As Omid followed Sareen, the sounds of the small tent city were, as a whole, wrong in most ways. The ambient noise level was lower than any he had heard within a large gathering of this size. As best he could tell, some standard activities were still going on. Even in the face of no one eating anything, of despite the language barrier every conversation appearing to be a dire one, of a fight looking like it would break out at any moment before stern stares from the crowd would cool tempers.

Trade was being conducted, as various beings of nightmare and legends alike traded for trinkets and baubles every bit as strange as they were. All of the traded goods looked as though it was meant to be something, to Omid, though he was unable to figure out just what it may have been in the instant before his eyes darted away to some new wonder.

All while avoiding as much eye contact as he could. He would follow close to Sareen at her leisurely pace, his sight going back and forth from wonders and beings seen by few who had lived to tell the tale and keeping an eye on his Kirzallan. All while avoiding eye contact with anything here after his initial misstep that he was still cursing himself for. Logically, he should have kept his eyes to her and her alone. However it was wise to keep an eye out for danger, he told himself. That the danger was so impossibly fascinating and any book he wrote on his experiences now would be spoken of with prestige amongst scholars and in hushed reverent tones amongst the common folk was an added bonus.

A gain of such size to the collective knowledge of man that had been unmatched in ages.

But first he had to survive. 

But he really should keep an eye out for fascinating things. The knowledge of which would of course advance the collective understanding of the supernatural and be to everyone’s benefit. That just happened to be fascinating.

Like a Woodstalker purchasing a small carved dark wood—a statue of some sort - at a small stall run by an unknown entity wearing a great cloak of what appeared to be dried seaweed and whose body looked to be made of whalebone interlaced with “veins” of flowing water. The Woodstalker paid in several small orbs of amber, before carefully cradling its purchase in its wooden hands. It looked back up to the unknown Izdoroth and spoke in a language that sounded of old creaking wood who responded in a similar sounding wooden creak before switching to a voice like crashing waves as it called out to and waved down other passersby, apparently already moving onto making another transaction after the Woodstalker ambled away while whispering like branches in the wind.

Omid had given the interaction too much attention, as he was almost too late in noticing that Sareen had stopped and was now looking exactly to where he had been. 

Had he been in error? Looked where he wasn’t supposed to? Violated some secret law he was not made aware of? Accidentally following too closely and almost bumped into her and now he dies?

“Sareen! I didn’t-” He quickly tried to muster an excuse before being cut off.

“Excellent eye, oh herald of the messenger.  What is he doing here so far from the sea?” Sareen only stared brazenly as Omid only still dared to catch fleeting glimpses.

“Yes! Yes I did...think it quite strange...though I am unsure of the name for such a being…” Omid wondered aloud in a lowered voice to match Sareen’s own, not hesitating to take the opportunity to play off a mistake as deliberate brilliance. 

Sareen looked for a moment longer before looking up to the sky to find one of the moons as a pale daylight phantom. She narrowed her eyes slightly and continued walking, finally answering Omid with a question of her own. “Do you mean your word for them or their word for themselves?”

Omid thought a moment, caught off guard at what now seemed an obvious question. “Er, theirs I suppose?”

Sareen turned on her heels while walking, continued walking backwards as she smiled at Omid and opened her mouth to let out a sound like crashing waves in a storm. Omid immediately frowned, rubbing at a temple with one hand and dragging his feet for a moment.

“That’s...fine. That’s fair.” He said with a sigh, remembering how thus far his talks with Sareen were the only instance of a language he recognized here. “Well, I take it you have an idea of why a being such as he is here?”

“It means that this is an especially important meeting and he likely came here with a Mirzallan, which would make him exceptionally desperate to deal with such self-important, vainglorious, deranged, and meddlesome scum.” The hint of anger that slipped from behind Sareen’s rakish yet collected mask caught Omid off guard more than any creature and being of legend here.

“I see.” He nearly choked out. “Then I shall be on my guard for just such an elemental threat.” Omid said, not technically lying. 

“Excellent.” Sareen’s tone was sharper and her stride more brisk. “If they’re not foolish, they will not interfere with my mission. As they are predisposed to such foolishness, be on the lookout for their meddling.”

Omid nodded along. “Understood. Keep a lookout. And just so I’m clear, who should I avoid eye contact with here? That’s a thing to avoid isn’t it?”

“It is.” Sareen quickly regained her smile, turned, and resumed walking forward through the crowds.

Omid’s eyes sagged, lips curling into a small frown as he didn’t even dignify that with a sigh. He kept his eyes focused on her while following behind a bit closer this time, only rarely daring to let his eyes wander as they walked. Every time he would see some new fascinating thing he may never see again, he cursed himself and averted his eyes. He thought that perhaps if Sareen really was to teach him magic, he may one day see these things once more. Assuming this was not some once in a lifetime gathering which, knowing his own luck, Omid assumed was true.

Casting the thought aside, he endeavored to stay focused even as many Izdoroth tried to catch his attention as he passed them. A task made much easier as none of  them so far spoke any language he knew, and to his ears it barely resembled language at all. The coffee helped him stay focused, but that nagging curiosity kept telling him to let his eyes linger just a little longer. To just think of the possibilities.

Eventually he dared to look at one thing a little longer. It was the foot of a large stone statue, mostly reminiscent of a human though the proportions were all wrong. Feet too large, though Omid supposed it was to help the statue stand. Legs too long, hands like great stone spiders, and the oddest oversized woolen tunic made from actual wool.

Then it moved, causing Omid’s eyes to go wide as he took a step back in time with the statue stepping forward towards Sareen. The large stone man moved with a surprising grace, as Sareen didn’t even flinch. As the behemoth looked her over with a visage like a roughly carved statue, a spark of familiarity hit Omid.

This was something he did recognize. Not from personal experience, but he had heard enough legends. His blood started to run cold as he tried reasoning it out, that they were most likely only something similar in appearance. There was no need to panic, Omid told himself.

As he followed Sareen past the two large stone men who were not what he thought they were, he silenced the shock of there being a second one as that meant nothing. Nothing but that he should keep following Sareen, just a bit closer though as he picked up the pace to follow her into the large clearing with a vast circular pattern carved into the ground and flanked by the stone men on all sides.

A pattern he was familiar with. Surrounded by beings he had grown up hearing legends about. Unpleasant legends. Legends of these strange circular patterns appearing on the desert floor, carved into stone or stone raised from the sands. And anyone who stepped foot in them would vanish in four days. Before they did vanish, they would claim to have heard a version of how the world would end, acting ever more erratic. All before vanishing in the night.

And Sareen was about to lead them into just one such circle.

He planted his feet firmly on the ground and grabbed her hand. She whirled around, scowling at Omid with a bemused look on her face.

Omid ignored it as his blood ran cold and he regretted just for a moment how energized the coffee had made him to amplify the feelings of terror. He leaned in close and spoke in a low voice. “I know you must know what they are, and as someone with a vested interest in keeping both of us alive do not set food in a circle made by The Old Men!”

Sareen frowned, boring a hole through Omid’s eyes with her own. All fear he had of her gone for the moment in the face of a greater threat. She finally blinked and eased her frown into a face of calm neutrality. “So long as you play the part and we are invited in, there shall be minimal risk. However your...vigilance is…..good. It is good. Keep being good.”

Omid finally forced him to stop clenching his jaw so hard he thought he would break a tooth or several, he searched in her eyes and found as close to a feeling of trust as he would dare. “Fine, though let it be known I’m not happy about the ‘minimal’ par- is that the Mirzallan you were speaking of?”

She followed his outstretched pointing finger to a fair skinned man wearing a long elegant coat and trousers to match all trimmed with gold and in a shade of blue so vibrant it actually hurt to look at , black leather boots reaching his knee and in no way practical for a desert and a similar wide brimmed hat shading his sharp face and short black hair from all the suns. He wore no shirt under his coat and somehow managed to not be burnt to a crisp.

“You mentioned ostentatious, and that looks like a man who’s never heard of tasteful and refined and...er, Sareen?” Omid looked down with growing concern to Sareen who was shaking with anger.

Small rocks and bits of dirt began to float up around her as she growled out a spell from gritted teeth. “They. Sent. Him.”

Against all odds, Omid was now far more worried about the woman he had never seen angry grow furious. He bit his tongue for a moment before venturing an obvious question. “You clearly know him, what is your relation to him?”

“None aside from hated enemies as a result of mistakes he will never admit to!” She growled out, teeth still clenched together. A final huff and she collected herself, looking away from the man and back to the circle that a growing assortment of figures were taking their places around. Primarily The Old Men, the Mirzallan now joined by the oceanic Izdoroth from earlier, themselves, and the Virzallan they had first seen.

Sareen was notably silent on his appearance, even as he flashed smiles to all around the circle in spite of not receiving a single one in return. “And...you don’t know him?” Omid asked.

“No.” She stood there with arms crossed behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels before she spoke in a much lighter tone to catch Omid off guard. “When they beckon us to enter, announce me first. Then yourself, then we enter together. I shall deliver my message and then we shall begin your first lesson in magic.”

Omid nodded along intently, taking careful mental notes, and then mentally dropped all of his notes at the sudden announcement. “Y-you mean here? After we’re done with this meeting?” Omid said with a hoarse voice.

“No, as soon as I deliver my message.” She responded, the tiniest smile creeping across her lips.

Omid stared at her, frowning for a moment as more of The Old Men gathered around the circle. “....in the middle of the meeting? What-....what are you planning, Sareen?”

The Kirzallan’s only response was her smile reaching up to her eyes, no doubt partially fueled by Omid’s heart visibly sinking as he mentally braced himself for whatever chaos would ensue.

Mere moments later, the tallest of The Old Men stepped into the very center of the circle upon an intricate symbol. He extended his arms out and beckoned all to join him. Omid knew his queue, swallowed hard and cleared his throat before calling out in a loud voice the lines he had been practicing in his head for some time now.

“I humbly present myself, Omid, Herald of The Messenger of Silver Sea. And with honor I present to you and your eternal benefaction, oh she of greatest power and grace, Sareen! Messenger of Silver Sea!” Omid gave an exaggerated bow, holding for a moment as he gulped once more before rising. He half expected to see anger and blades drawn at the overly theatrical introduction, but from the silent nods of acceptance it appeared that Sareen’s guidance on the matter had served him well.

Sareen gave a half bow and stepped forward into the circle with Omid quickly matching pace. He fully expected to burst into flames as soon as he did so, and for a moment he felt intense heat. The next grandiose introduction and lack of actual flames licking at his flesh reminded him that it was merely the suns bearing down on him. And from the sounds of it he was actually being reserved in that speech.

It didn’t click immediately how he was understanding the language, his own language. Perhaps he had set the expected language for this meeting by going first? A question for later. For now, and through all the pomp and circumstance of the Izdoroth still announcing the Mirzallan he picked out a name from the chaotic ocean of ego. Alnmor. At least he had a name for Sareen’s hated enemy now.

Going around the circle with introductions quickly became a dreadfully boring affair, which was quite the feat for such beings of magic and power. Still, they managed by making the introductions as overwrought as possible. And yet Omid was being kept on his toes waiting for the “lesson” to begin at any moment, knowing it was going to be amusing only to Sareen.

Trying his best to pick out names from the gathering, Omid learned that The Old Men only gave their names in what he guessed was their own language. Something completely unpronounceable that sounded like music played on instruments of stone in a stone hall. The Virzallan was easiest, as he only gave a short hello followed by his name. Lacoltza.

Other beings were represented as well, though for the life of him Omid couldn’t figure out what they were. Only that the one speaking with a woman’s voice and covered in flowers was named Saffron, and a figure completely wrapped up in dark cloth with two glowing blue orbs as the only thing not covered. He seemed to go by Dust. It was certainly possible that they were in fact Milizmiq, entities of life and death.

No sooner than all had entered and The Old Man at the center silently gestured to Sareen, she finally withdrew her precious scroll from its secure case and unfurled it with a slight flourish and read from it .

“It is my utmost pleasure to present to you the decision of Silver Sea. Having been made aware of your plans herein referred to as ‘The Story That Shall End The World’ and all attempts to find the aforementioned story, we have reached a decision in regards to said world ending proposal. We hereby categorically reject these plans as backed by the Zallan Consortium, to be invoked upon your failure to acquiesce to the aforementioned decision, and will enforce said decision with force should the ongoing situation call for it.”

She rolled up the scroll, striding over to place it at the feet of the leader of The Old Men. Never once did her bright demeanor falter, as there was no reason for it to do so, and soon she had returned to Omid’s side.

“What?!” Omid blurted out, all decorum evaporated.

All other attendees looked just as shocked, though the Zallans bore a bit more visible resentment. The Old Men looked down at Sareen and a now visibly panicking Omid, their stone faces slowly turning to anger.

“To manipulate an element is a mage’s most versatile tool, Omid.” Sareen said to Omid, now inching closer to her with eyes darting around the circle. “To sense an element is a more basic starting point, but I know you will be able to dive right into a necessitated advanced lesson. Now, listen carefully for this word I grant to you.”

She took him by the hand and dragged him from the circle as The Old Men began to move from their spots on the complex symbols. At that moment Omid needed not a single drop of coffee, for there was not a single drop of blood in his veins. Only adrenaline.

“I’m listening!” He tried and failed to not yell.

Sareen gave a bright and toothy smile as she pulled him close. “To alter, to control, to wield. Your word is Manipulation.”

Omid heard the word leave her lips as he heard her speak the language of magic at the same time. As though he was hearing that ancient language of the gods yet finally knowing it as he understood its meaning. It was an overwhelming feeling, to finally know that word even if he still felt there was much left to understand of it. His mind drifted back to the fact that Sareen had pulled him in close, and that the ground was now lifting the pair high into the sky on a stone pillar.

Without thinking he held onto Sareen for dear life, watching the ground shrink below him as the momentum carried them forward and kept them traveling through the air in a slight arc. Just as they started to slip from the changing angle, one of the still large silhouettes of The Old Men drove a massive fist into the pillar of earth offering them their escape. It instantly crumbled to gravel beneath them, and before Omid could wonder what Sareen’s aim was here she had grabbed a fistful of gravel and hurled it at the rapidly approaching ground while speaking the word she had just taught to Omid. Manipulation. She chanted it now as another pillar burst forth from the rapidly approaching hard ground just to their side. Still holding onto Omid, Sareen plunged her fist into the pillar to slow their descent as her arm went through the pillar like a knife through fresh bread. 

The pair landed on soft, loose ground and only stumbled slightly to the ground from the landing. The tent city’s marketplace they had landed in was in chaos as loud footsteps thundered after Omid and Sareen, who had just gotten to their feet.

“You dropped this, young man.” Omid quickly looked to the helpful man, holding out a pouch that must have been knocked loose from his belt.

“Thank you!” He replied as Sareen dragged him off.

Her chant of Manipulation was ongoing as further pillars burst forth from all around the marketplace to slow the rapid advance of The Old Men pursuing them and quickly shattering anything in their way into a fine powder as supernatural beings of all sorts cleared out of the way either from fear of a greater power or reluctance to stand against them.

Not all though, as a mighty flame explosion engulfed one of The Old Men in pursuit. Omid had been looking back as they ran, but Sareen dragging him along faster to an almost literal sense had him focusing on the apparent goal of the stone stables holding their camels.

“How exactly are we going to outrun them on camels? I get the distinct sense they’re faster than that!” Omid yelled out while running.

“Oh, we’re not. We’ll be heading home.” She maintained a casual tone, not struggling through this sprint even as Omid gasped for air.

Omid wasn’t sure he heard right. “Home? Your home? Is it close?”

“Quite far, actually.”

“And we’re getting there how?!” Omid asked as they reached the perimeter of the stables, now suddenly very unsure of what to do and what possible goal Sareen had in mind.

Sareen kicked at the rocky ground, and a circle of black stone appeared on the desert floor all around the stables. “Magic, of course. You’ll want to stand on this side of the circle.” She kneeled down to place a hand upon the band of black stone.

Omid decided that he now hated circles as he threw his hands up in exasperation as he crossed the circle while regaining his breath. Thundering footsteps in the distance were no longer distant, and as he turned around he saw his furious pursuer would be upon them in seconds.

Sareen’s face turned to focus and determination as she started to chant a new string of magic words Omid was even more unfamiliar with. She looked up to the sky as Omid looked around in a panic, finally deciding on drawing his short sword to go down swinging.

“Shield your eyes, this tends to be quite bright.” Sareen quickly advised.

In the second before The Old Man of the Great Desert reached out to grab them, Omid shielded his eyes as he was told with his free hand and kept a death grip on his sword. Even with his arm blocking it, the flash of light felt as bright as the suns. The ground moved ever so slightly, and as Omid waited for the crushing hand of an angry Desert ancient he felt a coolness wash over him. He took a breath, and that cool feeling entered his lungs. He lowered his arm, and his mouth hung open as he took in his surroundings. The tans, browns, and occasional reds of the desert were gone now. All replaced with an eerie, silvery white landscape of fine sand amongst larger rocks stretching out in all directions and reaching up into the rim of a valley. The sky was black, filled with countless stars and yet the light was like that of day. As though it came from the ground itself. Stooping down to the ground and picking up some of the sand in his hand revealed upon careful inspection that it did have a faint glow. 

“Welcome to my home, Omid.” Sareen happily called out.

As he turned to see her, he was greeted with the sight of the Kirzallan standing before a massive palace of the same silvery white color as the landscape. It’s architecture reminded Omid of the oldest civilizations that he had ever read about, and their most ancient and dilapidated ruins. The nature of which led some to believe they were not wrought by the hands of man. And here he stood before one, perfectly pristine and grander than he could have ever imagined.

Omid gawked and gazed about, pacing in the cool air as he tried to figure out what had happened. “Where...where are we?” He looked to the sky, finding that the suns were as absent as the moons. In their place, a distant half lit orb of blue covered in patches of green and tan. “And...what is...is that…”

“I told you.” She stated, clearly amused by Omid’s reactions. “We’re at my home. And that-”

She pointed to the half lit orb. “Is your home.”

SylasWrites

And you thought I was just being poetic with the title.