Chapter 1650 - Meeting of Minds

By the time the little snails had finished singing, an entire day had passed. Much to the horror of the Brood Tenders, the little creatures

By the time the little snails had finished singing, an entire day had passed. Much to the horror of the Brood Tenders, the little creatures collapsed the moment their song was complete. Ants swarmed over the snails, gently picking them up as they retreated into their shells and then scurrying away, returning them to wherever they had come from.

Granin watched the entire procession, utterly bewildered by everything that had taken place. He didn’t need to check on Anthony, the giant ant was still sleeping soundly as his evolution wound on, and Granin had been in almost constant contact with him for a whole day. The contamination was just… gone. The song of the snails had cleansed it out of him somehow—not just cleansed it, changed it, turning it from a fatal infection into… something else entirely. Just what, it was too early to say. 

Whatever path Granin had thought Anthony was being pushed down had now utterly changed. The organs that were forming within him were nothing like what they should have been, and it was still early in the process. In fact, given the changes that had taken place, this evolution was likely to take much longer than it otherwise would have. 

He turned to the other members of his triad.

“We should go back and get some rest,” he told them. “Nothing is going to change in the near future, and he is through the worst of it.”

“Are you sure one of us shouldn’t remain, just in case?” Torrina asked him.

Granin shook his head.

“There’s a literal army of healers here watching him. There’s nothing we can do that they can’t do better. Besides, you’re exhausted, I’m exhausted. We can process what we’ve seen better after we’ve had some rest and time to reflect.”

There was a lot to reflect on. So much had happened, Granin felt his head was spinning. After hundreds of years of life, he had never imagined he would see something like what he had witnessed in this chamber. A tier eight mythic evolution, the toxic virulence of an Ancient, the resurrection of the chal, the true nature of the Krath. It was enough to make him question… nearly everything he had ever thought he’d believed in his entire life.

At that moment, there was a scream of almost unimaginable pain that caused Granin to whip his head around, his heart pounding in his chest as this new threat materialised.

Except, he didn’t see a threat, he saw a small gathering of what appeared to be human scholars, wearing the robes of the Tower, on their knees, hands outstretched as the Tenders disappeared into the distance with the snails in their grip.

When the last of the snails vanished out of sight, some of the scholars began to openly weep, fat tears rolling down their cheeks and snot dribbling from their noses and into their beards. Granin was, once again, dumbfounded. How many more shocking sights could one day bring?

“A… are they alright?” Corun asked, looking at the humans askance.

“Do they look alright?” Granin muttered.

He would never understand facial hair. Messy outgrowths from the face that the humans could remove if they chose, but elected not to. Along with their general squishiness, it was something he had always struggled with when interacting with them. Before the triad could make a clean exit, one of the more calm humans saw the three golgari and approached, hand raised in a friendly wave.

“Hello there!” he greeted them, then gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I’m sorry about my colleagues. They had only just heard that the chal were here singing and were desperate to see it for themselves. Arriving a few seconds too late seems to have been rather… painful, for some of them.”

Granin flicked his eyes to the scholars, still ugly crying, now clinging to each other for support.

“I see,” he rumbled. “Well, my students and I are tired after an… eventful day. We will retire now.”

Before he could turn away, the much smaller man who didn’t even come up to his shoulder reached out to place a hand on his forearm.

“Please. Ah, I mean no offence,” he said, removing his hand. “I merely plead with you to spare a few moments of your time. My friends and I are here on something of a studying vacation and are eager to learn everything we can.

“Before I go on, I have been unspeakably rude. My name is Rathwyn Werilos, magio-scholar of the Tower. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The man made an exquisite bow and extended his hand, this time in greeting, and Granin found his own had extended to cover half the distance between them before he even realised he’d started moving. Catching himself, he snatched his hand back at the last second, eyeing the newcomer suspiciously.

“Are you a diplomat or a merchant?” he asked.

Rathwyn smiled a wry smile. 

“Diplomat,” he said honestly.

“That’s worse.”

“I know.”

Granin could only sigh.

“Give me a moment to send my students on their way, then I can spare you some time. Is that enough?”

“Of course, you are more than generous. Allow me to step back, I would never dream of intruding on the dialogue between a triad.”

Granin grunted, then waited as the mage stepped back before he addressed his students.

“This human could talk you two into selling your own second-skin and have you thank him for not charging a fee for pulling it off your hide. Be very careful around him, and any of these other scholars. The Silver City is a world of its own, a dangerous one. Try not to get entangled. Go rest.”

“Isn’t using those sorts of abilities extremely illegal?” Corun hissed.

“Not if you’re a diplomat.”

“Will you be alright?” Torrina asked, as Corun started sliding away from the mage, heading for the exit.

“I’ll be fine,” Granin replied. “Go and sleep.”

With a final, concerned glance, Torrina turned and joined Corun in his hasty escape.

“I really am trying to suppress my abilities to the greatest extent I can,” Rathwyn assured him. 

It was something his type often said, but strangely, Granin actually believed it. This man was truly good at his job.

“Alright, I’m Granin,” he said, folding his arms across his massive chest. “What is it you want to know?”

Rathwyn tilted his head to the side a little.

“You’re almost immune to manipulation, aren’t you?” he said curiously.

Granin tapped himself on his bare, stone covered face.

“Granite,” he said, by way of explanation.

Rathwyn smiled warmly.

“I think we can be good friends, you and I.”

Granin did not return his expression.

“I don’t,” he said.

Chapter 1651 - On the Study of the Chal

It didn’t take long to recount the story of what had occurred, and Rathwyn reacted with the same disbelief and shock that Granin himself still felt.

“That’s… that’s extraordinary,” the mage muttered. “Who could have thought that the chal were capable of such a feat?”

Granin frowned.

“They aren’t,” he said flatly.

Rathwyn raised his brows.

“Perhaps I… did not fully understand your words, Shaper Granin. Am I correct in saying that the snails were able to cure the toxin of the Ancient?”

“Yes.”

“So, forgive me, in what way are they incapable of performing the feat which you just attributed to them?”

Granin sighed and pinched his brow, stone grating on stone. As remarkable as it was, he wasn’t especially interested in this beyond how it related to his friend, Anthony. He was an expert in monsters, not in ancient, long-dead singing snails.

“The chal are extinct,” Granin said, “everyone knows that. They’ve been gone for over a thousand years.”

“Yes, but the Colony has, somehow, brought them back.”

“No,” Granin corrected. “The Colony has brought back cleansed Krath.”

Rathwyn blinked.

“Again, I must apologise because I do not take your meaning. Are they not the same thing?”

The others were still weeping in the distance, but showed some signs of managing to pull themselves together. It was about time. The ants were, although polite, still obviously uncomfortable with so much noise and disruption around their Eldest. Already they were starting to make preparations for the construction that would soon start to take place, turning this normal chamber into an impenetrable bunker within the fortress. No measures would be skipped to ensure the safety and survival of the most senior ant in the family.

“They are not,” Granin stated, as if it were obvious. To him, it was. “It’s obvious that the chal were corrupted and fell to become the Krath, but after thousands of years, cleansing the corruption out of them doesn’t just turn them back into perfect chal again, the same as they once were. Those snails aren’t chal, they are cleansed Krath. There is a difference.”

“I see,” Rathwun murmured, brow furrowed in thought as he too folded his arms and pondered. “What you say has a certain logic to it. Cleansed Krath, rather than chal. Close to what they were, but not the same.”

“If you want the final proof, look over my shoulder,” Granin said, jerking his thumb toward the slumbering ant. “If baby chal were capable of cleansing corruption by singing at it, the toxin of Theorazzn no less, then how on Pangera did they fall and become Krath in the first place?”

Rathwyn’s eyes widened as the realisation struck him. What Granin said was perfectly logical. These snails were mere infants, yet their powers of purification were at an absurd level. An empire of seasoned chal took on the fifth and were utterly defeated, vanishing from Pangera forever. The two facts didn’t line up at all. The only explanation was that the chal had never possessed powers of this nature; ergo, the little snails were indeed very different from what their ancestors had been.

“You have opened my eyes,” Rathwyn said with sincere gratitude as he offered a distinguished bow. Granin rolled his eyes.

“Please, I’m a Shaper. Don’t bow at me.”

“As you wish,” the mage smiled. “Yet your scholarly credentials and acumen are to be celebrated, Shaper Granin. I would be most grateful if we were to have further opportunities to converse in the near future. I’m sure my colleagues would be most grateful as well.”

“Them?” Granin pointed to the group only now picking each other off the floor, eyes puffy and red from weeping.

“... Yes. They are dedicated and… enthusiastic in the pursuit of their studies. The chance to witness history come to life in such a grand spectacle had them quite excited.”

“I’m happy to talk when I have the time,” Granin conceded. If he didn’t give in a little, then there could be friction down the line. Fostering good relationships was always a good idea, even with crazies like the magio-scholars. “Though, I should mention a few things.”

“Oh?” Rathwyn said, curiosity lighting up his eyes. Violet eyes, oddly enough. Was that a family trait?

“First, I’m a Shaper, but my triad and I specialise in knowledge and fields pertaining to monsters, cores and pets.”

“A valuable area of research.”

“Second,” Granin ploughed on, “we are members of the Worm Cult, worshippers of Yarrum who have exiled ourselves from our own people to be amongst the Colony.”

“I… see,” Rathwyn said, his enthusiasm fading somewhat as a troubled expression fell over his face.

“I don’t think anyone back at your tower would look well on you spending time with us.”

“What you say has merit,” the mage agreed, “though here among the ants, who is to say what we do or who we speak to?” He winked, a gesture Granin did not return.

“Third, we are here for Anthony. He is our number one priority, and we will be devoting most of our time to him while he is evolving.”

“Oh. Oh.”

Rathwyn’s eyes flicked to the ant, unmoving, fully understanding what Granin was trying to tell him.

“You are being very forthcoming. I can only presume you have a reason,” he probed.

Granin allowed himself a slight smile.

“You and your group want to study these… new chal. There’s a stunning example of what they’re capable of resting over there.”

“You want us,” Rathwyn said slowly, “to help study the changes, in order to help the monster, Anthony.”

“That’s right.”

The Magio-Scholars of the Silver City were amongst the best and brightest humans in the entire Dungeon. Granin would welcome their insight in studying this puzzle, since he doubted he could come up with an answer on his own.

“And you think he’s a potential Ancient, capable of destroying the world?” Rathwyn probed.

“That’s not how it works,” Granin scowled. “Breaking free of the prison and destroying it are not the same thing. Labelling all the cults as lunatics trying to break Pangera is completely false.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rathwyn quipped. “The nutters in the Cult of Thoughts can be quite fairly labelled as lunatics.”

Granin frowned as he looked sideways at the mage.

“You aren’t…”

Rathwyn smiled.

“I’m a diplomat,” he said, “I meet all kinds.”

“But you aren’t a cultist?” Granin asked bluntly.

The scholar spread his hands, letting the long sleeves of his robes drape down by his sides.

“Well now. Who can say?”