"Rappia!" Sunji exclaimed, sinking her head in reverence.

A man slithered into the room, his entrance heralded by the jangling of jewelry. The air suddenly felt heavy with his authoritative presence, which commanded all attention to him, undivided. Regal was one way Sagan would choose to describe him. His visage held a sort of exotic majesty, what with its sharply-defined jawline, its high cheekbones, and the pair of rounded eyes that never seemed to blink. Like the little girl Sunji, his scalp was smooth and utterly hairless.

"That's the chief of this village. The head honcho," the lady in his mind uttered. "Show some respect."

Sagan bowed his head awkwardly. The chieftain answered with a smile, though Sagan could not decide if it was one of courteousness or pity. It was as good as anyone's guess.

"I see you awake," the man spoke in a voice that was surprisingly soft for a man of his impressively stature. Sagan noted the stilted way in which he spoke, which indicated the foreignness of the Orkhese words upon his tongue, but he silently commended the chief for not butchering them as bad as Sunji did. "I hope Sunji treat you good."

The orkhus swallowed a chuckle of irony that had built up at the base of his throat, opting to nod silently. Omitting the fact that the little girl had tried to enslave him after nursing him back to health, she certainly did a decent job.

Too decent a job, he suddenly realized, his hand gingerly touching the cool bandage around his torso. Sheer fortune had been the cushion to his fall, but even he could faintly recall the blazing pain that had twisted agonizingly within his body. The pain was no more than an unpleasant memory in the back of his mind now. It felt odd, the feeling of hollowness where it should have throbbed.

In hindsight, it almost frightened him. What sort of sorcery did the little girl use on him whilst he was unconscious? The injuries he'd sustained would not have healed so quickly.

"You were asleep three days," the chief continued. "Now you awake, I have questions to ask."

Three days. No wonder his head felt as if his skull was stuffed with cotton. Almost mechanically, Sagan nodded once more.

"Akhlamera. The Fire. The Rock from Sky. What do you know? Tell me all."

Sagan rested his hand upon his chin as he sank deep into thought, digging through the tangles of his memories and unearthing them. He transported himself back to the events of that night, three days ago.

The sound of a loud crash reverberated once more within his ear, ringing forcefully as if he was back at the moment when the meteorite crashed into the airship. He clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and inhaled, deeply and shakily. "I was on an airship," he explained, drawing the elliptical shape of the airship's balloon in the air. "Then, it— the Rock — crashed into the ship. The ship fell to the ground. I fainted from the impact."

"When I came to, there was fire all around me, and—" Sagan suddenly stopped himself, biting his lower lip. How was he going to explain the disembodied voice to the chief? The man would certainly think him off his rocker. Even Sagan himself, at this point, was not entirely sure that he was sound of mind. Of course, the lady in his head would insist that she was real whenever such a doubt cropped up in his thoughts.

The pause hung in the air, neither orkhus, man-stygenian, nor child-stygenian breaking the silence. The chief looked at him expectantly with his round eyes, still unblinking from the time he slithered into the room. The hairs on Sagan's neck began to rise under his unnerving stare. He watched those eyes with some apprehension, waiting for the moment the eyelids closed over them. It never came.

"And...?" the stygenian finally prompted.

"This is going to sound strange, but I... I heard a voice," the orkhus answered, disguising the tremble in his voice.

"What voice?"

"A... a woman's voice."

A silent frown that screamed confusion made its way onto the chief's face, one that made Sagan regret in an instant that those words ever left his lips. Really, what sort of sane person would believe his outlandish tale?

"This woman. What she like?" the chief asked as he drew his fingers to his chin, rubbing them in the way of a person deep in thought.

"I didn't see her. I couldn't see her. It's almost as if she was only speaking inside my head." Sagan thought he heard a loud, strangely feminine cough echoing inside the cavity of his mind, and figured that it was probably the mind parasite choking on her own suppressed laughter. It was nothing short of an awkward experience, knowing full well that the invisible woman was hanging onto their every word about her existence. He'd half a mind to badmouth her.

"She said the fire was her 'blood'?" the orkhus continued, his tone lifting towards the end as an inquiry, more to the invisible lady than to the stygenians. Even now, he had not figured out the answer to this cryptic clue.

Sunji gasped and tugged upon Rappia's arm. They exchanged glances, their big eyes communicating more in a second than could be spoken by words. The chief blinked once. Finally.

"Rappia, kwi Ramike Kia Inka, ya?" said the little girl, fervently. "Ramike Kia Inka, damu Akhlamera, nur valas!"

"Ishtalia," the chief spoke in hushed reverence, and suddenly, Sagan heard the sound of a gear clicking into place. A fog seemed to have lifted from his head, and inklings of memories that were not his own began to trickle inwards.

"Ishtalia..." breathed the woman in his head. "That name... I remember now. It has been so long since I have heard it been spoken, that I have lost it myself."

What in the world is an Ishtalia? Sagan asked, mentally. He felt the incorporeal lady smirk. A chill spiked through his veins, and without any warning, he was disconnected from control, being a mere passenger looking out of the carriage window. His body was the carriage.

The woman wrenched the reins out of his grip.

"I am Ishtalia," she declared in stygenian words, using Sagan's lips, yet the orkhus's consciousness somehow understood. Sagan, trapped inside the corner of his own mind, watched the air around him ripple with static. A veneer of purple light painted over the stygenians' awestruck faces. They sank their heads to the ground. "I am Ramike Kia Inka, Lady of the Tailed Star. Damu Akhlamera, the Primeval Flames my blood. Cast out of mortal memory in injustice, yet it seems like not all the world have forgotten me. Your kind has my gratitude."

"I cannot believe I still live to see this day," the chief whispered. "Your arrival into this world have long been foretold among our kind. The savior of our tribe."

"This man, stranger on your marsh lands, Nicolaus Sagan, is my vessel. My servant. You will treat him well." An impish smile stretched his lips. "But you are free of obligations to treat him with respect. I only need you to allow him to fulfill his purpose as my vessel."

The chief's eyes disappeared behind closed lids. "Your wish is our command. You have my word as Rappia of this tribe."

Ishtalia paused. Against his will, Sagan lifted his hand to his chin in contemplation. He sensed the deity's struggle for recollection.

The entire cottage vanished.

Sagan stood upon a mirror-like plane, in a strange, dream-like place that seemed to ripple with instability. A shower of stars drifted past him, gently swirling around him like a vortex. There was no end to the reflective surface that held up his feet. It was like a never-ending expanse of water unbroken by ripples. His rational mind knew he had never set foot in this place before, but at the same time, it felt like home.

Then, she- or, it- appeared.

A woman-like figure materialized before him, her pale hair drifting around her like tendrils despite the lack of a breeze. In the place where her face should have been, there was only a blank slate. Wings the color of snow enveloped her entire body like a dress of down.

Cold fear froze the orkhus. Yet, he felt a painful rage corroding his insides, writhing and seething. He knew not the woman who stood before him, but her presence brought forth familiarity.

Betrayal.

Sagan soon figured out that he was not standing as himself upon that ethereal landscape. No, he was Ishtalia.

The pale woman seemed to sneer, even if she had no face. The sinister aura that clouded her indicated that. She tilted her head to the side, looking down at Sagan- no, Ishtalia. "Look at the state you're in, sister," she remarked, in scorn. "How pitiful. Ironic, is it not? That the one who held dominion over infinite possibilities should have but one absolute truth lying in wait for her. The fate to be destroyed."

"No. Don't. Don't call me your sister, you filth."

The pale woman smiled, without smiling. "I am 'filth'? Perhaps you should look at yourself. Abandoned by your subjects, forgotten by the people you have watched over... You're the one who has lost herself and everything she stood for. It is for the best that I should assume control over them."

She walked towards Sagan-Ishtalia and placed her fingers gently upon his chin. They were frigid. "Do not worry, sister. I shall make good use of your powers," she whispered, in mocking reassurance. "You have made a mess of the world, with your vast probabilities. I will set things straight. There will be but one future left for the universe."

Her arms wrapped around the shivering figure crumpled upon the ground. Her aura turned pitch black.

"My future."

The mirror-like ground suddenly shattered below Sagan and he fell. He flailed his arms, seeking to latch onto any kind of support within the void of the cosmos. Memories of a mortal stirred with a fallen deity's. He recalled the disorienting sensation of the airship knocked out of the sky.

Sagan felt gentle hands cover his eyes as he fell, lulling him into the serene embrace of darkness.

"These are not memories meant for a mortal to see."

He jolted against the table as if he'd just awakened from a dream. Beads of perspiration trickled down the sides of his head, and so did tears. Sagan felt no sorrow, yet he couldn't stop the overflow from his eyes. He laughed, as if that would take away the shock.

Sunji was gripping his hands, concern in her large hazel eyes. "Sagan?"

"I get it," Sagan declared, nodding. "She's coming, isn't she, Ishtalia? She's coming to mold this world to her wishes. And we need to stop her."

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Chapter Writer: 

AN: IT HAS BEEN A MONTH

I have been battling with Writer's Block for an entire month, and this is the best I can come up with? I'm really disappointed in you, brain. I really am.

I don't have a good reason for my disappearance apart from lack of inspiration, motivation, and time. Opportunities for me to sit down and write are getting scarce to come by, what with my increasingly hectic schedule. I apologize for the wait, and more for the subpar quality of this chapter that you all don't deserve. I'm annoyed with many of my chapters, but I have actually developed a feeling of hate for this one. I wish I didn't have to publish this, but I need to in order to lift my writer's block and move on with the plot.

I will probably be going back to edit this chapter in the future. Most likely.

Thank you for your patience, everyone, and I'm sorry for the really long wait ^^"