When there was a change in Onnen, word spread quickly on the wind. And it did not take long for the news of the extending daylight hours to reach the primal lord's ears. His survey of the lands of the Sister Continents would be temporarily delayed as it was time to return to his territory to understand the current situation. On Mount Qala, those who awaited him spoke of how there had been a shift in the balance of night and day. It was gradual at first, with the hours growing longer before the arrival of dusk. Then one day, dusk never came. Those who were affected first were the nocturnal ones, haggard with exhaustion as they struggled to adjust to the sun perpetually standing still in the skies. The most that could be done for them were to have them retreat into the caves within the mountain and block off as much light as possible while allowing airflow in hopes that they might find rest. As time passed, those who were diurnal began to show signs of weariness too. This could not continue; not if the order of the very world stagnated. A river that stayed still was a dead one, and the passing of the hours was meant to run its course like living water. There was no time to lose–Mithras and those who could still fight would make the journey to Mandhari to obtain what was needed to restore darkness to its rightful place. Then they would advance towards the Welayta Mountain range to bring down the graven image of the winged warriors rumored to be causing disruptions around the world.

Kgabu and Kitwana were armed and ready, and it was a shame that Dikembe was among the few who had to recuperate within the mountain. But they must strike while the iron was hot–lest more of them fall to the wayside. The lion-headed lord had heard the goddess's outrage and dismay in her declaration of war against 'sin' and 'evil'. But despite her compelling argument, he found himself left with more questions than answers. The only way he could resolve these conflicting feelings was to ask her one simple question: 'What exactly is evil?' To him, evil was a mutable, subjective concept. It was formless, shapeless, like water–molded by the governing laws and beliefs of society. What was considered taboo in one tribe was merely natural in another. And in spite of these differences, both groups had managed to populate and survive. Qala had few rules, and those that existed were simple enough for all to abide by and understand. Those who did not wish to follow could not stay on the mountain; those who did answered to him.

Holding out his hand, his crimson eyes gazed into the inky blackness that coalesced into an orb. The sphere itself seemed to emanate a dark mist that absorbed ambient light around itself. The power within the orb possessed a stillness unlike that of light–which boldly made its presence known. It was sedate, somber, though not lifeless. It acted on its own terms and refused to be influenced by others. Even light was swallowed up in its wake. No matter the source, power was power. It was how one wielded it that determined good or ill intent. That was how Mithras perceived it, and that was what he wished to confirm should he meet the goddess responsible for this turn of events. His band of warriors from Qala received their own fragments of the night's blessing, and they set their sights westward to the rainbow mountains. Welayta was a land of peaceful people, it was a shame that they would soon see their first bloodshed in centuries. Had the goddess chosen a different place for the epicenter of her radiant conquest, they would have been spared. And while he had instructed his men to only engage the winged warriors and god-branded, others would not be so discriminating.

It had been difficult watching the place she had called home fall away into the very horrors it had once tried to fight against. Sacra Rosa, once a monastery where its members sought to purify evil, turned to dark arts that were even more reprehensible than the monsters they intended to hunt. The man she had seen as a father figure turned out to be a madman who drove the formerly benevolent order to utter ruin. And even worse, he had manipulated both her and her mother, ultimately grooming her to be a living sacrifice to call forth something unspeakable. Ardea as the sole survivor would never forget the painful lesson of what unbridled ambition and a narrow mind wrought. So when she heard the goddess of light's declaration of war against all that was evil and unholy, she simply couldn't stand by and do nothing. Sirona had given her a place to belong and a listening ear when she was lost and without purpose. She didn't want to experience losing another acquaintance to the same end that took those she loved. Though she too had been taught to banish spirits and cleanse the undead, simply eradicating everything that the light abhorred felt wrong. 

"Forgive me, Lady Sirona. I cannot thank you enough for giving those who wander aimlessly the strength to carry on and a place for the weary to find peace. But what you are doing now is a stark contrast against what Kanisa Kuu la Malaika stands for. Though I understand your sentiments, I cannot find it in my heart to agree with the course you have chosen. If I die at your hand, it is my sincerest hope that you will reconsider…for your sake and the sake of others." She stretched forth her hand and the shadows gathered together, growing in size until a sphere rested in her palm. Clasping her fingers around it, she closed her eyes for a moment before turning to leave the Elephant Graveyard. Touching the prayer beads wrapped around her right wrist that had been given to her as a gift by the goddess, her face was solemn. The spellsword then steeled herself, conjuring her enkindled scythe into her hands. For the sake of those who were born in darkness, she would fight to bring this endless day to an end. She hoped that the goddess would one day find it in her heart to forgive those who she saw as sinners, and grant them a chance to repent in earnest out of divine mercy. 

She had landed Strelitzia in an open area away from Mandhari, as the kalangitan became skittish once they started flying over the graveyard. Understandably she was feeling the same way, as the barren land was silent when it came to the voices of plants. Chrysanthe had been spending time in Onnen to better learn about the land and its people as an ambassador from Canelux and Antikythera. When creatures from the Void had breached the pristine wilds that had gone untouched by outside civilizations for centuries, she had stayed calm. However when she heard reports of a great statue of an angel appearing on the highest peak of Welayta and the goddess Sirona public denouncing evil and darkness, the Rosenite started to worry. Yes, Chrysanthe believed that people shouldn't do evil things and that it would be best if everyone followed the rules if they were fair and reasonable. However, if war were to break out, the first people who would be affected would be the villages in the mountains. Having lived there for a few months, she had made friends with a few families who were herders. Those mountains were difficult to access to begin with, and the wildlife along with the locals had been blessed by the land's abundance for generations. Their hospitality and friendliness to outsiders was something hard to come by in this day and age, and the last thing she wanted was for that to be destroyed due to conflict. They deserved to continue living their lives as their ancestors had in peace and harmony. 

Taking a small orb of darkness, she tucked it away in her things before going to see where her older brother was. She had sent an urgent message home to her family, specifically asking Lysandre and Efrain to help. She wasn't planning on doing any fighting, but if push came to shove, she wanted to do her part in bringing the world back into balance. Chrysanthe had a plan and her brothers' talents would come in handy to make it happen. It would take all of their efforts to help save not only the people, but the animals that called Welayta home. If she used her position as an ambassador, she might be able to get temporary accommodations for both. "LYS!!" Spotting a familiar head of curly blond hair, she broke into a sprint. Belen must've opened a portal for him once he got her letter. Her little brother could open portals too, but you usually had to bargain with him first if you wanted a favor from him.

"Are really doing this?" He asked once he and his sister met. Lys had a healthy respect for the Conclave, as their mother had taught him from an early age. But when Chrys told him the potential casualties that would happen once mobilized forces had fully encroached on the statue, he couldn't find any good reasons to justify letting things be. The method was too heavy-handed, and it didn't take into consideration the varying circumstances of people who became vampires or lycanthropes. Some people had chosen to be turned, while others never had that choice. His father was one of them. And what about those who were born that way? It wasn't fair to them that they should be punished for their existence. He took an orb of darkness and followed his sister to the outskirts of Mandhari. Something about this place made his skin crawl, and he was sure his younger brother Efrain would feel right at home in the Elephant Graveyard. Well, maybe not as it lacked the amenities he'd want. But his girlfriend Juni would have a lot of company here. 

"Yes, I mean…if we don't then who's going to help them? What about the people and animals of Welayta? Just because they're living there doesn't mean they want to get involved in all of this." His sister had a point. Sometimes the things the deities did had unforeseen consequences. That was probably why Belen and Cyril's mother tried so hard to not be involved in the world's affairs unless it was a life or death situation. What could the people do against those who had the blessing of the World Tree? And even if they fell from grace, the damage was still done. Sometimes that damage took years if not centuries just to heal. The Harena Desert was a living example of that. Once they were on the kalangitan, Chrys whistled signalling Strelitzia to fly. With the slow, powerful flapping of her wings, they gained altitude and were soon soaring across the skies westward towards the mountains.

There were many things that Artiya'il was known for - anger was not one of them. 

Of all their family it was Artiya'il who was known for her patience and tolerance, despite how infuriating the rest of her family could be. And by Gods name were Angels hard work. However, the Host also feared what Artiya'il could do if she lost her temper - while Sirona had always been known as the strongest of them (through the union of Lucifer and Raegul what more could be expected?) physically it was Artiya'il they had feared… for her strength could be seen as far worse. 
While Sirona could maul and render one limbless with her little finger, Artiya'il's talent lay in mentally ripping her enemies asunder - something that she had done only on the rarest of occasions… such as when she had finally found Jack the Ripper, and Hitler. There had been a few back on Earth that had met their fate at her hands when she had reversed her talents - filling them with the Grief of the thousands, nay, millions, she had served over the centuries. 

While she no longer took the title of Champion for Shiloh she still considered the Goddess a close friend, another one of those things that Artiya'il was not well known for having, and visited the woman when she could… mostly to nag and ensure that Shiloh was eating and taking care of herself - Arti had swiftly learnt that her Goddess was not the most consistent when it came to caring for herself. This visit had brought news that the Archangel of Grief had never expected; while she and Sirona did not see eye to eye on many subjects (and why would they? Sirona knew little of her older sister and less still of the family she had been cast out of… other than the fact that Gabriel was a giant prick, though that need not be said since being near him tended to give evidence of this fact in seconds) but to find that her sister had been the cause of her friend's terror had caused a surge of emotion within the Angel that was wholly foreign. 

She was angry. 

No. Not angry. Angry indicated a glare and a stern word, Artiya'il was livid. The Grief she had consumed from the day of her creation swirled within her chest like a rising tornado, threatening to overwhelm her - but again she proved herself stronger by far, keeping it locked away in her heart. The time would come to unleash it soon, but only once she had collected the orb required to tear down her sister's statue. She understood Sirona's words, she understood what she was trying to do, but there were better ways to do these things - and without Sin, there would have been no Angels…  

Orb in hand the Archangel turned her attention to the skies; she had never been much of a fighter, it wasn't in her nature - she could hold her own, but she was far better at crippling her enemies mentally should she require it. Before the Angel had arrived here she had taken to the streets of Revaliir - following in the wake of Sirona's Anointed, removing the Grief from those her sister had wronged in her attempt to set things right… Artiya'il might not be able to subdue her sister physically, but she hoped to impart some of the Grief that Sirona had caused back to Sirona might make her sister see… this was the wrong course of action, and for once the Archangel would not sit idly by and allow this to take place.