What does one do when their path no longer has heart? Did it have any to begin with? Wisdom and will, let us attend.

It was midday when Anathelia reached Meh'Ter, the home world of the Pisces quadrant, light years away from Mirach. The sky was dim, grey. A strange evil lurked. From her ship, Anathelia contemplated what Meh’Ter might have looked like. Legends from a previous time described this land as one of abundance and prosperity.

She touched ground at the base of the Parnassos Mountains. The ridges were of a light brown, slightly ocher color. A combination of erosion and natural evolution had carved jagged spikes out of the mountains. They glittered under the sun. She witnessed a spectacle of shimmering specs of light.

The ship's helio-engines thrummed and stopped as she exited her ship's cockpit. Her greaves struck dry ground under scorching sun. Meh'Ter was battered with undying heat as shadowy clouds slowly crept over the vast expanse of the mountains. She was hasty in equipping her helm. The armor's thermal regulators activated and Anathelia could feel a coolness enveloping her body.

Anathelia noticed several makeshift trails leading further inland and along the base of the mountains, followed one that lined it. It turned eastward and led to a cave opening. Her sensors showed a cold blue color at its ingress. She was beset with a strange intuition and gazed intently at the entrance.

Interesting. What makes it cool despite such dizzying heat?

Anathelia decided to leave her shield in her ship. Less weight meant being quicker, more agile. The environment she observed demanded flexibility and reflexes at moment's notice. The Dem.Core modus operandi stated one should remain as lightweight and tight as a situation deemed necessary.

With sword strapped to her back, she trudged her way through the ridges, intent on reaching the cave entrance. Coursing the narrow paths, Anathelia's armor rubbed against the dry shrub oak and thorny vines that coated the ridges. She was unaccustomed to the environment, discerning how uneven her footing was. Her armor was ill-suited for this place. It was designed for open-air, close quarter combat.

As she approached, a curious animal was crossing through the shrubbery and halted, quizzically looking at her. It was a Meh'Ter dirt hound, creatures notorious for digging massive holes and elaborate underground tunnel systems. It cocked its head to the left and let out a faint screech. The hound was fidgety, leaning its fist-sized head forward in a hesitant attempt to sniff the intruder. Anathelia kneeled and removed one of her gauntlets. She extended her hand out to the hound, but it frantically leaped and darted into the cave.

The entrance was no more than twenty universal meters away. As she crept in, a hermit was sitting on a boulder, his back against the cavern’s walls. He was a slender individual with a long grey beard and tattered clothing. He recited in a high-pitched voice,

*“Sticks and stones,
Blood and bones,
Moth dust and river water,
The Fates seldom falter.

Wheel spinners and thread weavers,
Theogony, and burden-bearers,
Power is unbeknown
And thy war is condoned.”*

He appeared delirious while mumbling these words, rocking back and forth on the boulder which served as his seat. He shifted his staff side to side while his hands were clasped around its front end. Having heard her footsteps, he paused his motion.

Peering at the cave’s entrance from the corner of his eye, the hermit noticed the newcomer and stood.

He looked at Anathelia and said, “Stay where you are!” The hermit’s words caught her off-guard. His voice had taken on a graver, more somber tone.

She hurriedly countered, "Pardon the intrusion, elder. I meant to briefly peer inside, no more."

"That might be so! But you've stumbled upon my cave, young one." He stood and stretched his arms out. His long and haggard white beard gracefully contoured his jaw line.

The hermit was walking towards Anathelia when she asked, "Who are you?"

She was unsure what to think of the hermit. His piercing green and brown eyes almost made her ill at ease. He was tall and olive-skinned. Despite his appearance, his movements were imbued with a youthfulness and fluidity blended with age-old experience.

He halted and was silent for a moment before responding, "Who am I? Mmmmm, yes. Identity! Who I am is unimportant in the grand order of things. The question you should be asking is why you were drawn to this place. Do you know?"

"I saw the entrance when I left my ship. My thermal reads contrasted the the cave with the rest of the environment and figured I'd inspect what might be the cause. I was curious," she rebuked.

He held his stomach in laughter, answered, "Wrong. Think again!"

She understood the hermit posed no threat to her and let her guard down. Anathelia knew that something pulled her to this place. It exerted a sort of natural gravitation. An intuition drew her to the cave. Yet, no answer came to mind as the words seemed to escape her.

The hermit could sense her indecision. "Clearly, the Core isn't what it used to be. This is a place of power! Many have used it before me and many will do so after my time here is at an end," he continued.

Her curiosity surfaced from underneath her state of alertness and queried, "What do you mean by power? What of the power of the Gods? Is that not power as you would perceive it?"

His eyes were wide open and teary, betraying his amused reaction. He had difficulties withholding his convulsions.

Is he taking me for a fool? She asked herself.

"You cannot explain power. It is unknown to you until you've faced it..." He paused. Leaning against his staff, he seemed tense. Anathelia could see that something within him was on the verge of consuming him, almost like a bright light or a fire. She leaned on her training to hone her sight in on the hermit.

She was captivated by him, entirely bewitched by the force at play. It seemed to be concentrated in the area of his stomach. It twirled, expanded, and retracted. She saw that the hermit was struggling against it, utterly focused on keeping it at bay. As he raised his head, she noticed the hermit's eyes gleamed with a brightness she had seldom witnessed.

After a moment, Anathelia could see the fire within the hermit receded at a singular place. What point is that? She asked herself. This show of mastery superseded any display of power she had previously witnessed.

The hermit breathed. The exertion had tested his mettle. He continued, "The gods... Yes, naturally, you would say that. The so-called gods you praise are the same ones who would betray you at any given moment. For the most part, they're an aloof, interested bunch who saw the fallacies in humans. They noticed humans adore being told what to do."

He ambled towards her, sensing that she had relaxed and accepted his presence. She noticed the peculiar shape and make of the man’s staff. It was mildly battered with scratches along its body. It was the same ocher color and the top end of the staff seemed to gleam the way the mountains' points did. It had been straightened, rounded and was hollowed at the top end. Therein lied a stone that radiated a mixture of colors, blue and purple, catching Anathelia's attention.

What manner of forgery is this? Is it possible that he made it from those acicular death traps? How did an old man climb to such heights? She asked herself.

The hermit noticed her scrutiny and commented, “Hm! Not too discreet are you, lass? The staff is of no concern, at least for now. Should power will it, we will meet again.”

"Again with this power! I don't understand what you mean. The only power we've ever known was the power of the twelve and what they've taught us. You speak of this power as though it were independent of them," she rebutted.

"Because it is. The only perception you were given from birth is what you believe to be true. Over time, the mold of this perception has been solidified by the relentless onslaught of your world's intellectual rearing. Now, your reason will defend its irrevocable rules."

Confusion gripped her. Her lips curled in angst.

Smiling, he continued, “Those irrevocable rules are now attachments whose livelihood and existence you will protect. Your prerogative should be to act immaculately. Not only is it your path to freedom, it unbinds you from this mold.”

Anathelia felt powerless. Everything the hermit said went against what she knew. She was aggravated and asked, "But what if I wanted to undertake what it is you speak of, would you teach me?"

The hermit's reaction was one of sympathy for but a fleeting instant before replying, "That isn't enough. You must know your heart. You must know exactly why you want to do this. Save your energy for the next time we meet."

"We will meet again?"

"If power wills it. You must find the aegis, at all costs. Now, go! You have no time to waste."

She heard the decisiveness in the hermit's voice. In a sort of solemn acquiescence, Anathelia nodded her head, turned around, and made way back to her ship.

I've never seen anything... anyone like him. It looked like a fire was consuming him. How... He spoke of an aegis. What was he talking about?

Brushing these thoughts aside, she headed back down the ridge to her ship. She looked and saw nothing but desert around her. The plains were dull and lifeless. She saw only the fumes coming from a village West of the mountains.

She looked at the scorched earth beneath her greaves and grabbed a handful of dust and dirt. The earth was dry, tainted red. She could sense that it was dying. The first symptoms of Permanyxia were taking hold.

What can we do for you, Great Mother? Your whispers are faint.

And she recalled what the hermit said as she left his cave, "The nature of limitlessness is everything. We seek freedom. Matching the coldness of its expanse is testament to a bygone era. We seek only freedom. A great war beckons you all. And you will need all the help you are willing to receive."