An Incomprehensible Threat

Violet moonlight blankets the sky, the colors behind the moon bright with an incredible glow as they swirl and mingle in space. A cool breeze chills the land of Raj, comforting the Rajin that are so used to the humid days. Insects flutter and crawl through nature, and beasts prowl in search of prey under the colored trees of Nemar Forest.

Miles from those hungry beasts is the Collector Village, not a single light visible in the many huts lining the dirt road. Most of the sullen slaves sleep at this time, and some have nightmarish visions of the creatures that await them on Kalar. However, a few still lie awake, their anxiety of those terrifying man-eaters devouring them from the inside. In one of these huts, two sit before a campfire with a pot over it, anxious, yet not for the same reasons as others.

Ingen leans over on the tree stump, his knees nearly pressing against his chest. He scoops brown slop into a wooden bowl and hands it to Kyro, then does the same with his own. The two Rajin eat in silence for a time, wooden spoons clacking and sloshing the only sounds.

Ingen glances at the blue-skinned man across from him as he takes a spoonful between his lips, the wooden tool tiny between his sword handle size fingers. Kyro has been mostly silent since Cage returned to Yellen, answering Ingen's attempts at conversation with a grunt or one-word quibble.

Ingen finishes his slop, setting the bowl to the side, "Withdrawals?" he asks with his usual deep, grizzled voice, "Bear with it, Kyro. You'll never be able to even think of freedom if you don't overcome this."

"I know," Kyro responds, annoyed. His bowl empties a moment later, and he tosses it to the side. It tumbles and rolls, stopping only inches from the flames of the campfire.

Ingen looks at the bowl, then at Kyro with a raised brow, "We only have two bowls, you know," he says, his only answer a frustrated grunt.

"What do you think they'll do with us?" Kyro says, head back, putting pressure on his temples with his thumb and middle finger, "The Epochs."

"You should be able to map it out in your mind. It's obvious," Ingen replies.

"You can have this skull-splitter, maybe then I'll be able to do it," Kyro says.

Ingen sighs, "Fine," he says, "Worst case or best case?"

"Both," Kyro responds.

"Best case; they release us and stop sending Collectors to Kalar. The Rage Stone stores will run out after a few months, and every soldier, Collector, and City Guard will be out of commission for weeks from the withdrawals. If the Utherians decide to invade during that time, then Raj will fall," Ingen says, his tone calm despite the dreadful subject, "And given that the last invasion was over a month ago, the odds don't look promising."

Kyro looks at Ingen with furrowed brows, "That's the best case?" he asks.

Ingen nods, "For us," he replies, "I am no longer an addict, so it will only affect me when the Utherians show up. And for you, the lack of Rage Stones will force you to quit. Unless you plan on visiting Kalar of your own free will."

Kyro hums, wincing as his skull thumps with pain, "Worst case?" he asks.

"We are executed immediately for threatening the authority of the Epochs," Ingen says bluntly, "They keep sending Collectors to Kalar until they realize none of them are returning. Every Collector including those yet to be sentenced will be killed by the Massor. Then the rest is the same. The only difference is that we are already dead."

"At least we won't have to eat this slop anymore if that happens," Kyro says with his eyes closed tight, "Some fruit would be nice."

Ingen scoffs, "You won't be able to train Cage anymore either, and he'll be left at the mercy of our enemies," he says, "Along with Yoru."

Kyro waves a dismissive hand through the air, the other still at his temples, "Yeah, yeah, I know. They won't execute us. And if they do decide to have us killed, then we'll figure something out," he says, finally opening his eyes and looking at Ingen, "Don't tell Cage about this. If he learns that we may die, I fear he'll get himself killed to help us."

"What about Yoru? She's the only one that cares about you or me," Ingen responds, bushy brows furrowed, "Or what, are you going to let her lose another family member so soon? Without her knowing until your head is already rolling?"

"You speak as if our deaths are certain," Kyro says. He sighs, elbows to knees as he drops his head, "Fine. We will tell her."

Ingen nods, "Good. At least the withdrawals haven't taken away your sense of reason," he says, "And Cage? Should he not know that the man who saved him could possibly be executed? If he risks his own life to try and save us, then that is his decision..." Ingen pauses, narrowing his eyes, "...You are not his father."

Kyro furrows his brows, gazing at the man that has been with him since childhood. He sighs, "I know that," he says with a tired voice.

Ingen nods, his violet eyes lingering on Kyro, then drifting to the two red crystals sitting beside the fire, one merely a sliver of its former self, and the other only slightly bigger than the previous, "Do you remember when I quit the stones?" Ingen asks, voice subdued as he looks at Kyro again.

"Of course. I thought you would die," Kyro responds, "We spent ten years going to battle. I've seen you cut, stabbed, bludgeoned, and burned. Yet you were always able to walk with your head held high afterward. Not that time. You could barely move, let alone stand."

"I'd rather not remember," Ingen says, sighing. He gazes at Kyro, and a slight smile curls his lips, "You say all of that, yet every Rajin that saw us in battle always said you were the best of us. I did walk from battle, with bleeding cuts and an ache in my back, but it was rare to see even a scratch on you. I sometimes wondered if you had hidden away when I wasn't looking," he laughs.

Kyro joins him with a subdued chuckle, hissing and squeezing his eyes shut as another tremor slams into his head. He exhales hard, rubbing his temples, "I actually looked at what was coming toward me, while you just charged forward with that damned hammer."

"I cleared the way for you, did I not? Ah, if only I could see the terrified faces behind those helmets again. Utherians are despicable, but they did give a good fight," Ingen smiles, reminiscing on more exciting times. He reaches forward, patting Kyro's shoulder, "Don't let me show you up, friend. We can speak of the past all we want, but until you let go, I'm the stronger one right now. I already won that battle. Now it's your turn."

Kyro returns a slight smile, "I know," he says, pausing. His eyes drift to the campfire, "It's good to still have you with me, Ingen. Even though I'm the reason we're in this mess."

Ingen scoffs, "Who else would I be with? You and Yoru are all I've ever had," he says, standing, "And I chose to help you that day. I chose to become a Collector with you and Mavyl. I could have ended it all, but I didn't. Remember that."

"I will," Kyro responds, "Always."

"Good," Ingen says, walking over to his sleeping mat, "Now get some sleep. You have work and I have to make sure I don't get paralyzed again."

Kyro chuckles, "Right," he replies as Ingen lies down. His eyes linger on the man for a moment, the smile on his lips slowly leaving. The thumping in his brain returns, and he sets his jaw against the pain. Those grey eyes drift to the glowing red stones, like crystallized lava. Kyro takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You've always been stronger," he whispers to himself.

---

Far from Raj, where devastation peeks over the horizon, more trouble brews in the branches. The kaleidoscopic colors surround the branch, swirling, watching as life trudges on, spared by its grips. A vessel floats through a branch under these colors, phantom waves flowing under its hull. A translucent bubble surrounds the ship's wooden structure, many colors flashing across its thin surface. Like a rock thrown through the flow of a waterfall, tiny holes form in the bubble, disappearing moments later.

"Hang in there, Lyza," A pale man with long white hair whispers. He kneels over a woman with the same pale skin as his own, a hooded robe covering her head. The woman sits on her knees, sweat dripping from her brow. A white mist slips from her skin, causing her figure to glow slightly.

"I-is it still following us, Aziral?" Lyza says between quick breaths.

Aziral thins his lips to a line, standing and directing his eyes to the back of the ship. Several meters behind, a massive leviathan of a beast slithers through the air. Its figure is like that of a sea creature from the depths of a dangerous ocean, bones and organs visible through its misty, white skin. A Massor.

Aziral looks around at the soldiers surrounding him, all with the same pale skin and white hair. Some stare at the Massor with anxiety practically flowing from them, while others sit and try to convince themselves that this is all a dream. Aziral scowls at this sight, "Soldiers! You are Utherians, so act like it!" he shouts, "I want updates on the Massors movements!"

The soldiers look at Aziral, their gazes ranging from dread to confusion. Silence answers him, and Aziral curses, his forearms bulging under his white uniform as he balls his fists, "What are those looks for?! Have you all forgotten who you are!? Who we are!?" he bellows, "You will lay down and accept your fate? That is not the Utherian way! If you arethe men that I believe you are, then you will stand and look that beast in the face!"

The soldiers pause, and then all begin to move, retreating to the back of the ship to do as they are bid, "Hold it!" Aziral yells again, those troubled gazes meeting his own again, "Some of you go down below and throw out anything slowing us down! We need to increase our chances any way we can!"

The soldiers nod, and a group out of the thirty on board scurry to the trap door near the front of the ship. The wooden door is slung open, and the soldiers disappear below deck. Aziral sighs, kneeling over Lyza again, "It is following, but we will get through this. I will support you in any way that I can, just keep that shroud up, Lyza," he says with soft words.

"I... I'm trying," Lyza says, her body trembling. Her breaths grow more ragged by the moment. Aziral gazes down at the woman, eyes wide, anxiety chewing at his mind. Lyza has held the Anima shroud for two days straight, and the strain reduced her to this state hours ago. Shrouds hide the presence of those inside its perimeter as long as it is held. However, Lyza can no longer hold the bubble in perfect condition, and the holes that form every few moments allow the Massor to sense their presence just long enough to follow.

Aziral looks up, eyes widening to find the bubble vibrating, the holes now much larger as they pop in and out. He looks down at Lyza, and the woman collapses before him, the misty energy that once covered her body dissipating into nothingness, "Lyza!" Aziral grabs Lyza and shakes her frantically, "No! Wake up! Lyza! You have to wake up!"

No response, though the woman still breathes. A sudden popping sound causes him to jolt, and he looks up to find the bubble is gone, "Oh Betor..." Aziral whispers to himself. He stands, eyes finding the one sight that he has been praying to avoid.

The Massor slithers forward, its long, limbless body waving through invisible waves. The creature moves at a leisurely pace, knowing that its prey has no hope of escaping. Aziral and the troops surrounding stare in silence, cold sweat running down each of their trembling backs.

Aziral looks around, time slowing as certain doom heads towards him. Some of the soldiers draw their weapons and point the blades at themselves. He watches with a numb mind as several of his subordinates take their own lives, spears, swords, and knives piercing their flesh. Aziral finds himself reaching for his own dagger tied to his waist. Death is much better than anything that creature can offer him.

Stories are told of Massors across the Praesi, some actual stories of nail-biting encounters, and others folktales told by overprotective mothers. One such folktale is told to keep the children of Utherio from the branches, and Aziral has heard it too many times to count.

It is said that if one has their life taken by a Massor, then their soul will be tormented for all eternity inside the belly of the phantom beast. No afterlife, no peace. Only pain.

Aziral waits for his life to end, eyes closed tight. He waits, tuning out the sounds of soldiers dropping to the deck, their own blades in their stomachs. He waits, thanking Lyza for her efforts, she fought until the very end.

Aziral waits, yet the death he expected never comes. His eyes open, widening as the river of lights on the other side of the branch are blocked. A shadow envelops him and the entire ship by something incomprehensively massive.

A humanoid figure floats past Aziral and his soldiers, dead and alive. It's hand is the size of the ship Aziral stands on, a vessel large enough to accomadate up to two hundred soldiers. Seeing the rest of the giant's figure clouds Aziral's mind with fear and uncertainty.

The Massor is gone, and the relief that should be washing over Aziral is clouded by the terrible thumping of his heart. Did this... thing get rid of the Massor? No, Aziral thinks, I must be hallucinating. The Massor must have given up, gone away to find more prey. The fear he has felt for the past few days is causing him to hallucinate this image. It can't exist, Aziral convinces himself.

He has to be hallucinating, because if he is not, then what chance does Aziral have against something like this?