16 Composer

All demons carry the taint, and it is of this taint that other demons are born, when their fell presence. It is not the body that succumbs, but the spirit.

The very being of a person turns against themselves and becomes something of an incubator for a new demon.

To this regard, the researchers at the Prismatic Order have undergone many tests and experiments to discover whether the demons and vampires have close relations. Due to the nature and similarity of their breeding and bearing, it cannot be ruled out that vampires, too, count as a classification of demon, though there are major differences in biology and capability.

Should you encounter a demon, do your best to slay it, and if you cannot, ensure that your own demise is painless and pure. Your soul will be guarded by the Auroral Council, and you will be valorized for your bravery in the face of unfashionable sin.

Should you survive, however, it is essential that you inform your local authorities so that a member of the Prismatic Order may be dispatched. 

You cannot risk infecting others with your taint. You must do your duty as a citizen of the Republic. Nation over self. Remember that, always.

-Demons: Dangers Posed and Proper Responses, essential Yellowstone Republic reading material for school children ages 12 and older

16

Composer

It took Shiv a while to figure out how the belt buckles on the demon worked. Apparently, it was pretty simple. You just slid the pointy end into the slot. That, he wasn’t used to. For most riders back on Blackedge—those who had aerial mounts or for the large dimensionals summoned for use in the Chevalier Corps—there was usually a more complicated process of hooking and chaining and binding oneself to the mount. There were even those who equipped their harness to their soul. Not so here. 

The moment he and the Umbral all clicked their belts in, the beast took off, gliding through the air. Its flight was smooth, its ascent quick. Its wide body seemed very stable at the top, and as Shiv observed its form, he could see strange strands of hair-thin fibers flicking beneath it. That was different.

He still didn’t know how he felt about riding on a supposed demon. But so far, it hadn’t attacked him or started turning other people into demons. Was the Republic just openly ignorant, or are they actually hiding this thing from us? He wondered. He remembered the primer he read as a child—something about how all demons carried the taint, and one needed to reach the Prismatic Order if they ever encountered such a creature. Failing that, the primer even encouraged suicide, which, even at the time, felt like a heavy ask for a group of children. But the demon was practically the least severe inaccuracy he’d got from the Republic by now. 

Shiv remembered the High Vampire, what he learned about the Necrotechs, what he thought he knew about the Abyss…

Looking around, he studied the Umbrals, checked the Weaveress, and gazed upon the grand city passing by beneath him. There were people everywhere on the bridges and streets. Illusions danced through the air—making a common day here seem as intense as the Festival of the Eclipse back on Blackedge. What’s more were the magical infrastructure. There seemed to be translucent lanes in the air, and demons and dimensionals of all varieties floated, sometimes carrying people within themselves. Shiv saw a near-transparent sphere-demon with two cute dot-like eyes and a series of wings that should have been too small to heft its load. Within its being were over fifty people, all seated on layered rows of protective cushions. That was a sight for the eyes.

“You’ve never been to great city, have you?” Uva asked.

“I—uh, no,” Shiv said, trying to keep himself composed. “It’s very large and impressive. Sorry about the architecture that I broke on the way down by the way.”

She let out a hum. “Yes. We—we pride ourselves on maintaining our sanctuary. The Composer gives much to us, and we only try to earn her affection any way we can. Regardless, what happened earlier was a lapse in our security. It won’t happen again.”

Shiv grunted. “If it does, and I’m around, you can count on me to help out again.”

The Umbral Psychomancer shot him a brief look and smirked.

Another note danced through the air, shaking reality itself. Shiv turned and saw more threaded webs gliding alongside the demon. The webs did not move through those designated lanes; they simply went wherever they desired. Each web was aglow with a strange magical aura, and as it passed by, Shiv couldn’t help but feel the immense power it helped within.

That’s a lot of mana, he thought to himself. He could feel his own Biomancy, but the thing about magic, as he was learning, was that you needed specific attunements for your mana field to sense others. Leveling different magic skills meant that, though one might have an extremely powerful field in Biomancy, they could possess only a paltry field in something like Psychomancy. He looked to Sister Uva and considered something: Valor did say that spending more time among Mind Mages could help you develop such a skill. He might need to test that if he got the chance in the future.

As they flew closer to the Symposium, Shiv studied the murals lining each of the great buildings. Many of them depicted Umbrals on their knees, weeping, while Weaveresses reached down to help them up. That was a common story between all the depictions. And some depicted everyone in combat and strife. It was always the Weavers and Weaveresses in the roles of protector and guide, while the Umbrals stood in rows ahead of them against the enemy hordes.

He wanted to ask for more details about the relationship between the Umbrals and spiders, but to his surprise, they were already drawing close to the Composer’s home. The demon had provided the smoothest flight he’d ever been on—which wasn’t saying much, since it was also the first flight he’d ever been on. “You’re a pretty steady guy, aren’t you?” he muttered to the demon.

It let out a loud, low moo and Shiv blinked.

“She agrees,” the Weaveress said. 

“She can understand me?”

“Demons are creatures born of promises and contract,” she explained. “They are dimensionals that understand the meaning we speak—no matter what language.”

“So, does that mean it’s telepathic too?” Shiv said, feeling a little worried. “If everyone had a mind magic skill, then—”

“No, no,” the Weaveress placated him. “It… it is different. Intent is its own thing. Some dimensionals are so alien, or so simple in mind, that comprehension and mutual understanding are impossible. But what makes one a demon is specifically that they can understand meaning, and they can be bound to us through ordained contracts. And the demon you talked about earlier…”

“The one from the Realm of Flies,” Shiv answered.

“The Dimension of Flies and Plague,” Uva corrected. “That, that is a war form, something to be called only in times of conflict. If you summon it without blood to be shed and flesh to be contaminated, it will turn on you. It will be offended. The way they experience existence, the way their Path works is different from ours. They are penalized and suffer from the poison that is peace.”

Shiv tried to imagine that—suffering for not killing someone, or not fighting and slaughtering. It was hard. He enjoyed fighting, but even if he didn’t do it, it didn’t come as a penalty to him. It seemed that the system had different rules for many people, but then again, wasn’t that the nature of the Paths? Maybe just less severe than what it meant to be a demon.

They came to a stop on a platform leading into the Symposium. A similar prismatic crystal hovered atop that platform and created a crack in reality for the Demon’s departure. As each of them dismounted, Shiv muttered his thanks to the demon, and it let out a loud “moo” again. The Weaveress released a melodic laugh.

“What? What did they say?” Shiv asked.

“She said you were very polite and that, hopefully, the next surfacer is as polite as you,” the Weaveress replied.

“She really said that?” Shiv asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” she said. “Most Umbrals, they… uh, they are rather reserved.”

Shiv looked at the other Umbrals, and they eyed him, all of them hiding smirks. Uva especially. “I can see that,” Shiv managed.

As they ventured closer to the Composer, the sound and song grew louder. He could almost hear someone singing in the distance—sweet and high, pulling at his heartstrings. While they walked, the Umbrals and the Weavers took on solemn expressions and crossed their hands over one another. They walked with heads bowed, and Shiv tried to mimic them. He wasn’t sure if he got everything exactly right, but since no one complained, he assumed he was doing fine.

A wall of dense, fibrous webs opened before them, flashing a light as a doorway appeared. Beyond that, a glistening path led deeper still, as another group of Umbrals and their Weavers walked out. Some were crying, some seemed elated. As they passed by, a few of them eyed Shiv, their faces turning from rapture to curiosity, and he passed them without a word, wondering what he was about to face. 

The Composer—a god, Shiv thought to himself—or what supposedly was a god. There had never been a god before. He knew the Twilight Republic had its own divines. Supposedly each of the Auroral Council were living avatars of the Republic’s gods—Champions, in a word—but after a life of ostracization and the general scorn he experienced at the hands of Clerics and War Priests alike, he did his best to spurn the churches and the faiths as much as they spurned him. 

Among the things he did was literally never learn the names or scriptures of any of these gods. Didn’t matter if he was going to offend the priests—they already hated him—so he simply didn’t waste his time with religion anymore.

The Composer felt like a different story altogether. She was here, present in the lives of her people, and so far she didn’t seem all that malicious. And then his mind reeled as he saw something. Around him, the silken cocoon bore murals of its own—not even just murals, but weavings. Weavings of color. Weavings of a small spider maiden wandering through the darkness of the Abyss. Weavings of her helping the first Umbral she came upon, composing a lyre, playing songs, weeping over the fallen. So far, it seemed like she was a goddess of mercy—a savior to the Umbrals more than anything else.

Her song’s not half bad either, Shiv thought to himself. Then he focused on one specific mural. This one was different from all the others. It depicted the Composer at war. She stood upon a cliffside, her visage masked in a scowl of anger, facing dragons, vampires, and seemingly undead—er, Risen—alike. There was also another faction of strange creatures he couldn’t fully describe—their bodies alien, like broken pieces forming the vague visage of a humanoid. She played her lyre at them, and it seemed that lightning and calamity fell.

Foreshadowing: The Composer rests her fingers on her great lyre. This instrument—the embodiment of her true feelings and her true soul—had been with her since the very start, since the first time she heard what she learned to be music. By this point, her lyre had well over a thousand strings, each tuned to a specific note—some so subtle in vibration that the mortal ear simply cannot comprehend it. 

But then there were strings that she simply never played during times of peace. Strings that compelled the world to react in certain ways. Strings so severe, so painful to hear, that they could make existence scream, that they could make fire curdle, that they could make water combust. She stared at these strings as she sensed the approach of an old friend, an older enemy: Valor Thann was coming. 

And so she prepared to make use of her entire lyre.

As Foreshadowing passed, Shiv felt Uva pulling slightly on his new shirt. She stared at him. “Yes, I know. It’s very pretty. Now, we need to go along before someone else takes our place in attendance. The Composer is very, very busy.”

He nodded and followed along. Foreshadowing had given him a lot of information he didn’t expect. It increasingly felt like a Diviner’s skill—and a very good Diviner’s skill at that. But still, to get a glimpse into what a goddess was doing, and what she felt toward Valor Thann… and that’s another thing Shiv thought to himself. Valor—everyone seemed to know Valor. Everyone seemed to respect him, but also be completely terrified of him. 

Even a goddess had a plan to kill him, and he was sealed in a dagger. And then he recalled how Valor talked to him about Marikos. The dragon apparently had a grudge against Valor, too. Shiv shot a look at the dagger, his eyes narrowing.

Just what did I bring here?

Well, he was going to get his answer soon. As another few doorways opened, Shiv found himself being led through a wide waiting lobby that seemed to circle the interior of the symposium. This space was filled with very well-dressed Umbrals and even larger Weaveresses. The Weaveresses themselves wore regalia of gold and gems. Their heads were adorned with those focus crystals Shiv had seen mages bear, but these were ornately carved with twisting horns. 

Immediately, he felt several fields slam into his mana field—immense Biomancy fields. Gods, they must be master level at the least, he thought. It was like he was a small pond being engulfed by numerous seas. And his presence didn’t go unnoticed either; practically every head turned, sensing his entry. One would have guessed they all had some kind of high Awareness Skill. Shiv didn’t even have a Common Awareness skill, no matter how much he tried. Sometimes, it was just hard to develop a skill. 

He looked around, trying to keep his expression respectful and remain indifferent to all the tension he was getting. Back on Blackedge, when he had this much attention, it meant he needed to run—because more than a few things were going to be thrown his way. Here, however, they just studied him with absolute curiosity.

Then, to his surprise, another individual emerged from the group, different from all the others. Mechanical limbs whirred and whistled as its spider-like body skittered to a halt right before Shiv and his Umbral escort. The Deathless felt his breath catch a little. The Weaveress hadn’t been lying about the automata being everywhere. 

This one was practically a spitting image of the Composer, at least in general terms. Its lower body was all machine, with a tail that seemed like a wasp’s. Its upper body had the dimensions of a woman, but its face was blank. “We greet you, O Sisters and Honored Mother.” Its voice was soft and mechanical, like every automaton Shiv knew.

“We greet you, Speaker of the Exalted Mother,” the Umbrals replied as one, bowing low. Shiv mimicked their bow. The automaton then swiveled its head between the dagger containing Valor and Shiv himself.

“We heard there was a disturbance near the passage,” it said.

“There was,” the Weaveress accompanying Shiv’s group replied. “But we were fortunate.” She gestured toward Shiv. “The surfacer here, the outsider hero known as Shiv, was brave and decisive in protecting our sisters. More than that, he comes bearing auspicious things. The first is Valor Thann.” She held up the dagger and a series of gasps went up in the room. “And the second is grim tidings. It seems that Vicar Sullain has resurfaced.”

At this, the silence consuming the lobby died, and voices broke out all around him:

“Sullain ! Sullain, he’s back!”

“Will it be war again?”

“Sullain? Light take the Necrotechs for not doing what was necessary.”

Shiv looked around as he tried to keep himself still. His heart was pounding. Anxiety was crawling up inside him. He was fine with combat and talking to people, but this much attention from this many eyes felt… felt wrong. He needed to get out of here. He needed to—

“It’s okay. No one will hurt you here,” a voice sound in his mind.

It was Uva, using her mind magic. Slowly, Shiv controlled his shaking hand and nodded his thanks, rooting himself in place despite how much he wanted to run.

“Quick, then—we must not waste any more time. This is of utmost importance,” the automaton speaker said, gesturing and leading them through a narrow walkway.

After a while, striding through darkness lit only by dim strips of nightglass, they came to a large, hexagonal platform carved from stone and nightglass alike, in the form of a strange web. As they stepped on, Shiv directed his gaze to the horizon, and he saw the Composer—he saw how immense she was. The sculptures and representations failed to do her justice. She was at least the size of Sir Marikos, if not larger. Yet there was a greater magnificence to her, and a beauty that almost made him want to weep. 

Her hair flowed in silken strands of moonlight-kissed colors. Her body was smooth like marble—human in dimension but lacking any of the detailed features. It was as though she were a living statue. Her face was one of great beauty, resembling the Umbrals to some extent: large black eyes, pointed ears, sharp features. She played her harp close to her breast, and each string she plucked summoned ripples into existence. Ripples that created new strands of silk gliding through the world. The strands slithered past Shiv—past Shiv’s platform—and sank into the surrounding nest. Slowly, it began to make its way outside, with all the other threads he saw earlier, joining them in expanding the city.

Shiv then noticed how many fingers the Composer had. There were so many—so many for so many strings. It was uncanny. Then the humanity in her aesethetics started to fade, replaced by the properties of a spider. Her lower body fused perfectly into the rear bulb of a spider’s abdomen. Eight large legs ended in more hands—more fingers, these a mix between a spider’s palps and human digits. Just looking at it made Shiv feel uneasy. It gripped and stroked the webbing beneath, and her stinger— that wasp-like appendage—glistened. It was so much bigger and so much more wicked-looking than anything Shiv had faced before—and he’d been stung by a weaver back when he passed through the feral nest’s territory. Unlike their stingers, though, hers seemed carved and tipped from nightglass.

And slowly, the Composer played on, humming a sweet, gentle note—and Shiv’s worries melted away. There was nothing to be concerned about. No one would harm him here, not without angering the Composer.

He wasn’t sure how long he waited with the Umbrals, waiting for the Composer to finish her tune. But as she played her final note, he felt his heart ache, hoping to hear more. He was almost disappointed, but then the music ended—and he realized he’d been staring at her intently, barely blinking the entire time.

Slowly, the Composer regarded them. A curtain of smooth, white hair draped over one of her wide black eyes. The Umbrals bowed. The Weaver bowed. Shiv mimicked them. The automaton speaker, noticing his tardiness, simply laughed silently.

Then, in a burst of movement, the Composer was before him. She was faster than the raven-helmed stranger at the height of the man’s power—faster by far, and without any lingering destruction. The air did not break. No shock waves came. She was simply there, in front of him. In a moment’s notice, something inside Shiv quivered.

Can I reach this power? Would I be able to achieve this level of reflex? I have to. I simply have to! I would be able to run all around the world with that kind of speed.

It was then he felt another presence—an extremely subtle but absolutely immense presence. A final mana field was engulfing his, surrounding him, wrapped around him in a gentle embrace so soft he couldn’t notice it at first.

The Deathless blinked. She had Biomancy too, and hers extended—extended so far beyond his sight, so, so far. Did it encompass the city? Wait, if it did, then why didn’t she just use that to crush the raven-helmed stranger? Why didn’t she just…

“You have many, many questions. Your mind is like a maelstrom,” the Composer began, speaking directly to him. Her words were soft, but there was an iron beneath the silk. And no—more than iron—it was something nearly unbreakable. Something not known to man, at least not yet.

Shiv centered himself. He was talking now. To a goddess. First time for everything.

“You can’t blame me now, can you?” he said, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice.

The Composer simply smiled. “I suppose not.” She leaned back, and for a brief moment she looked skyward as the harp in her hand untangled itself, becoming strings, merging into the weave of her nest.

Shiv felt speechless. If she could do this… was that conjuration? What kind of magic allowed for this?

The Composer spoke again, ignoring Shiv’s wide eyes and slightly open mouth. “Oh, daughter mine,” she said, speaking to the Weaveress that accompanied his group. “You bring something to me. You bring something that I must see, that I cannot ignore.”

“I do, Exalted Mother,” the Weaveress said. “I bring you…” She held up the dagger containing Valor. “...the Cage of Valor Thann, with the great hero still within.”

The Composer just stared at the dagger for a long moment, her head the size of a small mountain, her eyes wide—young orbs larger than the sun hanging in the sky. “Valor,” she breathed. “Are you there? Why are you so silent?”

Valor spoke then. “Well it seemed impolite to intrude, And you know how much I like your music. When it’s not directed against me.” He finished the last part on a sour note.

The Composer laughed—and Shiv was surprised at how girlish it was. It was like a giggle of a small child, pure.

“In my defense, you were trying to assassinate me.”

Shiv turned. He couldn’t help himself; he stared at the dagger. “You were trying to assassinate her?” he said, incredulity apparent. He couldn’t imagine how one managed to assassinate something larger than a mountain. The goddess part didn’t even come into it yet. The Umbrals eyed Shiv with a mixture of exasperation and near-offense, but the Composer simply laughed again.

“Oh, He Who Stills Eternity would have found a way, I’m sure—as long as I didn’t stop him.” The Composer leaned closer. “And I did. I did stop you that time, didn’t I?”

Valor took a long time to answer. “Yes, you did. But—” He paused. “But—” 

“Yes, I know—you have your pride. You would have achieved your kill eventually and all that boasting. But still, I’m glad you have come to me. I’m glad that you have agreed to my terms. To serve under my nation as a true agent of salvation and justice.” 

Valor let out a long, suffering sigh. “Yes, well, you must forgive me, Composer, but I’ve heard this many, many times from practically everyone among the Five Great Faiths. I don’t mean to offend,” he said before the Composer could continue. It was like he knew she was about to speak. “I know you’re not like them. I’ve known you for a long time, but politics… it has a habit of making us compromise who we are.”

The Composer blinked, drawing in a deep breath before releasing it as a soft sigh. “It has a habit of doing that, doesn’t it? Well, it’s good that you’re here. We can discuss the terms of your release and what’s still required.”

“What’s still required?” Valor asked, sounding surprised. “What do you mean, what’s still required? You said you could get me out of this cage. You said you could break the seal.”

“I said I could,” the Composer replied. “I didn’t say I could immediately.”

“And once again I have been poisoned by the language of politics,” Valor growled. “What do you mean, ‘not immediately’? How long?”

“There are several things that still need to be acquired, and a certain Gate that needs to be closed.”

The assassin and the great hero known as Valor Thann simply let out a long hiss. “I’m going to be quiet for a bit, because I don’t want to say anything that offends everyone.”

“It’s probably for the best,” the Composer said. “Still, it’s good to see you again, Valor. Even this sealed sliver of you.”

Valor let out a huff, but there wasn’t any rancor in it.

“And you, child of the surface,” the Composer continued.

“Me?” Shiv said, surprised.

“Of course—who else? Aside from the other boy, you seem to know who’s currently being mended by my Biomancers.” 

Shiv thought about Adam Arrow and winced. “Yeah, I don’t really—”

“Come, come now,” the Composer said, her voice low with a warning. “Come, please. Not here. Don’t lie to me here. Never lie to me here.” With each word she spoke, her tone grew lower and colder, and Shiv clenched his fist, as he prepared himself to die fighting a goddess.

“I, uh…”

“But we don’t need to talk about that first,” the Composer switched, throwing him off. “Let’s talk about you. You, who hail from the surface. Tell me of your tale, and I’m sure it is a wonderful, exquisite tale of how you ended up in the deep umbra. It is a long way to fall.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “a long way to fall indeed. But since you can see so much, I’m sure you saw the little fight between me and the assassin—the one who wore the false face of a raven.”

“Yes. You slew him.” She nodded thoughtfully. “You took many ugly wounds.”

“And he died. That’s a good deal for me.”

“You’re very determined.”

“No. It’s just simple arithmetic.”

“Perhaps for you.”

And now, Shiv felt an undercurrent of subtext. There was something she wasn’t saying, at least in front of the Umbrals and the Weaveresses. She could see so much, his stomach dropped. Did she see my death too?

He met her gaze, and to his surprise, she winked at him, but said nothing regarding the matter of his unique skill. Instead, they pressed him to elaborate on his story—to tell them how he ended up down here. And so he did. He went into as much detail as he could, starting from the moment the raven threw him off Blackedge to where he fell when he encountered the Umbral group led by Sister Nomos—their fate, and his long trek to reach the Weave. He also briefly touched on Sir Marikos, but the mention of the dragon simply made the Composer groan.

It was such a human-like reaction, again, that Shiv took pause. The other Umbrals looked at each other worriedly.

“I swear, every time that fool does something stupid and horrible, he comes here, screaming for me to kill him,” the Composer muttered. “I should have never given him that blessing. I should have never told him that he was a good man. Why would I ever do that? Was I a fool? Was I Speaker?”

The mechanical Speaker simply shook her head. “No, Exalted Mother, you were simply too kind.”

“That’s called being a fool, Speaker!” the Composer said, her hands shaking as she spoke. She looked between her Umbrals, and all of them flinched under her gaze. Only Shiv continued staring, transfixed by the scene.

“You, boy—do you think I’m a fool?” she asked.

“I, uh…” Shiv muttered, trying to give an honest answer. “I don’t know. I kind of like you, and people have called me a fool, so… it takes one to know one, I guess?”

He was trying to be funny, but he caught Uva’s jaw drop in pure horror. 

But the Composer giggled, and then she started laughing—laughing and laughing until she was holding her stomach and her head was thrown back in guffaws, her dancing in the air like the cresting of great waves.

“Takes one to know one,” she said between laughs. “Oh, you’re bold—or just foolish.”

“Probably the latter,’ Shiv replied.

That made her laugh even more.

Well, that was a gamble that worked out, Shiv thought as his heart rate accelerated. It could have gone very bad, but then again—she’s a goddess. What would happen if she killed me? What could she do to my spirit? Broken Moon, I don’t want to find out.

As the Composer’s mirth finally subsided, she wiped what seemed to be glistening, crystalline tears from her face and placed them somewhere below.

“Ah,” she let out a long gasp. “I haven’t laughed like that in a bit. Thank you, Shiv.”

“Uh… you’re welcome,” Shiv replied, painting a smirk on his face—a smirk he didn’t feel, considering how fast his heart was pulsing.

“Still, Sister Nomos and her team…” The Composer’s expression went from joyful to solemn in an instant. “It is a great shame about their loss,” she said, “but it is a greater shame still that they did not heed the words of their Weaveresses. This was not a task for them. They were to deliver the dagger to a Legendary Weaveress, not carry it themselves through the wilderness. Ah. I suppose circumstances forced this.”

She looked to her Speaker. “How many did we lose?”

The Speaker was silent for a moment, and Shiv heard the buzzing within its skull as the automaton did its thinking.

“Still not conclusive,” the Speaker managed, “but we’re estimating somewhere around two million.”

“Two million?” Shiv gasped. “Two million? Two million what? People?”

The Speaker turned and simply nodded. “Yes. It was a heavy raid.”

“Heavy raid?” Shiv whimpered. “Two million?” He didn’t think there were more than fifty thousand people on Blackedge.

The Composer looked at him with confusion.

“Yes, it was a substantial operation, but why are you surprised? Is that not the numbers you’re used to?” she asked.

“No,” Shiv replied, his mouth slightly dry. “My home—uh…” He hesitated, unsure if revealing military information to the Composer might put Blackedge in even more danger. But considering they were being hammered by the Vicar and what seemed to be a Necrotech splinter group, he continued. “Blackedge has just fifty thousand people.”

“Fifty thousand?” Uva said, her eyes widening. Now it was her turn to be surprised. “You… you hold the mouth of the chasm with so few. Is the Curse of Light truly that severe?”

“Curse of Light?” Shiv repeated. He blinked and thought back to the Vicar. He remembered the beasts clinging to the great serpent’s ribs, and how steam hissed from them when the Light struck their forms. 

“Yes. When the Light strikes our bodies, it sears us, it burns us. You don’t know this?” Uva asked.

“No, no. I did see it. But… I just don’t seem to know much about anything. Not even about my own home.”

The Composer’s expression grew slightly mournful. “Well, regardless, it honors me and the rest of Weave that you made Sister Nomos’s sacrifice worthwhile—even if she did disobey direct orders. She was always a proud child.”

Shiv looked at the Composer. “Did you know her personally?”

“I know all my children personally,” the Composer said with absolute sincerity.

He couldn’t even imagine that. He could maybe remember the names of fifty people, and after that… things got a little hard.

“And you said you left them encased in ice, using Nomos’s own spear back in the Penumbra?”

“Yeah,” Shiv said. “I gave what was left of her spear back to the—uh…” He looked to the other Umbrals. “…to you guys. But I couldn’t preserve most of it, not with Marikos literally blowing a mountain apart. I didn’t know someone could channel that much fire.”

“Well, yes,” the Composer said with a slight sneer. “He’s quite destructive when he gets into one of his tantrums.” She hummed as she looked over the others. “Children, you may go. You have done me a great service in bringing the surfac­er here safely and ensuring the delivery of the honored Valor Thann. However, I ask that you leave the dagger in the hands of our newest guest, the honored Shiv, who fought so hard to defend Weave from a most unexpected enemy today. Shiv, would you mind staying a while longer? I have something to talk to you about.”

Shiv froze. He wasn’t expecting this. He looked at Uva, trying to gauge how the Umbral would react, but a look of naked surprise and uncertainty washed over her as well.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual.

This time, Uva didn’t send him a telepathic message. She simply jabbed him with her elbow and frowned.

The Composer laughed again, then flicked her hands. “Now, off with you. I want to have a private conversation—one that, uh, concerns very personal matters that might have to do with the safety of the Weave, and, from what I can tell, a war… to stop a war with the surface.”

With a moment’s hesitation, the Weaveresses and the Umbrals saluted their Exalted Mother, and all of them retreated. Before they left, however, Uva cast Shiv a final glance.

“Be careful. Mind how you speak. Don’t lie. Never lie to her.”

And then she moved on. Shiv blinked, watching as a layer of animated webs sealed the path behind the departing group.

“Finally, we are alone,” the Composer said, letting out a breath. “It’s very hard sometimes, always bearing a regal demeanor in front of one’s own children. But they need something to believe in—something greater than themselves. And, well, I suppose one has to be greater when the burdens of divinity are one’s inheritance.”

“I can’t quite say. I’m not divine. I have no experience in divine matters.” Shiv shrugged.

“But you were Omenborn, weren’t you? You know something of legacy more than most.” A sudden alarm washed through Shiv as he didn’t know how to react.

“I’m not accusing you,” the Composer continued, leaning in very, very close—her nose barely inches from his entire body. “I just… I can feel the traces of a broken curse in you, and your Path has such an interesting title… and I have to ask: How do you do it? How do you come back from the dead?”