The last sensation was of a very sharp and quite stabbing pain in the left side of Envoy's torso, and of her shriek of "NO!" quickly losing any force, as her lungs failed to push out air. Everything promptly fell into darkness at that point, but while her own voice may have failed, the winds here seem to scream, the thunder peals, the raging storm screams "NO!"

And Envoy finds herself kneeling upon the broken stones and bones which cut into unprotected flesh almost as sharply as the cold and bitter wind that yanks at her hair, tosses her wings, and bites at her hide. A few drops of rain smite Envoy, stinging with each strike, increasing in their assault as the sky erupts in a downpour that quickly obscures any view of the temple at the mountain top.

Trying to protect herself from the elements, Envoy wraps her wings around herself, as she tries to get her bearings. I'm in Sunala's realm, she realizes. But I need to be dreaming to be here … so I'm not dead. Or at least I have to assume that I'm not. She attempts to get to her feet, and reach the guide-rope against the cruel wind.

Is it really a dream? the thought comes unbidden, or are you just a shade? An echo? A manifestation of magic? Doesn't that make you less than real? Doesn't it? The rope slashes wickedly at Envoy, raking across her arm once and leaving a sting that feels like it will turn into a welt, but she manages to grab hold of it, and it whips far less violently closer to one of the restraining poles, which constrains the rope through a ring at its top.

It makes no difference, Envoy argues … to herself or to the voice. I must proceed under the assumption that I am alive and real. She starts to drag herself towards the ziggurat she glimpsed at the top of the mountain, wincing at each painful step.

Her feet try to find purchase that won't tear up vulnerable soles, but repeatedly fail. Her white fur is stained pink, and with the shelter of her wing providing a chance for her to open her eyes, she sees that she has a terrible wound in the left side of her chest, as if torn there by a dagger thrust into her midsection.

She does remember being stabbed, but isn't sure the wound alone would be fatal. She keeps trying to drag herself forward, depending more on the rope now than on her footing. I don't think I can run out of blood here, and pain is … just pain.

While stubbornness might allow Envoy to press forward, it doesn't give her any comfort from the pain. If nothing else, it emphasizes to her the weakness, the vulnerability she has here. More than once, she slips and falls, and it's unclear whether she is making any real progress at all. However, as she inadvertently looks back down the mountain slope … she perceives that it is a much larger mountain than the realized … and that, relatively speaking, she is very close to the summit compared to the distance that would have been traversed to get here. She sees signs of obstacles on the road, though they are too far seen through the rain to be distinctly made out … and she is quite certain that she never encountered them on her way here.

Maybe being closer to death when I arrive gives me a head start, she wonders between painful breaths. Or maybe the need to complete the ritual has created shortcuts. She wraps her forearm under and over the rope to get a better grip than her bleeding palms alone would allow, and starts pulling herself forward again.

How much time passes is unclear – not that it truly matters in this realm, and not that Envoy had any pressing appointments back in the material one, either. The rain does not relent in the least, and the thunder and wind seems no less intent upon deafening Envoy with its violence … and then … as abruptly as if the flame of a candle had been blown out … the wind stops, and the thunder dies down to a low rumble in the distance, the rain becoming a dull drizzle that, while still uncomfortably chill, isn't trying to tear Envoy's hide off. Within arm's reach is a stone wall … no, a very tall step. The steps leading up this ziggurat are so steep as to almost warrant climbing rather than stepping.

Envoy's hand, slick with rainwater and blood, slides on the rough rocky face of the stone, across engraved sigils and twining patterns indistinct in the dimness.

Leaning in closer, she tries to make out the glyphs before attempting to climb the stairs. She even attempts a cantrip to make her horn glow for light.

Envoy tries … but here, in this dream, she is not granted the use of magic that is denied her in the real world. She senses that her wings would give her no hope to ascend the stairs more quickly, even with the wind calmed. Except that she is here at the summit rather than deposited all the way at the bottom – or in the Sea of Souls – it would seem that she has been granted no benefits here. As for the glyphs, they seem to form symbols in some language … it bears a resemblance to Babelite … but it seems to have some relation to Vartan in its structure. Understanding nonetheless reaches Envoy. "At the last, there is none but I." And there are many more boasts, no doubt, covering the ziggurat at each tier.

With appropriately grim determination, Envoy reaches up and tries to climb over the first step.

Every movement of every muscle demands Envoy's attention, such that she is keenly aware of every exertion, every protest of agony that wracks her tormented body. Surely enough time has passed by now that her amazing abilities of regeneration should be giving her some reprieve against these wounds, but no – they remain, painful as ever, save ironically for the wound on her chest that seems to have sent her here. It alone is devoid of any testament in pain to its presence, numb and unresponsive to her struggles. The first step is mounted. It is hardly worth the effort to count how many more might remain.

Not lingering for long – since she doubts rest will help her any – Envoy begins climbing the next step. Concentrating on each movement gives her a way to curb the pain somewhat, turning it into useful feedback instead of a constant distraction.

Another step. Pain. Exertion. More pain. Another step. Time. Passes. Slowly. Reaching … for another step … touching … cloth.

It takes a moment for Envoy to register the change in texture, and another brief one before she tries to see what the cloth is attached to.

As Envoy looks up, she sees that a female Eeee garbed in thick robes sits upon the step immediately above her perch. Her fur is black as pitch, and her eyes white as pearls, devoid of any irises, and without the hazy quality of an eye blinded by a cataract or "scales". Her hair is bleach white save for blue shadows, and spills down in tight waves down each side of her slender neck. "What are you doing?" she says in a near monotone, a voice that is at once a whisper, but yet cuts through the noise of the elements as if it were infinitely louder.

"Climbing the stairs," Envoy answers. "You are Sunala, aren't you?"

"I am, or I am not," the bat says. "It hardly matters. But as for you – what do you expect to find at the top of these stairs?"

Envoy blinks, and ponders the question. "A challenge," she finally says. "The other Goddesses had final challenges."

"I remember you," the bat says. "A fox made a bargain for you, should you come here. I am not obliged to honor it in the least." She begins to stand.

"A fox?" Envoy asks, confused. "What fox? What bargain?"

"How many foxes do you know that would make bargains for you?" the bat asks in return, as she stands up straight. "Come," she says, and turns away, taking easy strides up the steps in stark contrast to the trouble posed by them to Envoy.

Envoy starts to follow the figure, hoping she can take the steps just as easily. Would Reynard have come here? But why?

Hope seems to do wonders, or else the bat is simply able to bend the rules. Envoy finds herself surmounting the steps not so quickly as her guide, but a fair sight better than before. Within seeming moments, they are at the top of the ziggurat, where there is a stone altar, wide enough to easily accommodate a body, and stained enough to suggest that it most certainly has done so several times.

Eyeing the altar, Envoy again wonders about the mysterious fox. "Was it Reynard?" she asks Sunala.

"The fox is not always forthcoming about his name, so neither shall I be," the bat says, looking around at the top of the altar. "This is unsuitable," she declares, and the thunder rumbles threateningly in the distance.

"Well, what was this bargain you mentioned then?" Envoy asks. "Am I being set up as a sacrifice?"

"You?" the bat says, briefly turning to glance at the inquisitive ki'rin. "I would hardly choose such an odd looking, unmannerly wretch to be any kind of special sacrifice to My glory, even had I need of one. All that dies eventually comes my way." She reaches down with one delicate finger to touch the surface of the altar, and there is a crackle that at first seems to be of thunder, but it is soon evident that the stone itself is cracking, as hairline fissures spread outward from the surface.

"Then why have an altar at all?" Envoy asks, stepping back a bit from the cracking stone.

Lightning flashes in the distance … but the lightning freezes in place, rather than disappearing the way that lightning ought to. With each strike of lightning, another mark is written upon the sky, and the cracks in the stone continue to spread outward, passing fluidly away from the altar, and to the very stone of the platform that Envoy and Sunala stand on, every crack branching and subdividing. "Wheresoever a goddess lives, there shall She have Her altar," Sunala says in a voice flat and recital.

"But you're Death," Envoy points out. "How can you … live … anywhere?"

Sunala smiles mysteriously. "Indeed." The cracks continue to spread, covering all of the platform now, and racing underneath Envoy's feet … and spreading across the surface … reaching up to her ankles.

"Hey!" the Aeolon cries, and tries to step back away. "What are you doing to me?"

Sunala does not answer, but simply stands there, finger still pressed against a spot that is now nonexistent, for the altar has begun to crumble away. Even as Envoy steps back, she leaves a few toes behind, though she feels not the least bit of pain for the loss, and they seem to just sit there as pieces of a statue might, not like dismembered portions of flesh might. The cracks continue to flow upward across Envoy's wounded body, forming thin black lines, and all the while, this is mirrored as cracks rush down the entirety of the ziggurat, and the traces of lightning form into cracks in the sky itself that spread across the clouds and the horizon.

Envoy looks for some escape, either over the side of the crumbling tower or … where? She judges the distance between her and the Goddess, and tries to run towards her in an attempt to drag her off the ziggurat with her.

Even as Envoy runs, it seems that her body falls apart in mid-dash, along with all the world around her. At the last, she sees Sunala's visage rushing closer … and then her vision falls apart and the fragments crumble into darkness. No, darkness isn't exactly a word. Vagueness might be more like it. Void in the sense of lack of definition.

Her only sense, after a moment of loss of any bearing, is that of Sunala's voice – "voice" used in the same sense that one might imagine hearing a voice inside one's own head, that is, if one had a head. "What is your favorite place?" Sunala asks. "Your favorite place, on this world, or any other?"

Envoy's memory flashes through places she's been. But where is her favorite? She discards images of her old life, before she became an individual. It wasn't her then. The Tower of Barabbas resonates with her, but not enough that she feels it would change her. I shouldn't answer… this is a challenge! she thinks. "Why do you ask?"

"Why do you?" responds Sunala.

"I don't have a favorite place," Envoy answers, truthfully. "And I ask because I want to know what you would do with my answer. I don't trust you, Sunala."

"Fair enough," Sunala responds, and the vagueness is penetrated by light, which implies that Envoy has eyes to see it with. The air feels cool and carries upon it a faint scent of honeysuckle, which implies several more senses and the means by which to experience them.

Envoy tries to define her senses further, to see where she is, if anywhere.

In short order, Envoy finds that she is seated in a chair at a table, outside. At first, it really isn't any more specific than that. It is, after all, but a dream, and the concepts come first, with memories of sensations – her own, or perhaps others' – attaching themselves to these notions, to give them an illusion of reality.

There are three chairs at the table, Envoy occupying one of them, Sunala another, and the third empty and to the side.

Envoy looks at the empty chair, and then back to Sunala. "Are you expecting someone else?"

Envoy, for her part, is whole and devoid of any wounds. She is clothed, but the specifics aren't imposed upon her. It seems that more definition is imposed upon her environment, rather, an element at a time. "At the moment, no," says Sunala, as she reaches for a teapot that looks to be entirely incongruous with Babelite design, and heretofore wasn't necessarily there until attention was called to it. Similarly materalizes a cup that she pours tea into, and the saucer it rests upon, and the twining quasi-floral pattern that decorates the entire set.

"The bargain," Sunala says, "was that should you be required to visit me, you visit me for tea 'or something much like that'."

"Tea?" Envoy asks. "What do you get out of this bargain?"

Sunala seems to ignore that question. "I suppose you have no particulars on the setting."

"Sorry, I don't," Envoy says. "The last tea-party I attended took place in a world full of illusions and … dreams. Was this a tall fox, or a short fox?"

"Short, by most standards," Sunala answers, setting down the teapot, considering a bowl of sugar, but then just taking the saucer in one hand, the cup in the other, and sipping at her tea without anything further added.

Envoy looks out over the landscape, then back to her hostess. "I don't understand. Why would he bargain with you? How can anyone bargain with Death?"

"He didn't," Sunala says, in between sipping and blowing across the top of her teacup.

Not feeling like having any tea just yet, Envoy asks, "How did you meet him then?"

"Your question is flawed," Sunala says, setting down the cup on its saucer. "I suppose it is befitting me to be mysterious and far from free with answers, but let me clear things up by telling you that it was my sister, Inala, that he bargained with, should he win Her challenge. He most certainly did not win, and even if he did, it would have been folly for Inala to assume that I should be beholden to a favor She might owe a mortal. I do this only because it amuses me."

Envoy opens her mouth and closes it again. "I see. What would you normally have done with me then?"

"Would you rather that instead?" Sunala asks.

"Well … that depends on what it involves," Envoy says, guardedly. "I'm somewhat obligated to try and defeat you, after all, before the High Princess can drain away your power for her own godhood."

"Pity," Sunala says, then takes another sip from her teacup. "And how exactly do you plan on going about this?"

Envoy blinks. "Well … I don't know. It isn't something that can be planned in advance, after all. I don't suppose any of your Sisters have come this way recently though? Or that the Sea of Souls has vanished for longer periods than it used to?"

A clock chimes the hour. It sounds exactly like the Bazaar clock tower. In fact, its very image can be seen off … in the Bazaar. If that's the Bazaar, then it would suggest something about the identity of the city. "No, of course, you couldn't plan something like that, could you?" Sunala says, once again unresponsive in the face of multiple questions from the winged ki'rin.

"Do you know Morpheus?" Envoy asks, after tearing her eyes away from the sight of the Bazaar.

"I know of His existence," Sunala says. "Beyond that, we are not acquainted." Although it is a city, it is conspicuously silent, and devoid of any street traffic, or the familiar comings and goings of airships at the docks.

"But you are connected to him," Envoy claims. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to … step away from it all? Like Rephath did? It would be a very honorable thing to do, for a Goddess."

"Supposing one could or were inclined to, perhaps it might be," Sunala says. "Connections are very special things. Do you recognize this place?"

"Rephidim," Envoy says, then adds, "But I don't recognize this particular building."

"It is known by the rather quaint name of 'Nicodemus's Shiny Shoppe'," Sunala answers, setting her empty cup down and examining the patterns running along the rim. "We are on the roof, of course."

"The Srinala … she's here … there … that is, she's been to this place," Envoy says. "Is that how you know of it? I suspected she was staying here."

"Really?" Sunala says. "Funny you should mention that name. It reminds me of a story. I shall tell it to you. And you will listen."

"Of course," Envoy says.

"Once, there was a young girl. Let us call her Srinala, so we needn't make up any new names," Sunala says. "She was all alone, but then she met a very special friend, and her friend had a family. This friend of hers took her away to live with her family at their home. Srinala was happy there."

"Happy, that is, until the day strangers came and took her away," Sunala continues. "Her friend tried to stop them, but they were too strong. They said that Srinala was evil, and a danger to everyone. They did not even think that Srinala was a real girl at all, so they were hardly concerned about what Srinala thought of all this."

Envoy frowns.

"Srinala was locked away, and the strangers poked and prodded at her, and tried to find out why she behaved like a real girl, hardly considering that she might actually be one," Sunala continues. "For, if that were the case, they would all seem terribly foolish for treating her as if she were not. And they simply couldn't abide by that."

"But Srinala's friend and family hadn't forgotten. Somehow, friends came to her rescue. Except that the strangers were too well prepared, and the rescue attempt failed," Sunala says. "And then, the friend who attempted to help little Srinala were in terrible trouble, in danger of being executed for the offense of trying to save her."

Sunala snaps her mouth shut. "You know," she says, "I don't think this is a very good story at all. Do you?"

"What?!" Envoy cried, standing up. "Is this all true? They were supposed to help her, to find a way to keep her out of the ritual!"

Sunala just looks down at the empty cup in front of her. "Really?"

"Do you know this story, too?" Sunala asks, looking up at Envoy.

"I shouldn't have waited!" Envoy growls, turning away to stare out of the silent city. "I should have come after you before. If you didn't exist, then the Srinala would be free, and this wouldn't have happened."

"There is, or there is not," Sunala says. "What is, is. What is not, is not. The only uncertainty worth considering is what is not yet."

Envoy turns to glare at Sunala. "Has this happened, or is it the future you tell of?"

"If I told you of the future," Sunala declares, "it would not be an uncertainty. But what matter it to you? Do you suppose if you had the chance to change these events, you might twist them to some way you suppose might harm Me, if it were even possible? Is that your part in this?"

"I wanted to withhold the Sea of Souls from you, yes," Envoy says. "But I also wanted the Srinala freed from this accursed ritual! It's bad enough that Morpheus is bound by it. Tell me, can you speak through the Srinala?"

"It is true that the Srinala speaks My words," Sunala says.

"Would you relay a message from me through her, to her … captors?" Envoy asks, still looking angry.

"What sort of message?" Sunala asks.

"A demand that they drop any charges against the girl's adopted family, and allow them to see her. That they be fully briefed on what is happening when she sleeps, and that the goal of the ritual she is bound to is to make the High Princess into a god. And that her disabilities be treated by Life Magic if possible, since I know that Srinalas are blind at the very least. And that it is I, Mage Envoy, that demands this," Envoy says.

"Very well then," Sunala says. "She may be waking soon. But before that happens … I should like to change my story a little, and ask you a few questions."

Envoy blinks. "Change … you lied to me?"

"Hardly," Sunala says. "I only wish to add a few more details. First of all, those who came to help little Srinala were the father of her friend, and a priestess serving me."

Envoy sits back down and sighs. "Of course it would be him. He never warns the authorities, just tries to deal with it all himself in these situations. But how could a Yodhsunala have found out? Even the Yodhbarada didn't know where the Srinala was."

"On several occasions, as this warrior made his way into the underground tunnels where little Srinala was being kept, he was faced with the danger of guards. He bypassed them all, save for two guarding the doorway he needed to pass. He could have simply killed them outright, but he did not. He subdued them, and though they suffered injury from his attacks, it was not fatal, and they struck grievous wounds against him," Sunala narrates.

"How grievous?" Envoy asks, sounding worried.

"My priestess sought to dispatch them, so they could provide no further threat, but he stayed her hand. Thereupon, they passed into the chamber where little Srinala was being held, and a dream mage was keeping her. Again, the warrior would not permit My priestess from taking a life, this time of the mage," Sunala says, with a touch of incredulity.

"This surprises you?" Envoy asks, looking puzzled. "Why should they want to kill anyone if they didn't have to?"

"The mage claimed that if the ritual were interrupted, something terrible would happen. And even after all he had been through, the warrior believed this mage, and turned back, and forced My priestess to comply. And thereupon, while he still had the strength to stand, he surrendered to the guards that came, and My priestess called upon Me to heal his wounds. So I did, otherwise, he would have surely died," Sunala says.

"If he had simply killed them, he would not have suffered those wounds," Sunala says.

"Well, thank you for letting her heal him," Envoy says. "There are wounds worse than physical ones, Sunala. Physical ones can heal, after all. I've got blood on my hands already from fighting this ritual, and … and I haven't begun to deal with that yet. What did your Priestess tell him was happening to the Srinala, to get him to try such a rescue instead of just asking to see her?"

"I told My priestess that the mages would kill the Srinala," Sunala says. "I cannot allow that to happen."

Envoy blinks. "And would they have killed her? I doubt that, somehow. You told her that because you were afraid. If you could manifest through the Srinala, you could have struck dead anyone around her, couldn't you?"

Sunala frowns. "I could still do so. Is the demonstration worth so much to you, that you would challenge Me to show My wrath?"

"No," Envoy says. "I am trying to show you that you are being manipulated. The Srinala will die in time, for she is mortal. So why do you care when it happens? But she only needs to stay alive long enough for the ritual to be complete, because then you will no longer exist. The High Princess will have absorbed you."

"I am not interested in the High Princess, or this talk of manipulation," Sunala says. "I want to know what happened. He fought his way through, even to the point of holding Srinala in his arms, and yet he backed away, and convinced My priestess to do likewise. Why, when he had the strength to complete his mission, even to escape, did he back away? Why did he, so strong, show such weakness? That, I wish to know, and that, I cannot ask of him."

"You think that's weakness?" Envoy asks, looking incredulous herself, then suddenly lets her eyes go wide. "Oh my! He would have beaten your challenge! At the point of victory, he gave up instead of taking the prize! Of course you couldn't understand … "

"THEN TELL ME!" Sunala shouts, standing up from her chair.

"He gave up, because it was the only way to win," Envoy explains. "The goal wasn't to take Srinala away. It was to save her. But you are formed from the minds of Babelites, where self-sacrifice just … doesn't make sense. He wasn't there for himself, Sunala, he was there for Srinala. He couldn't risk hurting her by taking her at that time."

Sunala sits back down in her chair, silently mulling over this – or brooding. It's hard to tell which.

"Killing is easy," Envoy says. "Not killing is the true sign of strength."

"It was for a reason, then," Sunala says. "Not some act of insanity or spite." Question or statement, it's as ambiguous in tone as her facial expression.

"I've killed three Babelites, and I'm responsible for the deaths of two others I think," Envoy says. "Do you see that as being strong? They were all pointless deaths."

"The High Princess, who is also the High Priestess of your Temple, is probably responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands by allowing the Boomer to be dropped on Babel," Envoy says. "I know now that it was expected. All those people died just to further her ambitions. Do you admire that?"

Sunala stands up – this time more slowly – from her chair. "What of yourself? There is still the matter of what becomes of you. What would you do, if you were allowed to live a while longer?"

"I would continue to fight," Envoy says with determination. "I would try to take out Inala, and you if I could. I will do everything I can to prevent the Princess from achieving her godhood."

"You are a silly creature," Sunala says, "to offer as a selling point to Me on the prolonging of your existence, that you would use it to try to shorten Mine."

"You are doomed anyway, Sunala," Envoy points out. "Can you deny the purpose of the ritual that binds you to Morpheus, or its ultimate goal? I am your chance at freedom."

"You know nothing of Me," Sunala retorts. "But it pleases Me to let you live a little while longer, if for no other reason than it would be of little use to deliver your admonition to leave Srinala be, if you should subsequently turn up dead. I shall return you to the land of the living, so long as you promise to cause no further trouble to Me, nor to Srinala, nor to Pouncer Zoltan, nor to Enos Zoltan, nor any in their household. If you do, as surely as I am, I shall see to it that you pay dearly for your indiscretion."

Envoy actually pauses to consider this. "Are you certain that you will not voluntarily remove yourself from the ritual to bestow godhood onto the High Princess?"

"I am who I am, nor do I think that I shall be used by foolish mortals. If that is what they expect, they would rather plan to be surprised," Sunala intones. "Whatever this ritual is you speak of, I have no part in it." The clock chimes again, and Sunala frowns. "It is time that I impart your message to these mages. There is no need for this realm any longer. I bid you go to your Morpheus to keep you company, until such time as you wake again in the land of the living. Pledge to do no trouble to Me or Mine, and I shall let you go in peace."

Envoy frowns, but nods. "I won't challenge you then, or disturb your Srinala. So long as you keep your word to not participate in the ritual, and do not interfere with my attempts to disrupt it."

"So be it," says Sunala, and the sky darkens, and she with it. The entire scene fades, only to be replaced as a swirl of gray mists surround Envoy, then part, leaving her in a familiar crossroads. Familiar, that is, save that it is greatly reduced from what it once was before. Only one archway stands, to one side of the stone circle. That archway is clearly Inala's, as marked by the idol of her that stands leaning against one column, and putting an arm across to rest against the opposite support.

Envoy collapses to her knees, and shivers for a bit. She then checks to see if anyone else is around watching her, now that the Royal Mages know about her presence. "I hope you won't be punished if I visit you again, Morpheus, but I really need to, I think." Having said this, she stands up and flies towards the crystal prison once more, to see her friend.