The fansite Wot Series has developed a Renew WOT petition. Check it out if you're interested in signing. 

https://renewwot.com/the-wheel-of-time-s...-petition/

The stench hit first.

Even with the brisk winter air fighting to clear the streets, the area clung to the rot of old refuse and too many bodies packed too close together. Quillon Hawke adjusted the strap of his simple black jacket: thick canvas, built for work, with the Brotherhood of Ascension's emblem stitched modestly above the chest. His jeans were worn but clean, his boots sturdy enough for cracked sidewalks and mud-slick alleys. He looked out of place here, but not unwelcome. The Brotherhood's reputation reached even the forgotten corners of the city. If not respect, then at least tolerance.

Hollow-eyed figures watched from makeshift shelters: tents stitched from tarps and duct tape, blankets draped over shopping carts. Children peeked out and vanished again into the broken forest of rusted beams and concrete pillars. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Always a dog, in places like this. 

Quillon shifted the heavy pack on his back, full of simple offerings: thermoses of hot soup, loaves of fresh bread, bundled socks, cheap but clean gloves. Enough for today. Not enough for tomorrow.

It never was.

He moved to a patch of cleared ground near an old, fire-scorched wall and set down a folding table, scratched and battered from use, then began unpacking. A few people drifted closer, drawn by the smell of real food. The scent of warm broth seemed almost unnatural here, in a place that smelled only of despair, body odor, and open sewage.

Quillon worked methodically, gloves off, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms marked with faint scars from a childhood full of intravenous lines and medications. His presence was steady, grounded. Not friendly. Not soft. But sure.

As he handed out cups of steaming soup and warm bread, he spoke without sermonizing or shouting, just a simple reminder.

"No soul is too lost," he said, offering a sandwich to a young man whose hands shook from cold or hunger or something deeper. "Ascension waits for all who reach for it."

Most only nodded, or said nothing at all. That was enough. 

"If you think you have higher powers, we can help you find it."

"The veil calls to all. Who will answer?"

Quillon kept his face impassive, though a knot of old frustration twisted in his chest. Hope was a slow harvest. Hard to plant, harder to grow.

Today, he sowed what seeds he could.

Life was a whirlwind of crisis' one after the other. And it all felt normal and Nox had nothing but a dull feeling about it all. Sasha just showing up had been the worse and best thing that could have happened. He hated and loved it, or he would if he felt anything at all. But it all was just there. His life was just there. It was nothing but the dull day to day life of a mundane person. How did he ever live like this.

Nox had become so reliant on the power that without it he felt useless and half the person he was. But it didn't bother him. It should. He should be pissed and throwing things, but it was just life -- it went on.  One step at a time, one minute, one second. Life went on and Nox had made himself a promise a long time ago that he wouldn't go out like his father. Suicide was not in his cards. He was less a danger to himself than before, and yet even more at risk for doing something stupid. At least going after Pirozzi had gone well.  He'll have to do better against other creatures.

Salvation and Damnation were now both on his hip when he left the house under the large puffy jacket he had to wear.  Oriena's text had startled Nox as he fed Lily. He'd almost forgotten he'd sent her a text days ago about needing to meet. And she finally responded. It was a good thing he hadn't needed it anymore. But now he had to break the news and while it wouldn't damage what they had, there was a pang of guilt and sorrow that it could. Oriena was unpredictable and Nox could never guess where her wind might blow.

He sent her the location of the shit motel they used often that paid by the hour. They might use a lot or a little or none at all.

Nox left Lily with Marta a little earlier than usual, Oriena would not appreciate a baby. She barely tolerated him most days.

The place was a shit hole, but it was the cleanest of the shit holes Nox had used. No bugs, and the sheets were clean.

Nox was early he always was.  He put the gun and knife on the stand next to the TV and sat on the bed waiting for Oriena to show up. It could be soon, it could be an hour or more. He didn't expect her to jump when he said he needed her. He was not at all surprised it had been days. Normally he'd have gone looking for her in her favorite haunts, but he hadn't had the need, the horde was gone and now this was an end. He could have done it at Kallisti or someplace else it wasn't about sex though he would oblige her in anything and in any way and he could just lie, but that would end poorly. And he didn't lie to Oriena. There was no need. There were no secrets between them.

Saturday arrived gray and breathless, the kind of cold that didn’t bite so much as sink its teeth in slow. Snow gathered in the seams of the city: stacked along rooftops, clinging to window ledges, dusting the shoulders of old statues that stood watch over the frozen streets. The Moscow skyline looked like it had been dipped in powdered sugar and forgotten.

Ezvin arrived early.

Wrapped in a navy wool coat that flared a little too dramatically when he walked, a knit scarf the color of sea foam, and a pair of well-worn boots with snow-crusted toes, he stood outside the tucked-away address he'd texted Cadence the night before. He kept shifting from heel to toe to keep warm, breath ghosting out in soft white clouds, a paper bag clutched in one hand, and a thermos of something steaming in the other.

Just a small courtyard tucked between buildings, connected by a discreet iron arch with snow and a mosaic tile by the entrance that read Гнездо in chipped cobalt: The Nest.

He held a paper bag in one hand — still warm — and a thermos in the other. Inside the bag: pirozhki, filled with cabbage and mushroom, picked up from a bakery with an old Muscovite menu and the world’s grumpiest cashier. He’d timed it perfectly. The filling would still be hot.

The Nest wasn’t on any curated “Hidden Art Spots of Moscow” list. It wasn’t curated, period. It was an artist’s co-op, gallery, studio, café, and half-functional chaos engine all rolled into one. A living thing.

Inside, it sprawled. A labyrinth of rooms and stairwells, each one painted in a different color scheme by whoever had last claimed it. No two walls matched. One room was filled with floor-to-ceiling zines and old typewriters where visitors wrote confessions or left behind single lines of poetry. Another had a community canvas where strangers added swipes of paint, quotes, or tiny portraits in the margins. There were sculptors working in clay near the back. Musicians sometimes played in the stairwells just for the acoustics. A woman named Alisa ran a coffee counter out of what might have once been a supply closet. There was a sculpture garden in the back. 'Garden' being generous, considering everything was frozen and lightly dusted with snow, but Ezvin liked it anyway. The pieces weren’t for sale or marketable. They were unfinished, sometimes literally: half-chiseled torsos, twisted wire, a few broken limbs from a former installation now resting like sacred ruins in the white drift.

The Nest smelled like old books, varnish, espresso, and fresh snow melting off boots.

Ezvin could’ve taken her anywhere. Jazz bars. Wine tastings. Rooftop restaurants with carefully curated lighting. But that wasn’t what this was. Not with Cadence. She didn’t need the polish. She needed somewhere that was allowed to be unfinished. A work in progress. A future untold.

So when she arrived, he didn’t say much. Just handed her the thermos and the paper bag with a simple “Good morning. I've never been so excited for aimless wandering.” He smiled then he gestured her inside.

The streets pulsed with activity as he walked along. He appeared as a local. That it was a disguise to his enemies amused him darkly. Istanbul was familiar, but without a nostalgic sepia. The memories were populated with a child's concerns, and not a thought of blood. His parents still lived in the house. And he felt nervous for being here. 

Along the high rises, a cat kept its paces with him. When he had left the taxi, he had given it a piece of chicken. The cats of Istanbul were forever, and everywhere. They were hunters, like him. But they would still take a chicken wing. Pride was useless to a wordless one, though he prowled with a lions gaze. He hadn't eaten it yet. Ari began to notice that it wasn't really following him. Their intention only led them in the same direction. 

The people about him crowded a mind trained for solitude. It might have been more uncomfortable if it wasn't home. But without fatigues the clothing settled strangely on him. And the weight of his gear was gone. That wasn't very welcoming. I am just another son visiting his parents. The smells were overwhelming, it was hard to pick out who was who. Here a bit of fear, but they were only late for work. There a bit of love, they were only hopeful for a first date. And the acrid background of discontent, and residue of more drastic smells. Cities were like that now, as if the CCD had destroyed something inside him, and thrown him back to before even the most rudimentary tongue had developed. A beast looked upon a spaceship in bewilderment.

As he approached the courtyard, seagulls cawed over the ancient walls. A new Rome had found owning the hellesponte a convenient tradition. He wondered if he could ever lose the taste of their prey in his jaws. The Wordless ones mocked him in the dream for letting the state choose his hunt, and seeking no pack. The black cat did not waver from their shared path, entirely coincidentally.

 Above the walls, a warships communication tower revolved, a CCD banner flapping furiously in the wind. A bloody supply line, right from Moscow, bisecting the Black Sea. He lingered on it for a moment, like the cat, but drove on through the streets.

His house was as he remembered it. Anxiousness for their meeting wasn't just because of the departure he had made from his old self, or the too few letters once he became lost in the hunt. He wondered if the Vegas searched for him, or some other CCD power. Wouldn't they come here? The most predictable place to come?

He circled three times, but the people only appeared unsuspiciously. And the authorities had no eyes for him, attached more to the city than any particular dark, secret rooms. It was a risk he wouldn't have taken under normal circumstances. Was it cowardice, to merely place a letter in their mailbox?

In a dark alley, he watched the mailbox. It was the point he would get caught, if at all., The black cat pranced without a care past him, the piece of chicken bobbing heavily in his jaws. His nostrils sniffed as many others joined his feline scent, and he looked up to find a small gang of glowing golden orbs above him. They mewed and pattered down behind a dumpster, and feasted on the chicken together.

Ari smiled at their smacking lips, thinking that it was a worthy hunt after all, and that he should find some friends like that. Others added to the feline pot, but none so richly as the black one. None of them ate before they saw their pack. He took out his letter one last time, and read it through.

Mama and Papa,

I am sorry I haven't talked with you. It is hard to begin any other way with this letter. You deserve better from your son. The army has been like Papa said it would be; taking pieces of me and offering a poor replacement part. I don't want you to worry, but I won't lie. I am in trouble. But it's ok; I can take care of myself. I have left the army, because of Papas thing. But also because of something else. It's no use to tell you everything, but something is changing me, from the inside. 

I'm not sure if it is for the good, but I think it might be. I love you. I miss you. I promise I will talk more, but it will be hard for awhile. Im hoping to join something for the right reasons, this time. You couldn't be proud of what I have done, with resentment in my heart. This time you will see my work, and you will say, 'He is mine.' Forgive me for not listening. I will contact you soon. Look for the untraceable number.

Love,
Ari

The old letter he folded, streaked as it was with rare tears. To unbox his childhood felt like tearing out stitches before they were ready. Now that he had read it, he longed to risk the Vegas wrath, and simply knock on the door. He bribed a mischievous young man to drop it in the mailbox, and turned from the scene.

He found a dilapidated old bed and breakfast, the kind middle class tourists like, but thought better of it when he looked at his wallet. Instead, in the darkness, he deftly climbed hand over fist a drain-pipe, and swung over the ledge of a flat roof. Right here, he would sleep in the warm summer night. Looking up, the stars were grotesquely faded in the light pollution of the city, but the skyline was lovely. He unrolled his sleeping back, and laid back, with a brick for a pillow. It was comfortable enough, and free. Sleep came quickly.

The sensation in the dream was intense, for all his rainy sentry duty was boring in every other respect. Five of the pack, bounding athletically over the crest of a hill. A gazzele, trailing a pungent crimson spatter, fell before them. And then another, a hungry, lonely dog, with nothing to eat.

His camouflaged face regarded the thought, and spoke feebly in its human tongue in response. "Yes. I want it. Show me. Show me the pack."

A black wolf emerged, looking fierce and wise. "You. Do you come at night, because it is easy for you?" Amused, he sent an image of Ari himself, stalking amidst the stars in some forgotten jungle. "I know. Are you one of my pack?" In response, he simply ran. Without saying, it was implied; he chased after Night Hunter, and they played in this way. But just as present was the implication that they were going somewhere.

Hi. Just found this wonderful site. It will be good to meet many of you. Everyone I've talked to has been great.

But beyond that, I'm wondering if any of you remember me from those old days. I go by Thar here, just like I did then, and I used to hang out in the chatroom all the time. Hope you are doing fine, it would be fun to reconnect after all this time.

Forum Account: Thar

First Name: Aristomenes 'Ari'

Last Name: Leuktra

Age:
35

Origin:
A second generation immigrant from Istanbul, after his parents fled the earthquakes that annihilated Greece.

Occupation:
AWOL Vega

Psychological Description:
Looking for a purpose, he joined the armed forces as a young man. Disillusioned with many aspects of society, he no longer believes the armed forces can provide purpose for him. He searches for a worthy hunt, and struggles to maintain a synthesis of wolf and man like any other wolfkin.

Physical Description:
Tall and well built, with olive complexion, he exhibits the phenotype of a Mediterranean amalgamation. The wolves took his dark eyes away, but could not add to an already astute sharpness.

Powers:
Wolfkin

Background:

Ari entered the carriage like he always did; on alert. One could never be too careful these days. And the Vegas had no idea where he had gone. Awol and monstrous was no way to go through life, he thought with futility. But there wasn't much choice in that.

He gazed quickly at each of his fellow travelers. Threadbare cloaks, dented luggage, and downcast eyes characterized the group desperately. The clop of horses hooves, the rattle of a wooden axle, was like a vision from an ancient time; something to plaster on museum walls and bourgoisie mansions. But it was real, out here on the disastrous indonesian periphery. The earth had cracked and ruptured angrily again; and targeted no one responsible for anything particularly bad. Let the mustachioed madman proclaim the death of God, thought Ari. The poor fool. Still, he felt he played in his godless courtyard, without the commander screaming in his ear.

The patrons looked at him oddly, and he didn't blame them very much. He wondered what they might think of him, had he cracked a feral snarl, and removed his dark contact lenses. Would they fear him more than Poseidon, for at least he reclined at ease on Olympus, far away from them? Instead he nodded gently, his rifle clattering against a knife, or a flashlight, or some other piece of gear the Vagas ladened themselves with. In the dream, with the hungry wolf, he had been naked, and felt better. They stood over the corpse of the old world, and there was no brooding literacy with blood in its throat; just those of the pack. The gods would be too late to save it.

They would come after him, perhaps; for being a good soldier, if not for knowing too much. And whether he referred to the gods or the CCD he wasn't sure.

*Too many words are as bad as too little. Do they think I would have known to leave without them? They would kill Thucydides for a bit of thigh meat.* A child shrank from him, and he wondered if his smile was disarming at all. As alien as it was the scene before him was closer to civilization than the Vegas. The dark pit that had been ruminating sharpened in his heart.

They rode in silence, and their fear lessened slightly over time. He muttered the foreign greetings shyly, and with poor pronunciation. He lost a chocolate bar to a shining set of eyes belonging to the small little girl. They clattered and swayed amidst the rough unpaved path, between the worlds. Why had the dream called him here? *I have to find another code. Or at least...*

Ahead, a checkpoint filled with people almost as ragged as these sat with armaments upon a cliff side. *A shakedown...* Stories like this had populated his parents tales, back home in Istanbul. Their journey from Grecian devastation would not be unfamiliar to these destitute souls. Wordlessly he slipped from the back of the carriage. The girl watched him go with big black eyes, and a messy chocolate ring around her lips.

She watched him disappear into the brush. Her mother engaged the leader, haggling uselessly. Men with guns began to patrol that sad baggage train, and outcries amounted to nothing as valuables were taken, and heirlooms made low for the pawn shop. But then a stone sailed from the dense foliage, and struck the bandit captain square on the forehead. Comically, his frustrated scream rang out. All of his underlings paused in their theivery. Tension reigned, and he motioned the men forward frantically, to look for the assailant.

Like the anger of Poseidon, thunderheads released a deluge to compound the confusion. It was miserable, but it was cover. The mother, wasting no time, urged the column forward with haste as they stumbled through the woods. When the man returned, covered in mud, he displayed a wild smile, and stuck his head outside the flap of the carriage. Like some kind of dog, he wiped his shorn hair of mud, and shook his head. They laughed together, in the same language. *It's not so bad. I'll find something to do, this way or that. Perhaps tonight, the wordless ones will have more for me.*

There, running through the muck, he found something like solid ground. And without the comforting certainty of orders, the hairs on his neck were finally able to stand down.

Emily was glad she had this lunch with Natalie scheduled before the situation with Rachel had begun otherwise it might not have been scheduled at all.  In truth she had considered rescheduling.  It wasn't that she didn't want to see Natalie; she absolutely wanted to see her friend, but Rachel's condition had put Emily into a place where she thought she had more responsibilities.  She did, but she also had a family to help.  One mention to Jared of her thoughts of rescheduling and he had encouraged her not to.  He insisted that she needed to get out of the house and breathe a little bit.  Rachel's struggles aside, it had been a busy time - in both good and bad ways.

So Emily had kept her reservation for two at the Estrella Restaurant.  Emily had joined the Pestovo Country Club shortly after her move to Moscow.  She did enjoy golf herself.  The restaurant had been chosen because it was nicer, but it wasn't as opulent as Radiance would have been. Besides, Radiance was used more to impress clients.  Eating there felt like business to Emily.  Here, it felt more like a place she could be with a friend, which was, of course, the point. 

Emily as always had arrived a little early, but had sent Natalie a text letting her know to give her name to the host then she would be brought to Emily's table.  The two had a lot to talk about. Emily knew that Natalie had shown up at the reception, but had not been able to come in.  Emily bore no grudge about that.  Jay had needed help and Natalie had done what Emily would have done as well.  But she wondered about Jay and hoped he was okay.  She knew Jared did too.  Then there was Rachel.  Natalie didn't know her sister, but she knew Emily's love of family.  But beyond that - there were the good things.  Emily was more interested in talking about the good things.  That is what she now needed.  She ordered a water and waited for her friend to arrive.

Marta sat at a table in the lounge. Her school work was done, but she still had some time before she had to take over watching Lily, so she turned to her task for Sage. She hadn’t told anyone about their relationship. It wasn’t shame or anything, it just hadn’t come up. When Elyse had asked what Marta about what she wanted for Christmas and she indicated that she wanted computer parts (she had given her a couple of the less expensive parts in the list Sage had provided). Marta thought Elyse had her suspicions, but let her be. She didn’t want to tell anyone about Oracle yet. The adults would probably try to get her to stop. 

She opened the file full of nonsense. She somehow had to make sense of this. Her computer class had told her that this was called a “checksum” and Marta knew that the key to the encryption was within. Her studies had given her enough information to figure out how to manually find what she was looking for. She made a copy of the file and used the copy to make her modifications. She wanted to keep the original in case she screwed up.

Manual decryption was inefficient. Marta knew that there had to be an easier way to do it. She had spent two days on this and had gotten virtually nowhere. Something in her coding class was key. She knew that. Despite her frustration, she didn’t ask Sage for help. His teaching method was effective. The fact that she knew what to look for in the checksum was proof enough for that. She was not only learning, but was remembering it. Still she had to wonder if he ever checked on her progress and was laughing at her feeble attempts to figure out his puzzles.

Rachel wasn’t doing well. It was shortly after they left Nox’s place that the symptoms began. Rachel’s hand began to shake, and she was clearly irritated. She spoke little, but when she did it was the name Lucio. 

It had taken Jared’s help to get her in and in her room and eventually they had got the ear bud in. They played the song on her wallet. Nox had given it to her. It was a song sung by the siren Ashton and it would calm Rachel’s emotions. Emily had been warned about using it too much, but now they needed it. They needed to go over what the plan was for their sister. Mara was openly crying as they sat outside of room and told the staff what had happened and what they had to do. It was going to be hard, but they all loved her and would all do what they could. The biggest was to show her love. Other than that, they’d have to work to get her brain to start regulating her emotions again. In time she would be fine, but it would be a hard road to get there. Check ins were going to be mandatory.

When they were all briefed l, Emily went back in to the room. She had noticed Mara ran to her own room and shut the door. The youngest sister was very upset by what she saw. Jared had followed and knocked on her door. He could handle it. 

Rachel was laying down, her calm strange compared to the withdrawals she had before. ”Rachel, can you hear me?”

When Rachel indicated she could, Emily asked if her plan was okay. They knew Rachel might run away because she needed to find her dead attacker. One of the things Nox mentioned was a nano bot to track her. It would allow them to find her even if her wallet was left behind. Rachel was an adult though and she decided to ask - maybe against her better judgement. Rachel agreed to the choice. 

It hurt for Emily to send the text to Nox saying that they wanted to do that. She only hoped that even if Rachel had it, she wouldn’t need it. Nox would tell her what to do from there