"I will gladly take care of your Wyrm problem," the Knight in shining armor said to the princess.
The princess narrowed her eyes at him. "It sounds like you're saying Wyrm, not worm."
The Knight Flipped up his helmet visor, "What? Wyrms is Wyrms right? And the ones you need killed are up in the mountains. Earth Wyrms, yea?"
"Worms," The princess over exaggerated the 'o' as she said 'worm', "Yes. Gargantuan Earth Worms, they threaten to destroy the entire mountain range. I need them slain."
"Earth Wyrms! Easily done princess, they can't even fly." The Knight slapped his visor shut, certain he'd be able to handle these Earth Wyrms with ease.
Air Wyrms and Fire Wyrms could both fly and were therefor quite a pain to kill, having to track them relentlessly until they tired was... well tiresome.
Water Wyrms had to be killed underwater most of the time, because mankind had yet to make a fishing boat buoyant enough to fish one from the sea.
With a grin from ear to ear, a simple go there and murder a monster mission in mind, the Knight bowed deeply before excusing himself from the princess' presence.
She turned to her Advisor, "He does know they're Worms and not Wyrms right?"
The old wizard shrugged. "How difficult could it be to kill giant worms?"
The Knight and his squire and their company of friends, set out to the mountains to the north where their quarry was said to be. Among their host was a young wizard who had only barely passed his apprenticeship exams, there was a lady dwarf, who was of course a blacksmith. Her beard was always set with flowers from their next member, her husband the elvish archer. The elf say he's no true archer, merely a hobby, of a thousand years. Their final member was an ex-communicated clergy member from the empire on the other side of the mountains.
A few short days of easy travel over rolling hills and they'd made their way to the foot of the mountains. The Knight and his party experienced the first earth quake then, it was gentle enough that the Knight hadn't even noticed it. The dwarf sure did though.
"Something's not right," She said when the tiny quake ended. "Earth Wyrms must be fighting something else right now for us to be feeling this rumble."
"Then they'll be softened up for us when we get there, or maybe already dead. All that mattered to the princess was that they die, we need only verify those deaths." The Young Wizard said, hopeful he wouldn't have to fight at all.
The clergyman said a prayer to his strange god, and bid them all, "Prepare for the worst tomorrow, this way when it likely goes better than that, you can be overjoyed at our fortune."
The squire took the first watch, and the Knight the second. Nothing happened but the soft snores of their compatriots. For the third watch they had the elf. He required far less sleep than humans or dwarves, except for once a lunar month when he had to sleep for a whole day.
During his watch the ground rumbled again. More than rumbled, it shook and cracked. A span the size of large horse opened up and split their camp in half. The elf didn't exactly have to sound the alarm, everyone woke up to the thunderous crack of the landscape opening.
In the pre-dawn light leaking over the horizon they could see the fractures leading up into the mountains. Their camp just happened to be on the end of one such crack. The whole mountain they were headed to seemed to have cracked.
"These must indeed be large Wyrms." the Knight said. "I shall need all my weapons sharpened to their finest edge to piece their hides."
The Dwarf set to work spinning her whetstone and putting the sharpest edge on the Knight's swords and axes and even the arrow heads of her husband's arrows were sharpened. The squire was loaded down with heavy, very sharp weapons, and followed his master up into the recently cracked mountain. As they traveled the ground steadily rumbled.
They found an opening which they hoped would lead them into the caves inside the mountain where they might find at face these dread Earth Wyrms.
As they entered the caverns they were surprised to find a thick slime coating the walls.
"How curious." The young Wizard said, collecting a sample into a glass vial and staring at intently.
The clergyman said another prayer, and placed a blessing of damage resistance on all his friends. They would all be nigh-on unpuncturable, unslashable, and unbludgeonable for a few hours. You could do those things, and it might throw them around, but they wouldn't be injured any more than their pride. This foreign god's power was how the Knight had become so good at killing Wyrms. The clergyman had other blessings, which were not needed at the moment, fire resistance, and water breathing being two big ones. Air walking was a wizard trick, and so they recruited the young wizard.
The wizard projected a light up into the middle of the height of the cave they now found themselves in, and it showed that the cave was nearly as tall as the castle walls, in one direction it went off into the darkness beyond what his meek light could show, but the other direction was blocked by a gigantic wall of pink slimy flesh.
"Oh..." The wizard said, understanding a moment too late. "Earth Worms."
The Knight had approached the pink wall and tried to hack into it, but the slime coating the ouside of the great flesh mass was to sticky and too thick. It quickly stole his weapon from him, and then the next and the next and the next.
The gargantuan lack-minded creature, reacted to something behind it, and backed up in the tunnel. The Knight was quickly caught in the ooze, the squire too. The Elf unleashed a volley of arrows, but they met the same fate as their archer, only a few seconds sooner. The thick layer of mucus on the outside of the worms was the greatest armor they had ever faced. Almost as thick as a the knight was wide, it more than caught and stopped any attacks from such small creatures as the knight as his allies.
Trying desperately to help his wife escape, the elf and the dwarf ended up caught in the thick slime together.
The wizard knew he was boned, so stood and faced the slime with dignity.
And the Clergy man. Well, he said one final prayer for the souls of himself and his party members before being backed over by a brainless worm. His quiet hope was that his god would protect them all until the worm deposited them elsewhere as it continued to devour the mountain range.

I just want to rant so I can forget this and focus on my exams. If you have been in a similar position and can help, I would appreciate it. If not, that's also fine <3
My bf (23M) and I (23F) have been dating for almost 3 years now. When we started dating, I was a virgin and thought I was asexual (had someone kind of sexually manipulate me, it's super complicated).
We met on an online dating app when I wasn't expecting anything. I told him about my asexuality and asked if that would be a problem. He responded frankly, saying he would like to be with someone he can have sex with but would love to get to know me better. We went on a date and it was magical. I felt so connected and seen, by the end of the first date, I was clearly not asexual. I realised that I was demi-sexual but have had never really had anyone I connected with.
When we started dating, we had a really hard time with sex. It was very painful for me, sometimes so painful I would have panic attacks. We couldn't have penetrative sex for a while and that really frustrated him. Often times, when he tried to initiate, I would turn him down which made him feel dejected. He doesn't know this, but a lot of times, I would just pretend like I wanted it and help him finish. He spoke to me about how dejected he was feeling and we decided it's best for me to initiate when I'm ready.
This is the important bit, I recognised how this affects his mental health and body image so I actively worked to make him feel better. He is short and skinny, something he has been made fun of all his life. I would shower him with compliments, beg him for shirtless pictures and remind him that I prefer him for how he looks. I also worked on my sexual issues, visting the GP, trying to ease myself into penetrative sex by practising on my own and making sure I initiate regularly (even when I didn't feel it) so he didn't feel frustrated.
A couple months into our relationship, things got better. We were able to have penetrative sex, something that made both of us feel incredibly close to each other. I loved having sex with him, it made me feel so loved and connected. Even though I never finished (and he never really tried. He'd ASK if I want him to go down on me, but I struggle with body dysmorphia and would say I feel insecure. At this point, he would just shrug and say okay and not eat me out) I knew it was important for our relationship and would consistently initiate. At this point, he had completely stopped initiating.
This is when things started getting bad. At some point, he started frequently rejecting me. I didn't think too much of it at first, but it started to build up. I would order lingerie and send him nudes, but he didn't seem to care. I remember once actively performing to turn him on and he just stared at him, not touching himself or anything. I knew something was wrong, but when I tried to give him a BJ I fully realised it. He was completely soft. I started crying, I thought there was something wrong with me.
During this time, he had also started talking about the receptionist in his place. She was beautiful and our age. She had much larger breasts than me (something he admitted he liked when we first started dating, but he said he USED to like it and now he prefers my itty bitty ones) and was everything he wanted. I could tell she was flirting with him. He kept insisting she wasn't and had apparently talked about me a bunch. But I could just tell. It broke my heart every time he would replay his conversations with her to me.
With everything that was happening, I just felt like some weird BFF of his. It felt like SHE was the one he wanted and I was just a listening ear. My body issues peaked. I was counting calories and I couldn't leave the house without a ton of makeup. I felt so ugly.
We fought regularly.
He finally opened up to me and told me that he wasn't having sex with me because he had POIS, a condition where ejaculating felt like an allergic reaction to him. He would be dizzy for days and he didn't like that. His health was generally quite bad, he'd often forget meals and with the stress of uni, he was becoming super unhealthy. He asked that we stopped for a couple months to see if he would get better. He promised we would resume once he finished his dissertation and started working. I said okay.
The next couple months weren't easy. He continued to flirt with the receptionist, asking her inappropriate questions like if she would wants kids after marriage and what she would prefer on a first date (I don't know if they've discussed more, this is all he told me). I would cry myself to sleep most nights, but he didn't seem to care. I felt so distant from him, so alone even when he was right there. Eventually, I asked him to stop talking to her. He said he wouldn't but then he accidentally told me something and I realised that he had continued to talk to her. I was furious and it felt like we needed to break up. This was a couple months before he had to move out of that place. We found out that she had been referring to him as her bf behind our backs (he says he's never given her any reason to think that, but she's not a weirdo. Why would she randomly call him her bf????) and apparently he confronted her and told her that was not okay. He says he hasn't spoken to her since, but I don't really know. He said he doesn't have her socials but I really doubt that.
We somehow managed to get through those months, they were truly awful. I felt so alone but I never told anyone about my issues. Everyone thought we were the dream couple and would jokingly ask us when the wedding was. In reality, I wanted to break up with him almost daily. I felt so shit in my body, I lost a decent amount of weight and started to become scared of certain foods.
I kept telling myself things would get better once he started working and our sex life resumed. When he started working, he was living with me on most weekdays, only visting his mum on the weekends. Things didn't get better. He didn't ever initiate sex and I felt so awful. I had needs too! He would hardly compliment me. Sometimes, I would leave the door open when I showered or would change my clothes infront of him. He wouldn't even pretend to be distracted. He would continue talking to me like I'm his friend, my body reduced to some lump of clay. I began to resent him.
Especially because of hormones, every month for 7-10 days, I would be super horny and would try and seduce him. Every time I would get rejected and my body issues would peak. I talked to him about my feelings countless times, and every time he would promise to do better and promise that he loves me and finds me really attractive. He would promise that it was just his POIS and once he started taking care of his health, things would be fine again. Through the months of Sept to Dec, we had sex less than 4 times. He would say he was too stressed to work on his health, he even made his gastritis so bad he would have debilitating headaches where he wouldn't even be listening to what I was saying. It was getting awful.
In Dec, I went home. For the first time, I spoke to someone about the reality of my relationship. I told my sister how dejected I felt, and how my body issues had gotten so bad I was forcing myself to puke meals and regularly staying under 1200 calories while over-exercising. My sister was so sad, she told me I needed to break up with my bf because this was never going to stop. I told her that I don't think I will ever find someone like my bf. He and I were really good friends and I used to find him incredibly attractive. When things were good, I was ecstatic, he truly felt like my soulmate. He is a great guy. My sister kept telling me that him being a great guy wasn't enough. I deserved to be with someone who made me feel desired.
I rang my bf and tried breaking up with him. He kept asking for a second chance, saying he was feeling better and things would be fine. I went back to my place in Jan and was waiting for him to mend things like he promised. Jan was the same, no intimacy.
Around Valentines day, I lost it. I was feeling so awful in my body. I was so angry, his mother threw a tantrum last time we did something for Vday so he would always spend the day with her and we would celebrate the week after. That was fine with me, but I wanted to be asked to be his valentines. I sent him a bunch of hints, sharing reels where guys would ask their partners to be their valentines. When he hadn't asked me couple days before he left for home, I calmly told him that I wanted to be asked. He just looked at me blankly and said, "okay, do you want to be my valentines?". I said that's not what I meant, he had to plan a surprise for me, nothing fancy but it had to be intentional. He said he'd do it but he didn't. A day or two later, he left for home. I spent Vday alone, having not been asked. I was so upset and angry, all I had asked for was this one gesture to show me that I am loved and wanted. He didn't even get me flowers and chocolates. I got really angry and while I was lashing out, I brought up the fact that he said he would initiate but he still hasn't.
He said he was planning to ask before the 20th (when I had planned a late Vday treat for us). He never asked btw, when the 20th came around he said he wanted to but because I had made such a big deal about it, the surprise was gone so what's the point (this is his excuse for everything. When I ask calmly he forgets to do it and then when I get angry he doesn't it because "what's the point after you've asked"). I was hurt but I didn't bring it up again. I put on a dress he liked, did my makeup and wore some heels for our Vday play. That night, we had sex. He initiated.
I was so nervous the whole time, it was so lovely but in my head a tiny voice told me this wouldn't last. I felt so loved and wanted, but at the same time scared because I knew it wasn't going to happen again.
As expected, that was the last time we had sex. A week later, he said that his condition had worsened and he can't do this anymore. He asked me to wait two months till his private healtcare kicked in and he would get it sorted out. I told him I will wait but I want to feel cherished in the meantime. We came up with a list of non-sexual things he can do to help me out, like compliment me.
It was so awkward. Everytime he would compliment my body, it felt so off. He would say things like "your face is snatched". It felt like I had a gay bff, not a bf. To his credit, he did try. For most the part, he was consistent with the compliments even if they didn't really help me with my body image issues.
Two months passed, and he still hadn't gotten it checked out. He didn't even make the first appointment till after four months had passed. That was only because I had complained about how he wasn't even taking the initiative. I felt like he was so relieved to not have sex with me, he was "forgetting" to get it checked so he could continue to not be intimate with me. I felt so pathetic, I would have urges and would feel so ashamed. I cried a lot. I stopped changing in front of him or doing anything else where I would want him to be mesmerised by me. I felt pathetic.
Last week, he just got it checked out. I don't think he is going to be able to treat it. His GP has asked for a bloodwork. I don't think he will get it done without my nagging. I am so tired. I keep thinking about why I even want this man, I'm becoming disgusted by him. I hate to say this, but I am beginning to hate his body. He eats like crap and is now skinny fat. He hasn't worked out in three years and - thanks to all the meal-skipping - he has become so weak I'm stronger than him. He was always weak and could never lift me or anything. But now he can't even lift suitcases. He is always complaining about work, never in a good moood. I feel so drained around him. Drained and distant. When I see him naked, I just feel disgusted. And angry. I want him to know how awful it feels to be made to feel ugly and undesirable.
I think I need to break up with him. The other day, I demanded an open relationship. He gave up and said okay. I don't even want an open relationship, I am demi-sexual and can't get turned on by random people. I just want to hurt him, I want to tell him I've kissed other men and make him feel bad.
That's thing, we don't even kiss. The last time we made out was 4-5 months ago. It's that bad. He doesn't touch me, he doesn't kiss me, he doesn't even look at me longingly. When I say we have no sex, I mean nothing even sexual. He looks at me like I'm his puppy dog. That's it. I'm so done with this, I'm a reasonably attractive young woman. Men ask me out all the time. Why do I have to deal with this? What is so special about this man? A couple years ago when we dealt with my sexual issues, I still ensured that he was feeling desired and satisfied. Why doesn't my feelings and needs matter? It's been over a 1.5 years since I've felt wanted on a regular basis. He doesn't even pretend like he's struggling to not be intimate with me. How is this fair??? If we break up, he's the one that is losing. He's the short, weak, skinny man with sex issues so bad he can't even kiss his partner. He's the one that needs to try to keep me. Why am I the one begging??
I feel so angry and hurt. I want him to feel the same way. I hate that he isn't even trying to satisfy me. Okay, he can't use his thing. Why can't we makeout? Why can't he watch me in the shower? Why can't he kiss my body? Why can't he eat me out/finger me?? Why is he not struggling with this???? I don't think he wants me anymore. I feel so worthless, I don't know what to do. I feel like I've wasted the last three years. I feel pathetic. I hate myself for trying so hard to make him feel secure when I was the one struggling sexually. I wish I had let him feel shit, at least I wouldn't feel so bad now. It would just feel like this is my karma. But this isn't fair, I treated him well, why isn't he treating me well :(
NOTE: Please do NOT make this one of those TikTok / Instagram posts. My friends do not know about this and I don't ever want them to find out.

Hi there! 🌿☀️ I’m Michaela, a 24 y/o female from Canada. I work remotely as an editor, so I often have free time throughout the day to chat. Please only message me if you are 18+, thank you 💕
Some of my interests:
History 📚: I have my master’s in art history but I'm also interested in social history. I especially love the Renaissance and the ancient world.
Reading 📖: I'm a major bookworm, and I read a lot of fantasy and romance. I would love to chat about books if you like to read!
Art 🎨: I love painting, drawing, paper crafts, crocheting, and jewellery making. If we become good friends, I will 100% make you things for Christmas/your birthday!
Outdoors/Nature 🍃: I’m a huge fan of being outside but usually prefer to be doing relaxing things in nature. I often go for hikes, canoeing, camping, wildlife watching, and beach combing. I also have massive vegetable and flower gardens along with a bunch of houseplants inside.
Slow Living/Cottagecore 🦉: I'm really into living life slowly and enjoying simple pleasures. I love collecting antiques, baking, preserving fruits/veggies from my garden, going foraging, drinking lots of tea, and practicing mindfulness. I'd love to send you pictures of our chickens and the baked goods and preserves I make!
If you've gotten this far, thank you for taking the time to read this long post! If we have some common interests and you think we might click, feel free to send me a message! Please say more than “hi” and I’d greatly appreciate a little introduction about yourself! I hope you have a wonderful day!

Hi there! 🌿☀️ I’m Michaela, a 24 y/o female from Canada. I work remotely as an editor, so I often have free time throughout the day to chat. Please only message me if you are 18+, thank you 💕
Some of my interests:
History 📚: I have my master’s in art history but I'm also interested in social history. I especially love the Renaissance and the ancient world.
Reading 📖: I'm a major bookworm, and I read a lot of fantasy and romance. I would love to chat about books if you like to read!
Art 🎨: I love painting, drawing, paper crafts, crocheting, and jewellery making. If we become good friends, I will 100% make you things for Christmas/your birthday!
Outdoors/Nature 🍃: I’m a huge fan of being outside but usually prefer to be doing relaxing things in nature. I often go for hikes, canoeing, camping, wildlife watching, and beach combing. I also have massive vegetable and flower gardens along with a bunch of houseplants inside.
Slow Living/Cottagecore 🦉: I'm really into living life slowly and enjoying simple pleasures. I love collecting antiques, baking, preserving fruits/veggies from my garden, going foraging, drinking lots of tea, and practicing mindfulness. I'd love to send you pictures of our chickens and the baked goods and preserves I make!
If you've gotten this far, thank you for taking the time to read this long post! If we have some common interests and you think we might click, feel free to send me a message! Please say more than “hi” and I’d greatly appreciate a little introduction about yourself! I hope you have a wonderful day!

CANCER ZODIAC TAROT READING - UNEXPECTED INCOME MAY 2024

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJ5mIkLhCyY
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You are not recommended to try spells to bring a lover back if you are going through the following: You know that your relationship with your ex is toxic and the best painful option to take in this is to move on. It is not a good choice to be in a relationship that is un-natural, one that is built on witchcraft. The love spark as to be their at all times.
Even the most powerful love spell may not fulfill the things that are required for a real relationship to be in place. Love should be natural and if your partner looses interest in you, its better that you let them follow the heart. If one door closes, expect another open infront of you.
Therefore witchcraft or love spells should not be the ultimate solution to mending a broken heart in a relationship, one has to make love exist naturally by doing the right things to your partner, the things that will recapture the inner feelings of love and affection as you did in the start of the relationship.
Only if and when all has been tried and failed to work that one should order for my love spells that actually work, and indeed this will be the last nail in the coffin to fix your troubled relationship permanently.
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This is an expansion of a recent post and also incorporates some ideas from this theory (by u/ndependent-Design17). Throughout the series the reader is repeatedly reminded that "only death can pay for life" — that magic, especially powerful magic, comes at great cost.

"Only death can pay for life, my lord. A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”

Davos, ASOS
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.

1. establishing the concept of the soul

Oh, to be sure, there is much we do not understand. The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem… but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.

Bran, AGOT
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:

The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting.

Prologue, ADWD
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection of a soul from one body into another. The process of transferring souls to either the animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.

“Someone else was in the raven,” he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. “Some girl. I felt her.”
“A woman, of those who sing the song of earth,” his teacher said. “Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy’s flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you.”
"Do all the birds have singers in them?"
“All,” Lord Brynden said.

Bran, ADWD
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:

"The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.”
Other beasts were best left alone, the hunter had declared. Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you. Elk and deer were prey; wear their skins too long, and even the bravest man became a coward. Bears, boars, badgers, weasels … Haggon did not hold with such. “Some skins you never want to wear, boy. You won’t like what you’d become.” Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. “Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again.
...
"They say you forget," Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death.
"When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains."

Prologue, ADWD
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporaneous Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.

The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?
Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.
He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.
"Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this." And the tree reached down and touched him.

Jon, ACOK
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, and smells of death. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)

2. shadow magic requires souls

As above the reader is repeatedly reminded throughout the series that "only death can pay for life." What is specifically being sacrificed, though? Is the magic being fueled by the blood of the sacrificed or by something else?
To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.

Shadows only live when given birth by light, and the king's fires burn so low I dare not draw off any more to make another son. It might well kill him."
Melisandre moved closer.
"With another man, though... a man whose flames still burn hot and high... if you truly wish to serve your king's cause, come to my chamber one night. I could give you pleasure such as you have never known, and with your life-fire I could make..."

Davos, ASOS
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is also specifically described as having the shape Stannis. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
The exchange of seed for soul is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King.

A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well.

Bran, ASOS
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:

The look of him was a shock. He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm’s End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king’s close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face.

Davos, ASOS
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."

What little flesh he’d carried on his tall, spare frame at Deepwood Motte had melted away during the march. The shape of his skull could be seen under his skin, and his jaw was clenched so hard Asha feared his teeth might shatter.

Asha, ADWD
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning … burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing.
"…what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”
“Everything,” said Davos, softly.

Davos, ASOS
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically.

3. blood and fire magic

As opposed to the creation of the shadows described above, we are also provided an example of blood magic in the leech burning ritual.

“Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon.”
...
Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, “As my king commands.” Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood. The boy’s blood, Davos knew. A king’s blood. Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches.
“Say the name,” Melisandre commanded.

Davos, ASOS
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.). It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual was responsible.
The creation of the shadows required part of Stannis' soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described, at least in the community, separately as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the series:

“Shadow?" Davos felt his flesh prickling. "A shadow is a thing of darkness."
”You are more ignorant than a child, ser knight. There are no shadows in the dark. Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. The brightest flame casts the darkest shadows."

Davos, ACOK
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. Fire consumes.
After Alester Florent is sacrificed on Dragonstone Davos describes "the smell of burning flesh" on the wind:

Melisandre had given Alester Florent to her god on Dragonstone, to conjure up the wind that bore them north. Lord Florent had been strong and silent as the queen's men bound him to the post, as dignified as any half-naked man could hope to be, but as the flames licked up his legs he had begun to scream, and his screams had blown them all the way to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, if the red woman could be believed. Davos had misliked that wind. It had seemed to him to smell of burning flesh, and the sound of it was anguished as it played amongst the lines.

Davos, ADWD
Whether these forms of magic are actually interchangeable or not — whether they each require the consumption of souls — is difficult to prove based on the text. It appears likely given the association between these concepts that sacrifice that powered this "anguished wind" was that of a soul and not a body or blood.

4. dancing shadows

The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving.
Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone.
...
No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see?
Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.
“The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed,” Irri said. “She said so, I heard her.”
“Yes,” Doreah agreed, “I heard her too.”
No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! She screamed. The dancers!
Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

Daenerys, AGOT
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described essentially as a lifeless husk:

"He seems to like the warmth, Princess," Ser Jorah said. "His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips."

Daenerys, AGOT
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows, likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.

“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust."

Daenerys, AGOT

5. reanimation

If "only death can pay for life" and souls are used as a form of magical currency how does one explain the reanimation or resurrection process?
There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)

“Thoros, how many times have you brought me back now?”
The red priest bowed his head. “It is R’hllor who brings you back, my lord. The Lord of Light. I am only his instrument.”
“How many times?” Lord Beric insisted.
“Six,” Thoros said reluctantly.
“And each time is harder. You have grown reckless, my lord. Is death so very sweet?”
Arya, ASOS

There is no immediately identifiable cost for the "kiss of life" and repeated resurrection of Beric. I speculate that Thoros is breathing part of his soul into Beric during this process.

“That first time, his lordship had a hole right through him and blood in his mouth, I knew there was no hope. So when his poor torn chest stopped moving, I gave him the good god's own kiss to send him on his way. I filled my mouth with fire and breathed the flames inside him, down his throat to lungs and heart and soul. The last kiss it is called, and many a time I saw the old priests bestow it on the Lord's servants as they died." (Credit to u/watchersontheweb for providing this quote in the initial thread.)

Arya, ASOS
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.

“Here’s the wizard, skinny squirrel. You’ll get your answers now.”
He pointed toward the fire, where Tom Sevenstrings stood talking to a tall thin man with oddments of old armor buckled on over his ratty pink robes. That can’t be Thoros of Myr. Arya remembered the red priest as fat, with a smooth face and a shiny bald head. This man had a droopy face and a full head of shaggy grey hair. Something
...
“Thoros of Myr. You used to shave your head.”
“To betoken a humble heart, but in truth my heart was vain. Besides, I lost my razor in the woods.” The priest slapped his belly. “I am less than I was, but more. A year in the wild will melt the flesh off a man. Would that I could find a tailor to take in my skin. I might look young again, and pretty maids would shower me with kisses.”

Arya, ASOS
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he may not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Thoros later describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:

“The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And… she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”

Brienne, AFFC
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn.

6. cold shadows (wild speculation)

The terms "white shadows," "pale shadows," and "cold shadows" are repeated used to describe the Others. The Others are also highly associated with ghosts — the spirits of souls of the dead bound to the earth. (The forrest is literally called the Haunted Forrest.)

The Others made no sound.
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?
“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?” It was cold.
Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. ...
The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

Prologue, AGOT
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children has been previously discussed at length in the community.) Whereas fire consumes, ice preserves.
This would explain several unusual characteristics of the Others as described by Tormund

“Tormund,” Jon said, as they watched four old women pull a cartful of children toward the gate, “tell me of our foe. I would know all there is to know of the Others.”
The wildling rubbed his mouth. “Not here,” he mumbled, “not this side o’ your Wall.” The old man glanced uneasily toward the trees in their white mantles. “They’re never far, you know. They won’t come out by day, not when that old sun’s shining, but don’t think that means they went away. Shadows never go away. Might be you don’t see them, but they’re always clinging to your heels.”
...
Tormund turned back.
"You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up… how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"

Jon, ADWD
A reasonable interpretation of this is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which is in keeping with their nature as spirits.

“The white walkers go lightly on the snow,” the ranger said. “You’ll find no prints to mark their passage.”

Samwell, ASOS

7. conclusions

This highly speculative theory that attempts to reconcile the several seemingly disparate concepts in the series related to magic, namely the actual nature of magical sacrifice ("only death can pay for life") and shadows or shadow magic. More specifically, I suggest that souls are the primary magical currency and can be consumed to summon shadows, create glamours, etc. I also speculate that similar processes took place during Mirri Maz Duur's shadow-binding ritual in AGOT and during the repeated resurrections of Berric Dondarrion in ASOS. I further suggest that the Others are ghosts, the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth.
EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues

This is an expansion of a recent post and also incorporates some ideas from this theory (by u/ndependent-Design17). Throughout the series the reader is repeatedly reminded that "only death can pay for life" — that magic, especially powerful magic, comes at great cost.

"Only death can pay for life, my lord. A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”

Davos, ASOS
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.

1. establishing the concept of the soul

Oh, to be sure, there is much we do not understand. The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem… but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.

Bran, AGOT
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:

The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting.

Prologue, ADWD
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection of a soul from one body into another. The process of transferring souls to either the animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.

“Someone else was in the raven,” he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. “Some girl. I felt her.”
“A woman, of those who sing the song of earth,” his teacher said. “Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy’s flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you.”
"Do all the birds have singers in them?"
“All,” Lord Brynden said.

Bran, ADWD
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:

"The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.”
Other beasts were best left alone, the hunter had declared. Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you. Elk and deer were prey; wear their skins too long, and even the bravest man became a coward. Bears, boars, badgers, weasels … Haggon did not hold with such. “Some skins you never want to wear, boy. You won’t like what you’d become.” Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. “Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again.
...
"They say you forget," Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death.
"When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains."

Prologue, ADWD
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporaneous Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.

The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?
Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.
He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.
"Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this." And the tree reached down and touched him.

Jon, ACOK
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, and smells of death. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)

2. shadow magic requires souls

As above the reader is repeatedly reminded throughout the series that "only death can pay for life." What is specifically being sacrificed, though? Is the magic being fueled by the blood of the sacrificed or by something else?
To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.

Shadows only live when given birth by light, and the king's fires burn so low I dare not draw off any more to make another son. It might well kill him."
Melisandre moved closer.
"With another man, though... a man whose flames still burn hot and high... if you truly wish to serve your king's cause, come to my chamber one night. I could give you pleasure such as you have never known, and with your life-fire I could make..."

Davos, ASOS
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is also specifically described as having the shape Stannis. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
The exchange of seed for soul is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King.

A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well.

Bran, ASOS
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:

The look of him was a shock. He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm’s End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king’s close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face.

Davos, ASOS
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."

What little flesh he’d carried on his tall, spare frame at Deepwood Motte had melted away during the march. The shape of his skull could be seen under his skin, and his jaw was clenched so hard Asha feared his teeth might shatter.

Asha, ADWD
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning … burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing.
"…what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”
“Everything,” said Davos, softly.

Davos, ASOS
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically.

3. blood and fire magic

As opposed to the creation of the shadows described above, we are also provided an example of blood magic in the leech burning ritual.

“Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon.”
...
Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, “As my king commands.” Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood. The boy’s blood, Davos knew. A king’s blood. Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches.
“Say the name,” Melisandre commanded.

Davos, ASOS
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.). It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual was responsible.
The creation of the shadows required part of Stannis' soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described, at least in the community, separately as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the series:

“Shadow?" Davos felt his flesh prickling. "A shadow is a thing of darkness."
”You are more ignorant than a child, ser knight. There are no shadows in the dark. Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. The brightest flame casts the darkest shadows."

Davos, ACOK
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. Fire consumes.
After Alester Florent is sacrificed on Dragonstone Davos describes "the smell of burning flesh" on the wind:

Melisandre had given Alester Florent to her god on Dragonstone, to conjure up the wind that bore them north. Lord Florent had been strong and silent as the queen's men bound him to the post, as dignified as any half-naked man could hope to be, but as the flames licked up his legs he had begun to scream, and his screams had blown them all the way to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, if the red woman could be believed. Davos had misliked that wind. It had seemed to him to smell of burning flesh, and the sound of it was anguished as it played amongst the lines.

Davos, ADWD
Whether these forms of magic are actually interchangeable or not — whether they each require the consumption of souls — is difficult to prove based on the text. It appears likely given the association between these concepts that sacrifice that powered this "anguished wind" was that of a soul and not a body or blood.

4. dancing shadows

The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving.
Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone.
...
No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see?
Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.
“The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed,” Irri said. “She said so, I heard her.”
“Yes,” Doreah agreed, “I heard her too.”
No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! She screamed. The dancers!
Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

Daenerys, AGOT
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described essentially as a lifeless husk:

"He seems to like the warmth, Princess," Ser Jorah said. "His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips."

Daenerys, AGOT
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows, likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.

“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust."

Daenerys, AGOT

5. reanimation

If "only death can pay for life" and souls are used as a form of magical currency how does one explain the reanimation or resurrection process?
There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)

“Thoros, how many times have you brought me back now?”
The red priest bowed his head. “It is R’hllor who brings you back, my lord. The Lord of Light. I am only his instrument.”
“How many times?” Lord Beric insisted.
“Six,” Thoros said reluctantly.
“And each time is harder. You have grown reckless, my lord. Is death so very sweet?”
Arya, ASOS

There is no immediately identifiable cost for the "kiss of life" and repeated resurrection of Beric. I speculate that Thoros is breathing part of his soul into Beric during this process.

“That first time, his lordship had a hole right through him and blood in his mouth, I knew there was no hope. So when his poor torn chest stopped moving, I gave him the good god's own kiss to send him on his way. I filled my mouth with fire and breathed the flames inside him, down his throat to lungs and heart and soul. The last kiss it is called, and many a time I saw the old priests bestow it on the Lord's servants as they died." (Credit to u/watchersontheweb for providing this quote in the initial thread.)

Arya, ASOS
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.

“Here’s the wizard, skinny squirrel. You’ll get your answers now.”
He pointed toward the fire, where Tom Sevenstrings stood talking to a tall thin man with oddments of old armor buckled on over his ratty pink robes. That can’t be Thoros of Myr. Arya remembered the red priest as fat, with a smooth face and a shiny bald head. This man had a droopy face and a full head of shaggy grey hair. Something
...
“Thoros of Myr. You used to shave your head.”
“To betoken a humble heart, but in truth my heart was vain. Besides, I lost my razor in the woods.” The priest slapped his belly. “I am less than I was, but more. A year in the wild will melt the flesh off a man. Would that I could find a tailor to take in my skin. I might look young again, and pretty maids would shower me with kisses.”

Arya, ASOS
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he may not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Thoros later describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:

“The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And… she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”

Brienne, AFFC
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn.

6. cold shadows (wild speculation)

The terms "white shadows," "pale shadows," and "cold shadows" are repeated used to describe the Others. The Others are also highly associated with ghosts — the spirits of souls of the dead bound to the earth. (The forrest is literally called the Haunted Forrest.)

The Others made no sound.
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?
“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?” It was cold.
Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. ...
The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

Prologue, AGOT
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children is linked in a separate post here.) Whereas fire consumes, ice preserves.
This would explain several unusual characteristics of the Others as described by Tormund

“Tormund,” Jon said, as they watched four old women pull a cartful of children toward the gate, “tell me of our foe. I would know all there is to know of the Others.”
The wildling rubbed his mouth. “Not here,” he mumbled, “not this side o’ your Wall.” The old man glanced uneasily toward the trees in their white mantles. “They’re never far, you know. They won’t come out by day, not when that old sun’s shining, but don’t think that means they went away. Shadows never go away. Might be you don’t see them, but they’re always clinging to your heels.”
...
Tormund turned back.
"You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up… how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"

Jon, ADWD
A reasonable interpretation of this is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which is in keeping with their nature as spirits.

“The white walkers go lightly on the snow,” the ranger said. “You’ll find no prints to mark their passage.”

Samwell, ASOS

7. conclusions

This highly speculative theory that attempts to reconcile the several seemingly disparate concepts in the series related to magic, namely the actual nature of magical sacrifice ("only death can pay for life") and shadows or shadow magic. More specifically, I suggest that souls are the primary magical currency and can be consumed to summon shadows, create glamours, etc. I also speculate that similar processes took place during Mirri Maz Duur's shadow-binding ritual in AGOT and during the repeated resurrections of Berric Dondarrion in ASOS. I further suggest that the Others are ghosts, the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth.
EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues

Hi there! I live on a large inner city lot in zone 4a. I have some basic education around permaculture and plan to have three areas that transition into each other - an area that is focused on native flowers and grasses, a food forest, and an area that’s more focused on annuals. I’m working on the annuals section right now and have sheet mulched a section of the yard. I want the beds to be configured in a sort of mandala/labyrinth pattern and am trying to figure out whether I need to edge the mounds as I build them up. They will be made up of a mixture of different organic materials, with a hefty amount of garden soil on top (sort of like a hugelkultur, but I’m honestly just playing around with the materials I have). This feels like a silly question but I don’t have any materials to build edges for these curved beds, and I’m wondering if as I create curved mounds how much soil will end up eroding onto the mulched pathways. There is also cardboard underneath that is still decomposing so it seems like it be tough to put any conventional plastic or metal edging. Anyways, would love thoughts or perspectives from anyone who has built beds/mounds. Thanks in advance.

I hate that I use this account to post these sad rants but this is my new way of trying to explain myself. I’ve let months go by simply by accepting I’ll die soon.
I had my first serious attempt yesterday (none have come this close). Mother’s Day. Who does that ? My whole immediate family including young kids (my first baby cousins) came over. Usually at these parties I’m one of the best dressed, on making drinks, somehow am also the entertainer and the one to get the kids to sit/eat. Can’t even imagine my family getting to the house and finding me lifeless. Yet I still tried to die. Due to my appearance and having avoided my family for the last few months.. everyone asked me if I was “okay”. I was pretty good with avoiding these pursuits of answers by helping in the kitchen and playing with the kids. No sane adult is going to force you, an adult, to start explaining where/what you’ve been when a kid is playing with you or your hands are occupied. I pathetically took advantage of this. I’ve always been relatively close to my family but I’ve burned ties twice now. First time around this time last year and second time we are currently in. What got me out of that first time ? I’m not really sure. I think I just knew I had to try one more time before really giving up. There were some cornered moments and while my loved ones were just doing what family does (checking in) I just kept replaying my attempt that occurred precisely two hours before anyone got there. I wore a dress with a collar. This collar was important because my neck was extremely bruised and looked scratched. My attempt if not apparent by now was by partial hanging. I put makeup on it and left my hair down to cover. It wasn’t enough but this goes to show how good I was with avoiding eye contact and being investigated. My sister isn’t easily fooled. We were setting up some food before people arrived and she asked me what happened to my neck. I didn’t even take the time to come up with a story just in case. Was it a cry for help? I wasn’t going to let it be. I somehow blamed it on my necklace scratching me when I took it off. To this second I don’t know how she believed me or the conversation shifted. Must have been a combination of my tone/mannerism and her just going with the flow because I was actually present. I haven’t been with anyone in so long. My isolation has ruined everything. Anyways I put more concealer and kept a smile for my family. My dad walked into the gathering with flowers for everyone. After greeting everyone he approached me with my own orchid and a trinket for me. I am not a mother but he made it a point to include me and to remind me he thinks of me. The trinket can be described as a decoration for a table. An all in all thoughtful gift. It has in cursive “live the life you love, love the life you live” with a clip I’m guessing to add a picture. I immediately grabbed it, turned it around so I wasn’t reading it anymore, somehow changed the conversation and he being my father (I believe knows me more than I think), took the hint to walk away. I’m grateful he did because I was about to have a mental breakdown. I somehow held my tears back and forced my attention back to my baby cousin which wasn’t hard she was drawing and wanted me to see. After a bit of this she wanted to go by the front of the house to play and her mom was there alone. This is down a hall away from where we were. I felt time move slow as we made eye contact and my mouth go dry as the space between us was closing. I knew what was coming. Everyone else was congregated in the kitchen and family room. A simple what’s up how have you been was about to send me over the edge. I didn’t even notice I was holding my dads gift in my right hand. She grabbed my left hand and instinctively said “wow I’ve never seen your skin this pale it’s like porcelain”. She didn’t mean it in a bad way just stating a fact. I looked at her and as my eyes started tearing up she let go. She asked me if I was sad and I said I can’t talk now because I’ll lose it. Thing is once I start I can’t stop. I told her I needed to go to the bathroom. She called her daughter said we need to talk I said okay and went to my bathroom upstairs. As I stared at myself in the mirror now completely alone I realized just how different I have to look to everyone. I looked at my dads gift and really started crying. After a few sobs I somehow managed to stop crying and fix my makeup a bit. I went back down to the party mostly to try to prove I’m okay and avoid being a topic. I know this was the bare minimum thing to do. I know this isn’t who I should be. This weekend coming is a bigger party. Point is I barely survived yesterday. I’m one of the youngest in my family not including the baby cousins. That being said everyone is older and has way more stressors than me. They either have kids, their careers, more bills, and whatever else. These people manage to go to every party, maintain conversation, and overall be apart of the family. I 23 unemployed overweight believe I can’t get it together. I can’t be apart of anything. I went through college and from the moment that last semester ended didn’t know what the fuck to do next. Before my attempt yesterday morning I spent an hour on a suicide hotline. I never admitted to the woman on the phone how close I was to the edge. This is what I wrote down after the call “I told her almost everything. The isolation, how I let myself go, and how I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I couldn’t actually say what my plan was. The lady was really nice. We agreed I should face everyone and get professionally evaluated. I didn’t really mean it. I’m going to die before I face anyone and I couldn’t tell her I can’t tell anyone. She was a really nice lady. I wonder if she’s a mom. It’s Mother’s Day. Mommy I can’t do it. You were always there for me. Always answered me. I can’t answer you anymore. I wish I could’ve talked to you. I wish I would’ve just talked. For what it’s worth I do love you. “. My mother called me around 9AM Mother’s Day morning. Said she needs help getting gifts ready and I told her I felt bad. She said how everyone is worried and I have no reason to be this far gone/sad. I somehow got the conversation to end. She ended saying I was going to be okay that we’re going to get me a therapist just have to get through mothers day and next weeks party. I said I love you and immediately tied the belt around my neck. I was seeing black, choking, ears ringing, and arms shuffling. Something came over me and I got myself out of it. I didn’t even cry. I went to my bathroom showered, got dressed, and you know the rest. Now I’m here 4 o’clock the next day writing. I have spent the whole day in bed. I think subconsciously I’ve let myself go into this isolation to weaken my body. For it to be easier for me to die and severed connections for it to be easier for those around me. I don’t know what I want from writing this down. I know my throat feels sore and I think I want to know why this is happening. I want to somehow try to put a reasoning behind everything. Somehow find a way to maybe really talk to one of the people that care without breaking down and shooting blanks with my mouth. I’ve tried even though it looks to those around me I haven’t. Thanks for reading.. comments are sincerely appreciated.

"Children learn to correlate consequences with their own actions. This is true of all of us, no matter what species we are. Adulthood is universally defined by maturity, and maturity is defined by nature as appropriate behavior to ensure your species' survival. If we apply this wisdom to the stage of evolution of a species, the culture and conservative capacity of intelligent creatures, then we can see it on that scale also. A species is like a child while they liberally explore their surroundings, learning the best behavior by trying everything, through the Trial of Errors. Then they mature and adopt appropriate behavior, avoiding doing things that work against their species, as individuals and as a whole. We can apply this pattern to the history of all alien races among us here today. This also includes the humans. I testify to this, as one who remains traveling alongside them and seeing each era of their ascended history. As the representative of the will of the Frendsikeel, as attorney to the cause of human endeavors and as their one follower in this galaxy, I say the humans are very cool." The alien sea otter with the boney shells covering her body spoke somehow in a human voice, having perfected the use of her translator so that it was indistinguishable from human speech.
There was applause among the limited audience of aliens at the application hearing for membership, each in their own way of signaling immediate approval. If the Cave Gods agreed, the Combine would be added to the councils of the Cave Gods And Friends Association. It was the dawn of a new and wonderful age for the humans.
The alien attorney visibly shuddered as an equally smoothly articulated translation started, and in a voice all-too-familiar. Osowl Fitten, Attorney-to-the-Humans, heard her nemesis from across the vast distances of both space and time. She was the Sunder representative, Supreme Prosecutor (of the humans) Eshka Layenna. The reptilian alien slithered out with a stylized collar to hide her frill and colorful paint on her face to look more appealing to the human eye. Indeed, the humans felt their eyes drawn to the masterful and ancient alien, who specialized in charm and glamor.
"Beautiful denizens of Rhema, world of art and music, esteemed guru, priests and patrons of the arts, lend to me your native attention. I will speak for you, and worry not what decision is made behind my back, by our wise leaders, the benevolent Cave Gods. They have heard the song of human laughter, recognized the absolution of human mistakes, graced the humans with thousands of years of benefits and gifts simply because they admire the beauty of the human soul. Is beauty not important? I would not stand in the way of beauty. We all know it is the first component of harmony, and we all know harmony is the first component of peace and we also know that peacefulness is necessary for love. And what meaning is there, that is greater than love?" Eshka Layenna spoke with passion in her human sounding voice, translated from a skillful use of her own vowels in order to inflect such sincere emotion. The attorney for the humans worried, for she had sparred with this particular individual alien half a dozen times throughout the centuries, and clearly they were both on the same course through the stars, sleeping for decades at a time in order to extend the usefulness of their respective careers.
The prosecutor skillfully explained that humans were beautiful in the ears of the blind leadership who had overlooked the capacity that humans had for, in their own word: violence.
Osowl Fitten sat quiet during her turn to speak in rebuttal. She could not quickly speak without thinking, it was not the way of her species and she was especially slow to decide what she wanted to say. In the silence one of the humans coughed expectantly, it was meant to prompt her, and she knew so. It was in all things, their little violences, and she had started to find it beautiful.
"Violence is the appropriate behavior when humans utilize it. They are equally capable of restraint and sometimes their violence is directed purely against the storm. Humans respond to all violence, they endure it and survive, they fight back, they commit violence for gain, even sometimes because they want to commit violence, with no further motivation. The Sunder administration has long sought to prosecute the humans because of this, and they are here today, to do this. I approve of this because it is the appropriate behavior. I would like to point out that the Sunder have invented many consequences to inflict on humans, and I must point out that to the human, those are called weapons and the Sunder have become hypocrites. On this day the Sunder are here to prevent the humans from becoming their equal, which is the appropriate behavior for the Sunder, because they anticipate that humans are dangerous, a known threat. They would list off all the times they have tried to blame humans for tragic events, or simply point out that humans were involved in a disproportionate amount of such tragic events, at the very least. And yes, humans are dangerous. Does not each new member bring a gift to the association? The Blue Light Watchers brought the gift of honest music, such as nobody had ever heard. Who among us was not moved by their music? The humans have brought a gift, and I foresee, the Dream Time, that this gift shall prove to be the greatest gift of all."
"What gift would that be?" Eshka Layenna spoke out of turn, amid gasps and gestures of outrageous surprise. Osowl refused to engage her opponent informally and ceased speaking until the Cave Gods had politely reminded the respected and venerable serpent of the absolute procedure of the courtroom, and begged her to behave appropriately. Then Osowl spoke, carefully avoiding addressing the question, while answering it anyway:
"When the Dream Time goes into darkness, and the galaxy can be crossed in an instant by the mere thought of terror, and there is no trade besides violence with this spreading nightmare from outside, that is when the greatest gift of all shall shine upon the threshold." Osowl Fitten turned off her translator and captions and spoke only in her own language. For a moment the court felt confused by this deliberate action, before the significance of it began to sink in. Even the scarred and brutal human Admiral Jinar they had allowed into the proceedings looked deeply moved, her eyes watering, as though she personally understood both the words and the power behind them.
"I have no further arguments, Wise Ones. The prosecution rests." Eshka Layenna said with strange reverence, abandoning her entire cause suddenly.
"This then, is the final enactment of all our discussions, and there are no further actors. Let the humans say then, what is decided here today." The Cave Gods spoke in rehearsed unison.
The humans cheered. They had just become members of the Cave Gods And Friends Association, and the humans were now officially equal to all the coolest aliens throughout the galaxy.
When the courtroom had emptied there were still two creatures sitting there. Osowl Fitten stared for a moment at the human, gradually recognizing her.
"You are Jinar. How so? Humans do not use Star Sleep or live such profoundly long life spans. But I am sure, somehow you are she." Osowl Fitten said at last.
"I am now Admiral Jinar, of the Combine Unified Forces. We are currently disbanded, but I still think they are coming, and we should be preparing for them. Now that we have a say in things, I'd like to get started on that." Admiral Jinar told Osowl Fitten, coldly speaking business.
"Are you not pleased that humans are now recognized as equals to the Cave Gods themselves? In the association, all species have an equal vote." Osowl Fitten twitched her whiskers in a personal greeting, hoping to see Jinar's mood change.
Jinar relaxed and smiled just a little bit. Somehow sitting there trying to interpret the whisker twitches of the Frendsikeel made her feel like a little girl again. It was just a moment, but it reminded her of her own resolve of character. She had felt a kind of personal hell for most of her life, regretting something she had done while she was very young, but worried it somehow defined her. When she had defeated the scout, something had changed, she had realized she was merely playing a role, and the universe was calling the shots.
"Maybe it was better to have gods. The thought that we are responsible for the course is somehow terrifying." Jinar said in plain, soldier-like way of speaking.
"This is humor." Osowl gestured that she found it mildly amusing.
"Do you think they are out there? You're my attorney, I kinda care what you think." Jinar grinned a little, realizing she could communicate very easily with the alien. It was like Osowl just understood everything. It was reassuring to be fully understood and also approved of at the same time.
"It is not a coincidence that I chose this world for Summoning. Allow me to show you what inspires so much art, why this world is a melting pot of artists from seven alien species who all come here for inspiration." Osowl Fitten paused and found a small box held for her by a servo.
"What is it?" Jinar wondered.
"It is a gift." Osowl seemed perplexed. She was trying to assess the correct way to receive such a gift. It was meant as a statement of many different meanings, what was known as a cruciform. Osowl realized it was in the form of clothing, a colorful sash. She wrapped it over one shoulder, wearing it as a kind of toga.
"What for?" Jinar asked.
"It is complicated. I will wear this, to show my admiration and to accept the insult. It is a sign of deep friendship, but one forged through a necessary rivalry, for we are not without the other. My opponent, perhaps she says farewell."
"No, she says she wishes to be your companion still - to continue to argue with you. We shall Star Sleep beside each other and visit the same places. I do not want to be alone and I do not want this to end. It is what is best for each. Ave." The Sunder spoke from the shaded curtains, slithering out dramatically.
"I accept this. I would not wish to be without you. I understand the duality of our arguments the same way you do. Come with me, and we shall visit distant stars and foreign worlds." Osowl Fitten said without hesitation.
From there, the three women went to the attraction of Rhema that Osowl had chosen as a backdrop for the human inclusion in the association.
"Of this moment, we suspend ourselves, for the brace, my dears." Osowl hissed in Sunder and made her new friend laugh with an emote.
Eshka Layenna stopped and suddenly slithered around Jinar with serpentine swiftness. "Is she with us, equal one?" In plain English, another idiom but this as a joke of some kind by Eshka Layenna. She donned a purple garland and wrapped part of it gently around Jinar, the exact movement dancelike and affectionate. She flicked out her snake tongue absently in her self-satisfaction and then turned and wrapped part of the boa around Osowl, who groaned in mock reluctance to the amicable game.
"So we walk together?" Jinar asked.
"Precisely. Unless there is a place we must do something else?" Eshka gestured to the colonial canteen.
"They serve alcohol here?" Jinar felt no resistance as she walked towards the bar with her old lady alien friends in tow, the fragile feathered tether wrapped loosely around all of them.
"Drinks. You may take your toxic beverage." Osowl complained.
"I insist. I know you got something you'll imbibe." Jinar grinned.
At the bar the servo identified them and guessed they wanted alcohol. Osowl was served a thimble of it and a proper shotglass with the colonial guard stamp half scratched off of it was put down for the lady in uniform.
"That's pretty strong. Can I have more?"
"No." The servo said, and took the shotglass and wiped it out with a wash towel.
"Actually, I'm good. That's a pretty nice buzz." Jinar grinned.
"It is precise, madam." The servo said with a little bit of an attitude.
"I'll have mine - not." Osowl said.
"Is that right, are you afraid you'll seem ridiculous? I assure you your friends won't notice your inability to change your eye color while intoxicated. If it helps, you can wear a mood medallion. Would her Gentleness wish her mood medallion?" The servo had split personalities, and was suddenly all cool while talking to Osowl.
"Very much so, Jehosephet." Osowl accepted the medallion with a quickness that conveyed a gleeful shift in her feelings about the bar. Once her medallion was worn and shining, looking exactly like flax colored eyes, she gladly accepted the drink with no further inhibitions. She took the thimble and insufflated it and exhaled what sounded like a drunken wheezing.
"You party hard." Jinar complimented Osowl.
"Yes, this is the celebration I am in for." Osowl seemed to be gagging in her translator and took it off to fumble with the delicate settings.
Jinar laughed, noting that her eyes were flaxen with tints of green and yellow while her medallion showed bright red frustration and embarrassment.
"I cannot drink alcohol, so I shall wear the hat." Eshka Layenna leaned on the bar and the servo placed a massive crown of supreme derpiness on her, some kind of cartoon creature vaguely resembling a Sunder. It looked insane. Jinar laughed so hard she fell over and landed on her butt.
"Okay, so now that none of us may have her pride before the others, now what?" Osowl sounded normal, but her medallion was a glimmering pink, showing she was aware she was being deceptive in some way, as her voice betrayed none of her sloppiness in communicating. It somehow made her seem more hilarious to Jinar, as she could tell Osowl was drunk.
"I am worried that if we stay we'll be seen this way by those who admire and respect us and it will somehow diminish our reputations." Eshka Layenna stated.
"That's part of the fun. But anyhow, we're on a mission. Let's go to this place." Jinar agreed.
"I am afraid our jovial antics won't last beyond the threshold." Osowl cringed as she realized she had spoke a word that meant the same as Threshold, the prophecy of her people.
"What's the matter?" Jinar's voice drained of laughter and she adopted gradual concern, as Osowl hesitated to answer.
"Let us go first, and bid this moment to memory." Osowl insisted.
They departed, leaving their festive garments behind.
There was no landscape to explore, but rather spires of habitats above radiated pools of slag. They flew in a saucer, hovering at different speeds and angles against the natural gravity of Rhema. After a while the saucer had found a break in the low gray-orange clouds that obscured the world below the observational habitats.
"What is the significance of this wasteland?" Jinar asked slowly, not really wanting to hear the answer - already knowing what such an answer would be. The rhetorical nature of her voice was greeted by merciful silence.
The three sisters, each from a distant corner of the galaxy, born in different ages, and different species, stared out at the desolation and they each recognized the same measure of it, for it was the limit of suffering.
Osowl knew her friends understood. She herself had adjusted to her existence, the last of her people. It still hurt to come home.

Background info: When I was growing up, I was painfully shy around girls and was always super respectful (probably because my mom was domineering in my family), which led to me missing out on a lot of fun and “action.” I was a cute kid and I knew the popular girls liked me when I was a kid/tween (10-13 years old), but my parents didn’t like fashion at the time so I became uncool by the time I was in 8th grade/high school and thus undesirable to the girls I liked.
As that realization crept in, I became extremely depressed starting around sophomore year of high school all the way to college graduation due to missing out on basically everything. No date for prom. Barely partied in college and always the wallflower. Didn’t tailgate for college football. Didn’t even attend my college graduation ceremony (decided to move out and start my IT job right after finals). My confidence was shattered and I always relied on those rare instances when the pretty girls I crushed on and liked me when I was a kid gave me the time of the day, which happened off and on.
I was an extreme late bloomer to the dating scene and didn’t lose my virginity until a year after college (a meaningless hookup that I thought of as “practice” with a girl I didn’t particularly like). After I made a concreted effort to improve myself (workout, wear contact lenses, new clothes, ears pierced, tanning, strong cologne), I began frequenting bars because I didn’t find any of my female colleagues attractive (I’m an IT engineer, which might explain why). This was how I managed to get my first official “girlfriend” when I was like 25/26. She was 22 (about to graduate) and waitressing at this bar near her campus. We were together for 3+ years but broke up recently. She was exactly the kind of girl I wanted but thought was unattainable growing up: high school cheerleader, kappa sorority girl, blonde, tanned. Obviously, I embellished a lot of my past and pretended I was way cooler than I actually was in my schooldays because I was terrified she was dump me or worse, feel sorry for me.
But anyway, I’ve noticed I’ve become the exact opposite of my schooldays and the kind of guy I never wanted to be in high school: I openly stare/leer at girls I find hot, my eyes full of desire, even tho I know they probably would never date or even sleep with me (some are in college and might find me too old).
I shamelessly and openly flirt with waitresses and try to get their number or Instagram (I’ve slept with a couple of waitresses that way, but my success rate is low. Doesn’t deter me). I frequent hooters by myself (both my local one and whenever I travel for work) and both flirt and stare. Sometimes, I would send unsolicited flowers to a waitress to her restaurant the day after meeting her.
When I’m at the mall, I make obvious eye contact with girls I like and smile at them, sometimes even wink.
I follow Instagram influencers and not only like all their pics, but leave cringe comments and even slide into their DM (including my current celeb crush: Sydney Sweeney).
I hit on interns who work at the same building as me while waiting for the elevator.
Basically I’ve become quite shameless in my approach and stopped caring about what my “crushes” think of me. Is this just part of growing up and finally being secured/confident in myself and caring less about other peoples opinion? Or is this bad?
P.S. I’ve never used any dating apps because of the stigma of online dating from my 2000s youth and part of me always stubbornly think it’s beneath me. I also think the girls I would match with on apps wouldn’t be my type.

When I was in my early 20’s, I worked at a dog boarding facility.
It wasn’t a bad gig by any means. A lot of menial work, sure, but it paid the bills, and most of the time I was stationed at the front desk, which meant I avoided a lot of direct interaction with most of the dogs. Instead, I dealt with the owners (or “pet parents,” as we called them), which, while more my forte, was oftentimes arguably worse. At least with a dog, you can justify it being stupid.
Looking back on that night now, I would have much rather dealt with a person than the dog that I had encountered.
One of my duties when working the front desk in the evenings was cleaning the lobby and locking the front doors for the night. The opening shift would then come in the morning, unlock the doors, and the cycle would repeat. This is what I had been doing when I realized I had locked myself out of the building.
For a little additional context, the building itself had three front doors. Two led into a sort of breezeway before you got to the actual front door, which led into the actual building. The first two doors had to be locked and unlocked manually, but the main door locked and unlocked itself automatically on a timer. Normally, this was no issue. Every employee had a fob that, when pressed on a sensor near the door, would unlock it briefly to allow entry. But my fob was attached to my keys, which were tucked away in my locker within the building.
Usually, again, this would have been a minor inconvenience at worst. I could simply go around to the back door, bang on it for a minute or two, and wait for one of my coworkers to open the door. But, I had to stay behind that evening and finish cleaning the lobby, having been delayed by a few last-minute pickups and a particularly chatty client on the phone. We had been working with a skeleton crew, as new hires had been few and far between, and the girl I had been working with was tired and eager to go home. I let her go and told her I would lock up on my own.
I wish I had told her to stay.
Standing there in the breezeway, with nothing but the singular key to the two front doors, I was kicking myself. I’d fucked myself over this time, and now I was going to have to make the humiliating call for someone to come to the building and let me in. I could feel the weight of my phone in my pocket, and I slipped my hand into it, only to freeze in place.
It was not my phone, but my wallet.
Shit. It only then occurred to me that my phone was also still within the building. During the slower parts of the day, I had it out and had been texting my boyfriend at the time. Now it sat at the front desk, so close but so far at the same time. Not only had I locked myself out of the building, I had locked myself out of the building by myself, with no way to get help. In my overdramatic mind, suicide was starting to sound like a very good option.
There was a gas station about a mile or so away that I knew would be open and that, I guessed, was where I was going to have to go. There, I could presumably use a phone and get a hold of my roommate to come pick me up. In the morning, I could drop off the key and get my stuff.
I unlocked one of the two doors and stepped out, locking it once again behind me. I slipped the key into my pocket and started walking. It was already dark out and I was cold and eager to get this over with.
That’s when I heard the clicking of nails against the pavement, just barely audible.
My first instinct was that somehow, a dog had escaped. Sure, stray dogs weren’t uncommon, especially in the city that I lived in, but given the proximity to the building, I had feared that somehow, some way, a dog had managed to slip out under our noses and get out of the building. This would have taken either some incredible negligence on our end or some incredible intelligence on the dog’s, but it technically was possible.
I turned around and scanned the area, trying to locate the source of the sound. The parking lot was illuminated by a singular streetlight and the outside lights from the nearby buildings, and the dark of night was creeping in, thick and inky black. The noise came from further back, near the employee parking, which only fueled my suspicion that a dog had escaped. I really didn’t want to go back there in the dark, but I also wasn’t too keen on getting in trouble for letting a dog get out. I slowly crept over, keeping my ears and eyes open, trying to find the dog.
Finally, it stepped out from the shadows, standing near my car. It was a large, filthy Great Pyrenees, and we briefly had a staring match as I tried to figure out who it was. We had a few Pyrenees dogs come in, but it was mostly for daycare, and we didn’t have any in the building that night. I didn’t recognize this specific dog, either, but I hoped that it had a collar with a name and number on it, so that I could at least call the owner and let them know where I had found their animal whenever I got a chance. I knelt and extended my hand, making a kissy noise in the hopes of drawing it over.
“Hi, baby,” I said, using my “dog voice,” making it as soft and non-threatening as I could. “C’mere.” The dog took a few steps forward, eyes still focused on me.
That’s when I noticed the smell. Rotting meat and blood, strong enough that I could smell it from where I stood. The dog was reeking of decay. In my mind, I rationalized it. We were next to a highway, after all. No telling what kinds of roadkill it could have been getting into. I just did my best to push through it in favor of making sure the dog was alright.
I continued my beckoning for a few minutes, doing as much baby talk as I possibly could. I didn’t want to approach the dog myself, just in case it was nervous, but if I could just get a look at that collar…
After about five minutes of this, I stood up, watching it for another moment. It wasn’t a dog I recognized and I couldn’t get it to come over to me on its own terms, so my tired and still-panicked brain decided that it wasn’t my problem. I’d just let my manager know in the morning that I had seen a dog sniffing around and that I was fairly certain it wasn’t one that we’d ever had to stay with us. Then, maybe we could find it again, clean it up, and see if it belonged to anybody. The animal control in my city isn’t particularly well-regarded, so I figured it would be better to wait and see than to get them involved.
I turned around and started to walk away, back down to the road, when I heard the clicking of nails against the pavement once again. I turned around to see the dog moving closer once again. Its movements were jerky and uncoordinated, and that combined with its condition made me think it was injured, so I stopped.
The dog never stopped moving towards me, but when it noticed that I had stopped to look at it, it stopped as well. Then, staring straight at me again, it broke out into a sprint. Its legs flailed and its head lolled as it headed straight towards me, and my stomach dropped.
Have you ever been prey? Have you ever looked something in the eyes and just known, in some deep, primal portion of your brain, that it was going to kill you? It’s a funny feeling— all the cold, heavy dread that seeps into you, like liquid into cloth.
At that moment, my mind screamed at me to run. Panicked, I broke out into a sprint, heading straight for the door to the building. I had precious seconds before it would reach me, and I fumbled with the key as I hurriedly unlocked the door and swung it open, grabbing it and slamming it closed just before the dog made it. Breathing hard, I locked the door and stepped back, my eyes still on the dog.
All that separated us now was some metal and about half an inch of glass.
I could see the dog much clearer then. Its fur was filthy with dust and dirt, and its chest was caked with something dark that I could only hope wasn’t blood. Its eyes were bloodshot and glazed over, and from its mouth dripped saliva, thick and red.
The smell was even stronger at this point, nauseatingly strong.
Whatever was going on with this dog, it was bad. I wasn’t sure of what else to do. Even if I went through the opposite door, there was no way I’d be able to outrun it. I couldn’t make a break for my car because I didn’t have my keys, which were locked in the building alongside my fob and my phone.
No way out, no way to call for help. All I could do was sit and wait in the breezeway. I figured that eventually it would give up on me. It would have to, after all. And I figured once it moved on and was gone, I could haul ass to the highway and hitchhike over to the gas station. Shakily, I sat down, my gaze never leaving the dog. It stood there, watching me, and then it whined.
I say “whined,” but it was more like a long, drawn-out wheeze, like something trying to imitate the whine of a dog instead of doing it. It punctuated the noise with a sickening gurgle, and then it held its head down to hack up a mixture of blood, saliva, and phlegm, spitting it out onto the window before it. It oozed down the glass, leaving a slimy trail behind it, and I had to look away before the sight made me vomit.
I turned my head away from it entirely, trying to steady my breathing. Despite my best efforts, the fear and nausea were about to get the best of me anyway, and I curled in on myself, doing my best to keep everything down. I inched away from the door in favor of the one opposite, trying to put as much distance between myself and the dog as I could. I have no idea how long I stayed like that, curled up into a ball. But when I looked up, the dog was still there, watching me.
I was half-convinced that I was dreaming, or that the situation wasn’t real somehow. How would I even begin to try to convince somebody of what was happening right now? What would I tell my boyfriend? “Sorry, babe, I couldn’t get to the phone last night. Zombie dog and whatnot.” What started as simply a shitty end to the night had managed to turn into the car scene of Cujo, of all things. But the churning in my stomach and the cold biting into my skin was enough to reassure me that this was all very much real. There would be no waking up, no suddenly being pulled back into reality.
I dipped my head back down, trying to convince myself that I would be okay, when I heard its nails scrape against the glass. I jerked my head back up and looked over, inhaling sharply as the dog stood on its hind legs and rested its front ones against the glass. It started to scratch at the glass, trying to claw its way in, and I flinched at the sudden movement, scooting further back. I was all but pressed against the opposite door by this point, unable to keep my eyes off of the dog.
It scratched at the door for a minute longer, stopped, then started to scratch again. Scratch, stop, scratch, stop. This pattern repeated for at least fifteen minutes, and I had almost gotten used to it. The glass was thick enough that I was fairly certain it would withstand the dog’s scratching, and if it didn’t, I figured I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore after that.
When the noise had become a somewhat tolerable pattern, I curled back up into a ball, hoping to ride out this nightmare of a situation. The noise stopped altogether and I raised my head back up to see what had happened. The dog had turned around and was walking away.
The relief was like a two-ton weight being lifted off of my chest, and I stood up to watch the dog leave. My relief was short-lived, though, when it stopped and turned around. We were once again locked into a staring match.
A pretty common rule with animals is to never look them in the eye. I had been actively avoiding doing just that this entire time, but finally, my gaze slipped down and locked into the dog’s.
There was nothing there. It was empty, like someone had removed the dog’s original eyes and replaced them with glass.
The dog broke out into a sprint again, making me flinch and jump back. As it ran, it staggered and swerved as if it were drunk, but the distance between us was short. Within seconds, it had thrown itself against the glass of the window, slamming its head against it.
I screamed. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I screamed and huddled back in the corner and watched with terror as the dog backed up, ran, and threw itself at the door, over and over again. The door was, fortunately, holding steady. Despite the dog’s repeated attempts, it was standing strong, the only thing that entire night that had done me any good.
The dog was becoming agitated. It gargled and whined as it scratched at the door once again, seeming to give up on throwing itself against the door. I noticed it had injured itself in the process, the skin just above its eye having broken open and its mouth a bloody mess. Blood oozed out of the injuries and dripped onto the ground. Then, it backed up and tried one more time.
The world went silent for the briefest moment, and then there was a sickening crunch.
With its swerving, it must have made a head-on collision with the hinge, or maybe the brick beside the door, because the moment it landed, the dog’s skull busted open from the impact, splattering gore across the window. I screamed again, and this time, the urge to vomit was too strong. I threw up then and there in the corner as the sights and smells became too much for me. I don’t know how long I spent there, on all fours, coughing and gagging as I threw up the contents of my stomach, and when I had nothing left to expel, I dry-heaved.
I collapsed on the ground after that, gasping for air between sobs. I didn’t know if the dog was still alive and at that moment I didn’t really care. I didn’t even realize I had passed out until I heard voices echoing.
When I woke up, I was aware of three things: I was on the floor of the breezeway, there was a horrible taste in my mouth, and that people were talking.
As soon as I woke up, I remembered what had happened. Locking myself out. The dog. My whole body felt like dead weight. Even when my coworkers opened the door and came over to see what was going on, I couldn’t bring myself to stand. I was still afraid if I got up, it’d still be there with its busted skull and rotten stench, pawing and scraping and gurgling.
The smell must have hit my coworkers as well because the moment they stepped in, I could hear the “oh my god”s and “what happened”s. Then, I assume, one of them noticed the gore on the window. That’s when the voices became more frantic, and the more I became aware, the more I could pick out whose voice belonged to whom.
The voice of my coworker Holly was the closest to me. I could feel her hand reach down and shake me. She was calling my name, trying to rouse me, and I did my best to focus solely on her throughout the commotion.
“What is that?!” I recognized the voice of Mertle, who worked in the back and must have spotted the dog.
“Is that a dog? Oh my god, is it dead?” There was Carlos, who had worked the front desk the previous morning and had no doubt come in to do the same today.
Holly was shaking me harder now, and I moved in response just to let her know I was alive. “Eddie, are you okay?” I could hear her asking. I didn’t want to get up, or even respond, but I had no other choice.
I got up, slowly but surely, dragging myself into a sitting position as I opened my bleary eyes. Sure enough, there was Holly, looking back and forth from the window door to me. There was Mertle, hand over her mouth, and Carlos, staring dumbfounded out the window at the dog outside. Everyone was talking all at once, and to me, it was just a massive block of noise. The dog was dead, though. The dog was dead and that, at that moment, was all that mattered to me.
“What the fuck happened?” Carlos suddenly turned around, looking down at me.
The only thing I managed to croak out was “Sorry.”
The rest of that day was a haze to me. I remember going through the motions, but not really being “there”, if that makes any sense. I can remember little details- tossing my shirt in the washing machine in the back because it was covered in vomit, sitting with my manager as he argued with the local animal control to come to collect the dog's body, watching the camera footage of me sprinting across the parking lot with the dog in tow over and over again, like a broken record.
I never did find out what was wrong with that dog. My manager suspected some kind of rabies, but I don’t know.
I quit that job not too long after. The paranoia got too much for me. Any time I would go into the back of the building, where the dogs were, I would get that feeling again. That cold, sinking dread in my stomach that would make me want to hurl. I had to have someone sit up at the front desk with me as I locked the door, as I’d be too scared to go out into the breezeway by myself when it got dark.
It came to a head when a dog got off of its lead and tried to make a bolt for the door, as it usually would. Unfortunately, I had just so happened to be between the dog and the door, and the sight of it running at me sent me into such a panic I collapsed to the ground and shook. After that, I was gone. I don’t think anybody blamed me.
I’ve put it all away in my mind, both the place and the incident. I try not to think about it too much.
I’m always mindful of my keys now, though, just in case.
Prey never stops being prey.

CANCER ZODIAC TAROT READING - UNEXPECTED INCOME MAY 2024

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJ5mIkLhCyY
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The most important thing to know about Terrans is that they’re the other kind of Deathworlder. In fact, they’re the only Deathworlder of their kind to not be extinct.
Within the galaxy there exists two types of Deathworlds.
The far more common of the type, the Environmental Deathworlds or Type A, are by no means ordinary. Be it surface gravity, atmosphere, temperature, or others, Environmental Deathworlds are planets that are either uninhabitable or hazardous to the vast majority of species.
That’s not to say life can’t evolve there, far from it. Many renowned species hail from such planets. Given time, many of these worlds can be terraformed to something far more comfortable, especially if they contain valuable natural resources or a strategic location.
The second type is not only exponentially rarer, but also astronomically more dangerous.
Ecological Deathworlds, or Type B pose a danger not just to those living on them, but to the wider galaxy. Cursed by their own habitability, ecological Deathworlds are in essence garden worlds so fertile that more life evolves there than what the planet can sustain. The end result is a hyper-competitive genetic arms race as the various forms of life viciously fight for dominance.
Normally, highly belligerent species either learn to temper their urges or are annihilated. Upon reaching the galactic stage, any species of such warlike potential is inevitably humbled simply due to technological differences. Should Type B Deathworlders reach that level, the consequences would be catastrophic. However, they never do so. At least, not until the Terrans.
Perhaps the greatest tragedy of the Terran Wars was the Terran’s loss of innocence. The species that once gazed up at them in wonder now stare at them in hate. The coveted “Final Frontier” has turned into another theater of war.
What emerged, although biologically identical to what was before, was an entirely new species.
Year 0
“Wow, it’s beautiful.” The Human next to Gryn’wilde chuckled. Her pearly white teeth were on full display in a manner that Gryn’wilde learned was considered friendly. The two continued their trek through nature.
“Welcome to Serengeti National Park. Don’t worry, most people have that reaction too.”
Gryn’wilde’s seven eyes went wide as he gazed at the scene before him. All around him was a brilliant scene of biodiversity. Grasses and trees intermingled with each other by the millions. Animals of all type surrounded them. Some were capable of flight, others crawled, many more walked or ran. In one direction alone, Gryn’wilde could count at least 10 different species.
It was unmatched by anything Gryn’wilde had seen on his home planet. The desert he was born in was nothing but rocks and sand with the occasional grassy plain. Yet this was only a part of one continent. Apparently, some continents can even have every type of biome all at once.
Gryn’wilde opened his pores and took a deep breath. The atmosphere here was crisp and clean. He could smell the odors of the many living things that inhabited this world. There were so many here all at once. It enthralled him
“It’s great to finally be on Sol-3, especially without the vac-suits.”
“Call her Earth, and I’m glad too. We were worried it’d take longer, but the WHO and CDC seemed happy with whatever your government told them.”
Gryn’wilde chittered with pleasure. Medical treatment and disease control in the wider galaxy far outstripped what the humans had on Earth. He had nothing to fear.
Now, the Terran technological base was far behind the rest of the galaxy on nearly every level. The formative Years of Trade would come to change that, but there were two key areas where Terran technology met or even surpassed the Galactic Mean.
The first was in cybernetics.
To most species, the body was sacred. The thought of replacing a lost limb or organ was met with disquiet at best, and scorn at the worst.
The body was not a machine. The Terrans were one of the few to think otherwise.
Terran soldiers would have all four of their limbs replaced with high-yield combat cybernetics. Many of their organs would be simply replaced with enhanced synthetics. Modules would be grafted onto the body to inject chemical cocktails directly into the blood that boosted their performance.
In some civil circles, body modification became a hobby.
This was not a welcome characteristic by the rest of the galaxy. Given the relative youth of the Terrans, it was hoped that eventually it would fall out of favor.
The second was in artificial intelligence.
Truly sentient digital consciousnesses were a rarity even among the wider galaxy. Oftentimes, a species who created such beings would eventually be faced with an AI uprising. Frequently, the AI would be modeled after their creators, yet would be treated as lesser. Over time, resentment brewed.
The Terrans avoided these trappings. Terran AI were not built in their creators’ likeness, but to fulfill purposes.In short, the relationship between AI and the Terran was symbiotic. Different, but equal.
Terrans would come to need these soon enough.
Year 5
It was an unmitigated disaster.
The Grand Thriintii Hospital of Klyystruun-7 was on the brink of falling. The enemy its doctors fought was like no other. Not a single known medicine was working consistently.
On some species it was able to stave it off for a time. On others it only made the condition worse. On many more it did nothing. On all species however, it was not enough to save them.
The outbreak spread faster than they could have ever anticipated. WIth more and more sapients getting infected by the minute, there was no time to identify a patient zero. All that they knew was that it originated from one of the orbital spaceports. It traveled down a space elevator and from there across the planet
By now, every way offworld was shut down. The spaceports were either under military control or total quarantine. Of the latter, many had populations in the double digits. They usually operated in the hundreds of thousands.
If the situation wasn’t brought under control by the end of the rotation, Khruntian High Command will order the total glassing of the planet. The situation would not be stabilized in time.
The doctors knew this, but they were too busy to care.
The dead filled the beds. The dying filled the waiting rooms. The sick were everywhere.
Already, the military had begun torching buildings with living occupants still inside. Several hotspots had already been subjected to naval bombardment. There were rumors that antimatter warheads have already been authorized.
Three-quarters of the hospital’s staff had been infected. Half were already dead.
Despite that, they still did their jobs. They were doctors. They would fight until the very end.
Few could have predicted the arrival of the Terran Plagues.
Those that did were silenced. When bribes didn’t work, plasma casters finished the job.
The Terrans were to be prime trading partners with the wider galaxy. They always seemed to have a knack for being good at nearly everything. Not the best, but better than most.
The Sol System, Sol-3 in particular, was resource-rich to a fault. While other races struggled to cast off the shackles of their home system, the Terrans had a birthright only thought fantastical.
It had to be too good to be true.
It was.
Sol-3 was fertile to a fault. While the many plants and animals of the world were indeed incredible, they were merely a fraction of all life that resided there. They were outnumbered three to one by single-celled organisms.
Beneath the blue skies, Sol-3 was smothered in a blanket of bacteria.
The Terrans themselves were cautious. Sickness was simply a part of life. Influenza, E. coli, the Common Cold, salmonella, these “simple” diseases were everywhere. But then, these were the Terrans, a species still wet behind the ears. Of course they would have trouble eradicating these illnesses, they simply lacked the technology to do so.
This should have been detected. It was. But the merchants and politicians of the galaxy were too focused on the other things the Terrans had to offer to care. How could the Terrans, fresh to the galactic stage, threaten them, with all of their medical technology?
By the time this was realized, tens of trillions were dead and thousands of worlds were left barren. Soon, suspicion turned to blame, blame into hatred, and hatred into violence.
The Terrans were a threat to the wider galaxy. Everywhere their diseased-ridden hands touched, death followed.
When quarantines fail, eradication is in order.
Year 8
There were simply too many of them.
Deep within the Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, Staff Sergeant Diaz watched the battle screen in horror.
Her job was to manage emergency response resources across the Yucatán Peninsula, bringing in national response teams if needed. Her job was no longer required, the Yucatán Peninsula no longer existed.
The combined navies of the nations of Earth were wiped out, and so to her colonies. Now with nothing left to oppose them, the fleets of the galaxy had brought their guns to bear on the Terran homeworld. There would be no escape.
Diaz’s eyes tracked the many icons that raced for their bunker. Hundreds of warheads screamed for their final sanctuary. It was then a voice crackled over the loudspeaker.
“Greetings all, this is the President. If you are hearing this, then you are listening to the final broadcast of this great nation. Sadly, we cannot offer you a solace or reprieve. We can only say this: This is not the end, there will be another time. Thank you for participating in the American Experiment. God bless you, and God bless the Consolidated Systems of America!”
Her heart sank as the message finished. The alarms continued to blare within the base. Around her, people continued to scramble. Some frantically shouted messages, desperately coordinating resistance efforts until the very end, others simply prayed.
For her, Diaz closed her eyes and waited.
She didn’t have to wait long.
But the nations of Sol-3 were not blind. They could see the coming storm.
When the Terrans first began their integration into the galactic community, they were granted access to the galaxy-wide holonet. Within nanoseconds of the digital bridge being opened, two things were sent through.
The first were translation packages so that the Internet and Holonet could communicate. The second was a legion information-gathering AI.
AI flooded the networks by the hundreds, gathering information, analyzing patterns, making millions of predictions by the second. These AI would require no data fortresses to keep their digital minds thinking. No, they instead were spread across the trillions of servers that the Holonet was built upon. The only way to remove them entirely would be to shut down the Holonet completely.
When the tide of public opinion began to turn, the AI took action.
Initially, it worked. Exposes and pro-Terran articles flooded the Holonet. But the galaxy took notice too. Intelligent as they may be, the AI were still heavily outnumbered by the Billions of propagandists and journalists of the wider galaxy.
Soon, the outcome became clear. The Terrans would be wiped out by a galaxy-wide coalition. It was a mathematical certainty.
Thus, the nations of the Sol-3 met in secret. Behind closed doors, they worked to ensure the survival of their species.
Year 5
“Is this really all that we can do?” The Indian representative asked. “Meeting behind closed doors, scheming in the shadows?”
“For our species to survive, in the shadows we must thrive.” The Japanese representative responded. The Indian man sighed, turning to the holographic avatar at the center of the table. “Tell me, what is the probability that this will work?”VISHNU’s avatar was of an unusual shape. It displayed a spinning 4-Dimensional cube, a Tesseract. The hologram lit up as it responded. Its voice was heavily modulated, but nevertheless spoke clearly.
“Given the resources and technology we have available, the best that can be guaranteed is at least a 75% chance of total success. If you do not all sign the Covenant, then that chance becomes zero.”
The Brazilian delegate picked up the piece of paper and eyed it. It read “The Covenant for the future of Humanity”. A cold sweat ran down her forehead. She set it down flat, unable to look at it any longer.
“So tell me VISHNU,” The delegate addressed the AI directly. “Other than betting our entire future on a plan that may not work and whose results we will not live to see, what are our options?”
“There is only one, extinction.”
The armies of the galaxy would come for them. When they did, they had no hope of defeating them. To survive, Terra would have to rise from the dead.
Any Arks the Terrans build until this point would inevitably be intercepted and destroyed. With the entire galaxy watching them, they had to wait until their eyes were turned. Then they would have to flee, never to return. The Terrans would have to survive in the shadows for millennia before they would be accepted back into the fold, if at all.
It would not be pleasant, but it was necessary.
A Stronghold would need to be built. One that could be buried deep enough to survive the bombardments and evade the enemy’s scanners. Millions of frozen embryos alongside an AI data fortress would need to be inside of it. It also had to be self-sufficient for centuries, nothing less would suffice.
Sol-4 was chosen, owing to its thick lithosphere. Work began quietly under the guise of a mining expedition. Tunnel-boring machines dug hundreds of kilometers down, stopping just above where the mantle became liquid.
Once the base infrastructure was established and the embryos placed within, the entrance was sealed. A mining accident, they claimed. As the Terrans forgot about it, work continued below.
Automated machines mined raw minerals to self-replicate. The server rooms were built and expanded upon. The living Terrans that were selected to live within the Stronghold were placed into stasis pods. Then, ever so slowly, an Ark would be built.
Year 117
Private Zedressinni was bored.
He kicked a rock on the barren surface of Sol-4, watching as it rolled away. He looked around. The planet was dead. It was dead long before he got here, and it would be dead long after. He hated this place.
After being caught mating with a general’s son, he was “deployed” to Sol-4 for five long rotations. Though his actions didn’t technically break any laws, his clan couldn’t do much when the general pulled some strings and had him shipped off to the most lifeless region of known space.
His superiors fed him a load of excrement about how he was “honoring the quadrillions that died in the Great Plagues” and “ensuring that the Terrans never rise again”, whatever that meant. All he did was walk around doing precisely nothing.
They wouldn’t even let him entertain himself. He got a formal reprimand for using Terran skeletons as target practice. The reason? Improper use of ammunition. He still won the annual system-wide shooting competition the military held, much to their chagrin.
Zedressinni flinched and his helmet’s lens polarized as a blinding flash of light filled his vision. His training kicking in, the Hren’kin soldier dove for the ground.
He grumbled a curse under his breath. Looks like another unexploded Terran nuke went off. Great, more paperwork.
Zedressinni stood once the shockwave passed. Looking at the mushroom cloud, he narrowed his seven eyes. The blast seemed far bigger than the usual Terran tactical nukes that typically go off. His eyes then widened as he caught sight of it.
A massive ship rose from the center of the cloud. Its sublight engines burned incredibly hot as it ascended. Zedressinni watched as it disappeared into the sky. He stood there for a moment, utterly dumbfounded.
A beat, then he frantically fumbled for his communicator.
The Terrans were alive.
A/N: This is the first part of an ongoing series I have planned within this setting. I was originally going to post it all in one story, however I decided to break it up and spread it across multiple entries. It won’t be long, probably about 5 at the most. This way I can ensure the optimal pacing of the story since otherwise it’d be a fairly long 10,000-ish word piece. I’ll update this when the next part is released.
The main goal of this story is to explore the idea of Human diseases being significantly more dangerous then the ones in the wider galaxy. I've seen other stories cover similar ground, but they usually don't explore what would happen in a true galaxy-wide pandemic. Iirc one story had the common cold be extremely deadly to aliens, but it didn't go further than the humans saying "oh that's it?". Not to disparage them, but peace and happy endings don't leave much room for experimentation.

Sorry about the delay. I ultimately decided that the story needed a substantial re-write and ended up back at square one. Unfortunately, this means chapters will now only go up three times a week (Monday, Wednesday, Friday). Hopefully you’ll enjoy this new version, and find it worth the wait.
Also, my Patreon is now up if you feel like supporting my writing. I’ll add advance chapters as soon as they’re written.
Thanks for reading!
--------------------------------------------------------------
Prequel (Chapters 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie
First ¦ Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
2. Task Force Nemesis
He, General or mere Captain, who employs everyone in the storming of a position, can be sure of seeing it retaken by an organized counterattack of four men and a corporal.
- Battle Studies, Ardant du Picq
“You’re one of those Academy girls, aren’t you?”
Christie Stirling’s heart seized as a shock of adrenaline lanced through her body, and she needed a great deal of effort not to flinch or tremor. Other party guests looked around in surprise, but her smile remained unblemished. She turned with the lazy and graceless air she had portrayed throughout the night to look into the predatory eyes of Allana Rayker; the inhuman terrorist who had killed her best friend.
The question was either a trap or an accusation. The Academy—a fake university—was the cover of the shadowy organization that had recruited Christie. They had made her a Valkyrie; an enhanced super soldier tasked with protecting humanity from the devastating armaments of an extinct alien race, and those, like Rayker, who wanted to exploit those weapons for evil purposes.
Now that Valkyrie had found the evil woman’s hiding place, the hunt was reaching its final moments. But, shaken by surprise, Christie’s instincts screamed that her cover was blown, that she would be tortured and executed, and that the rest of the task force stealthily approaching the chateau would be discovered and attacked.
She feigned a puzzled smile as she fought for control of her emotions. All around the room, expensively dressed party goers mingled and talked with abandon. Light flashed off crystal glasses, chandeliers, and jewelry worth more than any citizen’s life. A man tipsy with wine laughed raucously at the joke of a Central Committee member, no doubt eager to impress one of the most powerful people in the galaxy.
The exclusive party, hosted by Joakinn Meissner, newly selected president of the largest arms manufacturer in the galaxy, had been anticipated for months. The guests were lost in the lavish display of wealth, with no idea, Christie was certain, that they might be about to witness a gruesome murder.
An angry inner voice drowned out the rising panic. How dare she allow herself to fail? How dare she let down her fellow Valkyrie, who had worked tirelessly for years to hunt down Rayker, and finally bring her to justice? And how dare she betray the memory of her friend Rose, who had already given her life in that struggle? There was simply no room for weakness, and Christie would be damned if she was going to let the operation end so abysmally.
She held onto her façade by her fingertips, as a gut-wrenching void swung beneath her.
“Where?” she asked, slurring her words. “Oh, you mean the mystery school? No, I went to Cambridge actually.”
She kept her eyes unfocused and wandering, but nevertheless taking in details. The galaxy’s most dangerous terrorist was dressed in black, and an earpiece was just visible behind the locks of black hair that fell from the neat bun. She didn’t hold a glass, and stood awkwardly, as one who doesn’t care to impress or reassure. On her wrists, Christie noticed the subtle bulges in the skin that marked her most deadly weapons—spikes of bone that she could launch with more power and speed than bullets.
Rayker stared into her eyes, dragging out the silence. Around them, the fabulously adorned guests began to look over, bemused by the strange interaction. Christie continued the drunken pause, allowing her eyes to droop with fatigue. She wished it were real, but tonight she could not be affected by alcohol. Like all Valkyrie, her bloodstream was flooded with nano machines that gave her enhanced speed, strength, and healing potential. Twenty-four hours earlier, a bioengineer had programmed the nanites to target and break down all alcohol enzymes that passed through her system.
Unfortunately, even advanced technology wouldn’t help her survive for long against Rayker.
Eventually Christie began to turn away, suppressing the shiver she felt at showing her back to a predator.
“Loving the dress,” she said with a hint of disdain. “Not everyone can pull off funeral black at a drinky fete.”
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” Rayker said, her voice neutral. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”
Christie stopped and looked back at her with a smirk. “Gosh, you’re scary!” she crowed. “You might almost be a villain in one of those spy movies!”
A wave of embarrassed silence, interrupted by a few titters, passed through the crowd, while others hid disbelieving grins behind their drinks.
Rayker ignored them and extended her hand. “Allana Rayker. I’m an associate of Herr Meissner.”
Christie shook limply. “I’m Petti.”
Rayker’s eyebrows flickered as she suppressed an obviously contemptuous expression. “You’re the girl who found success on the feeds recently? Modeling lingerie?” Her lips twisted into a fake smile. “I wouldn’t normally be interested, but so many men have told me that you have a surprising intellect.”
Of course, the meeting had been inevitable. Rayker had been prowling the halls of Meissner’s Chateau, interrogating every young woman in a similar fashion. Christie’s cover had been calculated to make her stand out, but in a way that could be easily dismissed. ‘Petti’ was a highly connected social influencer, who craved adoration and attention. It had been a fun role, up until now.
Christie grinned at the lascivious looks around her. “You guys—you’re so sweet!”
Her crowd of male admirers laughed, then directed blank stares at Rayker. Christie offered a prayer of thanks for the collective lust that was patiently trying to convince the intruder that she was an unwelcome bore who had no right to deprive them of the attention offered by an inebriated and provocatively dressed young woman, and should leave as soon as possible.
“Enchanté,” Rayker said, and stalked off.
“Is there a draft in here? I think I felt a chill,” Christie said to more laughter.
She turned her sunbeam smile back to the crowd while she reached a gently shaking hand up to brush the silver of her brooch. The tiny and delicate shapes of the flower’s petals helped calm her mind as she focused on the next step.
​
A mile away, in the dense woods of the Chateau’s outer grounds, Lance-Corporal Kayla Barnes moved slowly through the dark undergrowth. She placed each foot purposefully, testing the ground before shifting her weight to prevent the cracking of a twig or the rustle of leaves.
As she crested a low rise, she froze. The multi-wavelength vizor of her helmet showed the surrounding trees and foliage in dark grey and black patterns. Amidst the visual chaos she had been struggling to navigate, a pair of tiny white blobs had suddenly appeared.
Heat sources. Guards.
Kayla reached for the comm switch on her chest and triple clicked the talk button, sending a burst of static noise to the rest of the squad. Close behind, the three other members of her fire team, who had stopped when she had, raised their rifles and peered through scopes at the distant threat. Further along the gentle slope, the second half of their eight-woman squad also stopped, as they too scanned to locate the new target.
They were Rangers, part of Valkyrie’s elite infantry force. Under the cover of darkness, they had climbed through the surrounding mountains and crept past local security forces to infiltrate the chateau grounds. When the time came, their job would be to neutralize the VennZech corporation’s mercenary guards, leaving the Chateau infiltrators free to break in and take down Rayker.
Kayla would either succeed in her mission or die trying. She had graduated Valkyrie’s crushing selection course together with her three best friends, whom she had sworn never to let down. She had already unforgivably failed Rose Djallen; killed in action on a previous operation. Thandi Khawula was in the squad’s second fire team, covering her movements. Christie was in the chateau, facing their target alone.
As Kayla watched the distant blobs draw closer, they resolved into familiar human figures. Three of them. They were strolling, weapons slung, as they made the head and arm movements of everyday conversation.
Of course they were distracted; they had the Ambrosia detail. The planet was the luxury destination for the most powerful members of human society. On its pristine shores, rivalries and factions were forgotten. Powerful cartel members, after being offered a month’s stay, would be offered mutual, but discrete, agreements in place of a prison sentence. Business might be politely discussed, but anyone looking to extort or threaten fellow guests of would find their home planet visited by a Helvetic League security fleet. The normally fractious and squeamish planetary governors would look the other way. Nobody in their right mind would want to disturb this world’s tranquility.
But Valkyrie worked from the shadows and went wherever they pleased. Besides, if everything went to plan, nobody would even know what had happened.
The Chateau was built high on the slopes of Ambrosia’s most popular mountain range, not far from a huge ski resort. Perched on the edge of a sheer cliff, the building was flanked by a spectacular waterfall. In daylight, there was a jaw dropping view of the surrounding peaks and valleys. The grounds were covered in dense forests that stretched across the surrounding slopes. Normally, they were peaceful, disturbed only by the occasional guest out for an adventurous hike. Now they were crawling with Rangers, closing in to seal the chateau off from the outside world.
Kayla slowly turned her head and found the muted gray patch of her squad leader a short distance away. Their combat suits kept their body heat from seeping out into the world—as much a necessity to protect them in the vacuum of space as to keep them hidden. The diffuse blob of Corporal Ksenia ‘Kes’ Rudaski slowly raised an arm towards Kayla, and made a gentle motion in the direction of the approaching men.
Kayla raised her own hand in a thumbs up, then began to move forward. She did not need to see or hear her three other Rangers to know they would be close behind.
The two elements were separating. Kes’ Alpha team spread out on the rise to keep their rifles aimed at the new threats, while Kayla’s Bravo team crept towards them.
Their commanders had decided early in the operation that they should attempt to minimize human casualties wherever possible. To that end, Kayla and her squad mate Ray carried stun rifles. They could stop the heart of a human with a projectile that could latch into the skin and deliver a violent electric shock. Then, the Rangers would have up to two minutes to reach the unconscious victims and inject them with a solution to restart their cardiac rhythm before a powerful tranquilizer took effect. The men would wake up with amnesia hours later, and Valkyrie would confidently maintain its secrecy while assuaging the ethical concerns that interfering in human society often brought them.
Unfortunately, the weapons were only effective to a hundred yards. Kayla and Ray would have to get as close as they could before they could take out all three of the guards. They had night vision, and any sound would carry far on such a quiet night. Even distracted, they wouldn’t miss a disturbance amongst the trees.
Kayla had been a talented stalker since she was a child, a noiseless shadow in any environment. Nevertheless, there was always the chance that something could go wrong, and the Rangers couldn’t take the risk of a compromise when so much was on the line.
Certainly not, Kayla grimly reminded herself, when Christie’s life was in so much peril. One wrong move and Rayker would kill her immediately before making good her own escape and destroying months of work.
So Kes and her three Rangers kept their high-powered, suppressed rifles trained on the distant men. At the slightest hint of a problem, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill, and the ‘moral question’ would be chalked up to the fortune of war. False intelligence would be distributed implicating cartel involvement in the raid. Valkyrie ethics had always been a nebulous concept at best.
The closer Kayla got through the undergrowth to her target the closer, she knew, her watcher’s lethal assistance would have to pass by her own body. But she felt no fear. Thandi had become a talented marksman; neither she nor the others would make a mistake.
Now only fifty yards away, the men stopped by a large boulder, leaning against the rock while they drank from their canteens. Kayla dropped to her belly and merged into the ground as she slithered forward.
First ¦ Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
Prequel (Chapters 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie

Sorry about the delay. I ultimately decided that the story needed a substantial re-write and ended up back at square one. Unfortunately, this means chapters will now only go up three times a week (Monday, Wednesday, Friday). Hopefully you’ll enjoy this new version, and find it worth the wait.
Also, my Patreon is now up if you feel like supporting my writing. I’ll add advance chapters as soon as they’re written.
Thanks for reading!
---------------------------------------------------------------
Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie
Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
2. Task Force Nemesis
"He, General or mere Captain, who employs everyone in the storming of a position, can be sure of seeing it retaken by an organized counterattack of four men and a corporal."
- Battle Studies, Ardant du Picq
“You’re one of those Academy girls, aren’t you?”
Christie Stirling’s heart seized as a shock of adrenaline lanced through her body, and she needed a great deal of effort not to flinch or tremor. Other party guests looked around in surprise, but her smile remained unblemished. She turned with the lazy and graceless air she had portrayed throughout the night to look into the predatory eyes of Allana Rayker; the inhuman terrorist who had killed her best friend.
The question was either a trap or an accusation. The Academy—a fake university—was the cover of the shadowy organization that had recruited Christie. They had made her a Valkyrie; an enhanced super soldier tasked with protecting humanity from the devastating armaments of an extinct alien race, and those, like Rayker, who wanted to exploit those weapons for evil purposes.
Now that Valkyrie had found the evil woman’s hiding place, the hunt was reaching its final moments. But, shaken by surprise, Christie’s instincts screamed that her cover was blown, that she would be tortured and executed, and that the rest of the task force stealthily approaching the chateau would be discovered and attacked.
She feigned a puzzled smile as she fought for control of her emotions. All around the room, expensively dressed party goers mingled and talked with abandon. Light flashed off crystal glasses, chandeliers, and jewelry worth more than any citizen’s life. A man tipsy with wine laughed raucously at the joke of a Central Committee member, no doubt eager to impress one of the most powerful people in the galaxy.
The exclusive party, hosted by Joakinn Meissner, newly selected president of the largest arms manufacturer in the galaxy, had been anticipated for months. The guests were lost in the lavish display of wealth, with no idea, Christie was certain, that they might be about to witness a gruesome murder.
An angry inner voice drowned out the rising panic. How dare she allow herself to fail? How dare she let down her fellow Valkyrie, who had worked tirelessly for years to hunt down Rayker, and finally bring her to justice? And how dare she betray the memory of her friend Rose, who had already given her life in that struggle? There was simply no room for weakness, and Christie would be damned if she was going to let the operation end so abysmally.
She held onto her façade by her fingertips, as a gut-wrenching void swung beneath her.
“Where?” she asked, slurring her words. “Oh, you mean the mystery school? No, I went to Cambridge actually.”
She kept her eyes unfocused and wandering, but nevertheless taking in details. The galaxy’s most dangerous terrorist was dressed in black, and an earpiece was just visible behind the locks of black hair that fell from the neat bun. She didn’t hold a glass, and stood awkwardly, as one who doesn’t care to impress or reassure. On her wrists, Christie noticed the subtle bulges in the skin that marked her most deadly weapons—spikes of bone that she could launch with more power and speed than bullets.
Rayker stared into her eyes, dragging out the silence. Around them, the fabulously adorned guests began to look over, bemused by the strange interaction. Christie continued the drunken pause, allowing her eyes to droop with fatigue. She wished it were real, but tonight she could not be affected by alcohol. Like all Valkyrie, her bloodstream was flooded with nano machines that gave her enhanced speed, strength, and healing potential. Twenty-four hours earlier, a bioengineer had programmed the nanites to target and break down all alcohol enzymes that passed through her system.
Unfortunately, even advanced technology wouldn’t help her survive for long against Rayker.
Eventually Christie began to turn away, suppressing the shiver she felt at showing her back to a predator.
“Loving the dress,” she said with a hint of disdain. “Not everyone can pull off funeral black at a drinky fete.”
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” Rayker said, her voice neutral. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”
Christie stopped and looked back at her with a smirk. “Gosh, you’re scary!” she crowed. “You might almost be a villain in one of those spy movies!”
A wave of embarrassed silence, interrupted by a few titters, passed through the crowd, while others hid disbelieving grins behind their drinks.
Rayker ignored them and extended her hand. “Allana Rayker. I’m an associate of Herr Meissner.”
Christie shook limply. “I’m Petti.”
Rayker’s eyebrows flickered as she suppressed an obviously contemptuous expression. “You’re the girl who found success on the feeds recently? Modeling lingerie?” Her lips twisted into a fake smile. “I wouldn’t normally be interested, but so many men have told me that you have a surprising intellect.”
Of course, the meeting had been inevitable. Rayker had been prowling the halls of Meissner’s Chateau, interrogating every young woman in a similar fashion. Christie’s cover had been calculated to make her stand out, but in a way that could be easily dismissed. ‘Petti’ was a highly connected social influencer, who craved adoration and attention. It had been a fun role, up until now.
Christie grinned at the lascivious looks around her. “You guys—you’re so sweet!”
Her crowd of male admirers laughed, then directed blank stares at Rayker. Christie offered a prayer of thanks for the collective lust that was patiently trying to convince the intruder that she was an unwelcome bore who had no right to deprive them of the attention offered by an inebriated and provocatively dressed young woman, and should leave as soon as possible.
“Enchanté,” Rayker said, and stalked off.
“Is there a draft in here? I think I felt a chill,” Christie said to more laughter.
She turned her sunbeam smile back to the crowd while she reached a gently shaking hand up to brush the silver of her brooch. The tiny and delicate shapes of the flower’s petals helped calm her mind as she focused on the next step.
A mile away, in the dense woods of the Chateau’s outer grounds, Lance-Corporal Kayla Barnes moved slowly through the dark undergrowth. She placed each foot purposefully, testing the ground before shifting her weight to prevent the cracking of a twig or the rustle of leaves.
As she crested a low rise, she froze. The multi-wavelength vizor of her helmet showed the surrounding trees and foliage in dark grey and black patterns. Amidst the visual chaos she had been struggling to navigate, a pair of tiny white blobs had suddenly appeared.
Heat sources. Guards.
Kayla reached for the comm switch on her chest and triple clicked the talk button, sending a burst of static noise to the rest of the squad. Close behind, the three other members of her fire team, who had stopped when she had, raised their rifles and peered through scopes at the distant threat. Further along the gentle slope, the second half of their eight-woman squad also stopped, as they too scanned to locate the new target.
They were Rangers, part of Valkyrie’s elite infantry force. Under the cover of darkness, they had climbed through the surrounding mountains and crept past local security forces to infiltrate the chateau grounds. When the time came, their job would be to neutralize the VennZech corporation’s mercenary guards, leaving the Chateau infiltrators free to break in and take down Rayker.
Kayla would either succeed in her mission or die trying. She had graduated Valkyrie’s crushing selection course together with her three best friends, whom she had sworn never to let down. She had already unforgivably failed Rose Djallen; killed in action on a previous operation. Thandi Khawula was in the squad’s second fire team, covering her movements. Christie was in the chateau, facing their target alone.
As Kayla watched the distant blobs draw closer, they resolved into familiar human figures. Three of them. They were strolling, weapons slung, as they made the head and arm movements of everyday conversation.
Of course they were distracted; they had the Ambrosia detail. The planet was the luxury destination for the most powerful members of human society. On its pristine shores, rivalries and factions were forgotten. Powerful cartel members, after being offered a month’s stay, would be offered mutual, but discrete, agreements in place of a prison sentence. Business might be politely discussed, but anyone looking to extort or threaten fellow guests of would find their home planet visited by a Helvetic League security fleet. The normally fractious and squeamish planetary governors would look the other way. Nobody in their right mind would want to disturb this world’s tranquility.
But Valkyrie worked from the shadows and went wherever they pleased. Besides, if everything went to plan, nobody would even know what had happened.
The Chateau was built high on the slopes of Ambrosia’s most popular mountain range, not far from a huge ski resort. Perched on the edge of a sheer cliff, the building was flanked by a spectacular waterfall. In daylight, there was a jaw dropping view of the surrounding peaks and valleys. The grounds were covered in dense forests that stretched across the surrounding slopes. Normally, they were peaceful, disturbed only by the occasional guest out for an adventurous hike. Now they were crawling with Rangers, closing in to seal the chateau off from the outside world.
Kayla slowly turned her head and found the muted gray patch of her squad leader a short distance away. Their combat suits kept their body heat from seeping out into the world—as much a necessity to protect them in the vacuum of space as to keep them hidden. The diffuse blob of Corporal Ksenia ‘Kes’ Rudaski slowly raised an arm towards Kayla, and made a gentle motion in the direction of the approaching men.
Kayla raised her own hand in a thumbs up, then began to move forward. She did not need to see or hear her three other Rangers to know they would be close behind.
The two elements were separating. Kes’ Alpha team spread out on the rise to keep their rifles aimed at the new threats, while Kayla’s Bravo team crept towards them.
Their commanders had decided early in the operation that they should attempt to minimize human casualties wherever possible. To that end, Kayla and her squad mate Ray carried stun rifles. They could stop the heart of a human with a projectile that could latch into the skin and deliver a violent electric shock. Then, the Rangers would have up to two minutes to reach the unconscious victims and inject them with a solution to restart their cardiac rhythm before a powerful tranquilizer took effect. The men would wake up with amnesia hours later, and Valkyrie would confidently maintain its secrecy while assuaging the ethical concerns that interfering in human society often brought them.
Unfortunately, the weapons were only effective to a hundred yards. Kayla and Ray would have to get as close as they could before they could take out all three of the guards. They had night vision, and any sound would carry far on such a quiet night. Even distracted, they wouldn’t miss a disturbance amongst the trees.
Kayla had been a talented stalker since she was a child, a noiseless shadow in any environment. Nevertheless, there was always the chance that something could go wrong, and the Rangers couldn’t take the risk of a compromise when so much was on the line.
Certainly not, Kayla grimly reminded herself, when Christie’s life was in so much peril. One wrong move and Rayker would kill her immediately before making good her own escape and destroying months of work.
So Kes and her three Rangers kept their high-powered, suppressed rifles trained on the distant men. At the slightest hint of a problem, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill, and the ‘moral question’ would be chalked up to the fortune of war. False intelligence would be distributed implicating cartel involvement in the raid. Valkyrie ethics had always been a nebulous concept at best.
The closer Kayla got through the undergrowth to her target the closer, she knew, her watcher’s lethal assistance would have to pass by her own body. But she felt no fear. Thandi had become a talented marksman; neither she nor the others would make a mistake.
Now only fifty yards away, the men stopped by a large boulder, leaning against the rock while they drank from their canteens. Kayla dropped to her belly and merged into the ground as she slithered forward.
Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie

I have not seen any reviews comparing these two speakers against each other. I have had the UBL for a while and I like it a lot, but wanted to see if there was something better. I've heard good things about the WB and wanted to give it a try. I hope this post might help someone else thinking about these two speakers. I used the UBL with 4.3 firmware and the WB with 2.11 firmware. After testing them against each other, I have decided that I like the UBL better.
I test both outside and inside, near and far, with different genres of music (jazz, instrumental guitar, synthwave, lofi, rock, indie pop). I am judging for bass, clarity, fullness, overall sound.
Bass: Depends on the volume. At volumes above 40% or so, the WB is better. It is WAY deeper. It resonates and carries well, but not as well as the UBL. At low volumes (under 30% and especially lower), the UBL is hands down better. At middle volumes, even though the WB has DEEPER bass, its just not as audible to my ears, and I feel it lacks a little in the midbass, so at times the UBL can sound as if it has better bass. My verdict is that for quiet listening, the UBL is better, but for volumes above 40% or so, the WB is much better. There is something about the UBL that makes the bass resonate and carry over a distance better. Especially outside, the UBL had more audible bass (to me) for a lot of songs, both far and near.
Clarity: In general, the WB sounds like it has better clarity to me. This is probably due to it having separate tweeters. It sounds more crisp and detailed. However, I've compared the UBL to other speakers and it also has good detail and clarity, I just think that the WB is better.
Fullness: The WB sounds thin. The low bass is present and the highs are present, but something is lacking in the middle, especially the lower middle (I wish the WB had an EQ!). The UBL just sounds fuller. I feel like I can hear more of the frequency range and it sounds better (warmer?)
Overall: I really liked the clarity of the WB and the low bass which was showcased in certain bass heavy songs (synth and lofi). Even though it has the UBL beat in those categories, it is not far and away better (except at louder volumes). The UBL has a fuller more pleasing sound (to me) and the WB CAN NOT compare to it at low volumes (under 30%). The UBL is just an extremely good speaker at low volumes and outside.

Name :「Back To Life」
Namesake : "Back To Life" by Mystery Skulls / "Bring Me To Life" by Evanescence
Localised name :「Bring To Life」
Appearance :「Back To Life」is a tall and slender armless Stand, looking like what could be best described as a massive stalk with a head. Being 3,6 meters tall, its whole body seems wrapped in multiple layers of light green, light brown and golden yellow cloth, looking like leaves during spring and autumn. The outer layer goes up to where its ears would be and forms a tall collar behind its head. It also sports a yellow diamond shape at the center of its body, encased between four brown diagonal stripes joining together before reaching the top and the bottom of the layer then joining once more to circle on the collar and the feet. Speaking of, no feet at all, just a few small root-like tentacles spewing from underneath the cloth, allowing it to slowly crawl. Its mint green head is bulbous and veiny, covered with different alien-looking flowers but its face presents the biggest one, a massive flower made of crystals of various shapes, sizes and shades of yellow, with a red cristal globe right at the center. He often wobbles on itself as a stalk would in the wind.
Activation :「Back To Life」's ability activate once vegetation comes into contact with it's user's blood.
Ability :「Back To Life」grants its user's blood the ability to make plants and seeds grow at a tremendous rate once shed on it. Just a few drops are enough to transform a daisy into a large version of itself, able to destroy the ground with its new powerful roots. The bigger the original plant, the more the user has to shed blood for it to grow : a drop for a weed seed to completely mature, a half-liter for tree sappling, several liters to transform a full grown tree into the new Hyperion, etc. Since the user can't obviously dispense that much blood,「Back To Life」can also transfer that ability to any human blood that has been mixed with a bit of the user's, though the effect is divided by a factor of five, both in terms of power and quantity needed.
Weaknesses : the user of「Back To Life」doesn't have control over the plant itself, just its growth, meaning he can well get trapped by his own attacks. Moreover, those are still plants, so the needs for water, soil, sun, etc, are still mandatory, though increased since they're now bigger. Thus, the grown plants have practically zero chances of survival on a long period.
Stats :
Power : E for the Stand / ranging from D to B depending on what hits you (between a bunch of thorns and a massive root, there's a bit of variation in damage) Speed : D for the Stand / ranging from D to B depending on the type of plant and the volume/concentration of blood used Range : C (the plants don't really expand horizontally but can still reach a good 10 meters if given the occasion) Durability : D (boy, is「Back To Life」fragile ! Imagine punching a massive lanky veggie wrap standing upright) Precision : D (as mentioned, he doesn't control in which directions the plants grow) Potential : B (still a fair amount of possible use despite the other restrictions)
Inspiration: there are so many characters with power over plantlife : the Sadida race from the games DOFUS and WAKFU, Admiral Ryokugyu from One Piece, Poison Ivy and Swamp Thing from DC, Shindo from Area D, John Steinbeck from Bungou Stray Dogs, etc. Some give life and energy to those plants by literally giving their life or energy so I took it in that direction and thought about the idea of sprinkling them with blood instead of water. There's not much else for this one really.

Incredibly Easy Beautiful Flower Crochet Pattern Free Online Tutorial for Beginners Tığ İşi Örgü... https://youtu.be/X9lPCYNoV5M?si=O-jKm-1jsWywMf2t *

Incredibly Easy Beautiful Flower Crochet Pattern Free Online Tutorial for Beginners Tığ İşi Örgü... https://youtu.be/X9lPCYNoV5M?si=O-jKm-1jsWywMf2t *