The map had been made. Obieth was under training, and Pollen was settled and had her new defenses. Aethril was fairly confident that everything would be fine in the spare few days she'd been gone, and it was a hell of a journey through the Nest to reach the core.

She'd worn thick, flat boots for the very occasion, and the loose linen clothing she often did when she practiced magic. A bag of supplies to last her the journey there and back was attached to her shoulder. Heavy, but it'd been heavier when she started.

The Skystone spire was somewhat of a comfort to see when she'd stepped in through Polaris, but she didn't stop to gape at it. She had business to do and the sooner she got back to the Palace and got into a bath, the better.

There was a muted click of hard-soled boots against the cave floor as she wandered along diagonally to hit the cave wall, and then followed that wall along until she'd reached the somewhat out-of-place doorway. The bag was taken off and dumped nearby it, and for a few spare seconds, she stood quietly in front of it.

Then, a delicate hand knocked upon the stone, and she peered inside.

"You should get a proper door," came Aethril's immediate response. Her tone was sharp; finely-honed, and critical. The rough edge of her boots clicked against stone as she entered the yawning cavern, narrow eyes taking in the scenery.

A moment later, her hands clasped behind her, glancing up at the huge owl. "Do you not deem me worthy?" The Hand asked with a slight bite, teeth clicking. She would show him her worth if not. She was tired and achey from the journey over and she sure as hell didn't have the time to mill around answering questions. "I thought you gave trials to those who ask, and I'm asking."

With a sharp breath, Aethril was bracing herself a little. "Can we get started?"

Aethril shrugged off Emuh's-- well, screaming. Aside from the slight quirk of her lip shifting upwards (oh, how she did love the validation of being better than most) there was generally no response. With clicking boots she followed Emuh along until he was swallowed by the dark and she found herself at a path.

The Hand didn't know Orion too well. She'd only gone there on occasion to view the coliseum and the creatures brawling inside. She cared very little for whatever else had been inside it; her attention in this Nest was always focused on Cepheus and the Spires.

Her mind was running regardless as she scanned the room. A few buildings. One seemed open, but everyone seemed to be hiding. Rebels? It seemed a little likely to her. Although she was approaching the right-hand building she was keeping a distance from it, sucking in a short breath.

A flash of magic and from the ground lifted an oily tentacle; rising slowly up from the dirt just in front of the doorway. The tendril pushed against the door to open it up wider, bending slightly out the way for Aethril to see inside of it without her actually entering it.

The oily appendage fell out of her grip as mice were crunched underfoot and something came snuffling. Aethril had seen a great many monsters in her day-- and she'd seen a great deal of aggressive monsters. They were difficult to control, quite often, but valuable weapons to have under one's belt.

The Hand licked her teeth, a twinge of something close to hunger lurching in her gut. The Creator's magic came to her fluidly-- a vast improvement from when she'd just woken up --and bent to her command. She focused on what little of the beast she could see from her distance, past the doorway.

Whatever it wanted. Power, perhaps, or just a meal? Did it just want to taste blood between its teeth, or to rip flesh from bone? It could have whatever it'd like for a small price: loyalty, protection, safeguarding Aethril with its life. The magic was subtle, a whisper of a suggestion.

But, just in case, Aethril was taking a precautionary step backwards.

Beautiful. Hulking, huge, frothing out of the mouth and drenched with blood. "There's a good Hound," she cooed to it, affectionately-- and she may have even dared to pet it if something didn't take her attention away from the Chaos-addled creature.

Voices. People running. She felt exactly what the creature was feeling-- Chaos chattered away at her head, rebels! She didn't want them to get away, but...

Aethril stood for something very specific. In fact, she'd been preaching at Pollen and Obieth on it for the last month: the rebels are bad. They'll attack the innocent. We're meant to protect them. While Aethril could care less what collateral damage happened to spill over at the cost of mopping up the nest, she didn't want to come across as, Creator forbid, a hypocrite.

A hand lifted to the hound. "Wait," she whispered, and repeated her previous spell. This time, however, instead of pressing intentions onto something she was looking for intentions from one of the fleeing creatures-- who were they? Why were they running? Where were they going? Anything to indicate their innocence or, perhaps, their gult.