The headaches matched the rhythm of the sea.
Stump sat by the water, face buried in his hands. The crunch of sand announced someone's approach, but before he could look up, Denna's hand was on his back.
"How do you feel?" she said, her worry touched with apprehension.
A wave rolled over his toes. He dug them into the beach. It was cool. Calming. "What happened?" he whispered.
Her chuckle was hesitant. "I thought you'd tell me. I've never seen that before."
Light was all he could remember. So much of it, and then the ghosts were gone. He only had a moment of respite before the headaches came crashing down. Someone had helped him up—Denna or Morg, maybe—and led him to the water.
"I…" he said, searching, but came up short. "I don't know. What did you see? There was a lot of light, wasn't there?"
She lowered cautiously to the beach beside him, a strange look in her eyes. It was a worry not just about how he was, but who he was.
The gaze made him uneasy.
"You were light. None of us could look. The ghosts vanished all at once." Her voice was choked with disbelief.
A surge of throbbing pain rebuffed his attempt to understand what he'd done, or how he'd done it. All he could think of was Borag and his story. Ascension.
He looked to his toes again and found some comfort in another cold wave rolling over his feet. "Oh," was all he could muster.
Denna shuffled closer, breaking their awkward pause. She slipped out of her boots, pressed her feet into the sand, and sighed happily when another wave rushed by. She hung her head back, eyes closed, and breathed deep, like she was trying to snatch a salty, ephemeral keepsake out of the air.
Maybe it was the addled state of his mind, or the simple, joyful solidarity of her gesture, but her closeness eased his pain.
"It reminded me of what my mother told me of Nevae," she said, opening her eyes. "She grew up there, far from the Bright Queen. They have real day and night, she told me. You can't even look directly at the sun while it's up. Strange, I know, it's only a dim little glow in the sky where we are, but far beyond Aubany it's blinding. I never understood what that meant until today."
Through his pain stirred a kernel of excitement. "You should see the night sky, it's even more wonderful," he said. It wasn't often he was on the knowledgeable end of a conversation with the tall men.
"You've seen…?" Denna's surprise quickly waned. "Of course, you're a goblin. All tribes are beyond the Bright Queen's shroud. I've lived here all my life. I sometimes forget there are those who haven't."
"Stump, y'alright?" Morg's normally gruff cadence had given way to a softer underbelly.
He approached from behind with Sylas, who stepped around them and offered a paw. "You're feeling better, yes?"
Stump was hauled to his feet. "I am. But, is sir Halwyn…?" A quick scan of the beach found the spirit lingering by the boat Germott was unmooring.
"Seems he's still not relived whatever destiny anchors him," said Sylas, with surprising wisdom. But it didn't last. He turned to Stump, his eyes cool. "What spell was that?"
Stump stepped back at the interrogative tone. "I don't know," he said warily. "I'll have to ask Wasptongue."
"I don't suppose you'd be capable of doing it again?"
A detour into the system told Stump he had only nine virtue left, more than thirty less than the numbers that surged through him while Seabrace crumbled. Whatever ability or spell he'd used cost more than three times what he was naturally allowed by his level.
He shook his head. "I don't even know how I did it. I just did."
"Convenient."
"I think it's rather inconvenient, actually."
"Everyone get in before I change my mind and row back to Brinetown without you," Germott called from the boat.
They packed in and pushed offshore, and a flash ahead outlined the monstrous crumbling walls of a structure taller than the lighthouse and wider than Seabrace's market square.
They shared a collective gulp.
"Temple o' Umbralanus, y'said?" Morg sounded faraway.
"The very same." Sylas did, too.
The lighthouse keeper did not share their fear. He glided across the sea, spectral shoulders back, jaw tight with determination, and eyes fixed to the horizon, where flashes of purple coloured the mist.
 

 
Water splashed up Stump's knees as he moved from boat to land. They dragged their rowboat aground and huddled beneath a jagged rock formation glazed with ocean spray.
Stuttered moments of light revealed trees half submerged along the shore, their red leaves bristled by sea breeze, and the stony spires of the temple towering above.
"Hear that?" said Sylas, ears twitching.
Over the steady drone of the sea came a deep whir. It rolled through the air, louder and louder, before vanishing with the light.
"I don't recognize the spell," said Germott. "What does it sound like?"
A second, quieter hum emanated from Sylas. When it too was gone the catfolk whispered gravely. "Planeurgy."
They crept to the nearest spire in silence. The catfolk had cast a Sonurgic bubble around them, absorbing the sound of their footfalls. Even Denna's adventurer's pack, with all its clanking parts, whispered on her back like it was made of clouds.
In the arcane hush they prowled, moving along the outer temple walls, pockmarked here and there by missing stones. Sylas slipped in through a crumbled doorway and signalled everyone to follow.
The chamber, once a small side room, now lacked the entirety of its opposite wall. It opened directly into the inner sanctum.
Halwyn's eyes shimmered with tears as he gazed into the ruins. His lips moved, but whatever words of horror he uttered were caught by the Sonurgy.
Giant pillars of stone lanced out of a floor peppered by fragments of ceiling and punctured by weeds and seagrass. Trees grew crooked, their roots snaking and hooking through the stonework.
Sylas paused at the edge of their smaller chamber and sniffed the air. He pointed to a faint tendril of smoke drifting through the sanctum, then made a quick motion of the hand, spurring everyone forward. They spread out, weaving around shards of collapsed ceiling. Fog curled over the walls and settled waist high. Centred at the far end of the temple, beyond a fallen pillar, was a stone dais upon which balanced the marble leg and half a torso of Umbralanus.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
In front of it crackled the source of the smoke. Glowing embers smouldered in a doused campfire. Beside it lay a leather sack and a bedroll. Sylas ventured another whiff from behind the horizontal pillar, then straightened.
He gestured with a hand, and Stump could hear his own breathing again.
"I can't smell them anymore," the catfolk whispered.
"No more flashes, neither," said Germott, from behind a clutch of seagrass.
One by one they emerged into the open. Morg sauntered to the campfire and nudged the blackened firewood with his boot, scattering cinders. "Just one person causin' all this mess?"
Halwyn moved silently to the ruined statue. "Umbralanus." His voice cracked. "The Gloaming Veil. What have they done to your sacred place?"
Denna grabbed the sack and turned it over, spilling several weathered books, various stones and minerals, a smattering of mundane coins, and a dagger onto the temple floor. Stump fished for a book and wrinkled his nose at the dust it coughed up.
"I can barely read this," he said, bringing the tome to his face. The pages were stained, and the faded script was a jumble of letters he couldn't parse. The occasional drawing in the margins was no easier to understand.
"It's a code," said Sylas, his narrow eyes running across the pages of another book. "Magical, though. Planeurgy, as I thought."
Germott made an uncomfortable sound. "Explains the ghosts."
"Planeurgy?" asked Stump, without pausing his study.
"Manipulation of the planes themselves," Sylas went on, his tone gradually losing its natural lilt.
"Does that mean…" Denna paused mid thought, as if frightened to pursue it.
Sylas's whiskers twitched. "I think it does."
The extended silence that followed convinced Stump another Sonurgy spell had been cast, but when he peered over the page and moved his lips, words came out. "What does it mean?"
"Cult o' Shekago," Morg said grimly.
A deep hum rattled Stump's teeth. It rolled in through the walls, the windows, and the holes time and gods had punched through the temple. Fog retreated from the dais, in front of which the air rippled like pond water disturbed by a falling stone. A flash. Deep purple light staggered Stump back a foot. It lingered, and then dissipated.
There had been six of them before the flash, but when the fog rolled back in, seven stood in the temple.
The figure, like Morg, was masked and swathed in black. But where Morg's disguise was carved and frightening, theirs was… strange. It was bright blue, with a painted pug nose and a wide toothy smile. Heavy brows sat above two comically large eyes, and beneath curved silver horns. Friendly, was the word that entered Stump's mind, but somehow that made it creepy.
Their uninvited guest found Sylas first. "Who are you?" she said, then registered the rest of them.
Sylas took a careful step back. His hand snuck along his waistband. "A ghost," he ventured. "Your magic disturbs my rest."
She dropped the mask at her feet, revealing a shaved head scrawled with black ink. Tiny pupils gazed out of orange eyes ringed with red. "You're no phantom," she said. Her white lips, peeled of skin, cracked as she smiled. "Would you like to become one?"
A rapier whispered out of Germott's sheath.
The cultist's bulging eyes noted the threat without worry. "Why have you come?" she drawled. "Have you heard the good word?"
Denna squared her feet and dropped the adventurer's pack as quickly as the sword glimmered in her hand. "We'll hear nothing from you," she said.
Morg followed her stance and drew his dagger, and Sir Halwyn brandished the one that had fallen from the sack. "This is my home," he said. "You're not wanted here."
The cultist remained as still as the leftovers of Umbralanus. Until she noticed Stump. She turned to the goblin. "Ah, you have heard the good word, I'm sure."
Stump met her orange eyes and suppressed a shiver. "What word is that?"
"The word of Jaessun. You have gazed on him, haven't you? Perhaps not the Godslayer himself, but one of his line. His name. I can see it." She drew a knife from her cloak. Sylas ripped his rapier free. The others edged forward, but the cultist didn't flinch.
"Would you like to see Shekago?" she continued, taking a step towards Stump. "I'll have to carve them away for you, for once you see it you'll never want to close them again."
Them?
As if reading his mind, she brought the point of the knife to her own face, and it was then Stump realized she had no eyelids.
A roar cut through the sanctum. Denna staggered. Morg fell to a knee. Sylas spun from the sound. Stump would have too if it wasn't for the hands around his wrist. The cultist, having closed the gap between them faster than a storm wind, pulled him close.
"See!" she commanded, and brought the dagger down.
The lumen appeared in a silent bang of light. Stump shrieked as heat cut across his forearm. He kicked at something, then pushed off and rolled over his shoulder. The lust thrummed to life in his veins, focusing his vision and twisting his stomach into knots. He pounced to his feet. Blood trickled down his arm.
Screams came from where the cultist had fallen, her knife dug deep into crumbled stone. She wrenched it free beneath the lumen and turned at Denna's lunging strike.
Another roar slammed Denna against a pillar, sending her sword clanging out of sight. The cultist vanished with the sound, tearing across the floor with horrendous speed.
"See the works of Jaessun!" echoed her voice. "The emsee!" she screamed from another part of the sanctum. "The ohpee!"
Germott slung volleys of light across the hall. They exploded in cracks of white where her thunderous voice lingered. Sharp peals of Sonurgy shook bits of ceiling loose.
Stump tracked across the floor, avoiding the tumbling rock. He called to a lumen that was no longer there—his concentration had been broken by the fighting.
"Denna!" he cried, but her slumped form gave no reply. "Morg!"
"I'm here, Stump!" The dwarf was on him with surprising speed of his own, standing at his back, knife in hand, mask free. "I can't see where she's gone!"
A lumen streaked through the air from an unseen corner, exploding near Germott's face. The Ocelot doubled over.
She knows Lumenurgy.
A pillar of fire lanced over Stump's head. Morg grabbed him by the shoulder and scurried behind a block of stone as a second burning spear hissed by.
Lumenurgy. Thermalurgy. Planeurgy. Heat and light scattered fog, straining the foundations of the temple. Sylas leapt over an ancient tree root, narrowly avoiding a stone crashing behind him. Halwyn darted beneath a hail of flaming arrows only to brace against a siege of glistening ice shards—a type of magic Stump couldn't even place. The arcane swirled and clashed as it had over the people of Seabrace where a god had died.
"We have to find her," Stump said, raising his voice over the clamour.
Morg groaned but rose to his feet and circled around their protective barrier. A burst of wind gushed from a point on the floor where the cultist materialized. The dwarf lunged, a battlecry on his lips and a knife in his hand. But the cultist was faster. She barrelled forward a blur of sound, sending Morg twirling into a tree.
Stump formed and burst a lumen in a Flash, but even light was too slow. She landed behind him and pulled him around. The dagger was inches from his eyes.
"You will thank me!" she said, spit dangling from her torn lips. "You will—"
Sylas threw his shoulder into her, sending Stump crashing to the floor. The catfolk drew back long enough to take aim and cut his rapier through the air. There was a shriek. Blood coloured a nearby pillar. The weapon sang as it sliced through mist from left to right to left to right.
But still the cultist danced, melting around the blade like water. She roared and summoned a lumen of her own. It hissed and spewed a ring of undulating heat.
Sylas staggered back, screaming through gritted teeth as she pursued, pressing the ball of light against his armour. Within moments he collapsed, clutching his chest and hacking onto the floor.
Stump tried to stand, but she was already towering over him, her boot pushing him into stone. The burning light lowered slowly, its heat gradually rising.
"If you struggle I will have to kill you," she promised.
Stump gripped her boot but it was too secure to wrestle. His skin burned, lightly at first, then painfully. He tried and failed to draw breath. I don't want to die.
He closed his eyes. The lust of Grumul rolled through him. He reached out, channeling Lumenurgy through his fingertips, drawing the bloodlust from his core, forging a bond between the gods, as he had done in the spectral town.
Please. Lumensa, Grumul.
The heat vanished, but it was the wailing that drew Stump's eyes open again.
Steam and smoke hissed off the cultist as she staggered back, clutching her face. Stump struggled to his feet and commanded the lumen he'd wrested to his control. It followed the thrashing figure, burning and cooking her in her robes.
 
Skill Level Increased: Lumenurgy (level 4)
Character Level Increased: Level 4 - Maximum Virtue +1 (6/8)
Focus Point +1 (1)
 
The screams intensified, until a murderous shriek killed the sound around them.
The lumen winked out. Stump steadied himself against a rock. He blinked, but the world was blurry. A ringing in his ears gave way to a muffled voice.
"Death, then," was all he heard before the hands were on him.
He struggled, looking up, blinking at the fuzzy shape. He tried to speak, but a quick pang of heat stole the air from his throat. His hand moved to the source of the pain and his fingers curled around cold. The hilt of a knife sprouted from his stomach.
There was a long flash of purple, and then she was gone.
The world tilted. Something hard cracked against Stump's cheek. He meant for words to roll off his tongue, but blood did instead.
Yeza…
Hands gripped his shoulder and forced him onto his back. The cultist? Don't hurt…
A round shape kneeled before him. It was shouting.
Morg… is that…?
The dwarf leaned forward, nearly covering Stump entirely. His eyes were bloodshot, and his teeth…
Why… are your teeth so sharp?
"Death," said the matrons. He saw them all. Yellow and red, blue and green. White…
Then Stump could see nothing but black.