The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy

Mirian took her quarters at a random inn in Urubandar, disguised again as Micael Sulalnahr. She had traveled alone this time. She'd secured her room with her usual ward scheme, then slept. In the morning, she sat down with her usual bundle of broadsheets. At this point, it was more to practice reading Adamic than because she thought she would find anything new. She started with the first few articles, and they were exactly the same as she'd remembered.

Then, an absence caught her eye.

There's the two rafts colliding on the river. The usual about refugees and distant battles. But what happened to the party in the Dusk Palace?

Mirian went back through the papers, scouring them for any reference to the guards being called on a rowdy party there. There was no mention.

Either the party didn't happen at all, or the guards weren't called, or the paper was changed. But I've already been through here three times, and it was mentioned each time. Her first thought was Ibrahim. Is he getting his agents here early? Or is he here himself?

Then another thought, one of pure terror: Did he bring Atroxcidi?

Mirian immediately stood, summoning her spellbook to her hand and sending the broadsheets flying. She began casting soul divination spells in quick succession, then arcane divination spells that might catch a powerful caster. A mental tug directed her to look south, but then she realized she was just looking at an artificer's shop. There were only two people in the shop, a master and an apprentice. No threat there. She looked around more of Urubandar, eyes darting around the streets, heart pounding.

Then she grit her teeth, forcing herself to breathe.

It's one article. Ibrahim can't have possibly traveled this far that fast. There didn't seem to be any gates in Urubandar or Rambalda. Even someone with an enhanced levitation spell like the one she'd developed wouldn't be able to travel that kind of distance. And why would he have suddenly abandoned his conquest? There's no way he found out about a single undead being whisked away at the end of the 194th loop. Even finding out about the Elder gates wouldn't let him know I was here…

She continued looking around. A thousand normal souls, walking about the city in no particular hurry. Unless Liuan Var told him I was coming here. Though as far as I know, she hasn't set foot on this continent. And if she thinks Atroxcidi has the power to remove temporal anchors, she'd be even more cautious interacting with Ibrahim. Zephyr falcons from Akana to Rambalda still would take time, as there's no direct route. And even then, she would need pre-existing communication protocols that anticipated his movements, because Ibrahim can't be staying in Rambalda to contact Atroxcidi. The necromancer is too far east.

Mirian slowed her breathing, trying to relax. She would stay cautious, but she didn't need to panic.

I'll start by investigating the Dusk Palace, she decided.

She kept her soul-sight on as she walked towards the fourth hill along the riverside, scanning the streets for anything unusual.

Everything seemed normal. She didn't like that. Either this other Prophet was trying to evade Ibrahim's gaze like her, or they were attempting to hide in the shadows for a more nefarious purpose. She had to act as if it was the latter.

A divination spell detecting common glyphs used in combat spells returned positive; there was a cluster of them in one of the buildings near the Dusk Palace. Mirian approached the area, already in the form of the Dusk Waves, ready to deploy a prismatic shield at a moment's notice.

Two guards stood outside a building. A crowd of people had gathered around and were talking near a street vendor cart.

"What happened?" Mirian asked.

"Hmm. Nothing good. The guards say one of the occupants was murdered."

That confirmed there was an anomaly in the loop. Perhaps a poor laborer in the slums wouldn't have been reported on, but the people that lived in this district were wealthy enough to be commented on. "That's terrible! Does anyone know why?"

He shook his head. "That man over there said he walked in and found the body burnt to cinders. It must be a mage of some sort, since the rest of the building wasn't touched."

The man in question was sitting on the ground just behind the guards, weeping softly.

"I sent my manservant to fetch a black veil for him," another man said. Murmurs of agreement sounded. It was clearly the right thing to do.

"Who would do such a thing?" Mirian said.

"All sorts of terrible types," said a silver-haired woman in a tone that implied she had just imparted a great piece of wisdom.

"Perhaps a robber. A lot of the folk that pass through here are quite unsavory."

"I heard the guards talking, though. Didn't seem anything was taken."

"How strange."

Mirian's eyes drifted to the Dusk Palace. The horseshoe arches were layered with colored stones that evoked the horizon at sunset. The architecture reminded her of the Artificer's Tower in Torrviol. "What goes on there?" she asked.

One of the men shrugged.

Another said, "Not sure yet. It just got bought from one of the trade guilds."

"Oh? When was that?" Mirian asked.

"A few days ago. Sixthday. Why?"

"Just curious. Apparently it was quite noisy there last night. I'm surprised no one summoned the guard on them." She wasn't sure if that was actually true this cycle. She'd been staying at an inn too far away.

"Seems like it," one of the women said, nodding towards one of the gates to the palace.

Mirian realized laborers were loading empty wine casks onto a cart while a grumpy looking camel stood by, chewing on something. She looked down the street. Another cart was coming, being pulled up the street by a pair of desert eximontar. That meant the driver was an arcanist, and the fancy scrollwork on the wood and ornate blue and gold coverings marked the carriage as belonging to someone with money. It was a large carriage. Mirian used detect life, and saw it had eight people crammed in it. That was strange. Usually, someone traveling in that kind of luxury did so because they wanted comforts and plenty of room.

The crowd continued to pass rumors around. Mirian moved on, walking along the roads that circled the Dawn Palace. As soon as she found an empty apartment, she broke in using a bit of raw force magic to open the lock and began to cast divination spells. She started by looking for wards that might detect common divination spells, then looked for anti-divination wards, then worked her way down a list of common glyph constructions.

Her suspicion only grew. The palace had basic ward architecture, but several wards had been allowed to wither and would need to be re-scribed, probably at great expense. There were few protections. Critically, there was no levitation protection at all. While common combat spells would trigger alarm wards, she had plenty of spells that wouldn't. She practiced casting telekinetic rip, a spell that could either be used to disarm an opponent—or, if one were especially brutal, dis-arm them.

From the window, Mirian watched another carriage full of people move in. She thought of Aurum's gala. Is this a meeting of the powerful? A plot to control Persama? Perhaps they waited for Lord Saiyal to be absent. But is his position so weak? Or has Ibrahim already sent messages south that will precipitate a rebellion? Her mind whirled with the possibilities.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

She used spell enhancements to extend the range of her detect life. There seemed to be a large gathering in the main hall of the building. There were dozens of servants moving about. She used heat detection spells to map the kitchens, then water detection spells to figure out more about the layout. Near the ballroom were elaborate heated baths, and the kitchens were cooking up what appeared to be a hell of a feast. In the basement, more wine casks were being cracked. A gala for sure. That was strange though, because the major players, including several of Lord Saiyal's allies, were all in Akana Praediar.

A coup, then. Or at least, the beginnings of one. Or perhaps an opportunity to learn the minor noble players of this city. Every city had factions. It was just a matter if the conflicts among them were public or hidden.

Mirian left the apartment she'd broken into, locking the door behind her, then made her way to the front entrance. She conjured up the illusion of a wine cask and changed her clothes to look like those of the servants.

"I was told to deliver this to the cellars," she said to one of the estate guards at the entrance. Mirian had prepared several contingencies for this conversation. If the guard told her to drop the wine cask off, she would have protested and said the rare vintage would degrade in sunlight and needed to be stored immediately. If she was questioned, she would say she was recently brought into service, and had thought of all sorts of reasons why he might not recognize her.

The guard looked at her. Then he shrugged his shoulders and jerked his head toward the open gate.

Mirian was almost disappointed. Terrible security, she thought as she headed through the courtyard past the fountains and lush garden. Without a single cooling spell, the courtyard was at least ten degrees cooler than the sweltering heat of the streets.

She made sure no one was watching, then let the illusionary casket disappear as she moved under the shadow of a tree, then headed for a side door to the main hall. Detect life revealed several people clustered around. In fact, some of them were sitting close together. Really close together. And it sort of looked like they were—

Mirian abruptly dismissed her detect life spell, then moved to the part of the courtyard where the carriages were parked. She looked at a little engraving on the side of one. Property of Rivermoon Brothel.

She made a disgusted face, turning for the gate. Then she hesitated. A thought had just occurred. This was still where a disruption in the timeline had appeared. There was a possible answer to the murder, it was just so petty and absurd her mind had refused to consider it at first.

Mirian amplified her soul sight and gazed through the wall again. She could always dump alchemist's cleaner in her brain afterward. Her divination picked up an anomaly in the soul of the person at the center of the attention. Five hells, she thought, hoping she was wrong. She moved into the building until she was just outside the hall. Through the door, she could hear moans.

She cast her spells again and closed her eyes. Sure enough, the man in the center had the telltale gaping void in his soul.

Blood of the fucking Gods', Mirian thought. Rage seized her, so suddenly and completely that it overwhelmed her. Before she even knew what she was doing, she'd summoned her spellbook and slammed open the doors.

The man before her had darker hair and skin but eyes so vividly blue that they seemed out of place. He was surrounded by naked or half-naked women. The hall they were in had a floor of polished marble tile, a ceiling of beautifully carved and painted wood, and walls decorated with lavish displays of lapis lazuli and woven tapestries. His eyes widened as she entered and one of the women let out a short scream. Mirian took some sadistic delight in seeing that she'd ruined the mood.

"You are a Prophet," she snapped at the man. "And you're wasting time doing this!? Did you really murder someone so they wouldn't complain about the noise of your parties? You have a duty to Enteria! How many fucking cycles have you been doing this instead?"

The man's eyes stayed wide. His mouth opened and closed. He looked around the room, and belatedly, Mirian realized she'd sent out raw blasts of force that had sent dishes and benches flying and raw heat energy that had scorched the floor. Almost everyone in the room was looking at her in abject terror.

But not the other Prophet. He recovered from his shock and stood, brushing himself off, unashamed even though he was stark naked. "I don't remember being told I had to do anything in particular," he said in accented Adamic. "I'm just making the best of things." He gestured at one of the servants standing in the corner. "Robe," he said. The man, still trembling from fear, didn't move. "Robe!" he snapped, and the servant belatedly helped him into a white robe with gold embroidery. "You must be like Ibrahim," the man said. "Only shorter, and maybe with less of a temper."

Mirian kept glaring at him. She realized she was still using soul bindings to appear as Micael. It didn't matter. She ground her jaw. She wanted to threaten him with removal from the time loop, but then that would reveal a capability she didn't want the other time travelers to know about. After all, if she could work it out, so could they.

"I'm Gabriel, by the way." He finished tying the sash on his robe and extended a hand outward. It was still slightly slick.

She looked at it disapprovingly.

He sighed and retracted it. "Not exactly the way I'd planned on introducing myself." To the gathered prostitutes and servants he said, "Alright, go entertain yourselves. There's wine and food aplenty. Go on now!" He waved his hands at them.

"Sir, shall I… get the guards?" one of the servants said, trying to say it low enough Mirian didn't hear.

"Now wouldn't that be a pointless endeavor? No. Get me a fresh towel and another goblet of wine. The 4724 vintage, I think. And a cheese platter, for sure." Turning to Mirian he asked, "Do you like cheese?"

"I like saving the world from the apocalypse," she said, voice still dangerous. Nothing Gabriel had done had calmed her fury, and it was only her own practice that was keeping her emotions in check. She really wanted to gut him. "Were you planning on investigating that?"

"Yes, I investigated it and concluded we're absolutely fucked, not really much I can do, so I might as well get fucked. It's a nice life, once you get used to it. And, what do you know, it seems to be resolving itself! What's your name?"

"The cycles are getting longer because I have been working to stabilize the leylines."

Gabriel looked at her. "Oh," he said. "Well, thank you, I guess. So… how does one do that?"

"Activate Elder Gates and the system partially self-corrects. Eventually, we might need to deploy leyline stabilizing engines while we cut the use of spell engines. We also need to find and activate more Gates."

He blinked. "…Elder Gates?"

Mirian gave him the short version, the one that omitted a great deal of what she'd been up to in the loops—similar to what she'd told Liuan Var. Midway through, the servant returned with a cask and two wine goblets, while a second servant had an array of aromatic cheeses arranged with various fancy hard flatbreads. He set it on an ornate table, then bowed and backed away, still glancing suspiciously at Mirian.

"And what have you been doing?" she asked.

Gabriel snorted, already halfway through his goblet of wine. Mirian's lay untouched. "Not nearly as much. I spent a few years trying to figure out the situation. That Sulvorath you mentioned, his agents showed up here briefly and tried to order people around. I had them assassinated, the same way, every time, and he eventually stopped bothering. Then I stopped hearing about him altogether."

"He was removed from the loop. Neither Liuan nor I know how or why. By the Ominian, is my best guess. Probably because he was undermining the attempts of the other Prophets to save Enteria," Mirian said and raised an eyebrow at Gabriel.

"Is that so?" He took a sip of wine, seemingly unperturbed. "Anyways, I did a great deal of research. Even found an entrance to the Labyrinth and took a peek down there. You would not believe what kinds of monstrosities they have. After about the fourth level, I called it quits. Seemed like a dead-end. Tried looking around for various relics, tried talking to Isheer, dug up some old books—tried a bit of everything. Eventually, I gave up. The dreams never changed. The Ominian never really looked at me, not really. In the end, it seemed best to find pleasure in the life I was given, no matter how strange. You know, Ibrahim doesn't seem to have any ideas either. I think his entire plan is to destroy Baracuel, and he thinks God will stop destroying the world after that."

"You haven't talked to him?"

"He's been fighting the same war nonstop for over a decade. See, I've met a lot of soldiers down here. From Akana, from Baracuel, or born here. One thing they have in common: they fight enough, their heads get fucked up," Gabriel said, tapping his skull. "By now, Ibrahim must be absolutely unhinged. Me, I figure a sane, healthy mind ought to be worth something. So I take breaks. Long, nice ones."

"And murder anyone who disrupts it?"

Gabriel smiled with his mouth, but not his eyes. There was a lighthearted tone to how he talked, but in his eyes, she could see how the loops had aged him. "Tell me with a straight face that, after all these years, you haven't killed someone purely for convenience." When Mirian didn't respond, he said, "I thought as much. Now, you still haven't told me your name."

You need to build trust. You can't hide everything, she told herself.

"Mirian," she said, and rapidly shed her soul disguise. She kept the illusion that was veiling her eyes, though.

"Oh my, now that's a neat trick," he said. Tapping his chin he said, "I have heard of you. Usually in the form of rumors being passed among travelers and merchants. Some of these loops, you make quite the stir." He looked at her again, this time thoughtful. At last he said, "You really think you found a way to save us from this doom?"

"I have," she said.

"Then I suppose I can get back to it." He looked longingly at the direction the brothel workers had gone, then tightened the sash of his robe and said, "I can be ready to leave in an hour."