An Age of Mysterious Memories

*Thump, thump, thump,* jostling fails to rouse me entirely. Only a moment later, a reedy, cracked, feminine voice demands, “Hey, Schism. Hey, Schism! Wake up! Someone’s trying to talk to you.”

Stretching and cracking my jaw, neck, back, and rotator cuffs, I smack my lips several times while yawning. Coughing, clearing my throat, I reach up to rub sleep from my eyes, bumping the goggles perched on my face, which reminds me of their presence.

Smooth, royal tones coo and assure me, “Indeed my love, someone is trying to speak to you. I’d appreciate if you could acquire some distance from your friend to provide privacy for our conversation.”

Blushing and gulping, I pat Ixeyla on the back several times before I unsteadily stand, and leap skyward off of her. Yawning again, I mentally apologize, “Sorry Ixey, do you mind gliding around for a little bit, until Kinzul’s done with whatever she needs privacy for?”

Snarking telepathically, Ixeyla comments, “Say no more loverb—uh, what’s the neutral for loverboy? Whatever, loverbud. See ya in a bit. Don’t go falling in the storm. Air’s thin up here, and I’m not your Tenith.”

Ruefully rubbing the back of my skull, I put up my outgoing telepathic walls to ensure privacy as I state, “I’m all yours Kinzul, my Lady. Have the Strategists Eight been keeping track of my findings from the security center? Did they update you about Terrorzin’s army?”

Kinzuls response is, “They have, and they did. This is an unfortunate turn, but not our downfall. No doubt you noticed my maneuver, preventing all aeries save Solace’s from being able to rise above our storm. I sealed the few holes I’d opened for your ploy, and for that, I’m sorry my love. I’m certain you understand the necessity.”

Nodding to myself, though I suppose the image on the scrying sensor back at Solace bobs along with my nodding, I agree silently. I understand the necessity. If Terrorzin decided to come by air, it’d be devastating for Solace. Now that’s no longer an option. We might even be protected by—I’m getting distracted.

Continuing, Kinzul asserts, “Spymaster has determined that roughly only half of Terrorzin’s subordinates have left their keeps,” causing my heart to sink into the pit of my stomach. She further comments, “I’m certain you wonder how such a vast force could be mustered, if half of our foes are still nestled safely in their territories. I’m afraid I have no good answer for you. Only it seems Terrorzin has been manipulating time, hastening the hatching and aging of troops, to ludicrous, unnatural degrees.”

Color drains from my face. I’m left pale, and feverish, imagining just how Terrorzin accomplished such a feat. That’s my shtick, but I’d never use it to breed an army. The temporal zones, the ‘Twixt, it’s enough to make me sick to my stomach. Could, nay, should I abuse the ‘Twixt? It feels wrong on so many levels. What could I even do, knowing my Dragonforce, and technically therefore lifespan, is limited?

Before I can get too caught up in diving down various rabbit-holes of thought, Kinzul adds, “Spymaster also assures me that there are answers, and solutions, to our mysteries and dilemmas in the lair of Crim and Snoutrot, a previously unknown, and unaligned faction within the Spine. The entrance to the location of their lair is relatively near your current position. You will tell Ixeyla to return home, and I'll lower you safely through the Worldstorm. It may take a week, perhaps a week and several days, but you are the only being that can undertake this journey, this quest.”

Blinking several times, I rattle my skull, trying to process what Kinzul just said. Did she just tell me to abandon the war effort for up to, and over, a week, when Terrorzin’s troops are a week from our doorstep? I shake my head in disbelief.

Seeing the shaking of my head through the side-to-side motion of the image projected on the scrying sensor, she reiterates, “Yes my love, you and only you are fit for—,”

I can’t help but to interrupt Kinzul in order to question, “Are you…? Just hold on a moment. If it weren’t for him being dead, and your knowledge of the Worldstorm, and its motions, I’d accuse you of being Harlequin, trying to get me out of the way for the battle to come.”

I only now notice that Kinzul is alone in the security center as she alarmingly shouts, “You must heed my command! I know what is best! You will seek out Crim and Snoutrot! He has waited long enough!” Along with this command comes an overwhelming feeling, like my Honoris Causa being drawn forth from my chest and aimed at a nearby mountain peak.

Only moments later, the forceful feeling subsides and Kinzul laments, “I’m sorry my love, my dear Schism. Pay my alarmist commands no heed. He—it—has waited this long, another week will have to suffice. Once our war effort against Terrorzin himself succeeds, it will be at the top of your priorities, as...” she sighs, and shakes her head, raising her palm to her brow, partially obscuring her eyes before finishing, “It matters not. You will attend to the lairs of Crim and Snoutrot when you are not needed in defense of Solace. Answers, and aid against the other troubles plaguing Rayileklia lie in wait therein. Please, return home my Schism, my love.”

My breath hitches as I witness Kinzul hold back a sob. She doffs the headset meant for communicating with one of the fielded pairs of goggles, and leaves the security center with a regal sweeping motion. I’m trembling with mixed emotions, not sure how to handle what just happened. Kinzul was about to order me, in a way I couldn’t refuse, to abandon the fight against Terrorzin at its most crucial moment. I’m almost certain what I felt was her Latent administering inescapably compelling orders that would have set me to doggedly following her command.

The thought that Kinzul might be able to do something like that wouldn’t usually worry me in the slightest. Only, now it does, because there’s a difference between assuming a possibility of a dangerous thing, and that dangerous thing coming close to happening. Does this leave room for doubt as to Kinzul’s heart, and goodness? No, not really. It’s still scary regardless.

I’ll chalk it up to stress, knowing that our showdown is a week away. With the might of magic Terrorzin has at his command, I probably didn’t even slow his army’s advance in the slightest. I’m just hoping that he has to use up powerful artifacts, or other magical consumables in order to clear the path for his army. Gravity did most of my work for me, but he and his forces won’t have its help, thankfully. Kinzul probably knows I did little more than waste some time, and bury a few of Terrorzin’s more zealotous forces in rubble. My dent of a couple hundred to a couple thousand casualties won’t matter to Terrorzin at all. He’s not going to be dissuaded from attacking even if I were capable of repeating that every day for a week.

Uh, quick question Reggie. Mhm? Did you bother informing Ixey of some sort of signal that would let her know when to swoop back to pick you up? Blargh. Of course not. Sighing, I equip number four from the QCR, my lightning-cursed leg-guards, summoning a massive stream of lightning from the Worldstorm. Attempting to exert control over the incoming lightning, I unequip the leg-guards. Creating a rotating shell of electricity around me, I huff, and puff, hunched over, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down my brow. I’m still worn out from my fight and flight.

Hopefully Ixey can take a hint. Coalescing the lightning shell from around me, into a globe between my palms, I focus intensely on it for a few moments. When its rotation, its spin, is high enough, I lob my lightning-ball like a basketball the direction I last spied Ixeyla gliding around in. My lightning-bomb explodes into a shower of streams of energy that blast off horizontally across the sky before thin arcs down to the Worldstorm itself bleeds off the excess energy towards a grounded location.

Well, or a magically horizontal ground within the Worldstorm. Something-or-other. Who knows how the hell physics works? I certainly don’t. My memories were wrong about it on both worlds. How is that even possible? How can I be doubly wrong? Well, I suppose any random guess is likely to be wrong in a lot of ways. I guess it goes back to my buggy spawning.

Random thoughts for a random brain I guess. Hm, now what? Oh, right, there’s Ixeyla. Across our telepathic wavelength I call out, “Hey Ixey, thanks for waiting for me and making sure I had a way home.”

Snarkily she responds, “Not even a thing Schism, though if you wanted to say you owe me a favor, I might take you up on that. Kidding. Kind of. So what’s the news? Our Lady seemed to be freaking out a bit.”

Oh, right, Ixey only knows I was beat to crap and just made it above the Worldstorm as it rose to engulf the peaks nearby. Facepalming, I leap towards her back as she flaps my way while I answer, “Pretty bad news, remember what we were suspecting when we found those domains empty? It’s even worse. Terrorzin himself, and at least half of his entire allied forces. They’re on the move, and almost assuredly heading towards Solace.”

I’ve never heard a dragon squeak before, other than perhaps Lil’s Spheroid form, but now I have. Ixeyla’s squeak would be cute if it wasn’t one of sheer terror. She queries, “No sh!7? Really?”

I simply nod along our telepathic wavelength. There’s little I can do to reassure her, when even I don’t know how the hell we’re going to stem the tides of war as they roll up to Solace. I’m racking my brain, trying to imagine solutions, but other than continuing our hit-and-run tactics against the main might of the horde, little comes to mind. Worse, as Kinzul predicted, Terrorzin is no longer grouping his forces together by element. We can’t send a single gold or red to take down a platoon of fire mages, because they’re all jumbled together with psi-mages, stone-conjurers, lightning mages, and who knows what else now.

I knew he outclassed us on magical might, but the sheer volume of it is cataclysmic. If Kinzul weren’t so merciful, and there weren’t peace-loving refugees out there still struggling to get by, I might suggest we just lower the Worldstorm all the way to ground level. The problem is, we’d be doing Terrorzin’s work for him, ending everyone, melting everyone off the face of Rayileklia. Well, everyone except the huge portion of his forces sitting cozy in their domains deep underground. We’d just be neutering ourselves and opening ourselves up to a huge raid from the sky. Hell, he’s probably got standing orders for those domains to do exactly that if the Worldstorm lowers.

How much does he know about it? Al’pa’ca knew about its magical nature in some way, shape, or form. No one’s hinted that they know Kinzul is responsible for it, and even amongst our side, its true nature is a secret. Is that to prevent Kinzul from being targeted, or because—Shut your brain off for a bit Reggie. Your walls are going up and down at random. We don’t need to drag Ixey into any of the rabbit-holes we come up with.

Speaking of, our glide homeward is quite somber. I lay out across Ixey’s back, and stroke her between her scapula, trying to impart some sense of calming reassurance. The war is about to kick into overdrive, and that means her prince, my best buddy, Lil, is going to be front and center against the encroaching horde. He and I will be there with Teuila, beacons of hope for the Onyx Dawn. At least, that’s what we’re supposed to be. I’m not sure how up-to the task I feel.

I’ve got so many projects in motion, so many ideas floating around, so many avenues of self-improvement to yet pursue. Now more than ever, we need an entrance to the ‘Twixt within Solace or Verdimenn. I want to evacuate all the civilians to Jeegoobotstan if at all possible. Could I just evacuate them to the ‘Twixt? Could they live out their days happily in what might seem like accelerated time to those of us out here on Rayileklia proper?

Good gods though, I can only realistically get one person at a time into or through the ‘Twixt. It could be hours out here between groups of friends and families, and who knows how many days, months, or years that that might be in the ‘Twixt. Sure, most of us have the immortal longevity of dragons, but that doesn’t mean I want to inflict time apart on anyone. We could weaponize it, like Terrorzin. We could have Atter’s clutch spend millennia within the ‘Twixt in order to reach ancient status, and have them mate with any other clutchers from Solace.

Eugh. Just the thought of planned breeding sickens me. Plus, we have no idea what effect it will have on Dragonforce to be confined to the ‘Twixt for extended periods. What if their Dragonforces can’t grow? Worse, what if they’re sapped away into the nothing of the ‘Twixt? There are too many variables for me to trust the ‘Twixt for anything besides navigating Rayileklia quickly. Even that, I’m a bit worried about, since I’ve always said I should leave speed to the speedsters.

I really should leave it to them, and I intend to for the most part. But what’s speedier than instantly transporting people halfway across the planet? Or, well, the continent at least. Rayileklia has a bit of a Pangea problem. Most of its landmass is on a globe-spanning continent in the northern two-thirds of the planet. I suppose it’s not really a problem, it’s just not what I was expecting. Then again, on Can’Z’aas, we existed on a relatively small island. So why do I even have expectations about things like habitable landmass? I have no idea.

The wind rushing by as we glide away towards Solace has a calming effect on both Ixey and me. Loose strands of my crimson hair fall free from my helmet, and goggles, waving frantically in the breeze. Hm, has my pigmentation returned to its usual pale tan? I mean, is it no-longer returning to a blue hue against my will every other minute? It still feels like blue is my natural state, and pigment, but it seems like the constant shifting has gotten my body used to being the pigment I intend to appear as. Oh, hm, my Stealth skill from Can’Z’aas, and the active-camo I’d whipped up with chromatophores and irridophores comes to mind.

I begin divesting most of my armor and gear. Once my gauntlets are put away, I return to stroking Ixeyla’s shoulders comfortingly. Her scales are firm and rough for the most part, but the edges are smooth where they grind against each other as her muscles shift about beneath them. I sigh as I gaze out at the starless night sky, while laying on my back upon Ixey’s back.

I’m a bit surprised that there’s only a moon visible, but it is exceedingly bright. Perhaps the moon’s brightness, and nearing-fullness is obscuring any stars. Or perhaps there’s a thin layer of noctilucent cirrus clouds above our gliding line. It is terribly chilly, or would be for anyone who isn’t as thermally resistant as me, or a Red like Ixey. That moon though, it’s an ethereally beautiful ellipsoid taking up a huge fraction of the sky. I think it’s quite a great deal closer than Fakeworld’s moon from my memories.

Memories. The idea bounces around in my head hauntingly. There are clues, yet dangers lurking within them. What can I glean from them? Should I talk to Luni? Should I avoid her, so as to not put more pressure on her to keep the timeline on track? Hell, are we even on the prime timeline any longer? I guess there’s only one thing to do, and that’s to keep plugging away, trying to do our best. Yeah, sure, our best in the face of three apocalypses, one of which is marching towards our doorstep, due within a week. As I’m contemplating what’s best, I feel Ixeyla panic beneath me. Sensing her panic, I glance about, and see nothing but Worldstorm and sky. Oh. That’s exactly the issue.