The KoraKora are moving against Hamada. A flood of refugees has come pouring into the city as the cannibals approach. They carry with them the most horrific stories of torture and slaughter. Worse, however, are the reports of the KoraKora’s numbers.

Though fear may inspire exaggeration, there are most likely thousands of KoraKora approaching Hamada. We know that there were at least 5,000 warriors with their chief in pursuit of us at one point. Whether that many remain with him now, and regardless of how many were split to assail the village to the east, that leaves plenty for an assault on Hamada.

Worse yet, he is among them. How he knows where we are, I do not know, but he is coming for us. He is coming for me. I fear now that the assault on the fishing village was no punishment, but a diversion. Only our most powerful members, as far as he knows them, could have made it in time to rescue the village. With Inifra among us he must have known we would try.

All that matters now is that his tactic worked. Inifra and Dionus are nowhere near, and we are outnumbered at least twenty to one. Gods, but we are done for.

There are no other expressionists in Hamada. We’ve searched high and low, but we are constantly assured there are none. Expressionists this close to Matasten, they say, are not long for this world. I am not convinced. There must be a few that are in hiding and who, like me, refuse to come out from fear. Who refuse even to save their own city.

I will not withhold my power when the moment comes, and I know now that it must. I will shatter the very foundations of time to stop the chief of the KoraKora. This ends here.

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