(92) Foundation

The gate closed behind Nephthys, and she started forward without looking. No footsteps echoed through Nemesis’ halls, her feet not touching the ground. It was late, and most would be…actually, would they be asleep? 

Nephthys had hardly done more than close her eyes for a few minutes since arriving in this world. She seemed not to require sleep, or require it so little as to be negligible. The few times she had closed her eyes were mostly due to mental fatigue, not to any physical exhaustion that would weigh her eyelids down.

Sometimes, if enough had happened or she had been concentrating intensely, she needed a mental reset, which was accomplished by closing her eyes and emptying her mind for a moment. Did that count as sleeping?

The double doors opened silently, the blood–red reflections from the crashglass glinting off the walls. There was a small tickle in her gut as she descended the stairs, spying the pulsing glow from the Altar below. For some reason, this place made her nervous. She was not sure why, as, despite being suspicious of everyone all the time, she felt no indication that Akhenaton had nefarious intent.

There was an obvious answer to her anxiety, though perhaps she did not want to acknowledge it. This was the Altar of Truth, a being apparently powerful or respected enough for the literal God of Death to yield, and She must surely be paying attention to what happened here.

“Welcome, Mistress,” Akhenaton greeted, sitting cross-legged on the blood pool.

She nodded to him in greeting, quickly scanning the room. It was unchanged, as expected, though Moirenea’s presence at the side of the Altar was surprising.

“How goes the training?” she asked.

Moirenea opened her eyes, or probably did. Her veil hid her expression, so it was difficult to actually discern, but the way she looked up suggested she was concentrating with her eyes closed previously.

“It goes well, Mythmaker. The girl is receptive and eager to learn, though she is already quite knowledgeable. What we wish for her is not much more than what she already did as a servant of nobles,” she explained.

“Using people rather than weavers seems an interesting choice,” Akhenaton observed.

“Weavers are skilled, but they are entities from a different plane. We have to assume powerful people will be able to pierce their disguises or, at least, sense that they are different from us,” Nephthys said.

“Ah, hope for the best, prepare for the worst, then,” he said, nodding.

“What news?” Nephthys asked, getting to the reason she was here.

“There is a surprising lack of information. Though you were somewhat involved in the revolutions, Sardvend does not speak much about you. I have been tracking agents deployed to seek information about Nemesis, but they seem independent of whatever push Sardvend must undoubtedly be making to recapture Radaar.

“That said, there is a small group that landed near Longshank Pass, which may interest you, though I suspect there is no reason to seek them out. You will cross paths eventually,” Akhenaton reported, a wry smile beneath his blindfold.

“I suppose it is not unreasonable that word of us has not spread. I was little more than an observer in their affairs, and any territorial rebellion would certainly take precedence over gathering information about us. 

“You seem to indicate that word of the rebellion has already reached Sardvend, though, which has begun mobilizing. That seems rather quick,” Nephthys reasoned.

“Indeed, though I cannot say for certain. It is difficult to gather information in only the brief moments before and after Nemesis is named, but it seems they have some means of quick communication with Radaar. Whether that means quick communication with one of their agents already present in Radaar or some form of more advanced spycraft, I am unsure,” he finished.

Nephthys nodded, stroking her chin in thought.

“Better progress could be made if you were to transport my children to Vadenlaud, Mythmaker,” Moirenea offered.

“Unless I am mistaken, you cannot have an unlimited number of weavers summoned, correct?” Nephthys asked.

“That is correct, though it would not be difficult to spare a few—” Moirenea started.

“No, thank you. We do not need to spread ourselves so thin at this moment. We are strong, but our numbers are few. If we overcommit, we might find that we lack the manpower to alter the course of the momentum we have built.

"We take it slow and focus on our immediate surroundings first,” she finished.

Moirenea nodded, and Nephthys turned to leave.

“Keep me updated on any developments,” she said without turning, raising a hand as she departed.

Those two are an odd pair, she thought, the vibrant red doors closing behind her.

She supposed it made sense for the information officer to linger around the Altar. Its potential for espionage was an unparalleled advantage, even if the guild’s current lack of notoriety hampered its effectiveness. Still, what would those two talk about when there was nothing to report? Did they just sit in silence?

“Horemheb,” Nephthys greeted, spotting a familiar face—or, well, not a ‘face’ exactly.

The ghostly figure turned toward her, clasping his hands behind his back, though he did not exactly have hands to clasp, which made the motion strange. Actually, finding him wandering the halls alone was, itself, strange. He was one of her military captains, so the sort of languid wandering he seemed to be doing did not fit her image of him.

Squinting, her vision widened and shifted, and she could see a small object, a pin, held behind his back, where his hands would be clasped and covering it, if he had any.

“Oh, are you looking for Eirene? I am afraid her task beneath Promise City has her…uh…‘occupied’, let us say. She will not be back for a while,” she explained.

The pin he clutched was something she recognized as an enchanting tool. There were many implements used in the craft, but a pin like this would be used to hammer a pattern into a surface, as far as she understood. 

She was beginning to regret not putting much effort into enchanting during the Prelude days, but then again, would the game version of enchanting even translate into this world?

Horemheb nodded, turning and floating away, little wisps of black smoke trailing out of the holes in his robe.

Weird.

She continued down the hall, eventually arriving at the door to the entryway that connected the front gate to the audience hall, the place that Horemheb seemed to have come from, interestingly, and found another familiar face waiting.

“Daniel, are you really planning to use your last night here fretting rather than resting?” she chided.

Daniel jumped a little from where he was fussing with Rovik’s reins. The beast himself slept soundly against a wall, oblivious to his owner’s own insomnia.

“Ah, well…I suppose I was having trouble sleeping. Always easier to relax when I’m near Rovik and my things,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I thought you would be excited to return home,” Nephthys mused, folding her arms in front of her.

“Home is wherever Rovik is,” he replied quickly.

He seemed to grapple with himself for a moment, but eventually he deflated with a sigh.

“Guess I’m just nervous, is all. Heard that Radaar isn’t really the same as when I left it,” he explained, rubbing his hands together.

“That is true, certainly, but I would argue that the parts of it you are concerned with are,” she answered, continuing when he looked at her with confusion. 

“The people are the same. The farmers left days ago, once the rebellions cooled down. They are unchanged. The roads you use, the people you trade with, they are all the same.

“The only thing that has changed is who sits in what chair in the highest towers. The land, its people, they remain hardy and stubborn, just as you left them,” she finished.

“Ha, ain’t that the truth! I once had an old lady haggle me to death for one copper—a single copper! She didn’t even care about the actual price. She just didn’t want to pay ‘full price’. Didn’t matter whether it was three copper or two gold I asked for. She’d buy it for one copper less,” he said, chuckling.

Nephthys shook her head with a small smile, and a small tear in space appeared next to her. She reached in and withdrew a thick woolen blanket, tossing it to Daniel.

“At least get some sleep. You might need that haggling energy tomorrow,” she said, turning toward a side door.

“Hopefully no one’s trying to haggle me before I even get my feet planted,” Daniel muttered, unfolding the blanket and sitting with his back against Rovik.

“I will find you tomorrow morning and send you on your way. Resume your normal route, but expect to hear from us again in the near future. The foundation is being laid, but we will not be able to begin construction without you,” Nephthys called over her shoulder.

Indeed, the trade route was coming along, but not all the pieces were in place yet. A reliable partner was secured in the south, but it could not yet be considered stable, not least because it had not been tested against Sardvend’s military.

The beginning of a convoy to run the trade route was also mostly secured. Daniel was a good man who could be trusted, and her Gloamwardens were training. It would take time for them to become a reliable force, but she did not actually need them to be capable of combating the entire Gloam on their own right away. All they needed was to be strong and knowledgeable enough to patrol the underground tunnel and prevent the Gloams’ encroachment.

However, the path from Radaar to Nemesis was between 1,500 and 2,000 miles long. It was a significant distance to travel, and that was before considering the dangers encountered on the way. 

The allure of goods from the Crater would no doubt draw merchants, but a waystation between the Crater and Radaar could serve both as a trade hub and a rest stop for those weary from the long travel.

The final piece of the foundation was to establish a valuable rest stop roughly halfway between the two endpoints, and a suitable location had already been identified. Whether they would welcome Nemesis, however…

“Hannibal, Thaleia,” Nephthys greeted, entering a small meeting room just off the entryway.

Hannibal smacked his fist against his chest, and Thaleia stood from her seat, mimicking the motion.

“Are you ready? Your objectives are clear?” Nephthys asked.

Thaleia, muscles bulging from black plate armor, nodded. Her skin began to crawl, as if it were a separate organism, and a thick black smoke covered her form, obscuring it. After a few moments of a sulfuric reek, the smoke dissipated, leaving a Thaleia that barely even resembled her appearance from moments ago.

“Glory to Nemesis,” she declared with a smile, her voice light and playful.