Poe Halroth took lead around remaking towards fortification beyond that of warfaring defense. She’d seen fit to bolster her people from the ground up—from the depths of their spirit. Rory was beside her throughout. They’d been resting together and showing face in public spaces which seemed of times so distant.

The Mole Hole had made change amongst the people of The Foundry. Everyone was finding themself stranger—of more capability—in need of guidance from themself and each other on how to move through it.

People were indulging in herb which would see to change their psyche. It would unlock in portions and factions of thought—twist to horror by unseen might stowed of dark—blink people across time without notion to intend. Everyone was becoming connected to Ecatosh in their own way.

Horus was helping.

Earth—Echo’s home world—had many of these same happenings. During her time, near the end she’d found some awakening within herself and her fellows. Their ways were of blindness. They believed themselves those who understood what they did not.

Rory would have been labeled a psychopath in that place. Echo would have been deemed a schizophrenic. It wasn’t that the world was wrong in their recognition of some difference within types of people. It was the way they saw no nuance and taught of dealing with these changes which would own them into self-enforced slavery.

Healing was possible into complete beings of higher natures than would be known on that Earth. Here at The Foundry there would be holding of space for these transformations into people beyond that of human basics.

Shaman—medicine elders—leaders of furious foresight—tellers of heartful truth—knowers of morality—holders of peace—interpreters of the universe and those who’d see their peers most clearly. All would be made of each in lifetimes. It was through the fear of limitation which would see them to know of ways to exist beyond that contained by evil force brought to bear with such hardened rigidity.

Elaria was not a place for malformation—anything perceived as such. Power which threatened that of the Empress was to be expunged. All who’d see to reflect the knowing of truth she held from her own connection to Ecatosh would show to prove a fault in her philosophy. She’d believed herself infallible and unequalled.

All were equal.

Demi Annexa was back from time aboard Why Stay Hollow. The transformations shared back in hope from Echo was seen into Onslaught and herself. She’d felt free in a way she hadn’t known could be.

Smiles would creep, laughter would bloom, and something still would be found. It was the touch of another who’d brought her to completeness, a discovery in the force of their graceful and protective presence—the way they wanted her so badly.

Uni Makeros had found her match. There was something sweet shared between them both and Echo in different ways. As they’d lay together a first time they’d found themself think of the woman in their private spaces of creative imagination.

They hadn’t expected to draw her in body.

Echo wasn’t the same. She’d been a purest smile. A gentlest waiver in her gait would show there’d been peace bestowed in some way. Inside would prove most changed. That person appeared was the same as would be found on Sin—as well as within Hardline from its darkened space-time of isolation—and all would be contained within their hearts.

Long had the parts and pieces of Echo been shattered. She was a changer. Nothing would stay put for long. It was in collection of her broken pieces that she would find her ultimate healing. The longest sought place of lifelong presence with breath and heart and love. To be without the mind of lies.

No matter the darkened visage of her own soul she had to find that peace beside—the witch who felt as if they’d been from a very same birthing—it would teach her to hold those gifts she’d carry. Their touch would lead her into coalescing back towards a container of steady rhythm. Her extension of consciousness remained and expanded but with grounding in places of contact and submission. Permission to be affectionate and sexual without dissuasion to emplace inhibitions. It was a rarest thing to find for a soul so wild.

The three of them had quite a time before she’d asked them both in that mode of ease seen and felt through it all.

“What if I told you I found heaven?”

“You and I need to talk.”

Elliot Harper was of no mood to debate.

His softest predator was a threat to all aboard Exile. Her liege would see through to every person and change the place towards naught. Still, he’d loved her. He saw her as the empress she was.

“What have you been up to? You have that look.”

He’d not been able to hold her stare. There wasn’t a chance she’d not see right through. Her connection to above was something he alone understood. She had rightful place by his side no matter how cruel her methods of control.

“I don’t know. I just can’t without my boy.” He’d grasped the curtain by his queen’s still-berth. “This is just too much without him.”

“Honey, you need to get yourself together. And you need to get this smell out of the room. I’m the fucking empress and you don’t get to just bed any gross slime you choose. You’re mine.”

“I know, fuck!” He’d thrown his own unbreakable bust across the bedchamber in a clash of fuss—sliding to a stop by the base of another row of curtains. The steel boots behind it looked a feature—some statue. Eyes of Ulysses would have proven most challenged—wettened. He’d not the stomach for life without his feedback loop of constant depravity. Tears would make him mad.

“God fucking damnit!” Elliot continued in ponderance of his doings—smashing another piece of furniture most breakable indeed.

“This is bullshit! I’m so tired of this fucking place! I just want to go home. I want Lojack. I want my boy!”

Returned from Hope Spring, renewed in that time snuck away through the crowds to not be a focus of rumor, the glowing skin upon this goddess of a woman had warmed her soldier’s own. She’d wrapped him in her arms—Dia whispered it in his ear.

“If you don’t get him out of here—I’m going to kill you both.”

Monarch was a god. Its trundled carapace would sheen with vanta-blackness and light made into an opalescent masterwork. Rory would feel none of the light.

Rhythm was found by merging the split of her psyche. Some self-led, internal dance would find herself reborn solid—her discordant yet wholistically compatible parts made back together in a way which would see her ability to project fields in Boreál changed for nethering the opposition. Light would hold The Foundry’s people. Black would hold the line.

War Cry knew it’s right to fly beside her. These whispers from a place of dark in the two became known as those of Echo’s intent played back by their minds. The woman’s intentions were shattered before finding some comfort which brought her back to body. Even in a darkest womb of control—especially—she’d lost the will to care for anything but truth of peace. She wanted to stay no matter the cost. Unrealizing her true home would be of that notion and something much more. Sin had shown her the calling card of what she’d seek but not the place she would land.

Her sisters were a remembrance of evil from the past and a sight for what some form of hers might become by the nuanced dissipation of spirit Elaria bore into its peoples.

Rory or Poe hadn’t heard a pip from anything but their own shattered selves in this time she’d been gone. It was the belief of Echo that she might shield herself and others which allowed the ability to transfigure itself to being. Still they’d found her. She’d left a trail to point towards that signature of echoed radiation and blowout found in the cosmos which spoke of a distant void flare explosion.

They knew it the time.

Monarch’s cruelest and divinely inspired remergence to Boreál had seen to show the darkness in Rory glimpses of what she’d become in space lost. Her founded self was as broken as the Echo she’d known. The way it changed her to help them had brought her back together. Some understanding found in the presence of how that woman and all she’d been through would be the catalyst to control a rage she felt from all her journey bore into her energy.

Folding a pit of nether into existence before the two of them. She’d made her call back to The Foundry and kept it short.

“Leopold.”

…

“Yes, maam.”

…

“We’re on our way. Don’t wait up.”

Time Throws Fire | Part Six | Chapter Forty

the second novel in The Foundry series

Time Throws Fire

Part Six | Whirls of Wind

Chapter Forty

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