There are complexities to being the Master of Assassins. Oaths. Honour. Oh, she could disregard all of those if she needed to, let the knives come out while her opponents were weakened and take a quick win. You know, murder the daughter of Zeus who was crippled by the pain of Zeus' other daughter. Long life and victory were [i]sure[/i] to be hers that way.

Demeter hissed and raged and boiled and demanded, but what could she do? She needed Sagakhan. She had purchased her services with power and immortality. Perhaps she could raise up another steward, in the course of years, but the goddess was on an exacting schedule with limited influence. With Demeter, she had leverage. With Zeus? Sagakhan looked over at the distant thunder, at the torches in the streets as silent Azura move in their thousands. Zeus would burn her like a gnat.

She lowered the bloody heart and knelt down by Bella. Patted the girl's head affectionately. Turns her face upwards, smiles into unseeing eyes. "You were almost my downfall," she murmurs. "Close, but not quite."

She lifts the girl up, carrying her like a child. Though Bella is tall and strong, Sagakhan lifts her like a doll - the true size and strength of those aged limbs only truly visible now that they are smothering the servitor in their embrace. Her shawl ripples and tears, and four enormous glittering dragonfly wings unfurl from beneath her cloak. "You can be mine again," she said. "All that I need do is remove that troublesome heart of yours."

And with that, her iridescent wings buzzed and she took to the heavens, cascading golden djinn-dust swirling around her.

*

The Furnace Knight looks out at the distant Rift. Still earthbound. What would the Endless Azure Skies be without the Furnace Knight?

He had not been satisfied with Vasilia's answer. What did ending the wars of the wicked mean? What did that galaxy look like? If you were to utter such a poorly phrased prayer to a God imagine the chaos you might receive. To be someone who wouldn't ruin things? That was scarcely a wish, more the cry of a broken little girl. His fists clenched. He had... hoped for wisdom. Hoped for revelation. Hoped for [i]something[/i].

But instead all he had received was his own wish repeated back to him, in words no better than he'd been able to come up with on his own. All he had learned that there was someone who could carry a wish so weak and incoherent and be driven forwards by it instead of spending years in isolation and despair. Somehow, it seemed, that it wasn't the phrasing of their wishes that separated him from Vasilia. Was it love, then?

The Furnace Knight looked up at the Rift. If it was love then she was doomed. Love was always cruel. If you did not give it everything it would take everything.

*

[b]Bella![/b]

"Liu Ban, you old scoundrel," said the Master of Assassins. "They were using [i]you[/i] as a Navigator? No wonder they could keep [i]ahead[/i] of us."

The world is still slightly blurred, your senses still recovering. It strange. Something's happening in your blood, some hidden battle. But you know enough about the language of power to recognize that the Master of Assassins is in control here.

"Sagakhan. What happened to you?" There is an edge of fear in Molech's voice. Not the cowed voice of someone afraid of violence, this is a tone of horror. Whatever he sees here you're glad you can't make it out.

"Happened to me? I got a job offer," said Sagakhan. "Our Zenithial Lady has found use for me. No doubt she can use you too."

"I refuse," said Molech. No hesitation, more than a little fear.

"Oh Liu, you'll never get ahead with that attitude!" said Sagakhan. "After all, you're the man who burned the galaxy for love - I would have thought you, of all people, would jump at the chance."

"I'll take my chances," he said.

"Will you really? Well, then, why don't I give you a free sample. Maybe you'll change your mind."

"No! Sagakhan - Kym! Kym, don't do this! Don't -!"

You don't hear what happens next, don't see it as more than a blur. You're glad that you don't. You wish that courtesy extended to your sense of touch because when you feel the hand slap affectionately on your shoulder you feel the hideous sensation of lukewarm sticky wetness. It doesn't pull away, it keeps you in its grip.

"You know what the best thing about Emperors is?" said the Master of Assassins. "It's that they fall. When they're in power they're like unto gods, to be treated with all the respect due to the lord of the universe. But that's not a function of the Emperor, it's the function of the office of Imperium. The Emperor is really just the meat that Imperium uses to work its will. Remove an Emperor from their office and the meat is all that remains. Remove a god from heaven and it's a similar story. Who was Zeus before she killed Kronus? Who is Kronus now that he is bound in the linear ticking of the clock? These are the questions a true Assassin must contemplate."

Again she pats you, and all throughout you can feel the heat in your blood, a fever, an allergic reaction. You want to sneeze. "It's important that you understand this. An assassin does not kill the office, only the meat that the office is using to work its will. Such an act is not a blasphemy, not a rebellion, not at odds with the great order of things. Do you understand?"

[b]Dolce and Vasilia![/b]

This is a cursed ship. Everything is silence, darkness, and the omnipresent wreckage of war. The walls absorb light and consume sound. The corridors are cramped and shifting, craving ambushes. Everywhere are glyphs of threat and fear, symbols of the Hunt, the crescent-moon eye of Artemis.

If Bella stood in this fearsome place and provided kindness to the Lanterns, no wonder she won the loyalty of Jil. If the Master of Assassins sculpted this ship to reflect her own intentions then you have a terrible enemy indeed. There is no way it is possible to feel truly safe in this shadowed place.

But, for a moment, you are with each other, a lantern by your bedside and the night held at bay by warmth of blankets.

[b]Alexa![/b]

"Yes, we were created to die," whispered an Elder, her hands trembling with age. "We are servitors. We are Alcedi. Our genes were woven on great looms to produce the strongest, the fastest, the swiftest. We know our call. We know our oaths. We were created to serve a purpose, and we know we will find fulfillment in that purpose. Have you not seen the joy in the young warriors as they take the field? How can you say they should be denied their calling? Pallas Rex, Alexa, questions of morality, of terror, of Empire - these are questions for humans, who have since the dawn of time ruled the stars. Are we not their crafted tools?"

[b]Redana![/b]

You are drawn by your nose. Smells you remember, smells you don't, and the ever present smell of cigarette smoke. Deeper and deeper into the Anemoi. You walk until you arrive at a room that's almost like something you remember from a dream, something old and something new and something alien.

And here there are films. Films you know and love. Films you don't. Films addressed to you.