Thunder rolled from distant horizons. The sound drifted down to the sleeping city, echoes of some far off fury. None thought upon it, none gave any consideration to its consequences. To the population of the city, teetering upon a million, it was nothing but a solitary storm, rending remote skies in two. They did not fear, and perhaps even if they had understood the full consequence of the massing black clouds, they would still have held brave. For their city, the great Wilusa, famed across the known world, was under divine protection. Surely there was no force upon the mortal plain that could counter the might of a Goddess? What had they to fear but doubt?

Jenai awoke to bright skies. Golden streams rushed through the open shutters of her lavishly painted home. Voices clamoured outside, addressing her not by her name, but instead her responsibility. For she was Jenai second and Elight Priestess first. She had accepted her honours with grace, she had accepted the burden they placed upon her, the suppression of her enjoyments and pleasures. The child of the Goddess could not dwell upon their mortal qualms, only the requirements of the reposing divinity. Dawn had long since broken amber, casting streaks of pale pink onto shades of blue and grey. The sun now lifted above the pointed and painted rooftops of Wilusa's inner suburban landscape. The slums still cast clouds of darkness around the perimeter of Wilusa's burnished centre, but Jenai had accepted them with necessary, and restrained, distaste. Wilusa demanded workers, a large population, with a voracious hunger. If those stumbling, barbaric fools must live in the divine city, then let them exist beyond its inner walls of marble, outside the views of ordinary and civilised folk. It was only the Elight Priestess and a handful of other unfortunate souls who were forced to gaze down upon the sprawling mess of ramshackle huts and teetering wooden homes. For they resided with the Regal Temple, towering up above any other building, high over the inner walls, with a view for hundreds of miles of rolling hills and tree-dressed valleys. To see the beauty of the natural landscape surrounding Wilusa, she also had to tolerate a view of the slums, but she could look past them. As long as the soot stained fog wasn't so cloying that day.

"Elight Priestess," murmured a servant at the door, their clothing jet black in its entirety, "The children of the Goddess require guidance."

They always did. Without her and the fragmented whispers of the Goddess to her mind, the entire city's society would cave in upon itself.

"Has the Goddess given speech through me, my child?" asked Jenai, stepping from her bed and standing with imperious posture.

"It has been three days since she has taken possession of your body and speech, Elight Priestess."

Jenai maintained her grand facade, her irritation suffocated by the tight grasp of divine purpose. It was not unusual to spend so much time without the Goddess taking hold of her body and mind. When such an episode occurred, the servants of the Elight Priestess that filled the temple would rush to copy out all she recited. Her words would be prophetical, enigmatic advice to be interpreted with countless subtle meanings. Studies on the sleeping Goddess had informed them that even the divine had wayward dreams, and the length of her rest confused her thoughts and view to the future. It was for this reason, the Goddess spoke in such a confused sense. Once she was awoken, the Goddess would speak in perfectly intelligble sentences, requiring no intepreting, spelling out the great future of Wilusa in terms even the impoverished barbarians could understand. But that time had not arrived yet, the Goddess needed further sleep, further recovery. Jenai could only pray to the cruel threads of fate that it was in her time as priestess the Goddess would be awoken. It would be the crowning honour on her already illustrious career. Drawing herself back to the present, the Elight Priestess focused on the servant and dismissed him with a casual flick of her tattoed hands.

"You may go, my child. Though the Goddess has given us no more advice in these last few days, I am always in understanding of her wishes. Especially those concerning the people of our city."

The servant bowed low to her words in utter reverance and fled the room gratefully. Once the paper and wood doors to her chambers were closed, Jenai stepped in front of the mirror and composed herself. Her hair was unruly and troublesome, flowing locks of black, shaded brown at the ends. No matter how harshly she pulled it into place, with comb or the newest oils imported in from the newly discovered Meimur cities, it always rushed free. No matter, the Goddess did not require perfection, only devotion. Jenai searched the room and moved to her wardrobe, carved with depicitons of the Goddess, surrounded by centuries worth of Elight Priestess'. She threw open the dark doors and picked through the robes hanging within. There were no limitations placed upon the dress of the Elight Priestess. They wore what they saw fit, with the guidance of the Goddess. In the past, priestess' had worn everything from chainmail armour to nothing at all. Jenai was not so bold. She settled for a combination of royal robes, adopted by those living in the eastern inner circle of Wilusa, or formal suits as adopted by the western inner circle of Wilusa. Wearing the fashion of the two distinct social sects of the city allowed her to distinguish herself from both, and simultaneously unify them both. She was above them, the most powerful and most honoured woman in Wilusa, but she also served them all however the Goddess wished. That day she drew out a robe of crimson, streaked with hues of purple and amber, like the sunset on stormy skies. Perhaps it was those colours that drew her attention to the gentle noise rocking the Regal Temple on occasion. The distant thunderstorm was scarcely audible but, with the windows open, and concentration focused towards that black horizon, she could make it out. Dressing herself swiftly, Jenai strode to the window and looked out, over the baying crowds far below, the spiralling, tiled rooftops of red and blue and the slim stone chimneys. Someone in the crowd must have caught sight of her, though she did not lean out of the window, for the noise roared up in ecstatic greeting. Unfortunately, that also drowned out the sound of the distant storm. However, even from so far away, Jenai could make out the streaks of grey and the pillars of cloud clustered where the hills met the skies. The occasional streak of white and gold warned her of lightning. It was unusual for a thunderstorm to persist past dawn, especially when the weather had been frigid for the recent weeks. But oddities were bound to occur, nature was nothing if not changeable. Jenai paid note to the unusual event and then put it out of her mind. She had far more pressing matters to attend to them trivial storms.

Having descended from her personal chambers, at least as personal as anything was for a priestess, Jenai stepped out onto a balcony of wrought iron. The bars and railings making up the balcony were shaped into metal roses, immaculate petals crafted and painted so they gave off a startling resemblance to the living flowers. The balcony was low enough the people below could hear her, and see her, clearly. However it was not so close they would ever be able to reach her and defile her sacred body with their touch. No one but the Goddess herself would ever be allowed to put hands on Jenai's body, and it had been so from the moment she swore herself as Elight Priestess.

"My children," greeted Jenai with a florid gesture, encompassing them all with the sweep of her hands, "You come for guidance."

There was a brief cacophany of sound and then, all at once, it died to eerie silence as they stared up at her expectantly. Jenai felt no fear at the weight of responsibility, of assumption, they laid upon her. She had long since conquered such feelings. The Goddess had no patience for faltering weakness.

"I may give it. Our Goddess loves you all," Jenai smiled, like the first pools of gold at dawn, the last streaks of colour at sunset, "You bathe in her radaince and her benevolence. Keep vigil in your prayers, keep strong in your empathy but keep mastery of your emotions. Whatever concerns may press upon you, trust in the Goddess to judge them and resolve them as you deserve."

Jenai was aware the words were vague, but they were intentionally so. If the Goddess had not seen fit to grant her direct guidance by uttering prophecies from her mouth, then her demands would be those she had engraved into Jenai for so long. The devotion to her must continue, the faith of the people must not wane. They must be prepared and devout for her return.

"If you have been gifted time in my presence today, proceed into the Regal Temple," ordered Jenai, her smile never failing, "If you have come for nothing but these words then know the Goddess shall reward your good grace. And never fear, we all live in her light and her protection."

With that she gave them a subtle nod and allowed the exultant cheers of support to shower her in their iridescent praise. She could think nothing of it, however. They felt an obligation to thank her, but she could not give in to the temptations of greed and vanity. The praise was not for her, it was for the Goddess and it was far less than their divinity deserved. So, once they had quieted and dispersed, Jenai turned back into the Regal Temple to continue her duties. She did not think on the thunderstorm again, she did not wonder why it had remained static for so long, why it did not shift, only grow. She did not notice how the song of trumpets rang out between thunderclaps. And she did not catch the bleak gaze of her mother, watching her in stoic silence, from the centre of the crowd below.

As the sun lumbered to its heavy zenith and frail warmth dripped down onto the darkened streets of Wilusa, Aoskilin emerged from a low roofed house. It was so typical of the slums he could have sketched it entirely from memory, even with his stunted artistic talent. Slumping clay walls, wooden beams groaning under the weight of a roof bound by strewn grass and formed of abandoned planks. It was peppered with holes, as if it had stood before a hail of arrow fire, and large sections were still damp from previous rainfall. However, despite all, it still served as the home for himself, and his father. For all its faults, it had sheltered them through harsh weather for many years and bore the distinct mark of their family. Some slum houses were larger, many occupied by families of seven or more. But Aoskilin had no need for a larger home. His mother had died in childbirth, the sister she would have borne dying with her. He had not the faintest memory of her, only two years old at the time. The only family he’d ever known was his father, and now he too was dragged down by age. Aoskilin had long since accepted he would spent almost all of his adult years alone. Even for the slums, it was unfortunate and unusual. But the Redeemed Goddess dealt out a changeable hand, he could not resent his poor luck when he had been favoured elsewhere.

Picking his way around the pits of mud and discarded litter, Aoskilin made his way towards the centre of the Wilusan slums. Worry gnawed at his chest, he should have been working, employed in one of the ramshackle factories set up across the city. But there were hundreds of thousands of workers desperate for a wage, and far fewer jobs. Much of the slums went without work for weeks at a time, and scarcely survived because of it. It didn’t help that the surplus of workers had allowed the factory owners to drive down wages further and further. There was no demand for men and women to fill the jobs. Even with the new trade arriving from the juvenile Weimar cities, money was painfully scarce for most of Wilusa’s population. And wealth that did arrive was funnelled into the pompous nobility of the inner cities, with their trivial disputes and petty squabbles. The poor would remain poor, and the rich could grow ever richer. As he made his way around a collapsed house, any valuable elements of the building long since stripped from its tumbled walls, Aoskilin allowed himself a smile. It wouldn’t always be that way. The rich wouldn’t remain so, the Peripeteia would arrive. The eagerly awaited return of the Redeemed Goddess, from her sleep, to judge the sins of the wealthy and cast gifts across the suffering poor. Slums would become extravagant suburbs, the Regal Tower would fall and a replacement stand in its ruins. Wilusa would be a city of its people, not its nobility. However, the Redeemed Goddess slept on. Aoskilin could only pray she awoke within his lifetime.

Standing in front of a weary door, large gaps around its frame allowing him to see into the shadowy building beyond, Aoskilin knocked firmly. He only had to wait a few moments before the door was pulled hesitantly open and a wizened face, a scattering of scars lacerating her wrinkled skin, stared out at him. Recognising Aoskilin, she pushed the door fully open and scowled.
“Why ain’t you workin’?”
Aoskilin shrugged, maintaining his easy smile. “I’d work if there was any. Why aren’t you?”
“They don’t want no old fool in their factories,” muttered the old woman in reply, “Bet they’re begging for a young lad like you, you just too lazy to head on down ‘ere and ask ‘em.”
“If only, Mrs Ekkja,” returned Aoskilin, unperturbed, “Is Eska available?”
Mrs Ekkja’s scowl deepened and she glanced back into the home. They both knew Eska was very met there, in fact they could both see her. Eska was watching the exchange with tight lipped amusement, patiently waiting for her mother to finish her customary speech to Aoskilin.
“You‘re not taking my daughter to no dangerous places now,” she accused Aoskilin.
“I would never put Eska at risk,” reassured Aoskilin.
Mrs Ekkja frowned at him in suspicion but surrendered her place, barricading the entrance to the house. As Aoskilin entered and Eska stepped forward, he caught a few final mutterings from Mrs Ekkja.
“Acting like some bloody noble… No better than the rest of us dirt,” he caught as she moved away from them.
Though it felt somewhat ridiculous, Aoskilin pretended not to hear her. Age had dulled her senses, she spoke far louder than she believed. Eska exchanged a flickering glance with him, her mouth quirking upwards in silent humour. Reaching out, she took his rough hand in her own and murmured to him.
“Time to go?” she asked softly, too quiet for her mother to distinguish.
“They’ll be waiting for us,” affirmed Aoskilin, equally quiet, equally gentle.

Eska let herself smile freely and started forward, casting back towards her mother.
“We’ll be back before sunset,” called out Eska.

”You bloody better,” swore Mrs Ekkja, a few frail shreds of the authority she had once commanded still audible.

Aoskilin raised a hand in formal farewell and together, he and Eska stepped out onto the streets.

The sun was persistent above them, cutting through the sporadic clouds and reaching effortlessly down to the dishevelled mortal plains. Shadows dancing upon the crumbling walls, Aoskilin and Eska strode through the labyrinth of streets with clear intent and purpose. A mask of absolute confidence did much in the slums, serving to dissuade the opportunistic thieves and bring hesitation to the embolden cutthroats. Safety was never a certainty, but, although disorganised, the occupants the slums stood together as one people. The criminals were outcasts even among outcasts. Though the Wilusan law courts cared nothing for those outside the inner city, the slums had their own approach to justice. A knife in the back served better than the archaic prisons used by the nobility. One hand in Eska’s, the other on a dagger at his waist, Aoskilin followed the path they had walked so many times before. There was a danger in repetition, people would notice, map out your habits and await you when you were most unaware. But Aoskilin made sure to vary the journey he took every few days with Eska, travelling between around ten different routes. All of which culminated in a shabby hovel, torn drapes hanging over the windows, the door hanging from a single hinge. It’s had not had a family within its sound walls for decades, and on occasion, one would attempt to build up a new life there. They were swiftly repelled and after so long, superstition had grown around the old building. Even with an almost universal religion, revering the Redeemed Goddess, old folk tales and habits could not be quieted. A home left alone for too long would be in the grip of hostile spirits, all the eldest citizens of Wilusa agreed. Aoskilin reckoned it as nonsense, and had no fear as he pushed the door open, holding it with both hands so it did not collapse, leading Eska in after him. Inside, he moved to the exact centre of the room and slammed a foot down onto the wooden floorboards, three times in perfect succession. Silence reigned for a moment and then a trapdoor flipped open, the darkness beckoning them downwards. It was perhaps a touch dramatic, and likely unecessary. Few would care about the purpose of the concealed room, but those that did would not be lenient with their punishment. Eska went first, climbing down the frail ladder into the turbid gloom. Aoskilin followed swiftly and light behind her. Pulling the trapdoor closed with hardly a whisper of sound, he descended to the large space carved out beneath the deserted house. The walls were of dirt, but packed hard and the roof supported by a string of oak pillars placed throughout the room. There were no chairs, no tables, and only a single candle flaring resiliently in the middle of the encircled crowd. Although crowd might be a little optimistic. In total, the occupants of the room numbered around eleven. In the past, they'd had as few as two, and as many as twenty. But their cause was reflected throughout the slums, once the torches were lit and the first voices raised, Aoskilin was convinced others would follow.

"Aoskilin," greeted a stern faced woman, with a slight nod in his direction, "And Eska. You are welcome, if late."

Eska murmured an apology. Aoskilin did not. He was not rude, but he was grappling for the authority of the group and he would not bow, nor grovel, at the feet of his only rival.

"The time we agreed has not yet been passed," repied Aoskilin, keeping his tone courteous.

Irritation registered on the woman's face but she did not raise any further objections. There was a tense moment as Aoskilin judged whether it was best to talk first. The woman, Smaiva, clearly had no intention of doing so which was enough to push him to break the silence. Usually, both would have sprung on the ripe opportunity to show leadership. But the news they had to deliver was not promising. No one wished to be responsible for the delivery of bad news.

"I am honoured to see you all," started Aoskilin, maintaining his steely calm, "Our fight has not waned since we last met. The pretenders and sinners of the nobility continue on their destructive path. They do not recognise the true nature of our Redeemed Goddess, nor do they understand their fate if they keep themselves aloof. I am certain, the time shall come when the Redeemed Goddess awakens, and it shall not be far in our future. When that glorious day comes, we must be ready to stand in revolution with her."

Mutters of assent followed the customary speech. The tension in the room had grown, as if they could sense the news he kept concealed. WIth a grimace, Aoskilin relented. When he spoke again, and delivered the dark news, all eyes were upon him. No one thought of the distant thunderclaps, and how they did not seem to get closer, only louder.