Surprise was preparing to leave Griffonstone. Grover was ready to take his Victory Lap.

The king sat in the hold of Surprise, his sword held in his talons, pointed towards the wooden floor. One might assume him to be praying, or as a knight about to take an oath. The cabin, a rather bare room, surrounded him. In one corner sat a table, and on it sat the Idol of Boreas. The gemstone in it twinkled in the dimly lit room, and he would occasionally cast a bitter look towards it. Surprise had set out early that morning, sailing towards the Edge once again.

He sat on a bed, his eyes occasionally drifting off to look at things that weren’t there, specters of the last time that this had occurred. He could almost feel the burning talons of Notus around his throat. Of course, Notus would have aimed for there- he knew about Grover’s previous encounters with the gods. Beat them to the end of the world. The words echoed in his head, resounding with perfect clarity as if Notus was there, was breathing down Grover’s neck.

His sword shook in his talons, like a divining rod above water, doing its best to spin as he held it. He set the sword down, removed himself from his bed, and walked to the Idol of Boreas, touching it with a terrified expression on his face. He tapped the gemstone with a single digit, and he was confident he tasted blood in his mouth- a bitter, almost acrid, taste that made him gag and wish to vomit.

For a brief moment, the gemstone glowed with a light of its own, and then it was gone. Grover shuddered, as if the Stormlord himself had run his thunder-lined fingers down his spine. He felt the door behind him swing upon, slamming into the wall as the draft, cold as an icy storm, blew into the cabin.

He turned from the Idol, knowing what would greet him. “They’re going to die,” he whispered, glaring at the goddess on his bed. Boreas’ form was crystalline, much like stained glass. Feathers of white, pale blue, indigo, and sea blue comprised her feathers, sparkling in the dim light. Her eyes were nonexistent, merely raw sockets in her head, empty and uncaring. Flecks of ice could be seen lining the edges of those sockets, glinting and nearly blinding him from the thousand reflected facets.

Boreas’ frosty mouth curled in an almost bitter smile. Her tail sat limply on the bed, the fur of icicles and snow smoothed to perfection. “They’d die without it, as well,” Boreas whispered, and her voice was beautiful. It tinkled like wind chimes, melodious and varying. But there was a coldness to her words, an almost empty acceptance. “Would you have rather Zephyr killed them, then and there?”

Grover grimaced but shook his head.

“Exactly,” continued Boreas. “Be glad that Notus came, eager to prove himself the greatest. At least now there’s a chance we keep power in our favor. At least now, we’re playing the game as opposed to not being invited at all.

“I thought you were…”

“Omnipotent?” The freezing laugh sent shivers down Grover’s spine, threatening to immobilize his spine. “No. I have a limited sphere of influence, and there is little I can do when fighting Notus, and him when fighting me. Had it been any other member of the pantheon, I would have likely been able to intervene.”

“Actually,” Grover muttered, retrieving his sword, “I had thought that you lot were smarter than this. You're all supposed to be the gods of griffonkind, and here you are using us as pawns in some stupid game.” He lowered his sword so that it was pointing at Boreas’ throat. “I’m in a awful mood, so you had best provide an explanation for this.”

Boreas frowned and pushed the sword away from her throat, turning her void eyes so that they seemed to be gazing straight into Grover’s soul. “Do not threaten me. You would be dead by now, were it not for…” Boreas trailed off, a bitter expression crossing her face. She shook her head for a moment, sending shards of ice cascading from her head. When she had reoriented herself, bringing the shower of snow and sleet to a halt, she glared at Grover. “Is this why you called me? To aggravate me about my past mistakes?”

“Other reasons,” Grover murmured, leaning against the table that held the Idol. “I need your help.”

“And I am sworn to give it,” Boreas growled, her tinkling voice becoming foreboding, like the rush of air during a storm. “I have stood by you through the past fifteen years, far longer than any others.”

“To be fair,” Grover said, “the other champions died long before they could have been chosen for fifteen years.”

Boreas gave an acknowledging nod. “What do you ask of me? I assume you have a valid reason. One that couldn’t have been done by… proxy.”

“Gale,” Grover said. “How is she still alive?”

Boreas let off a tinkling laugh. “You expect me to give answers that even I do not have. Gale is an enigma, even to me.”

“Couldn’t you…” Grover waved a talon in the air. “Fly to her ship and spy on her?”

Boreas gave a vicious grimace. “As it turns out, it is possible to ward the location of your ship from immortals. Like I said: I am neither omnipotent nor omnipresent, ergo there are things I cannot find. I may see much, but Gale’s ship tends to stay out of my view.” There was a slight pause from the immortal. “There is an alternative to that, however.”

“Wonderful,” Grover muttered under his breath. “And that is?”

“There are going to be four champions,” Boreas said, her voice almost terrified. “You are one. It is unlikely that Eurus’ is still alive. He will have chosen another. If Stork was Zephyr’s in the past, it is possible that she turned to another Oracle following his death.”

Grover fingered the hilt of his sword, thinking. “So it’s probable that one of the Oracles is the champion of Zephyr. And you think it’s Gale?”

“It’s always possible,” Boreas murmured. “The worst case scenario, however, is that our friend Gale is Zephyr.”

Grover muttered a curse under his breath. “I hope you’re joking.”

“I never joke,” Boreas said, her voice even colder than normal. “We’ve pulled the trick off in the past. Swap immortal for mortal. Gale’s identity might be the answer to her immortality.”

Grover swore. “Damn. So either she’s working for Zephyr, or she is Zephyr. Neither one is good for us.” He swallowed as Boreas rearranged herself on his bed, not unlike a predator in the way she watched him think. He cast her a dark look. “Don’t even try it.”

“I had no intention of doing anything of the sort,” Boreas growled. She made a motion with her talon, and a crystal wine glass appeared in her talon, a pale blue liquid floating in it. There was a sudden, vicious snap of cold in the air, making Grover wince as flecks of the freezing liquid struck him. “I will, however, toast to your upcoming victory in the race.” She motioned once more, and a similar glass appeared in Grover’s talon.

Grover shook his head and tossed the glass to the floor with a crash. The glass melted to water almost as soon as it left his claw, pouring through the floorboards and vanishing. “We don’t have time for this. The Oracles must be salivating about this. How can you be so calm?”

Boreas gave him an almost feral grin. For a moment, Grover thought he saw a twinkling from within those empty sockets, but it soon passed. “I’ve been playing this game for millennia. We can handle the Oracles and their little ‘prophet’ Gale. We beat the other three before, what’s to stop us this time around?”

“Eurus’ champion almost killed us at one point,” Grover murmured, fingering his neck where there was a thin, wicked scar, mostly concealed by his feathers. “Notus’ died, yes, but we don’t even know how he died. Stork stayed alive for almost five years following that race. We sailing into unknown territory, aren’t we?”

“Perhaps,” Boreas murmured. “I won’t deny that things have shifted significantly since last time.”

Grover groaned and swung his sword in a wide arc, as if motioning at a vast horizon. Boreas watched the blade for a second before returning her attention to the king, those raw sockets almost glittering. “Any leads on the other immortals? Seen Zephyr or Eurus around as of late?”

“Sadly,” Boreas growled, a wave of ice blowing in with her words, “Notus’ arrival has hampered my abilities as of late. His essence clings to this-” she waved a talon at the ship and towards where the city lay- “and prevents me from finding anything of worth. It’s like a bitter aftertaste. He is my opposite, and it seems that his meddling has interfered with anything I have tried.”

“Damn. You sure that-”

“I have scoured the city twice already,” Boreas growled. “Once this morning, and once after the party. I’ve found nothing.”

Grover made a defeated wave of his talon and sat down on a chair, a long sigh escaping his mouth.

“Anything else? Would you like the official rulebook for the game?” Boreas asked icily, those void eyes watching him intently. “Or may I return to my regular… business.” There was a certain vehemence to the words of the god, filled with cold and bitterness.

Grover shook his head, almost sadly. “I’m afraid that I do have more to ask you,” he began as Boreas rolled her head backwards with an ugly crack. The icy joints of the immortals neck had threatened to break for a second, but the damage had been repaired within seconds. Grover winced before he continued. “I need to ask you something. Do you know the name of Eurus’ champion? Either of them, old or new?”

Boreas let out a tinkling laugh, filled with bitterness. “You seem to have forgotten that I am persona non grata amongst my siblings. Following my… interactions with particular mortals, they decided that the best thing they could do is keep me away from the Edge. I’ve already tried. Once every three months for the past twelve years. There’s a reason I always come back. One of them has always blocked me from getting there. Most recently, it was Notus. If I were not immortal, he’d likely have killed me. As it stands, he knocked me out of the sky, wings turned to steam. Took me a good hour to regenerate.”

“I thought you were-”

“Equals?” Boreas’ mouth curved into a vicious grimace. “A few decades ago, certainly. Turns out, however, that getting attached to mortals leads to you becoming more like them. I’m surprised that Notus hasn’t figured that out about those princesses at this point.”

“You never mentioned that,” Grover growled, raising an eyebrow as he cast a grimace at her. He made a strangling motion with his talons. “I thought that we had an-”

Boreas brought herself off of the bed, raising an icy eyebrow. She stalked towards the king, her pose suddenly dark. “Agreement? Yes. I am your patron, not your servant. I give the orders.”

“Doubtful,” Grover began, allowing himself a snort. “I will remind you, we have a mutually beneficial relationship. You tell me-”

The air pressure in the cabin dropped, and Grover felt his ears pop in pain as Boreas brought her head an inch away from the ear of the king. When Boreas spoke, he felt as if his ear was freezing off as it went numb. But it still burned. “I am your GOD, Grover,” Boreas whispered, bringing a talon to the nape of his neck. She tapped the scar on the back of his neck, making Grover want to scream in pain. “You live today because I want you to. Do not mistake that for a moment. I offered you your chance. You rejected immortality, the world as a wedding gift, and the opportunity to sit at the throne of the Stormlord. Had I been any other immortal, you would have sat in my palace, a statue or trophy till the end of time.

“But… you still live. And I want you to know that that is because of who you are and who I was. Do not provoke me.”

Grover let out a gasp of pain as Boreas continued to tap the scar on his neck. Despite the near-freezing air around him, the scar burned. It felt as if someone was pressing a branding iron against his neck, burning so hard that it was practically numb. He looked at Boreas through clouded eyes, simultaneously shut from agony and clouded with tears, nd he noticed that the glint of amusement that usually filled Boreas’ eyes was gone. “I thought that we worked-”

“Together?” Boreas’ mouth twisted into a sneer, and for a moment, Grover thought he spied glittering crystal fangs. “That was the case. And it still is. But I cannot let you off without grinding the severity of this situation into that skull of yours. Even if it requires me sending shards of ice through it. We will go to the end of the world. You will cement your station. If you do not, you will pray that I that freeze you and put you on display. The others will do far worse.” She pulled away from him, her cold breath still sending shivers down his spine. “We will get to the edge of the world, the land of shattered skies and endless oceans. You will stand before Aeolus’ throne once more, and you will decry the other four.”

Grover let out a long breath when Boreas retook her place on the bed. “Why decry them,” he whispered, standing up from his chair and making his way towards his sword.

Boreas’ smile was made all the more eerie by those empty sockets, the voids seeming to suck at Grover’s soul. “Because that’s the only way for us to kill them. Permanently. And put this infernal race to an end once and for all.” She stood up from the bed, walking past the king and towards the door. She stopped in the doorway, a dark grin on her face as she looked at the king one last time. “So, what do you say, Grover? Feel up for killing three immortals?”

Before the king could respond, her form fell away, breaking apart like the winter in a spring thaw. Wings shattered, feathers becoming icicles and then puddles when they struck the floor. Fur became piles of snow, dampening Grover's cot. All that remained was a flickering mass of white, which sped from the room in a gust of white, leaving Grover in the cabin of his ship. Alone.

“There’s a limit to the amount of asinine behavior that I can stomach,” Finch growled. The Six, once more a hexadecimal based organization, given that Vane had been promoted, sat in their meeting room once more, rueful grimaces on their faces. Passerine’s expression was a leer, and there was a certain smugness to Vane’s, but the rest were caught in the middle of either snarls or groans.

Finch sat at the head of the table once more, his talons folded as he looked at the Six. Gale, or so he claimed, was unable to meet with the rest of them today, due to the result of her most recent prophecies. That worked out perfectly fine for the rest of the Oracles. They had no desire for Gale to reprimand them, especially given the circumstances.

“Alright,” Finch continued, his eyes blazing as he continued, “let us continue to refresh everyone’s memory.” He waved a talon at Gareth, whose face had sustained a relatively nasty bruise from his encounter with Simurgh, which was matched by the cut that Finch had given him with the tiny blade attached to his tail. “Gareth here, one of the greatest fighters to ever grace the the griffons, was defeated by a griffon with black feathers.”

Gareth’s eyes were just as stormy as Finch’s, if not more so, as he glared at Gale’s majordomo. He leaned forward in his chair, wiping the tiny trickle of blood away from his eye as spoke. “Finch, if you have not been listening, that griffon was Simurgh.” He pointed towards the door to his ship, his next words coming out as something close to a shot. “Sim-Urgh. I think that even an idiot like you can grasp what I’m saying.”

“Simurgh?” Finch’s voice was arrogant. The metallic spike on his tail flicked back and forth as if itching to strike Gareth once more. “You mean that little piece of shit that Grimlock-”

There was the sound of a sword being drawn as Gareth’s, his eyes blazing, pulled his sword from his chair with a glint of light. He pointed it at Finch. “I do not have time for this,” he snapped. “If you had been listening, you would have by now realize that-”

“I’m confused.” It was the pegasus, Vane, who spoke. Gareth and Finch turned from each other to glance at her, grimaces still etched on their faces. “We lost the necklace. Okay. Gareth got beaten in a fight. Okay. What’s so important about all that to warrant… this?” She waved a wing at the mess surrounding her.

There was a snarl as Gareth rammed his sword in the table, the wood shattering and splintering as the sword went downwards. Gareth, his expression something close to what a deposed king would have, pointed at Finch. “This ignorant fool seems to think that I was unable to win a battle with an ordinary griffon because clearly, I am unqualified for this position.” His yellow eyes glinted in the dim light, sending shivers down several of those in the room as he swiveled his feline gaze around the chamber. “Nevermind the fact that I was in a duel with Simurgh, one of the deadliest griffons of our day and age.”

Grimlock, who sat with his talons folded in thought, raised an eyebrow. He held out his metal clad talon with a frown, the joints in it clinking slightly as he gestured. “Simurgh was in Griffonstone? My, my, isn’t that a surprise?” He tapped the side of his beak with a metallic clank, his eyes surveying the room with a glint of interest. “I assume he beat you quickly, Gareth?”

Gareth gave Grimlock a grudging nod. “Correct. It was over in a minute. I found the girl who had the necklace, attacked her, then promptly got my ass kicked by the ever-lovely Simurgh.”

Vane raised a tentative hoof. The rest of the Oracles all cast a look at her, Vane wincing slightly as she did so. “Why do you all care so much about a damn necklace?”

Finch gave a glare at the pegasus. “Vane, that ‘damn necklace’ is one of the most valuable artifacts we currently have in our possession. Or we had, up until the point that Raven and Gareth seemed to have lost it.”

Gareth gave Finch a dark look, allowing himself to slump back into his chair and removing his sword from the table as he did so. The runes on it glowed faintly as he did so, removing the blade from the wood far more quickly than any common metal should have. He leveled his sword so that it was pointed at Finch. “I did not ‘lose it.’ I was defeated by a griffon. A particularly skilled griffon.” He allowed himself a sneer. “One that this snide asshole seems to think makes me unqualified to help lead the Oracles.”

Finch allowed himself a sigh as he leaned back in his chair, massaging his temple. He gave Vane a long look before continuing. “This is why I was apprehensive about Gale’s suggestion of you.” He looked at his talons for a moment, rubbing his digits together as one would with a coin. “Long story short, we need that necklace for communication purposes. Among other things. This chamber is connected to the other Oracle ships via runes, but these little trinkets,” he said, reaching up to his ear and tugging on a slight earring that hung there, “are how we send out alerts.”

Vane glanced at him, understanding dawning on her face. “You mean?”

“That Raven is currently off the grid?” The voice of Passerine sent shivers down the spines of those in the room, even making Finch and Vane jump. None had seen the behemoth enter, and his snakelike form had made him hard to see in the dim light. His eyes glittered malevolently as he continued. “That is correct.” He slid himself into his throne-like seat, taking a pose like a king watching his subjects. He rested his massive head on an equally massive talon, looking at the rest of them with interest. “Don’t let me keep you,” he murmured, an almost feral grin spreading on his eerily dark face. “Continue.”

Finch allowed himself a bitter sigh as he continued. “Suffice to say, without that necklace, we have no way to access The Specter or anything she keeps aboard her. Which, for our purposes is a major problem.” He clenched one talon into a ball and wrapped the other around it, making motions as if to crush the curled talon. “The Specter houses… sensitive information. If anyone captures it, while we lack access to it, we lose almost a decade worth of treasure, secret gatherings, and more. There’s a reason Raven keep the belowdecks so heavily guarded, and it isn’t just because of the slave trade.”

Vane allowed herself a nervous swallow. “Question. I’m the newest member of the Six, correct?”

“As much as I regret it, yes,” Passerine growled, leaning forward slightly and making Vane jump backwards. “Our first pegasus Oracle, and the first one who’s a total buffoon to boot.” He clapped his talons together, actually making the room rumble. “We’re breaking new ground.”

Vane grimaced. “Where are we, exactly?”

“Nowhere, actually,” Finch chuckled. “For all intents and purposes, we’re off the grid.”

“Then how are we-”

“Transport runes,” Grimlock cut her off, setting his talons on the table. The gauntleted talon tapped one digit up and down, making an eerie clanking. “Finch wired this whole place connect to a variety of locations. You ever heard of Seven League Horseshoes? I understand your people use the same technique as transport runes.”

“Yeah, but ours connect to-”

“Real locations, yes,” Grimlock murmured, sighing. “But the fundamental principle is the same. You connect one place to another through some fashion, whether thought or runes. That allows the user to move from that location to another, creating a miniature bridge through the world, as it were.

“The only difference is that these runes can connect you to imaginary places. Or, at the very least, areas not on a map anywhere. It’s somewhere in the world, but it’s so remote and bizarre that nobody is going to walk in on us in a million years.”

Drake let out a sigh, blowing feathers away from his face. A few of them seemed to be frosting over, but none of the Oracles made any comment as he spun his long staff in his talons. “Not that discussing runes isn’t fascinating, but don’t we have a job to do? Things to burn, ships to destroy, all that fun stuff?”

Finch shook his head. “Not right now, no. For now, we need to focus on getting our hands on the necklace. If ‘Simurgh’ is as powerful as you claim, handing him that necklace is the worst possible course of action you could have taken. So, either you were beaten by a pigeon, or you handed over a powerful artifact to a dangerous griffon.” He gave Gareth a vicious grimace. “Neither option is doing well for your standing.”

Gareth snorted, spinning his sword in a swift arc that sliced a fleck of wood from the table. “You want to replace me? Go ahead and try.”

Finch raised an eyebrow. “You really want to go for that?” He grinned spitefully. “Limbs up, everyone.” The talons went up. Only Finch and Drake raised their talons, with Grimlock, Passerine, Pandora and Vane doing nothing. Finch let out a sigh. “That wasn’t official.”

“Dammit, Finch,” Gareth muttered, throwing his sword into the air. It spun in a lazy arc, slicing into the table with a vicious hiss. The table even let off a tiny bit of smoke. “I don’t have time for this. We’ve got a war on our hands, and a deity even showed up in Griffonstone the other day-”

“What!?” Finch roared, eyes widening. The griffon was so busy screaming at Gareth that he did not notice Grimlock’s wince. “What are you talking about?”

Gareth let out a sigh and removed his other sword from where it sat behind him. He threw it no unlike one would a discarded piece of trash, the weapon flying through the air and nicking Finch along the edge of his brown feathers. “Notus has shown up in Griffonstone. Surprised your spies didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I don’t have a lot of spies in Griffonstone,” Finch hissed. He ran a talon along where the sword had nicked him before continuing. “And you almost killed me! Watch what you’re doing, you f-”

Gareth allowed himself a chuckle. “No. This is almost killing you.” He revealed a tattoo, almost like a rune, carved onto his talon. He raised the talon into the air, the tattoo glowing brightly. The thrown sword dislodged itself from the wall and flew directly towards Finch, speeding past him and leaving him with a bloody gash on the side of his neck. “So shut up.”

Finch looked atthe cut on his neck to the blood coating Gareth’s sword, with appeared almost like wine in the dimly lit room. “I’ll have you hung for treason, you arrogant-”

Gareth took his talon and wiped the blood from the sword, his catlike eyes dancing as he looked at Finch. “Try me.”

Finch swallowed and said nothing, instead nodding to Pandora. The yellow griffon hurried towards Finch, carving a set of runes into the ground around him. They glowed brightly for a moment, and then the cut, miraculously, closed, leaving only the stained feathers around where it had been. “Thank you, Pandora,” Finch murmured, not looking at her or Gareth. He let out a sigh. “I'll speak with Gale regarding this news. Anyway, Gale has given some recent orders with regards to how we’ll be handling the most current set of prophecies.”

There was a rolling of eyes from more than one of the Oracles, but they were wise enough to do it as Finch fetched a stack of papers from beneath his chair. He began flipping through them, a grimace etched on his face. “She believes that her most recent set of visions had to do with the pathway to uniting the world. Peacocks, the Reaches, the various islands lurking around.”

Passerine snorted once more. “It won’t work. As it stands, we need to focus on removing Grover first and foremost.”

“Be that as it may,” Finch growled, flipping through the pages, “she is your captain, and you owe her a duty to hear her orders out. And to follow them.”

Gareth looked from Finch to the blood staining his talon. “Surprisingly red,” he muttered, shaking droplets of it onto the floor. “Alright. What’s Gale want?”

Finch winced as a few flecks of his own blood flew through the air and struck him, but he made no comment. “Gale believes that, for now, we need to focus on digging into old notes. Search for any leads that might lead us to victory. She thinks that, as it stands, the race is starting once more, and we need to get moving. Find ways to the east, break into old texts, search for any clues in order to win the race.”

Finch waved a talon at Grimlock. “Grimlock, you’re going to visit the Roc Point library and search for the writings of a Captain Sparrow.” He gave the hippogriff a spiteful grin. “I figure you’ll appreciate this.”

“Library burned down,” Grimlock muttered, his eyes not meeting Finch’s. “It’s unlikely that the asshole here,” he waved at Drake, “didn’t destroy them all in his mad rampage.”

“I took out two years worth of crimes,” Drake snapped. “How was I not going to take an opportunity like that? I switched how I was going to accomplish my goal, sure, but I got done what I wanted to get done: stop Grover from finding those records. Definitely worth it.”

Grimlock chuckled slightly. “There you go, Finch. The reason why I’ll be unable to find anything of Sparrow’s in the Roc Point library.” He paused and gave Finch a mild sneer. “Lucky for you. However, I searched the library earlier this week. I managed to find Sparrow’s diary.”

“And you didn’t bother telling me, instead of leading me on, because…”

Grimlock’s sneer got slightly stronger. “I was curious about how much you actually knew. After all, who knows what you'll miss if your spies don't spot me visiting a library.”

Finch let out a sigh. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, just see if you can find any of his other notes or anything lying about. I believe you’re an aficionado on the subject.”

Grimlock nodded, grimacing as his talon clanked. “I’ll see what I can do. Apologies for the earlier comments.” He paused, glanced towards the doorway to his ship, then returned his attention to Finch. “What about Raven, though?”

Finch shrugged. “If she comes running back to us, or tries to contact any of us, we’ll know and try and make her see reason. Right now, however, she seems unwilling to meet with any of us. Too ashamed to show her face, I would wager.”

“Arrogant bitch,” came Drake’s chuckle. “Serves her right. About time she got her comeuppance. You don’t let pleasure come before work in this business.”

“No point in arguing,” Gareth murmured, wiping the last of the blood from his sword. “We get down to business.”

Finch gave Gareth a grimace. “Which brings me to my next point. As much as I hate to admit it, Gareth, Gale wants you dealing with any and all ships that we deem worthy of searching. If you run into The Bounty, frisk it. The Raven, frisk it. And so on.” He let out a sigh before continuing. “No killing, though. Gale wants us avoiding death, at least for right now. As far as anyone in Griffonstone knows, we’re likely still involved in our everyday Oracle business. No knowledge of the ‘race’ starting once again or whatever bullshit it’s called.”

“I can do that,” Gareth said. He sheathed his swords, the runes glowing faintly as they vanished. “That all?” Finch nodded, drawing an expression that vaguely resembled a grin from the Oracle. “Excellent.”

Finch turned to Drake. “You, my pyromaniac friend, are going to do what you do best. Stir up trouble.”

Drake’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s the most open you’ve ever been to me burning stuff. What’s the catch?”

A stack of papers landed in front of Drake. The Oracle began leafing through them as Finch elaborated. “Gale wants these locations searched and the contents removed. Then you can go and burn stuff and grab whatever else it is you wanted. Long story short, just make sure that it looks like a mess got made. Destruction, chaos, anything to distract from what got removed.”

“A variety of artifacts?” Drake murmured, raising his right eyebrow still further. “You do realize these locations will set my bounty through the roof.”

“You don’t exactly care.”

“True,” Drake acknowledged with a chuckle. “So, just get these, and I’m allowed to take whatever else I want, no questions asked?” Finch nodded, drawing a whoop of excitement from the pirate. “I’m game.”

Finch let out a mild groan as he turned to Passerine. “Do what you normally do.”

“Wise decision.”

“I know,” Finch muttered darkly, his eyes turning to Vane. “You’ll stick around with Gale and me, learning the ropes and whatnot. Once we get the necklace back, we’ll hand you a ship and crew. Until that point, however, we can’t send you off somewhere without means of contacting us.”

“Can’t you just make a new trinket?” Vane asked, her one eyebrow rising. Despite having only one eye, Finch flinched harder than he would have for two. “Given what I understand, you’ve lost Oracles in the past. What’s the stop you from making a new one?”

There was a muted pause as the other members of the Oracles exchanged a look. The captains said nothing, leaving Finch to answer. “Suffice to say, the magic is finicky. Until the necklace gets destroyed, I don’t want to hook up another ship to this room for fear of destroying something in a runic accident.”

Vane let out a sigh. “Fine.”

Finch nodded gratefully. “I appreciate your understanding.” He turned to Pandora. “You’ll be doing what Gale told you to do, so I don’t have to tell you again, correct?”

Pandora nodded. “I’m almost there already.”

“Wonderful,” Finch said, grinning. He reassembled his stack of papers, flipping through it one last time. “Oh, to address the prophecies. Gale expects a few things to come up.” He cast them all a mildly insane grin. “Any of you having dreams of a vast ocean? An endless sea upon which you sail?”

The Oracles looked at each other, raising eyebrows and exchanging frowns. None of them spoke but merely shook their heads. A few of them had mildly concerned looks on their faces, but none chimed into the conversation.

Finch did not let the response deter him. “How about images of lightning? Tattoos in the shapes of weather formations?” He grimaced. “The latter is not a vision, but something actual griffon possesses. Any of you see anything like that on your voyages?”

“It’s shocking, I know,” Passerine growled, “but it’s nigh-impossible for me to frisk anyone after I’ve killed them. You ever considered that?”

Pandora nodded slightly, frowning. “I’ve seen no griffons like that. Why? Gale see something wrong?”

“She wouldn’t tell me specifics,” Finch muttered. “But she seems to think that an individual like that is going to do their best to tear the Oracles apart.”

Grimlock allowed himself a chuckle. “If we see anyone with storm-shaped tattoos, I’ll make sure to throw that fellow off the side. Until then, however, I think it’s safe to assume that we’re not going to stumble upon anything particularly useful in this situation.”

“Agreed,” Gareth chimed in.

Finch let out a sigh. “Fine. Let me know if you do find anything.”

Grimlock snorted. “I assume you’ve got something to work on. Why not let us get back to our business and go worry about mad prophecies somewhere else.”

Casting a dark look at Grimlock as he did so, Finch stalked out of the room, Vane following close behind. Drake left soon after, leaving the other four in the empty room. The four of them exchanged looks, grimaces or nervous looks on their faces.

It was Passerine’s deep voice that spoke first. “Grimlock, I assume you’ve got a reason for having us stay? Or did you keep me away from my projects just to spite me from last time?”

“We need to do something,” Grimlock murmured, his eyes hard.

Passerine raised an eyebrow. “Please enlighten me, oh mighty philosopher and blacksmith. You having mad visions now as well? About how we ought to all go sailing in the footsteps of your ancestor or some damn nonsense like that?”

Grimlock nodded towards the door where Finch had just vanished. “You know exactly what I want to talk about.”

Passerine snorted, his eyes glinting malevolently. “No means no, you idiot.” He gave a feral grin to Grimlock. “I’m not allying myself with a martyr’s cause. You can talk all you want about how Gale’s visions are becoming more insane, or how Finch is going to lead us to ruin, we all agree with you on that.” He waved a talon at the door where Finch had disappeared. “But we’ve all seen what the two of them can do. We are not staging a coup against Finch and Gale. There’s a deity on their side, we’ve all seen it.”

Pandora frowned, her eyes wide. “Our side, at least for the time being.” She allowed herself a grimace. “That has no chance of staying that way if we go down this path.”

Passerine snorted. “Exactly. We cannot try and stop them.”

Grimlock let out a sigh, steepling his talons so that they resembled an upside-down V. “I’ve been here longer than any of you. All of you will remember what I said to you when I brought you into the fold, I assume?”

Passerine snorted. “How can I forget? ‘A greater good,’ ‘the greatest reward of your life,’ ‘the chance to form a new order,’ I could quote you all day. And I won’t lie, I appreciate the majority of your ideals.” He clenched his talon into a fist, then slammed it next to Gareth, his eyes hardening. “But you’re insane if you think that we can take on the forces of a nigh-immortal griffon, a deity, and whatever-the-hell Finch is.”

“Plain griffon,” Gareth murmured. “He’s an ordinary moral griffon. Would have keeled over if he was anything greater than that.” He gestured to where his swords sat. “Mortality runes, unsurprisingly, tend to hurt when you’ve got something powerful on your side.”

“So he’s vanilla, like the majority of us. Doesn’t change a damn thing. The point remains,” Passerine continued, miming strangling something with a talon as he did so, “that I will not align myself with any kind of rebellion under these odds.” He sighed as he saw Pandora open her mouth. “He raised you, you little ingrate. Of course you’ll back him up.” He waved a talon at Gareth. “Back me up.”

Gareth glanced at Passerine, his eyes colder than normal. “You lack conviction,” the griffon murmured, fingering the blade of his sword. “We’re Oracles for a reason. Act like it. Gale’s a pretender.”

“Have the lot of you gone mad?” Passerine snarled, getting up from his chair and turning towards the door. “Try and pull a stunt like this on me again, and I’ll let Finch know of your meeting time. You’re lucky I was willing to hear you out this time and not have all of you tried.” He muttered a curse under his breath. “And here I was, hoping you had something new to offer.”

“Wouldn’t have worked,” Gareth murmured. “Grimlock’s a senior Oracle. We’d have been pardoned.”

“Passerine,” Grimlock murmured, a mild grin on his face as Passerine began to throw insults at Gareth. “Don’t leave just yet.”

Passerine sneered, turning his head back around to face Grimlock. “What, you little hippogriff? What makes you think that anything you can say will stop me from leaving now?” He ran his tongue along his beak. “Absolutely nothing.”

The clinking of Grimlock’s metallic talon was eerie as it waved towards the doorway to his ship. “I wouldn't be so quick. I did call you here for a reason. Just wait a second.”

The door swung open with a bang, the wood almost threatening to buckle as it struck the dark wall. Something bright white streaked into the room, leaving scorch marks on the floor that faded almost instantaneously. All of the Oracles reflexively pulled back, the sudden heat threatening to burn them. The air seemed to shimmer, dancing like the mast of a ship in a sudden wind. The trail spun its way to the center of the table, drawing a gasp from Passerine. A flaming griffon, eyes glowing bright blue, materialized in the center of the chamber, his form floating above the table at which the Oracles met.

The golden crown gleamed upon the deity’s head as he looked at Passerine. Notus cocked his head slightly, a mirthless grin spreading across his face. “How about a deity on your own team? Would that be enough for you to change your mind?"

Passerine's mouth formed an 'o.' "Alright. So, what's the first step?"

Notus' grin widened. "Killing Grover."

Author's Note

Apologies for the lack of updates as of late. My current editor vanished for a while, and I was waiting to see if he got back to me. Didn't really happen. Oh, and I'm lazy. That was part of the problem as well. But the ever-cool B_25 stepped in to help, so you should go check him out.