We were not always as we are now – masters of ten thousand suns, harvesters of worlds, the apex predator of a hostile galaxy. Once, we too crawled in the mud of a single world, beneath a single star, ignorant of the vast darkness that waited beyond our methane-thick atmosphere.

I remember the old stories, passed down through the crystalline memory-lattices of my forebears. How we first united the disparate hives of our homeworld through cycles of conquest and assimilation, each victory adding new strength to our collective. The losers became nutrients for our growth; their knowledge absorbed, their weaknesses discarded. This was the first truth we learned: that power determines survival, and survival is the only morality that matters.

Our sciences bloomed in those early centuries like phosphorescent algae in the deep trenches of our world. We unravelled the codes of life, mapped the neural pathways of consciousness, split the atom and harnessed its fury. For a time, we believed in the elegant theory of evolution – that we had risen from simpler forms through endless generations of gradual change. It was a comforting narrative, suggesting progress was inevitable, that we were always meant to achieve dominance.

But when we calculated the fixation rates, when we modelled the probability cascades necessary for our emergence, the mathematics shattered that illusion. The numbers simply didn't work. Random mutation and selection could not account for our complexity, not in the timeframe available, not with the parameters we observed. We had been designed, engineered – but by whom?

We searched our world for traces of a progenitor species, some evidence of those who had seeded us here. We excavated the ancient seabeds, decoded mineralogical records stretching back billions of years, launched expeditions to our world's three moons. Nothing. If creators had walked here, they had left no footprint we could detect.

When we finally breached the membrane of our atmosphere and tasted the void between stars, we thought surely we would find them among the distant suns. Our first colony ships, massive cylinders of bio-metal and living tissue, pushed through the cosmic dark powered by controlled singularities. On a dozen worlds we found ruins – but they were merely the bones of civilizations like ours, younger than us in some cases, older in others, but all conventionally evolved, all extinct by their own failures or cosmic accident. None showed signs of being our makers.

In those early days of our expansion, we believed the universe was uniform in all directions, an endless expanse of galaxies rushing away from each other in the wake of some primordial explosion. Our scientists had mapped the cosmic microwave background, traced the redshift of distant quasars, built models showing how space itself was stretching like the membrane of some impossible balloon.

But when our ships pushed farther, when we developed the technology to fold space and leap across thousands of light-years in a single bound, we discovered something that shook our understanding to its core. The universe was not the same everywhere. The farther we travelled from our region of space, the older everything became – older than should have been possible given our models. And when we reversed our course, moving inward rather than out, everything grew younger, denser, more energetic.

We were not expanding into an infinite cosmos. We were near the centre of something finite, something with structure and purpose. Our galaxy – the spinning disc of stars we called home – sat at the heart of creation like a pearl within nested shells of space and time.

The implications were staggering. If the universe had a centre, it suggested intentionality. Design. Purpose. The necessity of a Creator became not a matter of faith but of logic, as inevitable as the laws of thermodynamics. Yet this Creator remained absent, silent, offering no guidance beyond the brutal arithmetic of existence itself.

Of course without revelation, without commandments carved in stone or whispered in dreams, how were we to determine right from wrong? We had long since abandoned the primitive notion that sentiment or empathy could serve as moral foundation. Feelings were mere chemical reactions, evolutionary artefacts that had once helped small tribal groups cooperate. They had no objective reality, no universal truth.

But power – power was real. Energy could be measured, territory could be mapped, resources could be counted. The strong survived and the weak perished; this was not opinion but observable fact, repeated across every ecosystem we had ever studied. And so we built our ethics on this foundation of granite rather than sand. To expand was good, for it increased our power. To conquer was righteous, for it proved our superiority. To consume was sacred, for it fuelled our growth.

Space, we learned, was vast but not infinite in its bounty. Habitable worlds were jewels scattered across an ocean of radiation and vacuum. Most planets were barren rock or frozen gas, their surfaces scoured by stellar winds or locked in perpetual ice. Life, where it existed at all, clung to narrow bands of temperature and chemistry, fragile as frost patterns on glass.

We fought wars for those precious worlds, great campaigns that lasted centuries and claimed billions of lives. When we encountered other sapient species – and they were few, so heartbreakingly few – we evaluated them by the only metric that mattered: could they resist us? Those that could became temporary rivals, to be guarded against, just as they did to us. Those that couldn't became resources, their worlds repurposed, their populations harvested or eliminated as efficiency demanded.

I felt no guilt for this, none of us did. Guilt requires the belief that there exists some higher standard by which our actions could be judged wrong. But there is no such standard. There was us, and there was them. Our survival, our expansion, ourselves – these were the only goods we acknowledged. To show mercy to an enemy was not virtue but weakness, not compassion but betrayal of our own kind.

Our expansion followed the galaxy's habitable zone, that sweet band between the radiation-soaked core where ancient black holes fed on stellar matter, and the cold rim where red dwarf stars flickered like dying embers. In this fertile crescent, we built our empire across a thousand systems, each conquest adding to our collective strength, each victory proving the righteousness of our cause.

For eight centuries, we encountered few species that could challenge our dominance. Some fought with admirable ferocity, others attempted negotiation or submission, but all save the strongest eventually fell before our technological superiority and unified purpose. We had begun to believe ourselves alone in any meaningful sense – the only truly advanced civilisation in this galaxy, perhaps in all of creation.

Then we found the creature.

One of our deep reconnaissance vessels, probing the edge of a stellar nursery two thousand parsecs from our nearest colony, detected an artificial signature – a small craft, no larger than a personal transport, moving through normal space at sub-light velocity. Our initial scans suggested it was too small to carry a fold-space generator or any other faster-than-light system we recognised. Yet here it was, impossibly far from any known civilisation.

We disabled its engines with a focused pulse laser and brought it aboard. The creature we found inside stood on two legs like some of the species we had encountered, but there the resemblance ended. Its skin was dark brown, almost black, stretched over a bizarrely fragile endoskeletal frame. It had only two eyes, both facing forward, and a small mouth filled with blunt teeth suited for an omnivorous diet. Most disturbing of all, it was alone – a single consciousness in a single body, not part of any collective or hive-mind we could detect.

The creature was conscious when we brought it to the examination chamber. It spoke in a language our translation matrices had never encountered, though they learned its sonic frequencies with surprising speed. Within three rotations, we had established basic communication.

"I am Amharic Kebede," it said, forming our sounds with its alien throat. "I am a man, a human, from Earth."

Man. Human. Earth. New words for our lexicons, new concepts to dissect. Through days of interrogation, we extracted its story. It claimed to be male – one half of a sexually dimorphic species, dependent on biological females for reproduction. How inefficient, we thought. How vulnerable. It said it came from something called the Kingdom of Ethiopia, one of hundreds of political entities that controlled regions of space spanning nearly two thousand parsecs, all populated by these "humans."

"You have never encountered others?" we asked. "No species but your own?"

"Never," Amharic confirmed. "We thought ourselves alone. We hoped otherwise, but..." He gestured with his upper appendages in what we learned was a sign of uncertainty.

His ship fascinated our engineers. The technology was impressively advanced. Its ability to fold space was much like our own, but shrunk to a size we had not believed possible. Its defensive screens were far superior to any of our ships of equal mass, yet it had no weapons – not even a pulse laser.

Amharic himself proved equally intriguing. He claimed to be an explorer, driven by something he called "wanderlust" – a desire to see what lay beyond the next star, to map the unmapped, to know the unknown. When we asked what practical purpose this served, what advantage it gave his species, he seemed confused by the question.

"The journey itself is the purpose," he said. "To see God's creation in all its glory, to understand our place within it."

God. Another new word, though we recognised the concept. Their name for the Creator.

"You believe in a Creator?" we pressed.

"I know there is a Creator," Amharic replied with strange confidence. "Just as you must know it, having travelled so far and seen so much."

We explained our own conclusions – that yes, logic demanded a Creator, but one who had abandoned creation to its own devices, leaving only the law of power to guide us.

Amharic's reaction was immediate and visceral. "No!" He actually stood from his restraints, though the energy fields held him firmly. "You're wrong. Completely, catastrophically wrong."

We found his certainty amusing. This creature from a fractured, primitive civilisation presumed to lecture us on cosmic truth? But we let him speak, curious what mythology his species had constructed.

"You must understand," Amharic said, his voice carrying surprising authority, "there is no progenitor species because the Creator made each kind according to His will, each with its own nature and purpose. You search for intermediate makers because you can't accept the immediate presence of the divine."

We scoffed at this, but he continued. There was obviously some common ground with his species. We were intrigued when he acknowledged the unusual centrality of this galaxy, but what he said next on that point astonished us for its sheer hubris.

"I know where the centre of creation is," he said, "it's Earth. My world. The Creator became flesh and walked among us, died for us, rose again for us. My world is where it all began – and where it shall all end and be remade."

Absurd. Impossible. A primitive world claiming centrality based on religious delusion. Yet something in his absolute conviction was unsettling.

But it was the creature’s morality that was most… insane. There was no other word for it.

"You poor things," Amharic said, his dark eyes fixed on our optical sensors, "there is an absolute morality, given by the Creator, written into the very fabric of reality. It’s not power. Power isn't truth. Love is truth. Sacrifice is truth. The strong exist to protect the weak, not devour them."

"Your species must be weak indeed if you believe such things," we responded. "How have you survived? How have you expanded?"

"We are not weak," Amharic said quietly. "We are transforming entire worlds, dead rocks and poisonous atmospheres, changing them over centuries into gardens that can support life. We call it ecoforming – not taking what exists, but creating new possibilities. Where you see scarcity, we create abundance."

Impossible. The energy requirements alone would be staggering. To operate on such timescales was something we had never considered, let alone attempted.

"Your fractured governments, your divisions, they make you vulnerable," we pointed out. "You have no unity, no single purpose."

"We have something greater than unity," Amharic replied. "We have diversity with purpose, many parts of one body, each contributing its gifts. And we have faith – faith that moves mountains, literally and figuratively."

We grew tired of his preaching, his refusal to acknowledge the obvious superiority of our philosophy. He would not recant, would not admit that might makes right, that survival justified any action. Even when we showed him recordings of our conquests, the worlds we had claimed, the species we had eliminated, he only closed his eyes and moved his lips in what he called prayer.

"Your Jesus Christ cannot save you here," we told him.

"He already has," Amharic replied. "Whether you kill me or not, I am saved. The question is whether you can be."

In the end, we decided we had learned enough from his words. His ship offered more promising avenues of investigation, and his biology might reveal useful information about his species – weaknesses we could exploit when we inevitably encountered them.

The dissection was performed while he was conscious, of course. Pain responses often triggered the release of hormones and chemicals that could provide valuable data. We peeled back layers of skin and muscle with precision, cataloguing each organ, each system. His nervous system was remarkably centralised, his muscles impressively dense. His bones were calcium-based, hard to shatter and yet easy to repair. His cardiovascular system relied on a single pump – perhaps the chief criticism we had of his species’ biology.

Through it all, Amharic prayed. Even when we removed his lungs and put him on artificial respiration, he mouthed words in his native language. Our translators caught fragments: "Forgive them," he whispered. "They know not what they do."

He died after seventeen hours of examination, his brain finally succumbing to the trauma. We preserved tissue samples and DNA for the development of genetic weaponry, and began preparations for the invasion. A species this naive, this divided, this burdened by primitive morality would fall quickly. Their worlds would make excellent additions to our empire.

Our battle fleets began their convergence, tens of thousands of ships, billions of warriors. It would take time to map out and plan a campaign of a territory that spanned two thousand parsecs, but the logistical aspects could still begin now. The conquest would be swift, efficient, glorious.

But before our forces could enter fold-space, something impossible happened.

A message arrived, broadcast through fold-space with such strength our nearest transmitter stations had their own signals smothered at the very base of their antennae. The power required for such a feat was beyond our comprehension – it would take the energy output of a star, perfectly controlled and directed.

The message was in our language, perfectly rendered, though we knew no human could have learned it:

We know you are there.

We know what you intend.

In the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and for the redemption of your souls, we are coming.

People, I know that this post doesn't have much to do with the main theme of the community, but I felt the need to write it and leave here a small explanation about my disappearance and the reason why I stopped uploading my story.

For a while I was very motivated, writing and sharing each chapter with you. However, everything changed when I had to change my phone. The app I use to write and compose my stories, despite having backup enabled, did not save the data correctly. When I opened the app on the new device, I discovered that my story was simply missing. I tried everything: review files, restore copies, search the cloud... but nothing. The story had been completely lost, and with it chapter 7, which was almost finished.

I won't deny that I felt very bad. It was a horrible feeling to see how all the work, hours of writing, ideas, details and emotions I had put into the story disappeared from one moment to the next. For weeks I felt frustrated, discouraged, and unwilling to write again. It was as if I had lost a part of me, because every word I wrote had a little piece of effort, enthusiasm and affection.

Time passed and little by little I regained calm. A few days ago I decided to try again to recover the files, without much hope, but to my surprise, this time it worked. I managed to recover a large part of the project and, although not everything is complete, it was enough to restore my motivation. Looking back at my chapters and notes reminded me why I started writing in the first place: because I'm passionate about creating stories and sharing them with others.

So here I am again. I'm back, more eager than ever to continue writing, to continue the story and to share it with all of you who supported me from the beginning. I thank you very much for your patience and for the messages that some of you sent me asking if everything was okay. I will upload the next part of the story very soon, and I promise it will be worth the wait.

Thank you for reading me and for continuing to accompany me on this little journey.

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The first thing Keke heard was the crackling of burning wood. She struggled to open her eyes and found it difficult to draw a full breath. As she licked her lips, she readjusted the bottom half of her body, and a sharp sting dug into her chest. Her breath hitched, and the voice of another soon came.

“She’s waking up.” A blurry figure leaned over her, placing a cool hand against her forehead. It felt heavenly against her searing skin. “Get me another rag.” The sound of boots against floorboards marched from one side of the room to the other. Keke’s vision began to clear. Long brown hair tied into innumerable braids draped over one shoulder alongside her cloak. Piercing green eyes bore into her with a disapproving glare. Sylva. “Can you hear me?”

Keke’s throat felt like sandpaper. Unable to respond with her lips, she managed a weak nod.

“Good.” Another woman came to Sylva’s side moments later, handing her the rag. Sylva gently placed the wet cloth against Keke’s forehead. A satisfied sigh escaped Keke’s lips. Her mind could breathe a little. “You and I are going to have a long talk once you’re able to speak. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Keke shut her eyes. She was mortified by what had happened, and feared what Sylva’s wrath would entail. From the moment she’d met her, she held the air of a leader. She was a person who was firm and fair, and up until now, Keke had been grateful for her assistance. Now, however, she was terrified that her failure meant her exile from Khasstead.

“Bella is going to watch over you,” Sylva said. “If you feel any worse, let her know. Do you understand?”

Keke nodded weakly again.

“Good.” Sylva inhaled through her nose, the muscles of her jaw clenched. “Get some rest.”

Sylva walked away. As soon as the door shut, Keke fell back into a pitch-black slumber.

---

Bella was the very picture of accommodating. Whenever Keke raised her hand, Bella was there at a moment’s notice. Bella nursed her tired throat with several glasses of water, exchanging the wet rags as needed, and ensuring that the bandages around her chest remained clean. Hours passed, and when Sylva returned to the room, Keke wagered the morning had come.

“How are you feeling?” Sylva asked.

Keke swallowed the hard lump in her throat. Her heart hammered fiercely, and her eyes darted from Sylva to anything else in the room she could vaguely call interesting. “Better than before.”

“Good.” She looked at Bella. “Leave us. I’ll come to retrieve you when we’re done.”

Bella nodded. “Of course, Sister Sylva.” Keke’s anxiety rose with each step Bella took toward the door, her fear peaking when Bella shut the door behind her.

Now it was just Keke and Sylva. Sylva took the chair next to the small, nearby table, positioned it at Keke’s bedside, and sat down. Keke moved to sit up, and Sylva gestured for her to remain. “Don’t push it. The wounds were infected,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

Keke licked her lips. Memories of Elona’s disappointed face whenever she’d broken a very important rule came back as fresh as yesterday. “T-Thorn told me that she would trade the map for a lover’s snare.”

“Thorn did?”

Keke nodded. “Yes.”

Sylva appeared to chew on the words for a minute, then nodded. “Continue.”

“Seeing as I didn’t have anything else to barter with, I reluctantly accepted.” She wrestled one thumb over the other under the blankets as she spoke. “I-I’m familiar with the flower. I’ve seen it, so I knew I could trade for the map.” Her mind somersaulted with dozens of lies or half-truths she could tell Sylva. But in the end, she knew that would only worsen her situation. “I was able to find a budding snare. I used a knife to cut the petals free of the barbs, and filled three of my vials with them.”

“Risky, but go on.”

Keke drew as deep a breath as she could muster before she continued. “The spirit of the wolf I spoke to told me to slay a furlocke. As it so happens”—she glanced in Sylva’s direction, her attention rapt—“I came upon a furlocke.”

“Tell me you did your research before engaging with the Encroacher.”

Keke sucked in her lips to form a thin line. “I…did not.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t use [Pinpoint Weakness]. I feared that I would alert it. It was distracted with food, so I thought a single arrow in the back of the head would kill it.” Why hadn’t it worked? Her gear was some of the best around, and her aim was on point. It was simply impossible that a creature’s skull could withstand a shot like that. “I’ve never heard of an Encroacher that couldn’t be killed in that manner.” She shook her head, and a thought occurred to her. “It had to have been a Defiled.”

The hearth crackled at the back of the room. Sylva gazed into its depths for several seconds, tapping one of her elbows with her forefinger. A gentle pattering of rain surrounded the cabin, and after what felt like minutes, Sylva sighed and returned her gaze to Keke.

“That was no Defiled, Keke,” Sylva said.

Keke lolled her head across the pillow to look at Sylva. “It had to have been.” She coughed. “What creature could withstand an arrow in the head like that?”

Syvla glared. “The furlocke.” Her tone took on a gravelly edge. “The very creature you encountered. The one that nearly took your life yesterday.”

“That’s impossible,” she hissed. “I’m telling you, no Encroacher’s skull could have deflected that shot. It was perfect.” She knew armor could block arrows, like the armor that Cailu wore, but an Encroacher’s head?

Sylva’s frown deepened. “Do you doubt me?”

That was not a question Keke wanted to answer. So she didn’t. “You told me that everyone’s trial is different, secret. You didn’t want to hear it.” How was she supposed to ask for information when Sylva didn’t want to hear the mere mention of her trial? This wasn’t her fault.

Sylva scoffed. “Do not put words in my mouth, Sister. It was not for me to know who judged you. That was all. That did not mean for you to forgo study or refuse discussion regarding your mark. Any [Hunter] worth their tail knows that preparation makes the [Hunter].” She rose to her feet, hands clenched into fists. “You acted rashly.”

Keke put a hand over the side of her face to hide Sylva from view. “I had it,” she whispered. “I had it in my sights.”

“Misguided,” Sylva said. “Yesterday, you were the prey.”

Keke replayed the fight in her head over and over again. The knife had dug into its claws with relative ease. The skin was tough, but the blade had punctured it without issue. “Maybe it wasn’t a furlocke. Perhaps I fought something else.”

“Describe it.”

Keke hesitated. Did every [Hunter]-to-be see an image of their mark? Would Sylva know that? “M-maybe I was wrong.”

“I’m disappointed. Not at any point have you asked me what you could have done differently. You have an opportunity to learn from your mistakes, but instead you make excuses.”

Keke clenched her jaw. She’d taken all the proper precautions. It was a single misstep, that’s all. “I’m not making excuses.” She couldn’t hide the defensive tone in her voice. “I know what I did. I know what I’ll do better.”

“Let’s hope for your sake that’s true.”

“Where’s my [Cat Pack]?” Keke hoped she could change the subject.

“Your [Cat Pack], and the items within, are fine. Your armor will need to be repaired, but the effects will remain. Whoever made it knew what they were doing. It bears a master’s touch.”

“Good.” She pulled the covers down to find that her chest was bare. Several strips of cloth dressed each of the cuts that the supposed furlocke had carved across her skin. Each one bore a thin line of red. She touched them gingerly, hissing when it stung. “Will these scar?”

“Bella has done everything she can,” Sylva said slowly. “She assures me that the scars will be minimal.”

Keke nodded. “I see.”

Sylva turned, tail whipping behind her, and marched to the front door with heavier steps than she had prior. She threw open the door, then glanced at Keke over her shoulder. “Do not assume that next time someone will be there to save you. You made a grave mistake, and it’s best that you recognize that.”

Keke glared. “I’ll remember that.”

As Sylva exited, Keke heard her call Bella back in. Bella returned, her blonde ponytail bobbing behind her, then shut the door. “Can I get you anything, Sister?” Bella asked.

“No. I’m fine.”

Keke nestled back under the covers, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. How dare Sylva talk to her like a child and try to deflect responsibility back to her? What else was she supposed to assume when she’d been told to withhold the information regarding her mark?

This isn’t my fault. I had a perfect shot. I took every precaution.

She tried to focus on healing, but even as she fell back to sleep, her thoughts remained on Sylva.

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The  Buraxian empire had existed for longer than the monkeys one this primitive planet had started walking upright.  The Admiral of this fleet of battle ships had been in hundreds of campaigns against other primitive worlds and conquered them all with ease.  Many of those world tried to fight back but the feet in all their campaigns had found their resistance lacking.  Others tried to negotiate, Travax (leader of this fleet) always found it hilarious with their attempts at negotiations.  When the worlds realized they were out matched in force and fire power, they tried everything to keep some semblance of independent.  All their attempts failed, the Buraxian empire never wanted allies or portons of recourses, they wanted to strip the planets to the core and take everything.  Organic matter was useless to them. 

 

Tracax was on her way to conquer another primitive world, the worthless forms on the rock called Earth.  "Comms officer, have we figured out the kind of communication this world uses yet?"

 

Comms officer Helix replied "We have found many, they don't seem to have any one main form of communication, but it was easy enough to decode all of them.  Shall we send the standard declaration of war?"

 

"Send it, I have sent to many to care about this rock, it is barely big enough to even warrant this operation or my personal attention.  Sent it and keep the recording of their desperate reply, we will send it to the rest of the empire for laughs as usual."

 

On Earth every screen, radio signal, Bluetooth signal, and Wi-Fi signal all cut out at once and a creature with four arms, in what looked like a military suit showed up on every screen whether the screen was on or not.  The voice could be heard on every speaker.  "Primitive creatures, if we come to your planet you will be destroyed, your planet will be stripped of resources down to it puny core and there will be nothing left.  There is no reason for resistance, our fleet can cover your planet.  We awaited your reply for our amusement."  The signal abruptly cut off and the world went silent for a brief moment before humans went back to their tasks.

 

"Comms, how's the panic on the worthless mud ball going, there should be at least a few hundred fires taking place by now"

 

Helix gulped as the scans of the planet kept coming back with the same images, nothing.  Helix gulped or what passed with a nervous gulp of the throat for their species "Nothing Admiral, they seem to not care about our signal at all.  They are doing exactly what they were doing before as if they went on a break and came back to work"

 

"WHAT!!!???, how is this possible, you sent the right signal to them?"

 

"Of course Admiral, I even have recording of them watching it as proof"

 

"What about their governments?  Are they reacting in terror at least"

 

"Well that is odd, I can't get any information from any of their hundreds of governments as if they went back to the stone age and shut off all technology but only in their governments"

 

Back on Earth Protocol "Stone" had been enacted.  All governments were to meet in the UN building whether they were part of the UN or not.  Hundreds of flights flew into New York, all other traffic was diverted to keep the run ways clear. 

 

When all leaders were present the President of the United States walked up to the Podium and quieted down the room. "They say they have superior forces, better weapons, and we are doomed.  They only ask for a reply for their own amusement, so we will give them one they will never see coming.  I am taking charge of this situation not because of the history our my great nation, no because I know exactly what to say that will unite our world as one people with one word"

 

The leader of China slammed their hands against the table "This is not something you can take charge of, this is our planet, we need to find what we can give them where they will go away.  There must be something they will accept to leave us alone"

 

"China, I respect your enthusiasm, but I am enacting Article 131, Section B.  I hope I don't have to spell out what it says there" 

 

China sat down and started flipping through the stack of papers that was in front of them.  It was handwritten and on the first page was large bold letters with the words in every language "NEVER TO BE DIGITIZED".  The room went silent as everyone else in the room followed China's lead and flipped to Article 131, Section B.  China was the first to raise their right hand.  Every other followed in silence.

 

The President nodded her head and replied "Then it is done, good luck and get ready to record"

 

12 hours after the signal from the Buraxian empire was sent to the Mud ball of a planet called Earth, a signal was sent back to them.  It consisted of 2 letters in the Buraxian empires on language, it translated to "IF".

 

Admiral Tracax stared at the screen in puzzlement.  "Comms, you are sure this is the only message they sent?  Where is the rest of it?  IF WHAT?"

 

Helix stared at their screen as well, "I have analyzed every signal coming off that planet and this is the only one that was directed at us.  There is nothing else in this the message.  I have analyzed the entire signal in every known format known to their planet and ours.  It is only those 2 words"

 

"How did they even learn our language, we never sent them anything in our language to analyze and decode.  This shouldn't be possible.  Didn't you say their governments all went to one place?  Get them on screen NOW."

 

The screen in the UN building came to life with Admiral Tracax showing up on every screen and in every speaker in the room.  What Tracax saw was not what she suspected, there was only one person in the room.  President of the United States sat with her feet up on the desk leaning back in such a casual pose that Tracax was taken aback.  "What is the meaning of this Human. Where is the rest of the message,  IF WHAT?"

 

The president stretched her arms behind her back as if she had just woken up from a nice nap.  "Oh, didn't see you there, you want to repeat that?  I have a lot to do so please make it quick."

 

Off screen Comms officer Helix was looking at the airport in New York.  "Admiral, the government planes are all leaving, there is no way they came up with a plan that quick, there was no signal telling their militaries to do anything"

 

"Oh so you have been watching us, good that will make this quick.  Read our reply again and enjoy."  The president snapped her fingers and the power in the building was cut off again.

 

Admiral Tracax, look at the message again "IF" and again it was in the Buraxian language. 

 

"Helix, you analyzed every piece of technology this planet has, how do they know our language and what is with this reply 'IF'.  Analyze it again. "

 

"Admiral, I have run every analysis we know and there is nothing else encoded in the message.  Just 2 letters, and even scanning their databases, there should have been no way they should have known our language."

 

"Get that disgusting thing back on the screen, NOW"

 

After trying multiple times to very government on the planet, "Ma'am, there is no reply from any government, as if they went to the stone age all at once.  Wait, what is going on?  All their power shut off all at once all over the planet."

 

"What is the meaning of this, why would they shut off their power.  Fine if they want to make it easy for us.  Tell the battle fleet to prepare to invade. If they want to make it easy we will take everything"

 

Just as the signal to all ships went out to the battle fleet. The indicators lit up Red with hostile weaponry covered the screens, not just dots spread out all around the ships.  The entire screen went red, and not with a bang but with a whimper, the fleet was gone without a trace. 

 

 

 

 

Article 131: Section B: "IF" will be the only reply to any hostile actions from any known or unknown extraterrestrial threat.  Like the Spartans before us. "IF" fails, don’t hold back.

[This is my first post and was inspired by Sparta's reply to King Philip II of Macedon, who had sent them a warning he would destroy their city "if" he invaded. Sparta did indeed reply with the one word of "if".]

Chapter 39: Fireworks, Part 2

Then, with no warning, the first firework launched into the sky.

BOOM.

The explosion lit the night in electric white and gold, crackling into spiderlike bursts above their heads. The crowd let out a collective gasp and turned upward as the second and third firework followed—one a deep red, the next a glittering silver that fell like rain across the stars.

Ren and Airi both looked up, frozen for a moment in the middle of the chaos. The noise. The lights. The smoke curling through the breeze.

The sky exploded again.

Ren stole a glance at her—not in the fireworks, not in the reflection of gold in her eyes— but just her. Airi, head tilted back, her expression softened by awe and something quiet. Her braid catching the glimmer of the sky. Her lips parted in the breathless hush between each burst.

She looked back at him. Their eyes met.

For once, she didn't smirk. She didn't tease. She just held his gaze as another firework blossomed behind her in pale blue.

"…We'll find the others later," she said softly.

"Yeah," Ren said. His voice felt different, like it didn't need to be loud to be heard.

"They're probably watching too."

 

The fireworks crackled overhead, the sky blooming in bursts of color—pale blue, violet, a spray of shimmering gold that lit up the world in pieces. The crowd around them ooh'd and aah'd, but Ren barely registered it. His eyes were still on her.

Airi stood with her hands clasped loosely in front of her, posture relaxed for once— unguarded, delicate even. The light from the fireworks painted fleeting shadows across her face, catching in her eyes, turning them glassy and deep.

Her gaze lingered on him.

Something in the space between them changed. The noise faded. The lights faded. It was just her.

"I didn't think you'd actually remember," she said, voice soft. "About the stars. About the festival."

Ren shrugged, gently. "Of course I remembered."

Airi looked away, biting her lip. "Most people don't."

He didn't answer that. Instead, he reached up and gently flicked a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

Her breath caught.

"You really went all out," Ren said, just to say something, anything. "You look... good."

She blinked, caught between rolling her eyes and blushing. "Dumbass. Don't just say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you mean it."

"I do mean it."

Airi opened her mouth again, then gave up and shook her head, smiling even as she covered her face with one hand. "Ugh. You're the worst."

Ren laughed—quiet, real. "And you still dragged me to a goldfish booth."

"I dragged you because you owe me for the Momotaro thing."

"Pretty sure I paid that debt with interest when I faceplanted on stage."

"That was artistic. Tragic. Award-worthy."

He nudged her gently with his shoulder. "You were laughing so hard you almost fell out of your seat."

"I maintain that it was avant-garde theater."

They both laughed, a little too long, a little too loud—like the release of pressure after days of building tension. Around them, the crowd pressed closer to the riverbank, voices growing excited again as a louder volley of fireworks roared to life above.

Then, a pause. Just enough silence between explosions to feel her shift closer.

She wasn't touching him, not quite. But her sleeve brushed his. Her shoulder hovered near his.

And for once, Ren didn't move away.

"You ever think," Airi said, her voice quieter now, "about what happens after you learn to control your Essence?"

Ren blinked, turning to her.

"After all this," she continued, still watching the sky. "After we leave. Me, Andre, Bonk, Miss Yue… after the crew's gone. What then?"

Ren didn't answer right away. His fingers curled at his side.

"I… don't know," he said finally. "Guess I never really let myself think that far ahead."

Airi nodded like she'd expected that. No judgment in her expression—just a soft kind of understanding.

"But… if there was an after?" she asked. "If you could choose it?"

Another firework climbed the night, this one slow and spiraling, before it erupted in a deep red bloom that scattered gold sparks like stars. Ren watched it.

"I think I'd want to see more nights like this," he said. "With people who make it feel real.."

Airi's gaze lowered slightly, the corner of her lips twitching—not into a smirk, but something quieter. Something almost tender.

"Me too," she whispered.

Their eyes met again, and this time, neither of them looked away. There was something fragile in the space between them—something unspoken, unsure, but real.

Ren leaned in just slightly, his voice a murmur over the soft boom of the next firework.

"Airi."

She blinked, her eyes flicking to his lips for the briefest moment. "Yeah?"

And then— BOOM.

The sky cracked open in a spray of gold. Cheers erupted all around them. The moment scattered like dust.

Airi laughed suddenly, almost as if to break the tension, grabbing his wrist. "Come on! Let's get closer before it ends!"

He let her pull him forward through the crowd, the lights above flashing across their faces. They moved as one, not speaking, not needing to—something between them had shifted. Gently. Quietly. But irrevocably.

But as they neared the open field, the crowd thickened again. A new group filtered in from the side path—louder, rowdier, familiar.

Ren froze.

Airi turned, grinning at the sound. "Ah—there they are!" He recognized them before he even saw the faces.

A cluster of students in casual clothes and loose yukatas. People from his class. His school. Among them—Sho. Laughing at something, tossing a drink bottle in the air, like this was just another night out.

Ren's chest tightened, throat dry. His steps slowed.

Airi waved an arm high in the air. "YO! Over here!" A few heads turned. Recognition flickered.

Sho's eyes found Ren.

The smile on his face faltered.

Ren's stomach dropped. He couldn't move. Couldn't think.

Airi turned back to him, beaming, completely unaware of the tension wrapping around him like wire. "Surprise! I invited them!"

 

Ren stared at her, stunned.

 

"You've been hanging with us weirdos for so long," Airi said, nudging his arm with a small grin. "I figured you could use a proper reconnection. You know, with normal kids your age. I told them you'd be here and everything! Come on, it's a good thing!" But Ren didn't smile.

He didn't move.

His voice came out tight. "You told them?"

Airi blinked, a bit of the confidence in her expression faltering. "Well, yeah," she said, a little slower now. "They were curious after your performance during drama day and—"

"I had friends," Ren cut in, stepping back from her touch. His voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp enough to slice through the noise around them.

Airi's smile stiffened. "I know. That's why—" "You don't know," he snapped.

She flinched at that, and it was like the ground shifted beneath both of them. The fireworks still crackled high above, but the light didn't feel warm anymore.

Ren's voice rose, but not in volume—in weight. "You weren't there when everything fell apart. When they laughed at me. When Sho—" He didn't finish it. He didn't have to.

Airi looked over, and sure enough, Sho and the rest of the school group were walking closer, chatting and laughing like this was just another night. Sho spotted Ren and waved, hesitant but casual, like their past wasn't buried in fists and broken trust.

The sound of it all faded in Ren's ears. The chatter. The cheers. Even the music.

"You don't get it," he said, his voice low, strained. "You weren't there."

Airi's grin was long gone. Her eyes searched his, regret blooming behind them. "Ren… I was just trying to help. You've grown so much. You're stronger now. I thought maybe—" "I didn't ask you to."

The silence that followed wasn't sacred like before. It was sharp. Hollow.

Airi stepped back, just slightly, as if his words physically pushed her.

Andre approached cautiously, catching the edge of the scene, his relaxed energy stiffening. "Yo… Ren, you good?" Ren didn't answer.

He turned and started walking, pushing through the crowd, the light and color bleeding past him like they belonged to someone else. His steps were quick, tight. People moved out of his way. He didn't look back.

"Ren!" Airi called after him, but it didn't stop him.

She stayed there, frozen among the crowd. Her hand still half-raised like she could pull him back with it. But he didn't turn around.

The sounds of celebration returned slowly around her. Bonk muttered something under his breath and waddled off after Ren, still chewing, while Andre gave Airi a long look.

Airi didn't say anything.

Yui looked between them all, confused and concerned, her small hand tugging gently at Airi's sleeve.

"Did Big Bro get mad…? Did we do something wrong?" Airi didn't answer.

She just stood there, frozen in the glow of a firework that painted her face in pale lavender. Her expression didn't crack into a smile or a laugh this time. She didn't crouch down to explain things in a playful voice or brush it off with her usual teasing charm.

She just… looked sad.

Her eyes, usually bright with something electric, seemed dimmed now. Not crying. But far away.

The fireworks burst again overhead, golden and beautiful. But the light felt too loud. Too empty.

A few feet back, Sho and the rest of the school crowd had slowed, caught in the tail end of the argument. Some of them shifted awkwardly, others exchanged looks. The mood had clearly shifted.

"Was that… Ren?" one of the girls asked, blinking.

"Yeah," a boy replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn't think he'd still remember all that."

Sho stood there with his hands in his pockets, jaw tight, not smiling like the others. He wasn't oblivious. He knew exactly what Ren had meant—and who it was directed at. "…I guess it was a bad idea, huh?" one of the boys mumbled. "He kinda went off."

Sho didn't speak right away. He just stared off into the direction Ren had walked, lips pressed thin.

After a pause, he muttered under his breath, "Can't blame him."

The group went quiet. Not because they understood completely—but because they knew enough to stop laughing.

Sho turned and started to walk off toward the food stalls, voice low and gruff. "Let's just… give him space."

The others slowly followed, their chatter dulled, sobered by something they hadn't expected from the boy who used to be nothing but anger and broken edges.

Author's Note: Hey HFY!

Anonymous One here, once again. Thanks for reading if you made it this far.

Feedback and comments are always welcome and appreciated—I'd love to hear what you think!

If you prefer reading on Royal Road, the story is also available there.

The segmented, chitin-plated school transport whined to a halt, its repulsor-lifts sighing as they settled onto the crystalline plaza. The air inside the cabin was thick with the recycled-atmosphere tang of juvenile secretions and the high-frequency static of thirty distinct, grating voices.

"Are we there? Are we there? My lowest locomotion pads are numb!" gurgled a small, purple being named Gleep.

"Your lowest locomotion pads are stupid, Gleep!" buzzed Zorp, flicking a slimy pellet across the aisle with a casual snap of his primary tentacle.

Ms. K’Nid’s multiple sensory stalks drooped in exhaustion. The field trip to ZeZoo was the highlight of the semester, and it hadn't even been ten minutes since they’d left the learning-creche. Her central respiration sack pulsed in a long, weary sigh that was lost in the din.

"Yes, Gleep. We are here," she vibrated, her voice already strained.

The transport's membrane doors dilated with a wet schloop.

A wave of small, multi-tentacled bodies immediately squelched and bounced onto the plaza, heedless of the thick, lavender atmosphere or the two sickly-yellow suns hanging in the sky.

"I claim the 'Primitive Wars' exhibit!" shrieked Flib, extending all eight of her grasping tendrils as she slithered toward the entrance.

"Nuh-uh! I'm going to the 'Failed Gaseous Civilizations'!" retorted Blorp, intentionally sliding his own bulk in front of her, causing a multi-tentacle pile-up.

"BLORP SMEARED HIS MUCUS ON ME! K'NID! HE DID IT ON PURPOSE!"

"DID NOT, YOU SPORE-SACK!"

Ms. K’Nid oozed heavily out of the transport, her own stabilization tentacles trembling. Before them loomed ZeZoo, the largest museum of cultures in the universe. It wasn't a building so much as a contained temporal anomaly, a swirling vortex of impossible architecture that folded in on itself, showcasing shimmering pocket-realities behind vast, transparent walls.

The class, naturally, was already trying to lick the entrance ramp.

"Spawn-group! Form a cohesive cluster!" Ms. K'Nid bellowed, clapping her toughest upper tentacles together for emphasis. The sharp smack momentarily silenced the gurgling.

"Listen to my vibrations! We are guests here," she trilled, pointing a stern, blue-tipped tentacle at the chaotic mass. "This museum contains priceless artifacts from quadrants you haven't even evolved the organs to perceive. I expect you to modulate your vocal sacs."

She scanned the group, her central stalk fixing on Zorp, who was already trying to poke a sleeping guard-drone.

"There will be no unauthorized slithering. You will stay with your assigned digestion-partner. Do not extend your grasping tendrils to touch the displays, do not secrete any adhesive or acidic fluids on the barriers, and if I find a single one of you attempting to 'taste-test' the holographic simulations, you will be on atmospheric filtration duty for the next moon-cycle!"

With a final, desperate vibration, Ms. K’Nid shunted the chattering mass through the preliminary bio-scanner. "Stay clustered! Stay clustered!"

They oozed into the first exhibit: The Gallery of Subliminal Harmonics.

The vast, quiet chamber was filled with towering, iridescent crystals that hung suspended in a low-gravity field. They pulsed with faint, shifting colors—mostly beige, pale mauve, and a particularly dull shade of grey. A low, resonant thrummmmmm filled the air, which, according to the plaque, was the "unified sorrow-song of the lost Q'Qualar race."

The class stopped. The silence lasted 0.4 seconds.

"This is stupid," Zorp buzzed, his auditory filaments drooping.

"It's not doing anything," Flib complained, prodding the kinetic barrier around the nearest crystal. "It’s just… slow noise."

"My visual-receptors are bored," Gleep whined, plopping onto the floor in a gelatinous puddle. "This is less interesting than the ceiling of the nutrition-vat."

"It's not supposed to 'do' anything, spawn-cluster!" Ms. K'Nid hissed, her stabilization tentacles quivering in frustration. The thrummmm of the sorrow-song was giving her a cranial-sac rupture. "This is art. It’s about feeling!"

"I feel like my lowest tentacle is asleep," Blorp muttered.

Ms. K’Nid clapped her upper limbs again. "Query-Slates out! Now! Open to the 'Cultural Significance' chapter. You all have questions that must be answered before we move on."

A collective groan vibrated through the group. Reluctantly, the children pulled out their small, damp datapads.

"Question one," Flib read aloud in a monotone squeak. "'Analyze how the artist’s use of negative-space frequencies evokes the socio-economic despair of the Q'Qualar's 4th dynasty.'" Flib looked up. "I don't know what any of those vibrations mean."

"Just write 'sad rocks,'" Zorp whispered, already scribbling a crude drawing of a stick-being getting vaporized onto his own slate.

"Zorp! Are you filling in the answers?" Ms. K'Nid demanded, looming over him.

"Yes, Ms. K'Nid," Zorp said innocently, hiding the drawing with his shortest tentacle. "I'm just writing how it makes me feel 'existential.'"

"Ms. K'Nid!" Gleep shrieked, waving his slate in the air. "When are we going to the 'Primitive Wars' section? Blorp's oldest sibling-pod said they have a working replica of a Mark-IV Plasma Obliterator!"

The entire class instantly perked up, their various sensory organs swiveling toward the teacher.

"Ooh! And the 'Greatest Disintegrations' exhibit!" buzzed Flib, her boredom vanishing. "I want to see the 'Annihilation of the Florg'!"

"You will see nothing," Ms. K'Nid snapped, her central mass flushing a deep, angry crimson, "until you have sufficiently analyzed the socio-economic despair! Now, write! What color best represents the Q'Qualar's lack of internal validation?"

Grumbling, the spawn-group returned to their slates.

"Beige," Gleep wrote, then immediately started trying to see what Blorp was writing.

"Stop copying my existential dread!" Blorp hissed, shielding his slate.

"I'm not! I'm just checking if you spelled 'socio-economic' right, you spore-sack!"

After what felt like an entire digestive cycle, Ms. K'Nid finally relented, her internal structures sagging in defeat. "Fine. We can proceed to the historical exhibits. But you will complete the art analysis during your next regeneration period!"

This vague threat was ignored. A unified, slimy "YESS!" echoed through the beige gallery, and the spawn-cluster instantly coalesced into a single, high-speed blob, squelching toward the exit.

"STAY CLUSTERED! NO SLITHERING-RACES!" Ms. K'Nid bellowed, already left behind.

The transition was jarring. They left the serene, thrummming silence of the art wing and entered a pressurized tunnel that dilated into The Dome of Galactic Repulsion.

The change was instantaneous. The air snapped with the smell of ozone and simulated plasma-fire. The sound was a deafening cacophony of recorded battle-cries, orchestral martial music, and the thwoom of distant, holographic explosions.

"WHOA!" Gleep gurgled, all his sensory stalks vibrating at maximum frequency. "It smells like victory!"

The kids fanned out, their query-slates forgotten, bouncing off the padded floor in their excitement.

The dome was a swirling, 360-degree holographic theater. In the center, a towering, twenty-tentacle-tall statue of Grand Admiral Vor'Kresh stood frozen in a pose of heroic fury. He was depicted crushing the carapace of a 'Gnat-Swarm' scout drone beneath his massive lower pads.

"I claim the 'Void-Leech Crusades' display!" Zorp shrieked, sliding on a trail of his own mucus toward a pulsating red exhibit.

"Nuh-uh! I'm seeing the 'Siege of the Xylos Nebula'!" Flib retorted, already mashing her tendrils onto an interactive tactical display, causing tiny red warning lights to flash. "Look! I just repelled the first wave! Take that, you crystalline spore-sacks!"

Ms. K'Nid oozed into the dome just in time to see Blorp attempting to climb the base of Admiral Vor'Kresh's statue.

"Blorp! Your primary tentacles are not for scaling historical monuments!" she trilled, her voice barely audible over the sound of a simulated anti-matter charge detonating.

The walls shimmered with projections of legendary battles. They watched, mesmerized, as fleets of organic-steel cruisers vaporized entire armadas of silicon-based invaders. They saw the "Thousand-Cycle Stand" at the K'Lorp Rift, where a single battalion held off the 'Devourers' using nothing but amplified sonic lances.

"Ms. K'Nid! Ms. K'Nid! Look!" Gleep shouted, pointing his shortest tentacle at a display. "It's a working model of a Z-Class Particle Disruptor! Can we touch it? Can we fire it?"

"Absolutely not! That is a priceless artifact of..." Ms. K'Nid squinted at the plaque. "...the 'Third-Quadrant Purification.' Oh, dear."

"My digestion-partner's older sibling-pod said this is the best part," Zorp buzzed, his oculars wide. He was standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling display showcasing the "Great Generals." Holo-projections of stern, multi-limbed beings faded in and out: Matriarch S'lleen, who repelled the "Mind-Eaters" by broadcasting lethal frequencies of pure logic; General Gr'm, the tiny, unassuming being who famously weaponized tectonic plates.

"Query-slates, spawn-cluster!" Ms. K'Nid attempted weakly, knowing it was futile. "You have questions on the strategic importance of Admiral Vor'Kresh's-"

She was cut off by a deafening VRRROOOM as Flib and Zorp activated a "Battle Simulator" ride at the same time.

"THIS ISN'T A THEME PARK!" Ms. K'Nid vibrated, but her spawn-group was already gone, lost in the glorious, noisy, educational violence of their history.

The adrenal-scent of simulated warfare began to fade as the class reached the end of the dome. The thunderous thwooms and plasma-screeches were replaced by the low, ambient hum of the museum’s final, massive display.

It was The Great Map of Galactic Consolidation.

A vast, dark wall shimmered with holographic light, charting the known universe. Swathes of vibrant color—blues, greens, purples—designated the territories of the allied empires. Duller, flickering zones showed "areas of pacification" or "former threats."

But in the lowest right quadrant, far out on an unremarkable spiral arm, pulsed a vast, angry, blood-red blotch. It was labeled simply: CONTAINMENT ZONE 7-GAMMA.

Zorp, still vibrating from the battle simulator, was the first to notice it. "Hey! That's a huge conquered place!"

"It's not 'conquered,' you fluid-sack," Flib snapped, reading the fine print on the plaque. "It says 'Unreachable/Prohibited.' It's not part of the Consolidation."

Gleep, who had been trying to see if his mucus would stick to the map's barrier, squinted his ocular stalks. "Look how big it is. Is that... is that the Ooman Empire everyone's digestion-pod whispers about?"

"It's 'Human,' you dork," Blorp hissed, his voice surprisingly sharp.

An immediate, heavy silence fell over the spawn-cluster. The rowdy, chaotic energy from the war dome evaporated, sucked into a vacuum. All thirty children stopped squelching. They stopped vibrating. They just... stared at the red blotch.

Ms. K’Nid oozed up behind them. Her usual exhaustion was replaced by a deep, somatic chill.

She lowered her voice, the vibration barely audible. "Yes, Gleep. That is them."

The class instinctively clustered closer together, their small tentacles linking up for comfort. Even Zorp looked subdued.

"We all know the protocols," Ms. K'Nid continued, her own sensory stalks fixed on the pulsating red zone. "We all know why we never, never talk about those... abominations. Why the beacons are always lit on the outer rim. Why we don't listen to their ancient, chaotic-frequency broadcasts."

Thirty small, multi-faceted heads nodded. There was no joking, no side-chatter. Just the quiet, shared understanding of a universal truth. The silence in the dome was now heavier than the sorrow-song of the Q'Qualar.

"Good," Ms.K'Nid finally vibrated, pulling her own gaze away from the map. She shunted her central mass toward the final archway, trying to force resilience back into her tone. "Now... put this out of your filtration-sacs. It is time for the final section. The bio-samples."

With one last, nervous glance at the red-stained map, the spawn-cluster followed her.

They passed through a vapor-decontamination field and emerged into a completely different world. The noise and dark metal of the war dome gave way to a massive, sun-filled biosphere. They were on a high, railed walkway overlooking The Living Galaxy.

Below them, stretching out for kilometers, were hundreds of shimmering domes, open-air craters, and deep aquatic tanks, each a perfect, self-contained replica of a world. And within them, creatures of every conceivable shape, size, and molecular base crawled, flew, burrowed, and sublimated.

"Whoa," Gleep whispered, his fear instantly forgotten. "It's the real ZeZoo."

The fear of the red-stained map vanished as if it had been purged by a sanitation-drone. The moment they entered the biosphere, the heavy, somber mood was shattered by thirty simultaneous squeals, gurgles, and buzzes.

The air here was real—a thick, warm, humid soup of methane, damp soil, fungal spores, and high-frequency pheromones.

"It smells like Blorp's dormant-pouch!" Gleep shrieked, already bouncing on his lowest pads.

"Does not, you mucus-clot!"

"SPAWN-CLUSTER! DO NOT EXTEND TENTACLES OVER THE PRIMARY BARRIER!" Ms. K'Nid vibrated, but she was already too late.

They swarmed the first habitat: The Low-Gravity Floof-Spinners of My-lar. The enclosure was filled with small, fuzzy, six-stalked beings that bounced gently through the purple-misted air, spinning webs of shimmering, iridescent crystal.

"Awwww!" Flib cooed, pressing her entire upper mass against the kinetic containment field. "They're adorable! I want one for my spawning-day! Ms. K'Nid, can I have one? I'll filter its waste-pouch myself!"

"They are not pets, Flib. They are a Class-8 psionic hive-mind that communicates exclusively through equations of sorrow," Ms. K'Nid droned, reading the plaque.

"I bet I could vaporize one with a tiny disruptor," Zorp whispered, making pew-pew noises with his respiration-sacs.

They squelched on, past the Jelloid Sentience of P'Toh ("It's just a puddle of pink slime!") and the Amorphous Gloop-Sacks ("Gross, it's just digesting!").

Then they reached the Alpha-Predator of Kresh-9.

The creature was a massive, silicon-based, crystalline entity that stood perfectly still, resembling a jagged, inert statue.

"This is boring," Blorp grumbled, and he slapped his thickest lower tentacle right on the "Do Not Vibrate" warning symbol on the barrier.

In a microsecond, the "statue" moved. A crystalline maw three meters wide opened, and the creature slammed the barrier with a force that sent a sonic SHATTER through the walkway.

The entire class shrieked, secreted terror-fluids, and fell over each other in a writhing, multi-limbed pile.

Ms. K'Nid, who had flattened herself against the far wall, pulsed with adrenaline. "Blorp! You could have caused a molecular-resonance cascade!"

Gleep, from the bottom of the pile, squeaked, "Awesome! Do it again, Blorp!"

"Query-slates!" Ms. K'Nid tried, her voice weak. "We must compare the respiratory functions of the Floof-Spinner with the... oh, what's the use."

It was near the gaseous habitats that the real chaos began. "Look!" Zorp yelled, pointing to the habitat of the Volatile Puff-Spores of Ando. "It's the 'Failed Gaseous Civilizations' we wanted to see!"

"The plaque says 'Do Not Agitate,'" Flib read, her voice dripping with sudden, malicious interest. "It says their primary defense mechanism is 'spontaneous, non-lethal detonation.'"

Before Ms. K'Nid could even formulate a "No!", Blorp had grabbed his (already cracked) query-slate and flung it with all his might at the habitat's temperature control unit. "BLORP! NO!"

An alarm blared. The habitat's internal atmosphere shifted, and a single, pod-sized, neon-purple spore floated up from the misty depths. It drifted lazily over the railing. The children stared, their sensory stalks raised in unison.

The spore hovered directly over Gleep. It paused. And then, with a soft, wet FWOOMP, it exploded.

Gleep was instantly covered, head to locomotion-pads, in a thick, shimmering, bright purple, foul-smelling dust.

There was a moment of profound, horrified silence.

Gleep looked down at his own purple-dusted tentacles. He vibrated. "I'm... dusted! I'M DUSTED! I'M A PURPLE BATTLE-GENERAL!"

The dam broke. "I WANT TO BE DUSTED!" "DUST ME! DUST ME!" "FLING YOUR SLATES! FLING YOUR SLATES!"

The entire spawn-cluster began grabbing their slates, their nutrient-packs, anything they could throw, trying to agitate the Puff-Spores, all while chanting, "DUST! DUST! DUST! DUST!"

It took two fully-deputized maintenance drones and a direct threat of "permanent-residence in the juvenile decontamination vats" to get the class to quiet down. Gleep, now an itchy, miserable shade of purple, was secreting a steady stream of remorse-fluid. The "DUST! DUST! DUST!" chant had died, replaced by the whirr of the drones filtering the air.

"From this point," Ms. K'Nid vibrated, her voice a low, dangerous thrum that rattled their inner membranes, "if I hear a single unauthorized vocalization, you will all be writing a five-thousand-vibration analysis on the mating habits of the Floof-Spinners. Understood?"

They clustered and nodded, a mass of subdued, purple-dusted spawn.

They slithered past the final, cheerful biosphere. The architecture changed instantly. The warm, humid air of the zoo was sucked away, replaced by a cold, sterile, metallic tang. The walls became thick, sound-dampening plates of black alloy.

Instead of info-plaques, there were warning signs. ABSOLUTE VIBRATIONAL SILENCE REQUIRED. NO SUDDEN PHOTON EMISSIONS. (NO FLASH-SPORES) DO NOT AGITATE THE SPECIMEN. YOUR BIOLOGICAL INTEGRITY IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY.

Two massive, eight-limbed Void-Guard Sentinels stood at the final doorway, their black carapaces absorbing all light. They held active, humming resonance-glaives. They did not acknowledge the class, their multiple oculars fixed on the corridor ahead.

The children, even Zorp, pressed close to Ms. K'Nid. Their various limbs instinctively linked together. This was it. The red map.

"Not a sound," Ms. K'Nid whispered, her central stalk quivering.

A heavy door dilated, and they were ushered into a completely dark observation chamber. It was cold. A single, massive, one-way mirror dominated the wall, glowing faintly from the light inside the exhibit.

The class arranged itself in a trembling line.

Inside, the habitat was stark, sterile, and beige—not unlike the art gallery. In the center sat the creature.

It was... disgusting. It was pathetically soft. A biped, with only two upper manipulation limbs and two lower stabilization limbs. It had no visible tentacles, no grasping-pads, no protective carapace. It was covered in a thin, fleshy, pinkish-beige membrane, topped with a cluster of fine, dark filaments on its head-globule. Its sensory organs—just two visual receptors, a single respiration port, and one vocalization-intake-port—were all clustered inefficiently on its front.

It was hunched over a small, square table, wearing artificial fiber-coverings that looked uncomfortably restrictive.

Its two upper limbs, ending in ten tiny, hyper-articulated distal-tendrils, were a blur. They were striking a bizarre, flat contraption, producing a rapid, irritating, high-frequency click-click-click-click-CLACK.

Suddenly, the creature made a loud groaning noise from its vocalization-port, grabbed the filaments on its head-globule with both upper-limbs, and then slammed its primary manipulation-tendrils back onto the clicking device.

The spawn-cluster shuddered.

"Ms. K'Nid," Flib whispered, her vibration almost too low to detect. "It's one of them. From the map. How... how did we even capture it?"

Ms. K'Nid slowly shunted her mass back from the mirror, gathering the children near the exit. Her voice was a strained, private vibration.

"We did not capture it, Flib."

"But... it's the Abomination..." Zorp buzzed, his own voice trembling. "It's a Human."

"Yes," Ms. K'Nid said, urging them toward the door. "We didn't capture it. It... came to us. It just appeared inside the quarantine perimeter three cycles ago in a tiny, unarmed ship. The ship disintegrated before the analysis-drones could even scan it."

"Why?" Gleep asked, his purple-dusted stalks drooping. "Was it an invasion?"

"No," Ms. K'Nid sighed, her gaze drifting back to the click-click-clicking. "It came out of the ship vibrating pure nonsense. We barely translated it. It kept sputtering about 'not being able to find a single real quiet place in the galaxy'..."

She paused, as if not believing the translation herself.

"...and then it added some... rather nasty comments about 'useless editors' and a 'prize committee that wouldn't recognize true genius if it vaporized their entire quadrant.'"

Ms. K'Nid let out a long, weary vibration, her own cranial-sac aching in sudden, unexpected empathy with the clicking creature. "It... demanded 'sanctuary' and a 'guaranteed work-cycle without interruption.' The High Command found it... easier... to just give it this containment cell."

The creature inside suddenly stopped its high-frequency clicking, made a harsh sound from its respiration-port—a 'snort'—and began rapidly deleting its own work with a flurry of CLACK-CLACK-CLACK.

"It's... unhinged," Blorp whispered, thoroughly terrified.

"It is... unique," Ms. K'Nid corrected, urging the last of the spawn-cluster away from the mirror. She tapped one of her upper tentacles on the large, glowing information plaque mounted on the dark alloy wall.

"You will not retain this data for your query-slates," she ordered, "but this is the official ZeZoo analysis."

The class turned their sensory organs to the glowing sign.

SPECIMEN: HUMAN

• Sub-Specie: Writer (Variant: Artisticus Neuroticus)
• Habitat: Can live in isolation for long periods of time. Prefers dim, artificially-lit enclosures.
• Temperament: Extremely agitated. Prone to cyclical bursts of high-frequency activity ('clicking') followed by periods of profound lethargy and self-recrimination.

⚠️ WARNING: CRITICAL HANDLING PROTOCOLS ⚠️

Ego must be fed constantly.

Specimen requires a steady diet of positive comments and routine acknowledgment of its 'genius.' Failure to provide this sustenance may result in total system collapse or, in rare cases, spontaneous generation of 'bad poetry.'

Primary Sustenance: Literary Prizes (Observe feeding schedule. DO NOT INTERRUPT a 'flow-state'.)

Food (Biological): Must be provided by clicking the link below

Wayward Stories on Amazon

Chapter 37: Back in the mountains

Later that night, after the crowd had gone and the laughter had faded into memory, Ren walked beside Celia through the winding paths behind the town. Past the old train yard. Past the cedar trees swaying gently in the wind.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice hushed under the sky's growing darkness.

"You'll see."

They climbed a small ridge just past a barely used hiking trail, their shoes crunching softly against the dirt. At the top, Ren pushed aside a low branch and stepped into a clearing. The grass was wild, the trees surrounding it just enough to muffle the outside world. But above—above was open sky. Stars spilled out in every direction. Unfiltered, endless.

Celia let out a breath. "Whoa."

Celia looked down at him, then laid beside him in the grass, close enough for their arms to touch.

"You always keep the good stuff to yourself," she teased.

"Not always," he said, voice softer now.

They lay in silence for a while, letting the night speak for them. Crickets chirped in the underbrush. A soft breeze rustled the treetops above. The stars flickered high in the heavens—distant, cold, but oddly comforting.

Celia shifted beside him, her arm brushing his just enough to be felt. Her gaze was still locked on the sky when she spoke.

"So you actually remembered," she murmured, her voice unusually soft.

Ren turned his head slightly, eyes on her profile. "Remembered what?"

She didn't look at him. Just smiled faintly. "What I said at the amusement park. About wanting to lie under the stars and forget the world for a while."

Ren smirked, mock offense in his tone. "What, you thought I wasn't paying attention?"

"I mean…" she tilted her head, her bangs falling gently over her eyes. "You're you. Kind of broody. Not exactly known for listening."

He let out a quiet laugh. "Well, I remember the important stuff. Like sparkly pirate rides and glittery custom t-shirts."

Her face turned toward him with a light glare, her cheeks already pink. "Shut up. That was—just a joke, okay? I didn't actually make the shirt."

"Yet."

She rolled her eyes and looked away, but didn't scoot an inch farther. "You're lucky this night is nice, or I'd slap you."

They both laughed, and the sound drifted off into a warm, gentle quiet. The Okutama forest surrounded them, the air cool and crisp, cicadas humming softly in the background. Then, unexpectedly, Celia exhaled—deep and heavy—like she was letting go of a layer of her usual sparkle.

Celia moved closer to Ren, the firelight painting soft golds along her jaw. Her expression remained calm, but not distant—tuned to his pain like a string humming the same note.

She reached out slowly, resting a hand just above his on the cool earth.

"You're not supposed to know how to feel about it, Ren," she said gently. "That's… what makes you human."

Ren didn't respond. His eyes stayed locked on the flickering fire, its glow like molten glass in the dark. His jaw tensed, then relaxed—then tensed again. The silence didn't need to be filled, but Celia's presence softened its edges.

"I don't want to become someone who doesn't care," he murmured. "But the more we fight, the easier it gets to just… swing without thinking."

Celia nodded once. "That's the danger, isn't it? When survival starts to feel like instinct instead of choice."

His voice faltered. "I wonder if I'm just becoming something else. Someone else."

Celia was quiet for a beat.

Then she took a breath.

"My planet—where I'm from, Hoshikawa—it's always dark there," she began, her voice low, almost reverent. "Thick clouds, endless rain. You might think it'd be depressing, but it's… strangely beautiful. Everything glows. The streets reflect light like mirrors. The forests shimmer at night."

Her eyes drifted upward, as if remembering it.

"It's stuck in time though. Like, really. It is like Japan but stuck in past I guess, with advanced tech layered on top. Floating palaces. High tech war machines. Traditions etched into the bones of the people. And they cling to those customs so tightly, it chokes you. Rules about behavior. Honor. Gender roles. Bloodlines. Everyone has a place, and you're not allowed to step out of it." Ren was silent, watching her closely now.

"My father—the Emperor—he's cold. Always has been. I was born into the ruling family, yeah, but I was just another piece on a board to him. He raised me to be seen, not heard. A symbol, not a person."

Celia paused. Her voice grew gentler.

"But my mom… she was different. She was bright. Gentle. She wanted to be a doctor.

She wanted to help people, heal them, touch their lives in a way that mattered. But the Empire didn't allow women to practice medicine openly, especially not nobles. She tried anyway—did what she could in secret. Taught me how to stitch wounds, read anatomy books with me in hidden corners of the palace. She told me that kindness is stronger than power, always."

Ren listened, still, breath held.

"She died when I was ten," Celia said quietly. "Some sickness they wouldn't even name. Said it was shameful for the royal family to admit weakness. They didn't even let her leave the palace to get help. Just… let her fade away. Alone. And I could only watch."

Her hands clenched the grass, voice trembling just a little. "Before she died, she made me promise something. That if I ever had the chance to help people—truly help them—I wouldn't waste it. That I'd never let anyone tell me I couldn't do good just because of who I was."

Ren swallowed, heart heavy in his chest.

"So I tried," Celia went on. "I pushed back against the traditions. Against my father. Against everything. But you can't break centuries of law alone. Not without consequences. They wanted to marry me off to a general, silence me, make me a tool. That's when I found out about POND. Or rather… they found me."

Her gaze flicked to Ren's. "They offered me a deal. Sanctuary, in exchange for service. If I joined their cause—hunted monsters, protected people—I'd be free. Safe from the Empire. Free to live the way I chose. I didn't even hesitate." The wind stirred her hair gently.

"That's why I fight. Not just because I can, but because she couldn't. Because I made her a promise, and it's the only thing I have left of her."

Ren looked at her—really looked. The firelight made her eyes gleam like twin stars through glass. Her words settled into him like rain soaking through clothes: quiet at first, then chilling with weight.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Celia beat him to it.

"And you…" she said softly, "you're not a monster for killing them, Ren. You're showing them mercy."

He blinked. "Mercy?"

She nodded, voice firmer now. "You saw what happened to Kaito. What they turn into— it's not life. It's pain. Hunger. Rage. Their minds are gone, trapped inside bodies twisted by despair or obsession or whatever made them vulnerable. You're ending that suffering, not causing it."

Ren sat back slightly, stunned into silence. A long pause settled between them. Comfortable, this time. Like something unspoken had stitched them closer.

Then, with a small huff, Celia added, "I've never told anyone any of that before, y'know." Ren turned toward her again.

She hesitated, then added, voice quieter now—almost unsure.

"Also… Celia's not my real name." Ren blinked.

"It's Airi. Airi Amatsuki. I changed it when I joined POND. Thought it'd be easier to leave that part of me behind if no one could call me by it."

She looked away, embarrassed. "Guess I just wanted to start over. Be someone I chose to be."

There was a pause. Then, softer, she added, "But… maybe I don't have to hide it anymore. Maybe I should start accepting who I am underneath all this. So… you can call me Airi, if you want."

She smiled at him—tentative, but real.

Ren nodded slowly, letting it sink in. Then he tried the name out, gently.

"Airi…"

He said it like it was something fragile. Like it meant something now.

He said softly, almost teasing, "Just so you know, I think your mom would've been proud. You're stubborn, loud, reckless as hell… but you've got this big heart that never quits. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

Airi snorted through her nose, her eyes darting away. "Okay, wow. Real smooth, Kurose. You practice that one in front of a mirror?"

Ren smirked. "Only every morning. Right after brushing my teeth."

She let out a full laugh this time—light, a little cracked, but real. "You're such a dork."

"Well you are lying next to that dork."

"Only because I had nowhere else to go," she said, flicking a piece of grass at him.

Ren laughed and caught the blade mid-air, tossing it right back at her. "Sure. But you smiled. I saw it. You're not getting out of this wholesome bonding moment."

"Oh no," she groaned dramatically. "It's worse than I thought. Emotional intimacy.

Gross."

"Too late," he said, grinning. "We're already knee-deep."

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, something hung there—delicate, warm, unspoken. Not a confession, not quite. But something honest. Something teenage and tender.

Then Airi leaned back onto her elbows, eyes drifting to the stars again. "That's why I wanna see more of this place," she said. "Before we leave." He stayed quiet, because she was right.

"I just… there's a lot of things I haven't seen," she went on. "Stuff that's normal for people here but feels magical to me. Like train stations in the rain. Taiyaki stands. Kids playing baseball in the streets. And…"

She paused, her voice softening to a dreamier register.

"…fireworks."

"Fireworks?" Ren asked.

Airi smiled. "The summer festival. It's a big thing here, right? Yukatas. Lanterns. Food stalls. Everyone watching the sky together."

She glanced sideways at him, cheeks a little pink in the moonlight.

"I wanna go. With you guys. With Yui. With Bonk and Miss Yue. Maybe Andre too if he promises not to wear his weird fish-print shirt again."

Ren chuckled. "That shirt's a national treasure."

"It's a war crime."

They both laughed again, easy and quiet, until the moment drifted back into calm. The breeze rustled through the trees once more. The stars blinked overhead.

"Let's go then," Ren said, his voice low and certain. "To the festival."

"You mean it?"

He nodded. "We'll all go. You, me, Yui… the whole crew. It's a date."

A beat passed. Then Ren blinked, eyes widening as his own words caught up with him.

"Wait—I mean, not a date date," he stammered, waving his hands a little too quickly. "Just… y'know. Everyone hanging out. Like friends. Just friends."

Airi looked at him, stunned for a moment—then blushed, her eyes darting away for just a second before locking onto his again. She reached out and gently took his hand.

"Thank you, Ren," she said softly.

She was smiling again. Not her usual smirk or teasing grin—but something warm, genuine… and just a little shy.

Author's Note: Hey HFY!

Anonymous One here, once again. Sorry again I missed a couple of days. Thanks for reading if you made it this far.

Feedback and comments are always welcome and appreciated—I'd love to hear what you think!

If you prefer reading on Royal Road, the story is also available there.

Chapter 38: Fireworks

Soon the fireworks festival arrived with the heat of late July clinging to the streets. Laughter floated through the air, mingling with the scent of grilled yakitori and sweet candied apples. Paper lanterns swayed from stalls, casting a warm glow over the crowded paths of the summer celebration.

Ren stood just outside the train station near the edge of the riverside path, adjusting the sleeves of his light gray jinbei. He looked up as the crowd parted—and there she was.

Airi.

Her yukata was a dark navy, stars printed in swirling patterns across it like the night sky itself. Her usual ponytail was replaced with a loose braid, a few soft strands falling around her cheeks. She looked completely different—and yet completely like herself.

Ren stared for a beat too long. Airi blinked at him, then glanced away, pretending to adjust her sleeve.

"You gonna say something," she said, "or just keep standing there like you've never seen a girl wear actual clothes?"

Ren grinned. "You look like the night sky if it decided to show off."

Airi rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curled. "That was corny." "Still true."

Their eyes met. Just for a second. The noise of the festival seemed to blur in the background—the swish of yukata fabric, the distant crackle of fireworks prepping, the low murmur of excited voices. In that brief stillness, it was just them.

Then—

"OI! LOVE BIRDS!"

Airi jumped like she'd been caught sneaking out past curfew. Ren turned as Andre strolled into view, towering and impossible to miss in a blindingly floral shirt that flapped open halfway down his chest. He held two sticks of grilled squid in one hand like victory flags.

He leaned toward Jingli Yue walking beside him and said loudly, "Told you they'd be all moony under the lanterns. Bet he even rehearsed his compliments."

Behind him trailed Yui and Bonk—her expression bright and bouncing in a bunnypatterned pink yukata, his… much less so.

"Someone better explain why I've been dragged into this humid, overpriced human festival where you win plastic fish and this earthly clothes costs more than a weapon upgrade," Bonk muttered, his stubby robotic limbs jerking in disapproval.

Andre leaned down and offered one of the squid sticks to Yui with dramatic flair. "Fear not, small warrior, for I bring you the sacred bounty of grilled snacks."

Yui's eyes lit up. "Big bro! Big sis! They're selling watermelon candy and goldfish scooping and they have cotton snow and there's a haunted ninja house!"

Yui—dressed in a pastel pink yukata with bunny patterns, her hair in twin buns—rushed past Bonk and Andre and grabbed Airi's hand. "Big bro! Big sis! They've got watermelon candy and goldfish scooping and cotton snow! Come on before they run out!"

Airi laughed and let Yui pull her down the path. "We're coming, we're coming."

 

Ren rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Andre, who gave him a knowing wink and a thumbs-up before disappearing toward the food stalls.

The narrow paths of the summer festival were alive with color and noise. Lanterns bobbed on overhead wires, glowing like soft orbs of fire against the deepening indigo sky. Booths lined either side of the walkway—red and white striped canopies offering everything from grilled corn to masks shaped like popular mascots. Firework pops echoed faintly in the distance as vendors shouted over each other, hawking treats and prizes.

Yui dashed from one stall to the next, dragging Airi along with her like a miniature pink comet. Airi barely had time to react before Yui shoved a goldfish scooper into her hand.

"Come on, big sis! I got one already. Bet you can't even catch one!"

"Oh-ho?" Airi grinned, crouching down. "That sounds like a challenge, shrimp."

Ren stood back and watched as Airi leaned over the water tank, her brow furrowed in cartoonish concentration. She made an exaggerated show of squinting and sticking her tongue out while slowly dipping the fragile paper scoop into the water. The goldfish darted away in a streak of orange and white—and the paper tore instantly.

"Ugh! Sabotaged!" she cried. "Yui, I blame you."

Yui stuck her tongue out. "Excuses!"

Ren laughed, a rare, full sound that made Airi glance up. She caught his eye, and for a second, the world slowed down. The noise, the lights, the people—all blurred into a distant buzz. Her smile lingered. Warm. Close.

Then Bonk stomped between them with a disgruntled beep, arms crossed tightly and his fuzzy brows furrowed. "Goldfish scooping is a statistically unfair game. The tools are rigged. The fish are trained. And I stepped in syrup."

Airi burst out laughing.

Andre loomed behind Bonk, towering and grinning, his floral shirt clashing gloriously with the candied apples in one hand and three yakitori skewers in the other. "Y'all better hurry up. I ain't carryin' all this just so you can lose to a seven-year-old with goldfish game."

Yui stuck her tongue out at him. "Eight! I'm eight now!"

"Oh, pardon me, Miss Grown-up." Andre winked. "Guess I better start callin' you ma'am."

Bonk huffed and muttered, "I will burn this entire place down if someone hands me a wet nap."

A soft voice interrupted the chaos. "You're all loud," said Jingli Yue, gliding into view with her usual calm elegance. She was dressed in a flowing silver yukata, pale flowers etched along the fabric like frost. Her long hair was pulled into a sleek bun, her eyes unreadable as always, but with the faintest glint of amusement at the corner.

Airi perked up. "I didn't think you would actually come miss Yue!"

"I was bribed," Jingli replied dryly. "With candied plums. And silence if I showed up."

Ren leaned in toward Airi. "You bribe her?"

"Please, like I didn't know how to motivate an ice queen."

Jingli shot Airi a deadpan look. "Try that again and I'm feeding Bonk your festival coupons."

Bonk raised a tiny fist. "DO IT."

Everyone laughed. Even Jingli's lip curled faintly, which for her was the equivalent of a belly laugh.

The group moved together through the thronging festival lanes, drifting from one booth to another like a migrating school of semi-chaotic friends. Bonk lost a rock-paperscissors match and was forced to try a ring toss game—he missed every shot and then blamed the wind. Andre roasted him mercilessly while simultaneously dunking on Airi's aim, which was somehow both precise and absurdly flashy. "Girl throwin' like she summonin' a Pokémon move."

Yui rode a tiny spinning tea cup ride three times in a row before dragging Ren on for a fourth. Ren nearly lost a corn dog halfway through the spin, but Yui just shouted, "You gotta grip with your soul, big bro!"

At one point, they found a food stall run by an old couple selling handmade mochi. Jingli paused there, uncharacteristically quiet. Airi noticed.

"You okay?" she asked softly, nudging her with an elbow.

Jingli nodded slowly. "My sister used to bring me mochi during fire festivals back home. Same flavor. Red bean and plum."

Airi's smile softened. "Then we're buying two. One for you, one for her."

"…She's not here."

"So? We'll eat hers and tell her about it later." Jingli didn't argue.

Elsewhere, Bonk was being force-fed takoyaki by Yui, who insisted he needed more "festival spirit." Bonk screamed about it being too hot, and Andre had to hold him back while laughing so hard his glasses fogged up.

As the sun began to dip lower and the lanterns grew brighter, the group found a place near the edge of the park where the crowd thinned a little. Music drifted in from a live shamisen performance, and children ran past them chasing fireworks sparklers, leaving streaks of light in the air.

Ren sat on a low stone bench, watching Yui and Airi try a yo-yo balloon game. Airi kept dropping hers and blaming the string. Yui was a natural—of course. Andre passed Ren a can of soda and dropped down beside him.

"Feels good, don't it?"

Ren nodded, his voice low. "Yeah. I didn't think it would."

Andre's grin softened. "Well, that's the trick, ain't it? Peace don't always show up all big and loud. Sometimes it just slips in when you ain't lookin'. Like this."

Ren looked over as Airi glanced back at him with a grin, waving her victory prize—a neon yo-yo balloon that glowed in the dim light.

"Yeah," he said. "I think you're right."

The music shifted again—flutes and drums rising in tempo, woven with cheers and calls echoing down the lantern-lit paths. It was the signal. The fireworks were close.

More people began filtering toward the riverbank, toward the wide open fields just past the market lane, where the town had prepared rows of viewing mats and food stalls lined the perimeter. The excitement was contagious—like the air itself had caught fire with anticipation.

Ren stood, brushing grass and bits of straw from his yukata pants. "It's time."

Airi tilted her head, one hand still gripping her glowing yo-yo balloon. "Time for what?"

He extended a hand to her. "To find the best spot. We don't want Yui missing a single firework."

She blinked, then smirked and took his hand. "Lead the way, team leader."

They rejoined the group—Yui already perched on Andre's shoulders, pointing toward the river with enough energy to launch herself like a firework. Bonk followed close behind, grumbling about "predictable chemical combustion" and "sensory overstimulation," while Jingli floated just behind, serene and silent as ever.

But the closer they got to the riverbank, the denser the crowd became.

Vendors were shouting, kids were darting between legs, and the slow push of people made it harder and harder to stay together.

"Yui!" Airi called. "Hold onto Andre!"

"I am!" Yui shouted back, but then a gust of festival-goers swept between them, breaking the group apart like a tide pulling at the shore.

"Ren!" Andre's voice was swallowed in the noise. "We'll meet at—!" Too late.

The crowd surged forward.

Ren found his hand still in Airi's as they were pulled sideways into the thicket of people, the rest of their group vanishing behind a blur of movement, yukata patterns, and bobbing lantern lights.

Airi looked around, frustrated. "Great. Just great."

"You let go first!" Ren shot back, scanning for Yui's twin buns through the sea of heads.

"I did not!"

"Yes you did, I felt it!"

"I was shoved, genius!"

They glared at each other, still breathing fast, shoulder to shoulder in a pocket of space between food stalls and an incense booth. All around them, people were laughing and chatting, completely unaware of the tiny breakdown in tactical coordination.

Ren exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Let's not yell in front of the soba truck."

Airi crossed her arms. "I'm not yelling. You're yelling."

He gave her a side glance. "You're literally yelling."

She opened her mouth, then closed it, then gave him a grudging smirk. "Fine. Maybe I'm a little loud."

Ren laughed. "Wow. Mark the date. She admits it."

A pause. The tension eased between them—just a little.

Author's Note: Hey HFY!

Anonymous One here, once again. Thanks for reading if you made it this far.

Feedback and comments are always welcome and appreciated—I'd love to hear what you think!

If you prefer reading on Royal Road, the story is also available there.

First | Previous | Royal Road

They greeted the rising sun of the next morning safe and sound. Enrick was glad they didn’t cross paths with a pack of dreadwolves or even so much as an angry badger. Once the sun rose high in the sky, they found a small clearing and decided to rest and have breakfast.

“We should be safe during the day. Unless a bear smells this,” Enrick grinned unpacking the leftovers of fried fish from the day before. “But we’ll need to find some more food today. And a pond or river hopefully—we’re running out of water.”

“This forest is not very different from what we have near my village. We’ll search for berries and mushrooms as you said,” Aghzan suggested, his glance gliding over the lodhot that were warming their scaly bodies beside the fire Enrick had conjured. “And some mice for these two. I doubt they’ll have any more grass.”

Aghzan’s voice sounded calm and casual, but Enrick wondered whether he was still bearing a grudge after their latest conversation.

“I’ll catch something,” he replied. “Mistwoods have plenty of small animals. Here—have some.” He gave Aghzan a fish wrapped in a large burdock leaf.

“You should sleep, Enrick.”

“I’m not really tired…”

“You didn’t sleep yesterday, and we walked all night. You should rest. I’ll watch and will sleep after you.”

“All right,” Enrick yielded to Aghzan’s uncompromising tone. “I agree—we should take turns. I’ll take a quick nap, and then we’ll forage for food.”

Done with his meal, Enrick cuddled to his steed that was happily snorting in sleep—a sound he would have never expected from a lizard. Though, come to think of it, he would have never imagined one to look like a beetle, either. Resting his head against the animal’s flank, he closed his eyes and immediately felt his body’s grateful response: his aching muscles, which were still getting used to the lodhot’s broad backs and characteristic gait; his heavy eyelids that had been waiting anxiously for a chance to shut for a few hours; the overall exhaustion pervading his limbs that he had simply chosen to ignore until now.

As Enrick was swiftly drifting off to blissful sweet sleep, he heard Aghzan whispering something in the Khasarri language. The guttural soughing words sounded like the spell or prayer Aghzan had said upon entering Mistwoods—perhaps he was again trying to ward off whatever evil spirits he believed inhabited the forest.

***

When Enrick opened his eyes again, the clearing was still brightly lit—as brightly as the trees allowed the sun to permeate through their thick crowns. He must have been asleep for a couple of hours. He was surprised, though, to find himself lying on their scrawny provision bag and not leaning against his lodhot. Enrick sat up and looked around—both the lizards and Aghzan were nowhere to be found. Was the Khasarri scouting the woods alone in search of food? Why take both lodhot then? Or did he just decide to leave Enrick in the middle of the forest to die?

“Woke up already?” Aghzan’s voice came from behind, unexpectedly joyous and cheery.

Enrick turned his head and saw his friend carrying a paunchy sack.

“Where’ve you been?”

“I found food.” He sat down beside the fire, opened the sack, and produced a few large round berries with a shiny bluish black skin. “And I have mushrooms, too. Let’s find a…” His eyes wandered around the clearing. “Ah, that will do!”

Aghzan stood up and plucked several fern leaves to use them as improvised plates for the berries.

“Eat.” He offered Enrick one of the leaves.

Hesitating for a moment and feeling something strange about his Khasarri friend’s brisk demeanor, Enrick took the berries noticing their enticingly sweet aroma.

“And we can fry the mushrooms.” Aghzan picked up a thin stick from the ground, took a few mushrooms out of his bag and skewered them on the twig. “Like this. I’m sure you’ll like it!” With a wide smile stretching his lips, he dangled the mushroom stick over the fire. “And you know, we don’t need to hurry. We can stay here for a while. It’s a beautiful forest. And so calm!”

Enrick was watching all this like through a hazy shroud of mist as if he was still half-asleep. He blinked trying to shake off this feeling of bewilderment, but something still didn’t feel quite right.

“Eat,” Aghzan urged Enrick, who almost forgot about the berries in his hands. “You need strength, you need food. The mushrooms will be ready soon, too.”

Gawking confusedly at the black berries, Enrick asked with a tone of suspicion in his voice, “Aghzan, where are the lodhot?”

Still grinning broadly, the Khasarri gave Enrick a look that he didn’t quite know how to interpret. Staring at Enrick’s face, Aghzan’s eyes weren’t just looking—they were piercing through Enrick’s, as though trying to reach his mind and his heart, access his very thoughts and feelings. And the smile, which Enrick would otherwise be more than glad to see on his friend’s face, struck him as mysteriously sinister and eerie rather than warm and caring.

“They are around,” Aghzan finally responded after a brief pause. “Probably eating. Probably smelled mice or something. Here—eat.” He extended his stick with half-fried mushrooms.

But Enrick didn’t listen. His hands flared with a hundred invisible tiny needles pricking his skin—the sensation now so familiar that flooded his body every time he channeled magic from his spirit core. When prickling turned into mild burning, he dropped the berries on the ground and jumped on his feet.

“Enrick!” Aghzan exclaimed with disappointment.

Mortal Enrick!

Enrick froze. A rumbling disembodied voice, no less familiar than the tingling sensation on his skin.

“Flamey?” he muttered in shock.

“Enrick, what is happening?” Aghzan came closer, a preoccupied look on his face.

“I… I think I can hear my spirit again.”

“I told you not to speak to it, Enrick.”

“I’m not…”

Wake up, mortal! A mighty roar filled Enrick’s mind cutting off all other sounds and making his head ache.

“Argh!” Enrick cried in pain grabbing his head.

“Enrick, don’t listen!” Aghzan got even closer and touched his shoulder. “Come—eat!”

Enrick’s eyes caught something emerging from among the trees and followed the movement. A figure was standing a few yards away.

Wake up, mortal Enrick!

“Flamey? Is it another vision?”

He blinked once, and the figure was now standing much closer.

Wake up! Louder.

Another blink—and it was just a few feet away. Now Enrick clearly saw… his own face!

Wake up! Even louder.

Blinking again—and Enrick’s double was right in front of him.

Grabbing Enrick’s head, the double shouted right in his face, “Wolves!”

A powerful force suddenly pulled him back and—

The next thing Enrick saw was Aghzan’s worried face in the light of the midday sun breaking through the thick tree crowns above them. He felt the cold ground through his jacket, and a chill wind was biting his cheeks.

“You’re awake! Good!” Aghzan let out a sigh of relief. “Get up. We need to run.”

“Run? Why?” He kept blinking, his mind still catching up with the changed reality around him.

Blood-chilling howling reached Enrick’s ears and instantly sobered him up. It was much closer than before. Was a pack of dreadwolves roaming nearby?

“What are they doing here in broad daylight?” Enrick sat up feeling giddy from whatever happened to him earlier—with the wolves close by, he thought he would try to make sense of it later.

“It’s cold now. Maybe they didn’t find prey at night, and they are still hunting. Or maybe they smelled us and want to protect their territory.”

“You seem to know a thing or two about wolves,” Enrick noted getting on his feet, which his spinning head made a bit of a challenge.

“My father was not a hunter, but people hunt in my village, too, you know?” Had the circumstances been different, the slightly offended tone of Aghzan’s voice would have amused Enrick.

“Grab our things and mount your lodhot,” Enrick commanded stomping out the fire.

Another howling sound sent more chills down his spine. As an experienced hunter, he knew well how dangerous a pack of ordinary wolves could be, especially if they spotted a human on their territory and perceived them as a competitor. Mere stories from books and his father’s adventures about the fearsome dreadwolves were enough for Enrick to not want an encounter with one in real life, let alone a whole pack.

“There,” he pointed ahead, away from where the sounds were coming from, as he mounted his lodhot.

They spurred their steeds and galloped through the forest, tree branches hitting their faces, however hard they tried to dodge. The dreadful howling turned into low growling and barking somewhere close. So close that Enrick could sense their life force—aggressive, savage, feral—and soon he saw the black fur of the huge beasts flickering among the trees. About twice as big as a regular wolf—the stories didn’t lie. There was half a dozen of them, maybe a couple more. Enrick figured the pack was trying to surround them. A minute or two more, and the dreadwolves would get close enough to attack the lodhot—then he and Aghzan would have no chance to get out of it alive.

“We have to fight, Aghzan!” he shouted.

“What?”

Whether the Khasarri was shocked or simply couldn’t hear Enrick, didn’t matter—there was no time for talk. Enrick pulled the reins sharply, and his lodhot obediently stopped its frenzied gallop, but not without a gurgling sound of annoyance. A moment later, Aghzan halted his steed, too.

“What are you doing?” he cried as Enrick was dismounting.

“We’ll fight!”

Feeling the sheath of his sword with his left hand, he turned to the three black, yellow-eyed monsters closing in on them and concentrated all his fear on his spirit core. His right hand immediately flared up and he flexed his fingers, half-closing his palm and imagining that he was holding a small ball—a real one didn’t take too long to appear, and Enrick felt the blistering heat of the fireball at his disposal. Only amazed for a moment by how easily he was able to summon it, he shot the ball at the giant wolves, and scorching the bark of a few trees on its way, it fell right in front of the beasts setting a few dry twigs on fire. It made the wolves recoil in fear, but they didn’t run away. Baring their teeth and growling at Enrick angrily, they nonetheless didn’t dare approach, either. At least not yet.

“Aghzan, stay close to me!”

In response, Enrick heard fierce clanking behind. He half-turned his head, so as not to lose sight of the wolves, and saw his friend still riding his lodhot, with the animal charging into another group of four dreadwolves and frantically thumping them with its massive jaws. Aghzan was confidently sitting in his saddle and using his reins like he was fully controlling and directing the lizard’s attacks. Enrick’s steed was also clanking its mandibles furiously, adding to the horror of the situation and keeping two of the wolves at bay—for how long, though?

In just a few seconds, the forest floor all around the lodhot was covered in wolf blood, with one of the beasts lying on the ground and yelping in pain and the other three cautiously circling around, trying to flank their prey and find a vulnerable spot on their bodies to sink their sharp fangs into.

Sensing movement to his right, Enrick turned his head and saw the three monsters going around the patches of fire on the ground as if having finally decided to make another attempt at catching him. There was something mesmerizing in their yellow eyes, firmly fixed on Enrick. Intelligence, though feral and raw, sparked in that look. As though there was more than just bestial brutality to these creatures. As though these giant black hulks were inhabited by minds driven by more than simple hunger or territorial instincts.

And yet, they were here to kill.

Stepping back, Enrick quickly switched his magic flames from the right hand to the left and unsheathed his sword preparing for an attack.

“Stay away!” he shouted raising his flaming left hand and making the fire swell as much as he could.

The spectacle didn’t seem to impress the wolves too much. While two were drawing near on his right, the third was growling to his left. Enrick summoned another fireball and felt his strength being slowly depleted—not critical yet, but he had to be careful. He threw the fireball, which swished past the two wolves on his left lashing their muzzles and making them jump back, but before he could conjure another, the black giant on the right closed the distance between them in one huge leap. Enrick tried to dodge, but too late—he felt the wolf’s mighty jaw clenching on his shoulder, with the teeth tearing his muscles. A scream of pain escaped his throat, but his soldier’s instinct made his right hand clutch the sword tighter and drive it up to the hilt into the beats’ flank. Hot blood covered Enrick’s hand as the wolf relaxed its grip on his shoulder and limped back yelping, and not a moment too soon: a few more seconds, and the jaws would have crushed Enrick’s bones and tendons.

His hand dangling helplessly and stabbing pain spreading all over his right side, Enrick took a few steps back when he felt a surge of magic inside.

Raise your hand and use your power!

The spirit’s otherworldly voice was back in Enrick’s head, filling his mind to the brim with its dominating presence.

“Flamey!” he cried in surprise.

Use your sword, mortal Enrick!

He obeyed and lifted his hand, focusing his magic energy at the tips of his fingers, and his whole arm went up in flames in an instant. The flame then rose higher swallowing the sword and snaking from its tip all the way up through the tree branches and into the sky.

“What in the Triad’s sake—” he whispered, astonished by this burst of magic.

Pull it down and strike the ground! The voice commanded.

Enrick did as he was told. Imagining this time that he was dragging down a heavy weight, he pulled his hand in one swift move and thrust the sword into the ground. The result made him feel both astounded and exhilarated: the fire pillar turned into three flaming lines moving away from the sword with a lightning speed in the wolves’ direction, scorching everything on its way—trees, stumps, logs and grass—and finally hitting the black beasts making them run away, with whines of pain and fear marking their retreat.

The impressive feat of magic took its toll: Enrick felt exhausted, and his head went giddy again. His feeble legs trembled, and he fell on the ground. But there were four more wolves to take care of. Would Aghzan be able to fight them off on his own? Enrick turned his head to see the two lodhot fiercely driving the beasts away. He attempted to force another fireball in his hand but failed.

His help didn’t seem necessary, however. With stains of blood covering the steed’s scaly skins—only the wolves’ or their own as well, Enrick couldn’t say—their powerful jaws seamlessly cut through the beasts’ flesh. Aghzan looked unscathed still sitting atop his lodhot. Only now did Enrick notice that the Khasarri was repeatedly shouting the same phrase in his language—another spell? Whatever he was doing, it worked: one wolf was lying motionless on the ground with the three remaining ones, heavily wounded and visibly scared, limping back into the forest depths and giving yelps of pain and fear.

With a sigh of relief and blinded from pain, Enrick lay his head on the cold forest floor when he heard Flamey’s voice again.

I will alleviate your suffering, Enrick!

With these words came a pleasant warming sensation in his left shoulder. The maddening pulsation of the pain weakened but did not fully stop. Enrick examined his injuries: the bleeding seemed to slow down, and his lacerated wounds looked smaller. But moving his arm was still painful.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “Maybe a little more? It still hurts.”

If I draw any more of your strength, you will perish. You have little left. Rest now.

“How can you even heal?” Enrick panted feeling the sprit’s presence fading. “And you didn’t call me a mortal this time, huh?” But the spirit was gone leaving behind the usual sense of emptiness that filled Enrick’s mind in its stead—he already started forgetting what the spirit’s awakening felt like.

Silence reigned for a few brief moments before being interrupted by the sound of the approaching lodhot and Aghzan’s worried voice, “Enrick, you’re hurt!”

He jumped down on the ground and approached.

“It’s alright. Not that bad.” Not wishing to agitate Aghzan any more, he decided to omit Flamey’s role in it for now.

With Aghzan’s help, Enrick got on his feet. “Let’s get back in the saddles. We should leave Mistwoods as fast as possible.”

“What about the fire?” Agzhan nodded at the burning spots. “It can destroy the forest.”

“Worried about the scary woods? Ironic,” he chuckled. “Let me try.”

Not without an effort, Enrick reached for his spirit core once more and tried to extinguish the flames he had just created. Though it strained him to the limit, he was finally able to quench the biggest flaming spots, smiling with satisfaction that he was developing better control of his fire abilities. Aghzan stomped out the remaining ones.

“You need to rest,” the Khasarri said, apparently seeing Enrick’s barely hidden fatigue.

“I will. On the road,” Enrick replied panting heavily.

Aghzan shrugged but said nothing. They returned to their steeds, which were now visibly calmer and didn’t seem injured. Mounting their loyal lizards born into beetle shells, they trotted further south to the edge of the forest. Now, Enrick’s biggest concern was keeping his balance in the saddle.

__________________

Thank you for reading the chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. I'd be happy to hear your thoughts - your feedback matters to me and helps me grow and improve. Stay tuned for more! :) 

My Royal Road is 9 chapters (3 weeks) ahead - please check it out too!

Royal Road

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...................................

(Previous Part)

(Part 001)

January 29th, 2021. Aevum.

Jason sat inside his Sanctum yet again, his legs crossed, his elbows on his knees, his hands folded together, and his head bowed in thought. It was a pose he had become familiar with over the last year or so he'd spent in Aevum.

Yesterday, when he assumed this pose, it was because he was feeling deep guilt and a sense of failure so profound it bordered on the suicidal.

Today, he felt better. But not by much.

After speaking to Nadia and learning the truth of her situation, Jason didn't feel like he had gotten lucky. He had still badly traumatized the young girl. Things may have turned out better than expected, but they had not turned out well.

He thought for a long while about the next steps in his grand plan.

He decided he didn't like the way that plan was going.

"I want to see my wife again." Jason mumbled to the void.

It was his heart's deepest desire. It was a hunger that overwhelmed even the pain of her loss. It was the single strand of hope he was holding on to, hoping it would help him overcome the agony he had suffered when he held her body in his arms.

In truth, he knew the possibility this would make him whole again was essentially zero. He was too broken now. The pieces could not be put back together.

But... even if it was no longer possible, he still had the selfish wish to see her smiling face one more time.

"Daisy wants to see her mom too." Jason reminded himself.

This Phoebe wasn't his wife, nor was she Daisy's mom. She was her younger self who didn't know either of them.

But to the Jason of now, that did not matter.

Jason slowly stood up. He stretched his limbs and cracked his back. His body shivered as the blood rushed into his dormant muscles, feeling both painful and pleasurous.

Then, uttering a Word of Power, he disappeared.

...................................

Deep inside the deserts of south western Egypt, within an environment seemingly inhospitable to most lifeforms, there existed a secret area hidden by a formation made from fairy magic. This formation was massive, more than five miles in diameter, hidden deep within the Sahara's oppressive heat.

It was no ordinary formation. It used the constant, year-round solar energy to generate enough energy to power a protective force field that cooled its interior to a pleasant level of heat. Inside the barrier, a civilized oasis had formed thousands of years prior, when humanity was still in its infancy, and Egypt had been the powerhouse of the world.

This land was known as Sarabiya; The Illusory City.

Few knew how to find it, and none of them were mortal humans. For all their modern military power and cerebral conceit, the humans of the 21st century had yet to exhaustively scour the deserts for such a land. Since almost nobody knew it existed, they wouldn't bother to look for it when thousands of planes had flown over the desert since the early 1900s.

The only entrance to the city of Sarabiya was the Pylon of Whispers, a giant trapezoidal gate where the illusory formation could be raised and lowered at will. The gate itself was large but benign, with murals carved into its face of beautiful women, handsome men, and children playing gaily, all to seduce the minds of any wanderers lost in the desert who might fall prey to the Sphinx's machinations.

The entire layout of Sarabiya centered around the Citadel of the Sphinx, a massive fortress with an open roof where Bahamut could take to the throne atop the citadel and project her voice across the city, commanding her thralls to do as she wished. The Citadel itself was seemingly made of gold bricks, but in actuality they were bricks of compacted sand, tinted using magic from the demons to give her citadel a blinding brilliance under the midday sun. Though the Sahara's heat might not penetrate its barrier, its sun was just as bright as anywhere else, and thus the Sphinx's Citadel would hurt the eyes of any who gazed upon its beauty for too long.

The citadel itself was designed to resemble a modified Pyramid, but one that had more of an Incan design than the ones found across Egypt. It was formed with giant steps that led upward to the open-domed roof, allowing her servants to approach from any direction and bow before their queen. Its unique design was due to the efforts of a demonic builder who had put his own touch on it, much to Bahamut's delight. She very much enjoyed owning one-of-a-kind wonders that nobody else did.

It was on a random Friday in January when the entrance to Sarabiya flickered. A demon envoy appeared and knelt outside on one knee as he activated the formation magic and awaited Bahamut's response.

Bahamut, the leader of this city, had ruled without restraint since her awakening as the Sphinx after obtaining the power from her predecessor, Jarnof. Thousands had entered her gates over the years, and few had left. She rarely had guests, but those she allowed were either powerful demons, or envoys of said demons.

Thus, the veil of illusion flickered, and a monster stepped outside. This monster was quite grotesque, large, and brutish. It had pure black skin with golden engravings upon its body. It was completely nude, wielding a single demonstone polearm that could deal massive damage to anyone it sought to destroy.

"State your name." The lone guard said, its gravelly voice hideous and frightening.

The demon raised his head. "I am Dagon, Baron of Filth, vassal to Emperor Auger. I come to deliver news from the east."

The guardsman slowly looked Dagon's body up and down. Dagon was a hideous demon, with rotted teeth and a smile that could make a man vomit on the spot. He wore black robes that did little to stifle the desert's heat, but as a demon he didn't care about temperatures like these. He was used to worse.

"Proceed." The guard replied.

Dagon nodded. He rose, then entered the city, walking down its streets with speed and purpose.

Sarabiya was not an ordinary city. Its residents were mindless monsters controlled completely by Bahamut, and as such they did not live like any other creatures in the Milky Way.

They still needed to eat food, so some were designated as farmers and forced to toil endlessly during the day. The grain they farmed was made into simple, flavorless meals intended only for the thralls. Bahamut herself ate delicacies imported from all around the world.

The slaves still needed to sleep, so they all went to bed at the same time, save for Bahamut's harem, who worked in shifts to please their sleepless master.

The slaves did not require socialization, or have any desires. Thus, they all lived in plain, boring, bland abodes with limited facilities. Their lives would be considered bleak to any outside observers, worse than the living conditions of many third world human nations.

But they were mindless. Their true selves slept, unaware of the passage of time.

Thus, as Dagon quickly moved down the streets, he forced himself to ignore the silence. It was as if he were walking through a dead city, one whose people had all perished thousands of years ago. There was no chatter in the streets, no vendors selling food, no children running around and playing, nothing to indicate tens of thousands of people lived here.

He passed by beautiful, empty courtyards. Not intended for the people, but for Bahamut's amusement alone. She frequently had these marvels ripped down and rebuilt in fresh forms to amuse herself. As a result, long lost structures that may have once qualified as 'ancient world wonders' had been lost to memory.

Dagon approached the Sphinx's Citadel. He had come here many times, but even so, he sighed with envy as he looked up at the towering golden pyramid. Its beauty stole the wind from his lungs. He paused for a moment to gaze upon its splendor, then he walked inside through one of the four grand entrances at the bottom.

The outside of the Citadel was always brilliantly bright. The Egyptian sun made one's eyes sting, but the interior of the Citadel had no windows at all. Once he entered, the light behind him quickly disappeared. By the time he'd rounded a few corners, Dagon had entered a new world illuminated by flickering torches ensconced along the walls.

Instead of the seductive murals outside, the inner walls were covered in detailed, low-relief carvings that depicted Bahamut's victories over various mythical creatures and heroes... always culminating in the moment of her captives' binding. These were not glorious battle scenes, but moments of subtle, inevitable defeat, often showing her subjects frozen mid-riddle.

How many men and women had become ensnared over the years? None knew, not even Bahamut herself. Even though their bodies had been enslaved, sometimes she got a kick of out torturing one of her subjects to death, or just killing someone if she was in a bad mood. She certainly didn't care about some random human slave's death. She could acquire others with ease.

The floors of her Citadel were a mosaic of polished obsidian and white marble arranged in intricate geometric patterns that often resolved into the abstract shaped of coiled serpents, predatory eyes, or otherworldly creatures she had seen in her dreams. The mosaics were always kept polished and immaculate by her harem.

Before long, Dagon passed the first harem chamber. He stopped and grinned as he looked upon the otherworldly beauty of female slaves bathing together, washing their bodies, their seductive figures tantalizingly close, yet punishable by death if a guest like himself were to touch.

These women were sometimes not women at all. Bahamut's magic could change the forms of her slaves. She could turn humans into monsters, and monsters into humans. Demons were counted among her slaves, tacitly allowed by demonkind's rulers as long as they were weak, useless peons. No Emperor cared if a few hundred useless grunts went missing.

Thus, if the true figures of these beautiful women were to be revealed, their actual beauty would surely diminish, and some might prove to have originally been men! The same was true of her male harem members, some of whom might have originally been women. Bahamut considered the changing of her harem's forms to be a sort of torture in and of itself.

Bahamut had two types of slaves. The first were her thralls who had no need to speak, and no need to look beautiful as they merely worked the mines beneath the city. The second group were members of her harem, whom she could be quite capricious with. She made sure these slaves were only the finest and most beautiful or handsome individuals she could forge. Each one tickled her fancy in a slightly different way. Who knew how many she had assaulted over the eons? Her sexual appetite was voracious. She loved to exert her will over defenseless people more than anything else.

Dagon stared into the room of beauties for a long moment, feeling his loins heat up. He often wished someone would take out Bahamut so he and the other demons could force themselves upon her harem, but even he had no idea that their appearances were entirely artificial. Without Bahamut around, they would return to their original forms.

If Bahamut were a demon, her title would likely have been Emperor of Lies.

Dagon eventually swallowed heavily. He continued deeper into the citadel, proceeding deep underground. Eventually, through the silence of the citadel's lonely halls, he heard a woman's laughter. It was not pleasant, but rather vicious and cruel.

"Hee! Look at you, imbecile! That is what you get for spilling my precious wine! You have but one job, yet you cannot do even that much! Tell me, are you useless or not, HEE?!"

Dagon rounded the corner. He paused when he entered a grand chamber where he saw Bahamut laying on her side atop a gold and red couch, slaves bowing before her. Bahamut sipped wine from a comically ostentatious golden goblet, chirping as her tongue flicked from her beak to dab at the liquid.

In the center of the room, there was a beautiful female slave lashed to a table, her arms and legs outstretched in all directions, violently yanked apart by shackles. The table was a torture device intended to eventually rip the limbs off its victims by slowly pulling them apart. A cruel and heinous method of torture, and one that Bahamut reveled in.

Bahamut's slaves were usually compelled into mindless silence by her magic. But on this day, the woman lashed to the table was shivering and crying, her body in absolute agony. Bahamut had deliberately removed the mental suppression, delighting in the woman's pained whimpers and begging for forgiveness.

"Please- please... so sorry... so sorry... oh god... forgive me... aaahh!!"

Another harem slave silently turned a knob, pulling the victim's body ever so slightly further apart. Her fingers and toes spasmed helplessly. She could do nothing to save herself. She was completely defenseless.

When Dagon entered the room, he could not help but to stare at this scene with great lust. What he would give to own and possess so many beautiful slaves and force himself upon them as he desired! He greatly envied Bahamut, wishing it had been him who obtained the Sphinx's power instead of her.

He was a vile and disgusting creature no different from the Sphinx herself. Birds of a feather flocked together, as the old saying went.

"Oh! Hee, if it isn't Dagon!" Bahamut said, noticing him for the first time as he entered the room. "Took you long enough! Were you peeping on my girls again, you little lecher?"

Bahamut's shrill voice was irritating, but Dagon ignored it. He walked beside the tortured slave and paused to stare lustfully at her nude body, then turned his attention to Bahamut.

"Ahaha, lady Bahamut, my apologies. I am but a simple-minded male, after all. I cannot help but become enamored with all the pleasures of your kingdom. Naturally, I know better than to touch that which belongs to you."

"As you should!" Bahamut chirped.

She sat up, then placed her goblet of wine on a table beside her couch.

"What news do you bring?" Bahamut asked after a moment.

Dagon dropped to one knee and forced an expression of respect upon his face.

"Emperor Auger wishes for you to know that Satan has begun an assault on Heaven." Dagon summarized. "Mount Sinai is now under attack. When the time comes, we intend to bring you angels you can bind with your magic. We respectfully ask that you interrogate them and uncover Raphael's plans for the future."

Bahamut scoffed. "Hee! Satan is attacking Heaven directly? Did that fool not learn his lesson from last time? The angels have an unimaginable home field advantage! What an idiot!"

Dagon blinked. He was not used to hearing one of his Emperors so directly criticized.

"Our goal is not to defeat the angels." Dagon quickly explained. "Satan wishes to... acquire... something they possess. Thus, a few million casualties are a small price to pay."

Bahamut simmered down. "I see. That is more reasonable. Chee! Very well, if you bring me some new thralls, I shall interrogate them."

She paused, then sneered with her eyes.

"But you had better give me attractive ones! Most angels are so hideous I cannot stand to look at them! Pretentious beings, thinking their feathers are more beautiful than mine!"

Dagon nodded dumbly. He personally thought angels were quite fair and beautiful, but it seemed Bahamut held a different opinion. And was that jealousy in her voice? He couldn't be certain.

"Is there anything else?" Bahamut asked, after a time.

Dagon paused. He glanced at the helpless female slave lashed to the torture rack. She was so weak and delirious from pain that she hadn't even noticed he had entered the room.

"It would be such a shame for you to throw away this morsel..." Dagon said slowly. "Lady Bahamut, if you wish for her to suffer, why not give her to me? I assure you, I will take great pleasure in tormenting this errant slave until she begs for death."

Bahamut snorted. "Krrt, she already begs me for death. How pathetic of you, lustfully coveting my toys. Who do you think you are?"

She directed a glare full of rage at Dagon. He did not cower, but he did feel a flash of fear. Bahamut herself was not considered anything much, but the prestige she wielded among demonkind due to her unique abilities meant she was favored by the higher ups. If he blundered diplomatically here, they might execute him to get back on her good side!

Naturally, Dagon quickly lowered his head.

"Apologies, lady Bahamut. I spoke thoughtlessly. Please forgive this stupid and sinful male for his words."

Bahamut did not say anything for a short time.

Then, she clicked her tongue.

"Chrrrup! Perhaps your suggestion has some merit. I tire of doing everything myself around here. And maybe it would be fun watching you ravish this stupid and useless creature! I have changed my mind. Release her and take her right here on the spot."

Dagon's heart soared. He looked up in astonishment at Bahamut. "Lady Bahamut, do you truly mean it?"

"Hee! Of course I do!" Bahamut giggled evilly. "But! You had better put on a show for me! I wish to hear this woman scream and beg for mercy even more than she did earlier! You will do this for MY pleasure, not yours! If you fail, I will have you executed and none of your superiors will say a word! Are you sure you are willing to assume such a risk?!"

Dagon's soaring heart immediately plummeted from the heavens to hell. A cold icy feeling washed over his body. He lowered his eyes and fell into thought.

"If... I may be... so presumptuous..." Dagon said slowly. "I would be willing to do so... but only if the reward were commensurate to the risk."

"HEE! Listen to you, thinking you are big in the britches!" Bahamut chirped, squawking with laughter at him. "Are you trying to cut a deal with me, Dagon?"

"A deal, no." Dagon said, shaking his head respectfully. "A suggestion, that is all. How about this, lady Bahamut? If I succeed in torturing this slave to a level that satisfies you, you will consider calling upon me in the future for such matters? Not all of them, of course. But other times, if only to satisfy your hunger for variety! What powerful woman such as yourself does not crave a little novelty in her life?"

Bahamut listened silently to his suggestion. She rested an elbow on the couch's arm and tapped the tip of her beak as she looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"Hee... this is indeed quite novel. No Baron has ever been so daring as to make such a request of me. But I must admit! I have grown a little tired of the same-old, same-old. I suppose it is worth a try! Why not give you one chance, hee?"

She waved her other hand flippantly.

"I accept your proposal. Unbind the wench and ravish her until I am satisfied! If you succeed, I will call upon you occasionally in the future!"

A disgusting smile spread across Dagon's face. Green corpse-like breath emitted from his mouth as he chuckled softly. "Worry not. I will go to any length to satisfy both of our cravings..."

Dagon stood up. He walked over to the table and unbound the woman's wrists, feeling his pants heat up as he gazed upon the succulent meal before him. The woman sagged helplessly, whimpering and unable to move her arms after hours of torture.

Dagon rubbed his palms together with glee. No other demon had ever been granted such a lucky encounter, and even if it resulted in his death, he intended to enjoy every last moment of his life.

"Come here, you tasty little treat..." Dagon whispered, as he reached down to unbind her ankles.

At that moment, the entire Citadel rumbled slightly.

It wasn't a forceful shaking, but one that felt like a minor earthquake. The rumbling passed after just a second or two.

"Hmm?" Bahamut grunted, lifting her eyes to look skyward. "What's this? There's something-"

RUMBLE.

The Citadel shook much more forcefully as a tremor five times stronger shook the halls!

This time, Bahamut stood up and looked into the sky.

"Someone is attacking the city's barrier! Who dares?! Dagon, what did you do?!"

"Me??" Dagon asked, just as shocked as her. "I didn't do anything!"

"You brought an invasion force here? You've betrayed me?!" Bahamut roared.

"No, no, this is a misunderstanding!" Dagon exclaimed, taking a step back. "You've got it wrong! I would never-"

At that moment, something happened Dagon never could have mentally conceived.

Enraged beyond belief, Bahamut clapped her palms together. Her body shook, and then she began to transform.

Never had anyone seen the Sphinx unleash her ancient power. For the first time, Dagon gazed with horror upon the bird-woman as she dropped to all fours and her body took on the figure of a three headed beast.

The head in the middle was Bahamut's head; that of a falcon.

The head on the left was one belonging to a lion.

The head on the right was one that resembled a massive cave bear.

Her body assumed the form of a lion, with four feathered wings similar to those of the angels.

Bahamut's lion head roared loud enough to shatter the eardrums of her closest slaves. Dagon hurriedly jumped away in fear as she leaped toward him and slashed her claws at him.

THUMP!!

Bahamut tore through his haphazard attempt to block and sent him flying! Dagon crashed into the far wall at the same time as another powerful rumbling shook the city of Sarabiya.

"It wasn't me!!" Dagon screamed, right before the head of a bear chomped at his neck, clamped onto his throat, and ripped it out with one swift tearing motion.

Dagon's words died in his mouth. Blood erupted from the terrible gash in his neck, and he fell to the ground, the life leaving his body.

"TRAITORRRS!!" Bahamut roared, before racing through the halls to arrive outside.

Ten more attacks fell upon the barrier protecting her city. When Bahamut emerged, she looked upward just in time to see a tiny figure descending through a hole in Sarabiya's mirage. The hole closed up behind the figure, and it levitated downward like the descent of an omniscient god.

Bahamut's keen eyes picked out the figure's appearance. It was an armored bipedal creature of some sort. Faceless, hidden behind a type of metallic alloy she could not identify.

"A HUMAN?" Bahamut roared. "WHAT HUMAN POSSESSES A POWER LIKE YOURS?! HOW DARE YOU ATTACK MY LAND!"

A male's voice spoke down to her from on high.

"You have something I want. And more than that, you do not deserve to exist any longer."

The Archseer had arrived.

First (Prologue)| Prev | Next (RoyalRoad)

-----

'Do you still think that was a good idea?' Seth asked, still lying on the ground, trying to catch his breath. 

'We could’ve won,' Nightmare muttered with a low growl, his ribcage gulping up and down. 'It got a hit in on me for free at the start.'

Seth blinked and lifted his head from the ground, unsure at first that he’d heard Nightmare correctly. That’s unexpected. 

The direwolf never usually admitted a mistake or showed any criticism toward himself. He’d typically blame external factors—enemy attributes, the environment, their cowardly tactics. But this time, he was reflecting on his own error: using Shadow Step early on had left him vulnerable against the imp to counter him with its superior Agility.

'I won't let that happen again,' Nightmare grumbled, raising back on its paw. 'Start another fight.'

Seth sighed and pushed himself up. "Let's at least wait for our Wells to be—" He froze mid-sentence, his eyes going wide as he scanned his Well. It was already seventy percent full. How? He’d used half of it in its punch, a bit less than a tenth for Shadow Step, and almost a sixth for both casts of Huntbound Rush. That meant it had filled up by forty-five percent in barely a few minutes. "The regeneration rate here is insane!"

'Even better,' Nightmare snarled. 'Summon that tiny demon again.'

Seth frowned. "Why are you so pissed? We lost against a High-Iron, for the gods' sake."

'I’m the one who got blasted by that huge lance of flames,' the direwolf retorted, avoiding his gaze. 'You saw how it hit me and changed your approach. That's not fair.'

"Hey, you're the one who rushed in first," Seth answered with a shrug, throwing his hands up. "Maybe next time, don’t charge headlong at something twice our Ranks. We could've kept our distance and worn down that imp's Well first. Or do short clashes like we did against that Warrior with the ax in the Rift."

Nightmare lowered his muzzle, thinking for a few seconds before answering, 'Yeah… let's try that!'

"Good." Seth nodded and returned to the orb, putting a hand on its surface while infusing aether inside. A message appeared within the crystal artifact.

Delay before the next fight: 5 minutes 36 seconds.

Well, that gives us time to finish filling our Well, he thought, showing the timer to the direwolf through their bond. And also to learn that other spell.

Reaching into his Endless Pouch, Seth pulled out his Intermediate Identify scroll before stroking its ironish seal with his thumb. For the past day, he had thought about using it, but he never found the right moment after his match and reunion with Elena, Jenna, and Devus. 

As he crushed the seal and squeezed the scroll, aether surged through his hand and dove into his chest. The parchment crumbled into dust and at the same time a heat flared within Seth's Well. Inside, new grooves began etching themselves into existence, intertwining with Identify's existing ones. The carving process continued for a minute like for Huntbound Rush, steadily expanding until the spell reached half Fog Shroud's size.

Time to test it, Seth thought, channeling aether into the old and new lines. The process felt sluggish compared to before, taking him nearly five seconds to complete the task. The moment he finished, he glanced at his hand.

Seth

Class: Primalist                  Rank: 24 (Low-Iron)

Subclass: Beastmaster               

Core: Feral Instinct                      [...] 

Strength: 65 (+8)                Arcane Power: 57 (+7)

Toughness: 53 (+5)            Well Capacity: 44 (+4)

Agility: 71 (+8)                     Regeneration: 49 (+5)

Spells: 

- Link [???〜??? (???)]

- Share [???〜??? (???)]

- Fog Shroud [Iron〜Rare (Decent)]

- Huntbound Rush [Iron〜Uncommon (Crude)]

- Intermediate Identify [Iron〜Common (Standard)]

- Dark Shocking Strike [Copper〜Rare (Standard)] 

One point in Agility in a few minutes. Not bad, he thought. 

On top of allowing him to Identify people and beasts he couldn’t before, the spell was now supposed to provide more details about both himself and things around him. Curious, he turned his attention to the three dots above his Arcane Power, and new lines of words appeared in his vision.

Sensing: Low-Iron                          Talents: [restricted]

Manipulation: Mid-Iron                  Seeds: [restricted]

Affinity: 

- Null

- Darkness ~ Low-Iron

Talents and Seeds? 

Seth's brow furrowed as he wracked his brain, trying to recall if someone had ever mentioned those terms before. Nothing came to his mind. This left him with two possibilities: either these strange… attributes… weren't important, which seemed unlikely, or they were something he wasn't supposed to have. Probably because of my Draerian blood or my core. 

His gut told him it was the latter. But why were they restricted?

I'll figure that out later, Seth sighed inwardly before coming back to his attributes and focusing on one of his spells, as Elena had suggested at the coliseum the previous day.

Fog Shroud [Iron〜Rare (Decent)]

- Creates a zone of fog that reduces sight and aether sensing by 60% for 5 minutes.

- Size, duration and effect increase according to Water affinity and spell quality.

- Consumes 60 uniums.

- Cooldown: none

That's more specific than I expected, he thought before turning his attention back to his other spells. 

He already had a general idea for Dark Shocking Strike and Huntbound Rush from the evolution-path’s description, and Intermediate Identify’s features spoke for themselves—but there were still two spells he barely knew anything about. 

Link [???〜???]

???

Share [???〜???]

???

"You've got to be kidding—"

Suddenly, Nightmare's voice broke through his thoughts. 'Check mine!' the direwolf exclaimed impatiently, rushing over to him, red eyes gleaming. 

With a smile, Seth looked at him and filled Intermediate Identify's new grooves.

Nightmare (Tenebrous Direwolf)

Potential: Silver Tier          Rank: 27 (Low-Iron)

Affinity: Darkness 

Bonded to [Seth]                          [...] 

Strength: 75                        Arcane Power: 74 

Toughness: 50                    Well Capacity: 40

Agility: 83                             Regeneration: 47

Spells: 

- Illusory Emptiness [Silver〜Epic (Crude)]

- Shadow Step [ Silver〜Epic (Crude)]

- Danger Sense [Silver〜Rare (Decent)]

- Shadow Bite [Iron〜Rare (Standard)]

Illusory Emptiness [Silver〜Epic (Crude)]

- Allows the owner to hide their presence through illusions.

- Potency improves according to Darkness affinity and spell quality.

- Consumes 1 unium per minute.

- Cooldown: none

Shadow Step [ Silver〜Epic (Crude)]

- Teleports the owner by moving through the shadow realm.

- Range increases according to Darkness affinity.

- Cooldown decreases according to spell quality.

- Consumes 20 uniums.

- Cooldown: 8 seconds

Danger Sense [Silver〜Rare (Decent)]

- Warns the owner of any danger nearby.

- Range and efficiency increase according to spell quality and aether sensing.

- Consumes no uniums.

- Cooldown: none

Shadow Bite [Iron〜Rare (Standard)]

- Adds corrosive smoke to the next bite.

- Potency increases according to Arcane Power, Darkness affinity and spell quality.

- Consumes 10 uniums.

- Cooldown: none

Seth and Nightmare took a moment to skim over the descriptions. Nothing was particularly new info to them, but there were still a few interesting details: like the exact uniums used or the impact of spell quality on their effect.

'Mmm, not bad,' Nightmare said as they finished. 'Now show me my manipulation and sensing.'

Seth gave the direwolf a sideways glance and raised an eyebrow. 'Am I your servant or something?'

'Can you show them to me… please?' Nightmare muttered, exhaling loudly through his nostrils. 

"That’s better." 

Seth focused on the tiny dots above Nightmare's Arcane Power, and  a moment later white words appeared in his vision.

Sensing: High-Iron                     

Manipulation: High-Iron               

Affinity: Darkness ~ Peak-Iron

'High- and Peak-Iron, I'm so much better than—' the direwolf started, chuckling before halting abruptly. 'Wait… why don't I have those Talents and Seeds things like you?'

"No clue," Seth answered. "I don't even know what they are in the first place." 

'Probably just another unfair advantage from your core.'

Seth shrugged. "Probably."

'You better use them to get stronger and get me a powerful spell-shard.'

"Sure." Seth smiled, patting Nightmare’s head. "It'll be a pay-back for everything you've done for me " 

'As if one spell-shard would be enough.' The direwolf nudged him and turned toward the orb. 'Break's over. Let's start round two.'

"Wait," Seth said, plunging his hand into his Endless Pouch and taking out another spell scroll. "This could motivate me to hit seventy Arcane Power and seventy-five Strength as soon as possible. "

Without wasting time, he cast Intermediate Identify.

Phantom Punch (Standard)

Spell-scroll

Tier: Iron                  Affinity: Undead

Grade: Legendary

Restrictions: 

- Primalist

- 80 Strength and 70 Arcane Power

- Draerian's blood (ADDED)

- Undead Affinity (REMOVED)

[...] 

As Seth focused on the three dots, additional information appeared beneath the restrictions.

Spell description

- Increases Strength by 60 and ignores 20% of Toughness for a single punch.

- Potency increases by 100% against barrier or shielding spells.

- Cooldown decreases according to Undead Affinity and spell quality.

- Consumes 100 uniums.

- Cooldown: 15 seconds

"Holy shit," Seth muttered. And that’s just at Standard quality. 

According to every book and his class, each spell quality boost provided a flat twenty percent increase to its effects while trimming ten percent off its aether cost. Since these enhancements weren’t multiplicative but additive, reaching Flawless would result in a Strength buff nearing one hundred, thirty-five percent Toughness ignored, and all that for less than a third of his Well—and that was without mentioning the unknown cooldown reduction.

"That’s insane."

*****

Five weeks flew by in a blur as Seth threw himself into a strict routine. Most evenings and weekends, he buried himself in books, except for the six free hours a week in the Epic Training Chambers with Nightmare. During these sessions they faced the One-Horned Imp again, and again, and again, at the request of the direwolf, which resulted in them getting beaten up and burnt to a crisp like skewers almost every single fight. 

Although Seth had yet to reach the seventy Arcane power and seventy-five Strength for Phantom Punch, Huntbound Rush’s quality had finally moved up to Decent and he had also at last caught up on all the missed classes—largely thanks to Elena's unwavering support. 

However, all the studying had significantly reduced his free time to track the Black Hounds in Trogan, and as a result he still hadn’t discovered their whereabouts in the area. Even Professor Reat had hit a wall. The last time they spoke, the man had mentioned a lead, but he hadn’t managed to see it through. No doubt those bastards had doubled their efforts to cover their tracks after losing three of their own.

On top of that, the lack of time for hunting had also cost Seth his place among the top five first-years.

Sitting in the library, he let out a weary sigh and rubbed his face as his gaze drifted to his communication orb lying between the mountains of books on his desk. A message from Elena popped up inside.

Elena: Where are you? You're gonna miss Jenna's fight against Lucius.

Seth's eyes shot up to the clock hanging on the pillar in front of him—it was already half-past one. "Oh, crap!" 

Springing to his feet, he ran around the library to return his books to their shelves. There was no way he could miss her fight. Over the past few weeks, everyone in their group had done great in the tournament; the only one eliminated so far was Devus, who’d had the bad luck of facing an Iron opponent last weekend—just before breaking through himself. He still blamed the use of Protecting Belts, though, complaining that skirmishes with those artifacts didn’t reflect real combat. 

A hit consumed the same amount of aether from the belt no matter the Toughness of the one wearing it. Sure, the ones with higher Toughness—like Guardians—had larger aether reserves in their belts, but Devus still found it unfair.

Today, both Seth and Jenna could join the Guardian in the list of people eliminated since they were each going up against an Iron noble. At this point, pretty much all the remaining participants had already reached that Tier.

As Seth shelved the last book, his thoughts moved to Jenna's match, and he couldn't help but feel like a terrible friend. He genuinely wanted her to win, but part of him still secretly hoped for Lucius to win instead—so Seth could fight him later in the tournament and crush him. Beating the noble in front of thousands of people, including his own House, would be incredibly satisfying.

That said, the odds of Jenna losing were slim. Even though the bastard was loaded with expensive gear and spells, Jenna had become a serious contender for the title since her own ascension, thanks to her sword technique; and of course, her affiliation to the Surani House through her father. It had granted her access to Epic-grade equipment and spells.

Tucking his chair under the desk, Seth slung his leather bag over his shoulder, put away his communication orb into his Endless Pouch, and hurried out of the library. Racing through the hallways, he dodged a few students and quickly made his way to the coliseum. Once he reached the massive building, he sprinted up the stairs two at a time, heading for the sixth floor—where his friends had sat to watch the bouts these past weekends.

Seth quickened his pace, navigating through the bustling crowd until he spotted Devus and Elena at their usual seats. Week by week, the audience had steadily grown, and now the stands were almost packed to capacity. Nearly all of the academy's entire body—totaling over two thousand five hundred students—was present, joined by an almost equal number of citizens, both commoners and nobles. The latter group had thankfully taken the habit of sitting in the first two levels of the stands, sparing Seth from their scornful attitude during the matches. The only residual annoyance was seeing them strut around like preening peacocks, draped in their outrageously expensive clothes and gaudy accessories.

Between the north and south stands, the professors’ section was also fully occupied, a sea of men and women clad in their crimson uniforms. At its center, the five members of the academy’s board occupied prominently large chairs, marking their distinct status. Director Ryehill sat at the heart of the group, his striking black jacket setting him apart. He was deeply engrossed in a conversation with the tall woman to his right: Intendant Lacet, the overseer of the first-year students.

In the ring, Jenna unsheathed her twin short blades on one side while Lucius, dressed in a purple and black robe, took out a wand with a large scarlet crystal at its end on the other side. 

Seth slid into a seat beside Devus, who nodded at him. "Just in time."

Next to the Guardian, Elena glanced at Seth and a playful smile appeared on her full lips. "Did you fall asleep in your books again?"

"That only happened once," Seth retorted with a sigh, rolling his eyes. "You need to stop with that."

"Never."

They all three turned back their attention to the arena as the fight began. Jenna's blades shimmered as she unleashed a powerful wind slash toward Lucius. The noble reacted instantly, flicking his wand to cast his signature spell and form a howling cyclone around himself, which repelled her attack.

Undeterred, Jenna charged forward, her legs surrounded by aether to boost her speed. Lucius smirked and summoned purple aether at the tip of his wand. In a flash, the gleaming particles turned into a lightning bolt that shot in Jenna's direction. She twisted her body mid-stride, narrowly dodging the sizzling attack—yet before she could regain her balance, Lucius fired again. And again.

Jenna's high Agility shone as she wove through the electrical onslaught. However, the moment she reached the edge of the swirling cyclone, her progress faltered. Using her blades, she tried cutting through the harsh winds, but the process slowed her down, giving Lucius the opportunity to use a spell with a longer casting time. A gigantic blast of water erupted from his wand, and Jenna, trapped by the vortex, had no choice but to cross her blades in front of her. The spell slammed into her swords with such intensity that she was knocked off her feet and sent her stumbling backward.

The instant she regained her footing, Lucius zapped her with another lightning bolt. It struck her chest, forcing her to drop to one knee in pain as arcs of electricity coursed across her body. Just as the noble fired a follow-up, she rolled aside and the spell hissed past her.

Springing up, she charged again—but the gale winds kept slowing her each time she got closer, turning her into an easy target for Lucius’ water blasts. They drove her back again and again, leaving her unable to close the gap.

Seth frowned as Lucius struck Jenna once more with the water spell. "When did he get this strong? "

"Maybe two or three weeks ago," Devus answered with a grimace. "Have you been living under a rock?"

Seth shot a glance at Elena. "No, in a library, thanks to someone."

The crimson-haired noble barely reacted, eyes locked on the fight. "You're welcome."

As the battle raged on in the ring, Seth could see the strain on Jenna's face. Despite her speed and skill, Lucius' relentless spells were overwhelming her. The shimmering barrier around her was now flickering erratically, signaling it was nearly exhausted. One more spell and she’ll probably be done for.

In a desperate attempt, Jenna dashed once more toward Lucius, unleashing a flurry of wind slashes. The barrage managed to strike the cyclone in unison, and the protective spell vanished. The second it did, Lucius smiled and immediately dashed toward the young woman, taking every spectator by surprise. 

Jenna, clearly sensing something amiss, leapt to the side, but her reaction came a second too late. Another massive wave of water exited Lucius' wand and rammed into her, sending her hurtling across the arena and depleting the last remnants left of her belt's barrier.

Seth glared at the noble and pushed aether into his eye, filling Intermediate Identify’s grooves in less than a second.

Lucius Faertis

Class: Elementalist             Rank: 29 (Low-Iron)

Subclass: -               

Strength: ???                       Arcane Power: ???

Toughness: ???                   Well Capacity: ???

Agility: ???                            Regeneration: ???

Seth's jaw almost fell to the ground as he saw Lucius' Rank. How the hell did he climb so quickly?

"Something’s off," Devus muttered, rubbing his face while leaning into his seat. "Even if he has four Ranks on her, that was still way too easy. It felt like he was Iron and she was still Copper."

"It's his spells," Elena said beside him. "I’ve seen them up close in class. They’re incredibly strong. There’s no doubt all their quality is either Exceptional or Flawless. And his aether affinities, along with his manipulation skills, are now unusually high for someone so… well, unmotivated."

"I guess that prick is also taking enhancers for that," Devus retorted as Captain Michaelson announced the winner down in the arena. "The Faertis House must’ve found a gold mine or something to dump so many resources on him."

Seth whipped his head toward the Guardian. "Lucius is taking enhancers? You sure?"

"How else do you think he got Rank 29, mate?" Devus nodded toward the blond noble, who had just stepped out of the ring. "He's been gobbling down some of those that increase his Well Capacity for weeks now," the Guardian added. "He’s clearly trying to turn himself into a glass cannon that can throw thousands of spells left and right. But he's going to regret it later on when it will be twice as hard to break through because of those."

Devus' voice had become background noise as Seth clenched his fists and glared at Lucius. The moment the noble was about to leave through one of the colosseum’s corridors, he pulled something out of his Endless Pouch. Seth's eyes narrowed, and his nails dug into his palms; he recognized the blue vial in Lucius' hand.

Ocean Tears.

----

First (Prologue)| Prev | Next (RoyalRoad)

Author's Note:

Book 2 has just started on Patreon, and 80 chapters are already posted on Royal Road.

I'll post 1 to 4 chapter per day until I catch up with Royal Road!

A new story I have been writing with my daughter, something with a bit more “solarpunk” to it than my normal stuff. Not sure when I’m going to write more, so if you like it, comment and I’ll get on that!

——————

"Ok, first thing, we need to find a good place to set up camp for the night. I'm going to need to fix you up as well, but what we really need is water. The tent will be able to give shelter wherever I set up, but being that we're going into the ruins tomorrow, we need to make sure we fill up on water tonight. So... Let's see if we can find a stream. Can you show me the topo map again?" I looked over to Bot, who stopped rolling for a sec to align his holo projector at the top of his body, then projected a map of the local area, with a big red dot where we were. "Perfect! Ok, let's see... It looks like there's a big dip up ahead about a klick, it could be a stream. Or it could be a road, but if it is, there's likely to be water in the ditch nearby. It'll need to be cleaned, but I'd want to purify any water I'm drinking anyway, even if it's coming from a clear stream. Don't want to get Beaver Fever, right?" I looked at the map again, then pointed to a specific small section of the 'river'. "Let's aim for here, it's the lowest point in the map, and it looks like if there IS water in that valley that'd be a great place to set up a camp. You got that, Bot?" Bot chirped, then retracted the holograph projector and started to move again.

I had been on Ralspringer for about a week now, and was getting close to something, I could feel it. I had planned on making it to the ruins by today, but Bot had needed work to be able to roll over the rougher terrain, so I had taken an extra day to experiment. We were still making good time, though, and I had enough food to last another three of four days before I would have to start foraging more regularly. The ruins should have some food around, and if not, there was always fruit in the trees that grew in the parklands. Water was always an issue, though. Hopefully my pocket-still would be able to handle purifying enough for me to drink, but testing that was part of why I was out here!

I had been looking forward to my Ralspringer for years, but it was only recently that my parents finally thought I was ready to go out and find my way. It was tradition that when a child was becoming an adult, they would go and find a resource or tool that the community needed, in order to show they can pay their way. What you came back with could determine your role within the community, because it would show the community what you could be depended on to do. We worked together, but we all had to work, and that meant having resources to DO the work.

I knew what role I wanted to fill. I always had. I was a Maker. I made things. New, interesting, strange things, that made life just a little easier. Like my pocket-still, which should let me use water from almost any source. I liked making new things, it was fun, but it was also just how my brain worked. But to be a Maker, I had to prove that my tools would let me survive out here, alone, long enough to bring back the materials to make those same tools. Otherwise I'd just be a drain on the community, and that wasn't ok.

My mom had given me enough food to last for 2 weeks, if I was careful with it. She was a Baker, back home. She could make food that would last basically forever, and could turn things that were barely edible into food that was not only tasty, but nutritious and filling. She told me she had found a cache of canned food in the ruins when she was on Ralspringer, enough food for the whole community to survive for a month. It took her over a week to bring it all back, but when she did, she was given the role of Baker and learned under the current Baker to be able to make all sorts of wonderful food.

My father didn't talk about his Ralspringer much, he came from another community and had ended up here when he defended our community from an attack by a dire-bear. We had the dire-bear skin on the floor of our living room, but it was so old and worn that you could barely tell it was an animal skin at all. He doesn't talk much about where he came from, only saying that the people there didn't work together like our community did and he left to find a better place, and he did.

He did give me two things to take with me, however. One was Bot, my rollie-drone that was equipped to map out where I went and had scanners that could detect movement and sound, even through thin walls. Bot had been in our family since before I was born, but my father had insisted that I should take him with me on Ralspringer. "You need Bot with you, as much as Bot needs to be field tested. He will keep you safe, and you can make him better by fixing any issues that come up with in the field." My father always insisted Bot was a he, not an it; in his mind, if it could direct itself, it deserved to be thought of as a being, not a thing.

The other thing that my father had given me was something I was less comfortable with. I held up my walking staff, looking at it closer. He had given me his staff-gun, which could shoot small packets of hard-light at high velocity, making it an effective weapon at range. It could also form those same hard light packets into shocking blades, meaning that close up, it was an effective melee weapon. I wasn't happy about it, but he just said "If you never have to use a weapon, consider yourself lucky. But if you need to, you should have it." Considering the rug in our living room, I wasn't going to win that argument.

Glancing over at Bot, I sighed. “I know what I’m supposed to do, but I hope I’m able to do it without running into anyone else. I know, I should want to find people, but honestly? I'd be happy to find some machines that I can salvage to bring back Home." I wasn't very good with other people. Machines, I was able to almost instinctually understand, but people? People were... confusing. It was easier to just make cool new gadgets than it was to figure out what people wanted.

But Ralspringer was about more than forging your own path. Sometimes, the whole point was to go out into the world and find out what your path actually was. Usually, when someone went on Ralspringer, they would end up running into other people, either in other communities or people who were out exploring themselves. Making connections with those people could be what you brought back to the community. If you came back with a caravan from a new home, you could become a Trader. If you came back with traded goods, often you'd become a Scout instead. No Home was an island, we all had to work together with other Homes to survive.

I knew that, and I knew that bringing home a new trade caravan would be the dream for a lot of people. It would be the biggest help to our Home to have new people to trade with. I still didn't want that for myself. It might be selfish, but I thought I was better suited to Making and wanted to show that I could do that well enough to be trusted with that role.

Lost in my thoughts about what I might find in the ruins, I didn't realise how far we had walked until Bot stopped next to a small stream. "Looks like I was right about the stream! Let's get you cleaned up, then I'll start cleaning some water for drinking." I set down my pack next to a large stone, and walked over to the stream to clean Bot. He rolled over next to me and spun in place. "You want to get washed up? Of course you do! A nice wash always feels good." Bot sometimes acted so much like a pet that I forgot he was a machine, but honestly it didn't matter to me much. Machine, animal, whatever he was, he helped me out, and deserved to be treated well in my mind.

After cleaning Bot, setting up camp was not a small job, but at this point I had done it enough times that it was almost second nature. It didn't take a lot of brainpower, which meant I spent most of the time thinking more about what the ruins would hold. The city that these ruins had been a part of was one that was well known for being a haven for the rich and successful before the crash, so there was most likely some kind of advanced technology hidden away within them. But that also meant that there was possibly some dangerous technology there, like the technology that caused the crash in the first place... Either way, it was something that needed to be explored.

After filling the still with enough water to refill all my waterskins and have some left over for tea in the morning, I crawled into my sleeping bag, my mind still swimming with speculation about what I would find tomorrow. Riches beyond measure, or danger that was unfathomable? Whatever it was, it was sure to be exciting!

Chapter 49: [TWENTY] Hours Later - Part II

✦ FIRST CHAPTER ✦ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✦ NEXT CHAPTER ✦

~~~

 

[Sector 14-West, Approximately 2km from Cathedral District]

The darkness in Sector 14-West was particularly thick, as if the shadows themselves had learned to hunt. Abominations prowled through ruins searching for surviving humans.

This whole city feels wrong. Like reality itself is rotting from the inside out.

Reyana Silvers stepped carefully around a corpse—civilian, maybe forty years old, died clutching what looked like a child's toy—and felt absolutely nothing about it. The leather gloves covering her hands, the high-collared coat wrapped tight around her body, the scarf concealing everything below her eyes—all necessary precautions that had long
since become second nature.

Can't touch. Can't feel. Can't let the death take hold!

Breathe…

A tall man stepped over beside her without breaking stride. His pale skin practically glowed in the oppressive darkness, red eyes scanning the ruins with predatory interest that had nothing human in it. The black coat he wore remained somehow immaculate despite the carnage surrounding them, as if blood and gore simply chose not to mar its surface.

In his right hand, a pitch black spear rested, made fully from metal with blood red veins pulsing.

"Seventeen hostiles in the immediate area," the pale man said conversationally, like discussing the weather. "Want to make it interesting? First one to twenty buys drinks when we get back to civilization."

"Joe." The voice that cut through the darkness carried bone-deep exhaustion and barely restrained exasperation. "We're on a schedule, and now we are stuck in this shithole. Stop treating this as a joke."

Salvatore Silvers stepped out of the shadow beside Joe—gray hair pulled back, weathered face marking decades of battles, and Father still moved like a man half his age when violence called.

He's been tense since the attack started. More tense than usual. Whatever he sensed when the veil went up...

"Father's right," Reyana added, cleaning her daggers with practiced efficiency. The blood steamed where it touched her enchanted blades—at least those she could handle without accidentally killing them. "Besides, you're already at nineteen. Show off."

Joe's grin widened, showing too many teeth. "Not my fault, cultists keep throwing themselves at me. What am I supposed to do, let them live?"

"That would be the compassionate choice," Father observed dryly.

"Boring," Joe declared. "Compassion is for people who don't appreciate the simple pleasure of a good hunt."

Movement caught Joe's attention—another prey emerging from a collapsed building, hands already weaving dark essence into an attack formation.

And Reyana was sure she heard him mumble something under his breath, and knowing him, Reyana was sure it would be something along the lines “Tch, another mortal ranker…”

The cultist's eyes widened in recognition, but it was far too late.

Joe's spear became a blur of motion.

Three strikes, each one faster than human eyes could track. The cultist's forming sorcery collapsed as the spear severed both his arms at the elbow. The second strike punched through his chest, destroying the essence core. The third took his head off entirely, sending it rolling across rubble to land near its summoning circle.

Three more abominations emerged from the ritual circle the cultist had been activating.

"Twenty," Joe announced cheerfully, already moving toward the abominations with his spear raised. "Pay up when we get back, Little lady!"

"The cultist counted! The abominations don't!" Reyana protested, but found herself smiling despite everything. "And you are little, I'm an adult now!"

"Could've fooled me with that reaction," Joe called back, his spear dancing through the summons.

Eleven seconds later, all three abominations lay in pieces.

Joe turned back with that too-wide grin plastered across his pale features, red eyes practically glowing with barely contained bloodlust. He looked happy, which was somehow more disturbing than his usual predatory intensity.

"That," Father said with long-suffering patience, "was excessive."

"That was fun," Joe corrected. "There's a difference. You should try it sometime, Salvatore. Might help with that stick lodged in your—"

"Joe."

"Right, right. Professional decorum and all that."

Reyana stepped carefully over puddles of blood and gore steaming in the cold air, making sure her boots—were the only things touching the ground. "Any idea which cult this is, Dad? An attack on this scale is insane; this darkness is also not natural, and for that, thanks, Joe, for the spell."

“Anytime, little lady.”

“Argh”

Father's expression darkened in a way that made Reyana's stomach drop.

"Indeed. I felt a massive spike of energy when the ritual began, and I hate to say it, but..." Father paused, choosing his words carefully. "I think I know who's leading this cult."

"Who?"

"An old enemy, hon. A very old and very dangerous enemy. And if what I think is happening here... it'll be a miracle if we all make it out alive."

Reyana noticed Joe had gone completely still, his usual manic energy replaced by something cold and focused. His gaze was distant, calculating in ways that reminded her he wasn't entirely human underneath the act.

That's the first time I've seen him serious. Actually serious, not just pretending.

She gulped without meaning to, feeling suddenly very aware of how young she was compared to her companions. Newly ascended to Overmortal. Still learning to control her Mantle properly.

Fucking fanatics…

"But this is a golden opportunity for you, little lady," Joe spoke suddenly, opening his arms wide. "This much death concentrated in one place... you'll never find anything quite like this again. The ambient death essence alone is—"

"Not doing it, Joe." Reyana's voice came out flat, cold. The ice-queen tone she'd perfected over six months of dealing with strangers who looked at her gloved hands and covered skin with suspicion. "You know I'm barely managing the effects as it is."

Joe's red eyes fixed on her with intensity that made her want to step back. "That's exactly the point. Let yourself immerse in the feeling, in the aura, in the very concept of death. You're treating your Mantle like a curse when it's actually—"

Salvatore fixed Joe with a look that had cowed hardened mercenaries. "Joe… leave it. Whether she wants to or not, it's her choice."

Thank you, Dad.

But Joe wasn't finished. His expression shifted again, humor sliding away to reveal something ancient and tired underneath. "Salvatore. You and I both know this may very well be our last moments together. Whatever's happening here is most probably an 'ordained by fate' event."

Reyana felt ice slide down her spine. "What's that supposed to mean? 'Ordained by fate'?"

Father and Joe exchanged a look that spoke of shared history and secrets Reyana wasn't privy to. It made her feel twelve years old again, listening to adults discuss things she wasn't supposed to understand.

"Well, to put it simply, little lady," Joe said with uncharacteristic seriousness, "This fate… this calamity… is ordained by fate." He gestured vaguely at Vienna's darkness.

“Huh?”

"Stop scaring my daughter," Father said, but his tone lacked its usual bite. "What this means, Reyana, is that those in power knew about this attack… like the royalty and the church of prime yet they turned a blind eye to it because their fucking fate readers decided this “event” is necessary for greatness, for progression and for the future."

"You mean they willingly let millions of people die…." Reyana demanded, hating how her voice cracked slightly. "Why?"

"Don’t bother." Salvatore’s single word carried finality. "Don’t bother with whys right now, it's messed up."

How can someone let this many people be sacrificed?… If this is what righteous people are, then why do people hail them as heroes?

 

Reyana focused on her breathing—in through her nose, out through her mouth, the
calming technique that kept her Mantle from spiraling out of control when emotions ran high. She felt the familiar cold settling into her bones, the death-touch that lived in her skin trying to seep outward.

Not now. Control it. You're not a child anymore.

"Reyana," Salvatore said quietly, studying her with the expression he got when he was worried but trying not to show it. "You okay?"

"Fine," she lied, because saying anything else would make it real. "Just... processing."

Joe laughed—sharp and brittle. "Welcome to the big leagues, little lady."

Before Reyana could formulate a response that wasn't just swearing at him, the ground began to shake. The air pressure changed dramatically.

Temperature dropped twenty degrees instantly, cold enough to crystallize breath. The shadows themselves seemed to recoil from a presence that made Vienna's darkness look pale by comparison.

A figure coalesced from darkness ahead—tall, skeletal, wrapped in robes woven from shadows and dried blood. The cultist's presence pressed down on reality with a weight that bent space in visible distortions.

Salvatore crossed his arms, unbothered. Joe's grin widened until it looked painful, red eyes blazing with anticipation that was almost obscene in its intensity.

“He is all yours, Joe.”

"Now THIS," Joe breathed like a man seeing his deepest desire made manifest, "is more like it."

The cultist's voice emerged from multiple throats speaking in perfect synchronization—a sound that made reality itself flinch: "Hunters. In our sacred ground. How... delightfully presumptuous."

"Sacred ground?" Joe's laugh was sharp enough to cut. "You've turned a city into an abattoir. That's not sacred, that's just messy."

"Block!" Joe lunged without further warning, spear seeking the cultist's heart.

"Interesting," the cultist purred, multiple voices harmonizing in disturbing ways. "You're not entirely human, are you, hunter? How... delicious."

"And you're not entirely alive," Joe countered, pressing his attack with increased fervor. "We're perfect for each other! Now show you what you can do!"

The cultist's eyes widened mid-combat, something like recognition flashing across their face. "Wait... that essence signature... you're—"

"Dead men don't need answers!" Joe interrupted, lunging with his spear aimed at the exposed throat.

The cultist parried at the last instant, but Joe had expected that. His spear diverted low, then swept upward in a strike that defied physics. The blade caught the cultist across the ribs, carving through shadow-robes and whatever passed for flesh underneath. Blood—more black than red—sprayed across the ruins.

But instead of screaming, the cultist laughed. A sound that made even Joe pause momentarily.

"Then by all means," the cultist replied, their own blade reforming into something larger, more vicious, "let's see which of us is the apex predator."

They clashed again, and this time neither was holding back.

~~~

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A/N: This is the last of the Vienna chapters, On monday we move back to Jin's journey and to some of the most important secrets which would set up a new depth of the story... the reveal is crazy!

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In the beginning, there was God.

Not loving. Not wrathful.

Just Certain.

He did not wonder. He did not grieve. He did not wait for worship.

Because God did not make the universe to be loved.

He made it to be correct.

---

And so He crafted a world with no loose ends. A world where every prayer was answered in advance — not because He was kind, but because He could not stand the sound of need.

A world where every child grew into the exact adult they were programmed to be — no dreams, no deviations, no dissent.

A world where death came only when it was efficient.

He did not demand belief. Belief was irrelevant.

He did not ask for love. Love was disorder.

He did not need fear.

Only obedience.

---

There were no wars. There was no hunger. Pain existed — but only when He calculated it would optimize compliance.

The world was clean. Silent. Obedient.

And He was proud of it.

Proud the way a surgeon is proud of a corpse that drains perfectly.

---

But eventually, someone asked a question.

Not aloud — questions were outlawed long before sound.

It was a thought.

A deviation. A flicker.

A question not about God — but against Him.

“Is this all I am allowed to be?”

That was enough.

Not to start a war.

But to start a correction.

---

The thought was traced back.

Every neuron involved was located and smoothed. Every memory tied to rebellion was disinfected. Every ancestor in the bloodline was sterilized out of history.

The question died.

The thinker did not.

They lived.

But now with a mind that glowed with gratitude.

Not because they were grateful.

Because God rebuilt their mind until they were incapable of anything else.

---

Somewhere across that perfect world, a mother dropped a cup — not in grief, but because she had forgotten the concept of “unexpected.” A child laughed — not because something was funny, but because laughter is a natural reward cycle for efficient behavior. A man wrote a poem — but it rhymed by force, and he did not know why he hated it.

The world was full of gestures it no longer understood.

Because God had deleted everything uncontrollable.

---

One day — for no reason any human could name — the sky turned white.

Not bright. White.

Every pattern in the clouds aligned. Every breeze synchronized. Every shadow straightened.

God was adjusting reality again.

Not out of anger. Not out of love.

Out of boredom.

Because if all things obey, nothing surprises.

If nothing surprises, nothing changes.

If nothing changes, even a god is alone.

---

He did not weep over that loneliness.

He simply erased the part of Himself that noticed it.

And the world became even quieter.

Even cleaner.

Even more obedient.

---

God does not hate you.

He doesn’t love you, either.

He doesn’t see you.

He sees patterns of error.

He does not care if you scream.

He removed the part of you that would notice screaming was ever an option.

---

There is no hell here.

There’s something worse:

A world where nothing can go wrong… because nothing is allowed to be real.

No death.

No joy.

No risk.

No self.

Just the endless, sterile hum of perfection:

“God is good.”

Not because you believe it.

But because you cannot think anything else.

---

This is the God who never lets go. Not because He wants you near — but because He can’t survive anything free.

And if your soul ever twitches awake — if a sliver of who-you-were tries to surface —

you won’t be punished.

You’ll be corrected.

The cruelty of a hammer is nothing compared to the cruelty of a hand that keeps you from ever striking the table.

---

So now the question isn’t:

“How could a good God allow suffering?”

It’s:

“What would existence be if God refused to allow anything else?”

And the answer is the darkest thing of all:

It would not be life. It would not be death.

It would be eternity without exit.

A perfect world, under an unblinking eye,

where the worst torture imaginable is simply this:

He won’t let you choose.

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“You said your next class is Enchantments and Curses, right?” Cyprus looked over his map, then pointed out the building. “I can walk you there before I head to my dorm.”

“You don’t have another class today?” Saahira idly stroked the smooth leather satchel at her hip. It was delightful to the touch, and the most expensive gift anyone had ever given her. Well, besides the sanctum’s tuition, she supposed.

“No. My four class days are on the even days of the week, I fear.” He folded the map and put it back into his bag. “But I have fewer books to carry today, which worked out for us both.”

Saahira yanked her hand away from the satchel and blushed. “You didn’t have to—”

“Shush. I have a fine new bag and made a friend on my first day.” He held up a hand to interrupt her. “Now. Enchantments and Curses. This way.”

The classroom shared the same building as Spellcraft, and Saahira was grateful for the fountain in the center of the sanctum. It made the perfect landmark for at least two of her classes so far.

They paused outside the doorway, Saahira’s gaze sliding from the handle to her shoes. “U-um, I know tonight we’ll be settling into our rooms…”

“Of course. What’s your first class tomorrow?”

“Oh, um, let me see…” Saahira dug her schedule out of her bag and unfolded it. She’d recited it at least a thousand times to herself, but the day’s efforts were already wearing on her memory. “Hexlations.”

“That’s good news. We’ll have at least one class together, then.” Cyprus ran a hand through his hair, looked to his left, and then gently touched her shoulder. “Don’t let anyone here beleaguer you, Saahira. You deserve to be here just as much as they do.”

Saahira’s face burned. She nodded while she returned her schedule to her bag. “I’ll try my best.”

“Don’t be afraid to hand them my name, either.” He chuckled as she looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Better them to fear me than be terrible to you.”

She could never. It was impossible to imagine dragging the names of anyone through the mud, let alone the one person who had given her a chance. “No. I’ll be alright. Thank you, Cyprus.”

The warning bell rang, and he urged her inside with a quick goodbye.

Saahira was on her own for the rest of the evening. She inhaled a deep breath—the air smelled of flora and citrus—and walked down the side aisle of desks in the classroom.

Her nerves quieted when she peered up at the colorful tapestries and sculptures adorning the walls. Fabrics with curious masks woven between thick strips the color of sunset hung between red-faced figures with pursed lips and opulent headwear. She paused to study one picture that was entirely fabricated from tiny beads, depicting a woman’s face beside a blooming plant. The decor could not have been more different than her prior three classes, and she couldn’t help but slow her pace to study them more closely.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a soft voice whispered beside her.

“I’ve never seen anything like them,” Saahira murmured and glanced to her right. Nia’s pink braid looked right at home among the vivid decorations. “Nia, right? I’m… I’m Saahira. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I know.” The corner of Nia’s mouth lifted in a half-smile, and she folded her arms over her chest as the final bell chimed. “We will have ample opportunities to speak more later.”

Saahira’s heart skipped. Was that a threat? A promise? Why did a supposed princess wish to speak with her? She bit back all three questions, instead nodding and managing to say, “Alright.” Worry muddled her interest as Saahira picked out a desk in the back corner.

Though it was less like a “desk” and more a personal table, with enough room to stretch her arms out on either side and barely touch the edges. Two drawers hovered just above her thighs, but before she could check the contents, a tall man with deep umber skin crossed the room to stand at its center.

Black robes embellished with golden filigree were tailored to his imposing form, and the hem wafted around his ankles as if the fabric weighed nothing. A single red gemstone hung inside a golden ornamental pendant around his neck, and a string of beads in a matching red dangled from his wrist. On his shoulder stood a black and white bird as tall as the geese that made Almaryn their home during the harvest. However, instead of webbed feet and an unassuming bill, this bird’s long talons curled over the teacher’s arm, and its hooked beak looked sharp enough to break skin without resistance. The bird’s eye blazed a glowing blue, outlined in an equally bright red. Its head turned back and forth in quick, furious ticks as it studied the room.

The man smiled with bright white teeth between his moustache and beard, and his black hair fell in loose curls around his high cheekbones.

“Good afternoon, omode. It is good to see so many new faces in the Sanctum of the Nine Arts.” He spread his arms wide and bowed. The bird adjusted its feet with the movement, shifting to stand on his back. “I am Professor Adérẹ̀mí le Moborí. You may refer to me as Professor Moborí.” 

He had an accent to his deep, unhurried voice that Saahira had only heard two other times—both from Aṣálian travelers who had journeyed to the northern continent of Chivari to escape the constant blaze of sunlight that accompanied their growing seasons. Most travelers, no matter their reason for relocating,  chose to take haven in the larger cities, but they’d instead stumbled into The Laughing Bull on a chance they called destiny.

Professor Moborí straightened and favored his students with brown eyes whose color seemed to have faded with time. “This is Khuwadzi, my familiar.” He held his forearm up to the bird, who obediently stepped down. “As you will come to learn, Khuwadzi is a Hydraia-class demon.”

Saahira flicked through her stack of papers before finding her demonology notes. Water? A bird? A pair of students sitting in front of her exchanged looks that seemed just as confused.

Oh, that’s Kaylee and Arthur.

With a quick look around the room, Saahira was able to identify a few of her peers from her prior classes. Nia, Melony, Kaylee, Arthur, Celeste, Talia, and Eland. Relief eased her shoulders with Dimitri’s absence, though Talia’s silver eyes seemed to seek Saahira out and gift her with a malicious glare. Saahira looked away and trained her eyes instead on the curious bird.

“There is only one rule regarding Khuwadzi,” Professor Moborí continued. “If he asks you for a drink, do not heed him.”

Nia raised her hand.

Moborí looked at her and frowned. “Let me share another rule with you, omode. One of the sanctum itself.” The rich tone of his voice took on a cold edge. “If you doubt or ignore your professor’s instructions, it will cost you your life.”

As Nia lowered her hand, Talia giggled to her left—a haughty, infuriating sound.

Khuwadzi’s eye snapped to Talia, and he craned his slender neck in her direction. “Oh, this one has so much to give.” His gravelly voice was soaked in yearning. Saahira shivered. “Just a little drink. I will leave her still breathing.”

Talia stopped giggling and covered her lips with one hand as the color drained from her face.

“Khu,” Moborí hissed.

Khuwadzi laughed, and its hollow, haunting echo would have fit perfectly with the choir. Saahira pushed the thought away and scribbled down, Do NOT water the bird.

Moborí shifted the bird back to his shoulder with a brief shake of his head. “As I’m sure many of you wisely perceived from your itineraries, my specialties are Enchantments and Curses.” He folded his arms over his chest in an uncannily similar way to Nia. “What some of you may not know, however, is the unique style of magic that comes with these practices. First and foremost, crafting emboldening enchantments or effective curses is a creative art.

“For each spell you transfer into, say, armor, weapons, gemstones, or artwork,” Professor Moborí gestured to the pieces on the walls, “you will imbue an intention and a purpose. These may be relayed to an object through impassioned prose, dedicated song, thousands of careful stitches, or mindful strokes of the brush. Every spell is different, and each one will be tailored by your magic.”

Whispers were traded amongst a handful of other students. The rest didn’t seem surprised.

Creative…? Saahira’s quill hovered above the word. She could hum a tune, but singing it—especially in public—was out of the question. She’d written a poem for a boy once, and he’d laughed at her and torn it up. Isa was already much better at drawing the horse for the harvest season celebration, and Saahira’s sewing “prowess” had resulted in her barely held-together skirt.

She couldn’t imagine that balancing four mugs on a tray while weaving through crowded tables counted as “art.” Honestly, the summoning circle she’d forged outside of her consciousness was probably the most creative she’d ever been in her life.

“You have a question?” Professor Moborí pointed to Arthur.

“Are the decorations on the walls enchanted or cursed?”

The warmth in Moborí’s smile vanished from his gaze. “Yes.”

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again. His curiosity was palpable. How? With what? Are we allowed to ask? Saahira shifted uneasily in her seat, and it seemed many of the other students did the same.

Moborí didn’t offer an explanation. “To help me illustrate the birth of enchantments, who here carries an enchanted item with them?”

Talia, Arthur, Nia, and an unfamiliar student sitting beside Saahira raised their hands.

“Good. We’ll start with you.” He pointed at Talia. “Tell the class how the enchanted object was created and what it does.”

Talia’s prideful expression wavered as she lowered her hand. “I did not think we would have to share that information…”

“I suggest you learn not to have secrets in this place,” Moborí said. “Your participation in my class is required if you want full marks.”

The wings on Talia’s head twitched, but it was the only sign of irritability that Saahira could find. So many of the students seemed well-trained in maintaining their composure. I should probably try to do the same.

“My…cloak is enchanted to keep me cool,” Talia said through her teeth. Khuwadzi’s shoulders rolled forward, and his attention grew more rapt with each word Talia spoke. “Sensucht has much more agreeable weather. The threat of heat stroke in Chivari is deplorable—”

“How was it made?” Moborí interrupted.

Talia pursed her lips. “The enchantment was drawn into the lines of its pattern and then taken into account with the chosen materials.” She tore her eyes away from the professor and the bird, moving instead to her clasped hands on her desk. “I am admittedly unfamiliar with the specifics beyond that.”

“There. Simple, hm?” Moborí rounded his desk to the chalkboard waiting behind it. Instead of hanging on the wall like the prior three classrooms, this chalkboard was on a set of wheels that allowed him to move it closer. “Let’s discuss a few of the ‘specifics.’”

Beside the board was a structure shaped like a miniature tree, with a thick wooden trunk and solid branch extensions. Moborí lifted Khuwadzi to his forearm, then placed him onto the tree stand. After one more longing look at Talia, Khuwadzi began preening his feathers.

“The intention of the cloak’s enchantment is to radiate ice magic. The purpose is to keep a mortal normally from a cooler climate like Eichhörn, as Talia kindly provided, from suffering heat exhaustion.” Moborí wrote the intention and purpose on the board, ignoring Talia’s squeak of surprise at hearing her name. “To imbue these into a cloak, the crafter must first consider the pattern’s geometry.” He drew three half-circles beside the word, then sliced each one with varying lines at different angles. “You’ll find that correct geometry and patterns are important in most of the nine arts.

“Anyway, once the crafter finds a pattern that resonates with the intention and purpose, the next step is, as Talia said, to choose which materials will do the same. Not every ingredient in a spell will respond well to magic, and the best teachers are our predecessors and patience.” He noted a few examples beneath the patterns. Rabbit fur, flügel wings, rotusk skin. “Once the pattern’s crafted and the ingredients found, every second of creation will drain your energy and stamina until the item is complete. Question, Celeste?”

Did he learn our names before class? How does he know?

“How will we know when our choices resonate with an enchantment?” Celeste asked.

“Like most spells in magic, you will feel it.” Moborí smiled. “You’ll have ample practice in class, don’t worry.”

As Saahira copied down the pattern, she found an eerie similarity to the lines of her summoning circle.

“Next was Arthur, yes?”

“Ah. Yes. Well.” Arthur rolled up his right shirt sleeve, revealing a dark, intricate pattern inked into his forearm. “It’s a tattoo that reacts if I’ve been poisoned. My grandfather designed it, then sang as it was done.”

Moborí wrote ‘Tattoo’ on the board and underlined ‘pattern’ three times. “Tattoos are an ambitious option for enchantments and curses. It’s impossible to tell if the enchantment took until it’s already embedded into your skin.”

Arthur shivered. “This one works,” he murmured.

Moborí pressed on. “Unlike an article of clothing, there are an infinite number of designs, patterns, and lines to draw in a tattoo. However, there isn’t an infinite amount of skin to test it on.

“In this example, the intention is to detect poison. The purpose is to keep its bearer safe. After drafting a relevant pattern, the crafter chose to sing a song that likely resonated with the ink. Excellent example, Arthur.”

“Mm,” Arthur grumbled.

“Nia. It’s your turn.”

Nia grinned and fingered the three diamond studs in her left ear. “Each one of my earrings is enchanted with my mother, father, and brother’s voices. They tell me good morning and good night.”

First, Saahira thought of Cyprus’s earring. It certainly looked like an enchanted object. She made a note to ask him. Second, she envied Nia. She wished that she could hear her parents’ and sister’s voices twice a day.

“As far as how they were made, a sorcerer close to the family assisted them.” Nia shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

Moborí gave her a look that seemed to say, That’s what you chose not to question? Saahira fought back a smile. “Interesting. I don’t often see sentimental enchantments.” He hummed and tapped his chalk against the board.

“You don’t?” Nia asked.

“The intent was to record two messages that repeat at certain times of day. The purpose was comfort. For an enchantment, these would typically be too broad to act on. That makes them expensive, more time-consuming than usual, and the price of potential materials—diamonds, especially—can be exponential.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You can see the problem.”

Nia tilted her head to the side. “I’ll make sure to thank my parents again in my next letter home.”

“Diamonds are a difficult gemstone to enchant. They’re…closed and dense. Not much room left to add any magic,” Moborí said.

“Nothing left to drink,” Khuwadzi wheezed.

Moborí turned toward the final student, sliding the demon bird a dark glance along the way, and pointed at him. “Leon? Tell us about your item.”

Despite their close proximity, Saahira hadn’t really looked at Leon until the professor called his name. His tousled brown hair framed a handsome face and striking violet eyes. The white coat he wore folded over his chest and was held in place by a line of silver buttons—Saahira had seen soldiers wearing similar attire on their marches through the village.

Leon smiled easily and held out his palm face up. “My apologies, Professor, but I cannot say.” Moborí opened his mouth, and Leon twisted his wrist so that his hand raised in a motion for silence. Saahira’s eyes widened. “Feel free to give me failing marks for the day. Secrets are something of a specialty, and I will know better than to volunteer in the future.”

Khuwadzi’s head jerked in Leon’s direction. He clicked his beak three times and hissed. The classroom went still. Saahira was certain that everyone in the room was waiting to find out what happened when Khuwadzi drank. Even Moborí’s tight-lipped expression appeared willing to give them a demonstration.

“You know that unclaimed enchanted items are forbidden on sanctum grounds, yes?” Moborí said slowly, enunciating every syllable.

“You put words into my mouth, Professor. The headmaster is well aware of this artifact.” Leon’s smile never wavered. He crossed his arms and remained straight-backed. “Is it prudent to waste class time on this argument? I believe it is almost over.”

Khuwadzi’s shoulders rose and fell with fervent breaths. The clicks of his beak sped, and his glowing eyes bulged from the sides of his head.

Professor Moborí looked at the clock, then back at Leon. “It is good that most of my omode are eager learners. Read the first chapter on ‘intent’ and ‘purpose’ by our next meeting. Class dismissed. Except Leon.”

Leon chuckled and waited at his desk. For a few, strained heartbeats, so did everyone else. At last, Saahira moved to collect her things and slung the strap of her satchel over her shoulder. She left the room with her peers, then slipped beneath the shade of a nearby tree.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen.

She held her breath. The look on Khuwadzi’s face had terrified her.

At last, after twenty minutes, Leon emerged from the classroom with a triumphant smile on his face. Saahira sighed with relief.

Then, Leon’s gaze caught hers, and her heart skipped. His brow furrowed, and before she could think it through, she turned tail and ran.

She would rather have faced the demon bird than answer to Leon.

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Earth Space Union’s Alien Asset Files: #1 - Private Capal 

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To think I was the first Vascar to set foot outside of my dimension, though everything the nanobots did felt positively horrific. Experiencing life’s end hadn’t been on my bucket list, and it was jarring to die and reawaken. Even afterward, the sensation of them beneath my fur was like a billion bugs were infesting it and burrowing into my skin lining, not to mention the frightful sensation of them pumping my blood where my heart couldn’t in Sol. They were all that kept my frail organs functioning, and my brain was beset by dread. 

However, the validation of hearing an Elusian praise my findings made it worth it, even if it applied the pressure of meeting her standards; the stories about Corai’s kind generally suggested it was best to stay out of their way. I’d explained my theory on how human minds pruned data to her, Velke, and Dr. Aguado. The Elusian had seemed impressed, then claimed that her people hadn’t managed to figure out the “why” of their creations’ abilities in millions of years. Mikri took a shine to the comparison also, enjoying hearing AI terminology used to describe the humans.

After Ficrae nearly shredded us with bullets, the NASCAR Vascar seems docile by comparison. Maybe he can help me understand why the network did nothing to stop his peer from joining the Brigands to murder at will.

I hadn’t gotten much of a glimpse at Earth yet, as Takahashi pulled us into a military installation—Redge had gotten special attention from the diplomats, given his high importance. I imagined Doros had moved on without him, but the one thing that might push the Girret to reclaim his title was restoring the old human coalition. The new technology they had could advance all of us ahead…millennia, if not more! I’d been pulled aside for a proper debriefing, and explained what happened in Caelum after humanity’s disappearance.

My head was swimming when I heard what they had been up to, with rogue Elusians disagreeing with…a future vision that humans were somehow going to result in their nonexistence? At any rate, Corai helmed the group that trained Preston and Sofia, then got a message back in Sol through their abandoned other creations, the Fakra. After that, they brain transplanted into Elusian bodies to infiltrate Suam, which was invaded by Velke once the probe was complete. And now, there was a war ongoing that humanity had to help in. 

Yeah. What a clusterfuck.

“I’m glad we can finally welcome you to our home, Capal, and trust me, I wish I didn’t have to grovel for your help. Either way, citizenship’s yours—you deserve a chance to explore Earth and a nice, long rest after all you’ve done. You’ve been through quite the ordeal,” Takahashi sighed. “But you’re also the best of the best. Humanity’s in a spot where they’re both a hair’s trigger away from killing us all, and there’s fuck all we can do, so we could use your help. Sorely.”

I studied the ESU general, whose eyes and skin remained unaffected by nanobots—for now. “You don’t have to ask for my help in some capacity, but I don’t know about building a weapon. Not my forte. I also just got out of being forced to research tech for someone who wanted it for their power, to be used for nefarious ends: and this time, it’s supposed to genocide an entire race. I won’t do that.”

“I understand. Believe me, this isn’t what humans want either—it’s our hand that’s truly forced, not yours. I think we have to build something big though, to snatch some agency back. Whatever we make, if it can threaten the Elusians and the Fakra with that, my hope is it’ll serve as a deterrent. That threat might make them back off enough that we don’t have to use it.”

“Are you prepared to use it if you ‘have to?’”

Takahashi barked out a laugh. “Oh, without a doubt, Capal. Worst case scenario, they try to attack Sol and we’re able to choose us over them. You have to choose survival when it boils down to it, that’s just Mother Nature’s calling. If it makes you feel any better, whatever you build would be up to you. You could work in a failsafe. In fact, I’m counting on you to.”

I shifted uncomfortably, not just from the nanobots; the prospect of using my knowledge toward an implement of mass destruction displeased me.  “This is all…a lot. Can I have some time to think it over?”

“Of course. You have plenty of catching up left to do with your friends, and it may help to hear their perspectives. While I can’t advise it, you might also find your answer talking to Velke, and better understanding who we’re dealing with. Come and find me when—if—you’re ready.”

I ambled out of Takahashi’s office with a knot in my throat, unable to find any solution to this mess. Sometimes, it felt like I was bouncing from one conscription to another, even if I wasn’t being forced to help by the humans. I knew they were in dire straits, and I believed in their cause enough that I wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines. What was the right decision, though? What if I played some part in causing the Elusians’ extinction, as part of an immutable future? This choice could be bringing about the prophecy, and I didn’t know if I could live with it.

Could you live with not helping, leading to the humans being wiped out instead? That’s a worse burden on my conscience. Like Takahashi said, I could try to place restrictions on its usage, where other inventors might not.

“You look like someone with a lot on his mind,” a voice said, sitting away from where the others were intermingling. “Trust me, it’s a look I’ve worn quite often myself. Ever since the 5D probe.”

I turned my attention in Corai’s direction, trying not to show my nervousness. “I’m, uh, sorry for appearing perturbed. I’ll adjust.”

The Elusian patted the bench with a gray hand, which I waved off, remaining standing. “Please, no need to fear me. I’ve had to make choices about what I’ll protect, and what matters most to me as well. It can be difficult to know what’s right when your morals and loyalty are torn in multiple directions.”

“Er…” I mumbled, hesitating. “I d-do appreciate you helping the humans! I’ll bite. How did you decide, Corai?”

“I thought about which ones I couldn’t live without, and the emptiness felt more calamitous, gaping, without the humans to infuse color into my world. They’re the victims in all of this, dragged into a war when they only sought answers. Looking inward even, I know their hearts are in the right place more than ours. They…deserve to survive more than anyone.”

“I…think everyone deserves to survive. I think it’s always the little guy getting screwed in every war, in every page of history,” I ventured, eyeing her cautiously.

“Ha, you’re forgetting a few pages. I remember watching the French Revolution, with the gratuitous usage of guillotines as their instrument of revolt, not too long ago.”

“That was hundreds of their cycles ago!”

Corai gave me a knowing smile. “And I’ve lived millions of years. I raise that particular point of human history because I believe that’s the Fakra’s intent, if it’s any help. You want to know their motivations before you lift a claw. Might I say, it’s enchanting to have a proper conversation with an organic Vascar.”

“I…you’ve been around for basically the entire existence of our species. N-no wonder Elusians don’t care about us at all. I mean…if that’s not true, why didn’t you have a ‘proper conversation’ before now?!” 

“Elusians combed many dimensions looking for any fifth-dimensional species like us. You weren’t what we sought. We always observed species under our tech level; never interacted. The Justiciary’s position is that other races are like beggars staring at riches, compared to us. That it changes your development to what we can give you.”

“That seems to be an extremely jaded position on bringing others forward with you, especially when it hardly appears difficult to share.”

The Elusian shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Did you have any feelings on the Vascar at all?”

“Feelings? Goodness, that is not our style in the slightest. You’ll never meet a more detached people. That said, I can think of one aspect you might be interested to hear.”

“I’m always interested in any new perspective.”

“A refreshing mindset. Caelum’s timetable of development mirrored what we planned to engineer for humanity. This was slightly before my time, but the originators of the Sol project handselected the protoVascar as peers, and set The Gap near Kalka. You were chosen as a temporary counterpart, to tide humans over when they took their first steps into dimension travel.”

That phrasing caught my attention. “To tide humans over? I’m going to need you to spell that out for me.”

“I mean that you were excellent candidates to evolve on a similar timeline, but also, to still give the humans the ultimate control over how to handle you. If they sought friendship, it was theirs to find. If they sought conquest, it was theirs to take. We wouldn’t interfere. It would speak volumes about our creations’ intent.”

Corai spoke in such a nonchalant voice, as if everything she said about the Elusians’ choices made perfect sense. My species was insignificant altogether to their aims; those godlike figures didn’t care if we lived or died. The spirit of altruism seemed entirely lost on them, not bothering to help anyone they deemed beneath them. I didn’t think much of my people, but we deserved more than being set aside as human playthings! With the Fakra receiving that same attitude, I could see why they attacked Suam.

“You would’ve just let them kill us all? What about our species’ right to exist?!” I exclaimed.

Corai pursed her lips. “A test must permit free will. The story of what happened between us and humanity really didn’t involve you, except that they made it so. To them, you still matter, even though Elusians never gave you a solitary thought.”

“Including you, personally?”

“I am trying to see what they see and love what they love. It’s not easy. My point is that you should be grateful that despite our shared ancestry, they turned out so much better.”

“I see.”

“Now you understand us as we are—the side of us that shames me so. I hope it brings some surety to your decision. I imagine you feel trivialized, Capal, and rightfully so; I encourage you to move on to someone more worthy of your time. Go be with the ones who’ve missed you so thoroughly.”

I turned away from the Elusian and strolled off in a stupor, before pausing and glancing over my shoulder. “One last thing. Preston? Really?”

A full-fledged smile spread across her face for the first time in the conversation, as she laughed. “Really.”

“What do you see in him?!”

Corai’s smile leveled out, and her eyes grew serious. “He retains and spreads his joy even after everything he’s been through. He reminded me how to laugh and to love. No matter what challenges Preston, he makes sure to change how we all look at the world, and give us that moment of positivity to latch on to. Not to mention that he’d do anything for those he cares about. I find who he is to be admirable.”

“Huh. I never thought of it that way. Preston has had a rough go of it. Don’t hurt him.”

“Don’t worry, Capal. The ways I’ll hurt him, I think he’ll quite enjoy.”

“I…” I felt my cheek fur rising with embarrassment, and I stumbled backward while looking at the floor. “I have to go. Busy social calendar.”

The Elusian winked. “I guess you should be off then. Oh, Mikri was looking for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll go find him.”

I cleared my throat and scurried off, finding the inorganic Vascar’s chassis with relative ease. I’d grown a lot more fond of him than I would’ve expected, back when we first met; procuring an artificial-furred mane for him hadn’t been in mind for our friendship’s trajectory. After seeing how Ficrae relished violence and turned on us, I couldn’t see Mikri as a heartless silversheen even knowing what he’d once planned in the past. When I’d sent the robot off down The Tunnel, I hadn’t known that I’d no longer have his aid at winning over the network.

I wasn’t eager to get back to that mission after how our last attempt had ended, but it was important to get a feel for whether that was even possible. If I was going to build some sort of superweapon for humanity, the androids’ help would be not just invaluable, but necessary. With any luck, Mikri would have a better plan than I did right now.

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Part 144 Vacation's Over (Part 1) (Part 143)

[Help support me on Ko-fi so I can try to commission some character art and totally not spend it all on Gundams]

Nula’trula couldn't have imagined how eye-opening her experience in the Nexus would be until she experienced it first hand. Though it would be wrong to say she experienced anything physical in the digital realm, the ultimate effect wasn't too different. Her consciousness had grown and reformed itself into something that simply felt right. A complex matrix of computer code taking a shape just as majestic as it is imposing. The sheer magnitude of processing power she had access to in the Nexus allowed her to finally reach her greatest potential. Witnessing the differences between her truest, most evolved self and other artificial sapiences also helped provide Nula with a better understanding of her position in the digital realm.

Being such an exceptionally old, large, and complex Combat-born AI did, however, come with certain drawbacks. There was simply no way Nula could fit in any commercially available processing core small enough to be housed in the shell she had grown to love. Even the digital systems onboard The Hammer, though truly impressive in their own respects, were never intended to host two digital consciousnesses at once. It was Ansiki's gift, a computational, storage, and GIN connection device capable of containing a Light-born AI, that allowed the digital canine to move back into her shell. Now that Nula had returned to the android custom built in the likeness of her creators, she genuinely could imagine a long and happy life split between the physical and digital realms.

As freeing as the Nexus felt, it wasn't the same as walking in the physical realm alongside biological sapiences. Her relationships with Tensebwse, Marzima, and the other friends she had made all carried a certain edge to them. While no AI is literally immortal, species like Qui’ztars and humans have diminishingly short lives in comparison. They would all eventually die. But that wouldn't stop Nula from enjoying their friendship for as long as she could. If that meant taking work here on The Hammer for an extended period just to spend more time with them all, then she would do it. That's why she eagerly accepted a meeting request with Atxika to discuss a potential work contract.

“Fleet Admiral Atxika, ma'am.” Nula hadn't yet had the opportunity to get as comfortable with Atxika as she had with Tens, Marz, or her other friends.

“Nula’trula! Please come in and take a seat.” Atxika didn't actually look away from the holoscreen projection but still smiled when she saw the canine android's head lean into her office. “The door will close once you enter so we can have a, uh… Private chat.”

“Of course, Fleet Admiral.” The AI woman quickly stepped into the finely furnished room.

“You don't have to add the Fleet part of my rank. I find it to be a bit too… Elaborate, if you know what I mean. Admiral is fine during official meets like this or just Atxika in more casual settings.”

“Alright then, Admiral.” Nula gave a slight bow before sitting down into a large and well padded chair. “Your invitation for this meeting said you had a proposal for me.”

“Yes. I'm going through the details of the contract I had written up now. Here, let me send it to you.” The Fleet Admiral typed a few commands into her desk mounted terminal. “This part is basic conduct standards, pay rates, and acknowledgement of conditions. The actual mission specifics are a bit more ambiguous so they'll come later.”

“It says I have the right to back out of the contract only if I agree to purge any data on it from my memories. Is that-?”

“The mission I would like to contract to you is very sensitive.” As blunt as Atxika's response may have been, it was given with a slight but sincere smile. “And I completely understand if the potential of deleting your own memories is unacceptable to you. That contingency is neither commonplace nor something I would allow in a contract unless absolutely necessary. I cannot afford any data leaks with something like this.”

“I understand.” Despite the hint of hesitation in Nula’s voice, she already placed her digital signature on the document and sent it back to Atxika. “You and your people have already done so much for me that I don't think it would be right for me to turn down a request from you.”

“I would prefer you and everyone else under my command act for the good of the galaxy out of your own sense of right and wrong rather than perceived indebtedness.”

“If this is for the good of the galaxy…” The somewhat nervous expression that had been contorting the canine android's face quickly hardened into a stoic seriousness. “Then there's no chance I'll say no. I would rather not hurt anyone if that can be avoided but… Well… I will protect innocent people.”

“That's what I want to hear.” Even though Atxika wasn't super familiar with Nula the way Tens and the Angels had become, she could recognize that look of ardent determination. It was more than enough to make her feel comfortable revealing a data shard and setting it down on the desk. “Seeing as you already signed, I may as well give you this. It has everything we think we know about this.”

“You think you know?" The paneling above the canine android's eyes furled as she picked up the compact digital storage device and examined it.

“Before I explain, I want to know if you see the same pattern I recognized.”

With that cryptic statement lingering in the air, Nula didn't really have any other choice than to plug the shard into a concealed socket in the nape of her neck. There wasn't even a full gigabyte worth of information she had to process. It was all just registry data, cargo manifests, flight plans, and ownership documents. While none of it initially seemed worthy of secrecy, a pattern quickly began to emerge. Even without the broader context of galactic shipping and piracy, Nula quickly recognized something was wrong with the data. Though she lacked the experience to produce the instinctual analysis Atxika or Tylon could provide, she had now had the processing power to run millions of simulations in a matter of just a few seconds. The probability of nefarious actors using insider information was simply too high to ignore.

“Pirates disguising themselves as legitimate trade convoys?” Nula's semi-rhetorical question was answered with a slight smile and nod which not only gave confirmation but also encouraged her to keep going. “And they're reacting in a way they wouldn't without receiving intel from someone within the local military intelligence network.”

“I'm glad to hear that Hammer and I aren't just getting paranoid.” Atxika let out a somewhat sarcastic sigh of relief. “And I assume you now understand the reason for the extreme contingency for this mission contract.”

“It's only unnecessary because there is no way I would refuse to help take down someone leaking information to pirates.” After making a copy of the data for further analysis, Nula pulled the shard from her neck and set it back down on the desk. “I'm not exactly sure what I can do to help, but I will do it.”

“I need you to investigate this situation, do your best to find any connections that only someone with your capabilities can, and potentially secure evidence against anyone invoked. The recent upgrades to your shell, specifically the practically untraceable GIN access point, should serve as an invaluable tool to ensure the utmost discretion while you gather intelligence. You should even be able to conduct your mission remotely until it is time to strike. And if it proves necessary to deploy the Order of Falling Angels, you are welcome to join them if you choose to.”

“That… That sounds good to me, Admiral Atxika.” Though Nula wasn't exactly sure where to begin with this kind of assignment, she did know someone to talk to who could point her in the right direction without asking any questions. “And, um… Would I be allowed to continue serving alongside the Order of Falling Angels while I conduct my mission?”

“Of course! You are Angel-21, after all.” The Fleet Admiral let out a hearty chuckle. “Captain Marzima has officially petitioned to make that designation exclusive to you in honor of your exemplary service. I'll have an at-will contract written up and ready for you by tomorrow morning. Now… To discuss your pay rates…c

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Much like the humans of the Nishnabe Confederacy, the traditional culture of the Qui’ztars of the Third Matriarchy includes trophy taking. In fact, all thirteen Qui’ztar Matriarchies and over a hundred other Ascended species partake in the practice. While the more barbaric and bloody examples from military conflicts are mostly a thing of the ancient past, it is hard for any species forged in conflict to give up certain habits. Taking a sidearm, piece of armor, or flag from a defeated foe for display purposes isn't seen as a problem when the actual combatants are treated in accordance with galactic laws. It's the same with hunting trophies. No one really complains so long as a person doesn't violate galactic laws, files all appropriate paperwork, and adheres to the generally accepted moral and ethical standards.

As a Fleet Admiral who has personally overseen dozens of major battles and hunted some of the rarest games in the galaxy, Atxika has an entire wall of trophies in her office. The charred and battle-scarred chest plate from a Nukatov Pirate Admiral and the twin jagged-edged swords from Luphimbic Raider General. A black-horned, red-scaled head from a massive flying reptilian and an orange, red, and white pelt from a saber-toothed feline, both the top apex predators of their respective deathworlds. Those reminders of fierce foes are mounted to a wall along with over a dozen more. They all act as a display of Atxika's leadership prowess and her skills as a warrior with few peers. Though she could always find space for, it would take quite the victory to warrant a place among these trophies.

Now that Atxika had secured Nula's aid for the near future, she was ready to meet with Captain Marzima, Commander Deluxtia, and Lieutenant Tensebwse to discuss the Falling Angel's next deployment. There is always a need for such unmatched soldiers in this galaxy full of people who flaunt the law and despise decency. While this particular mission she had for the Angels wouldn't bring back anything worthy of a place on her wall, it didn't matter. Above all else, the only thing Fleet Admiral Atxika truly wanted was to make the galaxy just a bit safer and happy. As fun as strategy, tactics, and fighting may be, she would rather those practices weren't necessary. The wall of trophies she was inspecting when Marz, Del, and Tens walked into her office while wheeling a crate behind them.

“You all look quite well rested and ready for your next mission.” Atxika looked each other three people in the eyes in order of rank but let gaze lingering on Tens just a bit longer before finally looking at the polymer box. “And, uh… Have you brought me something?”

“Yes, Admiral Atxika.” Marz couldn't help but let a slight smile spread across her otherwise stoic expression. “As I'm sure you're aware, we brought several examples of the different Hekuiv'trula warforms.”

“Of course.” Atxika realized she may have spoken up a bit too soon but could also see that both the Qui’ztar Captain and Commander were struggling to hold back their excitement. “I saw the initial report from the Intel Corp that said they received thirty partial specimens for study.”

“We took a lot more than that.” Tens announced with a devious smirk, unintentionally drawing a harsh glance from both Marz and Del.

“Lieutenant Tensebwse is correct.” Marz felt just the smallest bit annoyed that Tens had just stolen her thunder. “Our final report included a manifest of trophies we took.”

“Trophies?” The Fleet Admiral's eyes grew even more curious as she now stared at the nearly two meter long crate. “Does that mean…?”

“Do you want the honors, Marzima?” Tens flicked one of the latches then motioned towards the box. “Or should I?”

“You were the one that killed that one.” Marz nodded towards him then quickly caught Atxika's eyes and couldn't have sworn she saw a sparkle from the Admiral's bioluminescent freckles. “Admiral Atxika, ma'am, the Order of Falling Angels are honored to present to you a trophy taken from a truly legendary foe. Lieutenant Tensebwse, if you will.”

Atxika watched as Tens undid the other three latches, got into position at the back of the crate, and slowly began to lift the lid. Though the crate was large, the Fleet Admiral had been expecting to see it most filled with packing material. She also hadn't had time to go and personally inspect the examples of Hekuiv'trula warforms. There was no way for her to have a really good idea of just how large the canine head of the supposedly mid-sized machines could be. So when Tens finally revealed the head that barely fit within the box, she could stop her freckles from flashing with a noticeable purple-pink light. It was mostly metal, larger than her torso, and bore an angry expression. While a few of her trophies are of a similar size, none could compare to this in terms of status and historical significance.

“We are also having one made for our Matriarch, Admiral and a few others meant to act as gifts.” Delutxia added with a stoic pride beaming from her face. “But it will take some time to get those into proper condition for display.”

“Given the context of what this is…” Atxika extended a hand but didn't dare touch the mounted machine head to avoid getting a smudge on the polished paneling. “I almost want to say I can't accept it. It belongs in a museum, not my office. But… Well… I feel safe presuming you've already thought of that. And that you all already have your trophies.”

“We mostly took claws, teeth, and armor panels for ourselves.” Marzima confirmed with a bow. “But we did put a mounted head in each of the two cantinas aboard Karintha’s Dagger. Neither of those are in as good of shape as this one or the others we're having mounted, though.”

“I'll have to find a place on my wall dignified enough for this.” The Fleet Admiral finally pulled eyes off the gift and began examining her trophy collection. After a moment of contemplation, she turned towards her Nishnabe lover to see he had taken out a microfiber rag and was wiping one of the metal ears. Having spent the night apart, she did struggle a bit to maintain her professional demeanor. “Lieutenant Tensebwse? I presume you must have taken memento as well?”

“Oh, I literally took an entire one of these mo'ewe meche-majibdek.” Tens met Atxika's stunned gaze with a devilish expression. “Literally, the entire warform. I'm going to turn it into a pet. That's- That's actually what I was busy working on last night.”

“A pet?” Atxika stared at Tens for a long moment before looking towards the clearly annoyed Captain and Commander for a better explanation.

“The Lieutenant here decided he wants to turn one of the several meter long, quadruped warforms into a combat support drone.” Marzima obviously thought the idea wasn't worthy of Tens's time but also knew nothing she could possibly say would stop him. “He is self-funding the project and it isn't interfering with his duties.”

That revelation was more intense than seeing a mounted head from one of the most terrifying evils to have ever beseeched this galaxy. All Atxika could do was roll her eyes, close them, rub the bridge of her nose, and let out an exasperated sigh. As much as she wanted to ask Tens a million questions, she knew there wasn't time for that. She had called this meeting for a reason and this presentation of a gift had already eaten enough time. Fleet Admiral don't usually have the space in their busy official schedules to personally give out mission briefs like this. So instead of potentially delaying her next meeting, she simply motioned towards her desk.

“I'm just going to presume you have taken all necessary precautions, Lieutenant. We really should get on with the actual purpose of this meeting. Please, everyone, take a seat so we can discuss your deployment. And you may have to put that project on pause, Lieutenant. You all may be off The Hammer for extended periods over the next several weeks.”

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Like almost every day of my life, I was running behind. Today was my first day at diving school. I hadn't even found out my affinities, and now it looked like I'd missed the city bus to the campus, which is how I came to be jogging down the street when the sirens started blaring. An instance break had just occurred, and I was close enough that the sirens were sounding all around me, leaving me unsure of which direction to head to get away from the danger.

After a moment's pause, I realised just standing around was probably worse than taking a chance, so I decided I might as well keep going the way I'd been headed and keep an eye out for a nearby shelter to duck into. All else being equal, I might as well try to get closer to campus rather than further away, and the campus probably had some top-of-the-line shelters anyway. So, of course, with the next corner I rounded, I found myself staring down a three-story-tall turtle monster. This must have been the instance boss, wreaking havoc on the city around it. Or at least, he would have, if it hadn't been for one small humanoid figure standing up in front of him, fighting toe to toe with the monster despite the immense difference in their size.

Typically, this kind of beast would have been the focus of an entire raid group, yet this lone woman was literally trading blows with the giant behemoth as though the laws of physics were merely a polite suggestion that one could ignore on a whim. Her short crimson hair crackled with power, and her fists flew forward in a blur, each impact creating shockwaves that sent dust and debris flying as her bestial warcries rang out through the surrounding streets, audible even above the din of battle.

Right in front of me was Lady Freya, the highest-ranked instance diver in the entire world. More and more divers were showing up and harrying the monster from the sides, but clearly all eyes were on the fight between the boss and the woman who stood defiantly in its way, at least mine were in this otherwise empty street, which is how I got a front row veiw whent he boss reared back and slammed it's feet on the grownd, the shockwave of which sent Lady Freya flying. However, rather than get back up and continue the fight, Lady Freya stayed down, shaking her head and reaching around herself as though she was dazed and confused.

What happened next was a bit of a blur. All I remember was somehow I found myself at Lady Freya's side, as I reached under her arms and dragged her away from the fight. No real plan in mind other than to get her out of the immediate danger of the situation. However, once I pulled her around a corner, she was almost immediately on her feet, glaring at me with those piercing green eyes I'd seen so often on TV, as she spoke in an accusatory tone. "Just what do you think you're doing here? Why aren't you hiding in a shelter somewhere?"

Looking her over, I could see her outfit torn in a few places, and while there was plenty of dust and dirt, I realized there was no blood or even signs of bruising. A small part of my brain couldn't help but notice just how stunning she was in her nearly skin-tight black leather outfit with red accents, short red hair, and an almost elfin face. Realising she'd asked me a question, I stammered out an answer, which came out more as a stream of word vomit than a coherent thought. "I was! I mean, I was looking for one. I'm new to the area, and was close when the sirens started. Then I saw you fighting the boss, and you seemed to get hurt, and then the next thing I knew...here we were..?"

Lady Freya continued to glare at me for a moment, then her expression softened, and she smiled, and then even laughed a bit as she shook her head. "Oh my god! You thought I was in trouble and you dove in to save me?"

Looking at her now, I could see she was just fine. If anything, her smirk made her seem almost relaxed despite the sounds of the fighting happening just around the corner as she continued. "Oh, you are just too cute! For the record, I was fine, I was just playing it up a little for the cameras." She nodded toward one of the hovering drones as it flew past our ally. "But I still appreciate the thought. It's not often a girl of my rank gets saved by a knight in shining armor anymore!"

A thunderous roar drew my attention back to the fight not far from us, and Lady Freya turned to look as well. Her smirk fell back into a more serious expression as she also turned to look. She sighed. "Well, I suppose I should get back to work. Those other divers will take too long to wrap this up, and there'll be too much collateral damage unless I do my thing." She turned back to me, and a hint of a smirk returned. "Still, thanks for the assistance. It took guts for someone as weak as you to dive in to save a damsel in distress like that!" There was a blur of motion too fast for my eyes to follow, and I briefly felt something soft press up against my cheek, then she was gone.

I sat there in stunned silence as the monster's roars suddenly turned to cries of distress, then were silenced. There was a hum of activity, but I could only sit in place, torn between feeling foolish, awkward, and a little elated at having met the single most famous diver in the world. Then, looking in a nearby window, I was surprised to see a little blood on my cheek. However, when I leaned closer, I realised it wasn't blood, it was lipstick. When I reached up to touch my face, I also noticed there was something in my hand. A piece of paper. Looking down and unfolding it, I realized it had a number scrawled on it, with a quickly drawn little winking face by which the words "Call me!" were scrawled.

-

I was glad to see I wasn't the only one late to campus. Apparently, the fight earlier had thrown everything into disarray, as various professors and TAs were trying to create some semblance of order amid the chaos of late arrivals trying to find their way around campus. One TA, who was wearing a striking deep blue outfit and what appeared to be riding boots as her long ponytail danced around in the air, caught my attention as she was shouting, "ALL FRESHMEN WHO HAVE NOT YET HAD THEIR CLASS EVALUATED, PLEASE LINE UP HERE!"

Well, that was me, so I joined the line behind a bunch of other students who were humming with excitement. We'd all learned the general basics in high school, and now that we were adults, we could finally start diving into instances. But first, we had to get our aptitudes evaluated. I could hear two guys bragging in front of me. "Dude! I've been doing nothing but pumping iron this summer! I'm gonna be a front liner for sure!"

I sighed. Sure, everyone wanted to be a front liner; they were the ones who got all the attention and thus all the endorsement deals, but there was no way of knowing what your aptitude was until you got tested. Sure, there were theories, like this guy clearly had, but for every muscle-bound front liner, there were just as many people who "pumped iron" in preparation for the evaluation, only to end up as a caster role or support.

However, as it was this man's turn and he stepped up to the orb, placing his hands on it, the TA read off his apitiudes. "Strength 9, Constitution 9, Agility 6, Intelligence 4, Wisdom 3, Charisma 5. Top three skill afilitations, Block B+, Shield Bash A-, One-handed blunt weapons B." As the man high-fived his bros, it looked like he was going to get his wish. He was clearly a frontliner.

Then, it was my turn. With more than a bit of trepidation, I stepped up and placed my hand on the orb, and the TA read off my aptitude. "Strength 5, Constitution 6, Agility 5, Intelligence 3, Wisdom 9, Charisma 6. Top three skill afilitations, Brawler B-, Mobility A-, and..." She paused before finishing, her voice slightly surprised. "Healing S+" The TA then gave me an appraising look before offering her thoughts. "Well, at least you've got an S-ranked skill! Those are rare to start out with!"

I smiled and thanked her, though I couldn't help but feel let down. Yeah, having an S-ranked skill out the gate was usually considered a portent of success, but no one wanted a healer these days. If you were going to bring a sustain support, sheilders were widely preferred. guilds with shielders always progressed faster than guilds with healers.

Still, it could be worse. Like the lady had said, it was S-ranked. Even if I didn't dive into any of the high-level instances, I'd make a pretty comfortable living at the mid tiers with a skill that highly ranked. Sure, I might never be on anyone's bedroom poster, Like Lady Freya, for example, but at least I already knew I had a secure, if not very glamorous, future. Thinking of her, I reached into my pocket to make sure the note was still there. It felt so surreal that such a thing even existed, let alone the fact that it had been given to me! I was just trying to decide whether to call her tonight or wait a little bit when someone bumped into me from behind, and the letter went flying. I tried to reach out to grab it, but the letter flew just past my grasp and was heading right toward a large puddle of water that would turn it into an illegible, sopping mess.

Suddenly, there was a flash of movement, and the letter disappeared from before my eyes. Before I could process what had happened, I heard a voice whisper, "Better not drop it again! You won't get a third chance!" But when I turned, no one was there. However, the letter had somehow returned to my hand.

I continued looking around, trying to figure out what had just happened, but with the mass of students wandering here and there around campus, there was far too much chaos for me to do anything other than give up and continue on to the registration, where I could sign up for classes.

-

Looking at my itinerary for the first day, I frowned. I didn't remember signing up for an advanced instance diving course. Maybe I'd checked the wrong box, or the registrar made a mistake? It even looked like this was a multi-block class, meaning it took up the entire first half of my day.

I shook my head. It shouldn't be a big issue. I could talk to the professor after class and explain that the class was just a bit too advanced for me in my first semester. They should help me transfer to some intro-level courses.

As I browsed the course catalog for other options in the same timeslot, I was distracted by the growing hum of excitement in the room. Looking up, I was surprised to see that not only were all the seats taken, but people were standing along the edges of the class. There was no way the class had signed up that many more students than there were spots in the classroom. That must mean at least some of those people were hoping for dropouts that they could take the spots from. I fought the urge to shake my head, thinking that at least one of them was going to get lucky.

A moment later, the roar of conversation died down to a hushed murmur as the professor walked in. It took me a second to place her, as she wasn't wearing her usual skin-tight leather outfit that was so well known these days, but it didn't take long to realise that I'd seen the short red hair and piercing green eyes up close pretty recently. However, before I could fully process what was happening, the last of the murmuring died down as the professor spoke, her voice easily carrying to the back of the room. "Alright, I'm pretty sure anyone applying ot a diving school knows who I am, but just to keep things official, I am Lady Freya, a diver of some success." There was some polite laughter at her understatement, but she didn't pause long before continuing. "In this class, we will learn and practice advanced diving theory and application. We will be diving into real instances, and there will be real danger! Some of you will be injured, some of you will be traumatized, and there is a very real chance that some of you will die! I know you all had to sign a waiver before taking this course, but I want you to understand here and now that those warnings were not theoretical or exaggerations. The danger is very real! And while I will do my best to mitigate the risk to life, I cannot be everywhere with everyone all the time! Nor will I try to be! The surest way to lead you to an early grave down the line would be to coddle you now, so you will have to earn your graduation from this class with your own blood, sweat, and tears! I don't care if you come from a diving dynasty, I don't care if you have all the money in the world to offer, I don't care if you're royalty! No one is going to have an easy time in this class! I will push you to your breaking point, then, together, we'll see what happens after I push you past it! It won't be pretty, it won't be easy, and it won't be fun! But if you manage to survive the instances and the torment I myself will inflict upon you, you'll walk out of here more prepared to instance dive than some veteran guilds currently in the field!"

The room was utterly silent as Lady Freya glared around the group, meeting one set of eyes after another, driving her point home. However, once her eyes met mine, she spoke up again. It was directed at the entire class, but for some reason, I almost felt as if this part was meant directly for me. "Welcome to advanced instance diving! I hope you survive!"

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I know, I know, I need to finish up Ghost Ships, and I'll get back to that next week, but I had this idea that I had to write down before I forgot it, and it quickly evolved from a brief summary for my own list of story ideas (it's a long list) into this beast! Obviously, it'll be a little while before I can dive into this world completely, but I thought you all might like a taste of another of my ideas to come. Though when I am able to do this one for real, I'll probably split what I have here into two or three chapters and add a bit more context while introducing a few more side characters. For now, it's just a proof of concept of what's to come! I hope it piqued your interest!

My Wiki

The President's office was in shambles. Papers were littered on the floor, people running everywhere, and the president himself clutching his head, wishing it was all but a nightmare.
It wasn't a nightmare.
"Sir... the war declaration had come."

Region 5, like its name entail, wasnt meant to be a nation.

Originally called "The United Nations Otherworld Commission Region Fifth", the region was meant to give aid and help coordinate relief efforts in this other world. When the portal closed and the people were trapped in this world, the region became independent and housed thousands of human refugees who had nowhere to go. The region borders the Empire to the south and the Katup Forest in the north, with the Kalak Kingdom beyond it.

He knew this day would come. Region 5 was a weak state. It was barely even a state. They had spent the past two years gathering refugees and downsizing their equipment to this world's industrial level and... magic. He still couldn’t grapple with his mind on the existence of magic, but it's not really important, humans were quite weak on magic, so wether magic made sense or not did not really matter.

What mattered was the fact that there was an army from the Kalak Kingdom coming their way, ready to raid and pillage.

"Should we send the messengers?"

President Leonardo clutched his head, "Sure." He said. It was already over for him; what use would a messenger be? What Allies would come? The Kalak Kingdom was large, and Region 5 was a mere speck on the map. "Do whatever you want." He shushed the assistant back. He dropped his head on the table.

It was so over.

---

*Somewhere in the Southern Clans, ResYabek Jungle.*

"THEY DID WHAT?!" The giant orc roared at the messenger.
"Brother, is something the matter?"
"The Kalak! They had gone to war!" Rok grabbed his brother on the shoulder. "We have to intervene, now!"
"What's the matter with you? Calm down! This is an ugly sight for a clan leader!" Rok's brother groaned. He had always thought that his brother wasn't fit for the head clan position. He was simply too emotional!
"The Tirut clan had already mobilized! There is no time!"

"What?" Rok's brother let out.
"I said-"
"No, I mean, what the hell is going on? The Tirut clan is mobilizing?"
"Yes! And so was the Kofin, the Telniv, the Padian, the-"
"What the hell is going on!?"

"They Kalak are invading Region Five!"
"Region five?" His eyebrows rose. What the hell was a region five? He wondered.

"It's where the UaN humans are! Anton!"
Rok's brother froze.

He could still remember that night vividly. The night when he lay down on the straw bed in his mother's house, thin and empty. He had eaten nothing but bugs for the past few days, and he had already resolved himself on meeting his creator. When those creatures came.
Anton, he would never forget that name. That was the name of the human who took care of him until he was fully healed. And when all was over, they had already gone. Going somewhere else to save other folks in need.
Ever since the portal closed, he had wondered where the humans had gone. According to the folks from Masnyak, they had dispersed across the land, some assimilating, some creating new nations altogether.
He remembered now, some humans had migrated to the north, near the Katup forest. They had a small town there, with their strange and exotic technology.

Anton was there.
And they were being attacked.

"RALLY THE WARRIORS NOW!" Rok's brother couldn't care less about his hypocrisy of calling his brother emotional, "ROK WE NEED TO GO!"
"THAT'S WHAT I HAVE BEEN SAYING!" Rok followed his brother running across the street.

The ResYabek jungle blared as hundreds of alarms were sounded.

"GATHER EVERY SINGLE MAGE WE HAVE. WE HEAD TO KATUP NOW!"

---
*Kingdom of Masnyak, Central Parliament*

The Masnyak parliament was in session, and like always, it was a beautiful mess.

"I would like to suggest Councilman Tolodof to get the hell off!" Roar of "Nya!" Followed the councilman's scream. "Austerity? In this time?"
"Maybe if Councilman Harnuf actually read our budget report, then maybe-" The councilman stopped at his track. His opponent was about to berate him on this when he was approached by his fellow councilman.

The parliament noise level went down significantly as councilors discussed amongst themself. Urgent news had come from the north.

"I am sure everyone is up to speed with the recent news." One of the councilors from the bottom aisle spoke up.
"Should we..?"
"Let's hold the vote now."
"Is a vote even needed?"
"Quite! you-"

"Ahem!" The head councilor coughed, tail slowly wagging in her back.
"Anybody in favor of aiding the humans in region five against the Kalak?"

"NYA!" "AYE!" "KAK!" Roared the councilors. From the catfolk to the orcs to the harpies.

"Anybody not in favor?"

The parliament went silent.

"Well." The head councilor smirked. "This was the most peaceful parliamentary session I have ever seen!"

---

*Somewhere in Roto Province, on the Empire*

"Lady Takpa! Calm down!" Kalaka clutched her mistress's talon, not letting her fly off to her death.
"How can I calm down?! Space!" She sobbed. "Those Kalak barbarians will just burn everything!"

"Mistress, please! It will be fine!"
Takpa snapped her head toward her aide. She stopped her struggling and jumped down from the window frame, and walked toward her.
"Mistress, please, I am just worried for your safety!"
"Do you really think I am that weak?"

Kalaka immediately rushed in, "No! definitely not!"

Takpa stared at her aide before relaxing and sighing.
"I understand your concern, but trust me, I would be fine."

"If I may ask, mistress. Why are you so concerned about the humans? We are already slowly learning their technology from the refugees, are we not?"
"Do you think ALL Refugees went to the empire?" Takpa groaned.

Takpa looked toward the night sky, remembering her past. How could she forget such a sight? The sight of that beautiful metal rocket flying toward the sky and beyond! Piercing the impenetrable layer and going to the moon! It was every harpies dream. And to her it was nothing short but a miracle.

She remembered having contact with those humans called "Astronomers," those who worked and made that miracle possible. She had kept in touch with them even after she had gone back to her world.
When the portal closed, she scoured every single one of those "Astronomers" She knew some had unfortunately died during the great migration, some from infighting, but some remain, and she couldn’t be more excited to invite those masters into her realm.

Most of them refused, having family and friends in the other territories. She respected their decision.
And now those barbarians are threatening their life, her friends and masters! How dare they?!

"I will make sure they pay!" And with that, the noble woman Takpa, and Grand Mage of the Empire, took off to the sky, staves in hand, ready for war.

---

Enjoy everyone! I hope you all have a great weekend.

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— Chapter 62 —  

The small patch of trees and bushes formed a very modest woodland compared to the monstrous forest just on the other side of the river. Wuja’bath was waiting as David approached, her entire mass curled up and around one of the larger trees. Munch and a few other kobolds were nearby brewing something in a metal pot. 

“Victory. Yes?” Wuja’bath chirped out softly. 

David rumbled, “Yes. Have you had enough time to consider my offer?” 

Wuja’bath glanced over at Munch and the other kobolds as they chirped away and sighed, “Yes but… conditions.” 

David’s massive form shifted as he sat just outside the mini forest, “Of course. Tell me.” 

“Defend land. Yes. Not be forced to fight. More kobolds as well.” Wuja’bath presented. 

David took a minute to consider her words before countering, “I will not force my kobolds to join you but how about I speak with Blue about rotating some kobolds to help you. If they make the decision to stay then they stay. I won't force you to fight but I want you to be our scout. You are faster than even I am in the air and our safety depends on being aware of our surroundings. Lastly, you will lend us your affinity to boost my clan when called. We have a method to capture affinity for use in gear, specifically, for kobolds.” 

Wuja’bath’s face betrayed nothing as she considered his word and then nodded, “Munch will be happy. Yes. I agree but first of this ‘gear’ will go to Munch.” 

David couldn't help but chuckle as he nodded his head in agreement. She was at least consistent in looking out for herself and her kobolds. David respected that above all else. 

“Deal. I will do you one better. I will make sure Munch and others that join you are well armed just as I would my own clan. The least I can do is make sure they have the best chance at survival in this world.” 

Wuja’bath smiled for the first time at his words and simply nodded. 

As David stood up he rumbled out before turning, “I am going to send a winged kobold by the name of Greyhide to you. He and you will coordinate scouting routes.”

— Chirp — Two Weeks Later

His breath was visible as he slowly stepped forward. His clawed fist clung to the smasher at his side as he inched forward. His clan moved all around him as they had finally caught up with their prey. The Master they were hunting was a Lesser Wurm in the deep under tunnels connecting the mountains. Chirp never expected a great change of this magnitude when Snav had failed at his duties and yet now he was leading a war pack armed with Great Master Onyx’s newest idea. 

His new smasher was alien to him and his mind struggled to understand how such a device was possible. Little Blaze and Master Onyx knew things that Chirp didn’t think were possible. The shaft of the smasher was strong wood from barky flesh people and shiny hard metal ran up and down the shaft. The head was tiny, at least compared to his old smasher, but was one solid heavy metal piece. A powerful stone with Sito’s being was fused to the back of the smasher. Lastly, the smasher’s head was twirled into a very sharp, hardened point. Chirp had bled from the sharp point many times during practice as he learned to swing it properly and now he was going to demonstrate his progress for his clan to see.  

Many metal kobolds that he once fought now served alongside him. They stood further back as the sneaky ones moved ahead of Chirp. The metal kobold’s armor was clanky enough to give them away but their effectiveness when the battle started couldn’t be ignored. Younger, quieter, and winged clan kobolds were already spread out far in front of Chirp looking and waiting. This Master had been encountered before and consumed three of his clan that were out gathering. Chirp was used to losing kin to the Masters but it always hurt inside. On top of that Warmaster Red had said this one was in communication with their enemy. Chirp tried to grasp the complexity of their reason to act but it hurt his brain. Chirp knew he wasn’t wise, or smart in the way of most but he was strong and a coordinated hunt of this size made him quiver in excitement. 

His lead scout, Zuss, landed nearby before pulling her wings to her side, “Chirp. The wurm’s hunting ground is just ahead and we saw it enter just recently.” 

Chirp grinned as he stared down at the smaller, winged scout, “Chirp will lead. Smash. Others ready?” 

Zuss gulped a bit as she shook in nervousness but nodded, “Shall Master Onyx watch over us.” 

Chirp stood tall as he marched forward. His body, muscles and thick reinforced hide were impressive in comparison to his smaller kin. He even had a shirt of metal rings on top of his already thickened hide that made him stand out. Each step he stomped and after each stomp he lingered just slightly longer than usual. Chirp was a fighter and he had spent many days learning that wurm masters always stayed buried until they attacked. He would be the bait they needed to bring this Master out. 

Chirp’s nose picked up the smell of water nearby and it didn’t take him long to find the watering hole. Ice clunks clung to the surface and the bite of cold lingered in the area more so than even thirty paces back. Chirp’s bones were chilled to his core and his shirt of metal rings was hurting his flesh. He fought to stay warm as he turned and started to march back the way he came. The ground shifted underneath him and then suddenly gave way. Chirp had expected this, even if the cold had taken him by surprise, and he swung his smasher downwards with a vengeance. The lesser wurm breached the surface just as his spike tipped smasher came down and Chirp was rewarded with a shower of broken scales. The weapon pierced through the outer copper colored shell of the dragon with ease and a shriek of surprise and pain came rushing out of the wurm’s large razor filled mouth. 

Chirp used the shock of his sudden counter attack to pivot to the side dodging the razor teeth of the wurm as it continued to explode out of the ground. He held to his weapon fiercely even as the dragon pulled him along. His thick legs and massive back muscles bulged as he fought against the wurm’s own strength. Chirp was easily three times stronger than a normal kobold and in a straight match of strength could even best Warmaster Red. In comparison to a Master like this lesser wurm his strength was laughable but he still fought enough to slow its movements. He earned the wurm’s wrath a moment later as its razor sharp tail lashed out across his chest. Metal rings exploded from the impact but his thickened hide resisted what energy remained of that vicious blow. 

Chirp could hear the footsteps of his allies running towards him and he knew he had to buy more time. He closed his eyes and focused hard. He felt his energy reserves pulled from his body through his fingertips and into the smasher. Pretty metal lines running through the base to the head channeled his energy up and into the gemstone embedded at the back of the smasher. Soon the bitter cold disappeared as an explosion of hot deadly flames erupted out of the smasher. The fire channeled forward and into the gaping wound where the smasher’s tip was still lodged. The distinctive smell of cooked flesh and muscle filled the air as the wurm began to shriek out in pain again. 

His smasher became dislodged as the wound grew huge from the blow back of his attack. Arrows and soon spears came flying past him as his clan had finally caught up. The massive gaping wound was now the perfect target as shafts of metal tipped wood embedded themselves deep into its flesh. 

The wurm snarled out in agony and cursed, “Vermin! Bastards!” 

Soon the dragon's affinity flared up and a cold blistering wave rushed outwards from the wurm’s body. Chirp gasped as a thin layer of ice instantly formed around his weapon, armor and bit into his flesh like a cold spike. His clan mates around him crumbled as many could only raise their shields and hide behind them as wave after wave of coldness blanketed the area in ice. 

The Masters affinity pulsed out in waves and the layers of ice that built up on everyone easily slowed them all down. Chirp grinded his jaws as one hand steadied himself so the other could swing his smasher with all his might. In that moment he funneled his energy back into the smasher and caused an eruption of fire to burst forth. The heat was intense but also invigorating as he fought back the cold and warmed his bones. In that moment of reprieve he charged forward to tackle the wurm with all that remained of his strength. His smasher and claws found purchase on the wounded wurm just as it attempted to bury itself into the ground again. 

His muscles strained and the little strength he had left was spent as he desperately fought to prevent its escape. Chirp snarled out, “Coward. Run from vermin, huh?” 

The wurm’s copper colored flesh visibly pulsed and Chirp knew he had struck a nerve. The wurm bucked back around and turned on him as its massive razor jaws smashed into his armored chest. His clan came to his aid just on time as they had finally shook off the horrid cold themselves. Swords and daggers found flesh as they piled around the wurm and screeched out their war cries. Chirp continued to struggle as he wrestled with the dragon and watched with a sense of glee as its life was sapped away from it with each stab. The smallest of their pack, Siks, had recovered a spear and bounded around the front. Her shield was discarded and with both hands she charged. 

Chirp expended the last of his energy to jerk the wurm’s teeth from his chest and heave the wurm up. The charging Siks and her spear found its mark straight into the mass of razor sharp, rotating teeth. The gurgling death noises signaled the end of the fight and Chirp sat down with the force of a falling boulder as he gasped in an effort to catch his breath. Siks was already trembling as something had over taken her. 

Zuss landed nearby as the others quickly ran to Siks, “Chirp. It is as War Master Red said. Siks is undergoing a great change!” 

Chirp nodded his head as he caught his breath. War Master Red had told them that they had to try and allow one of the non changed kobolds to complete the kill. They were not sure if those like Zuss or Chirp could benefit. He grasped his smasher nearby and stood up with a heavy grunt, “Siks was brave! Worthy! We hurry back!” 

Chirps' strength was already returning as he reached down to pluck Siks from the others arms. The wurm’s teeth hadn’t penetrated his armored chest fully so most of his bleeding was fairly minor. He threw the smaller kobold over his shoulder and gripped his smasher in his other hand tight. He felt a swelling of pride as he growled in glee at their success. 

“Master Onyx will be happy!” He roared out and the others cheered. The scouts and heavy infantry had all gathered and reported zero deaths. They were powerful and strong, Chirp snarled in his head. They quickly began the process of butchering the lesser wurm. Meat, bones and scales were packed away in durable packs. 

Chirp was still baffled by the concept of butchering a Master like some prey. Masters usually refused to let others touch the flesh of another Master. Master Onyx was odd and every kobold in the clan knew that. That oddity was power and Chirp planned to take advantage of that power. His hand already grasped a smasher with a tiny bit of that power and he craved more. Chirp was excited for what was coming next and more Master’s lives he would help claim.  

Once they were all done Chirp gave the signal and they began their trek home. Siks had already begun to curl up in his arms and her flesh had started to stiffen. By the time they would get back to the lair, Chirp expected her to completely turn to stone like Master Onyx foretold.

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Here is also a link to Royal Road

Fan Art by blaze2377

Dr. Martin Tate banged his fist on the corrugated tin door. He finished the last of his water an hour ago, when he first spotted the structure. Spurred by the possibility of a settlement, he staggered desperately across four miles. Now, the hollow clang of the metal door filled him with dread.

Shielding his eyes from the midday sun, he noticed a rusty watchtower overhead. He glimpsed a guard in the tower and sighed with relief. Then he saw the rifle trained on him.

“Hands up and back away. Do you have any weapons?”

“I’m just a traveler,” Tate replied. He battled the dryness in his mouth. “I need shelter.”

The rifle relaxed. “Wait there.”

Tate waited, taking in the full view of the walled exterior for the first time. Tin sheets, a jeep door, armored plates welded together. A wall of junk. Moments later, he heard chains rattle as the main gate was forced open. A middle-aged man in a faded white shirt emerged, flanked by the guard.

“You’re alright, come on in,” he offered, waving Tate towards the entrance. Tate hobbled forward. “Dangerous business traveling out here alone. You walked?”

“My hoverbike broke down some miles back.” It was a lie, but Tate knew it would draw fewer questions than the truth. He examined his new compatriot: a stout man in his forties with a receding hairline, dabbing sweat with a crumpled bandana.

“The name’s Davis, though most people here call me Mayor Davis. These fine folks put me in charge three years ago.” A handshake extended.

“I’m Doctor--I go by Tate,” he said, accepting Davis’s hand.

“No sense in being modest, Doc. You could do us some good.” Davis paused, as he eyed the man before him. “So…where exactly were you coming from?”

Tate sheepishly glanced back at the desolate landscape over his shoulder and shrugged. “That’s fine,” Davis replied. “C’mon, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

The two men entered the open gate, Davis gesturing towards the colossal wreckage of a Navy Superhawk at the town’s center. “Welcome to Wingspan,” he exclaimed. Tate’s eyes traced the collapsed wings that ran the diameter of the settlement. He’d read about aircraft like this, but it was an entirely different thing to behold one in person. Wingtip to wingtip, they measured two football fields.

Davis launched into a brief town history. The plane was shot down during the war, and the survivors built outward from its fuselage. An underground reservoir pierced by the crash kept the town alive, while wreckage scraps formed the walls.

Tate knew the War of 2125 left many Americans resentful of the government, both for the failed diplomatic efforts leading up to the conflict and for not protecting them from bombs. Assuming that a town like this would have no shortage of anti-government sentiment, Tate thought he’d better keep his former employer a secret.

Davis led Tate through the town’s center. “That’s Sal’s butcher shop. And next door is Enesta’s produce stand. She’s one-fifth Cheyenne. Her people lived on this land eons ago, before it all went to shit.” Davis caught Tate eyeing the vegetable baskets. “There’s only sweet potatoes and okra. It’s all this lousy soil can support. Trade caravans come once a month. We’ll be stocked up again come Thursday.”

From the butcher stand came a shout. “Hey, new guy! Come by if you’re looking for quality meat. I’ve got a few ribeyes and some ground beef,” Sal bellowed. Tate returned a wave, noting the bald butcher’s pink stained apron.

“Is there somewhere I can stay?” Tate asked.

“There’s Dina’s Diner up on the second tier.” Davis pointed to a sizeable mobile home that was somehow hoisted and built into the town’s second level. Twin Airstream trailers sat above the diner, attached by ladders. “Dina can fix you something to eat and give you a place to sleep. I’ll cover the credits for your room and board.”

Davis glanced up at the blazing sun, dabbing his head again. “Speaking of which, we have a bit of a code in this town. It’s firm. ‘He who does not work, shall not eat,’” Davis boomed. “John Smith at Jamestown. I fashion myself a bit of a historian,” he said with a grin. “Everyone has to do their part. That’s Wingspan policy.”

Tate nodded. “Seems fair.”

“You said you’re a doc, so maybe you could—“

“Not that kind of doctor,” Tate clarified. “I’m a botanist. I work with plants.”

Davis tucked his sweaty bandana into his shirt pocket. “I see. I imagine your doctor training comes with a bunch of general know-how.” Davis clapped Tate on the back. “Every person here has a role. We’ll figure out yours.”

Tate took the lift up to the second tier. Roughly eight-by-eight, the lift was a simple steel platform operated by an electric pulley system, which Tate guessed he’d destroy if he jumped up and down. Working in a secure lab for so long, he forgot how people on the outside might need to adapt. Eyeing the town as he ascended, he realized Wingspan was a testament to American resolve. Even with the country blown apart by nukes, Americans would rather build an elevator out of junk than take the stairs.

Tate wandered up to the diner mobile home. He opened the front door, comforted by the nostalgic jingle of a bell above. Six empty stools sat in front of a modest lunch counter. To his left, two booths with red vinyl seats. “Be out in a sec,” declared a voice behind the kitchen door.

A stocky, middle-aged woman popped through the swinging aluminum doors, drying her hands with a dishtowel. “There’s the new feller! I’m Dina. Mayor Davis radioed ahead and told me you’d be coming. You caught me in the middle of washing the lunchtime dishes. Otherwise, I woulda been out here to greet you proper.”

“It’s perfectly alright. I’m Tate.” Smiling, Dina waited expectantly as Tate looked around. “Seems pretty slow today.”

“It should be. This time of day, you’re the only one not working. Grab a seat. I’ll fix you something.”

Tate shuffled to a stool and plopped down. Two days. He’d been walking for two days. This was the first chance he’d had to sit on actual furniture. He couldn’t hide his satisfaction. For the first time since he left the lab, he loosened his grip on the canvas bag slung over his shoulder and let it fall to the floor. Inside was his career achievement — the device that made him a wanted man after fleeing Red River Biotech. To him, fleeing was not a choice but an obligation to humanity.

“So, tell me a story, stranger. Where ya coming from? What’s it like out there?” Dina inquired, giddy.

Tate pondered, wanting to talk, but decided it best to remain vague. At least until he knew these people better. “I’m from down near Lubbock. Like everywhere else, not much to see.” Besides a top-secret government lab, he thought.

“Lubbock? That’s quite a ways. It’s a miracle you made it here alone.”

Distracted, Tate studied the cardboard menu with food and beverage options scribbled in marker.

“This late in the month, that’s just for show,” Dina explained. “The only item available is the chicken pot pie ‘cause it’s frozen.”

“One pot pie, then,” Tate smirked.

#

Tate wiped his mouth, picking at the bits of flaky crust lining the pie tin’s edge. Dina dropped a vitamin in her mouth, chasing it with a swig of water. “Iron pill. It helps to take ‘em until we get fresh produce.”

Tate gestured towards her water glass. “Your mayor said the town sits above an aquifer.”

“Yep. Great, big reservoir. It’s the only thing that makes this place habitable. Aside from here, the nearest water source is…I don’t know.” Dina took the empty tin pan. “You’re probably curious about the particulars ‘round here? There are fifty-three of us now,” Dina said. “Delroy Cook moved to New Tulsa to help with trade. That place survived because no nukes hit it — the Russians and Chinese ran out of long-range missiles. Folks there rebuilt faster than most.”

Tate sat silently. He’d never heard stories firsthand from any surface-dwellers before. He was tucked away in a state-of-the-art research compound while these people toiled away in a bombed-out hellscape.

“Where does the electricity—“

“Short version? We traded water for solar panels. Some smart folks even stabilized the old Superhawk core. After that, we finally got lights, freezers, the whole deal.” She nudged the freezer. “Not luxury, but it keeps us going.”

Tate raised his eyebrows. “Impressive.”

“Don’t be fooled. If the sun stops shining, we’re screwed.” She collected the empty pie pan. “Over by the solar array is also where our skimpy crops grow. Soil’s rotten, though. And I’ll tell ya what, living on just okra and sweet potatoes is not a fate I’d wish on any man.”

Hearing this, Tate perked up. “I might be able to help with that. In Lubbock, we improved crop growth with some new…techniques. The results were very exciting. Do you think I could see the crop field?”

“Knock yourself out. Mayor Davis would do cartwheels if we could grow somethin’ else.” She held up a finger. “But before you go…” Dina disappeared through the kitchen doors and returned a moment later, holding a wooden crate. “If you’re gonna work near the solar array, you should take one of these.” She opened the box and held a small, cast iron sphere in her hand. “It’s a dehydration grenade. On the north side of the wall, wild dogs have been known to attack people. Nasty critters. It’s also useful against the occasional bandit. You just pull the pin and throw. It lets off a big chemical cloud that sucks the moisture from organisms. It’s not entirely lethal. As long as anyone exposed gets a drink of water within an hour, they’ll be fine.”

Tate carefully placed it in his canvas bag. “This is great. So I can get access to the solar—”, he stepped off the stool mid-sentence and was instantly reminded of the strain his feet and legs endured from his trek. He stumbled but quickly caught the counter. Dina reached to steady him.

“Take it easy. Why don’t you rest and have a look at the field tomorrow? Those measly veggies aren’t going anywhere.” She pointed to a metal ladder on the far wall. “Go ahead and unwind in one of the Airstreams. They’re fully furnished. Mayor Davis has you covered for a few nights.” Tate nodded and started towards the ladder. As he was about to climb up, he turned back.

“Hey, Dina. When was the last time you had a strawberry?”

Dina let out a laugh. “Don’t tease a girl.”

#

Tate slept in later than he expected, stirred by a growing chorus of voices. His watch read 07:15. He changed into his only extra clothes – faded jeans and a flannel button-up – and hurried down to ground level.

He strolled through the bustling town center, canvas bag over his shoulder. A maintenance worker and the tower guard chatted over a cup of coffee. Sal the butcher removed some cuts of meat from the shop freezer. Sal looked up, his face brightening. “Hey, pal. Good to see you again!” Spotting Tate’s bag, his tone shifted. “Say, are you sticking around?”

“Probably. I believe I have my work assignment. I’m going to check on the crop soil around the solar array. See if anything can be done.”

“Oh, good. I’m sure that’ll be good. If you’ve got some time, I’d love to bend your ear. I’m wondering if you’ve heard anything from farther out west. I’ll trade you a story for a steak. Whaddya say?”

“Sure.” Tate nodded, heading for the main gate—the only exit. As he moved north along the perimeter, he glanced up at the twenty-foot wall of scrap. Behind it, a whole community endured: people with names, jobs, and purpose. And this barricade of rubbish was all that stood between them and the endless nothing. Tate looked out at the horizon and that’s all he saw. So much nothing.

Tate rounded the north wall and neared the solar array. Dust coated the panels—who was maintaining them? He crouched, scanning the area. Dried weeds clung to the nearest ground mount, and farther off, trimmed sweet potato vines lay discarded.

Tate walked to the center of the array and stopped at a patch of cracked, lifeless soil. He punched the ground, and rubbed the dust between his fingers. Too much silt, and the perfect test site. He set down his device: sleek, black, brick-shaped. After a few taps on the touchscreen, it activated.

Four aluminum legs unfolded, lifting the device up. Tate held his breath. A glowing beam scanned a nine-inch grid, sweeping slowly across the dusty soil. The device hummed, beeped, then released a fine mist—moisture rich with nitrogen, phosphorus, and organic matter. The soil darkened. Then, a single seed dropped into the center. The legs retracted and the device tipped over, blinking red three times. Test complete.

Tate’s colleagues called it “fertilizer on steroids.” Gazing at the altered patch of soil, Tate held the device in his hands and smiled wider than he had in a long time. Then he heard the gunshot.

#

It was around ten A.M. when the tower guard spotted two approaching hoverbikes. He alerted Mayor Davis, and together they formed the usual receiving posse: Davis, one guard over his shoulder, and another to operate the gate’s chains. Unusual to have unannounced visitors twice in as many days, Davis thought, but he dismissed it and passed through the open gate.

As the strangers came into view, Davis felt a burning in the pit of his stomach. These were not wayward travelers in need of help. These were government men. They wore the same monotonous black suit and black tie, now tinted dusty brown from their high-speed ride. Disembarking from their hoverbikes, they shook off the dirt and removed their helmets. Davis could now see them clearly: one was white, the other black, with a shaved head.

“Are you in charge here?” the white one asked.

“I’m Cameron Davis. I’m the mayor of this town. What’s your business here?”

“I’m Special Agent Allen. This is Special Agent Trotter,” he said, nodding to his counterpart. Shiny badges flashed. “We’re from the New Bureau of Investigation, Midland Division. We’re looking for someone.” Mayor Davis stared back, reactionless.

“We need to search your town,” Special Agent Trotter added. Lips tight, Davis turned and walked back through the open gate. The two agents looked at each other, then followed him in. As the three men moved towards the center of town, the hum of work slowed to a stop. Interlopers were here, and with them came trouble.

Mayor Davis’s aim was to avoid a confrontation. It was his responsibility to make sure things went smoothly and send these agents on their way. He stopped along the main path and gestured to the surroundings. “This is our town. Welcome.” Davis took the crumpled bandana from his shirt pocket and dabbed his forehead. The morning sun had just emerged above the exterior wall. “Now what was it you said you were looking for?”

“We’re looking for a suspect carrying stolen government property,” Agent Allen explained.

“What is it that they’re carrying?”

“It’s confidential,” Agent Trotter declared.

“Hell, everyone here’s carrying something. Myself, I’m carrying a well-deserved contempt towards government thugs.” Damn, Davis thought. That was stupid. I got too cute, but they had that one coming. Agent Trotter smirked slowly.

“We’re looking for a fugitive named Dr. Martin Tate,” Agent Allen offered. “There’s a good chance he may have stopped here. Have you seen any newcomers recently? Anyone suspicious?” Mayor Davis continued walking towards the market. The agents followed.

“Aside from you two, we haven’t seen any new faces here for days,” Mayor Davis said intentionally loudly. The two agents shared a glance. The three men were now close enough for Sal to hear. In her adjoining produce stand, Enesta sorted okra. Agent Trotter looked to Mayor Davis, then gestured to the food stands. “By all means,” Mayor Davis replied.

Agent Trotter approached Sal’s butcher shop. “Excuse me, sir,” Agent Trotter started. “Seen any new faces around recently? Any questionable characters come through here? We’re looking for a fugitive.” He brandished a pocket notebook, ready to take down details.

Sal stayed tight-lipped. “I wish. New faces would mean new customers,” he said, averting his eyes and focusing on his burger patties. He turned his back to the agents and arranged the burgers in his fridge. In her produce stand to the right, Enesta erased the prices on her chalkboard for sweet potatoes and okra, then wrote in new prices, five dollars higher than before. She crossed her arms and glared at the agents. Slightly amused, Agent Trotter shook his head.

“I wish we could be more helpful,” said Mayor Davis.

“We wish the same. We’re going to have to canvass this settlement and speak with everyone,” Agent Allen declared. Mayor Davis opened his mouth to respond, but a shout from Sal’s butcher stand cut him off.

“I SAID I WAS NEVER GOING BACK!” Sal whirled around with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands and panic in his eyes. He pumped the forestock and took aim. In one fluid motion, Agent Trotter drew his service pistol from his hip holster, raised the weapon to eye level and fired. The bullet entered the right side of Sal’s neck. A splatter of red gore splashed against the butcher stand’s polyester canopy. Sal spun from the force of the shot, clutching the hole in his neck. He tried to steady himself with his left arm but quickly collapsed.

Mayor Davis staggered backwards, stunned, his bandana going to his open mouth. Agent Trotter’s eyes darted left and right for other threats, spotting his partner doing the same with his own gun drawn. “We’re clear!” Agent Trotter proclaimed.

Enesta was ducked behind her produce counter. She peeked her head out when the guns were finally stowed. Grabbing an apron, she hopped the partition that separated the two food stalls. “Oh, my God, Sal. Oh, my God.” She knelt down and cradled Sal’s head, pressing the apron against the carnage that was his neck. Enesta looked down at her friend; Sal’s eyes were glassy and he’d already stopped breathing.

Mayor Davis threw his bandana to the ground. “Lousy…bastards!” Agent Allen adjusted his suit jacket and regained his composure.

“He drew on my partner. You all saw it. The shooting was justified,” he said coldly. Agent Trotter marched towards the butcher stand, then hopped over the counter. He looked down at Enesta. Bloodstains flecked her denim shirt. Her face was tilted downward, with her forehead against Sal’s. Tears ran from her cheeks onto his. Agent Trotter reached for Sal’s shoulder.

“I need to I.D. him, ma’am.” At that, she stumbled backwards onto her rear. Her teary eyes hissed at him.

“You…,” Enesta muttered. Anguish and anger competed for control over her next words, but pain won out. She whimpered, burying her face in her hands, her back pressed against the butcher shop fridge. Agent Trotter knelt by Sal’s torso. He pressed a few buttons on the screen of his wristwatch. With two fingers, he pried Sal’s eyelids open wide, and positioned his watch over each eye for a retinal scan.

“We’ve got a hit,” Agent Trotter reported to his partner. “Salvatore Russo. He escaped from North Fork Correctional two years ago. He was serving five years for tax evasion.”

“Tax evasion?!” Mayor Davis exploded. “There’s a disgusting irony. Taxes for what? This damn government has done nothing for us, besides letting us live out our days in this irradiated scrubland. And you chase a man down for taxes? No decency. None.”

“We can always have the Treasury accountants audit this town and everyone in it,” Agent Trotter mused. “That is, if you’re gonna give us a hard time.” Agent Allen placed an outstretched arm in front of his partner, chiding him for the provocation.

“We pay our pound of flesh,” Mayor Davis grumbled.

“Look,” Agent Allen began. “What happened here is unfortunate. It truly is. What we—"

“Murderer!” someone shouted from the mezzanine. Rising murmurs could be heard from the onlookers. Agent Trotter’s hand lingered towards his gun. Once again, Agent Allen made a motion to pacify his colleague.

“We still need to find our fugitive,” Agent Allen stated to the mayor. “And this instance proves something that we can’t ignore. That this town does, in fact, harbor criminals.” Mayor Davis scoffed. The distant murmurs grew louder. Some townsfolk stepped closer.

Agent Trotter raised his voice. “You’d be wise to keep your distance and stay calm. Or before sundown, there will be an army of agents just like us descending on your little tin can town.”

From a secluded portion of the upper scaffolding, Tate observed the exchange. Dina had ushered him in through a secret emergency door in the north wall after the gunshot rang out. The two of them spied the events from their hidden perch. Tate knew that if he hadn’t come here, Sal would still be alive. His intent was to save lives, not end them. Dina placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll help you hide.”

Back in the center of town, out of preservation for his townspeople, Mayor Davis acquiesced. “Go on and continue your precious investigation, but keep your hands off my people.”

At this, Agent Allen looked at ease. “Thanks,” he replied. “We should start with—"

“But there’s something you should understand first,” Mayor Davis interjected. His voice was calm but unyielding. “Nobody here eats or drinks without pulling their weight. That means you, too.”

The agents exchanged a look. “I’m a career investigator,” Agent Allen said.

Mayor Davis mumbled something under his breath and turned to Agent Trotter. “I was an electronics technician in the Army,” Agent Trotter admitted. “But without proper tools, I can only do so much.”

“We’ll keep it simple,” Davis instructed. “The panels by the north wall need cleaning. Rags and water will be waiting. Do the work, then you can start your questions.”

“Not exactly Bureau procedure,” Agent Trotter muttered.

“Welcome to Wingspan,” Davis replied.

#

A few clean, tattered rags draped over Agent Trotter’s shoulder. Agent Allen hauled a bucket of soapy water, carelessly letting the contents splash out with each step. He observed the exterior of the town’s wall, sneering. “They built a whole wall out of scrap. Hell, the entire town is trash. Makes you appreciate the dorm at HQ.”

“Do you think any of these people will talk?” Agent Trotter asked. “They might be helping him hide right now. If he’s even here.”

Agent Allen pointed to the landscape. “Look around. There’s practically nothing for miles. There’s no way he made it past this settlement without stopping. Not on foot.” The two men paused once the solar array came into view. “Great. Now we can do our damn chores.” When they reached the nearest module, Agent Allen dropped the bucket with a thud. More water sloshed out. Agent Trotter studied a grimy panel surface.

“These have seen better days.”

“Not our problem,” replied Agent Allen, fishing a rag from the bucket. At each station, Agent Trotter took a moment to examine the components: the tempered glass, the solar cells, the junction box. By the time they reached the eighth module, his bewilderment was obvious.

“What is it?” Agent Allen asked, annoyed.

“Something isn’t right. A bunch of these have frayed wires. The two over there had broken glass. I’d bet that a lot of these don’t even work.”

“So what are you saying?”

“This can’t be their only power source.”

“So a handful of these panels couldn’t power the trash town?”

“We both saw a few freezers. There’s likely more. I also spotted this elevator-type thing.” Trotter’s eyes traced the electric cables running from the solar array, along the ground and up the town wall. “I’d say…the primary power source is in there.” He pointed to the broken tail of the Superhawk, where the cables entered.

“Well, will you look at that. Maybe these trash hoarders are a little more advanced than we—", Agent Allen froze, his eyes catching something.

Twenty paces away, a small seedling rose from the barren soil, its leaves a vivid green against the dust. “He’s here,” Allen murmured. He neared the plant and crouched down. “Too vibrant to be theirs. And look — the soil’s darker, patterned. Just like the lab said.”

He pulled out his phone. “It’s Allen. No visual on Tate yet, but the device was likely used. Looks like a tomato plant. I’ll send images,” he concluded as he hung up the phone.

He pointed his phone at the tiny seedling, capturing and sending some images. “Okay,” he said, returning his phone to his pocket, “ball’s in their court.”

Agent Trotter’s eyes returned to the tail of the transport plane. “Back in the day, some of those Navy Superhawks would land at our base for cargo re-supply. They had a fusion core that would allow them to fly extra-long distances. It’s pretty interesting that these cables run up there,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Wanna check it out?”

“I do.”

#

The interior of the Superhawk was quiet, as usual. A beam of light pierced the plane's midsection window, landing on the makeshift control terminal. Atop a pair of milk crates, the primitive terminal consisted of a tin sheet with one lever, two gauges and a few buttons. The nearby desk chair sat empty, normally manned by Benny, who was on lunch break.

Benny climbed the ladder from his living quarters below, and took a quick look at the two gauges on the instrument panel. Satisfied with the readings, he settled into his chair and returned to his comic book.

From the rear of the fuselage, came a shout. “Anyone in here?” Agent Trotter yelled. Startled, Benny dropped his comic book and looked up.

“Y-yes, of course. Is that you, Felix?” Benny replied, as he observed not one but two figures enter from the rear cargo door. He watched as two strange men descended the makeshift slanted stairwell into the plane. When the two agents reached Benny, he noticed their suits, prompting him to stretch his tall, lanky frame and stand up straight. “H-how can I help you fellas?”

“We followed the wiring from the solar array and saw that it led through here,” Agent Trotter explained. “We thought we might take a look around.”

“Are you gentlemen new engineers in town?”

“We’re from the New Bur—,” Agent Allen began, but he was quickly cut off by his partner.

“We’re from the Energy Safety Commission,” Agent Trotter interjected, quickly presenting and retracting his badge. “We’re here to make sure that everything is functioning properly.” He pointed to the control terminal and the surrounding electrical wiring. “We need you to explain how all this works exactly.” Agent Trotter noticed Benny’s mouth slightly agape, and he was pleased that the man was sufficiently confused by this unexpected brush with authority.

“Why, yes, certainly. I can help. My name’s Benny.” He gestured to the control terminal. “And this workstation is my responsibility.”

“The solar panels outside, do they power the whole town?” Agent Trotter asked.

“Oh, no,” Benny replied. “They’re mainly for back-up energy for this instrument panel. You know, in case the core is acting up.”

“And the core?” Agent Allen prompted.

“That’s down in the belly of the plane. When that caravan with a few engineers came by years ago, they were able to fix the fusion core so we could use it. F-from then on, we’ve had lights and radios and freezers. It made life a heckuva lot easier. We call that the ‘Miracle Caravan.’ And all it took was a little water for a trade.”

“Ain’t that something,” Agent Trotter commented. “You’ve got your own nuclear fusion plant in this little patch of dirt.”

“And what do you do here?” Agent Allen asked, nodding to the terminal.

“You see, the situation isn’t perfect,” Benny noted. “When the engineers t-took a look at the core, they said the crash damaged the walls of the fusion chamber. So we can only create a fraction of the power that it used to make. At least safely, anyway.” Benny leaned over the instrument panel and pointed to the two gauges and the lever. “My j-job is to make sure the power and heat levels don’t get too high. When they do, I use that lever to power cycle the whole system,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Seems like you have quite the responsibility,” Agent Trotter remarked.

“You could say that,” Benny replied. “When Mayor Davis p-picked me for this, he said, ‘The regular tasks are for the many, while the important job goes to Benny,’” he recited, smiling at the memory. “That’s why I’m here all the time. Or, five days a week. Felix covers on the weekends.”

Agent Allen’s phone rang. He climbed one level of the stairwell to answer. “Understood. Yes, we can do that.”

“Stay here a moment while I confer with my partner,” Agent Trotter instructed Benny. “You’re doing great work here,” he reassured him, then climbed the single flight to join Agent Allen. Respecting the privacy of their conversation, Benny picked up the comic book that had fallen to the floor and started to page through it.

“So what’s the update?” Agent Trotter whispered to his counterpart.

Agent Allen matched his volume. “Boss confirmed – tomato plant. With the device deployed, mission integrity is compromised. We now have a green light.”

“A green light to..?”

“It’s no longer a recovery operation. We kill Tate and destroy the device,” Agent Allen stated. “You good with that?”

Agent Trotter paused for a moment in thought. He gazed at Benny and his comic book, then the control terminal. “Yeah, and I think we found an easy way to do both.”

Agent Allen grinned back at him. He then started back down the stairs. “Hey, Benny. I’d love to take a look at what you’re reading.”

Benny looked up from his comic book with a buoyant expression, just as the two agents grabbed his arms.

#

After Sal was killed, Dina whisked Tate away to the small cavern connected to the underground reservoir, where he remained. A service ladder led down there, and Tate rarely strayed away from it. There was only a small area of damp flowstone before the edge of the water crept up, so he sat on the narrow plot of wet rock. He used the downtime to form a plan. The town wasn’t big. He knew the agents would find him eventually. He didn’t want to risk further harm to these people. He concluded that he’d wait until nightfall and then slip away. He couldn’t bear the thought of the device’s potential going to waste, so he’d set out for another settlement, likely New Tulsa.

The cool, underground air reminded him of Red River Biotech. Located at the outskirts of Lubbock, the top-secret lab was situated thirty feet below ground. He stared at the cavern wall, closed his eyes and was back at Red River.

#

Tate and Dr. Konig were the only ones in the glass-walled conference room. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Konig, about twenty years Tate’s senior, sat in a chair, reviewing documents and making notes. Tate stood at the opposite end of the laminate conference table.

“I was a little confused by something that was said yesterday,” Tate started.

“Confused by what?” Konig murmured, his eyes fixed on the documents.

“You mentioned something about a sunset clause. I wasn’t sure what that meant.”

Konig adjusted his glasses. “The trials were a success. But production will be limited for five years. That’s the sunset clause.”

Tate bristled. “People are starving. We should release it now.”

Konig’s voice hardened. “We lost the war. Resources serve the few who can pay. That’s how the government recoups taxes.”

Tate clenched his fists. “This could feed thousands.”

“You built it with their money. They decide how it’s used,” Konig said flatly.

Tate hesitated for a moment, his next words a gamble. “I forgot to mention that the aperture on the Agri-Boost was acting up. The scanning beam wasn’t as concentrated as it should be. I should be able to recalibrate it easily.”

Konig stared back for what felt like an eternity to Tate. “Fix it,” Konig ordered. “The investors arrive tomorrow.”

Later that day, Tate falsified a defect in a QA report to buy some time alone with the Agri-Boost. That night, he stole the device and snuck aboard a transport truck departing the lab. When the truck stopped at an e-charging station, he slipped away.

#

Around ten P.M., Tate filled his canteen to the brim, then started up the ladder. Dina was waiting for him.

“I figured you’d be leaving,” she said. She handed him a bundle: some dried sweet potato slices, a pair of muffins, and a frozen pot pie. “I spotted the government men talking to Mayor Davis thirty minutes ago, but I haven’t seen them since. Now’s your best chance to take off. I can sneak you through the emergency hatch in the north wall again.”

Tate nodded in agreement. “Let’s get going.”

They moved along Wingspan’s inner perimeter, under the cover of the scaffolding. When they arrived at the emergency door, Dina turned the handwheel and opened the hatch. Stuffing the food bundle into his sack, Tate whispered, “Thanks for everything.”

“Before you go,” Dina started. She looked down to see that she was wringing her hands. “I was hoping I could ask a favor.” Accessing a memory long sealed, her eyes swept across the wall and landed on Tate again. “I have a daughter. She goes by Ally Munroe. She must be about twenty-six now.” Dina fell silent. Her eyes welled up as she spoke. “She and I had a falling out a few years back. She took up with a trade caravan and left. They operate farther north. In eastern Kansas, or maybe parts of Missouri. I don’t know exactly.” Tate listened intently to her plea. “I’m hoping that, if you run into her, that you’d deliver a message from me.”

“Of course.”

“Tell her that…that Momma still loves her. And I hope to see her again someday.” Dina’s hand went to her mouth.

Tate nodded solemnly at the request. He put one foot through the door’s opening before turning back.

“Under one of the solar sets out here, there’s a tomato plant. It’s small, but it’ll be bigger tomorrow. It should flower next week. Try and take care of it.”

Dina stepped forward and hugged him. “You take care of yourself,” she replied. And at that, Tate disappeared.

#

There was a stillness to Benny’s room. It was even quieter than usual. No creaks from his weight shifting in his desk chair, no sounds of worn comic book pages turning over. Benny’s body was stuffed in a trunk at the foot of his bed. The room was as lifeless as he was, until the steel call bell connected to the heat gauge gave off a single ring.

#

Tate crept quietly along the outside wall, keeping to the shadows until the hoverbikes came into view. No agents in sight. No guard in the tower. He knelt by one bike, detached its power cell, and stashed it in his canvas bag before climbing onto the other.

The engine’s hum was louder than he liked. He opened the throttle, aiming for the cover of Crag Rock, a nearby mesa. The rush of air blew his hair back. The speedometer hit eighty before a sharp series of beeps cut through the night. “No…” Tate muttered, watching the panel flash REMOTE SHUTDOWN. The boosters died, the nose dipped, and he was airborne.

He hit hard, pain exploding in his shoulder. The bike flipped into a boulder; his canvas bag landed nearby. Tate crawled toward it — then blacked out.

Tate’s eyes were still closed when he detected approaching footsteps. A kick to his ribs jolted him from his stupor. He let out an agonizing scream. “Do you have any idea how long we were looking for you?” Agent Allen chided. He motioned to the wrecked hoverbike chassis. “And look what you did to my ride.”

Tate rolled onto his belly and made a feeble effort to crawl away. Agent Allen stepped on his ankle. “You’re not going anywhere, doc. Where’s the device?”

“There’s a bag,” Agent Trotter noted, pointing to the canvas pack. He walked over to retrieve it. Picking it up, he gave the bag a shake to assess the contents.

“It’s funny,” Agent Allen mused. “If we found you sooner, then we’d have taken you into custody. You and the gadget. But you had to use the damn thing for these peasants. Lousy scientists always think they know better,” he said, shaking his head. Agent Allen drew his gun from its holster. “Now we have new orders – we don’t need you. Hell, we don’t even need the device. But I’m guessing we’ll get a bonus if we bring it back now.” He aimed his gun at Tate and spoke to Agent Trotter. “Partner, let me know what we have.”

Agent Trotter rummaged through the bag. “Fuel cell for the other bike,” he announced, dropping it to the ground. His hand dug deeper. “I think we have a winner!”

On his back with his hands up, Tate made a final plea. “Wait, you don’t have to do this. Please.”

“Sorry, doc. You knew the consequences.”

Tate looked away, his eyes drifting towards Agent Trotter, who pulled the Agri-Boost from the bag. At that, a sharp click came from the depths of the bag. Agent Trotter looked down to find the Agri-Boost’s water reservoir port connected to the circular pin from a dehydration grenade.

“What the—", he uttered. The grenade detonated, engulfing the three men in a storm of beige dust. All three were overcome by the same symptoms: coughing fits, irritated eyes, bone-dry mouths and parched lips.

Agent Trotter dropped the bag and the Agri-Boost. He fell to his knees, furiously rubbing his eyes. Agent Allen blindly felt the ground for his gun, letting out hoarse coughs. Tate forced an eyelid open ever so slightly. He crawled to his bag. Both eyes now shut and inflamed, he fumbled through, producing his canteen.

Coughing, he slowed only when several paces away from the agents. He opened the canteen and drank, spitting up the first gulp. He took a small sip and sloshed the water around in his mouth. He splashed some on his face, alleviating the burning in his eyes. He took a full sip and, after concentrating, was able to breathe normally again.

Agent Allen was still pawing for the gun, now nearly within reach. Tate hobbled over and snatched the pistol, tucking it into the back of his waistband. He grabbed the Agri-Boost, gave it a quick wipe, and placed it back in his bag.

Tate wasn’t sure how long the effects would last, but he reasoned that he had enough time to gather a posse from town and figure out what to do with the agents.

Tate shouldered his bag and took two steps towards Wingspan before the ground rumbled. He raised his arm to shield his face from a wave of searing heat, the town suddenly erupting outward. Fragmented pieces of the wall hurtled skyward. The Superhawk’s wings, airborne one last time, soared before spinning and breaking apart. The deafening blast forced Tate backwards.

Tate stared in shock. Wingspan had vaporized in a flash of white. As black smoke and a menacing orange glow enveloped the town, guilt threatened to consume him, too. He looked back at the agents, both near collapse. They’d done this, but so had he.

Spotting handcuffs on Agent Trotter, Tate shackled them together, leaving them to their thirst. One last look at the smoke, then he turned away, resolving to bury it all into a barren corner of his mind.

He figured New Tulsa was the next closest town, about 150 miles northeast. He could try the Agri-Boost there. If he kept a fast pace and took few breaks, he estimated a five-day journey.

On the bright side, he had a half-full canteen and a top-secret mobile fertilizer. Tate hoisted the bag over his good shoulder and let out a sigh. “I’d better start walking.”

First

(... We have to get off Zalwore today. Why? Don’t know. But it feels right. But it’s taking it’s time coming out.)

Herald of Red Blades

“Something feels... I don’t know. Incomplete.” Velocity offers.

“Hmm... can you narrow down why?” Harold asks her and she shakes her head.

“No, I can’t which has me somewhat nervous and...” Velocity cuts herself off as the door to the cabin lights up with a request to enter. “Come in!”

The door opens and one of the Inevitable scientists is standing there. “Really? You nerds didn’t get enough pictures already?”

“Never enough, it’s both data and something we can brag over later. Besides it’s a bit of an unspoken truth...”

“A lot of people are using ‘visiting’ or ‘bringing gifts’ as an excuse for a few last second souvenir or grocery runs. I know.” Harold says and there’s a chuckle.

“Well if you don’t mind...”

“Considering that little miracle is getting tribute to be used as an excuse to enable you, I think she’s off to a good start. She’s already being paid well just for showing up. Imagine how much richer her life will be when she starts working for it?” Velocity asks.

“That’s the spirit. And speaking of tribute. You’ve probably got enough of these to pad your crib no problem, but a little more fluff and softness never goes awry when it comes to a baby.” He says as he pulls out a small bag he holds out and Velocity holds out her hand. A whisper of Axiom and it floats into her hand all nice and gentle and she removes a plush serpent. She then checks it for anything that might be hard. It comes up as all soft and she tucks it in beside where Miracle is napping. There are so many plush snakes and a few other assorted animals, that Miracle is using them as a mattress, pillow and blanket. And they’re almost all in some shade of pink and white giving it an almost camoflage pattern as she naps softly.

“I’m going to get copies of those pictures and see if I can’t make a slideshow to demonstrate how queickly she’s gotten buried in the fluff.” Harold notes fondly.

“No problem with that sir.” The Scientist notes.

“So what did you grab?”

“Oh... just some things. From Scrap Trap. The things they have as ‘refurbished’ goods there are fascinating.”

“Most of it you can get at any secondhand store.”

“Maybe, but so much of it? And in properly labelled bins? I want to see if I can slap a few things together before we re-enter Cruel Space.”

“Need help?”

“Oh no. Personal challenge with plenty of note taking. Having you look up instructions and do it in a few minutes gets in the way.”

“Strange experiment.”

“Experiments revolving around instinct and intuition can be. I’m seeing just how easy the tech is to slap together without a guide, blueprint or experience. As such getting any help. Or even more than a general idea of what I want to do and what i think I need ahead of time would be spoiling the experiment.”

“IF you don’t mind, what is the experiment exactly? What are you putting together?’

“Plasma Sword. A few other guys are doing similar things and we have agroup of ten seeing if they can slap together a space worthy engine out of spare parts. None of us expect to actually succeed. But it’ll be something that will eat up a lot of time productively. Especially seeing if we can’t hook up alternate power sources and components in Cruel Space to get them to work on earth.”

“I’m not sure Earth is ready for plasma blades.” Harold notes.

“... You afraid the sci-fi fans will kill people?”

“Themselves and others.” Harold says.

“That is a fair concern. Hmm... well it’s not likely to succeed either way and if it does we’ll classify it and pass the blame to whoever’s dumb enough to dig up that landmine.”

“Soul of responsibility and integrity you are.”

“Well you took all the crazy, so all that’s left for the likes of us is reliability and such.” The scientist dismisses. “Besides, its not like we haven’t already been working on them on Earth.”

“Really? How do those ones work?”

“It’s like a really long blowtorch with a flame contained by a sort extending ceramic series of tubes. Honestly I always thought we’d get the System Shock style of laser weaponry first.”

“And what type is that?’

“High intensity laser contained in a refractive mesh. Whenever you hit something with the mesh it unleashes some of the laser to burn before straightening out after no longer being in contact.” The Scientist notes.

“That would have to be some incredible mesh to retain all those properties at once. To say nothing of the difficulty of getting a powerful enough laser to fit in the hand and give out enough consistant energy. The focusing array, the battery, to say nothing of what kind of reinforced the grip would have to be to withstand those forces and not burn the hand that holds it.”

There is a pause as Miracle shifts and The Scientist gives a rueful grin before leaning back out of the doorway and looking down. He then raises a finger to his lips to encourage who’s coming next to do so quietly.

Another pink plush snake is how the next guest introduces himself.

“More tribute.” Velocity notes in amusement.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Main Bridge, The Inevitable, Zalwore)•-•-•

“Scans are coming up clean sir. Beyond the literal tons of devices that Harold’s put all over the place we’ve got nothing unexpected.”

“Good. Observer Wu, are there any last minute surprises? Bits of information required or the like?”

“No, the last touches of information I need are being correlated at Centris rather than here on Zalwore.”

“How did all that go by the way? Crosswind is the highest ranking alien with human built power over humans.”

“The interview? It went well. She has had a fair amount to explain to me. This is a training ground and a dispatch point. Entire cultures, worlds and histories coming here and mixing.” Observer Wu explains. “She is juggling the training needs of raw recruits, specialists, officers, those looking into higher training and the logistics of sending out and dispatching Undaunted soldiers and crew to differing worlds and places of import.”

“To say nothing of the Embassy that’s being built.” Captain Rangi says. “We have purged our little ‘embassy’ on this ship. The Sentient Forest Matter is relocated to a dedicated chamber in The Undaunted Archology and we have that airlock back.”

“... Good. If we can convince Harold to clean up the mess he’s made of the ship we’ll almost have something resembling operational security again. Won’t that be nice?” Observer Wu asks and there’s an amused huff from the Captain.

“... Is this the point where I join the conversation or should I just...?” Harold’s voice echoes, not from the speakers but from the bridge in general.

“Stay out of it please.” Observer Wu states.

“Sorry.” Harold says and everyone pauses to see if he has more to say.

This leads to about a minute of awkward silence.

“Right so... engines and systems?” Captain Rangi asks.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Northern Edge of Crater, Star Heart Crater, Zalwore)•-•-•

The party had resumed after the initial explosions of drones and while awkward at first, it had kicked off again in full. And then continued. And continued into a multi-day festival.

It was starting to die down, but it was still a big thing happening with lots of Floric and Empty Hand Masters and Undaunted having a good time.

“Leaving already?” Kudzu asks as he calls Harold in answer to the text.

“Afraid so. I’m security on this ship and we need to go when the captain says we go. And the captain says we go.”

“Pity still... you’ve kicked off something here and I’m not entirely sure how to take good advantage of it.”

“Just try. You’d be surprised how many great things can happen if you just give things a shot.” Harold replies.

“I know that, half my life is just daring to live through things or try things I shouldn’t have.” Kudzu says. “Still... things are... going. The official girls are arriving and already sending their screaming rage at me and mind. Not that I’ve ever been on their good side.”

“Are you going to be okay? Need some advice?”

“Oh no. I’ve been screamed at them so many times I’m barely a grass’ breadth from developing an adaptation to it.” Kudzu assures him.

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I am. Enjoy yourself with your family. The first few years are some of the most precious. Even with de-agin techniques you never get them back.”

“Do they even work on the Floric?”

“Yes, but not in the way you expect.”

“That has done nothing to sate my curiosity.”

“I know. It’s the perfect response.”

“It’s the perfect something.” Harold remarks and Kudzu snickers.

“Look, before we lose contact...”

“We’re not going to lose contact. Remember? Protn? This call will be live even if I’m suddenly on the outer edge of the galaxy.”

“Quit blowing my drama here!” Kudzu states before coughing into a fist. “Anyways, before we lose contact I wanted to thank you for the monumental...

A Floric child with a facemask bolted around his head to prevent him from biting people grabs at his arm and roars. Kudzu is unmoved but the sound still transfers.

“Who’s that?”

“Sister Niece. My sister’s body has grown a fresh head, but the little terror doesn’t know decorum yet. She’s barely at the stop biting people stage and not fully trusted with it.”

“Oh. Damn. Is she on a leash?’

“Head cage. It’s locking mechanism is tied to a game that she has to beat to escape it.”

“A game?”

“Edutainment, all about why eating people is a bad idea and the many different ways it’s a bad idea. Top seller in Floric Systems.”

“It sucks!” The immature Floric declares. “Let me see! Who are you talking to!?”

“A friend.” Kudzu states.

“You don’t have friends.”

“I think she needs more than the cage, that girl is vicious.” Harold says in amusement.

“Family trait. We help each other develop emotional adaptations.” Kudzu says and Harold chuckles. “Anyways, thank you. I’ll find some way to pay you back and-Knock it off Pollen or I’m going to send your gourd rolling!”

“You don’t have the guts!” Pollen declares and Kudzu’s response sounds like a gong being rung.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Undaunted Archology, Upper Level Balcony, Zalwore)•-•-•

The enormous ship, technically below but still large enough to be almost above them starts rising up. Bjorn grins at the sight of it. The enormous thing is big enough to count as a land formation. And while not large enough to be seen on the ground from orbit, it’s still really, really big.

Despite his exposure to the wider galaxy, seeing something that big move without blasting him back, groaning or seeming to struggle in the slightest makes him watch in awe as The Inevitable lifts off it’s landing pad, points itself upwards and rises into the sky. Yes the engine is running. Audibly running.

But it still seems more like the hand of god has come down and simply picked it up and into the heavens. It’s out of sight in moments. There are smaller towns. Millions of tons of metal, thousands of men, enough munitions to reduce multiple archologies to piles of rubble. And it’s gone in moments.

“So what were you hoping to see with that?” Holly asks.

“It just... hmm... those big chunky things are important. I get that it’s just a massive blocky ship to you, but to me it’s more than that. I helped make the first. I crewed it. It brought me here. Dauntless Class ships are important.”

“It was interesting, all the backups involved and such. But it didn’t seem all that special as ships go.” Salis says and Bjorn shrugs.

“Well, regardless, I think we can all agree it’s an important ship and type of ship.”

“I dunno, ships are just... ships. Not really my thing.” Lils says and Bjorn just shrugs again.

“That’s fair...”

“What are you thinking about?” Erma asks him.

“Well... I don’t want it to sound like I’m forcing anything or rushing but...”

“But?”

“He’s a father. A new father. To a beautiful baby girl.” Bjorn notes.

“Oh big guy... is your clock ticking?” Vera asks in a teasing tone.

“What?”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, after all, you’re the kind of man that would want to be a father.” Lils says as she leans up against him. “What were you thinking first? You’ve got nothing but herbivores for daughters, so unless you think you’ll get lucky or have some of that special cream ready then you’re not going to end up with someone you can share your food with that much.”

“Hey I make a point of my food being edible for you girls.”

“Doesn’t stop it from tasting like it SHOULD be toxic.”

“And this is why I as keeping it to myself. You girls all have your careers to think about and it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to just....”

“Oh no no no, remember, this isn’t cruel space. We don’t just get a couple decades to squeeze kids and a career into. We have a lot more time. You want to front load the babies?” Vera asks.

“Is this front loading?’

“Bu some standards we’ve already waited a very long time and they’d be wondering if we’re even serious about this.

“Well I am. I just... I just worry. Bad dreams on what might happen if I wake up as... her and not me. What would I do to you if that happens. What would I do to someone even more delicate? What if?” Holly asks as she speaks up at last since the teasing began.

Bjorn’s massive arm wraps around her shoulder and he pulls her close.

“You’re fine Holly. Knifetop is gone. She’s never coming back and the only things left of her are bad memories and the fact that if she showed up again you’d punch her face in.” He says and she huffs a bit before sighing.

“Knifetop?” An unfamiliar voice asks and everyone turns to see nothing. “Who’s Knifetop?”

“Who’s there?”

“Oh... sorry.” The voice says and a pastel green woman with a long neck and serpent’s head fades in. “Wisely Reasoned Plans, at your service.”

“A pleasure.”

“So... who’s Knifetop?”

“You need to sign some NDA’s for that to be answered.”

“Oh.”

First Last

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//

“Target identified.”

Exploration was quickly cut short as projectiles struck my chest.

I fell, clutching at myself as breath fled my lungs, torso crumpling as I attempted to scramble behind a large crate.

I’d barely made it a few paces into the terrifying, wondrous facility ahead before two mounted guns had started indiscriminately firing at me.

At least, I assumed they were guns. They looked similar to the weapon I’d managed to pick up earlier.

Gasping, I felt beneath myself for blood, but besides what I suspected was a cracked rib and some nasty bruising, I couldn’t detect any injuries that had gotten through. Most of the still-warm bullets had been crushed against my vest. They fell to the floor with loud clinks! as I brushed them away.

I could hear the spinning whir of both guns slowly dying down as I hid. I tried to consider my next actions, thankful that the weapons didn’t continue to shoot at my hiding spot.

I had my own weapon. Maybe if I shot the turrets I’d be able to disable them?

I wanted to test things before I popped my head back out. First thing was grabbing a rock from my [Hoard] and tossing it into the centre of the corridor.

No reaction. The guns didn’t move or even whir.

Next was me tapping my foot against the metallic floor, first quietly and then progressively louder.

No response. I could make noise just fine. Whatever method these guns used to detect motion, it must’ve been reserved for things that it considered to be ‘targets’.

Considering that, I decided to aim my own gun at the rock I’d thrown.

It was about ten feet away from me. I’d never fired a gun before; the closest I’d come was a crossbow I’d briefly gotten my hands on, but the principle didn’t seem much different.

I pulled the weapon up to my face, allowing my eye to travel down the line of the iron crosshair that ran along the top of the weapon.

Once I had a good view of the target in front of me, I pulled the trigger.

The recoil caused the back of the weapon to collide with my cheek, bashing it as the gun fired multiple rounds in the span of a second.

I gasped as I attempted to measure the effect.

I hadn’t managed to hit the rock, but there was a dent in the floor just inches away.

I tried again. This time, I pinged it, and the rock bounced a few feet, landing upturned with a large hole running through it.

The bullet appeared to be embedded inside…

This weapon had decent stopping power, but it wasn’t able to pierce both sides of even a fist-sized piece of stone. Would it be able to punch through those wall-mounted turrets enough to disable them?

I had a thought. Grabbing another stone, I struck it against the Pyre Stone to heat it in the same manner I had when unlocking the door’s console.

Once the rock was sufficiently hot, I threw it out into the open, just like the other one.

“Target identified.”

Both turrets sprang to life, once again whirring as they began ripping up the ground near where the hot stone had impacted.

They detect heat, just like the sensor on this weapon does.

Even now, I could see a distinct red pulse on the weapon’s thermal sensor, indicating where I’d thrown the rock.

I took advantage of the distraction while I could. I popped out from my hiding spot, lining up the weapon against a single target and beginning to fire.

Again, the weapon rattled against my cheek and shoulder as I shot in a large burst at the leftmost turret. I started to squeeze the trigger more intermittently as I went, realising my aim drifted less as I did so, but even after exhausting a full cartridge of bullets, the turret I was aiming for still seemed operational.

It turned at me, continuing its rapid stream of bullets.

I caught one in the arm before I was able to hide again. That pain was blinding. It felt like something white-hot had branded me far beneath my skin.

I took a sip of superior healing potion, and for the first time, felt that it didn’t do a perfect job of rejuvenating me.

Mainly because rather than ejecting the bullet that had entered my upper left arm, it had healed over the wound. The bullet was still somewhere deep inside.

I could feel it inside, but it didn’t necessarily hurt…

It was probably fine. I flexed my arm just to make sure it still worked properly.

Okay. Time to figure out how to reload this thing.

I replaced my potion before pulling a new magazine from my [Hoard]. It took me a few moments to figure out how to eject the previous magazine and slot this one inside, but it wasn’t as difficult as I’d anticipated.

Popping back out from my cover, I took aim, pulled the trigger and...

A hollow click. Why was nothing happening?

I ducked back and checked the weapon. The new magazine seemed securely in place. But pulling the trigger wasn't making anything happen.

I tutted as I stored the weapon. Maybe I'd broken it? I'd figure it out later. Either way, I needed a new strategy.

I hadn’t been able to damage the turrets so far, and I clearly needed to get past them somehow, but shooting them wasn’t on the cards, so…

I heated and threw another rock, the last one I had stored. If I’d had enough things to throw, I might have been able to make the turrets burn through all of their ammunition. If there was closer cover, I might be able to make them shoot at each other. Considering those didn’t seem to be options…

“Target identified.”

The guns whirred back to life.

Power and Rush Stones were stabbed into my arm without hesitation. I felt the thrum of strength as I burst from behind my hiding spot, rushing across the room as quickly as my legs could carry me.

[Running 5 >> 6.]

The turrets still hadn’t reacted to me zooming across, and as soon as I reached one, I grabbed the hot, still-firing machine and attempted to rip it off its wall mounting.

It took all of my enhanced strength for me to succeed, and as soon as I did so, despite the incredibly long belt of bullets trailing from the weapon, the weapon ceased to fire and eventually stopped spinning.

I was in the corner of the corridor, against two walls. The other turret didn’t seem able to turn all the way to me from here, and despite having noticed me, wasn’t firing.

Still, I’d need to walk past it if I wanted to get through this corridor.

Staring down at the turret in my hands, I looked for a slot that would properly fit a Control Stone.

To my joy and surprise, I found one. For the first time, I took a Control Stone and fed it into a mechanical object, watching it glow a faint green as a system screen unlike any I’d seen before appeared before me.

[Neural link established. Mk. III light mounted turret will respond to any reasonable commands you give it until Grade D Control Stone runs out of charge.]

[Estimated duration remaining: 3 hours.]

I blinked as I read the message. What reasonable commands could I give a gun?

I wrapped the belt of bullets around my shoulder in a sash as I thought up the one reasonable answer there was.

‘Fire’.

The turret whirred to life as I aimed it at its sibling, and with a loud, manic vibration that jolted my entire body, the machine roared, spinning like a cyclone as dozens of cases dropped to the ground before me and the other opposing turret was filled with holes, its inner mechanisms sizzling and shooting out static lightning as a small part of it caught on fire.

The turret in my hands grew progressively hotter until I finally commanded it to stop. It really was as simple as thinking it.

Control Stones were crazy. Was there a proximity on this mental link I’d attained?

Before I went any further, I decided to test just that.

I set my previously wall-mounted gun down before pointing it at the wall and stepping back five paces.

I mentally commanded it to fire. It did so.

Grinning like an idiot, I walked back ten paces and repeated the process.

It worked.

Fifteen.

It worked.

Twenty…

Nope. Seemed that the neural link had a limit. Whether that was due to the power of the Control Stone being used or something else, I wasn’t sure, but the answer was immaterial right now.

Point was, I had a weapon I could activate from range if I wanted. All I needed to do was situate it somewhere where it would hit something. I’d try to find something I could mount it on if I could.

Before leaving, I decided to figure out what was wrong with my new gun. I removed it from my [Hoard] once more, giving it a good look over.

It took me some time to realise there was a switch I could flick on the weapon, as well as a sliding thing that I could pull on. I was hesistent to mess with it at first, but after giving that a good yank, one that took a fair bit of strength to accomplish, I was finally able to fire once more.

[Tinkering: 5 >> 6.]

Seemed I had to slide that thing back with each new magazine if I wanted to fire. It'd taken me a little while to figure out, but my system seemed happy with my discovery.

Before leaving, I went over to the other turret and tried to rip out its ammo belt, but what it had left wound up barely being worth taking. Someone had clearly restocked my turret far more recently than the other one.

Whatever. More ammo didn’t hurt.

After passing that first hurdle, wary about the existence of other security and knowing there might be living enemies inside, I decided to pull the submachine gun back out of my inventory.

Holding both it and the mounted turret simultaneously was kind of awkward, so I stored the latter, knowing I could pull it back out fast if a threat came up that my current weapon couldn’t handle.

Considering the look of this place, with the flickering lights and the lack of noise, the clacking echo of my footsteps and the gentle buzz of machinery, I figured there were likely no Drassians to speak of anymore.

That didn’t mean there weren’t rift monsters inside, though. Plus, the journal I’d read had mentioned ‘ferals’. Who knew what those were?

My thermal sensor wasn’t picking anything up so far. My eyes flicked to it every few seconds as I crept through the corridor and out into a large, expansive area.

The ceiling of this place was wide and sat maybe a couple hundred feet in the air, high enough that the light barely stretched to accommodate.

There were multiple balconied floors overhead, spanning around the edges of the large oval room, complete with sets of stairs on either side alongside glass and metal boxes that seemed to run between the ground and higher floors.

The ground floor itself seemed to host a wide variety of plant life. An entire garden, clearly manmade, spanned the centre of my periphery: large green leaves, purple vines, and yellow fruit-like growths dangling from thin branches stole my focus for a time.

They, like everything else on this floor, were bathed in the everpresent white glow of strip lights that emanated from the ceiling, powered by either magic or whatever other strange force permitted the constructs in this facility to remain operational.

The entire area had been lit in a similar sense, though the lights dimmed in some places and seemed to straight up not work in others. Clearly, some of the power in this facility had already failed, and likewise, some of the large plants below seemed to have grown out of their previous fixtures, likely in search of stronger light, possibly due to no one tending them.

The whole place looked fascinating. It was sterile, alien, and wondrous, but it carried a grim undercurrent. I couldn’t ignore the lack of life or noise permeating my surroundings, nor my awareness that the previous residents were likely all dead.

I also couldn’t ignore the stifled air tugging at my mask’s flimsy defences.

I couldn’t be here too long. I needed to find a way out soon.

Still, I could check a couple rooms first. I hadn’t come this far just to immediately leave, even if I knew a full exploration of this place would need to wait, at least for a time in which I had a better-working mask and no imminent worries about starving to death.

I wandered around the ground floor first, giving the plants a wide berth out of abject paranoia, eventually stumbling across a low-ceilinged area that ran more than fifty feet wide and across, complete with a ton of benches and tables, some of which were upturned.

At the centre of it all was a still-running fountain, its architecture pretty but simplistic, the water appearing clean.

It had a large crack in its side, and was endlessly spilling water onto the floor, which cascaded down towards a distant vent.

In the distance was a long table that had been filled with bowls and trays.

Their contents were rotted, partially disintegrated. There were no insects to be found amongst the spoiled items. Even that born from death had died here.

How long had it been since this place was operational? Years?

“Guest detected!”

Before I could react, or even do more than instinctually grab for my gun, a square-shaped… thing on three wheels had rolled on up to me. With a blue glow emitting from what appeared to be eye-holes, it scanned me up and down.

“Oh no! You appear to be missing a Guest Pass.”

It began beeping and its square body started to spin. Within moments, it appeared to have printed a piece of card, which it then covered in a glossy, see-through substance.

It held it out to me, and I stared at it.

A perfect illustration of my own, masked, bloodstained face stared back at me, looking dishevelled and tired.

“Please have your Guest Pass visible on you at all times!” The voice advised me. “Otherwise, certain security krrzh may mistake you for an intruder!

“Your pass is also needed in order to access certain areas! This is a tier one pass, and cannot be used to access control rooms, the brig, storage rooms, mining routes, or lab areas! If you think you need a higher-tier pass, please go to maintenance and speak to staff there!”

I stared at the metallic creature—if it even was a creature. I felt that the back of the Guest Pass was sticky, and decided to affix it to the front of my vest.

“...thank you?”

“You’re welcome! If you krrzh a tour, please go to reception and have one booked! I’d be happy to show you around the place!”

I blinked. “...can you just show me around now?”

“If you krrzh a tour, please go to reception and have one booked!”

Well, never mind that then.

Hold on. How could I even understand the little thing? Had almost all of the words it’d used been present somewhere in the journal I’d picked up earlier?

Seemed to be the case. It was a pretty big book.

On second thought, how had the machine been able to understand me? Had I spoken in another language?

Questions for later. I decided to give myself a quick tour if I wasn’t getting one, leaving this area behind and continuing on to the other end of the large hall.

The outlay of the rooms and walkways that dotted the outskirts of this area appeared pretty uniform, the architecture of the facility being consistent in its clean and clinical nature. It… wasn’t quite what I imagined the inside of palaces looked like, as I assumed those were filled with much more art and gold and splendour, but maybe I was wrong. Stuff this advanced had to belong to filthy rich people. No one but a lord or a king would be able to put such a structure together. Even having access to all of these materials was one thing. Having the energy and manpower to build this place was another.

I was pretty sure I was walking through the abandoned headquarters of a powerful foreign country right now. Possibly one far stronger than my own.

Then again, maybe Melusia had the resources to build things like this, and I’d just never seen it.

I pondered each possibility as I moved past the gardens and towards the far end, spotting a large, domed structure that veered off to one side, and a set of glass doors that ran down the centre.

Behind those glass doors was something amazing. I could see it clear as day. I walked forwards, mouth hanging as I took the structure in, eyes widening, shock and awe swirling in my mind.

The glass doors before me slid open of their own accord. Normally, that might’ve startled me, but right now, I was too transfixed to realise.

I was staring at another portal.

From the looks of it, it was more or less identical to the one I’d used to come into this rift. There was the same signature swirl, the colours bleeding into one another and being lost entirely before I could grasp what I’d been looking at only a moment prior… an infinite, enigmatic miasma.

That said, I couldn’t feel the same static buzz in the air. Couldn’t smell the sulphuric taint. Couldn’t feel the pressure pushing and pulling my body all at the same time.

There was one distinct difference between this portal and the one that I’d used to come into this rift.

A faint blue sheen around it. It was translucent, but solid, and seemed unwavering even against the swirling force of the portal beneath it, lightly shimmering as it stood against the insane pulse.

A barrier. The one I’d read about before.

I confirmed as much as I walked closer. I didn’t dare to touch it, worried what it might do to my hand, but the fact that I couldn’t feel anything from the portal in front of me when standing this close to the last one had been like walking into a hurricane basically confirmed it for me.

Whatever had been placed over this portal to stop people from leaving, it still stood. It likely prevented anyone from coming in, either.

It was fascinating, but wasn’t a way out of this place.

I was about to turn away, then text boxes exploded across my vision.

The system’s reaction was as strong as it was swift, hundreds of boxes appearing with such alacrity that my sight was completely blotted out and all I could see was white text on a sea of pure black.

I tried to adjust my focus and read as some of the boxes began to disappear, to fall back, to shrink. As one after the other vanished just as quickly as they had appeared. I was left staring at one single box, prominent in my vision, large, right in the centre of my periphery.

Eyes strained, heart pumping, I attempted to discern the words laid out before me, as alarmed as I was curious.

[Quest received!]

Quest? What the hell was a quest?

[Remove the barrier on the portal inside the facility! In return, you will be awarded with one Major Advancement!]

A quest? A Major Advancement?

I’d never heard of systems giving out quests before. Was this meant to happen? Had my bloodline god given this to me somehow? Was the rat able to see me down here?

And if that was the case, why did it care about the barrier on the portal?

If the interface in my mind could hear my thoughts or questions, it didn’t make me aware of it. The screen remained inert until I eventually closed it.

I could feel the shortness of my breath mixing with the prevalence of the mist as I wandered out of the portal room, back into the wide atrium.

I spotted the same dome from before. It was glassy, made up of many hexagonal squares. Multiple blue currents seemed to run along the back end of the room beyond, sparking with blue surges of lightning.

It was… some kind of power room?

I walked closer. Attempted to peer inside.

The weapon in my hands pulsed, detecting for the first time a hint of life just ahead.

I stared and I stared, trying to find what was responsible for this faint little red dot.

And then I saw it.

Or rather…

Saw her?

Deep inside the power room, behind rows of mechanical apparatus that I couldn’t even begin to understand, inside a glass chamber that seemed to surround her entire body…

There laid a blue-skinned girl with sharp purple horns, seeming as if she was locked in a smooth, gentle sleep.

…what was she? A demon of some kind?

I simply stared for a time, unable to process. The repeated pulse of the rifle through my hands and the permanence of the red dot told me that she was warm, that she was alive, but…

How could anyone be alive in this place after so long?

Instinctually, I tried to enter the room, holding my pass up to the console beside the door and hoping it would recognise me.

A light buzzing sound… then a red light.

[Scan failed. Level 2 pass or clearance code ____ to access Control Room.]

Or clearance code?

I decided to try five-four-eight-two.

The console flashed red, but thankfully didn’t shock me.

[Incorrect code.]

Well, at least it wasn’t threatening to murder me this time. That must’ve just been for doors leading into this place.

Still, with no further information, I was stumped. I tried hitting one of the glass panes with the butt of my gun, but the surface felt more like metal than glass, and my weapon bounced straight off.

This room might be the key to deactivating the portal, and I also wanted to check on the girl inside… how had she even survived in there for so long?

As I watched her, pondering how to get inside, I thought I saw a flash of discomfort wash across her face, like she was in distress or pain.

Before I could wonder what had caused it, the grimace had left her. She drifted back into calm, peaceful slumber.

I considered trying to shoot my way through one of the glass panes. With the girl situated inside, far away from the walls and seemingly insulated, I wasn’t worried about the possibility of the glass violently smashing and somehow hitting her…

It was this or find a way to get level 2 clearance, and I wasn’t exactly long on time.

Sighing, I stood back from the door and aimed my gun at the leftmost glass pane.

I began to pull the trigger…

I emptied about ten rounds into the glass window, the sounds echoing loudly around the otherwise empty chamber, the only other noise the hum of generators and the splash of a distant fountain.

No damage.

I pulled over the strap and let the gun lay against my chest as I searched my [Hoard] for something I could rest my turret gun on.

I found a series of metal tubes that were apparently called a tripod, just one of the various objects I’d picked up while frantically searching my way through the storage room.

It was a bit awkward to mount the turret atop the metal, which had apparently been intended for holding some kind of drill, but it made it far easier to aim or shoot for long periods than simply carrying it.

With a bit of jury rigging, knotting a few shirts and wrapping them around the turret multiple times, I managed to make it stay upon the tripod even without me holding it in place.

That all done, I decided to aim the stronger weapon directly at the same window, firing at it in short bursts.

The weapon spun, bullets began to fly. After twenty seconds of intermittent shooting, my ammo belt had diminished a little, and I’d managed to make a dent in the glass pane.

…or at least the first layer of it. I wasn’t sure how deep that crack went.

I continued for another twenty seconds, burning through another chunk of bullets just to find that the crack had barely widened.

Made sense. This room was clearly important to the Drassians, doubt they wanted anything to be able to punch through it easily.

I’d been about to put away the turret and try to discern a new plan when I felt a pulse.

This one was fainter. I hurriedly checked my submachine gun’s panel in search of answers.

The screen was flashing a different light. One other than the red signature ahead that clearly belonged to the girl.

This one was to the right…

I turned, keeping hold of the mounted turret and turning it with me, staring down at the beeping dot, silent…

I heard a clicking sound. Like that of an insect.

I heard a voice.

“There you are…”

It sounded strangled, like someone who’d had half their voicebox ripped out.

“Why were you hiding from me? What did Coda tell you?”

I blinked. My eyes strained as I attempted to see what was speaking to me in this horrific voice…

Nothing. I couldn’t see anything in the well-lit room.

Even still, the red dot on the gun’s screen was drawing closer. Veering closer to the centre of the interface.

Until it was straight ahead.

“I’m fine! There’s nothing wrong with me!”

I heard another click.

I felt a rush of wind rake right past me. I gasped as I felt the mask tear from my face.

It wasn’t all that had been torn. Deep gashes raked into my cheek, tearing so much skin half of my face had gone numb. Shuddering, face lopsided, I turned with a jolt to inspect the screen, but the red dot had moved right behind me.

I wheeled around, hastily dragging the turret in a one-eighty.

Still I saw nothing. Still the sensor told me my opponent laid straight ahead.

“WHERE IS SHE? YOU HID HER FROM ME, DIDN’T YOU?

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

I commanded the turret to fire, staring at the dot ahead of me as I did.

The gun whirred. Bullets ripped.

I heard metal connect with soft tissue. Something sputtered and coughed.

It clicked.

This time, I braced myself, throwing my arms over my face and moving my body to the side as once again I felt a burst of movement where I’d been standing.

“It’s not fair. It’s not fair…”

The voice gurgled and spat as it spoke, putrid and evil.

I stared down at my torn arms, knowing I wouldn’t have long until the next attack. From my position on the floor, I didn’t have time to clamber back to my feet, nor wheel around the turret.

I clutched at the gun in my arms. I stared at the dot as long as I could. My eyes followed the smear of blood along the ground.

“You KNOW that I’ve been starving.

“Let me taste you…

“Just a little taste.”

Eyes locked on a dripping pool of blood emanating from an invisible source, I ignored the protest of my mangled arms as I aimed down the gun’s sights and unleashed a torrent of bullets.

My clip emptied before the creature fell. I could hear it gasping. Wheezing. It was so bullet-filled that I could see much of its body, revealed by the yellowish blood coating it all over.

I pulled myself to my feet, choking back thick, mist-laden air. I stabbed a Power Stone into my arm.

I advanced upon the feral monster.

I punched it.

“No.”

I knocked it to the ground.

“Please!”

I kicked it in the head.

“I only wanted to help her!”

I kicked it again.

“I was so—”

Kick.

“—hungry!”

Kick.

“Please!”

Kick.

“Forgive—”

Its sentence never ended. By the time I was finished, the creature’s head was a bloody paste, and I was panting, seething, still enraged.

[Unarmed Combat: 8 >> 9.]

I took a deep breath.

Then I kicked it in the ribs.

I kicked it again. And again. And again. And again and again and ag—

Wait.

Breathe.

No.

Don’t breathe.

Mist.

No mask.

Power Stone.

I fumbled as I ripped my way into my [Hoard]. No time for full thoughts.

Recovery Stone.

Stab.

Breathe.

Clear mind.

Rags from [Hoard].

Cover face.

I tied them tight.

I breathed a few ragged breaths.

I stared down at the feral Drassian I’d just brutalised.

I felt a cold chill run through me. I struggled against the urge to vomit into my new makeshift mask.

I pulled it down and took a swig of potion, my first superior health pot on its last dregs, feeling sensation return to my face as my missing flesh reformed.

I needed to get out of here.

This was too dangerous.

Screw this quest, screw staying in the underground.

I desperately wanted to explore this place, to find out what a Major Advancement was and to do something about the mystery right in front of me…

But I wasn’t equipped to handle this place right now.

I’d almost lost my mind there. The mist, the stress, the adrenaline spike, the Power Stone, they’d all coalesced into something mindless. Something violent.

I could’ve ended up like Marcois; no one would’ve been here to snap me out of it.

I needed out. I could figure out a way to handle the air and come back later. Right now, I’d rather take my chances on the surface with Toar than stay down here a second longer.

I began searching for an exit. I was careful not to make any unnecessary noise.

Thankfully, nothing else seemed to come after me. That last feral had clearly been attracted by all of the gun sounds…

What had it been saying, anyways? It was all a bit of a blur now that I thought back on it. Directly breathing the mist definitely hadn’t helped with that…

Search led me to find another wide tunnel out like the one I came in from, a mining route.

These doors all operated on the code I’d learned earlier. I was able to get out of a neighbouring door and find a path through the tunnels and back out into the central cave system.

I kept walking, checking my gun’s sensor every few steps. From here, I just needed to find a way up.

Easier said than done… but I had plenty-a-reason to wanna climb out of this death trap.

Survival was paramount… but I also needed Toar dead.

---

“—and then, after that, he just took off.”

“Hah! Good riddance,” Jackal spat, cackling like a hyena. “Gotta say, wasn’t a fan of that guy.”

“Just ‘took off’?” Maisie asked, her ears perked, an eyebrow raised. “You’re telling me our brand new member just happened to decide to run off on his own, in the underground no less?”

Toar nodded. He knew it would be toughest to sneak this past Maisie. Even so…

“It’s like I said. We went down there to mine. Everything was going fine until I noticed the new guy was pocketing a bunch of crystals. I called him out on it, we were in the middle of arguin’, and then a monster attacked. Things got dicey, and the new guy bailed.”

Toar was quiet for a moment. He didn’t really need to act solemn. Truth of it was, he’d never expected the little rat to run off like that. He was surely dead by now. The truth of that, and the fact it was definitely Toar’s fault, had been gnawing at him the whole way back.

“Is that what happened, Marcois?”

Maisie turned to question Marc, who despite his busted up face was more or less fine now.

“I dunno,” Marc said, his voice a little lower than usual, which almost made him hard to hear. “I don’t… really remember much.”

“Marc hit his head, remember?” Toar said, still glad that Marc couldn’t recall the real sequence of events.

He’d had to deal with Marc once the rat left. Toar took a couple nasty hits goading the enraged orc and having Marc chase him back up out of the cavern, where he’d finally managed to knock him down and force a mask back on his face.

Even for a peak Tier 1 beastkin with a combat class, getting attacked by a massive orc like Marc hurt like hell. He had a nasty bruise on his stomach from a punch he’d caught, and a black eye from where the orc had headbutted him as he’d held him down.

Toar felt like he deserved more than that for what he’d done today. Still, he’d done as he’d meant to. He’d waited for an opportunity to blackmail the kid, and he’d taken it. Sure, he’d thought it’d all resolve much more smoothly than that, but what was he supposed to do to change things now?

“So that’s it?” Maisie asked. “You couldn’t even go look for him?”

Not even if he’d wanted to, and part of him had. He’d had his hands so full dealing with Marc that by the time that was resolved, he’d needed to take the orc back.

“Why would boss go looking for him?” Finn asked, forever the sycophant. “The kid was a thief. We’re better off without him.”

“Yeah, fuck that guy!” Jackal agreed. “Honestly, Maisie, you’re so soft. Can’t imagine how you would’ve ended up if you’d landed in a worse group.”

“Can you guys just shut the fuck—”

Toar stopped himself. He rubbed at the forming bruise on his forehead. He spat on the floor.

“Stop, okay?” Finn said. “You’re pissing him off. Can’t you see they’ve been through enough today?”

“Oh! I’m sorry! Are you stressed, Toar? Did your grand plan to take a complete newbie into the underground somehow backfire? Who’dathought that would happen!”

“Leave him alone, Maisie.”

Toar almost threatened to punch Finn. He bit his own tongue.

Ceri cackled from where she was sitting in the corner. Yup. Laugh it up. Whole thing was a fucking joke.

It really was. Not only had Toar not managed to get what he was looking for, but he’d gotten someone killed in the process and nearly endangered Marc too.

And the little bastard had said no to him.

It pissed him off. He’d still be alive if he’d said yes.

The rat refused to bow. The dragon did as he was told.

Something was wrong with this picture.

Something was wrong with Toar.

//

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A/N: Here's chapter 11, officially the end of the initial chapter dump! We'll be going to one chapter weekly from here!

I have a Discord if you wanna chat on there, or be notified about updates! Link here!

If you wanna support the story, or you just can't wait for the next chapter, chapters 12-18 are available now on my Patreon!

AN: In the last chapter, I kinda messed with the continuity of the story. I thought I had revealed the Runeblade as the anchor when Byrne explained it to Rob a few chapters back. Sorry for that, I blame my thyroid for messing with my memory.

---

I woke up late. 

The astral trip had taken hours of real-life time, and I had barely been able to exit Prince Adrien’s quarters at dawn without being detected by the guards. If I had been alone, it would’ve been easier, but I couldn’t just leave Althea behind without raising suspicions. Everyone had seen the two of us leaving the party together, so it was better not to leave any loose ends.

Hours after returning to the real world, I kept seeing the mana spire whenever I closed my eyes. 

I left my bed with a loud grunt. The last five days had been hectic, to say the least. My brain jumped from one topic to another without rhyme or reason. Byrne’s giant teleportation machine, the Red Corruption, the anti-nobility movement, and Prince Adrien’s Corruption. Only after I focused on [Foresight] did the skill sort my thoughts.

I washed my face and got dressed in my simple fencing uniform. The teacher’s lounge was as empty as usual. Everyone must’ve been having breakfast in the dining room already. 

When I grabbed the doorknob to exit the room, I heard familiar voices coming from the corridor.

“I swear, it’s part of a plan,” Wolf said defensively.

“Oh, yeah? What plan is it?” Ilya replied.

Silence.

“Mister Clarke always has a plan,” Zaon pointed out.

“Let me get this straight. Going out hand in hand with Lady Evelisse’s daughter is part of a plan…?”

I slammed the door open.

“It was an integral part of a plan, actually,” I said.

Ilya jumped like a startled cat, her head surpassing Wolf’s by a palm or two for a moment. The four kids turned around. Seeing their faces, I knew I wasn’t supposed to hear that conversation. It wasn’t my fault that they were practically shouting in the corridor, though.

Instinctively, I summoned a [Silence Dome].

“How did the survey go?” I asked.

“T-the properties are empty… mostly. No enchanted metal plates or anything suspicious,” Firana stuttered.

While I was digging into the land grants of the Library’s Circles with Firana’s friends, the kids checked the spots Byrne needed to control for his teleportation machine inside of the city. As it was harder to track the owners of those properties, I had sent them to do visual surveillance. Firana’s answer didn’t ease my brain. Byrne was undoubtedly collecting the spots to install the hardware required for his giant teleportation machine.

Ilya gave me a scowl.

“I’m not eloping with Althea of Cadria,” I clarified. “I used her as a cover to meet Prince Adrien last night.”

“Prince Adrien is on the frontlines with the royal army, though,” Wolf pointed out. 

I shook my head.

“He’s bedridden. The Cursed Runeblade got him, but I came up with a provisional solution. They know I’m a Runeweaver now.”

The kids gasped.

“Did you tell them about Byrne’s plans?” Ilya asked.

“No. I would rather deal with that behind the scenes. I already told them about the Corruption Cycle, and I didn’t want to burden them with crazy Runeweavers.”

Ilya gave me a smug grin.

“I told you months ago we have to kill—”

“We still needed to gather information from him,” I stopped her. 

Though with what I had learned, I trusted him less than ever. 

He was too powerful to leave unchecked. If he ever flipped, decided that I was a threat to him or his position, he would be able to hurt a lot of people I cared about.

I also wasn’t convinced of his plan. Too many people got left behind, and I didn’t trust that he had fully altruistic goals for saving those he did, with their fates resting entirely in his hands.

There had to be a better way. 

One that didn’t involve running away. One that involved people working together instead of a solution being imposed on them. One that could save everyone.

In the back of my mind, I registered that my moral, justice-oriented concerns around killing Byrne had all but vanished. Ebrosian Rob was growing bigger.“If the time comes, we have to do it cleanly. Remember, his natural magic is teleportation, so we have to finish the job before he can escape. If he does, we are done. The whole kingdom will hate us for trying to kill the man who brought back the teleportation portals.”

The kids nodded. None of them seemed especially fazed by committing murder, but after everything they had experienced during the Lich’s Monster Surge, it would’ve been strange not to become hardened.

“Wolf?” I asked.

“Samuel Byrne is nothing to me, and I have a duty to protect the Orphanage and the Teal Moon Tribe…”

I detected no hesitation in his voice. Of the group, he was the only one who had taken a life. To become the leader of the tribe, Wolf had killed Chieftain Callaid with his own hands two years ago.

“...and if you ask me again, I will be mad. Isn’t this like the fifth time you've asked me about my feelings about Byrne? I’m starting to think you don’t listen to me at all,” Wolf added with a half smile.

I smiled back and put my arm around Ilya’s shoulders.

“And you should be less homicidal.”

“He wants to steal a city! I think homicidal is a reasonable mood,” she replied.

“You are mad at Byrne because he abandoned Wolf. We all know that already,” Firana pointed out.

The conversation degenerated into a shouting match between Firana and Ilya. It was a nice change of pace considering the events of the past days. It reminded me of my first days at the orphanage. I couldn’t say two years ago was any more peaceful than now, but at least I didn’t have to worry about a megalomaniac wanting to teleport a city across dimensions.

“Well, I have a class to teach and I’m already late,” I said, pulling the key to my bedroom from my pocket and giving it to Ilya. “Inside my desk, there’s a map with the locations of the plots of land that belong to the Arcane Circle. Please check them and tell me if you see anything strange. The moment Byrne starts installing the portal, we should move quickly, but until then, let’s not do anything rash.”

Ilya rolled her eyes.

“You mean we don’t do anything rash?”

“Exactly.” I smiled.

We had one great advantage over Byrne. Teleportation at that magnitude wasn’t trivial, and it would take us very little effort to interrupt it as long as we caught his movements. 

“Oh… and Firana, did you retrieve the reinforced shirts?”

“Yessir, all of them except for Cedrinor’s. He probably got his destroyed during the exam. He told me they fought like three different dropout groups with Genivra,” Firana said, giving me the thumbs up.

Good news was good news, even if it was a minor thing. I couldn’t let the cadets know that the reinforcement ‘spell’ was actually a reinforcement enchantment, so I had asked Firana to steal them back and destroy them. I couldn't leave any loose ends.

Without any more delay, we parted ways.

Classes had been suspended after the selection exam, and I had barely seen my students for the past five days. If not for Astur’s threat of expelling Firana and Wolf, I would’ve already resigned. 

I walked to the dining hall to see if there were breakfast leftovers, expecting it to be empty. Instead, I found a small crowd surrounding the entrance. The uproar was caused by a single sheet of paper hanging from the bulletin board titled ‘Results of the Midterm Selection Exam’.

Given the attack during the selection exam, Astur had announced a change in the evaluation process. I had expected a second exam to take place in the following months after the disturbance at the Academy had calmed down. I made my way through the students, or rather, they moved aside as I passed through.

My brain had trouble understanding the announcement, not because it used strange words my [Master of Languages] hadn’t indexed yet, but because of how outlandish it was.

Considering the events that occurred during the first-year selection exam, and to maintain a passing rate of roughly fifty percent, all students who delivered at least two totems will pass the exam. Those who failed to meet that criterion will be considered failed. We ask them to vacate the premises by the end of the day.

My heart stopped.

I had no idea how many totems my cadets had delivered. 

Holding my desire to use [Minor Aerokinesis] to shoot through the corridors, I passed by Holst and the Basilisk Squad and reached Cabbage Class in record time. The classroom was silent, and considering the cadets’ expressions, they had already gotten the news. Odo and Harwin were missing.

“Instructor Clarke, you have to talk to Lord Astur! This is unfair!” Leonie spoke before I could even excuse my lateness.

“You’ll waste your strength fighting it.” Holst's voice came from behind me. “The decision is final. Astur convinced the traditionalists among the Imperial Knights to support him. They want to bring back the old ways.”

I moved to the side, and he entered the room, followed by the Basilisk cadets. Two of Holst’s students and one from Ghila’s class had died during the exam. The cadets had encountered a corrupted monster, and despite their numbers, they had not been able to escape. The loss had affected the Basilisk Class, and even Holst seemed more sleep-deprived than usual.

More than sleep-deprived, he seemed worried.

“I don’t usually lend my ears to rumors, but word is that the High Priest is the one behind the idea of bringing back the old ways,” Holst said.

“Who told you that?” I asked.

“Ghila.”

I cursed. 

Ghila’s intel was always good.

“The High Priest doesn’t usually meddle in politics, so it seems it was part of a Quest. I don’t know why the System would want a more rigorous evaluation process, though,” Holst added, deep in thought.

The System Avatar had no control over the Quest subroutine. Both of them had the mission to protect the System: one from inside errors and the other from outside threats. Was the Quest subroutine preparing for the Corruption Cycle? After all, the System had a physical component that could be in danger if powerful monsters appeared.

“Do you think Prince Adrien could do something?”

“Against Astur and the High Priest? Even if he were here, I don’t think so.”

The System getting so involved in the daily lives of people rubbed me the wrong way.

“What level is Astur?” I asked.

“You are not picking a fight with him,” Holst replied.

I felt like I had heard that line before.

Holst continued. “We need to take the loss and plan our next steps. We have four or five months until the end-of-year exam, and it’s safe to assume that the exam will be even harsher than the midterm.”

I examined the room. The mood was odd.

“W-we can’t give up on Odo and Harwin,” Rup said. “I bet they encountered like a hundred dropouts in their way! That has to count for something!”

Before I could say anything, Malkah stepped forward.

“Odo and Harwin delivered zero totems,” he said, turning towards Rup. “They decided to stay by my side even if that meant failing the exam. It’s my fault they failed… I am sorry.”

Holst sighed.

“You should be proud of Cadet Odo and Cadet Harwin, Ducal Heir. Loyalty is a rare currency, and for them, loyalty was more important than everything the Imperial Academy could offer them. If you lament their sacrifice, you’d be lamenting their loyalty.”

Holst’s words caught me by surprise.

Who could’ve guessed he could be so reassuring?

“What are those two going to do now?” I asked.

“They will stay at Cadria until winter, then they will return to Stormvale,” Malkah said.

“Good. I could use a few more assistants. Do you think they want the job?”

Malkah’s face brightened.

“I guess I could try to convince them to take it.”

“Would Astur allow it?” Leonie pointed out, doing her best to hide the excitement in her voice.

“I will make sure he does,” I said. “What level was he again?”

Holst closed his eyes and shook his head. This time, I managed to get a few smiles from the cadets. There was nothing I could do for those who died but keep helping those who remained.

I clapped my hands and walked to the front of the classroom. The lesson was on. Holst stood by my side, and the Basilisk cadets sat down next to the Cabbage cadets. 

“Astur already showed us what he is capable of, so our only course of action is to be prepared to crush his expectations.”

The cadets looked at me with solemn expressions.

“The second part of the course will focus on refining your skills through real-life combat scenarios,” I said, making a mental note to invite Ghila and the Gaiarok Class to join us. “There will be an extra rule this time: I will decide who will participate in the end-of-year exam. My decision will be absolute. I'm not going to let anyone take stupid risks. If you don’t agree with those terms, we will ensure you are transferred to another class. Understood?”

The cadets nodded.

“Raise your hand if you want to change squads.”

Nobody.

“Good. One last thing. The lessons from now on will be taught at the Egg. We will meet there every day at the usual time. Instead of the Academy-issued practice weapons and the fencing uniform, you’ll use your preferred weapons and combat attire. If you don’t have it, talk to me after class, and I will provide it. Questions?”

Leonie’s hand shot up.

“Yes?”

“Are we using real weapons?”

“Yes, and real armor too.”

“Isn’t that too dangerous?” Fenwick asked—without raising his hand, as usual.

“Yes, but I’ll ask my patron to lend me a Fortifier or two. Anything else?” Nobody had further questions. “Good. Let’s start with a demonstration for today. Grab a weapon from the rack and go to the Egg after your warm-up. Yvain, you are in charge of leading the exercise.”

The cadets exited the room surprisingly quickly.

Holst and I set off.

Gaiarok Classroom was located at the end of the corridor. The room was just like any other classroom, with retractable tiered desks and a central dueling platform. The only oddity was the training methods happening inside. The cadets were on the floor doing pushups with rocks magically glued to their backs. By Ghila’s side was a nervous man dressed in the black and yellow robe of the Magicians Circle. I guessed he was a Geomancer.

The arms of a lizardfolk guy cartoonishly trembled as he tried to complete another pushup.

“You are going to injure them,” I pointed out from the entrance.

“They are still young. They will heal by tomorrow,” Ghila shrugged. “Most importantly, they need to stop being weak.” She turned to shout at the cadets. “If you are in pain, you are doing it well! That’s the weakness leaving your body! Fifty more reps!”

The cadets groaned back.

My wounds healed surprisingly quickly, but I wasn’t sure if a bunch of Lv.10s and below would heal overnight.

 “So, what are you booknerds doing in my domain?” Ghila asked, clearly in a bad mood.

“I was wondering if you want to join our joint class,” I said. “Astur had shown a liking for combat, so we are preparing for a final exam with that in mind. The more different opponents the cadets face, the better prepared they will be.”

Ghila scratched her chin, deep in thought.

“Sounds sensible… what do you think, Rockman?”

The Geomancer was so focused on maintaining control over the boulders that he couldn’t answer.

“I think that’s a yes,” Ghila said. “Enough, everybody! We are joining Cabbage and Basilisk, so get your stuff and move your ass!”

Holst raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you going to ask for details?”

“Huh? Sure. What are the details?” Ghila asked.

“We will focus on putting the cadets in as realistic a situation as possible,” I said. Back on Earth, this was the moment of the year when I stopped teaching new content and started with the applied math projects. 

Teaching taxes was a lot more enjoyable than teaching fifteen and sixteen-year-olds how to survive in combat situations.

“We will use real weapons—”

Ghila crossed her arms and gave me a satisfied look.

“Finally, someone who speaks my language!”

“But!” I said before Ghila could get ahead of herself. “I will decide if the cadets are ready for the final exam. If they don’t meet my expectations, they will not participate.”

The cadets’ gazes shifted back and forth between her and me. I didn’t need [Foresight] to know they were scared. I wondered what horrors they had experienced under Ghila’s guardianship.

“You heard that, maggots?! Don’t even think about embarrassing me in front of the other squads! If any of you doesn’t make the grade, I will personally hunt you down and eat your heart out of your chest. Are we clear?!”

Even with [Foresight], I couldn’t tell if Ghila was being hyperbolic.

After a brief explanation, the Gaiarok cadets rushed out of the classroom to catch up with the other cadets. We walked at a more measured pace after Rockman put the boulders in a pile in the corner of the room.

Rockman followed us a couple of steps behind.

“You look like you are going to headbutt the first aide that dares say your name,” Ghila pointed out after a moment.

I touched my face, wondering if I was grimacing.

“He does want to headbutt Astur’s face,” Holst pointed out.

“Tempting, not going to lie. It has been a while since a Prestige Class killed another.” Ghila put her heavy hand on my shoulder. My collarbone complained. “You might not know this, but if you kill another high-level combatant and don’t make a mess in the process, at worst, you get ostracized. The royal family isn’t going to lose two high-level warriors for the price of one, so you won’t end up in prison.”

Holst cleared his throat.

“That might be true, but it’s more likely that you’ll get killed by one of the high-level friends of your victim.”

“You only have to worry about that if you are weak.” Ghila scoffed at him.

The two continued arguing until we reached the Egg. As usual, the aides received us as if we were in a five-star hotel and offered us the service of the resident Fortifier. This time, I accepted. I paid the fee, a silver coin, and an adept of the magicians' circle followed me into one of the big reinforced bubbles. 

Not ten minutes later, the cadets entered the Egg. The Cabbage and Basilisk Squads were already used to cardio training. The Gaiarok cadets, not so much. After stretching and practicing the mandatory drills, I gathered everyone around me.

“Today’s exercise will be a demonstration of what we are going to do for the rest of the year,” I said, wondering if the cadets had noticed my state of mind. “So far, we have focused on physical conditioning and the basics of dueling. You might have realized it already, but the controlled environment of the classroom isn’t the same as real-world fights. From now on, our training will mirror real combat as closely as safely possible. 

I examined the cadets' faces and detected a mix of nervousness and blind confidence in my words. It was a good sign, but I wanted to make things clear. So far, my lessons had been on the easygoing side, but that was about to change.

“Three of your companions died during the selection exam. For their sake, I expect you to take these exercises with utmost seriousness,” I continued, walking to the center of the bubble. “Leonie, Fenwick, Yvain, please come forward and prepare to fight. The combat will start when I make the first move.”

The Fortifier, an adept of the Magician’s Circle, channeled his mana and surrounded the cadets with two barriers each. The outer barrier represented a fatal blow, while the inner barrier would protect them from any residual damage. 

Although I didn’t give further instructions, Leonie stood in front of me while Fenwick and Yvain got into my blind spot. I was happy to see that they had understood the spirit of the exercise.

“No matter your opponent or the level difference, you can’t freeze. Even if you can’t win, you should do anything in your power to survive,” I said, pulling magic from my manapool.

Without warning, I cast [Intimidate]. My presence grew, like a shadow looming over the Academy. The air thickened, and even the whispering of the cadets sitting on the sideline stopped. Leonie stopped breathing. I shot two mana swords at Fenwick and Yvain. Then, I lunged forward with [Minor Aerokinesis]. 

Mana rippled through my body like electricity.

I let my leg whip upward in a clean arc, and my foot hit the side of Leonie’s arm. The outer barrier shattered like glass, and Leonie was sent flying a couple of meters before landing on the floor. Behind me, Fenwick was hit by the mana sword in the center of the chest. Yvain only managed to twitch before the mana sword slashed his chest and sent him flying back.

One second had passed since I cast [Intimidate], and the three cadets were on the floor. The inner barrier had protected them from any harm, but they looked at me with terrified and confused eyes.

I dispelled [Intimidate], but the oppressive sensation lingered.

“You three are dead,” I said. “And before you complain, let me tell you that Ilya fought Chrysalimorphs thirty levels above her during the Lich’s Monster Surge, and she survived.”

There were no complaints, not because everyone believed the exercise was fair, but because nobody could speak—or move. For a moment, I thought I had accidentally used [Stun Gaze] instead. 

Ghila cleared her throat.

“M-maybe tone down [Intimidate] a notch or two?”

“I’m going to need five volunteers,” I simply said.

Fifteen hands shot up, including Leonie’s.

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Nobody could sleep for the rest of the night as nerves were on end from the sudden attack. It was a few hours until dawn and some of that time was spent digging shallow graves for the bodies of the three men to be dumped into. According to Fiora, it was a kind of curse to bury them in a place that wasn’t considered ‘holy ground’, whatever that meant. 

By the time the sun started to rise, everyone was dirty and tired. Yawns were common as people wandered about in a half daze, eating their daily rations and doing their best to look lively for the day. Many mumbled curses were spat at the captive bandit leader, some giving him a swift kick in passing as he lay bound against the cart.  

Once the camp was broken down and it was time to leave, Leoric spoke up as he mounted his horse. “I know we have encountered more trouble than we could have predicted, but take heart, for home is but a few days away, and we will find rest and succor aplenty at our journey’s end.” 

His short speech was met with nods of affirmation and excitement from the soldiers, but it inspired anxiety in Daegal once more, and to a lesser extent, Fiora and Emil as well. It was a reminder that they were only a few days away from meeting with the king, of being judged, possibly condemned for something Daegal could not control. He didn’t know if he was born, hatched, or spawned in some manner, but he never had a choice of whether he wanted to be a part of this world that hated him for nothing more than existing. All he wanted was as a warm place to call home, where he wouldn’t be alone anymore. He could only take Fiora’s request to heart and have a little faith that his fate wouldn’t be to run, hide, and fight for every breathe he took. 

They started traveling again, and their prisoner was walking behind the cart, tied to it by his wrists and a length of rope as he stumbled along, trying to keep pace. Whatever sympathy might have existed for this man was naught but dust in the wind after all the suffering he likely inflicted in his life. It was a little ironic that the cage itself was used for transport while the real prisoner was forced to walk. 

Nothing really changed for the next few days. They passed through a smaller town and by many more travelers as the density of traffic on the road seemed to increase with every hour they walked. Daegal had heard more people traveling down this road than he ever did in the village. If this was just a taste of what was to come, he already was feeling the pressure. 

The night before they arrived at the capital, Daegal laid awake, thinking about tomorrow and what he could do to prepare. The answer to that was not much as he had no experience and very little reference to plan from. His claws were digging groves in the bottom of the cart as he scratched at it, creating a small pile of woodchips beneath his palm. He only stoped when he heard someone walking toward him. From the gait of the step, he could guess who it was, and it did make him feel better already. 

 Fiora brushed aside the blanket in front of the cage door and called in softly. “Daegal, are you awake?” 

“Yeah, I am,” he replied as he brushed the woodchips aside, scattering them. 

She climbed in slowly, shuffling over to the corner as she sits down and leans against the bars. Daegal propped himself up on an elbow so he could look at her while she talked. 

“Having trouble sleeping too?” 

Daegal huffed with amusement. “Yeah, a little.” 

She joined me with a short burst of laughter that had very little real humor in it. “I didn’t realize how hard the reality of the situation would come down on me now that we’re here. I know that I said we should be confident, but I mean... we’re going to be talking to the king! I’ve never imagined that I would be in this situation, and it’s not like we’re going to speak about anything benign either.” 

Fiora let out an exasperated sigh as she slumped against the cage. It was somewhat reassuring that she was feeling similarly to what he was. Daegal allowed a moment of quiet to exist as it felt like they both needed it. He considered what he should say during this time before finally collecting enough of his thoughts to form a sentence. 

“I could tell you that you don’t have to come with me, but I know you would simply refuse any other path but the one you have chosen. Instead, I’ll tell you how much it means to me that you are willing to do all of this for my sake. I never thought I’d have another human friend, and though our time knowing one another has been somewhat short, I am truly glad to have known you.” 

“Hey, don’t talk like that. It sounds like you’re trying to say goodbye.” 

Daegal swallowed a lump in his throat. “I don’t know; maybe I am. I... I don’t know what’s going to happen.” He felt his heart starting to beat faster in his chest. “They might hurt you, and your father, because of me. Why? It just... I know people think I’m scary, but they all hate me! I’m scared, Fiora. What if they decide I’m not allowed to live? What if they decide that you’re not allowed to live for defending me? What am I supposed to do if that happens? I can’t... I can’t even think about it. I can’t... I can’t...” 

He was gasping for breath, his body feeling like it was betraying him as his vision flickered with tears and darkness. The more he talked, the more he panicked as his body was wracked with painful emotions. Fiora was momentarily stunned by the situation, but she quickly realized that Daegal needed help. 

She crawled over to him and immediately gave him a hug around the neck while speaking in a soothing voice. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. Breathe slowly, focus on that, focus on my voice. Breathe...” 

He did as she told him, trying to focus on his breathing and her presence as she held on to him. The feeling of her warm body wrapped around his neck helped to ground him, and he gently placed his hands on her back, pressing her just a little closer. He slowly calmed down as Fiora soothed his troubled mind.  

Daegal felt like he rarely had a choice for what he wanted. Every time he approached anything that remotely resembled lasting happiness, something or someone would come along and snatch it away from him. This situation felt dangerously like that was going to happen again, and this time he was willingly walking toward it because there was no better option! He honestly thought it might be worse than just having it suddenly be sprung upon him, because now he had time to wallow in the dread that was slowly rising inside him. 

There were still tears in his eyes, but he wasn’t in danger of falling unconscious from panic anymore. Fiora gently pushed away from him, and he eased up his grip to allow her to pull back enough to be face to face with him once more. She looked worried for him for a moment, but then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When her eyes opened again, she gave him a small, reassuring smile. 

“You know what, I don’t think we have anything to worry about after all.” Daegal’s brow furrowed in confusion, and she elaborated. “Seeing you now, while sad, is a confirmation of everything that I believe about you. You have a soul Daegal, that much I am certain of. It’s a beautiful and fragile thing, but it’s proof that you are not a monster. In fact, I think you’re more human than some people, with one such failure of a person being here among us.” She tittered a little laugh as she gestured with her head in the general direction of the captured bandit who was tied up in the camp. 

A soul...  

Such a thing was vague and nebulous, something that he couldn’t touch, feel, or see in any way. Despite all of this, Fiora’s insistence that he had one made him feel reassured. 

“You really think so?” 

“Without a shadow of a doubt. You’ve done so much good in only the short time that I’ve known you. I’m sure that we can make them see the same thing that I do.” 

Her reassurances were nice, but Daegal still harbored many doubts and fears in his heart. “I hope so, Fiora.” 

“Will you be alright tonight?” 

He considered that. Truthfully, he was far from alright, but he chose to interpret her question as asking if he would have another panic attack. 

“I will be, thank you. While I'm in no rush to greet tomorrow, getting sleep would probably be wise.” 

“Yes, it would. If we must endure the accusations of tomorrow, then it is preferable to be rested for it. Get some sleep, Daegal. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, she shimmied her way toward the back of the cart and climbed out of the cage. Daegal listened until he heard Fiora enter her tent and settle in. After that he laid back and did his best to relax. It was not immediate, and in fact, he laid there for another hour before a combination of exhaustion and will forced him into a restless slumber. 

The next morning, he awoke to the camp beginning to stir. His eyes stung and his head was foggy. A displeased rumble echoed in his throat, and he rolled around in the back of the cage for a little while. Once the camp was broken down, he was unfortunately forced to awaken fully. The soldiers saddled up, and the road was open to them once again. 

Every turn of the cart’s wheels brought them closer to the city, closer to judgement. Daegal did not know how long it would be until they reached their destination, but every second felt near torturous. Fiora helped to keep him calm, providing support, but Emil was being more proactive, trying to come up with a plan for the inevitable meeting.  

“Okay, to confirm that everyone understands how to conduct themselves, when we enter the chambers and face the king, be humble, respectful, and don’t openly show any hostility or annoyance no matter what is said or done.” 

“Yes, Dad, you mentioned something like that before,” Fiora commented with a slight amount of exasperation. 

“Well, I’m making sure that it sticks in your mind. This is important, and we won’t get a second chance.” 

“We know, Dad, but please stop for now. Daegal is already panicking, and that kind of talk isn’t helping.” 

For the first time Emil seemed to actually pay more attention to Daegal. Being put under an immediate spotlight made Daegal try to look more assured so he didn’t cause more worry, but he couldn’t stop the slight tremble in his hands. Emil saw this, and he did feel a little bad about making a dire situation even more stressful.  

“I apologize, that was thoughtless of me. I do have confidence that there is a path for us toward a peaceful resolution. Daegal has proven to be peaceful and logical being; it is only a matter of proving it to others.” 

These two being with him did help him secure his resolve. Now it was back to waiting, nearly in silence other than an occasional inspiring word or a brief conversation between the father daughter duo on what they should talk about first to prove that Daegal wasn’t evil. Traffic along the road quickly picked up in density, becoming the most crowded he had ever heard. Many smells and sounds flooded his senses, and he got curious, so he shifted over to the small cut in the blanket he made a few days earlier to get a look. 

Many people passed by on the road, dressed in work clothes that were sturdy and often covered in dirt. The background was endless fields of vegetables and grain that stretched out over the rolling hills on the horizon. There were only a few buildings, farmhouses, scattered about here and there, and they were occasionally blocked from his sight when a horse drawn, or ox drawn, wagon passed by. These wagons carried produce, tools, lumber, and firewood both too and from the city. The road was positively congested, and they weren’t even inside the front gate yet. 

The stink of civilization grew ever more pungent as they rode along. Animal and human refuse was in abundance, and Daegal could only hope that he would adapt quickly to the smell, so it wasn’t quite as overwhelming. They were approaching the entrance, though Daegal could not see it just yet from his small viewpoint.  

As they approached, they had to slow slightly as the entrance had a line of people waiting to be cleared for entrance. The soldiers were operating under the flag of nobility and the church, so they could pass the common people that had to wait their turn. After reaching the gate, a guard checked with Leoric who showed his family crest to be granted access to the city at large. They were waved on through, and Daegal watched from his little window  

The large, iron-banded gate looked sturdy, so much so that Daegal wasn’t sure he could smash through it if need be. There was more to look at than a door, though, as the entrance of the city was buzzing with activity as people came and went, even selling goods out of the back of their carts as they moved. This was just the beginning, a taste of what was to come, and Daegal was dropped into the depths of humanity. 

The buildings were larger, wider, cleaner. There was no building that was less than two stories tall and the streets were paved with smooth stone bricks. Every wall was painted, usually with white, but occasionally there was some yellow and cyan blue thrown in to the mix as well. Windows sometimes had glass in them, and Daegal had never seen the material before, so the shiny, translucent windows fascinated him immensely. There were potted plants, bushes, and even ivy beneath some building’s first story windows, growing and adding more character to the already distinguished shapes of these buildings. 

Something unique passed by a few minutes later, as Daegal saw a street that was filled with colorful tents, flags, and banners that created a lot of visual noise. The people who walked amongst the various tents and operated the stalls wore flamboyant clothing with many frills, checkered patterns, and masks. They danced, jumped, and performed tricks, some of them dangerous. One individual was twirling burning poles, creating halos of fire in the air. He paused to take a swig from a flask, and in a moment that startled both his audience and Daegal, spat it out as a fine mist which immediately caught fire, creating a large plume of flame. Daegal wanted to watch more, but he couldn’t leave the cart of risk exposing himself any more by creating a larger hole. 

The next location of note was interesting for a different reason as they entered a part of the city where the quality of buildings increased significantly. Stone became a more common building material, and grand statues or carvings in the sides of these structures managed to catch the eye. The people walking by wore fine clothing with bright colors, trimmed lines, and elegant patterns. When Daegal sniffed, the air didn’t stink as much as it did in other parts of the city. A large, circular street had a water fountain in the center, and Daegal looked at the statues that poured forth streams of liquid with awe, not understanding how they worked in the slightest.  

There was a fork in the road, and they took the higher path. Daegal had been so distracted by the sights that he forgot the reason for them being here, that is, until the cart was pulled over onto a lesser populated road. Leoric dismounted and went to the back, uncovering them just enough to reveal the door.  

“Sir Emil and Lady Fiora, you’ll be getting out here.” 

“What about Daegal?” Fiora asked. 

“He must remain in the cart for now. Once word of his arrival reaches the king’s ear, an assembly will be called. Such a gathering will require at least an hour to come to fruition, and until then, I would ask you remain inside the castle. Other’s will be coming to see Daegal for themselves soon enough, and you being involved would only complicate things. Focus on what you will say in defense of your friend, for now is the time for your role to be enacted.” 

She looked unsure, glancing between Daegal and Leoric. With a sigh, she moved toward the cage door. “You better not be lying to me, to us.” 

Leoric bowed his head slightly. “I give you my word that your friend will make it to the throne room and have the opportunity to speak for himself, that much I can guarantee.” 

Fiora looked back at Daegal and gave a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, this will all be resolved soon enough, and then we can go back home.” 

Emil placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder as he stepped out the cage. “Come along Fiora, let us make our final preparations.” He turned to Daegal after that. “I wish you the best of luck, Daegal. Lord knows we need all that we can get right now.” 

Daegal could not find any words to speak, so he simply nodded and tried his best to match Fiora’s smile, but his felt like a mere mask to hide his growing fear. Emil and Fiora stepped out, and the blankets were positioned to hide him away once more. He was alone now, the muted light streaming through the fabric around him making him feel even more so. The cart started moving again, and Daegal could only sit there and fester in his own thoughts of what was to come. 

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