Preparations for the gala had gone smoothly, to Michael's continued astonishment. The main hall of the palace had been efficiently into a lavish but recognisable ballroom, the grounds bedecked with twinkling ornaments and nearly every surface in the city was draped in festive finery, proudly displaying banners with the emblems of the Crown atop the sigil representing Hod itself. Excitement buzzed through the air, delighted anticipation at the prospect of hosting such a gathering of the Spheres the topic of the majority of conversations Michael overheard. He did not share their enthusiasm, but he tried to appreciate their liveliness.

  Even that much was difficult at times. His days passed by in a blur of vaguely defined dread and a mounting sense of frustration. He would frequently find himself gazing at nothing in particular, lost in his own thoughts, and when he returned to himself, he would find large chunks of time had passed without his notice. To say this new trend was alarming was a polite understatement. Michael knew his behaviour was frightening his Saerim, but he didn't know what to say to them any more than they knew how to help him. It was difficult to muster up a proper response to their concern; it was difficult to focus on much of anything, of late. Still, a part of him argued that their reactions were overblown. He was completing his work as needed. What did it matter if he lost his focus every so often while on his own?

  He was currently sitting on a bench in the palace courtyard overlooking the central Source-blessed tree as dawn broke over Hod. He had come here sometime during the longest hours of the night, as he often did when pacing the sleepless nights away in his quarters began to wear on him. The warm light from the tree had long provided solace from the weight of his thoughts, and he had always found a simple, calming joy in the play of the morning aurorae off of the shimmering leaves. It had long been one of his favourite times of day: the fresh stillness and sleepy sounds of the slowly waking world, the dawning promise of the potential brought in by a new day, the passing of the darkness of the night refreshed and invigorated him as very few other things did. Today, he failed to notice any of those things.

  The sound of laughter brought him from his daze. He blinked as a gaggle of palace staff walked through the far edge of the courtyard, laughing and talking quietly amongst themselves as they carried armfuls of decorations and cleaning supplies, and Michael realised the morning was already upon him. The daylight aurorae were out in full vibrancy, chasing away the shadows of the night and illuminating the world with their brilliance. He had missed the dawn. Michael stood, alarmed at the idea that he would be late for the daily match with Remiel, only to remember after a few steps that they had agreed the day before to skip it the morning of the gala. He had already dressed for the occasion, the shining emblem of the Crown a now familiar weight.

  What had he been thinking that had cost him so much time? Now that he was trying to define it, he couldn't pinpoint what the source of his pressing anxiety was. It occurred to him that something might be truly wrong, that his intuition – while not on par with Gabriel's foresight by any means – might be trying to warn him of some impending disaster. He might also be simply losing his mind, cracking under the pressure and failing to live up to the King's expectations before a single season had passed. He wasn't sure which idea upset him more. Pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead in a vain attempt to ward off an oncoming headache, his morning routine in absolute tatters around him and the rest of the day promising to be just as unpredictable, Michael felt his fraying patience beginning to give way to his temper.

  The courtyard was empty of other people. The majority of decorations had been placed the day before, and it was yet too early to worry about the finishing touches. There would be no one around to witness his meltdown, so long as he kept it quiet. Michael allowed himself to visualise the satisfaction of taking his frustrations out on some unfeeling piece of scenery and stomping around until he had, at last, worked off a bit of this terrible energy, but he dismissed the notion just as quickly as it had arrived. Truthfully, he didn't want to destroy anything any more than he wanted to be caught throwing a tantrum. That thought alone was enough to deflate him, causing him to slump, drained and hollow, back onto the bench he'd lost his morning on.

  He merely needed to make it through today, he reminded himself. Once this gala had passed, life could return to a semblance of normality. He could survive this. The process of planning the event had been thus far relatively free of complications, even with Michael's lacking enthusiasm. Nothing he knew of threatened the event itself; perhaps it was naive to take that as a sign things would go well, but Michael clung to that shred of optimism anyway. Everything else aside, the people of Hod deserved better from him. This was for their benefit, after all.

  Steeling his resolve, Michael habitually checked the area around his feet for heat damage, fully expecting to have to put out a few fires after his most recent lapse. There were no signs of recent damage around him. Confused, Michael tentatively plucked a blade of grass and held it up. He expected it to wither and shrivel from the heat of his touch – as had always been the case since the beginning of Hod – but the grass remained unharmed. By all rights, his little episode ought to have easily caused a fair amount of property damage. He felt more unstable and volatile than ever. What could have prevented this outburst from sharing the same conclusion? He hadn't even drawn his sword or focused on the seals –

  The emblem of the Crown. Michael unpinned the badge from his shirt to study it; as soon as he removed it, the piece of grass he held began to smoulder. The sigil etched into the back of the badge glowed white-hot with barely contained power. Michael stood in surprise, his mind whirling with dozens of possibilities as he stared at the badge he held. If this meant what he thought it did, it changed everything.

  The door to the side wing of the palace burst open and Remiel strode into the courtyard, followed closely by a furious Mahariel and a stubbornly frowning Valeriel. Remiel was quick to spot Michael and hurried towards him.

  "I told you he'd be out here," Remiel said over his shoulder to the others as they approached. He drew short as he took note of Michael's stance. "Michael, have you already heard?"

  Michael's hands were shaking with excitement as he clutched the badge, a bright, hopeful energy burning through him for the first time since the Paths had opened. "Remiel, this..." He stopped, cognizant enough to register the suspicious nature of Remiel's question and the clear agitation of his Saerim. His heart sank. "I've been here alone all morning. Has something happened?"

  "We've just received word that Aeon Khamael of Geburah intends to arrive with a full contingent of armed guards," Mahariel said. "She means to respond to the appointment of the Prince by bringing a small army into our home."

  Michael had no difficulty believing this to be true. His first in-person encounter with Aeon Khamael had been when Raphael had led him through Geburah on the way to Kether, but he had long known Khamael by her reputation for unflinching severity. Meeting her in person had only enforced his belief that her reputation was well-earned. While Khamael had been accommodating during their brief intermission in Geburah, offering their group refreshments and a brief rest before joining them for the final leg of their journey through the Sea of Consciousness, she had been aloof and shown very little interest in speaking with them during their journey together. Michael had found it somewhat odd then, in as much as he'd been able to notice anything outside of his nerves to meet the King – he certainly had had questions for Raphael when they met, and even more questions when confronted with the Paths – but he had gathered quite quickly that Khamael was not the sort of person who cared for excessive chatter. After witnessing his foolish burning of Gabriel before the council itself, he couldn't expect Khamael would be pleased with his appointment as Prince over Lower Yetzirah.

  "She views this announcement gala as a display of power and she's responding in kind," Michael surmised. "She likely intends to show that she refuses to be cowed by a mere declaration that she is now under my rule."

  "We cannot allow such hostility to go unchallenged," Mahariel said. "We must respond in kind."

  "No, my Aeon, we must not!" Valeriel interrupted before Mahariel could say more. "This is a groundless display of protest; to acknowledge it is to give it validity it does not otherwise have. If we react as if it is a genuine threat, we inadvertently state that such empty posturing is enough to threaten us. We would reward those who would seek to control us through threats and instil doubt in those who would support us, and for what gains? Aeon Khamael cannot mean this as a true attack; she would understand that to attack Hod is to also guarantee the destruction of Geburah. What appeal would she see in mutually assured destruction?"

  "Perhaps she believes she has a true advantage," said Remiel. "My Aeon, your description of your encounter with Aeon Khamael in Kether concerns me. She witnessed your mistake with Aeon Gabriel with very little context of the problem surrounding it. If Aeon Khamael chose to interpret it as a sign that you lack the willpower to control your gift, she may mistakenly believe you to be immature enough to be easily conquered with minimal resistance."

  "Even if that were true, how could she expect the other Spheres to passively allow such a thing? Much less the King," Valeriel argued. "The position of Prince of Lower Yetzirah was Most High's design. Even if she should disagree with it, she cannot defy the King's will. This performance is meant to intimidate us, not start a war."

  "And we will show that we cannot be intimidated," Mahariel said. "If she wishes to show us that she has well-trained defenders, allow us to show the same. We can take a lesson from Kether's example and post a heavy guard presence throughout the city and the palace, a constant reminder that we are not weak and will not be swayed by the threat of force."

  "And in the process completely undermine the purpose of the gala!" protested Valeriel. "This is a celebration of the Spheres, not a demonstration of force. If we turn this into a contest of arms, not only are we playing into the idea that such methods are effective, we are drawing attention away from the works of our daeva and alienating our other visitors. My Aeon, this is not how we solve our problems in Hod!"

  "Neither do we simply ignore our problems and passively hope for the best!" Mahariel snapped. "We do not know Aeon Khamael's intentions with this act, merely that she does intend to act. We have forewarning in this matter; it would be negligent to ignore it while we have yet have the opportunity to pre-emptively respond."

  "Stop!" Michael said before they could continue, holding up his hands to indicate that it was time to make peace. "Please, let's take this one point at a time. When we travelled to Kether together, Aeon Khamael brought a sizeable guard along with her for that trip as well. At the time, I was willing to accept her action as being the result of not knowing what to expect in the Void. Mahariel, you spent time with her guards during the council. What did you notice about them?"

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  "They were well-disciplined," Mahariel said, frowning. "They needed no reminders to mind their form. It was clear to me that their training was extensive. At the time, I found it admirable."

  "But you did not see their presence as an act of aggression then. What reason do you have to believe that this instance is anything other than a repeat of her earlier caution?"

  "My Aeon, you insisted we only bring four guards with us for the trip because you felt it would be in poor taste to arrive at Kether with a full contingent," said Mahariel. "I believe Aeon Khamael does not share your concern for appearing overly aggressive. Truthfully, I was grateful to have additional backup join us to face the unknown Void, particularly in light of the possibility that something within the Void was to blame for Aeon Raphael's condition. But we travelled the Void without incident, as did Aeon Khamael. There was no need to bring such forces. There is no excuse to bring an army to a diplomatic gala."

  "In Aeon Khamael's defence, one uneventful trip through the Void is hardly conclusive evidence that it is safe," Michael said. "The argument can still be made that she is merely erring on the side of caution."

  "No, my Aeon, I disagree. There is nothing cautious about bringing an army to a diplomatic gala," Mahariel said.

  "So what do you propose we do?" Michael asked. He held up a hand to silence Valeriel's protest before she could interrupt and gestured for Mahariel to share her thoughts.

  "I suggest we follow the example set by Most High and have guards of our own posted at key points in plain sight to greet visitors," said Mahariel. "Around the base of the Paths, along the main streets of the city, and throughout the palace grounds, for example. It would show that we possess the means to maintain peace and stability, that we are prepared to defend those under our protection. Given the threat of this darkness these beacons are meant to defend against, I feel this is a positive message to send."

  Michael turned to face Valeriel. "And you disagree because...?"

  "My Aeon, we cannot allow the threat of violence to dictate our behaviour," said Valeriel. "Aeon Khamael would have to be utterly unaware of the consequences of her actions for this to be anything other than baseless posturing for the sake of setting an impression. She will not attack us if she has any care for Geburah's well-being whatsoever, and I find it impossible to imagine an Aeon who does not care for their own Sphere. More likely, it is as you said and she means to intimidate you to prove she will not be controlled by someone she feels has no right to rule her beyond a title. If we react to this taunting as if it is a genuine threat, we imply that we might, indeed, be vulnerable, and certainly susceptible to threats. Moreover, this is a diplomatic gala meant to unify the Spheres and celebrate our joining. Posting an extensive armed presence on every corner may send the message that we will use whatever force available to us to get our way. This may validate the fears of the other Aeons rather than assuage them as we hope. Perhaps that's even Aeon Khamael's intention: she expects us to respond aggressively and irrationally in front of the other Spheres."

  "So you suggest we do nothing?"

  "I suggest we keep our wits about us and focus our attention where it will do the most good: on the gala and forming positive relations with the other Spheres," Valeriel said. "We've planned this event to showcase the best of our Sphere. Is an unthinking reaction to meet violence with violence truly the best we have to offer?"

  "Do you have any thoughts on this, Remiel?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow at his Regent.

  Remiel looked distinctly uncomfortable to have the attention drawn to him. "It feels wrong to ignore what seems to me to be a blatant threat, but I agree that Aeon Khamael would be out of her mind to take such literal action against us. This is likely her version of a test to see what our response will be. As to whether we should respond with force or not, I cannot say. I have not met Aeon Khamael, and I have no reliable means of parsing her intentions at this time. I'll defer to your judgment, my Aeon."

  Michael wanted to laugh at how clear it was to him that Remiel was trying to skirt around the conflict between the other two Saerim. He kept a straight face by remembering the situation they were arguing about. "Could we consider some manner of compromise? Would it be possible to discreetly post a handful of guards as needed to keep an eye out for trouble without alarming anyone? Perhaps the guards present themselves as guides to assist our visitors in finding their way."

  "A handful of guards will be unable to defend our city from the force Aeon Khamael is bringing with her," Mahariel said, scowling.

  "No, and likely, they won't need to," said Michael. "The rest of your men should be on high alert, garrisoned at key points throughout the city and ready to respond if needed, but out of sight. I don't want to alarm our daeva by acting as if we're expecting the other Spheres to attack us, much less what it could say to the other Aeons. We'll be alert and prepared to react if the situation escalates, but I believe we ought to continue our plans for now. We announced that we would hold this gala. Let us show that we are committed to following through with our plans. I will speak with Aeon Khamael when she arrives and sort this out peacefully. There is no need to panic in the meanwhile."

  "I understand, my Aeon," Mahariel said, bowing. "If you'll excuse me, I must begin preparations immediately if we are to have the guards in place before guests begin arriving."

  "Please keep me informed if any complications arise, Mahariel," Michael said.

  Mahariel nodded in acknowledgement and trotted out of the courtyard, vanishing into the palace with a determined air to her step. Michael turned his attention back to his remaining Saerim.

  "Valeriel, how are preparations for the gala shaping up?" he asked. "How's the mood of the daeva about receiving so many visitors at once?"

  "The mood is excited, my Aeon, though not without an understandable touch of trepidation. We've had an overwhelmingly positive response from the daeva in the city; volunteers have flocked together to assist in our arrangements. There has been the occasional setback, but nothing particularly noteworthy. Overall, preparations have gone above and beyond my hopes. We should be ready by the scheduled starting time," Valeriel said. She eyed Michael with cautious optimism. "If I may say so, my Aeon, you appear quite refreshed this morning. I hope this means you had a restful night, if possible."

  "It was much the same as any other night, but this morning holds much potential," Michael said, bouncing on the tips of his toes. "I'll not keep you, Valeriel; I'm sure you've plenty to keep yourself busy with, as well."

  "There are a handful of matters that require a more personal touch I have yet to attend to before the gala begins," Valeriel said, clearly understanding the dismissal as she fluffed her skirt out in a brief curtsy. "I'll speak with you again soon, my Aeon. Regent."

  Remiel waited until they were alone in the courtyard to speak. "Do you truly believe Aeon Khamael will be so easy to reason with, Michael? The fact that she is bringing such a force to our doorstep merely to prove a point suggests to me that she does not hold much respect for our opinions."

  "I doubt she cares at all for our opinions, not after what she saw of me in Kether, but our opinions are not necessarily what matter in this scenario," Michael said. "With luck, proving that we won't be easily intimidated will be enough to earn some modicum of her respect. This is a period of great adjustment; we can't reasonably expect everyone to simply fall in line because they've been told to. I don't know Aeon Khamael well, but I can't imagine she's completely beyond reason. As Valeriel said, what would she stand to gain by attacking us now? I'll do my best to deal with her today, but, in the meanwhile, Remiel, look at this."

  "It is the emblem of the Crown sent to you by the King to mark your position as Prince," Remiel said carefully, emphasizing each word with great care as if Michael didn't understand what he was saying.

  "Oh, is that what this is? I've been wondering about it all morning. No, Remiel, look at the sigil on the back of it," Michael said, exasperated, holding the badge out for Remiel to take.

  "It bears great resemblance to the seals on your sword," Remiel noted as he carefully took the badge. He shuddered bodily at the feel of it and was quick to pass it back. "It's as cold as ice to touch! The King expects you to wear that all day?"

  "I can't feel it. Far more importantly, however, I haven't burnt anything by accident since I've started wearing it. Remiel, watch this." Michael fastened the badge to the front of his shirt once more.

  He felt himself calm at once. The hectic pace of his thoughts slowed. The weight of his concern over the upcoming gala was removed from his shoulders, and placed instead in a detached compartment of his mind that allowed him to look at it rationally. The world moved around him slowly, muffled and removed as if he stood wrapped in a sheer curtain. He would have to deal with Aeon Khamael decisively today, he realised, if he had any hopes of unifying their Spheres as a group to complete the beacons. It seemed ridiculous that they were devoting so much effort fussing over a title when the true threat was so much greater than their petty differences. He could focus on the need to defend against this darkness. He didn't know what to do to convince them that he was worth their trust as a leader.

  "Michael?" Remiel called hesitantly, breaking him from his thoughts. "There was something you wanted to show me, my Aeon?"

  It took Michael a moment to gather his thoughts enough to recall the point he'd been trying to make. He plucked up a fresh blade of grass and held his breath. Nothing happened. Thrilled, Michael waved the grass in front of Remiel's face.

  To his credit, Remiel did not openly acknowledge the strangeness of this behaviour. He held his ground, his eyes narrowed in annoyance and just a touch of concern as he struggled to discern what he was meant to see in the grass. "My Aeon, it is a bit of grass. I fail to see what..." He stopped, his eyes widening as he realised the implications of what he was seeing. "The emblem is effective enough to make such a difference merely by wearing it?"

  "There hasn't been a single incident since I've first put it on," Michael said. "I thought it was odd, but didn't piece together the cause until this morning."

  "Michael, this is fantastic!" Remiel exclaimed. "With this, there is no need to obligate yourself to Aeon Raphael. You will not be reliant on anything she has to offer and can instead approach your dealings with her from an entirely professional standpoint. This is a huge relief!"

  Michael froze, his face going pale. With a loud exhale of horror, he slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. "Aeon Raphael! I completely forgot. I was meant to look after her and I've utterly neglected to so much as check in on her. Where has my mind been? I ought to have sent someone to escort her. Do you suppose it's too late for that? We'll have to have someone watching the Paths for her arrival so she won't become lost in the city. Was there any trouble contacting her about the gala?"

  "Saerim Ananel was the one in charge of contacting the other Spheres, not I," Remiel said. His tone suggested he was choosing his words very carefully. "As I understand it, however, there was no technical trouble sending the missive to Tiphareth, but she did not speak to Aeon Raphael directly. The Regent of Tiphareth did eventually respond to inform us that Aeon Raphael will be attending, along with an attendant to assist her."

  "I take it you don't approve of the wording of this response?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "It hardly matters whether I approve of anything related to Tiphareth or not," said Remiel. "I think they've been consistently rude, but, as you've said, rudeness is not equivalent to a legitimate threat. What matters at this moment is the gala, and I don't expect Aeon Raphael or her Regent to pose any danger to it. I don't trust them, but I expect they'll behave for the time being. Allow me to ask, my Aeon: do you have a plan to deal with Aeon Khamael?"

  "I think you know I don't."

  "I was afraid of that," Remiel nodded, sighing. "We have a bit of time left to us before the guests are scheduled to begin arriving. Is there anything you need before the gala begins, my Aeon?"

  An idea began to form in Michael's mind, an old, half-forgotten memory struggling to surface through the haze of stress. He bit his lip, allowing what he was certain to be a poor idea to take root and blossom. There were dozens of ways this could go poorly, and yet...

  "Yes. I believe we need a jar of oil and a metal bowl," Michael said slowly. "But first, breakfast. I've just had a thought I would like to talk over with you and I'm not prepared to face this day on an empty stomach."