Father Julio Chesare, Knight of the Holy Church of the Founder Brimir, and familiar Windalfr to His Eminence Pope Vittorio III of Romalia, flew on to the southeast. His mind a haze of exhaustion and fever, he felt the last of his strength ebbing as he hunched forward in the saddle of his mount against the slipstream winds, trying not to let exhaustion, and the growing burning pain across his left side overwhelm him. He dare not surrender himself to weariness, not just yet, not until they were safely on the ground once more.
    'There, that's as good a place as any.' They crested the last of the foothills as the sun began to slowly rise, spying a narrow gap in the tree line, barely wide enough to set down one at a time, but offering enough cover for the drakes to hide away beneath the forest canopy.
    They'd flown low and fast through the night, barely skimming the treetops until they'd left the territories of ALfheim behind them, until they'd crossed the border from Tristain into Germania and still put leagues more distance between them, until they reached the south-easternmost edge of Germania's mountain ranges, only then setting down because the sky was beginning to lighten and thus they were now in danger of being spotted by air patrols no matter how low they flew.
    Of course, the Tristanians and Fae would have to evade those same patrols while ranging a wide area if they wanted to find them and stay in close pursuit. If noticed, the dispute while the pursuers got permissions, or battle, from the Germanian patrols might buy them some time, enough time to make it to safety, to Romalia.
    A low, soft cry rose up from deep within the throat of Julio's drake, the sound of weariness after spending much too long in the air without respite. The wind dragon was especially taxed, having been tasked to carry Julio and his two passengers. A feeling of unease overtook him.
    The young Priest spared a glance over his shoulder to the red-armored knight who had referred to himself simply as Heathcliff, giving no surname or title. At least, 'Knight' seemed the proper term for him. He'd certainly affected the bearing of a chevalier, appearing in their midst from the trunk of the Yggdrasil Shoot itself to take hold of Louise as her inhuman screams had ceased and she had at last collapsed.
    And in battle against the Heavy Wind, managing to stalemate a mage, a  square mage without any need of magic. Impossible! So many questions for that man, all demanding answers… . but beyond a name, there had been no time to ask or investigate further. Certainly not while in flight, and most definitely not while caught up in the madness that had erupted within the caverns surrounding the Yggdrasil Shoot.
    But if the knight could remain patient, then so could Julio. There had been plenty else to occupy their time this night.
    Fleeing from the Heavy Wind as the ceiling came down around them, Julio was acutely aware that if not for the presence of her daughter in his arms, he would have been a blood slicked stain across the floor of a cavern by now. Ironic, seeing as the collapse of that ceiling had nearly reduced him to even less. This on a battlefield of his own choosing…
    It seemed it was true, what they said about fools and the almighty.
    And he had been foolish, he knew, so very foolish. All of them had been! Desperation had led him to madness. If his suspicions had truth to them…
    Their escape had not been made easier by making it to the surface without immediate pursuit. A manticore had been waiting for them, diving to attack the moment they had emerged from the caves, hounding close on their heels for a time until Father Enzo and Father Andre had finally been able to drive the tenacious beast off after they'd risen into the air.
    Then, no sooner were they set upon by Fae as they neared the Germanian border, a brief exchange of fire with a squadron of Gnomes who, unnervingly, had been heading in the direction of the Shoot. The Earth Fae had pursued them when they refused to stand down, but as luck would have it, their flight had already exhausted their magic, giving the trio of Priests and their precious cargo a narrow window to reach the border.
    'A trio.' Julio thought as he coaxed his dragon downward. The Papal mission had set out over a dozen strong, with six triangles, six lines, and Julio himself, mounted on seven dragons. That had been only days ago.
    They'd had confrontations with the fauna of ALfheim before, in their studies and journeys through the changed lands. Dangerous, vicious creatures, thankfully territorial to such an extent that they rarely emerged from the depths of their nightmarish forests. But nothing had prepared them for the three headed demon dog that had been waiting as they secured the cavern in preparation for the arrival of Louise Valliere.
    Cornered, the squad that had encountered the beast in the deep caverns had lost four of their number just distracting it, they would have lost more if their distractions hadn't bought Julio the opportunity to bind the creature to his will, itself unexpectedly difficult, far too close thing as three perfectly melded minds battled him.
    After such horrendous losses, it had seemed only fitting to use the beast to make up for the men it had taken. A task it had proven singularly adapted to as the remaining mobs infesting the caverns had fled in terror from its elemental breaths and three snapping heads. The local Pixies as well had run frightened back to their Garden rather than face the agitated 'boss', opening a small window in which to act undisturbed.
    Pressing his right hand to the warm neck of his mount, Julio felt her weariness as if it were his own, her wings beat heavily, legs stretched and then bent, absorbing the impact of landing, a force that would have thrown himself and his passengers free if not for their harnesses. Then slowly, she settled first onto forelimbs, then elbows and knees, finally coming to rest upon her belly, long neck snaking out to bury itself in the earth of the forest floor. A last, labored cry before softly settling.
    "There, there girl." Julio breathed, patting the drake's neck gently. Right now, her avian mind was simply content to be far from the forests of ALfheim, away from their unfamiliar noises and scents, hinting to an unknown capable of devouring even dragons. She wanted nothing more than to rest, and then to hunt to fill her belly.
    Two more cries, high and shrill, sounding the arrival of his subordinates. Looking back over his shoulder, Father Enzo landed first, followed closely by father Andre, a big man, so reckless as to never wear his harness, both atop their own wind dragons. With only three trained riders, they'd been forced to set the other four drakes free to fend for themselves.
    Now settling to the ground beneath the cover of the trees, Julio at last reached for the clasps of his own harness, undoing the belt as the clatter of brass informed him of the man at his back working thoughtfully with unfamiliar hands.
    "Give me but a moment." Julio offered as he worked at a stuck strap. "Once I'm free I shall…" A final pull and a jammed strap slipped through his fingers. Julio felt himself falling off to the side as his head began to swim, the sky came into view through the branches above, and then fell out of the way to be replaced by the fast closing earth, coming to a halt a mere half mail from his nose as he was caught in the stomach by a solid, irresistible upward force.
    "Take care, Father Julio." Father Andre urged as he let the younger man down from his shoulder, frowning as he noted the wet heat oozing from Julio's side and the gradual reddening of his shirt.
    When the priest looked down, he cursed softly under his breath, followed by the appropriate litanies of Forgiveness to God for his use of the divine's name in obscenity. "Father Julio, your burns…"
    "Are nothing." Julio assured as he stumbled back, blinking quickly as he fought a bout of nausea. "Our men who do not suffer have already met a worse fate." No man should be eager to go to the side of God when there was still so much left of their earthly life. Now, ten had done just that at Julio's order.
    There was an unspoken question in the air. Had it been worth it? Julio did not know. This mission had evolved too quickly. Had become complicated beyond even His Eminence's projections. Julio was not used to acting for himself, and knew that this had been poorly done.
    " Nothing does not need to be treated." Father Andres fussed, batting aside Julio's protesting hands. " This does." A low muttering, disbelief as the older priest went to work on his shirt like he were nothing more than a newborn babe out of the crib, revealing the bandages that swaddled much of his left side, hiding away the searing burns that had been received from shoulder to thigh less than a day ago.
    A memento of the hell beast he'd bound, given to him when he'd discovered that three heads did indeed mean three unique minds. A revelation that had nearly seen him killed before his power as Windalfr had managed to overcome the trio.
    'And the Fae have fighters that can  kill something like that?!'
    Impossible to believe, yet he knew it to be the truth. He'd sensed it through his arcane connection as the beast's life had ended in confusion and white hot agony, as if something had breathed lightning into its heart. If that girl had been telling the slightest truth, then there were warriors among the Fae fit to match the most powerful of mages.
    Perhaps it had been fortuitous to have lost only four men to the Cerberus. If it had not been there to draw away the Fae warriors, then they would all have been dead by now and any point to this bloody exercise would be lost entirely.
    "Fah! You need a proper healer for this." Father Andre muttered as he carefully cut away the bandages to examine what lay beneath, the red, welted patches of skin, where there was much skin left at all. Mostly, it was a mix of red and pale green, the healing salves that had been laid down to ease the pain and protect the raw flesh, promote healing, and prevent infection or necrosis from setting in.
    "You may wish to listen to your subordinate." His passenger observed, finally free of his harness, he landed with the grace of a man familiar with full armor and immediately turned his attention to the inert girl still hanging in the saddle.
    "There was no time earlier." Julio protested, hating how petulant he sounded.
    And he hadn't dare show Miss Valliere any uncertainty or visible pain, nothing that might change her mind or do anything but ensure her full cooperation. Because she was of interest to the Church… no… because she terrified him.
    If his suspicions were proven correct, she might just have killed them all, or, perhaps, saved them. His eyes never left the small, pink-haired figure being taken down by her self-appointed guardian. To think that someone so small could be the cause of so much trouble.
    Two months, and he was already growing to curse the Fae. They made things difficult. Not merely hardships of the body, which were trying enough, but trials of the spirit as well. A new race of magic users, non-humans, their alien magic, and their even more alien mannerisms. And possibly worse, their  humanity .
    Spending time among them as he made his observations and reports had shaken him.
    Why couldn't they simply be elves? Something that could be hated and destroyed. Why did their musicians have to be capable of such passionate music. Why did their chefs cook such wonderful food? Why did their children have to be so kind and open with a stranger, teaching him their pastimes and giving their thoughts at the smallest prompting? Why were they so wonderfully, vibrantly alive? Why were they even in this land, where they clearly did not belong?!
    'Even if they were our responsibility, we cannot protect them from what is to come.' It was all well and good that Louise Valliere might be a key to the Fae's riddle. But she may be the key to the Church's as well. And millions of lives outweighed tens of thousands, no matter how kind, noble, and just they were.
    The predictions had been revised just prior to his departure from Romalia. A critical mass was assured within the decade, perhaps in less than three years. Localized events could begin in as little as one year. His Eminence had given the order. The timetable was being moved up on all of their contingencies, including the search for the Void.
    Julio grimaced as he felt Father Andre probing with his wand while Father Enzo went to help Sir Heathcliff with Louise. Even now, the Knight remained astonishingly docile for being so at a loss for what had happened to himself. Though at the slightest inspection it became quite evident that it was the placidity of a man who was  waiting rather than one who was simply existing. In either case, he seemed to have settled on observing the lightening sky, and the two moons that still hung palely over the horizon.
    To think it would be so difficult to find three mages. Three  failed mages. Three unique needles in three very large stacks of needles. When it was thought of that way, it wasn't difficult to understand at all. If only there was more to go on. More clues to guide their search .
    The fact was, even among the Church, keepers of all knowledge of the Holy Elements of magic, Void, the underpinning of the Faith, was ill understood at best. It was, he mused, a rare honor to by one of only five within the hierarchy of the Church with knowledge of the oldest and most secretly kept records.
    Once, it had been an even half dozen. Before Julio had seen to the old Archbishop of the College of Cardinals, at his master's instruction, and secured the way for Vittorio's ascension to the station of Prince of the Church.
    There was a reason so few were permitted to know what Julio knew. Church doctrines that had long been built on convenience. Doctrine that could be shaken apart if the truth was known to too many.
    Such as the fact that there had been void mages after the Founder. There could be multiple void mages at once. And that there  had been void Mages, rumored, and confirmed, on rare occasion down through the ages. Never more than one or two, never more than rumors or shadowy secrets, but enough to believe that it was true.
    The people of the Church would have rejoiced to know, their faith would have been buoyed by this revelation. A Void mage by virtue of birth would have been a living saint. It would have been a disaster.
    Because the Founder was a symbol, a savior, and Void a perfect element encompassing the 'Thing and the Whole of the Thing'. Those that had come after, were merely human, the void that they wielded, merely an element, an incomplete part of a once perfect whole. Worse, without being awakened, less than a true element, a crippled magic that could not even replicate the basest of dots.
    Cruelly, they could never be  good enough in the eyes of the Faithful or the Church. There was less than no possibility of a worthy successor to the Founder arising from them. The fact that each in turn with their void had failed to accomplish anything worthy of breaking the Church's silent doctrine, was proof enough of that fact.
    Only if properly awakened and brought together could the true Void be made whole from each of the immutable facets handed down through the ages. That had been the hopes of the Church with His Eminence, to have a ready pawn, kept powerless, until the other void mages could be found and brought together. Vittorio was not the first. A ready tool, shaped from the day of his discovery to strengthen the Church's position upon the promised day.
    It had never occurred to them that being without magic did not mean being without claws and fangs. Any beast of the wild could have taught them that.
    But now, those stories, those traces of forgotten lore made real, formed the path leading them to their best hope for salvation. To reveal the true Void for a singular, worthy reason, transcending mere ideology and political aspiration.
    'Four mages, four familiars, four rings, four treasures. Four fours to reveal the true Void.' Julio recalled.
    For all of its other failings, the Church had carefully documented the past potential void users that had come to their attention. Made record of the suspected artifacts that would awaken their powers, and tried, fruitlessly, through the ages to find them. It was suspected that this too was the power of the Void, to shelter them, and guide them into the hands of those that should possess them when the time at last came.
    There could be no better time than now. Julio thought, which was why he had allowed himself to hope. And in his hope to investigate, as others had in the past. They had, from time to time, pursued the trail of burnt-out foci, destroyed as their enchantments came apart under the abuse of a higher power. Unusually powerful failed spells cast by sub-dots were also pursued, especially those cast by those known to be of royal blood. Quiet wars had been raged, between men and men, and men and elves, blades flashing red in the dark, over the aftermath of the ever so rare human summonings. And so it had been for millennia.
    And then he'd learned of this girl.
    He'd found the reports concerning her merely peculiar, at the time. Those of the Tristanian magical academy never had grasped the true purpose for the yearly reports sent to Romalia. Their words had hinted at enough to merit looking into, but without great enthusiasm.
    It had not been overly difficult to investigate her. To learn something of the truth, and for suspicion to crystallize into hope. There had been Priests sent to tutor the girl in her younger years. They did not know what they saw, but they had taken careful note of every failure, the peculiar tendency for her foci to fail, for runes and other lasting magics to flicker around her when she cast.
    It matched church records of more than one of the ancient mages suspected as wielders of the void.
    From there, things had only grown more promising. The birth records, going back many generations. The quiet, illegitimate ties of blood between the Vallieres and the de Tristains. The Church kept the records with care over the millenia, to mark out descent and lines of succession was their stated and oft-used purpose. But there was an even more vital purpose, to map out the blood lines of the Royal families, in hopes that the void might fall into their wide cast net where they could follow it closely from host to host.
    Julio watched the girl, still as the dead, save the fluttering of eyes beneath their lids and the flaring of nostrils as she breathed. Father Enzo, a man who would show kindness even to the condemned, was covering her tenderly in a blanket, checking her for injury, shaking, or fever. There was cause for concern. She had not fallen asleep, she had been knocked unconscious.
    The girl was only three generations removed, by way of a great grandfather, from the monarchy. Royal blood ran through the girl's veins. Bastard blood, but it made no difference to the Void. One connection might be mere coincidence, two warranted greater investigation. It had all been so promising, until disaster had struck.
    Her involvement with the events of the Transition. Bringing forth the Fae, the mobs, all of ALfheim. It seemed that being an inheritor of Void was the only possible explanation. That something else could achieve such power was inconceivable. And at the same time, it was disaster. For it had been discovered by her use of Faerie Magic.
    The facets of void were only fragments of the true Void. But that did not detract from their immutable nature. A void mage could not use elemental magic. They most certainly could not use the magic of another race entirely. To be able to do so, was to court either with heresy or divinity. That the Void could be changed by one other than the Founder himself. That the one means for their salvation could be altered also meant it could be destroyed.
    At that point, fear had led to rash action. Fear for everyone in Halkegenia. What had Louise Valliere done? What would it mean for the plans of his Master?
    If he was wrong, he would present himself to the Crown of Tristain for execution, telling truthfully that he had acted on his own. No serum or spell could draw anything else from his lips. He was disposable. He and his men. They all knew that to begin with.
    His Eminence would be angered by his actions, taken in haste, out of fear. For the loss of his men, the damage he might have caused, especially in being found and engaging Tristanians and the Fae in battle. For attempting to bind the World Tree.
    Even if he were right in his suspicions, his head was likely forfeit for rash action. But before he died, he would furnish Vittorio with truths that could be essential to his future plans.
    Julio felt his chest going numb, coolness spreading across his side as Father Andre worked. The man was no trained healer, but was skilled enough with water magic to at least ease the pain and replace the salves that had been lathered as a stopgap. Now that their last healer was dead, they would have to make due until one could be hired, or they made it to a Church safe-house.
    "I want to ease you into sleep so that your body can concentrate on the healing process." Father Andre suggested. "I wish I could do more, but…"
    "Promoting the body's own vitality is simple. Intervening is the exclusive domain of a trained healer." Julio recited from training. A seemingly pointless thing to tell one who was incapable of using magic himself.
    Father Andre nodded. "It'll do you a world of good. Certainly give you better rest than you've been having these past days."
    "Perhaps." Julio nodded slowly, drunkenly. "But first, there is one thing that I must know. If I have chance to sleep on it, then maybe our course will be more clear." Unlike with Louise Valliere, who might have vanished into the hands of the Fae and Tristain's dedicated researchers. Locked away like a precious gem in a vault where the Church would never be able to touch her. Without the Void Artifacts of Tristain, there was only one way to confirm suspicion.
    Not that Julio had expected the runes of a Void Familiar to etch themselves in Yggdrasil's bark. But any familiar runes contained clues to the nature of the familiar and mage. To bring them forth would be to invite understanding. And now, with that in mind, he looked across to the man still waiting patiently for answers, then past him.
    "Father Julio?" Father Andre took a step back as he was pushed gently aside. Julio, now moving with a pronounced limp. In the midst of battle, carrying Louise and sheltering her with his body had been all he could do as everyone else was of more use in the fight. But even that had been a struggle against pain.
    Heathcliff at last turned to him, and Julio realized that he had not yet really looked at the man.
    Young, or old, hard to say. He could have been less than thirty and very worldly, or a very vibrant forty depending on how he held himself and from what angle he was viewed. Julio chose to consider him the latter. He'd seen it in other, older men.
    Much too calm to have any of the heat of youth left. Silver haired, hawkish features that would have been distinctive, almost royal in the stories of Ivaldic Heraldry. The way he had held off a mage without the use of magic certainly spoke of superhuman prowess. But was that prowess his own, or had the skills, the power been granted to him?
    "Fascinating to look up and see two moons in the sky." The Knight observed almost casually, standing over a balcony. "The world really has changed in my absence. Perhaps you can explain that, now?" Spoken as a suggestion, with all of the weight of an order. He really was a man with the bearing of a King.
    Julio smiled with all of the confidence and good humor that he never actually felt. But that he never let waver. To be a Knight, and yet possess no magic of his own save power over beasts. It was a potent ability, but commanding mages when he himself was magicless demanded something more, something that could not itself be false.
    An aura of utter confidence, that he knew the right course and would follow it unfailingly. The bravado not to flinch in the face of a hell-storm of magic. The only one who could ever know the truth was his master. He was His Eminence's instrument.
    "I'm afraid that I am as at a loss as you." Julio confessed shamelessly. "In fact, I imagine you must know more than me right now. That Fae girl you were fighting, the one that called you… Grandfather." Mystery after mystery. "She seemed to know you. More, you've been very compliant." Not something that Julio would ever have expected. In fact, he found it disturbingly convenient.
    The soft chuckle that came from the knight was perhaps more frightening than the battle they had just survived. "Ah yes… well… it is as I said. If that girl is who she said she is, then her mother and father have the unique distinction of being the ones to slay me in battle." Said so frankly that Julio and both of his subordinates, with nearly four decades in service to the Church between them, were left without a recourse.
    The lingering silence allowed Heathcliff to continue. "A man called back from death has a great deal to consider about the meaning of his resurrection." Fingers played across the rim of his shield as his eyes tracked to the still form of Louise. "Especially when the first thing he hears upon drawing breath is the voice of a child contesting a hurricane."
    Death. Necromancy? His gut clenched, but somehow, he doubted it. Though whether that was the doubt of hope or doubt planted in reason, he could not say.
    "Meaning?" Julio frowned.
    "Meaning that I know not how, but that this girl is the one who brought me back, and I suspect, as I suspect you do, that there is something unique about her."
    "A power." Julio breathed. Did this man already know? Or had he deduced it?
    "No."
    The young priest blinked, realizing only then that the humor had left the red knight's face. He looked much older when he frowned.
    "No?"
    "Forgive me." The Heathcliff nodded his head towards Louise. "Power is not what interests me about her. Nor do I suspect it is what led her to call for me. Rather, it is her lack of power while being the way she is that makes her so interesting. Like I said, I would like to see what she desires so fervently. And why she needs me to attain it."
    'Call?' Julio pondered what that could mean. Had Louis somehow…  selected her familiar? There was only one way to know.
    "This seems to be quite the story." Julio said. "I imagine it will take some time to explain."
    "No doubt not less than your own half." Heathcliff nodded to their surroundings. "Last night, I saw more land than I had in my entire past life within the confines of Aincrad. If we both have a piece of the puzzle then by all means…" He gestured to a fallen tree, a place where they could at least sit and speak. There was nothing else to be done until nightfall. But first.
    "There is one thing that can help speed my explanation." Julio nodded once to the gauntlet covering the knight's left hand. "If you would mind showing me your hand. It could tell us both more about why you have been… called."
    A look of bemusement returned to Heathcliff's face, then a casual shrug as if it made no difference. He removed the article of armor covering his forearm, removed the white glove, and showed Julio the pale, bare skin of a man who never stepped long into the sun without a shell of steel, and the runes etched there. One of the four pairs long committed to memory.
    Julio licked dry lips as his attention returned to Louise. Just what part did she play in God's Plan?