-I-

"Diedricht has returned." My mother's serene words could not quell the sheer
exhilaration that enveloped me at that moment. My brother had returned; that was
the greatest start to any day, ever. I immediately shrugged the blanket from my
body, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"Wh-where is he," I asked oddly, surprised at my own voice. The morning mingle
of tire and excitement must have contorted my voice beyond the norm. My mother's
placid face meekly twisted into a helpless smile, her silver sightless eyes
staring blankly beyond me.

"Where do you think?" Her words were like a flash of lightning within my mind.
I smiled coyly.

"The kitchens!" With a laugh, I jumped from my pallet. I laid a quick kiss upon
my mother's cheek and ran frantically through the caverns. It took a great
conscience effort not to spread my wings and rake them along the cavernous
walls, but my feet had proved their use as they were soon met with frigid ice.
The cool night's air greeted me, catching me off-guard. It was earlier than I
had anticipated.

My wings unfurled of their own accord, lusting for the skies. I slowly trekked
forward from the mouth of our communal hollow, appraising the air beyond the
cliff. I remembered how I wished to join the blackbird and migrating swallow in
their graceful flight. How I longed to be the proud falcon, lord of the skies. I
smiled, my crimson wings humbly clawing at the air. I didn't have to wish any
longer.

I pushed my wings in, closed my eyes, and dived from the edge of the cliff. For
a moment, as the cold air billowed around me, I lost myself in an ecstatic haze
of thrill and disorientation. A queer sound escaped from my lips as my wings
fanned out from my sides, catching the air. The sudden jolt startled me,
thrusting me back into reality. I allowed myself to be taken onward, gliding
high above the valley below. I followed the river, advancing toward my
destination.

The Tithermount was beautiful that night, as always. The lush quillweed that
carpeted the mountainside seemed mauve in the pale moonlight. Well, the
Tithermount wasn't really a mountain, as the Recondite Commission frequently
reminded us. Still, it was big. It was beautiful.

-II-

As I glided along the air currents, I came above the sacred Opal Isle, where
the lotus flowers grew in abundance within its marshy grounds. To me, it was the
crowning jewel of the Tithermount, perpetually caressed by the currents of our
great river.

Oh, how I longed for it. How I longed to join the Symposium; to be baptized in
the mists of Lathele and Menoso and see the world through aethereal opalescence.
Blessed to wade in the waves of eternal omniscience, and drown in the depths of
dark witlessness simultaneously. My mother's tales of the Symposium had been
nothing short of enchanting.

From the Opal Isle, I flew westward. I gazed curiously at the krokani
encampment that arose to herald the gates of Tithermount's dwarven stronghold.
The krokani were refugeesâ€"the latest victims of Achidra's wicked harvest.

My feet touched down upon cool alabaster stone as my hands wrapped around
golden rods. A simple push of the Western Gate sent it awry. I hardly had heard
the gate snap into place as I darted through the dwarven halls of alabaster and
gold.

The Tithermount's dwarven population imported copious amount of gold to
embellish their keep, refusing any silver to be inlaid within the walls or
comprise any piece of furniture. The use of silver was exclusively reserved for
weapons and armour.

The Kitchens accommodated scores of hungry mouths, all subject to the worst in
dwarven delicacies. Diedricht and the Alluvian Pommel's elite warriors were
scattered across the hall, devouring stuffed fungi and drinking ale with
gracious loved ones.

He sat alone, idly nibbling on a strip of toasted riverwoad. I snuck up to
him, wrapping my arms around his broad chest. Every reconnaissance expedition
carried the possibility that one of the Tithermount’s sworn protectors would
not make it home. For months, that fear had lingered toward the forefront of my
mind. Of everyone's mind.

My arms were shaken by Diedricht's deep, resonant laugh that pulsed from his
body. He contorted his body around and awkwardly returned the hug. "Good to see
you, Kro," he said warmly.

"Any news?" I asked, seating myself beside his tall form. Years of the
Pommel's harsh training had hammered his once-lithe trillian body into a
near-gnarled muscular limb. Make no mistake, his eyes were in perfect, Redwing
proportion to his sharp nose, which was perfectly angled above smooth
symmetrical lips. His arms were a quarter-short of his wingspan; damn
perfection. It was in the dense musculature of the arms and legs where the fine
pedigree was shaken. The strain was obvious in the feathers of his wings which
were heavily flustered and splintered in some areas. It almost pained me to lay
eyes on his wings, knowing it to be such a shame to bear unkempt plumage. He was
excused from any high-nosed social ramifications, though, as all the Pommel's
trill were. It came with the honour.

"Yes." Diedricht's eyes hesitantly dropped to his food. "Vileflowers were
spotted in the eastern hills, just beyond the banks of Milliner's Wind."

My breath caught itself within my throat as I exhaled, releasing a short, shaky
wheeze to betray my alarm. Achidra's malign heralds had never come this close to
the Tithermount.

"W-What are we going to do?" I asked.

"We can weed them off until the Commission finalizes the Matron's schematics,
which shouldn't be much longer. The silver has been stockpiled and the
blueprint for its construction is nearly complete. We only await Neabizer's
return with details on the empowerment rituals."

I nodded complacently. Though, Neabizer had been away for years, compiling the
knowledge of D'varsha and Vernal Ascension. Throughout the First World, many
communities were raising Edifices of Power to combat the Soulless Gods.
Soulless; like the wicked Achidra.

-III-

No one had ever laid their eyes on the true body of Achidra, not in the
two-hundred years since the forming of the Tithermount Alliance. We knew Her
vile name from Her murderous vileflowers. Sweet-smelling and alluring, the
unwary took the bait and breathed their intoxicating pollen. As the fool would
be lost in euphoria, the dark-red flower would peel its flesh away and propel a
living spire into it's victim's body.

A few hours later, the victims would scream. They would curse. They would speak
of thousands of unmentionable things in dozens of tongues. This was how we
learned of Her name. Those that fought the parasite usually mauled their faces
off in the process.

When the body succumbed to the invasion, the spire, fat with life, crawled from
the corpse like a plump caterpillar from a festering apple. We would try and
destroy them before they had time to burrow into the ground and return to their
mistress.

Over the decades, fewer and fewer succumbed to the vileflowers. It did not take
long before Achidra was harvesting only wild animals. To see the objects of our
most perverse nightmares so close to our home only meant one thing: She
hungered.