In the capital city of Kisinyov, Fiona Russell sipped a bitter brew made from roasted kodo beans. As the heiress to the powerful Russell family, she eschewed the sweet confections favored by other noble girls, preferring the sophisticated bitterness of the dark liquid. She drained her cup, her mind buzzing with excitement.
A real secret meeting? Could there be treasure? Maybe she would be like Farsail in the stories, discovering a lost hoard and earning the loyalty of an ancient dragon. Or a titan. A titan would be acceptable too.
As she daydreamed, the spectral projection she had sent out returned, merging back into her body. The memories flooded her consciousness, ending with a single, tantalizing word.
"Steam?"
The word sparked an insatiable curiosity. She walked to her study, dipped a quill made from the feather of a quetzalcoatlus into black ink, and began to write.
"Dearest Master Albella,
I have encountered a most perplexing matter. I was told that a False God has been born in this, the Fifth Age. But did you not teach me that the conditions for their birth vanished in the Fourth? How can this be?
Also, Master, do you know of a thing called 'steam'?
—Your student, Fiona Russell."
A smile touched her lips as she sealed the letter with wax and placed it in the beak of a waiting messenger raven. "Fly swiftly, little one," she cooed. "Don't lose this, or I'll pluck every last one of your pretty white feathers." The raven blinked its small, intelligent eyes and, with a powerful flap of its wings, vanished into the sky.
On a blood-soaked battlefield in the Abyss, Iyet Cavendill stood serene amidst the carnage. The coronet on his head pulsed with white light, purifying the demons and devils around him, carving out a zone of calm in the eternal war. The battle concluded, he closed his eyes and touched the divine artifact.
"Prophecy!"
A vision flooded his mind. The clang of mechanical gears, the hiss and roar of steam, the thunder of cannons and firearms, the silhouettes of ironclad ships and majestic airships. He saw the dawn of a new era.
"A new age," he whispered, his handsome face hardening with resolve. "We are returning to the Material Plane."
In the Gray Keep, headquarters of the Knowledge Church, Ephram Krell held the paper construct in his slender fingers. It silently recounted its journey, then went limp, its magic spent.
"Steam," Ephram murmured.
His unique spiritual sense, a gift from the God of Knowledge, began to thrum with an intensity he hadn't felt in years. His intuition screamed that this single word was the prologue to a new, magnificent epoch.
"A new tide is coming," he mused, massaging his temples. "A new age? But the Fifth Age is barely halfway through."
He rose and pulled a heavy, ancient tome from his shelves.
"The First Age was the age of the Primordials, who set the foundations of the world. The Second was the age of Races, when dragons, elves, and titans vied for dominion. The Third was the age of Humanity, of floating cities and the discovery of the outer planes. The Fourth, the Age of Loss, a dark time of fallen gods and buried civilizations. And the Fifth, the Age of Planes, where new gods rise and new worlds merge with our own."
He closed the book, his expression a mixture of awe and reverence. "Will the Sixth Age, then, be the Age of Steam?" He pictured the robed figure from the meeting. "What are you planning, Your Excellency?"
"The first 'gathering' was a complete success," Leo thought, pleased with his performance. He had channeled the quiet, commanding presence of Shar and the stern authority of Amon-Et, and the effect was perfect.
But Iyet's information was troubling. "A kill-squad. Five Legends and a demigod. They have a lot of faith in my power."
He analyzed his chances. Legends were a minor threat; a demigod's divine essence made him immune to most mortal attacks. The real danger was the demigod known as 'The Light of the Worlds'. "I'm a demigod by happenstance, with zero combat experience. He's almost certainly a veteran. I'm at a disadvantage."
He also had to assume his opponent would be armed with a divine artifact, likely a gift from Amon-Et himself. "I need to even the odds. I need better weapons."
His mind raced through the myths of Earth. The Kusanagi Sword and Yasakani Jewel of Japan were powerful, but mostly ceremonial. He needed true weapons of war. His mind settled on a short list of legendary artifacts that could serve as trump cards.
With a thought, the black vortex swirled into existence in his mind. He stepped through, leaving the mage's tower in Thera behind and reappearing in his anonymous apartment on Earth.