The pathway between dimensions dissolved around her, reality reasserting itself in familiar textures—the scent of pine and loam, the weight of her domain's presence settling across her shoulders like a well-worn cloak, the subtle hum of thirty thousand lives pulsing through faith-bonds that connected them all to her.

Home.

Ebonheim materialized in her shrine's central chamber, expecting solitude. Instead, she found an assembly waiting.

Kelzryn stood near the eastern window, humanoid form backlit by late afternoon sun, azure light pulsing in the cracks of his skin. Ryelle leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, divine aura barely contained beneath mortal-seeming flesh.

Engin sat at the shrine's central table, green eyes tracking her arrival with the patient intensity of someone who'd been waiting hours. Roderick occupied another chair, peacock-blue coat draped over the back, fingers steepled in thought. Evelyne stood near her equipment cases, already prepared for something.

Bjorn stood near the center of the room, massive hands clasped behind his back. When Ebonheim materialized, he gave a small bow.

They'd known she'd return with news. And they'd gathered to hear it.

"Well," Ryelle said, straightening from the wall and glancing between her and Kelzryn. "That was longer than 'observing an auction.' What happened?"

Ebonheim moved to the table, not sitting but standing at its head. The reports from Corinth still lay where she'd left them—Th'maine's sketches, Evelyne's sensor readings, the weight of eight thousand enslaved lives rendered in ink and crystal resonance.

"I learned," she began, voice steady despite the storm of information swirling behind her eyes, "that we have less time than we thought. Much less."

She told them everything. The conversations with Aetheron about unclaimed domains and twenty-percent thresholds. Ariastra's warnings about divine distance and the cost of sentiment. Nephri's casual revelation that multiple gods were calculating their approaches to Corinth. The overheard conversation about Talmaris, his reputation for strategic conquest, his interest in the valley, and his timeline.

"Within the week," she finished. "That's what they said. Talmaris plans to move within the week, and if he doesn't, someone else will. Other gods know Corinth's unprotected. Know I'm unwilling to claim it properly. Know there are eight thousand mortal lives waiting for the first god who steps in and takes control."

Silence pooled in the shrine like water in a depression, heavy and still.

Engin spoke first, his voice roughened by disquiet. "Then we need to act quickly. Send a delegation to Corinth—Ryelle, Bjorn, Orin, Evelyne, perhaps Th'maine to identify the artifacts. Destroy them before Talmaris arrives, establish our protective presence—"

"No."

The word came sharper than Ebonheim intended. She softened her tone but not her conviction. "No delegation. No proxy action. I'm going myself."

Ryelle's eyes widened, surprise and something like satisfaction flickering across her features. "About time."

Evelyne looked similarly approving, but Engin's frown deepened. Kelzryn simply observed, his expression guarded but clearly engaged.

Engin leaned forward. "You're certain this is the best course?"

"It's the only course," Ebonheim countered. "Aetheron explained divine law to me. To prevent other gods from claiming Corinth, I need to protect the territory directly, with my own presence. Not through followers."

"And Xellos? If he manifests during your intervention?"

"I'll make him answer for violating the Eldergrove. If he resists, I'll face him in combat or challenge if that's what it takes."

Ryelle nodded firmly. "Good answer."

"The key," Kelzryn interjected, speaking for the first time, "will be claiming sovereignty without assuming divinity. Other gods won't recognize protection as legitimate unless your actions in Corinth cross certain thresholds into territoriality."

"I know," Ebonheim said. "Aetheron outlined those same principles. I'll have to enforce my authority directly, without establishing faith-bonds."

Kelzryn conceded her point with a nod.

Evelyne tapped a finger against her equipment cases thoughtfully. "So, what are your exact plans, then? If you're intervening directly, there's opportunity for more... decisive actions than delegations have managed so far."

"I'm going to Corinth tonight. I'm going to destroy all seven artifacts that Xellos placed there—the ones controlling the population. I'm going to do it openly, powerfully, and without apology." She looked at each of them in turn. "And then I'm going to establish protective oversight over Corinth until Xellos returns. Not a claim. Not conquest. Protection."

"Protection?" Ryelle smirked. "With you and me enforcing it? Call it what you want, Ebonheim. Everyone else will just call it divine rule."

"And when Xellos does come back?" Engin asked. "That's an act of war in divine terms. He won't surrender his domain without a struggle."

"Xellos' fate is his own," Ebonheim replied, keeping her tone even. "He violated every principle of divine conduct when he enslaved eight thousand people with gentle compulsion. And he violated MY territory when he sent assassins and demons into Old Drakon Castle. If this is war, he started it."

"Even so," Engin pressed, "sending you personally is—"

"Necessary." Kelzryn's interjection carried weight. "She's right, Engin. Protective oversight requires visible, personal presence. If she sends others to act in her name, she's no different from gods who treat mortals as pawns. If she claims to protect Corinth, she must BE the protection."

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"I could go," Ryelle offered, stepping forward. Her eagerness was palpable, finally given purpose after three days of forced inaction. "That's what I was made for, isn't it? To act beyond your borders, to be your strength where you can't be?"

"No." Ebonheim met her avatar's gaze steadily. "You were made to act when I couldn't. But I CAN act. I choose to act. This is my responsibility, my decision, my consequences to face." She softened slightly. "But I'd welcome you as backup. You and a small team. Not to do the work for me, but to cover my approach and keep civilians clear."

Ryelle's enthusiasm tempered, but she nodded. "Understood."

"The artifacts," Evelyne said, ever practical. "Seven locations. Temple, council hall, market exchange, three residential shrines, and a fortified warehouse. They're networked—destroying one might alert the others."

"Then I destroy them all quickly." Ebonheim turned to the artificer. "Can you provide exact locations?"

Evelyne flicked a hand, projecting a rough aerial view of Corinth on the central table's surface. Glyphs flared in seven places. "The resonance mapping was detailed. Here, the temple; here, the council hall..." She pointed to each location in turn. "But Ebonheim, the network is sophisticated. If you don't break them simultaneously or near-simultaneously, the remaining artifacts might compensate. Lock down. Become harder to reach."

"How long between first and last?"

"Minutes. No more than ten, ideally five."

Ebonheim nodded slowly, mentally tracing routes. "I can do it. What else do I need to know?"

Roderick cleared his throat. "The political fallout will be... significant. Even if you succeed in destroying the artifacts, Corinth's population will be confused, frightened. Some will be grateful. Others..." He hesitated. "Others will beg you to put the compulsion back. They've lived with comfortable certainty for two years. Freedom is terrifying."

"I know." The admission hurt. "I'll face that when it comes."

He inclined his head, satisfied.

"And Talmaris?" Bjorn asked. "He won't just back off because you broke some crystals."

"No," Kelzryn answered for her. "He'll challenge her directly. Demand she either claim Corinth properly or withdraw. Protective oversight isn't a recognized status in divine politics—she'll have to defend it."

"Then I'll defend it." Simple words, weighted with consequences.

Engin studied her for a long moment, green eyes intent, as if measuring her resolve. She met his gaze without flinching.

Finally, he nodded. "You've made your decision. As your advisor, I counsel extreme caution. As your friend..." A rare smile touched his weathered face. "I'm proud of you. It's time we intervened decisively."

She returned his smile. "Agreed."

The council broke up gradually, people drifting away to handle their assigned tasks.

Bjorn paused before leaving, his hand dropping onto Ebonheim's shoulder. "About damn time you stopped thinking and started moving. When gods get thoughtful, mortals suffer." He patted her firmly, then stepped out into the twilight.

Finally, only Kelzryn and Ryelle remained.

"You're nervous," Ryelle observed, studying her creator. "Don't try to deny it. I can feel it through our connection. Excited, determined, but nervous."

"I haven't fought since..." Ebonheim trailed off, thinking back. "Since the Fractal Conduit quest. And that was controlled combat, with allies, against guardians with clear rules. This is different."

"This is real." Ryelle's expression turned serious. "Destroying artifacts that thousands of people have come to depend on. Breaking another god's works. Facing potential violence from people who want to stay enslaved." She paused. "I understand why you're doing it. But I also understand why you're scared."

"I'm not scared of fighting." The correction came automatically. "I'm scared of... getting it wrong. Of hurting people while trying to help them. Of becoming what I oppose while doing what I think is right."

"Then don't become it. You're going to Corinth as Ebonheim—the goddess who values choice above control, freedom above order, messy truth above comfortable lies. Don't lose that when the fighting starts."

Ebonheim met her avatar's gaze, recognizing wisdom forged in conflict. Ryelle's existence had been defined by such decisions—principle versus pragmatism, morality versus necessity.

She'd never felt so thankful for Ryelle's insight.

"Thank you," she said simply.

Her avatar shrugged, though her posture relaxed slightly, tension bleeding away. "Don't thank me yet. Thank me after you've thrown yourself headfirst into divinely contested politics."

The sun had climbed higher, burning away the morning mist. Across her domain, thirty thousand people went about their daily lives—working, laughing, arguing, living. Unaware that their goddess was about to do something that might reshape the valley's future.

"I should prepare," Ebonheim said finally. "Meditate. Restore my Essence reserves. Make sure I'm at full strength for tonight."

"I'll gather the team." Ryelle nodded to her, then to Kelzryn, before slipping out of the shrine, her footsteps light against the stone path back towards the city.

Kelzryn remained. His aura pulsed softly in his alabaster skin, bioluminescence shimmering beneath cracks.

Ebonheim glanced at him. "What?"

"Nothing." His tone belied the word. "I just find it interesting that you've chosen to act now, after hearing Aetheron and the others. After considering divine politics." He gestured vaguely at the path leading outside. "You could have helped Corinth before. It would have been the compassionate choice, even if it didn't conform to 'divine protocol.' Yet you waited until the threat was political as much as ethical."

"What's your point?" Defensiveness crept into her tone, despite herself. "That I only act when I have to? That I should have acted earlier?"

"I'm saying there are multiple factors in every choice." He drifted closer, voice softening. "Yes, circumstances changed. So did your understanding. Consider that your compassion wasn't the only motivator."

"And yours is?"

"Clarity. Understanding what's at stake, and why." His azure eyes met hers. "Whatever the motivator, your choice is just, Ebonheim. That's enough."

He turned, drifting away with inhuman grace, leaving her alone in the grove.

Sunlight filtered through eternal spring blossoms that never quite fell, casting dappled patterns across moss and stone. Her shrine breathed quietly around her, pulsing with the divine essence that made it an extension of herself.

Tonight, she would walk into another god's domain and break his works. She would face the consequences of choosing action over paralysis, principle over pragmatism. She would discover if her idealism had teeth, or if she was simply the naive child-goddess other gods thought her.

But she would do it herself. No delegation, no proxies, no hiding behind others' actions.

Ebonheim closed her eyes and began to meditate, drawing Essence from her domain, preparing her abilities, steeling her resolve.

The day passed in slow preparation. Maps studied until she knew every street. Artifact locations memorized until she could navigate blind. Abilities reviewed, practiced, optimized for quick, decisive strikes.

As twilight painted the sky in shades of amber and violet, Ryelle returned with Lorne, Kaela, and two Silverguards whose names Ebonheim made herself memorize—Pascoe and Asketil, skilled and dependable.

"We're ready," Ryelle announced. "Equipment packed, route planned, contingencies prepared. You just give the word, we'll move."

"Good." Ebonheim stood, smoothing the white of her dress. "Let's go."

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