at sea, perhaps playing up her weakness, using the fisherman as a crutch.

"My, madam, are you hurt?" he asked.

"Not so severely as my husband. Please, guide me to the gates."

With that, I tossed the young man a coin, hoping he would not notice its ancient minting, and studied the city before me. It was dark out, with the sky cloudy and mood obscured. The walls of Nova, higher than any I've seen, even Drazivaska, loomed over our brief spit of land bordering the sea. The echoes of waves, light whistle of salty wind, and distant murmer of a city that, even in its slumber, would never quite be silent, filled the air. I could barely make out men near the gate. A few were positioned on our side, watching Feia's approach curiously.

I ducked below and let her lie us a path through an open gate. No small feat, given the advent of late evening.

I stood stooping in the hold, claustrophobic with only the vague memory of why. To be kept in a sarcophagus for centuries with no memory… What other effects has it had upon me that I fail to recall? Did I awake, unaware of the irrevocable alterations my psyche has undergone? Intriguing questions, but not ones for now. "Soulborne," I called out, the word drifting over my small legion of Dead, crouched, silent and still, "prepare for battle."

The flurry of motion was instantaneous, like the bronze workings of my Observatory thrust into movement with the catalyst of Sorcery. They donned their lamellar cuirasses, attached pauldrons, then the chain arm assembly, and finally their helms. Their skin, paler than my own, gave an odd contrast to the dark and artificial tint of iron armoring. As if they were part organic, part products of mankind's industry.

"When we enter, Protis, you will take your designated groups to the Column. You have your orders for dealing with the priests, as well as any Sorcerers and Artifacts. Adjust the goal and tactics as necessary, at your discretion."

My prime creation returned my gaze, standing first among the rest, larger, stronger, and far smarter. There was no need for words of confirmation and thorough reminders. If anything, such words would only be for easing my restless nerves. I'd proven that Protis could think for itself, to a degree, especially in tactical matters—today would be the clearest evidence of that, I supposed.

With a deep breath, I said, "The rest will be with Feia and I. Now bear arms."

Leaving the chest of jewels and silver—a fraction of the riches I'd accumulated—below, I returned to the deck and peered out toward Feia. The gate was open, and she stood inside, talking with animated gestures. She glanced back to me and waved.

I used my Soulsight to look for more guards, but there were only a half dozen or so at the gates, none atop the walls close by. Were they truly so arrogant?

It was time.

Stepping from the ship to the dock, I got my balance, then went forward. Perhaps five paces from the gates, one of the guards called me to stop, asking where the injured were. When I crossed the threshold, he thrust his spear before me, barking on about answering his question. But I wanted to look on first, to observe that which I endangered to end, should all get out of hand. I owed it that much, at least. And how it differed from my memories of the place, centuries ago.

Nova was a city of timber and stone. A street rose from the entrance, growing into a throughway split with thin, tall trees, structures of increasing height lining its flanks. It opened into a square, surrounded by closed storefronts with enough height for multiple quarters above. Upon the nearest hill, many large estates, details marred by distance and darkness. A few large structures were obvious even in the night, however, the first was the Column, stretching hundreds of feet high into the sky, almost perfectly straight and cylindrical with a base of well over two hundred feet in diameter. The Column was made up of stacked sections, to the naked eye, which each grew narrower as it rose higher until the final section was only approximately fifty feet across. Was this where Emalia had been infested with Spirits? The highest room of the Column? There were a few more massive structures inside, though I could not tell which was the palace. It was quite different from my memories, where it'd been a swampy, poor city of wooden halls and squat temples.

"Where is the palace?" I asked Feia.

She nodded to one of the large structures I was unsure about. "The soldiers were kind enough to point the way."

"Very well."

I sighed, wishing things were different, wishing it were even possible to spare their lives, but knowing I couldn't, knowing the risk was too high. Thus, I acted with little hesitance. Grouped as they were, it was not difficult to ensnare all in a singular casting of Sorcerous extraction using the Corrupted Eye.

In one rush of power, my eyes flaring fiery red, my skin tingling as blood burned, I reached forth and drained the arrogant guards of their Souls. They collapsed to the ground, stunned, weakened, left barely alive. Choked gasps and whispered screams joined in the clattering of fallen weapons. My next action was that of calling upon the Dead.

As such, their approach was marked with the clatter of iron before the slap of their toughened skin upon ground. Each moved without breathing, much less the shout of warriors, and so it was a haunting, near-illusory sight to see this small army manifest so quickly, so violently, rushing forth in near silence except for their armor and weaponry. What might have taken me fifteen seconds to cross at a sprint took them half. I left no restraint, so as soon as they entered, my Soulborne fell upon the half-dead men like dogs to scraps. It was not far from the truth, isolated as we were upon the water. I also let my Corrupted Eye dissipate its stored power over their dilapidated forms, filling them out again with inhuman muscle and vitality. Within half a minute, the corpses were bloodstains and broken bone, all matter containing Soul energy fervently consumed to the horrid cacophony of scraping teeth, rending flesh, and snapping bone.

When it was finished, they stood like soldiers at attention. No, like statues reset to rigid inhumanity after a moment of liveliness.

"There, Protis," I pointed to the Column. "Make all haste. Return successfully. Do not die."

"Yes, Daecinus," it rasped, meeting my gaze, face bent from a blank expression into something… fervent. I wished to ask, to probe, to see what animated Protis so, but my Soulborne turned and dashed off. Half the army followed close behind, all armed with their long axes and javelins. They would be nearly unstoppable. I'd prepared them for open battle against numerically superior, professional foes. This, however, would be different. I just hoped it was not the last time I'd see my prime Soulborne. I need not worry. It will be completed. We will win.

As for Feia and myself, we departed for the palace, nearly sixty Soulborne marching around us in a tight formation. It would not be subtle, and soon the city would be in a panic, but I did not need subtlety. I just had to get close enough. And then it would be over, and I could have Vasia begging on its knees for my forgiveness. Forgiveness, which I would eventually give.

After it was purged.

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