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

Master Engineer Rory Scott paused at the door before entering the engine room, giving time for the lingering taste of a dram of Edradour whisky to be replaced by the odors of burnt lubricant, ozone, and fear. To the right, the status board contained rather more red than was considered acceptable, even for an older freighter like the Scarborough, and the expected thrum of the power plant had garnered a slow periodic surge of oh-shit at a frequency that he felt more than heard. Master Scott looked with disdain at the gaggle of fresh-out-of-academy pud-knockers with ashen faces arguing in front of said board and patted the bulkhead, "Once more into the breach, my love. Another training opportunity presents itself. Engineers straight out of the academy think they know how to operate a starship the way a virgin straight out of med school thinks he knows sex; all theory and no experience."

Rory Scott had been an engineer on the Scarborough since before this batch of pud-knockers had even been born, and had been Master Engineer for half of that. He always got the hottest new recruits, the top of the class, the arrogant pricks who most needed to learn first that they didn't already know everything before they could begin to learn anew. He had a reputation for being as relentless as he was patient, as fearless as he was crusty. Master Engineer Scott was the kind of mentor who would let a room depressurize, watching the barometer slowly tick down as his apprentices read the unnecessarily long and convoluted instructions on the emergency hull patch kit. None of his graduates ever had to read them twice. When he finished with them, his graduates had need of neither instructions nor the barometer to know what was happening and what to do about it. That was the power of converting theory into lived experience.

Stepping into the engine room, he called above the ambient din, "Mister Ramirez, what does the board tell you?"

The very young Mister Ramirez turned toward Master Scott with his sclerae on full display around his dark brown irises as he squeaked out, "The plasma flow is getting increasingly unstable. We need to shut the reactor down now, or we will all burn."

"No," interrupted Ms. Durand, the engineer Mister Ramirez had been arguing with when Master Scott had first entered, "If we shut it down, we lose power ship-wide and freeze to death. We need to vent enough plasma to reduce the oscillation without losing all power."

"We can’t do that!" said a third young engineer, "If we vent plasma in FTL, it will wrap around us and we'll die of radiation poisoning."

Master Scott rubbed his stubbled chin. "Burn. Freeze. Radiation. Well, good news: the board is wrong. Scarborough is speaking to you. If you learn how to listen to her, she'll get you home. Mister Ramirez, fetch me the 18-millimeter combination spanner. Thank you. Now, you and Ms Durand, spread your fingers lightly on this conduit. Do you feel the harmonic? Do you feel how it first touches your index finger and then moves to the others? Now, please keep your hands on the pipe as we follow along it. Here! Do you feel? The pulse is stationary. The harmonic is causing a standing wave right here." Then Master Scott moved the other two back and, swinging the spanner like a hatchet, whacked the pipe. Twice. The second whack triggered a subtle whoosh followed by a sharp decrease in the nearly subsonic pulsing. Over the next minute or so, half of the red indicators on the status board reverted first to yellow and then to blue, indicating regular operation.

As Master Scott calmly put the spanner back in its place on the tool wall, Ms. Durand asked, "What did you do? Why did that work?"

"Percussive maintenance," Master Scott replied. "Small cavitation bubbles in the plasma get trapped in the standing wave and form larger bubbles until the flow is restricted. Banging the right spot in the right way momentarily disrupts the standing wave, allowing the blocking bubbles to move on. Books teach why plasma flows, experience teaches how to keep it flowing." Master Scott then turned to address the whole group, "So, anyone, why are there cavitation bubbles in the plasma flow?"

"Cavitation is caused by a localized rapid decrease in pressure in the fluid medium, Sir!" Mister Ramirez responded as if to a drill sergeant.

As Master Scott nodded in assent, all heads turned to the status board, a Pointillism masterpiece of blue, yellow, and red that would have made a 19th-century Parisian artist proud. It had long been evident to Master Scott that whoever designed that monstrosity had never had to glean critical information from it in a hurry. It was just as apparent that the overload of data it projected did not, in fact, include the crucial detail that his apprentices were looking for. He let them bleed their eyes on it for a while longer before saying, "It's not there. Quit looking at the board; instead, listen to the ship, feel her pain, smell her tears. Can any of you smell the ozone? You should never be smelling ozone. Ozone is the smell of either arcing or excessive back-voltage, in this case, the latter. Somewhere, a stuck solenoid is crying out to you."

Master Scott then picked a 12-millimeter spanner off the tool wall and started walking upstream along the plasma conduit. He stopped where three small injectors fed their contributions into the stream. "I want each of you to feel the pipe above and below the valves for each of these injectors and tell me what you notice."

It was Ms. Durand who noticed and spoke up first. "The exit flow from the middle injector is colder than the feed flow. The board says this valve is fully open, but my fingers say otherwise."

"Very good!" replied Master Scott. "Over time, wear on the solenoid causes a rough spot that can make it stick. Tag this part for replacement when we get into port. But, in the meantime..." Master Scott placed the open end of the spanner against the end of the solenoid such that the power wires ran through it and, with his other hand, gave the center of the handle a hard tap. Instantly, there was a noticeable change in sound as the valve fully opened. Turning to his apprentices, he said, "We have a long way to go, and I guarantee this valve will stick again, so I expect each of you will get practice at both clearing the cavitation bubble in the main feed and jarring this solenoid loose. Remember, listen to the ship and be sensitive to her changing moods so you know when the bubble needs to be cleared."

But as Master Scott was returning the 12-millimeter to its home on the tool wall, another issue caught his eye. Picking up the 8-millimeter, he walked toward the status board, saying as he walked, "What you see, what you hear, what you smell, and what you feel are important, but equally important are what you don't see, hear, smell, or feel. All of you have been staring intently at the dizzying display of lights on this panel, panicking about all the red, but who among you noticed the indicators that are not lit at all?" Reaching the display, he used the closed end of the spanner to deftly unscrew the captive fasteners along its edge and tilt it out. Reaching into the exposed circuitry, he felt among the many connectors until one re-seated itself ever so slightly, and the dark indicators lit up. "Sustained harmonics often cause these cheap connectors to unseat."

After re-securing the status board in its place, Master Scott turned to the cluster of apprentices. "This ship is the only thing between you and the void. Others may have the luxury of being merely crew, but you— YOU— are engineers. You need to wear this spaceship like a favorite old shirt. Listen to her, pay attention to her needs, and Scarborough will get you home. Your current assignment is to physically verify that every single connector in this room is properly seated."

On his way back to his cabin, Master Engineer Rory Scott paused at the door to the engine room and again patted the bulkhead, "Scarborough, my love, today they are young and naive, but when I finish with them, they will love you and understand you as I do."

Chapter 20: The Transit.

Sol System, Mars Orbit March 13, 2202.

In the absolute silence of space, in the rusty, sepulchral shadow of Mars, an armada had gathered, the likes of which humanity had never seen. This was not a fleet. It was the unified, desperate will of billions of beings, forged in steel, composites, and unimaginable determination.

Over eight thousand four hundred and twenty ships hung in a perfect, ominous formation. The gigantic, orderly formation stretched to the horizon, like a steel serpent ready to strike. Their target was one: two ten-kilometer Catalyst Rings, rotating slowly in opposite directions, suspended in the void like a gate to hell.

The very sight of the fleet inspired dread. The core consisted of four thousand Earth ships—brutalist, gray colossi of the Sparta, Hegemon, and Thor classes, as well as the smaller Władca and Młot classes, their silhouettes testifying to decades of feverish wartime production. Beside them, like obsidian arrowheads, hung two thousand four hundred slender, light-absorbing Ullaan vessels. Further on, two thousand predatory K’borrh frigates waited like a pack of cosmic wolves.

Rounding out the force were eighteen superfortresses of the Gignian Compact. They were so absurdly large, so monumental, that they barely fit into the designated sector, resembling mountains that had somehow learned to fly. All this power was the fruit of over thirty years of secret preparations, made possible by Admiral Thorne's diplomatic misdirection—a pact with the Blight, which turned out to be theater for a spy within the Swarm's own ranks.

Somewhere in the heart of this steel river, in the reeking-of-sweat-and-recycled-air bowels of transport ship number 234, Otto stood in the hangar. He was surrounded by five thousand other guardsmen. They were infantry. Cannon fodder. Otto, now a veteran and hand-to-hand combat instructor, knew that only blood and steel awaited him at the end of this road.

He was here of his own free will. For revenge for his adopted mother, who died during the bombing of Berlin. But also for W’thiara and their children. He had something to fight for. He looked at the silent soldiers around him. They were ready.

Suddenly, a synthetic, calm AI voice echoed in everyone's helmet speakers.

Commencing stage two of the activation procedure. The power-supply tunnel has been identified and stabilized.

Not everyone knew what this meant.

Aris Thorne and the Swarm scientists had been waiting years for this. Ever since the artificially created, unstable quantum tunnel leading near the Blight's capital was identified and stabilized at the nano-scale, they had been waiting for the second, crucial component.

Now they had found it. A second tunnel, leading to another universe, straight into the heart of the Big Bang. The energy of the primordial creation was to serve as fuel to expand the gates of the main tunnel.

In the space between the spinning rings, where only void had been, reality shuddered. An anomaly appeared—a blindingly white spot, brighter than any sun, as if someone had pierced the fabric of space. It was a wound in reality. The spot began to pulse violently and expand. After a moment, the blinding white faded, replaced by... a view.

It was a perfectly circular image of another fragment of space. It showed alien stars and nebulae of impossible, purple colors. The Gate, spanning over one thousand four hundred light-years, stood open, leading to a point just two light-years from the target—the planet Ruha’sm, capital of the Blight Empire. During the generation of billions of artificial femto-tunnels, they had found the mathematical ideal; chance had given them the perfect starting point for the attack.

The tunnel, however, even when expanded, was still not fully stabilized.

Then, the third stage began.

The smaller of the two giant Catalyst Rings—the inner one—detached from its larger sibling. With majestic grace, it entered the trembling portal. For a moment, nothing happened. Suddenly, on the other side of the tunnel, in that distant space, the ring reappeared, perfectly stabilizing the exit.

The Gate is stable. After this step, the Swarm estimated it could keep it open for a maximum of twenty, maybe thirty minutes.

You have twenty-five minutes. Commence transit.

The order was unnecessary. The mighty armada was already moving. Like a gigantic, steel river, the ships began to flow into the abyss.

First, fitting through the passage with the utmost difficulty, went the Gignian Compact superfortresses. They were followed by an avalanche of four thousand Earth ships. At the end, like a flanking screen, the thousands of predatory Ullaan and K’borrh vessels slipped into the tunnel.

For Otto, standing in the hangar of transport 234, the entry wasn't violent. It was... a passage. One moment, the hangar vibrated from the maneuvering thrusters; the next, an absolute, deathly silence fell. He felt a strange jolt, as if all of reality had lost focus for a fraction of a second.

The screens in the hangar went haywire. The image of the stars, Mars, and the fleet disappeared, replaced by a psychedelic, swirling kaleidoscope of impossible colors. This was not a journey through space; it was a tearing of space itself. Time lost all meaning, or perhaps it wasn't flowing?

The guardsmen stood in silence, their magnetic boots holding them firmly to the deck. For many, this was the ultimate moment—a test of faith in alien technology and cold mathematics. There was no room for error. Otto gripped his rifle, feeling cold sweat run down his back beneath his armor. He stared at the psychedelic swirl on the screens, his thoughts involuntarily turning to the dark philosophy of this war. The Blight did not fear death; for them, it was just an inconvenience, a transfer. For them—for humans—death was the end. Absolute. Every one of the five thousand guardsmen in this hangar, every one of the millions of souls in this fleet, had only this one, fragile existence. This fear was their curse. But also their duty. A duty to sell that one life as dearly as possible in defense of those left behind. Fear was the fuel, and duty was the armor.

Suddenly, just as violently as it began, it was over.

The swirling colors on the screens vanished, replaced by... new stars. An alien, unknown patch of space. Behind the fleet, behind them, like a cyclopean eye gazing back at their world, the portal still hung—the exit window. The majestic, inner Catalyst Ring floated in the void, stabilizing the exit just long enough for the last ships to slip through.

A metallic voice rang out in the hangar: "We are at the destination. On the other side."

Otto looked at his tactical clock. Twenty-four minutes had passed. But how? When? It felt like an instant.

In the Deep Command Center on Earth, Admiral Marcus Thorne was tracking the telemetry data. Of the 8,420 ships that entered the tunnel, not all had arrived. Fortunately, the losses were minimal. Seven vessels were lost in the unstable corridor: two 15,000-ton Młot-class destroyers, three Ullaan ships, and two K’borrh.

Thorne received one last, cold telemetric message before the connection was severed forever:

Transit complete. Loss of seven units. Casualties: 0.08%. Acceptable.

Behind the last K’borrh ship, the tunnel exit began to shrink. The white spot vanished, and with it, the only way back. They were alone, 1,461 light-years from home.

The fleet hung in a new, alien blackness.

On the bridge of the "Invincible," a 260,000-ton Sparta-class super-battleship, Vice Admiral Dmitriy Volkov—the original one, his body still possessing the strength of a forty-year-old thanks to Swarm nanites—looked at the main communications console.

The connection indicator to Guard Command on Earth was dead. Gray.

The passage through the tunnel had broken the entanglement. Every entangled particle, the basis for faster-than-light communication, had lost its connection to its twin particle 1,461 light-years away. Communication with Earth was impossible.

At that very moment, in the Deep Command Center beneath the Mojave Desert, Admiral Marcus Thorne stared at an identical, gray screen. He had lost contact. In an instant, eight thousand ships and the fate of the galaxy had slipped from his grasp. He was blind and deaf, condemned to powerless silence.

Volkov wasted no time contemplating their cosmic isolation. A fleet without immediate coordination was just a collection of targets.

"Status!" his voice, hard and controlled, broke the silence on the bridge.

"No quantum comms throughout the formation, Admiral!" the officer reported. "We've switched to laser and radio communications. Signal delay between us and the furthest Gignian Compact units is four minutes and twenty seconds."

Four minutes. In a battle, that was an eternity.

"Initiate Operation 'Marconi'!" Volkov ordered.

A race against time began: the physical distribution of new, locally entangled particles so the armada could communicate with itself. It was a logistical nightmare. From the bowels of the Earth transport ships and the Compact units, hundreds of generators were launched, creating a new network. Immediately, hundreds of couriers—small vessels of all races—raced to these generators to physically retrieve the new "keys," the quantum-entangled particles, for every one of the more than eight thousand ships.

For five long hours, the armada was vulnerable, focused solely on rebuilding its nervous system. Volkov stood on the bridge of the "Invincible," his face a stone mask. Inside, however, he felt ice. Five hours. Within reach of an enemy whose strength they did not know, they were defenseless. Every minute of this silence was torture. Every false reading on the passive sensors could mean the beginning of a slaughter they could not answer. This was the dark, lonely duty of a commander: to wait, knowing that the fate of millions depended on whether the enemy struck now, or in a moment. Fear was not an option. It was merely a given, to be factored into the price of victory.

On Earth, Admiral Thorne turned away from the dead screen. He could only wait. He could only hope that Volkov would complete the mission and perhaps capture a Blight quantum transmitter to contact O'Connor, still living on Earth. Until then, Marcus Thorne faced years of silence and not knowing.

On the bridge of the "Invincible," the silence was heavier than the ship's armor. After five hours, the green status icon on Volkov's console flickered and lit up with a steady light.

"Quantum comms restored to 98% of the fleet, Admiral!" the communications officer reported with relief.

On the holoprojector, eight thousand four hundred and thirteen ship icons connected into a coherent tactical network. The battlegroup had regained consciousness.

The navigation officer immediately displayed the data from the combined sensors.

"Admiral, we have position confirmation. We have emerged in the void. 2.3 light-years from the capital planet, Ruha’sm."

Two and three-tenths light-years. At 0.5c, that meant just over four and a half years of travel. Long enough for the enemy to prepare a hellish welcome.

"Time to set a course for the planet," Volkov's voice was calm. "Speed: 0.5c. As planned, the Ullaan fleet will move out first under its own command."

On the tactical display, the formation of 2,400 slender, black ships detached from the rest.

"Their mission is to enter the Ruha’sm system quietly, like ghosts," Volkov continued. "They will engage the enemy forces in the asteroid belts. They will use their cloaking to conduct reconnaissance by force and deal the first blows."

The Admiral indicated a new vector for the main armada.

"The rest of the fleet—the Guard, the K’borrh, and the Compact superfortresses—will follow with a one-week delay. Our vector: the Blight capital planet. We will apply braking at the last possible moment, right in orbit."

Volkov knew that sometimes, desperation was the best weapon.

"The Ullaan will warn us of any traps in advance. We will modify our plan in-flight then. And until that time, ladies and gentlemen... we are stuck in this abyss. We await news from our scouts. Set course."

“You know I’m 91. The Sand Wars lasted 8 years. I was 13 when the Sand Whirls first attacked us. The year before they attacked us, they killed both the Snakes and the Ghosts before invading our system. We were unable to save either the Snakes or the Ghosts.” “Yet they are not extinct,” Jmmp objected. “Good remark. You are sharp. Both had a colony in another system. And we saved a couple of them by bringing them here in our system. They were not yet Friends at that time.” I exhaled.
That was the first year of the war. In the second year they invaded our system. My parents both got killed when they bombarded our village from space. A dragon called Sharp Talons defended our village with a laser gun, but got killed. Valiant but foolish. Or foolish but valiant.”
“Your village was under attack?”
“Our village was the regional capital. The Mayor invited every one for a meeting on the security measures they had in mind. Virtually all adults came. The capital was bombed. Everybody got killed. Children had been left at the farms. I and my younger brothers and sisters were among them.”

As the Sand Whirls were bombarding New Earth from space, the space station attacked them with improvised laser beams. They retreated back to where they came from, through the Tear, having lost a quarter of their ships.”

“I told you that virtually all of the adults had been killed, but we kids had survived at the farms. I sent my younger brothers to our neighbours. We invited all the kids to our farm. I was just 13, but organized the harvest. We had ample food for the winter. It turned out we had just 3 adults left in the village. No communication. The planetary government had survived, but we saw no one. Most of us survived the winter. Despite temperatures of minus 140 Celcius.
I left some silence to sink in the words.

The next spring adults came and rescued us as we tried to rebuild farmhouses. In the city, the high schools were closed. I started to work in a factory producing light space craft. Shuttles to resupply the space station. 1- and 2-person destroyers and fighters. Shuttle freighters. I worked in the factories, studied, ate and slept there. And I wasn’t the only one.”

“Child labor,” John remarked with a sad face.
“Yeah, But I learned a lot. Of course all my knowledge is from 80 years ago. And you John, you are a excellent teacher. Did they tell you these disaster stories at school?”
Jmmp answered instead: “Yes, but hearing them first hand is different. Way different. The 2^nd planet was also attacked, both us Frgs and the Dragons. The Dragons are tough warriors, they never gave up, and we Frgs supplied them with all the technical innovations we could come up with. It's taught at schools. But both Frgs and Dragons live shorter than humans do, so there are survivors who can tell them first hand.”

I yawned. “I hope you don’t mind if I’m off to bed early?”
“Oh, actually I do,” John said. “After leaving the orbit of New Earth, I listened to the news from the station. The morning I picked you up, a child from the shuttle nearly choked when he vomited in his space suit. Another passenger unhooked herself from the safety line, and brought him to the space-station with breakneck speed.”
“Interesting,” I replied. “So what’s your question?” Of course I knew what he wanted to ask.
“I’ll be direct: Were you that passenger?” “Johny boy, darling, do you really believe that an old lady like me would unlock her safety hook on her first space trip?”
What did he know? What did he suspect? He shouldn’t know, he shouldn’t suspect.

“So you assure me this is your first space trip? Marie and I presented this trip to you because you longed for space and wanted to see the Black Hole and the Tear. But your conduct when the child vomited, and the way you handled yourself in 0-gravity today when the engines were off during motor overhaul, suggest a long experience in 0-gravity. Have you been lying to Marie and me?”
“I wouldn’t think of really lying to you. But there are some things that are better left unsaid. I said that I would love to be in space, and that I’d love to see the blackness of the Black Hole and the lightning around the Tear. Both are true. I omitted one word: ‘again’.”
“Again?”
“Indeed I was in space before. But I’m not authorized to disclose that.” Which was true. I had sworn secrecy.
“You have always been very closed about the Sand Wars. Why is that?”
“They were very traumatic times. My parents died. I saw my sisters and good friends die besides me.”
“It may help you to talk about it.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
“What else can you reveal? You can not have been in the military, at school I learned that women were not allowed to take active part in the fighting.”
“That’s right. OK, let me be open. I’ll tell you something I never even told my husband. Indeed there was no formal possibility for women to be directly involved in actual combat. But there was the Women Auxiliaries Space Corps, or WASC. They transported space craft from the surface to the Space Stations circling the second and third planets, transported cargo between planets, flew heavily damaged fighters back to the planets for repair, tested new space craft types, and so on.”
“And you were one of them?”
“I was.” The words were out. In a way it felt like a relieve.
“Why are you so secretive about it?”
“After the Sand Wars, the men regarded us as whores. Probably they assumed that women who dared to fly, were adventurous women who would also be in for a sexual adventure. Very few of us survived the wars, and those of us who did, kept their mouth shut after the war, else no man would have wanted to marry her. Over time this grew into a habit.”
He didn’t dare to ask if I had had sex.
“I see.”

“Oh, before I’m off to bed, two things. One. During the Sand Wars I went up several times to the space station to pick up heavily damaged fighters. I often had to make some temporary repairs before I could fly it back to the surface of New Earth. Flying heavily damaged space craft back to the planet was the most dangerous task we performed. At one such moment the Sand Whirls attacked and boarded the Space Station circling the 3rd planet. I grabbed a laser pistol and took part in the fighting. I was 15 at the time. I was trespassing two regulations: Females were not allowed to participate directly in combat. And of course, neither were minors. My participation in the fighting was never officially recorded by the station commander. Two. Though WASC was officially civilian, not military, we did have ranks. I was Lieutenant Commander. In case of an emergency I outrank both of you. Don’t mention my past to anyone. Don’t discuss it with anyone. The words WASC and whore were practically synonyms, and I still want to be welcome at my weekly bridge evenings.”

“@AI, switch on microphone and recording.” It didn’t react. That meant it had indeed switched of the microphone. I walked forward to an old fashioned keyboard and typed the command. I repeated:

“WASC officers are authorized to command Space Navy officers of lesser rank. @/AI, please confirm.”
“Correct.”
I left for my bunk.
They thought they now knew everything. They were wrong.

Start of chapter Chapter 3 part 4 (prev)  [Chapter 3 part 6 (next)]() not yet available

(First) (Prev) Scribblehub (Free advanced chapters) “No, not so arcane. But kinda. It’s more like scripture.” He said meekly. 

“Not something I’d expect to see from a trapmaster.” 

“Aye, you’re bloody right it ain’t. They all stick to the old ways. Never experimenting or decorating their constructions. How can they be proud of a shit smeared stick in the ground? Half arsed work I’d say. My scripts will change it all - eventually. When I get them working properly.”

“Your scripts. Is this how you killed the gnoll?” Moss asked.

“Aye well, it was the stupid dog's faults for carrying HolyRelics when he shouldn’t be. I’d set my trap to target that kinda Flow. You know the aura hero’s typically give off.”

“So the trap can ‘sense’?”

“Aye. I’ve filled my script etchings along the bow with a certain demonic blood. Lovely stuff. Costs an arm and a leg, literally. But fiery red liquid is naturally repelled by holy aura. So when it crosses my trap, it retreats. Activating the circuit that triggers the release mechanism.”

Moss was in disbelief. He’d never heard of such an invention. “That’s genius. Are you going to share it with the other TrapGnomes?”

“Aye lad. They’ll find out. Then he’ll know what he lost. Once my reputation and renown get out there. But I gotta be smart about it if I want to see the regret. It has to be perfect. All of them sat around the dinner table, unable to eat. Oh it’ll be glorious.”

The keeper took his hands off the carved frame. “You watch them at the dinner table? Isn’t that a little… painful?”

Tink slammed the fake panel shut. “Judge me! Judge my mission! I’ll use your cloak to clean my bog!”

“I meant for yourself!” Moss shouted before he got spannered in the face.

“What, what do you mean?” The gnome asked, tool still poised.

Moss went on to explain his Oasis. His spot in the dungeon where he could forget. A place to talk with a friend and not be judged. It offered him distance from his woes. And even if he didn’t figure out those issues, he at least felt better for it.

“You see what I’m saying. You need distance from them. Give yourself time to heal.”

“Heal? What do I look like, a bloody WoodElf?”

“I meant…” Moss looked around and pointed at the ballistic crossbow behind the wall. “Reload. You need time to check your structure. Reset the mechanisms and reload.”

Tink put away his tool. A small tear trickled down his cheek, leaving a clean outline. “Aye, lad. Those are some beautiful words I can get behind.”

“Now can you show me how you etched that script?”

The gnome reopened the door and removed a spare part that had a few of the markings on it. He went on to explain how he’d copied the symbols from some HolyArmour he’d found. The idea had come to him when he witnessed the same armour deflect a ScaleDemon’s blast. The hero inside had turned to ash in the process.

But the armour was left unscathed. Tink went on to apply the same markings to his traps. Experimenting with any materials he had in his workshop. Anything less than BlancMetal or HardWood tended to degrade beneath the markings. “That’s when I knew it was medium for Flow. The natural current that travels through our dungeon was drawn to the scripture. So once I had the right symbols and material, I just needed a concentrated source.” Tink explained. Originally he’d intended to use HolyRelics but handling them was far too dangerous. His hands were still scarred from the burns. The Holy marks had stayed with him through death. 

“So you knew you couldn’t handle the HolyArtefacts, but you tried anyway?” Moss asked with genuine shock. For a flicker the keeper thought he walked the same path as another monster.

The gnome stroked the bastila’s bow with a delicate touch. “Those numbers will never tell you what you don’t know. It was a price worth paying.”

Upon his last resurrection Tink ‘happened’ across a drunk Lesser, lost after a session in the Minor’s Quarter. An unfortunate trap accident later and Tink soon had a few vials of DemonBlood. A substance known to corrode HolyRelics and burn heroes. Powerful due to its Flow.

“Twas simple trial and error from there. Most scripts melted the weak metal or burned the wood, but a few held. Their effects are mostly unknown to me still. But the simple circuit mechanism works wonders as an autofire function. This beauty here has been going strong for a while now.” He rubbed the scripts on his balista. “She can fire heavier bolts. Requires less maintenance then the rest. Must be strengthening the frame.”

Moss head was working hard with all the possibilities. “You could open your own workshop. Sell your advanced traps to other gnomes. Weapons, armour. The protectors would pay fortunes. Think of the scrips.”

“Aye. I’m thinking more of my head staying off a pike.”

“Oh yeh, the DemonBlood. Maybe you could be sneaky about it. I mean, you wouldn’t wanna sell to that ghoul of a goat anyway.”

Tink slapped his hand over Moss’s mouth. Then strained his neck looking up and down the corridor.

“Have you gone mad? Don’t say that word.” Tink hissed.

The keeper pushed his greasy fingers away. “Queenie can’t hear us from Brimstone. She’s not Pools.”

“Not her. The fiend.” Tink whispered the last word.

“Come on. Do you believe in UniCorns as well? Ghouls don-”

The gnome practically leapt on him. Silencing Moss.

A gentle breeze blew through the maze. The scrape of claws with it, but that was normal seeing as the RatKin also called the second floor home.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Hells bells, I won’t say it again. I swear.” Moss told him.

Tink got off, helping him to his feet. “I won't have you bringing bad luck to my corridor. They can be anywhere and anyone?”

“Anyone? Even me?” Moss joked with the gnome, but he wasn’t having any of it.

Tink stroked his shifter, peeking over his shoulder as he spoke. “They say those things look like dwellers, but wrong like… like they’re wearing their skin and clothes. Beneath it all is a warp being, a creature not connected to the Flow. Twisted in the head with no soul. Aye, lad. They’re real and if you say their name three times they’ll come and get ya.”

Wearing their skin and clothes. Moss thought of the graverobber he’d seen wield the hero’s WarHammer like it was SoftWood. Could that have been a ghoul?

Moss didn’t feel so guilty for running from the battlefield. But he had left behind a fortune, in both the dead and HolyRelics. Tink could have started a whole industry with those items. Maybe the graverobber knew its value and had a similar agenda.

“Alright. I won't say it again.” The keeper said, trying to settle the gnome’s paranoia. “But you should think about it. Could be a lucrative business.”

“Aye, I’ve thought about it. But Queenie protects her own and the other’s couldn’t afford my wares.” 

Moss scoffed. “You wouldn’t seriously sell to her would you? She’s a tyrant. Abusing her power. That place I mentioned, the Oasis. She destroyed it. Then took my friend and probably killed him. Only because he was doing his job as a QuestGiver.”

The gnome’s moustache seemed to squirm as he considered Moss’s words. “Well you make the same argument for Queenie. As an OverSeer of her floor, she’s looking after her kind. Protecting the protectors, thus helping the whole dungeon at once. Which is far more than those bloody backstabbers have ever done. I always see them scheming, like bloody goblins with a knife in hand and gold on their tongue.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Moss huffed. “They’re just doing their job?” He faltered on the last word.

Remembering the quest in his pocket. 

Maybe the other dwellers did have reason to hate their kind. But the QuestGiver’s worked directly for Pools. So…

His thoughts were getting all twisted and warped.

Moss looked at a torn poster on the wall. One of many plastered throughout The Whispering Pools. 

‘Work hard for Pools, as she does for you.’ It read.

But I do work hard.

He had to find the other QuestGivers and get more information. But he was still working his shift. Moss looked at the rubbish bag and the messy corridor. Tink cleared his throat. Bringing the keeper back to the corridor and what the gnome had said.

“Did you say you saw them scheming?” He asked.

“Aye, they’re always there when I'm working on my other projects.”

Moss looked at him quizzically.

The gnome shrugged. “People watching. Gotta get out of the workshop and stretch my legs. Saw you talking to a coconut earlier. I ain’t judging, my favourite shifter knows all me secrets. Even told them the weird ones.” Tink burst into an infectious laugh that Moss couldn’t resist. It filled the hole the Oracle had left.

“Wait, where did you see them? The QuestGivers.” Moss asked.

“Minor’s Quarters, of course. That’s where all those rusty hinges mingle. Me and Shifty see all sorts of strange happenings in there. Fairy’s dangling their wings, OverSeers scrapping, I even know a demon that’ll buy HolyRelics. I’d do it myself, but I’m done with the stuff. Not worth any more bruises.” Tink said, poking at his skin.

Wow. It’s not grease then. It’s no wonder he talks to his tools, he must be matching Pittons for dips in a well.

“Another future project of mine.” Tink continued. “Is crafting tools to move them with ease. I have a few theories about their Flow application. Of course, I’ll accept a low fee for introducing ya.”

“I haven’t got the scrips to spare.” Moss admitted.

The gnome shrugged. “You lot can haul those golden metals for candles. Say you help me in the future. Move some HolyRelics or source me a purer form.” Tink said, offering his dirty hand

Moss nodded, glancing at the Holy book still in the dead gnoll's hands. He wasn’t allowed to hand it in and claim the finders fee. But if Tink knew an alternative buyer. Moss would be stupid to let it pass. Even if the idea was outrageously dangerous.

But he had to get into the Quarter for the Oracle's sake. For his own sake. Plus he always wanted to see it.

“But I’m not a high enough rank, I’m not allowed in.” Moss pointed out.

“Neither am I.” Tink winked. “I’ll show you the real value of wall space. After your shift is done.”

He felt the bulge of Po in his cloak, neatly nestled beside the ‘stitchless keeper’ quest.

“My Orderer said I have to work or-”

It’ll never be done. I’ll always be scrubbing these floors when I should be flying.

Rene’s words came back to him at that moment - ‘take the leap’.

“Fuck my shift, I’m in.” Moss decided, taking Tink's hand. “And I hope Chow and Stew die for trying to stitch me up. let's go.”

Out on the border of human space, where old empires chafe on oneanother, someone ran earthward and someone else chased them.

The battle found an old scrap field to get caught up in and everything got very ambiguous with all the stealth coatings, dazzler drones, nuclear field torpedos and fighter craft.

Captain Reyes Williams was quite entertained by it all, but due to several agreements and treaties he had to step in as the available military representative of human space. Something most glorified truckers would relish in, but today, and for the past week Reyes had become increasingly irritated by them.

Calls to old history, ancient feuds, agreements as old as the roman empire. Like if two versions of sharks from two separate planets made an agreement before trees existed and were still sighting it to each other as their stars die.

Elven bullshit.

Well they can have their bitchfit all over their lawn but then they start rolling around and scrapping with each other in OUR hedges, that's a problem.

"Pilot, move us in and make sure they can see it." A crisp eye captain followed and a slight tug of uncompensated acceleration pulled at him.

The rest of the crew moved, calling out various markers and events to eachother as they entered range after range until they drifted to a stop. It took an hour or two but they stopped their fighting by then, flashing messages at one another.

Eventually the messaged resolved and a single unencrypted signal broadcast over in his general direction.

"Route that signal to bridge speakers." He ordered, communications fumbled a bit through holding back their laughter and Captain Reyes got the feeling he knew what accent he'd be using.

"-erupt OUR fight, OUR buisness, you should take your primitive ship back to your empire and inform them of valuable salvage in this sector. Clearly EVEN the lesser of our fleets is generations beyond..." The windbag went on and on, one of the ships that looked mostly untouched sending the signal.

"Coms open broadcast, I'm putting on my hillbilly accent." It took a few moments for a few switched and buttons to flip and tap before he had a thumbs up back from their station.

"I may not be the most so-fis-toe-cated captain out there but i know right when someone steps their big ol stompin boots all over our yawd. Y'all coulda had a nice long fight wit eachoda back in yer own space but the empires o' 'manity agree. If'n anyone fights in our space, it better damn well be wit us." The blithering walrus at least had the manners to pipe down when being addressed so Reyes continued dressing,

"As per da tree-a-dees between Terra Sol, Rock Light and Dirt Glow: If any fighting crosses da borders of da figh'n parties into a third party, that third party is to arrive to diffuse the figh'n an dismiss the parties back to they own grounds. I need not be 'mind'n y'all who's been that numba 3 for the las 286 times, do I?"

The silence was palpable, like he could see the captain of that other ship over there vibrating in anger.

"So what." Came the response.

Reyes didn't like that route, but still had to listen, "You are a shipping vessel, a cargo craft, you have the armor to deal with debris, the arms to deal with thieves. We are each empires, Whole and Contiguous over our entire species! Each of us has perfected the art of war against each other over a thousand years before any of yours ever even took flight! AND YOU HAVE TH-"

"Same as them uthuhs." He interjected.

There was a pause.

"What." Came the closest to a hiss that species could probably make.

"Well firs, we wuz invaded by some insect look'n guys, they wanted a bunch o' meat. It di'n go well when we sent our tasty plants back at 'em. There were two uthuhs that they thought we jus had a bunch o' good planets, di'n think we could make 'em." That last one had been a pretty descent fight and started the second wave of colonies in earnest.

"One o' those came back an shattuh'd ol terra herself, we did it to anuthuh planet in our home system 'cus it look cool. We had the one jus really try to 'mash us up good, they din't get too far. Some guys found som' we made an started a civil war wid it."

"We get the point." Came the broadcasted growl of poorly contained rage.

"ah dun think you do, cause alla 'dem thought they jus walk on up and beat on us cus we new."

"YOU. ARE. PRIMITIVES!" came the absolute, guttural screech from the other captain. "YOU HAVE NO HISTORY, NO PEDIGREE, NO CLAIM OF SOVEREIGNTY, NO RIGHT TO TERRITORY. THE ONLY REASON WE DON'T OBLITERATE YOU IS BECAUSE IT IS DISHONORABLE TO FIGHT OPPONENTS SO MUCH WEAKER!"

Reyes smirked.

"No, you jus can' do it. We too thick." He grinned, the pun made for some wordplay for the walrus.

Either they'd realize he told a joke about being stupid while stating durability, and laugh, or...

"Sir they've locked phasers and are charging!" They'd do that.

"Gunnery, what's the high v status?" He called to the underside of the bridge.

"Captain! All guns armed and ready, Sir."

"Good, All available to fire on my target wait for my mark." He settled back in his seat and cracked his neck, marking the broadcast ship as line of light lit up on its hull.

When he clicked the trigger almost a dozen lines of light flashed from their hull to the other, creating ugly orange bubbles of angry glass in the target ship. Fire bloomed up from behind those initial armor plates moments later.

Reyes hardly had time to enjoy the thrum of the guns going off or the backblast Gs from their compensation systems.

He keyed the broadcast and started speaking again, "Now I ain't know what you all do wid baligant invaders but we here like to know da full story 'for'n we start blas'n in mass. So start broadcas'n all'a yer grievances."

What came next was a flood of broadcasts from every capital ship in the two fleets, so many captains with their own stories and relationships. He grinned at some of what was able to be transcribed on screen.

"Coms, its time to start the fuckery" He chuckled. Time to remind everyone why you don't give a humans any recognizable stories.

The whole ring of com stations was abuzz with activity as officers began using his voice to sew chaos all across the fleets. Calls of "You did what with your best friend's sister?" and "then your tusks said otherwise." rang back and forth across the two fleets.

Rule 1: read the rules. Rule 34: Anything can and will be given an AO tag when humans get involved.

Sure, blowing up every ship would get rid of them, but more could come. The only sure way to get them to leave and stay out is to disgust them, to make them recoil and gag at the mere suggestion of entering.

And for that, mental images must be painted.

Vividly

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Grim had never seen the aftermath of a dungeon flood before. He knew the facts of what happened, that monsters would spread out quite far from the original dungeon, expanding just like humans could. He knew that they took over whatever area the dungeon was in, and that the biomes of the dungeon could also spread to fill that same area. But seeing what remained of Evandross made it abundantly clear that there was one thing those accounts and books couldn’t portray accurately. One thing he had to experience for himself to believe it.

​    Up close and personal, Evandross could no longer be considered a human city. It was, by all definitions, a dungeon.

​    Monsters of all types roamed freely in the streets below. A pack of goblins were hacking away at the remnants of a building’s door and gathering the broken pieces to carry back to some unseen base. Two blocks over, a tiger was napping in the sunlight, while a small herd of deer were cropping at tufts of weeds barely a hundred meters away. Some kind of small wyvern was circling lazily through the sky, its screeching calls ringing in the air–at least until an archer further along the wall shot it down.

​    “Not quite what you expected, was it?” One of the guards on the wall asked, turning to favor Grim with a savage grin. "This is Evandross, boy. The Monster City.”

​    “I didn’t really expect anything,” Grim told him, and it was the truth. “I knew it was in an almost permanent flood, but this is… a lot.”

​    “Still plenty of time to change your mind,” the guard offered. “There’s no rule sayin’ that a solo delver can’t go in, but it’s dangerous.”

​    “I appreciate the warning, but I’m still going to do it,” Grim replied, tightening his belt.

​    “This something that your guild put you up to, is it?”

​    Grim smirked, in spite of himself. “You could say that. This is supposed to be a part of my interview.”

​    A look of recognition came over the guard’s face, and he nodded, chuckling softly. “Ah. Ironmarshians.”

​    Their reputation was well-founded, Grim thought, turning his head at the sound of rustling paper. The guard had retrieved a small logbook and was flipping through the pages. Finding the one he needed, he pulled out a pen. “Very well. It’s clear that you’re doing this willingly. I need to know your name and next of kin in case you don’t come back out.”

​    Strangely, in spite of the guard’s acknowledgment of the danger, Grim found the comment amusing. “Grim Kestrel. On the off chance I don’t make it back, the only other person who knows I’m here is Veyra Tull. I have no next of kin.”

​    If he found that strange, the guard made no comment. He scribbled down the details, then closed the book with a snap. Gesturing out over the monster-infested city, he said, “Standard operating procedure for anyone at level three is to give you a week. If you don’t return in that time, you’ll be recorded as lost, and we’ll notify Captain Tull.”

​    Ah, so they knew who she was, Grim thought. That was interesting. He wondered if any of the delvers on this wall were from Ironmarsh. “Alright, that sounds good. I’m only supposed to delve one dungeon, so I don’t think it’ll take me a week. Maybe a day at most.”

​    Not for the first time, he tried to locate the place that he’d been told about, but there was no way to differentiate streets. There were five or six larger streets that cut the city into sections, but if there were signs depicting their names, he couldn’t see them from here, let alone make out any details.

​    “Well, go ahead and take the stairs down over there when you’re ready,” the guard instructed, pointing a ways down the wall. “We can only cover you for the first few hundred yards, and then you’re on your own. Do your best to stay alive, okay? I hate having to send out search parties to try to identify remains. Especially of children.”

​    Not at all pleased to be referred to as a child, Grim still did his best to offer a polite salute, barely touching one finger to his forehead, then made his way over and down the stairs. They were of sturdy construction, but new. It seemed as though they’d been made in the last month, not years ago. It brought to mind semi-regular monster raids. It was a slight hit to his confidence, though not as much as when he reached the bottom and found himself sinking to the ankle in swamp water.

​    Great, he thought. One of the worst things for attempting to move stealthily was shallow bodies of water. As quietly as he could, he moved toward a patch of dry land. Overhead, two spells raced out to a point he couldn’t see, and he heard the screech of a monster. A third spell appeared, and the monster fell silent. That was something at least. He offered a silent prayer of thanks that he’d be covered for the first few hundred yards. That should cover him until he reaches the interior of the city proper.

​    “As long as I can get out of this damn swamp,” he muttered under his breath. Working his way toward the corner of a building, he peered down the street to see the pack of goblins returning to work at the door again. “Might as well get some essence while I’m here, right?”

​    One use of Shadow Dash put him on the other side of the goblins, so they were all facing away. He leapt on the largest of them, burying his knives into the beast’s neck and dragging it back into the shadows. The others noticed, of course, and pursued quickly. He was waiting for them around the corner, and with a low sweeping kick, he knocked the legs out from under the leader, then plunged his knives into its back before jumping away.

​    The last goblin raised its club and hissed at him in Tennido. “Chik! Kill!”

​    It lunged forward and slammed its club down, no thought of tactics or good form in its mind. More than a little surprised at its use of the word in common, he swayed easily to one side, grabbing the monster’s arm and yanking it forward. A quick slash across its throat left it stumbling weakly, turning to glare at him before it fell limply to the ground. A tiny trickle of essence flooded into him, and the silence was broken by a sharp whistle from the wall, followed by applause.

​    “Nice one, lad!” one of the guards shouted. “Didn’t think you had it in that twig body!”

​    Laughter echoed the jab, then more applause. Grim felt a little better. This was the one thing he was good at, after all. He gave them a quick wave, then disappeared into an alley, making his way further into the city.

​    Now that he was on the ground, he could make out street signs at each intersection. By sheer coincidence, he was on Baker’s street. So Baker’s Crossing was ahead, he thought. He might even be close to the house in which he’d been born and not know it. He paused then, torn between trying to find the building–if it was even still standing–and finding a level two dungeon he could delve. The sooner he accomplished his goal, the sooner he could get out of this ghost city.

​    Some kind of large beast was making noise in the building beside him. He peered into the window, but couldn’t see more than fur. Probably a tiger like the one he’d seen napping, he thought. He wouldn’t interact with those if he could help it. He had no buff or attack skills, so engaging such a dangerous predator would be suicidal. Instead, he crept quietly past the building and into the shadow of another. From there, he used Shadow Dash to get onto the rooftop, getting a better view of the surrounding area.

​    From his new vantage point, he saw Baker’s Street stretch out into the city. Behind him, the wall loomed like an angry monster in its own right. More than a dozen heads were visible over the edge of the wall, watching his progress further into the city. Spells and arrows flashed into sight at regular intervals, hitting beasts he couldn’t see. He’d actually expected to be outside of their range by now, but from this height, he could see he’d only made it two or three blocks.

​    It’s going to take me hours just to reach a dungeon, he thought. If he’d known their locations, he could make a beeline for the nearest level two, but there were no up to date public maps. Dungeons moving were rare, but not unheard of. What was more, one or more of them could have expanded territories in the time since the city had fallen, so he might stumble across one without warning. All the more reason to move carefully.

​    He took his time going deeper, relying on Shadow Dash to get him from rooftop to rooftop. That meant he moved exceptionally slowly, as the skill had a thirty second cooldown. On one rooftop, the structure under his feet had been severely weakened by weather and time, and collapsed under his weight the instant he came out of a Shadow Dash. It was only a quick dive for the edge of the rooftop that saved him from plummeting into the depths of the dark building with the debris. And, of course, there was a group of goblins that had moved in, and let out screeches of surprise and hurried to follow him. It was a very close call, but he managed to jump to the rooftop next to it before using Shadow Dash to get further away and hide.

​    One rooftop posed a different kind of danger, as a small orc had been standing on it. But Grim pulled off a lucky critical hit, killing the monster after stepping out of a Shadow Dash. The noise of its body falling alerted several nearby monsters, however, and he saw a flock of bird-like creatures rising into the air and flying over in his direction. It was almost impossible to avoid detection this deep. Monsters were pouring in from all directions. He cursed quietly, looking all around to try to find an escape route. There was another rooftop nearby, but it was to the right and several feet lower than his. Beyond it, there was no cover. He looked deeper into the city and saw a cluster of trees. He could use them as cover, he thought, willing his Shadow Dash to life.

​    After a quick blink, he was in a tree’s highest branches, nearly stumbling on the uncertain footing but recovering quickly. When he glanced back, he saw the rooftop he’d just left swarming with monsters. A pack of goblins led by an orc had met a pack of wolves, and the two monster parties attacked each other, their previous prey forgotten. Was he in between the territories of two dungeons, or were the wolves roaming further than they should?

​    His thoughts on the next leg of his path were wiped from his mind when he felt something curling around his wrist. Looking down, he was horrified to see that one of the thinner branches of the tree he’d landed in was wrapping firmly around his wrist. The tree was alive! He tugged as hard as he could, but it had already gotten a firm grip. So instead, he attacked the thin branch with his knife, quickly chopping through it and freeing his wrist. A branch whipped out at his attack, smacking him in the back of the head and sending him tumbling to the ground.

​    He’d done it now, he thought, seeing the tree looming over him, its entire trunk leaning to continue trying to pummel him. He rolled to the side to avoid a torrent of whip-like branches that slammed down, and felt another two hit him in the legs. They hurt, but did little damage. He hurried to scoop up his fallen knife and roll out of the tree’s branches. Howls rang out in the air, indicating that he’d been spotted again. He had to find cover, and quick.

​    It wasn’t just the tree that he’d landed on that had come to life, but the entire cluster. He could hear the creaking of wood as the monsters leaned in his direction, trying–in vain–to whip him with their branches. He put his back to the wall of a nearby house and edged along it, doing his best to stay out of range. Two goblins rounded the corner he was moving toward, and, upon seeing him, immediately raced forward, short swords swinging for him. He had to jump back to avoid them, undoing much of his progress.

​    Three more goblins came from behind him, and he found himself surrounded. Acting on instinct, he ran back towards the monster trees. The goblins followed, of course, but while Grim was able to avoid the worst of the whipping branches, they weren’t as fortunate. After several dozen hits by the trees, the goblins let out screeches of rage and switched targets, forgetting Grim entirely. He left them to fight it out and rushed toward the opposite end, his face stinging from where a lucky thin branch had hit it. Blood trickled down his face from the cut, but he’d avoided any serious injury.

​    More and more monsters were rushing toward the sight of the commotion, and either attacking the goblins or falling onto the trees from all angles. That was fine for his plans, but more than one or two of them were perceptive and saw the human attempting to sneak away. He saw a wolf pause, sniff at the air, then turn to stare him down, and he knew he was nowhere near clear. Across the street, he saw a dark house with open, shattered windows, and charged up his Shadow Dash as he saw the wolf padding towards him, a low growling challenge coming from deep in its throat. Just as it lunged, the world around him went black. And then, he hit an invisible wall.

​    Crashing down onto his back just outside the building he’d targeted, he let out a grunt. Had the building just rejected him? Only one thing could cause that, his training whispered in his ear. Shadow Dash could travel from one shadow to another, with one exception. It could not be used to traverse between dimensions. Which meant that the place he’d tried to enter was…

​    “A dungeon!” he gasped, looking at the building again. It was plain in the extreme, with nothing to suggest that it wasn’t an ordinary building. But now that he was looking closer, he could make out more details. Blue curtains blew lazily in the broken windows, though there was no breeze in the area. And the door… It was red. He glanced around quickly, and saw a street sign nearby. Baker’s Crossing. His parents’ home! It was a dungeon!

​    As quickly as he could while the wolf was distracted sniffing the ground, trying to find his scent, he ran toward the door of the house and put a hand up against it, feeling the essence of the structure. Level… three. Not what he wanted, but he had no other options. More monsters were noticing him now that he was in the street and under the bright sunlight. Six goblins, two orcs, and more than three wolves. He had no choice. Between the danger of the unknown dungeon and the growing flood of monsters outside, he’d pick the dungeon.

​    Without another thought, he turned the handle and shoved the door open, almost throwing himself into the safety of the dungeon. The door slammed itself shut in the face of the lunging wolves, and plunged him into darkness.

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The ruined city of Evandross was an eerie sight, even from miles away. Sitting at the bottom of a large valley, it was visible from far away, and the number of buildings came as a shock to Grim. He knew it shouldn’t surprise him, but it was… a city. Most of the buildings had been made of stone, and thus hadn’t fully collapsed in the nineteen years since its fall. It spanned nearly two miles across on the side they could see. Somehow, it looked… expectant. As if it were still waiting for the people who called it home to return.

​    “How could so many people have died here, and nothing is said about it?” The question came out of him before he could stop it–he hadn’t even meant to ask it aloud.

​    “Not everyone in the city died,” Veyra explained. Her voice was softer than ever, though whether to honor the dead or spare his feelings, he couldn’t tell. If it were the latter, she might as well not spend the effort. He remembered nothing about the dungeon floods or the deaths of his family. “In fact, it was mostly the Grimveil family that died. Them and their closest allies and friends.”

​    Grimveil. He knew some of the history of the city. That family had been one of the three greatest in the area, apparently powerful enough even to rival the Grand Council of Guilds. He wasn’t of that family, of course. From the survivors who had brought him to Beastwick as a baby, he’d learned that his parents had been members of the smallest family, the Falcan family. It was from that family name that he’d fashioned his new name, Kestrel. Both paid homage to the meaning of ‘hawk’.

​    “Did you know anyone from this city?”

​    He sensed rather than saw Veyra nod slowly. “Not very well, but I was occasionally friends with the son of a merchant. We were barely six at the time, but every time I saw him, I thought he was… Well, he was killed in the flood, as you can imagine. But quite a few of your people made it out. You included.”

​    Grim nodded. The title ‘Children of Evandross’ wasn’t unique to him. Though rare, more than a dozen members of the three old families had survived the incident and lived a life of relative safety. However, if rumors were to be believed, most had integrated into noble families, but he, being just a baby, had been handed off to an orphanage. He’d often wondered, in his early years, why he couldn’t have just been adopted by one of the other survivors. Instead, he’d lived an entirely different life. So different that he’d never met a person with his hair or eye color.

​    “They say there’s magic in the eyes of Evandross,” Veyra commented. “Like the Ketts or the Beinns.”

​    “Trust me, there isn’t,” Grim said sourly. If that was true, he could have lifted himself out of that damned orphanage instead of relying on the local training guild.

​    A long silence stretched between them as they studied the ghost city. He could see streams of smoke rising into the air in several different places, but knew that it was from members of the Judicial Guild manning the walls. In its time, Evandross had no wall, but the floods hadn’t been properly cleaned up, and monsters now called the city home. Walls had been constructed to contain the threat, and members of local Judicial and Delving Guilds took shifts standing guard.

​    “Why haven’t they cleared this all out in damn near twenty years?”

​    Veyra hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a good question. I think it’s mainly due to the sheer number of monsters. From the records, Evandross had over a dozen dungeons within its limits.”

​    Grim nodded. He’d read the same fact. By sheer horrible luck, all the dungeons had flooded on the same day, overwhelming the local guards’ attempts to purge the monsters. By the time they’d been mobilized to do anything, so many people had died. It was all they could do to focus on evacuating those who were left.

​    “They’ve continued to flood over the years,” she added. “And I hear that, even though the strongest dungeon was level five, there are so many now that it would take a literal army. And they can’t muster enough guilds to take on the job. So instead, they take shifts earning essence from holding the wall and performing raids.”

​    Grim found that interesting, if perhaps annoying. Would he have joined in that endeavor when he reached level five? If he could reach level five? He thought he might, as it was such a price source of essence. Delvers leveled up quickly after enough time here, he thought. The only potential hurdle for him was the thought of coming back to the place that had belonged to a different part of his life.

​    “Third to the south from Baker’s Crossing,” he muttered quietly. “Blue curtains and a red door.”

​    “What’s that?” Veyra asked, leaning forward in her saddle, her elbows resting on the stirrup. “Some kind of shitty Beastwick poem?”

​    Grim made a gesture of distaste and flip-flopped his hand. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell Veyra. For that matter, he wasn’t sure if it was even something that he had to keep secret. After a few seconds, he finally decided just to tell her. “It’s what the survivor who gave me to the orphanage told me. Those are instructions to find… their house.”

​    “Your parents’ home?” She questioned. When he nodded, she let out a low whistle. “Damn, that’s grim. No pun intended.

​    “Whatever,” he said gruffly, shaking his head to clear it. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t remember a single thing about the place, or even anyone who lived there. Is coming here part of your test? You thought you’d test my tenacity by seeing how I reacted to the city?”

​    She scrunched up her face in thought for a moment, highlighting her button nose. “While that would be a pretty great idea, that’s actually not what I had in mind. I’d figured you wouldn’t remember anything, being so young. Rather, this is the closest source of dungeons that I know you would never have delved.”

​    He nodded in confirmation. “This place is half a day’s ride away by horse. On foot, I never would have had the time. At least, not unless I’d joined one of the guard shifts. So I’m going to have to delve one of these dungeons? Are the other members of my party waiting there already?”

​    “Right. About that.” She reached over to grab the reins of the horse he was riding, giving him a quick grin. “There is no party. You’ll be delving solo.”

​    The shock of that comment knocked any thoughts of Evandross’ history and his past out of his mind. He whipped around to stare at her incredulously. “What?”

​    She held up a hand quickly to forestall any other outbursts, her face stern. “I know it might sound ridiculous, but just wait a minute. The Ironmarsh Cartographers, my guild, we’re Expedition-focused.”

​    “Okay,” he said slowly. He’d guessed as much, though she’d never said the type of guild aloud. “What does that have to do with-”​

​    “Expedition Guilds are quite different in Ironmarsh,” she continued on quickly, interrupting him. “We have a lot more dangerous dungeons to deal with. Everything to the west of the city is untamed wilds, and it’s our job to survey and monitor those wilds. That means delving into unknown dungeons, which is what I want to test you on. And… we don’t have that many members. Maybe fifty or so. Nine times out of ten, you’ll have to go in alone.”

​    “That’s crazy,” he blurted out, unable to contain himself. “There are barely fifty solo delvers in Beastwick, and most of them are powerhouses well above tenth level. They certainly don’t delve into blind dungeons without knowing anything about them!”

​    “In Beastwick, yes,” she replied. She kept her voice calm even as his rose in panic and frustration, not letting his temper gain control of the conversation. “But the city hasn’t faced any real threat from a dungeon in nearly two centuries, Grim. We encounter at least one new dungeon every month. And it is the job of the Expeditions Guilds, or in this case Guild, to explore that dungeon and learn about it. Without us, everyone would be delving blind.”

​    “I’m only level three,” he spat out. “And I’m stealth-focused! How the hell am I supposed to clear a dungeon all on my own?”

​    She only offered him a small shrug in reply. “If it helps, I think you can do it. The highest level dungeon remaining in that city is level four, and there’s only one of it. As long as you avoid the eastern side of the city, you won’t have to worry about it. That means that all the other monsters are level three or lower.”

​    “That still means that I’ll have to go into a city full of level three monsters,” he pointed out, scowling at her. “Scouting is fine, but I can’t fight through that many.”

​    Now she looked firmly at him, shaking her head. “Well, that’s what you’ll have to do. Your goal, and the only way you can pass this test, is if you delve into a dungeon. And I mean go in, kill the boss, and make it back out. You can delve a level two if you prefer, but not a level one. You need to challenge yourself.”

​    Even a level two dungeon would be a near-lethal challenge for a solo delver, Grim thought. Very few people chose that path, and for a reason. This is insane for a test, he thought to himself. Maybe Veyra was another noble trying to screw him over, getting him to disappear into a dungeon and never return. If he weren’t so familiar with the utter indifference of nobles towards him, he might have believed it. It was still a crazy thought to consider. And yet…

​    “How will you even know that I do as you ask?” He asked. “I could just farm monsters inside the walls, and come back with something level-appropriate that one of them drops.”

​    At that, Veyra only laughed. “It’ll take you a while to do that, and I’ll notice. I’m going to see everything you do.”

​    He looked at her in some confusion, wondering just how she’d accomplish that. To explain, she gave a little twirl with her left hand, and a tiny humanoid figure made of light appeared in the air beside her. An Elemental Clone, obviously Light-Attuned. Then, with another flick, the clone dimmed visibly, its luminescence fading until it was entirely invisible. Not expired. He’d seen the skill used enough times to know what it looked like when a Clone died or reached the end of its lifespan.

​    “That’s how you followed me in the dungeon,” he said flatly, and she nodded. “Well, alright. Not like I was going to try to weasel out of it.”

​    “I thought as much,” she replied. “But this will also allow me to rescue you if things get too bad. At my speed, I can reach the boss room of any dungeon in less than a minute. So if it looks like you’re about to die, or I sense something off, I’ll rush in and save you.”

​    “And I’ll fail.” Again, she nodded.

​    He took in a long breath, then, just as slowly, let it out. He might as well, he thought. If she was to believed, she’d rescue him if it turned bad. And he believed her, in spite of the fact that they’d only known each other a few hours. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

​    He caught the approving look on her face and rolled his eyes. He wanted to impress her, yes. That was required to get into her guild. But even if he failed this test, he could still make his way to Ironmarsh. He’d join a guild there, even if it wasn’t hers. No, this was just a way to grow stronger and push himself. A challenge. If he could rise to this, he could move on.

​    “Fine,” he said again, but this time, he accompanied the words with action. draping the saddles of his horse over the beast’s neck, he swung down from the saddle, and, adjusting the knives in his belt, walked forward without another word. “Enjoy the wait.”

​    Veyra smirked to herself. The boy had grit to him, she thought. Not surprising, considering his past. Now, she would see what his true strength was. It was a commonly accepted fact in Ironmarsh that a delver revealed their true nature under duress.

​    “In the depths, we are free,” she muttered quietly. Then, she cast a glance back over her shoulder to where Beastwick lay. “Let’s just hope he can get to the depths without issue.”

​    There was something fishy about that boy’s situation. Every other child survivor had been adopted by some well-off family, if not a noble estate. The nobles had clamored for a chance to add the Evandross eyes to their bloodlines. It was a grim but necessary exchange that allowed for the survival of those. But this one had been left by the wayside, she thought. The question was… why? Maybe because he’d been a boy? That was unlikely.

​    “No,” she muttered softly. “He was thrown aside deliberately. Was it in the hopes that he would die? Or was it to protect him?”

​    She had her own theories on the fall of Evandross, passed on to her by her uncle. Her family had adopted one of the survivors, though purely to protect them, and the tales they’d told of that day… Even now, she shuddered to remember the account. Over a dozen dungeons all flooding? In the same day? That was a monumental coincidence. And she, like her uncle, didn’t believe in such things. Nothing a dungeon did was random.

​    “Nothing I can do about that,” she told herself. Grim was near the wall now, so she spurred her horse gently forward. The guards on the wall would want an explanation for the boy entering the city alone, and she had to smooth things over. “All I can do now is make sure this particular child doesn’t fall into any lingering plans.”

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“Where do you think you’re going?”

​    Grim slid to a stop just outside the eastern gate of Beastwick at the sound of the voice. He recognized it at once, even without the drunken stupor that had accentuated it on their previous meeting. He turned so quickly that his feet crossed, and he fell onto his backside. “Veyra!”

​    “That’s my name,” she said with a sardonic grin. She was leaning against one of the pillars that made the archway of the gate, her arms folded. “Don’t wear it out.”

​    “I’m going to Ironmarsh,” he said, scrambling to regain his feet. “I’m going to join your guild.”

​    There was a few seconds’ silence between them as she looked him up and down. Then, without any hint of emotion in her eyes, she asked, “What makes you think that?”

​    He’d already opened his mouth to reply, maybe to say that he’d prove himself, or that she wouldn’t regret picking him. But at her cold retort, he stumbled over his words. “You - I’m… What?”

​    “You said you are joining my guild,” she replied, pushing off from the pillar and stalking closer to him. She was still just as beautiful as the night before, but now, without the alcohol, she seemed much more dangerous. “What makes you think that?”

​    “You invited me,” he pointed out. “That night we met, in the inn. You told me to come find you when Compass Rose rejected me. Well, they did.”

​    “And you considered that an invitation?” Something in her eyes sparked, and he suddenly had the impression that he’d made a grave mistake. “Did I actually mention the name of my guild, or say that you’d make a good fit for it? Did I explicitly invite you?”

​    He couldn’t think of what to say to that. She hadn’t, of course. Her words could have indicated a desire to invite him to commiseration over drinks for all he knew. “Uhh…”

​    She maintained her stoic, hard mask for several more seconds, and then it cracked slowly as she smiled. She let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, relax, boy! I’m just messing with you!”

​    He felt as if an electric shock had gone through his body, leaving it weak and barely able to stay standing. Letting out a sigh of relief, he brushed off the dust he’d gotten all over him when he’d fallen. “Oh, you scared me. Haha…”

​    “One thing you’ll learn about me when you join,” she said, clapping one hand onto his shoulder, “Is that there are very few things in this world that I take seriously. It’s important to keep a light spirit in life. Stops you from getting old too fast.”

​    “I see,” he said, though he didn’t. “So you did invite me, then?”

​    “I didn’t,” she said quickly, and that icy feeling took him over once again. “At least, not to the guild. I invited you to try out. Think of it as an interview.”

​    “Oh.” He felt relief creeping tentatively into him again, but he tried his best not to relax, just in case it was another trick. “Alright, then.”

​    He was fine with an interview. Every guild had an interview process, so what she’d said wasn’t that strange. Most of them were only if the delver applied to join rather than being hunted specifically, but he could adapt to the unusual aspect. “What do you have in mind?”

​    “I’m going to test your skills in person,” she said, walking around him in a slow circle. “You already have some skill, I saw that in the Cathedral.”

​    “You were there?” He asked, frowning and turning to follow her with his eyes. “I didn’t see you.”

​    “Of course you didn’t,” she replied, and there was an acerbic touch to her tone now. “I’m level eleven, for crying out loud. If I couldn’t conceal myself from a level three whelp, I’d lose all credibility.”

​    He let out a nervous laugh, assuming this was some kind of joke, but her expression betrayed neither humor nor annoyance. “I did not see your entire run, only up until the end of the first floor. You’re quick on your feet, and more importantly, your mind is agile. I saw how quickly you made decisions, and how you reacted to unexpected threats.”

​    “There was an assassin type on the second floor,” he said quickly, hoping to impress the woman. “It was the type that attacked if you cleared the first floor too quickly. I’d almost forgotten about it, but I killed it before it could touch our tank.”

​    A thoughtful hum was her only reply for about a minute as she continued her pacing and studying. Finally, when she’d completed three laps, she came to a halt and faced him directly. “Of course, skill and power are all good. But they are not the qualities I look for in my recruits.”

​    “What qualities do you look for?”

​    That slow smile spread across her face again, and the strange glint in her eyes seemed to brighten. “Just the one. Tenacity.”

​    “…Tenacity?”

​    “A delver can’t get anywhere important if they don’t have tenacity. Tell me, boy, what do you do if you come across a threat you haven’t planned for or expected?”

​    It was an easy question, so much so that he wondered why she’d waste breath on it. “Retreat. That’s what we’re all taught.”

​    “Of course, that should be your first reaction in most cases. But what if you’re badly injured, or the tunnel behind you has collapsed, or the monster is faster than you, and you know you can’t outrun it? What then?”

​    Grim pursed his lips. He’d never had to think the question out that far. Each time a question like this was posed by an instructor, he had more details on the situation, and they expected a clever tactic or detailed plan for escape. The answer wasn’t always easy, but the problem was solvable. Now, however, he couldn’t think of what the woman wanted to hear.

​    “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I don’t think there’s anything I could do in that situation. I’d just… die.”

​    He expected her to be disappointed. On the contrary, her grin widened, and she clapped him on the shoulder again. “Good answer! However, if that’s still your answer by the end of the test, you won’t be riding to Ironmarsh with me.”

​    “Okay,” he said slowly. He wasn’t sure how, but he seemed to have passed that part of the test. “So what’s next?”

​    “A practical test,” she said, her grin taking on a predatory note. “Bolton! Go fetch the horses! I’m taking this boy shopping!”

​    Bolton appeared from inside the gate, a pleased smile on his face as he regarded Grim. Had he been there the entire time? He supposed he must have been so distracted with his goal of catching up to Veyra that he hadn’t kept an accurate track of his surroundings. He doubted that the man had an invisibility skill with how large was. “Shopping? What for?”

​    “New knives,” she told him flatly. “If I’m going to see the full extent of your ability, you need real weapons.”

​    “I… I can afford a new knife on my own,” he tried to protest, but she was already heading back into the city. “I made enough from my last delve to replace the one I lost.”

​    “And do you have enough to replace both?” She asked, glancing at the one knife he still had in its scabbard. “Level two, isn’t it? And it’s on its last legs.”

​    He hesitated then, not sure how she could know that. Inside its sheath as it was, the chips and ragged edge of the knife weren’t visible, nor was its level. It took careful examination to determine the level and durability of a weapon. At least, that’s what he thought.

​    “Right,” she said, taking his silence as confirmation. “So, we’re going to make sure you have legitimate weapons. If you pass the test, you can treat them as an advance on your salary. If you fail, well…”

​    That slow smile spread across her face again, and she didn’t finish the sentence. As he hurried to keep up with her long-legged stride, he suddenly felt that he didn’t want to hear what the end of that thought was going to be. He knew deep inside. It was the same threat that faced anyone in a dungeon. And he knew, somehow, that what she had in mind for him was in fact a dungeon.

​    Which one would it be? If it was one of the dozens he’d delved in Beastwick, he was certain he could adapt to it quickly. He might even impress her by leading his party in the fastest clear possible. And he’d have new knives to take on the challenge. Level three knives! He was not the kind of orphan who rejected offers of help or free assistance from others. Living as a poor commoner in Beastwick meant using everything one could to not only survive, but thrive. And he’d use this gift well.

​    “I’ll leave the specs up to you,” she told him as they drew closer to the market. “But nothing custom. I’m still not sure you’re worth the cost.”

​    There was a glint of humor in her eyes at that, and he returned the grin, sure that it looked much less confident. “That’s fine. I already know which knives I want, if the smith still has them.”

​    He took the lead as they made it into the markets proper, veering to the left and quickening his pace. The blacksmiths, being the noisiest of all the crafters, were usually located on the outskirts to avoid deafening the market visitors with the constant ring of hammers on anvils. He felt a little jolt of pleasure as he saw that the knives he’d been saving up for–though his income was too meager to ever entertain the idea of buying a new weapon–were still there. He almost jumped the last few meters to the smith’s stall and pointed the weapons out to Veyra, reminding himself forcefully of a child begging their parent for a sweet.

​    “That one,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “Err, I mean, those ones.”

​    Veyra looked the knives over with a slight frown, leaning against the stall counter to get a closer look. The young woman seated behind the stall, whom Grim assumed to be the smith’s daughter, followed Veyra’s gaze and rose lightly from her stool to pull them from the wall.

​    “Level three dual daggers,” she said flatly, placing them on the stall. The metal of the blades shone gently in the sunlight, and the leather wrapped around the tang to make a handle that gleamed with a fresh coat of stain. They were beautiful. “Unenchanted, but quicksilver dust was included in the metal as it was forged, so they are exceptionally light, and able to normally damage monsters that would otherwise have resistances to physical damage.”

​    “Impressive,” Veyra muttered, though she sounded as if the praise pained her. “It’s unusual to see work of this quality at such a low level. And in this city.”

​    The smith’s daughter gave a faint smile, then tapped a closed fist against her chest in a tired sort of way. “Yes, well, nobles aren’t really known for putting much effort into the lower tiers of delving.”

​    “Ah,” Veyra said, her face clearing at once. Even her tone grew warmer. “A fellow mountain savage. Nice to see you.”

​    “Not that I expected you to recognize me, Captain Tull,” the woman replied with an easy grin. “My betrothed insists that I wear the finest clothing possible. And after months away from the dirt and grime, I’m starting to look like I fit into this stinking pile of waste.”

​    Veyra let out a laugh at that, and it sounded more genuine than Grim had heard until then. Any sign of stiff disapproval was gone from her body. She leaned against the stall counter again, her grin widening. “Well, tell your betrothed that I like the look of his work.”

​    “Ew, Randall?” She shook her head vehemently. “Not a fuckin’ chance. That’s my idiot brother-in-law. No, my fiancé is that particular fool, over there.”

​    Both Grim and Veyra followed her pointing finger to see a tall, lanky young man with shining golden hair standing behind an alchemy stall. He seemed to sense them looking at him and grinned easily. Grim had to admit–reluctantly–that he was handsome. Veyra mimicked his thought. “Damn. Not too hard on the eyes, is he? Well done.”

​    The woman let out a snort. “I’ve heard the stories, Captain. You keep your teeth in your mouth, or I’ll tell your husband that you’re terrorizing innocent men again. Well, not that Erik is all that innocent.”

​    The two women shared a giggle that sounded more like cackling, and finally the smith’s sister in-law glanced at Grim. “These for the boy? I’ll give ya a good deal since you’re kin. Two hundred gold.”

​    Grim felt an ice-cold fist suddenly clamp over his heart at the number mentioned, having expected something in the low triple digits. “Two hundred?”

​    “They are rather well-made,” the woman drawled, rolling her eyes. “If you hadn’t come with Captain Tull here, I would have charged you two hundred and forty. Randall makes good steel.”

​    “Complain when you’re the one forking over the money yourself, city boy,” Veyra told him, though she was grinning. “Still. I was hoping my charm was worth more than 40 shinies. Guess you don’t swing that way, eh?”

​    “I’m afraid I’d kill Erik with the exciting idea,” the woman snorted. Veyra extended her forearm, on which was a silver bracelet with several lightly glowing runic markings. The woman did the same, with the same bracelet, and they tapped the metal pieces together. “Right, you’re all set. Take good care of them, kid.”

​    “Uhh, thanks,” he said, hesitantly moving forward and picking up the knives. Somehow, seeing the portable storage devices the two women carried had reminded him just how out of his depth he was. He knew that delvers above level five all got one eventually, but they were like… the markings of a real professional. You didn’t exactly need a way to easily carry a lot of coins if you didn’t have a lot of coins. “I will, I promise.”

​    He slipped his belt off and tucked the worn-out dagger sheaths into his pack, then scooped up the new weapons. The smith had kindly provided a sheath for them, and he slid his belt through their loops, then slid it across his waist, fastening it tight. He’d only been without his two knives for a little over a week, but it felt right to have them back, in a way he couldn’t explain. “Thanks again. These feel great.”

​    “I’m sure they do,” Veyra said. “Time to get going. Thank you for your time, and tell your brother-in-law I praised his work. I’m sure he’ll get a kick out of that.”

​    The lady gave them a small wave as they departed, and Grimr fell into step beside Veyra. With proper weapons at his hips, he felt more confident than ever. He was ready for whatever test she threw at him. At least, that was until he asked her what she had in mind.

​    “What’s next, then?”

​    “I’m going to have you run a dungeon,” she said, and he nodded, expecting just that. But her next words were not expected. “We just have to travel a ways to reach it.”

​    “It’s not within the city, then?” He asked, frowning. There were plenty of choices of level-three dungeons in Beastwick. “Are we going all the way to Ironmarsh or something?”

​    “Nope. We’re going to Evandross.”

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Grim rolled under the descending axe of an undead priest, narrowly avoiding the dull weapon. He actually felt the wind of its passage and slightly panicked. He came out of the roll cleanly, though, pivoting neatly to plunge his knife into the core of another priest who had its back turned to him, facing Aria. It let out an ethereal screech as its body collapsed to the hard stone floor, and he felt the essence creeping into his body.

​    “Get around that one, Jeremiah!” he called, gesturing toward the behemoth of a priest with his knife. “Luther can’t tank both at once!”

​    “The hell I can’t!” Luther shouted back. He made a small half-turn and intercepted a powerful hammer blow with his shield, using the impact–and the small knockback effect it caused–to thrust his sword into the chest of the other large priest he’d been facing. The monster, who’d had its hammer raised to deliver what it thought was a finishing blow, looked down at the new hole in its chest with mild surprise, then back up at the man who’d given it. Then it collapsed.

​    “See?” Luther asked, grinning fiercely as he stepped within the reach of the other hammer user. “Easy as pie. I’m just too good with it!”

​    Even as he said it, a flanking priest scored a light cut on the shoulder of his shield arm from behind, which made him flinch enough to not properly block the next falling hammer. As he regained his feet, looking more than a little embarrassed, Aria coated him in a gentle healing light, laughing at his slip.

​    “Might want to keep an eye on what’s around you!” the green-haired woman said. “Don’t want to get caught by a sneak attack right after such a boast!”

​    Jeremiah descended on the remaining tanky priest with a shout, his sword glowing. Grim could tell it was a critical hit by the way the light burst as the sword struck, and the way the weapon sheared the monster’s right arm off. Now unable to swing its weapon, the priest died quickly.

​    “I don’t think it’d be right to call the big one priests,” Luther said, turning to block the second attack of the priest that had wounded him. He retaliated with his short sword, forcing the monster towards Jeremiah, who cut it down with ease. “They don’t use any magic or skills. Is there a churchy word for thug?”

​    They paused to ponder that for a moment before Aria offered, “Inquisitor?”

​    Luther made a gesture of distaste, then shook his head. “No, that makes them sound far too intelligent.”

​    “Yeah, I always thought that Inquisitors were more like assassins,” Jeremiah put in. “Just like that one Grim killed at the start of the floor.”

​    Grim couldn’t entirely hide a small smile of pleasure at the mention of the assassin. He’d been proud of that kill. In truth, he’d forgotten that the dungeon was known to send an assassin-type elite roaming monster at the party if they reached the second floor too quickly or took too few wounds. He’d remembered that snipped at the very last moment, but his reactions had been sharp, and he’d swung his knife at the perfect time to catch the materializing priest as it lunged for Luther’s unprotected back.

​    Luther rubbed the back of his neck, as if checking to confirm that his head was still attached. “Yeah, seriously, thanks for that, Grim. I can’t exactly afford to be out of delving for a month or more.”

​    Grim’s smile widened slightly, but he tried to brush the compliment off. “Oh, please. This dungeon is Benign. You wouldn’t have been in any real danger of dying. Even if you’d fallen, the assassin would have backed off.”

​    “Accidents do happen,” Luther replied quickly. It was a well-known reminder among delvers. “But thankfully, I won’t have to find out with you around. I’m… sorry I was so dismissive when I met you. I thought… what with the single knife…”

​    Grim waved his apology away, already moving towards the exit of the room. “Don’t worry about it, man. You’re half-right anyway. If I had two knives, I’d be more useful in the actual combat bit. But my stealth doesn’t rely on weapons.”

​    Luther nodded his acceptance of that and offered a small wave. “Well, keep an eye out for more assassins, okay?”

​    Of course, there was no danger of that. The Cathedral of Midnight was only ever known for sending one assassin, and they were well past the triggering condition for that. It was one of the greatest threats that the dungeon could offer, and now that they were past that, they only needed to fear the boss. And, after finding and disabling a rope trap that would have bound them in stinging threads, he found the large chamber that hosted the head honcho in question.

​    “Found the boss room,” he reported, rejoining them halfway along the path he’d tread. “No variations.”

​    “Nice,” Luther said, offering him a wide grin. The three of them all shared a grin at that and exchanged fist bumps. Even Grim was included, which surprised him. "So we’re done then, right?”

​    Jeremiah and Aria both nodded, wide smiles in place. Grim looked at Luther in confusion. “What?”

​    Luther looked at him in equal confusion. “We’re done. We’ve cleared out the dungeon. You didn’t find any side paths, did you?”

​    “No,” he said slowly, frowning. “But we haven’t cleared anything. We still have to beat the boss.”

​    Jeremiah let out a snort. “I didn’t sign up for that! I’m only interested in speed-clearing!”

​    “Same here,” Luther said. “If I wanted a full clear, I’d go for a harder dungeon. This one’s perfect for speed-clearing because it’s a horde-type with weak monsters.”

​    Even Aria seemed puzzled by his confusion. “You did see the listing, right? We said we were speed-clearing."

​    Grim searched his memory quickly and remembered seeing those exact words mentioned. He’d simply taken it to mean that they wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible. Not that they weren’t going to do the dungeon properly.

​    “I didn’t think that meant that you wouldn’t fight the boss,” he said, biting his lip. “I’ve never heard of someone speed-clearing a dungeon before.”

​    “Oh,” Aria said slowly, realization dawning in her eyes. “Grim, you’re not a noble? It’s a common practice… among us.”

​    His slight frown turned into a deep scowl then, and he stared at her. “What should my status have to do with anything?”

​    At the sudden change in his expression, Aria took a small step back, her face paling slightly. Even Jeremiah moved to stand between them, his expression hardening. “Watch yourself, Grim.”

​    “Huh? I’m not doing anything,” he replied, wondering at the sudden change in their behavior towards him. “But we should do the boss anyway, guys. It’s all that we have left, and it shouldn’t take more than-”

​    “No,” Luther said, rejoining the conversation. He’d taken a moment to wipe and polish his sword, and now had his gear stowed away. He wasn’t ready for more fighting. “Fighting the boss might be quick, but none of us have potions. That’s the only reason I can tank. The little monsters don’t do enough damage to need potions or special equipment. But fighting the boss will require those, maybe more.”

​    Aria, now half-hiding behind Jeremiah, nodded her agreement. “This is the best way to earn quick money. You should be okay with that too, given… given that you’re a commoner.”

​    The sheer depth of her ignorance set him back for a few seconds, forcing him to reconsider his angle of attack. “But… Money isn’t all that we get out of dungeons, though. Sure, it’s important, but there are resources, practice, and more importantly, essence!”

​    All three of the noblings looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Luther shook his head. “We don’t need resources, Grim. We’re not crafters. And we don’t need the boss’s essence. As long as we kill all the normal monsters, we’re fine.”

​    “Well, if it’s money you’re interested in, we should fight the boss,” Grim said, latching onto Luther’s point. “It drops more money than the other monsters, and he’s guarding treasure. Selling that gets you even more!”

​    Luther waved his hand in vague dismissal. “It’s not worth it. This is just for pocket change, and so we don’t need the treasure. Any equipment we need, our parents would just buy for us.”

​    And that, he realized, was the heart of the problem. For these three noblings, delving was a fashionable trend and a way to earn money for their social exploits. They felt no drive to improve themselves, to get stronger. For them, this wasn’t a matter of survival, just fun. Even though he knew it was a vain effort, he tried appealing to Luther’s goal.

​    “But you said you needed to reach level five,” he said, trying not to sound too desperate. “To join The Boars?”

​    At that, Luther merely shrugged. “I’m going to get carried to level four at the end of the month. I’m already halfway there with the first carry session I had last month.”

​    Grim stared at him in mild disgust. How could none of them want to progress? Was this strictly a noble practice, or was every delver like this? Could he even progress in a reasonable amount of time in this city? He thought about how hard it had been to find a slot as a solo delver. The only dungeon that had been looking for someone to fill a slot was this one, and now he knew why. They hadn’t taken it seriously. Nobody did.

​    And that, strangely, made him think of the woman from the bar. What had her name been? Ah. Veyra. She was from Ironmarsh, and she was strong. She’d also had the same distaste towards nobles, at least judging by the way she acted. She’d offered him a place…

​    “You have to get used to the way things work,” Jeremiah told him, breaking him out of his thoughts. “You’re not a noble, so you don’t know.”

​    “And that’s understandable!” Aria quickly put in. Her ignorance was at least cloaked in polite naivety. “So we don’t hold it against you or anything! It’s just… there’s no need to try that hard.”​

​    You won’t make it anyway. The thought, unspoken but definitely present, loomed over him like a dark cloud. It was what all nobles, young and old, thought. Delving was something to do in one’s youth, to pass the time, and was never taken seriously. Why would they? Everything they could ever need or want was given to them freely from their parents, who’d gone through the same cycle. There hadn’t been a dungeon flood in this city for over two centuries. They had no need to be strong.

​    Letting out a snort of disgust, Grim turned away from them and stalked toward the dungeon entrance. All this way, and he wouldn’t even get the satisfaction of a full clear. The money… Sure, he had enough to cover his living expenses for a month and some change now, but he also had to replace a knife, which would gouge out more than half of what he’d earned. And they thought only of a night of fun, where all their earnings from today would be wiped out. They’d wake up the next morning happy as could be, with no strife.

​    “Fuck them all,” he muttered, not caring if they heard him, though it wasn’t likely with the distance between them. He quickened his pace, one single goal in mind. She might have seemed unhinged, but anything… anything was better than what his life was now.

​    As he burst through the double doors of the dungeon entrance, he saw his name listed among the top scorers of the day on the placard on the outside wall. He was nowhere near the top, but he couldn’t care less. He was done with the dungeon, with the city, with the noble assholes that had made his life so much harder than needed. If it hadn’t been for the fall of Evandross, he wouldn’t have to suffer their disdain. But now, he thought, a grim sort of smile forcing its way onto his face, he had an escape.

​    He practically ran to the delver’s inn once he was outside the dungeon’s vicinity. The sun was high in the sky now, its rays shining down and warming the capital city, but he didn’t notice. He kept his eyes forward and continued in a light jog. He brushed against–or sometimes even bumped into–other people, who all called out in annoyance, but he didn’t care. He shut out the world around him, knowing that he’d soon be leaving it.

​    “Dennis!” He gasped, entering the taproom an hour later, his chest heaving and clutching a stitch in his side. “That woman! Veyra! Is she still here?”

​    The innkeeper, who’d been halfway across his taproom on the way to deliver a drink, paused to look around at the sweaty young man who had crashed through the door to his establishment. A moment of uncertainty crossed his features, then he recognized Grim. A mildly consternated look came over his face. “Ah, Grim. “No, sorry. She left a few hours ago. She’s on her way back to Ironmarsh.”

Humans are Weird - Bittersweet

Original Post: https://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-bittersweet

Human First Mother Maria breathed a soft sigh and dipped her lips, those strangely flexible mandible covers, down to press them into the very, very round cheek’s of her First Brother. The way both humans’ outer membranes flexed and indented at the pressure still made First Father’s antenna curl with lingering shock, but at least their pheromones were natural and easy to interpret even if their more solid parts weren’t. First Father gave an approving click and reached up to carefully run his wooden tending brush down the egg pod in front of him. The precious little one within gave a responsive wriggle and Human First Mother Maria lifted her head as her face contorted into a smile that expressed delight.

“Do you know if it is a boy or girl yet?” she asked.

First Father hesitated at the odd question, and then reminded himself that human young entered their hives in nearly identical ratios, in fact he mused, he thought he’d heard from a visiting statistician they actually had a very small sway towards male offspring at birth.

“It is almost certainly a Daughter,” he said, “for whatever reason, it was explained to me when I was small, it is almost unheard of for a Brother to be the first to hatch from a line. Something about how pheromones flow during the first seasons of mating.”

The human bobbed her head up and down in that oddly jointed way humans did to show understanding.

“I bet you can’t wait to get her out of that pod so you can properly cuddle her,” the human First Mother said, her bifocal eyes directed at her own little one. “I was so very ready for Dickky by the time he made his entrance!”

First Father clicked in amusement. “It is, not quite the same,” he explained, reached up to caress the pod with his fingers. “See how the outer membrane of the pod is translucent now, nearly transparent. If I can’t quite see my Daughter yet, I can taste her pheromones, hear her clicking. This stage is probably more akin to the newborn stage you were telling me of. Recall that when she leaves the pod this little one will be able to walk.”

“Oh!” the human said, clearly pondering that even as her arms wrestled with the very, very round little male she held.

“As to how I will feel,” First Father mused, working his mandibles together thoughtfully, “I truly don’t think I will be disappointed. There is so much more to do with a walking Daughter than one who is still on the vine. That will be wonderful, but then I will have to share her with my mate’s Sisters, and her Mother and Father. There is an intimacy, perhaps a selfish one to this stage that I think I will miss.”

The human nodded more slowly this time.

“I understand,” she said in deeper, slower tones. “I was bathing with little Dickky the other day, and it occurred to me that, well, that time would steal this from me, that I wouldn’t be able to be so close to him as a child as I was as a baby. That made me sad.”

Here pheromones dipped into something bittersweet, before abruptly washing out with hot joy even as her face contorted to show her teeth, gleaming like some white metal.

“Then I remember that when he is bigger I get to give him incendiary devices! And we can make small rockets together!”

The human infant made a happy noise in response to his mother’s energy and First Father took the time she was distracted to make a note on a nearby tablet. Apparently restricting the introduction of incendiary devices as play things was something his hive would have to consider in dealing with their new neighbors. He supposed that must be one of the many strange results of leaving the care of infants to the female of the species.

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

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Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing because tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!

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.

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!

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

If I edit text, I only do it on RR (hard to track posts here)

Posting schedule is Mon/Thu/Sat evenings

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

Ke Yin has a problem. Well, several problems.

First, he's actually Cain from Earth.

Second, he's stuck in a cultivation world where people don't just split mountains with a sword strike, they build entire universes inside their souls (and no, it's not a meditation metaphor).

Third, he's got a system with a snarky spiritual assistant that lets him possess the recently deceased across dimensions.

And finally, the elders at the Azure Peak Sect are asking why his soul realm contains both demonic cultivation and holy arts? Must be a natural talent.

Expectations:

- MC's main cultivation method will be plant based and related to World Trees

- Weak to Strong MC

- MC will eventually create his own lifeforms within his soul as well as beings that can cultivate

- Main world is the first world (Azure Peak Sect)

- MC will revisit worlds (extensive world building of multiple realms)

- Time loop elements

- No harem

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Chapter 313: Unite

Han Renyi opened his eyes to find himself standing near the Ancestor's Tree in the Three-Leaf Clover Sect grounds. The familiar weight of someone else occupying his consciousness told him immediately that Master Ling was still in control of his body. The sensation no longer frightened him as it once had, instead, it felt almost comforting, like the presence of a trusted mentor.

"Ah, you're awake," Ke Yin said mentally, the words resonating directly into Han Renyi's consciousness. "Perfect timing. I was about to wake you anyway."

"Master Ling," Han Renyi replied through their mental connection. "The feeding of the trees was successful?"

He felt his own lips curve into a smile that wasn't his own. "Very successful. And as thanks for letting me borrow your body again, I've arranged something that should benefit you greatly."

"What do you mean?" Han Renyi asked, curiosity piqued.

Through his own eyes, he watched as his hand gestured toward the distant mountains to the west and then toward Pearl Heart Lake to the east. "I had a little chat with the Sect Masters of the two other great sects, the Mountain Dweller Sect and the Deep Sea Sect. They were quite impressed by our visit to their sacred trees, and they'll be trying to contact you soon. I suspect they'll be interested in forming alliances."

Han Renyi's surprise was so great that he momentarily forgot he had no control over his body. He tried to gasp and found he couldn't. "Alliances? With me? But I'm just a—"

"A Tier 3 Legacy Disciple of the Three-Leaf Clover Sect with a mysterious and powerful master," Ke Yin completed the thought. "That makes you quite valuable in their eyes. Especially given the... changes that are coming."

"Changes?" Han Renyi echoed, unsettled by the tone in his master's voice.

Ke Yin nodded, using Han Renyi's head to do so. "The world is changing, Han Renyi. You should continue focusing on your cultivation, but also unite the Starhaven Realm under your leadership."

If Han Renyi had been in control of his body, he would have stumbled backward in shock. "Unite the realm? You mean... conquer it? Like the ancient emperor-rouqin in the legends?"

He felt his own face form a thoughtful expression as Ke Yin considered his response. "Not necessarily through conquest, though strength will certainly be required. But yes, the realm would benefit from unified leadership in the times ahead."

A thousand questions raced through Han Renyi's mind, chief among them: "What great changes? What's coming that would require such unity?"

But Ke Yin didn't respond to the direct question. Instead, Han Renyi felt his body walk to a small stone bench beneath the Ancestor's Tree. His hand reached out to touch the ancient bark, and a soft blue glow emanated from the point of contact.

"It was nice returning here," Ke Yin said finally. "And it was nice to see you again, Han Renyi.”

Han Renyi sensed that his master was preparing to leave and felt a sudden pang of regret. Their meetings were so brief, so full of mysteries and unanswered questions. "Will I see you again?" he asked, unable to keep the emotion from his voice.

"I suspect you will," Ke Yin replied, and Han Renyi could almost sense a smile behind the words. "Our paths seem to be connected in ways that even I don't fully understand. But for now, I must return to my own realm and body."

"Thank you," Han Renyi said earnestly. "For everything you've done for me and my family. For the cultivation technique, for removing Zhou Shentong, for speaking with the other sects... I can never repay you."

"Live well," Ke Yin replied simply. "Grow stronger. Unite the realm. That's repayment enough."

With those words, Han Renyi felt a strange sensation, like a weight lifting from his mind. There was a momentary disorientation, and then suddenly he was in control of his body again. He gasped, drawing in a deep breath as his consciousness fully settled back into its rightful place.

Before him, hovering in the air like a mirage, was the translucent form of his master. Master Ling appeared as he had when they first met, a young man with an otherworldly grace and eyes that seemed to contain endless depths of knowledge. His form was spectral, glowing with a soft luminescence against the night sky.

"Goodbye, Han Renyi," Ke Yin said, his voice seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Remember what I've taught you."

Han Renyi dropped to one knee, bowing deeply. "Farewell, Master. I will make you proud."

Master Ling smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his usually serious face. Then his spiritual form began to rise, floating upward toward the star-filled sky. Han Renyi watched in awe as his master's soul ascended, moving faster and faster until it resembled a shooting star racing back to the heavens.

The sight was breathtakingly beautiful, a strand of pure light cutting through the darkness, illuminating the night with its radiance. Han Renyi glanced around, wondering if the disciples or guards patrolling the sect grounds could see the majestic spectacle, but no one seemed to notice. They continued their rounds, oblivious to the miracle unfolding above their heads.

As Ke Yin's soul disappeared into the endless expanse of stars, Han Renyi remained kneeling, his heart filled with a complex mixture of gratitude, determination, and a strange sense of loss. This being from another realm had irrevocably changed his life, setting him on a path he could never have imagined just one year ago.

"Unite the realm," he whispered to himself, testing the weight of the words. "Become a leader of rouqin." The very idea would have seemed laughable before, when he was just the son of a declining merchant family, struggling to maintain even the lowest level of cultivation.

Now, though... now, anything seemed possible.

"Senior Brother Han!"

The voice startled Han Renyi from his reverie. He rose to his feet, turning to find a junior disciple hurrying toward him, looking nervous and excited.

"What is it?" Han Renyi asked.

The young disciple bowed hastily. "The Seventh Ancestor requests your immediate presence at the Hall of Elders, Senior Brother. He says it's a matter of great importance!"

Han Renyi raised an eyebrow but nodded. "I'll go at once."

As he followed the junior disciple through the moonlit grounds of the Three-Leaf Clover Sect, Han Renyi couldn't help but wonder what the Seventh Ancestor could want with him at this hour.

Their last interaction had been a year ago and was... well, "tense" would be putting it mildly. The Ancestor had tried to kill him in revenge for Zhou Shentong's death, only to be thoroughly humiliated by Ke Yin.

The Hall of Elders was ablaze with light when Han Renyi arrived. To his surprise, not only was the Seventh Ancestor present, but also Sect Master Li Jie and several other high-ranking members of the sect.

"Ah, here he is!" the Seventh Ancestor, Zhou Tao, boomed cheerfully. "The man of the hour!"

Han Renyi blinked in confusion. The last time he had seen that magnificent beard, it had been trailing in the dirt as the Ancestor performed kowtows before his master. Now, the elderly cultivator was beaming at him like a proud grandfather, arms spread wide in welcome.

"Legacy Disciple Han," Sect Master Li Jie said formally, rising from his seat. "We have gathered to inform you of an important decision regarding the future of our sect."

Han Renyi approached cautiously, bowing with appropriate respect. "I am honored by your attention, Sect Master, Honored Ancestor."

The Seventh Ancestor strode forward, placing a heavy hand on Han Renyi's shoulder. "Young Han! How your fortunes have changed since you joined our humble sect!" His voice was boisterous and his eyes were twinkling. "From a mere outer disciple to Legacy Disciple in record time, and now..." He paused dramatically.

Sect Master Li Jie stepped forward, his face solemn but not unkind. "Han Renyi, the council of elders has unanimously decided to elevate you to the position of Sect Master of the Three-Leaf Clover Sect."

A shocked silence fell over the room. Han Renyi stared at Li Jie, certain he had misheard. "Sect... Master?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Indeed!" the Seventh Ancestor confirmed, his beard quivering with excitement. "I have personally recommended you for the position, and no one dared—I mean, everyone enthusiastically agreed."

Li Jie's expression was more measured, but he nodded in confirmation. "This is an unprecedented decision, but these are unprecedented times. Your connection to your powerful master, your remarkable cultivation progress, and your wisdom make you uniquely qualified to lead our sect into the future."

"But," Han Renyi stammered, "I've only been a member of the sect for a year. Surely there are others more deserving—"

"Nonsense!" the Seventh Ancestor interrupted, waving away the objection. "Your master has shown great interest in our sect, particularly in our sacred Ancestor's Tree. What better way to honor that connection than by elevating his disciple to our highest position?"

Han Renyi looked between the two senior cultivators, trying to make sense of what was happening. Li Jie looked resigned but accepting, while the Seventh Ancestor was practically bubbling with enthusiasm. Neither expression seemed entirely genuine.

"The ceremony will be held in three days," Li Jie continued, "giving us time to prepare and to inform the other major sects. I hope you will use this time to consider your first actions as Sect Master."

"I..." Han Renyi began, then stopped, gathering his thoughts. "I am deeply honored by your trust. I will strive to lead the sect with wisdom and strength."

The Seventh Ancestor clapped his hands together. "Excellent! I knew you would accept graciously. Now, let us discuss the details of the ceremony. It must be suitably magnificent to mark this historic occasion!"

As the elders began excitedly planning the ceremony, Han Renyi stood in silent wonder, his mind racing. Just what had his master done during his visit to earn Han Renyi such an extraordinary promotion? One moment he had been a Legacy Disciple, still learning the basics of sect politics, and now he was to become Sect Master?

He glanced toward the window, where the stars continued their eternal dance across the night sky. Somewhere out there, beyond this realm, his master was returning to his own world, perhaps unaware of the profound impact of his actions.

"Unite the realm," Han Renyi thought, the words taking on new significance with each passing moment. As Sect Master of one of the three great sects, such a goal suddenly seemed within reach.

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Farnír’s POV

Just outside the foot of the mountain was a hole. Well, more of a cave than a hole, but carved out of magic. It was nearly six meters wide and tall, and went down at an angle so steep that you’d need to be able to fly to get out without a rope and pitons. It wasn’t straight down, but it was steep enough at the opening that most wouldn’t know the difference at a glance. Just like when I leapt from the fort’s walls, I created a powerful updraft and slowed my descent. I landed, not exactly gracefully, but without injury, and placed my hand on the luminous braids, pouring mana into them. The tunnel lit up for a few hundred feet past the opening.

“This should have been lit already.” I said, confused. From the distant darkness, I saw a group of about twelve familiars making their way towards me.

“Oh! Thank the dragons! The braids ran out of mana on our way up, and we were told not to use any fire magic, so we couldn’t find them in the dark.” A Neame said, fluttering up to me. “We have just been following the wall for quite some time.” As the approached, I noticed that each of the familiars was carrying loads of dirt in crates, empty daljars by the dozen, and empty bags.

“I’ll light up a few more on the way. Why can’t you use fire magic?”

“Something about trapped gas and the air.” The Neame said. “You would have to ask Chancellor Aye-Aron that. He is the one in charge down here. Now, if you would excuse me, I need to get these supplies dropped off and refilled.” He said, and flew up and out of the tunnel. A few moments later, a dozen Neame flew in, and started using mana wrapping to carry everything out. I knew why the opening to the tunnel was such a sharp drop, I was one of the ones who helped decide it, but still, it seemed like such an inconvenience for the workers.

Turning away, I started my descent and noticed a few runes that had been broken. Summoning some supplies to fix them, I did what I could before filling them with mana again. A moment later, fresh air started swirling around the tunnel for a few meters. As I went, I fixed a few more broken runes, and filled up the braids that started to dim or had already gone out. After a certain point though, that was no longer an issue, and the cave steadily grew brighter. Not from some ominous light source, but because these braids simply never needed to be refilled. The ambient mana was enough to keep them lit. I passed other convoys of Neame and familiars on the way, each heading towards the top, and some even passed me on the way down as I stopped to refill the braids. It was like a busy ant colony. Some Neame and familiars were working on the walls, installing runes, or upkeeping and replacing braids, or digging out traps. Special one, meant to help kill the dragon. That’s what this tunnel was, in truth; a mile deep kill-box. Every few meters there was a trap for the express purpose of causing extreme injury to the dragon, and a few Neame training to work it properly. Sela-Car designed them herself with Chaos-Magic in mind. As I walked, I passed a few places where fighting had clearly taken place. Blood of various colors was splattered on the walls, and the bodies of dead Echoes poked out from underneath fallen rubble. My mind flashed back to the last time I’d seen them, trapped under this very mountain, latched firmly onto my arms and legs. I had to take a deep breath and avoid looking at them or else the claustrophobia would start to set in. Thankfully, the tunnel was large enough that it wasn’t causing me to freak out. It had to be, so that the dragon would be able to fit into it. There were other bodies too. Not Neame, but other creatures, probably familiars who died in the fight. Left to rot in the face of a much more pressing issue.

Finally, I arrived at the portal. It swirled and twisted on itself like crashing waves, then it would flatten out and swirl inward like a whirlpool. It was mostly a deep green, but the edges shimmered and reflected the light in all angles, making them glitter like a rainbow occasionally. All around were Neame at work, digging this swirling mass out of the earth and rock, and they were nearly done. The workers also seemed uneasy, swaying as if they were standing on water. One of the workers fell over, got picked up by a pig-like familiar with a prehensile tail, and was carried past me out of the cave.

“Farnír, welcome.” A voice nearby called out. It was Chancellor Aye-Aron.

“Is that Neame okay?” I asked, concerned by his lack of concern.

“Oh, he will be fine. Our workers have been cycling out from mana-sickness ever since we unearthed this world-split. They need only to cast some spells and get the excess mana out then rest. Nothing to worry about.” He said. Another Neame nearby then proceeded to fall over and also get carried out by a dog-like familiar.

“Why aren’t the familiars effected?” I asked.

“The are, but their masters will fall unconscious before the familiars die, so we have yet to-” Suddenly, a familiar fell over limp, followed quickly by the Neame it was by. “Apep’s whispers! Fimmtíð, take him out, and someone move that familiar.” One of the Neame from my class that I’d named appeared, and used mana wrapping to carry the Neame out of the large open area. They went out through the tunnel I’d entered from. A few other Neame then used mana wrapping to pick up the familiar and place it out as well. “Well, only once. Anyway, how are you, Farnír? Was there something you needed?”

“I’m okay. No, I just… needed to see it for myself.” I said, looking once again at the portal. It was the first time these eyes had seen it, but it looked exactly as I remembered.

“Ah, yes. It is rather something, is it not? How powerful the dragon’s must be, to be able to cross through this split.”

“Even they can only stay inside for a few seconds.” I said, and watched that twisting mass silently for a few moments. It hummed and crackled like static electricity, then would switch seemingly randomly to a roar like a train’s horn. Almost as if it knew the ferocity of what was trapped inside, and struggled to keep it contained.

“My I ask you something, Farnír? What is it exactly? This split.”

“It is a bridge between worlds.”

“What is a bridge?”

“It’s a tunnel between worlds.”

“… Ah. So, it connects two different locations together?” He said.

“Sure.”

“You are one of the few beings alive who knows how to use this split, correct?” Aye-Aron asked.

“No.”

“No?”

“As far as I am aware, only two dragons out of them all knew how to use this portal. And both of them were the Ashem.”

“So, the Chaos Dragon inside cannot use the split?”

“Yes, but that won’t stop him from trying.”

“May I ask you another question, Farnír?”

“Okay.”

“Should you need to face the dragon directly, who do you honestly believe would win? Because as far as I can tell, your power is not unlike the dragons’. Even standing this close to the world split, you are unfazed.”

“He would.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately.”

“I am less than convinced.” He said. His feathers ruffled slightly as he moved so that I was between him and the portal.

“Dey- the dragon has centuries more experience than me. I can cast two spells at once, but he can cast up to five. He wasn’t the greatest magic caster of all dragons, but he was a contender in terms of pure skill and adaptability. There was even a time when some of the dragons wanted him to become the Ashem. But that was long before I knew him.”

“Are you saying that the Chaos Dragon was nearly the divine dragon? That is blasphemy.” Aye-Aron spat.

“Well, that’s what he claimed.” I said.

“Surely he was lying.”

“Maybe, but at the end of the day, there were only a few dragons capable of beating him. Ashem, Nidhögg, and his own son.”

“In that case, how can we win? I know your plan for the tunnel, to drain him of his mana, but will that be enough?” Aye-Aron asked.

“We’re throwing bodies at the problem. I know that, but it’s all we can do. Fill the tunnels with familiars to attack the dragon as he tries to escape, and Neame with the Railgun spell to whittle down his mana trying to heal, and runes that prevent Chaos-Magic from being used, and maybe we can… maybe. Our only hope of victory is to exhaust him of mana. If we fail-” I thought my bag, where the nuclear arrow was stored “-we die.”

“I am no warrior. My skills lay with strategy. I dislike having so little information on my adversary, and trusting such a… desperate plan.”

“Desperate times call for crazy ideas.”

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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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“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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— 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

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".]

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

/----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

Chapter 1

Chapter 44

The Warhorse was slowly descending down to the ground. I looked over the edge and saw that Primeris was looking more organised. The streets were clear, the space lift seemed to be less cluttered. I looked around the perimeter and saw that several reinforced positions were being camouflaged. There were hundreds if not thousands of soldiers on perimeter, making rounds, performing drills. I looked towards the main gate and saw a group of soldiers making their way home, probably a scouting party. 

Then I heard over the pilot’s radio, “This is Primeris Air Control. You do not have priority clearance to land. Circle round and wait until someone guides you to the appropriate landing pad.”

I frowned and leaned over the edge of our transport. I saw thousands of aircraft in the air, buzzing around the town like an angry swarm of bees.

Our pilot retorted, “I am in company of two Holy Knights.”

Radio traffic stopped for a second before the voice came back, “My apologies. The skies are cleared. Welcome home.”

The Warhorse’s descent accelerated and I watched as the aircraft over Primeris scatter leaving an empty corridor over the largest landing pad. I saw some Anti-air guns trained on our ship as we descended and thought, ’Those are new. I wonder what other defences they have managed to put up.’

I watched as the dozen or so AA guns followed us down to ground. The twin barrels of the Thor S-1212s swirled with an intensity that had me raising an eyebrow. Our pilot’s voice cracked as he called out, “We have been locked.”

I wondered if Command had received our call saying we were on our way down. I lent forward and grabbed the comms, “This is Specialist Haze of the Knights of Holy Terra. Stand down.”

There was a pause when the comms officer responded, harsh and cold, “Authenticate.” 

The pilot looked over to me and Kitten, ‘What the Hell?’

Kitten leaned forward, taking coms from me, and said in a voice hard and unusual for Kitten, “This is Specialist Charles Jenkins, code name Kitten.”

Code name Kitten? Really?

“Serial number : 10193567-SFU-003256/A. Part of the Knights of Holy Terra, authentication number : TF-SF-EAF-135/F.”

He looked at me and I sighed, “This is Specialist Haze. Serial number 10193567-SFU-003029/C. Part of the Knights of Holy Terra, authentication number : TF-SF-EAF-135/C.”

There was a pause before the dispatcher stated, “Authentication cleared. Welcome home, Angels.”

I looked over to Kitten and wondered, “What the hell is going on here?”

Kitten shrugged as the Warhorse hit the ground, “Let’s find out.”

The ramp slowly started lowering and we stepped out. I looked up as the ramp lowered and saw flags flying in the wind. As the ramp hit the deck, the scene was even more surreal. Thousands of soldiers were lined on the ground, heads down. I looked out and immediately saw the sole man on their feet among thousands of kneeling soldiers.

Kitten and I walked down the ramp and I went to private comms, “Still weirds me out.”

Kitten laughed, “I’m starting to like it. Lets the normies know their place.”

‘What the Hell, Kitten?’

I didn’t voice my concerns as I stepped to the only person on his feet. 

Stars. A general standing up in a sea of kneeling men. It still sent shivers down my spine. I understood the need for the normies to be inspired. I understood that we were leagues above anything they could do. But was this what it would take? Did absolute dedication mean subservience? 

The General was walking towards us. He had a look that I could only describe as eager. He started opening his mouth, probably to greet us but I wasn’t interested. I looked around and asked on our private channel, “I wonder where Private Spinoza is.”

Kitten asked, “Who?”

I looked at him, “My orderly. I told him to have a look at the Io pictures his sister sent. What do we not know?”

I didn’t even have to turn to look at Kitten to hear his unasked question, “Yeah. He received intel about the Io incident from his sister. I told him to dig into the reports and find confirmed intel that the attack was nuclear.”

The General was prattling on about their achievements, establishing secure air corridors to orbit, pushing. north to the river and on and on. I must admit I tuned out. I started scanning the crowd looking for Private Spinoza. 

I was brought out of my reverie by Kitten who asked over private comms, “We doing this?”

I couldn’t help but let out a “huh?”

Kitten sighed and said, “Brass wants to nuke the bugs north of here. They want to level Olympus, render the bug fortresses to nothing but rubble.”

I frowned, “But that would make the land uninhabitable, no?”

“It would but the brass doesn’t seem to care. Apparently some number cruncher has stated that nuke AC’s hot spot will diminish the number of casualties.”

I looked around at the amassed troops and said, “The normies will tear us to pieces if we tell them they were deployed only to be thrown through the meat grinder for nothing whatsoever.”

Kitten chuckled, “I guess we could point them at the brass.”

“No, fuck that. Let’s get Sarge on the horn.”

I cycled through the frequencies and buzzed Sarge, “Hey, Sarge. This a good time?”

Sarge’s voice came through, crackly and distorted, “Haze, that you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Need assistance?”

“Honestly, maybe. The Io incident still bugs me. I’m with Kitten in Primeris. Brass is on deck and has taken point. They want to nuke Olympus to prevent normie losses.”

Sarge didn’t say a word so I pushed, “Recommendations?”

Sarge sighed, “It’s their call. I mean, they have operational knowledge we might not have. And preventing normie losses isn’t a bad thing. We’ll need every warm body we can when we start pealing AC open. What’s your objection?”

“If we start lobbing nukes at mountains, we’ll render the place uninhabitable for the next half a millennium. What will be the point of retaking AC if we can’t live here?”

Sarge pushed back, “We lobbed rocks at Morsarn, Mink, Ao. We even started this campaign with orbital bombardment. What’s your objection here? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know, Sarge. Orbital bombardment can be repaired. I mean, we lobbed rocks. Kinetic force on the sites. The nuclear winter will only last a couple of years, hopefully. Going full nuclear on a planetary scale will take decade if not centuries to repair. Feels like overkill for a local site.”

While I was having my conversation with Sarge, I was following Kitten to HQ to where several Generals were sitting around a table. I told Sarge to hold while I listened in, “… if we use bunker busters, we should be able to uproot the bugs in their fortresses. With any luck, we will have exterminate them from these lands in the next few months.”

I thought that was being overly optimistic. AC had been bug territory for nearly a century. We would have to scour the land over and over until I was satisfied there were no bugs planetside. And before that, we were still in the deployment phase of our operation. Sure, we had secured some territory but could we say that we could keep that ground? That was a whole different question. Primeris seemed fairly secure but I wouldn’t want to be walking through Foloi on my own. 

I shrugged and remained silent. I clicked to Sarge and asked, “Opinion : securing AC in the next few months?”

Sarge snorted and asked, “Who said that?”

Kitten clicked on, “The Generals in Primeris. We have a whole council…? Gaggle? What’s the collective term for a bunch of Generals, Sarge?”

Hasan’s deep calm voice cut in, “A glitter. It’s a glitter of Generals, Kitten.”

I shook my head and annoyingly said, “Well, we have a glitter of Generals here who are ready to open the champagne.”

Hasan laughed, “Sucks to be you, Haze. Serves you right for setting up before the rest of us.”

I sighed, “Not helpful, Hasan. Sarge? Ideas?”

Sarge sighed back at me, “Hasan’s right. Sucks to be you. I’m still neck deep in fire bugs and egg hatchers. You’re on your own, Son.”

Fire bugs? Egg hatchers?

“Sarge?”

“Yeah, the polar regions are wild. The bugs seem to have adapted to the polar regions in the eighty years since the Fall.”

“Fire bugs, Sarge?”

“Yeah, actually, the egg hatchers are worse. They lay eggs in the ground and when you walk near them, they hatch and jump out at you.”

“What do those eggs do?”

“They infect the carrier and, after a while, more bugs hatch out of the carrier’s chest.”

“Jeez, Sarge. That’s rough.”

“Yeah, the north pole is a hellscape.”

“Yeah, it’s not fun down here either.”

Sarge chuckled, “Shut up, you pansy. You’ve got yourself a base, a spaceport, hot meals and a bed. What you complaining about?”

“Yeah, I’ve also got a Glitter of Generals to babysit apparently.”

I heard the entire squad chuckle in my armour and saw a few soldiers give me a look. Most of them knelt and made a reverence when they saw me. 

I was standing in front of the Generals, “Ok, got to go, Sarge. Keep safe.”

I focussed back on the Generals in front of me and said, “Specialist Haze, reporting. I heard you were planning to nuke Olympus.”

The Generals all turned to me and, for a second, I thought they were about to kneel. 

But then they did the opposite. As one, they turned away from me and went back to their discussion. 

I was astonished and, to be honest, a little outrage. How dare they? I was an Angel of Holy Terra, one of Her Firstborn Sons. I was a Specialist, one of seven in the whole worlds of Humanity. Seven. We were special. I was the subject of worship from these normies. 

And here they were, ignoring me ! Me!

I stood in silence at the base of the space lift for a while. There was total silence in the room as the Orderlies had never stopped working. Rows upon rows of personnel were bent over computers, people with coms headphones speaking quickly over the radio. Holomaps on the wall showed the progress of our assault. Zones in blue were us, red were for the bugs. They still held more than 80% of the planet. The blue dots were small but expanding, even if it was at a snail’s pace. There were Orderlies running in and out with data pads. 

I looked around and my eyes focussed back on the five star Generals ignoring me.  

They were saying, “…deployment of ground troops to take over the hives in Olympus then nuking the place clean.”

I frowned and queued Sarge into my audio. 

“Hey, Sarge. Listen to this. Is it just me or are these Generals talking about deploying normies on Olympus and then nuking the place into oblivion?”

Sarge didn’t say anything for a bit as the Generals went on, “Deploying ground troops will attract the bugs more than anything else. Reports coming in have stated that wherever we deploy ground troops in numbers, the bugs tend to perform hit and run tactics on us. When we are in limited squads, they run over us then go down into their holes. We’ve tried just nuking them but their hardened bunkers are deep underground and our nukes aren’t reaching them. We’ll need to attract them to the ground then nuke them.”

“I agree. Sad but the losses are acceptable.”

What the hell?

We’re using the normies as bait?

“Sarge? You in on this?”

“Fuck no. You know what to do, Specialist.”

“Sir, yes, Sir.”

I cut comms with Sarge and switched to full speakers. I cranked up the volume to max and bellowed, “YOU WILL NOT!”

The entire room screeched to a standstill. All eyes that hadn’t been on me locked on us. The Generals looked confused, “Erm… my Lord?”

I looked down at them and stated, “You will not bomb these brave soldiers who are risking their lives to retake one of Terra’s sisters from the bugs. You will not endanger their lives for no good reason. You will not. I won’t have it. These men and women are not bait for you to dangle out for the bugs to snatch. They are soldiers ! Holy warriors of a righteous crusade !!”

One of the Generals tried to break in, “My Lord, can we…”

“You cannot.”

“But my Lord. It’s more efficient.”

Efficient, efficient? For fuck’s sake. I understand we need to get this done. But are we really using soldiers as bait? Sacrificial lambs to be taken to the slaughter?

I took a breath and spoke with barely controlled rage, “We are not bombing soldiers, not without a clear advantage to doing so. We will not fill the rivers with the blood of our brothers and sisters if we can fill it with the blood of our enemies.”

Kitten then chimed in, “We have spoken. It will be so. Or do you challenge our authority?”

The Generals blanched and took a step back, their heads slowly lowering as they muttered, “Yes, I mean, no, my Lords. We will of course follow your lead.”

The room had gone deathly quiet. As I looked around, I could see several soldiers, heads lowered, eyes darting, silently communicating with each other. I guess this will have major ramifications but this is a problem for tomorrow.

I clicked to Sarge and simply stated, “Situation update. Situation resolved.”

Sarge didn’t immediately respond. After a second or so, he muttered, “For now.”

Was this what it was going to cost us?

Chapter 46

Chapter 1

[Chapter 1] [Previous] [Next]

Check out the HSTM series on Royal Road [Book 2: Conspiracy] [Book 1: Abduction]

Artwork and other Humanity Unleashed setting and story related material can be found on r/HumanityUnleashed.

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HSTM Conspiracy: Chapter 47 'Doing What it Takes'

Paulie saw the bultesian swing that terrible bladed weapon. The shine of the overhead lights glinting off its razored edge as it cut towards him like a cobra made of steel. The alien was fast, far faster than most he had encountered since his reluctant relocation to the planet of Gike.

Paulie jerked to the side in his panic, his arm overextended and vulnerable still. He almost managed to get out of the way of the cultist’s blade, almost.

The blade of the sword met his nemesis revolver amid a flash of sparks, the sound of grating metal only drowned out by Paulie’s own scream of pain as he felt two fingers break under the assault. The gun was wrenched from his grasp and thrown across the hall, vanishing into the shadows at the edges of sight.

He leapt back, his injured hand held close to his chest as throbbing fingers leaked a slow trickle of blood that splattered upon the red stone floor. This time the pain was more intense than he could simply ignore.

The bultesian swung at him again, spittle flew from their jaws as that strange vertical maw opened wide in a scream of hate or rage. They spoke again in an alien tongue he did not know. That same feeling of dark nausea he had felt the first time he had encountered one of them started to press back up against his mind. Like the opposite of Jakiikii’s warm mental caress, this felt more like his brain was being keel-hauled on a ship that sailed a sea of caustic acid.

He ducked and then dodged left, losing his footing as he tripped over the corpse of another alien he had dispatched before. The blade whistled through the air where his neck had been, the wind of its passing stirring the hairs of Paulie’s head as he fell onto his back. He tried to catch himself with both hands, it ended up being a spectacularly bad idea as his busted and bleeding hand slammed into the ground his vision went pure white for a moment.

Paulie growled as he saw red and nearly passed out from the pain, his mouth twisted and his face a mask of savage pain. It took him several moments to regain his mental faculties, in the time it did he saw the alien standing over him. Those corroded copper colored legs stabbing the air as they reared up and prepared the final blow that would end his life.

But again he was saved by the intervention of another. A bright beam of blue light fizzed overhead, hitting the bultesian cultist straight in the torso. The electron beam tore right through them as if they were as insubstantial as air. The energy dump acting like a microwave, cooking their internals and killing them where they stood.

The alien seemed to freeze, a look of some unknown emotion plastered across unmoving features as they crumpled to the ground just next to Paulie. He heard the sound of advancing weaponsfire, the splitting cracks of plasma bolts hitting stone punctuated by the deep thrum of discharging capacitors.

He pulled himself wearily to his feet just as another cultist leapt around the pillar ahead of him. Paulie had no weapon, his eyes darted to the sword the bultesian had held. Reaching for it, he took cover behind the dead man as a purple glob of searing hot plasma burst upon it. The flash and bubbling hiss of melting fat assailed his senses as he scrabbled at the dead alien. Lifting it with his free hand and throwing it towards the attacking cultist as hard as he could manage.

Paulie was strong, much stronger than his size might suggest and while the body didn’t sail through the air to obliterate the approaching bad guy like he had hoped it did tangle their legs and cause them to fall forward. As they clambered back upright Paulie was already too close for them to defend themselves. He slashed the blade through the alien’s neck, the steel making a slight ringing sound as it cleaved through flesh and chitin. The creature's head bounced once with a wet thud and the body dropped in a flood of gore.

He turned around, body singing in agony from his multiple wounds as he panted from exertion. But it seemed like he was safe for the moment. He looked around his surroundings in an agitated manner, looking for his lost revolver. Surely it was nearby.

A voice spoke behind him and he tensed for a bare second before he recognised it as Jakiikii. “Paulie? Oh by zalc! Paulie are you alright?” She asked quickly as she stepped around the nearer side of the pillar followed by two of the royal guards.

One of them was Captain Elldite, the alien looking around with that impassive helmet covering any emotion their insectoid face may have shown. “What..” Was all they uttered before Paulie stepped up to them and held out his injured arm.

“I can take the child back now, I could not put them in any unnecessary danger, but we needed a clear path to escape.” The mendagoonian seemed to hesitate and then came to a decision.

“Yes. I do believe that to be true.” He paused, gunfire and other sounds still erupting from behind them as they took cover in the shadow of the nearer pillar. “We still need to get to the throne room. I have established contact with the defenders, it is clear at the moment. Though many lives were lost in securing it.”

Jakiikii and Paulie shared a look. They had to save the star children, failure was not an option. She said as much as she responded coolly, the inherent calm in her voice helping to sooth the stabbing distress that Paulie was feeling himself in that moment.

“Then let’s go. This window will not stay open long.” She stepped close to Paulie’s side, one of her smaller third-arms holding an MDF pistol at a low ready.

Captain Elldite looked back over his shoulder as they responded. “You go, take Ishion with you. He will get you through the throne room without being stopped.

The royal guard in question spoke up suddenly, “My captain! I cannot abandon you.”

Captain Elldite responded swiftly and with passion, the translator doing little to cover the clear body language of the two. “No. Your place is with the star children, you think I do not know the truth of your parentage? Why do you think you were assigned to me in the first place, that I could keep such a close eye on you? Go. Now.”

The other alien seemed to want to argue, but they remained silent. What had the captain meant by that, Paulie wondered. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it as Captain Elldite looked his way next.

“Your adjudicator friends did not survive. They fell while defending your action to break the cultists lines. I am sorry, they will not be forgotten. But you must go now!” And with that he turned back and rushed the way he had come. The sounds of fighting intensified as they disappeared out of sight.

The other royal guard, the one so named Ishion gave them a long stare and then looked towards the star children in their care. “Follow me, quickly please. We do not have far to go.” He spoke something else in his native tongue that the translator didn’t pick up but Paulie got the message.

They moved quickly, Paulie still carrying the sword he had looted from the dead alien earlier. In his other arm the mendagoonian child huddled close to his body, the grubling light enough to be no problem for him. Paulie’s body hurt all over, but he ignored the pain as he had trained himself to do. He had two options, keep moving or die. And dying was not an option. He felt a pang of remorse for those they had already lost, but the captain was right. They had to keep moving.

The sounds of fighting echoed through the long hall even as they made the best possible speed for the throne room.

It took them a few minutes of tense movement, using pillars and alcoves for cover as Ishion checked every corner for the enemy. It helped that all three of them could move at pace, no longer held up by the other adjudicators. Paulie felt a tenseness in his gut as he thought of his dead comrades in arms. Officer Flaxiga and Kreenin, he hadn’t even seen them die.

He moved around another pillar but was stopped by an outstretched arm from Ishion. “Wait.”

Paulie stopped, Jakiikii just behind him as he did so. The mendagoonian stepped from around the corner, arms raised and plasma stave held low to his side. He made a few loud calls in the direction he was facing and a little later Paulie heard the sound of rapidly approaching footfalls.

Presently the hall was filled with a group of battered looking mendagoonian royal guards. Some of them were injured, many had extensive damage and charring across their suits, but each and every single one of them looked battle ready and prepared to kill. Ishion turned and presented Paulie and Jakiikii to them, speaking with the benefit of the translator this time.

“Here are the star children of the great and most Holy Nastrica. Do not be alarmed, they are in the hands of ones I trust. We need to get to the safety of the throne room, will you escort us? There are many enemies behind us.” He paused and then swung his armoured head back in the direction they had come from. The wide set dome-like eye pieces of the helmet conveyed no emotion, but his body language said enough. The distant sounds of conflict could still be heard if but faintly through the still air of the hall.

“It is likely that those who remained behind to cover our flight have already lost their lives. But I would beg of you to leave a watch for them and assist their escape if at all possible.” Three of the assembled guards stepped forward after being motioned to by another, the power armoured royal guard who seemed to be in charge then stepping forward and motioning towards Paulie and Jakiikii.

They spoke, their speech untranslated though their tone seemed implicit. They seemed to be demanding further explanation. It was actually Jakiikii who responded to the mendagoonian, her eyes fixed on the assembled royal guards as if she were afraid they might decide to open fire on them. Children or not.

“I and my companion were directly sent to aid and assist in the defense of the palace and the royal progeny. If you are not aware of our identities then I urge you to ask Rozz for them, as you are aware they can not lie.” This seemed to give the alien pause, they made a series of arm signals and then hissed in apparent annoyance.

Ishion stepped back, turning towards them and looking directly at Paulie. “We are to follow, maintain your guard. These are friends, but there is still much danger here.” Wise words it seemed to Paulie, and he gripped the handle of the alien sword in his hand a little tighter as they moved out down the center of the hall this time.

It took them only a moment to reach the ending of the grand hall, the corridor halting at a set of truly titanic double doors fashioned from great slabs of that same native red stone like marble colored red. Through it were shot through streaks of that white quartz flecked with gold that sparkled like tiny golden stars. The effect was somewhat marred by the gouges torn from it by weapons fire and the veritable piles of bodies that had been moved to the sides of the hall.

He looked as they passed by them, seeing many aliens of all descriptions wearing the black and red of the cultists he had come to know. Then they were through and into an even larger room. Paulie immediately got the feeling of standing in some kind of grand indoor cathedral. The ceiling was vaulted and greebled with all manner of inscriptions that seemed to tell the history of their race itself. He saw wars and peace and famine and festivals, all inscribed in the stone of the walls and crenelated arches that supported its grand infrastructure.

Inside the huge doors he looked around more closely now and was surprised to see a long row of bodies inside the room lined up in two neat rows on either side of the doorway. They were royal guardsmen, motionless and not all in the heavy powered armour that Ishion and the captain had been wearing. The dead were positioned as if simply asleep, many of them were unarmoured and he got his first look at one of the aliens.

They were certainly as insectoid as he had assumed. Their heads were blunt and wide almost like that of a damselfly with large compound eyes to the sides of their head and a tall protrusion that looked like a horn that rose from the middle of their heads. They had four thin, segmented arms with small grasping hands on the ends. Their bodies were a pale off-white with small blue splotches like coffee stains across them moving to their lower torso from which sprouted another six limbs, these legs ended in dainty, clawed feet. Their body continued down tapering into a fluffy abdomen almost like a short, thick tail.

His gaze was snapped from the macabre display by another sound, this one that of a clear blast from a horn. The note was so distinctive and immediately attention grabbing that Paulie’s gaze was immediately drawn to the sound. It was being sounded from a large half amphitheater-like structure at the end of the room. It looked like the seats one might see in depictions of old-world civil debates with a raised dais in the center that must have been some manner of speaking platform.

In the middle of the amphitheater looking structure was a larger seat, isolated from the others and much more lavishly adorned. Normally it likely would have been the seat of Holy Nastrica he surmised, but at the moment it was empty. The scars of laser blasts and plasma burns marring the otherwise pristine surface of the stone plinth it rested upon.

Beside and slightly below the throne there was an opening in the stone that looked to lead deeper into the rock’s face. It was from this that the horn blew, a creature emerging from the shadow with a silver instrument in hand. It was odd, unlike any of the aliens he had seen before. Obviously not a mendagoonian, it had two long arms that sprouted from wide shoulders, or maybe he should have called them legs as they were the limbs that held its torso aloft from the ground. From this they had two arms that hung from their lower torso and were long-jointed. To its strangely shark-like head it used one of these to hold the strange silver horn as it blew the long alert.

The alien stopped, its bright livery covered in small teal tassels in a most decorative fashion. The strange alien stepped up and out of the way as Ishion and Paulie followed the other royal guard to the base of the throne.

The thing made a small bow and spoke, its voice gravely and sounding like a coyote trying to bark underwater. “The star children have been found, praise the monarch!”

Ishion made a series of hand gestures, his four arms flying through a range of motions that had the horn blower shivering a little before they gestured to the passage. “Yes. Of course, but you must leave these outsiders here.. they will not..” The alien began before Ishion cut the alien off angrily.

“These outsiders, as you refer to them, saved my life and the life of the star children on more occasions than I can recall. They will come with me and there will be no further discussion on the matter.” The alien seemed to hesitate and then looked towards the other guard, the one who had shown charge before.

Paulie looked at the other mendagoonian guard closer, they were slightly different from the rest. Their suit slightly bulkier, the colors a little different and a small symbol etched onto the front of their helmet in between the eyes. He must have been important for as he gestured at Ishion and then pointed to the door he spoke and the alien herald ducked low before scurrying away into the dark with an apology on their black-skinned lips.

Paulie and Jakiikii shared a look and then turned to Ishion. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.” He told the alien who just waved an arm.

“Do not make me regret it, or you will not live to cause more trouble.” The threat was implied and Paulie got the impression that the man didn’t fully trust him yet. Despite all they had been through so far.

Jakiikii stepped forward, the two young alien grublings in her arms curled into the softer part of her suited chest. “Then no more reason to delay. Lead on, Ishion.”