That question bothered Lindon greatly.
“Can we use the hand?” he asked.
Whisper shook his head. “That tool allows you to borrow the authority of the Slumbering Wraith, and thus command the layers of the labyrinth that he himself controls. If he controlled the outer gates, he would long ago have released himself upon the world.”
“At least this gives us time to prepare,” Lindon said, reluctant as he was to give up on entering. “I don’t think any of us are ready to fight another battle yet, and we can put together all the information we can about what’s inside.”
Elder Whisper sighed. “Poor timing in one sense, but fortunate in another. The Dreadgods have been driven off, for the moment, and we need time to settle our people. At least for now, there is no disaster looming over us.”
“Not that we know,” Yerin muttered.
Lindon evened his breathing, hoping Elder Whisper was right. The Dreadgods were stirring, but taken care of for the moment. There was no reason to assume anything disastrous would happen at least for the next few months.
Their luck couldn’t be that bad.
Iteration 001: Sanctum
Suriel connected to the network of Abidan all over existence. They didn’t control nearly as much territory as they did before, and the Way was disrupted by chaotic interference everywhere.
But she spread her message as widely as she could.
“Ozriel,” Suriel called. “We need you.”
None of the Judges had ever done this before. Such an open call could be intercepted by anyone, assuming they were in a world that was still connected to Abidan control. Making this broadcast was as good as telling the entire cosmos that Ozriel was gone. That the Court of Seven had misplaced their greatest weapon.
If they hadn’t figured it out already, they never would.
“Wherever you are, I know you can’t see what’s happening. You would have returned. Unless you really are dead, and then…” She sighed. “I wish you would have trusted me more.”
That was too personal for a public broadcast, but it was hard to care. She could see the lights that represented Iterations turning gray one by one as the Vroshir extended farther than they ever had before. Tightening the noose on Sector 11. On Cradle. On the Abidan.
“They have your Scythe. If you could see what they’re doing with it, it would break your heart. Come back, and tell us what you saw. Because if you saw this, and you left anyway…”
It wasn’t the optimal thing to say to lure Ozriel back, but Suriel had to say it. Her voice went cold.
“…then I’ll execute you myself.”
She canceled the connection, and a construct of light like a sapphire spiderweb vanished from in front of her. Her message now traveled through the Way Between Worlds, where it would be received by every Abidan and every world still connected to reality.
In theory. In practice, the amount of chaos the Vroshir were introducing meant she had no idea how far this message would spread. Maybe it still wouldn’t reach Ozriel.
But there weren’t many other actions she could take.
She wasn’t wearing her armor, there not being much chance of combat here in Sanctum. She wore a simple white uniform that her Presence materialized for her as she waited here, in the headquarters of the Phoenix Division of the Abidan.
All Divisions were currently stretched to their absolute limits, but there was a special pressure on the Phoenixes right now. This massive headquarters, with its gleaming white domes the size of a mountain range, was the greatest hospital in existence. There were few things they couldn’t heal quickly, so they rarely needed to house many patients. The building’s size reflected its importance and the number of staff.
Now the huge edifice was practically empty. She was in her personal quarters at the peak of the central dome, but she was almost the only Abidan in the entire place.
Phoenixes weren’t just in charge of healing, but rebuilding. Of the ten sectors the Abidan still firmly controlled, not one of them had escaped damage. Members of her Sixth Division were even now restoring lives, fending off corruption, and reconstructing entire continents. Where worlds had cracked under spatial assault, her people knitted them back together.
She could have joined them, as the most capable of their order, but that would require turning her back on the greater wound.
The nine hundred and ninety sectors they had abandoned.
[Correction: many of those sectors are still within bounds of safe recovery, after the Vroshir incursion ends,] her Presence reminded her. The ghost of gray smoke hovered next to her, and she may have imagined a slight admonishment in its tone. [Also, the vast majority of those Iterations were sparsely inhabited pioneer worlds. The situation is bad enough without embellishing reality.]