Qaqqaqpijjairli Sikittoktaseq
Kylm Tribes, The Surface of Let

Freezing rain draped itself across the mountain coastline in sheets of icy white. Dotting the sea cliffs were huddled groups of tents, aglow from fires within. They circled a main, larger tent, intended for the community as a whole to fit within. Littered throughout their camp were large, monstrous whale bones, and often the rib bones were curled over their most central paths with hide stretched across them to form covered walkways. Currently, their camp seemed decorated more festive than usual, with brightly colored flags and painted idols, and paper lanterns strung between bones and tents. Dogs and children scurried along with flower leis around their necks, joyous and excited. Adults, too, seemed merry despite the bleak and chilling weather. Though they mostly were gathered in familial tents or close to them, many of them were heading to—or already inside—the community tent at the center of the village.

It was, in truth, a small village compared to others; less advanced and nomadic, this tribe relied heavily on their environment, however harsh it may seem to outsiders that lived in the comfort of warm farmland and sun-dried valleys.

At least, it was. They had all seen better days, from the frozen coasts of the Kylm Tribes to the warring borders further inland—and while they had survived so far, it was not easy. Their struggles were mounting and they had turned, finally, to magic. If it could help them, it could shift their dynamic dramatically. The Kylm Tribes often had shamans or the like, but the magic that they were seeking did not exist in their culture. Not yet.

Their Chief had sent for a witch, and he had arrived recently; the festivities were for him, and although they had a sparse feast prepared for him in the community tent, it was not much. He refused their kind offerings, inviting their children and dogs in from the rain to eat in his stead.

He did not arrive in complete silence. Whispers and murmurs bubbled through the village like the winds through grassy hills: was this necessary, and was this safe? Were they to be damned for asking fate for such a gift, the gift of food they could no longer find themselves? They were a whaling village, mostly; and while they only took one or two whales a year, it was enough to sustain them both in goods used and goods sold. However, the magic that fed them all was drying up. It was receding, escaping, and leaving them all to starve and to die. The oceans were scarce, the forests were bare, and the weather was sweeping up the ghosts left behind.

The witch had answered their call for help, and despite their hesitations, they were grateful.

He sat beside the Chief, who had welcomed him with a thick fur coat, ashen and black; it puffed around his shoulders and was long enough to cover his woolen pants and brush his feet, where he had also been gifted thick boots to complement his new coat. Again, it was nothing they could spare, but they would not leave him to freeze. At his side rested his walking stick, slightly taller than himself when standing, and tucked within the crook of his arm now as he sat, looming over him and the Chief as they talked quietly together while the rain hissed against the tent.

Although he had been given a hat for his head, he had refused this particular gift. His head was bald and heavily tattooed, and these symbols were significant for him, so much so that he did not want them covered. His eyebrows and medium-length beard were thick and black, frosted at the edges by the cold that bit through the air. This actually complimented the fading ice-blue of his eyes, a stark contrast to the black obsidian stone that cut through the middle of his forehead and split at his nose bridge, arching like fractal scars across his cheeks.

Outside, a wave of sing-songy cheer rose like chanting, and the Chief pushed up from his spot beside the fire. The witch followed, leaning heavily on his walking stick to stand, and nodded to the Chief to lead the way.

The rain had let up—it was time.

As the witch followed the Chief to the docks of a lake tucked between two mountainous cliffs, he noted the number of villagers that had begun to follow them. By the time the lake was in sight, the entire village was amassed behind them. The Chief made an effort to convey that the dock was slippery and dangerous from the rain, and the witch nodded his understanding before taking a final look at all the lives that hinged on his ability to do something he had never done before: summon food.

And not just any food, but an entire whale.

Truthfully, when their request letter had reached the hidden gorge and the other witches laughed or scoffed at it, he could not deny the desperation in which they had written and struggled for translation; but they didn't need it. They were starving. Dying. It was evident that this was their last hope and their last resort. He would not condemn them without at least trying. And how would he know if it could be done, if he did not try?

Icy eyes were stuck solemnly on the sunken faces that stared back at him. If he could not do this, he would not only fail himself and these people but Let, too. His face upturned to the distant sun that speckled through the dense, dark clouds; and not too distant, a looming planet that had always beckoned them with the promise of another civilization, another chance, but it was always just out of reach. Everything felt like that, now. Where once their moon had thrived and flourished, it was now gasping for air—for life—just like the rest of them.

He gestured to the Chief to give him space, and the ancient Kylm man retreated back to his villagers, clearing the entire dock for the witch to work freely without worry of harming any of them.

As the clouds cleared above them and more sunlight dappled the clear waters of the lake, the witch could not help but frown. The idea was that they would pull a whale from the sea and trap it within the lake, where either the freshwater would kill it or the whalers themselves. And as he thought of this, he took a moment to glance at the lake shore where they were already piling into boats with harpoons and rope. His focus returned to the water before him and he closed his eyes, holding his walking stick with arms outstretched; he fell into a deep meditation, the obsidian on his face crackling with energy—and the sounds around him fell away, replaced by the thunderous rumbling of silence.

A whirlpool began to twist its way into the lake, drudging up dirt and muck from the bottom, clouding the otherwise crystal clear waters.

"By my name, Onrinaun, I beg of thee," he whispered, voice fighting the pull of magic and water that began to spray around him, "answer me." Icy eyes opened to view the whirlpool, coat billowing in the rush of air that began to encompass the entire lake. He reached blindly with his magic, coursing through the entire freezing ocean beyond, and closed his eyes again to focus more. "Winged One, the Father, can you hear me?" he breathed, pleading, "Do not let these people die..."

---

White wings rustled against his back; someone was calling to him. Tamulus lifted his eyes and looked into the sky, lazily gazing at the planet on their horizon. It was not the molten chill he felt when Lord Dhracia had called to him, but instead, it felt... coldly warm, and sad. A witch, perhaps? His brow crinkled into a frown and he set down his tools to take wing. He could not pinpoint the location of this sensation, but it was far from him, from the Vaa. Was it one of those captured...? No, it felt new and dangerous, reaching too far into shadows it should not know exist, and should not have to know if he could help it.

---

Onrinaun took one final, deep breath, and poured all of his magic into the waters of the lake.

Find it. Find it. Find it.

His eyes squeezed at the effort, and the faint image of a whale indeed bloomed within his mind's eye. It was dark, shadowed, as if very deep within the ocean and very far away—except... Glimmering on its head was a stone. Blue. A stone? He hesitated, and the whirlpool groaned against itself in the sudden lapse of magic.

It wasn't... it couldn't be.. one of the animals, one of theirs...?

But the magic was cast, and he could not pull back now; there was a shake within the earth, a growl of air and rock clashing, and the whirlpool erupted into a geyser as a body was thrust into it, disrupting the flow of water and churning it like a storm would the sea. The boats crashed against the shore, whalers struggling to right them and fight the sudden white-capped waves that assaulted them, cries and gasps of villagers rose to fight the sound of the storm, but Onrinaun was focused solely on one thing: the Lapis Lazuli.

As things settled, he was speechless. Why...? He had not expected this to work, but he would not abandon an entire people without first confirming such a thing was impossible, but...!

"No," he croaked, swallowing his own disbelief in a gulp of pain. "I'm sorry," he said beneath his breath, falling to his knees, catching his face within the palm of his free hand while the other gripped his staff. He sobbed. He sobbed for the creature he had summoned; it would be intelligent, like him. They would kill it all the same. They were starving.

"I'm so sorry," he choked, tear-streaked face again turning to the sky. "Save it, Tamulus. Please." And the toll of such magic claimed him, cracking his stone, and he crumpled into a fetal position on the frozen dock. He would sleep deep in the regret of damning one creature to feed the hundred; but was that worth it, for a village to live? An animal was fine, there could be more of them, but this one? It was as unique and forbidden as he.

---

Whale would find herself emerging from her chrysalis into a pull of strong magic, a whirlpool encasing her beneath the dark waters, and expelling all others away from it; if she had the time to panic, it would be suffocating, strange—until finally, the roaring of twisting water would cease and she would find herself in a derelict lake, choppy water smoothing as magic faded around her.

And above her stretched an endless sky, dotted with puffy clouds; she would find the sun to be blinding, and warm, a warmth she had not known in the caves. The air was crisp and fresh and clean, rejuvenating, even. In the sky was the looming sphere of a planet, but she would not know what this was—and as she might marvel at the mountains and sky and sun, the sharp cry of those surrounding her would break the illusion that this was a miracle.

The whalers had overcome the surge of breaking, angry water and rowed their boats out to the epicenter of it all, where indeed, a whale had been summoned. They cheered and chanted in a language unknown to Whale, and before any of them could spear her with a harpoon, they simply marveled at her presence. It had worked! It had worked, and they were saved!

One of the whalers yelled something, and the others repeated it at once—and loosed their harpoons toward Whale, trapping her within an already inescapable prison—would she scream out to them, plead for her life, fight back?

On the dock, the Chief had hurried to their fallen witch, but upon finding him alive, and only unconscious, his eyes turned toward the lake where red was beginning to cloud the clear and beautiful water. The villagers behind him had begun to chant, all moving together in some sort of waving dance, fluid like the sea. They were so thankful. They sang of Onrinaun like he was a new god. He'd be carved into their history and lauded for this gift he had given them.

---

Tamulus faltered in flight as the sudden burst of magic rippled across Let—through her sediment and through her air. Every hair on his body rose and he felt the cold fangs of fear sink into his heart. What had just happened? He pulled in his arms and beat his wings heavily, sparks of lightning crawling across his body as he flew as fast as he could.

@Whale

Whale emerged from her gemstone oddly alive.

There had been no pain, only a gradual regaining of awareness, and then the feeling of gemstone cracking and falling away. Light, and the familiar sensation of water against her blubber. Her hide was unmarred by gouges or lacerations, her bones intact and strong as ever. The only noticeable difference had been the new markings down her flanks and flippers: a rainbow of flashing shapes that she'd been able to turn on and off at will.

She'd spent ages in the chamber, just examining herself--flashing the bioluminescent markings on her sides, slowing turning to make sure everything still worked, but most of all just basking in the joy of painless existence. Whale had been certain she was going to die--and yet she was alive and well, and there were the sounds of more gemstone cracking, others emerging.

No sign of the Kraken. It had been victory after all.

When at last she needed to surface for air, she began to rise--and then the magic seized her. It wrapped around her in a whirlpool of churning water, and Whale rumbled with sudden fear. She was deposited unceremoniously into a lake--cold, like Pisces had been, and she took a grateful gasp of air. And here was where she realized she was not in Pisces after all--there was no rock above, only endless air, and the singular orb that lit the cave shone with a brightness that hurt to look at.

Cheers rose from every direction--from the bipedal people (like Attikias and Madhukar) standing on contraptions that floated in the water--yet Whale couldn't understand a single word. "Who--?" she had time to wonder, before the first harpoon struck her back.

Pain exploded where it struck her, and red bloomed into the water. Then there was a second harpoon. A third. Whale cried out, with pain and then with rage. She had just miraculously survived an encounter with a Kraken. Artio had just been restored. And now the peace was shattered again by--"REBELS!" she bellowed with a vicious conviction. Perhaps the same ones who had murdered Artio and trapped Farina! If she was ensnared in another battle so soon--even if she would die again--Whale would make it her final duty to ensure that as many of them as possible would never have the chance to hurt another innocent.

"DEATH TO NEMEAN!" she cried, surging at a whaling boat, aiming to crush it with her snout, topple it with a flipper, or to sink others with her massive tail. Whatever it took to take down as many as she could, before her flagging strength and blood loss took her down.

The Kylm were a methodical people. Whaling was their livelihood and they were good at it, better than any others on Let; it was known, and all whaling goods came from their tribes here in the north. As such, the whalers had speared the summoned Whale with an accuracy that ran in their bloodlines, and with the ferocious hunger that threatened it. But when Whale bellowed out to them with words, the hollering and chanting that danced with their victory soon died. They looked among themselves for answers as she charged a boat, thrashed, fought to live—as other whales did, but her sound was not the haunting call of whalesong.

A whaling captain turned to look to their Chief, calling out something in a deep, northern language. It did not take a translator to hear the confusion laced in his words: "Did it speak?" They struggled to keep their boats upright against her well-earned anger.

Likewise, their Chief was also stunned. He stepped to the edge of the dock and stared at the creature thrashing against bloodied water. Rebels. Death to Nemean. He blinked, returning the same confused look to the whaling captain that had called out to him.

"Yes," he called back in the common tongue. A rush of hushed murmurs tore through the villagers behind him as the rumor spread like fire on a summer day. Some of the whalers dropped their rope and shook their heads, fearful, praying for forgiveness. Others held steady, waiting for the command of their captain or their Chief, but neither could say what was right or what was wrong in this situation. They needed the food, the fats, the oils, the bones—they needed this.

"WHALE, WHO SPEAKS," called the Chief from the dock, gripping a support beam with one hand and his coat with the other. "WHAT ARE YOU?" Had the witch tricked them and summoned this on purpose? Was this some cruel test of fate, and would they be damned if they failed it? Of the warring nations, he had never heard of the Kylm referred to as rebels; they were, or tried to be, a neutral party. And who or what was Nemean? Something to be feared? If even the magical animals, so rare that even myths of them were legends in bedtime stories, wanted it dead?

---

Tamulus was nearing the edge of the Vaa. He was closer to the source of the magical surge but still traveling—and hopefully, he could reach it on time, but for what or why or whom, he was not certain.

@Whale

The whalers paused, spoke among themselves--but as far as Whale was concerned, they were still her attackers. Their harpoons remained lodged in her flesh, leaking red plumes into the lake water. Then there was the fact that they'd summoned and attacked her in the first place.

But when yet another lunge at a whaling boat still sent no rebels toppling into the water and their leader (she assumed) called down to her, Whale finally stilled. Grey eyes glared suspiciously at one boat after another, searching for a trick of some sort. Was the speaker a ruse, someone to distract her while more rebels rowed in and drew weapons? And 'Whale, who speaks'? What kind of sentence was that? Of course she spoke! She'd always spoken!

"I AM WHALE," she declared, though her voice was strained with pain. "WHO ARE YOU?" None of this was making sense--why would they summon her if they didn't know who she was? Had they, perhaps, meant to kill someone else? It was difficult to think through the pain, and she soon gave up the struggle to get answers in the most direct way possible.

"ARE YOU WORKING WITH NEMEAN?" Whale demanded. Either way, if there was a way out of this without dying, then that was preferable, even if they were rebels. Once had been enough, she thought grimly. And if she survived, she could at least warn Farina and the others: the threat to their peace was not yet gone.

The whale stilled, and it sent chilling stabs through the Chief's bones. It seemed to understand them. Indeed, then, it had spoken, and it could understand them just as well. He kneeled on the dock so that he could be closer to the water, staring out toward her and the boats with pensive, old eyes. It confirmed that it was whale and asked who they were. Whale...? Did whales have no names among themselves, or was this one just named Whale? Perhaps her name was lost in translation to them.

"I AM CHIEF AMAROK-KIGUT, WE ARE THE KYLM," he called to her, wrinkled hands gripping the final plank of wood that separated him from the waters. Again, she spoke of Nemean. "WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT NEMEAN IS. IS IT A NEW NATION? A NEW TYRANT?" Bold words from a neutral party, but they had their opinions too, of course. How would the magical animal know of this Nemean, anyway? Was it some sort of dark nation that hunted them, like others had hunted the witches?

"WHALE, PLEASE, WE ARE SORRY," he added quickly, the pain of their transgression quivering in his voice. "WE DID NOT KNOW... YOU ARE A MYTH, TO US. THE WITCH ANIMALS," he continued, and the choked sounds of his voice confirmed his genuine sorrow. "WE DID NOT KNOW..."

He glanced back to Onrinaun, who still lay unconscious, and wondered if the witch had known, too. But the tear-streaked lines on his face suggested that this was as unexpected for him as it was for them.

Finally, the captain of the boats, closest to Whale, called out to their Chief in the same unknown language as before—should they remove the harpoons? The Chief didn't know. If they removed them, the injuries would probably bleed out faster. What had they done? What were they to do? He shook Onrinaun vigorously, begging him to wake. Maybe the witch could perform some kind of healing magic? Close the wounds...?

---

Still some distance out, it did not sit right with Tamulus that the magic had been so powerful so quickly, and had faded just as fast. He was flying as fast as possible, but it would still be some time before he reached the epicenter. He could not even fathom what might have happened. Did the Verin Empire do some sort of... ritual? Tried to meddle in more things they did not understand? No... it had been more toward Tesarill, further north even—the Kylm? Worry crinkled his brow. They were not known to be as adventurous in magical feats as those that enslaved the witches. Was it some sort of fluke, then?

It pained him to sift through the shade of the unknown. He only hoped he could reach the source in time, before—before what? He didn't even know. It angered him. It reminded him how much he hated all of this, everything, everyone—and the faint image of her face danced across his mind. Why? Why were they so obsessed with claiming power they didn't know? Why did she have to fucking die for it?

A rumble of thunder grew around him as he paused in flight to recollect himself. Thick, dark clouds enveloped him as if the sky were hugging him, begging him to keep it together. A large, hot strike of lightning tore from his place in the sky to the ground below, sparking a fire in some Verinen outpost or village—he didn't care. And he hadn't meant to, really; but he swallowed his pain and continued, correcting his flight path and leaving the sudden, vicious storm to eat through the land beneath as it chose.

@Whale

Kylm. Nation. Witch-animal. None of these terms were familiar to Whale, bringing a very familiar sense of frustration back to the surface. Why did this seem to be a recurring pattern? How did she keep getting into dangers she never fully understood? The only consolation about it all was that Chief Amarok-Kigut didn't seem like he knew what was going on, either.

Yes, astonishingly: Whale believed him. Even though the summoning magic couldn't have been anything but intentional; even though the myriad harpoons lodged in her flesh were clearly no accident. They had meant to kill someone--something--but it had not been her, and they were sorry, and they were not working with Nemean. She did not think, with their clear remorse, that they could be the same rebels who had been so cruel.

But they had meant to kill someone. And even if she had not been the intended target, she was here, and here were the consequences. Whale could not forgive that easily, not when she was bleeding into the water and someone else in her place--smaller, perhaps, or without her shielding blubber--might easily have been dead.

"Why did I--what did you try to do?" Whale asked, much of the anger dissipating from her words. Yet some remained in a hint of accusation in her next question: "Who did you... think it would be?" Who did you mean to kill? was what went unsaid.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking another breath to steady herself and gather her words. "Nemean is a betrayer," she began, bitter anger creeping into her voice at the reminder of her crimes. "She is cruel. She tore apart two people who loved each other, and trapped one to suffer for years in boiling vents." Whale could hardly imagine the pain. It must have been worse than anything she or most others had ever known, no matter how many battles they had braved--to be surrounded by it, constantly suffering, constantly burning for who-knew-how-long... She should be punished, if only the Gembound knew where to find her and had the power to do so.

Her turn for questions, although the situation didn't quite seem balanced in the way that 'turns' implied. "Where is--this place?" It was clear by now that she was not in any of her world's familiar lakes and waterways. "Why is there... no rock above, and only one orb-light?" Just where had they brought her? (And would she ever make it back?)

It was beyond surreal to know that he was speaking with one of the magic animals they had only experienced through verbal stories, ancient paintings and art, and small, woolen or yarn toys made for children. Like witches, they were aware the mythic animals all had a stone from which their magic was born, but even the idea of them was rare. For one to be in their lake was more than they could have ever dreamed of. And too, the lake did not seem ill-fitting for her, or perhaps they had not had a chance to notice behind the clear threat to her life from harpoon alone.

When she asked what they had tried to do, he was silent. They only killed when necessary, they used every piece of any animal they had to take, and they prayed for the spirit to return to the world—but would the animals understand, the way that they did? They could have exploited whaling over the years, made fortunes, but they did not. When the tribe needed a whale, they took one and sold or traded what parts of it they could spare for other needs, such as medicinal items or inland goods.

"A whale," he answered finally, voice coarse with the admittance that yes, they had intended to kill whatever popped into the lake. "It is how we live—it... is nourishment, for our hungry, for our cold, for our sick. We only kill when we need to, but we have not taken a whale in..." his voice trailed off as he tried to think of the time. "Years, maybe." He was uncertain. "We were desperate! We called on the aid of a witch but we did not expect... we could not have known!" Again, his anguish was genuine.

As Whale spoke of Nemean, he made mental notes about her character: betrayer, cruel; would sacrifice loved ones, boil others alive. He shook his head. What a terrible-sounding woman. Behind him, the villagers continued to talk quietly among themselves. Some of the children were fearful of Whale, while others were delighted. A few even dared to run toward the waters, cheering for her, crying for her, begging their parents to save her.

It seemed as if all of the whalers now had dropped their ropes, some even rowing away from her while others remained where they were. And although they could not understand her, it was clear she and the Chief were having a conversation. Again, many of them began to pray and beg for forgiveness, fearful that they had sentenced a god to death.

The Chief tried to keep his focus on Whale as best as he could.

"I am glad that we do not know Nemean," he commented after a while. "What flag does she bear? Is she Verinen?" His tone was accusatory, as if something as ugly and mean as Nemean could only be Verinen.

He blinked at her questions. "This is the northern coast, the Kylm Tribes," he said slowly, scratching the base of his beard as he tried to figure out what she meant by the rest of it. No rock above, only one orb-light...? "Are you... from Let? The oceans?" he asked, trying to clarify her questions. "Did you live in an oceanic cave?" Was there some kind of hidden whale community that lived in a secret place with some kind of special airway or air-pockets to sustain them? Or did it have to do with the stone in her head, the magic that made her intelligent and special and unlike normal whales?

Had she come from the planet that hung heavy in their sky, and did she refer to the moon—to Let—as the "rock above"? Was there a second star they could not see...? Or perhaps were stars more visible from the planet? He had just as many questions as she probably did, but he only hoped she would live long enough for both of them to find answers.

---

[ Tamulus arrives next round! ]

@Whale

Whale watched, a vague sense of dread building up as the Chief further hesitated. It spread like a flash flood through her, horror sinking deep into her heart as he admitted: a whale.

It took several beats of appalled silence for his words to fully penetrate. A whale. They hunted whales. They killed whales. They would have—eaten her, after calling upon a witch to tear her from her home. Why, then, were they shedding tears when they had gotten exactly what they wanted?

"WHAT," Whale demanded, new fury rising into a bellow, "DIDN'T YOU EXPECT?!" They had meant to summon a whale. She was a whale, and she was here! How could they bring her here with the intent of killing her, and change their minds so quickly and dramatically?

Or was it all a ploy, the regret a lie to bide their time until the wounds killed her? The harpoons individually might not have been a threat, but there were many, and could she recover before an infection like the kraken's set in and the injuries festered? Would falling into her stone even save her again?

There came the distant cries of their children from the shoreline, and Whale trembled slightly. That could not be faked, could it—? They claimed only to want to feed themselves, to survive, and she could not fault that. And to attack the whalers with their children watching and waiting? It would be unthinkable. But she ate, too, and never people! Always the tiny krill-like creatures that swam in the water, and the myriad little fish that were never sapient. But these people hunted whales, and Whale was a whale—the only whale she knew of—and she had never known a whale that could be considered prey.

"'Desperate?'" The disgust was plain in her voice. "I would not summon and eat one of you, if I were desperate! I wouldn't dream of eating another person!"

It occurred to her, with the harpoon ropes slack, that she could swim or dive—but where did she have to go? The mountains surrounded her, and it was clear from the surroundings and the Chief's words that she was far from her home in the caves. Let was not a room anyone had mentioned or named; and they did not know of her world either.

Whale had never felt so utterly lost. In the fight against the Kraken, there had been a clear goal: defeat it, and reunite Farina and Artio. Impossible though it might have seemed, at least she had known what she was supposed to be doing and what direction to go in. But what was she meant to do, surrounded by a whale-hunting people in an utterly foreign world with no way of returning? What could she do, with only a bubbling pit of fear and disgust in her chest?

She seemed to deflate slowly, rumbling a small "no" at the question about Nemean. What did it matter if the Kylm had their own enemies in the Verinen, when Whale was stuck in this lake thanks to them? Even without Nemean's involvement, things weren't looking all that good—or clear. At least if they had known of Nemean, it would have been clear that they were bad. But there was nothing to guide her, to tell her what to do or how to feel about it all.

(man i sure hope nothing bad happens)

The Chief hesitated on her question; her anger was justified. "We didn't expect... you. A magical animal, you are—you are mythical, to us! We did not know you even truly lived, or still existed..." He did not know what else to say for it. It was true, they still had intended to trap and kill a whale. Of course, they did not like to kill any animal as slowly and painfully as it happened to the whales, but they often had no other choice. It was not as easy as striking something through the heart with an arrow, for example. Even small whales, like her, were difficult to kill with the mercy and humane skill they had mastered for other creatures more feasible.

She would never dream of eating another... person.

Did Whale consider herself a person? Did she live with other magical creatures, witches, or humans for her to know other persons?

"We... we would not, either, Whale. We only take the lives of the animals when we need to. Killing—murdering—other people is taboo." And punishable by the fates, perhaps; he shuddered to think what might happen to them for the crime they had committed.

Overhead, storm clouds began to brew, quickly and suddenly. Thunder rumbled from the distant mountains all the way to the lake in one low growl, heralding the arrival of Tamulus, and as he stopped to hover above them, the thunder came to a halting crash in a single strike of lightning that found its purchase in one of the whaling boats. Several shocked screams rose from the boats and the villagers alike as the stray boat and its pieces burned in the aftermath, several whaler bodies popping up to float at the surface, while others struggled to hang on to their last breaths.

But the eyes of the whalers, the villagers, and the Chief scarcely graced the destruction—they were, for a few moments, completely locked in the awe of the winged man flying in place above their lake; and almost just as quickly as they processed this, their eyes fell, most hidden in hands, and the entirety of the people fell to their knees. They had seen him, they had touched him with their vision and they were all fearful of the punishment it meant. This was the Winged One, the Father, and together with the Mother, Let, they were the Nourishment. He was a god they painted and revered and prayed to, but never one they saw or heard or knew. He was as mythical to them as Whale was, except they knew he was real. For them, the stories always claimed he was hiding, sleeping in some unknown mountain, or on some faraway island. The story changed with the people, but it was always the same: he was real but he could never be found.

Yet, here he was.

He took a moment to survey the area, formulating questions he had, mostly: why was there a whale in the lake? It did not sit right with him, and it only took a moment more for him to realize the whale was Lapis Lazuli. He frowned. On the dock was the crumpled body of an Obsidian—his. With gentle wing beats, Tamulus gracefully glided toward the dock, landing quietly beside the Chief who still cowered, his fear in reverence of Tamulus.

But to Tamulus, it was all annoying. Look at him, talk to him—he was not all-knowing and he wanted to know what the fuck was going on here. Kneeling beside the witch, Tamulus breathed magic into him, caressing the crack of his obsidian and healing it, gently brushing water from his bald head, and whispering something to him. Tamulus let his wings rest loosely at his sides as he worked with the witch, coaxing his consciousness back from the brink. As Onrinaun slowly began to come to, Tamulus turned to the Chief—eye-level with him as they both found themselves kneeling—and snapped two fingers to get his attention.

"You are Chief of this village?" Tamulus asked.

The Chief wanted to whimper and cry, to roll onto his back and expose his belly for Tamulus to gouge, but he could not; as a leader, it was his job to address even the most difficult of visitors.

"Yes... Lord—sir—" he answered, and stumbled for an honorific.

"None of those," Tamulus said and dismissed the stuttering with the wave of his hand. "Look at me," he asked, reaching out to guide the Chief's view by the tip of his chin, angling it upward so that Tamulus could look into his eyes.

To be touched... by god...! The Chief held Tamulus within his old, tired sight, lost in the purity and immortality of the Father's crisp blue eyes. Tamulus was radiant to them, perfect and ageless.

When nothing else came from the Winged One, the Chief tried to look away, unsure why he would be commanded to hold something so rare within his sight. And for the few seconds that passed between them, Tamulus only glanced out toward the lake once—he'd deal with the Lapis Lazuli soon.

Onrinaun moaned and rolled, pushing himself up with a shaky arm, and rubbing his eyes with the other. Beside him clattered his staff as it rolled onto the dock. With a few steadying breaths, he finally opened his eyes and took a quiet second to himself to gather the information before him; but not fast enough that he would not first be touched on the arm by a warm, welcoming hand. His attention slowly focused on it, then followed the arm to which it belonged up to the winged body of Tamulus.

"My Obsidian, what is your name?" Tamulus asked, his voice gentle and soft.

"Onri... Onrinaun—Father!" Onrinaun began but gasped at the realization of who was with them.

"Shh, shh, do you know what has happened here, Onrinaun?" cooed Tamulus, his face twisted with genuine concern.

"It is—it was a terrible mistake, my Father," he said, voice bubbling with the threat of crying. "I am so sorry. Please, forgive me, forgive these people—I do not know how it even happened."

Tamulus clicked his tongue. "Yes, but what happened?" he asked, patience waning quickly.

"They were desperate, the oceans are more scarce and they were desperate for a whale. I thought if maybe we could find one, summon it to the lake... but what magic is that? I did not think it would work, but I felt their hunger and their fear. I had to try. They are also the Children," explained Onrinaun, fidgeting with his hand as he struggled for the details. "And I saw her, the whale, the Lapis Lazuli, as we connected and I brought her here—how? Why?"

A frowned drug the Winged One's lips down. True, it would be some kind of feat to summon any creature, let alone a whale, but it probably only worked because this one had been magically attuned. Magic begets magic. Tamulus turned to view the Chief, who had long since dropped his gaze from both the Father and the Witch.

Then he stood, shaking out his wings and reaching back to twist his hair, pulling it back into a loose ponytail. He had work to do here and he needed to clean it up before some other forces came searching for the source of magic themselves. They would seek to claim it, to imprison the witch, the Chief, and the whale. He sighed heavily, folding his wings around him like a cloak.

"It should be known, from this day forth, the use of magic in this way is Forbidden," he said loudly, his voice booming with the thunder that echoed him. "If you are starving, then you will starve. If you cannot sustain yourself from the animals that remain and the plants that struggle, then perhaps you are meant to starve." Had it all been a mistake? Their Children? He clenched a fist at the thought of them, and the disparity between the humans and the witches—who were all the same, to him. With Let, he had made both, but when one grew jealous of the other, when the Mother sacrificed herself for her Children, he abandoned them. And he hated them.

It was not their fault, though. Let was dying because of the magic that stewed beneath it. But maybe it would have died without that, too, eventually. With the way the nations warred, over and over again, it was exhausting on both the people and the land.

He looked down to Onrinaun and offered him a hand.

"Stand, my son," he said gently, and Onrinaun did not hesitate, grabbing the outstretched hand and pulling himself up with the aid of Tamulus. "You must flee. They will come for you, to claim you as they have others."

Onrinaun shook his head and pointed weakly out toward the whale. "This is my fault. Let me atone, I will give myself for the Lapis Lazuli—"

"Do not fret for her. I will return her to where she has come from," he promised, cupping Onrinaun's face between his hands and pressing his forehead against the witch's, against the stone. His stone. Let's stone. The Obsidian. It reminded him briefly of their first children, some who were behaved and some who were not, how they would come toddling over to complain about the silliest things. For a moment, rare and secret, he smiled, and his heart ached for a more simple time. When their family had been small and few, with Jupiter creating the animals, and even crafting those that his children designed in their pure little minds.

"Now go," he whispered, pulling away, composing himself to be cold and strong and distant. As he should be. It was Onrinaun's fault that Let had died, as it was the Chief's. As it was... his.

Onrinaun did not hesitate a moment longer, as he leaned to grab his staff and began to quickly hurry through the villagers and the mud, back to the tents where his horse would be waiting.

Tamulus had nothing more to say to the Chief or the villagers. Without this whale, most of them would likely die. He could see it in the skin wrapped on their bones, children as feeble as a leaf that could be taken by the wind, elders whose will had long left them. But he was not so magical that he could give them fertile and lush fields, or another whale, or any source of food. They had already done that once, over thousands and thousands of years. The magic was simply not here anymore, and as Let died, so too would the rest of them. Eventually.

He stepped off the dock with ease, flying low and gentle toward the Lapis Lazuli, wondering if she were still conscious. He frowned at the blood loss, the harpoons, the tragedy of it all—and as he approached her, the whalers did not look at him. He did not care now.

"Lapis Lazuli, you are far from home," he commented, lowering himself onto the nearest boat so that he could look at her, perhaps even talk to her if she were still alive. Her chrysalis had not tried to form around her. Perhaps the magic was too weak on the surface for them to recover as they did in the caves. It was all borrowed, anyhow, and hers would inevitably return to the well as the rest of it did.

@Whale

Magical animals were... mythical?

Whale would not have called herself magical. She had not practiced much with her spells, and they were far weaker compared to the ones she had seen others use in the quest to save Artio. Magic had been everywhere in the caves... but they had not expected it?

They thought I was a prey animal, she realized finally. One of the acceptable ones--the Lesser Gembound who never held magic within them. Other whales lived here, on Let, yet they were not intelligent as she was. Was that what they had meant? It sounded like it, judging from the words that followed, but Whale had no time to respond before a sudden storm gathered, a bolt of lightning striking one of the boats.

Her eyes widened--was this winged creature some new threat, come to kill all of them? He was magical, too--and before she could second-guess herself, Whale was diving toward the flaming wreck. Even as the drag of the water on the ropes and spears tugged at her wounds, she was reaching out wing-like flippers for the struggling whalers and rumbling an offer to use her back as a makeshift boat to take them to the surface. It was more a knee-jerk reaction than anything, an instinct to save them without much reasoning behind it. But even when her mind caught up with her body, Whale would not regret trying to save them. Even if they had hurt her--they had not thought she was a person, too, and she was not dead. Their spears had wounded her, the severity compounded by their sheer number, but Whale held hope. Perhaps they had not struck anything vital, perhaps the bleeding would soon be stopping, perhaps her stone would save her as it did before. No matter what, she would not let more of them die while she still lived--Whale believed in proportionate retribution, and anyway their children were still on land. Would any good person let them watch their parents drown or burn?

Only when she had risen to the surface with as many as she could would she turn her attention to the conversation between the Chief and the Winged One. They were too far away and quiet to hear, but--at least there was no more lightning and destruction.

The magical being turned to address the villagers, and Whale flinched at the cruelty of his declaration. How could he speak so callously of their starvation? And she could not deny that his anger itself was justified, but--she glanced at the floating bodies of the whalers. They had regretted it, and they had halted in their attack. What a superfluous gesture of force; what unnecessary deaths.

"My name's not Lapis Lazuli." The words escaping from her mouth surprised herself, too. Shouldn't she fear this one, who wielded lightning so casually it seemed to come as easily as breathing? But she'd never been one for deference. "I'm Whale. Who are you?"

She was silent for a moment, watching the huddled forms of the villagers by the shore. "Can't we help them?" she asked in a forlorn voice. "If they're starving here--? Can we take them back to - to the caves?" Whale hoped she'd used that word correctly. "There's enough there for lots of people, I think..." How many were here? Dozens, even hundreds? They had to try to save them, right? They couldn't watch them starve. "I can tell them what's okay to hunt--show them which ones are people, like us..."