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Speaker 1: Imagiserum.

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Speaker 1: Chapter One: High in the Peaks.

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Speaker 1: Shale stared up at the Source Anomaly
with naked greed. Here was the power to

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Speaker 1: become a god. But it was not for him,
and though that ground at him,

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Speaker 1: he would bring it back to the Guild
of Self as commanded – assuming they could get

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Speaker 1: there first. He tried to open his
tent, but when he pulled aside the flap, he
found

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Speaker 1: the entrance buried by snow. Wretched
substance. He started digging out the

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Speaker 1: snow but grew impatient and simply
crawled through the narrow opening at the top.

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Speaker 1: Shale dragged himself out of the tent
and rose to stand. Some of the tents had been

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Speaker 1: buried in last night's blizzard. Only
low mounds of snow marked where they had once

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Speaker 1: stood. The people inside were likely
dead, but it probably wasn't anyone important.

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Speaker 1: Everyone important – that is,
everyone from the Guild of Self – had enchanted
tents

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Speaker 1: that melted the snow as it fell.
There were no guarantees in these conditions,

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Speaker 1: though. There were no guarantees with
enchantments in general. It wasn't the magic

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Speaker 1: that was unreliable; it was the
people. How could you trust anyone who worked
for

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Speaker 1: coin? Shale certainly didn't trust
them. He called out to the camp around him.

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Speaker 1: "Up and out! Up and out!" There was
movement in a few of the

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Speaker 1: tents around him. People climbed,
shivering and weak from their own snow tombs,

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Speaker 1: dark circles around their eyes. He'd
let them sleep for nearly two hours. It should

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Speaker 1: have been more than enough. Never
mind that a blizzard was coming through and
they'd

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Speaker 1: been forced to hunker down anyway.
Shale had his apprentice do a fairly quick tally

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Speaker 1: of the expedition party.

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Speaker 1: Seventeen dead, thirty still living.
Of the seventeen dead, fourteen were

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Speaker 1: Ungilded, and two of them from the
Guild of Light. Unsurprising, really, given

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Speaker 1: their relatively weak fortitude. More
mages for hire. You couldn't even trust

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Speaker 1: them to keep themselves alive.
Perhaps if he'd paid them more, they would have
tried

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Speaker 1: harder. Only one of the Guild of Self
mages had perished in the storm.

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Speaker 1: Her tent had collapsed while she was
on an Aether walk. Shale knew this because

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Speaker 1: she'd had the good sense to report
everything she'd seen to his second soul, even
as

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Speaker 1: the blizzard raged around her
collapsed tent, even as the snow suffocated her.

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Speaker 1: This was the kind of fortitude he
expected. She had lived and died well.

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Speaker 1: Her final Aether walk was the reason
he was roused right now. Time was limited.

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Speaker 1: The Aether walker had found a rival
expedition on the north face of the mountain.

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Speaker 1: Mages from both the Guild of
Enchanting and the Guild of Progress, working
together,

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Speaker 1: trekking through the blizzard. Blast
them. Shale looked up at the peak of the

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Speaker 1: mountain, roughly where the Source
Anomaly must be. He couldn't see it with his

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Speaker 1: normal eyes, of course, but he knew
it was there. He turned to shout at the sluggish

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Speaker 1: expedition crew. "No! There's no time
for a fire. We're moving immediately after

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Speaker 1: the transmission." A haggard-looking
man, nearly buried under innumerable layers of

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Speaker 1: clothing, stepped forward. His fellow
Ungilded compatriots stood in a

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Speaker 1: loose group behind him, looking down
at the ground, arms wrapped around themselves.

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Speaker 1: "Sir, we've lost fourteen men. Have
some heart."

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Speaker 1: Shale casually narrowed his eyes at
the man. He couldn't remember his name. The man

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Speaker 1: stared back. The people behind him
continued looking at the ground. The mages

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Speaker 1: silently drifted away from the
collection of Ungilded, sensing some impending
threat

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Speaker 1: that the regular people could not.
Suppressors were not well known among the

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Speaker 1: Ungilded. Unfortunately, that meant
he couldn't ride the coattails of his kind's

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Speaker 1: reputation. Fear could be taught,
however. Shale closed his eyes and

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Speaker 1: stepped into his second self – his
soul. He opened his second eyes and detached his

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Speaker 1: soul from his body. It was usually
dark in the Aether, but the Source Anomaly lit
up

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Speaker 1: everything here like a false sun.
Shale glanced to the left and saw three Aether

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Speaker 1: walker souls. They had silently
slipped into their second selves as well to
watch.

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Speaker 1: He stepped forward and reached out
with his shimmering, iridescent right hand,

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Speaker 1: gripped the man's soul, and squeezed.
He peeked through the

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Speaker 1: eyes of his first self – his living
body. It still stood ten feet away from the

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Speaker 1: other man, but he could see the
heavily wrapped man's face contorting in agony.
His

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Speaker 1: hands were locked in claw-like grips,
tearing at his own chest, trying in vain to

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Speaker 1: pull away a phantom attacker. Shale
released his grip on the man's soul and let his

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Speaker 1: second self drift back into alignment
and reattach to his body. The other man fell

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Speaker 1: to the snow like a puppet with cut
strings. He was unconscious, but still
breathing.

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Speaker 1: His compatriots, who seemed only
minimally invested in this person's rebellion,

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Speaker 1: quickly scattered and went about
making themselves useful. None of them asked
what

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Speaker 1: happened. Good. He didn't need their
understanding, only their obedience,

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Speaker 1: in whatever form that came. Shale's
apprentice, Riva, approached him

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Speaker 1: once she felt it was safe to do so.
Her head was shaven, but she only had two lines

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Speaker 1: of branding on her forehead. The
three remaining Aether Walkers stood just behind

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Speaker 1: her with their hands behind their
backs, unshaven heads bowed. A single line

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Speaker 1: branded their foreheads. Sir, the air
has cleared enough for a transmission.

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Speaker 1: Shale nodded and followed Riva to a
place nearby, set just far away from the camp to

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Speaker 1: be respectful. Or secretive. Who knew
with the Guild of Light? There was no reason

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Speaker 1: to hide your magic when you didn't
sell it. A lone man stood at the cliff's edge,

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Speaker 1: his back to them. The man's
silhouette struck an imposing figure framed by
the

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Speaker 1: rising sun before him. He was statue
still, eyes closed, pointing

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Speaker 1: accusingly at some place in the far
distance. A barely perceptible thread of light

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Speaker 1: ran from that finger to the point in
the distance. It flickered rapidly. The Light

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Speaker 1: Mage spoke without moving. To move
would be to break the connection to the tower a

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Speaker 1: hundred miles in the distance. This
is the Vessel.

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Speaker 1: This is Suppressor Shale. And even
though he was speaking directly to a Light Mage,

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Speaker 1: and not the Vessels, he bowed his
head, mostly out of habit.

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Speaker 1: Report, Suppressor Shale. We are a
half day from the anomaly.

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Speaker 1: A blizzard slowed our progress. An
Aether Walker scout discovered another
expedition

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Speaker 1: on the north face. I apologize for my
performance.

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Speaker 1: We know. They could not be bought
off. Secure the

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Speaker 1: anomaly at any cost to yourself and
others. We have

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Speaker 1: spoken. Shale hesitated. Technically,
he wasn't supposed to speak again,

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Speaker 1: but there were times when
practicality trumped etiquette, even when
speaking to the

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Speaker 1: Vessels. Are you asking that I kill
them, Vessel?

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Speaker 1: We have spoken.

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Speaker 1: The Light Mage handling the
transmission opened one eye to look at Shale. He
was

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Speaker 1: clearly uncomfortable with that last
message. Putting an Ungilded in their place was

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Speaker 1: one thing, but killing dozens of
Gilded Mages in cold blood? Well, that was
another.

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Speaker 1: It wasn't the kind of thing the other
guilds would just ignore. It would mean war.

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Speaker 1: Then again, if you had the power of
Source itself, it wouldn't be a very long war.

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Speaker 1: Shale had to trust in the Vessels'
wisdom. He tried to reassure the Light Mage. It

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Speaker 1: won't come to that. The man lowered
his arm and walked away from the cliff's edge

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Speaker 1: without speaking. He didn't look
convinced, however. Hopefully he would not
become a

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Speaker 1: problem. The moment his back was
turned, Shale felt a ripple on his soul, the

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Speaker 1: equivalent of a shoulder tap in the
Aether. He closed his eyes. Riva's soul

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Speaker 1: shimmered next to his. Should we
force him over the edge? No. But the

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Speaker 1: Vessels... I am in command here. They
did not order death, they merely

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Speaker 1: allowed for it. Riva's soul slinked
back into her body, and then they followed

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Speaker 1: the Light Mage back to camp. The man
remained ignorant of how close he'd come to

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Speaker 1: death. Once they were back in the
camp, an Ungilded woman rushed the newly
returned

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Speaker 1: group. A storm! Sir, another storm
from the north! Bigger this time.

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Speaker 1: Bigger? Much bigger. We need to
prepare. Shale grit his

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Speaker 1: teeth. It seemed as if the world
itself were conspiring against him. At least

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Speaker 1: this time it would hit the other
expedition first. Would they stop and hunker
down

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Speaker 1: in shelter too? Shale looked up at
the peak. It was a prize of

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Speaker 1: incalculable value. No, they wouldn't
stop. They

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Speaker 1: wouldn't stop for anything. And
neither would he.

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Speaker 1: Chapter Two Secrets in the Snow

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Speaker 1: Shale closed his eyes to see with his
second sight. The Source shone like a

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Speaker 1: brilliant foaming star in the black
behind his eyes. It was so bright he

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Speaker 1: instinctively tried to shield his
eyes, but couldn't. Second sight was a trade for

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Speaker 1: blind sight, and despite what the
other Gilded might think, it wasn't always a
good

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Speaker 1: one. Like all magic power, it was a
trade of peace for power. When

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Speaker 1: it came to magic, you always paid the
price in pain, one way or another.

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Speaker 1: He rode through the blackness of the
Ire, like a man in the backseat of a carriage,

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Speaker 1: dimly aware of another self somewhere
else. That man was in pain.

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Speaker 1: Shale averted his second eyes from
the Source, only occasionally glancing at it.

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Speaker 1: Much like the sun, it was painful to
stare at. Now that he was closer, he could see

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Speaker 1: indigo sparks flying off like little
stars all their own, streaking through the

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Speaker 1: Aether like magical arrows. One
purple ember zipped his way. He threw his second

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Speaker 1: body down and felt the ember warp his
soul as it passed. Unbelievable power.

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Speaker 1: He stood back up in the Aether.
Fortunately, his first body, his real one,

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Speaker 1: hadn't thrown itself down in the snow
in mirror. It was still obediently trudging up

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Speaker 1: the mountain. If just the radiation
it was throwing off could do that,

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Speaker 1: what would happen when he got closer
still? For the first time since they'd begun

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Speaker 1: their trek just two weeks ago, he was
beginning to have second thoughts. They could

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Speaker 1: just let it burn out. But then they
would never know what the anomaly was. Its

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Speaker 1: secrets would belong to the guilds of
enchanting and progress, and that was

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Speaker 1: unacceptable. Toward danger, then.
The blizzard

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Speaker 1: wind cut through his cloak, once
again reminding Shale that his real body was

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Speaker 1: withering in the savage cold. A wall
of white had replaced the thinning alpine

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Speaker 1: forest hours ago, cutting him off
from the rest of his group. Soon after the storm

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Speaker 1: hit, he'd told Riva to turn back and
seek shelter. There was no use in her dying,

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Speaker 1: too. He would press on alone. Shale
had spent most of the time since the whiteout in

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Speaker 1: his second body, away from the
frantic thoughts of a dying mind. It was easier
to

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Speaker 1: push his meat self forward when his
consciousness was on this side. It was more like

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Speaker 1: driving a pack animal this way.
Still, it wasn't wise to ignore those base
fears.

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Speaker 1: You could drive a pack animal to
death, after all, by ignoring its plight. That
was

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Speaker 1: the price of magic. You always paid
in pain.

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Speaker 1: That was when his first body tripped
and fell. Shale rolled his second

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Speaker 1: eyes, then stepped back into his body
to take more direct control of the situation.

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Speaker 1: The wind screamed around him. It
didn't feel right to call it a wind anymore. It
was

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Speaker 1: a suffocating wall of frigid white
pain. Worryingly, his feet and hands didn't

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Speaker 1: hurt at all. They felt like great
blocks of ice on the ends of wooden poles. He

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Speaker 1: would lose fingers and toes. Maybe
all of them. He stood on numb

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Speaker 1: limbs and pressed forward anyway,
guided only by the growing brilliance of the

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Speaker 1: source anomaly in his second sight.
He desperately wanted to tuck his hands under

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Speaker 1: his cloak, but knew if he lost his
balance again, he might not get up. It didn't

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Speaker 1: matter how strong his soul was if the
container broke. He would have a front row

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Speaker 1: seat to his own death. And when his
body finally went cold, it would drag his soul

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Speaker 1: away to the great beyond. He couldn't
let that happen. He had to keep moving.

155
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Speaker 1: He Shale tripped over something in
the whiteout. Thankfully, he kept upright.

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Speaker 1: A mound in the snow. It had a sort of
disturbing give to it when he'd hit it with

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Speaker 1: his foot. He walked around it and
tried to push the thought from his mind. He
didn't

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Speaker 1: dare slip into his second self now.
The detached clarity was a useful tool, but

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Speaker 1: it might be lethal at this point.
Soon after the thought finished crawling through

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Speaker 1: his mind, he stepped out of the
storm. The sensation was immediate and

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Speaker 1: surreal. Shale stood in a perfectly
circular clearing. The

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00:15:34,068 --> 00:15:39,648
Speaker 1: air was a little chill, but
completely still. He turned to look behind him.

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Speaker 1: A wall of white raged and churned
just a few feet away, its howling muffled to a

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Speaker 1: soft, whistling whine. What the He
looked up.

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Speaker 1: A cylinder of calm, clear air all the
way to bright blue sky. And in the center of

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Speaker 1: it all was a ramshackle wood cabin. A
stone chimney puffed a thin line

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Speaker 1: of smoke. The house was dilapidated,
but not quite falling apart. Considering where

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Speaker 1: he'd been, it was beyond inviting. It
was unreal. Which

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Speaker 1: was a distinct possibility. Perhaps
this was a figment of a dying mind.

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Speaker 1: Or maybe he'd already crossed over
without realizing it. Shale stumbled toward the

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Speaker 1: cabin. He certainly felt alive. Which
was not to say good.

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Speaker 1: The front door was slightly ajar. The
warm glow of firelight lit the interior, but

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Speaker 1: he couldn't make out much of what was
inside. He paused twenty feet from the door.

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Speaker 1: There was something piled up in the
snow against the side of the house. A lot of

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Speaker 1: something. Instead of going straight
inside, he hobbled over to investigate. When he

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Speaker 1: saw what it was, he stopped walking.
A tiny shoe.

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Speaker 1: Poking out of a mound of snow taller
than he was. His frozen mind began to

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Speaker 1: register the other shapes in the
mound. Hands. Feet.

179
00:17:12,928 --> 00:17:18,848
Speaker 1: Faces. Dozens of them. Some of them
far too small. The

180
00:17:18,928 --> 00:17:24,588
Speaker 1: pile wrapped around the back of the
house. Discarded people. Shale stumbled

181
00:17:24,648 --> 00:17:30,448
Speaker 1: backward, hoping that this was a
dream. This was not the miracle he'd imagined.
It

182
00:17:30,508 --> 00:17:36,288
Speaker 1: was a nightmare. And he knew then
that it was too cruel to be an illusion.

183
00:17:37,268 --> 00:17:42,628
Speaker 1: Someone had already claimed the power
of a god. And they had been very,

184
00:17:43,568 --> 00:17:44,128
Speaker 1: very

185
00:17:44,188 --> 00:18:21,888
Speaker 1: busy.