Mirian awoke on the 1st of Solem, the year of Poclym 4851, for the 214th time. She stared at the hole in the ceiling where the temporal anchor in her had come from, all those years ago. She looked to the side where her roommate Lily was still asleep. She had long ago given up talking to her. The conversations had become rote, the reactions predictable. She was incapable of understanding what Mirian had gone through. Seventeen years in the time loop. Their friendship had fallen apart gradually, but to Lily, it would again seem instantaneous.

Mirian rose from her bed slowly. The tasks before her were innumerable, but she couldn’t bring herself to hurry. She’d dreamed of the Divir moon. She’d stood at its edge and looked down to see Enteria below her. Her father—her birth father, not her adoptive one—had spoken of what it was like to become unmoored from the experiences of the people around him. Even a three-hundred year old necromancer could build relationships the other person remembered, though.

At least she had the other Prophets.

She’d called for them all to gather in Florin City again. Liuan had been told to leave her RID agents behind. If Gabriel had brought allies the last time, Mirian hadn’t detected them. Ibrahim would also be in attendance. She had no idea what he would do. At least Jherica, only recently broken out from the sleep curse Troytin had put him under, wouldn’t have any elaborate subterfuge or questionable motives. Hopefully, their cognitive capabilities would recover.

She dressed, then headed to the plaza in front of Bainrose Castle, then blinked below it, making it to the conduit room where the Elder creature waited for her.

Hello Eyeball, she thought to it.

YOU ‘LEARNED’ TO COMMUNICATE REMOTELY BY EXTENDING YOUR AURA, Eyeball loudly thought back at her. HAHA. IMAGINE GAINING CAPABILITIES IN SEQUENTIAL ORDER.

Mirian hesitated. You know what I’m about to ask next, of course.

OF COURSE, Eyeball said, its strange skin flashing different colors in amusement.

If I asked you to open the Gate on the Divir moon… would you? She pictured it in her mind, high above the Mausoleum of the Ominian. She had visited it in her dream. Somehow, her dreams were tethered to the Ominian, and her soul walked about freely. Only last cycle had she finally mastered her understanding of the soul enough to open the great doors of the Mausoleum as a soul.

It wasn’t Eyeball that answered, though. Conductor appeared suddenly, the eyes along its carapace narrowed, the teeth in its flesh bent towards the other Elder creature. NO, it said.

I THINK IT SHOULD COUNT, Eyeball said. BUT ULTIMATELY, THE DECISION IS UP TO THE HERALDS.

Conductor began to glow slightly, its skin taking on red and black colors, like it had become more like lava than flesh. HE WATCHES STILL. THESE FIELDS MUST REMAIN UNBURNT. Mirian took a step back, feeling intense mana buildup. Given how mentally powerful these Elder creatures were, she’d always tried to be respectful, but here, she could get a sense of how dangerous they were. Conductor may have looked small, but its soul was burning as bright as the titan Apophagorga.

Eyeball poked Conductor with one of its tentacles, then retracted them, shimmered, then disappeared. It reappeared a moment later as Conductor vanished.

WE HAD A CHAT. A VERY LONG ONE. I THINK OPENING THE GATE THERE WOULD BE VERY FUN, BUT WE DECIDED THAT YOUR TOTALITY WITHIN A SINGLE POINT IN TIME MUST BE THERE. AND THE PACTS ARE ENFORCED. BOTH OF THEM.

Mirian nodded, heart still pounding from Conductor’s little display of power. Somehow, the Pact was related to Carkavakom. Two pacts? The first one was obviously between the Elder Gods and humanity. But what’s the second one?

I HEARD THAT

, Eyeball said. OBVIOUSLY I CAN’T ANSWER OR I’LL GET YELLED AT. ‘AGAIN.’ Its carapace flashed with laughter after the word ‘again.’

Open Mahatan Gate, please, she told the creature. There was a pulse of mana and she felt the Elder Gate beneath Torrviol opening.

It had been a few cycles since she’d done it, but Mirian went through the process of retrieving the jeweled lotuses from Prince Rehiz’s palace and bringing them back through. Then, it was a matter of talking to Archmage Luspire and the various professors she wanted researching. She doubted Jei or the other professors would make much progress on conduits, but her father had recently instructed her on energy transfer techniques, and some of them might be applicable. She left a list of sequences for Professor Torres to experiment with.

Then she changed the Torrviol Gate’s destination to Palendurio. That would shorten the cycle slightly, since the Palendurio Gate didn’t correct the energy imbalance in the leylines as well as connecting to the Mahatan Gate. Still, a few days was a small price to pay for the benefits of coordinating the Prophets.

Hopefully.

It seemed simple to Mirian. Enteria would be annihilated if they didn’t fix things. Therefore, they should all work to fix things. It was simple enough her little brother Zayd could understand it.

And yet, it all came down to politics. The other Prophets not trusting each other was nothing compared to the distrust among the countries they’d need to manipulate. They could all agree that something needed to be done, but the nature of that change was the sticking point.

In Palendurio, Mirian once again used the fake gold ingots from Mayor Wolden’s house to get all the gold she’d need for the cycle, then stocked up artificing supplies and bought a new outfit. She was so incredibly sick of the school uniform.

With that done, she took the train to Florin City. She started by renting out the apartments they’d need, then reserving the Starcrest tower.

Ibrahim was the first to arrive. Mirian learned of this when she heard a commotion going on in the lobby of the apartments.

“—summon the guard! Good sir, I must ask that you leave!” one of the servants was saying. Ibrahim was easily holding one man in the air by the scruff of his shirt. Two well dressed men were on the ground, rolling around in agony. He’d done something to disrupt their souls.

“Ibrahim. What are you doing?”

His shirt was caked in old blood and stained in sweat. He’d probably run here, and he certainly hadn’t bathed before coming. Ibrahim shrugged. “They attacked me.” The shirt he was holding ripped, and the man collapsed to the ground.

Mirian raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Ah! Lady Sulalnahr,” the servant said. Mirian didn’t want to use her real last name because her adoptive family would be arriving in the city shortly and wanted no connection the other Prophets could detect. She couldn’t use ‘Nezzar’ either, because that could lead someone to her connection with her birth father, Gaius Nezzar. Somewhere in the world, there was probably a sheaf of papers connecting the arch-necromancer Atrah Xidi to his real name.

“Summarize, please,” she said, keeping the haughty tone she so often saw in rich people.

“This—this man here was most insulting. He said…. he said…”

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“I said, ‘Ah, here’s where the parasitic worms gather to feast on imported flesh.’ They took offense.” He looked around. “I really ought to destroy this city.”

“Not today.” To the servant she said, “This man is an honored guest of House Sulalnahr. What are the damages for the furniture and garments?”

“He—”

“Is it against Florin law to cause offense?” she asked.

“No, my Lady, but—”

“Is it against the law to commit assault?”

“Well… erm…” The servant attempted to make himself smaller, not wanting to get on the bad side of either the rich men lying on the ground nor the noblewoman he’d offended.

Mirian flipped him two gold Florins. “One for the lobby, the other for their clothes. If they wish to pursue legal action, please let them know I will be doing the same.”

Ibrahim looked at her. “I thought you didn’t care if anyone knew.”

“Let’s take a walk in one of the parks. Get you some new clothes on our way.” Once they were out of the building and strolling down the street, Mirian said, “Not generally. But here, it would just cause a stir. I don’t want to deal with declarations and all the inevitable meetings and political maneuvering that comes with that. This is the path of least resistance. Is that what you normally do? Proclaim yourself Chosen?” The Isheer had a different term for Prophets.

“I name myself Chosen. Whether or not they understand what that means, I leave to them.” Several people shied away from Ibrahim as he strolled down the street. His broad shoulders and tall build made him intimidating, and that was before the bloodstains.

“That did seem to be the pattern with the others. Have you dreamed of the Mausoleum again?”

“Yes,” Ibrahim said. “Two needles now. You know anything about that?”

So he saw. The dreams must have some sort of linearity, or if it’s not linear, it appears so to all of us. “The first temporal anchor is Sulvorath’s. The second… I don’t know.” Hopefully, no one else has figured out how to remove a temporal anchor. But if they’re having trouble with the four-dimensional mathematics behind ‘blink,’ they’ll have trouble with that too. Unless someone’s been holding back a lot. Or, there could be time travelers in Tlaxhauco or Zhighua. Or on the other side of Enteria, for all we know.

“Concerning. So what is your plan?”

When they’d last talked, they’d mostly debated. After that, he’d mostly trained with the arch-necromancer, and then he’d asked Mirian to kill him to send him back. This was the second time they’d talked. It was strange, walking next to a man she knew more from the frantic articles of newspapers. It felt surprisingly easy. “First, uncover all the Elder Gates of Enteria. Figure out what configuration will maximally lengthen the cycle. Next, develop a way to stabilize the leylines. Currently, the idea is to use leyline conduits. Meanwhile, end the use of fossilized myrvite, as it’s the precursor to the leyline instability.”

Ibrahim burst out laughing. His laugh was loud and genuine. He didn’t seem to at all care who heard him. “Ah, forgive me. Did you seek to cage the sun next? Perhaps raise a new continent, and sink the ones that offend you?”

Mirian’s face twitched, but she suppressed her anger. “I understand how impossible it sounds. Nevertheless, I see no other choice.”

“I would think the obvious solution is to right what has gone wrong in the Mausoleum.”

“Yes, well, that’s still going to involve the Elder Gates. You know where the Mausoleum is?”

The dervish shrugged.

Mirian pointed through a gap in the buildings. In the day, when the sun was far enough away it was visible, the Divir moon looked like a dim star.

Once again, Ibrahim was caught off guard. “Wait. You mean to say…?”

“You might wish to look into a dervish form that can help you fly,” Mirian said. “And eschew breathing.”

“How do you know?”

“Sio Jherica figured it out. I just confirmed it. And that’s just getting there, never mind ‘fixing’ it.”

“Hm,” Ibrahim said, losing some of the carefree attitude he’d been cultivating before. Hopefully, he was beginning to see that he’d missed quite a bit in his relentless campaigns.

Maybe.

Mirian had heard from Nicolus that people didn’t really ever change. She’d also heard from Lecne that they did. The problem with the time loop is that Mirian never really could tell if they did or not because her sample size was too small. No one in the time loop changed unless a Prophet interfered.

They visited a tailor’s shop first to order a set of clothes for Ibrahim. He went with the traditional south Persaman style. A gold florin got them the promise that the sizing adjustments would be made by the evening. In the meantime, they bought a robe to cover the nastiest stains on his clothes.

They then walked to one of the parks. Several gardeners were at work trimming hedges and cleaning detritus up. Viridian would tell them to leave it, she thought. She’d been thinking a lot more about the professor of Myrvite Ecology’s philosophy.

“Why are we here?” Ibrahim asked.

“Because it’s beautiful,” Mirian said, and sat down on one of the benches.

Ibrahim looked at the bench for a moment like it was some sort of Elder artifact, then sat down next to her. “It still feels strange to… not be doing.” He watched a colorful bird flit by, then added, “I sat in meditation most of the last cycle.”

Several people were out for walks. They stayed far away from the two of them. “If you want to talk, we can talk. We’re the only people that can really understand each other.”

“I’d rather not,” Ibrahim said.

That made Mirian feel worse for him. All that death he’s seen. Trying to keep it inside. More fuel to burn the fire inside him, I suppose.

“What did the necromancer teach you?” he asked.

“Quite a bit. Some lessons on breaking curses, though I ended up using him to break Jherica’s curse instead of wasting the cycles I’d need to learn it. Some lessons on siphoning. Mostly, we focused on energy transfer and the runes I don’t know.”

“Hm,” the dervish said.

He may hate Rostal, but he sure does act like him, Mirian thought. “Have you learned any arcane magic?”

“Some.”

“Artifice?”

“Very little.”

“It would be useful to get leyline detectors down in Rambalda. At the end of the cycle for now, but getting them at the start could prove invaluable.”

“Why? We know what the leylines do. We know where they go.”

“Leyline energy pools beneath Elder Gates. If there’s one near you, I want to know. Better yet, you want to know.” Mirian wasn’t planning on letting him deliver a sneak attack through Torrviol or Palendurio, but she did want to chip away at his resistance to her plan and start him on the path towards being useful.

“Fine. You can teach me?”

“I can.”

He stood, having sat for all of a few minutes. “Good. Then let’s get started.”

***

For three days, Ibrahim fumbled his way through artifice lessons. He was terrible at it. Mostly, he kept forgetting how the flux glyphs changed function based on the adjacent glyphs, which caused several small fires.

It took you years to get good, Mirian had to remind herself. That didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Then, the others began to arrive.

Liuan Var was the next to arrive, stepping off a ship from Mercanton. As far as Mirian could tell, she’d arrived alone, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t ordered her agents or priests into the city via a different ship. Sio Jherica arrived the day after.

“Wow!” they said when Mirian showed him the apartment they’d be staying in. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one with the fountain inside. And that’s genuine gold and emerald on the chandelier? Fancy, but it seems a bit of a waste.”

“You’re coming from Vadriach University,” Mirian said.

“So?”

The University had spell engines powering force-wall doors and force-disk elevators and was covered in lights and illusions meant to impress. Far more money had been put into it than to this place. “Never mind. Anyways, I’ve added wards in your quarters already for privacy. You can check the glyphwork if you want, I’ve hidden it beneath the flagstones in each corner.”

“Will that be… necessary?”

“Hopefully not.” She looked at Jherica. “You’re not… paranoid?”

“Should I be?”

“Sulvorath betrayed your trust and cursed you, damning you to sleep for at least a decade. You’re not worried something like that might happen again?”

Jherica’s face twitched slightly. It was brief. A tiny crack in their facade that lasted only a heartbeat. “I try not to worry about that sort of thing,” they said cheerfully.

Mirian left, not particularly sure what to do with the Akanan professor. She had a sinking feeling about it all. They should be able to drastically speed up the research I’m trying to do, though.

Gabriel was the last to arrive, coming into the harbor two days late, much to Mirian’s annoyance. As soon as he arrived he sent a messenger to let her know, and Mirian told the others to assemble in the heights of Starcrest tower.

The Second Council of Prophets was about to begin.