Meanwhile, in Port Calin...

Night fell, and still the Sidereal waited. The lean, predatory shape of the Killing Frost's airship had slid into port earlier, having been heralded by the sound of thunder a few hours before as it shelled the lines of the undead.

Now it hung in the sky with the other airships, waiting for an uncertain battle to come.

Wind of Lament stood in his usual spot for meeting Veil Winged Shrike under unusual circumstances, outside the door to her chambers, dematerialized and hidden from the Loom. As always he was in full armor, standing with his head bowed in a pose he had learned from an old drill instructor at the House of Bells. 'The Dragon in Waiting' he called it. A clever name for catching a short nap while at parade rest before a long march.

Shrike quits Frost's warmth with some regret as she ties a sash to keep her robe closed and her modesty at least nominally protected. The admiral was jubilant after the first opportunity to truly exercise his new command independent of Lookshyan interests, and despite the looming battle to come his celebrations were exuberant and exhausting. She looks with fondness at the Lunar, currently wearing his man's shape no matter his earlier animalistic vigour, and with only slightly less fondness tucks the bedclothes over the pale shoulders of the Air Aspect who shared their celebratory bed, gleaming like ivory in the dim starlight that leaches into the room. She will return to that nest in time, but at the moment she has an appointment to keep.

Kindling her Caste mark into life to light the way, she shivers at the cold. This close to the sea, Port Calin has cooler nights than Lookshy, and she rummages about for the furs that she wears aboard the Sword of Vanileth to protect herself from the high winds. She can feel, in the back of her mind, the certainty that should she choose to exert herself to attain that mastery she can make herself forever immune to such trivial discomforts, but considers the temptation unworthy: the thoughts that occupy her mind these days are often so lofty that even the petty discomforts of mortality are a welcome distraction, and a reminder.

She pads out of the chamber. The golden glow of her Caste mark falls like a sunbeam wherever her eyes glance; her puissance has grown, and her gaze pierces the veil between states of existence without the augmentation of potent drugs. The Sidereal's armour obscures his outline but not the fact of his presence, and she looks directly at him as he stands in the corner.

"Belated welcome to Port Calin," she murmurs to him, moving closer. "I had feared when we first arrived that you were here to oversee the fall of the city to our forces. Now, that seems to be the least of our concerns.

"How have you been keeping, first sword of Heaven? Are the gods scrambling to avert the coming crisis yet? Or have they decided to oversee the apocalypse by committee?"

Wind of Lament stirs, bowing slightly.

"Your skill at detection has improved. It used to be by sound alone, or perhaps a feeling in the air across that perfect skin of yours by which you found me."

He chuckles slightly at Shrike's question. "No, I do not come to Port Calin with orders. Mars has been...conspicuously silent, in regards to you and your cohorts. No my dear Solar, I come as always to oppose the Deathlords. They are not of Fate, and as such the city cannot fall auspiciously to them. Failure here is, and can only be, a perversion of destiny."

He coughs slightly, taking off his helmet. "May we go inside? I would very much like to sit down..." The Sidereal looks much like he always does when meeting her. Wary, serious and exhausted.

"As for heaven...the local spirit courts have been roused, and heaven seeks to bury both you and the Mask in a vast torrent of paperwork. I have kept them occupied for a time, but powers greater than I begin to move. There is to be a great meeting of the Sidereals soon enough, if this crisis is not in hand. If it comes to pass, and I do not have results to sway enough to my side...let us simply say that the days will grow very interesting for you. So let us both hope that is not how things shall be."

Led into her room - posh for Port Calin, as befits her status - he sits, resting his weapons against one wall. "But that is not why I am here. The spirit courts were my gift to Wrath of Fallen Kings. I have brought you a gift as well."

He produces a simple women's comb, of excellent but somewhat unornamented craftsmanship, placing it into the Solar's delicate hand.

"This belongs to a woman named Tepet Nerya. She marches at the head of three legions of the Scarlet Empire to Port Calin. I have invested...considerable effort in showing her that the Dragons cannot fight the dead alone, and persuading her to join under your banner - and her men seem to follow her willingly. Finishing what I have begun I leave in your able hands. Though I must warn you, though it may seem the easy way, leaving her without her will would be a poor path to take. I have made her a promise in that regard." He gestures meaningfully to the idle powerbow.

"It is good to see you again, Wind of Lament." Ever the graceful hostess, with her own hands Shrike pours a glass of fortifying spirits for him. She also shifts a brazier closer; she doesn't know if the warmth will penetrate that heavy armour, but she can try. With some tenderness she runs a finger through his tangled shock of white hair, teasing out uncombed knots. "I presume that your promise does not involve putting her out of her misery," Shrike says dryly, taking a seat as she turns over the ornament in her slim fingers. The scent of hair oils rises from the carved ivory; while their newfound ally might be a military woman, she's also very clearly aware of her femininity. The Solar idly toys with the idea of winning her over by other means, then shrugs and places the comb on her nightstand. "Anyway, you can rest at ease. I've had to learn some circumspection when it comes to my gifts. I barely had to use any Essence at all since arriving in Port Calin. All this," she gestures to indicate the luxurious apartment, "seems to start coming naturally now. I don't even remember the last time I had to spend any of my own money." Her lips quirk.

"Well, at least it's good to know that as far as the Maidens care we're fighting on the right side. Although I wish that meant that I knew for sure that we're on the same team." She glances at him sidelong, and then points to the glimmering mark on her forehead. "Lament, am I welcome in Heaven? It sounds like your administration could use some straightening-out. A few words in the right ears might help. It's about time the return of the Solars was actually felt. Oh, don't look at me like that, I'm not going to go overturning the Celestial Bureaucracy on a whim.

"If you Sidereals are meeting up soon it seems appropriate that those who have not yet had the chance to encounter one of us should have some firsthand experience of what we're like. I know I'm not the only one who'd feel cheated if a conclave of the secret grandmasters of the world convened and decided on our fates without even getting to know us first." Shrike's lips press together into a thin line. It's an expression she's involuntarily been getting a lot of practice with. "We're not what we used to be, and if we are not to be as we were, we'll need help and support, not backstabbing and squabbling. The longer Heaven takes to get its act together, the more likely it'll be that one of us takes things into his or her own hands and starts swatting gods around. That's not likely to end well for anyone." A gesture of her hand conjures up a hazy image of multitudes gathered, their arms raised in prayer. "Perhaps I'll even petition them for membership. You think they'd make me an honorary goddess?" She chuckles.

She refills the Sidereal's cup. "Thank you for the legions. They're a thoughtful gift, especially from the Tepets; I'd have thought them too weak from their defeat at the hands of the Bull of the North to muster such forces. Either they've recovered far more quickly than I'd have given them credit for, or they're throwing a lot of their resources behind us on your word. Either way, thank you. I'll try to take care of them.

"Could I ask why you're handing them to me, though? I would have assumed that, much like the roused spirit courts, military assets would have best been given to Wrath of Fallen Kings. I don't know how to use an army, except maybe to park it on the horizon and point at it once in a while during a negotiation."

The Sidereal closes his eyes at the pleasure of her touch, listening to the pleasant sound of her voice while she takes a sip.

"In that assumption my dear Lawgiver, you would be wrong." His tone hardens for a moment. While it is nice to see the Solar woman, and it is refreshing that she has not yet strayed toward abusing her prodigious power, it seemed wise to remind her.

Especially if she was going to become yet harder to kill.

"I gave the Tepet woman my word she would not live as a thrall. I keep my word. If needs be, with an arrow through her heart." He softens, and gives her a faint smile. "Though I have faith yet you will not put me in that position."

The next bit is considerably more complicated, and Shrike wouldn't need her charms, Essence or feminine, to see the conflict writ all over his face.

"We are not on the same team Shrike, though there are times I wish we were. You have me as an ally now, and a friend, always, but I cannot promise our paths will always be in the same direction." He runs his hand over his face, his expression fatigued.

"As for being welcome in Heaven...that is a complex question. The matter wasn't even one for discussion for a long time - you were all slain. There are those who would be delighted to see the Solars walk the streets of Yu Shan. And those who would see such a walk end in blood. The star of those who back the Solars, at least in word, is currently ascendant - you Circle has managed things beyond heaven's grasp - but those who saw you put down the last time have long memories, and let go of their power only begrudgingly. If you wished to go to Heaven, I would protect you as best I could, but I will confess that it is as dangerous politically as it is militarily, and I am not confident I would not be outmatched in both arenas."

He meets her eyes for a moment, pleading. "And do not speak of becoming a goddess again, even in jest. It will bring up old wounds for too many."

He is grateful as the conversation turns to other matters. "The Tepet legions surprise me as well, though I suppose they shouldn't. The house has proved...tenaciously persistent, despite their defeat against the Bull of the North. It is possible they were sent to regain their house's honor - they were marching on Lookshy. Or that they were sent to have a troublesome thorn in someone's side wiped off Creation for the last time. Regardless, they are here now, and have been set on a path to aid you." He takes a long drink, letting the burning liquid dull his aches for a moment.

"As for why you...there are many reasons. Wrath of Fallen Kings holds title in Lookshy - to ask three legions to bend knee to not only an anathema but an officer of the 7th Legion is a considerably harder task. You have shown your self magnanimous with those who you could simply bend to your desires, Terrestrial and Lunar both. And the legions already have a general - what they need is a banner to rally to."

He stands, cupping the woman's chin in a starmetal glove. "But I would like to say it is because I know the content of your heart Veil Winged Shrike, and do not think you would use them vainly."

Shrike leans forward, pressing her cheek into that cold metal, heedless of discomfort, seeking contact. "I would not use them at all. What would I do with an army, but put them on parade? I'm no strategist.

"But perhaps... perhaps with them I could be something else. A queen? But gold rests uneasily on a brow made for adamant.

"You advise not to aspire to godhead, and perhaps that is but an ill-fitting title for what it is I desire. I want to rule by love, not by law. I want to be loved, and to provide for and protect those who love me. Already their prayers grant me power, grant me strength of mind and of magic and of purpose.

"What is a goddess but a servant, who reaps reward in rich measure but who must earn it by great works of mercy and of magic? What is the word, Sidereal, for what I wish to be? What is the word for what this army you have given me can make me?"

The Sidereal seems somewhat reassured by her words as their conversation carries on, his faith in her heart, and her intentions, reenforced for the moment. He decides, though he does not tell her so, that he will help her see Yu Shan - though that may cost him dearly.

I am tired of the practical choice.

He chuckles slightly, his touch tender despite his armor. "You have a higher opinion of what it means to be a god than many who hold the title." He lets her go, sitting again, though he leaves room beside him if she wishes a place.

"The word you're looking for is symbol. Or perhaps hope. Let soldiers puzzle out what to do with troops - Tepet Nerya is an able enough commander to see to such things. It is not your gift to tell men how to fight. It is to tell them what to fight for. A city freed from death's grip. A dawn slightly brighter than the one that came before it. An army is just a tool - no more than a hammer. No matter how skillfully wielded, without a purpose, without something to fight for, it is just meaningless violence. Be that purpose."

For a moment, she stands silently, her eyes contemplative. Then something seems to ignite in her, an inner spark that grows until her Caste mark too kindles, and Wind of Lament can feel, incredibly, in the depth of night, sunlight on his face.

"Yes. Yes! The Solars of old were characterised by what they built. What they made. All of the others do so, leaving behind miracles in their footsteps. My mate is seeding a new society, that will grow strong and independent in his own image. Wrath wishes to build an empire. Wonders fall from Mari's fingertips, spun from light and imagination. All along I've created nothing, left nothing behind, been a creature of the moment. Whatever significance I lend I did so momentarily, a flash of inspiration or influence that has dwindled.

"But now I know what I was made to be, what I was made to create. The others will go on to build worlds and peoples and wonders.

"I shall make meaning."

When Shrike awakens to the gentle hum of the Sword's essence engines, wrapped carefully in furs, she finds a carefully folded note sitting by the bedside.

Maidens protect you.

Shaking the dregs of the dream from her mind, she rises, running fond fingers down Frost's flank as she does so. The little balcony projecting from the captain's stateroom is tiny, but still grants her an unobstructed view of the night sky. She grips the rail, banishing the residual chill of remembered starmetal in her fingers with true cold, that stings and tingles.

It takes but a moment to locate the constellations of the astrological house of Crimson Panoply of Victory: the Banner, the Gauntlet, the Quiver, the Shield, and the Spear. She reaches up as if to touch the heavens themselves.

Fifty miles into the skies of Creation, arcs of light carve brilliant golden words between the face of the earth and the stars of that particular constellation.

They already do. They sent me friends.

Reminded of that even as she scribes it across the night sky, Shrike suddenly feels a certain relief, of phantom hands buoying her up, of the prayers of a multitude empowering her, of the fellowship of stalwart comrades.

A newfound determination kindles in her breast. I will not fail them again.