As the heat fell from his skin, he turned. The work was done for a moment, Malik's surrender not unexpected. The man always was a bit of a martyr, and stepping between the Keibatsu and their prey was never advisable, even for an elder. He always did move with a clear purpose.

Muz stopped for a second, letting his mind catch up to things, reaching out with his senses, with his heart. He could feel them, feel Sildrin's resonance on the tapestry, on the universe where they were. The threads tied her to two distinct places, a weavery constructed with deft mind and great skill. He smiled. He knew she would be trying her hardest, but to what end, he only had half an idea. There was too much bad history behind her blind eyes.

Shikyo nodded at his transceiver, then deftly stowed it in the same motion. "We're en route."

Muz looked up at him for a moment, his youngest brother, his apprentice, his Herald. There was never any real contention between them. Sometimes the others, with their challenges, their grasping to step out from the shadow that he never cared to cast. He understood them, that need. It never bothered Shikyo. He learned many lessons in practicality from the mercenaries, from his years on the Dark Council. It wasn't like Manji, who's dogged persistence in backing the Heir of the Sadow name almost cracked the bloodline in two. He stared back at him, one eye shielded under the Kyataran handguard tied about his head. They hadn't sat and talked for some time. It seemed too obvious, some things, that they never needed said. And yet, still it itched at his psyche.

He let the words go out to him.

Are we all that's left?

Manji shifted his weight, his head moving slightly in affirmation. Muz made no reaction, counting down the names in his head. Shin'Ichi had left the 'Spear after the War, retreating on a long overdue holiday to the core. He never checked in at the Gilmarin Condos, so he must have had somewhere else in mind. He hadn't responded to any communiques, either. While that normally would have bothered him, it was rather his modus operandi as of late, growing more and more distant. Sanjuro had gone to ground at Kuroshin, rarely leaving their compound there, exhausted from the constant infighting that the Brotherhood seemed to espouse more and more. Shimura was long gone, stopped responding to them more than a decade ago, and they could not tell if he still even drew breath.

Macron gave up his affiliation years ago, almost in defiance to the Family when Ashia was Consul. Manji probably still hadn't forgiven him for that, as he was the one who adopted him. Macron's bitterness and impulsive behavior led him to many a drastic act, which explained why he was backing the usurper knight. He could feel the madman, not far from the area that Locke was designating. He was enjoying the battle too much, reveling in destruction and the fear he sowed in the younger ranks. It was too much, the posturing. Fear only made so good of a motivator, and after that immediate threat has passed, they find ways to come at you sideways. He saw it all too many times. Could Macron learn that lesson? It was a question that would have to be answered soon.

Which left Tsainetomo. Muz felt him out there, a brilliant point of light on the dull rock, unable or maybe even unwilling to conceal himself. Muz cracked his neck, considering options. He had thrown down the name of the blood some time ago, threw in his lot with the Long. Was it a desire for power? Vexatus - No, Xanos - He hadn't earned that title. Xanos offered much, but it was, as it always ever was, illusion, built to pretend at primacy, to honor his mad master. What Xanos had to offer was only ever lies, and Sai had to know that, somewhere deep in his heart. The ritual he sought, the shards he was trying to accumulate, the power he was trying to wrest from the long dead; they were not what Vexatus believed. The Falleen thought he was researching Vitiate, by way of Tiamat, but instead found a broken version of Ergast's work. Sai had to know.

If so, then why would he bother throwing his lot in with them. There was pride there, certainly. Love of combat, and the seeking to challenge. Steel sharpens steel, the saying went, and perhaps the half-Korun felt that his steel would be tested more harshly than if at his side. But no, that didn't make much sense either. It was too much ego, too much narcissism to think he was the cause for that. He shunted it aside in his thoughts, knowing the price of ego as a Dark Lord.

Malaise? Could boredom and a lack of self preservation drive him to this? Muz stared at nothing at yet everything, watching the world move by millimeters as his brain dissected the situation, trying to unravel the puzzle that his cousin had become. There was more to this than anything he could see from here, and it curled his lip.

Shikyo looked up at him, at Ashia and Manji. "Ready, then?"

Muz twisted his arm, the display sliding open, bathing his eyes in the luminosity of the datapad built into the prosthetic. The holocomm projector lit up under his unseen hand, and he looked up at his Herald, nodding once.

Go ahead. I'm right behind you.

He let the connection reach out to the old frequencies, encrypted in ways that Sildrin had tested against her own skills when she was his Seneschal. He let the connection begin, feeling the power trace itself up into the network, then vanish out of his visualisation. He stood there, eyes closed as he felt along the edges of this shattered world, letting his senses touch everything he could. Past the journeymen, past the scared soldiers, past the fear of what was coming, or the lust of what might happen. And found him.

He felt his heart twist as he found the communicator.

Soon, there would be an understanding.