Fingers of dark red mist seep out of the vast pit, blood that drips down the veins and arteries of the corridors between Babel's buildings. But where the mist draws closer to the observer, wails and howls of anguish and anger can be heard, and within its flow swirls the forms of doomed spirits … Eeee spirits denied proper rest, crying out for vengeance and oblivion, howling out curses upon those responsible for their state, screaming for a completion of their interrupted lives.

As the reddish mist oozes through the cracks and byways between buildings, faces and features form and melt, within it – the eye of one face becoming the mouth of the next, then dissolving entirely. While familiar features might momentarily surface, the tormented souls have lost their individuality, and form a mob of ghosts, a writhing mass that seeks but does not find, that demands but does not receive.

Upon the slopes of the mountains, shapes pull away from the shadows … dreamers brought here by the memory of this night of shame and horror … brought here by the unsatisfied desire for recompense, for justice, for revenge. Pinpricks of torches mark their places, and the buzz of horribs. A cry comes from Mount Rephath, an unholy sound like a cross between the howl of a wolf and the scream of a woman – the sound of a grok, hunting.

One by one, from the other mountains, similar howls answer the first – initially, from Inala, then Blakat, next Zakaro, and Sunala, then, lastly, Gorphat. As the sound of the grok on Mount Gorphat dies out, the cry is taken up anew, from all at once, filling the air with eerie sound, and with it, the words of a chant can be heard, blurred together and as yet too indistinct to be separated into individual words.

On a cliff side of Mount Rephath, formed by the Sister's shoulder, a winged coyote stands, viewing the scene below and around him. Nearby, a black-furred Eeee, in white and brown robes bearing the rune of the sphere of Mind, holds in his right hand the ceremonial dagger-and-scales of Rephath. Farther in the background, a group of Eeee mill restlessly, groks roaming, pulling at their leads, while horribs buzz in the air around them.

A female Eeee in red chitin armor swoops towards the coyote, the wind whipping the rope of her silver-grey braided hair from side to side, stray wisps from it framing her sharp-featured face. She holds in her hands a massive, double-bladed red axe, and she brings her flight to a halt, hovering in the air before the winged Hekoye. She throws the axe to the ground at his feet, and it thunks in, the haft quivering, blade biting deeply into sheer rock. "This is My night, Lochinvar Arques. This is the anniversary of the boomer's strike. Now, you must make a choice. Will you assist Us in capturing Captain Rockmore? Or do you spurn Our cause?"

"Did I not give you my answer already?" the Vartan/Hekoye asks, obviously pretty sure that he did. "I have said that I would seek him out, then pass him over to your people as appropriate."

A cold smile lights on Rephath's face, the wind ruffling her fur as she hovers before him, wings spread wide. "Good. Then take up My axe, and do it, My Champion. The blade will help you to find My enemy."

Lochinvar starts to reach for the handle of the axe, then pauses. He glances at the black Eeee nearby to him. "How?" he asks.

The mage's eyes glow with a fey green light as he meets the Hekoye's gaze. "Take it, and see. We are in Her service in this; She will not harm us." His voice, reassuringly, sounds more normal than his eyes look.

The winged coyote regards the axe carefully – which certainly seems to look normal enough – before slowly reaching out and curling his fingers around the handle.

The weapon feels right between his fingers, as if it were made for his grip alone – as if he were meant to wield it.

Lochinvar slowly and carefully draws the axe out from where it's set in the ground.

Tendrils of mist soar by, and as they momentarily draw closer in their passing, Lochinvar can hear their cries. They are not alien to his ears. Over the course of many nights of tormented dreams, he has heard their cries before … he has lived their last moments … has knows their voices as well as he could know any, and memories rush over him of their cruel, sudden … but not mercifully instant … deaths.

The axe comes free as easily as if it rested in a sheath, and it feels lighter than the coyote would have expected. He lifts it to a comfortable angle, instinctively feeling for the balance of it. As the axe blade tilts at about a sixty degree angle, it holds steady, the point nestled between the blades aimed skywards.

Lochinvar still looks unsure about this weapon. "I don't see how this can help me find this person," he asks again.

"Then look again." The black bat follows the line of the shaft in Lochinvar's hands upwards, looking to where the point leads. He raises his own free hand to point to the same place. In the sky above, an airship floats, outlined for a moment by the light of the Hunter's Knife. "There."

A type of compass? wonders the winged Hekoye. Then he asks, "If this is pointing towards him, then now you know where he is. Why can't you go get him?"

"When you would catch a rabbit, Lochinvar Arques," the mage says, "do you determine that the hunt is over and the quarry caught as soon as you have spotted it?" He unfurls his wings, and makes a screeing sound to the Eeee milling behind him. They glance to him, then, after following his hand towards the ship, nod and advance, their own wings snapping open.

"Of course not," replies the coyote. "Though I agreed to find this person and point you in his direction. Now you seem capable of finding him on your own?"

A bitter chuckle from the dark Eeee. "I believe your exact words were: 'I would seek him out, then pass him over to your people.'" He flaps his wings a few times, making a counter-draft to the bite of wind. "But if you think your part in this done, so be it. We will pursue it to a conclusion."

As the Eeee prepare to leave, the winged Hekoye notices that the figure of Rephath has vanished, though he saw neither when she left nor where she went.

Lochinvar looks up towards the airship, then looks at the Eeee mage. "So, is that it?" he asks. "These dreams you've plagued me with will stop?"

Voices whisper on the wind, moan and cry, "Rockmore!" There is anger, bitterness, dread, hunger and even fear mixed in with the spectral chorus.

The mage beats his wings, carrying him a few feet into the air, in the direction the haft of the axe points, and he pauses long enough to say, "That is not for me to judge, Lochinvar Arques. I only serve the Sisters; I do not know Their minds. I suspect that in your heart you know better than I whether you have rendered true service to Rephath on this eve."

The Vartan/Hekoye watches them fly away towards the airship. True service? he wonders. They wanted this Rockmore found, and they've found him. Doesn't seem like they really needed me at all.

In the distance, there is a glow that Lochinvar did not notice before, somewhere atop one of the surviving buildings. On the wind, a new sound drifts … music … It is a melancholy tune, and it is not clear to Lochinvar in just what language it is sung, yet he can make out the meaning of the words. It is telling something of a story about a war-weary soldier.

Moving on, the wind-borne song changes tone as it plunges into madness. The unseen singer invokes images of anger and revenge, and the need to fill up the bottomless pit felt within the heart of the bereft soldier, with the blood of those who brought him to this state. The enemy have become monsters, caricatures of tormenting evil that haunt him in his madness until he must lash out against them!

The mob follows the black mage into the sky, soaring towards the distant form of the airship, which has grown more difficult to make out as it passes from the glow of the Hunter's Knife. As the song changes, their torch-lit flight seems to gain speed, winging towards their destination with a deadly surety.

Lochinvar is just about to start towards this building, but pauses at the change of the music. He glances up at the Eeee once more.

Their winged forms are soon out of sight to the coyote, too small for even his keen eyes to pick them out against the black, starlit sky.

Not seeing much point in continuing to stay here, Lochinvar hefts the axe carefully to carry it, and starts towards the group of surviving buildings where the music is coming from.

Finally, the song continues again, in the gentlest of tones, in the voice of the soldier's dead wife, calling to him across the void. She offers forgiveness, and love, if only he will return to her embrace, telling him that he doesn't need to fight anymore.

As the coyote soars towards the distant building on Mount Inala, he notices that the airship he saw earlier has become visible again, illuminated by a radiant glow that originates at the same place as the song to which he is headed. The flight of Eeee who went on ahead of him towards the ship are visible again, too, close to the ship, while a second vessel has appeared, following the first. As he watches, it opens fire on the first.

Lochinvar pauses his flight forward, wings beating steady to hold his position while he watches.

Initially, at least, the first ship seems paralyzed. No fire is returned from it, and, if anything, it sinks lower towards the ground, although only one shot from the aggressor's volley landed, and that one relatively harmlessly against the deck.

The Hekoye/Vartan watches the attack, as best as he can from this position, with a slightly puzzled expression. Didn't look like it did that much damage, he ponders.

There appears to be more being exchanged between the ships. The first ship, at last, appears to be defending itself, and the battle is being engaged in earnest.

It seems as if the first ship was drifting slowly toward the glow that Lochinvar first spied earlier, but that course has shifted, now that it is exchanging blows with its attacker.

Lochinvar doesn't pay this fact too much mind for the moment, instead deciding to head towards the source of the music once more.

Suddenly, the ranger feels the solid weight of a chitin boot impact against his backside. As he flails his wings, momentarily struck off-balance by the unexpected blow, he hears an all-too-familiar voice. "For my SAKE, fool! Do something! Go catch him like you said you would! Or stand and shout in my face that you despite Me and everything I stand for! But for the sake of all things in this world, above and below it, don't just stand there and watch!"

Managing to regain his balance in the air, Lochinvar whirls around to face Rephath. "Are you saying that your people can't handle this person then?" he asks, slight annoyance showing in the tone of his voice. "Why is it that I have to be involved? I'm not even Eeee!"

"Because you took my path!" Rephath hisses. "You chose my route. You said you would capture him, and turn him over to us. If you have problems with such an agreement, you shouldn't have made it in the first place! Where is your honor, Temple Ranger? What good is your word? All you can do is offer weak excuses when you are pressed to do that which you have promised!"

Lochinvar looks back up at the airships, then back at the Eeee. Though he is pretty sure that he only said he would point this person out to them, he's starting to wonder what he did agree to now. So many nights has the winged coyote been plagued with re-living Babel's final moments has not gone without taking a toll. Now you call my honor into it, Lochinvar growls inwardly to himself about Rephath. Without offering another word to her, the Vartan/Hekoye starts up towards the airships.

Rephath is left far behind, as the winged coyote finds himself soaring upward with surprising speed, gaining ground on the mob of bats who had flown upward long before him, though there is still some distance yet to cover.

As he flies upwards, Lochinvar is still accompanied by a feeling inside of him nagging that It's not your fight!