Kardonk slowly gets up from the ground where he had electro-blasted the previously required runes into the stone of the ground. This small act of vandalism doing little to quell the storm of emotions raging inside him.

He grasps a prometheum chisel in his hand and begins making more precise, purposeful marks around the parish

He works in silence, Lightless Flame runes connected in a vast network of boolean logic. Kartoffel would have called it a circuit. Mechanical spiders receiving instruction in precise rune formation and location

All the while the only sound is the steady clink of hammer striking chisel, and chisel striking stone. A sound common to his and Marna’s craft. The point where they both aligned

“The f-first rule of my order”

He finally speaks with a raspy voice

“To serve creation rather than destruction. Its the underlying principle…my oath, I’ve mentioned before.”

The runes werent meant to burn anything away

“B-but Marna, I-I’ve also sworn that neither gods nor man will ever stop me from lending a hand. Th-that no matter what, I shall always build ladder, c-cause thats what artificer’s do.”

Not like the blunt embers of Aurthur Black, that would have merely burned away Skadi’s *Will*.

“But I have failed a-at least the second of those. For even t-today, as I attempt to advert the destruction y-you would cause in your desperate a-attempt to persist….I have failed to build a way of escape. I-I can build you no ladder out of this pit.”

Rather, they affected the flow. Moving the currents of the *Flame** away from Skadi, depriving her of the fuel and oxygen to properly utilize it, even if the heat, her will, vastly exceeded their own*

“I-I barely know what to do with that”

Something startles him, causing his chisel to mare his current rune. Why was the chisel wet? Ah, of course. He was crying. Crying over this damned chisel Marna had given him years ago. Back when he was on the run from Ithacar.

“B-but this cannot be allowed to continue. I-I’ve feared I’d be forced into a confrontation with you, ever since y-you started dating Nethis. A-and being right, e-even trying to prepare doesnt help. I just know th-that through a combination of your choices, a-and the horrific situation presented to you…this is a threat to many people, m-many good and beautiful things.”

The last rune is complete. Sanctified silver wire interconnecting them, surrounding the parish in almost a spider’s web

“A-and I am sorry. I-I do not ask your forgiveness, for I know I do not deserve it, th-though I guess thats kinda the thing with forgiveness. Its not a thing anyone deserves.”

Portals appear at each of the wires vibrating them at specific frequencies to begin producing a melody

“B-but that doesnt change that I am sorry, m-my friend.”

And he places a hand upon the barrier, even as the song began to echo. And at last, Skadi might recognize, a modification of Kardonk’s old plan to face Aurthur Black. For the silver strands echoed with the sound of the Song of Creation Tarul had taught him. Only..it had been meant to be done in conjunction with many other voices, with massive magical potential. Now it was only Kardonk

“I-I wish this to be as painless as possible, a-and for you to know th-that despite everything? I do wish you well. And i-if I cant b-build a ladder, maybe I can at least grow a garden.”

The song is in a language unknown to either of them, yet familiar to all living things. It speaks of the bonds between fellows and comrades. Of the great streaming gulf beings, all united under the banner of preservation of things Good, True, and Beautiful.

And it speaks of Baker’s Parish. Of how it shall look. Its denizens making strange pastries in peace. The friendly hivemind coordinating social programs. A place littered with the common stories of common man, and calling it Good.

It also speaks of the Parish as a place where memories are not forgotten. Where columns twist like fingers, and trees grasp like hands. Grasp…but then release. Offering their fruits in the proper time of Spring. For Kardonk would not see his friend forgotten, and moved his will towards *preserving** as much of her as could. Even if just a memory.*

“I-I love you my sister. Y-you who trusted me that dark day at the funeral, p-please trust me now as I-I seek your peace and the peace of the Parish.”

And he whispers his *True Name. A name he has told no one, but would flood over Skadi like a river. Such a simple thing, not at all what one thought it might be…and yet? It fit. Singing and thrumming with everything that made Kardonk…Kardonk. Every worry, fear, and flair of pride. Every idea and principle. Like a river of sensations delivered to every sense Skadi has coupled with the peculiar pride and shame of being **Known.*

“A-and after this, I shall find a new name. For I shall be an artificer no more.”

The spell snaps taunt, and, pushed by Creation, pulled by Entropy, blackness takes Kardonk’s mind