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        Astor grasped the hilt of the sword Mnelentyr and

ran to the edge. Giving a cry, he leapt into the abyss and

began to fall. Singing Quol, he flew, stooped low, and

landed with his feet firmly planted on the rough, cracked

desert floor.

        The figure struggling to emerge was directly before

him. He raised the sword and waited.

        In the next moment, the figure broke out and fell in a heap at Astor’s feet. He was covered in a slick of roiling lights and quicksilver that clung to him like cobweb. His skin where it showed through was voltaic, giving off a brilliant white light that blinded Astor when it entered his eyes.

        Astor sang Faro while the creature writhed in pain and tried to stand. This Song would align him with the mana and allow him to fight at his maximal capacity. An Elf of great power who sings this Song can manipulate the mana with but a thought, communicate with his comrades-at-arms using mindspeak, and can anticipate the moves of his enemy with great facility.

        Unfortunately, this act would also diminish the effects of the magnelchium. The longer he stayed attuned to the mana in this way, the less time he would have to live once he deactivate the effects of his Song.

        What is this thing? Astor thought, fearful of its power but filled also with pity – for it was clearly suffering.

        It got up to its fours and took a moment, hunched over as if gathering its strength. Wings sprouted from its back, shooting off spurs of light. They flexed and then began to beat rapidly, lifting the figure from the disfigured desert floor.

        Astor took a step back.

        “Who are you?” he cried.

        The creature made no response. Astor could not see its features, nor perceive any face. It was still radiating a blinding light, which was getting stronger now that the being had cast off most of the starlight that had clung to it as it had pushed through the Membrane.

        The wings that held it aloft began to wilt. They quickly morphed, and became cords of white-blue light that shot out in four angles, seeking purchase. Astor saw that where the beams struck the sides of the mountains, they held there as if anchored.

        The creature seemed to convulse and shake uncontrollably. The lines holding it up began to sag and dissolve.

        Astor had seen enough.

        With a single prodigious bound, he leapt into the air and brought the sword Mnelentyr down on the right side of the being, severing the two cords of light where they held it bound.

        The thing shrieked and fell.

        Astor landed in the dust and wheeled around. The creature had been pulled away from him by some distance due to the two remaining cords of light that had now collapsed.

        As it howled and beat upon the ground, the earth quaked and many cracks formed. Astor swayed and faltered, but kept his footing.

    He approached the alien fey. He couldn’t look directly at it for the light it shed.

        As he got near, a huge ball of energy came rushing at him, aimed by the creature that now perceived him enough to detect a threat. Astor had caught such attacks before with the fairy blade, but this one was too immense, too intense. He threw himself to one side, dodging it – but it seared his one side at it passed.

        He rolled in the dust and sprang to his feet.

        The creature stood before him now. In its hands it held two blades that were not forged of steel but light alone.

        A crackling, fiery flare curled off the being, sending out electric fingers that ran along the length of the Membrane, then vanished.

        Astor knew that he could not win this fight; but the fight was begun, and he had nowhere to run.

        The being came at him whirling and slashing. Light peeled off of it in arcs and loops. It moved faster than any Elf could, and it seemed to see more as well. The mana was bursting forth from its core.

        The only thing that might save Astor was the fact that this creature, whatever it may be, was utterly inexpert with its powers. It was struggling to control the fire that burned within, and that was its sole disadvantage – but it was a great one and could be exploited, if Astor lived long enough to learn how.  

        Mnelentyr sang as it deflected the attack. Astor was high on adrenals now, and the massive sword felt light as a aoflo-feather in his hands. All the techniques were singing in him: the faorolux, the guarolux, the syncrolux.

        He parried, retreating. There was no space for any counter-attack. It was all he could do just to keep the thing at bay.

        The mad fey did not limit its assault to the twin light-blades. It sent out long white tendrils that furled behind its adversary, trying to catch an arm or a leg in an electric bond. It rose up into the dusty air and came down hard on the desert floor to throw Astor off-balance, and split the earth. It screeched and hollered; but it could not sing.

        The Elf Knight fought hard, defending against the weird thing that had emerged from the Membrane. Every slash was blocked, each thrust deflected – but Astor couldn’t keep this up for long. So he called into being the Escutcheon, creating a field between him and his foe.

        Normally, he would have to sing Exun to manifest the protective shield, as would any other Elf. But he was connected now, plugged deep into the very core of the mana and all its eight wheels revolved around him.

        The force field appeared and followed him as he ran away from the creature that now sailed through the air after him. It reached out for him, but lost control of its energy rays and scored the nearby rock walls with lasers.

        Astor ducked a powerful beam that would have sliced off his head off; then he turned and sent missiles hurtling at the fey. At first he used his fairy gun, but not one of its various pellets had any effect – so he lifted the sword Mnelentyr and aimed its point at the creature’s heart. By means of a trigger crafted into the hilt, Astor fired a dreadknot that passed through the Escutcheon and exploded in the air with gun-thunder.

        Still the creature came on, passing through flame unscathed. Astor fled. Clearly his weapons were useless to him. From here, the combat would occur more in the mind.

        He called down a rain of stones. The surrounding mountains were being carved by his will, and huge scoops of heavy golomnite were removed, as if they were made of nothing more than snow. Astor aimed them all at the spirit following him, but it was able to shear through each block with a sword of fiery light. It cried out in anger and pressed on.

        Geysers and steam-vents erupted about the desert all about them. The thing passed through the blockade without a thought and pressed on.

        A point of massive gravity opened behind the mad fey, and it began to pull everything into it. All the light from the Membrane, and all that emanated from the body of the crazed thing, was eaten by the little point of impenetrable darkness. Astor felt it pulling him, too; but still the thing pressed on.

        Astor came to the foot of a sheer grey cliff which he then brought down over him, like a scared child will pull a blanket over his head: the rock face was reshaped in an instant, and he found himself alone in a bubble beneath the Mountain. He continued to move along, using the bubble as a vehicle to get further away. He went down, toward the Fire, and out also, toward the Void.

        How far could he go before he found either, and could go no further?

        After a time, he stopped. His breathing came hard. He was in utter dark, but his Elf-sight allowed him to perceive shapes and forms of energy.

        He knew the thing had followed him.

        He went up.

        Shooting out the top of the Mountain, into an icy cold atmosphere where the air was thin, Astor hung for a moment at the apex. He looked down and saw his enemy reappear; the thing that chased him exploded in a flurry of stone and white fire. It reached out long arms of sizzling lightning to grasp at Astor.

        The Elf dove.

        He knew that this wicked thing was a creation of the Dark Elfs. Surely, Loro must have had something to do with it! That was why it had emerged at this time, right when Astor had come. It was his destiny; he saw that now.

        This creature somehow held the key he needed. He would have to defeat it before he could find a way to fly through the Void.

        He turned just in time to see the fey get stricken by a seizure. In mid-air it hung poised, emitting an awful noise of pain that vibrated hard along every frequency in existence. The long arms that it had sent out after Astor were now thrashing tentacles of searing white light; they lashed the Mountains and marred their stony faces. One grey peak was erased to a smoke of mere elements that caught the breeze.

        It nearly got me, Astor realized in that bizarre moment as he fought in the sky above the Taddenac. I don’t need to run from this thing. Nor do I need to fight it, because it can’t control itself. Every attack backfires. I should have been playing the defensive this whole time!

        Astor went back to the floor of the desert, which now was completely unstable. He waited, and did nothing.

        The fey, now enraged, could regain control of its powers for only brief seconds; every time it did, it bent its energies to another attack – and this would lead invariably to it over-extending itself and suffering a paralytic fit in which it could not act.

        It opened its mouth in a wild cry, and as its maw gaped it swallowed up starlight. It fed on the energy of the Membrane, which dimmed visibly. It sucked the life out of the nearest stars, so that the constellation Rogrophaff was all eaten but to the last two points of light that were dulled to a hazy red glow.

        This just made things worse for the creature. The harder it tried, the more it was thwarted. The more power it consumed, the more it was overwhelmed by that power.

        Astor stood placidly on the desert floor and did nothing. Arms of destructive radiation swept the Taddenac all about him, but none of them were aimed. It was all just phenomenal.

        Finally, the fey thing spent itself in a burst of flickering noise and hard light which was seen by all in Temperest, which stood some leagues to the west, and by some as far as Rhynn, which lay a good deal farther.

        It could possibly have caused much havoc, this strangely inept being. It was like a half-born Sylph, endowed with power, but with no faculties with which to use it.

        It fell plummeting from the sky, its fire extinguished.

        Before it hit the earth, Astor saved it by singing Volx; this slowed the thing’s descent so that it received no injury.

        Then he waited.

        Could it be a trick?

        What should he do? Should he call on someone? A report to Temperest was probably warranted, but was probably also redundant. Elf Knights from there would be arriving in moments, fully armored, singing together and wielding big, bright swords.

        He approached the fallen thing.

        The skin was no longer white and shining, but now looked black, charred, entirely burnt.

        The thing was dying.

        It opened its mouth and squealed weakly.

        Whatever it was, Astor would learn nothing from it if it died. He bent over it and put his hands upon it. Closing his eyes, he sang Ryol to heal burns. Then he sang again, to purify the blood. And a third time, to bring peace. He reached deeper into the mana than he ever had before and breathed life back into the broken thing before him. He sang for Life, and he sang for Hope.

        This, with all his empowered visualizing, undid all the damage and in moments the fey was healed, whole, and hale.

        Astor opened his eyes at the exact same instant as did his enemy; and as their eyes met, they recognized each other at last.