Estara’s wide eyes beheld the Fortuneteller in stunned shock and amazement, her hands still covering her mouth. With her host waiting patiently, Estara finally dropped her hands, though her stare never faltered. “Y-you’re not… I-I don’t understand…”

The Fortuneteller — Why are you blotting me out so much?! — smiled pleasantly. “It will come back to you. As for the one who waits below, she is here, but we- I am something different, something more, and particularly instrumental to you and your Sisters. You sense some of it already.

“Which is because you are a good, diligent girl, obedient even after aeons and aeons and aeons to instruction embedded in your intuitive, trusting nature. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Estara blushed and swallowed hard. Her eyes finally — slowly — pulled away and dropped. “The vaguest bubbles… like I was an orphan until I hugged her… and that you are… the source of my existence.” Her eyes fell upon the chair near her, and she reached out a hand to touch the plush velvet. “If your energy was thread, I am an embroidered quilt.”

The Fortuneteller laughed like rich, chiming bells. “Ha ha… as diligent as ever. Perfectly said.” There was a pause, and Estara opened her mouth but the Fortuneteller interrupted: “Yes: Sisters. Not your flesh and blood sisters, but the two tied to you by far stronger bonds. Sisters because you are both strongly alike and strongly different. Sisters because you once were and once were again.”

The blond teen shot her eyes back to the Fortuneteller. “I see. That’s… wow! I’d love to meet them! Do you think I will?”

She accepts it just like that. She’s just too pure, damn it.

“Of course. You are fated to be with them. Utilized along with them for more willful manipulation of Fate’s threads and the insurance of our advancement. All to the common good that is our Orchestration and Samantha’s victory, which is complicated navigation, to say the least.”

“I rather like the sound of that. It is all I could ever ask for. How do I help? Is… this” — and she gestured a hand at the table — “a facilitator of helping?”

“Most certainly. If you are ready, pumpkin, take a seat and we can begin.”

Wow, this sure is different compared to Bast…

Estara grew a smile and whispered, “Pumpkin,” to herself, then pulled out the chair from the table. She blinked suddenly and stopped short of sitting in it… and then gasped in utter delight as she snatched something up from the chair to look at it. Shortly thereafter, she hugged it.

It was a furry white teddy bear with a hot pink bow around its neck.

Remembering herself, Estara quickly set the bear down on the table and muttered, “Sorry! I couldn’t help my- sorry! I-”

“He is yours, Estara. You can hug him all you like. But don’t name him here. His exact twin is waiting for you where you sleep… by my orchestration.” It was stated rather epically for the simple gifting of a stuffed animal.

You know, you make that sound like ominous badassery, but you’re literally a mom spoiling her daughter. Is that why you’re shunting me aside so much with her?

Do not question the methods of the brilliant amalgamate, Understudy. Bonding is necessary. The power of a token gesture far exceeds the value of the effort to conspire and generate it. This is merely psychic engineering and magnification.

Suuuuure it is… Mom.

Estara more slowly picked up the bear, like she’d been given a precious pet. She hugged it tightly and closed her eyes with a little smile on her face.

She wasn’t the only one smiling, either.

Finally, they sat across from one another at the table, Estara with her stuffed animal plopped in her lap.

The Fortuneteller began flicking her finger this way and that, and multi-colored, many-shaped fireworks exploded rapidly in the air above the table, blossoming each time into a spinning card. Estara watched the entertaining show with a smile. When there was a veritable horde floating there in the shape of a smiley face, the directing fingers then pointed down to the table and the cards rocketed down to form a deck.

Estara clapped from her chair while bouncing in her seat a bit.

Smirking, the Fortuneteller made another sweeping gesture, and the cards shot across the glass surface, fanning out to form a semicircle in front of Estara, bowed in her direction. “Choose a card wisely, drawing from your intuition. Feel for it and seize whichever is your first instinct without any hesitation. The card could be anything, as suits the vision and revelation necessary, rather than emblematic of your direct nature.”

Estara nodded, then closed her eyes and bent her head slightly down toward the cards. Shortly thereafter, she reached her right hand to the card on the furthest right and pulled it forward. Her eyes slowly peeked open, wincing as if expecting something explosive to happen… but nothing special had occurred and she blinked in uncertainty.

The Fortuneteller laughed. “Turn the card over! Facing is irrelevant.”

“Oh, right,” Estara said apologetically, then flipped the card.

In a cloudy sky, there was a central circle filled with arcane symbols around it and in the center. It seemed to rest on a jackal-headed figure floating under it, atop it was a sphinx, and on the left was a snake. In the four corners in the clouds were an angel, an eagle, a winged lion, and a winged bull.

“The Wheel of Fortune Major Arcana,” The Fortuneteller intoned dramatically. “Luck, karma, destiny — these are laid bare before you to judge and measure, my Daughter. The present and the ensuing brightness — the glee — of a newly opened door to the future… such is where you reside. But know that power over the ongoing lives of mortals is a terrible weight to bear.”

The Fortuneteller thrust her hand out and the world became a blinding light. Her voice echoed from nowhere, “Gird yourself and take it up, you who would be the Drawer of Lots.”

A vision became their world…

 

✦•············•✦•···········•✦

 

The war for the independence of the many former Borderland Counties — known since their declaration as the Alliance of the Wild Bastions — was not going very well since the beginning, but so recently, they’d put up quite a fight. Estara Nightsong was one of the Sisters who was helping, and she remained rather shocked about just what she’d recently accomplished.

Through the realm, many had given her congratulations on the feat since then, including her beloved adopted Sisters.

Right then, she had no real time for basking in it, never mind that it felt a bit brutal besides. The enemy had adapted quickly to try and get around her frightening trick and had been more or less ‘corruption bombing’ their forces with some sort of ‘lesser’ entropic magic.

She was certain it was another archmagus of theirs principally responsible, so if they could someone take him out…

Ugh… I don’t want to let on to the Goddess, but I hate thinking about killing people, even bad guys. I guess I was warned plenty, though…

Whatever her feelings, winning was far more critical. Whatever tools they had in front of them, they had to use them for the sake of the people as a whole. She and her Sisters knew as well as anyone what was riding on the wholeness of their victory.

We cannot burden Her Majesty with this area. We have to take care of it. She has her hands full as it is in the West…

Even those foreboding thoughts were her avoiding the distasteful matter in front of her, but there was not even a moment to delay. She clenched her jaw as she passed through the flaps of the medical tent.

The smell of decay hit her immediately, overpowering and making her want to gag. She tried not to look at the grim faces of the people there. Some were moaning in misery on the last of their hold to life, but the healthy men waiting were just as grim.

The head healer was waiting for her, nodding immediately and quickly pointing to the first target, a deteriorated, almost skeletal body who perhaps had only minutes. Then she nodded at a small clutch of men putting on brave faces, six of them separated from any other. Healthy.

Estara lifted her rod, closed her eyes, and whispered with some difficulty, “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to those who — as Saints — bear this burden for the doomed…”

With that, she utilized her Measuring Rod to ‘divide the lot’ of the Mortally Wounded man, distributing it to a maximum of 6 others, making the lot 1 of 7 for all. This made it less than a Minor Wound… though it would still grow. Entropic damage always did, if slowly… depending on the person.

The man who would’ve died saw his corruption erased as it was divided and spread to the others, who had various negative or stoic reactions. A terrible thing, but the only temporary solution available until Samantha and Azure could come and mass burn it all out. Nothing else could heal it.

Not yet… Goddess, help me find a way! I yearn for it. These courageous men… it’s unbearable.

The healed man shot up in his bed, surprised and bewildered, but the realization dawned quickly as he looked at himself, and he burst into tears. “Oh, gods, thank you… oh heaven above, I wasn’t ready… thank you…” His eyes squeezed shut as he sobbed in relief and gratitude.

“Of course, brother. Rest easy now.” Estara took a deep breath and looked to the healer. “Is there another needing division soon? I have more application potential…”

The head healer nodded quickly — she was checking over the volunteers and thanking them. “We are securing volunteers… They should be here soon. The man is unconscious but has some measure of hours.”

Estara nodded and waited off to the side. The dividing trick was a lot less satisfying under the circumstances than the things she’d done in battle. The pinnacle was something they hid until they had drawn out the most dangerous target… a powerful wizard invoker. He’d killed 23 people in one blast… but the 24th she’d saved without a scratch.

She’d traded his fate with the caster. A level 13 or 14 wizard incinerated in a flash, spell protection and healing contingencies firing off on nothing but ash. One had to have very rare and particular defenses against Fate. Wound negations didn’t cut it. Though the wizard might’ve been able to possess some countermeasure if he had known, he had not.

Seemingly, the rest of their army did not, either, as they’d adapted to get around any priority targets coming to the fore. Whoever the mastermind was, he’d piggybacked the entropy effects on other spells cast by minions, largely countering her. So far. They’d figure out something…

Briefly, she cast her mind through the realm to check on her Sisters. Busy and doing well. It wasn’t ideal to part them for more general realm use, but the eastern war front required all their resources rather stretched thin. They’d manage. Help was coming — was promised.

They’d lost the previously taken Restwater in the first of the sneak attacks, but as for her, Fort Stulbur and Caneboro were going to hold. It was just a matter of time… Samantha had everything under control.

And then we’ll see who’s boss! What goes around, comes around, Dominion b… bitches!

 

✦•············•✦•···········•✦

 

Holy shit, that was potentially useful intel! I guess events change anyway, but it's definitely something to keep in mind long-term.

“Estara Nightsong,” the Fortuneteller declared back at the table in the void, “Fate has granted you 60 experience in [Priestess], the [Lucky Charm] Special Trait, the Power [Reapportion Fate], and any staff you wield may be transmuted into your [Measuring Rod], by which you determine and adjust the allotment of life to mortals.

“The rod is needed to perform more intricate, fine manipulations. Dramatic changes, with or without the rod, cause thread vibration which requires time to settle or risks destabilization. Congratulations, Daughter.”

Estara stared into the middle distance with wide eyes and a slack jaw, dumbfounded by all she had seen and been awarded.