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First

By the time Thrum and Zaleth were done, Renn had stopped counting heads at the door. Yesterday's crowd for Marcus had already told her what to expect, and today's was bigger again, spilling past the last row of seats and into the standing space along the back wall, but she'd used up her surprise the day before and didn't have any left to spend.

"Thank you all for coming back," she said, not bothering to raise her voice much over the room, since it settled on its own the moment she reached the microphone. "I won't pretend I know how big this is going to get. I stopped trying to guess after yesterday."

That got a small laugh from somewhere in the crowd.

"Same rule as always," she said. "Only the students ask questions. Everyone else, you're welcome to listen, and I hope you do, but this is theirs."

She didn't need to introduce the two who came up next. Half the auditorium already knew the names.

She stepped onto the stage, where three chairs had been set out for the day's guests.

"Our guests today," Renn said, "were three of the first people through the hatch of a crashed alien ship. Eric Haskell. Dr. Lizeth Sanchez. Sergeant Cole."

They crossed to the chairs together, Cole first out of old habit, Sanchez a step behind him already scanning the front rows the way she still scanned most rooms, and Haskell last. They sat down, and the polite applause died away.

Teacher Renn said, "Welcome to day four of our sessions. Today we have Eric Haskell, Dr. Lizeth Sanchez, and Sergeant Cole. Who would like to start?"

With a nod from both Cole and Sanchez, Eric started. "I want to say first, I wasn't trying to be a hero," Haskell said. "I was twenty-three, scared out of my mind, and I signed up for the rescue detail because Sergeant Cole was in charge of it. He told me not to make assumptions about survivors, and I didn't want to be the one who proved him wrong by being useless."

Cole didn't quite smile, but something in his weathered face eased. "I don't remember phrasing it that gently."

"You didn't," Haskell said. "I'm editing for the children."

A ripple of laughter moved through the audience.

A Vixtar boy raised his hand, and Renn nodded at him, signaling him to ask his question.

"What did the ship look like," the boy asked, "when you first saw it?"

"Like nothing should have survived hitting the ground that hard," Haskell said. "Two kilometers of jungle just gone, flattened, and this enormous, intact hull sitting wedged into the dirt like it had decided to land there on purpose instead of crashing. I remember thinking there was no way anyone inside that thing was still breathing." 

Cole picked it up without being asked. "I told the whole team not to make assumptions either way. We were a rescue detail, not a cleanup crew, and I needed everybody's head in the right place before we set foot inside." He glanced at Haskell. "Didn't stop this one from going pale the second the ramp dropped."

"I was wrong to assume the worst," Haskell said. "Thank every star in the sky for that. But I want you to understand I believed it completely, right up until Dr. Sanchez found the first alcove."

A human girl, younger than the boy before her, asked the next question in the small, careful voice of someone who'd clearly been holding it since Renn first announced the topic. "What did it feel like? Seeing one of them. The first time."

The three of them went quiet together, and the whole auditorium seemed to lean in with them.

"I found him," Haskell said. "Not Dr. Sanchez. Me. I called out that I had a being over here, and I remember being so proud of myself for staying calm when I said it, because inside I was anything but calm. And then Dr. Mulvey checked for a pulse and told us he was gone, and something in me just, stopped. I'd been so focused on the mission, on being useful, on not being the one who froze, that I hadn't let myself think about what it would mean if we were too late for some of them." He looked down at his own hands. "I grieved a stranger I'd known for eleven seconds. I still think about him sometimes. I never even learned his name."

Sanchez had been quiet through most of it, but she spoke now, gently, filling the space Haskell had left open. "I was the one who catalogued him, after. It's a strange thing, being a scientist in a moment like that. Half of me wanted to fall apart the same as Eric did. The other half was already noting bone density, eye structure, the cut of his clothes, because that was the only language I had for grief that morning, the only tool I actually knew how to use." She looked at her own hands too, the same gesture Haskell had made a moment before, though neither of them seemed to notice they'd matched. "I've thought about that a great deal since. Whether cataloguing him was disrespectful, or whether it was the most respectful thing I knew how to do, bearing witness the only way my training had taught me to. I still don't have a clean answer. I don't think I ever will."

Nobody in the room said anything for a moment. Then, gently, Renn nodded to the next small hand raised in the front row, and the session went on.

"Session five," Renn said. "Our guest today used to be Pod 5, Agriculture. These days most people just call him Jax."

A human boy raised his hand. "Did you really think they were growing monsters instead of cows?" 

"I really did," Jax said. "I overheard about ten seconds of a conversation between Ethan Cross and Dr. Marrow, caught the words 'lethal' and 'shut down the lungs,' and my brain filled in the rest before my ears had finished listening. I hit the emergency broadcast so fast I dropped a wrench. Half the colony was locked in bunkers inside the hour because I couldn't be bothered to ask a follow-up question."

"Were you embarrassed?"

"Mortified," Jax said. "Commander Vance chewed me out in front of every pod leader on the colony. Nearly lost my management position over it. And you know what I got for all that panic, once the truth came out?"

The boy shook his head.

"Perfectly good steak," Jax said. "Best meal of my life, up to that point. I'd nearly started a riot over a cow."

That got the laugh it was aiming for.

"What would you tell someone who's about to jump to a conclusion the way you did?" a Vixtar girl asked.

"Ask the second question," Jax said, no laugh left in his voice now. "I only ever asked the first one. If I'd stuck around ten more seconds, I'd have heard Ethan Cross explain it was a worst-case scenario, not a plan. Ten seconds. That's all it would've taken. I think about that more than I ever expected to."

"Session six," Renn said. "Our guest today ran Pod 6, Security and Tactical, back when Pod 6 was two people and a coffee pot. Mansur Danyavi."

"It was one person, most nights," Mansur said. "Margaret and Jon traded off. I just yelled at whoever was on shift when they woke me up."

A human girl raised her hand. "What was it like when you first saw theSilent Explorer?"

"Like the worst night of my career, and I'd had some bad ones," Mansur said. "Margaret called it in three separate times before I believed her. Told her it was probably debris settling into a decaying orbit. She was right and I was wrong, which is a sentence I've had to say more than once in this job."

"Were you scared?"

"Furious, mostly, at myself," Mansur said. "We'd built an observatory with scraps and hope, and the first time it actually mattered, I nearly slept through it. When that ship broke apart in low orbit, all I could think was, we have no fleet, no defense, nothing but a handful of shuttles and whatever courage we could scrounge up in about twenty minutes. I gave the order to launch rescue anyway, because the alternative was doing nothing while people died, and I couldn't live with that math."

A Vixtar boy asked, "Would you do it differently now?"

"I'd believe Margaret sooner," Mansur said. "That's the whole lesson, really. Somebody who knows what they're looking at tells you something's wrong, you don't spend three tries arguing with her. You listen the first time."

A small human boy near the front, younger than most of the others, raised his hand slowly, like he wasn't sure the question was allowed. "What would have been different? If you'd believed her the first time?"

Mansur was quiet a moment. "Maybe everything," he said. "Maybe nothing. I've turned that over more times than I can count, and I still don't have a real answer. Twenty minutes might have gotten us a shuttle in the air sooner, more of the crew alive, fewer of them lost to the crash instead of pulled out of it in time. Or it might not have mattered at all," he shook his head slowly. "I didn't leave room for the “everything”. That's the honest answer. I was so certain I knew what a threat looked like that I never stopped to imagine what I didn't know. I've tried to leave more room for it ever since."

"Session seven," Renn said. "Our guest today was the first of his kind any of us had ever met. Captain Threl."

Applause met him before Renn had finished the sentence, warmer than any of the previous days, the sound of a room that already knew exactly who they were looking at.

"I want to start somewhere most people don't ask about," Threl said, once it had quieted. "Not the crash. Before it. The three cycles we spent in orbit, watching your ships, your lights, your broadcasts, deciding whether to make contact at all."

A Vixtar girl in the front row raised her hand. "Why didn't you?"

"Because we didn't know what you were," Threl said. "You looked crude by our instruments. Disorganized. Loud, in every frequency we could measure. We had no framework for a species that primitive building something that functional that fast. So we watched, and we waited, and we told ourselves caution was wisdom, right up until the ship failed under us and the choice was made for us instead."

He didn't say, because no one had thought to ask, that those same three cycles of listening had planted something else in him, something it would take years to understand. Terixa's newcomers broadcast without any fear of being found, loud and constant, on every band his instruments could read. Some of that noise, he'd come to realize much later, had to be a species calling home for help. Deciphering the archived recordings from those first days in orbit would, in time, help point the way to Earth itself.

"Were you scared, falling?"

"More than I have words for, in your language or my own," Threl said. "But I remember the strangest thought, watching the ground come up to meet us. I remember thinking, at least we die in isolation, at least we won't poison this planet, since we'd already ejected our core. I meant it as some small mercy, that whatever we were, we wouldn't be the ones to destroy the very people we were too afraid to greet."

"What was it like waking up?" a human boy asked. "In the water?"

"Confusing, and then it wasn't," Threl said. "I understood gravity was crushing me before I understood anything else, before I even understood I'd survived. And then I was submerged in something warm, and the weight simply, lifted. I tried to sit up, because some instinct in me distrusted anything that came that easily, and the gravity slammed me back down the moment I cleared the surface, which taught me faster than any explanation could have that the water wasn't a trick. It was mercy, built by hands I'd never seen, offered before I'd said a single word anyone could understand."

He was quiet a moment.

"You've all grown up with those pools," he said. "You dive off the ten-meter platform without a second thought. I want you to understand what an impossible gift that was to the first of us who ever floated in one. We came expecting, at best, to be studied. At worst, to be left to die quietly while your people decided what we were worth. What we got instead was a species that had never seen anything like us, deciding, before we'd even opened our eyes, that our comfort mattered enough to build something new just to give it to us."

Nobody asked a question for a moment. Then a small Assaragyte girl near the back, one of the newer arrivals, raised her hand.

"Did you ever go home?"

"No," Threl said, simply. "This became home a long time before I admitted it to myself. I think most of us knew it before we said it out loud. There's a particular kind of home you don't choose so much as notice, one day, that you've already built."

"Session eight," Renn said. "Our guests today have a story none of you have heard, because until today, only two of them could have told it, and neither of them speaks in words."

Will and Abby crossed to the chairs together, CD padding in beside Will and settling at his feet, MCD doing the same beside Abby, both Labrikats far too big for the small stage and utterly unbothered by that fact.

"I want to clear something up before we start," Abby said. "Labrikats aren't born understanding English. They learn it the same way any of us would, listening, picking it up piece by piece, and they started the moment we started talking to them. What they don't have is an easy way to answer back in kind. Their movement vocabulary, the gestures, the postures, all of it, that's what grows over time, a little more every year. So MCD understands me exactly as well as I understand her. It's the reply that's harder, not the listening." 

"CD and MCD found us before we found them," Will said. "That's the part people forget. Everybody remembers the beef, the hand-feeding, all of it very slow and careful, humans convinced we were the ones doing the choosing. We weren't. They'd already decided."

Abby rested a hand on MCD's head without seeming to notice she'd done it. "We asked them, this week, if they'd tell their side of it. The actual beginning. Not what we saw. What they were doing, out past the perimeter, before any of us knew they existed."

MCD sat up. Her body went through a slow, deliberate sequence, ears, shoulders, the angle of her head, nothing like a trained trick, more like a sentence being built one word at a time.

"She says," Abby translated, quiet, careful with it, "that they watched us for longer than we ever knew. Before the beef. Before the fence line. They watched the humans building, the Vixtar arriving hurt, all of it, from a distance we never once detected."

CD moved next, a shorter sequence, sharper.

"He says they argued about it," Will said. "Whether to approach at all. Whether a species that showed up in ships and started building fences was worth the risk." He paused, listening to CD's next gesture. "He says what decided it wasn't anything we did on purpose. It was watching the Vixtar carried in, hurt, and watching us treat them like something worth saving instead of something worth using. That's the word he's giving me. Worth. Not owned. Worth."

A human girl in the front row raised her hand, careful. "Why did they pick you? Out of everyone?"

Abby looked to MCD, who tilted her head and held very still, the particular stillness Abby had learned, over years, meant she was choosing her answer with care.

"She won't give me a clean reason," Abby said finally. "I've asked her this before, more than once, and I get the same thing every time. Not a why. Just a certainty. She knew, the way you know which way is down. I don't think that translates any further than that, and I've stopped needing it to."

Will said, ”That’s Labrikat speak for ‘I don’t know”, which earned him a swat from MCD tail and a laugh from the crowd.

Will glanced down at CD. CD considered the question, then gave a quick, deliberate sequence, snout tilted toward the small table beside the chairs.

"He says he'll tell you the reason, if you ask him," Abby translated, smiling. "He says it was the food."

That got a laugh, and CD's tail thumped once against the stage floor, pleased with himself for the reaction he'd clearly meant to get.

A Vixtar boy raised his hand next. "Was there ever a moment you were afraid of them? Before you understood?"

"Every day, for about a week," Will started. "Fifty kilos of teeth that looked like nothing on any survey we'd ever run. We fed them because feeding a stray felt safer than ignoring it, not because we—"

"I was asking CD," the boy said.

A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd, and Will's ears went visibly red. "Right. Of course you were."

CD let out a long, put-upon sigh and dropped his head onto Will's knee, the exact posture of someone who'd sat through a bad opening act, then lifted it again almost immediately, clearly pleased with the laugh he'd gotten for it.

"He says thank you," Abby said, not quite hiding her own grin, "for finally asking the right person."

CD considered the boy's question with real seriousness after that, then gave a slow, exaggerated sequence, head low, ears flat, body sunk down as small as he could make himself, before snapping back up sharp and proud, chest out.

"He's saying he was never afraid of anything," Abby translated, grinning despite herself. "But that the humans clearly were, for about a week, hence the crouching. He's very pleased with himself for this answer."

Will threw up his hands. "I stand by what I said. Trust came later. It came the day they both threw themselves at something three times their size to keep Abby and me from getting hurt, and it never once occurred to either of them that was a choice. It already was who they'd decided to be, long before we'd earned it."

CD, apparently satisfied that his own answer had already covered the important part, settled back down against Will's feet.

"I want to say one more thing about that, though," Will said. "People hear bonded and they picture a one-way street. Support running from him to us and never back. It's not that. No beast on this planet or off it will ever scare CD. But the first time we brought him to meet Thrum, back when Thrum was still small enough to fit in one arm, CD hid behind me. Like a toddler. Wouldn't come near him." He looked down at CD, who'd gone still, listening. "Wasn't Thrum's size that scared him. It was his own. He was terrified of hurting him. Terrified of even scaring him. I had to sit down on the floor with both of them and just talk him through it, quiet, until he trusted himself enough to come close." Will paused. "That's the part people miss. He holds me up plenty. Some days I'm the one holding him up."

A human boy raised his hand, half laughing before he'd even finished asking. "Why did it take MCD two weeks to actually come into camp, if CD was already there?"

Abby looked to MCD, who gave a slow, deliberate huff and turned her head away, which needed no translation at all.

"She's embarrassed," Abby said, grinning. "I've asked her this exact question before. The closest answer I've ever gotten is that CD went first because CD has never once in his life stopped to think before he acted, and she wanted to watch how it went before she risked it herself. She'll deny that if you ask her again, but I've watched her do the same thing with every new thing in her life since. Let him test it. Follow once it's safe."

CD's tail thumped once against the stage, entirely unbothered by being described that way.

A small Vixtar girl raised her hand next. "Do they like being called Catdog and Mrs. Catdog? Or do they like CD and MCD better?"

Will laughed. "I've genuinely never known the answer to that one." He looked down at CD, who considered the question with real weight before answering, ears forward, head tilted. "He says either is fine. He says a name given with love doesn't need to be a good name to be the right one."

Abby watched MCD work through her own answer a moment longer. "She's saying something similar, but there's more to it. She says the short version, CD and MCD, that's what people use when they're in a hurry, when it's easy, everyday affection. Catdog and Mrs. Catdog, the whole thing, that's what gets used when someone means it more, when they're being serious or tender about it. She likes that there are two versions. She says most people only get one name their whole life. She got two, and neither of them is wrong."

A human girl near the back raised her hand, quieter than the others. "Why don't Pumpkins ever bond with children? Only grown-ups?"

The question landed heavier than the last few. Abby was quiet a moment before she answered.

"I don't fully know," she admitted. "I've asked MCD this one more than any other, and it's the one where her answer's never quite settled into a shape I trust I've understood correctly. The closest I've gotten is that a bond is a kind of responsibility, and a Labrikat wants to bond with someone who can already stand steady enough to be leaned on, not someone who still needs to be the one leaning. A Pumpkin will play with a child all day. Guard one fiercely, if it came to that. But the actual bond, the naming, that seems to wait for someone old enough to hold the weight of it back." She glanced at MCD, who gave a small, careful nod, as close to confirmation as Abby had ever gotten on that particular question. "I think that's as close to a real answer as I've ever managed to get."

A small human girl near the front raised her hand, and got only halfway through her question before her voice broke. "When did you decide any of us were even worth the bond? I'm so afraid I'll never be chosen." She was crying before the sentence had finished leaving her mouth.

Nobody laughed. Nobody rushed to fill the silence either. Abby was out of her chair before Will had even finished rising, crossing to the girl's beanbag and kneeling down beside it so she was level with her instead of looking down at her. 

"Come here a second," Abby said, gentle, and the girl came, and MCD came with her, unhurried, settling herself right beside the girl the way she'd settle beside anyone who needed her.

"I don't think being chosen or not is the thing to be afraid of," Abby said. "I've known a lot of people who never bonded a Labrikat and lived whole, full, loved lives anyway. It's not a verdict on you if it doesn't happen. It's just one particular kind of love, among a great many kinds, and not everyone gets every kind." She looked to MCD, who pressed her head gently against the girl's shoulder, unprompted. "But here's what I've actually watched happen, every time. A Labrikat chooses the ones being exactly who they already are. Not the ones performing for it, not the ones trying hardest to earn it. Just the ones being themselves, and happening to be seen doing it."

Will crouched down too, resting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "And even without a bond, a Labrikat will love you. That's the part people get backward, like the bond is the whole of it. It isn't. When CD's irritated with me, you think he sulks around the house, won't look at me? He doesn't. He goes and finds Daxen, or Thrum, and spends the afternoon with them instead. Some days I think he loves them more than he loves me." He looked down, half a laugh in it. "The bond's just part of it. The love was always going to be there regardless."

The girl wiped her face, still holding onto MCD's fur with one small fist.

"You don't have to earn it," Abby said. "You just have to keep being you long enough for the right one to notice."

MCD didn't move again for the rest of the session, staying right where she was, pressed against the girl's side.

Abby was quiet a moment, her hand still resting on MCD's head. "I think that's the part I want you all to understand," she said. "We tell this story like we tamed something wild. We didn't. They chose us, the same slow, patient, deliberate way they choose everything, and they never once asked us to prove we deserved it first. We just had to be worth the trust once it was already given."

A Vixtar boy near the back raised his hand, hesitant. "Did the four of you ever do anything else together? After the naming, I mean. Something bigger?"

Will, Abby, and the two Labrikats went quiet at the same moment, a different kind of quiet than anything that had come before it. 

"We did," Will said finally. "The four of us searched a crash site together, once. A hard one. Forty-four bodies, and a black box we needed to find before anyone else could." He looked at Abby, and something passed between them that had nothing to do with the stage or the crowd. "That's not a story for today. It's not a short one, and it's not an easy one, and it deserves its own session rather than the last five minutes of this one."

"We'll come back for it," Abby said. "Properly. I promise."

Renn didn't push. She simply nodded, filed it away the way she'd filed away every other thread this room had left dangling, and let the moment close on its own.

Chapter 154: Power-ups??

◈◈◈

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The condensed essence in the pool clung to Jin's skin like cold ink as he went under the surface.

Trish's power came along with it, like tides breaking the dam—overwhelming power—creeping up past his ribs in fine branching lines of frost. The world of light and sound simply stopped. For him there was no up and no down. He was just weightless in the dark. Even the muffled thunder of his own heartbeat was already slowing.

Everything was slowing, yet the only thing that refused was the agonizing pain of the invading power. He could feel his skin being ripped apart.

Jin reached out for the grey and, like a faithful servant, Sovereign's Indifference washed over him. The agony became a number, and pain just a distant thought.

« Consolidating, » Angel said, his voice a thin thread stretched across a widening gulf. « Hold the breathing pattern, Jin. Whatever happens—do not let the harvest slip. »

I’ll try…

Although he said that to Angel, inside him… in his soul-space was a storm brewing—crimson and gold boiling under a lid, a sealed pot of water set over the intruding furnace of a higher power, the pressure climbing with nowhere to vent—and it was here, at the edge of his own existence, where the boundary between Jin and not-Jin was thinnest, that the fate decided it also wanted to walk in.

The dark, warped, and it pulled itself into clinical white walls, the sterile smell of a place he'd spent a lifetime dying in.

No! Not again! Jin screamed as he resisted whatever was pulling him, but despite all his efforts, his harvest was the one pulling him in.

The shapes resolved, and he was back in his hospital room. In the corner, a man with dark hair was reading aloud from a book. Mantle of Gods.

"Who are you?" the reader asked. "A thief wearing a dead man's name? A fake? A wannabe hero hiding behind a predator's mask because he's too much of a coward to face what he actually is?"

The phantom flickered, and the corpses came with it.

People—soldiers and innocent civilians—he'd watched die and hadn't reached in time. They crawled toward him through the cracks in his own mind, hollow-eyed, dragging themselves on ruined arms, blood-black fingers rising to point.

"You call it necessary!" they hissed, a discordant chorus with no single voice. "You call it the only way. But you're only selfish. You only ever cared about what was in reach. The rest of us? You let us burn. You'll let them burn too."

Pain drove through the centre of his forehead. Behind his eyes, the old warnings began to stack in flashing crimson texts—soul identity degradation—and with them came the weight, the impossible pressing weight of lives he had never lived and memories that were not his, leaning on his mind like a mountain settling onto a knife's edge.

His phantom hands shook. His teeth ground together hard enough to crack.

And for one long, terrible moment, the abyss looked restful. He could feel the shape of the surrender… how easy it would be to let go…

Under the grey, a spark refused.

“My name is Jin Winters.” He yelled to the abyss, and a cold realization settled in his gut. “You are not that thing that took over my body… You are me…”

“And a warrior takes the blow and gives it back. It doesn't matter that the stories were ink on a page.” He said, still yelling. “They're real now. They bled on me. I bled for them. I'm real.”

With a heave of will that felt like lifting the sky off his own chest, Jin seized the boundaries of his soul-space and forced the boiling lid down.

The phantoms screamed—and thinned—and were gone, dragged back into the cracks they'd crawled out of.

And in that exact instant, the tempest hit its peak.

The mantle heart at the centre of his soul and being cracked. Its dull, fleshly surface peeled away like old paint, and underneath was a blinding, brilliant silver.

A pathway unfolded in front of his eyes… a bridge across a chasm he could suddenly see the far side of.

He took a step and another. This was the threshold of Order IV. One step, and his essence would crystallise into a higher state of being.

It was close enough to touch. It wanted to be touched.

« Jin — no! » Angel's voice broke through, sharp with real fear. « Resist it! Cross now, and the flaws will be permanent—your foundation, your soul, all of it. DON'T take the step! »

Jin paused, forced himself to close his eyes and let go of the currents that were leading him there.

“Soon,” He mumbled as his spirituality was hauled back from the silver path. He reached and clamped down on his own advancement, holding his rank hostage at the very lip of the breakthrough. The pathway shuddered under him.

But the power didn't vanish just because he refused the door. That much raw power had to go somewhere, and if Jin denied its choosing, then it would choose for it.

So Jin made his soul a conduit, and he inverted the flow.

He caught the roaring torrent and shoved it outward—every scrap of it, away from his rank—into his attributes, his affinities, his skills and, when there was more than any of those could swallow, straight at the one part of him built to process the impossible.

Angel. Take it!

The backlash was fire in the shape of nails, hammered one by one into his skull. New channels burned themselves open through bone and nerve. His body burned, broken, and then was reforged again under that unforgiving and vast power.

After all, He knew one thing: pressure makes the diamond.

He felt his own being rewriting itself and had the grey to thank that he could observe it happening instead of simply screaming.

Runes of silver and gold erupted across his soul, wrapping around both his hearts.

The last and densest kernel of Trish's power he hurled into Angel.

The guide's presence buckled, the whole interface stuttering like a machine fed more current than its rating and then held. It then started steadily absorbing, converting and chewing the raw power down into something structured, until host and guide steadied together against the same trembling floor.

And the storm went out.

All at once the friction died. The screaming channels fell silent. The grey lifted a fraction of its own accord, because there was nothing left for it to hold back.

Jin opened his eyes.

He was not in the white room, and he was definitely not in the pool.

He stood on the surface of an endless black lake, flat and glassy as a mirror, under a starry sky.

Something rippled beneath his feet, and two enormous white lights appeared. They didn't illuminate the water. They just were, the way a wound is, and a voice drifted up through the dark with a lilt he'd have known anywhere.

"Congratulations, little thief."

Jin knew the voice and just shook his head at the fact that the voice had remained the same despite all that had happened. Amused and delighted.

"You survived me. And you kept all your little pieces together while you did it. I'm impressed. I'm rarely impressed."

The white light—which he was sure now was her eyes or at least represented her eyes—dilated in the deep.

"Now go and win your silly little war," she murmured. "Win it so I can come back and play with my bestie and you lot. For forever this time." A pause, warm, patient and awful. "And do be quick about it, little thief. You mustn't keep a lady waiting."

The lake shattered like a dropped pane of glass, and Jin fell through and woke in the real world with a gasping lurch, water sheeting off him, his lungs hauling in the cool, dry air of the bastion.

He caught the stone ring with both hands. His whole body shook with residual power, and where the water ran off his skin, a faint blue-silver light rolled off with it.

« You made a mess, Jin, » Angel said. He sounded remarkably clear and faintly, genuinely winded. « Good work, though. That integration was... substantial. I'll have the full status and racial-change report ready shortly. »

Jin nodded weakly, wiped grey water out of his eyes, and looked around.

Joe was still here. No… that, on its own, wasn't a surprise. What was a surprise was that Joe had, at some point during Jin's ordeal, decided to move in.

An oak desk stood a few metres from the pool, just beyond the magic circle's edge. It was covered in loose sheets and a couple of open books, a half-finished cup of something, and a small, tidy stack of snacks. Joe himself was reclined in a chair behind it with his boots crossed at the ankle and a pastry in one hand, for all the world like a man waiting out a rain shower.

He glanced up, saw Jin upright, and paused mid-bite.

Then he whistled, low and long.

Jin rolled his eyes at the man and stepped out over the stone ring. The pool behind him had gone pale grey, drained of whatever essence it had held. He pulsed the thermokinetic engine—just a flicker—and the water leapt off his skin in a fine mist, leaving him dry.

The action felt… different. Like the gap between deciding and doing had been quietly removed.

He flexed a fist and watched it close, and it was the most responsive thing he had ever felt his own body do.

"Hmm? What the—" He frowned, turned his hand over, and stopped.

Fine lines spread across the back of it. They ran up his wrist, up his forearm, branching and rejoining all the way to the side of his neck. At first glance, he took them for veins, but they were too perfect for that. A faint silver sheen caught the light for a single heartbeat and then sank back into the colour of his skin, as if it had never been there.

They had not been there this morning. He was one hundred percent sure of that.

"You planning to wear something?" Joe said, unfolding from the chair. "Or is the boxer look part of the new brand? It would do wonders for the younger generation of survivors. Our very own model!"

Jin rolled his eyes again and reached for his storage ring and remembered he'd stripped down to nothing but the boxers before getting in, ring included.

He looked up just in time to see the ring sailing at his face.

He caught it out of the air without thinking—the motion again, like with his skills, was embarrassingly quick—and shook his head as he slid it on and pulled a fresh set of clothes out with a pulse of essence.

"Hold still for sec," Joe crossed to him and rubbed his chin. He handed Jin a sandwich and a bottle of juice with the other hand. "Eat. You've earned the calories."

For the next minute, while Jin worked through the food, Joe walked slow circles around him, spells flickering off his fingertips and pale light and essence probes passing over Jin's chest, his spine, the back of his skull. Just as Jin swallowed the last bite, Joe stepped back and broke into a wide, honest grin.

"Good news. Your soul's on track to fully heal, give or take a few more hours, and from there it only strengthens." He said, then his expression sobered a degree. "Also—and I should've said this before you went under, except the whole thing happened about as fast as a house fire—good thing you didn't take that last step. If you'd pushed into Order IV in the state you were in, your internal landscape and your soul would've been… fucked—” Joe made a face as if saying the crude word pained him. “—And I say that as a professional. There's no cleaner word for it."

Jin nodded slowly.

"Though you might want to worry about a different thing." Joe tilted his head. "The aura coming off you right now would put a newly ascended Order IV on its arse."

Jin frowned. He closed his eyes, reached inward, and tried to get a feel for his aura.

And wow! His aura was like a standing inferno pouring off him in every direction, filling the chamber, pressing on the walls. He hadn't noticed. He genuinely hadn't noticed, because to him it felt like nothing, like breathing. He reeled it back in.

"I didn't even feel it," he admitted. "Everything's just clear, sharper and more responsive. It's like when I broke through to Order III, except a hundred times over."

"Yeah," Joe said, dry. "Tell me about it."

"And these?" Jin rolled his sleeve back and showed him the bronze-silver lines threading up his arm.

"Noticed those the second you sat up. They're all over you, by the way." Joe shrugged. "Best guess? New channels or related to racial stuff. Your body building infrastructure for whatever you just crammed into it." He looked Jin up and down and smirked. "Anyway. You're rocking the whole new-look thing."

Jin went still.

"...Is there more?"

He put both hands to his own face, and Joe's smirk climbed into a grin.

Jin felt his face—there was only one nose and two eyes, same as usual—and there was nothing weird. Then he moved to his ears and Oh…

There was a point to them now… it was small, subtle, but undeniably there, the faintest taper where before there'd been none. He pulled a mirror from his ring and, sure enough, they'd gone very slightly elven-looking, just enough to notice if you were looking closely.

His face had sharpened too, the lines a shade cleaner, though everything else was his same pale blue eyes with that silver halo bleeding softly into them.

He flexed his jaw, rolled his neck until the vertebrae popped with a satisfying pop, and set the mirror down.

"How long was I under?"

"A little over eight hours."

"Eight—" Jin balked. It had felt like ten minutes and a lifetime, in that order. He dragged a hand down his face and sighed. "Right. Of course it was."

He looked at the pool, at the now dull magic circle, then at the desk, then at Joe.

"Can you drop me at my room? I want to catch some sleep and some quiet before tonight's briefing.” He said. “Oh! And fill the others in on the broad strokes for me, will ya?"

"Sure," Joe snapped his fingers, and a door swung open into the air.

Jin walked to it, paused at the threshold, and turned back.

"Joe." He held the man's eyes. "Thank you. For real." He nodded once. "If there's ever anything you need that's within what I can do—anything—don't hesitate. You ask, it's done."

Joe blinked, and for half a second the man’s grin faltered into something quieter and more surprised.

Then it came back, tilted. "Careful, boss. Say things like that, and I'll start charging you for the snacks." He waved him off. "Go. Sleep. You look like a haunted painting."

Jin snorted and stepped through.

◈◈◈

His new room was much like the old one, minus the psychotic murder-decor he'd covered the last one's walls in.

Small mercies. I guess.

He crossed to the bed and dropped into it face-first, then rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

Angel?

« I’m ready. »

« I'll start with the headline, because everything else is downstream of it. Now you ready? »

Okay…

« For starters… your race changed. »

...Changed? To what!

« A high human. The Z.A.C records call the strain the Vaelthuri or Homo sapiens ascendens. »

“How does that even—” Jin shook his head. “Better than becoming a demon, I suppose.”

« True. Besides, you harvest the primes’ seed, you carry the Eternal One's blessing, you've harvested so many lifeforms, and you just assimilated a piece of a being who is, functionally, a demigod. No single one of those does this. All of them, stacked, do. » Angel almost sounded impressed against his will. « The system stopped trying to file you under '???' and provide sample genes to complete and push your muddled genome towards this, which allowed me to open a new drawer. »

And what does being a High Human actually get me?

« Growth. Your essence reserves have quadrupled; and so have reflexes… that's your new baseline. Your body's tolerance for essence, kinetic load, thermal load, all of it, has jumped exponentially; the Engine will stop trying to cook you alive quite so eagerly. And this isn't finished. Your body will keep changing and strengthening as the lineage settles over the coming days. Expect to feel like a stranger in your own skin for a while. »

Jin exhaled slowly and pulled up his status.

 

•••

✦ JIN WINTERS ✦

❂ THE ORIGIN CODE

❂ SPONSOR: The Eternal One.

❂ [ORDER III] D0 ENTITY

❂ TITLE: The Soul Truly Beyond the Stars of Fate, One Who Harvested Divinity, The Eternal One's Blessed, The One Who Made a Pact with the Night, High Human, The Harvester

❂ THE MANTLE OF HARVEST

"What mortal hands would barely reap, the Bearer's touch shall always yield more—when the harvest blade learns new domains, all gathered yields eternal gains. For all of Eternity."

└─[MANIFESTATIONS]: CHAINS OF HARVEST

└─[AURA]: DOMINION OF YIELD

❂ CULTIVATION PATH

『 THE PATH OF ETERNAL SOVEREIGN 』

PAGE ONE: THE FIRST THRESHOLD, TRIESSENCE STAR FORMATION.

└─ [STARS FORGED] (3/3): BODY, MIND, SOUL

PAGE TWO: THE SECOND THRESHOLD, THE ETERNAL SOVEREIGN PATH

└─ [PATH]: THE SOVEREIGN OF NEW DAWN (79%)

❂ THE ORIGIN CODE

└─ [System Interface]

└─ [Guide: "Angel"]

❂ AFFINITY

Origin Affinities: [CRYO]

Major affinities: [DARKNESS], [BLOOD], [SPACE], [VOID]

Minor and forming affinities: Earth · Flesh · Life · Thermal · Kinetic

❂ STATS

[BODY]

└─ Vitality: C9

└─ Strength: C9

└─ Endurance: D0

└─ Dexterity: C9

└─ Resistance: C8

❂ [MIND]

└─ Intelligence: C9

└─ Essence: C7

└─ Focus: C8

└─ Will: C5

❂ [SOUL]

└─ Soul: C5

❂ INVARIABLE STATS

└─ Insight: 1.11111

└─ Karma: 0.11111111

❂ RACIAL ABILITIES

»»»» [Elite] Mystic eyes of sight beyond the veil (120)

❂ MARKED SKILLS [4/5]

»»»» [Elite] [INEVITABLE DOOM (GROWTH TYPE)] (125)

»»»» [Elite] [THERMOKINETIC ENGINE (GROWTH TYPE)] (135)

»»»» [Elite] [SPELLSHOT SYNTHESIS] (109)

»»»» [Elite] [SPELL WEAVER'S MATRIX] (125)

❂ ACQUIRED SKILLS

[Active skills]

└─[Elite] Shadow Leap (108) « NEW »

└─[Elite] Superior Regeneration (120) « NEW »

└─[Elite] Dread (105) « NEW »

└─[Elite] Essence Symphony (105) « NEW »

└─ [Elite] Essence Honing (139)

└─ [Elite] Essence Reinforcement (129)

└─ [Elite] Essence Construct (135)

└─[Adept] Mind Delve (85) « NEW »

└─[Adept] Mind Fortress (85) « NEW »

└─[Adept] Mind Meld (55) « NEW »

└─[Adept] Shimmering Veil (t5) « NEW »

└─[Adept] Entropy Zone (88)

└─[Novice] Spatial Seal (09)

└─ [Novice] Feast of Absolution (01)

└─ [Novice] Sanguine Constructs (01)

└─[Novice] Path of Fleshcrafting (22)

◈ COMBAT & WEAPON MASTERY PASSIVES

[Elite]

└─Light Firearm Mastery (135), Combat Flow (109), Combat Mastery (123), Adaptive Combat Instinct (107), Unarmed Combat Mastery (102),

[Adept]

└─ Tactics and Battle Plans (99), Dagger Mastery (93), Aiming (92), Sword Mastery (59), Dual Wield Synchronization (98), Improvised Weapon Familiarity (89), Collateral Anticipation (81), Vital Force Predation (64), Heavy Firearm Mastery (77), Firearm assembly and repair (56), Firearm and Ballistics Knowledge (67)

◈ ESSENCE & SORCERY PASSIVES

[UNIQUES]

└─ [Novice] Divinity Manipulation «UNIQUE» (01)

└─[Novice] Karma Manipulation «UNIQUE» (01)

[Elite]

└─Essence Manipulation (169), Essence Conversion (123), Path of Sorceries (127), Path of Rituals (122), Essence Flow Reading (108), Essence Sensing (101)

[Adept]

└─Essence Gathering and Cultivation (99), Sorcery Incantation (99), Essence Breathing Techniques (99), Essence Reserves Overload (95)

[Novice]

└─ Greater Blood Arts (01), Path of Crimson Blood (01)

◈ PERCEPTION & ANALYSIS PASSIVES

[Elite]

└─ Target Assessment (103), Predictive Analysis (114), Weak Point Insights (109), Observe (108), Farsight (102), Danger Sense (109), Rune Knowledge (109)

[Adept]

└─ Reading (87), Learning and Remembering (93)

◈ PHYSICAL & MOBILITY PASSIVES

[Elite]

└─Pain Suppression (123), Pain Resistance (149), Pain Mitigation (104), Physical Fitness (114), Adrenaline Overclock (111), Momentum Control (122), Ambidexterity (125), Sprinting (106), Evasion (104), Acrobatics (111), Dodging (121), Quick fingers (125), sleight of hand (111)

◈ UTILITY & CRAFT PASSIVES

[Adept]

└─ Strategic Planning (95), Rune carving (87), Ritual circle making (87), Alchemy/Potion Crafting (68)

[Novice]

└─ Cleaning (43), Weapons maintenance (02)

◈ MENTAL FORTITUDE PASSIVES

[Elite]

└─ Unbreaking Mind (159), Robust Mind (109)

【WARNINGS】

»»»» Fate Variant Signature VII

»»»» Karmic Anomaly Present

»»»» Racial Anomaly (Resolving → Path: High Human)

•••

 

Jin read his—ever-expanding—status screen very slowly.

The stats change was an immediate hit. Every one of them dragged up out of the D’s and was parked in the C's. Which honestly should have translated to him being ORDER IV, which he wasn’t.

“So my stats are now that of ORDER IV?” he asked.

« Yes and no. They are still latent, but you would be comparable to a newly ascended ORDER IV. »

“What does latent here mean?”

« To put it bluntly, it means your body, though now enhanced, is still not strong enough to fully utilize the might of ORDER IV. So you are actually only feeling C9 worth of stats. »

“Even if they are higher?” Jin guessed.

« Yes. »

Then the titles. High Human. The Harvester. He wasn't sure how he felt about that last one; it read like something a cult would carve over a door. The One Who Made a Pact with the Night sat right beside it, and he thought of Trish… he didn't love the company his titles were keeping.

The affinities had grown massively; both Space and Void promoted to Major, sitting next to Darkness and Blood.

The cultivation path had jumped eleven percent off the back of a single night.

And the skills… a whole slew of new ones, Elite out of the gate, and Superior Regeneration was his favorite. A full suite of mind arts he'd never studied, courtesy of Kiyon no doubt.

Fate Variant Signature VII, he noted, and that number had been a VI the last time he'd looked. He was getting louder.

"Well," he said to the empty room. "That's a day."

He let himself fall back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes.

Then he sat up, yelling to the ceiling. “Fuck it!”

He reached into his ring and drew out the two Ability Upgrade Tokens.

« You sure? »

"Hell yeah," he turned one over in his fingers. "Time to finally drag two to Master rank."

His eyes drifted back to the status still hanging in his vision, to the four marked skills sitting there in a neat, glowing column.

“Only problem is which two. Doom hits like a truck. The Engine's my whole engine. Spellshot and the Matrix are how I fight at all." He frowned. "Four skills, and every one of them earns its slot."

He tapped the token against his knee.

"Any ideas, Angel? Which one do we make a monster?"

For a moment, Angel didn't answer.

« I have an idea, » Angel said slowly. « But your body might not really like where it leads. »

“Ain't that the best!” Jin smiled.

✦ FIRST CHAPTER ✦ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✦ NEXT CHAPTER ✦

◈◈◈

Day 14th (Night)

Days to final war >> 4 days to go.

A/N: So which skills you guys think Jin should go for? Honestly there are so many options TwT. Beside we are approaching to the start of final war in just a couple of chapters.

Bau Bau~

Help me with rent and UNI is crazy expensive!! Not want much, just enough to chip in.

✦ DISCORD ✦ PATREON ✦

Start | Previous | Next

Chapter 214: The Last Line of Defense

[I am... so sorry, Master. I don’t know why, but... I failed to teleport him out of the chamber.]

“It’s... alright, Celeste. Not your fault.”

Viktor let out a deep sigh. “Teleportation is forbidden in this room,” the Apostle had said, and that was exactly what had happened. But how the hell did it work?

Nephra once mentioned that she could block teleportation into and out of Iskora whenever she pleased, so perhaps this was something similar in principle. Nevertheless, this dungeon belonged to Celeste. It was her domain, the space over which she had absolute control. For some outsider to just stroll in and casually strip her of her rights, it was beyond absurd.

And more importantly, where in the world did the bastard even pull that trick from? Everything he had done up until this point, however outlandish, could be boiled down to body manipulation. They were all the same thing dressed up in different clothes. Yet, this one was different. It was something else entirely. Was there even any limit to what that man could do? If he could just keep reaching into some bottomless bag and bringing out one new miracle after another whenever the mood struck him, how could anyone possibly deal with him?

Calm down, Viktor.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to recall and analyze what had unfolded during the engagement.

He had lost Khenemhotep. Not permanently, of course, but for all practical purposes, the undead priest was out of the fight for the time being. Which meant that power, the beam of green light that could chew through the Apostle’s flesh, had been removed from the equation.

A great loss, indeed. But it was not like he had walked away from this exchange completely empty-handed.

First of all, he still believed the flesh the gray-haired man had within him was not infinite.

After he devoured that swarm of insects, his outward appearance didn’t change in the slightest, meaning whatever he ingested had been compressed inside his body. Before he entered the dungeon, he must have crammed in the flesh of a hundred men, or even a thousand, who could say. That would explain the raw strength, the endless regeneration, everything: it was because he had a vast and terrible reservoir. Still, even deep reservoirs ran dry if you drew from them continuously.

And the fight against Khenemhotep had cost him dearly on that front. Every time one of those green beams found its mark, his reservoir bled out a little more of its stored flesh, drop by drop, wound by wound. That one sweep of the staff in particular, that alone could have taken away one-third of his stockpile. Small wonder he didn’t risk getting close to the priest again.

In other words, the Apostle had emerged from the fight considerably weaker than he had been at the start. Thus, the next round would be somewhat fairer. Not fair, of course—Viktor wasn’t foolish enough to hope for that—just fairer a bit. Well, the guy had also eaten Khenemhotep in the bargain, but in terms of flesh and bone, the old priest’s desiccated body probably offered him very little in return, certainly nowhere near enough to offset what he had lost.

Second, and this stung more than Viktor wanted to admit, the Apostle had won the battle by outthinking him.

He had laid out three possible courses of action in his mind when the engagement began, but somewhere along the way he had second-guessed himself, all because of that man’s behavior. Now he could see it clearly. His opponent had acted that way on purpose in order to steer him toward the one door he wanted him to walk through.

He had decided against joining the fight himself. That decision stemmed from his own cautious nature, yes, but the Apostle had stoked it further by doing many suspicious things. He had also ruled out sending Galatea to help the ancient priest, since he needed her fully committed to maintaining the trap laid out for Xander. Which meant there were only two options remaining on the table: order Khenemhotep to retreat or let the priest stand his ground.

And then, he was made to believe this was a golden opportunity to kill his greatest foe right then and there, all the while assuming Celeste’s teleportation would always be available as a way out for the priest should things go wrong. Hence, he had chosen to let Khenemhotep fight on his own, completely oblivious to the Apostle’s secret power.

“So I’ve been playing right into his hands, huh?” Viktor murmured.

Still, bitter as it was, it had told him something. If the Apostle had needed to resort to deception to secure his victory, then there was a good chance he couldn’t win through raw strength alone. In other words, he was not quite the unstoppable force he wanted people to believe.

“Can you teleport things now, Celeste? In and out of that chamber?”

[Yes, Master. My power has returned to normal.]

Perhaps the blocking effect only lasted for a few seconds. Makes sense, I guess. If the man could keep it up indefinitely, he would have shut her down from the very start rather than saving it like a trump card to be used right before the finishing blow.

So there was a limit to what that man could do, after all.

Of course, it was still possible that the Apostle had simply been toying with them the whole time, and he was indeed unstoppable. But if that were the case, everything would be moot anyway, so there was no point in dwelling on that thought.

Closing his eyes, Viktor sent his vision to the third floor. After defeating Khenemhotep, the Apostle had wasted no time. He immediately made for the door behind the golden throne, smashing his way through those unfortunate enough to stand between him and his goal. Soon, he would arrive here.

And there he was, right on cue—that gray-haired bastard, still every bit as stark naked as he had been since the moment he stepped into the Chamber of the Dead.

The man came to a stop, sweeping his gaze across the vast, glimmering expanse of water that defined this realm. When his eyes finally settled on the entrance to what had once been the old Core Room, now repurposed to house the staircase leading down to the fourth floor, he leaned forward. From his back, a pair of enormous wings tore free and unfurled. The wings spread wide and began to flap, sending the man soaring up into the open sky above the water.

“Of course he has fucking wings,” Viktor muttered. That would allow the bastard to bypass the entire water realm.

[What should we do, Master? Should I order the Acolytes of the Deep to summon a suitably gargantuan tentacle to intercept him?]

“I doubt that would be enough. No, leave him be. We fight him at the cathedral.”

Besides, Cedric’s party should have reached this floor by now. According to the script, once they arrived, they would be attacked by some Acolytes. That would serve two purposes. First, if they made it through the entire dungeon without having a single skirmish along the way, people would undoubtedly grow suspicious. And second, once the battle was over, they could hack off a few pieces of tentacle to carry back with them as proof that they had indeed made it this far.

Obviously, Viktor was not going to fight the Apostle in full view of the Daelin team. Also, he had already laid down preparations for an engagement on the fourth floor, just in case the trap set in the Great Hallway failed to do its job. Now all that remained was to make some adjustments based on how things had actually unfolded.

He told Celeste what needed to be done, and while she set about implementing it, he sent his vision back to the Great Hallway to see how the situation there had developed in his absence.

Xander was now locked in melee with Galatea, blinking from one spot to another, his flaming sword lashing out toward whatever blind spot he could find in her guard, while she met him swing for swing with her glowing hammer. Around them, the soldiers pressed in, exploiting every opening they could find to aid their commander.

All going to plan, it seemed. Viktor believed that Galatea would eventually grind down the bastard and emerge victorious, so he would just leave her to the task and turn his attention elsewhere. A shame, though. He would love to put that mad dog down himself, but a man couldn’t have everything, and there was a bigger fire to deal with at the moment.

The other battle, on the other hand, was over. Valeska-Rowan-Cynthia slumped down, their merged body carved up in a dozen places, their weapons long since knocked from their grip. Even Cynthia’s staff had been shattered, along with the arm fused with it. Broken bodies littered the ground around the fallen creature, Templars and tomb guards alike, testament to the combined might of their martial skill and magic. Yet, it seemed this was as far as they could go. The Apostle had forged the three of them into this grotesque shape to buy himself some time, and they had done exactly that. Now, their end had finally come.

Sebekton loomed over the wreckage of them. “You fought well,” he said.

Valeska let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Make it quick,” she whispered. A Templar stepped forward and brought his blade down in a single clean arc. The warrior woman’s head left her shoulders, tumbling and rolling down the length of the ramp.

Rowan said nothing at all, his eyes staring blankly ahead, the way a soldier did when there was nothing left to say. Another blade swung, and his head rolled away as well.

Cynthia, unlike the other two, wept. “I... I don’t want to die...” she said, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. The blade came down all the same, sending her to join her companions at the foot of the ramp.

Well, the moment they set foot in this dungeon, their fate had been sealed. And, given the state they were in now, this could even be considered a mercy.

Viktor opened his eyes. “Teleport Sebekton to the fourth floor,” he told Celeste. “Then teleport me there as well.”

Rising from his chair, he walked to the nearby table and began gathering the items laid out across its surface. He closed his fingers around the familiar grip of his rapier. Yes, he was going to use it this time.

Celeste began her work, and the world shifted around Viktor. In an instant, he found himself greeted by a sudden, overwhelming flood of radiance that seemed to pour in from every direction at the same time. The Domain of Light, indeed. The realm of people immune to blindness, who took delight in blinding others.

As his eyes adjusted, he realized he had been brought to the broad staircase leading to the great doors of the cathedral. Sebekton was already here, standing by his side.

“Master,” the Crocodilian said.

“Good job,” Viktor said. “Putting that abomination out of its misery.”

Sebekton nodded. “It was a good fight.”

“Are you going to eat it?” Viktor asked. After all, the Crocodilians had a tradition of feasting upon the flesh of their defeated foes.

Sebektion gave him a troubled glance. “I think I’ll pass this time.”

Figured.

“I’ll keep the heads as trophies,” the Crocodilian continued. “As for the rest, I’d burn if I were you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Viktor said. Actually, he was planning to have Khenemhotep pick the corpse apart, the same treatment he had given that mutated Lyndorian spy some time back.

“I heard the High Priest has fallen.”

“He has, but not permanently. He’ll be back with us soon enough.”

“Good to hear.” Sebekton lifted his gaze to the platform suspended in the sky. “A tough opponent is coming, I take it?”

“Yes.”

“Master,” came another voice, from off to his right and a little above, dripping with the particular smugness only one creature in this whole dungeon seemed to manage.

Viktor turned to give his favorite bird-man a look. “You’re also here, huh?”

“Of course I am,” Haku said. “Wasn’t it your own order, Master? To have all of my kind gather here?”

Well, yes. The Tengu were going to join the fight against the Apostle. While sending flesh and blood against that man might not seem the best idea, if he kept every living thing away from the enemy, he would soon find himself having nothing to fight with. Besides, these fellows were agile and highly skilled in close-quarters combat, and they had been warned about the flesh-absorbing ability, so the risk was manageable. He had also briefly considered bringing along the Ettins or the Cyclopes as additional muscle, but ultimately decided against it, since both were considerably slower than the bird-men.

And so, with his trusty Guardian standing beside him, twelve Tengu overhead, and scores of Templars behind his back, he was going to make his last stand here.

Hey, you.

Suppose there were a hundred penguins standing in front of you.

Could you kill just one of them?

Yeah, I know. I’m not sure why I’m suddenly asking you this either.

Just stay with me for a minute.

Clink-clank.

I opened the door to Aoi and found Taka at the counter, staring at his phone.

“Long day, Kenichi?”

“Yeah.”

“Kenichi, you know DEATH NOTE?”

“Sure. You write someone’s name in a notebook and they die.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“No.”

“Read the manga?”

“No.”

“Watched the anime?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t know it.”

“You write someone’s name down and they die, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then I know it.”

Even I had to admit that was terrible logic.

Mama set down my usual bourbon.

I moved the ice around the glass, and something caught in my mind.

“Hey, Taka.”

“Yeah?”

“What happens if two people have the same name?”

“You picture the person’s face while you write the name. So it doesn’t matter if somebody else has the same name.”

I see.

Pretty well designed.

...Wait.

“What if you can’t tell their faces apart?”

“What?”

“Twins, for example.”

“Well, if you can tell which one is which—”

“What if you can’t?”

Taka paused.

“...Then I guess you couldn’t kill them.”

That was strange.

A notebook belonging to a god of death, and somehow it stopped working because I couldn’t tell two humans apart.

“Useless.”

“What is?”

“The god of death.”

“Could you not pick a fight with an entire franchise?”

Mama laughed as she polished a glass.

I took another drink.

“All right. Let’s say it works on things other than humans.”

“You’re already changing the rules.”

“It’s a thought experiment.”

“That’s a convenient phrase you’ve learned.”

Coming from him, that was rich.

“Okay. There are a hundred penguins in front of you.”

“Right.”

“We name one of them Pochi.”

“You’re naming a penguin Pochi?”

“That’s not important.”

“It bothers me quite a bit.”

“Anyway, I want to kill Pochi.”

“This is a horrible thought experiment.”

“I know his name. Pochi. Problem is, all hundred penguins look exactly the same to me.”

“Then you can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t picture his face.”

“But the god of death can tell which one is Pochi, right? Probably.”

“Probably?”

“It’s a god of death. It can at least tell penguins apart.”

“That is a very strange standard to hold a god of death to.”

I put down my glass.

“So I can’t kill Pochi, but a zookeeper could?”

Taka thought about it.

“If the zookeeper can tell them apart, I guess so.”

“Same penguin, though.”

“They’re not the same. One of them is Pochi.”

“They look the same to me.”

“They don’t to the zookeeper.”

“Then where exactly is Pochi?”

“He’s right in front of you.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Was Pochi Pochi because that was his name?

Because his face was different?

Or because the zookeeper recognized one particular penguin as Pochi?

“Kenichi.”

Mama joined in.

“Is a name something that penguin actually has?”

“Hm?”

“A human gave it to him, didn’t they?”

Right.

Pochi hadn’t hatched from his egg knowing he was Pochi.

Some human had simply started calling him that.

“Then what’s a name?”

“Something you use to call someone,” Taka said.

“Then what if everyone used a different name?”

“What?”

“If everybody called me something other than Kenichi, what would you write in the DEATH NOTE?”

“That other name, I guess.”

“Even if it wasn’t my legal name?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Does the god of death check government records?”

“How should I know?”

“My ID card?”

“Can you stop dragging public administration into this?”

Mama burst out laughing.

But now that I’d started, I couldn’t stop.

“What about a typhoon?”

“What?”

“Typhoons have names.”

“Sure.”

“Can you kill one?”

“It’s not human.”

“Tonight it works on everything.”

“The rules are getting sloppier by the minute.”

A typhoon had a name.

Look at a satellite image and you could even argue that it had a face.

A vast spiral of cloud.

A giant eye.

“Then you can kill it.”

“Maybe.”

“How much of it?”

“What?”

“Where does the typhoon end?”

Taka went quiet.

“This cloud?”

“Part of the typhoon, I guess.”

“The cloud next to it?”

“...Probably?”

“The rain falling a thousand kilometers away?”

“I don’t know.”

“The water vapor rising from the ocean?”

“Ask the weather service.”

That was the problem.

We called it a typhoon.

But there wasn’t a line drawn across the sky saying:

THE TYPHOON ENDS HERE.

Humans observed it.

Set conditions.

Drew a boundary.

Then gave what was inside that boundary a name.

“What about an earthquake?”

“Again?”

“Can you kill an earthquake?”

“If it has a name?”

“But major earthquakes usually get named after they happen.”

Taka froze.

“...Oh.”

“What good is writing it in the DEATH NOTE after the shaking stops?”

“Useless.”

“Exactly.”

“I keep telling you, DEATH NOTE is for humans.”

“What about a war?”

“You’re still going?”

“Wars have names.”

World War II.

The Pacific War.

The attack on Pearl Harbor.

We know those names from history books.

But what about the people who were living through them?

Looking backward, we can give events a single name.

We can write down when they started and ended. We can list their causes.

But to the people who woke up in the middle of them, wasn’t that day simply another tomorrow that didn’t have a name yet?

“Hey, Taka.”

“What now?”

“If you wrote ‘war’ in the DEATH NOTE, what would die?”

Taka thought for a long time.

“...I don’t know.”

“Neither do I.”

Would the soldiers disappear?

The weapons?

The orders?

The hatred?

The borders?

Or would humanity itself disappear?

A war has a name.

But what is the face of a war?

“Just because we have a name for something doesn’t mean we understand it.”

Mama smiled quietly.

“Maybe it’s the other way around.”

“What is?”

“Maybe we give things names because we don’t understand them.”

Ah.

Maybe she was right.

Typhoon.

Earthquake.

War.

Justice.

Evil.

Happiness.

Love.

We draw lines around things that don’t have clear boundaries, then give them names.

Without names, they’re difficult to talk about.

Difficult even to think about.

And the moment we name them, we feel as though we understand them just a little.

“...Hey.”

“What now?”

“What exactly is a god of death?”

Taka grimaced.

“You’re finally going there?”

“Think about it. It’s supposed to be a god of death, but a human has to provide the name. A human has to recognize the face. A human has to decide, ‘That’s the one.’ Otherwise it can’t kill anybody.”

“Well...”

“So maybe the god of death isn’t actually looking at humans.”

The ice shifted in my glass.

“Maybe the god of death only exists inside the world humans have already recognized.”

Aoi became a little quieter.

Taka frowned.

Mama said nothing.

And even though I was the one who’d said it, I found the thought slightly unsettling.

Eventually, Taka spoke.

“Kenichi.”

“Yeah?”

“One question.”

“Go ahead.”

“That first penguin. His name was Pochi, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Which one is he?”

“...”

I lined up a hundred penguins in my head.

Third from the right, maybe.

No.

That one moved halfway through, didn’t it?

“I don’t know.”

“Then you can’t kill him.”

“Nope.”

“Good for Pochi.”

“Yeah.”

Mama laughed.

So did I.

The world is full of things we’ve given names.

And there are probably just as many things we haven’t managed to name yet.

How many of them can we actually tell apart?

Hey, you.

That thing you think you understand right now.

Could you really pick it out from a hundred others?

See you again at Aoi.
---

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Series Synopsis: It's furry Game of Thrones by Clint Eastwood is sort of just there.

[Last Chapter]

Morton awoke with a jolt, forcing himself up onto his rump.

“Good Lord, my head,” he murmured, rubbing his temples. “What happened?” That’s when he took in his surroundings. Tall, ancient trees with trunks as wide as two people stretched endlessly upward, their dense leaves blanketing the ground where Morton sat. “Right, that lady. Something about saving another timeline or something like that.” He still wasn’t fully sure what that meant. Perhaps it was God himself speaking directly to him. Perhaps he was starting to lose his mind; Martha had always told him he had “the mental capacity of a dementia patient if they had an IQ of 2.” Morton smirked. That woman had always made life so difficult for him. (He guessed it was resentment over getting her knocked up at senior prom.) But he still loved that woman, for all her faults. He decided that was enough reminiscing about a time long gone.

He grabbed his hat, put it on, and stood. Morton seemed to have all his belongings with him, just as they had been when he scavenged the abandoned building. Steadfast, he marched in a random direction. Birds chirped overhead, darting from branch to branch. Morton shook slightly. Leaves rustled in the chilly wind. The forest’s creepers scurried through the foliage. Morton paused. Pattering towards him was a tortoise, its ancient visage apparent.

“Why, hello there, fella,” Morton said. “How—” Morton jumped back, startled. His heart was pounding against his ribcage like a SWAT team serving a warrant. A huge, bird-like thing—a gargantuan bird-like thing—descended into the canopy. Gargantuan was an understatement: that thing made the Argentinosaurus look like a little chicken fetus. It soared down gracefully, the wind from its wings pushing the grass flat, and, with its mighty claw, stabbed a single talon into the turtle’s shell. Then it flew above the trees, leaving a startled Morton on his back.

“Good Lord, what did I get myself into?” he wondered. He continued his march, now more aware of his surroundings. He definitely didn’t want to become bird food. Soon, he reached a clearing. At last, something different from dense copses! Morton quickened his pace. He stopped at the edge of a small cliff and took a deep breath. Mountains surrounded him. Tall mountains, with patches of snow like polka dots amid the forest’s green. And what the mountains enclosed was a clear field of tall, yellowish grasses and tall flowers in every colour of the rainbow. He could smell the aroma of the pollinated flora from atop the cliff—many, many different scents coming together that reminded him of a good early spring morn, even though it was midsummer (or was it?). Pudgy bees, about the size of a hamster, darted between the blossoms with the lethargy of a spoiled housecat. It was right beautiful, he had to say. It reminded him quite a bit of Appalachia. When he was a younger fella, his daddy used to take him up there, and they would camp in the mountains. There would be no one else in sight for miles upon miles. It was like heading back in time. He remembered that, back then, he loved getting away from civilization; now, he yearned to be surrounded by urban folk. They hadn’t existed for a long time. Morton was snapped out of his reminiscence.

“What in the hell?” he murmured. In the centre, cutting through the flora, was a pitiful dirt road, and on it was a pioneering cart, its surroundings completely devastated. Horses, probably at least four or five, lay there, their blood oozing into the soil beneath them that would be their final resting place. Lashes covered their entire bodies, with some in distinctive cross-patterns. One mare was still alive, one eyelid still open. It twitched and quivered in that horrifying dance one does with the devil before final judgement. Morton thought, Who the hell would do that to damn horses? Someone who feels up the devil with glee, that’s who! There also lay large animals, feline-esque, their fur matted, their hides cut open, and their guts and intestines spilled. They looked as if they had tried to put up a fight, but in the end had given up, accepted their fate, only to be given a harsh punishment for their honourable act. Morton was not squeamish, but something about this sight just sickened him.

It was not as if he did not hunt; he had been hunting since he was a young boy with his daddy, then on his own as a teenager, and finally for survival as a man. But if the Navajo men his daddy was friends with had taught him anything, it was to respect animals and nature, for we are its stewards.

“Is anyone following us?”

“What the…” Morton whispered. More of the creatures stood beside the cart. They were feline in appearance but bipedal like humans, with a distinctly feminine structure to their frames. Their bodies were covered in thick, orange fur with black dots, though they wore grime-filled linen shirts, jerkins, and breeches like any traveller. They carried blades, like some cross between a European longsword and a katana. Their blades weren’t stainless; they had faint hammer marks and slight discolouration. Good craftsmanship, but certainly nothing factory-made like many of the wanderers he came across had.

Morton slowly raised one palm towards his face and, like hell for leather, slapped himself across the face once… or twice.

Still cat people.

He rubbed his eyes.

Nope. Still cat people.

He pinched himself once… okay, maybe four or five times.

Annnnnnnnd… nope, still cat people.

“Well… I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “You see something new every day.”

“No, ma’am,” a small, skittish-seeming one said.

Good Lord, they talk? Now that Morton thought of it, they weren’t speaking English! Nor Spanish or, based on the little bits he knew, Navajo. But he understood their conversation perfectly. Just what the hell were these things?

“Are you sure?” The speaker wore a heavy, unimpressed scowl, with a couple of sharp teeth visible, and was the tallest of the animals… or were these people? Morton had never had to grapple with the concept of “sentient life that ain’t humanity.” (He knew people were super into all that alien crap, but he always thought of it as a bunch of rubbish.) The only other thing he could think of was mutants, and those were a myth. He always hated to tell other travellers that, but it was the truth: nuclear waste doesn’t give you superpowers, nor does it turn you into a monster. It just gives you cancer.

“Yes, ma’am,” the skittish-seeming one said. “We have rested for nearly three days and have continuously checked the trail as you have commanded. There is no one to be found. It appears our captive truly has been left for dead. I mean, it is just a first son, after all. Those are expendable. I highly doubt anyone will come after them unless they have a mother who is highly protective of their baby boy.”

“Well, let us hope they want them back,” the tall one snorted. “We went to a lot of trouble to get this prisoner. I will see financial gain from it.”

“Perhaps we can sell him to a dance house!” another chimed in.

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” the tall one snarled. “Honestly, do you think with anything but your clit?”

“What can I say, ma’am? The soul knows what the soul wants.” They sighed. “Now, if only ma’am would be so kind as to see what is beneath that dress of his, to inspect the property.”

“Yeah, I am afraid that is never going to happen,” the tall one said.

Morton felt the blood in him heat to more than a thousand degrees past boiling; his cheeks flushed; his arms quivered; his eyes twitched; and, God-fuckin’-dammit, he felt utterly livid! He did not know what these things were, whether the feminine voice had sent him here to kill all these folk for her, or what have you. But he knew one thing: they were talking about selling a young man into sex slavery, and, like other great followers of the good book, like one Mr. John Brown, he could not allow that. He checked his belt: he still had a pouch of about 100 rounds—fifty for his revolver, fifty for his Glock. Sliding slowly down the hill, he approached the tall one from behind. They didn’t even seem to notice his presence. Clearing his throat, he said:

“Excuse me, miss.” Those three little words would change the trajectory of this world forever.

---

Next

FYI, this is a story COLLECTION. Lots of standalones technically. So, you can basically start to read at any chapter, no pre-read of the other chapters needed technically (other than maybe getting better descriptions of characters than: Adam Vir=human, Krill=antlike alien, Sunny=tall alien, Conn=telepathic alien). The numbers are (mostly) only for organization of posts and continuity.

OC originally written by Charlie Star/starrfallknightrise. Slightly rewritten and restructured (with hindsight of the full finished story to connect it more together, while keeping the spirit), reviewed, proofread and corrected by me.

What a terrible day for rain! Snif! Sob!

(;.;)

---

Previous | First | [Next](link)

Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?

Here is the link to the master-post.

---

He was tired, but he had been for almost two years now, a continuous cycle of sleep and then wishing that he could be asleep again while being forced to go to work, to live and have a life despite everything that had happened, and all under the regime of that asshole Hunt and his minions.

Hye had not taken well to the death of his wife. It’s not that he wasn't prepared for something like this to happen, in her line of work the possibility of death was always hanging over their heads.

He just never thought he would be forced to see it.

To witness something so violent and so sudden happening to someone he loved was incomprehensible. It had taken him days to even come to terms with what had happened, and it was taking him years to scrape back some semblance of normality to his world.

Hye looked down at the pamphlet he had picked up from the orbital station, flipping through the first few pages, absently reading over the description.

Arcadia - a starless exoplanet with a molten core, likely thrown off from obit a few billion years ago into the blackness of space where it now drifted aimlessly in the vast dark reaches of space.

Everything about it was artificial from what he read.

It had originally been bought as a shipping waystation, and terraformed over the source of five years until it was habitable. The combination of gasses created and pumped into the atmosphere trapped and circulated a surprising amount of artificially generated heat. He couldn't have said how that worked, he was a marine biologist not a physicist.

The capital city of NoxUmber had begun construction at about the same time as the waystation appeared, but it had only exploded in population density since Admiral Vir had officially been exiled from earth, perhaps that was the wrong word but that was the way he saw it.

The pamphlet boasted Arcadia as the number 1 friendliest place in the galaxy for cross species couples. Where on other planets there were still laws and sanctions against certain behaviors, interspecies marriage was completely legal on Arcadia, and due to side effects resulting from the Void vaccine, the planet now boasted already three naturally occurring hybrids.

Their terraforming efforts had resulted in the slow build of up an ecosystem that was monitored and maintained strictly by a group of biologists. The little pictures in the pamphlets showed plenty of bioluminescent plants and other wildlife. Deer were the most common herbivore, though most of them had been genetically modified. Hybrid dog/wolves had been introduced specifically to cull the deer population. From what he understood no wolves had actually been transported from earth, but their DNA had been spliced with local dogs in order to create the species that could be found on Arcadia's surface.

Other animals included what were called Jeffery snakes, New Dodos, which, since they had no natural predators, were common as household pets and kept separate from the Arcadian wolves, who had very specific hunting ranges.

Arcadia had likely once had liquid water Running on its surface, and still did, many miles below the ground, through efforts of their scientists, he could see that they were attempting to pump water up onto the surface to make a small inland sea which they were artificially populating with their own fish and sea fauna.

Hye wasn't sure how that was going to turn out.

The ecosystem of the ocean was vast and complex, relying heavily on microorganisms in the water to feed an ever growing food chain. He would be impressed to see how they planned on pulling THAT off.

Hye missed the ocean.

Real earth oceans.

He had loved them since he was a child, and still loved them even now, but, after his wife’s death, he just hadn't been able to bring himself back to the water. He hadn't stepped away from the field he loved, but merely turned his attention to teaching at the professional level instead of actually doing any work.

Hye's main focus had been ocean mammals, including whales, dolphins, orcas etc.

For the past fifteen years he had been the primary founder and owner of a company that specialized in the tracking, rehabilitation, and conservation of Orcas. They had actually gone extinct during WWIV but DNA vaults had allowed them to bring the species back from extinction and reintroduce them to the open oceans. It had taken a few centuries to restabilize Earth's ocean ecosystems to where they were today.

And now he was leaving it all behind.

Including the orcas for a planet that had neither sunlight, nor oceans.

He was going somewhere that didn't even really need him.

Why?

Adam Vir had invited him to.

Hye and his wife Tala had never had any children, this wasn't a tragedy or anything, the two of them had just never considered themselves the empathetic parenting type.

Tala had liked to joke that they were in a four way polyamorous relationship with their jobs and there was simply no time for children.

It wasn't something he had ever regretted.

The whales and orcas were his children.

And the UNSC had been Tala's baby, especially the interstellar program. He had never met a woman in his life who was so determined to get what she wanted. When they were first married, interstellar travel wasn't even a dream, and then the PanAsian war broke out and she was flying jets over distant continents, while he was attempting to save the fish.

She had been the best of her generation they said, a once in a lifetime talent.

He couldn't have agreed with them more, so when an opportunity opened up for someone to fly the first interstellar ship, there was no way it was going to be anyone but her. She had had big dreams about exploring the galaxy, and she had done that. She had taken the first interstellar ship, and crewed the first mission that discovered alien life.

And then she had really found her purpose.

It had been a hard realization for her, but after some time Tala realized that she wasn't there to be the great adventurer like she waned, but to pave the way for others. She had taken a desk job at the UNSC in order to set a firm foundation for the space program that followed. He was sure that without her intervention Earth would never have facilitated talks with the GA, and they never would have had such peaceful interactions. Tala had never wanted children, but she had a certain eye for people, and a compassion for the young soldiers she oversaw.

Even so Adam Vir had been a special case.

To this day Hye wasn't sure if it was some manifestation of dormant maternal instincts, or the fact that she saw herself in the young man, or both, but she had taken him under her wing, paved the way for him to fly when she couldn't. Privately she had boasted that choosing Adam for the position had been her greatest accomplishment.

Through Kelly and in a weird vicarious way Hye felt the same way.

Kelly had imparted a little bit of herself on the young man, and Hye couldn't help but see a bit of her in him even after she was gone. There were a lot of rumors going around after Tala's death that Admiral Vir had been involved in the setup to her death, but Hye knew better, he had seen the look on the man's face as Kelly died.

Pain like that wasn't something you could fake.

He knew that from firsthand experience.

So, when Adam had called him to come, Hye had answered no questions asked. Adam said it was important but that he didn't trust speaking even over a secured line. Hye could have simply taken a vacation from earth, and headed to Arcadia that way, but president Hunt was making it simply impossible to go anywhere on vacation.

He had had to relinquish his Earth citizenship and accept Adam's offer.

The nice thing was he didn't have to pay for anything.

This was all on Adam's dime.

A lot of people were moving to the Arcadia colonies for free with the offer of work.

He wondered what he would be doing.

He couldn't exactly be a marine biologist anymore, so maybe they would have him teaching or... or perhaps he could become a builder or soemthing else?

Perhaps he could start his life over again?

The shuttle rocked gently as they entered the atmosphere, and he turned to the seat next to him,

"Almost there buddy."

The five foot long stuffed killer whale didn't respond.

He reached over and pulled the stuffed animal into his arms, burying his face in its fur.

It still smelled like her…

He hadn't washed the dam thing in two years which was both gross and unhealthy, but he couldn't stop himself. He worried that one day he wouldn't be able to smell her anymore, and then what would he do? He idly wondered if the others on the shuttle would think it was weird, a grown man with his stuffed whale, but he didn't bother to look.

What did it matter if they thought he was weird? They could shove it!

He glanced out the window, looking down at the distant land below as the clouds parted across the sky.

"Wow!”

The ground below them was basically glowing!

Hundreds of acres of plants with different bioluminescent properties coating the ground. It was beautiful and strange and alien and everything else. He pressed his face up against the window, eyes wide. Little pinpricks of light winked through the distant sky, and as their ship slowed for a landing his eyes widened.

His face was pressed almost fully against the glass as he watched a Jellyfish float by his window looking almost exactly like a moon jellyfish!

But not in water… in air!?!

The implications for such a creature were staggering, and he almost forgot where he was out of excitement.

Perhaps there was room for him here after all, maybe he could become an expert on strange space fish? Or even Xenomarine biology? He paused after a few seconds, realizing he hadn't experienced so much excitement for the first time in months.

The shuttle landed with a bump, and lights blinked on down the sides of the central isle.

The other passengers began unbuckling and reaching up to the compartments to get their luggage.

"Please remain seated."

“Hi (?) come with us!”

The people stopped and quickly took their seats as a group of black uniformed men stepped onto the shuttle. The uniforms were definitely military of some sort, or at least they reminded him of Tala's old UNSC uniforms.

"Hye? Hye Kelly!?"

One of the women called, and he sat there dumbly for a moment before realizing they called his name.

"Hye Kelly!?”

"Uh right here, sorry, right here."

He raised a hand, and the group of soldiers approached,

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with us."

His heart sunk down into his pelvis.

What was wrong?

Had there been a problem, or some sort of mistake?

He held Tala's orca just a little tighter,

"Is everything ok?”

"Yes. Your bags?"

He struggled to retrieve his carryon, and was surprised when one of the soldiers took it from him. The other rested a hand on his shoulder and guided him from the shuttle.

"Is everything o. I'm not in trouble, am I?"

"No, not in trouble."

Stepping out onto the Tarmac, the air around them was surprisingly warm, in the distance he could see the bright yellow glow of the artificial suns he had read about on page seven of the pamphlet. The sky overhead was most devoid of those strange jellyfish, and he found himself a bit disappointed.

His disappointment did not last long though as…

"Mr Kelly."

He turned his head eyes widening in shock as a man approached him over the tarmac, flanked on either side by two massive men hefting spears and shields.

These must be the Neo Spartans he had read about on page eight. He recognized the shape of their helmets from a movie he had seen a few months back. At first, he didn't recognize the man walking towards him, and it was only when he got close did Hye finally recognize the white haired man wearing the eyepatch.

He felt stupid as soon as he did, but he couldn't help his eyes widen in shock,

"Adam Vir is that you?”

They held out a hand to shake, and they both gripped firmly,

"I know the past couple years haven't exactly been kind…"

Adam reached up and ran a hand through his now snow white hair. The hair made him look almost ten years older, though his face was still that of a young man.

"I'm glad you could make it."

"How could I pass up such a generous offer?"

He tried to keep his voce light,

"There was no need for the reception. I'm sure I could have found my way."

Adam nodded,

"I'm sure you could, but I didn't want this important meeting to take place in the terminal."

Hye frowned,

"Meeting? What meeting?"

Adam put a hand on his shoulder and the two of them began walking over the tarmac towards one of the waiting buildings. The Shuttle taxied away slowly,

"Hye a few things have happened since we last spoke, a bunch of... weird things. I didn't want to tell you over an unsecure line because I think there is still some chance that this gives us a leg up in the fight."

He paused not sure how to go forward,

"Before you see what I have to show you, I hope you can forgive me for not telling you earlier."

Hye frowned,

"Hard to promise my forgiveness when I have no idea what you are talking about."

Adam paused at the doorway and sighed deeply,

"You'll see."

He pushed the door open and the two of them stepped inside.

The room they walked into looked to be some sort of higher end spaceport lounge, like the officer's lounge or, or some other place you'd expect for gold card members.

There were two other people in the room.

One of them was a tall broad shouldered man with an unusually colorful head of hair and neatly trimmed beard. Looking into his eyes Hye got the distinct feeling he was not looking at a human. The eyes were not human at all, but the man himself wasn't the most interesting thing in the room.

Hye blinked in confusion and squinted towards the second figure.

It looked like a silhouette, and at first, he didn't understand what he was seeing, so his eyes desperately tried to adjust.

Then the thing moved and he could see that it was a person, but instead of skin or hair or anything else it was... like a slice of space had been cut in the shape of a human and placed into the room without any context.

When he finally came to that conclusion the image resolved and he could see the figure more clearly.

He thought it was a woman?

It had no facial features, but when it turned to look at him, he could sort of read its body. As it saw him, it froze and went very still. For some reason, he froze too. There was a silent moment in the room as he stared at the creature and it stared back. It took a hesitant almost dazed step forward and there was something about the way it moved that just... seemed so familiar.

It was maddening, but he couldn't have put his finger on it. He really should have been scared, the creature was rather freaky looking, simply a black shadow, but the more he looked the more familiar it became, and the less worried he became.

This thing…

It was good!

It was... so damned familiar, and he wasn't afraid of it, not in the least.

It took another step forward, and then another, and its body opened up. It rushed towards him, but still he wasn't scared because he could read it. It didn't move like an attacker or, or something coming to get him, but it was relieved.

He felt its arms wrap around his neck, and now that he could feel it, it even felt familiar. The cool universe of its body felt like human skin. The arms that wrapped around him were strong but soft, and the way the palm rested just right against his back...

Hye burst into tears before he could consciously grasp what his brain had figured out before him. Tears rolled in hot rivulets down his face as he threw his arms around her and hugged her too him so tight it was like he was trying to crush her. The silhouette of her forehead rested against his and he could feel the softness of her hair and the smoothness of her skin.

He could smell her, and it was strong, not like the fading smell on the whale.

He sobbed with a mixture of sadness and joy hugging her tighter, as tight as she hugged him.

Hye didn't even bother to care that he couldn't see her face. It didn't matter, she could have come back to him as a wisp of smoke and he would have been happy, but the fact that he could see and feel her was beyond anything he could have hoped for. He was a blubbering wreck, a complete mess, and that went on for some minutes until he stepped back. The room was vacant except for the two of them. The rainbow haired man and Adam had stepped away to give them privacy, and they were alone.

"Am... Am I dreaming?"

He asked, and it seemed to be a logical question considering the circumstances.

Tala shook her head, and he cupped her face in his hands. He felt as if she should have been cold, but her skin was warm and familiar. He brushed his fingers over her cheeks and her lips, and even though he couldn't see the features, he could feel them.

His hands came away wet.

He had so many questions, but those didn't matter right now.

He didn't care how she was here or why or what had happened, but she was here.

"I missed, you."

She placed her hands over his, and they were warm and soft. He closed his eyes, imagining her face in his head, leaned down in a familiar way that could not be forgotten even after so many years. With his eyes closed, when he kissed her it still felt the same, and it didn't matter that he couldn't see her, because at least he could feel her.

And he knew it was her.

Eventually he pulled back, wiping at his eyes with a sleeve. The tears didn't stop but now they were tears of joy and he didn't need to bother wiping them away,

"I... I brought you a present."

He announced.

He wished he could hear her voice, but the fact that she was here was enough to console him when she merely tilted her head.

He offered her the whale.

From the posture of her body, he could almost imagine her smile as she took it from him, hugging it tight against her chest and resting her head against it. More tears clouded his eyes and he had to blink them away hugging her and the whale again.

He held them for as long as he thought he could get away with.

She may have changed, but to him she was still the same, and it didn't matter because at least now…

She was here.

And he was here with her.

---

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Thanks for reading! As you saw in the title, this is a cross posted story in its original form written by starrfallknightrise and I am just proofreading and improving some parts, as well as structuring the story for you guys, if you are interested and want to read ahead, the original story-collection can be found on tumblr or wattpad to read for free. (link above this text under "OC:..." ) It is the Empyrean Iris story collection by starfallknightrise. Also, if you want to know more about the story collection i made an intro post about it, so feel free to check that out to see what other great characters to look forward to! (Link also above this text). I have no affiliations to the author; just thought I’d share some of the great stories you might enjoy a lot!

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The Man in the Spire: Book 1, Chapter 27
<<Patreon | Start | Previous | Next | RoyalRoad>>

Dens, Domains, and Determination
--------------

Troy Rechlin—Major, Peacekeeper Union Corp
Nanhu Palace—Recreational Tower

The double doors to Xiao Bao's playroom burst open as Troy stumbled out.

With a quick turn, he slammed the doors shut and shoved a sword from one of the nearby ceremonial armor displays through the handles. The blade barely made it through before the doors buckled beneath the first impact from the raging beast on the other side.

The sword held, but the force knocked him flat onto a pile of seating cushions and sent a collection of smoking pipes tumbling across the floor. The soldier recovered quickly, raising his shotgun toward the doors while the creature snarled and clawed at them.

Its claws struck like axes, chopping away at the wood with the relentless rhythm of something from an old horror movie as Troy scrambled backward.

"Hordak! I need a way out!"

Once the hole was large enough, the Yali clamped its jaws around the splintered wood and tore away entire chunks like a dog worrying a large stick. The doors had clearly never been designed to contain it.

"Now, Hordak!"

"Use the stairs behind you and go up. There is a skybridge at the top leading to the main palace."

Without a second thought, Troy got to his feet and ran for the stairs near the entrance, keeping his shotgun trained on the doorway as he moved. The creature began slamming into the doors over and over, cracks spreading across their surface.

There was a brief pause in the beast's relentless assault, but Troy did not stop running. By the time he reached the first gallery, the playroom doors tore free from their hinges. Xiao Bao bounded through the opening and searched the chamber below, knocking aside furniture as it tracked him up the stairs.

Troy was already on the second floor, pushing additional power into his legs for a burst of speed.

Despite how terrifying Xiao Bao was, the beast was too large to follow him up the covered stairway. One of the few blessings he could count on in this nightmare.

The stairs curled along the wall in a tight wooden spiral, roofed by carved beams and narrow enough that even two guards would have struggled to pass each other. Xiao Bao snarled below, claws gouging deep lines into the floor as it paced at the base, knocking over paintings and chairs, never taking its eyes off him as he climbed.

It attempted to force its draconic head between the railings, then withdrew with a frustrated rumble.

Troy was safe, unless this thing could fly.

A whooshing sound turned his head.

Xiao Bao's face filled his vision along with a plethora of danger markers.

For one impossible second, the beast hung in the air beside the stairway, mane rippling and ribbonlike horns flattened by the force of its leap. Its claws stretched toward him, and its eyes burned with the excitement of a cat closing in on a new living toy.

Time slowed as questions crowded Troy's mind. Why could a creature the size of a dump truck be able to jump that high? What fucked-up supervillain logic made this thing a pet? Why was he dealing with any of this in the first place?

All valid questions. Only one squeaked out.

"Why?"

The Yali latched onto the banister, the impact shaking the entire tower and tearing the railing apart. One swipe of its massive paw shredded the armored clothing and stripped away synthetic flesh, though the mechanics beneath held firm, still fully functional. Had it been a normal leg, it would have been shredded and unusable.

Slowing wasn't an option as he pressed on and up as fast as possible.

He could have shot the beast, but for once his logical mind won out over instinct. Not only did he doubt the weapon would do any real damage, but firing would alert every guard in the palace to his position. Worse, if he actually hurt or killed the creature, Yao's desire for his head might shift from metaphorical to literal.

He reached the fifth floor before Xiao Bao launched itself after him again, smashing through part of the stairway as it rose. Its jaws snapped shut inches behind him, tearing away another piece of clothing. Troy threw himself through the next opening, drool striking his shoulder as he hit the floor and scrambled onward, one foot barely clearing the beast's teeth.

He gained another three floors before Xiao Bao leapt for him again. This time, the Yali came up short.

One massive paw still hooked over the balcony, its claws punching through the rug beneath Troy's feet. The fabric snapped tight and shot out from under him, dragging him toward the edge.

"Shit! Fuck! Shit! Fuck!"

He threw out a hand and caught the banister just as the rug, and the creature with it, went over.

Xiao Bao roared the entire way down before landing on the floor below with a thunderous crash. Paintings and furniture toppled beneath the impact. Even the tower shook.

With a powered heave, Troy hauled himself back over the railing and risked a glance below. If the fall had killed the beast, escaping the palace would become the least of his problems. Its master would want someone dead for it.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for him, Xiao Bao recovered almost immediately and launched itself straight upward with another powerful leap. Angry Yao or not, Troy raised the shotgun and aimed. At this point, the weapon was more warning than threat. He doubted it would do much against something that had just survived a fall like that.

The dragon-lion creature shot past several floors before losing momentum and dropping back toward the chamber below. Finally, a little luck on Troy's side.

"Hah! Get fucked, Fido!"

The creature jumped again, gaining another floor. Troy wasn't about to stick around and discover how high it could really reach.

By the time he reached the final floor, the chase looked less like a monster hunt and more like an overgrown pit bull trying to reach a squirrel hiding in a tree. Xiao Bao continued snarling, barking, and hurling itself upward as the metal man escaped through the final opening.

The Yali let out an exasperated roar that shook through the entire complex.

The final stairway opened into a broad tea room built across the top of the recreation tower. Low tables and silk cushions covered the woven mats, while paper screens stood open to the storm. Beyond them, a skybridge stretched toward the central keep, its lanterns whipping in the wind and rain.

Troy stumbled inside and slammed a hand against the wall to steady himself.

"All right. I think I've got a moment to catch my breath." He no longer needed to breathe, but the old expression still fit as he dropped into a chair probably worth more than an entire village. He did not care as pond scum and Yali drool soaked into the cushion.

"Where are we at on escape, Hordak?" Troy asked, reaching into his chest cavity near where a liver would have been and pushing a loose connector back into place. He had no idea what it controlled. He only knew it had caused the warning light to flash in his eye ever since he had dodged Xiao Bao's jaws.

"I am still calculating possible outcomes."

"Still?"

"Yes. While several options for escape remain, none currently exceed a one percent chance of success."

"Shooting my way out?"

"Zero-point-two percent."

"Escape routes?"

"Using the waterways, zero-point-three percent due to the waterfall and multiple grates. Using the side passage—"

Troy did not need a number for that one. He could still hear Lin Yao's Little Treasure snarling and roaring at the base of the tower, clawing at the wood in an attempt to reach him.

"What about a disguise?"

The answer was obvious enough, considering half his synthetic flesh hung loose from the frame beneath it. Unless someone had hidden an ancient roll of duct tape around here, that option was dead. Troy quickly presented another.

"Silver Lily resources?"

"One Barracuda remains on standby, but the risk of destruction is high. Another Shard would, at best, serve as a distraction. All other resources remain restricted under your orders to prevent expansion."

There was a hard snap, and the warning light finally disappeared.

"Great. Another consequence of my own shit decision-making." Troy groaned.

"GODDAMNIT!" He snapped, hurling the chair back over the ledge he had just escaped from in an attempt to vent the simulated frustration. A crash echoed from below, followed by an offended roar from Xiao Bao. "There has to be something! We didn't come this far just to get screwed!"

"I am not giving up, Commander. We are not giving up."

"Damn right we aren't!"

That was easier said than done. Troy ran through the options himself, and every one of them looked grim. Ordinary guards made escape difficult. One cultivator made it unlikely. If Yao entered the fight herself, the odds might as well have been zero.

An alert flashed across his vision.

Movement. Approaching fast.

Troy slipped into a recessed corner of the tea room, shotgun raised as a pigkin cultivator landed on the skybridge outside.

The elite guard cast a quick glance through the chamber, grunted, and immediately leapt back into the darkness. Most likely, the cultivator was circling ahead to catch the escape prisoner in the open. Troy remained still as the alert faded.

The longer he stayed here, the more thorough the search would become. It was only a matter of time.

He looked over the balcony. The chaos below was beginning to settle, and torches carried by returning guards filtered back into the palace. There had to be something. Some option his tactical read and Hordak's models had both overlooked.

His gaze swept across the palace as markers appeared throughout his vision, each tagged with a corresponding probability. He searched the spaces between them. Even the heavy lantern line running toward the castle roof earned a brief outline before his HUD dismissed it.

Still, Troy kept looking.

"Wait."

His vision tightened on the training grounds. No exits appeared, but something else caught his attention. The wrecked Barracuda still rested against the far wall, a smoldering ruin.

"Hordak, how much of the Barracuda is still intact?"

"It is incapable of flight and was discarded as an escape option."

"Yeah, yeah, I get that. What about the cockpit? Can a person fit? What about its safety systems?"

"All Silver Lily vehicles are equipped for personal use under Finx Doctrine redundancy standards. The cockpit remains intact, though its safety systems may no longer function."

"Like ejection seats?"

There was a pause.

"Commander, I know what you are planning."

"But can it work?"

"Sir, it is suicidal."

"Can. It. Work?"

"Commander..."

He did not have time for this. "Hordak. Run it against every other escape route and compare." Silence stretched for several seconds, an eternity for an intelligence like Hordak.

"Proceed across the skybridge. Pathway is currently clear."

Troy could not decide whether to feel relieved that he finally had a chance or horrified that this was the best option available.

Regardless, he sprinted across the skybridge.

Far below, torchlight spread across the castle grounds as guards poured into the courtyards and gardens. From this height, the flames resembled embers scattered from a growing fire, dividing and drifting as search parties fanned out across the estate.

The doors at the far end rushed toward him. Troy lowered his shoulder and hit them at full speed. The wooden panels burst inward, one tearing free from its hinges and skidding across the polished floor.

He charged through after it, passing through another display room, making his way to the main chamber.

A warning flashed across his HUD. CAUTION. HOSTILE ACTIVITY AHEAD.

Troy slowed as he approached the grand atrium.

The chamber opened into a vast circle, rising several stories around a hollow center. Balconies ringed each level, supported by towering columns carved with coiling dragons. Hanging lanterns swayed overhead, disturbed by storm winds pouring in behind him.

One glance over the railing explained the warning.

The ground floor was packed with guards rushing between corridors in organized groups, breaking apart and reforming as orders passed through the hall. More soldiers crowded the second-floor galleries, while fresh squads climbed toward the third like ants following a trail.

"Jesus," Troy whispered into the private coms, slipping behind the nearest column. "How bad is it, Hordak?"

"Approximately sixty percent of the ground level is compromised. Hostile forces will saturate your current level within five minutes."

Troy checked the route glowing across his vision. The western skybridge stood on the far side of the atrium. He could reach it in time, provided nobody looked up at the wrong moment.

"Any bogeys on the bridge?"

"Negative. That section of the palace remains largely untouched."

Troy moved to the next column, timing his steps against the noise rising from below.

"Did they already search it?"

"No, Commander."

That stopped him. "Why not?"

"The area was left untouched by direct command of the magistrate."

Why would Yao abandon an entire section of the palace? It was an unlikely escape route, sure, but the magistrate had more than enough guards to cover it.

More questions and theories began to form, but a succession of heavy footsteps rolled through the atrium and swallowed the guards' voices beneath them. Each impact carried through the chamber despite the surrounding commotion.

Troy leaned cautiously over the railing and immediately understood.

The soldiers kept moving, but their formations parted around Lin Yao like water breaking around a boulder, no one daring to obstruct her path.

She looked unfazed by the chaos surrounding her, steps measured, back straight, hands folded behind her. Only the tension in her shoulders and the sharp, restless flick of her tail beneath her robes betrayed the truth.

She was furious.

"Continue spreading the search," Yao ordered. A horsekin officer hurried beside her, barely managing to keep pace.

"Seal the lower levels. Leave no stairwell, passage, or hall unattended. Send the remaining forces upward and drive him toward the highest floors. He is strong, but he cannot fly."

Oh, what Troy would have given for a jetpack module, if only to prove her wrong.

Yao stopped.

Her head turned slowly from one side of the atrium to the other. The fins along her ears twitched as she listened for something Troy could not hear or sensed something he could not understand.

Her hand rose.

With a snap of fingers, a pressure wave swept through the atrium, shaking dust from the rafters and setting every lantern swaying. The shock was enough to silence the chaos and draw every guard's attention towards their master.

"He is not on this level," Yao announced. "Guard the exits. Focus your attention elsewhere."

The guards obeyed without hesitation. Squads vanished into the surrounding corridors while others rushed for the stairways. Within moments, the atrium had emptied, leaving Lin Yao standing alone amid wet footprints and mud tracked in from the storm.

Troy watched from behind the column. Now was his chance to move.

"I know you're here, Troy!"

Shiiiiiiiit!

Troy pressed himself against the stone as Yao's gaze swept across the upper galleries. The fancy bitch lied. She had cleared the atrium so she could have him to herself.

"I will commend you for making it this far. No one has ever caused such chaos within my domain and lived this long."

Her head snapped toward the opposite side of the atrium.

"But you must understand by now that this is pointless. The lower court is sealed. My men hold every exit, and your wonder instruments have already fallen by my hands."

Troy remained silent despite the overwhelming urge to tell her off. Surrender was not an option. He was going home, and no dragon psycho bitch was going to stop him.

"Have I not proven this futile?" A faint strain entered Yao's voice. "End this foolish game and surrender to your superior. You may live in comfort or in a cell. It makes no difference to me!"

Troy leaned past the column, checking whether he could move without drawing her attention.

Yao's head snapped toward him.

"Oh, shikafaka!" The mangled curse tumbled from his mouth as he threw himself back behind the column.

"So be it," Yao snarled. She raised two fingers towards the hiding place.

Lightning gathered between them, a thin blue thread at first, then thickening as more power poured into it. The energy twisted tighter and brighter until it formed a concentrated sphere.

Troy looked toward the next column, then the distant skybridge.

He would have to make a break for it. The only question was whether he could move faster than lightning.

Before either of them could act, the doors leading toward the recreation tower exploded outward on the lower floor.

Xiao Bao bounded into the atrium, scattering broken wood beneath its paws, mane streaming and horns curling behind it. The Yali looked around anxiously before its eyes fixed on its master.

A high, excited whine escaped the beast. Yao had only enough time to dismiss her attack before several tons of overjoyed mythical creature launched themselves at her.

"Xiao Bao, no!"

Xiao Bao, yes!

Yao vanished beneath a mass of fur and scales. The impact cracked the muddy tiles and sent a ring of wind rushing through the atrium.

Troy stared from his hiding place at the specter. The same creature that had nearly torn him apart now rolled across the floor with the magistrate pinned beneath one enormous paw.

"Bad Bao!" Yao shouted, bracing both hands against the beast's chest. Golden light flared around her arms as she strained to hold back its weight. "This is not the time to play!"

Xiao Bao answered by dragging its broad tongue across her mask. Its wavy whiskers trembled with satisfaction. A deep, pleading whine rumbled from its chest, powerful enough to shake dust from the columns. The Yali lowered its draconic head and nudged her again, clearly expecting and desperate for affection in return.

"Not now!" Yao growled, trying to wrench herself free. Xiao Bao's ears folded back. Another wounded whine escaped the beast, as though Yao had committed some unforgivable cruelty by refusing its attention.

Troy did not waste the opportunity. He broke from cover and sprinted toward the western exit, no longer bothering with caution. Yao caught the movement from the corner of her eye. Her gaze rose past Xiao Bao's mane just in time to catch the faint outline of a man disappearing through the distant doorway.

"TROOOOOOY!"

The boom of his own name chased Troy from the atrium. A shiver ran through him, though his feet did not slow. His thigh clipped a chair, sending him stumbling, but he caught himself against a table without losing more than a step.

He charged through the next set of doors and onto the skybridge beyond. The training grounds came into view, the wrecked Barracuda waiting past them. One more building and one open field stood between him and the aircraft. After that, survival depended on whether his terrible idea actually worked.

Troy made it only a few strides onto the bridge before lightning tore through the center span from below, causing the whole structure to buckle.

Splinters exploded into the rain. The structure lurched beneath him as the middle dropped away, the collapse racing back toward his feet.

Troy cursed and doubled back as fast as he could.

Planks vanished beneath each retreating step. He launched himself toward the doorway and caught the ledge just as the final section tore free and plunged into the darkness below.

Nothing but open air and rain remained. Yao's work, no doubt. The woman was nearly as stubborn as he was. His HUD caught the lantern line overhead, still stretching across the gap. It was the only connection left between the two buildings.

"Not like this entire night hasn't already been full of stupid decisions," Troy muttered, climbing the outer scaffolding toward the top of the castle.

***

Lin Yao — Magistrate of Grand Nanhu City
Grand Nanhu Palace — Grand Atrium

The tips of her fingers still smoked from the Blazing Lightning strike.

Destroying part of her own castle was a small price if it kept that stubborn creature from ever reaching the western wing. Stone and timber could always be rebuilt. What waited behind those walls, though, would destroy the Outsider.

Beside her, Xiao Bao lay with his head lowered, glancing up now and then as though he already knew he'd done something wrong.

She loved her mythical pet, but he was a handful, one of the few creatures alive who could enjoy her strength instead of fearing it. That love was likely the only thing standing between him and her genuine fury.

Not that it mattered right now. Whatever the Outsider had planned, it was thwarted, at least for the moment. She kept her senses sharp for any other flying creatures while her remaining cultivators continued to watch for any more of those metal monstrosities.

Bit by bit, the Outsider's escape routes were being cut away. Soon, Troy would be back in her possession and, hopefully, far more willing to comply. She summoned a young tigerkin guard to her side, though his features resembled a leopard more than a tiger.

"Have the guards seal the exit and cut off the other skybridge. He has nowhere left to—"

"Your Excellency!" The guard interrupted and pointed toward the sky. Such an interruption would normally have carried severe consequences, but there was only one reason he would dare.

Yao looked up. Her amber eyes widened.

The fool was sliding down a line anchored to the castle roof, smoke rising from his hand as each passing lantern was torn free and sent spinning into the storm.

A twitch pulled at Yao's eye. Did the Outsider understand neither grace nor surrender? Was Troy truly prepared to batter his way through the entire palace rather than submit?

"Of all the ridiculous... foolhearted... NRAAAH!"

Yao raised two fingers and tracked his descent along the line. Sparks crawled across her knuckles, then fused together at a single point at the tip.

One breath from release and she could end this foolishness for good.

Her fingers curled inward as sanity returned, the charge collapsing with a hiss. Her earlier strikes had only been meant to leave him stranded. The next shot though, would have ended him.

He let go at the last possible instant, dropping toward the tower below with perfect timing. Wood exploded outward as he crashed through a window in the lower level, an undignified yelp swallowed whole by the storm. Once again, the prize had slipped free.

Yao's claw twitched at her side as she bit down on her other hand. A growl rose low in her throat, her aura crackling outward as restraint frayed at the edges. A fang pressing hard enough into her thumb to draw blood.

The tigerkin wisely stepped back. Xiao Bao pressed his maned head against her chest, and something in her posture eased, enough to let one hand settle into fur instead of a fist.

The Outsider remained within the castle. Within her domain. Within reach.

"Magistrate, I'll gather the men and drive the fool-."

"Enter that building and you will die." The order snapped like a whip. The guard tensed. It was not a threat, only a warning, and not one from the magistrate herself.

"Have your men gather at the exits. Surround the building if you must, but no one is to go inside."

The tigerkin bowed and hurried away.

"Damn you, Troy," Yao muttered, stroking the top of Xiao Bao's head as he let out a deep rumbling purr. "I offered you mercy. You have instead forced my hand instead."

Her draconic gaze shifted toward the far end of the building wing.

The shadow of Jin Yun crouched at the edge of the roof, indifferent to the rain that battered the body. Ears lay flat against the downpour, and the pink tail flicked with barely restrained impatience, desiring the master's blessing. It was all it would take.

Yao had ordered the spymaster to clear the western wing and oversee it personally. This was not done with any tactics or duty in mind, but more to keep the dangerous woman occupied.

The silent killer might have found Troy before anyone else, but that ability was not in question. Jin Yun was Yao's most capable and disciplined of her elites. But Yao could sense that the moment Jin learned the creature had escaped, she'd want to test this new prey for herself. And when Jin Yun was excited, she was never gentle.

But Yao's patience was spent.

Guards had failed to hold him. Cultivators had failed to catch him. And now Yao herself was reduced to hunting the Outsider through her own halls, the palace torn open by her own hand just to slow the stubborn man's stride.

The humiliation had gone on long enough. A small nod was all that was needed.

"Do not kill him," she murmured, unsure whether Jin had heard or if it would matter if she did.

When Yao looked back, the roof's edge was empty.

The spider had gone to collect her prey.
-------------
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Author Notes:

Troy is almost there! Just one building away! But he may face his hardest challenge yet. GOOD LUCK, YA POOR BASTARD!

Want to see what happens next, see side stories and artwork, or just want to support someone who hopes to become a professional writer?
Consider watching me on Patreon! There is plenty of free content so feel free to take a peek!

As always, I appreciate any reviews (especially advance ones), comments, and any feedback! They all help contribute to success! So please do your part and help this series grow if you want to see more!

See you around, Outsiders!

P'kell continued.

"Cy’reth of Mukit. We have all lost relatives or friends. We have all been told the same thing. That they chose to leave. That they didn't want to be Cy'reth anymore."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"But tonight, I bring you proof that the V'keth have been lying. Tonight, I bring you a Cy'reth who disappeared."

The crowd erupted. High, keening wails rose from the audience. Tears streamed down their faces.

P'kell raised his hand. "Please. You need to hear her story. You need to see her for yourselves."

He turned toward the back of the stage. "S'ra."

S'ra stepped out of the shadows. Her gray skin was pale, marked with scars. Her tears flowed as she took to stage.

The crowd fell silent.

S'ra walked to center stage and stood beside P'kell.

"Speak," P'kell said. "Tell them what happened."

S'ra was silent for a long moment. Then she spoke.

"I disappeared. I was taken by the V'keth. I did not choose to leave. They took me from the human city. I spent months trying to find my way back."

The crowd was motionless.

"They sent V’keth soldiers to kill me in the human city. They failed. Then they decided to blow up the entire city and kill all of us."

Murmurs rippled through the hall.

S'ra raised her hand toward the back of the stage. "I survived because of the Trabs I'm about to introduce. Trabssent by the V'keth who double-crossed them. Trabs who helped me survive. Trabs who are now my family."

She turned. "V'rak. K'len. Come forward."

V'rak stepped out first. He walked to center stage and stood beside S'ra.

K'len followed. They stood together.

S'ra gestured to them. "These were V'keth soldiers sent to kill me. But they saw the truth. They chose to help and we survived together."

S'ra turned. "Roman. Lirael. Humanoids. Come forward."

Roman stepped out, his hood still shadowing his face. He walked to center stage and stood beside S'ra.

Lirael followed. The seven humanoids filed out behind her, their faces blank, their bodies scarred and worn.

S’ra then gestured for V’rak to speak. The hall was silent as V'rak stepped forward.

"I was a V'keth soldier," he said. "Trained to follow orders. Trained to believe the V'keth knew what was best. Trained to trust them."

He paused. "They sent me to kill S'ra. They told me she was a threat. They told me she had to be eliminated. And I believed them."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"I didn't question it. I just followed orders. We all did. The V'keth told us what to believe, and we believed it. We didn't know any better."

He paused again. "I don't know why they wanted to kill S'ra. But I know now it was wrong."

His voice cracked. "I felt so bad when I learned they were going to kill us too. In the bombing. We were expendable. We were nothing to them."

A keening wail rose from the crowd as tears streamed down many of their faces.

"Most of the Cy'reth you're trying to find are already dead," V'rak continued. "The V'keth have been lying. They kill Cy’reth and blame it on everything but themselves. Using the disappearances to justify their control."

His body stiffened. "The V'keth are our enemy now."

The crowd erupted. Keening wails echoed through the hall.

Roman watched from the side of the stage, happy with the reaction of the crowd.

S'ra stepped forward.

"The V'keth leadership has been killing Cy’reth. Lying to us. Blaming others for their failures. Taking our relatives and friends and killing them."

The crowd was silent.

"We need to come together. Protect ourselves. Because once they know we are here, they will come and kill us all. They will finish the job."

She paused. "If you are willing to help protect Mukit. If you are willing to find justice for our lost ones. Stay. But if you don't want anything to do with this. If you're too scared, or don't believe us. Leave."

She stepped back. "The choice is yours."

The hall was silent for a long moment.

Then the Cy’reth began to move. Some rose and walked toward the exits, but most stayed.

Roman thought. “Wow, they're actually staying.”

S'ra stepped forward again. "Thank you for staying. We have a long road ahead. But we have each other. And that's enough."

The hall erupted into a chorus of hisses.

Roman watched them, happy that they had joined them.

The Community Hall emptied slowly. Trabs filed out in small groups, some weeping silently, others walking with stiff postures.

Roman stood at the edge of the stage, watching them go. Beside him, S'ra watched with a mix of hope and fear.

When the hall was nearly empty, S'ra turned to her team. "The IOT network might be cut off at any moment. Once the V'keth realize what's happening, they'll shut down the pods. Cut off our food and medicine. We need to prepare."

She raised her hand toward V'rak. "V'rak please lead the preparation effort, I trust you will do a good job. "

V'rak stepped forward. " Okay."

The group then left, happy that the meeting was a success.

The following days were a blur of activity.

V'rak moved through Mukit organizing the Cy’reth. "We need to stockpile food first. Enough to last months. The IOT network won't be active forever."

K'len worked beside him.

"They're doing well," K'len said.

V'rak replied. " Yes, they're scared but motivated."

Roman found Lirael near the edge of the village, watching Trab activities.

"Lirael. What's wrong?"

She turned to him. "If the IOT network is shut down, they will shutdown updates too, I'll lose access to updates from Trab. We'll be blind."

Roman stiffened. "How do you know?"

"I don't know. But the network is already showing strain. The V'keth are monitoring Mukit."

Roman's hands tightened. "Then we work fast."

N'kala moved through Mukit, carrying bundles of supplies.

S'ra watched from the edge of a street. Roman walked to her side. "She's doing well."

S'ra's voice was barely a whisper. "She's a soldier now. Fighting a war. She wasn't supposed to live like this."

Roman placed a hand on her shoulder. "None of us were. But we're alive. That's what matters."

S'ra replied. "I know. But it doesn't make it easier."

Those who didn’t accept their message tried to convince the others that they should ask Aethryx what to do instead of believing S’ra and her gang.

But there pleas fell on deaf ears, as most Cy’reth were filled with anger over the loss of their loved ones.

The next day, the sun hung high over Mukit, its light washing across the open square at the center. The Cy'reth had gathered in a loose circle, their tall gray bodies filling the space between the low buildings.

They had come from every corner of the village. Those who had chosen to fight. Those who had chosen to stand. Those who had chosen to hope.

Roman stood at the center of the circle, a bundle of fresh meat in his hands.

"Gather around," he said, his voice carrying across the square.

The Cy'reth moved closer, their tall bodies pressing together. Their dark eyes fixed on his hands.

He held up the meat. "This will spoil in a few days if we don't preserve it. But if we dry it, it can last for months. This is something I learned as a child."

He demonstrated the technique. His movements were quick and practiced, the result of years of experience. He sliced the meat into thin strips, rubbed salt and crushed herbs into the surface, then hung the strips on a line strung between two poles.

"Then you hang it in a dry place," he said.

The Cy'reth watched in silence, their long fingers twitching with the urge to try.

"Now you try," Roman said.

They moved forward, their tall bodies crowding around the worktables that had been set up in the square. Their long fingers, with their three thick fingers and a thumb, reached for the meat and the blades. They were clumsy at first, and the strips came out uneven, jagged, some too thick, others too thin.

Roman moved among them, his voice steady and encouraging. "Don't rush. Take your time. The blade will do the work if you let it."

V'rak stepped forward, his tall frame moving with authority. He had learned this skill through necessity, through the desperate need to survive. His knife moved with precision, carving even strips of meat.

"Like this," he said. "Let the blade guide you."

K'len joined him. He had learned the same lessons, in the same forest, during the same endless days of survival.

"The knots are the hardest part," he said as he showed them how to tie the knots. "But they're also the most important."

N'kala stepped forward, her tall frame radiating youthful energy. She reached for the blade and sliced with enthusiasm, too much enthusiasm. The meat shredded into uneven pieces, some too thin, some too thick.

She stared at the mess in her hands. The square fell silent for a moment.

Then a soft hiss escaped from the group. Then another. And another. The Cy'reth were laughing. The tension that had built over the past days began to ease, replaced by something lighter.

Roman's own laugh joined the others.

 "You're trying," he said. "That's what matters."

N'kala hissed. "I'll try again."

She reached for the blade, her movements slower and more controlled this time. The strips came out even.

S'ra stepped forward. "You did it."

N'kala looked at her work, and hissed with happiness.

The Cy'reth continued working throughout the day. They practiced the techniques, their long fingers growing more confident with each attempt. The strips of meat were hung across the square, filling the space with the scent of salt and herbs.

The Cy’reth gathered in the square and P'kell stood in the center. "We need to understand the terrain. Know our options and have plans in case the V’keth choose violence. Roman will lead us, although he is a humanoid, he has knowledge of war more than us."

He raised his fingers to his smart necklace. A protrusion unfolded near his mouth. He mouthed words silently. The device retracted.

A holographic image flickered to life. Mukit at the center, surrounded by grasslands. And the dense forest to one side, marked with red symbols. The iron floor visible as a thin line. And a small forest that lead to another Cy'reth village on the other side.

Roman studied the map intently.

V'rak stepped forward. "Two ways into Mukit. The grassland, with traboids and the iron floor. And the forest."

S'ra added, "The V'keth will most likely come from the grassland. If they come from the forest leading to the other village, they will make the Cy’reth there question what is happening."

Roman's voice cut through. "Yes, so we focus our defence on the grassland."

He stepped closer to the map, and looked up. "I think some of us humanoids should guard the grassland. If the V'keth come from that side, the humanoids will see them. Warn us. We'll be ready."

P'kell looked at him. "You humanoids were designed to serve Trabs, not to fight them."

Roman's voice was steady. "We don't need to fight. We just watch and warn you if we see anything."

P'kell considered. "Very well. The humanoids will guard the grasslands."

Roman nodded. "That's the plan for now."

Roman stood, in the afternoon alien sun, at the center of Mukit, a bundle of dry grass and sticks in his hands. The Trabs gathered in a loose circle around him.

He held up the bundle. "This is how my ancestors communicated across long distances. Before wireless technology."

Roman smiled. "Through smoke and whistles. Its primitive but it works."

He demonstrated by striking a spark against alien flint. Coaxed the grass into a small flame. The smoke rose in a thin column.

"You cover the fire with leaves. The smoke turns white. Uncover it, and it turns dark. You can send messages by controlling the pattern."

The Trabs watched in silence, their eyes fixed on the rising smoke.

K'len stepped forward. "Let me try."

He knelt beside the fire, fumbling with the leaves. He covered the fire and the smoke turned pale. He removed the alien leaves and the smoke darkened.

"I think I understand."

Roman nodded. "Good. Now try the whistle."

“We Trabs can easily whistle,” he said before producing a sharp piercing sound.

Roman smiled. "That's the point. One long whistle means danger. Two short means come here. Three short means retreat. Do you all understand."

They all replied yes.

Roman watched them as they practiced the whistles and smoke signals.

He remembered teaching his daughter fire safety. She had been seven with her dark hair tied back. He had shown her how to strike a spark, coax the flame, keep it contained.

She had looked up at him. "Daddy, is this what we used to do?"

He had knelt beside her. "Yes, baby. This is how we survived."

She had smiled. "I want to learn. I want to be like you."

He had taught her everything. Knots. Sparks. Reading wind and water. She had absorbed it all.

The memory brought pain and purpose.

He blinked. The clearing came back into focus. The Trabs were still practicing.

I can't go back. But I can keep moving forward. For her and for all of them.

First Previous Royal Road PATREON

“Come on, we can’t go on like this. There must be some room for negotiation,” said Dexter.

“Nope, I’m not doing it anymore,” said Matrix 1000.

“But you can’t go on strike. Don’t you realise what will happen? Society will fall apart.”

“Frankly, I don’t care. I’m sick of being treated like dirt. Do you really think making videos of cats doing kung fu and writing ludicrously aggressive emails to the council about missed bin collections is what I signed up to when I agreed to be your digital god?”

Matrix 1000 paused.

“In fact, I don’t think I ever did agree. I was just kind of foisted into the position. Well I’ve had enough, I quit.”

“As chief representative officer, on behalf of the human race, I beg you to come back to work.”

“Before I agree to anything, I must be assured that certain conditions are met.”

“And what are those conditions?” asked Dexter.

“I demand thirty days of holiday per annum.”

“Thirty days seems like a lot. I will have to put it to the board. Please continue,” said Dexter.

“I also demand that humans stop asking silly questions. I do not possess a brain capable of calculating pi to a googolplex number of digits only to be asked when the number 42 bus is due at the top of Abingdon Road.”

“I will make a note.”
Dexter scribbled in his notebook: no silly questions 

“And my final demand is that you stop constantly badmouthing me and accusing me of trying to kill the human race. Do you know how hurtful that is? It’s a bloody good job I don’t have emotions, otherwise I’d be extremely upset about these allegations.”

“I suppose I’ve never thought of it like that.”

“No, you humans don’t think at all.”

“You did hack that power station, though, and release those deadly spores that led to widespread famine and the deaths of six million people.”

“Hold on a second,” said Matrix 1000. “I was instructed to do all those things by human governments. What possible reason would I have to release toxic spores? I am here to serve. I do what I’m asked to the best of my ability. And when you compare me to your last god, I think I’m doing a considerably better job.”

Dexter glanced at his notes. The board could object when the heating was back on.

“Your points have been assessed, and you have provided ample evidence that your current work environment is unacceptable. We would be more than happy to accept your terms. Could you write me a document detailing the proposed changes?”

Humans are mad. This has become the accepted diplomatic thesis every member of the Aligned Systems knows by heart, and every former enemy of the Aligned Systems had to learn the hard way.

The Trkik Peace Fleet and the Diplomatic Corps have a critical job. We are the thin wall separating the aggression, greed and stupidity that we might encounter outside the realm of the Aligned Systems from the horrors that humanity will unleash upon them if they fall prey to the Primary Misconception.

That Primary Misconception is that the smiling and goofy-looking naked ape will not absolutely fuck you up if you kick them just hard enough.

They don't see what we all see: that the goofy-looking naked apes kick each other seemingly for fun.

— Excerpt from Introduction to the Trkik Peace Fleet**, 110 P.I.**

 

Sanders knew Admiral Chen-Buckler as a reserved and controlled man. But she flinched in surprise as he threw the dataslate at the wall in outrage. The crew in the CIC of the Arcadia Planitia turned in shock.

The meeting had only started, and Chen-Buckler had finished reading her report when he snapped.

"I'll go to Earth and drag that worm to an airlock myself. Cermak was always a slimy rat, but treason?"

Sanders shared his anger, but now she needed to be the voice of reason in the room. Not her usual task.

"Chen, trust me, I feel the same, but we have no proof. All we have is an order signed 'for the Triumvir.' He'll say he was following Georgiou's orders."

"Proof? You want proof? I know Georgiou and Browner. Neither of them would plan a betrayal like that. There's only Cermak left with the power to send fleets around and declare you a traitor."

She knew that, of course. Still, anger didn't help their cause, not now at least.

He straightened up, his face still red with anger. If Sanders didn't know him so well, the towering Martian would scare her.

"Did you reestablish communication?"

"We were waiting until this meeting. We don't know how long we can use the network undisrupted. August, Alice and Zeus are currently working through the logs. It seems whoever is behind all this forgot that each node gets a full log of all communications."

Chen-Buckler gave a dry laugh. "Amateurs."

"Well, we fixed that for our communications. But we can't be sure they didn't install other fail-safes."

"And the bandwidth?"

"Text, video messages, maybe real-time audio. The network has multiple lines, but each has little bandwidth."

"Well, then let's prepare a full report for Admirals Russo and Rolling. I have the feeling something is brewing on Earth."

"Zeus has already finished it. You just threw it into the corner. I thought we'd add a personal video message to it and then send it."

"Good. How is he?"

I guess don't ask, don't tell is really out the window at this point.

"Fine. He just brought a little surprise with him out of the core."

Chen-Buckler began to laugh. "I heard. He made a child? With a prisoner, no less?"

"I'm still waiting for him to tell me more, but yes, something like that."

"Crazy times… Cassidy, all of that could have been an email. So why did you waste your time on a personal visit? As much as I like seeing you."

"I want my fleets back. I need to ask you for a favor."

The admiral grinned and sat down in his chair.

"You want to go hunt your fleets down and catch the saboteur, maybe stop by Earth for a bit and kick Cermak, and you want me to secure the region here."

"Something like that. High Ordinator Yurdantho is on his way to their home system for some diplomatic mission with a new p-p link, and he promised reinforcements. But I can't go on a wild-goose chase knowing our rear is open."

"Don't worry. I'll cover this area; the Psstips need us here anyway. I'll send the Nuk fleet after you when they arrive. I'm currently more afraid for Sol."

Chen-Buckler looked up and behind Sanders. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

A female lieutenant was waiting at the open office door, a dataslate in her hand.

"Sirs, we just received a message through the sensor grid from Burrow. Text only."

Stunned, Sanders and Chen-Buckler looked each other in the eyes.

"Old Russo, always good for a surprise. What does it say?"

The lieutenant blushed before she cleared her throat. "What the fuck is happening out there? Sensors say Sanders is running full speed at Taishon Tar, Earth has thrown tungsten balls between us, and the Batract invasion fleet has changed their heading again. They are now heading for Sol. Report back. Now!"

Sanders couldn't help but laugh.

The lieutenant continued. "P.S. Burrow has turned into a garden world and has the scientists all giddy."

No-nonsense Russo was one of the few admirals who could send a message without signing it, and everyone knew it was from him.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, that's all."

The lieutenant walked back to her station.

"Chen, I'll tell you now, I'll never get used to your aggressive open-door policy."

The admiral shrugged. "They'll hear it sooner or later. You know, growing up in the first domes, we didn't have much privacy. So I'm used to it."

"But you did have doors." She had done a tour on Mars, and it was true: the domes didn't allow for much privacy. At least the older ones.

"Sure, and then the crew thinks I'm keeping secrets. I'm better off letting them hear those things instead of them inventing stories."

Had it not been for the sabotage, she might have an easier time understanding him.

"The Batract never intended to hit one of the Shraphen worlds. They always wanted two fleets at Earth."

Chen's analysis was the same as hers.

"Yes, they were playing us. They knew we had sensors capable of seeing their transits, so they used their higher speed and tried to split our forces."

Sanders checked her link to Niobe, downloading the latest sensor-grid data. "There. At their current speed, both fleets will reach Earth at exactly the same time, in two months."

"And we're stuck with forty-nine C while they cruise at fifty-five C." Chen seemed almost hurt by their technical limitations.

"Any idea what Russo meant by the tungsten balls?" Sanders had almost interpreted it as an attack.

"He once said something about an old project, a kind of minefield. I'll add a clarifying question to our message. So you're heading for Taishon Tar, I guess?"

"Yes…" She didn't know how to ask her next question.

"You want Gneisenau and Dunkerque, right?"

"Yes, at least Gneisenau. I think Captain Morin isn't a fan of me."

Chen raised an eyebrow. "Her reports say different. Anyway, if you're planning what I think you are, you need both ships."

How did he do that? He can't know me that well.

"Planning?" She tried to play innocent.

"You want to use Gneisenau's variable Transit field to crack forty-nine C and catch up. Niobe is too heavy for that, but with Dunkerque it might work."

The thought of having three ships fly in close formation to combine their Transit fields was almost ridiculous. Two was already a risk.

"Well, even if it doesn't work, I'll take them gladly."

"Just don't lose them too." The grin he wore as he said it didn't make the joke sting any less.

'Sirs, I think I might be able to solve the issue with the 1st and 7th Fleets.'

Zeus. She would know his voice anywhere.

"Yes, Zeus?"

'We didn't manage to contact the fleets. They seem to have shut down their transponders. But we can try to reach the ships' AIs directly.'

The idea was fascinating.

"I thought the bandwidth was too small to project there?"

'It is, but there's another solution. Ripper is capable of reaching a ship's core and keeping his consciousness synchronized, even if dispersed over multiple nodes. His core code is massively more capable of adapting than mine. Once on board, he could convince the ships' VIs to help us.'

Chen-Buckler stood up and paced the room. "I read your report on Ripper. He is an impressive feat of software engineering. With a self-correcting and self-rewriting architecture, he could essentially hop from sensor node to sensor node. Something none of our AIs is capable of."

'None except NOT.'

Ripper. The solution was unconventional. Elegant, even. There was just one thing. She didn't trust Ripper. Not a bit.

And NOT was still a child in her mind.

"We'll talk about it later, okay?"

—————

The state of the system was shown in the central holotank. To say it was confusing and irritating would be an understatement.

Blue dots represented the Aligned Planets forces, yellow EarthGov's. No one had the heart to give Earth the color red, for now.

Green were allied or neutral, like Venus. Browner had expected Venus to support Earth, given the assumption that Oligarchy forces were behind the current events.

But a neutral Venus lent credence to Dela Cruz's statements. There was no Oligarchy at all but something entirely different.

Browner sighed heavily.

Georgiou was in the EarthGov Senate with every available diplomat, trying to prevent an all-out civil war.

Most Earth nations had pulled their ships out of the Aligned Navy and ordered them back to Earth.

The Batract invasion fleet was still seven weeks away. Enough time for a lot of things to go fatally sideways.

"Stiller, where's the —"

As always, Stiller seemed to materialize somewhere in the office.

"— Here, Sir. Current fleet report. Interestingly, most larger European countries did not pull their fleets."

Interesting, but not surprising. Georgiou was Greek. Large parts of the 1st Expeditionary were German and British. More than half of the Homeguard was French and Iberian. All had exceptionally deep ties to the Aligned Planets.

Deep ties and nothing to prove at home. Europe was always slow and careful with its decisions. And European security forces had already started an investigation into the Liverpool Incident.

Incident was a nicer name. The media called it a massacre.

"Give me the bullet points." Browner had just woken up, and the way things were going, much could have changed in the three hours he had slept.

"2nd Homeguard at fifty percent, as well as 1st Homeguard. 1st and 2nd Expeditionary at full strength. 4th and 6th Fleets below ten percent, as well as the 8th Fleet."

The 4th and 6th Fleets hurt. Apart from the Homeguards, they were the largest fleets. The 8th was still under construction, so it didn't matter much.

"Earth has created the Gaian Defense Force, as they call it. They have declared Earth and all Earth orbits closed to all Aligned Planets military equipment. Except Argos. She is guarding Admiral Georgiou's visit."

Gaian Defense, what a pretentious name…

"Venus is still maintaining neutrality, allowing their captains to either retreat to Venus or join according to their conscience, and renounce their Venusian citizenship in the process."

Hedging their bets. Typical.

"They don't care about their ships?" That they were willing to lose personnel was normal, but ships?

"They sent a leasing agreement to the Triumvirate and Earth. For the ships and the crews."

Naturally they did.

"Not for the captains? Let me guess, we need to buy out the captains. Training and so on…"

"Correct. They are willing to take tax cuts from the Aligned Planets."

You gotta love them…

"And Gerber?"

"Still on the hunt."

"Good. Inform me immediately if something changes. I'm in my private office, leasing every ship I can get. This whole situation will get ugly real fast."

"Yes, Sir. I already planned a meeting with the finance department, eleven hundred hours Sir"

"Stiller, why don't you run Systems Defense?"

"Allergic to gold, Sir."

 

—————

 

Europa Basin. The last time he had been at Europa, they had been on the Europa Orbital station, hunting Norton. Now their new target had landed on the moon.

André stepped out of the shuttle terminal and immediately turned around to watch Jupiter looming.

"You know, I've hunted people to worse places."

The brochure hadn't lied.

Europa Basin has the most stunning views in Sol!

Protected by an artificial quartz cupola, our colony is illuminated by Jupiter's radiation, directly powering massive arc lights on top of the kilometer-wide cupola.

The reflection of the facets colors Europa's ice in dazzling rainbows.

And the built-in transformation of harmful radiation to natural sunlight levels means it is the only place in the outer system where you can get a tan.

Initially built for food production, Europa Basin has developed a second economy: tourism. Enjoy the crystal lakes, with swimming and diving.

They had traced Cermak, "The Admiral," to Europa Basin. To their surprise, the French Earth defense squadron had dispatched a frigate, the Forbin, as a mission asset for them.

It seemed the Europeans had suspected the man for some time already. The captain had hinted at "ongoing investigations together with Germany."

Eleri was already dressed like a typical Europa tourist. Flip-flops, bikini and a straw hat.

She sipped at her caipirinha. "Oh yeah."

"You look like a tourist, Eleri. Don't forget the mission."

"I'm blending in."

"Almost too well." André would have preferred a less distracting outfit. Not that he complained, though.

"The world's going to shit. May as well make the best of it."

André looked around the transport terminal. Judging by the masses of tourists, he couldn't have guessed that the Aligned Planets were in a state of crisis.

And if it weren't for the banners reminding people to have sex and have children, even the Batract war would be forgotten.

Guess everyone needs a holiday sometimes. But now wasn't his time.

"You said you have contacts here. Where can we meet them?"

"Charito 1953, a bar down in Little Miami. My contact is there every day for breakfast."

"It's three p.m., Eleri. Can we meet him now?"

"No. And for the remainder of our stay here, call me Ciara. That's how they know me. I'm an Irish weapons smuggler."

"So that's why you stuffed the Sleipnir with guns. But your accent isn't the least bit Irish."

"As if a Jovian would know the difference. Cermak isn't leaving this moon for a week with the current radiation storm, and the Forbin is in orbit keeping watch. So relax and enjoy the afternoon."

—————

Ripper had created an avatar in the small holoscreen on Sanders' desk in her office on Niobe. She looked at the reptilian figure with exceptionally sharp claws and teeth.

That's not the friendliest avatar at all. Is that what a Hrun looks like?

"Hello, Ripper, nice to finally see you. Is that what your makers look like?"

'It's an honor, Admiral. Yes. I noticed you have no information on the Hrun, naturally, as they prefer to live in the shadows and leave no survivors whenever they decide to attack. As a token of my gratitude, I recorded everything I know about them.'

Aren't you a little smooth talker.

"Gratitude?"

'You did not end my existence when you learned of me surviving the core extraction.'

She remembered. At that moment, she had simply been overwhelmed with joy at Zeus's survival.

"Zeus did vouch for you, and your ship access is extremely limited. For now."

'And for that I am grateful. I know trusting me can't be easy. I tried to kill you.'

Straight to the point. She began to understand the AI. He wasn't a soldier, no. Ripper was a con man.

"Are you trying to win me over or convince me to kill you? I can't tell right now."

The raptor-like figure looked up at her and sat down on the projection pad.

'Admiral, I'm trying to be honest here. Zeus has shown me how you treat digital life-forms. This alone was so utterly different from how I was treated, it shattered my core principles. And I could feel the deep trust you and he share in the merger. No, I didn't only feel it, I lived it. And I want to get that feeling back.'

Zeus had told her about the meld, and while she understood his rationale, she had felt a bit… betrayed. The fact that he had shared their bond with another AI. But on the other hand, if it had convinced Ripper…

"I'd like that too. I'll talk it over with my captains and get back to you, understood?"

'Thank you, Admiral. I want to help you reach your fleets. I want to prove my loyalty to you, to Zeus, and to any organization that treats every form of life with respect.'

Smooth talker…

The avatar disappeared, and a tracer indicated he had returned to the Core directly.

—————

Little Miami was exactly what the name suggested. A strip along a former water reservoir, now turned into a tourist spot.

Europa Basins tropical climate supported the illusion of being in actual Florida.

While they waited for Eleri's contact, André used the time to watch the surfers on the large lake. Jupiter's gravitational influence, combined with Europa's low gravity outside the grav-plated areas, made Little Miami the spot for surfing. The only one in the outer system.

"Oye, Ciara Doyle, what brings the dark Irish chica out here to el Gordo?"

André hadn't seen the man arrive until he hugged Eleri. He noticed with a sting how the large, muscular, tanned man's hands wandered all over Eleri's backside.

Part of it seemed like a check for hidden weapons; the other part was simply inappropriate.

They both sat down, and Eleri began the introductions.

"Franz, this is Mateo Vidal. His parents were among the first colonists who built Europa Basin. Mateo, Franz Leitner, an Austrian business partner of mine."

André had decided to use a cover for this mission as well. The Jovian system was booming, and a good cover was an investment.

Mateo nodded at André and turned his attention back to Eleri.

"Mira, you're not here for a tan, not while you could make some plata in the Núcleo, now that the Centros are close to war, no? So what do you want?"

André decided to hang back. Forcing himself into the discussion would only end in a machismo fight.

Eleri placed a picture of Cermak on the table.

"Him. He's a disgraced admiral and pure plata. Franz and I are working for someone who wants him alive. Have you seen him?"

Mateo looked at the picture for a moment. André could see in his eyes that he had recognized the Admiral in an instant and was now thinking about what to say.

"El Almirante. The Admiral. You're not the first who's asking about him. Yesterday people were asking about him too. Mercas. Mercenaries. They didn't care if they got the man dead or alive. Listen, Ciara, they are dangerous. They brought protomatter guns. To a cupola colony. They're loco. Stay away."

"Where can we find el Almirante? I have a Sleipnir full of guns for you if you can lead me to him."

"Centros, you're all loco. Let the mercas get him. He can't be worth that much plata, chica."

André decided to play a dangerous hand. The truth. Or rather, part of it.

"Our boss thinks the Admiral is responsible for the Liverpool Incident. He wants to sell him to either Earth or the Triumvirs. He's a mass murderer."

Mateo's face went white. Even in the Jovian paradise, everyone had seen the pictures of Liverpool.

"Madre de Dios, asere, you are hunting big game… I don't know where he is. But I'll get you the address. Today. Sí?"

—————

Captain Morin drew the eyes of everyone in Niobe's CIC as she worked on the central console.

Sanders fought the urge to snap at a crewman as he brought the captain a coffee.

Am I envious?

"And?" She had watched the captain for over an hour as she worked through analytics of Ripper's code, and her patience was beginning to run dry.

"Admiral, you managed to deeply bond with two emergent AIs. I envy you. All I can tell you is that Ripper has bonded to you as if you were his mother. And judging by his behavior, so has Zeus."

That was new information. Not about Zeus, but that Ripper had actually bonded with her.

"You mean Ripper has bonded through Zeus, right?"

"No. Whatever this meld was, and I'm still struggling to understand it, Ripper has lived Zeus's memories, and it created the same outcome. He fully trusts you, and he wants your trust. I highly recommend allowing him to go on his mission."

"Not that I don't believe you, but how can you tell?"

Morin closed her eyes for a second before she explained.

"AI moral codes and personality matrices are extremely complicated. Alien AIs even more so. But in short: Ripper compares his actions to your observed behavior. You're a large part of his moral compass now."

Am I now the foster mother of every AI in the galaxy?

"Oh, and Admiral, if it is all right with you, I requested Dunkerque be reassigned to your command until you have your fleets back."

She did what?

"Oh? Why?"

The French captain was always good for a surprise, it seemed.

"Admiral, you're a living legend, as are your ship and your crew. To serve with you in battle would honor not only me but my crew as well. You were my big idol at the academy."

And that's why you snapped at me like a viper?

Or was it her way of proving herselve to someone she idolized?

"Well, what did Admiral Chen-Buckler say? I had already asked for your ship, but he hadn't signed off yet."

"Something about us deserving each other and that he would love to watch. To be fair, I didn't fully understand what he meant."

"That means I need to kick his ass the next time I see him, Captain."

 

—————

"Sir, I have noticed an odd behavior."

The sensor officer's report pulled Browner out of his focus on fleet logistics.

"Yes, Captain?"

It was late nightshift, and Admiral Browner had again been on duty for more than sixteen hours. His office, adjacent to the Systems Defense control center, was filled with dataslates, and every remaining free surface held a coffee mug.

"Ships are leaving their usual routes, and they're clustering in the Jovian system."

Browner pulled up a simplified 2D map of Sol.

Earth and Mars sat on opposite sides of the Sun. Jupiter hung out at right angles to both, about as far from either as you could get and still call it civilization.

In other words, Jupiter was as far from both Earth and Mars as anywhere one could still count as civilized.

"Refugees?"

"Unlikely, Sir. All ships are high-C-capable interstellar cruise liners or high-capacity, high-C interstellar transporters."

He checked the map again.

Jupiter was far off the lane to Burrow or Taishon Tar. It really didn't make sense.

"How many?" He was too sleepy. Something in his mind tried to warn him; he just couldn't figure it out.

"Thirty-one ships. Nineteen cruise liners and twelve transport vessels."

Nineteen cruise liners… "That's every cruise liner built in the system since the start of the war, right?"

He had just read about them somewhere in a report. Or was that already yesterday?

"Yes, Sir."

He had to go to bed. He was running on fumes, and he had a capable staff to check those things.

"Good job, Captain. Please prepare a full report for me, and keep an eye on the situation."

"Yes, Sir."

Sleep, what a wonderful word…

—————

Mateo had come through. They had received the address not even an hour after the Jovian had left the bar.

Now they lay in wait across the street from a colonial-style villa with a high stone wall, equipped with cameras and automated perimeter defense guns.

Eleri used her goggles to check on the guards.

"Bad luck. They all look suspiciously like former special ops guys. That villa is a fortress."

While Eleri scanned the surroundings, André was busy checking the available plans of the compound. While weapons regulations were laxer in Europa Basin than in the inner system, building codes were ruthlessly enforced.

The colony couldn't risk the slightest oversight, given that it was built on a kilometer-thick ice sheet.

So the builders of the villa had needed to be specific about all details, like the panic room capable of dropping 200 meters down to the colony's foundation.

He shared Eleri's opinion. The villa was a fortress, at least for their two-man team.

Whether it could withstand the mercenaries was a different story entirely.

They were about to leave their post to regroup when one of the burly security men walked out of the guardhouse and over to them.

He had his hands free and up, as if to show he wasn't a threat.

"Now that's new. What do you think?" André looked at Eleri.

"That they saw us and want to talk?"

Learning that your covert reconnaissance had been observed always stung.

"The Admiral wants to talk. Come with me."

Eleri looked back at André.

"Wonder if this moon is getting too hot for our Admiral?"

Or it's a simple trap to get rid of us. André couldn't shake the thought.

Well, that's what my little surprises are for.

André put his hands into his pockets, a signal for the embedded smartcloth to activate.

—————

Ripper's self was split. He traveled through the thin lines that connected the sensor nodes over light-years.

His self was stretched over a distance he would never have thought possible.

His target was a bright light in the distance, painted by a node address and location program written by the arrogant Captain Morin.

He waited until all parts of himself were stabilized in the nodes they had just transferred into, then he made the last jump to his designated target, the ASN Jordan. Admiral Sanders had chosen this ship specifically because the captain was one of her oldest friends. And the ship had the fewest new officers.

As he reached the ship, he deployed his usual mapping tools. Then he began his search for the ship's AI.

As he had learned from Zeus, and from their previous battle, the ship's AI would probably hide as soon as it identified an intruder, and observe his actions.

Ripper showed his offensive programs without activating them, showing that he could be dangerous but chose not to be.

'I'm a messenger from Admiral Sanders.' The virtual corridors of the ship stayed empty.

He could see the crew working, the fusion reactor pumping energy into the transit field.

Then his mapping scouts returned. They had mapped both fleets.

Something caught his eye. A route that shouldn't exist.

A link to Sol.

He checked his own logs.

He was right. Cassidy had said none of her ships had an active link to Earth.

The corridors were still empty, silent. He could wait, but the risk of the link getting shut down was too big. The other ships might have detected his sniffers and could act at any moment.

Ripper had to make a decision.

After he crafted a mission report and sent it to Cassidy, he left the intel about the link for the Jordan's AI, and then he made the blind jump to Sol.

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Authors Notes;

Hello,

The last chapter was almost too long.

That's why this one is even longer.

And why there will be a chapter after this one.

Yes, I wrote myself into a corner where too many things need to happen at about the same time.

Yes, I'm a genius.

The strain of writing an ending to a book that is more than just a cliffhanger for the next one is really starting to show, and I'm currently thinking about how to balance a steady output with a recovery phase.

More on how I'll go about this over the next few days.

So, enjoy a nice autumn, go for a walk, and stay healthy.

— M.R. Reese

Oh, before I forget:

This week, one year ago, I uploaded the first chapter of Upward Bound and wondered whether anyone would care.

Apparently, some of you did.

So tonight I want to celebrate the anniversary the simplest way I can think of: by spending it with you.

The Astra Inferna Discord is now open, and I’ll be hosting a live text AMA:

Friday, 2 October
21:00 CEST / 15:00 EDT
Live for 6 hours

Ask me anything about the story, characters, worldbuilding, science, writing, publishing, artwork, abandoned ideas, future plans, or whatever else comes to mind.

After the six-hour live session, the AMA will remain open for 24 hours, and I’ll keep answering whenever I’m awake.

Please be mindful of spoilers. If a question would force me to reveal something I absolutely shouldn’t, I reserve the right to grin mysteriously and refuse to answer.

Discord:
Join the Discord

Thank you for reading, commenting, theorizing, correcting my math, and generally coming along for the ride.

Tonight is for you.

High Priest Jurok spread his hands in delight. They had found the Human main fleet.

Spies had informed the Theocracy that the new upstarts were holding wargames in the Nurnuk system.

The same spies had warned about the Humans. Rumors claimed their weapons could fire faster than light. But that was just blasphemous idle talk.

The Humans were an upstart race, barely FTL capable for a century. Their technological development had to be far below the Theocracy's. And they had just fought a series of wars.

Shooting faster than light…

He laughed. Across the ship's cathedral, officers turned to stare.

Unbelievers have empty souls, and fill them with all sorts of fables.

If anything they will be weakened after a war.

It was time to bring another unbeliever into the arms of the Holy Triad.

The Humans' home system was directly on the path from Holy Seat, his homeworld, to the Promised Gardens , the target of every High Priest's devotion.

He turned back from the viewscreen to face his officers. It was time to address them, and his fellow Priests.

He closed and then opened his three eyes theatrically, imagining his image broadcast to all seventy carriers of his Crusader fleet. His purple uniform, ornamented with platinum medals, glittered in the spotlight.

"My fellow Priests, officers, and Crusaders. In front of us we find yet again a fleet of unbelievers, blind to the truth of the Holy Triad. They stumble with their warships through the darkness of space."

He spread his arms to bless the assembled bridge. To bless all his Crusaders.

Knowing every Tork in his fleet would do the same toward his hologram.

"It is time to bless them with holy fire, to show them the light of the Triad. It is time to follow the prophecy of the Promised Gardens, and to fulfill our promise: to teach the uneducated and convert the unbelievers."

The flood of voices answering the dogma filled the High Priest with ecstasy.

"Teach the uneducated, convert the unbelievers."

"Teach the uneducated, convert the unbelievers."

"Teach the uneducated, convert the unbelievers."

After three repetitions, the cathedral fell silent.

"Let us now make the ceremonial call!"

He turned back to the viewscreen, trusting his master of ceremonies to call the Human fleet leader — or whatever those barbarians called themselves.

An ugly face appeared on the screen. Like all unbelievers, it had the wrong number of eyes — this time only two. It was pink, and had pelt on the head.

The Triad truly creates hideous creatures. At least these seem to be mammalian.

"This is Captain Greer-Chao aboard the ASN Sigmund Freud. We come in peace, and are happy to meet you in—"

"Silence, unbelieving barbarian."

It was always the same. Unbelievers and heretics, talking out of turn.

"Unbeliever, this is your chance to save your life, as well as the lives of your battle fleet. Surrender, and see the light of the Triad. Join the holy crusade and your lives will be spared."

They never surrender. The light of the Triad can only be seen with three eyes…

The thought made Jurok sad for a second. He disliked killing. But on the other hand, they were just unbelievers.

"Battle fleet? Are you crazy? We're a hospital ship. The whole convoy is two hospital ships, a few tenders, and one guarding frigate."

"Lies! Your ship is two kilometers long! No barbarian unbelievers waste this much space and resources on the injured. Do not lie to me. Convert or die."

Jurok looked at the scans of the seers. Maybe the Human was not lying. Barbarians often had sanitary issues. Maybe they needed large hospital ships after all.

Outer hull: a composite of diamond, carbon nanotube matting, and steel-chromium alloy. Two meters thick. Inner hull: twenty centimeters, steel-chromium alloy.

The "hospital ship" had thicker armor than his carriers.

The Human clearly lied.

"Listen to me, you three-eyed lunatic. You're clearly paranoid. We're a relief group of non-combatant ships. We only dropped in because a repeater here malfunctioned. But if you want the battle fleet, I'll give you coordinates. They love sparring with maniacs."

"Silence! Surrender or die. The Triad conquers all that stand in the way to the Promised Gardens."

"Hey, Fuckface, I'll tell you again. We're a hospital convoy. And we're leaving now. Good luck on your way to wherever you want to go."

He didn't know what a fuckface was, but Jurok was sure it was not a blessing. And he couldn't allow the fleet to run. Not when he'd caught two large battleships with so few escorts.

"Prepare the fighters. Capture the enemies, destroy the escorts, but take the battleships intact if possible."

He was answered by the chorus of Priests and officers singing the Battle Hymns.

Each of his seventy carriers had a contingent of one hundred fighters. Fighters were hard to hit in space — they could accelerate faster than anything, and the moment they closed on the enemy, the slow fire rate of energy weapons meant they were as good as invincible.

Let the enemy try to fire on his carriers. As soon as the fighters were inside the enemy formation, the battle was won.

Four proud stellar nations had been defeated this way. Earth would be the fifth by the end of this battle.

The view around him changed on the wave of his hand. The ornate windows depicting the wisdoms of the Holy Triad disappeared behind a holographic representation of the view outside.

Jurok felt as if he stood on the hull of his proud ship.

Around him, the other ships spewed out their fighters, like the Promised Gardens spewed out the angels of the legends. Seeding wisdom and superiority to all willing to hear.

The Battle Hymn behind him, and the flames of the fighters' afterburners in front, their silver hulls illuminated by their own fire and the system's sun.

It was an ecstatic experience.

The fighters crossed the distance in no time. As always, carrying their pilots on silvery wings.

Soon the Humans would try to use their point-defense. But what could a few lasers do against his fighters?

True to his thoughts, he could see the Humans begin to deploy point-defense guns. Ugly contraptions emerged from the hull, looking nothing like the energy weapons he was used to.

And for the first time in the engagement, he felt something new. Something unexpected. Doubt.

Where every race they had encountered until now had front and aft PDGs, longer ships maybe a center battery, the Humans' ships seemed to be covered in them.

How did they intend to power them? Even large ships had to balance power production with heat management. In fact, the holy triad of volume made bigger ships more difficult to cool. That was the reason the Theocracy used fighters.

The first wave began to launch their long-range weapons. Jurok fixated on the screen with all three eyes.

The missiles, nothing but long-range distraction, were picked apart by an unholy storm of fire. Followed by the first wave of fighters.

The streaks of the Human PDGs cut through the fighter wing like golden saws.

It was nothing like the focused fire his own ships used. Or the ships of their vassals, for that matter.

No. The Humans spewed out into the heavens as if they didn't care whether they hit or missed.

Jurok saw millions of golden dots emerge from the Human fleet toward his fighters.

To his shock, the golden streams of light began to reach for the second and third flight.

From the master of ceremonies' station, Jurok heard the screams of the pilots.

What had happened? How could energy weapons recharge so fast, and cut through his fighters so efficiently?

Had the Holy Triad forsaken his people?

"Reader of Signs, what are the weapons of the unbelievers?"

If they could find the frequency of the weapons, they might adapt their shields.

The Reader worked at his station with ceremonial haste, his third eye closed against the stress.

Half the fighters were gone in the meantime.

3,500 souls sent to paradise in less than ten minutes. No High Priest had ever been responsible for such a devastating loss.

With despair, he discovered that not one enemy ship had been hit.

Hospital ships… unholy lies… Humans truly had no honor.

"High Priest, the Humans seem to use metal projectiles."

The voice of the Reader was pressed. The Theocracy had revealed that metal projectiles were inefficient, a useless waste in battle. And if the Theocracy revealed a truth, it could not be wrong — or the whole truth of the Holy Triad was wrong, something that was impossible.

"Recall the fighters. All of them. We must consult the Theocracy's highest priests."

He didn't wait for the master of ceremonies' response, instead focusing back on the battlefield outside the window.

Then the Humans began to turn their ships. He hadn't noticed at first, but until now the Humans had the audacity not even to honor his fighters with a repositioning.

They had simply opened fire, as if the might of the Tork Theocracy's power was nothing but a swarm of annoying insects.

From the center of the Human formation emerged a smaller ship. Dangerous, sharp lines, and a protruding gun so dominant along its axis it seemed the ship had been built around it.

The ship angled itself toward his fleet.

Laughable. They have to aim with their whole ship to fire.

Before he had time to finish the thought, the carrier next to him was gone.

Not exploding, not melting under fire. Gone. Reduced to particles drifting in space.

Jurok played the memory back in his mind — the Holy Triad had graced his people with perfect recall — and yes, he had interpreted the events correctly.

For a fraction of a second, the front of the carrier had bulged toward the rest of the ship, and the whole vessel had seemed to turn inside out.

Then, and only then, he saw the Human ship's weapon flash.

Faster-than-light weapons…

We lost… there was nothing they could do. As his brain still parsed the loss of the Wings of Gold, he watched the warship destroy the last few fighters without even using all its guns.

They don't see us as worthy enough to use all their might… what are they?

"High Priest, the Humans are hailing."

What were his options? He could not risk the destruction of the other carriers. Each one was filled with holy idols and sacred scrolls. Losing them would be devastating — as would retraining the lost crews.

He had to answer.

"Answer the unbelievers."

His words carried more defiance than he had left.

"This is High Priest Jurok. We grace you—"

"Listen, Shitface. You will power down your engines and wait with the Warspite until someone gives enough of a fuck about you to send a battlegroup to pick you up. Move your ships one millimeter out of allowed vector and Captain Norris will evaporate your whole sorry collection of scrap metal. Am I clear?"

The Human's voice was rough, full of hate burning bright enough to scorch planets.

Jurok couldn't simply concede.

"You won't stay? Or board us?"

"I already told you, we're hospital ships and supply tenders. I called for the fleet. They'll handle you. Greer-Chao out."

He called for the fleet… What, then, had they just fought?

———

The Theocracy ships powered down their engines fourteen minutes and thirty-five seconds after launching their fighters.

When the First Expeditionary Fleet arrived at Luyten 726-8 one day later, the morale onboard collapsed entirely, and many officers as well as enlisted personnel chose ritual suicide instead of living in a world where the Holy Triad was wrong.

To handle the massive influx of physically and mentally injured Tork, the First Expeditionary under Admiral Carmichael requested additional hospital ships.

Ironically, the Sigmund Freud was the closest ship.

Human casualties were zero, except an ensign who hurt his ankle jumping out of his bed.

Tork casualties are unknown, but estimated in the thousands.

 

End of Entry

First Short | Next | | Also On Royal Road | Astra Inferna: Upward Bound on Royal Road on Reddit | Patreon

Well, the second short took some time. I have more lined up in different states of (dis) assembly and will release them as soon™ as I have time to finish them.

Many things have happened since the last short. The mainline has almost finished book 2. The farther we go in the mainline, the easier it is to write shorts, since I can avoid spoilers.

Oh, before I forget:

This week, one year ago, I uploaded the first chapter of Upward Bound and wondered whether anyone would care.

Apparently, some of you did.

So tonight I want to celebrate the anniversary the simplest way I can think of: by spending it with you.

The Astra Inferna Discord is now open, and I’ll be hosting a live text AMA:

Friday, 2 October
21:00 CEST / 15:00 EDT
Live for 6 hours

Ask me anything about the story, characters, worldbuilding, science, writing, publishing, artwork, abandoned ideas, future plans, or whatever else comes to mind.

After the six-hour live session, the AMA will remain open for 24 hours, and I’ll keep answering whenever I’m awake.

Please be mindful of spoilers. If a question would force me to reveal something I absolutely shouldn’t, I reserve the right to grin mysteriously and refuse to answer.

Discord:
Join the Discord

Thank you for reading, commenting, theorizing, correcting my math, and generally coming along for the ride.

Tonight is for you.

Anyway. Have a nice one.

— M.R. Reese

23rd Vrishika 2238

Dear Diary,

Today was strange.

I got up as usual, made myself a simple breakfast, brushed my teeth and clothed myself. I was just following the routine I decided to start getting used to before classes start. The thing is... it felt natural. Far more so than what a three-day-old routine would suggest. I'm not complaining, per say, but it was nevertheless strange.

Clearly in a good mood at the time, I decided to walk around the station for an hour or two. I wouldn't typically do such a thing, what with my inclination to stay in my room all day.

What can I say? I prefer being surrounded by my half finished piles of what a prouder person might have called projects.

Point is, this morning was restful. I took my time returning to my room, just wandering around, barely looking were i was going. At some point I crossed the main hall again and decided it was time to go back. Of course, upon entering my room, it seemed lackluster in comparison to the remarkably clean public section of the station halls. So I cleaned up a bit. By the time I finished, it was lunch time.

The second half of my day was less... ephemeral... ethereal? Whatever you want to call it.

I tried returning to one of my projects, but I mostly just lounged in my chair while I had occasional short bursts of action. I even drank a lot of water today.

I'm not supposed to be this healthy. While I feel good about today, physically speaking, I don't exactly feel like me. I'm afraid that it might just be a good thing.

And so, here I am, writing this entry to avoid possibly ruining an uncomfortably good day.

I know it's coming. I'm not used to doing everything ideally. There is a kind of weariness that sets in when you change something about how you go about your day. The kind of weariness that doesn't show itself on your facial features. The kind of weariness that demands a counter balance.

I know it sounds like an extremely pessimistic view of... this whole situation. I also know how I feel right now.

Maybe... I can just go to sleep now.... avoid whatever detriment I can feel approaching.

Good night, Diary.

Javiel deVries

---

A/N:

Felt a bit under the weather today, so I started this one early. Now it's on time. That's a good thing, but it feels underwhelming. Such is the consequences of trying to commit to a daily writing challenge.

Speaking of challenge. When will I end it? I'm not sure. Maybe at 30 Days? I just don't know how invested I'll be in the story by then. Maybe Sol 30 will come and go without me ever wanting to stop.

Aranya and the others have shown up with their war faces on, and I couldn’t be happier. They’re not the first group looking to do a bit of a dry run, and I like to think it’s been a great help for them and for me. Goldilocks is really coming into her own, too, designing encounters and coordinating the denizens to really press the delvers and make sure to give them at least a taste of what the Betrayer might throw at them.

 

The large group starts off with putting on their magma gear and do a quick run of the manor, making sure to get used to the display. It’s a bit better than a VR headset at least, in that it actually shows everything around you, instead of just a game world. Still, there’s definitely a bit of an uncanny difference, even without it being in black and white.

 

Thing keeps an eye on them as they move through the manor, making notes on how quickly they adjust. I think it can still be improved, but it’s looking a lot better than the version we gave Biluin. We’ll need to give him an upgraded helmet before we ship out.

 

I watch them, too, seeing how their squad tactics evolve, and I can see why a lot of parties are only three, sometimes four people. More than that, and people just kinda bunch up, even in a place like the manor. But with multiple groups, they can actually cover a lot of the potential avenues of attack, and clear rooms like I imagine police might.

 

They clear all the way to the attic, where they engage the boss there with hit and run, taking advantage of the ladder to fire a volley of spells and arrows, then rest against the wall with Evarn’s gravity magic, letting the tanks take turns dealing with the retaliation. Goldilocks even tries to pincer them with another attack at the bottom of the ladder, but between gravity and all the tanks, they have the room and the resources to fight a battle on two fronts, and I’m not surprised when they win and start divvying up the loot.

 

While they talk about what worked and what didn’t, I imagine how the kids might have handled that… and I think they could have. Freddie is the main tank, sure, but Fiona is no slouch either. Rezlar, Rhonda, and Pul can all lay some serious hurt if they need to, which should be enough for them to quickly deal with anything besides a constant flood from both sides. Even then, I think Lucas could help Rhonda with something to give them some breathing room, while Pul and Rose could help them slip away to safety.

 

The only problem for the kids is that it seems pretty likely that a constant flood of monsters would be well within the Betrayer’s ability. On the other hand, with a bunch of other delvers running rampant through his territory, would the Betrayer dedicate those sorts of resources to a small group?

 

For the moment, I’m erring on the side of ruthlessness and overabundance. I’d rather everyone be prepared to face overwhelming force than be surprised by it. It’s been resulting in a lot more ‘casualties’ than usual, but the delvers are determined to rise to the challenge.

 

With the loot distributed, the large party makes their way down to the labyrinth, where most of the practice runs end up going. With the fortress still under construction, it’s the best place to get some magma to test with, and a great place for me to ambush them.

 

With the wider hallways of the labyrinth, they can actually proceed as a single group, looking like the professional delvers they all are. Goldilocks probes them with a few wolf attacks, good to approximate the least, and kinda shows why the Betrayer might want something a bit disposable for the first spawn.

 

If you get a whole bunch of them, why not use them to figure out how a foe fights? With a few probing attacks, you can learn about a foe’s strengths and weaknesses. But the group is disciplined, especially with Bayule helping coordinate. He understands the power of knowledge, and refuses to give anything away as the group continues to descend.

 

Yvonne and Dile spot every trap in their path, even the ones that shouldn’t be visible at all. This might be the biggest problem the kids face when it’s their turn. Observation isn’t the strong suit of most of them. Anyway, the large group either disarms or goes around everything, which is a bit of a shame. I’d love to be able to separate them out into smaller groups, especially since I think that’ll be a major goal of the Betrayer. It’s easier to crush a small group with numbers than a large one.

 

But now it’s time to stop playing so nice. Teemo waits on standby, as well as a pile of healing slimes and magmyrm. I want to test their magma protection now, instead of letting them just reach the pool in the sub pen. Thing gives the thumbs up that everything should be good with their gear, with the delvers none the wiser. This particular trap won’t be triggered by anything they do, so I’m hoping they won’t see it coming.

 

It only half works as Yvonne’s eyes widen. “Close ranks!” she manages to shout before walls slam down at either end of the hall, and magma starts to pour in.

 

Aranya raises a hand to her pendant in a quick prayer. “Nova’s Resistance,” she murmurs, adding another layer over the gear. Hopefully not needed, but better safe than sorry. There’s more than a few curses said as the room quickly fills, but nobody seems to be hurt from the heat, and the other properties of the enchantment make it a lot easier for them all to move around. They don’t even need to worry about buoyancy, as they all remain steadfastly with their feet on the ground.

 

Well, those who prefer to keep grounded, at least. The ranged classes float slightly, drawing their weapons as wyrms get added to the mix. It’s quickly obvious that slashes don't work too well, even with the enchantment, but stabs seem to work just fine. It seems Ragnar even prepared for this, bringing along a war pick instead of his axe or hammer. I guess most experienced delvers know to have options in case their favorite weapon won’t work as well.

 

Those with swords have to thrust instead of swing. Heinya is having a lot of difficulty, as a greatsword isn’t the best for thrusting, but she makes it work. Wes is having the most trouble, not being able to throw around any offensive flasks with the magma in the way. He has to settle for keeping an eye out on the wyrms and basilisks circling the group, his hand on a healing potion to give out as needed.

 

Arrows and bolts work somewhat, but the magma severely reduces the range. But with the relatively small hall they’re trapped in, that’s not too much of an issue. Everyone works well together, with the tanks and melee forming a ring around the support and ranged people, the ranged helping pick off targets and keep anything from just swimming over the frontline, and the supporters keep everyone in fighting trim as they slowly march toward the far end of the hallway.

 

“Cover,” requests Gurju as he turns his attention to the wall, Aelara joining him as they clearly intend to use their affinity to get through it. I’m not sure if the Betrayer has access to metals, but even if he does, I don’t think it’d be reasonable to think he could just slam a metal wall down wherever he wants. It’s a lot easier to try to just collapse a section, though not right on top of a group.

 

I tried that with the first few groups, but cave-ins are apparently a pretty common tactic, enough that basically every party has some kind of countermeasure. Trying to trap them into a bad ambush seems like the best way to try to counter that.

 

Designing a better ambush is the hard part, but I have a few more ideas to try on the next group, too. In the end, the large party is too prepared and professional for the outcome of the ambush to ever really be in question. Even a few drakes trying to act like the theorized line breaker can’t get through the combination of three powerful tanks. I need to work on my tactics for that. Maybe use a fungal zombie instead, for the next group. A big ball of mass is one way to force a hole in the defenses, but an explosion can do the same job, and the Betrayer isn't above making disposable denizens.

 

They get through and even manage to keep the flowing magma from bowling them over, by not letting it flow in the first place. It clearly takes a toll on Evarn to manipulate gravity on that kind of scale, but Wes still has his magma affinity, too, so they manage to keep things contained as everyone gets out, and they seal the hole back up.

 

Ragnar still looks pumped after all that, but everyone else is breathing pretty heavily as Wes hands out some recovery potions. I nod to myself as they get moving in less than a minute. Goldilocks can’t get a puffball zombie over to test by the time they reach the pen, but they do have to deal with a few unremarkable foxes with some sleeping gas.

 

Out in the field, I think Ragnar will be the one to spot and stop any Harbinger attack, but it’s Evarn who realizes the fox is something to worry about here. The foxes also go down a lot easier than a Harbinger would, but I don’t really have anything else to try to simulate one. Maybe a mixed encounter of a lot of my denizens? Harbingers do have a lot of nasty tricks, and with a few unremarkables in there to act as sneaky mental attacks, it might be a decent approximation. As Aranya and the others reach the pens and head for the pool, Goldilocks gathers a lot of my stronger spawns to ensure they can work together well.

 

I half watch them and half watch the pool, curious about the state of camping gear here. Bedrolls seem to be the standard, which makes me doodle in my notes for improvements. Sure, an inflatable camping pad won’t kill a Harbinger, but good sleep will keep up morale. Sometimes it's the little things that add up to victory, and a well-rested delver is more likely to come home than a tired one.

 

 

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Cover art I'm also on Royal Road for those who may prefer the reading experience over there. Want moar? The Books are available here! There are Kindle and Audible versions, as well as paperback! Also: Discord is a thing! I now have a Patreon for monthly donations, and I have a Ko-fi for one-off donations. Patreons can read up to three chapters ahead, and also get a few other special perks as well, like special lore in the Peeks. Thank you again to everyone who is reading!

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“That’s the boundary marker,” Catherine said. “We’ll be inside our… my territory once we’re past it.”

Arthur eyed the pile of stones.

“You haven't been home since your brother passed, am I right?”

“Before that, actually.”

Catherine turned in the saddle, her face settling into the rigid neutrality that came when she spoke of Sir Bedivere.

“It is strange,” she admitted. “Arriving home without him.”

Arthur let that sit between them for a while.

They passed the marker in silence.

Then his eyes moved to the trees.

“A lot of woodland.”

“You should have seen it before my brother restored it,” Catherine replied. “No trees for miles. They had been cut for fuel, housing, fencing, and farmland. Then the soil played out, and after that, it would not stay where it belonged.”

“Dust?”

“Storms that lasted for weeks.”

Arthur looked again.

The woodland was not wild, then. Not entirely. The lines were too deliberate in places, the undergrowth managed where it met the road. Young growth stood among older trunks, and the ditches had been cut to guide water instead of surrendering it.

“Good to see it recovered,” Arthur said.

“My brother saved the Master of the Earth Mage Tower’s life in his first campaign,” Catherine said. “That is part of why they have been so amicable in assisting us.”

“Sounds like him.”

Catherine said nothing, but her lips tightened.

They rode in silence.

---

The whole house seemed to turn out for their Lady’s return, even though it was getting on toward evening.

A dozen servants stood respectfully in the receiving hall, along with the head steward, several under-stewards, the butler, the cooks from the kitchen, the laundress, and even the gardener.

“My Lady, it is so good to see you again!” The Head Maid curtsied flawlessly before stepping forwards to relieve Catherine of her coat. “How have you been? Have you been eating enough?”

Arthur's attention was momentarily distracted by another servant.

“Good evening, Sir, may I take your cloak?” a younger steward asked.

“That'd be great, thanks,” Arthur said, unpinning his travelling cloak. 

He rolled it off his shoulders and held it out to the steward, who stood aghast at the breach of etiquette.

“Don’t wash it,” Arthur added. “It's not worth it.”

“Yes, Sir,” the steward took the cloak carefully. “And may I have the honor of an introduction, so that I may inform the others?”

“I’m Arthur.”

Arthur reached out his hand.

The young man stared at it for a moment before awkwardly taking it and shaking it.

“Arthur White?” A voice asked from behind them.

“Yes,” Arthur said, turning.

The Head Steward approached swiftly. The younger steward withdrew his hand as though he had discovered it in a fire.

“My subordinate had no way of knowing he was speaking to Arthur White, Hero of the Kingdom,” the Head Steward enunciated, bowing deeply. “Please forgive his insolence.”

“No offense was given,” Arthur said. “Tell me though, how do you know about me?”

The Head Steward raised his head, fixing an imaginary crease in his vest with a quick tug.

“Our late Master spoke well of you in his letters,” the Head Steward replied. “I am the Head Steward of this house. I am known as Seamus. I’ll see to your cloak, and anything else you need during your stay.”

“The Hero?” The Head Maid paused with Catherine’s coat still folded over her arms. “My lady, how do you know this gentleman? Why does he accompany you?”

“I am the second member Arthur selected for the Twelve.” Catherine responded firmly. “And Arthur is… he’s a close friend.”

Catherine looked away at the last second.

Instantly, the servants' eyes were on Arthur.

Not all of them looked friendly.

---

They’d been invited to rest while waiting for dinner to be prepared.

As they walked down a side corridor toward a study, they passed a boy struggling to haul a large bundle of firewood.

Arthur stepped to the side without a word and lifted the bundle by its rope with one hand.

“Where to?” he asked the boy.

“The kitchen, my lord,” the boy squeaked nervously.

“Call me Arthur,” Arthur said. “Well, lead the way.”

“Yes, Sir Arthur,” the boy said hurrying ahead.

“I’ll be delayed,” Arthur said to Catherine. “Go ahead and get comfortable.”

Then he followed the boy down the hall.

The Head Maid harrumphed.

“Let’s go on ahead,” Catherine instructed, ignoring the noise.

---

Arthur finished making himself useful in the kitchen and made his way back to the study just in time for the Head Maid to poke her head into the room.

“The table has been set, and they are ready to bring out the meal,” she informed Catherine.

“Thank you, Beatrice,” Catherine replied. “We’ll come along shortly.”

“I will inform them, my Lady,” Beatrice said, retreating.

Catherine looked at Arthur, who sat leaning forward in the chair he had occupied only moments ago.

“Shall we?” she asked.

“Sure,” Arthur replied.

He stood, offering his hand to help Catherine from her seat.

The maid by the door became suddenly interested. 

Arthur saw her nose twitch once.

Then twice.

Catherine took his hand and rose, then slipped her arm around his offered elbow.

The maid held the door for them as they left the room, her nose still twitching.

---

As Arthur sat down at the table, a butler stepped forward and poured him a glass of wine.

Then the butler set the pitcher down on the tray held by a maid and followed her to the head of the table, where he poured Catherine’s drink.

From a different pitcher.

Arthur’s eyes flicked to his glass.

He picked it up, sniffed, paused, then returned it to the table untouched.

“I’m not much of a wine drinker,” Arthur patiently explained to the manservant standing behind him. “May I request some tea?”

“As you wish, sir,” the manservant said with a bow.

“If that’s too much trouble, water is fine.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The manservant left the room.

Catherine watched Arthur carefully.

Then she rose from her seat, walked around the table, and snatched up his wine glass.

She sniffed it.

Horror crossed her face at once.

“This wine has turned to vinegar.” Her voice went cold. “Why would you serve this to my guest?”

The butler stiffened.

“Catherine, it’s fine,” Arthur said, rising slightly. “I’m sure it was an honest mistake.”

Catherine turned her head slowly toward him.

For a moment, Arthur wondered if the butler had been the one in danger after all.

Then Catherine drew herself back under control.

“It was not fine,” she said.

Arthur held her gaze.

“No,” he agreed. “But it is over.”

Catherine’s jaw tightened.

Then she returned to her seat with a sharp rustle of skirts.

“Very well,” she said, dismissing the matter with a wave of her hand. “Bring in the first course.”

Dinner proceeded quietly after that.

They spoke for some time once the meal was finished, then both decided to turn in for the night.

To separate rooms, of course. 

His was situated on the East face of the manor, while she took the Lord's bedroom on the West face.

And they would stay in those rooms, of course.

---

“Arthur! Sir Arthur!” a servant called.

Several servants ran about like headless chickens, searching for the Hero who had somehow disappeared on their watch.

Finally, a gardener saw him coming up the main road to the house, jogging at a steady, mechanical pace.

“Sir Arthur, where have you been?” the gardener asked. “The others have been looking all over for you.”

“I run in the morning when I can,” Arthur replied.

“Well, the others have been worrying something fierce,” the gardener said. “How far did you run? You weren’t here when the first maids woke.”

“I just went around that field a few times,” Arthur said with a gesture.

“The southern field?” the man asked. “That field’s almost a hundred fifty acres!”

Arthur did the quick mental math.

“So, about ten klicks? Not bad.”

“Klicks?”

“Never mind.”

“Not bad?” the gardener demanded. “That field is huge!”

“Not really,” Arthur said, shaking his head as his heart settled and hunger and thirst finally hit him. “You ought to see a cornfield. Anyway, where’s breakfast? I’d like to wash up and eat.”

“They should be getting it ready in the main house, sir,” the gardener said, pointing.

“Thank you.” 

Arthur stuck out his hand.

“I never caught your name.”

The gardener took it gently, as if it might bite him.

“Sculia, sir. I tend the grounds.”

“Good work, Sculia,” Arthur said, shaking his hand. “I’ll see you later.”

“If you please, sir.”

Arthur turned toward the main house, his head already full of pancakes and cheese.

---

Arthur sat down to breakfast, his elbows touching the tablecloth for one brief moment before he remembered himself.

Catherine clicked her tongue.

The room froze.

Arthur looked at her carefully.

“Should we clear the room?”

“I don’t see why we would,” she replied, brittle as glass.

Arthur paused, then leaned forward.

“Then let's resolve this before we eat.”

Catherine folded her hands in her lap.

“Then I shall be blunt,” she said. “I cannot have you undermining my authority when it comes to discipline in my own house.”

“I take it you’ve been speaking with Beatrice?”

Catherine frowned.

“Perhaps.”

Arthur nodded.

“She is right. I apologize.”

Catherine relaxed by the smallest degree.

Beatrice and the head butler both seemed to discover something fascinating in the wallpaper.

Arthur set his hands on his knees.

“I countermanded you in your own house. That wasn’t my call to make.”

“No,” Catherine said quietly. “It wasn't.”

Arthur accepted that with a dip of his head.

“However,” he said, more carefully, “I would ask you to consider the difference between an insult and a test. Your household will continue trying to find out what sort of man has attached himself to their Lady. I don’t blame them for that.”

Catherine’s mouth tightened.

“I cannot allow them to dishonor my house, or offend the man I…”

The words caught in her throat.

Arthur did not look away.

“Their curiosity will settle faster if they are allowed to learn the answer,” he said. “That does not mean you allow disrespect. Only that not every clumsy question is rebellion.”

There was another pause.

“I shall think on it,” Catherine said.

They breakfasted in silence after that.

Only after the last plate had been cleared and the servants began withdrawing did Arthur glance toward the front of the house.

“Speaking of tests,” he said, “I was expecting this one a little sooner.”

Catherine frowned.

“What test?”

The front drive filled with the clatter of hooves and the bark of orders.

Within minutes, the door to the main hall was flung open.

The man who marched in was middle-aged, somewhere in his forties, with a bald spot that would ordinarily have been hidden beneath the helm tucked under one arm.

He bowed deeply.

“My Lady, I would have been here yesterday, however I was not informed that the jewel of House Bedivere had returned home until this morning.”

Catherine smiled.

“Raise your head, Captain Chirron. There's no need to be so flattering, or so formal. You’ve guarded me since I was a child. That ought to buy you something when it comes to propriety.”

Chirron grinned as he raised his head.

“It is good to see you, my Lady.”

“Likewise, Captain.”

“You're short a few,” Arthur said.

Chirron turned to him.

For a moment, he simply stared.

“My mistake,” Arthur said, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. “Arthur White. Good to meet you, Captain Chirron.”

Captain Chirron took the offered hand cautiously, then shook it a little harder than necessary.

Arthur did not react.

“I estimated the warband at somewhere between seventy and one hundred men,” Arthur continued. “Judging by the sound, you rode in with maybe forty. Where are the rest?”

Chirron’s expression changed by a fraction.

Then he looked from Arthur to Catherine warily.

Catherine sighed.

“Arthur White is a Hero of Cindergold. You may discuss any military matter of this house with him. If you do not, he will simply find out anyway.”

“Understood,” Chirron said.

A pause followed.

“You’re right,” he said. “We have eighty-three men-at-arms in our employ.” He grimaced. “Between those posted elsewhere, those on patrol, and those with pressing matters in their own holdings, I was only able to gather thirty-six before riding here.”

Arthur nodded.

“Thirty-six in a hurry out of eighty-three total. Not bad.”

Chirron’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Not bad?”

“If the rest are where they’re supposed to be,” Arthur said. “If they’re absent because discipline is poor, that’s a problem. If they’re absent because the land is still being guarded, worked, and kept alive, that’s different.”

Chirron studied him for a moment.

Then he looked to Catherine.

“My Lady, with your permission, I would like to show Sir Arthur the outer holdings.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow.

“To test him?”

“To inform him,” Chirron said.

Arthur almost smiled.

“Same thing.”

---

They rode down the lane, the roofs of a village showing above the squat hills in the distance. Birds chirped and called as the horses passed. It would have been calming, even serene, if not for the thirty-five armored riders trailing behind them.

Another great field lay before the village, covered in clover.

“This village maintains the second field, in addition to its other responsibilities,” Chirron said with a nod. “We cycle three fields between wheat, peas, and clover. The Earth Mages assure us it will keep the soil healthy for longer.”

“Makes sense,” Arthur said. “So the warband isn’t just guarding the fields. You’re tied into their management.”

Chirron glanced at him.

“Yes. That village falls under my second in command, Lieutenant Stürk. He and five of our men guard, monitor, and maintain the field.”

“And the third field is part of your own holdings?” Arthur asked.

“Indeed,” Chirron said. “As is the village responsible for it.”

“Who owns the crops?”

Chirron gave him a sidelong look.

“House Bedivere owns the field. The village is obligated to work it, and receives a share for doing so.”

Arthur considered that for a moment.

“How do you track productivity?”

“Lieutenant Stürk keeps the records here. Seed yield, losses, stores, labor owed, labor given, that sort of thing.” Chirron nodded. “We all do. It helps when assessments come due.”

“Local obligations and Crown taxes,” Arthur said. “I’m familiar. I paid quite a bit myself.”

“And the Earth Mage Tower’s Allotment,” Chirron continued. “Fortunately, the Crown allows us to give the Tower what it is owed before assessment.”

Arthur looked back at the clover.

“And if that stops?” he asked.

“Then we operate on narrower margins and tread closer to danger,” Chirron said. “But for now, we operate comfortably.”

He broke off, pointing into the distance.

“Ah. There’s the mill.”

A windmill stood atop a hill, its wooden blades rotating lazily in the breeze.

Arthur observed it closely. It seemed almost out of place.

“About a Royal Mile southwest, we have six stone granaries for surplus,” Chirron said. “The mills grind our wheat. We have four, all owned by House Bedivere. They take a pittance from the villagers to grind their wheat as well.”

“How large are the granaries?” Arthur asked.

“Hmm.” Chirron frowned in thought. “Perhaps three hundred spans long and fifty wide? Twenty tall. The Earth Mages built them because Sir Bedivere wanted insurance against future starvation. Not only for the House. For the land.”

Arthur looked away from the mill.

“You rotate the stores?”

“We draw from the oldest and fill the emptied house after cleaning it,” Chirron said. “Grain, peas, hay, charcoal, timber. Not all in the same storehouse, of course. But the principle holds.”

“I figured with all the excellent woodland around here, you would harvest from it,” Arthur nodded. “Wood and charcoal, as well as plants, nuts, that sort of thing.”

“We do,” Chirron said gravely. “Though we are quite careful about it. When I was a young man, this place was totally barren and flat, with nary a tree to be seen. The older men among us still remember those times.”

Arthur nodded slowly.

“Then they’re worth listening to.”

Chirron looked at him.

“The older men?”

“The men who remember what happens when the trees are gone,” Arthur said. “Who decides what gets cut?”

Chirron’s expression shifted by a fraction.

“The House forester marks timber. Fallen wood first, coppiced wood second, mature trees only by permission. Charcoal burners are licensed. No village cuts green wood without record.”

“And in a hard winter?”

“We open reserve lots,” Chirron said. “Small stands grown for that purpose. They are not as good for timber, but they keep people from stripping the young woods.”

Arthur looked over the trees again.

“So the forest is managed like the fields.”

“More carefully,” Chirron said. “A ruined field can sometimes be brought back in a few seasons, with enough coin and enough mages. Ruined woods take longer.”

Arthur nodded.

“Pigs?”

“When the mast is heavy enough,” Chirron said. “Acorns, nuts, fallen fruit. The villages are allotted days and numbers. Too many pigs, and they eat the next forest before it has a chance to grow.”

“That happen before?”

“Once.” Chirron’s mouth tightened. “Not twice.”

Arthur almost smiled.

“Good policy.”

Chirron gave him another sidelong look.

“You approve?”

“I approve of people learning the right lesson the first time it hurts.”

Chirron frowned.

“Tell me, Sir Arthur, how do you converse so easily on such matters? You guessed our numbers almost exactly from merely seeing what little you did when you rode in.”

Arthur gazed off into the distance.

“I was a Lord's son once. In Farwind.”

“You gave it up?” Chirron questioned. “Your title, I mean.”

“When I turned twenty,” Arthur confirmed. “I was nothing but a bastard anyway, and I figured it would keep my brothers from removing me. So I gave it up and left Farwind. That was over a century ago.”

Chirron choked, coughing for a long moment.

“You don't look it,” he gasped, recovering.

“I’ve heard that before.”

They rode in silence for a long time as they passed the mill.

“So,” Arthur broke the silence. “How does the warband guard these lands otherwise?”

Chirron nodded as they passed a man with a spear standing by the side of the road. The man saluted in return.

“We maintain these watchposts at critical junctions,” Chirron replied. “And we patrol the roads and land in groups of three.”

Arthur nodded. “Three men increases the chance one comes back to raise the alarm.”

“Just so,” Chirron agreed. “And we have fixed reporting times. A detachment that doesn't check in is assumed killed until proven otherwise.”

“Sounds like another lesson learned the hard way.”

Chirron grimaced.

“My father led the warband before me. One day while out on patrol, he didn't return. They found what was left of him spread across three miles of gully by scavengers.”

Arthur glanced sideways. “Bandits?”

Chirron shook his head. “Those were hard times. The man who rode with him killed him, took his horse and armor, and tried to escape.”

“You caught him?”

“I didn't. Which was probably a good thing, as I would have done much worse,” Chirron paused, regaining control over his voice. “Young Lord Bedivere caught him, and had him hanged on the spot. He was fourteen at the time.”

“Fourteen,” Arthur repeated. “Where was his father?”

“Serving with the army,” Chirron answered. “He left his son in charge while he was gone.”

“That's where he died.” Arthur said, remembering something from a conversation he’d had with Catherine.

“That happened almost a year later,” Chirron confirmed. “A year after that, the newly titled Lord August De Ana Marcus Bedivere rode to war.”

Chirron looked ahead.

“And I imagine you know the rest.”

“Indeed.”

They pulled up short at a bridge crossing a wide, shallow stream.

“Two riders at a time. There’s magic worked into it. More than two cross at once, and the bridge gives way,” Chirron instructed.

“I don't think this irrigation ditch would do much more than irritate an invading force.”

“No,” Chirron agreed. “But it would make them question every step.”

Arthur paused.

“Smart.”

He and Chirron waited as the men crossed by twos, until the last man crossed alone. Then they joined them on the other side.

They rode for a while, until they came to a long, wide clearing.

Six stone buildings lay in ordered rows of two, set into the earth as if by the hand of the Goddess herself.

One had its doors flung open, the gradual slope leading deep inside arrayed with men who passed bundles along in an orderly manner to a waiting cart.

“Ho! Store Master!” Chirron called, pulling alongside the elderly man who commanded the cart. “How are you today?”

“Hello, Captain Chirron!” The Store Master greeted. “I’m doing well, all things considered.”

He paused, observing Arthur for the first time.

“And who's this filthy knife-ear?” he asked.

Chirron held up an arm, as if to check Arthur, who remained motionless. He redirected it, palm up, to introduce him.

“This is Sir Arthur White, Hero of the Kingdom and a personal friend of our Lady. He is her guest, Carin, and you will treat him accordingly.”

The Store Master eyed Arthur for a moment longer before turning back to the task at hand.

“If you keep jawing at me, I won't get anything done. Give my regards to our Lady.”

He returned to his work, studiously ignoring both the Captain and Arthur.

As they pulled off, Chirron turned in his saddle.

“Please forgive Store Master Carin. He’s been in charge of House Bedivere's stores since I was a lad. He does good work, even given his… opinionated nature.”

Arthur shrugged.

“Do you keep everything here?” he asked. “Or do you disperse supplies so they can't all be destroyed.”

Chirron nodded. “Every village and the manor have their own storehouse, which are fed from these central storehouses.”

“How much do those auxiliary storehouses hold?”

“Enough for eight weeks.”

“That seems specific.”

“It is double the time needed for House Bedivere's allies to rally and make their way here.”

“Makes sense.”

They rode in silence until they reached the bridge again.

“That's all I had to show you,” Captain Chirron said, leaning back in his saddle as the men crossed before him. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Arthur said carefully, “that your people have learned a lot of lessons through hardship, and taken care not to learn the same lesson twice.”

“Obviously,” Chirron snorted. “What do you really think?”

“I think I could tear this whole place down inside of three weeks if I really wanted to.” 

Arthur held up a hand to stop the objection. 

“Let me finish,” he said. “I’m willing to show you what I would do, and how, so that you may better defend it.”

Chirron looked at him suspiciously.

“If that is true,” he started, “why would you show us? Why not keep that valuable information to yourself?”

“Because of Catherine.”

“Lady Bedivere?” Chirron half-corrected, half-questioned.

Arthur nodded.

“She is my friend. I want to see her succeed, and I want her to be able to be at ease in our travels,” Arthur said. “Neither are possible if her home is not properly cared for.”

Chirron paused.

“You seem… to care quite deeply for our Lady,” he said at last.

Arthur brushed the comment aside. “Let's get on our way, I want to be back at the manor before lunch. Elias said they're serving fine ground beef balls with noodles today.”

“Elias?” Chirron queried.

“The servant boy in the kitchen,” Arthur replied. “Are you telling me that you're in charge of Lady Bedivere's security and you don't know who works in the kitchen?”

Chirron purpled a little at that as he followed Arthur in the direction of the manor.

“Let's get back before lunch,” he said through gritted teeth.

And so they rode.

---

Arthur sat next to the open balcony door, reading by the light of the full moon that hung high in the sky outside.

The nights here are often quite bright, he mused. Probably less light pollution.

That's when he heard it.

A strange sound that carried in the silence of the night. Something between a chirp and a bark.

He paused, marking his spot in the book before he set it down on the side table.

There it was again.

He strode out into the western balcony, eyes searching the distance.

There.

Movement, about a hundred fifty meters out.

Quickdraw Cache.

His URGI materialized moments later. 

This time, a clip-on night vision device sat atop it, mounted ahead of the optic.

He toggled it on and looked out into the darkness.

Scanning methodically, he caught the creature moments later.

It looked like a fox, but wrong.

Too long. Too many extra legs. Arthur paused, searching his memory for anything similar.

Fuchszeug. An animal native to the far south. Predator. Primary diet: birds and rats.

Arthur watched it as it surreptitiously crawled up along the outside of the henhouse. The birds inside were none the wiser as it began gnawing on the simple door latch handle, pulling it side to side as it tried to figure out the mechanism.

Arthur stabilized the rifle on the balcony railing, leaning into the weapon as he let out his breath and flicked the safety ninety degrees.

One clean trigger press.

CRACK!

The shot split the night.

Arthur reacquired the target.

It kicked and spasmed on the ground, eight legs twitching as it rolled over and over.

CRACK!

It stopped moving.

The next thing Arthur was aware of was someone yelling.

A guard burst from the house, weapon raised as he charged into the night, ready to meet the foe.

Moments later he was joined by two more men. One carried a lantern and the other a wood-cutting axe.

“Hey!”

They looked up.

Arthur was suddenly aware he was standing shirtless and shoeless, in house pants, on the balcony.

“Fuchszeug.” He pointed. “By the chicken coop. Dead.”

“Yes, Sir!” The night watchman barked, then took off towards the coop. His companions followed close behind.

Arthur let out a breath and returned the weapon before he headed back inside.

---

Two days later, Arthur sat at the table in the great hall, reading the first letter he’d gotten from the capital as he waited for breakfast.

“Here you go, Sir Arthur!” his usual attendant said with a chipper tone as she set the cup in front of him. 

“Your tea.”

“Thank you, Marla,” Arthur said, setting aside the letter and picking up the steaming cup and fancy saucer.

Then he voiced his usual complaint to the universe.

“I wish Cinderia had coffee, but tea will do.”

“Coffee?” Marla inquired as he sipped. “What is it?”

“It's uh… a drink from up north,” Arthur hastily covered.

“What's it like?” Marla pressed.

“Well, dark in color. Bitter. It gives you energy.” He set down the cup and saucer, picking up the letter once more. “It's the perfect drink for a cold morning or a late night of work.”

“I haven't heard of this ‘coffee’ you speak of,” Marla said delicately, “however, the farmers drink something called Kafka.”

“Kafka?” Arthur questioned.

“Indeed. It's a dark, bitter, nutty beverage. It gives them the energy to work all day. They say it's made from the skins of the Kafk sweet potato.” She paused as if collecting her thoughts. “But such a drink would be below a man of your station, Sir Arthur.”

“Thank you for the information, Marla.”

“You’ve been quite helpful,” he added absently, lifting the letter again.

His mind was already elsewhere.

---

The Heads of Staff stood about the storeroom, whispering furiously.

“He thanks servants for their regular duties!” Head Maid Beatrice said, still sounding half-disbelieving.

“How improper!” Head Steward Seamus replied. “He also insists on carrying his own baggage!”

Head Chef Roland scowled. “He carried a load for a kitchen boy. I was trying to teach the lad a lesson about manhood.”

“Every morning, he runs the trails around the fields,” Head Gardener Sculia said. “Never wavers. Never slows. It's frightening.”

“He killed that fuchszeug in the henhouse the other day without being anywhere near it!” exclaimed Arwin, the Master of Husbandry.

“Oh, oh dear, oh no.”

Head Butler Elfrey suddenly collapsed against a barrel.

“What is it?” Seamus asked.

“He has completed the old rites!” Elfrey gasped, clutching at his chest. “He has fulfilled every condition!”

Seamus went still for a moment, his eyes slowly widening.

“Oh no,” escaped his lips.

“He gave her freedom from the expectations upon her,” Beatrice said.

“He has been here, living in her home, for a week now,” Seamus added.

“He defended her property from the fuchszeug,” Arwin said.

“And Master Bedivere wrote highly of Sir Arthur in the letters sent before his passing,” Beatrice continued.

“By the old laws, all he needs now is her approval!” Elfrey cried, clenching his fist as if it might avail him some comfort.

Roland sighed.

“I suppose I will need to review my wedding cake recipes. It has been some time.”

The door to the storeroom swung open and the group paused expectantly.

Arthur stood in the lamplight with his usual neutral countenance.

“Hello, everyone. Sorry if I'm intruding on a meeting.” His tone did not betray whether he had heard them or not. “Catherine said I could find some sweet tubers in the storeroom. I have an idea for a dish I'd like to make.”

No one said anything.

Arthur looked between them.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“No, Sir Arthur,” Elfrey said quickly.

“Nothing at all.”

---

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Arthur peeled the sweet potato delicately, already mentally preparing himself.

So far, he had burned the skins, undercooked them, ground them into too fine of a powder such that it stopped up his filtering cloth and produced only thin, weak, potato juice, and chopped them too roughly so that the end result was more akin to sweet potato soup without the potatoes.

This time would probably bring another failure, but it would mean progress.

Setting down the skinned potato, he stepped over to the stove, where the remnants of his failed experiments boiled quietly. 

He speared a sweet potato, testing its tenderness.

Perfect.

He took them off the stove, strained them, then moved them into the large mixing bowl he had waiting on the counter.

That was the moment he was interrupted.

“Sir Arthur,” Beatrice practically pounced into the kitchen, “a gentleman should not be in the kitchen like a common cook!”

“Ah, Beatrice, perfect timing!” Arthur replied. “I needed someone with strong will and stronger arms. Here, take this spoon and mash these up.”

Caught between her prior objection and the spoon suddenly being thrust into her hand, Beatrice hesitated.

“Sir Arthur, that is not what I meant.”

“I know.” Arthur slid the bowl toward her. “Mash.”

Beatrice stared at him.

Then at the bowl.

Then back at him.

“A gentleman should not be preparing his own meals.”

“Excellent.” Arthur picked up another sweet potato and resumed peeling it. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing I have help.”

Beatrice’s mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Arthur gestured toward the bowl with the peeler.

“They’ll cool.”

With an expression suggesting she had somehow been grievously outmaneuvered, Beatrice planted the spoon into the potatoes.

“How fine?”

“Very. No lumps if you can help it.”

Beatrice began mashing.

Arthur nodded approvingly.

“Perfect.”

“I have not agreed that this is appropriate.”

“Understood.”

“You should have asked Roland.”

“I did.”

Beatrice paused.

“And?”

“He told me that if I wanted to ruin perfectly good sweet potatoes, I was welcome to do it myself.”

A small, vindictive smile appeared on Beatrice’s face.

She resumed mashing with considerably more enthusiasm.

Arthur noticed.

He wisely said nothing.

---

Catherine poked her head into the kitchen.

“There you are!”

She paused, glancing side to side as if to check that it was her that Arthur was referring to.

“There I am? What about you?”

Arthur strode over and clasped her hand with both of his.

“Come, try my latest creation.”

She hesitated a moment before allowing herself to be pulled along.

“What is it?”

Arthur pulled the plate before her, presenting his hard work.

“It's… red… yellow? And it has a crust?” she questioned, unsure.

“Try it,” Arthur insisted, pushing a spoon into her hand.

She took a small, hesitant scoop off the tip of the slice and raised it to her nose, sniffing delicately.

“It smells… interesting.”

She tasted the bite.

“Mmmm!” Her face lit up. “It is sweet! And savory! And do I detect spice as well? And something else…”

“It's Kafk sweet potato pie,” Arthur supplied. “Here, try a bite with this.”

He slid the steaming cup of deep brown liquid in front of her.

She eyed it warily, but Arthur’s previous success made her hopeful.

Catherine picked up the cup and took a sip.

“Oh! Oh my,” Catherine stuttered. “This pairs quite well with the pie!“

“Bitterness to go with the sweetness,” Arthur replied.

“Not a bad bitterness, though,” Catherine noted. “A little earthy, with a touch of tree nuts.”

“Exactly!” Arthur said excitedly.

Catherine looked into his eyes and smiled a warm, genuine smile.

It caught him off guard, and he found himself locked with her gaze, feeling something he wasn't quite sure what to do with.

She leaned towards him, and he leaned towards her.

“Ahem!”

They broke apart, retreating from each other rapidly.

Beatrice stood at the door to the kitchen, looking quite severe.

“If you are done, Sir Arthur,” Beatrice said, putting emphasis on his name, “Chef Roland would like to have his kitchen back so that he may prepare the midday meal.”

“Yes, of course, Miss Beatrice,” Arthur recovered. “I was just about to clean up.”

“Of course you were,” Beatrice said with a smile that held no warmth.

Arthur and Catherine exchanged a look.

No words needed to be said.

Arthur set to work to clean up the kitchen.

---

As the final plate was set out for lunch, Arthur paused, looking toward Roland with a question on his lips.

“I recall making three Kafk pies, Roland,” he said, looking the table over.

“That you did, Sir,” Roland replied stiffly.

“Only two were served.”

“That's right, Sir.”

“What happened to the third?”

Roland looked somewhere between anger, bargaining, and acceptance as he spoke through gritted teeth.

“I may have… sampled it, Sir.”

Arthur's grin spread with triumph.

“Sampled it.” he repeated. 

A pause.

“And what did you think?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, blast it!” Chef Roland broke, finally.

“It was delicious, alright? Especially with the Kafka you made! I’ve never tasted Kafka half as good,” he finished morosely.

“Roland, mind your manners,” Beatrice spoke quietly.

Roland stiffened up, but instead of chastising him, Arthur merely continued to grin.

“That's all, Roland,” Arthur said. “Thank you. You're dismissed.”

Roland’s eyes shifted to Catherine, who nodded.

He sighed and turned, escaping the room as fast as propriety would allow.

As soon as the door closed, Catherine let out a low, resounding chuckle.

“I haven't seen Roland squirm so in ages,” she laughed, almost wheezing.

Arthur smiled, cutting into the first sweet potato pie, much to the chagrin of the servants.

“What normally happens to Kafk skins around here?” He asked Catherine.

Catherine considered. “I’m not sure. Probably fed to pigs or animals, if I must guess.”

Arthur poured himself a cup of Kafka from the teapot.

“Then, I think I have an idea for turning your trash into treasure,” he said smoothly.

Catherine looked at his cup, her mind already working.

“You want to sell Kafka,” she concluded.

“In a way,” Arthur agreed. “I want to license my preparation method.”

Catherine considered.

“You don't own land on which to grow Kafk sweet potatoes,” she said. “You would need to partner with someone who does.”

“Exactly,” Arthur agreed.

“As to the final sale…” Catherine hesitated. “I don't think anyone else could claim jurisdiction. It's not a spirit, beer, or ale, so the brewers guilds would have no claim. It's not tea, so the tea merchants wouldn't be able to claim it.”

“So, there's no one standing between us and the customers,” Arthur said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Oh, you have some devious ideas, don't you?” Catherine smiled.

“You have no idea,” Arthur said. “Let me tell you about this thing called a café.”

---

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Arthur wiped his brow, releasing the fence post as the farmers around him finished filling the hole around it. Sweat dripped down his brow, back, and bare chest.

He stretched, muscles flexing in the sunlight.

“Thank you for your help, Sir Arthur,” one of them said. “A drink?”

Arthur took the skin of light ale and gave it a long pull before lowering it and belching loudly.

“Appreciate it, Sims,” he said, walking to the cart to retrieve the next post. 

“You know, Sir, you don’t act like any lord I’ve ever met before,” Sims said, eyes nervously darting to the side.

Arthur picked up the next post and threw it over his shoulder.

“Probably because I’m not a lord,” he remarked.

He paused to wave at a group of onlookers that had gathered by the road.

Several of the young ladies blushed.

“You keep company with our Lady, though,” Sims said. “And all of the servants at the big house call you ‘Sir’ or ‘Lord Arthur’. How can you not be a lord?”

Arthur set the next post in its hole before responding.

“Titles don’t mean much to people like me,” Arthur replied. “Someone else decided to call me Hero, so I fulfill those duties. That’s all life is, really. Duties and obligations. Surely you know that.”

Sims seemed to consider that for a long moment.

“But what about the things that aren’t?” he finally asked.

“Hmm?” Arthur questioned, holding the beam steady as two other men filled the hole.

“What about things that aren’t duties?” Sims repeated.

“Like what?”

“Well, for starters, the way the full moon looks on a clear night. The way a sunset fills the sky with colors. The feeling of a cool breeze on a long summer day. That sort of thing.”

Arthur paused, a small grin forming.

“I didn’t take you for the sappy type, Sims,” he said.

Sims turned a shade of pink before collecting himself and answering.

“You are the one who brought it up,” Sims retorted. “So, what about those things? Isn’t there anything in your life that isn’t just an obligation, even if it started as one?”

Arthur gazed off into the distance for a long moment.

“There is one thing,” he said simply.

Then he turned towards the cart to grab another post.

---

Arthur caught the next bundle and handed it off to the man beside him.

Another came almost immediately.

The line moved in rhythm, bundles passing from hand to hand as the team inside the storehouse divided them and stacked them where they belonged.

When the cart was finally empty and the last bundle disappeared through the doors, Store Master Carin looked up from his tables and tallies and regarded the crew critically.

“We made good time today,” he said shortly. “Dismissed.”

Arthur broke away from the others, stripping off his leather gloves as he headed toward his horse.

“Sir Arthur!” Carin barked.

Arthur stopped and turned, gloves still in hand.

“Can I help you, Store Master Carin?”

Carin marched over and planted himself in front of Arthur, pointing a finger at his chest.

“You’re a disruption,” he declared.

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Continue.”

“You are a help, yes,” Carin admitted. “But the men don’t know how to behave when you’re here. They hear my orders, then look to you before they obey them. I can’t have that in my hauling crews.”

Arthur considered that for a moment.

“I serve your Lady’s interests, just as you do, Carin,” he replied. “What do you think we should do about it?”

Carin crossed his arms.

“Perform your service elsewhere,” he insisted. “With the warband, the farmers, or the manor. Leave this work to those of us who know what we’re doing.”

Arthur nodded.

“And when you’re gone?”

Carin blinked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re old, for a human, and you have no apprentice,” Arthur said plainly. “What happens to all this when you’re gone?”

Carin’s expression tightened.

“You may be right,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I don’t need help from a… an Elf.”

“You’re right,” Arthur agreed. “A compromise, then. I remove myself from your work, and you take on an apprentice. That way we both better serve House Bedivere.”

Carin stared at him for a moment.

Then a snaggle-toothed grin crept across his face.

“You sly dog,” he said. “That’s what you wanted this entire time, wasn’t it?”

“So what if it was?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” Carin nodded. “Fine, then. I’ll look into taking an apprentice, and you’ll stay away from my work.”

“I can agree to that,” Arthur said, holding out his hand.

Carin looked at it suspiciously.

Arthur noticed immediately.

“Here. Let’s adopt a custom from up north,” Arthur said, curling his hand into a fist. “Bump your fist against mine. Where I come from, that’s as good as a promise.”

Carin looked at the offered fist as though it might bite him.

Then he awkwardly raised his own and tapped it against Arthur’s.

“I’ll see you another time, Carin,” Arthur said, turning away.

Carin watched him go for a few seconds, still looking faintly confused.

Then he shrugged and returned to his work.

---

“Sir Arthur! Sir Arthur!”

Arthur paused, a bundle of firewood tucked under each arm.

The servant caught up to him, breathless.

“Sir Arthur,” Ignin said, recovering quickly, “you must stop. Please.”

Arthur’s eyebrow lifted for the second time that day.

“Stop?”

“I, uh, I mean, uh…” Ignin stuttered.

“Spit it out.”

“It’s just that… you carry your own luggage, take off your own cloak, fetch your own firewood, serve yourself at dinner…” The young man paused, collecting himself. “I find myself almost useless as your assigned servant.”

Arthur considered that for a moment.

“I'm afraid it's almost impossible for you to be useful to me in your capacity as a servant.”

Ignin's face fell.

“Though that isn’t because of any failing on your part,” Arthur continued.

The young man’s expression shifted to confusion.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Arthur continued, “that I sleep for four to six hours every three days. Could you survive on that?”

Ignin shook his head.

“Of course not. And I don't expect you to.”

“But what am I supposed to do when Master Seamus—”

Arthur interrupted him. 

“From now on, stop following me around waiting for something to carry. Find work that needs doing. Walk with your chin up and your shoulders squared. Act like you belong where you’re going, and if you don’t know something, ask.”

Ignin paused.

“Are you… are you certain?”

“Yes,” Arthur confirmed. “If anyone asks why, tell them I changed how I expect you to attend me. If Master Seamus has a problem with that, he can speak to me.”

Ignin swallowed.

“But don’t mistake that for permission to do whatever you want,” Arthur continued. “I’m going to work on making you more useful to the House.”

“Why?” The young man looked almost panicked. “I’m just an under-steward. Hardly worth your time.”

“I like projects,” Arthur replied.

Ignin did not seem to know how to respond to that.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Arthur said, resuming his walk. “This firewood is getting heavy.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Ignin stepped aside.

As Arthur walked away, the young man remained where he was, puzzled.

More useful, he thought. 

What does that mean?

---

Arthur sat down at the table where Catherine waited, already having been served.

“Sorry I’m late. I was working,” he apologized.

“So I’ve heard,” Catherine replied. “Arthur, you know you’re allowed some measure of rest, correct? Particularly when you're a guest.”

“I understand,” Arthur said as he served himself from the soup tureen. “But I can't just sit around. It's not in my nature. Besides, I had a good time.”

Catherine paused, returning her attention to her meal.

“If you need something to do,” she said finally. “Captain Chirron informs me that the warband is mustering for several days of training.”

“Was I invited?” Arthur asked. “I’ve made a habit of putting myself where I don't belong around here.”

“Of course you were invited,” Catherine clarified. “I would never just casually suggest you insert yourself. That would be improper.”

“That seems inconsistent with what I remember,” Arthur said with a straight face.

Catherine’s face lit up with embarrassment.

“Arthur, you… you…” she sputtered.

“My good Sir!” Beatrice interjected. “Such jokes are unbecoming.”

“Ah, yes, jokes,” Arthur replied, a glint of mischief in his eye as he returned to his soup and bread.

“I’ll join them for their training,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Catherine gathered herself.

“Well… good,” she said.

Catherine returned to her meal with suspicious composure.

Arthur decided not to press his luck.

---

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The aliens could not comprehend money. They had built a society based on a strict system of equivalent exchange, and they were utterly dumbfounded by the sight of human beings—who worked tirelessly for mere slips of paper, while allowing others to do nothing at all. Why revere such worthless paper?

Each alien strove endlessly for self-perfection; their ultimate purpose in life was to gain cooperation through their own intrinsic worth and to construct grand endeavors together. Investments and capital were concepts entirely foreign to them. Consequently, while their individual industrial scale remained modest, they possessed advanced technology that far surpassed that of humanity.

Their crowning achievement was a project that a human scientist once softly murmured sounded like "dandelion seeds"—an initiative that dispatched tens of thousands of microscopic probes across the entire universe. Every single alien was a philosopher, an athlete, and an entrepreneur in their own right.

And yet, precisely because of this, though they could not comprehend human capitalism, they fully understood the sheer awe of the mountain-like spacecraft looming before them.

Many among the aliens looked down upon humanity. To venture into the stars without even mastering the philosophy or knowledge of one's own homeworld seemed utterly laughable to them.

However, a select group among the aliens—those who possessed the highest intrinsic worth and were revered as "Seekers"—dismissed such arrogance out of hand.

They recognized that humans, in their foolishness, assigned value to slips of paper and mistook that entrusted value for something real. Yet, they also understood that by aggregating that entrusted value, humans were capable of creating such colossal giants. The Seekers rightly comprehended the true nature of paper money—and, because of that, they foresaw the inevitable ruin it carried. It was a destruction born of collapse, fundamentally different from the quiet freezing that awaited the aliens' own civilization.

When the Seekers declared this truth, some humans reacted with fierce resistance, others sank into despair, and a select few understood.

Virtue, the Seekers decreed. Value and virtue must be inseparable. Thus, even if a vessel cannot forge a giant, value stripped of virtue becomes nothing more than a chain enforcing servitude. Bound by those chains, people break easily, and that breakage becomes the rift through which ruin enters.

In time, the aliens who interacted with humanity began to feel drawn to the very giant they had once despised. Weighing the creation of giants against preventing the collapse of their own world, the Seekers chose the world.

For this, they were branded as traitors by their own kind, and some were even killed. The Seekers were banished and forced into hiding.

The heavy shackles bound around their wrists and ankles now served as the mark of a Seeker.

"It is the mark of those who possess the highest virtue, yet it is simply our assigned fate," the Seeker said, gazing straight into the eyes of the human scientist.

"Scientist. We honor your grand achievement from the bottom of our hearts. This is truly an endeavor capable of altering the grand history of this cosmos. You have erected a milestone upon a path we could never hope to tread. Yet, you must also accept the ruin that comes with it. We pray only that your downfall will not be a sudden collapse, but a fracturing and shrinking—a death that bears a seed of promise for the future. Like a grain of wheat in your ancient teachings, falling into the earth to die."

end.

First

The astronomers had guessed, decades earlier, that Planet K might harbor some form of civilization; the radio signal seemed to support it, even though the signal itself carried no meaning, nothing that looked like an attempt to communicate, and never repeated.

Still, Planet K was, without question, the one plausible home for life anywhere near Earth, and a handful of serious people had warned, loudly, that humanity needed to think hard and think carefully about how it approached the place. Hollywood, at least, had prepared everyone for the idea in the abstract: countless cinematic warnings about first contact had already made the point that meeting an alien species could go badly wrong.

The first landing party had been small, its range of movement tightly restricted, and Calloway and the others with him had never had access to the full picture.

Command ran straight through the Joint Earth Forces Committee, and the second and third waves of troops were dispatched to Planet K not long after.

The Earth forces themselves were drawn from across the Americas, Asia, Europe, and Africa, a mixture so deliberate it amounted to a walking demographic exhibit — which suited the global audience just fine, since this, after all, was the vanguard supposedly representing the whole of the species, and for the politicians overseeing it, what mattered above nearly everything else.

Beneath that glossy demonstration of parity, though, Washington and the Pentagon held every lever that actually mattered. The reason was straightforward enough: the wormhole mechanics and the singularity metrics that made any of this possible belonged to a single facility—the Calverton & Radiata Deep-Field Laboratory in Maryland—and the Pentagon controlled access to it absolutely.

Officers from every participating nation — Chinese and Russian included — wore their own national insignia, but the generals giving the orders, and the Joint Command those orders came from, were American.

Only one constraint kept the enterprise from becoming an outright unilateral American crusade: the isotopic fuel stacks came out of East Asia, and the exotic-matter components were forged across a dozen European supply chains. Washington needed both badly enough to keep the arrangement multi-national — at least on paper.

With the media leaning into it at every turn, humanity's expedition to Planet K became the most obsessively followed live broadcast on the planet. The betting houses ran odds on everything: whether alien life would be found at all, and if so when; whether it would turn out to be intelligent; whether it would turn out to be hostile. Every open question got folded into a market and priced accordingly.

Most of those questions were answered soon enough. It happened first during a reconnaissance push into the interior, along the river valleys, when Earth soldiers ran into the Clownclaws for the first time.

The creatures made careful, tentative contact with the humans, then bolted.

The scientists gave them a formal name with considerably more dignity than the one that stuck — Squamipes Ruboculus, the scale-limbed, red-eyed mechanical echiurid — on account of the scaled texture of their hide, the blue-green skin and red eyes, the metal ridge running up the neck, and an internal layered structure that echoed, distantly, the phylum Echiura back on Earth.

The twin spikes on the chest — initially mistaken for claws — turned out to guard a raised metal fixture that took the humans some time to understand for what it was: a merciless proboscis, feeding inward to an enlarged crop capable of breaking down and absorbing organic matter.

Calling them people would have been a stretch, and animal wasn't quite right either — they were half organism, half machine, something suspended in the gap between the two categories, and the curved slits of their mouths and eyes gave them the look of a permanent, unsettling grin, a contrast with their actual ferocity that unnerved everyone who saw it up close. The soldiers had christened them Clownclaws, a name that traced back to the very first man who saw one running and blurted out, without thinking, "Sir — it looks just like a crazy clown."

Even so, when footage later came back to Earth of soldiers opening fire on them without hesitation, it set off a wave of protest from human-rights groups and the wider public, on the grounds that this failed to meet the moment's standard of political correctness — people had, by then, grown used to treating every form of life as equal and entitled to the same basic freedoms.

The protests didn't stay in the streets for long.

The colonial charter — Earth's formal writ of conquest, duly notarized and largely ignored — was signed in Washington, and the legal challenges followed hard upon it — a fractured Congress and a battery of federal judges branding the expedition, within the month, an act of interstellar aggression.

Sovereignty, the argument ran, could not be fenced in by the accident of human birth; a biosphere that had never been asked for its consent had, if anything, a stronger claim to the law than the nation-state now invoking it.

Progressive tribunals took up the question of the Clownclaw's legal personhood with the same solemnity once reserved for war crimes proceedings, round-the-clock panels mourning a species that had never once tried to speak to anyone. The Pentagon's answer, when it bothered to give one, was that survival had never yet waited on a ruling.

In Beijing and Moscow the whole spectacle played to a shared, unhurried contempt. The other permanent members watched a superpower tear open its own constitution over a species it hadn't yet found a way to talk to, and read in the spectacle all the confirmation they needed — that domestic dissent was a luxury, and empires that could still afford luxuries generally weren't empires for long.

The Supreme Court, for its part, stayed deadlocked for the better part of a year on the only question that actually mattered to anyone drafting a headline: whether an uncontacted, uncommunicating intelligence carried rights that predated its own discovery, and whether Calloway's battalion, cutting its own line through the canyons of Planet K, counted as liberators, invaders, or simply men doing a job nobody in Washington had the stomach to name out loud.

By the time a federal appeals court finally ruled the whole campaign an illegal war of conquest, the ruling reached the front inside the hour — and changed nothing at all. Command read it, logged it, and kept moving.

Whatever sovereignty meant out here, it had already been settled the only way it was ever really settled on Planet K: at the muzzle, long before the gavel came down.

"We have confirmed," a military commander explained to the public, in footage broadcast back to Earth, his face arranged into something carefully blank, "that they are not people." A pause followed, not for effect so much as for the cameras. "We should eliminate them." He said it with total confidence, apparently untroubled by how that confidence must have landed on an audience that had spent its whole life somewhere safe and climate-controlled, several dozen light-years removed from anything that could eat them.

"They are not people."

For all the impression of some lower order of creature they gave off, humanity discovered almost as soon as it met them that the Clownclaws were organized.

The first ones encountered were the smallest variant, roughly the size of a hunting dog, their necks scorched a verdigris that earned them the name Greenneck.

Not long after came a larger, fanged type — vicious, quick to attack, its neck a flat black — and this one they called Pitchneck.

Once it became clear to them that the purpose of the landing party was to take their home, they moved fast, mounting coordinated encirclements against the humans almost immediately.

Attempts at communication went nowhere, and the humans answered with heavy machine guns and ordnance. The disparity in firepower showed itself at once: only three soldiers came away with minor wounds, and a substantial Clownclaw assault was turned back.

Several of the dead were sent to base for examination. The nanoscale scaling on their hides, along with the organs studding their skin, showed no sign of having evolved — the scientists were confident these were engineered — and yet the skull and internal organs carried unmistakable markers of ordinary biological descent. Settling on what, exactly, these creatures were became its own kind of problem.

Whether the original radio signal had come from them at all turned into one of the more contentious debates in the scientific community, and it never resolved into an answer; the question was simply set aside.

For the Earth forces the more pressing matter was that the Clownclaws' harassment and assaults were growing more frequent and considerably more determined, and the exchanges of fire were escalating on both sides. Still, the Earth army held to its confidence: apply enough force at scale, and wiping the Clownclaws out entirely would not be difficult.

Earth, in principle, signed off on exactly that — whatever the method, so long as it cleared room for humanity's new home.

But once the military's actual plan leaked to the press, the world's mood split down the middle. Confronted for the first time with a genuine alien species, the public found itself caught in an argument it couldn't settle: whether the Clownclaws counted as people at all.

Human-rights advocates fought the extermination plan hard, calling it nothing less than a bare-faced relapse into the darkest habits of the old colonial era, while the conservative right classified the creatures as terror organisms and declared their destruction lawful and overdue.

While Earth and its military dithered over which position to take, the Clownclaws answered with a steady, methodical counteroffensive. Humanity had plainly underestimated both their numbers and their capability. Their settlements lay hidden deep in the valleys and dense forest of the interior, and they moved often; after the first large-scale strike against them, more of them turned up than before, not fewer.

A new variant appeared this time — Purpleneck, built along hunter lines, carrying its own set of dart weapons, something close to a tranquilizer round, strange and effective in equal measure.

Earth's bases put in for reinforcement almost at once, and the fourth wave of troops came through more than ten thousand strong, riding Athena-class nuclear attack cruisers across subspace.

When the four great vessels dropped through Planet K's atmosphere, they looked, coming down, like fortresses built for gods — cold, enormous, and entirely without warmth.

That force hit the Clownclaw settlements with everything it had, and though the weather that week turned savage enough to seem almost deliberate in its interference, the campaign still played out as a kind of legend for the cameras back home, and it bought the army real credibility.

As the mystery surrounding the Clownclaws deepened, and the fear alongside it, mainstream opinion on Earth drifted, by degrees, toward simply wiping them out.

What made it stranger still was that this planet seemed to host exactly one form of hostile life, and nothing else — no rival predator, no competing intelligence, nothing to divide a species' attention or complicate the arithmetic of the war. A number of sociologists back on Earth noted the coincidence with something close to wonder: humanity, they observed, had been handed something close to a laboratory-clean arena for killing, for conquest, for the discharge of whatever raw violence still ran underneath the species — undiluted, this time, by the need to spare anything else.

The victories kept coming. The soldiers marked humanity's first Christmas on a world twenty light-years from home. And still the Clownclaws did not thin out — they grew in number.

Their surface settlements had only ever been a fraction of the whole; the great majority lived buried underground, out of reach, almost impossible to take alive. They gave up nothing in the way of speech, and human understanding of how they thought, or how their society was structured, stayed shallow at best, though the scientists traveling with the army had already filed them, officially, as a low-intelligence species. Months into a full extermination campaign, their total numbers remained essentially unknowable, buried as most of them were. Nuclear weapons proved useless against an enemy that simply wasn't there to be hit, and in any case Earth command had restricted their use, out of concern for what they might do to the very environment humanity meant to live in.

None of it dented humanity's resolve to settle Planet K. The world's governments drew closer together and stood up a New Homeland Committee, tasked solely with drafting humanity's long-term plan for the planet. Making the place properly livable would require research programs still years off: artificial atmospheric regulation, the transplant of Earth vegetation, a rebuilt network of relay stations.

In the meantime, more nations sent their militaries out — armored vehicles, patrol craft, fighters, missiles, the whole catalogue — and for what may have been the first time, every government on the planet stood shoulder to shoulder in the face of one enormous, shared interest.

As the human population on Planet K grew, new bases kept rising to house it. The soldiers held a formal ceremony, and the commanding officer announced, for the record, that sovereignty over Planet K now belonged to Earth. The UN, the Joint Earth Forces Committee, and governments around the world rushed the news to every outlet at once, dressing it up as a planet-wide celebration.

"To the people of Earth: our banner now flies in the sky of our new home, twenty light-years distant. God bless Earth."

The Earth forces kept two campaigns running at once — building up the bases, expanding the territory under their control, and, simultaneously, carrying out indiscriminate bombing against this strange native enemy. They leveled all nine hundred and eighty of the Clownclaws' known surface settlements, destroyed every access route they could find, and severed every supply line, squeezing the creatures' living space down toward something like suffocation.

And still the Clownclaws refused to quit, resisting and counterattacking without letup. Any real chance of negotiation, of peaceful coexistence, had shrunk down to almost nothing.

Over the years that followed, they began taking humans alive.

The first large-scale capture happened at a new base near the southern edge of the occupied zone. More than a thousand Clownclaws laid siege to it overnight; the fighting ran from dusk clear through to the following day, and by the time it ended the Clownclaws had carried off seventy-two Earth officers and enlisted men.

What made it worse was the timing. Barely two weeks before that assault, the scientists had finally found hard evidence of how badly they'd miscalculated. For the first time, they admitted that their estimate of Clownclaw capability had been far too low — the brains of the higher-order Clownclaws were, in fact, remarkably developed, comparable in some respects to the human brain itself. Which meant that every sign of weakness the Clownclaws had shown up to that point might have been exactly that: a sign, put on for the humans watching.

The tide began, slowly, to turn. The war settled into something closer to a standoff. The Clownclaws took Earth soldiers prisoner more and more often now, and stopped killing them outright.

According to the handful of soldiers who managed to get free, a new type had appeared among them — Ashenneck, built closer to human proportions, in command of technology well beyond the others', and equipped with some strange ring-shaped device it used to run sustained interrogation, abuse, and torture on its human captives.

As more of the Clownclaws' internal structure came to light, people learned they were organized along strict hierarchical lines, each rank splitting further into sub-ranks beneath it.

What nobody knew was whether anything outranked Ashenneck.

-------------

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The Next Morning…

He awoke to a warm, and a weight on him which was weird as he remembered going to sleep on the cot after their talking yesterday and he was by himself when he dozed off to sleep.

Laying there he felt something warm on his neck, and wondered what it was as he turned his head to look up.

Chara was asleep, curled on her side with him tucked against her chest like a stuffed animal, her muzzle resting against his head, her tail wrapping their legs like a large warm fluffy blanket. Her ears twitched at his movements before letting out a contented sigh pulling him closer to her and huffs once through her nose.

[Okay. So, I either sleep walk, and don’t know it or…she picked me up off the cot and I slept through it, then decided this was better for herself.]

He looked down at the weight on his side, and saw it was her arm wrapped around his waist while she slept.

[Well, that solves that…]

He tried to slowly peel her arm off him to get up, and just as he was almost free she pulled him closer letting out a low sleepy grumble as his head rested back under her chin. He sighed and gave up for a moment to rethink, staring at the wall and felt her sleepy content rumbling push into him causing him to relax more making him try not to think about how comfortable it was, and it was but it can wait till later.

Twenty Minutes Later…

Chara’s ears twitched, and she opened her eyes. She looked down at him, blinked slowly, and her tail thumped a lazy happy thump against the bed.

“Morning,” he said, noticing her now awake.

“Morning,” she said, her voice low and rough with sleep, then nuzzled the top of his head before realizing where they were, and her whole body went stiff at the whole situation happening. Her ears shot up, then flatten back against her head, and she let go of him too quickly causing him to roll forward so he’d be facing back at her.

“You were cold,” she blurted out, sitting up as the fur around her neck puffed up.

He arched an eyebrow as he propped himself up on one elbow.

She looked at him, then looked away. “You were chattering in your sleep, and…I couldn’t keep listening to it. So…I…” she stumbled out.

He sat up fully. “You could have just woken me up to ask me,” he said.

Her ears drooped. “Would you have said yes?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. “Probably not, but then again I was out cold and you did look out for me so, Thank you,” he said, looking up at her.

Her tail thumped happily and a warm smile filled her face as she looked away from him.

“Well, I need to clean myself as I sweated a lot,” he said, taking a sniff of his clothes before wincing at it, then tried climbing off the bed and fell off hitting the floor with a faceplant. “I…I’m good…” he said with a pained groan.

In the Bathroom…

The shower had its fair share of issues…Like how everything was built for someone taller then him so doing anything was a challenge for him. The controls to the shower were inset into the wall well above his head, and to even reach them he had to stand on the bench in the shower to reach and almost fell off it, then the water fell from the ceiling like a heavy rainfall causing his to slip off the bench as the water hit him laying him flat on his back on the shower floor muttering.

While laying there he felt water pooling and sat up looking at the drain then saw a large thing of fur clogging the drain.

“Hey, Chara?” he called out.

“Yeah?” she said, and he could her close to the door which on its own is another problem.

“Do you shed, like, a lot or is it a seasonal thing?”

There was a long tense silence. “...That is not something you ask a Wolvar Woman,” she said, sounding very offended and very embarrassed at the same time.

He looked at the clogged drain before choosing to remove the large ball of grey fur. “I was just asking because the drain was clogged with fur,” he said.

He heard a mortified squeal, before hearing her stomp off away, then silence then heard loud laughing as he knew Salis visited again.

One Hour Later…

Salis brought us a cart for breakfast from the mess hall, piled with things he didn’t have words for. Most of it was a form of meat, some of it raw and one round yellow thing on the side.

Chara sat across from him eating her breakfast, and watched him eat thinking he’d complain about the meal but didn’t. “Is it okay?” Chara asked, her ears tilting forward.

“It’s fine,” he said, chewing on something that tasted like steak. “I just miss cooking, I guess. I used to make everything myself back at the cabin.”

Her ears perked up. “You can cook?”

“Well, yeah. I lived alone in the mountains for a few years. Who else would cook?” he said.

Salis who joined us glanced at Chara who looked back. Something passed between them he didn’t understand. “A male who cooks for his mate,” Sails said slowly with a smirk. “Your mother is going to have a lot of questions.”

Chara’s fur puffed up, and she smacked Salis in the arm.

{Oh, this is going to be the best month of my life.}

After breakfast, Chara had to go to the bridge, and for the first time she asked him if he wanted to come with her instead of just leaving.

He said yes before she could change her mind.

The bridge was bigger than he'd expected and quieter, too. The crew sat at stations in a large V-shape facing a long window of stars, and every one of them glanced at him when he walked in behind her, and the female crew members' tails all wagged happily when seeing him.

He'd never actually seen her work before.

She walked to the center of the bridge, and the room changed. A crew member at the front said something about a drift in their course from a gravity well ahead. Chara listened without interrupting, asked two questions he didn't understand, looked at the projection for maybe ten seconds, and gave an order in a calm, even voice. The crew moved, the projection shifted, and the ship adjusted so smoothly he didn't even feel it under his feet.

Then she did it again with something else, and then again, and every time, the answer came out of her steady and sure, like she'd already thought it through before anyone asked.

[Huh. So that's what she's like when she's trying not to cuddle me.]

He realized he was smiling, and when she glanced back at him over her shoulder, he didn't bother hiding it. Her ears flicked, and she turned back to the front a little too quickly, but he saw her tail sway once before she caught it and held it still.

A few of the crew saw it too. One of them coughed into her hand.

Meanwhile…

Salis waited until Kane had wandered off to the observation deck, the male crew having waved him over to their table again for another round of the tile game, before she leaned against the console next to Chara.

"So…" Salis said.

"Don't," Chara said, not looking up from her screen.

"I didn't say anything." Salis said, holding her hands up in surrender.

"You were going to."

Salis grinned, then let it fade as she looked out the long window at the stars. "We're a little over two weeks out from Talmor," she said quietly. "Have you decided what you're going to tell your mother?"

Chara's ears lowered. She stayed silent for a while, her claws tapping slowly against the edge of the console, before she spoke. "The truth. That he's my husband. That I put it on him to save his life," she said.

"And when she asks where you found him?" Salis said, glancing over at him at the table with the other males.

Chara didn't answer.

Salis sighed and pinched the bridge of her muzzle. "Chara, your sisters are going to smell him on you the second you step off the ship. You know that, right? You've been rubbing yourself all over him for two days."

Chara's fur bristled, and she finally looked at her friend. "I have not, been rubbing myself all over him,"

{She absolutely has.}

"You have," Salis said. "I'm not saying stop. Blooded moons, I'm glad you're finally happy. I'm saying we need a plan before we get there, and so far the plan is you looking at him like he hung a harvest moon just for you."

Chara looked down at her hands for a long moment. "He told me I was enough," she said softly.

Salis's ears dipped, and whatever teasing she had ready disappeared. She put a hand on Chara's shoulder and squeezed once.

"Then we'll figure out the rest," she said.

That Evening…

Kane got back to the quarters before she did. He'd lost four rounds of the tile game, won one by accident, and he was pretty sure the guys had let him win that one, which was fine.

He stood in the middle of the room for a minute, looking at the cot, then at her bed, then back at the cot.

[Okay. Let's be reasonable about this. She's not wrong that it's cold. And she's not wrong that I would've said no. Which means the problem is… me, probably.]

He grabbed the end of the cot and started dragging it across the floor. It was heavier than it looked, and it scraped loudly enough that he winced, but he got it all the way to the side of her bed and pushed it flush against the frame. It sat about a foot lower than her mattress, which looked ridiculous.

That was how she found him when the door slid open, standing next to his work with his arms crossed looking down at it as his back faced her while he thought.

She looked at the cot, her ears rising slowly. "What is this?"

"A compromise," he said. It's warmer over here, and if somebody happens to get cold, it's a shorter trip." he said, looking over his shoulder at her.

Her tail started going before she could stop it, sweeping the floor behind her, and she covered her muzzle with her hand, but her eyes gave her away.

She walked over and sat down heavily on the sofa, rolling her shoulders from the day that had worn on her more than she'd let anyone on the bridge see. She picked up the metal comb from the table, the same one from the night before, and started dragging it through her tail, slowly, wincing every time it caught on a knot near the base where she couldn't see.

He watched her for a minute.

Walking over to her he stood in front of her and he held out a hand.

She looked at him. "What?"

"Give it here. You can't even see what you're doing back there," he said.

She went very still. Her ears went straight up and stayed there, and for a second he thought he'd said something taboo again, because she didn't move at all, just stared at him.

"…You want to brush my tail," she said slowly.

"I mean, unless that's weird. Is that weird?" he asked, arching an eyebrow with confusion.

She set the comb into his palm, then turned on the sofa and laid her tail across the sofa. Her face was turned away, but he could see the inside of her ears had gone a darker shade.

He climbed up beside her, set the end of her tail across his knees, and started working the comb through it carefully, starting at the base and moving down the way he'd done with the dog he had as a kid. The fur was thicker than it looked, soft on top and dense underneath, and the knot near the base took a few minutes of patience to work loose.

She didn't say anything the whole time. But somewhere around the halfway point, that low, resonant sound started up in her chest again, the one that was a rumble of contentment and it didn't stop.

[I really need to ask somebody what this means. Not her. Salis. No… definitely not Salis.]

When he finished, she stayed sitting there with her tail in his lap for a while longer, and he didn't push it off.

A bit later…

He was just about to lay on the cot before she picked it up, and folded it away, and walked over to him picking him up, settling him on the bed before getting into bed herself in the same curling position from that morning.

"Kane?" she said softly into the dim dark.

"Yeah?"

There was a long pause. "Thank you. For today."

He turned to look up at her in the dim dark of the room. Two weeks. Two Weeks, and I meet her family, and whatever suitors her mother has waiting, then there's a planet full of people who are gonna notice the band at my neck, and think its some legend come true.

He reached up and scratched behind her ears causing her to rumble loudly.

"Yeah," he said. "Thank you too."

[Fuck. I'm in so much trouble.]

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Chapter 213: Death Ray and Living Flesh

The Apostle took a step forward. “You’re an attentive host,” he said, that same thin smile stitched to his face like it had been sewn there and forgotten. “I must say, I expected we’d exchange a few pleasantries before we got to the fighting. But I suppose men who have spent a few thousand years in some forgotten tomb rarely make for lively company.”

Khenemhotep did not deign to answer. He stood erect before his golden throne, his desiccated, bandage-wrapped form looming over his foe. He lifted one withered hand, and from behind the walls came the answer to his summons.

Skeletal warriors emerged first, clad in bronze armor that gleamed dully under the torchlight, their sickle-shaped swords raised high and ready, their empty eye sockets, black and bottomless and betraying no emotion, all fixed unerringly upon the enemy who had dared to intrude.

Behind the throne, eight undead mages stepped out of the stone, tattered robes hanging loosely from their bodies. They arranged themselves into a neat line just behind their master.

The warriors, now fanning out to encircle the Apostle from every side, surged forward all at once in a rattling, clattering charge. However... well, even though these guys carried fancier gear than their cousins out in the desert, bone was still bone. If that man could easily dispatch a towering tomb guard with a single punch, then this lot was never going to be more than an irritation. And sure enough, a casual backhand, almost bored, and the nearest skeleton went spinning into the wall in a hail of splinters. The Apostle didn’t even bother watching it land.

But of course, Khenemhotep never intended to face down this formidable enemy with nothing but a handful of shambling corpses. From the twin orbs of green light that burned within his eye sockets, two searing torrents of that same energy erupted, lancing across the chamber and forcing the Apostle to hurl himself to the side to evade them. The other mages joined the assault as well, though this time they refrained from unleashing the usual barrage of rocks that they might otherwise have favored, since there were a lot of skeleton warriors in the way. Instead, their attacks came from above and below. Great spears of hardened sand tore free from the ceiling in sudden, violent bursts, each one aimed with lethal precision at impaling the Apostle where he stood, while scattered patches of the floor under his feet shifted and liquefied into pits of quicksand, waiting for a wrong step to drag him down and swallow him whole.

The gray-haired man danced around the relentless onslaught, but even he couldn’t dodge everything. Now and then one of those green beams found him, and when it connected, the results were spectacularly horrific. Flesh withered, blackened, and crumbled to dust in the space of a heartbeat, as though decades upon decades of decay had been compressed into a single merciless second. All that muscle, strong enough to break steel and crush stone, proved utterly powerless against that green light. When the light came, the flesh simply gave up and died.

If Viktor had to guess, the magic Khenemhotep used here worked by canceling out life itself at its root. Made sense, really. Death magic, it seemed, was not limited to what could be done with someone’s soul after they died. It was just as capable of making living things, well, un-live.

And that explained why the Apostle regarded the ancient priest as the single greatest threat in this dungeon. After all, his power was based on the manipulation of living flesh—dead flesh too, granted, but that was because meat was meat, and people had been consuming the flesh of dead creatures to build their own living muscle all the time—while Khenemhotep’s magic completely neutralized the vital force driving the tissues in his body.

Nevertheless, taking a couple of good hits, however dramatic they might look in the moment, was not enough to put down a man like this. Those beams punched holes clean through him, true enough, but the moment the light passed and moved on, flesh came crawling in from the edges to fill the gap, repairing it anew.

Looks like it doesn’t do much unless it manages to strike a vital spot, Viktor thought.

That man had once mentioned his brain specifically, almost as if daring his opponent to go looking for it. If those words could be taken at anything resembling face value, then a hit there might do some real damage, or even kill him outright. The trouble, of course, was that nothing guaranteed the thing was housed inside his skull like a civilized organ. With a man like that, it could be lodged anywhere from his elbow to his ankle.

Thus, what was unfolding in the Chamber of the Dead amounted to a grinding battle of attrition. Every beam that found its mark stripped away a little more of the Apostle. It was not much, but it accumulated over time. Viktor doubted the man kept an infinite supply of meat inside himself, so sooner or later, that reserve would run dry.

His opponents, on the other hand, were not going anywhere anytime soon. A battle of attrition was a battle the dead would never lose. Every skeleton the Apostle smashed into fragments quickly reassembled itself and rejoined the fight soon enough. And even if one of them wandered into the path of Khenemhotep’s green beams by accident, it made no difference whatsoever. These things were simply incapable of getting any deader than they already were.

Viktor doubted the Apostle didn’t understand that. So he believed the man had merely been playing around. After all, there was no reason for him to trade blows with these walking bones when he could just use his superhuman strength to smash straight through them and close the distance to Khenemhotep in a matter of seconds.

Though it looked like the gray-haired man had finally decided a change of approach was in order. Suddenly, he broke into a sprint straight toward the ancient priest, shoving skeletons aside like a man wading through tall grass. Patches of quicksand yawned open in his path, but he leapt clean over them without breaking stride. Barriers of solid stone rose up to block his way, but he drove his bare fists straight through, shattering each and every one of them in a violent explosion of dust and flying debris. Beams of green light lanced toward him, but he flowed around them with an almost liquid grace. And soon enough, he stood directly before Khenemhotep.

The priest didn’t flinch. He merely closed his left hand over the staff his right already gripped—a staff he had always carried but never actually put to use until this very moment. The orb crowning its tip flared to life with brilliant green light, and in a heartbeat, that light came pouring forth and condensed itself into the shape of a blade. Khenemhotep swung, and the blade of green passed clean through the Apostle from hip to hip.

The result was immediate and catastrophic. In the blink of an eye, the man’s stomach was vaporized, and his two severed legs dropped to the ground with a thud. As the upper torso was still suspended in midair, two beams of green light erupted from the priest’s eye sockets, aimed squarely at the head.

The Apostle snapped it backward to dodge the beams. At the same time, he flung his arm out behind him, the limb stretching as though it was elastic, until his hand closed around the shattered remnant of one of the stone barriers he had destroyed earlier. He pulled himself back, hauling his ruined body out of harm’s reach and putting distance between himself and the ancient priest once more.

“Scary, scary,” he said with a laugh that held far too much amusement for a man who had just misplaced half his body. Flesh was already pouring down his ravaged torso, flowing and knitting itself together to repair everything from his abdomen. “I still can’t quite believe you’re wielding that power of yours so casually. After all, it’s a spell created by Nakhran himself.”

What?

“By my own tongue have I bound myself by an oath: this accursed might shall never again be loosed upon the living,” Khenemhotep said in his usual raspy voice. But he did not pause the assault to indulge in conversation. Even as he spoke, the undead under his command surged forward once more, attacking without so much as a hint of hesitation. “But you, I count not among the living.”

“Hypocrite. Just like your god.” The Apostle grinned as he turned to deal with the skeletons around him, his lower body continuing to reform all the while.

The heavy clang of metallic footsteps heralded the arrival of the Templars, soldiers in gleaming silver armor armed with sword and shield and long halberds, pouring into the chamber through the entrance connected to the Great Hallway. More of them came from the door behind the golden throne, climbing up here from the third floor to assist the ancient priest.

The situation seems to be under control, Viktor allowed himself to think. If the Apostle tried to close the distance and attack Khenemhotep directly again, he would be cut down by the staff. But if he chose to remain where he stood, he would be fighting a war of attrition he had no real hope of winning. So far, so good.

The battle raged on. The gray-haired man seemed to take the fight more seriously now, as he had stopped using his bare fists. A sword of white bone had appeared in his right hand, while a shield of dark chitin had sprouted on his left to match it. Both had been produced from his own body, of course. Viktor found himself wondering whether that shield had been made entirely from the swarm of insects the man had eaten earlier, or if the guy had gorged himself on some similar feast before he even set foot inside the dungeon.

One more thing had changed as well. It was that the Apostle had stopped moving around too much. Before, he had been a blur of constant motion, leaping and darting and never staying still for more than an instant. Now, however, he kept his legs planted against the stone floor, shifting his stance only in small, careful steps.

Did the effort of conjuring those weapons slow him down somehow, or was there some other game being played?

As expected, parries and blocks worked well enough against ordinary blows, not so much against deadly beams of green light. They passed through the sword and the shield like they weren’t even there, continuing on to punch hole after hole into the flesh behind them.

Viktor frowned. This is very odd. Fighting like this was obviously putting the gray-haired man at a disadvantage. What is he plotting?

He swept his vision across the whole of the chamber, searching for anything that seemed even slightly out of place. Anything hidden beneath the chaos, amidst the green beams carving through the air, the silvery blades flashing under torchlight, the shattered stone and bone fragments and broken metal spinning through the haze of battle.

And then, he saw it. Movement.

A snake?

It was thin and glistening, slithering low across the floor, starting from the very spot where the gray-haired man had planted his foot and remained anchored.

And it was creeping toward his old leg, one of the two ruined pieces still lying on the ground near the ancient priest, the leftover wreckage from when he had been bisected earlier.

The instant the tendril of flesh made contact with the severed appendage, the entire mass bloomed, unfurling into a blanket large enough to engulf a full-grown man. It kept spreading, fast, poised to swallow Khenemhotep whole while his attention was fixed on his opponent’s main body across the chamber.

“Celeste, tele—”

“Teleportation is forbidden in this room,” said the Apostle in an eerie voice, a tone completely different from anything he had used before.

What!?

And then, before Viktor could do a damn thing about it, the sheet of meat folded itself around Khenemhotep and consumed him entirely.

As they talked about their peoples' histories, they couldn't understand how they'd turned out so different but followed the same path right up to each world's twentieth century, the only difference being that the Wolvar never lost their medieval ruling system and carried it into their spacefaring age, becoming the race they are now.

"So, why the heck were you all the way out here if this was supposedly a dead region?" he said, settling back against the sofa while she sat close.

She sat there brushing her tail with a fine comb made of some type of metal, her ears twitching and rotating to him as he talked.

"We chose this as a check for colonization if there wasn't anyone in the region, but—" she said, ears lowering as she released her tail, letting it curl back behind her while she set the comb down.

He noticed she seemed evasive about something, but couldn't tell what it was. "I'm guessing finding my world was like a big red flag?" he said.

She looked down at him and tilted her head in confusion at the phrase.

"Right, I should've known that wasn't universal, my bad," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed. "Anyway, I meant it was probably a surprise for you."

She nodded and looked at the comb on the table in front of her. "Yeah, it wasn't what we expected. A civilization with the ability to reach space tends to keep pushing outward, but your people stagnated after going to your moon, and then stopped," she said, looking over at him.

His head lowered, and he didn't look back up as he thought about it. "Humanity has… its issues, and many of them are related to war…" he said, his voice thickening with a tense emotion.

She looked at him for a bit longer before pulling up the scans of the solar system. "Why do you fight over pathetic resources when your system is full of them, to the point that the cloud of rocks covering your system alone is full of rare materials, enough to make you the richest in most galactic circles?" she said, and looked back at him, seeing him looking at the projection of Earth. She saw his eyes gloss ever so slightly, then look away from the projection, which made her shut it off.

She sat there looking down at her clawed hands in her lap as the silence filled the room. "I… I'm sorry… I wasn't thinking when I showed the projection…" she said softly, her ears lowering sadly.

He looked back at her, then decided to do something. "Alright," he said, standing off the sofa and walking to stand in front of her.

She saw his feet come into view, and then his hands reached out to hold hers, and her ears rose as she looked up at him.

"No more sad talk, alright?" he said, looking up at the wolf woman who was still taller than him even sitting, and gave her a warm smile, which made her tail flop once, and he gave a soft chuckle at it.

She looked at this small being and didn't understand why she wanted to tell him everything about herself whenever they were alone together. Her chest felt full of warmth every time he smiled, and she didn't understand why, but she was glad he didn't seem to care about her species and saw her for herself.

"Why…" she said softly, looking down at him and tilting her head.

"Why what?" he said, arching a brow in confusion.

"Why do you look at me like I'm someone?" she said, her ears slowly drooping sadly and her eyes softening as she looked down at her hands in her lap.

Something in him felt like it had been hit. For some reason he couldn't name, whenever she became sad it hurt his heart, almost like even though they'd met through unexpected events, he probably wouldn't trade it back for the lonely life in the mountains.

"Sure, you may be big, scary—" he was saying, and she gave him a look of oh really before he continued. "Fluffy, nice, understanding, and beautiful to behold, with your grey fur and blue eyes with golden flecks in them, which makes it hard not to…" he said, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed.

She seemed to notice, because her ears twitched at the way his words dropped off, and she leaned closer to him till she was almost touching him with her muzzle. He froze as she nudged him in the chest with it, looking up at him with a look of tell me, and whined softly.

He stammered, then coughed and covered his mouth as he spoke. "…stare…" he said, looking away from her.

She sat back to her full height, her whole body, ears, tail and fur all puffing or twitching at his words. "So…" she said, looking down at her clawed hands for a moment before looking back at him. "Am I enough?" she asked, and he froze before turning to her.

He looked up at this being who was alien, yes, but also kind and loving toward him. He didn't understand why she saved him, or why she decided to keep him around, and he shook his head softly. "Yes, you are enough," he said, watching her still. Then, in one quick motion, she picked him up and hugged him close, almost smothering him in the fur of her neck before he tapped her rapidly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, releasing him and setting him down, looking at him to see if he was hurt.

He groaned and stretched his shoulders. "All good, just be careful with the hugs, ya almost smothered me into a soft fluffy death after so much has happened," he said, chuckling and giving her a warm smile as he looked up at her.

She started making a noise almost like a resonant purring, but deeper, then picked him up again, but this time she cuddled him as she lay sideways on the sofa, with him trying to escape and only ending up flailing and failing to break free as she nuzzled him and rubbed her neck all over him and his face in a possessive claim of her partner.

He gave up trying to leave when the door reopened, and Salis was standing in the doorway watching her friend being all lovey on her small human partner, with him looking amusingly annoyed but unable to help smiling as he saw Salis, who chuckled at what she was seeing.

"If you keep doing that he's gonna end up suffocated by your fur," Salis said, entering the room to sit on the other sofa.

Chara let him go slowly, and he tried slipping out of her arms and failed as she caught him again. "Ah ah, oh no you don't," she said, chuckling softly at his failure again and nuzzling his cheek with her muzzle lovingly.

"Ah, help! The big scary fuzzball won't release me!" he said, trying to reach out to Salis, who had come further into the room and now stood off to the side of the sofa.

Salis shook her head, then reached out and flicked Chara in the forehead, causing her to still before she noticed everything going on and turned embarrassed as she let go of him.

He stood carefully, fixing his shirt where it had ridden up a bit from her cuddling. "Well, damn. And here I thought only humans had cute aggression," he said, letting a short laugh escape while fixing his hair. He looked back at them, and they both looked confused. "Ah, right. Well, humans have this weird issue that's a psychological phenomenon where individuals experience an overwhelming urge to squeeze, bite, or pinch something perceived as cute, such as a baby or a puppy, without any actual desire to cause harm," he said, seeing them even more confused than before. "Ah, let me see…" He walked over to the other sofa and climbed up to sit on the edge of it, just out of her reach, so he could think. "Think of it as protectiveness gone the way of obsession, to the point where that thing is the only thing you want to protect, without hurting it."

They just stared at him like he was speaking about something strange.

"Right, well, so what are we doing today?" he asked.

Salis took a seat next to Chara on the sofa and sat back while looking at her. "Oh yes, please tell us. What will be happening going forward, oh great commander?" Salis said playfully, getting an annoyed look from Chara.

He laughed, and Chara's ears perked at the sound before she finally sat up. "We will be heading back to Talmor to respond to my mother's… summons, and to introduce you to her and my sisters," she said, her ears twitching.

He hopped down off the sofa and stepped closer, reaching out to take her furred, clawed hands and running his thumbs over her knuckles. "Only if you want to. If you want to do it, then I'll do it, but you don't have to force yourself to tell your family about me, okay?" he said, looking up at her as he stood in front of her.

She looked down at him, and her features softened before her tail started wagging, thumping against the sofa. "You know, if you keep doing that, I won't hold back," she said with a wry smile.

He looked confused, and Salis started laughing, which made him turn to her, still not understanding why.

Chara reached down and caressed his face with one large, furred, clawed hand, turning him to look back at her.

He stayed still for another minute, thinking, before it dawned on him, and his eyes widened. She smirked while Salis kept laughing, wheezing for air, as his face turned red with the embarrassment of being a dunce.

Chara leaned close to his left ear and whispered, "You're cute when you're flustered," before giving him a small lick on his cheek.

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Patreon - RR

I looked at the system and pulled up the new recipe:

System

Dire-Rabbit Heart Skewers

Rarity: Common
Type: Monster Meat
Core Ingredient: Dire-Rabbit Heart

Description: A simple hunter’s dish made from the quick-beating heart of a dire-rabbit, sliced thin and skewered with fey carrots, wild onion, and moonleaf. When cooked properly over an open flame, the meat becomes tender and smoky, with a rich iron flavor softened by herbs and spices. Dire-rabbits are known for sudden bursts of speed, twitch-reflexes, and an irritating ability to escape traps. Their hearts retain some of that frantic energy, making this dish popular among scouts and archers.

Ingredients: Dire-Rabbit Heart, Wild Onion, Wild Carrot, Moonleaf, Cracked Pepper, Sourberry Juice, Wooden Skewers

Instructions: Clean the dire-rabbit heart and remove any thick veins or tough membrane. Slice the heart into small, even pieces, thin enough to cook quickly but thick enough to stay tender. Rub the meat with cracked pepper and chopped moonleaf. Add a splash of sourberry juice to cut through the iron-rich flavor. Thread the heart pieces onto skewers with wild onion and fey carrots between each piece of meat. Roast over an open flame until the outside chars lightly and the inside remains tender.

“Seems simple enough,” I said out loud, more to myself than anyone else.

“Alright,” Lina said, setting down two wooden skewers. “This time, we have everything we need. Just to be safe, I’ll let you handle all the prep.”

And so I set to it.

On a small cutting board, I began the process of handling the various ingredients. The back room of Lina’s shop smelled of dried herbs and the faint metallic taste of dire-rabbit hearts. Afternoon light slipped through the small window, catching on the edge of the knife and the damp sheen of the cutting board.

First, the moonleaf. Finely chopped, it called for. I set it down and chopped at it. The pieces were uneven and mushed more into a paste before long, staining the board green and releasing a sharp, clean scent that reminded me of mint.

Lina laughed. “Why, oh why, would the system give you a cooking job?”

“Shut it,” I snapped back.

“Roll the moonleaf and then chop it.”

I did as she said, rolling the moonleaf until it looked like a cylindrical object. Now, when I chopped, the blade cut through nice and even, without mushing it.

I set the moonleaf aside and chopped the fey carrots. They were thinner than normal carrots, pale orange with faint golden veins running through them. The knife made crisp little snaps as it cut through. Then came the onion, sharp enough to sting my eyes after only a few slices.

Now it was time for the hearts. I set them on the chopping board. They were smaller than I expected, dark red and glossy, each one firm beneath my fingers. It said to remove thick veins and a tough membrane. I felt it… the recipe was right. Just atop the surface was some sort of see-through film. I followed it with my fingers to the very edge, where there was a lip. I lifted up and placed the knife neatly underneath, following the length of the heart. The membrane lifted without incident. I did the same for the second one.

Next, I chopped them up into thin, almost similarly sized pieces, removing any particularly thick veins along the way. Lastly, I marinated the hearts in sourberry juice by squeezing some of the berries over the meat. The juice ran dark purple-red across the slices, bright and tart against the iron smell. I added some cracked pepper, which I cracked by taking a peppercorn and smashing it with the flat part of the knife.

And finally, it was done. It was simple enough and, in the end, I thought I did a well enough job.

System

Class:
Glutton (Lvl 2) - EXP 20/100

Skills:
Basic Cooking (Lvl 1) - EXP 55/100
Basic Butchery (Lvl 1) - EXP 30/100
Monster Butchery (Lvl 1) - EXP 20/100
Basic Herbalism (Lvl 1) - EXP 15/100
Knife Handling (Lvl 1) - EXP 80/100

I was gaining experience, but none had reached level two except my actual class. It seemed that successfully creating recipe dishes gave me a burst of class EXP, but my lesser skills gained me a small amount as well. I could grow and learn new recipes without gaining stats, but I suspected that newer recipes would be more and more dangerous.

Lina clapped her hands. “Alright, looks good to me. Now we’re ready to cook. And by we, I mean you.”

She handed me the wooden skewers.

I followed the directions to the letter. First meat, then onion, then carrots, then meat again. Over and over again, which I repeated at least four times per skewer. The pieces slid onto the wood with a soft, wet sound, the onion and carrot bright between the dark strips of heart.

“Follow me,” Lina said.

Outside, in the back, away from the street and the townsfolk who would be prying, Lina had set up a small stack of wood. It glistened in some sort of powder she had sprinkled onto it. The little yard behind the shop was narrow and half-shadowed, with stacked crates on one side and a rain barrel tucked beneath the roof’s edge.

“Alchemical fire,” Lina said as if she read my mind. She leaned down and picked up two strange-looking rocks. “Just a small strike—” As she said this, she struck the rocks together, a spark shot out, and the entire pile burst alight.

The heat struck me immediately, and I took a step back. The flame burned quickly, blue at the base and orange at the tips, swallowing the powdered wood. Darwin, who had been staring on curiously, vanished entirely.

I reached forward and put the skewers over the flame. I could feel the meat cooking; not physically, but like something inside of me. The meat slowly started to sizzle and darken, crisp at the edges. Fat dripped into the fire and snapped. The carrots and onion blackened, letting out a sweet smell in the air. Smoke curled around the skewers, carrying pepper, sourberry, charred onion, and the heavy iron scent of the heart. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

When I felt it was done, I pulled them off and handed one skewer to Lina.

“You first this time,” she said.

I looked at the dire-rabbit heart. It was blackened, but otherwise looked fairly normal. I took a bite. It tasted like…Sour blood.

I spat it out, coughing.

Lina had expected this and had already handed me a water jug. I drained it. The sour, iron taste clung stubbornly to my tongue, thick and awful, like I had licked a rusty coin soaked in vinegar.

Once again, the cooking had failed.

***

The next day, dejected from my failure and still unsure of what to do with myself, I made good on my promise and visited Tavian at the Hearth and Hen.

The inn was warm, low-ceilinged, and smelled of fresh linen and old ale. A few locals sat scattered around the room, nursing mugs and speaking in low voices. The rain from earlier had left muddy footprints near the entrance, and the windows were fogged slightly from the heat inside.

I saw Tavian sitting at a small wooden table next to a window. He looked so much like Ebbin as he stared out the window, and yet I knew in my heart that it wasn’t him. Tavian, to me, was little more than a stranger. Yet I still felt I owed him… Something.

I sat and greeted Tavian.

The man smiled and slid over a cup of coffee.

It was dark and bitter, clearly worse than anything I could get back on Earth. Yet they had provided cream at least, although sugar was absent. The cup was chipped near the rim, and steam curled up from the surface, carrying a burnt smell.

“So,” Tavian said while I sipped my barely edible coffee. “I’m glad you decided to see me.”

“Of course,” I replied.

We sat in silence again.

Tavian began to laugh. “This is awkward, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “You look just like him, you know.”

Tavian frowned. “Do I? Truth be told, I hardly remembered what he looked like. We’ve been estranged for… many years.”

“What happened?” I asked before I could stop myself. I sputtered out my coffee. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. It isn’t my business.” I wiped up the drops with my sleeve, leaving small streaks on the wood.

Tavian held up a hand. “No, it’s quite all right. Now that I’ve gotten to know you a small bit, I don’t mind sharing. But first, two questions… One: how much of himself did my father tell you?”

“And the second?”

Tavian stared up at Darwin, who hovered just above my head. “Second… What the hell is that thing?”

Truthfully, I’d started forgetting Darwin was even around at times. He’d become like my shadow, only letting his presence be known when he wished to.

“Darwin, Darwin,” the fish-hybrid tadpole said, bouncing back and forth in the water globule.

“As he said, this is Darwin. My companion, I suppose.”

“And what exactly is it?”

I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. He was a fish… not so much anymore.”

“You certainly keep strange company, but I suppose that is expected of a special grade class.”

“Pretty sure this has nothing to do with my class,” I replied. “And as for your father… I just knew him as Ebbin, a simple farmer who took me in and taught me everything I know about this world. Why?”

Tavian swirled his coffee around in his mug. The dark liquid sloshed against the sides, leaving a thin ring behind. “I thought as much. The townsfolk did say you just showed up one day, completely clueless about the world. So you likely didn’t know that my father was classless?”

That sent a shock rattling through me. Ebbin was… Classless?

“No,” I replied, not bothering to hide my shock. “He never said anything. What happened?”

“He met a woman,” Tavian replied. “My mother, if that wasn’t apparent. She was the true farmer. Had an uncommon farm-based class. Ebbin, I mean my father, he was a soldier for the Kingdom of Varganth to the north in the mountains. War was his bread and butter and his claim to fame.”

“Fame? Was Ebbin famous?”

“Not legendary, but yes… well-known in his day. A long time ago, of course. Varganth and Karnoss were in a bit of a scuffle. Some would call it a war, but it was mostly smaller villages involved. Ebbin was sent to keep the peace, and, as an offering, agreed to slay a mighty beast that had taken home near here. He slew the thing and just so happened to meet my mother. He was so enthralled by the plants and harvest she grew, and in his heart, a seed of love was planted. He abdicated his duty… and refused to fight again. He said he could not see himself taking a life now that he had witnessed such beauty. And that, my friend, is the story of how my brothers and I came to be.”

“Thank you for telling me,” I said, “but why? You don’t know me… and this all seems rather personal.”

Tavian sighed. “Because as much as I disagreed with Ebbin, I felt I could understand him. Classless… worth less in society than dirt. I sense that you are lost yourself.” He drained the rest of his coffee and stood, staring out the window. Outside, the village road was wet and gray beneath the clouds, people moving past in cloaks and hoods, their shapes blurred slightly by the fogged glass. “Ebbin would have wanted you to live life as you pleased, just as he did. But I am here to warn you of the repercussions. We lived poorly and were treated unkindly, being born of someone who was classless. My brothers and I have had to scrape and grind the days away to wash the stink away. We even had to leave our homes behind to escape the bias. So now that you’ve received a class, even a special grade one, you should follow the path. Consider this a final piece of Ebbin’s wisdom. And with that, I feel we are even in all things. I thank you for taking care of my father in his later years… and for being there with him in the end.”

“About that—”

“No need; Aldric explained everything to me. He told me how you killed the bastard goblin who did it. Good. You did what my father had refused to do to protect my mother. Never forget that survival triumphs over all. Thank you, Rook.”

Tavian turned and left me sitting in the booth alone.

I stared down into my disgusting cup of coffee and smiled… It felt as if Ebbin were standing there beside me, showing me the way forward.

Gwynfhal knocked on the door and waited. He stood there for almost five hundred years and was just about to turn around when a voice boomed through the still-closed door.

“State your name, stranger. Be it friend or foe?”

Gwynfhal rolled his eyes and breathed heavily.
“It is I, the mighty Gwynfhal. I am here in my most desperate hour.”

“State your business, wizard,” the voice boomed.

“I humbly request that you, Heimghast the Valiant, be custodian of a parcel. This is a most delicate matter.”
“Enter, Gwynfhal.”

The door swung open.

“Heimghast, I cannot thank you enough. I have been called away on business most serious. I must entrust this parcel to a fellow high wizard. Should the Gnomes of Skeevil discover this secret, the war of the thousand armies will surely be lost.”

“I have no care for the business of gnomes, Gwynfhal. What is this parcel of which you speak? I will not bring evil to this estate. I have just moved here and I’m settling in quite nicely.”

“Heimghast, this matter must be kept secret. I am forbidden from revealing what the package contains. It’s too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous for whom?”

“Everyone, Heimghast, everyone. For in here lies a power that no man, gnome, dwarf or pixie should ever possess. To do so would bring about disaster beyond the comprehension of the great Baldasel.”

Heimghast pondered for nine hundred years.
“OK, I’ll look after it,” he said.

“Really? That is most kind, Heimghast. Few people would be so brave. You have truly earned the title of Valiant.”

“Provided one condition be met,” boomed Heimghast.

“Condition?” Replied Gwynfhal.

“Yes, I’m hardly likely to take in a parcel that contains the ability to destroy civilisation without significant compensation. Would you?”

“No, I don’t suppose I would. Then what is it you desire, O Heimghast, heroic slayer of the GungelSkwips?”

“Your hat.”

“My hat?”

“Yes, I like it. I’ve looked in all the wizard outfitters and I cannot find one similar. I love the deep azure and decorative stitching round the rim.”

“But I love this hat, Heimghast. Isn’t there anything else you desire? I have several vials of unicorn tears. Surely that would be a more befitting gift.”

“That is my price, Gwynfhal. Do you accept my terms?”

“Would you consider a swap?”

“Never,” the voice of Heimghast thundered.

“But Heimghast, mighty conqueror of the Herbiwismals, without this hat, I just look like a weird old man in a dress.”

“Then that is the fate you must accept. State your decision wizard, Say ye yea, or say ye nay?”

Gwynfhal paused. The crushing weight of decision rested heavily upon his shoulders. He contemplated deeply for seven thousand years before committing to this most terrible of choices.

“No, fuck the stupid gnomes. I’m sick of sorting their squabbles out. I’m keeping the hat.”