Flowers of Esthelm
Date: 2020-11-03T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Humour; Adventure; Fiction; Fantasy
Description: The city of Celum is not much like Liscor at all. While Erin is surrounded by familiar, human faces, she’s far from home and without her inn. At the same time, a certain ill-tempered Lyonette is squatting in Erin’s inn, and Goblins are on the move. The Goblin Lord’s threat reaches across the entire region, and the Redfang tribe has rallied against him with the Floodplains tribe, although their Chieftains do not agree on some crucial matters.... The continent of Izril is rife with change as a young man named Laken Godart finds himself lost like all the others. Being naturally blind does not inc

The Wandering Inn

Volume 3

pirateaba

© 2020 pirateaba

Cover art by John Anthony Di Giovanni.

Cover design by Shawn King.

This novel is the e-book version of the free web serial. You may read the entire ongoing story at wanderinginn.com free of charge.

3.00 E

I don’t dream of seeing. But I do dream of adventures. I think every boy does, and I never forgot that dream even when I grew older.

Yet it’s one thing to imagine being transported into another dimension or to another world, and quite another thing if it actually happens. Upon reflection, I think I would have rather eaten my quiche instead before I left, but we can’t have everything.

Day 1

When I found myself in another world, I picked up on it right away for a number of reasons. First: I’m pretty darn sure that a food court doesn’t have grass inside of it, or trees. Second, it just felt different.

The air smelled strange to me immediately. You think I would have noticed the sun on my skin, but it was the stark difference in the way the wind smelled to me that stood out first. It’s like…honestly, it’s like the difference between living in a polluted city like New York – no, scratch that, somewhere really polluted like Hong Kong or Beijing – for a few months and then going somewhere where the air is pure and clean.

There is a quality to the air. In bad places like airports, it smells sterilized and stale, and that goes double for airplanes. In a polluted place, it’s more pervasive than anything else; after a while you get used to it, but then the fog is in your lungs, making even breathing harder than it should be.

The difference between clean air and polluted air is tangible even to people who don’t take that much notice of it. But the difference between the relatively clean food court and the place I was now in?

Unimaginable.

I look around, the bacon quiche still in one hand, my walking stick in the other. I feel like I should be freaking out but honestly, I don’t want to start running about. I can’t tell what’s around me right now except that I’m now standing on the grass, and I’d hate to run into a tree, if there are any in the area.

If you haven’t guessed by now, I’m blind. That’s not legally blind, of which there are many variations. I mean I see nothing. Not blackness, not a distinction between light and dark—nothing. That’s fine by me, but most people I’ve met make a big deal about it.

Normally, I get on just fine no matter where I go. I have good friends, my parents are overprotective, and I can always ask for directions or help in a pinch.

Which would be now. The only problem is, I’m getting the distinct impression I’m alone. My best friend Zoe is not sitting at a table a few feet ahead of me, and I can hear birds.

I sweep the ground cautiously around me with my cane, pausing as I feel dirt at the tip and grass. That’s definitely not ceramic tiles. Either someone’s playing an amazing prank on me or—

“Hello? Zoe? Is anyone there?”

No response. This is like a bad dream, the kind I used to have as a kid where I’m lost in a huge building with no cane and no one around me. Only then I kept imagining something was sneaking up on me and it was dark.

“Hello?”

This…place is clearly somewhere in the light. I can feel sunshine on my skin, and I’m pretty sure it’s early morning judging by the dew on the grass. I know that because I’ve sat down.

Some people freak out when the unexpected happens. If I were someone else I might run around screaming, or panic. But being blind means that you learn bumping into things at high speeds is a bad idea. Plus, I still have the quiche in my hand.

I rest it on my lap as I sit to think. Well, I’m somewhere else. Not in the mall. I might have suspected a prank, but Zoe isn’t nearly that cruel, and it’s not as if I’ve blacked out or been distracted. I literally just took a step and found myself…

Here.

“Is it a forest? Or a meadow? A hiking trail?”

I touch gingerly at the grass and ground. Yep. That feels like morning dew. The grass is long and uncut—another sign? I’m not on someone’s lawn here. And then I find a flower.

It feels soft under my fingertips. The petals nearly stick to my skin, and I recoil when I realize the head of the flower is wet. What kind of flower is this? Has a bird or something pooped on it?

“…No. Nectar.”

It smells sweet and odd, and like nothing I’ve ever smelled in my world. Already I’m at the other world conclusion, but this time I’m pretty damn sure.

The flower smells spicy-sweet, but also dark if that makes sense. It smells dark like I imagine the shade appears to people—not that I’ve ever seen it for myself. But I can imagine the shade—a wet, creeping thing as wide as an ocean that sucks up sunlight. That’s closest to the smell of this flower.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled before, and I have a good memory. I’ve visited huge greenhouses and even flower gardens across different countries in the world – the Keukenhof Gardens in the Netherlands were my favorite – and never come across this unique smell.

Cautiously, I reach down and pick the flower. I feel a bit bad, but I have to touch it, feel it. I’m aware it could be poisonous, but I don’t care. I smell it again, and this time realize the center of the flower was indeed sticky with that nectar.

Do I dare taste it? No, that’s probably too risky. But that adds to my theory. I am somewhere else, and something…strange has happened to me.

“Magic? Teleportation? Some kind of ultra-vivid hallucination?”

It can’t be real. But some part of me whispers ‘yes it is’. Yes it is.

This is real. You’re in another world.

And that makes me smile. Even if the curtain falls down in the next second or it turns out I’m being tricked. For a second I believe.

The air smells different. Cleaner. Sweeter, even. For that matter, even the sunlight feels…odd. I could have sworn it was quite warm in San Francisco—warm enough that Zoe and I went into a mall to cool down. But today feels like a crisp autumn day.

A breeze ruffles my hair. I smell grass and that strange otherworldly smell of flowers I’ve never seen before. And I hear a bird warbling off in the distance. That at least sounds normal.

It’s such a pleasant day. I could get up and walk into uncertainty, but right here the grass is soft. It could be I’m sitting right at the edge of a cliff and I’d never know. But here is nice.

How long did I sit there, holding the quiche in my lap, just listening to the wind and birds? An hour, maybe. I sat and listened and grew more and more convinced that I was somewhere else. Somewhere special.

That’s when I heard the voice. It was distant at first, and then grew louder, accompanied to the sound of branches crackling. Something wails and I hear a thud off somewhere behind me and to the left.

I get a bit worried. Okay, stepping into another world is a jarring experience, but I was keeping calm by rationalizing it as a Platform 9 and ¾’s experience. But no one wants to meet a monster.

Or a bear. Forest + large thing = bear in my mind. But this bear has a voice. And it’s upset.

Behind me, I hear the thing stop, and then hear what sounds like sobbing. That’s reassuring for me, but then I practically feel something punch something else. It sounds like a tree from all the branches rustling from the impact.

Is it a person? I listen hard. Contrary to public belief, being blind does not confer supernatural senses to me. I just use what I have more efficiently. I can sort out the sounds—yes, someone’s crying. They’ve got a deep voice which is why it sounded so odd. And they’re hiccupping.

I already feel a bit sympathetic for this person caught in their grief, although the thumping aspect I don’t like. If they’re hitting that tree, then I’m listening to it splinter from the impacts.

But there’s no helping it. I stand up and raise my voice.

“Hello? Is anyone there? Are you okay?”

Immediately the crying stops. I hear what sounds like the intake of breath. I call out again, turning towards where I heard the person.

“I think I’m lost. I’m sorry, but could I ask you for some help?”

“Help? I’m coming!”

It is a person! I never thought that would be the highlight of my day. But not only is it a person, it’s apparently a female person. At least, that’s what she sounds like. But she has a very deep voice; not that I object to that. Her voice sounds soothing.

Immediately after she speaks, the mysterious person runs over to me. I hear her crashing through branches as she makes a beeline in my direction.

“I’m here! What’s the prob—oh!”

Her footsteps make the ground tremble just a bit as she walks closer. I hold my ground and sense her as best I can.

Heavy. She’s definitely that. And big; that’s my general impression. And she smells. Not bad per se; but she smells…not exactly normal, I guess is the best way I could describe it. She’s certainly perspiring a bit, but that’s not unpleasant.

And then she speaks again, and I hear the worry in her tone. Her voice is deep but smooth, and she has good diction; it’s rare to hear someone enunciate as well as she does.

“I’m here. Are you lost, stranger? Are your eyes hurt? You have them closed.”

“What? No. I’m—”

I lift my cane a bit and I can feel her recoil backwards. I hear her take a step back. Did she think I was going to hit her? I lower the cane and raise a hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m blind. This is my walking cane.”

“You can’t see?”

The voice sounds shocked. She didn’t recognize my cane, either. It’s pretty universal—am I really in another world?

“Not at all. I can’t see you, but I can hear you.”

An intake of breath. I feel like whoever’s standing in front of me is huge; or at least their lungs are.

“You can’t see my face?”

“No. Is something wrong?”

Silence. And then—

“No. Nothing’s wrong.”

I smile. I’m not sure if I’m smiling at her, but it helps. It always does.

“That’s good. I heard you and didn’t want to interrupt, but I am in a bit of trouble. My name is Laken Godart.”

I offer my hand, and I sense hesitation. But then a hand engulfs mine.

A big hand. But it gives my hand such a delicate squeeze that I barely feel a thing.

“My name is Durene. How did you end up here, Mister Laken?”

Mr. Laken? How odd. Is there any country I know of that uses that kind of title? I smile ruefully.

“I’m not quite sure how I got here. I was at a mall, and I must have turned the wrong corner? Something happened because I was suddenly walking around here.”

“Mall? I’ve never heard of that town. I’m sorry.”

My eyebrows shoot up. Either she’s a brilliant actor and this is the greatest simulation of all time, or she’s serious.

“Can you tell me where I am?”

I think she nods. I’ve been told people do that a lot although I only understood the gesture after someone showed me exactly what they were doing with their head.

“You’re near the village of Riverfarm. In the forest, actually.”

Riverfarm? At least I was right about the forest bit.

“Is that near a city? I was in San Francisco just now and I have no idea how I got here.”

Another pause.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know where that is. Is it a big city?”

“Very big. What’s the biggest city near here?”

“That would be Bells. It’s over thirty miles away, though.”

“…Is that anywhere in America?”

“America?”

…

This is probably just a dream. Or a mental breakdown, although the psychiatrist my mom hired gave me a clean bill of health for the last few years. This is any number of things, but what I really want, a tiny bit, is for this to be real.

“Sorry Durene, I’m going to go out on a limb here, but…could you tell me what the year is? And what nation I’m in?”

“Nation? Year? I—don’t keep track of the years. I think we’re around 22 A.F.? And, um, we’re not in a nation. No one rules Riverfarm but the village head.”

“Oh my god. I am in another world.”

“What?”

“I must be. Durene, do I look…unusual to you?”

A pause. I can feel her drawing slowly closer. I can’t tell, but I think she’s looking me over.

“Well…you dress a bit oddly. You have unusual clothing. There’s a strange symbol of a triangle on your shirt. It looks…colorful.”

I smile, a tiny bit. Being blind means my fashion sense is a bit skewed. I know I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt, apparently with a logo of the Illuminati eye on it. Zoe told me it looked good, but I have reason to doubt her fashion sense.

“Have you ever seen anything like it before?”

“Not so vividly. Are you a noble? A merchant who sells fabric?”

“No. I’m just blind. And I think—yeah, I think I’m very far from home.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

I shrug.

“It’s not your fault. I think. If it is, I’d love an explanation?”

“What? No! I’d never—”

She’s so easily distressed. That makes me feel a bit guilty.

“I’m sorry. It was a joke.”

“Oh.”

What to say? I’m usually a decent conversationalist. Or at least, I can always find something to talk about even if it’s not well received.

“I heard you crying. Are you alright?”

“Me?”

I’ve heard of a blush as well. Based on people’s descriptions and the one time I touched someone while they were blushing, I imagine heat filling their face. That’s certainly how it feels to me, and I suspect, Durene at the moment.

“It—it was nothing. I was just upset, that’s all. I didn’t think anyone was around.”

Her voice is rough with emotion. I pause, but why not follow this? There’s nothing to be gained from holding back. I learned that a long time ago.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to speak about it. But if you want to talk—”

“No.”

I nod. But I can feel her hesitating. So I wait.

“Someone called me a name. That’s all.”

“Ah.”

So many years, so much feeling can go into a single word. I face in her general direction, and I know she’s looking at me. And then I hear something funny.

Rumbling. Gurgling. A massive stomach. And I remember I do have something in one of my hands. I smile even as I sense Durene shifting and presumably, blushing.

“Durene, would you like to share this quiche with me?”

“Are you sure?”

“Why not? Let’s sit and talk. You seem like a nice person.”

I sit down on the ground. After a second, I sense someone sitting next to me. I don’t have a fork, but it’s no trouble to lever the quiche out of the tin container and break it apart. I give the bigger section to Durene over her protests and we eat and sit and talk.

That was how I met Durene, and my introduction to another world. As I said, I would have liked to eat my quiche first. It was only lukewarm at that point, but at least the company was nice.

Day 2

When I woke up, I once again confirmed that I was in another world. I didn’t freak out.

That mildly surprised Durene, when she found I was up and quietly exploring her house. She lives in a rather large house next to a stream. I can’t imagine it as a whole yet, but my exploration and her descriptions of the building give me the sense of a building of wood and rough stone, but carefully patched to avoid the elements or nature getting in. The stone floor is only slightly rough on my bare feet, and the lone window has no glass.

In short, this is a medieval building, and from what Durene told me in our hours-long chat yesterday, this is a medieval world. With magic. And only a limited grasp of technology. She was amazed to see my fiberglass cane; she exclaimed over the material as if it were alien to her world, which it was, in a sense.

Now I sit at a table, feeling like a midget in the chair Durene put me in while she clatters around the kitchen. I can smell something cooking, and it sounds like she’s making eggs. The scent of warm bread is already filling my nostrils.

“Here you are, Mister Laken. I’m sorry it’s a bit burnt.”

“It smells delicious. And call me Laken.”

I hear and feel the big plate being placed in front of me. After cautious exploration with a fork I find the eggs—only slightly runny—and the toasted bread. Yes, it’s crunchy, but it is quite good, and I tell her so.

“Thank you for letting me sleep here. I think I took your only bed. I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh, no! It’s nothing. And I like sleeping outside.”

“Pretty liar.”

Well. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever startled someone into silence so quickly. I hear her shifting, clearing her throat, and then she bursts out.

“Aren’t you worried?”

I raise my eyebrow. I have no idea if it looks good, but friends assured me it did, and I fell in love with the idea after reading a story where the main character did it to great effect.

“About what?”

“Well, you said you’re lost. Alone. In another…another world? How are you so calm?”

That makes me smile. I may act calm, but I spent a good bit of last night while Durene was snoring outside freaking out and trying to affirm I really wasn’t hallucinating. I have a sore arm from all the times I’ve pinched myself.

“What’s the point of freaking out? I’m more excited than anything else, actually. I’m in another world, one with magic. There’s no magic where I come from.”

“But you told me you have so many strange things. Like these ‘cars’ and ‘malls’. It sounds amazing.”

“I’m surprised you believe me, to be honest. If I heard someone talking about my world, I’d assume they were crazy.”

“But you make it sound real. And that stick you have which folds up—”

Another miraculous invention by her standards. I think it was actually that which convinced Durene I was from another world. That, and my iPhone. I think Siri scared Durene more than anything else.

Yes, it turns out I have no wireless, and without battery I turned Siri off to save energy. But having an iPhone, even one with limited power, is amazingly useful in a survival situation, which is what I find myself in.

So is having a friend. I smile at Durene.

“I don’t think my world is that special. But I am glad you found me, Durene. I’ve always found that I can trust most strangers.”

Another pause. Another hypothetical blush.

“Really? But you can’t even see—and you just trusted me to help you. I could be—”

She pauses.

“Someone bad.”

“But you’re not. And I have a good sense for people, or at least, I like to think so. You seem like a very nice person, Durene.”

“I—thank you. But you can’t see—”

I smile wryly.

“I do notice some things. For instance, I know you’re taller than me. And stronger. And you have calluses on your hand, your table is cracked here—and you have a big appetite.”

It’s hard not to notice her chomping down her food, to be honest. Durene shifts in her chair, making the wood creak.

“I’m sorry.”

“What? What are you sorry for?”

“Um—”

“I quite enjoyed the eggs and toast. Did you make it yourself?”

This time I think she nods, because there’s a bit of silence before she speaks.

“Oh! Yes! I eat a lot. So I have a big garden and I um, raise chickens and pigs and other animals. But I can’t cook well because I don’t have any Skills.”

“That seems rather harsh. Your food tasted good to me.”

Silence. And then—

“Thank you. But I have to buy a lot of food anyways. The villagers sell me lots of things I can’t make by myself.”

“So you live in a village? How many people live there?”

If it seems odd we didn’t cover that yesterday, well, there’s a lot of explanations and confirming to be done when you think you’ve ended up in another world. Another part is convincing a scared young woman that you haven’t trapped a person in your iPhone.

Is she young? Durene sounds like she’s a bit younger than I am. Of course, I’m terrible at judging ages so she could be anywhere from my age to still in her teens. Girls grow up quicker than guys, after all.

Back to the conversation. Durene apparently lives in a small village of around sixty souls, most of whom live closer to each other. They inhabit a lovely area of farming land fed by a river, hence the name Riverfarm. The people there grow crops and raise animals—they have a blacksmith, and a dedicated person to go and trade for them at a town, that person having the most skill at buying and selling.

The people in this village live together in large families. The children often go out to learn jobs in other towns as they grow, or manage the family business. It’s rare to see a single new face in a month, let alone a group of people aside from adventurers or Runners now and then.

Oh yes, this world has adventurers and the weirdest postal service I can imagine. But what stands out to me in all of Durene’s explanations is an odd…lack of detail. Namely herself.

Durene doesn’t live in the village. From what she says, the only other people who live alone are bachelors or bachelorettes or those who have lost their partners. But Durene is far too young to fit either criteria, and she tells me she’s never met an adventurer, despite them being popular with all the kids.

I smell a rat. And Durene. She still smells…off. If I met other people I might understand what’s different about her, but until then I just keep the conversation going and tell her a bit about where I come from.

That’s me Laken Godart, blind son to two fairly affluent parents, one a lawyer, the other a businessman. I’ve travelled more places than Durene’s heard of, and I’m blind. That’s a basic description, but the key to selling yourself is embellishment.

And all too soon, I find that Durene’s big breakfast has affected me in another way. I clear my throat politely.

“Uh, Durene? Can you help me get to the bathroom again?”

Yes, it’s embarrassing to have to ask someone you’ve just met to help you out, but I’m used to it. Don’t want to walk into the ladies’ room now, do I? But then, they’ve always been quite considerate the two times I’ve done it by accident.

Anyways, it’s always easier if I ask for help, especially since any door could be the wrong one. And Durene is happy to help.

“No problem. This way—oops! Let me just push this aside—the door’s over here.”

She’s very considerate. Normally people have a hard time directing me, but she’s gotten the hang of it quite quickly. She lets me grab onto her arm—I can feel her muscles rippling every time she shifts—and she walks forwards at a reasonably fast pace.

It’s not as if I have trouble moving around, and I can sense whether she’s walking up an incline or stepping around something. It’s natural to me, and once I explained that to Durene she got the trick of it quickly.

Her bathroom is an outhouse located outside of her home and a ways away from the stream. She has to wait at a respectful distance afterwards, but I don’t take long. There’s only one problem.

“Do you have any toilet paper? Uh, anything to wipe with?”

“I’ll get some leaves!”

“Leaves? Hello? Durene?”

It turns out toilet paper is a luxury so rare Durene’s never heard of it before. But the leaves she gives me are serviceable, and my butt doesn’t complain too much.

The outhouse is definitely an outhouse in the sense that I know there’s no water below me as I toss the leaves down. But it smells nice; Durene’s put some fragrant herb there to chase away the smells. I say as much as I leave.

“Your home seems very nice, Durene. I’m envious.”

“It’s nothing special. It’s really not. It’s—crude.”

“I don’t think so. But uh, do you have anywhere I can wash up? And some soap?”

“Soap?”

It takes me a while to get across the basic idea of hygiene to Durene. That’s my first worry. But she boils some hot water for me and when I’m reassured it’s not scalding, I use that.

“You really need to wash your hands, Durene. In my world, countless people died in the past because they didn’t keep themselves clean enough.”

“Really?”

It’s amazing, flattering, and humbling how Durene takes all my statements at face-value. I tell her about the Black Plague, and within minutes she’s swearing up and down to buy some soap the next time someone goes into town.

Before I know it, it’s lunch-time. I could certainly use something to eat, and Durene takes me around the garden, letting me feel the growing plants and the bunch of potatoes she yanks up.

But then we hit a problem. Durene goes into the kitchen to cook them while I sit outside and listen. But after twenty minutes I know something’s wrong. I can hear her trying to be quiet, but the clattering and the burnt smell can’t be so easily hidden.

“Is everything okay? Durene?”

“I—I’m sorry.”

There’s a catch in her voice when she comes out and tells me she’s ruined the potatoes. I don’t get it, but if there was a fire alarm in her house it would be blaring. She doesn’t even let me inspect the ruined food; apparently it’s so burned she just dumped it outside for the pigs.

“I can’t cook potatoes. I’m sorry. I normally eat them raw.”

“Well, we can’t have that. Let me help you.”

“Help? But you—”

“I can’t see, but I can cook. Come on!”

I reach out and touch her arm. It’s a big arm, and she recoils instantly. But I soothe her and guide her back to the kitchen.

It’s an odd thing, cooking while mainly instructing someone else. Odd, but fun. Only for me at first, but then Durene gets into it.

We make sautéed potatoes. It’s an easy recipe, but I have to show Durene how to cut properly at first. I hear her cut herself twice before I realize her form is off.

“Like this, see? If you’re cutting leaves like this rosemary—do it like this.”

Durene gasps, but I place the knife at my knuckles and roll it across the cutting board, slowly slicing the herbs into small slices.

“Easy as anything. Don’t worry; even if you can’t see, there’s no way to cut yourself like this, see?”

“I do! That’s incredible!”

“It’s not. Really. Now, let’s get to work on the rest of those potatoes, okay?”

“Okay. The chopped potatoes are…here. We boil them?”

“That’s right. Is the water boiling? And you added the salt? Put them in. They’ll go there for about four minutes, okay? Now. Where’s the pan?”

“I put the oil in.”

“Now the potatoes. Flat side down. There. Doesn’t that sound good?”

The sizzling oil makes my stomach wake up. I smile as I hear Durene clumsily sliding the sliced potatoes around the pan.

“Is it crispy golden brown? Okay, let’s reduce the heat. Now…a bit of butter. Just a bit…and the rosemary…doesn’t that smell delicious?”

“It does! It does!”

Success. We sit down and Durene eats her food as if it’s the best food she’s ever had. Apparently, it is.

“I’ve never cooked anything like that before. Do you have a Skill? You must!”

“I wouldn’t call it skill. I just learned from a great chef.”

Thank you Gordon Ramsay. I might not be able to see them cook, but I do love chefs who tell me exactly what they’re doing.

“Are you a [Chef]? Is that your class?”

That’s an odd way of putting things. I shrug, a bit embarrassed.

“I wanted to be a professional chef, and then a professional food critic when I was younger. I gave up on that when I found out someone else had already become blind Masterchef. And, it has to be said, I’m not that good at cooking.”

“But this—”

“It’s not nearly as good as something professional chefs can make, believe me. And you did all the hard work.”

“You know so much, though.”

I want to squirm a bit with embarrassment.

“I just studied a lot of different professions, that’s all. Chef, food critic…at one point I wanted to be a billiards player, but that’s not actually possible. I wanted to do anything that wasn’t boring, so I tried a lot of things.”

“That’s so amazing. So much better than I am.”

I think she’s staring at me. I can feel her proximity towards me. Her voice is also much more intent—she sounds fascinated. I can’t help but smile.

“You’d be surprised what you can pick up if you work at it. Forget cooking—I once disassembled and reassembled an old computer by hand. That’s…like a complicated device.”

“I wouldn’t know. I…I only have the [Farmer] class.”

There it is again. Class? I frown.

“Classes? Do you mean jobs? You mean, you get assigned a job?”

“No. I’m just a [Farmer]. Level 6. Do you not have classes in your world?”

“Oh wow.”

Is it obvious? Did I not notice it because I can’t see? But Durene assures me she doesn’t have her class and level floating above her head like an MMORPG. Even so, my mind is blown because now I realize I’m in a video game. Or something like a video game.

“You mean, you played games with the fates of people?”

“No! It was all just pretend. But it’s exactly like how you’re describing your world.”

“Oh.”

We sit together, in her garden, talking. By this point Durene and I are comfortable enough to sit closer than before, and yes, she is tall. I’m not short myself; apparently I’m around 184 cm, or around 6’1’’ for people using the horrible US measuring system, but Durene is at least a head higher than I am. Possibly bigger; she hunches over as we talk.

And she is huge. And conscious of that; she treats me even more like a glass object than people who just know I’m blind. I am grateful in her case, though; it does feel a bit like a giant is keeping me company.

Hmm. A giant?

One last detail: Durene’s skin is rougher than normal. Her inside palm is fairly smooth, if callused, but the few times I brushed against the outside of her skin, it was surprisingly rough and even felt cracked in places.

Odd. But she is a great listener, and we sit together long into the night. I tell her stories, and she tells me of this world. Magic and adventurers and a gaming system.

Dinner that night is marinated mushrooms, again thanks to me marathon watching Ramsay videos. It’s good that I remember so many vegetarian dishes; Durene likes meat, but it is apparently a rare delicacy for her, despite the pigs she introduced me to earlier today.

We don’t have any vinegar, but Durene’s garden is plentiful, and everything is so high quality that we barely need any seasoning to make it go down. Fresh water from the stream completes the meal, and Durene eats four times what I do. Good thing we made a lot.

Sometimes I wish I could see. I have no idea what it would be like, and usually I don’t ever care. But when I’m having a bad day or I’m frustrated and wish things were easier, I wish I could see.

But now, I just want to see her face. Even though it seems like Durene is self-conscious about it.

I wonder why. I wonder as I tuck myself into her bed and listen to her snoring outside.

At least I know she’s not a Troll. The ones from the Hobbit turn into stone in the morning, don’t they? Maybe people just grow really big in this world.

Maybe. But she’s still a good person, regardless.

Day 3

Apparently, one of Durene’s obsessions is fish. Understandably so; she can’t catch much game and she sells most of her pigs rather than eat them. Her occasional chicken only comes when one dies, and as I’ve observed, she has trouble cooking even the most basic of meals.

But fish? Fish is hard to get wrong, and Durene has a crude fishing rod that she tries to catch fish at the stream with almost every day. Apparently, she has little success and I figure out why quite soon.

“You need some bait that wriggles. Worms are better. And you’re moving the line too much. Let the fish bite before you pull it out of the water. See? Patience is key.”

It’s amazing. But no one’s ever taught Durene this, and she observes me fishing with rapt attention. I feel—

I feel happy to teach her, and supremely annoyed no one ever taught her something as simple as this. Do people in her village not know how to fish?

Or is there another reason why she lives alone?

I get half my answer after I yank the second small fish out of the stream, much to Durene’s delight. I hear voices, laughter; the sounds of several children. And then I hear the voices.

“Freak! Come out, Freak!”

Beside me, on the grass, Durene goes still. I pause, the crude clay mug Durene gave me half full as I scoop water out of the stream.

“Where is she? Freak!”

I hear merry laughter, running, shouts of joy at odds with the words and tone in the children’s voices. It doesn’t take them long to find us.

“Freak! Freaky freak! Fr—who’s that?”

I turn my head as the sounds of running feet stop. I counted…six kids? All young; probably around ten. Mostly boys, although there’s one girl in there. They pause uncertainly.

“This is Laken. He’s a stranger to these parts.”

Durene tries to explain. I smile and introduce myself, but the instant the children discover I’m blind, respectfulness vanishes.

“He’s blind!”

“A freak! Freak’s gotta friend!”

“Freaks!”

Is there something in the water here? Or is it just them? I frown at the kids.

“That’s not a word you should be using about Durene.”

“But she’s a freak!”

One of the boys protests. Then I hear a yelp and the girl speaks.

“I think he don’t know. He can’t see her!”

“That’s right!”

More exclamations.

“You should run, Mister! Durene’ll eat your heart out!”

“No I won’t!”

“Aah! Run from the freak! She’s gone mad!”

Durene stands up in anguish. And then I hear her yelp. Someone’s tossed a stone at her! I hear it plop into the stream.

“Eat dirt, Freak!”

Okay, mudballs. Another one flies. Durene’s not doing anything to defend herself, so I stand up. The mug of water is still in my hands. For a second I’m tempted to hurl it but—that wouldn’t be right. The children go silent. What should I say?

“It’s nice to meet all of you. Cheers, mates.”

I raise the mug of water in their general direction and then drink from it. Honestly, it tastes a bit like clay. I look at the kids, or rather, in their general direction I hope.

“Now piss off.”

Silence. I keep my face still. I’ve never actually stared anyone in the eye mainly because I could miss, and I can barely keep my eyes open for a staring contest in any case. My eyes still get watery even if I can’t see.

But I am good at holding still and remaining calm. The children aren’t. After a few more seconds I hear them retreat.

I sit back down next to Durene. She’s trembling.

“You okay?”

I keep my tone light as I reach for the fishing pole again. I can’t find it, but then Durene silently presses it into my hands.

“Do you know what I meant when I said ‘cheers’? It’s an expression from another culture. It means, well, it’s something you say before you have a drink, or at a party.”

“Really?”

Her voice is quivery, but it is curious. I nod and smile.

“I met an Australian guy once who could make that word sound like a threat. He said it to a bunch of soldiers who were bothering us and—well, it’s not always polite. It’s all about nuance, you see?”

More silence. I hear Durene gulp.

“I—I’m sorry. What they said—”

“—Is none of my concern. Those little wankers were being obnoxious anyways. They’re too good to be called brats. Do they harass you often?”

It’s nice to know more than one culture. It helps when you want to add to your repertoire of insults. Durene laughs shakily, then goes quiet again.

“Sometimes. I mean, they come by sometimes but they don’t do more than throw things.”

“Like rocks?”

Silence is my answer. I clear my throat.

“They’re miserable little monsters; don’t listen to them. Anyways, they’re just kids, aren’t they? Can’t you chase them off?”

“I couldn’t do that! I might hurt someone, and then—”

She sounds genuinely shocked. And afraid. Is she worried about the mob of stereotypical farmers with pitchforks? But that had to come from somewhere. Maybe she’s right to be passive.

“I’m sorry if I got you in trouble. But I couldn’t stand by and let them harass you.”

“It’s okay. I think. Yes, it’s okay. But I’m surprised you weren’t angrier when they called you a freak. You’re not.”

Again, her tone suggests…what? Depression? Low self-esteem, certainly. But the clues aren’t all there yet, even if I know most of what’s going on. As for me…I shrug.

“I used to be a lot angrier than this. But I’ve gotten calmer now; I don’t lose my temper that much. I’ve been called names too.”

“Really?”

I smile again, but this time with an edge.

“Everyone gets called names. I’m just an easier target since I can’t see anything coming. Then again, I get it. When you’re a kid, anything weird is a target. Anything different or scary…it’s easier to shout insults than get to know the person. That doesn’t mean I think what those brats did was right, of course. Next time one of them calls you names, hit him. Or just call him names as well.”

“I couldn’t hit anyone! And I’m not good with insults.”

“What? Insults are easy. Come on, try one. Call me something.”

“I—I don’t know. What would I even call them?”

“Unexploded pimple? Pitiful asshat? Cowardly mushroom? Insults can be anything you want them to be.”

The laugh that comes out of Durene is more like a bark of amusement, but it’s genuine and real.

“Tell you what. Let’s grill up these fish and I can teach you some of the really pithy insults I’ve heard of, okay? You might want to cover your ears though; some of them could make a sailor blush.”

She laughs delightedly and I smile again. It’s a better day, despite the kids. And the fish isn’t even burnt this time.

Day 5

I find myself spending almost all my time with Durene day by day. She’s an open person and easy to talk to; she likes listening more than she likes speaking, but she can break down this strange world into easy-to-understand fragments for me.

She’s in the middle of giving me a history lesson about some version of Alexander the Great when I hear a shout. I’m ready for the kids this time, but to my surprise, only one comes running.

“Durene! The wagon’s lost a wheel! Come and lift it, our Da says!”

“What? The wagon? I’m on my way!”

Durene jumps to her feet with amazing agility, and then hesitates.

“I have to go help, Laken. Will you be okay? I can take you there—”

“I’m fine. Go. I’ll be okay until you come back.”

Again, being blind is not like being porcelain. I let Durene run off with the kid and think of what to do. Twenty minutes later, Durene thunders back to the cottage looking for me.

I’m fishing.

“Durene. You’re back. Is everything okay?”

She smells a bit of hay and some other animal scent. And a bit more of that musky odor that’s probably her sweat. I hear her clear the stream in one jump.

“Everything’s fine. I helped Mister Prost with his wagon; that’s all. The axle of the wheel broke, so he had Finnon go get me.”

“Huh. Do they always call on you for help? It seems like they’d need a team of people to move a busted wagon.”

She shifts next to me. Uncomfortably? It’s surprisingly easy to tell when someone’s hiding something even if you can’t read their face.

“Oh—it wasn’t that hard. I just had to help lift it up a bit, that’s all.”

She doesn’t even sound winded. But she ran off and came back in less than ten minutes and helped a farmer put a new wheel on a wagon?

Odd. Odd, odd, odd, odd…

“You do repairs often, then? That’s pretty handy of you.”

“Well, I don’t have a class. But if they need help lifting or, you know, raising a barn—”

“Gotcha. So how bad is the damage?”

“They’ll have to fix it later, but it looks like it was just the axle that went. I just got the wagon back to their home so they could give old Evera a rest. She’s their plow horse and she gets tired quickly.”

Okay, so she pulled a wagon which might or might not have been full of produce an unspecified distance. Hmm.

It could just be her class. Durene said she was a Level 6 [Farmer], but she has one [Enhanced Strength] skill already. Apparently that makes her way stronger than normal; when I asked her to demonstrate, she lifted me up with one hand as if I was a feather.

But the skin? And the things those kids said? What could that—

Bah. What am I, a detective? The answer is no, because I can barely solve a Sherlock Holmes mystery, let alone figure out those stupid wire puzzles. And Durene deserves respect from me, if no one else.

She’ll tell me when she’s ready.

Day 6

“I need a class.”

That was what I told Durene when she woke up in the morning. I get up before she does; not that either of us are late sleepers. We’re both morning people actually, although I tend to function just as well in the dark as in the light for obvious reasons.

But I do like to hear the birds sing and feel the sunlight on my face. I don’t mind relaxing for an hour or two by myself in the mornings. As Zoe once told me, I’m the chillest blind guy she knows, which is to say I’m the only blind guy she knows. She knows a blind girl—Teresa, but she and I don’t get along.

I hate Teresa.

Durene is silent for a long moment after I tell her this. We made doughy crepes this morning and added some wild berries, but she stops eating them now.

“Why?”

“Isn’t it what people do in this world? You told me no one you know didn’t have a class.”

“That’s true. But…”

I wait, yet no further thought comes. I explain myself while I try to see what’s making her upset.

“I’ve put a lot of thought into it, and I need to have a class to survive in this world. I can’t just rely on your goodwill forever.”

“But a class—that means you’d go and get a job, right? You’d…leave.”

Oh. Oh. I feel like an idiot.

“I don’t want to be a burden, Durene. I’m already making you sleep outside and now you have to feed two mouths.”

“That’s not a problem!”

The table shifts as Durene moves. She apologizes, and then her tone changes, becomes more pleading.

“I don’t mind the grass! I don’t! And you eat a lot less than I do. I wouldn’t mind you staying! I…like having you around.”

What do I say? What do I do? Whatever it is, it must be something that won’t break her tender heart.

“You know I have a home, Durene, and a family. They’re probably worried sick about me. I want to get back to them.”

I can almost feel her drooping at the other side of the table. I clear my throat and go on.

“But I do enjoy staying here with you. If you’re sure I won’t be a burden, I’d love to stay here. I just mentioned a class because it’s fascinating, really.”

“You’ll stay here? You’re sure?”

It’s not pathetic how eager she sounds, how hopeful. It’s heartbreaking. Who left this girl alone? I nod.

“I doubt there’s many jobs for a blind person in your world anyways. Unless I can learn magic? I’d love to learn that.”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard of spellbooks, but I don’t know if mages learn any other way.”

I make a face, mildly outraged as I eat more crepe. Even in this world I’m handicapped by a lack of braille books? And I very much doubt there’s any kind of audio spellbook.

“Well, that idea’s out. I guess I’ll have to sleep on it.”

Then I have another idea. I suggest it to Durene as I help her wash the pottery dishes. She doesn’t use soap, but hot water works pretty well. She can tolerate the heat far better than I, though. But her hands are clumsier, so we both work slow.

“Why don’t you show me around your village?”

Durene nearly drops the cup she’s holding. I push it back into the bucket of water just in time; the splash gets water all over my clothes.

“What’s wrong? I haven’t introduced myself, and I’m sure they’re curious about me.”

“I—I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s fine. I like meeting people. Besides, I have to meet them sooner or later, don’t I?”

“I guess.”

Day 8

It takes me two more days for me to convince Durene to take me into the village. She resists, stonewalls—not so much out of reluctance to visit on her behalf, but for fear of how the villagers will treat me, I think.

And how do the villagers treat me?

With kindness.

Oh, they knew a stranger had moved into Durene’s house, but no one had come by. I think they were more apprehensive than curious, and Durene herself might have told them to steer clear before then. It isn’t as if we are always together; she made several trips into the village prior to my arrival, and I can only speculate I was the topic of gossip.

When Durene finally lets me into the village, I hear a few mutters, but Prost, the [Farmer] who Durene had helped out a few days ago, is the first to shake my hand.

“You’ve got a fine grip, son. You’d be a good farmer.”

“Ah, but I’d keep trying to milk the bull, and that wouldn’t end up well for anyone, would it?”

A joke, a laugh, and I change from the scary unknown to someone approachable, even likeable. One mother smacks her son for calling me names, and soon I’m introducing myself as a traveler from far off, sidetracked by a spell and relying on Durene for help.

That bit of fiction is met by approval from all the villagers, but later on Prost takes me aside as Durene helps lift a few kegs for one of the farmers.

“I wouldn’t say much about Durene—she’s a good helper in times of need, but she’s a bit—”

“She seems like a nice, normal young woman to me. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I shut him down in an instant. I don’t want to know. Not from him. Not from someone who isn’t Durene who’s chosen to tell me. That ends the conversation; it’s awkward for a few moments until I ask about farming around here. Turns out that these farmers have quite the variety of crops, and they’re fascinated when I talk about greenhouses and crop rotation. Some high-level [Farmers] have Skills that approximate those effects, and soon I’m actually giving out vague advice on farming techniques I half-remember. Too bad I can’t give them a combine harvester.

Durene hovers around me anxiously at first, but then relaxes as time went by. The other villagers treat her—well, I guess. They have a huge mug of milk for her, and she helps drag a huge tree that had fallen out of the way. But—

We leave the village after several hours, with invitations for me to call on various families for a meal and conversation. I can tell stories about the places I’ve been to if I omit the parts that they wouldn’t understand, and in this small village I’m the equivalent of a celebrity, or a novelty.

The villagers like me. I think I can say that with confidence. They think I’m kind, charming, and okay, mad as a loon. But Farmer Prost’s wife Yesel gives me a basket full of goods to take back to Durene’s home—or rather, she gives Durene that, and I met a good deal of people that day. All in all it was a success.

I just wonder why they dislike Durene so. Or maybe not dislike? She’s clearly known them all her life. But there’s a wall between her and them, and no matter how kindly the villagers are towards her and no matter how hard she tries to be as helpful and meek as possible, they still keep their distance from her. I hear it in their tones and observe it through their actions.

It makes me hate them, just a little.

Day 11

I woke up knowing what class I’d have. I was so antsy that over breakfast I nearly put my hand on the frying pan in distraction. I broke the news to Durene as we ate cheese on scrambled eggs; neither of us could do omelettes.

“I think I’ll become an [Emperor]. Do you know if I have to declare that? Or is it just doing something that gives you the class?”

Durene choked on her eggs and I had to listen to her splutter for a while before any coherent words came out.

“That’s impossible! Laken! What are you saying?”

“I’m going to be an [Emperor]. It seems like the easiest class for me to take, and perhaps I’ll gain some useful skills.”

Honestly, it was the first class that came into my mind as a viable option. But Durene told me flat out it was impossible. I told her she was wrong.

“You can be an [Emperor], Durene. You can, and I can.”

“It’s not possible! To do that—you’d need a kingdom, and a palace and white horse and—and—”

Her voice trails off, unable to even describe my folly. I can only smile.

“But you can, Durene. I know of a man, an ordinary man, who became an Emperor. All by himself, although he was poor and he had no palace or horse.”

“Really? Who?”

There’s skepticism, but curiosity and eagerness in her voice in equal measure. She always loves stories from my world. This one puts a grin on my face even as I speak.

“He was known as Emperor Norton the 1st of America. He was a real man who became an Emperor just by calling himself one. I always loved his story.”

“Emperor? But you said America has no rulers. Only someone with the [President] class.”

My explanations of how my world works might have gotten a bit jumbled. I shake my head.

“That’s true. But Norton didn’t care what the rules were. One day, he declared himself Emperor. And he lived and died acting as one.”

It’s an amazing story, and one I have to struggle to do justice to. How can I explain to Durene the tale of Joshua Norton, a failed businessman who one day woke up and sent letters to every newspaper in San Francisco proclaiming himself as the Emperor of the United States?

Well, sort of like that, actually.

“He made proclamations and sent orders to the army—none of which were ever obeyed—and he even made his own money. I know it sounds ridiculous, Durene, and I’ll just bet you’re smiling, but here’s the crazy thing: it worked! The people let him go around calling himself Emperor, and in time they began treating him like one.”

“They didn’t.”

“They did. Not all of course, but he eventually made his own money and became known throughout the city. The people of San Francisco accepted his currency, and he dined in the finest restaurants and went to famous plays in the theater where they would hold a seat for him. When he died, over thirty thousand people went to his funeral.”

Durene listens in silence, rapt with attention. I can only imagine it myself. His story captured my heart.

“Some say he was a madman. And maybe he was; he probably was, honestly. But he also dared to dream. And that’s something I’ve always admired about him.”

He dared to dream. There are worse things to be remembered by. And unlike the rich businessmen and famous stars and politicians of the day, Norton I is still marked in history as the first and only Emperor of the United States. It may seem funny to most people, but I think he’s the one laughing in the end.

“If one man can declare himself Emperor, I don’t see why I can’t follow suit. Kings might be born to rule, but the first kings were just men with an army who made themselves crowns. I might not have an army, or a crown, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Maybe.”

As impressed as she is by the story, I can hear the doubt oozing from Durene’s every word. But I just grin.

“I’m in another world, Durene, and from what you’ve said, classes rule this place. Why not take one of the best ones if I can? So. You can be my witness.”

I stand up dramatically, praying I don’t hit anything by accident as I gesture grandly.

“Hear my words, that they may be passed down for posterity. On this day, I, Laken Godart, declare myself Emperor of the Unseen, sovereign lord and ruler of all I survey. Not only Emperor; I declare myself Protector of Durene’s House as well.”

For a second I hold the pose, and then hear Durene giggle. It sounds amazing coming from her deep voice. I smile and sit back down.

“You can’t do that! What if someone heard you?”

“Well, then I’d demand that they show me the proper respect I deserve. And ask for their taxes. You owe me a tithe, I believe. I demand your finest crepe as your [Emperor].”

Giggling like a girl, Durene passes me one. I eat it with an air of triumph, and tell her several more jokes that make her laugh.

And that’s good. That alone is worth the crazy attempt. But as I sleep that night, I can’t help but think that it would be nice if I could be [Emperor]. I’d make the world a better place, or at least, try to.

I’d like to hear Durene laugh a lot more, and make it so she never has to cry herself to sleep another night.

In my heart, as I let sleep overtake me, I do believe I could do it. I believe. That’s what I learned to do. I believe I can be something more than people expect of me.

My eyes close. I breathe out. And then I hear a voice in my mind.

[Emperor Class Obtained!]

[Emperor Level 1!]

[Skill – Aura of the Emperor obtained!]

“Das war ja einfach!”

Day 12

Durene is in a state of panic; I’m calm.

Sort of calm. I’m freaking out, but in a good way. Durene’s just freaking out.

I blink as she tromps past me, nearly hitting my leg. Her voice is strained as she talks out loud.

“It can’t be! You don’t have any fancy clothes! How can you be an—an—[Emperor]? It doesn’t make sense!”

I don’t know. But I do know, at the same time. I sit up straight. I can’t tell how this new Skill I’ve received works, but I feel a bit…different. A bit more secure in myself. I was right. I dreamed, and I was right.

“Durene. Is an [Emperor] simply defined by his clothes? A king is still a king in rags, after all. It may sound silly, but in this world people become what they believe, I think. You haven’t become a [Cook] because you don’t think you can be one. But I? I think I can do anything I want to. And I think you can too.”

She stops mid-step. I can sense her facing me.

“I—I have to go. I have to—go.”

She practically knocks the door down trying to get away. I sit and think in her house, trying to figure out what it means. Something. What can an [Emperor] do? What could my skills do? Is it even practical? How can I get home?

Someday, I want to go home. Even if Durene is here, I…

I need to find my family again.

When the door opens again, Durene comes in silent, but no longer panicking. She avoids the topic of my class and I do too, at least for a bit.

“You have a nice home, Durene. But I’d love to visit a town someday, or a city.”

She hesitates.

“I—I want to, too. But it’s tricky…”

I don’t ask why. Instead I just nod.

“You’ve said there are other continents in this world, filled with all kinds of different species.”

“…Yes.”

“Where are we? What continent are we on?”

“Izril. We’re on Izril.”

“Huh. Sounds almost familiar.”

3.01 E

Day 13

I am an [Emperor]. That is fact.

But I don’t know what it means. After an entire day of speculation and worry, Durene has no more answers for me. Myself, I’m just content to find out.

I guess it’s because of my class that Durene is freaking out so much. To me, it’s just a title that doesn’t mean much; something that happened to me because I tried something new. But to Durene, that class automatically makes me royalty.

No—isn’t an [Emperor] even higher in status than a [King]? A king might rule by virtue of lineage, but an emperor could in theory rule over multiple countries, and thus kings.

Huh.

Wow.

I guess it’s a huge deal, but again, I’m only Level 1, and all I have is one odd skill. When I told Durene, she said she couldn’t see anything like an aura about me, but Skills don’t work all the time necessarily. Some, like her [Enhanced Strength] skill are essentially permanent passive changes, but others have to be used.

As far as I can tell, there’s no word or catchphrase that activates [Aura of the Emperor]. Believe me, I tried and probably looked quite silly doing so. Whatever it is, the skill, like my class, is a mystery that will have to wait.

I sigh as I carefully walk across the dirt forest path near Durene’s house. It’s been a while since I’ve been by myself, and to be honest, I needed this break. My lovely host has been fussing over me all day, and she didn’t even want to let me go out on my own.

That was an argument she was never going to win. Her concern is touching, but I’m hardly a quadriplegic; I need to stretch my legs and I hate being chaperoned all of the time. It’s fairly easy to keep track of the dirt path, and I’m hardly about to wander off that far. Durene showed me the route, and I have it memorized.

“What a mess.”

It really is. I’ve gotten used to living in this world thanks to Durene, but now a bunch of questions are circling around in my head. How can I get back home? Is it even possible?

Durene is convinced that whatever happened to me was the result of magic. I tend to agree, but if any normal spell could teleport me across worlds, I’ll eat my hat. No, something big happened that dragged me here, and I need to find out what.

And I won’t be able to do that in Riverfarm. I need to go out into the world. A lone, blind guy in a world full of monsters and magic.

That would be my death. But it’s different for an [Emperor], isn’t it? What’s the difference between a blind man and a blind [Emperor]?

Maybe everything. Because one of them is an [Emperor].

Norton I of America. Do you know why I loved his story? Because he was the Emperor of the United States in his head, and nothing could take that away from him.

Being blind sometimes sucks. For me it’s normal, but there are days when I grow frustrated. Frustrated because other people can do things so effortlessly that I struggle to do. I’ll never catch a ball, or drive, or even paint. I can’t experience some of the things people talk about.

It’s a bit unfair. And when I was young, I hated the way I was treated. Sometimes, yes, sometimes, I felt like less of a person because people thought of me that way. Here’s a blind kid. He can’t appreciate this, or do that. He’s different. Not the same.

But I am blind. I have my own worth, regardless of whether people acknowledge that.

I stop walking. Here I am, in a forest I can’t see. In a world totally different from my own. Some might say that it’s not that different for someone who can’t see, but I can sense the difference in every step I take. I feel the same wonder when I hear a new bird’s call, or touch Durene’s hands and know that she is different.

I am an [Emperor]. No one can take that from me. I may have gotten that class easily—just by declaring myself so. But I believed in it, even so. I believed. When you are blind, sometimes the world is uncertain. I have to trust when I get up and walk around my house that everything is the way I left it.

I trust the things I touch with my cane, just like a seeing person trusts their eyes. But I am prepared for the times when I miss a branch or something with my cane and walk right into a shrub. I am ready, in short, to walk off a cliff some days because I can’t ever be 100% certain something is right in front of me. But I have to believe I’ll step onto solid ground.

So believe this: I am an [Emperor]. I should start acting like one rather than worrying about what it means.

What should I do, then? What would an [Emperor] do? I think for a while as I continue my slow amble through the forest.

“I am an [Emperor]. Ergo, everything I want to do is what an [Emperor] would do. There are no wrong choices.”

But are there even more right ones? I remember studying Charlemagne’s history. The man was an imperialist; as far as I can recall he was more or less personally involved in wars of conquest. And yet, he also instituted huge reforms across his empire.

So did Norton, at least in theory. He wanted to abolish Congress to safeguard his empire, and rumors have it that he actually stood in front of a mob to protect Chinese immigrants during race riots. Regardless of whether that’s historically true or not, an [Emperor] has a duty to his empire and those he rules over. He keeps them safe, protects them; makes them better.

I would like to do the same for Durene. If she is my one subject, then what can I do for her? I walk and think, and only stop when I notice Durene not-so-subtly trying to shadow me in the forest. She really can’t hide at all. But she does care, which is why I like her.

I do like her a lot. I just wish she’d tell me everything.

Day 14

What would any good [Emperor] do? What would any sensible person do when finding themselves in another world, much less a game world? Today I asked Durene countless questions about Riverfarm and the world. I’d asked her a lot before, but today I compiled it all together in my head.

“So you’ve never really gone further than a few miles outside of the village?”

“No. Never.”

Durene and I sit together, sipping from some home-brewed mint tea. It’s quite strong since we’re using actual mint steeped in hot water. It’s a shame we can’t add some honey or sugar, but Durene has neither.

She’s not rich. That much is clear, although I have to dance around the topic a bit.

“So you earn a few coins from selling your crops and animals now and then. But you’ve never gone with the trading cart to town?”

“No.”

She shifts in her seat and slurps from her tea. She’s uncomfortable. I sigh.

“You know, Durene. I don’t really care if you’re a bit different from other people. You’re a nice young woman; regardless of who you are, I won’t judge you.”

Silence. Then, her deep voice quavers.

“Do you—? Did someone—?”

“No. But I am smart enough to know you’re hiding something. But I won’t ask until you’re ready. I do hope you know you can trust me, though.”

“I do. I do! It’s just—”

It sounds like she’s on the verge of tears. I reach out and touch her mug instead of her fingers. Durene laughs as I make a face and find her huge hand.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Now, tell me. What’s it like living here? Do you ever see any monsters?”

“Well…”

Monsters. I can’t even imagine what one of them would be like. According to Durene, they’re not that bad around here. Goblins are the only real nuisance, and the village immediately sends for adventurers to root them out if they’re spotted nearby.

But—yeah, there is a huge difference in the amount of danger people in this world have to live with. I might worry about bears in parts of the world, or muggers, or war, but never horrible little green creatures with teeth like knives.

God, they sound creepy.

“It’s bad when Goblins come. Everyone has to give money to raise a bounty on them, but it always takes the adventurers a few weeks to arrive, and I don’t know what we’d do if a Goblin Chieftain ever showed up.”

Goblins are apparently a bigger threat in the north part of Izril than they are the south. It’s about population density, or so I’m guessing. Humans occupy more of the north than the south which belongs to Drakes and Gnolls and something called the Antinium. So monsters accordingly spring up more near the north since there’s more to eat. Odd; I would have expected them to be more plentiful in places where Humans are less common, but then, these monsters aren’t prey, but our predators.

Riverfarm isn’t that far north—it’s decently far away from the High Passes—a huge mountain range similar to the Himalayas which divide the continent in two. Apparently the nearest major city is Invrisil; the city of adventurers, so named because they have the largest population of adventurers active and retired on the continent.

“They’ve got Gold-rank teams there. You can even find Named Adventurers passing through sometimes! And they say the markets are filled with magical items and wondrous things, like the parts of dead monsters and rare gems and artifacts.”

Durene’s voice is filled with wonder as she describes the city. I have to confess, the image sways me as well. Of course, the adventurers that Riverfarm can afford are a far cry from those elites.

All of the villagers, including Durene, are frankly poor. Durene is especially poor, but the villagers aren’t exactly rolling in wealth either. They earn a few gold coins every year when the weather is good and the crops are plentiful. At best. During the worst times they’re subsistence farmers, or they’re starving.

“Folks save their coins. Mister Prost saves all his coins for instance; he only spends money when he has to buy new tools or fix his wagon. He’s going to have to buy a new plow horse soon; I help out, but Evera—the horse—is old. And they want to start raising pigs, but that’s an investment, and they could always use more coin to fix up the house…”

“Is anyone rich in your village? The [Blacksmith]?”

“Not really. He doesn’t have that many levels and you know, he’s still a [Farmer] as well. There’s another [Blacksmith] in town that has more levels. Occasionally some people from other villages come by with work, but never for more than a few silver coins at best.”

“It sounds like your village does fairly well for itself.”

“Some years. Last year was okay, but the year before that was hungry. If we have a bad harvest or if winter comes early, it’s very hard. The villagers do their best, but sometimes bad things happen. And ever since they took me in—”

She breaks off. I think I understand this bit. Durene is huge. She’s not necessarily fat; she doesn’t let me touch her, but I know that she can move about with surprising speed, faster than I can. So she’s probably not fat, but she is big. She eats roughly four times what I do every meal, at least.

“I try to help out a lot. But I can only pull and lift stuff. I don’t have any Skills.”

“You said you were a Level 6 [Farmer], didn’t you?”

“Yes. I’m not too low-level for my age—some people are around Level 15, but I didn’t even apprentice and I taught myself so I leveled up slower.”

“What about your father? Your mother? What did they do when you were growing up?”

Durene hesitates. I wait in silence, the empty cup of mint tea in my hands, shedding the last vestiges of warmth. Then her voice mumbles.

“Mom died when I was four. I never met my dad. He’s dead too.”

Day 16

I think Durene is still depressed after our last conversation. We don’t talk much—that is to say, not about important things. I spend most of the time helping Durene finish up her harvesting. Most of her plants are fully grown, and we pull up several pumpkins today.

She wants to get ready for the winter, although it feels perfectly fine to me right now. Then again, I don’t know this world so weather could change a lot quicker around here.

I also sense that Durene is wrestling with something in her head, most likely whether to tell me about her past. It feels like it’s on the tip of her tongue sometimes when she pauses in talking with me.

But not yet. I abide. I’ve learned patience, and in the meantime I can teach Durene some things.

“So, your heart sends blood across the rest of your body. From your head to your toes. So you could lose an arm or a leg if you made sure to stop the blood loss, but your heart is essential.”

Durene scratches at her head.

“But doesn’t the heart get tired? I get tired from walking all day. How can a heart keep beating all the time?”

I grin.

“It’s the strongest muscle in our bodies. And it does get tired. People have heart attacks—times where the heart stops—as they get older. There’s a reason we can’t live forever; our bodies start breaking down as things stop working.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“I don’t know how old people get in this world, but the oldest people from my world are around a hundred years old. Rarely more than that.”

“A hundred? That’s a lot! Old man Schnel died when he was 62, and he was old.”

“Well, some things affect how old you’ll grow. Some of it is just chance or your body, but what you eat, how you live—all of that can affect your health. Like food. Remember what I said about a balanced meal?”

“Um…”

It’s fun teaching Durene the basics of biology, science, and so on. I didn’t really feel like math was that important and her speaking skills are good—she can’t write though, and I can’t help her with that.

No one taught her. But I will. Not everything will be necessarily that practical, but I hope some of it will help. Durene drinks down all of my lessons like a sponge as we harvest and cook. Helping her grow is something that makes me happy. It’s what an [Emperor] would do. What I will do.

Day 17

More harvesting. Apparently, the other villagers are also making their last harvests of the season. They might get one more yield from their crops, but maybe not. We’re storing a lot of Durene’s goods in the cellar.

…I had no idea her house had a cellar, but she has a rather large root cellar outside! That’s one of the things that blows me away; I would have never guessed there was a trapdoor right over there.

Day 19

I leveled up last night! I am now a Level 2 [Emperor]. What triggered the change? Durene has no idea, but I think I know. She’s my subject. Teaching her and tending to this small cottage which I claimed as my own is the same as improving my empire, all of it in fact. It’s all about perception. Perhaps there is a limit to how much exp I’d get this way, but for now I’ll take what I can get.

No idea what the extra level will do for me, though. I haven’t gotten any skills and still haven’t figured out the [Aura of the Emperor] yet.

Hmm…

Day 20

I wake up when I hear the oddest sound. Footsteps; Durene’s. Crunching.

Now, footsteps are generally easy for me. I can tell some people apart by how they walk. There’s a tempo to their pace, and of course weight makes their footsteps sound different too. Durene is clearly distinct.

But what is she stepping on? It can’t be what I think it is.

“Snow?”

It is snow! Apparently the entire world decided to up and change as I slept. Durene tells me the Winter Sprites must have brought snow to the region, which makes me wonder if she doesn’t understand how the weather works.

But no—apparently in this world, weird dancing lights known as Winter Sprites can manipulate the weather. They’re also a bit of a hazard, according to Durene. They’ll throw snow at you if you bother them or play tricks.

That doesn’t quite make sense, but the important thing is clear: it’s winter. And oh boy, it’s cold!

I help Durene strike some sparks into the fireplace of her cottage. She had to run outside for some firewood early in the morning.

“I usually keep a pile inside, but I forgot to this year. The wood’s a bit wet, but I think it’ll light.”

Durene sneezes after she says this. She sounds cold. And there’s an unpleasant amount of chill in her house without a roaring fire in her fireplace. I said her home was cozy, but it’s apparent that Durene could use a better house, like the ones in the village perhaps.

Frustrating. That’s what it is. I help make a thick soup while Durene clears snow, brings in chopped firewood and so on, and we have a hearty meal. But I can’t help but feel like I am a drag now that snow is making it practically impossible for me to find my way around outside.

It takes a while for the fire to start, but once it does we’re warm again. Durene claims she can chop enough wood for the winter and she’s hopeful about food—she says she had a good harvest, but this is living closer to the edge than I’d like. There are no supermarkets here.

At least we have some winter clothes. The villagers sent some clothes up with Prost’s wife, Yesel. She came by around midday, with some coats and other garments for me. Good thing too—I was getting tired of my one set of clothes.

Etiquette demands we offer her something to eat and some of the now wonderfully warm mint tea. I chat with Yesel; she’s quite happy to chatter on with me while Durene listens. It’s very nice, but I sense the way she talks to Durene. And the way she hints to me.

“We’d be happy to put you up in our home for a few days. Just until the first chill goes away. The children could squeeze together in one room I’m sure.”

She’s not even really hinting. She’s flat out telling me she wants me to go back with her into the village. And Durene’s clearly unhappy about it, but she doesn’t want to object.

I sip my tea calmly. What’s the best answer here? Well, clearly: no.

“I’m sorry Miss Yesel, but Durene’s made such a nice place for me—we just got the second cot set up. I’d love to join you for a meal or two later, but for now I feel I should stay here. I’d hate to be out on the road in my condition, you know.”

“Oh yes. I’ve made a good spot for myself, Miss Yesel. And I can get everything Laken needs here—”

“I’m sure you have, Durene.”

Yesel interrupts Durene politely. I get the feeling she’s not actually smiling, but her tone sounds friendly as she reaches out to touch my hand. I jerk and she takes her hand back. I hate it when people touch me without warning me.

“Do excuse me. But I’m sure we could get Durene to pull the wagon if you don’t want to walk. It would only be a few minutes’ trip.”

So polite. So friendly. I can feel the invisible looks she’s giving Durene. My skin prickles, but I smile in her direction.

“Nevertheless, I’d truly hate to take over your rooms. Kids should have a lot of space, and I wouldn’t want to cramp you all.”

Now she’s hesitating. I know for a fact that my poker face is perfect; but she can’t quite tell if I’m innocently being obtuse or refusing her. Now she takes a different tack.

“Well—the Beetrs have also said they’d be delighted if you came over for dinner. And they have an empty room after their daughter sadly passed away last summer. You could join them. What do you think?”

“Mm…well…”

“It would be so much larger than here. I know Durene has done her best, but isn’t this a tiny bit too small for two people?”

“I—I could sleep outside! Or in the root cellar. I’m fine with—”

“I actually like the closeness, in fact.”

This time it’s my turn to interrupt Durene. I smile placidly, although I’m getting more and more annoyed by the second. I can sense Yesel reacting across the table.

“I think I’m fine, I really am, Miss Yesel. Durene is an excellent hostess. She’s helped me out immeasurably and I have every confidence that she will continue to do so.”

Durene’s silent, possibly embarrassed, and Yesel is quiet. Then she speaks to Durene directly.

“Durene? Why don’t you go fetch us some more firewood? I’m sure Mister Laken is feeling quite chilly.”

I bite my lip as Durene rises without a word to do as Yesel says. Mister Laken is feeling fine, thanks. And Durene shouldn’t have to obey someone else’s order in her own home.

But because Yesel is giving us a gift and because I don’t have the full picture—not yet—I listen. Yesel leans forwards to talk to me as I hear Durene moving about outside.

“Durene is a good child, Mister Laken. Sometimes. But we put her out here so she wouldn’t cause trouble if—has she told you what she is?”

“No. I believe she will tell me when she feels comfortable.”

“Yes, but—I think you don’t quite understand what the problem is.”

I raise one eyebrow.

“Problem? I haven’t had a problem with Durene, Miss Yesel. Unless you think otherwise?”

“No…”

She says it, clearly meaning the opposite. I hear a slurp, and then her voice again.

“But some of us in the village—Durene was wonderfully good about taking you in, but she’s not someone that should be kept cooped up with you—with someone like you—all winter. It would be better for everyone if you stayed in the village. We’d love to have you.”

And I’d probably hate it there. I listen to Durene lifting something with a grunt, and then shake my head.

“I have no problems with Durene, Miss Yesel. I will stay here.”

Now frustration enters the other woman’s voice.

“I really don’t think that’s wise. Durene is—”

“—Is Durene. I think that’s what you meant to say, Miss Yesel. Please don’t say anything else. I prefer to let people keep their secrets.”

“But—!”

This has gone on long enough. I stand up.

“Good day, Miss Yesel. Thank you for the clothes.”

There’s not much she can say after that. I practically chase her out, and Durene, covered in snow and bewildered, barely gets to say goodbye.

Okay, maybe it was rude to bundle the woman off so fast, but she was being incredibly rude. I know Durene has a secret, but why wouldn’t they trust her with me? I’ve slept under her roof for over two weeks now without a problem.

It’s cozy and warm in Durene’s cottage after Yesel leaves. I’m perfectly content, and Durene is almost pathetically relieved that I’m staying. She keeps chattering nervously about everything but what that conversation meant.

It occurs to me later what the problem is. I don’t have a problem with Durene, no matter who she really is. But Yesel and the other villagers don’t like that I don’t care.

Not one bit.

Day 22

I’ve just begun to adjust to the new circumstances of freezing weather. It’s impossible for me to really find my way around outside without Durene, but we can still go walking in the snow. Of course, I have to be bundled up like a sausage, but that’s okay.

And it’s not like we lack things to do inside. There’s still so much that no one ever taught Durene—whether because this world doesn’t have any standard of education or because no one taught her specifically, and I enjoy talking with her.

But sometimes we do crave the outside, if only to perform vital tasks. Despite the decent construction, Durene’s outhouse freezes all my bits the moment I try to do my business. That makes everything slower, but she waits patiently for me as I attempt to speed up my natural body processes.

That’s when I hear the laughter, and the malicious voices. Children—the village children—come running up the path towards Durene’s cottage as I sit in the outhouse.

“Freak! Come out, Freak!”

“There she is! Get her!”

It’s like listening to a movie, only I’m sitting in a freezing-cold movie theatre and I don’t have a bag of popcorn. And this is real, so my heart immediately pounds harder when I hear Durene’s voice.

“Ow! Stop!”

What’s happening? I hear paffs, the sound of snow hitting—

Snowballs. Those little bastards are throwing snowballs! From the sounds outside Durene isn’t doing anything, just trying to shield herself. But the children are laughing.

“Get her! She’s a [Witch]!”

“She’s tricking the blind man! Let’s slay the Freak!”

“I’m not! I—ow!”

More laughter, and the sounds of more snowballs being thrown. I fumble with my pants, trying to think of what to do as the situation outside escalates.

Those—there’s a difference between having fun and being malicious little demons. I have to do something. But what?

For a few seconds, I worry about consequences and repercussions. Durene has her own relationship with the villagers. Who am I to interfere with that?

Who am I?

An [Emperor].

Oh.

Of course.

How could I have forgotten? This house is my empire; Durene is my subject. And those annoying little brats are harassing her. I have a duty to her.

I don’t quite kick the outhouse door open, but I do push it out with more force than normal. Frankly, I’d hate to break the door even in my anger. No one wants to have wind and ice flecks blown right at their private parts in the midst of an intimate moment.

The laughter cuts off as soon as I step into the snow. I turn in the direction of the kids.

“Hey. You lot. Stop that.”

Not exactly fighting words, but I’m deadly serious. And these are just kids. I hear uncomfortable shifting, and then voices.

“What should we—?”

“He don’t know nothing! He’s blind!”

“Yeah! We gotta chase away the Freak!”

I point in their direction.

“I don’t appreciate bullying. Keep away from Durene. If you little bastards throw snow at her again, there will be consequences.”

For two seconds I think that will work. Then one of the children laughs uncertainly. He jeers at me.

“You can’t do nothing! You can’t see!”

“Yeah! He likes the Freak more than real people!”

“Get him!”

Something flies past my face and I flinch back. Crap. Suddenly all the animosity of the gang of children is transferred at me. A snowball filled with ice bursts against my coat and I wonder what I should do next.

“Stop that!”

Something huge interposes itself between me and the children. I feel Durene protectively shielding me.

“Look! The Freak’s in the way!”

“Get her!”

“Throw these! Eat pinecones, Freak!”

Something bounces off Durene and she yelps. That’s when I lose my temper.

“Enough.”

I push Durene aside and the word comes out of me like a shout. But it’s not quite a shout. It’s…something else.

The rage burning in my chest ignites, and it attaches to the word. It bursts out, and I feel it leave like a physical thing.

What happened? What did I just do?

I hear screams, and then the sound of someone throwing up. Then I hear footsteps, running, confusion, screams—

Then silence.

“Durene? What’s going on?”

I reach out and touch a thick back covered with cloth. I feel Durene’s cold skin shivering, and then she takes my hand with her callused palms.

“Laken? I—I don’t know. You did something just now. The kids—they’ve all run off!”

“I did that?”

I must have. And it must be—

“[Aura of the Emperor]. Durene, tell me what happened.”

We stand in the snow as Durene tries to relate what happened. According to her, it was suddenly as if I shouted and something hit the kids. She felt a presence—and sudden fear. But what I did wasn’t aimed at her, so it was brief.

The children clearly had a more violent reaction. They made tracks. I don’t know what I did, not exactly, but I can guess.

“I was angry. Seriously pissed. I must have used that to scare them. The aura—I might be able to use that in other ways as well.”

I can remember the sensation. It was physical; like sending part of myself out into the world. It was amazing, and terrifying. I’ve never felt like that before, but I’m glad.

Yes, I’m glad I did it. And so is Durene. In her own way!

“You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have! There will be trouble—”

“If there is, we’ll be causing the trouble. Those children had no right to harass you.”

“But that’s just them being…”

“That’s them being intolerant idiots. I won’t let anyone do that again. It stops now.”

How? All I know is that I mean every word as Durene and I dry off. How would I stop those kids, outside of using that skill again?

Fence? Too hard, and they’d just climb over it or get around it somehow. Bear trap? Probably not.

“I suppose we could just bury them in the snow head-first next time they come by. I’ll hold their legs; you dig the hole.”

Durene giggles nervously, and I smile as I tell more jokes to make her laugh. But I can’t help but feel like I’ve started something.

I’m right. Not thirty minutes later, I hear someone approaching. Durene tenses up and she tells me Prost has come by. We invite him in, and he gets to business in a matter of seconds.

“The kids say you did something, Mister Laken. They weren’t hurt none although they’re fair terrified. But we’d like to know what happened.”

“Oh, you know, Mister Prost. I heard them throwing snowballs and pine cones at Durene and had a word with them. We can’t have children going around attacking people, can we?”

“No, I suppose not. Still, that was a bit of a thing to do over a little thing like that, wasn’t it? I’m sure the children didn’t mean nothing by it. They tease Durene, but there’s nothing in it.”

I keep my voice light and friendly, like a calm before the storm.

“I’m sure you’re right, Mister Prost. I’m sure they didn’t meant anything by the snowballs. Or the name calling.”

He shifts, and I hear Durene swallow.

“Mister Laken, you seem like a nice enough young man. But there’s something you don’t know about Durene.”

“So I’ve been told by you, the children, and your wife. I thought I made it quite clear that I don’t care.”

“Nevertheless, sir. Durene’s different.”

“Mister Prost—!”

I can almost feel Durene shrinking back. And now I’m even angrier than I was at the kids.

“Stop that. Yes, you, Mister Prost. Durene has been nothing but friendly to me since I arrived here. Your children on the other hand attacked her, and then me.”

“I know that sir, and I’ll make sure they remember it. They won’t be walking straight, you have my promise. But Durene—”

“What is your problem with her?”

I snap. I can’t help it.

“Durene is different. I get that. But what does that matter? She’s a friend. My friend. If she has a secret, she will tell me herself. Now, I think it’s time you leave.”

Prost hesitates, but he doesn’t get up.

“You might think Durene is fine, but you don’t see her like we do. Now, Durene, you’re a good enough girl, but—”

I stand up.

“Enough. I think you should leave, Mister Prost. Now.”

The other man stands up. He’s angry, now.

“You don’t understand the situation, Mister Laken. Durene’s our village’s problem, and she was easy enough to manage before this.”

“I—”

I’d almost forgotten Durene was in the room. She sounds like a mouse—a big one—as she tries to speak.

“I’m not doing anything! I just want to help Laken!”

The other man’s voice is flat as he replies.

“You don’t belong with our kind. You help—but we keep you away for a reason. Remember your father? If his kind came back or you lost control—you’re not like us, Durene. And Mister Laken doesn’t know that!”

“He likes me! He doesn’t care! Why is that so bad?”

For once Durene is arguing back. I don’t respond and let her raise her voice. But now Prost is shouting.

“Don’t you raise your voice to me! Who do you think took you in, fed you? We risked our necks for you!”

“You only did that because my mother asked you to! And you gave me scraps! I had to sleep in the barn with the other animals! I never—never ate with you all! And now you’re trying to take away my only friend!”

Now it comes out. Durene’s voice is filled with emotion, and I can hear her hands cracking the wood of her table as she grips it. There’s a crack, and I feel the table I’m sitting at break.

Prost knocks over his chair and retreats to the door. Durene’s on her feet—not advancing—but I get up before anyone can act.

“That’s enough. Prost, it’s time for you to go. I’m staying here with Durene, and nothing you tell me is going to change that.”

“But you don’t understand!”

It sounds like Prost is nearly tearing out his hair—if he has any—in frustration. But he’s afraid of Durene as well, I can tell.

Durene’s voice is cold.

“If that’s what Laken says, he stays. I’ll take care of him here. Now, you’ve gotta leave, Mister Prost. This is my house, and you’re not welcome here any longer.”

She advances, and I hear the man rush out the door. I follow Durene out, and hear Prost’s voice. He’s far away from us but shouting.

“Do you know what she is!? She’s a monster! A freak!”

My pulse is boiling in my veins. I glare in his direction.

“I don’t care. Go away and stop bothering us!”

“You don’t know anything, boy! She’s tricking you by acting friendly, but her kind can’t be trusted! She’s a monster. She’s not Human she’s a—”

“A Troll!”

The word doesn’t come from Prost’s mouth. It comes from Durene, a shout. My heart skips a beat, and then I hear her shouting.

“Troll! There! I said it! Troll, Troll, Troll!”

Her voice is huge. Huge and deep, and it’s so loud I swear snow is falling from the trees. She screams at Prost, leaving the man speechless.

“Why can’t you let me have this? Why did you have to tell him? What harm would it have done if I—”

Durene is crying, sobbing as she shouts as loudly as she can. She rails against Prost, cursing him. I hear an impact and sense she’s fallen to her knees. In the next silence I listen and hear distant crunching in the snow.

“He’s running.”

Coward. My heart is beating too fast, and I feel something clenching at it. I’m furious, but right now Durene is more important.

Slowly, I step forwards towards her, reaching my hand out. I touch her—and her rough skin slides under my fingertips. She makes no move; only sobbing as I slowly touch her.

Arm. Rough arm, practically bursting the seams of her clumsily-sewn clothing. And then up to her shoulder, twice as broad as mine. Her muscle is as dense as a rock, and her skin feels like an elephant’s hide.

Then her neck, her head. It’s like a Human’s but big enough for her body. Her nose is…wide, and she has eyebrows. And hair. Long and coarser than Human hair, but not by much.

That’s the secret. That’s what she feared. Her terrible, meaningless, sad secret. But she told one lie, and as I touch her face, I know. I see everything.

I murmur the words into the snow as I touch her tears.

“Half-Troll.”

[Emperor Level 4!]

[Skill – King’s Bounty obtained!]

Day 23

Troll. What do you think of when you hear that word? I’m told that movies have wonderful images of Trolls, but I have obviously never seen them.

So I can only work off the descriptions of Trolls I’ve read in stories. When I first read The Hobbit, my notion of Trolls were these slightly bigger-than-average Humans with cockney accents and weird names. One of them was called Bert, for goodness sake!

But then I listened to The Lord of the Rings movie, and my idea of Trolls was different. The idea of some massive, grey humanoid creature that roared and swung a club around fixed itself in my head. Even when I read the descriptions of green Trolls with noxious odors, the image of the Troll with stone-like skin and savage, dimwitted rage stayed with me.

That is not Durene. So when I listened to her, I threw away all the notions and preconceptions I had about Trolls. All of them. I put the stories I’d heard in a box and tossed it out, because she deserves to tell me who she is rather than have me judge her before I know her.

And I do know Durene. She isn’t violent. She isn’t angry. And from what she tells me, neither are Trolls.

“I didn’t know my father. He was—he was a wandering Troll, and I think he met my mom during the Spring. He was hungry and she was living by herself and—”

Trolls are monsters. Everyone considers them as such, apparently. They don’t have a civilization like Drakes or Gnolls, but they are smarter than your average monster. Smart as a Goblin, which might not be saying much. I don’t know. But not all Trolls are violent.

“He must not have been hungry, because he didn’t eat my mom. Not all Trolls eat…people.”

We sit together in Durene’s home as she tells me everything. The fire crackles, but aside from that, everything else is quiet. I sit silently at her broken table, listening as Durene’s low voice speaks into the silence.

She’s done crying. All the grief and fear of last night is gone, and now the truth comes out of her. All the things she wanted to tell me, spilling out. I can feel the fear in her voice, that I’ll judge her, run from her. Fear her. I listen to it all in silence.

“Mom was living alone, away from the others. She’d been married—I think she’d had a husband before, and another kid. But she lost both so she had a small farm by herself. And Dad was hungry, so she found him in her fields. And I guess she must have liked him, or gotten to know him somehow, because a few weeks later she was pregnant.”

“That’s how they met?”

Durene shifts.

“I don’t know. Mom never said, and the villagers just said that Miss Yesel came up one day and found her pregnant and alone. And Troll tracks nearby. I think that’s how it happened. I hope it is. Otherwise…”

Otherwise, her mother was attacked by a Troll. And Durene will never know which is true, because her mother is dead and none of the other villagers were there. But they speculated, and Durene probably grew up hearing that speculation.

“Anyways, they let Mom stay, but an adventurer heard about a Troll and came to kill it. He—he did. And afterwards, he wanted to kill me too, but Mom wouldn’t let him.”

“Did she raise you alone?”

“She tried. But after I was born she was so weak because I was too big—and she never fully got better. She died when I was four. After that, the village took me in, but I didn’t really have a home.”

Sleeping in a barn. Fed scraps. I can only imagine what it was like.

“When I was bigger, I made my home here, where Mom used to live. I’ve been living here since, and the villagers only call me when they need help. I was alone, and I’d hide every time adventurers came by. I hid from other people too, in case they thought I was dangerous. Until I met you.”

I get it. The crying in the woods, the hope that I wouldn’t immediately judge her, the villagers wanting to separate me from the potentially dangerous half-monster.

It all makes sense. It’s such a predictable story in some ways.

And it’s such crap. Durene doesn’t deserve any of this.

I choose my words carefully in the silence after Durene’s confession. I really don’t know what to say, but I know what not to say.

“Durene. I’m sorry all of this has happened to you. But it doesn’t change anything for me.”

She gulps.

“Laken. I—I’m sorry I lied.”

“That’s okay.”

“No. It’s not. I should have told you. And you don’t have to—to say nice things. You can leave. I’ll bring you into the village and apologize.”

“Why would I do that?”

Pause.

“What?”

“I’m staying here. With you.”

“But—”

“You being half-Troll doesn’t change anything. I told you that, remember? I got to know you, and that means I won’t run away just because you’re not Human.”

“I—you don’t understand. I’m half Troll. Adventurers would kill me on sight. If I were in a town or a city I’d probably have a bounty put on my head!”

“Probably. But that doesn’t mean I’ll go. It’s okay, Durene.”

“No! Stop being so nice!”

“Durene, calm down. I’m not upset.”

“I know! But—it’s not nothing! Stop being so nice to me! What I am—I’m not Human! I’m not normal! Don’t pretend you don’t care!”

“I care. But I know you.”

“No you don’t. You can’t see—you’d never trust me if you could see.”

“That’s what the villagers have told you. But they’re wrong. They look at you and see a monster but they are wrong. They. Are. Wrong. Do you understand that, Durene?”

“…I can’t. No.”

“Durene? Where are you going? Durene? Durene!”

I’m on my feet as the door slams open. The cold winds of winter rush in, and I hear massive footsteps thumping away. I run after her, shouting.

“Durene!”

Only after I’m outside does it occur to me that maybe I should have given Durene more space. She’s right; I was treating this like nothing. I should have shown more of the surprise swirling inside of me.

But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and I still meant what I said. How could a girl that nice and caring be a monster?

And now I’m running through the snow, without my cane. I slow the instant I realize that.

Oh shit. The snow is deep around me, I can’t see, and there is nothing like a path that I can follow.

I’m lost.

For a few seconds I just turn, trying to look for my tracks in the snow. But I can’t find them. I shout for Durene, but she’s not coming back. I’m by myself, and I can already feel the cold piercing my clothing.

This is probably a blind person’s worst fear. Without any tools I can barely find my way around, and without people or landmarks in this freezing weather—I’m so dead.

I start walking forwards, trying to feel for anything that reminds me of Durene’s cottage. I don’t have a choice. Either I could stay and hope Durene comes back—and she could be gone for hours—or I try to return to the cottage.

I only ran a little bit outside. But that distance could be miles as far as I’m concerned. This damn snow! It’s falling from the skies and making everything unfamiliar. Even my tracks—I try to kick up as much snow so I can find my way back.

Okay. Let’s go…ten steps this way. No? I feel nothing familiar, so I try to retrace my steps. I find my tracks and get back to roughly where I thought I was before. Now this way. No?

…Where did my tracks go? I spin around, confused. The snow—it’s too thick! I bend down, but my hands feel only the same level of snow around me. It’s as if I never started walking in the first place.

Oh no. I’m starting to panic. I stumble forwards, feeling my way ahead.

Gah! Damn it, I just ran into a tree. That’s bad. I’m in the forest. I try to turn back, but I’m not 100% sure I’m not going further into the forest.

Another tree. And now I’m trying to listen for anything that can help me find my way to Durene’s cottage.

I might die out here. I take a deep breath.

“Durene! I’m lost out here! Can yo—”

I trip. My world shifts and I hit the ground hard. Something just caught my foot! Not a tree root—

I scramble back towards whatever it was in the snow. I’m praying that I tripped over one of Durene’s plants and I’m in her garden.

It’s not a plant. It’s not anything like a plant. Instead, as my aching foot could attest, the object is heavy and partially buried in the ground. I feel at it.

Not a rock…the outside is rough and coarse. A bag? Yes! I can feel the opening here, and two drawstrings. Curious now, despite the cold, I undo the strings.

Is this some kind of bag of fertilizer? But no, why would that…

Hold on. My fingers encounter something hard in the bag and jerk away. I touch again. Something clinks as I shift it.

Round, hard, circular objects. Lots of them. I feel them, lifting one up and dropping it.

“What the hell…?”

Clink. Clink.

There’s only one thing that makes that kind of beguiling, attractive sound. And the weight of it! I pull at the bag, but I can’t even get it to shift in the frozen ground.

Is this what I think it is? Really?

“Laken! LAKEN!”

I hear someone shouting my name in the distance. Immediately I stand up and bellow back.

“Durene? Over here!”

Immediately, I hear crashing through the woods. Branches splinter off Durene as she crashes towards my location, showering me with snow. I splutter and then feel two arms around me.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you were out here!”

“It’s okay! Durene! You’re squishing me!”

Immediately she lets go. I gasp for air—I’d heard of a bear hug, but this is the first time I actually felt someone literally squashing me.

“Sorry!”

“It’s okay. I’m really glad you found me. Durene, I’m sorry.”

“No, I—”

I grasp her arm. She falls silent, and I do too. For a few seconds, I just listen to my heart beating, and hear snow softly falling in the background. Durene’s skin is rough under my palms. Rough, but not unpleasant.

“This is the first time I’ve really touched you, you know.”

“Really?”

“Really. You’ve helped me along, but I normally grab your clothes.”

And she never let me touch her before that. I feel Durene gulp as I hold her.

“Oh.”

We stand like that in silence for a little while. Then I feel the chill seeping into my bones.

“I guess we should go back.”

“Right! Let me carry you.”

Durene wants to lift me up, but I shake my head.

“I found something in the ground. Can you pull it up?”

“In the ground? Where?”

It takes me a few seconds to find it. Durene covered it when she ran over. But when I show Durene she lifts it up. It sounds like she’s uprooting a huge amount of soil and I cover my face as some of it flies at me.

“What’s this bag? I’ve never—oh.”

Her voice goes silent all of a sudden. I feel around, and then find the bag in her hands. I reach into the open top and pick out two of the heavy little circular things within.

“Hey Durene. Would you mind telling me what you see? I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but…”

I tap the round object against the second one and hear that delightful chime of metal on metal. Each coin is heavy, and as I weigh them in my hand I notice the rough, smooth stones in the sack as well. Well, well, well.

“I could be wrong, but I hope I’m not. Because unless I’m very much mistaken, this is a gold coin. And this would be buried treasure.”

I’m remarkably calm about that bit. That is, until we get back to the cottage and start counting.

“It’s all gold!”

Durene exclaims as I place another coin on the careful stack of five on the table. I have to move carefully so as not to knock over my stacks, but with Durene’s help we’ve tallied the contents of the mysterious sack at last.

“One hundred and forty one gold coins and eight gemstones.”

I sit back in my chair and reach for the mug of tea. Durene pushes it into my hands and I savor the warmth. I still feel a bit cold after my little exploration outside.

“It’s a fortune. A huge fortune! Where did it come from?”

“I have my suspicions.”

I can sense Durene’s curiosity. I smile. The treasure I found managed to calm Durene down. She forgot about her woes to bask in the radiance of gold. Myself, I can’t see the appeal. It’s just heavy metal to me, but I’m told it’s quite valuable.

And in this case, it’s literally more money than Durene has ever seen in her life. By her estimates, I could literally buy Riverfarm six times over. At least. She has no idea where the money came from, and I tend to doubt that someone would just leave a fortune in the ground like that. But there might be another explanation for my good fortunes.

“[King’s Bounty]. It has to be my Skill.”

It tickles my sense of humor a bit that I got a skill probably meant for [Kings]. I didn’t really have time to even wonder what it meant, but this is a pretty good sign of what the Skill does.

“You mean you got money because of a Skill?”

“Perhaps. It might be that I can’t be poor if I have [King’s Bounty] as a Skill. You know, like how a [King] should never be poor? Haven’t you heard of something like that happening before?”

“No. Never! But—I have heard of [Treasure Hunters] that can find buried treasure. But why would an [Emperor] have that skill?”

“Perhaps because any ruler should have money? Doesn’t it make sense that the Skill would be doing this?”

“Yes, but Skills aren’t normally this powerful! Not at early levels!”

“Right. You mentioned that. Normally people received weaker skills the lower level they are. Only when they’re above Level 30 do the skills become powerful, right? But maybe this is a crummy skill for an [Emperor] by comparison.”

“I can’t believe it. I can’t.”

“It’s certainly useful, although I wonder how we’ll spend it. There’s not exactly a lot of shops around here.”

“We?”

“I told you Durene, I’m staying with you. And you helped me dig this thing up. Without you, I would have frozen out there in a few more minutes.”

“But—”

“Durene.”

I reach out and touch her. This time I get one of her sides. She freezes, but I trace my hands upwards. I find her face, and feel her trembling.

“Durene. I’m going nowhere. And I don’t care if you’re half-Troll or half-Goblin or half-Frog. You are who you are, and I like you for that. You can run, and I might not be able to follow you in the snow, but when you come back, I’ll be waiting. So why not just stay?”

I feel silly, and I’m sure what I said didn’t make too much sense. But Durene trembles, and I feel wetness at my fingers.

“I don’t know what to do. I want you to stay, Laken. I do. But what if—what will the others say?”

“What they say is their business. Not yours. I’m asking you if I can stay here, Durene.”

“Yes. Please.”

“Then that’s settled, then.”

“But you and I. I don’t know what I should—I must be so strange to you.”

“Only a bit. But that’s because I don’t know you just yet. I know a lot but…Durene. Will you let me touch you? I can’t see, but I want to get to know you.”

“You—what if you hate me?”

“I never would.”

“Then—can I touch you?”

“Of course.”

A rough hand, a finger gently brushes against my face. It feels as light as a feather. I feel at Durene’s face, tracing the contours of her features, trying to understand her in my own way. She touches me, gently, as if she’s never touched another living thing before.

Slowly, I work my way down from her face. Durene shivers, but her touch is just as light. I am curious, and so is she. There’s no words, but I think we understand each other completely in that moment.

No more secrets. No more hidden truths and untrue and unkind words. Just a light touch; an intimate question whispered from one person to another.

And there’s more touching, but I won’t talk too much about that. The snow falls heavily, as inside, Durene and I explore one another. We are who we are. No more.

No less.

Day 24

I feel like I shouldn’t share much of this day either. Let’s just say that today the pile of gold and jewels went nearly completely untouched, until we accidentally knocked the table over. Turns out gold coins hurt when they’re dropped on your body.

Day 25

Mm. More of the same, really. But we talked about the future. We talked, and I made her laugh. As we did before. As I hope to do.

Day 27

A bunch of kids called out for Durene as she and I were having breakfast. They needed help; a roof had collapsed in the village under the weight of the snow and the villagers needed Durene to lift a beam.

I told her not to go. Durene wanted to help. In the end, I waited for her to return. When she did, she was upset.

Tears, hot and wet, fall on my fingertips. Durene’s skin feels a bit like cracked stone as I brush against her cheek. Swords or arrows would have a hard time piercing her skin.

But words? Words cut deepest of all.

“I don’t know what to do. I’m not a monster! But they just think I’m like my father. I don’t know what to do. Laken…”

Neither do I. But I can’t bear to see her crying.

“I can’t do anything. Just lift things. Like an animal. That’s all I do. I can’t build or cook. I can barely grow things—”

“Shh.”

It takes her a long time to get to sleep, but eventually it happens. I sit up, anger and sadness fighting like snakes in my belly. What can I do? What could—

What could I do for her?

And then I have it.

Day 28

“Is it like a [Knight]?”

“Almost. But better. After all, any ordinary monarch can make a [Knight]. But only an [Emperor] can give someone this class.”

Durene shifts next to me. I hold her hand, and feel her quiver.

“I’m not sure I’m a warrior.”

“Are you a [Farmer]?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Then try this. They weren’t always warriors. Culture just interpreted them that way after a while. Before that they were just servants. Great warriors, true, but they served Charlemagne in more ways than just in combat. I think.”

I haven’t actually spent that much time studying the etymology of that class, even though I once played as one in a D&D session. Oh well.

“If you want to be one, I’ll make you one.”

“Just like that? It sounds too easy.”

“It’s not. I’m the only [Emperor] on this continent; only I can choose who is worthy of this class. And of all the people in the world, there’s no one I’d want to be with me more than you, Durene.”

“I—please. I don’t want to just be a [Farmer].”

“Then, kneel.”

I feel her bend down in front of me. I reach out and place my hands on her shoulders.

“I knight you, Durene. I name you as my [Paladin], my foremost champion who will protect and serve me. Will you do this?”

“Yes.”

She whispers it, then says it louder.

“Yes!”

Something changes. Just a bit. I bend down to Durene and give her a kiss. On the forehead, then elsewhere.

“Is that part of being a [Paladin] too?”

I have to laugh.

“It would be a surprise if it was.”

She rises, and I feel something different about her. It’s subtle. But it comes to me as I’m sleeping. Perhaps it’s not confidence; not yet. There’s no marked change in her, no sudden shift. But there is one thing she has now that she never had. And it’s growing slowly, like one of her seeds.

A purpose.

Day 29

“I’m…I’m a [Paladin].”

So Durene says as I wake up. I smile, and hug her, and then she laughs and shouts it.

“I’m a [Paladin]!”

Day 30

A lot can happen in a month. In the weather’s case, the atmosphere changed from a nice, pleasantly warm fall to a blizzard-filled winter almost overnight.

Even now, it seems like the snow won’t stop falling. Twice Durene’s gone out to clear a path. She does it quickly and efficiently—even the deepest snow tends to go flying if she exerts herself.

A lot can change in a month for people as well. A young woman who would run from children and names has turned into someone else. Someone confident enough to chase away the obnoxious little monsters who tell her she has to help out a village full of idiots and bigots. She walks and speaks with something else in her now.

And I, I changed quite a lot as well. For one thing, the young man named Laken Godart suddenly became an [Emperor] and found someone to love. That has to be worth something.

In a small cottage a few miles outside of the village of Riverfarm, I sit. I am the Emperor of the Unseen, Protector of Durene’s House. I have one subject—or should that be consort? She is a half-Troll, a young woman named Durene.

And she is beautiful. She was a [Farmer]; now she is a [Paladin]. And what that means neither of us know. I have a bag of gold, and a village full of fools that can’t accept Durene for who she is.

I have no sight, but I have a dream. A grand one, where Durene and I leave this place that she could never call home. Or maybe we change it. But either way I know we will do it. I am an [Emperor], and for her, I would change the world.

And so we shall.

Together.

3.02 H

Ceria Springwalker stared down at her skeletal hand and for a brief moment, wondered what would happen if she cast [Ice Spike] at point blank range at her face. She’d probably die instantly; in the worst case scenario the shard would lodge in her flesh and brain but fail to kill her.

It was just an idle thought, but she was half-contemplating it. Even horrible mutilation would be preferable to the current situation.

She looked up at the other two members of the Horns of Hammerad sitting around the small fire they’d built. The hazy smoke drifted up, a beacon to any monsters looking for a hot meal. Hopefully none would come; Ceria had tried to camp far enough away from the Ruins of Albez for that, but nasty surprises were always an adventurer’s concern.

Across the fire, Pisces sat on the ground, mumbling quietly to himself as he reviewed his personal spellbook full of notes and spells he was studying. His robes—never too clean at the best of times—were filthy, and he reeked. In fact, he smelled so bad that even Ksmvr, who didn’t really have much of a sense of smell, was sitting far away.

The Antinium had no need of flame. In fact, Ceria thought the fire bothered him a bit. Despite the cold winter weather, the former Prognugator sat with his back to the fire, scanning the landscape. He wasn’t sleeping as he kept watch, but he was so still that he could have been a statue.

Neatly laid out by the Antinium’s side was a shortbow and arrows planted in the ground, ready to be fired. He had one of Erin’s kitchen knives on the ground in front of him, and the enchanted iron shortsword next to it. It was like Ksmvr expected an attack at any moment.

Ceria sighed. Then she stared back at her skeletal hand again. It didn’t hurt. Not anymore. But it felt like it was still covered in flesh, sometimes. But she had to use magic—let it flow into her missing limb—to make it move. And when she touched things, that was the worst. Then she felt as if she could feel something, but it was just her imagination.

The fire coughed and Pisces sneezed into it. Ceria made a face as a wisp of smoke drifted her way. Pisces really did need a bath. She could probably conjure some water out of the air, but it would be a waste of mana. Plus, if she was going to clean him she might as well start with herself.

Ceria wasn’t a stranger to roughing it. She’d spent countless nights outside before she passed her second decade, and she’d gone on countless expeditions with the original Horns of Hammerad, tracking monsters, preparing for dungeon dives, and so on.

But she couldn’t remember camping out ever being this pitiful. Ceria knew that she smelled about half as bad as Pisces, and dried sweat, grime, and unwashed clothing was making her own personal experience unpleasant.

At least they weren’t camping in the snow again. Ceria and Pisces had cleared the ground of the stuff, and it wasn’t snowing like it had last night. Normally Ceria would have liked to camp in a cave, but the Ruins of Albez were part of a natural depression in the ground far from any helpful mountains or hills. The ruined building had sunk into the earth, and so any normal group of adventurers planning to stay in the area for more than one day brought tents.

But they didn’t have any, because they couldn’t afford them. In fact, the Horns of Hammerad hadn’t planned on staying long in any case. They’d brought enough supplies for two days.

This was their eighth night. All of them had yet to eat.

Ceria’s stomach growled and she made a face. Hunger was also something she’d gotten used to when she was young, but she couldn’t ever remember really running out of food in the Horns of Hammerad. For all his temperamental issues, Calruz had been a good soldier and leader in keeping his group fed and outfitted, and Gerial had always left a margin of error when buying gear.

Her heart twinged as she remembered them. Ceria stared back into the fire as Pisces clicked his tongue. Her stomach growled again.

Only—that wasn’t a growl. That was the faint crunch of something in the snow. Ceria instantly looked up and began focusing mana into her skeletal hand. She saw Ksmvr grab his bow and an arrow. Pisces sat in front of the fire, oblivious as he nibbled at a dirty fingernail.

“Pisces.”

Ceria kept her voice low as she hissed at him. Pisces took no notice. Ceria was about to snap at him even if it meant warning whatever was approaching when she heard a voice.

“It’s me, Ceria.”

Instantly, Ceria relaxed. Ksmvr lowered his bow as Yvlon approached. The armored woman walked towards the campfire and tiredly slung a pack to the ground.

“Food and another shovel.”

She tossed the shovel on the ground as well, nearly hitting the fire. Pisces looked up and sniffed at the tool. Then he went back to reading.

Yvlon eyed the mage, and then laboriously sat down. She began trying to take off her silver armor, equally dirty from time spent outdoors. Ceria went to help; she’d helped her fellow adventurers more than once and she knew how it was done.

Ksmvr came over too. He sat respectfully away from everyone else, which was probably for the best.

“Comrade Yvlon. Does our team have permission to reenter the ruins tomorrow?”

Yvlon barely paused at Ksmvr’s odd address. She nodded tiredly.

“That’s what the City Runner said. No team wants to go to the ruins; they’re all busy with local requests or getting ready to enter that dungeon in Liscor.”

“I see. That is optimal.”

Ksmvr nodded several times. Ceria’s face didn’t really smile; her lips just sort of twisted. Yvlon was making the same face.

“Apparently, the [Dangersense] surge we felt came from that dungeon. No word on whether something else happened; mages would have gotten a message if something nasty came out.”

“Still. That’s some danger in there if that’s what happened from just opening the front door.”

Ceria muttered as she helped Yvlon take off the breastplate. The other woman nodded.

“More teams are coming down from the northern cities. Big names. Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers are going to have competition if they don’t clear the dungeon soon.”

“Mm.”

Ceria had too many emotions and feelings about the new dungeon to put into words. Yvlon clearly felt the same way, because she didn’t elaborate. Ceria had just finished helping her take off the last of her armor when she exclaimed in annoyance.

“Pisces! Get your hands out of the food!”

The young man paused as he lifted a sausage out of the bag Yvlon had brought. He sniffed at Ceria.

“I am feeding myself, Springwalker.”

“We’ll make food for everyone in a little bit. Your hands are filthy.”

“I am hungry.”

Yvlon didn’t say anything, but Ceria had to seriously stop herself from blasting Pisces with a spell there and then. She modulated her tone only slightly.

“We all are. But we eat and work together as a team. Put the food back.”

Pisces held her gaze for a second, and then made an irritated sound. He tossed the sausage back at the bag and missed. It landed in the dirt next to the fire.

Yvlon twitched. But she didn’t say anything. Ceria counted to five before she picked the dried sausage up and washed it off. A stream of water flowed from her skeletal fingertip and over the sausage, cleaning the dirt off.

“How far did you have to walk to get to the Runner, Yvlon?”

“Four, five miles? She wouldn’t come any closer.”

“Five miles?”

Ceria ground her teeth. Yvlon only shrugged tiredly.

“Makes you wish Ryoka were in the area, doesn’t it?”

It did. City Runners were notorious for refusing to get near monsters or dangerous areas when delivering resupplies to adventurers—they were useful because they could save a day or more of travel, but they charged high prices and inconvenienced the adventurers who had to go and meet them.

“If I’d known you would have had to walk that far in the snow, I’d have sent Ksmvr with you.”

“Then the Runner would have just run away.”

Pisces unhelpfully interjected this as he stared at the bread and other food Ceria had purchased with their dwindling coin. The half-Elf scowled as she pulled out a block of cheese and stared at it.

“I told them half a block of cheese. Who’s taking down messages in that damn building?”

The custom for adventurers was to use the [Message] spell to send requests for gear, supplies, or even potions to the local Mage’s Guild or similar buildings in cities. Depending on the urgency of the request (which naturally raised the price of the delivery exponentially), the guild would deliver the request to the local Runner’s Guild where someone would hopefully fulfill it.

Really, it was a gamble sometimes. Prices were very high for deliveries, but most City Runners didn’t like to take the risk of getting near a hotspot for monsters anyways. And when they did, they often waited far away from the actual requested delivery site, shining bullseye lanterns to let adventurers know they had to come out to pick up their package. And the cost—

“How much do we have left, Yvlon?”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“Good news.”

“We’ve got one gold coin left.”

Yvlon lifted up the empty money pouch and shook it. Even Pisces looked dismayed at that.

“That’s it? How much did the Runner charge?”

“About average. But we didn’t have that much to begin with, and this was the only way to get the food quickly.”

Ceria ground her teeth as she accepted the money pouch from Yvlon. That was the last of their coin, which meant their future was pretty straightforward.

“We’ve got food for two more days, then. If we can’t find what we’re looking for by then, it’s over.”

Over. Ceria watched her three teammates react differently to the news.

Yvlon had the best reaction. She was a seasoned adventurer and a former Silver-rank team Captain. She just nodded, resigned to the outcome. She didn’t like it clearly; her eyes were tight, but she knew that they had no other choice.

Ksmvr was interesting. He didn’t even look that bothered by the news. He just nodded, and went back to studying the landscape. Didn’t he care? Or did he put all his faith in her decisions? Either way, Ceria would have liked more emotion from him.

And less from Pisces. The young man’s eyebrows snapped together furiously.

“Then what? We just give up?”

“If we have to. We don’t have the coin to keep searching, Pisces.”

“Then what do we do, Springwalker? Do we go back and start taking other requests?”

“Maybe. If we have to. Unless you’ve got another idea?”

Pisces stared at her. He was grumpy, tired, and hungry. In short, he had the exact same mood as everyone else in the group. But he was also annoying, and he never hesitated to make his opinions clear.

“I don’t know if I would wish to continue my association with this group afterwards. I have as of late begun to question the merits of lending my services to this team.”

Yvlon frowned, probably trying to decode Pisces’ comment, and then out of genuine anger. Ceria didn’t rise to the bait. She just nodded.

“Fine. You want to quit? Do it after tomorrow.”

Pisces hesitated.

“Our searching would be much improved if you took my opinions.”

“We tried that. Didn’t work.”

Ceria pulled a knife out of its sheathe at her side. She began slicing the sausage into chunks and getting a meal ready. Ksmvr came over to help her as Pisces scowled and kept talking.

“One mistake hardly disqualifies my methods. We might have found the secret rooms by now if—”

“We didn’t. And we’ve checked a lot of damn places. Drop it, Pisces.”

“I came here under the assumption that we would find—”

“So did we all.”

Yvlon interrupted. She stared hard at Pisces. It was the first time in a while that Ceria remembered the other woman taking an active stance. But even her patience had limits. She glared at Pisces, but the other mage was hardly impressed.

“We all took a risk on this expedition, Pisces. If it fails, it’s no one’s fault. We just had bad luck.”

“Inefficiency, perhaps.”

“You think you could do better than a group of four?”

“If I had undead—”

Yvlon’s brows drew together. Ceria interrupted as she finished squishing some of the cheese into the hard shell of the bread with the sausage.

“If you did, the local Watch would have shot you full of arrows at Esthelm. And even if you got them here, those Shield Spiders would have eaten your leg before your shambling zombies got close enough to pull you out of their nest.”

Ceria glared at Pisces. She was tired of his constant complaints. It hadn’t been bad at first; he hadn’t been annoyed until around day four. But then, it had been another burden to bear. But this last day he had been incessant.

The half-Elf and unhappy Captain of the Horns of Hammerad rubbed at her forehead, searching for a moderately diplomatic response.

“We’re all tired. We’re all frustrated. But only you keep complaining. Why don’t you keep quiet for a while, Pisces?”

Even Ksmvr nodded. He carefully handed the sandwich he’d made to Yvlon. The human woman hesitated, but accepted it reluctantly. She eyed the sandwich and paused for a good few seconds before biting it. Ceria saw Yvlon glance at Ksmvr, but the Antinium didn’t seem to notice.

“Ksmvr. Do you want another sandwich?”

“I will have just cheese on mine if that is acceptable.”

“Fine.”

The Antinium immediately loaded up his sandwich with a double-helping of cheese. Ceria, taking his example, added twice as much meat to hers instead of cheese. Ever since the Antinium had gotten past his allergy to gluten thanks to the magical charm, he’d been eating cheese sandwiches almost exclusively.

Pisces hadn’t made a sandwich yet. Ceria began assembling one, even though she privately would have rather made him do it. But then he might eat more than they could afford for the night, so she did it anyways. Pisces observed her working and commented with an acerbic tone as she was nearly done.

“Just so you know, I would never animate zombies to begin with. They are an inefficient use of mana, unless used as immediate shields. Ghouls or skeletons would be—”

“Dead gods, Pisces! Shut up! Just eat and we’ll talk about this tomorrow, alright?”

Her fragile temper snapped. Ceria hurled the sandwich she’d made at Pisces. He stopped the flying food in the air with a hand and an affronted look. But he did shut up.

The food was cold, somewhat hard to chew, and could have benefited from some time near the fire. But all four adventurers were so hungry that they scarfed down the food in seconds. Ceria could have used a second helping, but she knew that was all they could afford to eat.

After that, they just sat around. Miserable. It really was miserable. Everyone stank a bit, but no one wanted to wash in this freezing weather. They were tired and uncomfortable, but at least they’d had something to eat.

It wasn’t so much a spoken word, but sheer exhaustion that made all four begin grabbing their blankets. Ceria shivered even when she wrapped the cold, rough fabric around herself. She moved closer to the fire and saw that Yvlon and Pisces had done the same.

No one talked. Ksmvr neatly unpacked his blanket and then paused. He looked around at the other three, two humans and one half-Elf.

“It appeared that our preparations were decently sound. And our objective had much merit. Our approach was correct, and we have taken many optimal approaches. Yet we have thus far failed to achieve our goals. What went wrong?”

No one had an answer to that. They curled up in their blankets or in Ksmvr’s case, sat with it draped around his body. It was a cold night.

----

The next day dawned cold and early. Ceria woke up shivering in her blankets. She should have used an ice resistance spell she reflected, but she needed to conserve mana. Plus…she’d never really studied those in Wistram. Ironic, really.

Yvlon rolled out of her bedding at around the same time Ceria got up, and Ksmvr was already awake, if he’d ever slept. Only Pisces snoozed on, incredibly ignoring the cold weather, which suited the others just fine.

“Hot porridge. No spices, no fruits.”

Yvlon handed Ceria a bowl. The half-Elf warmed her good hand as she held the food and shrugged.

“I’ve had worse. Want to look over the map as we eat?”

The young Human woman made an unhappy face.

“I guess so.”

Ceria dreaded looking at the map too, to be honest. It was like staring at a piece of pie held just out of reach. Everything looked perfectly simple at first glance.

See the treasure? See the secret rooms? There’s the treasure. But finding it—

“Okay, we tried digging around the ruined dome building yesterday, but there’s nothing that even remotely resembles the other structures on the map. So we have to assume that area’s lost or completely buried.”

Ceria pointed to a section of the map where a familiar dome-like structure was connected to what she could only see as a secret room. Yvlon nodded as she and Ksmvr stood around the map, staring hard at the places Ceria had marked.

“We have attempted numerous times to visit the second secret location in vain. It may be this section was also already claimed by previous searchers.”

Here was the problem: they had a map. And it was a good one; it showed Albez as it had been, a sprawling city complete with the secret passages and rooms that surely contained treasure. But the map did not reflect current reality.

The three Horns of Hammerad stood on a small bluff overlooking the ruins. Unlike the tidy map of the city, the ruins were, well, a mess.

Dead soil and dried-up vegetation was the landscape that made up Albez’s tomb. But the city itself had not fallen to magic or sword as far as Ceria could tell. It had simply…disappeared into the earth.

Maybe a mudslide had covered it. Or an earthquake had engulfed the city. But it had sunk below the earth, becoming covered by time and dirt until some expedition had uncovered it. Since then, the entire area had turned into a basin filled with half-buried walls and lovely pitfalls that connected a subterranean landscape with the rest of the world. And after all these many hundreds, thousands of years, everything had changed.

Parts of the ruins had shifted in the earth, somehow. Entire passages had moved out of place, and some of the buildings on Ceria’s map were in the wrong places. Worse, some were in the right place as far as she could tell, which made searching even more confusing.

“We know the passage here leads to a secret room. But if we follow it, we get nothing. Just rubble and dirt. We might be able to find the room if we had a team of [Diggers] and [Miners], but we don’t.”

Ceria crossed out another potential treasure site with a bit of charcoal on the map. She eyed the remaining spots they’d pinpointed nearly a week ago. Honestly, it felt like a lifetime. All that hope they’d had had quickly dissipated as they’d gone from spot to spot, digging in the crumbling soil for traces of something they’d never found.

Yvlon squinted at a ragged piece of blue cloth tied to a wooden pole. She pointed.

“We found that marker right around the room marked here. See? I think someone must have claimed that spot.”

That was probably true. Ceria nodded glumly. Searchers often marked their finds with flags or magical signs only they could read in case they’d stumbled onto part of a larger haul.

Ksmvr looked confused. At least, Ceria assumed he was confused. He certainly sounded like it.

“How would someone locate a secret room without a map such as this? Or have other groups obtained similar information sources?”

“Not necessarily. They might have had a [Treasure Hunter]. It’s a rare class, but a high-level one might have had a skill that located a major haul.”

“Are we to assume all the places here have been looted, then?”

Both Ceria and Yvlon shook their heads instantly. If that was the case, they wouldn’t have risked so much on this.

“Even someone with Skills can’t find everything. Especially if the places are guarded. We’ve just been unlucky, or hitting places already searched. We need to go somewhere else today.”

“How about over here? There’s several rooms that belonged to some sort of complex. And a passage here and here…worth a shot?”

Studying the places Yvlon had pointed to, Ceria had to agree that it looked like there was a secret passage over there as well. She nodded.

“I think that spot matches that depression over to the east, don’t you? We’ll head for that after Pisces wakes up, then.”

It took a few kicks for the mage to wake up. He was grumpy when he found only a bit of porridge was left for his breakfast, and even unhappier when he found they’d decided on the next place to search without him.

“I thought adventurers considered all opinions and made informed decisions, rather than rashly coming to conclusion without all input.”

“We’d do that if you woke up earlier. If you’ve got a more likely spot to search, find it.”

He couldn’t, which only made Pisces more grumpy. The Horns of Hammerad struck camp and began cautiously picking their way across the snowy ground towards the ruins, letting Ksmvr take point.

Even as they were moving across the ruins, the group moved slowly, keeping an eye out for anything moving in the snow or strange sounds. Monsters were common around magical sites and the ruins were a known dangerous spot.

However, aside from a nasty run in with a small nest of Shield Spiders, the Horns of Hammerad hadn’t run into many monsters. That bothered Ceria. She didn’t like not having trouble, especially here.

The Horns of Hammerad under Calruz had gone on four different occasions into Albez, looking for treasure like all of the other Silver-rank teams in the area. It was practically a rite of passage; if you could survive Albez, you were ready for harder requests.

But even during the easiest time they’d had here in the past – running into a Mothbear and then a group of Yellow Shamblers – Ceria couldn’t ever remember the ruins feeling this…empty.

She cleared her throat as Ksmvr stopped on top of a slanted block of stone and scanned the area, shortbow in hands. He looked over at her and Yvlon and Pisces stopped to listen.

“Keep your eyes peeled for monsters. We don’t want anything creeping up on us.”

It probably didn’t need to be said again. Pisces certainly snorted and kept walking. But Yvlon and Ksmvr nodded and moved forwards with even more vigilance.

And then they were at the designated search site. Ceria stared down into a collapsed room and tried to compare the dimensions of the rubble to one of the rooms on the map. It was…a rough fit.

“Looks like we should be able to hit another room if we move a few paces up. See?”

The others crowded around the map, trying to find a good point to break into the supposed secret tunnel. It was supposed to lead out of one of the rooms—residential chambers by the looks of them—into another, larger room. It looked exactly like a secret room, in short, but finding that exact spot would be difficult.

By now of course, the four knew what to do. Yvlon and Ksmvr both grabbed a shovel and chose spots apart from each other before they dug down, hoping to hit a stone roof or other part of the building.

Ceria watched them work, keeping an eye out for danger. Part of her optimistic. The other half—

“We will not find anything this way.”

She looked over to her left. Pisces stood with her, staring at Yvlon and Ksmvr with a disgusted expression on his face. On the first day they’d all taken turns digging until their fingers were blistered. Now the stronger two dug until they thought they’d found something, in which case Pisces and Ceria would pitch in.

“You do realize how deep the secret rooms could be?”

“I know. Normally we’d have hired a digging team, we’d have twice as many adventurers and maybe even joined another team. But we don’t have the time for that—and any other group would demand equal shares of the treasure, maybe even try to take it all. And…neither Yvlon nor I have the credibility to persuade anyone to join us, anyways.”

Ceria grimaced. They’d encountered a…bad reception in Esthelm. The other adventurers they’d met had either had words of sympathy or outright contempt and anger for her, but especially Yvlon. All the local adventurers had known someone who’d died in the crypt.

“So instead we have two inexperienced hands and two mages not specialized in earth magic? Hardly better.”

For once, she couldn’t refute his statement. Ceria grimaced.

“We went haring off without a plan. We should have prepared more, planned for this.”

It was the excitement of finding the map. It had overtaken their good sense and made even Ceria and Yvlon ignore their instincts which told them they should have prepared for at least a month and had three times as much coin as they’d borrowed from Erin. But they’d hoped.

Pisces nodded dourly. He had a fresh porridge stain on the neck of his robe.

“I blame myself.”

“Oh, do you really?”

“I should have predicted this outcome. And insisted we use my creations to expedite the process.”

“Pisces. We’ve talked about this.”

“We have. But you have not listened properly as of yet.”

Ceria sighed. She’d gone several rounds with Pisces before, but this time he looked like he had dug his heels in. He was practically impossible to budge in this state.

“You know how Yvlon and I feel about the undead.”

“I know.”

“Summoning the dead is a crime up north unless you have an agreement with the local cities—which you don’t.”

“All true.”

“Well?”

“Without my undead, we will never dig down deep enough. All we will do is unearth previously found structures like we have all week. You need a tireless workforce; I have the means to create one. All that is getting in the way is your distaste.”

It was a rational argument, delivered in a calm, cool voice. It was so like the old Pisces that Ceria had to glance sideways at him.

Yes. If you looked past the dirty hair and clothing, there were traces of the young man she’d known. Still traces. She wavered.

“Still.”

“Springwalker, I can sense the bodies below us. There’s enough for me to animate several skeletons at least. Probably quite a bit more if need be.”

Pisces looked Ceria in the eye like he used to. His eyes were focused on hers, and he had that old intensity, the old half-manic stare of utter determination in his eyes.

“What is more important, Ceria? Your pride or success here?”

That settled it. Ceria closed her eyes and raised her voice.

“Yvlon!”

When the other adventurer came over Ceria explained Pisces’ point in curt words. Yvlon’s face closed off and she looked at Pisces. He returned the gaze steadily.

“Pisces has a point. We kept unearthing emptied ruins. We might have to go deep and we’re out of time. His undead might be our only shot. What do you think?”

The golden-haired warrior looked unhappy. She hadn’t been overtly hostile towards Pisces on the journey, but then, she hadn’t let him summon any undead either. She pushed some of her dirty hair out of the way.

“You are the Captain, Ceria. If you think it’s worth a shot, I’ll put up with it.”

Her tone and stance made it clear that she did not want Ceria to say yes. But Ceria had already made up her mind.

“Okay, Pisces. Do it.”

Pisces nodded. He stood up and raised his hands. He made no audible gestures, and didn’t showboat. But Ceria sensed his mana gathering and probing down below. She shuddered, knowing what he was looking for.

“Ceria? Is he doing anything…wrong?”

Yvlon’s voice was quiet, but her eyes were intent on the half-Elf’s face. Ceria knew how Yvlon had to feel—it wasn’t like either of them had liked undead before the ruins. And now…

“Nothing wrong, at least magically.”

“And you’re sure this is the only way?”

“The best we have. I don’t like it either. You know that. But it’s his main class, Yvlon. He’s a good mage, but he was always best at his passions. As a [Necromancer], he’s powerful. Let him do this once.”

The former Captain’s lips twisted, but she clearly didn’t want to dispute Ceria’s decision in public. She shook her head and planted the shovel in the dirt.

“I’ll stand watch with Ksmvr. If he’s pulling up the dead, we might as well let them work.”

Ceria nodded gratefully, watching as Yvlon picked her way over to Ksmvr. After a few seconds of discussion they walked off to keep a lookout, leaving her with Pisces.

“Rise. Rise from the place where you rest to do my bidding. Claw through stone and dirt to where I stand and obey my orders…”

He was speaking to the earth, his voice lower and audibly infused with the echoing tones of someone casting magic. Ceria shook her head as she sensed the magic leaving him and entering the earth.

“Is that necessary? Can’t you just cast [Raise Dead] and have done with it?”

Pisces shuddered and blinked as he came out of the trance he’d entered to cast the spell. Ceria caught him before he overbalanced and let go immediately. He blinked at her and then nodded once.

It was so…hard sometimes to act normal around him. At least this time Pisces didn’t sniff obnoxiously.

“It’s not that simple when you don’t stick to set spells. You should know that, Ceria. I told you, if you cast a spell the same way each time, you don’t learn anything.”

“Fine. So you improvised. I assume you cast multiple raise dead spells at range?”

“[Raise Skeleton], in point of fact. They are the most cost-effective, or so I’ve found.”

“Oh good.”

Pisces pointed at an area of ground ahead of them.

“There is a considerable group of dead bodies below us. That might indicate a secret room is indeed down there.”

“It might mean it’s already been looted.”

“Perhaps. Or that it was found but never successfully entered. Either way, I have summoned several skeletons that will assist with the digging.”

Ceria stared at the ground. She didn’t see the normal tremors of dirt or hands clawing their way out of the soil that preceded a zombie bursting out to try and eat her face off.

“Something taking them a while? Or did you just tell them to take it easy?”

Pisces scowled at the needling, and Ceria immediately regretted the words. It had been a powerful spell; she could see him sweating a bit in the cold.

“They must find their way up from a considerable distance. A shame you couldn’t remember where the Lich was, Springwalker.”

“You can’t animate a Lich, Pisces.”

“Maybe not from scratch. But if I had the bones of one—”

“You could animate it? Really?”

“Perhaps. I should like to study the spell animating it at least.”

The half-Elf eyed her once friend as he mumbled to himself. He thought he could create a Lich? Or learn the spell to make one?

That was…concerning. A Lich wasn’t the highest-level undead; not by far. But it was powerful. Powerful enough that if Pisces could animate one by himself, he was stronger than Ceria had given him credit for.

“What level are you by now? In your [Necromancer] class, I mean.”

The mage stopped muttering to himself. He turned to stare flatly at Ceria.

“What do you care? Didn’t you tell me last time we parted ways that you never wanted to hear from me again?”

“That was then. Somehow we’ve ended up working together again.”

“Yes. I suppose I should thank Erin Solstice for that.”

“Maybe you should. Or will you curse her for it?”

“I had no objections to working with you, Springwalker. But you were the one who told me you didn’t want to travel with me.”

“Yeah. I did.”

Ceria dearly wished she used a staff like Sostrom used to carry around. True, it was cumbersome, but it would have been so nice to lean on. She contented herself with sitting on a rock.

“I haven’t exactly changed my opinion of necromancy since then. You do know that the undead killed my team, and Yvlon’s? I saw a lot of friends die thanks to them.”

Pisces just shook his head.

“The undead are mindless. Or rather, most are. The ones under my command are not the same as those roving creatures.”

“Some would say there’s not a lot of difference. If you lose control or get killed, they’re still mindless.”

“Only if I don’t realize my goals.”

“Still going on about that? I’d have thought you gave up by now. You certainly don’t seem to have made much progress.”

To her surprise, Pisces grinned rather than grow defensive at her jibe. That made her cautious. But he glanced over at the ground and she heard the sounds of dirt scattering. The first of the skeletons was digging itself out of the ground.

“Oh good. The diggers are here. Get them to work, will you?”

Both Yvlon and Ksmvr watched from their posts as five more skeletons dug themselves out to join the one Pisces had summoned. Two grabbed shovels; the others just got to digging in the earth with their bare hands.

Yvlon turned away as the skeletons with glowing eyes started working. Ksmvr just watched with interest. Ceria took a seat on a rock next to Pisces as they chatted in the cold.

“It seems odd that Ksmvr wouldn’t be a better digger.”

“He was not built for it, Springwalker. He may share the same body, but he clearly lacks the experience.”

“All things to their intended purpose, eh? Surprised to hear you of all people say that.”

“I am not suggesting it is effective. I am simply stating what is. Do not misconstrue my words.”

“…Sorry.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching as the skeletons got to work. They moved with commendable speed in the cold, and despite being weaker than Ksmvr and Yvlon, they were tireless. Ceria already wondered why they hadn’t used them earlier, until she remembered exactly why.

“They look like they’ll get a good way down before the day’s over. Maybe this will work.”

“One can only hope.”

Pisces grunted as he stared at his creations. His stomach growled audibly in the wind. As if in answer, Ceria’s did likewise.

“Isn’t it funny? A few years ago we’d be in the banquet hall, stuffing our faces over a book of spells.”

“True.”

“…Do you miss it?”

“Of course.”

His voice was soft. Pisces stared at his undead, remembering just like she was.

“But it is the past. I gave it up for my passions. There is no use looking back.”

“To you, maybe. I wonder what would have happened if—you were a better mage once, when you didn’t practice Necromancy.”

The words were still bitter and from a dark place inside Ceria. But she couldn’t help them coming out. This time Pisces didn’t snap at her. He just shrugged tiredly.

“Some thought so. But I was a generalist then; a jack of no masteries. Necromancy was ever my passion. I might have had the dregs of popular support, but only that. Who would applaud a mage without a master or a calling?”

“I respected you. So did Mons and a lot of other people.”

“Ah.”

There wasn’t anything he could say to that. Pisces stared at the flying dirt and two skeletons trying to lift a large stone out of a hole they’d dug.

“Mons. Yes. What happened to her? I didn’t hear of another mage joining you when you left Wistram. Did she…?”

“She kept studying in Wistram. Who knows? By now she might be a better [Mage] than you or I.”

“Hah. Perhaps. She certainly knows more spells by now at least.”

They both laughed at that. Then they grew silent. Ceria could sense what was coming, but her tongue kept leading her onwards.

“You know, even if you had become a [Necromancer], it might have all been okay if you hadn’t…”

“I told you, it was to a purpose.”

“But you didn’t even ask permission.”

“I didn’t need it. Cognita said as much. The rules they made—”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Pisces. You spat in their faces and said—”

The other mage cut her off. His face was tight and drawn, and Ceria knew he was reliving the same moment, just like her.

“I…erred. But I did what I thought was best. It is the past, now. Continuing the same argument would be pointless. You fail to understand my position as you have in the past.”

“I guess so. But you have to admit, it didn’t end like you’d hoped.”

“No. It didn’t. I realize that now.”

It was the first time she’d ever heard him admit he’d been wrong. Ceria looked at Pisces in surprise.

“You do?”

Shrug.

“Recent events have given me cause to…regret the ending. That is all.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Neither of us are exactly earning Wistram rates, are we?”

“No. But I was astounded to receive a message from you. I didn’t even know you were still on the same continent. What made you decide to come here?”

“I came to Izril to earn money. To become a better adventurer, since I couldn’t stay in Wistram.”

“Why not Baleros or Chandrar?”

“Too far and too violent. For both, really. I didn’t want to join a Company; I wanted to make my own choices.”

“Hmm.”

Ceria looked sideways at Pisces.

“What about you? Why did you decide to become an adventurer? Didn’t you swear to me you’d pursue your own path?”

“I…need to be a higher level. That’s all.”

“Really? But you won’t level up that much from just casting mage spells.”

“True. But…well, perhaps I’m also looking for something else.”

“What?”

“One last chance.”

“For what?”

He hesitated. Pisces stared at the ground, as the cold wind blew his robes around him.

“To—”

Below them in the ditch they’d hollowed out, one of the skeletons raised its shovel and brought it down on a section of ground. The earth around it collapsed, and the undead disappeared.

The earth rumbled as dirt and stone shifted. Instantly, Ceria and Pisces stepped back, feeling the ground under their feet shift slightly.

“Collapse! Get clear!”

Ceria shouted to Yvlon and Ksmvr as the tremors grew. She stumbled back, looking for safe ground, grabbing Pisces as he tripped after her.

Collapses were a big danger in older dungeons and in places like this. It was all too possible to be swallowed by the earth. Ceria saw Yvlon and Ksmvr running to a large section of stone, hoping to find a safe place on the solid rock. She tried to run after them.

And then, as soon as the horrible rumbling had started, it stopped. Ceria turned shakily and found Pisces getting to his feet. He brushed dirt off of his robes and then turned to stare as well.

“Tree rot. Look at that.”

A huge gaping sinkhole had opened up where the skeletons had been. Ceria could spot two climbing up, but not the other four.

“Trap spell! Get down!”

Pisces shouted it and Ceria immediately dove back into the soil. She saw Yvlon and Ksmvr who’d been running over to them do the same. She turned to look and saw what had alarmed Pisces.

Giant ribbons of flame that writhed and twisted around like snakes were burning around the fallen dirt and stone. The flames weren’t red and orange; these were blue, and already they were melting stone and turning the dirt into smoke that began to billow up from the hole.

“Pisces. Is it aimed at—?”

“No. Let me see.”

The other mage raised his face out of the dirt and focused. Two of his skeletons approached the pit.

“I’ve lost three of my skeletons. Two were incinerated; the other crushed. Last one’s trapped under some dirt. The other two aren’t being targeted—looks like we set off an area trap.”

“Thank flowers for that.”

Ceria sighed and let some of the tension ease out of her body. She’d hoped for something to happen, but she hadn’t expected that.

“We just dug straight into that secret corridor, didn’t we? And by the looks of it, it leads to a [Mage]’s quarters.”

“Looks like it.”

For a second the two mages stared down at the dancing flames. Ceria was already trying to analyze the spell; the amount of mana she could sense in the flames and the way they were instantly burning through the huge amount of stone and dirt in the way told her that it was a seriously powerful spell they’d tripped down there. What Tier? Tier 5? 6?

“Ceria! Pisces! Are you two alright?”

Yvlon’s voice echoed and Ceria realized she and Ksmvr probably couldn’t see what she did. She scrambled to her feet and waved her hand at the two prone forms that were slowly crawling towards them.

“It’s fine! The skeletons broke through the roof of a new area! The falling stones must have set off some of the magical protections. Stay clear, everyone!”

Yvlon and Ksmvr got to their feet. They made their way over to Pisces and Ceria as the two tried to dust themselves off.

“We just heard the rumbling when the earth began to collapse. Good thing we weren’t standing closer.”

“Indeed. That would have most likely resulted in our painful immolation.”

Both humans and the half-Elf fell silent as they stared at Ksmvr. He stared back.

“Unless Pisces or Ceria know powerful anti-flame spells?”

“No.”

“Nope.”

“You’re probably right, Ksmvr. Thank you for sharing that.”

All four adventurers turned their attention back to the pit. Yvlon whistled.

“Those flames are still going? That must be some trap spell. Who were they expecting to kill? Named Adventurers?”

“Ah. It—”

“It’s probably—”

Ceria and Pisces broke off. Both of them had spoken at once. They shared a look and then Ceria explained.

“We hit the binding matrix of the spell. That’s why it’s still going. All the mana is being depleted and it’s not going to recharge after it’s over.”

“Oh. I see.”

Ksmvr looked down into the pit.

“May I ask what the nature of this spell is? It appears to be mainly aimed at close-range magic. Is there any unusual component to it?”

That was what Ceria had been trying to figure out. She rubbed at her chin.

“I’m not sure. That’s some kind of pyromancy trap for sure. But blue flames? It looks like a variation of that [Flame Snake] spell we read about, remember?”

Pisces nodded absently.

“An upgraded version. Clearly evident from the blue flames and extreme heat.”

“Clearly. Probably be practically impossible to block if it suddenly came at us.”

“Indeed. The walls were probably reinforced to avoid sudden escape. Would a trap wall have blocked any retreat?”

“Maybe…”

Yvlon looked at the two mages.

“What’s the verdict?”

Ceria nodded.

“Good. That’s a powerful spell. And it was fresh. No one’s triggered it before or we’d see the scorch marks. There’s a good chance no one’s explored this place before. And best yet—”

“What they’re guarding could be just as valuable.”

Pisces smiled, and so did Yvlon. Ksmvr just moved his jaws slightly.

“This is good, correct? Should we descend once the flames have ceased?”

“Definitely. Get ready everyone! We’re going in!”

Suddenly energized, Ceria began calling more mana into her skeletal hand as she reviewed spells. Yvlon put on a helmet and began swinging her sword lightly. Ksmvr armed himself with the shortsword and knife for close-quarters combat. Pisces recalled his two skeletons.

The mood of the group had completely changed in a few seconds. The pressure of imminent death—but more importantly, the thought that they might have found something truly important—had given them the same burning hope they’d had at the beginning. Ceria could barely contain her eagerness as they waited for the spell to end.

“Don’t go in for at least thirty minutes after the fires have stopped. The heat down there is intense.”

Indeed, the smoking stones were radiating an intense heat that completely ignored the cold air. Ceria was already starting to warm up even far as she was from the sinkhole. Pisces stared down at the entrance to the tunnel, barely able to conceal his excitement.

“I could cast [Frozen Wind] to expedite the cooling process.”

“Save your mana. We don’t know what’s down there. In fact—let’s get started on the trap dummy. I was going to use the mud ball method, but why not one of your skeletons.”

“Right. Let’s.”

Even Yvlon didn’t object as Ceria and Pisces got to work on one of the skeletons. Only Ksmvr was confused. He stared at the two mages as they started handing the skeleton items and muttering about enchantments.

“Excuse me. What is happening?”

Ceria paused as she handed the skeleton a hefty rock to hold. Pisces was busy with a torch he was trying to light.

“Oh. You’ve never seen adventurers entering a trapped dungeon, have you, Ksmvr?”

“No. What is the purpose of equipping the skeleton thusly?”

This time it was Yvlon who explained. She gestured at the skeleton as Ceria cast an enchantment over it. A ball of light hovered around the skeleton’s head, radiating light that added to the flame of the torch in its other hand.

“When we go into dungeons, we’re always wary of traps. They claim more lives than monsters most of the time. If we had a [Rogue] or [Scout] we could rely on their trap-sensing Skills but we don’t have one. And even then, it’s extremely risky for anyone who goes in first. Most of the adventurers who take point—don’t survive.”

Ceria nodded grimly. She’d buried more friends than she cared to remember who’d gone in and received the business end of a trap or monster’s claw. Yvlon had the same expression as she continued.

“So. We find ways to trigger traps beforehand. One common way is to shoot an arrow at an obvious tripwire or pressure plate, but a lot of traps are magical. So adventurers will roll something down a suspicious corridor—we use mud balls if we can’t use anything else. But a lot of traps have more sophisticated sensors.”

“Hence using the undead. They might not trip detection for living beings, but by giving them a heat source and the weight of a normal adventurer, this one will probably trigger most traps. And the magical enchantment also activates a lot of sensors.”

Pisces explained as he made the skeleton walk towards the edge of the unearthed corridor. Ceria nodded.

“Hopefully we’re not dealing with an experienced trap maker. If this is a mage’s personal quarters—well, they’re pretty bad at differentiating the activation mechanism for spells. We might get all the traps this way.”

“Excuse me. I am confused once again. I thought this was a dungeon. What was this about a personal mage’s quarters?”

“It’s…hard to explain, Ksmvr. We say ‘dungeon’, but that doesn’t mean this place was originally built underground. I think Albez was actually a city that sunk into the ground over thousands of years.”

“Oh. I see.”

The Antinium considered this.

“So we are, in fact, likely breaking into a deceased individual’s personal quarters?”

Ceria, Pisces, and Yvlon looked at each other.

“Pretty much.”

“Hopefully.”

“Or a treasury owned by a guild or rich person. Those are always nice.”

“Then why all the traps? The spell we just witnessed seemed excessive?”

Ceria shrugged.

“Paranoia. It’s usually because people have something important they don’t want stolen. And a powerful mage around Level 50? They’d have a lot of enemies, a lot of artifacts and valuables over the years. Their homes tend to turn into miniature gauntlets by the time they die.”

Yvlon nodded.

“In some cases, the protections are justified. Consider what powerful items a mage might own? On the other hand, artificial dungeons—ones that people make for the exclusive purpose of guarding something really rare—are the worst. This is more like a few private wards on a home. But dungeons designed to kill a huge number of invaders? Those are real deathtraps.”

“Indeed? How so?”

Ksmvr barely had to get the others started. Even Pisces had stories of the horrors adventurers had found in ruins.

“I heard in one dungeon the creators placed an invisible poison mist trap at the entrance. So while the adventurers were clearing the dungeon they were slowly dying. Hundreds of teams would go in without problems, but none ever came out.”

“What about the acid showers? Did you hear about that? It triggered five hundred meters in and flooded each corridor. If it didn’t have such a long reset time it would have wiped every team that went in there.”

“I heard of one mage who just teleported the people in the trap into a pit in the middle of bedrock. They had no way out and they’d just starve to death.”

“I heard of that one too! The [Miners] who eventually located the trap—didn’t they find some adventurers still alive in there? They’d eaten all their friends and were living off their boots.”

“That’s just a myth. No one would have the air to survive down there.”

“I heard they had a charm.”

“True, but even so—”

Bemused, Ksmvr glanced around at the others.

“You seem unusually upbeat for such a dire circumstance we might be facing ourselves.”

“That’s part of what being an adventurer is, Ksmvr. We risk everything, so we might as well chuckle a bit in case the worst does come true.”

Ceria laughed. Even Yvlon grinned at the Antinium.

“We’re building morale before we enter. Don’t worry—we’re all nervous. But it’s better to tell jokes than to wait in silence.”

Ksmvr considered this, and then nodded.

“I shall learn from this experience. Thank you for explaining it to me.”

That was weird, but it just made the others laugh harder. Because it was weird and they were about to enter a place where they might die. Soon, Ceria judged the hole to be cool enough to enter, and after sending the skeleton in first, the others slid down the melted rock and entered the abandoned tunnel.

----

“Okay, that was a nasty arrow trap. Pisces, you’re walking in front from now on.”

Ceria eyed the deadly poison-tipped bolt that had neatly passed through the skeleton’s ribs and shattered on the far wall. She didn’t even want to touch the arrow in case all of it was toxic.

Pisces shook his head. He pointed and the skeleton obediently trotted forwards again.

“I will stay behind the two warriors, thank you. They have armor. I do not.”

“You have that ring. It probably would have saved your life.”

Ceria watched as the skeleton advanced fifteen more paces into the darkness and rounded a bend. The tunnel they’d found was long and winding and this was the second trap they’d run into. The first one had been an easily-triggered trap that had unleashed the dreaded spray of acid when Ksmvr had fired an arrow at it. The second the skeleton had triggered and Ceria was only concerned there might be more.

Several hours had passed since the Horns of Hammerad had entered the tunnel. Despite that, they’d gone less than eighty paces. This was due to the excruciating care all four were taking to check for traps every inch of the way.

All of them had long sticks they used to poke at the wall, ceiling, and floor, and Pisces regularly sent his other two skeletons ahead to stomp or bang on walls in hopes of triggering something. Even when they thought it was safe, the Horns of Hammerad went in a line, one at a time, letting Ksmvr or Yvlon go forwards a good ways before the others cautiously caught up.

“The tunnel can’t be that much longer. The map shows it leading to a good-sized space ahead, right?”

Ceria didn’t even have to look at the map in her pack. She nodded.

“That’s right. Hopefully we get there by tonight. Otherwise…we could set up camp there.”

Again, it was Yvlon who had the calm acceptance of this fact; she’d probably expected that to begin with, and Ksmvr who deferred instantly to her leadership. But Pisces scowled.

“Camp here? But this corridor is wide open! We should endeavor to get to the end before nightfall—I don’t want a monster cornering us in here.”

“Better that than rushing, Pisces.”

The scowl Ceria gave Pisces was returned with equal value. She hated how he balked at every decision she made. She knew he was eager—she remembered the same feeling and even the same conversation. But she’d seen what happened when they rushed.

Pisces clicked his teeth together as Ceria replied.

“We don’t risk anything. Even if it means two days—even if we had to leave this place and come back with supplies rather than risk going in without moving safely, I’d do it. As it is, we’re still way too close to the trap radius if we hit something large. We’re risking a lot as it is, Pisces. I won’t just walk us into death.”

He clicked his teeth together a few more times, clearly upset. But then Pisces sighed.

“Very well. I defer to your experience.”

That surprised Ceria; she’d been sure he would have fought her more on this.

“Really? Good.”

“Yes, well—”

Pisces paused and clicked his teeth again. This time Yvlon scowled at him.

“Would you stop doing that? It’s distracting?”

“Me? I’m not doing that. I thought Ksmvr—”

They all looked at the Antinium. He whirled. His mandibles opened as the clicking suddenly grew louder and they all realized it wasn’t coming from them.

“Attack!”

Something hurtled out of the darkness and knocked the trap-finding skeleton to the ground. Ceria caught a glimpse of whirling scythe-like legs, biting mandibles and pinchers, as she pointed.

“[Ice Spike]!”

She fired the spell at the same time Pisces threw a ball of fire. The spells did not comedically connect and miss—first Ceria’s ice spike blasted into the creature, hurling it backwards, and then Pisces’ flaming ball of magic struck the skeleton. The splatter of flames didn’t touch the creature, but it did illuminate it.

Ceria saw long, almost spider-like legs coated in armor, and a squat, elongated form. But this was no shield-spider. It had too many legs, and barbs on those legs. And it was…dripping. The red and purple carapace and exposed internal organs shifted as the creature opened a maw with rows of circular teeth. It crunched the piece of skeleton it had bit off as more emerged from the darkness.

“Aw hell! Crelers!”

Ceria screamed the words as she pointed at more Crelers. The small creatures scuttled around the corridor, leaping for the adventurers, trying to claw, bite, dig their way through their enemies.

“Cover me!”

Yvlon rushed forwards, sword slicing down at the lead Creler. Her blade battered the creature down, but even her sharp steel could only cut through the exposed organs of the creature. The rest—hard chitin and other bone-like substances—was too strong and the creature tried to scuttle up Yvlon’s leg.

“Perish.”

Ksmvr used his three arms as the other two Crelers came towards him. He grabbed one, ignoring the sharp edges that tore into his hand and began slicing with the other two weapons in his possession. Like Yvlon he couldn’t immediately cut the creature in two, but he had the leverage to slowly pierce the creature’s body with his blades as he sawed at it.

The other Creler tried to jump onto Ksmvr’s back, but Ceria blasted it off with a precise spell. She covered the other two, launching rapid [Ice Spikes] that, despite throwing the Crelers back, failed to inflict crucial damage.

“Springwalker! Behind!”

Ceria dove out of the way. Pisces raised his hand, and a gust of icy air froze the Creler that had leapt at him. It fell to the ground, stunned, and a skeleton rushed over. It began to stomp.

All three skeletons were fighting, Ceria saw. They’d grabbed stones and were trying to crush the Crelers to death. But they were almost all blades and sharp edges. You had to have a mace—Calruz had killed most of them himself with his axe!

“Freeze them, Ceria!”

She heard Pisces yell, but then a Creler was jumping at her face. Ceria jerked backwards, and the razor-mouth stopped a foot in front of her face as she seized it with her skeletal hand. Instantly, the Creler tried to bite through her bone and Ceria reacted.

“Die, damn you!”

It wasn’t so much a spell as concentrated ice magic. Instantly, the air around her hand froze and Ceria felt the extreme cold as her skeletal hand froze the Creler in her grasp. It screeched and writhed, but she refused to let go. The monstrosity’s legs and claws waved about, threatening to score her flesh even as she held it as far away as possible. But after five seconds it stiffened up and died, frozen to death in her grasp.

Shaking, Ceria let go. But she didn’t have time to wait. She spun and began blasting the Crelers trying to swarm Yvlon’s armor. The other woman took the impacts as [Ice Spikes] deflected off her armor—she hurled a Creler to the ground and stepped on it to an accompanying shriek.

Ceria ran forwards and blasted a Creler with an [Ice Spike] dead on. This time the force of the impact broke the creature; it collapsed, several legs breaking off its body as yellow slime exited the wounds. Ceria shuddered and spun, searching for another target.

In another second it was over. Pisces threw fire onto the last Creler being held down by his skeletons and Ksmvr finished smashing the second one with his enchanted iron blade. The Crelers twitched and made bubbling sounds where they lay, but they were too far dead to move.

Ceria stumbled backwards, gasping as sweat poured down her face and the exertion of using so much magic caught up with her. She grabbed onto Yvlon and the other woman stumbled.

“Yvlon. Did they get you?”

The golden-haired Captain was also gasping for air, but she shook her head.

“They didn’t get into my head. Think some cut into my breastplate, but didn’t get my skin.”

“Sorry about the [Ice Spikes]. Did I hurt you or pierce your armor?”

“A few dents. I’m okay. Thanks.”

Ceria nodded. She could have pierced Yvlon’s armor and killed her if the [Ice Spike] spells had been at closer range or hit a weak joint. But better that then let a Creler at Yvlon’s exposed head. It would have chewed its way into her armor through the stump of her neck in a second.

“Well, that explains why we haven’t run into more monsters or undead recently. Crelers.”

“Dead gods.”

The two women looked over at Ksmvr and Pisces. Pisces was unharmed, if pale and shaken, but Ksmvr had been wounded. They went over to look.

“It is nothing. My hand is lacerated in several places, but Pisces has bound the injuries. It will heal.”

“Are you sure?”

Ceria peered at the already green-stained bandage Pisces had wound around Ksmvr’s hand. The Antinium nodded.

“I am fine.”

“Crelers have toxins in their bites and claws—”

“It will not affect me. Thank you for the concern.”

“Dead gods, Ksmvr! I’ve never seen anyone hold a Creler down to kill it! Are you insane?”

“I just fought as the Antinium do against them. I am relieved they were only small.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Pisces, you alright?”

“I—I hate those things.”

Pisces shuddered as he stared at a twitching Creler. Ceria nodded. So did Yvlon. And Ksmvr.

“Dead gods. Crelers. Just imagine if there had been a few more—”

“Those skeletons saved us. The Crelers went for us, but they held them away. Got chewed up. Look at that one—”

“Shh. Shh. Are there any more around?”

At once everyone fell silent. Ceria listened to her racing heartbeat, but Ksmvr shook his head.

“This group we awakened, but there are no more nearby. But the evidence is clear; there is a nest nearby.”

He indicated the dying Crelers on the ground. A skeleton had seized a rock and was industriously smashing each one to bits.

“These are in their first stage of life. If an adult Creler were in our proximity it would already have attacked. I recommend immediate extermination.”

“Exterminate? A nest?”

Pisces looked at Ksmvr in horror, but the Antinium only nodded. He was deadly focused.

“They are a threat. A menace. If they remain here unchecked, some will grow to adult size. That cannot be allowed to happen.”

Ceria completely agreed, but she didn’t want to be the one to hunt Crelers.

“Normally we get a bounty for reporting them in. Hunting a nest—plague fungus, I don’t want to think about that, Ksmvr. There’s a big bounty on them, true, but—”

“I believe there will not be more than this number. And they would be in their larval form rather than their attack form.”

Yvlon cleaned her blade, staring at a Creler claw that kept twitching.

“Might be doable, Ceria. One good thrust kills them if they’re in their larvae form. We take them by surprise—”

“No! Have you seen what they can do to flesh?”

Pisces was pale, shaking. Ceria looked at him, and then Ksmvr.

“I think Ksmvr’s right, Pisces.”

“What?”

“Do you want a bunch of Crelers at our back if they get hungry or wake up? If we keep going they might hit our backs at the worst moment. We’ve gotta take them out.”

“I—fine. Fine. But the skeletons go first!”

Their group moved on. It took only a few seconds for them to round the corridor and spot the part of the wall that had been tunneled out for Crelers to climb out of. It was a big hole that lead to another naturally forming bubble in the earth. And there they found….

“Dead gods.”

Yvlon whispered it as the four adventurers and three skeletons crept into the heart of a Creler nest. In fairness, it was a tiny one, but Ceria spotted no less than eight Crelers in their larval, incubating stage.

When they weren’t all exposed organs and vicious, lacerating limbs and teeth, Crelers looked like horrible, fat, red caterpillars glowing faintly from within. Inside their semi-translucent ‘skins’, Ceria could see yellow lines and discolored organs moving around within. They were growing. Just as Ksmvr said, if they were allowed a few months and food, they might turn into adults, the nightmares even Gold-rank teams didn’t want to fight.

One of the Crelers was on the wall nearest to Ceria. She edged further into the nest, trying not to move or even breathe. Yvlon tiptoed forwards, face a mask of disgust, sword ready.

The glistening, translucent red sack oozed slowly towards them, drawn by the smell of their meat and blood. Ceria held her breath. Any sudden movement might alert them all. They had to be killed before they could turn themselves inside out and move into the deadly attack form.

She held up three fingers so the others could see and began counting down. Pisces’ skeletons stood at the ready, rocks in hand and Yvlon raised her sword, aiming at the nearest Creler.

“Now!”

Instantly, Ksmvr stabbed two blades into the Crelers he was nearest to. Pisces threw fire at another, screaming curses as Yvlon stabbed hers. The Crelers reacted, making a horrible gurbling sound as their fleshy outer red sacs tried to pull back and expose their vicious innards. But it was too late.

In their softer forms they were far weaker to attack. Ceria shot an [Ice Spike] into one Creler and watched blood and its yellowish guts explode inside the balloon of its body. The three skeletons smashed their Crelers with rocks, hammering with feverish frenzy as yellow juices splattered everywhere.

Ultimately, only two managed to transform into their attack modes and they were swiftly smashed by Yvlon’s gauntleted boot and one of Pisces’ skeletons with a rock. Ceria stood with the others, panting as she watched the skeleton repeatedly hammer the twitching Creler until it was in pieces.

“Let’s never do that again.”

Ceria panted as she and the others walked out of the nest. Yvlon and Pisces nodded, and even Ksmvr shuddered a bit as he wiped his blades clean. No one liked fighting Crelers. An underground dungeon full of deadly traps and the possibilities of cave-ins was one thing, but Crelers?

Not Crelers.

----

“That’s the door.”

Ceria whispered it triumphantly as she and the others peeked around the last corner in the tunnel. It felt like forever had passed, but they’d gone no further than twenty paces looking for traps—it seemed time had triggered another one by the smooth melted parts of the wall and scorch marks—and seen the door.

It was a plain, wood door, innocuously set against the frame of the dark stone. Ceria didn’t trust it one bit. It could be an illusion, a trap, any number of things. But upon trying the handle the skeleton had only rattled the doorknob futilely. It had even tried to bash the door in, to no effect.

“Just a magically enchanted door? I’m not buying it.”

“Well, it could be laced with any number of traps. We’ve got to either knock it down or open it some other way. But if we’re in the line of fire—”

“Cast spells at it from range?”

“Could work. My [Ice Spike] spell might do some damage.”

“It’s the best option we’ve got for long distance. Unless you picked up a better spell, Pisces?”

“No. Do it.”

Ceria nodded. She poked her finger around the corner as the others moved back, shielding herself against the wall. The trap skeleton watched impassively as it stood next to the door, a casualty to whatever was about to happen.

Okay. [Ice Spike] and then get ready to run if need be. Ceria took a deep breath, and then cast.

“[Ice Spike]!”

The magical dagger of ice shot from her fingertip and broke against the door. Ceria tensed along with the others, but nothing happened. Slowly, they relaxed.

“Maybe just fortifications?”

“Probably. How’s the corridor?”

“Skeleton’s gone over it three times.”

“I volunteer to test it.”

“Ksmvr, don’t be silly—”

“We have been sitting here for an hour. We must try something. Allow me.”

“Wait—”

Yvlon reached for him, but the Antinium stepped out into the corridor. He paused, but no spell came. Slowly, he walked over to the door.

“Nothing. I shall attempt to break it.”

He raised his enchanted sword and stabbed it into the wood. The door resisted the blow, just as it had the [Ice Spike]. And it didn’t trigger a counterspell.

“What is your opinion?”

Ksmvr returned to the others as they conferred. Ceria pulled at her hair, trying to figure out if this was a devilishly clever trap, or just a door made to last forever.

“It might only activate once we break through.”

“Possible, possible.”

“We need to get near, Pisces. We’ll analyze it at close range, and then back away and try from a distance, okay?”

He nodded. Ceria and Pisces exchanged a glance, and then all four Horns of Hammerad crept towards the door.

Nothing happened. They sighed in relief, but Ceria warned Yvlon and Ksmvr.

“Okay, we’re just going to inspect the spell binding the door. If it’s a high-Tier enhancement spell, well, we might have to find another way in. Break through the rock maybe. But don’t touch it until we’re done, okay?”

The other two nodded and readied themselves. Ceria looked at Pisces, and then they reached out and magically inspected the door. Both frowned at around the same time.

“Odd. Look at how delicate this enchantment is, Pisces.”

He nodded as he traced the shimmering symbols and magical currents only they could see.

“Indeed. This is not ordinary reinforcement. There is a trap here. But what’s the trigger?”

The magic shimmered in front of Ceria. Or rather, not shimmered. It was impossible to describe how the magic looked to her with mere words. It was feeling as much as anything else. She delicately looked at the magic, and felt something odd.

“Is it…shifting?”

It was. The stationary spell was moving, reacting. Ceria’s heart immediately skipped a beat and she stood up to back away from the door. Yvlon lifted her shield instantly.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“Oh no. Oh—it’s reacting to us looking at it. Run! Ru—”

She’d just turned when something whined and engulfed her. Ceria blundered forwards, and then crashed into something which broke.

Bones.

A skeleton? Pisces’ creation?

No. Not Pisces’ skeleton. Bones. Piles of bones.

Ceria looked around. They were in a pit. A pit with filth all over the walls. Yvlon, Ksmvr, Pisces—not the skeletons. They looked around, scrambling to get up.

“What happened?”

“We were teleported! A trap! Get ready!”

Ceria whirled around, looking for movement, a deadly spell, a monster, anything. But she saw nothing.

Then something glowed. She turned and saw something on one of the walls. It was…flickering at her. She stared at it. A word? Writing?

No. A magical rune. Ceria instantly tried to look away, but it was too late. She’d already seen it! She tried to close her eyes, but—

“Nothing?”

She stared around. Nothing had happened. She looked over at Ksmvr. He was staring at the magical words. Then he looked at her.

“Ksmvr? Are you okay?”

He hesitated. Then the Antinium nodded. And then he shook his head.

“What?”

He paused.

“I—I am an Aberration. No. I am Antinium.”

“What do you mean? Aberration? Ksmvr?”

He hesitated.

“I—I—I—I—”

He kept repeating the word. Ceria stared at him. Was something wrong? But that was how Ksmvr always acted, wasn’t it? Yes? No?

Why was she talking to an Antinium?

Suddenly, someone grabbed her from behind. Ceria screamed and turned, but it was only Pisces. He stared at her, eyes furious.

“Pisces, what’s wr—”

“What are you doing in bed, boy?”

He screamed the words at her, spittle flying, face red. Ceria jerked backwards, but Pisces had a death-grip on her. He shouted in her ears.

“Fencing practice begins at dawn! Get moving, and I swear, if you shirk I’ll tan your back!”

Something was wrong. Something was right. Ceria knocked Pisces’ hand away and scrambled backwards. She looked around. Yvlon. What was a Yvlon?

“Who are you?”

She was looking down the tip of a sword. A tall, blonde woman stared down at Ceria, chin tilted imperiously upwards as she aimed the sword at Ceria’s nose.

“Explain this uncouth behavior at once. What have you done with me?”

“You? What are you—Yvlon?”

“Ylvon? That is my niece, child. I am Yenelaw Byres, and I demand to know what you have done. What sorcery is this?”

“I don’t know. I—”

Ceria hesitated. Something was wrong. Something was right. Wrong. Right. When two wrongs make a right, who was the shipwright?

“Get moving!”

Pisces howled at Yvlon, pointing his finger at her. She shifted her sword to him and he danced back, suddenly on guard.

“Oh? Angry, are you? Testing me? You’ll have to do better than that, brat.”

“I am Yennais Bryres. Who, pray, are you?”

“I—I—I—help me—I—I—”

Ksmvr was clutching at his head. Pisces and Yvlon were shouting at the same time. Someone had to do something! Ceria opened her mouth, but then realized something dreadful.

I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

She had to tell the others. But she couldn’t breathe! Ceria scrabbled at her throat. She’d tear it out! Then she’d be able to breathe through the hole!

Ksmvr stumbled over to her, head in his hands. Her hands?

“i reJEct. aBErRation Is NoT—I am Antinium. I ReFUSE. i—”

Pisces tapped Ceria on the shoulder. She gasped for air and then stared in horror at the man-sized Creler wearing dirty robes.

“Fencing is a noble art, young man. Don’t you agree? Well, we shall see you master the forms or you will go without dinner tonight.”

A butterfly made of steel turned to Ceria and opened its mouth into Erin’s smiling face.

“What am I doing here? Answer me! You there in the frock!”

She had to do something. Stab them! Stab herself! Didn’t she have a skeleton somewhere around here?

Ceria reached for a dagger, but she’d forgotten what her hands were too. She stared at the pulsating flesh-thing on her hand and tried not to scream. Her palm opened up, and little eyes with twig-like legs started crawling out of the hole in her body.

Everything was normal. That was it. Her head twisted—almost of its own volition and stared around the dark room.

What was that on the wall? It had flashed in her mind so quickly she hadn’t had time to read it. As the rest of the world melted away, Ceria saw the shining light again. This time she understood it perfectly.

[Insanity].

The word was insanity, written in magic, pulsating into Ceria’s brain. She smiled at it and then threw up. Her vomit turned into dancing little bugs which tried to eat her until she smashed them with her feet.

Of course.

It all made sense.

3.03

Some call me a messenger. Others call me a barefoot runner. And crazy. Some call me a deliverer…of messages. A few people know me as [batman]. I think of myself as reasonably sane, but most people disagree. They have a lot of names for someone like me. But the little monster blocking my way just barks.

Dogs. I hate them so much. The mangy dog with off-white fur and brown spots barks again, showing his teeth. There’s a definite growl in his tone—he’s not just warning me, he’s telling me he will attack given an opportunity.

That’s fine. If he goes for me I’m kicking him and damn the consequences. I’ve always wanted to kick a dog. I’m not an animal hater, I’m just a dog hater.

Consider my position. I, Ryoka Griffin, am standing in the snow a few miles out from the lovely city of Celum, holding a small wrapped package in my hands as I face down a dog blocking the way towards a house. It’s not my fault I’m here; I’m on a delivery. And I don’t want to get bitten.

I’ve been bitten by dogs before. Twice, in fact. Both times while I was running. Back home, in my world that is, some people like to think their dogs don’t need a leash. I respect their opinion, and invite them to share it with the local animal control officer. Dogs who aren’t on leashes chase moving objects like me. And they bite.

Maybe it’s just my genetics, or something in me the dogs don’t like. Or maybe it’s because I’m often a sweaty, adrenaline-filled unknown threat invading their perceived personal space at high speed that triggers their instincts to chase and attack. I don’t know. But all I know is that every person who runs hates loose dogs.

Plus, I’m a barefoot runner. That means I’m even more anxious about bites, because I have what is for all intents and purposes, ten bite-sized snacks for a dog to rip off. The same problem goes for my hands, although I only have eight available snacks for a dog to chew on. A Goblin bit two of my fingers off a week ago. Fun story. I’m not keen to repeat it.

The dog barks at me again, and this time growls loudly. I hold still, meeting his eyes as he crouches, hackles bared. He’s in my way. I need to get to that house to deliver my package, but the owner hasn’t come out and I think shouting will make the dog run at me. So. What do I do?

Kick the dog. That’s what about 90% of me wants to do. The other 10% is arguing that the dog is only defending his home and he’s innocent and that I should practice restraint. I’m not inclined to listen to that opinion, but a fight in the snow against a dog isn’t what I want right now. He’s not a big dog; that is to say, not as big as a mastiff or a great dane, but he’s not a poodle either.

He’s just a dog. He deserves mercy.

But I really want to kick a dog. He’s going to try and bite me the instant I move. Kick first, ask questions later.

And if I kick him, I’ll have to hurt him badly which won’t go down well with the owner. Not a good idea.

On the other hand, he, or possibly, she, is in clear violation with my longstanding agreement with nature* and I have no desire to find out if he has rabies. I’m still not sure if healing potions have the ability to cure diseases.

*The Ryoka-Nature Accord reads as follows: Get in my way and I will kill and eat you.

This is how my day starts. On the whole, I’ve had better days.

“Hark! ‘Tis a mutt and a lying Human-thing!”

“Girl versus dog! As good as girl versus Dragon! Will there be more riddles?”

And my day just got worse. I glance up as I hear the familiar, high-pitched voices from overhead. Spiraling down out of the grey skies overhead, small, winged creatures laugh and point at me and the dog.

I guess you could say they look like small versions of Humans, scaled down, painted blue and given wings. But that would completely, utterly fail to describe these beings. Because they are faeries. The fae. And they cannot be compared to us so easily.

Yes, the Frost Faeries or Winter Sprites as they are known look humanoid. But their bodies are part crystal, part ice. And they have wings, but they are closer to an insect’s set of wings than an angel’s. And in every facet of every line that makes up their beings, they are breathtakingly beautiful.

Not just beautiful; otherworldly. To look at the Frost Faeries is to believe in magic, because that is the whole of what they are. Even as I watch, they fly around me, laughing and speaking in voices that are also part real, and partly immortal.

“Look, sisters! The dog defends its home!”

“Let’s eat it!”

“Nae, let us give it a charge! The power to destroy any invaders!”

“Are there any cats?”

They fly around me and the dog, poking, throwing snow into my eyes and raining it on the poor mutt. Oh yeah. I sometimes forget, but the faeries helpfully remind me—immortal wonders they might be, but they’re also annoying as hell.

Only, in this case the faeries’ arrival has an unintended benefit. The dog takes one look at the faeries and runs yipping into the house. I don’t know if he can see the Frost Faeries—they’re pretty much fuzzy blobs to anyone in this world thanks to the magic they wield—but he knows better than to stick around where they can get to him.

I’m not so lucky. The faeries fly around me, laughing, calling me names, teasing me. Some land on my hair which immediately freezes stiff, and others throw snow at my eyes. One drops a frozen beetle on my head.

I think they like me. I’ve experienced them not liking me, and this is still preferable. But it is annoying. I curse and swat at them with my injured hand. The one with three fingers.

“Get lost! I’m working!”

“Ooh! Scary! And what if we don’t?”

“Yes, threaten us! What would ye do?”

The faeries know I can’t back up any threats, so I don’t bother making them. I sigh and take my hand away from my belt. I had been grasping another bottle with my finger on the cork while facing down the dog. If kicking didn’t work I was going to hit it with a potion full of eye-destroying pepper concentrate, although that would have been animal cruelty.

I can hear the dog that fled inside the house barking in fear, and now he pokes his head out the half-open door he first charged out at me from. The faeries throw snow at him and he whines in fear, but, credit where credit is due, he still doesn’t want to leave me alone.

“Barky!”

A young voice shouts from inside the house. The door opens wider, and now a girl runs out. She’s maybe eight or nine, and the dog anxiously runs out after her, circling around her. The girl takes no notice of the faeries, but stares at me.

“Who’re you? Are you trying to hurt Barky?”

Instantly I regret my kicking-dog thoughts. A bit. The little girl stares at me with big, round eyes that creep me out.

“What are you here for?”

“I’m a Runner. Are your parents around?”

“A Runner?”

She looks doubtful, so I reach into my pouch and pull out a small Seal of my own. The magic metal and stone forged into a circle glints as I show it to the girl. It’s proof I’m a City Runner; without it she would be right to be nervous.

“A Runner!”

“That’s right. I have a delivery for your father. Is he here?”

“No—but I have a Seal! I’ll go get it!”

The girl runs inside the house. The dog takes one look at us and runs in after her. The faeries and I wait as I shift from bare foot to foot in the snow. After a few seconds the door opens again and the girl runs out.

“Here, Miss Runner!”

“Thanks.”

I hand the package over to the girl. She takes it carefully; it’s bulky and wrapped heavily. I have no idea what’s in it, but at least she won’t drop it.

“Alright then, take care.”

“Goodbye Miss Runner!”

The girl beams at me, and the dog barks. I try to smile; fail. Then she looks at my feet and gasps.

“Aren’t your feet cold?”

I look down at my bare feet. They’re resting in the snow which practically covers them, melting the cold ground, but I barely feel a thing. I grin at her.

“Nope. I’ve got magic feet.”

“Really?”

She gapes at me, and I make tracks before she can ask any questions. The dog barks a few more times as I leave, but I’m willing to give him that. So long as he doesn’t chase after me. I check my shoulders a few more times, but he stays with the girl.

Good dog. The faeries on the other hand aren’t quite so well behaved.

“Hah! The waif has a loyal dog! Like the king and the Hound of Culann!”

“What was that she said? Magic feet?”

“How? Where did ye get them, mortal!”

“Yes, explain! Explain!”

They begin jumping up and down on my head as I pick up speed. I try to ignore them.

Despite the cold air and deep snow, I barely feel the chill as I run away from the farmhouse that I was making a delivery to. In the distance, the relatively tall walls of Celum beckon me. It’s just past dawn and I’ve got more deliveries to make. And I’ll make them in record time thanks to—

“Explain!”

Someone pulls at my hair and I grit my teeth.

“Stop that! I don’t have magic feet. I drank some soup, okay? Magic soup.”

“Oh.”

The tiny voice on top of my head sounds disappointed. So do the rest of the faeries. I guess magic soup isn’t as cool as magic feet. But then I hear another voice.

“I want to try some.”

“Me too!”

“Give us the soup, Human!”

“The soup! The soup!”

They begin harassing me again. I try not to pay attention as I run back towards the city.

Magic soup. Yeah.

Did I mention I was in another world?

----

After the dog incident, I make good time running back to Celum. It’s not as if I was that far away from the city, and I only had two more deliveries to make in the outer suburbs.

Fun fact: unlike the Drake cities to the south, Human cities may have walls, but their actual population likes to live outside the walls in lovely suburbs that nestle right up against the walls in some places. It’s that old medieval-style method of building that allows cities to house a much larger population. If monsters attack, people just run inside the walls until they’re gone and rebuild if they have to.

I wonder how well that worked in Esthelm. Given that the entire city was pretty much razed, I’m guessing there might be a teeny flaw in this system.

But it’s not my job to give architectural advice to people. In fact, the only words I speak are when people open their doors.

“Do you know how early it is? Who’re you?”

“I’m a Runner with a delivery. Do you have a Seal?”

“What? You’re a Street Runner?”

“City Runner. I’m doing local deliveries. Do you have a Seal?”

“That’s…quick. Normally we get messages late.”

“So I’ve been told. Your Seal?”

Eventually I get the Seal and hand the letter over to the person at the door and run away. That’s what my job is all about. The talking and dodging dogs—that’s the worst part. I’m just in it for the running.

Too bad everything seems to get in my way. Of course, that’s my unbiased opinion; what could be more important than me delivering letters to people? Guardsmen on patrol? Merchants and farmers with their wagons?

Bah. All of that is less important than the almighty Runner. I dodge and weave around pedestrians, run down less-crowded back alleys and avoid the hell out of any carts rumbling down the wet streets, all the while being followed by my annoying entourage of faeries.

I must admit, for all I hate their fascination with me, they do help clear the crowds. In this world, the Frost Faeries are simply known as strange creatures that help bring the winter each year. Because they can’t be heard and barely be seen by the people here, they’re generally treated like natural hazards to be avoided at all costs.

Too bad I can see them. I’m still not sure why, but that’s led to me striking up an odd relationship up with the faeries. Namely, they annoy me and follow me about hoping I do something entertaining.

Like slip. I windmill my arms, but I still smack hard into the ground. The faeries—and some of the Humans walking by—chuckle, but I get back to my feet without a word and keep running. I swear that ice patch wasn’t there a second ago.

“Did you enjoy your fall? Be more careful next time!”

“Take care not to slip, Human.”

“We tripped you! Hah!”

Damn faeries. I keep running, ignoring them as best I can. People give me odd looks if I start talking to the air in any case.

“Ooh. So busy! Too busy to talk!”

One of the faeries on my head slaps at my head to get my attention. I grit my teeth and ignore her, although it hurts. Then she pulls at my eyelid.

“Screw you! Off!”

I slap at her and she flies away, cheering. I guess getting me to react counts as a win in her books. Another faerie swoops down and flies around my face, obstructing my vision as she laughs.

“This mortal is so busy. Not too busy to play a game of riddles, though!”

“‘Twas not a fair game, though! She used numbers and lies instead of trickery! Shame!”

The other faeries jeer and yell at me. I keep a straight face, although the fact that I’m being berated by these obnoxious idiots for playing unfair is hilarious. They’re the most unrepentantly vicious, mischievous, and deceitful creatures I’ve ever met, and those are the qualities I like about them.

The Frost Faeries continue to call me names as I run back into the city proper. I get the sense that despite their obnoxious tone, today they’re a bit more annoyed with me than usual. How do I know? A bit more ice mixed in with the snow they toss on me, and a bit too many pinches and pokes than usual.

Normally the faeries respect—well, they’re equally parts helpful as annoying. Twice as annoying as helpful, but they do have limits. But I think they were disappointed in my game of riddles with Teriarch, the Dragon, a while back.

Yeah. A Dragon. I can barely believe it, but I did meet him. I keep telling myself that, although my only proof is the bag of gold at my side and the book of magic spells. Gods, I still can’t believe I walked away with part of a Dragon’s treasure.

It was a wonderful, magical encounter. But the faeries got mad because instead of having a proper Smeagol vs Bilbo game of riddles, I instead hit Teriarch with logic puzzles from my world. Apparently that doesn’t count and they’re mad about it.

Or something. I finally get rid of the faeries as I go one place they can’t stand: indoors. As I run towards a familiar building, all the faeries hiss and leap off my head. They throw snow at me as I open the door to the Runner’s Guild and slip inside. The building is made with nails of iron and it has iron in general inside; ergo the faeries don’t feel welcome and don’t follow. Their rules are bizarre, but I’m glad they exist.

“Done with the deliveries.”

The [Receptionist] at the counter looks up and gives me a smile which I don’t return. I hand her the Seals I’ve been given and she confirms all my deliveries are done.

“That was quick, Miss Ryoka! I gave them to you just an hour ago, didn’t I?”

I shrug. I was given five different locations. I got to them all, and got the seals. And I did it fast, too.

“Yep. Got any more?”

The [Receptionist] glances awkwardly at the board of deliveries. I look over there too, and notice some other Runners congregated around it. Only one or two today, though.

Normally, longer deliveries are posted on the board – these would be city-to-city runs, the kind I normally do. But there aren’t many requests or many of the better type of Runner that can avoid or outrun bandits and monsters—City Runners—around. That’s because of the Goblins. No one wants to run into them, even if none have been spotted on the roads as of yet.

“I’m afraid we’re all out of Street Runner deliveries. You and the other City Runners—”

I glance over and see where the receptionist is looking. The Runner’s Guild has tables and places to sit, and they’re occupied by an annoyed-looking group of younger Runners. They’re all Street Runners, by the looks of them. They’re not as quick as City Runners, and though they might know the streets well, I and the other City Runners can still beat them in speed. We’ve been cooped up in the city, and so we’ve been poaching all their regular deliveries.

Do I feel bad? No, not really. Running, doing deliveries, it’s all a competition in a way. I run fast, and so I get paid more. Maybe I’d try to give them some work if I intended to stay here for a while, but I think this is my last day of running solely around the city.

I turn back to the receptionist and nod.

“Fine, I’ll come back later. Is Garia Strongheart around?”

“Miss Garia? I haven’t seen her yet. Do you want to leave a message for her?”

“Just tell her I’d like to talk to her if she comes in. That’s all.”

“I will do so. Have a good day, Miss R—”

I’m out the door before the [Receptionist] finishes speaking. Was that rude? Yes, it probably was. She was only trying to do her job, but I didn’t want to exchange pleasantries. It’s a bad habit of mine, and I’ve been getting better recently.

But today? Today’s a bit…frustrating for me. Scratch that, I just woke up so I can’t really say it’s been frustrating as of yet. More like I’ve been having problems for the last few days and today it’s just…

I jog down the streets, keeping an eye out for Frost Faeries. They’re probably bothering someone else right now, but I want to get to my destination before they come back to check on me. Sure enough, I spot the familiar building and push the door open.

Unlike the Runner’s Guild, I hear a babble of voices and find a full house the instant I walk in. Barmaids—three of them—bustle about the room, filling mugs and tankards and serving food to the room full of people eating breakfast.

That’s pretty normal for an inn. But this inn is special, if only because it’s under new management. The evidence of that is clear when I stare at what one of the barmaids is serving to the guests.

“Crepes?”

Yep. They’re crepes alright, complete with sprinkled sugar, and lots of butter. Not any syrup; I guess it’s too expensive for this inn’s budget. But eggs and bacon make this a filling meal—and food choice aside, I can see that each crepe is golden brown and cooked perfectly.

The small inn I’m staying at, the Frenzied Hare, is packed today, just like it was yesterday. Although we’ve only been in the city for a few days, word has gotten around that there’s a new [Innkeeper] who makes great food, and so every day the common room is packed full of people.

Again, thanks to the new management. I’m not sure if she owns the inn, but she acts as if she does and everyone goes along with her because frankly, she’s pulling in money by the bagful. I walk into the kitchen and see the mastermind behind today’s breakfast flipping a crepe into the air. She holds out a plate to catch it, and it splats into the bowl of batter. I block some of the splatter with my hands as she exclaims.

“Ew! I guess [Advanced Cooking] doesn’t help with that.”

She wipes some of the batter off her apron and licks it. Then she looks around and sees me.

“Hey Ryoka! Want a crepe?”

I wipe the batter on my hands and shirt off onto an apron, suddenly realizing that I probably shouldn’t be walking in here with my wet and dirty feet. Oh well.

“I’ll have some food, Erin. Do you want to have breakfast together or have you eaten?”

“Um…I’ve made breakfast, but haven’t eaten. Let me just make one last stack—I think everyone out there is mostly done! I’ll be with you in a bit.”

“Gotcha.”

I walk back out into the inn and try to find an empty table. One of the barmaids who’s name I keep forgetting comes over with a plate of crepes.

“Anything you want to drink, Miss Ryoka? Or is it just hot water again?”

“Hot water. And Erin will probably have milk. She’ll be out in a bit.”

“I’ll be back with your drinks in a second!”

The young woman smiles at me and moves over to another table. I start cutting my crepe apart and eating it. It’s delicious, and the eggs and bacon I manage to get another barmaid to give me are just as good. But my eyes are on the kitchen, and soon enough I see her come out of it.

Erin Solstice. The inn doesn’t exactly stop for her, but somehow she makes her own impression on it. As soon as she comes out she looks towards me. I raise my hand, but she’s intercepted before she even sees me.

The actual owner of the Frenzied Hare, Agnes, has a plate of food in one hand and a huge smile on her face. She’s acting as a barmaid rather than as the innkeeper, but she couldn’t be happier judging by the look on her face as she sits Erin down at a table. She chats animatedly with Erin and other guests come over.

That’s part of Erin’s charm, I guess. She’s friendly, open, and frankly interesting. As an [Innkeeper], I gather she’s quite high-level, especially at her age. You could call her a prodigy without exaggerating, at least by how this world judges things.

Erin has many Skills in the [Innkeeper] class that makes her useful in any inn she walks into, and in a fight. She’s also got great charisma, which is why I finish two plates of food and Erin’s drink of milk before she even finishes her first plate. She’s so busy chatting with Agnes and some other people that I have to wait a few minutes before I can even get her attention.

“Oh, hey Ryoka! Sorry, I must have missed you! Agnes was just telling me I should stay here and help her run the inn forever!”

The woman chuckles as she sits next to Erin, eating the crepes.

“It would be lovely if you would. You’re such a good cook and frankly my dear—you have such a way about you that even Jerom would be jealous of. He’s still so sick—but even when he gets better I could see you being the real manager of the inn. Why, you’re like a second child to me—not that I had a first. I’d so love it if you gave it some thought.”

I roll my eyes as Erin smiles and says something polite and friendly in reply. A second child, sure. One that can do Agnes’ job and her husband’s without even needing them. Erin is a golden goose and they just want her to stay here and earn them tons of money forever. Even though she’s splitting the profits with Agnes, they have to be earning more in these few days than they would in a month.

Maybe I’m being too harsh. Agnes looks genuinely happy to have Erin here, and so do the other people. But I’m not going to wait until they finish their chat about banal things. I clear my throat.

“Erin. Do you have a minute?”

She looks up at me and nods, while the others look disappointed.

“Sure, Ryoka! Let me just eat one last crepe…mm, this is good! You want another?”

I shake my head and wait until Erin finishes stuffing her face. Of course, that doesn’t mean she and I get to talk right away. Agnes hovers around while Erin chats with her…and then some of her guests…and then finally has time to talk with me at a table in the corner.

“What’s up, Ryoka? Did you finish your deliveries?”

“A while ago. But I was thinking today you and I should do more planning. We still need to get you back.”

Erin’s smile, present on her face since the moment I saw her today, fades. She looks at me seriously.

“Right. We still need to get back. But didn’t you say that was dangerous? You told me yesterday that leaving wasn’t a good idea.”

I nod. Erin and I are in Celum, a Human city on the continent of Izril. And while we’re surviving well enough here, this isn’t where Erin belongs. She needs to go back to Liscor, a city a hundred miles south of here, and that is an undertaking which has been bothering me since I found her here.

“Right, leaving earlier wasn’t a good option. The gates were locked for the first day, and we were still getting word of what happened yesterday. But there aren’t any reports of large Goblin groups on the move today, so if we’re going to look into getting you back to Liscor, we should start now.”

Liscor is Erin’s home. At least, that’s where her inn is. And her friends. She belongs there, in a sense, and both she and I know it, no matter how much she might enjoy being here.

Erin frowns as she nods and drinks from her cup of warm milk.

“I want to go back, Ryoka, I really do. I know Mrsha must be so worried! But Selys can take care of her, and I really do want to finish up my experiments with Octavia first.”

I frown at Erin. She keeps saying she wants to finish her experiments, but over the three days we’ve been here, she’s gone to the [Alchemist]’s shop nearly every day.

“Aren’t you done yet? Or can’t you finish your work in Liscor?”

“Maybe…but I need Octavia’s help, Ryoka! She knows all kinds of rare alchemical stuff and she helps me with the food.”

Magical food. Only Erin would think of it. But it works—she made a soup that can give me partial immunity to the cold. I clench my teeth as I think.

“If I had to choose between you going now or later…there are [Alchemists] in Liscor, I’m sure, Erin. And maybe we could get Octavia to come with you? She’d do anything for gold.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way, I want to know that we can get you back, so I wanted to visit places with you if you’ve got time before you go to Octavia’s. There’s a market full of magical items—I want to see if there’s anything you or I could use in case we got attacked on the road—and the Adventurer’s Guild might have a party we could hire to escort us back.”

Erin’s eyes light up at the sound of magical items. She’s still not over magic existing in this world, and neither am I, in truth. She nods eagerly as she finishes her drink.

“I’d love to come along! Agnes says she can handle lunch, so as long as I’m back for dinner—I’m sure Octavia wouldn’t mind if I came by an hour or two late.”

I’m sure she wouldn’t. I nod briskly as Erin waves at Agnes to let her know.

“Fine. First we go shopping, then we’ll ask about an escort and visit Octavia. Sound good?”

“Great!”

“Oh, and by the way, the Frost Faeries are back.”

“Oh. Um…”

It takes us a while to leave the inn, but by the time we do, thirty more minutes have passed, and the faeries are waiting for us as we leave.

“Oh look! It’s the duo! The food maker and the story teller!”

“Let’s hit them with snow!”

“Nae, let’s demand food and a story!”

Erin blinks up at the faeries as I groan. The other guests that came out to talk and socialize with Erin immediately decide to go back in as the tiny faeries begin swirling around us again, pulling at hair, laughing, conjuring snow—

“Hey, do you all want a crepe?”

They blink. I blink. But the steaming crepe is in Erin’s hands and she tosses it up to them. Immediately, all the faeries begin to fight over it.

“Give it to me!”

“No, me!”

In an instant the crepe is whirled up into the air and bits of it fall down as the faeries fight and devour it, ripping head-sized chunks away and gobbling them down like starving…ladybugs. Well, they’re bigger than ladybugs by a good bit, but you get the idea.

While they’re fighting, Erin and I walk off. I see the door open behind us, and to my surprise, a plate heaping with steamed crepes is placed outside. I see Agnes waving at Erin before she closes the door and the faeries descend on the food.

I stare at Erin as she smiles, walking beside me.

“Did you plan that?”

“Yeah, they like food!”

Why didn’t I think of—I walk along with Erin, shaking my head slightly. Bribe the faeries with crepes. It’s so obvious, and so easy!

That’s the thing about Erin. It’s never boring when I’m with her. In fact, she might have an even crazier life than I do at times.

----

“So, all of these things are magical?”

Erin and I stand in what I can only call a cross between a flea market and a shopping street, staring at a merchant as he displays a small selection of old-looking rings, amulets, and even a few neatly tied scrolls.

Like all markets, supply is often matched by demand, which is why finding anyone who sells magical items in Celum is actually a harder task than it might seem. There are very few shops that do permanent trade in solely magical items, and most such merchants roam from city to city to find their clientele.

Erin and I were lucky enough to be pointed towards this [Merchant], a man of good repute who offers lower-grade magical items. He’s a richly dressed man wearing countless rings and jewelry that sparkles and gives the impression of magic—although I doubt the rings do much more than emit pretty colors. The effect is nice, though, and the man himself is quite the salesman, trying to get Erin or I to commit to a purchase.

Frankly, I’m not sure I’ll buy anything today. I’ve got Octavia’s potions which are quite useful, and I don’t have any glaring needs for magical artifacts right now. I’m just browsing. Also, from what I understand of how much any kind of enchanted object costs, I can only afford a very basic item even with the eight hundred gold pieces I received from Teriarch.

The man sits on a small wooden chair, watching us with a smile on his face while his two guards watch us and everyone coming near the display with considerably less cheer. Erin stares with fascination at the rings; they just look old and uninteresting to me, except for one ring that’s visibly sparkling with red light. I guess most magical items are designed not to attract attention.

“Ladies, what would you two like to buy? I have quite a small selection today—I was cleaned out a while back, but I believe I have a number of trinkets that could help you with all your needs. In fact, I even have a little potion for romantic—”

“We’re not shopping for love potions. I’m looking for protection.”

I don’t want to know if there are actual love potions in this world. The man blinks at me.

“Protection? Unless you need a weapon—no. Are you a Runner?”

“Well observed.”

I lift one bare foot. The [Merchant] is eying my un-frostbitten toes, and I can tell he wants to ask about them.

“I’m looking for a ring of protection or something similar. Anything that can help me survive a run-in with monsters or bandits.”

The man smiles thinly at me, and from the way the two guards shift, I can tell they’re amused as well.

“Ah, I’m afraid you might be under a bit of a misapprehension, Miss. Protection is a very general term. There’s no such thing as a ring that simply guards against everything—at least not outside of an artifact worth hundreds of thousands of gold coins—but let me show you what you’re probably looking for in your line of work.”

The [Merchant] gives me a not-at-all condescending smile that makes me want to deck him as he selects a ring from the items in front of him. He shows me the ring; a slightly cracked circle that feels like it’s made of stone.

“This is a wonderful little trinket that I could sell you—for six hundred gold coins, say? It will deflect arrows for one minute when activated. Arrows will swerve as they fly towards you, perfect for a Runner like you to make their escape.”

“Why’s it cracked?”

Erin peers at the ring next to me. She touches the ring along the crack and the man practically snatches it back.

“Please don’t touch that. The magic on this ring is slightly—faded. Hence the discount. But I can assure you it will last quite a long time if not subjected to undue pressure.”

“Like an arrow?”

He ignores Erin and smiles at me.

“How about it? You could weather any storm of arrows—especially ones shot by Goblin archers. I’m sure you’ve heard about the attack on Esthelm? Tragic. But in your line of work, you can’t afford to stay behind city walls, can you? This ring will allow you plenty of time to escape.”

“For a minute.”

“A minute. Yes.”

Erin frowns as she stares at the ring. I keep my face straight and try to sound disinterested—I know how to haggle. But I’m more interested in seeing how Erin deals with this [Merchant]. I’m pretty sure I don’t even want that crappy ring, but I do want to see the show. Erin points to the ring as she questions the man.

“A minute doesn’t sound like much. How long does it take to recharge?”

He grits his teeth, although he’s still smiling.

“Two days. But you can always recharge it if you have the gift, and I assure you—”

“—And what did you mean earlier? Arrows ‘swerve’? Does that mean it doesn’t really deflect them? Wait a second, why would anyone want a ring like that anyways?”

My lips twitch, and I even see the guards grinning a bit. The [Merchant]’s voice is testy.

“It’s true that the ring doesn’t send arrows in the other direction, but it does repel them from your person. If you are running, I’m confident the arrows would fail to hit their mark. It would take someone with a Skill to bypass the protection this ring offers, and again, let me say for five hundred and seventy gold coins, this ring is a bargain.”

“I bet Halrac could shoot an arrow that could beat your ring.”

“Who?”

“Halrac! He’s this guy—a [Scout] that I met at my inn. He’s really good with a bow, and he’s got tons of Skills. What would happen if he shot an arrow at this ring? Would it work?”

The man stares at Erin, brow furrowed.

“Halrac? You mean…Halrac of Griffon Hunt? The Gold-rank adventurer?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s a friend of ours. Do you know him?”

For two seconds the [Merchant] stares at Erin. Then he glances at something on his wrist. I look down. One of the gemstones on the man’s bestrewn hands is glowing softly blue. Oho. A truth spell on a stone?

At once, the man’s demeanor changes. He spreads his arms wide, all former irritation gone in a flash as he stands up, now trying to be very welcoming towards us.

“If you know Halrac, that’s different. You know, he bought a very nice amulet from a friend of mine just last year? I’d be very grateful if you’d recommend my wares to him. And for a friend of Halrac, I could certainly offer you…ah…”

He’s clearly trying to figure out what kind of discount and pitch he should give us when I hear familiar voices and groan through clenched teeth.

“There she is! Found her!”

“She can’t run away this time!”

“Ooh! Is she looking at magical items? Look how shiny they are! And how weak!”

“They barely glow of magic!”

Erin looks around, frowning. I’ve already spotted the Frost Faeries—they’re rising in a cloud over one of the roofs. Neither the guards nor the [Merchant] can hear the faeries of course, but they see us looking away and spot the faeries. They’re probably only glowing blurs to them, but all three react when they see the Winter Sprites.

“Not them!”

The [Merchant] exclaims in a loud voice, and one of the guards shouts a warning. Surprisingly, every single shopkeeper on the street suddenly begins to scramble, shouting as they grab at their wares and try to get everything inside.

The faeries fly down, laughing at the chaos as the man grabs at his magical rings and amulets, face suddenly hunted. Erin looks confused.

“Hey wait, where are you going? I thought you were going to sell us that bad ring!”

The man turns to us, looking frantic.

“Look, we’ll do business when the Winter Sprites are gone, alright? If I keep my wares out in the open they’ll scatter my goods and chase away all my customers!”

He rushes towards the nearest door, his guards grabbing the rest of his goods. Other shopkeepers do the same and the pedestrians scatter indoors as well, fearing the wrath of the fickle nuisances. In seconds, the street is deserted except for two humans and the faeries.

Erin and I stare up at the faeries. They stare back as they hover in the air, watching us. One of them waves.

----

After our short shopping trip in the market, the next place Erin and I decide to go is indoors, where the faeries can’t follow. And where we find ourselves is the Adventurer’s Guild. Erin and I stare around the big room as she whispers to me.

“It looks sort of like Selys’s guild, but not, don’t you think? I mean, this place is bigger. A lot bigger.”

I nod as I stare around the Adventurer’s Guild in Celum. This place is certainly a lot bigger, and the room has space for up to six receptionists at once, rather than the single desk for two in Liscor’s guild. I tap on the desk for the receptionist as I ask about hiring a team. She directs me towards the adventurers sitting in one corner of the room. Apparently, hiring an escort is done by contacting the adventurers directly, not through the guild here.

I stare at the groups of adventurers sitting together. Some are Bronze-rank, most are, probably. And others are Silver-rank, whether individually or in teams. A lot of them look tired, cleaning their equipment after some mission, and others look like they’re just here to socialize.

Damnit. Which group should I talk to? What’s the standard rate for hiring them? Can I trust a Silver-rank team? I know none of this.

Neither does Erin, but she has an almost insultingly cavalier attitude towards this.

“Let’s just ask them. If any of them say they can take us to Liscor, let’s try it!”

“You want me to just walk over there and ask them about escort duty?”

I hate talking to new people. I hate starting up conversations, and this is practically my worst nightmare. But Erin just shrugs at me. I grind my teeth.

“What do you expect me to say? ‘Hey, we’re looking for a group of adventurers to escort us to Liscor. Know anyone who might be interested?’”

“That sounds good. Why not?”

I stare at Erin. Well, it might work.

“You say it. I think it’s best if it comes from you.”

Erin nods and begins walking over to the nearest table where two brawny warriors are sitting and drinking together. Halfway there she turns back and looks at me with a smile of realization.

“You know who’d be great, Ryoka? The Horns of Hammerad! Why don’t we just ask them?”

I blink. Oh. Of course. That would save costs or they could redirect us. I walk over towards Erin, but then one of the adventurers sitting at the table raises his voice?

“The Horns of Hammerad? Aren’t they all dead?”

Erin beams at them.

“What? No! No, they’ve reformed, didn’t you hear? After they uh—they lost people at the Ruins in Liscor—”

One of the men snorts. He’s in his late twenties by the looks of him, and he’s got day-old stubble on his face.

“I heard about that disaster. Four adventuring teams dead and only a handful of survivors thanks to a bunch of incompetent Captains. You’re telling me someone’s stupid enough to keep the name after that? They should have quit being adventurers before they ever went on another mission.”

I stop in my tracks and bite my lips. Erin pauses, and the smile on her face freezes. The second adventurer looks at his companion.

“Who survived? I heard everyone got slaughtered down there.”

“At least two made it out. The half-Elf and the Silver Captain.”

“Ceria Springwalker and Yvlon Byres? I wouldn’t join a group with those two even if they were the last team on the continent. Anyone stupid enough to work with them is going to get killed like their last groups.”

Don’t punch them. I know that. Erin’s voice is flat.

“They’re both great adventurers. They’re my friends.”

The two men shake their heads at her.

“They’re idiots and cowards who got good folk who trusted them killed.”

“You might think they’re on your side, but mark my words, girl. Trust them and you’ll end up with an arrow in your back.”

They don’t even bother lowering their voices. People at other tables look up as they hear the two men begin to argue with Erin.

“That’s not true! Ceria’s really brave! So is Yvlon!”

“The half-Elf? I bet she turned and ran the instant she got into trouble. She’s a coward. Calruz was the only real fighter in the Horns of Hammerad.”

“Take that back!”

Erin’s getting mad, and I’m eying the two men seated at their table. They look a lot tougher than the adventurers Erin got into a fight with at her inn. And they’re just talking, not sexually harassing anyone.

But my blood is still boiling. The Horns of Hammerad don’t deserve this. They were all brave, and I could tell them that, but what would be the point? The two sneering men clearly don’t want to listen; the best thing I could do is kick them both in the face.

I could start a fight—

But I close my hand and feel the stumps of my fingers. No. Not here. Not now. We need the help of some adventurers, even if it’s not them.

I put my hand on Erin’s shoulder. She’s tense and glaring.

“Come on, Erin. Let’s talk to someone else.”

“If you want real protection, Miss, you’d best ask us or a real Silver-rank team. Not a bunch of half-wits that can’t even slay a few undead.”

I have to drag Erin backwards. She glares at me, but I manage to pull her back successfully. Five steps. Then I run into someone.

“Oh, sorr—”

I pause as I stare into a familiar, beat-up face. An adventurer pauses with four of his buddies as they walk towards the receptionist’s desk. All of them look beat-upon; the result of a bar fight they were on the losing end of.

The lead adventurer certainly recognizes me.

He takes one look at Erin and begins edging towards the door. Too late. As my grip slackens, Erin pulls herself away. She walks back over to the table with the two adventurers and smiles at them as she puts her hands on the edge of the table.

“You should take back what you said about Ceria and Yvlon. They’re my friends and they did everything they could to keep everyone else alive.”

“We said exactly what everyone else was thinking, Miss. The Horns of Hammerad—both past and present—are a team of fools.”

Erin takes a deep breath. Her eyes are wide and she gives them a big smile.

“Okay. Fine. If that’s the way it’s gonna be then—table flip attack!”

On the whole, I sometimes wonder if Erin’s the more violent one between the two of us.

----

“Well, now we’re banned from the Adventurer’s Guild. At least for a while.”

I sigh as Erin and I stump along down the street, followed by a cloud of faeries. I’m resigned to them by this point. They fly after us, laughing about the fight. Erin walks behind me, frowning.

“I don’t regret a thing! Those guys were jerks!”

“Yeah, they were. But now they won’t help us if we need to get back to Liscor.”

“So? We’ll just get the Horns of Hammerad to do it. Ceria and Pisces and Yvlon and Ksmvr can probably defend us against anything we run up against.”

“Maybe. But we don’t know where they are. I can try and make a trip to Albez—or put the word out I’m looking for them in other cities, but it’ll take longer.”

“That’s fine.”

Erin nods, and I glance up at the faeries flying overhead. They look…slightly bored, actually. They’re still laughing and one of them is dropping a steady stream of powdery snowflakes into my eyes, but the rest are just following along, quiet for once.

Huh. I guess even faeries get bored. I shrug and keep walking.

“I’m going to do another delivery—to another city probably. I’ll be back tonight unless something comes up. You okay until then?”

“I’m gonna blow something up.”

I grin.

“That sounds like fun. Just try not to piss Octavia off too much, okay?”

I try to drop Erin off at the [Alchemist]’s shop, but to my surprise Octavia herself runs out, waving one of her arms at me as if it’s a club.

“Ryoka? Ryoka!”

Erin walks happily into the shop as the stitch-girl confronts me. Octavia looks stressed out, sort of understandable given that she’s going to be babysitting Erin all day today. Again.

“Hey Octavia, Erin wants to blow something up.”

The young woman’s dark skinned face goes pale as she looks back at Erin in her shop. I feel a bit bad, so I try to reassure her.

“She probably won’t. She’s looking forwards to experimenting with new food recipes, Octavia.”

“Absolutely not! Do you know how much she’s cost me already? One day was in our agreement. I could see two days, maybe three in light of our past arrangements and for future business’s sake, but four? Erin’s already cost me a small fortune in ingredients, not to mention all the time I could be making my own potions. If I’ve got to keep helping her out I insist on some kind of reimbursement. I know we had a bargain, but this—”

I have to take a step back as Octavia shouts and waves her hands at me. Looks like she’s hit the end of her patience. Damn. What should I do?

I hesitate, then take the most expedient course of action. Octavia’s ranting slows and stops dead as I start pulling gold coins out of the bag at my side. From the looks of it, it shouldn’t be able to hold all the gold that’s in there, but it’s magical. There’s a massive book inside as well, and that still amazes me.

“Fine. I get it. Here’s more money for Erin, okay?”

I pour the gold into Octavia’s hands as the [Alchemist] gapes at me. Twenty golden coins—pretty darn heavy and glittering in the light, wink up at the girl as she looks from the money to me.

Twenty gold coins. Yes, it’s a lot, but it’s only a fraction of the money I got from Teriarch. And by the way Octavia goes silent, it’s a lot more than she thought she’d get.

“So. Is there a problem with Erin?”

“Erin? What? Of course not!”

Octavia beams.

“Erin, my favorite customer. I’d be happy to—let me just say that as long as she wants to keep working with me, I’d be delighted to help out. Her achievements really are stellar, and let me tell you that I think she’s onto a real breakthrough—”

“Glad to hear it. Just get her whatever she wants, Octavia.”

I let the [Alchemist] practically skip back into her shop and walk off, shaking my head. The faeries follow me, half imitating my shaking head motion, the other half debating whether it would be more enjoyable to watch Erin blow something up in the shop.

I don’t know. I’m glad that Erin’s happy, and I’m fine with leaving her alone to cause havoc in Octavia’s shop. She’ll probably be fine with Octavia to stop her from doing something too insane.

But—

I’m just a bit tired. At the end of my rope, you could say. It’s not that I don’t have anything to do; I’ve got too much to do.

Time to go on another delivery. I start walking in the direction of the Runner’s Guild again. I might not be feeling at the top of my game, but at least I can always count on running to take the stress away.

----

“I’m looking for a delivery to another city, but I can’t find any requests. Do you have any?”

The receptionist in the Runner’s Guild looks up at me and frowns. She taps one finger against her lips and nods at last.

“We…have the daily letter delivery for Wales if you’re interested.”

Her hesitation is warranted. No one likes that delivery. I make a face.

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing. Sorry Miss Ryoka.”

The [Receptionist] shrinks back slightly in her seat as I stare at her. After a minute I nod.

“Fine. Give me that delivery.”

----

I run through the snow, and then onto harder, slippery ground that’s been frozen over and not thawed. I frown and run back into the snow. It might be more constricting, but thanks to Erin’s soup that I took another drink of before I left, it’s easier to run through the grass underneath the snow than the slippery road.

I’m doing the bulk letter delivery to Wales. It’s…well, it’s not exactly anything to write home about. Or anywhere else for that matter.

Bulk delivery. Just like the post office, letters are taken in and a huge bag full of them is sent off with a City Runner each day to the other cities. It’s a standard delivery, and since it’s so easy, it pays next to nothing.

I haven’t done it since I started working as a Runner. Where did all the big deliveries go? Do people just not need anything during the winter months? No, that can’t be true. Must just be a slow day.

But, like always, I’m not alone. A cloud of faeries flies around me, watching me with heavy-lidded eyes as I run at a good pace through the snow. But all the faces of the faeries aren’t filled with their usual calculated expressions of glee or anticipation. Instead, they all look bored.

It’s actually sort of bugging me. I glance around at the faeries. Some are frowning, and I rarely see them do that. Why haven’t they gone to bother someone else? But then one flying furthest from me speaks, and I hear her voice clearly over the rushing wind.

“No. This is boring. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

That’s odd. I stare at the faerie who said that. She has a very unhappy expression on her face. She flies into the center of the herd of faeries and raises her voice as she points at me.

“You’re boring now. Boring. Mortal, do something interesting.”

“I’m no one’s monkey. Get lost.”

I wave at the faerie as she flies around me. She blows ice fragments into my face, making me curse and nearly trip as she shouts at the other faeries.

“See? She does naught! I won’t follow anymore. Not even if a Wyvern flew down and dragged her screaming into the air!”

All the faeries look up hopefully. So do I. Nothing. The faerie makes a disgusted sound.

“I am done. There are other places to be, other mortals to watch and bother. Not her.”

That sounds completely fine to me. Why wouldn’t the faeries go annoy someone else if I’m not entertaining them? They’ve done so before.

But this time, the faerie’s words seem to have a lot more significance to them. The other faeries exchange looks, and then begin to argue overhead.

“But she wants—”

“Nae, I don’t care as well! We’ve done this too long!”

“Yeah! She went to the Dragon and nothing happened!”

“I’m going!”

“Me too!”

“I’m staying. No. Wait. I’m going too!”

“Let’s go bother a King! Or a Queen!”

“I want to eat berries in the jungle!”

The faeries…begin flying away. They flutter upwards in a storm of flashing wings and movement. I stare up at them, my heart beating out of my chest for some reason.

They’re going? Forever? Or will they come back? What they said—

I don’t mind. Not at all. If the Frost Faeries leave me alone, no one will be happier than I…

I stumble on something in the snow. When I raise my foot, I see blood. Cut my skin on a bit of rock. Damn.

Then I look up, and they’re gone. The sky is clear, and the faeries—

The Frost Faeries are gone. The winter they brought remains, but the magic has left. I feel empty. Relieved?

No. Not relieved. They’re gone, and I don’t know why.

I turn back to my run. Don’t think about it. Why would they do that? What did they mean? How was I boring? Was it something I did? What was so wrong about the game of riddles with Teriarch?

A flash of liquid ice to my left. My head snaps around so fast I hear a crick.

They’re not all gone. I see a pale blue shape flying in the air beside me. A Frost Faerie, easily keeping pace with me as I run through the snowy landscape.

One of them is still following. Just one, flying up and to my right, sitting in the air as her wings beat disproportionately slowly to the speed she’s going. Just one.

For some reason, the tension in my heart eases. I feel a bit lighter, although I don’t know why. I stare at the faerie and nearly trip again. She waves at me and grins.

Why is she here? I open my mouth to ask, and then see something to my right. Something closing in fast.

Instantly, I reach for a potion at my belt and slow as I fixate on that, forgetting completely about the faerie. I see a blur—something racing through the snow, and—is that laughter? And I see a pale, pinched face, and catch a glimpse of someone for just one second before she’s past me, speeding down the frozen road at a pace I could never match.

I come to a dead stop in the snow, my feet melting the snow I stand on as I stare at the already distant figure running past me, towards another city.

No way. It can’t be. But I say it out loud anyways.

“Is that…Persua?”

----

I have no idea. I think it was Persua. She has that same sallow* face and annoying complexion as ever, and her running form was crap.

*I know sallow isn’t the right word, but I’m still using it for her. Pinched is probably a better word, but I like sallow.

But the way she moved! She was moving faster than I was—way faster. How? No, I know how. A Skill. But can it really happen that fast? Persua was the slowest City Runner I knew, even slower than Garia because she took regular breaks. And now—

I shake my head as I sit in the small room I’ve rented in the Frenzied Hare. Erin’s got her own room for which I’m grateful; I need the alone time right now.

I finished my delivery. It was an easy thing; I don’t even have to track down the individual recipients myself with a bulk delivery. I just hand it over to the receptionist at the local Runner’s Guild and get my pay.

Easy. And now I’m relaxing in my room, using the few hours I have before dinner to do some studying. Not dwelling on Persua; studying.

I sigh and look back at the massive tome in front of me. A book—a magical spell book lies on the table in front of me, so big there’s nowhere else on the table for me to put anything else.

I’m studying magic. That’s what I’ve been doing every day, while Erin causes havoc in Octavia’s shop and generally runs about the city. I’ve cut back on doing my deliveries to make time for this.

Learning magic. Learning spells from the tome of wonders that Teriarch gave me. And how many new spells have I learned today?

Well, none, actually. And how many did I learn yesterday?

None, again. In fact, ever since I opened the book to this page I’ve been…

Stuck.

I stare down at the page covered with words that are part magic, part language. They shine at me, spelling out secrets in the magical language that I can only comprehend at a snail’s pace. But I can read the words—

I just can’t accept what they say.

I raise my hand, and take a breath. It’s not that warm in my room; there’s not exactly central heating in this building, although heat does come up from the ground floor. But it’s chilly even so, and I opened the window to let some air in, despite the freezing cold outside. None of the windows in this inn have glass, so either I keep the shutters closed and suffocate, or face the weather.

Ignore that. Concentrate. I fix all my attention on my hand and try to push an invisible force into the right place. Let it condense, like rainwater. Make it into a current and push—

“[Water Spray].”

I say the words, and try to use the magic. But nothing happens. I stare at my hand, and say the words again.

“[Water Spray].”

Again, my hand and the air around it are completely still.

“Damn it.”

It’s not working. I look back at the page in the book and clench my fists. Another failure.

“It makes no sense. It’s not—”

I take another breath, and try to exhale slowly. No. It’s really not working, is it? I can’t figure it out. This—

This isn’t working.

I stand up and walk slowly around my cramped room. Yeah. I’ve been trying to put off this conclusion for a while. Day after day I’ve done this, but I’m no closer to the answer than I was yesterday. I have to call it. I have to say it.

“I can’t do it.”

This is the real reason why every day hasn’t been great. Stress, Goblins, all of my worries are one thing, but I think I could have handled it all if it wasn’t for this.

I can’t learn magic. I thought I could, but I can’t. I got this book from Teriarch, a complete beginner’s guide to spells that should allow me to learn every spell easily and quickly. Hell, I mastered one of the spells in the book in minutes! But I tried reading more spells before I delivered the book to Krshia and its…just not working for me.

The first two spells were easy. I learned a basic telekinesis cantrip—the ability to lift things up like Ceria and Pisces do. Nothing fancy, and I’d have to really work to lift more than the few snowflakes off the table, but it was easy enough to grasp. And then I figured out how to blow air around, another fun trick. But then I started reading another spell—[Water Spray], a very simplistic spell that’s probably Tier 0, and I got stuck.

I stare down at the page again. There are no pictures, probably because magic isn’t something you can just describe in words. But I look at the meanings described on the page and I know exactly what must be done.

Let the magic condense, coalesce into a liquid, a real thing. Let it pool and grow, into a current and ocean of its own. Hold it, and then let it manifest as you push it outwards into the shape you desire. Magic is like water, a rushing thing to be guided, but never forced. You cannot force the sea to move, but you can give it a channel—

Why can’t I get this? Well, because I can’t believe it works. Simple as that. I understand how the spell goes and how I conjure water out of the air but—

I can’t do it. It violates the basic laws of physics. To cast [Water Spray], I need to turn magic into water, anchor it in a form and then use magic to spray it out. Simple.

But I know that it’s impossible. Magic into matter? It doesn’t work like that. It violates the laws of thermodynamics! What about conservation of energy? The water dissipates fast, but does it evaporate or turn back into magic?

And what about fire? How is it mimicking a natural reaction if it’s burning…magic? Would it still burn in an airtight room?

I clutch at my head. This is all wrong. It should be easy. I get how it works, but now—

I can’t believe it works. That’s the problem. All the science I know, all the laws of my reality I’ve grown up with—they’re telling me what I’m trying to do is impossible, making me doubt what I’m doing and ask questions this book can’t answer.

And magic is partly faith. It must be. If I don’t believe what I’m doing will work, it won’t work. And I don’t believe I can cast this spell. I suppose I just didn’t think about it with the [Light] spell and even when I learned to make fire. But making water out of nothing just doesn’t—

The problem becomes a loop of errors in my head as I struggle to convince myself that I can conjure water out of nothing. But it doesn’t help. I can try to do the spell, but it won’t work. I have to know. I have to understand, and I think…

“I can’t do this.”

Not with this book. I stare down at it, wanting to throw up, or throw it through my window. It’s so easy to learn with this book. It should be. But because I went to school and studied all these damn lessons about how the world works, I can’t believe in these spells.

“Education ruined magic.”

I don’t want to believe that’s true, but I’ve been stuck on this one spell. I can’t move on until I complete it—I just can’t. Even when I look at other spells, all the doubts that popped into my head from this one follow me from page to page.

Maybe if I stare at it longer, something will click. [Water Spray]. Magic turns into water, water appears. I can’t—

Damnit.

I’m so miserable and angry at myself I want to put my fist through something. A wall, maybe. I clench my fingers on my right hand and stare at the deformed fist I make.

Something else to add more depression to my day. I stare at the book and my hand.

Today wasn’t a bad day. Not really. I did some deliveries. I got to see Erin punch an adventurer in the face. I saw Persua—

And the faeries think I’m boring. They left.

All except one.

I look out my window. The sky is gray and the rooftops are filled with snow. But is she out there? Or has she gone too?

She’s out there. I didn’t even realize it at first. But I see something hovering just outside my window. A faint blue shape, holding so still in the air that I didn’t even realize she was watching me.

A Frost Faerie meets my eyes as I stare at her and nearly tumble out of my seat. She laughs at me as I stare at her and feel the wind blow into my room.

“Hello?”

She smiles at me, and floats forwards a bit. The wind is blowing hard, but she doesn’t even seem to be affected by the air that blows my hair about and flicks the pages on the spellbook. She’s in a little world of her own, but she stops at the edge of my windowsill.

Oh. Right. I stare at her and the room I’m in. Faeries are a bit like Vampires. They can’t enter unless invited. Do I have the right? I don’t own this inn—

But I am renting this room. I cough and clear my throat.

“Come in. If you want.”

The faerie stares at me for a second, and then nods in agreement. She alights on my windowsill and dances into the room, twirling and leaping onto my desk with effortless grace. Her feet leave frost on the wood wherever they touch, and I can sense the chill from her.

The faerie shivers, although I don’t. She looks around the room darkly.

“Too much cold iron here. ‘Tis not a good place for true magics, or my kind. But then, ye can’t even master a few tricks, so the iron doubtless hinders ye little.”

It’s the first words she says. Not ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’ or even ‘sorry I was spying on you this entire time’. She just jumps into the heart of the conversation like that. I like that about faeries.

“You mean iron interferes with spells? Is that why I can’t master this one?”

The faerie shakes her head at me as she scoffs at the large tome on my table. She steps on one of the pages and kicks the parchment with a foot.

“Pshaw. The magic yon book teaches is only a fragment of true magic. Ye should know that.”

“I do. But I don’t know real magic. A fragment is better than nothing.”

The faerie nods, and looks at me.

“True. But you cannot learn even that, can ye? I’ve been watching you, and a toad would pick up that spell faster than ye can.”

I bite my tongue. But she’s right.

“I can’t figure it out.”

“And neither will you. You think too much and feel far too little. You look for rules where none exist, and make your own to hold you back. Ye won’t learn magic like this.”

I don’t want to hear that. But the faerie’s words ring true. I clench my teeth again, but—she’s not trying to be rude. Okay, she’s doing it without much thought, but I know enough about faeries to realize she’s being direct with me, and as helpful as she can.

“Thanks for the advice.”

She inclines her head regally. I know I shouldn’t ever thank a faerie, at least according to legend, but she doesn’t seem malicious. Hell, the faeries know my full name and they haven’t done anything to me.

What do they want? I clear my throat awkwardly again as the faerie looks around my little room. Here I am, with a faerie in my room. I should…she’s the last one. I need to ask questions. First though, make her welcome.

“Can I offer you anything? Something to eat or drink?”

“Do ye have anything?”

“…No.”

“Then don’t offer, fool.”

Okay, off to a bad start. I stare at the faerie as she leaps up into the air at eye height and sits there, as if there’s an invisible cushion under her.

“Why are you here? By yourself, I mean. All of your friends flew off.”

“They did. They grew bored of ye, and went to find excitement somewhere else.”

A straightforward answer. But I still don’t get why.

“Is it because of Teriarch and the game of riddles I played with him? Is that why they all left?”

“In part.”

The faerie nods as she scratches at the bottom of her foot with a tiny digit. She yawns widely, showing me sharp teeth.

“My sisters think ‘twas ill done. They dislike the trickery of numbers, but it is just as good as the trickery of words to me.”

“You disagree?”

“I like such things now and then, and it was well done to win even in losing. We are not all alike, my kin. Does it surprise you that one of us would like the dance of thoughts as much as the dance of tongues?”

No. I should have known not all fairies were alike. I just—okay, maybe that was fairly racist. Speciesist? Why is it that the immortal species, Dragons and fae, tend to leave me thoughtless and speechless? It’s like all of my cynicism and complex questions fade away in their presence. There’s no doubting their presence when they’re in front of you.

The faerie points at something close to falling off the edge of my desk. The bag of holding and golden coins sits innocuously; just large enough for a handful of coins at best, certainly not large enough to hold this magical book. But it can hold a huge amount of space—all my bed covers and two chairs besides, I’ve found. After that it just acts like a normal bag until I start pulling stuff out. I haven’t yet found the courage to put my head inside.

“Yon lies your prize for a Dragon’s duel. Golden coins and a magic bag to hold them. ‘Tis every mortal’s dream, isn’t it? Or did you want something else from the old scales and smoke?”

“I don’t know. Did I?”

The faerie flies forwards and smacks me on the nose before I can blink. I yelp and touch my frozen flesh—she glares at me.

“Either you did or ye didn’t. Don’t answer a question with a question, ye prat.”

Again, I have to restrain the urge to punch back. I’d probably lose, and I know the faeries are prickly. And she’s right. Sort of.

“Sorry. I don’t know what I wanted from him. Maybe I could have asked him to teach me magic.”

“He would have said no. He’s a lazy oaf, that wyrm.”

“Maybe. But I got most of what I wanted.”

She nods, and I fall silent for a second. The real question is burning on my tongue. I have to know, so I ask it.

“Why did you stay when the others left? What do the fae really want with me? With this world?”

She looks at me archly.

“Why ask a question you know I will not answer? You want to know more than you should. You ask a question I could not answer with ten thousand words as if it were a simple thing.”

“Sue me. I’m curious. Is what I asked too broad? Why are you following me?”

The faerie sighs with exasperated patience.

“Why do I follow anyone?”

“I thought you said not to answer a question with a question.”

This time I’m ready and I swat at her as she flies at my face. The faerie flips over my hand with nimble grace and kicks my forehead. For a small creature she hits hard.

“Smart as an ass, aren’t ye? I follow and watch ye in case you do something of worth. You told me and my kin stories, and dared to defy the fates. You bargained with a Dragon, and met one who rules over death. Is there any other mortal I should bother following that’s done more?”

When she says it like that…I almost blush. I clear my throat. It’s so awkward, but the faerie doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, and that just makes me embarrassed. She doesn’t lie; she just says what she thinks.

“You’ve been following me for a while, haven’t you? I thought you were familiar—have I spoken to you specifically before?”

She nods and flashes me a smile.

“Oh yes. I followed you with the others as you ran, and I was the one you struck. I listened to tales of Humans from your world, and it was I who warned you of the armies and led you through the forest. I was there when you cast the bargain, and I accepted the second price. I am surprised you noticed; most beings cannot tell us apart.”

I thought so. For the longest time I just thought of all the faeries as one and the same, but this one—she and I have spoken more than I thought. I stare at the small faerie, and feel a sudden connection with her.

“So all of your sisters are gone because I’m too boring and you’re still sticking around. What do you want?”

“What do ye think I want?”

The faerie looks me in the eye, practically daring me to point out her evasiveness. I don’t do that this time. Instead, I think. She’s not answering me because she can’t. Or she doesn’t want to. So what’s the answer?

“Maybe…because you want something of me. Or there’s something I can do for you?”

The tiny faerie rolls her eyes.

“Hah!”

Okay, that’s not it. Then there’s something else. Or—

“Could it be you just want to see what happens next?”

“An obvious answer. I suppose ye are right.”

The faerie shakes her small head, disappointed. I feel guilty, as if I’ve failed an easy test. But what could she want?

I wish Erin were here to answer. She’d have the damn answer in a second, somehow. She’s better with people than I am. She’d be making friends with the fae in a heartbeat—she could probably befriend a rabid bear.

But then—even she’s had problems with the fae before. She told me about their scam with the fake flowers. I’m really the only person who’s dealt with them for a long period of time. The faeries have hung around me, and I even managed to gain their respect.

And this one has followed me a long ways. Even when her friends are gone she’s stuck around? Why? That’s almost like…

Like…

“A friend.”

The faerie looks up at me. She’d been busy spinning around in the air, but now she pauses, completely upside down and stares at me.

“What?”

“Is that what you want? A friend?”

It’s a stupid question. And a stupid conclusion to make. We’re not in a kid’s tv show, but maybe—no.

Yes.

“Friends? Ye would be friends with the fae?”

She scoffs at me, mockingly. But the tiny fae face isn’t as genuinely annoyed as normal, and I see what looks like a smile twitching around the scowl. I grin at her.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t mind having one of you floating about. I know of a certain hero that did that for quite a long time.”

“I’m no pet, mortal.”

“No, but you are interested in me. And if you’re going to follow me about, why not get to know one another?”

The faerie lies down sideways on the air and props her head on one hand as she stares at me. Seriously, this time.

“Do you know what would happen if ye dared to mingle with the fae? There are laws, mortal. Ones that shouldn’t be crossed.”

I hesitate. Now I feel like I’m being tested. But I can only go on what I know of her. I’ve seen so much of the fae, and I think I understand the answer to this question. I nod at her, just as serious as she is.

“There are consequences. I know. Dire ones. But wouldn’t a friend be willing to risk anything for another friend? I’d be honored to get to know you, if you’d let me.”

For a second the faerie’s face is blank. She stares at me from head to toe. And then she grins at me.

“Good! You finally understand a bit. You are such a fool, you, that I thought ye’d never figure it out.”

I blink at her. But the faerie flies closer, and smiles again.

“I’ve grown interested in your kind again, after so long. If you want to talk with me, I suppose a friend would be better than strangers, eh?”

I can’t believe it. But suddenly my heart is beating fast, and I feel a surge of passion and life in my chest. I feel alive again.

“I—of course. I’d be honored, as I said. My name is Ryoka Griffin, but you know that. Can I ask your name or is that wrong?”

The faerie considers this.

“My name—my truest of names—is a secret to all. And ye would not be able to pronounce it even so. But you may call me…Ivolethe.”

Ivolethe. The name rings in my ears for a second. But the faerie isn’t done. Carefully, she extends a small hand towards me. It’s such a small hand, but I extend a finger and let her shake that. For a second, the briefest second I feel coldness, the deepest chill, and at the same time a wonderful cool, a refreshing breeze and the taste of winter on my skin. It’s not at all unpleasant; I could have experienced that forever. But then the touch is gone.

But the faerie remains. Ivolethe flies back and stands on the table. I stare at her, and see her grin again. Pointed teeth, and a gaze older than the world. Her insectile wings fan out, and she begins to freeze the wood under her feet. But she’s here, and she and I are friends.

I’m friends with a faerie.

Suddenly, everything’s okay again.

3.04

When I came down with Ivolethe on my shoulder Erin freaked out.

“Oh my god! A faerie!”

She doesn’t do subtle. As every eye turns to me I glance at Ivolethe. The small fairy is just sitting on my shoulder, looking around with keen interest.

She’s not even that cold; she’s definitely part ice, but she’s not giving me frostbite, which I think is a definite improvement. To be honest, it’s like having a miniature air conditioner on my shoulder. Not ideal in the winter, but I’d pay anything for one on a hot summer day.

“How’d she get in? Don’t cause an avalanche again! Please? It’s not even my inn!”

I have to smile as Erin tries to shield herself with a serving tray as a shield. She really, really can’t do subtle. I wait for someone to ask what Erin’s looking at—

Until I realize they’re still staring. Everyone. Agnes, the guests, the two barmaids—everyone. And they’re looking directly at Ivolethe.

Slowly, I look at the faerie on my shoulder. She looks like normal, but—

“Hey Ivolethe. Can the others…see you?”

The faerie shrugs as she looks around the room.

“Perhaps. There is much iron here. Too much for a glamour.”

She looks at some of the gaping faces.

“Yes. I think they can, or they would not gape like buffoons.”

“It talks!”

Agnes exclaims in tones of ringing horror. Yep. They can hear Ivolethe, too. I stare at Erin. She stares at me.

“Wait, where are the rest of them, Ryoka?”

I look around the room. Everyone’s still staring. This is amazingly awkward.

“I’ll uh—explain in a bit. Can we get a seat, Erin? Agnes?”

That breaks the spell. In a few seconds I’m seated in the center of the room, while everyone tries to cluster around me asking questions. I hate it. I try to relocate to a corner of the room, but Erin won’t hear of it and Agnes is beaming. She probably smells another attraction for the inn.

Ivolethe looks unconcerned as well. She stares up at the Humans around us, older men and women mostly, mostly married couples or travelers, and sniffs. I’ll say this for her and the other faeries; they’ve all got the air of little queens, with the arrogance to match.

“Well? What are ye staring at?”

No one moves. Even Erin’s staring with fascination at Ivolethe as she sits on my shoulder. I clear my throat.

“She’s right. This is private, so if you’d all leave now?”

“Yes, begone or I will curse ye with faerie magic!”

No one moves. Ivolethe scowls. For my part, I’m at a loss. Normally my…charming disposition helps scare away even the friendliest busybody, but these people are too fascinated by her. One of them, a burly man with massive forearms, speaks.

“Is this really a Winter Sprite? Truly?”

“Yup! Doesn’t she look cool? I guess faeries can’t disguise themselves when they’re indoors, huh?”

More confusion and looks among the other onlookers.

“Faeries? What are faeries?”

I open my mouth at the same time Erin does, but both of us pause. This world doesn’t know about the fae? Even though there are actual faeries that visit regularly? Ivolethe sits up with indignation on my shoulder.

“Whelp! Ignorant fool! I am a member of the Winter Court! I demand respect!”

The man just looks at her curiously. I sense…trouble.

“They’re the creatures that bring winter each year?”

“And throw snow at us from the sky?”

“And torment the animals?”

Some of the other onlookers look closer at Ivolethe. To her credit, she shows not a whit of fear. Can faeries even feel fear? When have I ever seen them even acting afraid? Oh yeah. When they were facing down a fire-breathing Dragon. Shit.

“I don’t think annoying her is a good idea.”

Erin looks scared. She told me the faeries once threw an avalanche into her old inn when Pisces bothered them. I…don’t want to see that here.

But Ivolethe appears remarkably restrained despite her clear ire. Why? My analytical side takes less than a second to give my unhappy brain a response.

Normally, any of the faeries would have thrown snow or frozen the people around us if they were this mad. But Ivolethe hasn’t done that because she can’t. Cold iron saps a faerie’s strength and makes them mortal. She can’t use her magic here.

What she can use is her mouth. So she does.

“Leave me you fool, or I will make you suffer! A faerie’s oath on it!”

That’s bad too! I open my mouth, but the big guy isn’t impressed any longer.

“You can’t do anything. You’re just like one of them Fraerlings in Baleros. Tiny.”

He cautiously pokes her where her breasts would be if she had nipples. I open my mouth and shove my chair back, but Ivolethe moves first. Her tiny mouth opens and bites.

The scream is immediate and loud. Ivolethe might be tiny, but she’s still big enough to take a chunk out of the man’s finger. Not just a chunk; she bites so far down that I see bone as he yanks his hand away. Her teeth cut through his flesh like nothing.

The man screams again as he holds up his bloody finger. Everyone, including me, stares in horror at Ivolethe. The faerie looks supremely unconcerned as she turns her head and reveals bulging cheeks. She chews, swallows, and grins at us with bloody teeth. Then she waves at Agnes, whose smile has frozen on her face.

“Innkeep! Your finest meat and drink! I am a guest here, am I not? I want service!”

The onlookers desert our table in seconds. The big man might have come back for vengeance, but Agnes drags him away with promises of a healing potion. Erin and I stare at Ivolethe as she hops off my shoulder and onto the table. After a while Erin looks at me.

“So…Ryoka. Introduce me to your friend.”

I nod. Ivolethe triumphantly leaps up as one of the barmaids comes hurrying back with some stew. Erin must have made it ahead of time, because it smells delicious. The faerie leaps into the bowl as if it were a hot tub and immediately begins chomping down on her immediate surroundings. I carefully move the bowl into the center of the table and clear my throat.

“This is…Ivolethe, Erin. She’s one of the Frost Faeries that’s been following me around since I met them. And she is my friend.”

“Right. That’s what I said.”

“No, I mean, she’s my friend. I am friends with a faerie.”

Did I say that with too much reverence? Maybe. But the words that I speak aloud are magical in their own way. A faerie. I really have one of the fae sitting in front of me, chomping down on a slice of potato the size of her head in a bowl full of soup. My friend.

“Oh my gosh.”

Erin finally gets it. She puts her hands on her cheeks in delight.

“You made a friend! Ryoka made a friend! I’m really pleased to meet you, Ivolethe! Any friend of Ryoka’s is a friend of mine. I’m sure we’ll get along great—”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Ivolethe doesn’t even look straight at Erin. She takes another bite of the potato and squishes it into a ball with both hands. Then dunks the potato into the gravy and scarfs the rest of it down. Her eating is both disgusting and fascinating to watch.

“I will not be your friend, Human. I have made one friend, and she is the reason I entered this place of iron and sacks of flesh. I do not need another, and if I did, it would certainly not be ye.”

Erin’s face falls. I don’t quite look at her, and I’m not quite smiling behind my hand. Looks like she’s met someone she can’t instantly charm. Hah!

“What? But you guys like me, right?”

“Why should I or any of my kin like a thoughtless waste of space like ye?”

“I…I made that big feast for you all! You loved it! And you paid me in gold, which turned out to be fake flowers—but you said it was a great meal! You did!”

I cough.

“I don’t think Ivolethe was there, Erin. Not all the faeries stayed around your inn. Some were with me the entire time.”

“Oh. But I did make food! Magical food! I even got a Skill from it!”

Ivolethe looks slightly impressed. She stops eating to study Erin from head to toe, at any rate.

“Truly? A faerie’s banquet? I was not there, but my kin spoke of it. My answer remains no.”

I interrupt Erin before she can try again. I’m not sure how Ivolethe would react if Erin pushed the matter—and I don’t want her losing a digit.

“I’m sure Erin respects your decisions, Ivolethe. But she’s my friend as well. My best Human friend. I uh, was just wondering if we could talk. Unless you’re busy?”

Erin gives me a betrayed glance, but Ivolethe just shakes her head. She sinks deeper into the bowl of soup; I notice the steam has already stopped rising, and it looks like the gravy is starting to congeal thanks to Ivolethe’s freezing presence.

“If I had aught to do, I would be doing it. And we are already talking, fool.”

Yikes. Ivolethe may call herself my friend, but she’s clearly going to be the kind of friend who uses words as barbs no matter how close we are. I always wondered what having a friend like that would be like.

I wondered what having a true friend would be like, too. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop smiling. Erin’s looking at both me and the faerie oddly.

“You look so creepy right now, Ryoka.”

“Shut up, Erin. Ivolethe? Why can everyone see you indoors? Is it because of the iron?”

Ivolethe sits up a bit in her bowl as two more come for Erin and me, complete with soft, warm sliced bread. She stares around at the other tables, and the other guests instantly look down at their food.

“Hmf. It is the iron. Too much of it interferes with our magic. Outside it would not matter, but indoors is like a cage in a way. I cannot use my spells. But I can bite.”

She grins at me again with those sharp teeth. Erin shudders.

“Interesting. But Erin and I can see you no matter if we’re outside or not. Why is that?”

A tiny shrug.

“I do not know. If ye had the eyes of a cat or god—or ye were great masters of magic like Myrddin, it would make sense. But ye aren’t.”

Erin looks confused.

“Who’s Myrddin?”

“Merlin, Erin.”

“Oh. Oh. Merlin! He’s real! What’s he like? Does he have a cool staff? What kind of magic did he—”

I cut Erin off, although I really want to know as well. The thing about faeries is that you have to stick to one subject and keep bothering them about it. Get sidetracked and they’ll lead you down a merry trail of breadcrumbs, but never get to the truth.

“We don’t have that kind of magic, Ivolethe. So how else would we see you? Are there any ways mortals can see faeries?”

She shrugs again.

“Plenty. If you stood in the right place under full moon, or caught us dancing without glamor—if you had the secret drink of the fae, you would be able to see us, but I would know if ye were taught thusly.”

“Drink? Of the fae?”

Erin looks confused…again…so I explain it to her. How does she not know any myths about faeries?

“The faerie’s drink would be given to people trusted enough to enter a faerie mound. They would be able to see the secret world with it. Could it be that?”

A rude snort.

“Hardly. Ye cannot simply make the faerie’s drink by chance. Ye would need the essence of countless gases and things not known to ye humans. Poisons and humors of foul natures beyond your ken.”

“Such as…?”

Ivolethe sighs dramatically. But there’s a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“Ye truly want to know? Then, grab as many insects as ye can, Humans! Crunch them up in your mouth, for one of the ingredients is the shell of bugs that may be used to create blood out of water.”

“Ew! You have to eat that?”

Ivolethe nods in satisfaction as Erin wrinkles her nose. But I pause. Blood out of water? That sounds like part of a riddle; probably the rhyme to the faeries’ drink they’d tell people. Blood out of water. A dye?

“When you say insects that can be used to create blood out of water…do you mean carmine? In that case, Erin and I have eaten lots of that already.”

“What? We have?”

Erin turns horrified eyes to me. Ivolethe looks up sharply as well. I nod.

“Carmine is a big ingredient in anything colored red, Erin. Skittles, lemonade…if you’ve had anything like that in the past, you’ve eaten ground up insect shells.”

Just a little bit, in truth. But Erin turns pale and Ivolethe looks…

“Well, there are many other things that go into the brew. Not just…that.”

“Maybe we’ve eaten all the ingredients before.”

“Really? Like bugs?”

“We eat countless bugs each year, Erin. They’re all ground up in our food. And companies use a lot of preservatives…”

I think out loud as Erin makes gagging sounds over her meat.

“The U.S. government started putting fluoride in the water decades ago. And we breathe in any number of pollutants that we didn’t in the past. Add that to whatever they put in most foods in the form of preservatives and to change the taste…Ivolethe, what else goes into your brew?”

“As if I’d tell you! The brew is secret to all mortals! And ye’d never guess in a million years!”

“Really? Let me just list off a few things and you let me know if I’m getting close. Sodium nitrate? Propylene glycol? Uh…what’s it called…olestra? Monosodium glutamate? Sodium benzoate?”

She glares at me.

“I do not know half of these names! You must be making them up!”

“Really? Well, sodium benzoate originally came from benzoin, a resin found on trees. It’s an ingredient in incense—”

I see Ivolethe’s eyes widen. Just for a fraction of a second, and then her head spins away.

“I-I don’t know anything about such things. This talk bores me!”

Erin and I exchange a glance. But Ivolethe’s mouth is clamped shut. Erin leans over to me, looking slightly green.

“Do you think it’s true?”

“What, that we ate all of the ingredients of the faerie brew? It might be possible. We eat a lot of weird stuff, Erin.”

“Not that! Do we really eat bugs?”

I sigh.

“Yes. We do, Erin. You know about all the stuff food companies put in candy and fast food. Why are you surprised?”

“I thought they were just chemicals and poisonous stuff! If I knew bugs were in Skittles, I’d never eat any again!”

“That’s not—why would you be okay with…? Okay, never mind Erin. Ivolethe?”

“You shall get nothing from me! I will not reveal my kind’s secrets so easily!”

The faerie sinks up to her ears in the cold soup. I raise my hands.

“I’m not going to ask you any more questions. I was just curious. Why don’t we talk about something else.”

“Yes! Let’s!”

Erin grabs her milk and drinks deeply from it. With a little coaxing, I get Ivolethe to come out of her stew. She dries herself off on a slice of bread, and then she sits on the table with Erin and me. And we talk.

“So, what did you do after I left you, Erin?”

“Oh, I just made some stuff at Octavia’s. You know, more experimental stuff.”

“Huh. Where’s Octavia now? I’ve never seen her eat—does she do it at her home or should we invite her here now and then?”

I think that would be the polite thing to do, but Erin shakes her head.

“I don’t know, but Octavia won’t want to eat today. She’s in bed with bad food poisoning.”

I pause.

“How bad?”

“Bad.”

“…And how did she get so sick, Erin?”

The other girl doesn’t quite meet my gaze.

“I uh, fed her something that didn’t come out as well as I’d hoped.”

“I see.”

“I would like to try it!”

“Oh no, it’s impossible. I threw it out—it was starting to stain the pot. It was just another failure.”

Erin sighs. I eye her.

“You’ve been going over to Octavia’s every day. Still trying to make new recipes?”

“Yup! I don’t want to go back to Liscor until I figure out how to make more cool stuff.”

“What about your inn?”

“What about it? Mrsha’s safe with Selys, and I don’t know where Toren is. My inn can stay where it is, right?”

“But Lyonette’s in it.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Erin smacks her forehead lightly. I shake my head. Erin hesitates.

“She’ll probably be okay. I really want to stay here for a little while longer, though, Ryoka. I can experiment with Octavia all day, and I can help Agnes out at night!”

“And you’re not bored? You’re okay with that?”

Erin looks at me blankly.

“Yeah. Why not?”

Ivolethe and I shrug at the same time.

“Doesn’t matter to me.”

“‘Tis your choice to die of boredom.”

Erin scowls at us, but then she smiles widely at Ivolethe again.

“Soooo…Ivolethe! You must have lived a long time, right?”

The faerie eyes Erin suspiciously.

“That is obvious.”

“And you met all kinds of cool people—like Merlin and King Arthur, right?”

“Perhaps. What of it, mortal?”

Erin throws up her hands.

“Tell me stories! Tell us all about Merlin, and the knights of the round table.”

Ivolethe considers this, one tiny hand on her chin.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I do not want to.”

“Please?”

“Erin…”

“No. Such tales are too grand for the likes of you.”

“But—”

I put a hand on Erin’s shoulder.

“You heard her, Erin. Ivolethe doesn’t want to tell, so you should respect her wishes. Besides, she probably didn’t see any of the good parts.”

“What?”

Ivolethe sits up in outrage. She leaps upwards and flies towards my face.

“Ye think I did not witness the legends in person?”

“Well, you don’t want to say. So I just assumed—”

“Fool! I was there when the boy became a king! I witnessed the instant the true king fell, and I have seen countless miracles besides! I saw the three kings die to each of Lugaid’s spears! How dare ye!”

“I’m just saying, you talk big, but if you’d care to share a story that you remember—”

“Hah! I will recount to you a legend beyond all else!”

Ivolethe flies into the air and raises her voice.

“Behold! I will tell you for the one true king of Camelot! His sword still sits in Avalon, waiting for his hand to draw the ancient blade! Listen well mortals!”

All heads turn as the small faerie begins to declaim. She has an amazingly loud voice, and the story—

I’m going to get to hear King Arthur’s story. I feel like a kid again. This is amazing.. Erin gives me a delighted look, and I wink at her. What can I say?

I do know a bit about faeries. Or at least, this one in particular.

----

The next day dawns bright and early. Or so I suppose. For once, I’m sleeping in.

So is Erin. And the rest of the guests in the inn for that matter. In fact, some are still snoring as I walk downstairs and find them lying on the tables or ground.

As it turned out, Ivolethe did know the stories of King Arthur, the entire story. The true story. And she told it to us last night, with many dramatic flourishes and a whole host of embellishments it’s true, but it was true. Every word of it. Faeries don’t lie, and to look at Ivolethe as she was speaking was to believe.

It was true. And if I were an author I would have tried to capture every word she spoke on paper. Or maybe that would have been an impossible task, because her story was one of the greats.

In the end, we just all fell asleep listening to the tragic end of the tale of the King of Knights. His kingdom in ruins, his knights dying on the field, and only the hope of his eventual return to keep spirits strong in the dark times to come. Thus, the King of Camelot closes his eyes and breathes his final breath.

And here I thought I was being smart by ripping off the poets of my age. No wonder faeries looked down on us mortals for not creating stories that can match that level. If you’ve got forever to live, your standards for good storytelling rise accordingly.

Of course, that was last night. In the light of the day, all I want is for a hot meal before I go running. But with Erin so tired, that might be asking too much.

She has [Advanced Cooking] as a skill, but apparently you need to be at least moderately conscious to make it work. Or else not even that skill can fix dumping a bag full of flour onto an iron griddle. At least I got the pan off the fire before the flour combusted.

Mandatory near-death experience for the day completed, I finally make myself eggs and let Erin snore in the kitchen. I open the door—

And find Ivolethe waiting outside. The faerie grins at me, hovering in the crisp winter air. Honestly, I hadn’t even realized she’d left when I dragged myself into my room upstairs.

“Ivolethe. How are you doing?”

“Well, mortal!”

She flies immediately to my shoulder and lands on it. Then she fidgets, and flies up to my head. I stare up at her dangling legs and sigh. But I make no comment.

As I begin to walk down the street a tiny frozen leg kicks me on the temple.

“So, what are ye doing today? More staring at books and cursing? Or will ye run about like a snail once again?”

“If you’re bored, you can leave. You don’t have to follow me all the time.”

“Bah. I might miss something interesting. Besides, there is much to do that will amuse me in the meantime.”

I shrug, but feel a bit better. I try not to smile so openly; it doesn’t feel natural.

“Suit yourself.”

It’s a short jog to the Runner’s Guild, but I pause at the door. Ivolethe senses my intentions and tenses, but she makes no move to get off my head.

“I’m going inside. Do you want to wait somewhere else?”

“I will stay right here.”

“The iron won’t bother you?”

“Not overmuch. It is simply a shackle indoors, not a needle in the skin. Even if it feels so.”

Huh. I wonder how uncomfortable it is? Are faeries allergic to the metal, or is it like kryptonite?

“If you don’t want to go inside, that’s fine with me.”

“I shall stay.”

“No, I really don’t think you should go inside.”

After her last interaction with people other than Erin and me, I really have a bad feeling about letting Ivolethe inside a building. But she bends down to glare at me.

“I insist! I do not fear the iron!”

I sigh. For a being that calls herself my friend, Ivolethe doesn’t seem capable of yielding on any point. Or maybe she considers her stubbornness part of friendship.

“Just don’t cause trouble, okay? And…can I persuade you to hide in my belt pouch?”

The faerie is silent on my head for a few seconds.

“Mayhap. Is there food in the pouch?”
“Let me get some.”

That was how I found myself stuffing fried meat and sticky-sweet jam buns into a belt pouch, much to Ivolethe’s muffled delight as I walked into the Runner’s Guild. I close the pouch; Ivolethe assured me she wouldn’t suffocate inside if I did, and I’m honestly not sure if faeries breathe.

I’ve got a Frost Faerie in my belt pouch. Well, there’s that. I walk into the Runner’s Guild and stop when I see a familiar face.

“Garia!”

The broad-shouldered girl turns and gives me a big smile. But then her expression changes to one of dismay.

“Ryoka? I didn’t know you were here…today.”

I walk forwards, frowning. Garia seems nervous. And then I look over her shoulder and see a crowd of people, Street and City Runners alike, clustered around one person. She has a familiar face. Sallow, I would call it, although pinched is the more accurate word.

“Persua.”

She’s standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a huge number of people—everyone in the Guild, in fact. Even the [Receptionists] have come out from behind their counters, and an older man is standing by Persua’s side. I think…he’s the Guildmaster. I don’t know. He normally never comes out of his small office.

Persua is basking in all the attention, talking loudly in her shrill voice and laughing often. When she laughs, the others laugh with her. It’s like how she normally interacts with her posse, but now everyone’s doing it. She’s so engrossed she hasn’t noticed me yet, and from the way Garia drags me to one side of the room, maybe that’s a good thing.

“What’s going on?”

I whisper to Garia as I look back at Persua. She doesn’t look that different—new clothes and running gear maybe, but she’s just the same unpleasant person who once had my leg crushed by a wagon. My fists itch to break a few of the bones in her face.

I don’t see Fals. He’s normally in the same room as Persua, mainly because she tends to follow him about wherever possible. He’s not here today, though, and his absence is somehow conspicuous.

“Ryoka, why are you here? Didn’t you hear what was happening today?”

“No, I did not.”

I frown at Garia as I take a seat at a far table from the group. No one tells me anything. Mainly because I don’t listen if it’s an invitation to hang out or hear the latest gossip. But this…I probably should have paid attention to.

“What’s going on, Garia?”

“It’s Persua. Today’s her going-away party. She’s going to move to Invrisil, or—some other city up north. She might come back this way, but she’s not going to be around here so everyone’s having a party for her!”

Persua? Going north? Best news I’ve heard all day, and I’m barely awake still. I smile at Garia with genuine pleasure.

“What’s wrong with that? If she’s going, I’ll congratulate her as well and help her on the way out.”

Garia doesn’t grin at my response. She doesn’t like violence anyways, but she looks worried. There’s an odd emotion in her voice I can’t quite place. She lowers her voice even more.

“Ryoka…she’s going to be a Courier.”

“What?”

I can’t believe my ears. Persua? A Courier? She’s not nearly fast enough to be one. I should know—I saw Valceif and Hawk running, and they’re like lightning compared to me. Persua’s barely quick enough to be a City Runner, and she’s lazy to boot.

But Garia’s eyes are deadly serious as she nods. And I remember that moment where I swore she passed me on the road earlier—

No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“How?”

“She leveled up and got a Skill, Ryoka! A rare one—she’s not even Level 20, I know that for a fact, but she learned a powerful movement Skill. Everyone heard about it! Ever since then, she’s been completing deliveries so fast none of us can keep up.”

A Skill. Of course. I feel a bit sick. Persua’s got terrible form, bad endurance, and she’s got no incentive to train or push herself. But give her a Skill and suddenly she can outrun anyone.

“Was it just luck? Or—how do you get Skills?”

Garia looks miserable as she shrugs. No, not just miserable. Jealous. That’s the emotion I’m seeing in her.

“Normally the good ones come up every ten levels. But you hear stories—some of it is chance, and Persua got lucky. Really lucky.”

“Okay, what skill did she get?”

“[Double Step]. It’s one of the core skills most Couriers have. That and [Quick Movement]—those were the ones Valceif had, remember? If you get those, people say you’re already two thirds of the way to becoming a Courier!”

Fuck. I remember Valceif running as if he was taking two strides for every one of mine. Garia’s right; get even one of those skills and there’s no Human from my world that could touch you. That is…completely unfair.

“Why’s she going north, then? It sounds like she could stay here and make a comfy living.”

“Well, Couriers make way more money and have more respect up north. And, Persua has been doing just that! She’s completed almost half of the requests in the guild by herself. They’ll have to make her a Courier soon, or we’ll all be out of work!”

I drum my fingers on the table, good mood completely forgotten. Persua the Courier. I wanted to be one, but I can’t run fast enough. Valceif told me that I might be one if I proved myself, but Persua? Before me?

It’s really, really pissing me off. But—and I have to think of the plus side here, at least she won’t be bothering me again. And if she’s taking high-level requests, maybe someone will put a hit out on her and she’ll end up dead. I can only dream.

But for now, I think I’ll get out of the way before I have to deal with Persua again. I’m about to ask Garia if she wants to join me at Erin’s new inn so I can drink the bad taste from my mouth when Garia makes frantic gestures. I don’t even have to guess to know that Persua is coming my way; it just makes sense. When I step in crap while running, oftentimes there’s a second pile waiting for my other foot*.

*Translation: When it rains it pours. Plus, Persua’s a spiteful little monster, so she’ll take any opportunity to try and piss me off.

“Why Ryoka, I didn’t see you there! Come to congratulate me on my special day, have you?”

Garia freezes, and goes pale. I stare at her, considering my next move. I don’t turn around. I don’t change my expression.

“Hello, Persua.”

“Good morning to you too, Ryoka! How are you today? You were gone for so long in Liscor, I thought you were dead. But you aren’t. Did you get a lot of deliveries done while you were away? Or did you just like sleeping with non-Humans that much?”

Is that an insult? I shrug. I’m not giving Persua anything, even if she’s now apparently the best Runner around.

“I had fun.”

I still refuse to look her way. Persua’s shrill voice goes up an octave as she grows frustrated. She walks around me and I catch a glimpse of her pale, sharp features and her pursed lips that compliment her sour expression.

I don’t like her. I hate her guts. But I’m also smart enough to know that she’s goading me in her hour of triumph, hoping to get me in trouble. And you know what?

I’m not going to do a thing. It’s time for the ultimate Ryoka skill: acting impassive. Guaranteed to annoy anyone with an ego.

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’m going to be a Courier now. Isn’t that wonderful?”

The old man who’s probably the Guildmaster clears his throat nervously.

“Actually Persua, that’s not decided yet. You’re a wonderful Runner of course, but a Courier—”

He brakes off as Persua gives him a vicious look. She turns back and gives me a big, fake smile. I just grunt.

“What do you think, Ryoka? Won’t I be a wonderful Courier?”

“Mhm.”

She blinks at me, and then frowns. I look slowly around and see the other Runners standing and watching us. I know some of them by face, if not name. They’re City Runners, the people who band together and pat each other on the backs. They follow the leader or the fastest Runners, like Fals. Some of them are Persua’s people, but most are just like Garia; afraid to cross someone like Persua.

The others are Street Runners, desperate to suck up to anyone for a bit of help, a leg up, anything. They’re standing behind Persua as if they’re afraid she’ll blast them to ash if she gets unhappy. Garia is frozen in her seat, and I’m at the center of this maelstrom. No way out but deflection. Bring it on, Persua.

“Don’t you want to say something to me? Before I go?”

“Not really.”

I wish I had a drink so I could sip it calmly. I study Garia’s face as Persua’s fake smile turns into a frown.

“You know, I saw you yesterday. Well, I think I saw you. You were moving so slow, I thought, ‘that can’t be Ryoka’. But you were gone so fast—it’s hard, being the fastest Runner around.”

“I’m sure it must be.”

Another scowl, covered up again. Persua might have all the abilities of a weasel, and the ability to backstab people and even orchestrate attacks, but she’s not that good at concealing her emotions.

“You know, I’ve been taking all of the deliveries recently. I just…do them. One after another. It’s so easy.”

Some of the City Runners shift at that, which makes me privately happy. They don’t like Persua much, and I’m sure they’ll be glad to see her back. But I don’t let my features change for an instant.

“Good for you.”

Persua grinds her teeth audibly. I keep my hands on the table, calm, cool, collected. I’m wondering if I can get her to storm off or throw the first punch. I would enjoy that.

But she doesn’t blow her lid. I see Persua pause, and then her eyes flick to the tabletop.

“I notice you’ve lost something. Did you leave your fingers behind on one of your runs?”

The other Runners go silent. I feel the spike of emotion in my stomach. My fingers. Garia gasps in horror as she notices them for the first time, but I refuse to react. I look at Persua coolly, meeting her evil little eyes.

“Are you going to stand around or do some deliveries, Persua? Because if you’re just going to stand around talking, then do it in another corner of the room.”

She blinks at me. I don’t blink back. I hold her gaze; I’ve beaten her in a staring contest before and I’d love to humble her again. But she doesn’t play my game. Instead, she smiles and looks back on me.

Crap. I shouldn’t have reacted. She knows I was annoyed. No help for it.

“I’m so sorry if my little party is bothering you. I suppose great City Runners like you are too busy to socialize, right? Too good for us lesser Runners?”

I shrug.

“Pretty much.”

Persua’s face goes flat, and little pinpoints of rage appear in her eyes. She smiles at me again.

“It’s just—and I know you don’t mean to be rude, but you are—you haven’t told me how happy you are. And I know you wouldn’t want to be rude, would you?”

She wants me to congratulate her? I meet her gaze steadily.

“Come on. Don’t you have anything to say?”

No. But she might go away. But no and never and not in a million years.

“Can’t hear me, Ryoka? Did you lose your ears as well as those fingers?”

“I heard you. Congratulations. Piss off.”

The words pop out before I can stop them. I hear an audible gasp from the peanut gallery, in more than one place, and some titters of laughter as well, quickly silenced. Persua’s pale face blushes and blotches in places.

That was a mistake. I just humiliated her, and instead of backing off, she’s going to try and make an example out of me rather than lose face. I know how the routine goes. I grit my teeth and wonder how I can deal with this.

Maybe if I just walk out? But no, she’ll just call that a win or block me from leaving. And I don’t run from bullies. Let’s see what she does next.

Persua looks around, and meets the eyes of some Runners around her. Her personal posse, the ones who kissed her ass even before she learned her fancy Skill. She jerks her head and they move out from the crowd. I count them. Four—six…seven…

“That is such a rude thing to say, Ryoka. And on my special day as well! Here I am, Courier-to-be and you—you’re just a Runner. I think you should apologize. In fact, I insist on it.”

Oh? She’s going to get her friends to beat me down? I’m impressed; most girls wait a few months before they get that nasty. But then, this is another world and Persua’s a demon wearing crappy skin.

The other Runners step back when they see what’s about to go down. The old man tries to interject, but his voice is wavering with nerves.

“Persua, I really think—”

Her head turns and the Guildmaster goes silent. I feel a moment of sympathy for him; he’s probably not going to get much respect once she goes. Everyone’s going to remember how she walked all over him. But then I remember that he’s supposed to be in charge, and that he’s a coward. The other runners flank me, as if they’re a local mafia boss’s thugs and I’m the cringing victim.

“Well? I’m waiting for my apology.”

Persua faces me, supremely confident because she’s got a few Runners behind her. Oh come on. They don’t even have combat classes, most of them! I’m taller than all but one of the guys, and she’s seen me take down a Bronze-rank adventurer.

Okay, there are ten of them. Plus Persua. But I’ve changed a bit since we last met as well. The first day I found Erin, I had Octavia refill all of my potions and alchemical bags. I’ve got two of everything ready to go, and I know several magic tricks as well.

I keep still. Not exactly a power play, but I’m not going to react to her stupid little posse.

“I’m not apologizing for anything. And if you don’t get your obnoxious little cronies out of my face, they’re all going to suffer.”

Of all the things I know Persua was expecting, she wasn’t expecting that. Her face goes slack, and I feel the people around me shift. Garia’s looking at me as if I’m insane and trying to signal me to say I’m sorry, but I’m calm.

If they want a fight, I’m completely ready. Persua might have a Skill that makes her faster, but I’d love to see if she can dodge a pepper potion to the face. If she tries anything I’ll use [Flashbang] and then hold her down while I pour the potion in her eyes. I’m just hoping she takes the bait.

She doesn’t. Persua eyes me, her companions, and then decides not to risk it. She tosses her head and turns away.

“You’re not even worth my time.”

“Coward.”

I toss the insult at her back and see it stiffen. I don’t know why I said it; my mouth just won’t stop in situations like this. Persua turns back, a smile full of hate on her face. We don’t even try to pretend towards civility now.

“Fingerless insect. My back is all you’ll see of me from now on.”

“Beats looking at your face.”

“How many mutts and lizards did you sleep with in Liscor?”

“Oh you know, one or two. More people than you’ll ever sleep with in your life.”

“I wouldn’t touch one of those mongrels or scaly freaks with a stick.”

“They’d just run away screaming when they saw your face.”

“Whore.”

“Bitch.”

“You’ll be stuck here forever, you pathetic, classless slug.”

“And you’ll never be a proper Courier in a thousand years.”

We meet eyes for one last moment, and then Persua turns away. I let her walk to the other side of the room, followed by the group and don’t make any move until she’s laughing loudly with them and not looking at me. Then I sigh and turn back to Garia. She looks like she’s swallowed her tongue.

Well, that was fun. Now I’ve got to warn Erin about Persua as well.

I hate my life.

“I’m out of here. Garia, do you want to join me in the Frenzied Hare? I could use a drink.”

Garia starts and stammers as she looks at me.

“I uh—I—”

She doesn’t want to get on Persua’s bad side. Fine. I sigh and stand up. My heart is pounding fast, but I got the better of Persua in that one. No matter how hard she laughs—

I’m halfway across the smooth wood floor when I sense a blur. Persua seems to blink across the room, and then I feel her foot tangle with mine. She moves too fast for me to react; I trip forwards—

And catch myself, thanks to an ungainly wind milling of arms. I’ve been tripped before, and I’ve got a good stance. Nevertheless, I stumble forwards and hear Persua’s mocking laughter.

“How clumsy of you. What happened, Ryoka?”

I turn and look at her. She’s smirking off to one side, daring me to say something. I consider my options, and decide it’s not worth it. That’s her small victory; if she does it again she’s dead.

I walk on, adjusting my belt pouch. Persua’s still laughing, but I just make sure she didn’t grab anything from me. Potions? Check. Teriarch’s bag of holding? Check. Belt pouches?

One of the pouches is undone. I feel at it, and find cold, greasy meat and jam-covered crumbs in the pouch. Nothing else. My heart skips a beat. I whirl around—

“Vengeance!”

The shout springs from the tiny Frost Faerie that flies at Persua’s face. The girl only has a moment to scream before Ivolethe is all over her. The faerie flies around Persua, shouting triumphantly as Persua screams and people shout in surprise.

“Take this! And suffer that, ye mortal wench!”

She rips at Persua’s hair, tearing out strands and bites and scratches at Persua’s face. The girl is screaming, flailing at the small creature, but Ivolethe is everywhere. But then Persua’s hand connects with the faerie by pure chance, and Ivolethe is flung to the ground.

“What is it? Kill it!”

Persua shrills as another Runner dashes forwards and scoops Ivolethe up. She yells at him and tries to bite, but he has a finger under her chin. Everyone goes silent as they see for the first time what Ivolethe is.

“What creature is this?”

“Is it—it’s not a monster? A Fraerling? It’s too pale! And it has wings!”

“Let her go.”

I stride forwards, but Persua and her cronies immediately block my way. She stares at me, blood dripping from the scratches on her face and the places where Ivolethe yanked away skin as well as hair.

“You did this.”

I ignore Persua and look at the Runner holding her. He’s uncertain, but his grip on Ivolethe is strong and no matter how hard she struggles, she clearly can’t break free. And neither is she freezing him either; she must not be able to without her magic.

“That’s not a monster. That’s a Frost Faerie. Let her go, now.”

“A Winter Sprite?”

He looks at Ivorethe, stunned. She tries to move her head, but his fingernail is under her chin. She glares and dripples spit onto his thumb, but that’s all she can do.

“Kill it.”

Persua hisses at the other Runner. He hesitates. My heart constricts, and I raise my voice.

“Harm her, and I will kill you. My word on it.”

The Runner looks back to me. He’s one of Persua’s flunkies, but I know my eyes are serious. I mean every word. Persua looks at me, and then at the faerie. Then she smiles evilly.

“Is this your friend? Do you have to make friends with monsters since no one else likes you?”

I ignore Persua and hold out a hand.

“Give her to me.”

“Don’t listen to her.”

Persua interposes herself between the Runner and me. She gestures, and now her posse steps around me. I don’t even look at them; my eyes are on Ivolethe.

“I’ve never seen a Winter Sprite before. Is this what they really look like? They must be the rarest of all monsters; how did you catch this one?”

I try to tune out Persua’s words. What can I do? If I grab for her, what if Ivorlethe gets hurt? How can I talk Persua down peacefully? No—it’s the Runner who’s got her. Focus on him.

But Persua blocks my view of the Runner. She looks at me, and now I see the hatred shining in her eyes, pure and simple. She turns to look at the other Runners.

“Have any of you ever heard of a Frost Faerie being captured? No? I bet that if we sold her to a [Merchant] or an [Alchemist], they’d pay hundreds, no, thousands of gold coins for her.”

The Runners around me shift. The mention of that kind of money changes their eyes, and some of them slowly walk over to the crowd around me.

Shit. This is bad. But I have to let Ivolethe get free. I look past Persua and raise my voice.

“If you harm her, you will suffer for it. I don’t care how many people you’ve got; I’m not letting you take her. She’s a living being.”

“She attacked me!”

“So?”

Persua hisses with fury. She takes a step forwards, and her arm jostles the Runner holding the faerie. Instantly, Ivolethe shouts, her voice ringing in the Guild.

“Sisters! Sisters, hear me call and take retribution—”

Her voice cuts off as the Runner reapplies pressure on her chin. But the damage is done. I see the other Runners looking nervous and try to capitalize on that.

“Did you hear that? She just shouted for her sisters. You’ve seen the Frost Faeries and what they do when they’re mad. What do you think will happen if you kill one of their own?”

That makes the Runners think twice. Some of them shift and edge back a bit. No one wants to suffer the vengeance of creatures that bring the winter, no matter how much they might earn.

Persua looks uneasy too, but she’s too stupid to think straight. She whirls and screeches at the Runner.

“Shut her up! Squash her already!”

“Don’t do it.”

The Runner holding Ivolethe hesitates. His hand shakes and the faerie is gasping, but he doesn’t let go. I step forwards.

“Let her go. Now.”

“You coward! Give it to me! I’ll do it!”

Persua’s patience snaps. She reaches for Ivolethe, but the Runner pulls away from her as well. I step forwards again, thinking he’s seen reason, but he raises her up. I halt, hand outstretched. Persua stares at the Runner, eyes flinty daggers.

“What are you doing?”

He licks his lips. But he’s staring at me now. He opens his mouth and croaks a word.

“Coin.”

“What?”

“You—you want her back, you’ve got to pay for her.”

I stare at him incredulously. He can’t be serious. But oh, yes, he is. He pauses again, but he holds onto Ivolethe tightly as he looks at me.

“We all know you’ve got a lot. Well—give it over. And then I’ll let her go. Otherwise—”

He squeezes a little harder and Ivolethe cries out. My blood boils, but Persua’s all smiles now.

“That’s right! Just hand over your belt pouches—and your potions—and we’ll call it even. Okay?”

Those greedy bastards. But the Runner’s eyes are serious, and Ivolethe is in pain. What should I do? If I give them Teriarch’s gold coins—but Ivolethe—

I stare at Persua. I stare at the Runner. I stare at Ivolethe, and come to a swift decision.

“Fuck it. [Flashbang]!”

The world and sound itself explode into confusion and chaos. I closed my eyes, but the sound wave still hits me like a physical thing. My ears ring and go silent; but I’m already charging into the Runner, body-checking him to the floor.

There’s no time for thought or anything else. I reach for his flailing hands. I have to get Ivolethe free. Get her loose. Grab his arms. Break his bones. Bite his fingers off. I punch him repeatedly as I search for the small blue shape among the dancing spots in my vision. Where is she?

Nowhere. Gone. She’s free! I see a blue shape flying towards the door, and then someone strikes me from behind.

Persua is on top of me, fingers clawing, biting, kicking. She’s like a wildcat, and some of her friends try to batter me as well. I roll over, and pull out one of Octavia’s potions.

The pepper potion would be better as a spray. But one good toss still gets it on a lot of faces and eyes, including Persua’s. I shield my face and feel the hot liquid stinging as it reacts with my skin, but the screams are worth it. I stumble up and see Persua stumbling away from me, shrieking as she rubs at her eyes.

Something in me snaps. Her little insults, her tripping me, my crushed leg—and Ivolethe—all explode outwards in a fist that catches her on the cheek and sends her to the ground. Persua tries to get up, but I kick her down and then mount her as she flails and begin to punch.

Punch her. Hurt her. My ears are ringing, but now I hear the roaring of blood, and all that I want in this or any other world is to bash her face in. I hit and hit and hit, until something drags me back. I struggle, fighting, but whoever’s holding me is too strong.

The rage hammering every inch of me subsides after a while, and I stop struggling. That’s when I hear and see and think again, and realize I’m being held by two strong arms.

“Garia?”

I look around and see my friend, her nose bleeding furiously, holding me back as Persua lies on the floor. People are still shouting in pain—I see Runners clutching at their eyes and more raising their voices, deafened. Two people are with Persua, and then I see the girl herself lying on the ground.

Her face is—I only now begin to feel the pain in my hands. My fingers hurt terribly, and I feel small lacerations and bruising on my skin. I see the echoes of their impressions on Persua’s face.

It’s already swollen. I can barely see her features, and there’s blood. A lot of blood. I broke her nose, even parts of her face. She’s crying, and shaking, and the [Receptionist] holding the healing potion barely knows where to start. But as the swelling reduces a tiny bit, one of her eyes swivels towards me. And I hear her voice.

“You.”

She struggles, but the two women hold her down. Persua’s face is filled with blood and snot and tears and who knows what else. But her voice is intact. It’s a trembling mess of emotions; not a shriek, but a warbling, piercing whisper.

“I’ll kill you.”

I’m near enough to Persua that I can feel her spitting as her malformed lips form the words. Her eyes fix on me, wild, and the words pour forth, hatred in each syllable. Tears run through the blood on her face, but she still stares at me.

“I’ll kill you. I swear it. I’ll have you raped and killed. You’ll die screaming.”

“Ryoka—”

Garia tries to pull me back, and the [Receptionists] try to force us apart. But Persua thrashes and I refuse to move. She screams.

“I’ll kill you! You’ll die horribly! There won’t be pieces left of you! I’ll kill you and everyone you love, you—”

The [Receptionist] tries to jam the potion in her mouth, but Persua just spits out a broken tooth with the potion as she continues shouting at me.

There’s a crazy look in her eyes. Garia holds me back as I stare at Persua. She continues speaking, half-sobbing, half-cursing. There’s nothing I can say to her, nothing to reply with. So I just kick her in the stomach and watch her puke before Garia pulls me away.

----

Two hours later, I stand outside in the cold snow. I barely feel it, even though I haven’t had any of Erin’s soup. I feel the cold air blowing my clothes and don’t care.

“Ivolethe.”

The faerie hovers in the air next to me, looking uncharacteristically serious. I’m dressed up, and she’s naked. But I feel like the colder one. My heart is very cold. Very still.

I slowly sit down in the snow, and the faerie flies down next to me. The snow is wet—I don’t care. I don’t have anywhere to be, and I can’t stand. Not right now.

After a while, the faerie speaks.

“‘Twas an unexpected encounter, was it not?”

I look at her. Ivolethe looks back.

“What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

“I am not sure. But did it end how you expected?”

I laugh, shortly.

“What do you think? I’m banned from that Runner’s Guild—maybe all of them right now. They might press charges, or make me pay for what’s left of the building.”

Shortly after I left, the other Frost Faeries appeared. They crashed an avalanche of snow into the building. If it hadn’t been deserted—as it was, it destroyed nearly everything inside. The last I saw, the building was so full of snow that people were having to chip away at the compacted ice.

“What a mess.”

The short version of what went down is that Persua went to the best local Healer around to get treated for the injuries the potion couldn’t fix. The Runners scattered, mostly thanks to the other Frost Faeries pelting them with shards of ice, freezing them, and so on. I think the Guild staff would have liked to hold me accountable, but when they saw the faeries literally destroy the entire Guild in one go, they had second thoughts. So did the Watch, which is how I found myself politely asked to leave the city now rather than be kicked out.

I probably could have stayed. But I didn’t want to be anywhere near Persua, not even in the same city. I still remember the look in her eyes.

It’s not over. I’ve never seen anyone look like that, but I know without a doubt that she meant every word she said to me. Part of me wishes I’d gone back and taken my knife and stabbed her right there and then. She’s never going to forget. But I’m not a murderer.

No matter how close I got back there.

“What a mess. What a horrible, terrible…”

The faerie looks up at me. I stare down at her. In a way, this is all her fault. Persua would have left me alone if I’d just walked on. But I can’t hate her for what she did. It’s what I’d do for Erin, the exact same.

“From now on, I’m not taking you inside ever again. Got it?”

She nods.

“That is fair.”

I shiver. Now I’m feeling the cold again, but I stay seated, cross-legged.

“I’m just glad you’re okay. If that Runner or Persua had tried—would they have killed you?”

Another nod.

“Better that you had let them. If she had slain me, her death would have followed before the next moon rose in the sky.”

Chill from within, chill without. I stare at Ivolethe.

“Who would have killed her? The other faeries?”

She shakes her tiny head.

“Not my sisters, no. There are others among the Winter Court who move in matters of death. And they are far more terrible than we.”

I don’t want to know. I don’t. Ivolethe’s face—I don’t want to know. Some things about the fae terrify me.

“It’s better that you didn’t die.”

“Perhaps. But that girl—she swore a dire oath against you. Such things can only be resolved in blood.”

“You’re probably right.”

I know she is. But I can’t think about that now. I can’t, or I’ll have to choose between killing her now or—

“She’ll be a Courier. And I won’t see her.”

“Bah. That one would give up all for vengeance. Her blades will find you no matter how far apart ye are.”

“I guess I’ve just got to outrun her, then. Although she’s faster than I am now.”

“Mm.”

We sit in silence for a while longer. I bow my head. Ivolethe just looks at the still landscape.

“I was jealous of her, you know. Just a bit. I don’t like Skills and Classes but—I’m so slow and weak without them.”

Ivolethe looks up at me silently. I avert my gaze; look at the gray horizon as I try to explain.

“It’s always the same argument. I think I’m giving away something by leveling up. Or—or I’m compromising, taking the easy route to success without any effort. But there is effort required, and what’s the harm in doing what everyone else is doing? It’s only logical.”

More silence. Ivolethe just listens as I externalize my struggle and confess.

“But it’s hard. I want to be strong. Erin’s—she’s stronger than me in so many ways. But I thought that would be fine. I could do things my own way, become a Courier even—I had Octavia’s potions, and I can even do magic. But it turns out I can’t even do magic that well.”

Some snow blows off of the ground and into the air. I watch it whirl upwards and away.

“I can’t do magic. And I’ve hit my limit physically. I could—try altering my body, I guess. Teriarch mentioned that. But that’s cheating too. I just wish there was a way to be faster. Just faster. If I were faster, I’d be happy with the rest.”

“So what is it ye wish?”

Ivolethe turns to face me in the snow. I look down at her, and feel that same sense of envy.

“I wish I was better. Just…better.”

“‘Tis a tall wish. Even a King could not grant your request. Why not be content with your self as it is now? You are brave and quick; is there aught else you need?”

I know she’s right, but at the same time, she’s wrong. I shake my head and shiver.

“Who I am isn’t enough. I want to become more. Is that too much to ask?”

For a while Ivolethe studies me. Then she smiles, teeth flashing in the winter sunlight.

“It is. But mortals have always wished for such. That is why you spread like wildfire while we remain, timeless.”

She looks rueful and sad, and happy at the same time, like an adult watching a child play. My heart aches.

“I don’t know what to do. What would you do, in my place, Ivolethe?”

She looks at me from head to toe.

“What is it you’ve dreamed of, Ryoka Griffin? What do you wish for with all your heart?”

It’s an important question, but I know the answer in a second. I just have to think back to the day I started running. I speak my reply to her and the cold.

“I always wanted to run like the wind. I felt it once, when you led me and Mrsha away from the Goblin army.”

I remember the rushing air behind me, and the sense of weightlessness I felt. Each step was forever, and I watched the world fly past me. For a second I was wind, and I lived my dream.

“Well then, I would search for that. I would seek to run as the wind, for that is my dream. If I did not chase such things, I would not be mortal, no?”

“How?”

I have to laugh.

“Even a Courier couldn’t run like that. At least, not Val or Hawk. And certainly not without levels. How would I ever get that fast, when I can’t even outrun Persua?”

Ivolethe spreads two tiny hands.

“We are friends, are we not? What do friends do but help each other?”

She grins at me again, and I pause.

“What? How could you help?”

“You want to study magic? To become better? I told you once; you will not find what you look for in a book. But perhaps it is because ye haven’t seen what magic truly is.”

I know what she’s hinting at. But I have to hear it out loud.

“What are you suggesting?”

Slowly, Ivolethe flies upwards until she sits in the air in front of me. She looks me in the eye, still smiling.

“I’ll teach you the ways of the fae, not the tricks mortals use. I will teach you to listen to the wind and run like we do. That is what a friend does for a poor mortal who wishes to be better than she is.”

My heart is thundering. My breath catches in my throat.

“Can you do that? Isn’t it against the rules?”

“No one has made rules against this. No one has been mad enough to try. But for you, friend, I would try. It’s worth a shot, eh?”

I look at her. Ivolethe grins at me, a tiny, mad faerie. My friend. I stare back at her, a shivering, depressed Human girl who dreams of flying. Slowly, I offer her a hand.

“If you’d be crazy enough to try it, I’d be forever in your debt.”

Ivolethe wrinkles her face in disgust and slaps away my hand.

“Bah. Do not make such promises so lightly. Nae, I offer you this: I will try to teach you to run like the wind for one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Friendship.”

She offers me a tiny hand. I don’t hesitate. I reach out, and her grip is like melting ice, winter’s thaw, the moment of tiny warmth in the frozen heart of the world. We shake, and it is done.

A faerie’s bargain. A friend’s promise. A child’s dream.

The wind blows, and my heart races off with it.

To run like the wind.

3.05 L

The day after Ryoka’s encounter with Persua and the day before everything else happened, a [Message] was sent to Celum addressed to Ryoka and Erin. Two spells, actually. They were duly recorded and when Ryoka remembered to stop by the Mage’s Guild, they were delivered to both girls at the counter with no incident.

Erin and Ryoka stared at the short piece of paper and the neat, clearly legible handwriting of the scribe. It was a short message, but hit all the points Erin had been privately worrying about.

Erin, Mrsha is with me and Olesm is keeping an eye on your inn. M is worried, but adjusting. All is well; do not get stabbed by Goblins. I have told Klbksctch and Relc. Stay safe,

–Selys.

Erin breathed a sigh of relief as she looked at the message while Ryoka looked at the short reply she’d received from Krshia.

We will await the delivery. The others will abide until then.

The other girl didn’t exactly sigh in relief, but it put her mind at ease. Both young women left the Mage’s Guild without sending a return message, and met with Ivolethe and Garia to go about the rest of their day. While the situation was not ideal, Erin and Ryoka agreed that things would keep a little while before they would need to return.

However, all those in both Celum and Liscor had omitted one person in their exchange of messages. Selys had completely forgotten about her while attempting to deal with a restless and upset Mrsha, and Krshia was too busy taking care of her nephew Brunkr, who was lying in bed moaning about his paw. Erin was too busy thinking about Toren to remember, and Ryoka didn’t really care. Thus, no one had mentioned the last small detail left unresolved in Erin’s inn.

They had all completely forgotten about Lyonette.

----

Lyonette sat in the empty inn that belonged to Erin Solstice and stared at the shuttered windows. It was dark. The room was empty and quiet and the falling snow outside did not disturb the suffocating stillness of the building. Nevertheless, Lyonette stayed still, refusing to move. She was not crying, and she wasn’t having hysterics. She was above such common reactions.

But she was afraid. She could see snow falling between one of the cracks in the shutters. It was the only one not fully covering the glass windows. She knew she should get up and close it fully, but she didn’t want to. Fear held her down.

Lyonette, or Lyon as she now grudgingly answered to, watched the snow slowly build up outside. Flakes fell down from the overcast sky, disappearing into the blank landscape. She watched the snow fall and wondered when it would stop. Part of her wanted it never to stop, as if time was tied to the snow. So long as it fell, time wouldn’t pass and she wouldn’t have to confront the truth.

Erin Solstice was gone. She had left her inn one day and never come back. She was gone, and now so was the cute little Gnoll child named Mrsha. Ryoka Griffin, the surly Runner girl had left too, and all the guests had stopped arriving. Now the inn was deserted, save for Lyonette. And if the Goblins came back, she would just be a corpse. Or worse.

In the growing cold, Lyonette shivered. She hadn’t dared light a fire, even though the winter chill meant she had bundled herself in every article of clothing Erin had given her. She had even dragged a blanket downstairs and she was shivering in it. She could see her breath sometimes in the air—if she held her breath and then slowly breathed out, she could see it as a small vapor trail.

This was a new discovery for Lyonette. She had seldom been in any place where she was this cold for this long. She had always been taken care of by a bevy of servants; exposure to potentially lethal cold like this was unthinkable.

But her servants were on another continent and Lyonette was alone. And Erin, the only person who had taken care of her, was gone. She might have been killed by the Goblin army. They had gone north, hadn’t they?

At that thought Lyonette shuddered uncontrollably and nearly fell out of her chair. The Goblin army. They had come through Liscor’s path, a huge army of them, just like those led by the Goblin Lords of the past. She hadn’t seen anything like a Goblin Lord, but the army had been enough to give her waking nightmares.

She remembered that night vividly. She had been sleeping in her bed the day after Selys had taken Mrsha. Lyonette hadn’t been sleeping well; she’d barely gotten to bed after the female drake had finally dragged the Gnoll forcibly out of the inn, ignoring the howls and shrieks of distress the Gnoll cub had made. And then she had heard the high-pitched shouting, and woken from her slumber. A minute later Lyonette had realized it wasn’t shouting she was hearing, but the Goblins.

An army had marched out of the darkness, through the falling snow, hundreds, thousands of them. Some had been holding torches, but the vast mass of their number had been mostly shadows, rapidly traversing the deep snow, laughing and shrieking as the torchlight glinted off of metal.

A Goblin army. The bane of civilization. Lyonette had been too afraid to count and see if there were really hundreds of thousands of them like those that had marched in the last Goblin King’s army. The instant she had realized the Goblins were moving towards Liscor, she had barricaded the door and fled upstairs to her room.

Lyon had hid in her room on the second floor of the inn, hiding under the bed with her heart hammering out of her chest as she heard the Goblin host marching past. Her first thought had been that the Goblins were attacking Liscor. But they hadn’t. Instead, the Goblin army had moved around the city on the eastern side. They were headed north, to the Human lands, and that had forced them to bypass Liscor.

The Goblins had passed by the walls of the city in one mass, loosing arrows up at the defenders while the [Guardsmen] held their ground behind the battlements. A few volleys had been loosed in return, but the main deterrent had come in the form of a glowing orb of crackling lightning that had formed over the southern wall. It had sent bolts of lightning shooting down towards the Goblins, who had scattered and retreated to a safer distance.

Lyonette had recognized the wards of course. They were standard among most large cities that faced regular monster attacks. And they were a sufficient deterrent for the Goblin army, for the mass of monsters didn’t stop to retaliate again and disappeared down the northern road. Lyonette had watched the dark shapes vanish and waited even longer until the last eerie howls had been covered up by silence. But she had hid in the inn until the morning, and many hours after that.

After that—silence. Lyonette had stayed in the inn for two more days, only opening the door once when a strange Drake she vaguely recognized tried to enter. He hadn’t said much—his name was Okresm or something and he had left as soon as he realized Lyon was still living here. Rather, she had chased him out.

Now Lyonette was regretting that, however slightly. It had been days since the Goblin army had passed, and the young woman had heard nothing about Erin’s whereabouts. For all intents and purposes, she had vanished.

What had happened? Ryoka had left with a few curt words saying she was going to look for Erin. Then Selys had decided to take Mrsha into the city and they’d gone. And then—

Nothing. Where was Erin? Had Ryoka found her, or was she still looking? Lyonette was in the dark about everything, and with only her fears to speak to her day after day, her paranoia had mounted.

Erin was never coming back. She might be, but she could be hurt, or wounded. What if a monster had killed her, or her skeleton? Maybe it had shown its true colors and stabbed her when her back was turned, or simply abandoned Erin in the middle of nowhere. She could be dead! Or eaten! Or—

Lyonette imagined Goblins doing all the horrible things her [Governess] had told her about, or what she’d heard when eavesdropping on the palace staff. Erin might have run into the Goblin army. She could be dying right this instant.

That didn’t inspire Lyon to go out searching for Erin like that rude Ryoka had done of course. She wouldn’t know where to begin, and the Goblins had probably eaten her. Besides, Lyon didn’t owe her anything. Erin Solstice was a rude peasant who treated no one with respect and was too trusting for her own good. Anything that befell her was probably her own fault.

But Lyonette had to admit, the inn had never seemed so dark when Erin Solstice was around. And it had never been quite so…

Empty.

It was as if the life of the inn itself had gone with Erin. The day after she’d left, all the guests had stopped arriving. That may have had to do with the Goblins and the lack of any lights in the windows—Lyonette had stopped lighting the fire in the common room of the inn—but in an instant, the bustle of the building had ceased completely.

At first Lyonette had been impatient, waiting for Erin’s return. Then she had been afraid. Now, after many days, she was just…quiet. Lyonette sat in the inn day after day, only leaving now and then to fetch some water to drink or use the outhouse. But the longer she sat in the dead building, the more she knew something had to change.

It wasn’t a quick realization. If anything, it was a thought born out of several nights of sleeping with her back to the door, wide-eyed, flinching at any random sound in the night. It was finding Erin’s little money stash and realizing most of her gold coins had been given away to the Horns of Hammerad or on Erin’s person when she disappeared. It was staring at the empty pantry and feeling the small hole in her stomach where food should and always had been.

Lyonette had cried herself to sleep the first night she’d gone to sleep with her belly writhing with hunger; the next she’d just slept, too exhausted to even weep. Six days after Erin had vanished, Lyonette knew what had to be done. She looked up and watched another wisp of warmth vanish into the dark room of The Wandering Inn. She knew.

Erin Solstice wasn’t coming back. Or if she was, it might be tomorrow, a week from now, or months. Either way, if she was gone for even a little while longer, it would be too late. So. Lyonette knew what had to be done while Erin was gone.

She had to work. Or she would starve.

It was a foreign concept to Lyon in many ways, a hateful one. Demeaning. But it didn’t change the facts. She was running out of Erin’s coin, and she had even less food in the building. She had to work. Erin’s inn had sustained itself by selling food to customers; she had to continue that.

There were no other options Lyonette could think of. She couldn’t envision herself making her way north through the snow, and the Goblins—no. And she was banned from the city, so that left only the inn.

Again, this wasn’t a conclusion Lyonette came to willingly, but after two days of eating the last crumbs of frozen cheese and equally hard bread that was the last of the food in the pantry, Lyonette was desperate. That was how she found herself waiting at the door when Olesm, the Drake, cautiously broke his way through the snow to her inn.

“You! You there, Drake!”

He nearly jumped out of his scales when Lyonette threw the door open. She had seen the Drake come by the inn every day, or every other day at the latest. He usually just peered hopefully through one of the windows for a few minutes before leaving, usually quicker if he saw her face.

“Oh. It’s you. Um, Lyon, wasn’t it?”

Lyonette gave the Drake a big smile and deliberately refrained from correcting him on her proper name.

“That is right. And you are…Olesm, correct?”

“That’s right.”

The Drake coughed and looked into the dark inn hopefully.

“Is uh, Erin not back yet?”

“No. She hasn’t returned.”

“Ah. I see.”

The Drake hesitated.

“Well, I won’t be getting in your way. I’ll ah, drop by tomorrow, then.”

“No! Don’t do that! I mean—why don’t you stay here?”

“What?”

Lyonette opened the door a bit wider. The Drake blinked into the dark room, and Lyonette realized that he probably couldn’t even see inside.

“It’s a bit dark, but I’ll start the fire. You can stay and—and order something!”

The Drake looked doubtfully at Lyonette as she smiled desperately at him.

“But Erin isn’t here right now. She’s the innkeeper.”

“Yes, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“I guess you are.”

“Well then. Why not come in? Erin’s inn—is still her inn even without her, isn’t it?”

“That might be true?”

Olesm frowned. He looked backwards towards the city as if he was considering leaving, then he reluctantly shrugged.

“I guess I could stay for a bit…”

“Good!”

Lyonette nearly gasped with relief. She opened the door and the Drake stepped in. He shivered; the inside of the inn was scarcely warmer than the outside.

“It’s freezing in here! Why isn’t the fire on?”

“I…forgot.”

Lyonette pretended to fuss with some kindling in the fireplace. Then she struck some sparks with the flint and steel and the fire flickered into life. Olesm watched the small flames consume the shaved wood and begin to eat away at the larger sticks Lyonette had arranged in the fireplace as he stared around the empty building.

“It’s so dark. And gloomy. Uh, not that that’s a bad thing. I guess when Erin’s not here…”

He cleared his throat.

“Did—did you say you had something to eat? I wouldn’t mind a snack.”

“Food? Oh, now that you mention it—”

Lyonette turned as casually as possible and gave Olesm her best contrite expression.

“I’m sorry, but I forgot—there’s nothing left in the pantry. With Erin gone, there’s no one to go shopping.”

“Not you?”

The Drake frowned at Lyon. She hesitated.

“I can’t go into the city. I’m banned.”

“Oh yeah. Right. You’re the thief.”

“I—”

Lyonette hesitated. Then she slowly closed her mouth. She was the thief, even if she didn’t have the [Thief] class. She hadn’t seen herself as one, but the Drakes and Gnolls thought of her that way. She had to humor him.

“I am. That is right.”

She tried to look apologetic as possible.

“It’s all my fault, of course. I would go shopping, but I can’t. So there’s nothing to eat here.”

“Ah.”

The Drake just stared at Lyonette. She cleared her throat again.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without food. If I can’t serve people, how will I keep the inn open until Erin gets back?”

“You? You’re going to keep The Wandering Inn open?”

The look Olesm gave Lyon was full of disbelief. She gritted her teeth, but nodded.

“It’s my job. I am a [Barmaid] after all. And I’m Erin Solstice’s employee. She said so herself. And what sort of…help would I be if I didn’t keep her inn open and earn her money while she was gone?”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

Olesm frowned as he scratched at his chin. Lyonette nodded, the desperate smile still fixed on her face.

“So I need someone to help deliver food to the inn while Erin’s gone. I’ll pay of course—and you can eat here as well!”

“Wait, what? You want me to bring you food?”

The Drake sat up in his chair and frowned hard at Lyonette. She nodded, keeping her eyes on him.

“You have to. Not cooked food; I’ll sell food here like Erin did. But you have to bring the supplies here so I can cook it. Or else I’ll starve. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

The Drake gave Lyonette a look that wasn’t quite as reassuring as she’d hoped. But he eventually agreed to find a way to get Lyonette more food.

“I guess I can make a few trips—but how will you keep the inn open? Without Erin, doesn’t this place lose a lot of its ah, attraction? Why would anyone come this far?”

“Why, because I’ll cook fine food of course, and serve people with grace and decorum!”

“Really? You?”

Olesm looked completely unconvinced. Lyonette ground her teeth, but she smiled at him.

“I do have a Skill in cooking.”

“You do?”

“Absolutely. And I’ve waited tables for nearly a month. You just bring the ingredients, and I’ll cook it. In fact, why don’t you bring some right now? I have money and a list right here…”

“Well, it’s sort of cold out—you mean now? What about—”

Olesm blinked as Lyonette thrust a sheet of parchment and some coins into his claws and practically pushed him out the door. She stared anxiously at him in the snow as he stared at the inn, and then watched him trudge slowly down towards the city, heart pounding all the while.

She’d done it! But the real test would be if he came back. Lyonette stared out the window at the faint shape of Olesm as he walked into the city, and then she sat at the window as the air in the room slowly warmed, staring fixedly at the gates.

It felt like forever and a half before she saw a burdened figure leave the city and start walking her way. It felt like even longer before the Drake struggled up the hill and exhaustedly dropped the packs full of ingredients on the doorstep as Lyonette flung open the door.

“Thank you so much for bringing everything here!”

“What? It was nothing. I mean, it was a bit heavy—I don’t suppose you have anything to drink?”

“I have to cook first.”

Lyonette was already busy opening the ties on the pack. Olesm nodded as he sagged into a chair.

“In that case, I could definitely use a bite to eat. Something hot.”

“Oh. Now?”

The Human girl stared at the Drake. He stared back.

“Yes. I mean, you are going to make food, right?”

“Of course. But—”

Lyonette hesitated.

“—I have to work on a few recipes first. Why don’t you come back two days from now? Then I’ll probably need some more ingredients. Or—you could return tonight if you want to buy something.”

The Drake looked indignantly at the bulging pack of supplies he’d brought.

“What? My meal’s not on the house?”

“No!”

Lyon glared at him. The Drake glared back.

“Okay, I guess I’ll come back later. I mean, if you’re not busy.”

“You do that. And remember, I’ll need more food soon! And tell your…friends. The Wandering Inn is open again!”

Lyon barely heard the door slam as Olesm walked out. She was too busy staring at the wonderful contents of the pack. Eggs, carefully wrapped to avoid breaking, fresh cheese—flour—her stomach growled uncontrollably and Lyonette’s hands shook.

Half of her wanted to scarf down everything raw, but she made herself drag everything into the kitchen and put all the ingredients away first. She had to do this right.

Almost mechanically, the girl pulled out ingredients and set them on the counter as the fire she’d started in the kitchen began to warm the air here too. She blew on her hands, ignoring her empty stomach as she prepared herself. She was going to cook. She, Lyonette du Marquis, was about to make a meal.

Hot shame and burning desire stole over her in waves, but the emptiness in her stomach quashed all other feelings. Lyonette stared at the ingredients and imagined something basic. Pasta. She remembered the lovely, buttery noodles Erin had served to her and the other guests in the inn one night. She could do that, surely?

Lyon had [Basic Cooking] as a Skill now, a fact that filled her with shame and privately elated her. It was the skill of a peasant, yes, but it was her Skill. It was hers.

That was how she found herself cooking with the flour, salt, eggs, and some water in the kitchen. Lyonette first mixed flour and salt together, and then made a divot in the mound of powder to add a beaten egg. Then she mixed in a beaten egg and squished the sticky mess together until it began to congeal. As if by magic, the disgusting mess of egg and flour became a different substance. Dough!

It was dough, the very thing Lyonette had seen bakers turn into golden loaves of bread! She stared at the small ball sitting on the counter of the kitchen and stared at her flour-covered hands in amazement.

“That’s how it’s done? It’s so…easy!”

She’d expected there to be some laborious process required, or a convoluted mix of ingredients. But this? Barely a few minutes of effort and she was nearly finished with her cooking! Part of Lyon was elated, the rest indignant that people paid [Bakers] and [Cooks] so much. There was nothing to it!

But Lyonette quickly realized she wasn’t done as her Skill prompted her to keep going. She had to knead the dough for several minutes, until Lyonette’s weak hands were cramping up a bit from the effort. Then, she had to find the rolling pin in one of the drawers and smooth out the dough. And then Lyon had to cut the dough into long strips, and then boil water.

That was actually the hardest part. Lyonette had of course gone to fetch water many times in the past for Erin, but she’d hated the duty and had done it as slowly as possible. Since she was making food for herself and she was alone, Lyonette had no excuse. She had to make two trips for water, and she was exhausted by the time she watched the water boil over the fire.

Then, Lyonette added the pasta and a bit of salt and watched the noodles swirl around as she stirred the pot anxiously. After only two minutes the pasta was done. Lyonette dumped the water outside and scooped the rest out of the pot, shaking it to dry the last of the water. Then she put it in one heaping mound on her plate and dug in.

In the lukewarm inn, by the flickering fire, the young [Princess] used a slightly-bent fork to lever the first mound of noodles into her mouth with a shaking hand. She bit, chewed, and swallowed, scarfing down the food almost too quickly to taste it. But she tasted the second bite, and the third, and her face fell with each new forkful of her pasta.

It couldn’t be. But it was. As the aching feeling in her stomach subsided, Lyonette slowly chewed the slightly watery noodles and knew the truth. Her food wasn’t great. It wasn’t even good. It was bland. No, worse, it was simply mediocre. True, she’d made noodles thanks to her skill, but they were a far cry from what Erin could now do.

Lyonette had been famished, but even she couldn’t finish the huge mound on her plate. After about two thirds of it she just sat back and stared at the pale mass of noodles, disgusted and disappointed in equal parts.

It wasn’t the same at all. She could remember the wonderful noodles Erin had made not so long ago—buttery and hot, and delightfully fragrant thanks to some herb. It had been delicious even without the meatballs. Lyonette’s mouth watered just remembering.

But this? This was just pasta, barely serviceable. It was a disgrace to any inn, and worse, it had come from a Skill. Lyonette’s Skill. Was this all she could do, even with [Basic Cooking]?

Lyonette wanted to cry again. This wasn’t fair. Why was her cooking this bad? She’d remembered ordering one of her [Maids] who had [Basic Cooking] to make her a snack, and while it hadn’t been great, it hadn’t been…this. What had she done wrong?

Then she remembered what one of her tutors had said on the rare days she’d been paying attention. Skills could improve one’s ability greatly and even give them the means to do things they would never be able to do normally, like fish, work metal, or even fight. But a Skill improved on what was already there.

If two [Warriors] with the same Skills fought, the one who had trained longer and had more actual combat experience would inevitably prevail. Similarly, even with [Basic Cooking], if Lyonette had never made food, all her cooking would be just that: basic.

For two minutes Lyonette just stared at the cold plate of noodles, and then she heard a knock at the door. Instantly her body went rigid with fear and apprehension, but Goblins wouldn’t knock, would they? This wasn’t a monster, this was a guest. A guest!

She scrambled to her feet and flung the door open. Her mind was racing—was it too cold inside? She should have opened the windows to let everyone know the inn was open tonight! What about cooking? She couldn’t serve food to—what should she say? What was it that Erin had always told her to say to new customers? ‘Welcome, please have a seat?’ or was it, ‘let me take your coat’?

The person standing in the doorway as Lyonette yanked the door open had no coat to take. A massive drake—far bigger than Olesm—blinked down at Lyonette as she stared up at him. After a moment, he coughed.

“Hey…you.”

“Um, welc—do you have a seat for your coat?”

“What?”

Lyonette turned red. The Drake scratched awkwardly at the spines on the back of his head and looked past the young woman into the inn. His eyes noted the single plate and dim fire before they returned to her.

“Is Erin back yet?”

Lyonette gulped. She vaguely recognized the Drake; he was Relc, the one Erin had thrown out of the inn earlier. But he was also a guest, wasn’t he? She tried to smile as welcomingly as possible as she opened the door a bit wider.

“Not yet. But would you like to stay and have something to ea—”

“Nope. See ya.”

The Drake turned before Lyonette had even finished her sentence. Desperately, she threw the door open to call out to him, but her breath caught in her chest when she saw the black Antinium standing next to the Drake in the snow. He’d been so still, so silent, she hadn’t even seen him at first.

Klbkch stared at Lyonette for a second and then turned to walk away with the Drake. Lyonette stood in the doorway, at the backs of the two [Guardsmen]. They waited until they were a few paces away from the inn to start speaking, but the wind blew their voices up the hill towards her.

“Looks like Erin’s not back yet.”

“Indeed.”

“But who was that Human? I’ve never seen her before, have you?”

“I believe it was the thief that Erin Solstice employed.”

“Who?”

“The one who burned down Miss Krshia’s shop, I believe. The one exiled from the city.”

“Who?”

“The Human girl.”

“There are a lot of—”

“The one who called you ‘scaley oaf’.”

“Oh! Her. Hey, can I go back inside and beat her up a bit?”

Lyonette shrank back in the doorway, but the other voice stopped the first.

“That would not be wise. If Erin Solstice comes back and finds you have attacked her staff, she will most likely ban you for life.”

“Damn. Are you sure?”

“Very. You will have to give her your apology gift later. Although, you will first have to buy her a gift.”

“Hrgh. I know, I know. But what do Human females like, anyways? Should I get her some meat? Jewels? I don’t have that much money on me, you know.”

“I recommend we ask about. There are Humans in the city. Let us ask them.”

“Sure, I guess. If we have to. Hey, where should we eat tonight…?”

The voices trailed off as the wind changed directions. Lyonette shivered as she stood in the open doorway a moment longer, staring out into the dark snow. Then she closed the door. She felt…bad, even though she didn’t know why. But the inn was full of light, especially when she opened the windows and added more fuel to the fire. It was warm and bright and it almost felt like before, even if dinner had been bland. But it wasn’t the same.

It really wasn’t.

----

Someone else came by that night. Lyonette was in the kitchen, trying to work out what would make the pasta taste better when she heard the door open. She hurried into the common room and saw a man wearing a worn, serviceable dark cloak shaking snow off of it as he looked around. A dagger at his side was his only weapon, but he walked as if he only needed his piercing glare to kill anything that might accost him.

Lyon recognized him as well. The man looked as annoyed as ever, and perhaps even more so today. His expression was grim, and he reminded Lyon of the oldest and grumpiest of the kingdom’s soldiers. She knew who he was—a Gold-rank adventurer. That made her defer to him slightly, even though she was royalty. It was certainly not because she was afraid of him. Well, maybe a little.

“W-welcome sir! Miss Solstice isn’t back yet, but if you’d like to stay, I could make you some pasta—”

Halrac’s piercing gaze froze Lyon in place. He looked at her, and then around the inn. He shook his head and grunted irritably.

“Hmph.”

He turned and left without another word. Lyonette watched him leave through one of the windows as the adventurer stomped back towards the city through the snow. She didn’t know what to think about that, but she imagined how much money a Gold-rank adventurer might have spent and felt even worse.

All in all, it was almost a relief when Olesm dropped by. The Drake was still irritable, but he came by for dinner by himself. He grew much more cheerful when Lyonette served him pasta and told him he wouldn’t have to pay for it; his expression immediately changed when he bit into the over-salted batch she’d made this time. He ate four bites and then pushed his plate away and didn’t touch it for the remainder of the time he spent in the inn.

Not that he took that long anyways. Olesm only stayed long enough to tell Lyonette about the Goblin army’s sacking of Esthelm, the news that Erin was alive in Celum, and that she wasn’t coming back any time soon. She badgered him with questions, but the Drake had no answers.

“I don’t know when she can come back, okay?”

He snapped at her as he drank some of the hot water she’d boiled and grimaced at the taste. It was the same water she’d used for the noodles, and he pushed that back on the table as well after another sip.

“But—when will she return? Can she?”

Lyonette wrung her hands. Olesm just shrugged, looking unhappy.

“It’s dangerous on the roads, and frankly, it might be safer where she is. After everyone’s [Dangersense] got triggered in the city, Zevara’s put the entrance to the dungeon on permanent watch with every spare [Guardsman] she can muster.”

“The dungeon?”

Lyonette had no [Dangersense]; she hadn’t even realized the entrance to the dungeon had been uncovered. Olesm nodded as he exclaimed.

“None of the adventurers want to go in. Griffon Hunt hasn’t even gone through the entrance yet, and all the other groups are staying put. No one’s sure what will come out—if anything. Someone’s got to go in, but until one of the groups works up the nerve, it’s another threat along with those Goblins that the city has to be wary of.”

He sighed and stood up. Lyonette watched him anxiously. Olesm looked at the food and water and shook his head briefly before digging in his pocket.

“Here.”

He put a few bronze coins on the table and nodded to them.

“For the food. I’m not that hungry, I guess.”

“You’re going? Already?”

Lyonette was surprised at the tone of her own voice. Normally she would have welcomed silence, but Olesm was the first person to even enter the inn since Erin had left. The Drake nodded, looking tired.

“I’ve got to plan some stuff out with Zevara and—well, I’m busy. I’ll stop by tomorrow, though.”

“But why not stay here? For a little while longer, I mean?”

Olesm paused, looking awkward.

“I’ve really got to be going. I still need to ea—I mean, I’ve got a lot…”

He stopped and stared at something in the corner of the room. Lyonette’s eyes were drawn to the ghostly chessboard on one of the tables. None of the pieces had moved since Erin had left, but the Drake’s eyes fixed on them for a few seconds. He looked back at Lyonette.

“You wouldn’t happen to play chess, would you?”

Lyon shook her head reluctantly. She remembered it being the latest trend in court, but she’d never picked up the game. Olesm looked disappointed.

“Oh.”

He left soon after, despite Lyonette’s attempts to entice him to stay. Afterwards, Lyonette stared at the bad pasta and hurled it into the fire along with the plate. It made a horrible mess and stunk terribly as the fire consumed the pasta. Then Lyon just stood in the center of the room as the smell of burnt food filled the inn.

She was lost. For a few minutes Lyonette desperately tried to suppress her tears, but then they came forth and she just stood in the empty inn, letting them roll down her cheeks and drip onto the floor.

It was all over. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t cook, and no one liked her. Lyonette had known that—she’d even relished the knowledge before. But now, she knew it would be her death. No one would buy any food. She’d starve to death and Erin would find her bones in the inn when she came back.

She was a failure. That’s all she was and would ever be. The pitiful third daughter of a small kingdom, dying alone in an inn that wasn’t hers. She was nothing.

The girl curled up on the floor as the embers of the fire glowed and faded. She stopped crying because even that was no use, and lay there, waiting to die. She grew still as she rolled herself up into a ball of misery. Then the door opened, and the Antinium walked in.

----

Pawn didn’t know why he went to The Wandering Inn. It was just where his feet carried him. The Antinium had no idea what to do or where to go; he just knew that he might find the answers he sought if he could listen to a certain young woman for a while.

It had been a long time since he’d gone there. In fact, this morning he’d intended nothing of the kind. Pawn had woken up sitting in his small sleeping spot and believed today would be like all the rest. Empty and uncertain.

The Antinium do not lie down to sleep. It’s not that they can’t, but their backs do not curve like mammals. Pawn’s own back resembled a beetle’s in many ways, and he disliked the rocking that occurred when he tried to lie down. Thus, both Workers and Soldiers alike slept while sitting. It was the most economic use of space, and in the huge barrack-like sleeping area that held five hundred Workers, Pawn had had an adequate six hours of rest.

That was how Pawn’s day began. He would pull himself out of his small cubicle of dirt with his four arms and file into line with the other Workers as they left the room at the same time to receive their morning nutrition.

It was easier for Pawn to do this today than it had a few weeks ago. He had regrown all but a few digits on his hands, and his severed limbs had nearly fully regenerated thanks to the unique healing substances the Antinium used. As he stood behind a Worker, Pawn flexed his digits and marveled a bit at how the simplicity of that action alone made him feel so much better.

The Workers ahead and behind Pawn did not look at their hands, or even move except when they walked forwards. They were not like Pawn. They kept their gazes straight and did not talk. And they gave Pawn more room than strictly necessary.

He was the odd one out. Pawn knew that, but he tried not to take advantage of his position. When he stood in line the Worker gave him the same amount of brown-grey paste as the other Workers. Perhaps if he’d asked for more, he would have received it, but the calculated ration was enough to sustain him throughout the day. Besides, no one would ever ask for more of the Worker’s food than normal.

Pawn stood in the food consumption area and slowly ingested the muck he had been given. There were no seats for the Antinium to eat at; they simply collected their rations on earthenware bowls and ate as efficiently as possible before depositing the bowls to be used again by more Workers filing into the room.

Workers and Soldiers ate separately. This wasn’t because one group ate better quality food than the other—they all ate the same highly-caloric mush, but Soldiers just ate three times as much as Workers, and thus used different containers, necessitating a separate room to feed in. Pawn stared at the brown clump of mushed up…something…as he put it between his mandibles and chewed. The food went down easily, but the taste—

He had grown used to it. Even so, it was never what one would call easy. The Workers ate the food quickly, showing no signs of disgust, even though Pawn knew they had to be tasting exactly what he did. If they had gag reflexes—or an alternative food source, it might have been a different matter.

But food was food, and there were no alternatives. Except at Erin’s inn. Pawn could remember having delicious meals there, and he had to force himself to eat the rest of the mush. He crunched down on something on his last bite. Something hadn’t been fully processed? He swallowed it anyways. It was a nice interlude from the rest of the mush. Perhaps it had been a bone fragment.

Then, as soon as they had finished eating, the Workers moved as one out of the large cavern used for food preparation and into the tunnels to begin their daily duties. Pawn followed them, not pausing to duck even though the ceiling of the tunnel was barely a foot over his head.

That was another feature of the Antinium Hive in Liscor. While some of the cavernous rooms were indeed quite large, designed to hold large numbers of the Antinium, many parts of the Hive had been optimized for space. Thus, the tunnels used solely by Workers were barely large enough to accommodate them. They had only a foot of height as they marched through the cramped corridors built to accommodate exactly two Workers at a time. And such was the flow of Workers going to their daily duties—

Well, any creature with a hint of claustrophobia would have suffered greatly. Pawn didn’t mind; it was what he was used to. He walked with hundreds of other Workers as they walked through the tunnels and around each other in a perfect, synchronized flow of traffic that never halted or wasted time. Hundreds of Workers moved in every direction, going aboveground to work for the city, or below to dig or shore up collapsed tunnel walls, fulfill other tasks around the Hive, and so on.

This was only one of the shifts of Workers that worked throughout the day. Pawn was one of the Workers who slept from just before midnight to around dawn, so he considered himself close to a ‘normal’ sleeping habit. But there were other Workers who would sleep in the middle of the day. It didn’t matter; all time was the same in the Hive.

Pawn walked down the narrow Worker corridors until he came to a main intersection in the Hive. Here, traffic diverged and more bodies entered the ceaseless cascade of motion. Larger Soldiers marched in huge columns down the massive highway of bodies, going to reinforce weak spots in the Hive, to eat, or just to rest until they were called on again. Here the Workers joined other flows, moving deeper into the Hive, or up above.

Pawn walked forwards, following the Worker ahead of him until he came to the split in the traffic. There he paused, uncertain. The Worker behind him paused, and so did the Worker behind him, and behind him and so on. In an instant, thousands of bodies stopped for one crucial second until the Worker behind Pawn awkwardly walked around him. The Worker behind him followed the motion and so did the Worker behind him and behind him…

Instantly, the flow of traffic resumed. Unlike traffic in Erin’s world, the Workers did not hesitate. They moved in perfect synchronization, so that after the initial pause, traffic flow resumed without any pileups as it were. Even so, the incident had cost all the Workers following Pawn a precious second of inactivity. Pawn knew he should feel guilty, but he didn’t.

He stared at the bodies walking around him. Here were Workers, going to their duties. Across from him, another stream of Soldiers was rapidly advancing down the hallway, nearly running. They might be off to fight monsters.

Part of Pawn wondered what would happen if he walked in front of them. Would the Soldiers just trample him? They did that to other Workers who accidentally got in their way. But would his status as an Individual mean they’d avoid him?

He decided not to test this theory. Instead, Pawn resumed walking, resulting in a micro-second of delay as he rejoined the flow of Workers. He walked upwards, up towards a special room built near the surface of the Hive.

A large room had been sectioned off and given a new purpose. Instead of acting as another feeding room, the low-ceilinged area had been filled with cushions, small rectangular wooden boards filled with pieces, and even the odd chair. Antinium, all Workers, sat around these boards, playing chess.

They all paused when Pawn entered the room. The Workers looked up at Pawn, and then resumed playing. He stared around the room, looking at all the seated Antinium playing chess.

In truth, the dirt ceiling was too low to really allow any Workers to sit on the chairs. They sat around the chess boards on the dirt instead, completely ignoring the cushions that had been piled neatly in one corner of the room and never been used.

There were around sixty Workers in the room at the moment, all engaged in a board game. None of them looked up from their games, and they moved at very regular intervals. The rhythmic click of wooden pieces gently tapping on the board soothed Pawn. But he did not sit down at an empty board as he usually did. If he had, he would have had an opponent in seconds. But Pawn didn’t want that today.

Instead, he sat with his back to one of the dirt walls. Pawn stared ahead, not really at the chess players. They were all new Individuals, the few that had survived and not become Aberrations like the rest. They had chosen names, and they were all learning to play chess, as per the recommendations Pawn had made to Klbkch.

But they were not…like him. Pawn knew that. These new Individuals were not like he was. Nor were they like the original Individuals, the original Workers that had chosen names.

“Hah.”

Pawn chuckled out loud at the ridiculousness of that thought. Instantly, every Worker in the room paused in their chess playing and looked up at him as one. He froze in place, unsure of what to do. After a second the Workers returned to playing as if nothing had happened.

That was it. Pawn closed his mandibles and made sure not to make another sound as the sounds of chess resumed. These new Individuals had names, but they didn’t have what he and the others had. They still obeyed orders like any other Worker, and they didn’t express their opinions. They hadn’t developed personality like he, Bird, Belgrade, Anand, and Garry, the only surviving original Individuals had. It wasn’t these new Individuals’ fault, of course. They had been forced into the choice, they hadn’t made it themselves. They didn’t have…Erin.

Things had been simpler a few months ago. Back then, the Hive had made sense to Pawn. There were Workers and Soldiers, the Prognugator, and the Queen. That was how it had been. But now there were Workers and Soldiers yes, and the Queen, but they had a Revalantor who also acted as a Prognugator in the form of Klbkch. He had kicked the former Prognugator who was also the new Prognugator, Ksmvr, out of the Hive. And there was a new group of Antinium.

The Individuals. Over a hundred Workers who had chosen names and been tested for individuality without becoming Aberration. But in that group of Individuals, there were five…leaders.

No, not leaders. Five exceptions. Five of the original Individuals who had become so of their own volition, to save a Human named Erin Solstice. They had been the chess club, her chess club, the Workers who had played at her inn every few days. And they had given their lives, almost all of them, to protect her from the undead.

That was the real change in the Hive. Five Antinium had chosen and become Individual, taking classes and names and true personalities. They had begun to level up rapidly like any other species, and they had become…

Unique. And it had to be said, of the five, one in particular stood out.

Pawn.

He was the first. Pawn knew that. He had been the first to choose a name, the first to choose. Because of that everyone treated him as if he were special. Klbkch, the Queen—they gave him no duties, no responsibilities. They just watched him to see what he would do. And Pawn had no idea what to do, so most days he just walked up to the chess room and either played games or sat like this.

He didn’t do much. Pawn just sat here, day after day. Thinking, really. That was all he could do. He was no gifted warrior like Bird, and nor was he particularly interested in other classes like Garry, Belgrade and Anand. Already the other four had begun to specialize in their roles just as his Queen had hoped. Bird had begun using a bow to harvest a large number of his namesakes even in the wintery climate, and Garry had learned to fry them and make a palatable snack out of their carcasses.

Belgrade and Anand had continued to improve in their [Tactician] class. They had already fought numerous engagements against the dungeon monsters in the tunnels below. They were all becoming assets to the Hive. But Pawn was different.

All the Workers knew it. Pawn knew it. He was different. He was the Worker that Erin had first spoken to, the first Worker to choose his name. Even the other four treated him differently. Because he was first. He was special. He hadn’t just chosen, he had been chosen by Erin.

He was unique. But Pawn had no idea what that meant.

He knew what his Queen wanted, what Klbkch wanted. They wanted him to become a useful warrior, or an asset to the Hive. They wanted him to specialize, to level up in a class and surpass normal Antinium in that way. But Pawn hadn’t done that.

Yes, he had the [Tactician] class. But he wasn’t that high-level in it. In fact, he’d stagnated his growth weeks ago. Pawn still loved to play chess, and he was the best player among the Workers by far. But like Erin, he had ceased to level.

And he had no interest in using a bow like Bird. He didn’t like to cook, only to eat, and he had no burning desire to do anything else in the Hive. Pawn was sure that if he walked anywhere in the Hive—save perhaps the Queen’s room—he could find something to do.

There was always work to do in the Hive. Since he had been allowed aboveground, Pawn had learned something of the customs of other species. Apparently boredom was something their peoples had to fight against. It was an alien concept in the Hive.

Were you done with your assigned duties? In that case, there was always time to be spent processing the nutritional paste the Antinium ate, chewing food up and regurgitating it into a vat to be mixed up with long poles. Or you could be sent to guard against monsters attacking from the dungeon underneath Liscor, supporting the Soldiers in their tireless battle.

And if neither of those two options were viable, you could be assigned to monitor the larvae, or maybe dig. There was always time to dig. You could dig out a collapsed tunnel, dig a new tunnel, dig a deeper tunnel, widen a tunnel, dig out a room, dig into a promising mine shaft, dig out a hole for excrement…

Occasionally, the Workers would build something. That was a refreshing change of pace. They would make wooden load-bearing supports to hold up the titanic weight of the dirt overhead, or fashion crude arrows out of wood. But even that grew tiring after hours of monotonous work blended together.

It wasn’t for Pawn. He knew that. He knew he wanted something different. And perhaps he had found it. Perhaps.

But he was no longer sure. The certainty, the faith that had filled him weeks ago had long since departed, and now Pawn could only rely on uncertain memory to fill the hole in his heart. Had it really happened? Was it true?

Was he really an [Acolyte]? What did it mean?

“I don’t know.”

Another pause, and the Workers looked up. This time Pawn stared back, just to see what would happen. They looked down as one, and he went back to thinking.

Once upon a time, an Antinium had been questioned. He had been asked who he was, and he had no answers. He had wondered why his…friends…had all died, whether it was all for nothing. And he had been given an answer. A ray of hope.

“Faith.”

So the girl had told him. She had reached down into his despair and offered him something to hold onto. She had spoken to him of something beyond his understanding. A God. And a place…a place where the dead might go to rest. A wonderful place.

“Heaven.”

Pawn sighed, and clenched his still-healing fist. He stared at it. Yes, that night he had believed. And his belief had become reality! He had gained a Skill, and a class. [Acolyte], and the Skill, [Prayer]. It had meant something to him at the time, he had been sure.

There was a God. There was something to believe in. But in the days since, Pawn’s faith had wavered. He had not leveled again, and neither had he prayed. Because…because he was afraid.

There was a God. Erin had told him that. Not just a God, though. Gods. She had talked about a God who was born and died in her world, but apparently that God wasn’t the only one. Other people believed in a God who was the same, but different, but who had never said certain things.

“Are you even there? Will you answer me? Am I worthy of asking you such things?”

No response. The Workers looked up at Pawn and down at their chessboards. He looked up at the ceiling, in the direction Erin had told him heaven probably lay. He saw only dirt.

Heaven. Faith and Gods were all confusing to Pawn, but the idea of Heaven, the idea of forgiveness and a place to be happy was what he had clung to. He had believed in that, and so been rewarded. But if he was to pray, as his Skill seemed to indicate, then to who? To Erin’s God? Only…he wasn’t her God. That’s what she had said. So then, who did he pray to?

And for what? Why? What would it do? And would anyone answer? Would anyone care, or would his words go unheard?

Pawn didn’t know. He hadn’t known for the last week, and he was no closer sitting in the corner of the chess room. Part of him didn’t want to know. Another part told him to talk to Klbkch and his Queen, tell them of his new class. But the last part wanted to believe. It wanted to know of this God, and to put his self into believing in that God. To reach that place called ‘Heaven’.

But he was afraid. Afraid of knowing the truth. So Pawn sat in the chess room instead, wondering what would happen if he prayed. Would nothing happen? Or would something, someone answer? Which would be worse?

Pawn didn’t want to know. But he wanted to, desperately. He was afraid that if he went back to Erin, she would tell him he was wrong. That his class was a mistake. That God only existed in her world. Or—

Or that there was a God, but not one for him.

That was his greatest fear. There was a God. Probably. The class he’d received seemed to indicate that. And Pawn wanted to believe in a God. But what if God didn’t want him? Pawn was too afraid to ask.

So as the day passed, he sat quietly in the chess room, thinking. His mind spun in the same circles, over and over again. Workers walked into the room, played chess, walked out. They had their duties. But Pawn had nothing. Not a thing. He only had a question, and an answer he was too afraid to face.

And then, just as soon as he’d woken up, it was nightfall. Pawn knew this because of the clock in his head and the Workers on duty, not from any change in the ambient light. He stood up, stretched; the other Workers waited for him to do or say something. But Pawn just walked out of the room.

This time he went up. Up, to the city above. It wasn’t his choice; Pawn just felt his feet carrying him that direction. He went up, out of the tunnel that was one of the entrances to his Hive. He walked out into the streets of Liscor, around Drakes and Gnolls and Humans who gave him a wide berth in any case. He walked out of the gates of Liscor, and through the snow, up towards the small inn whose windows shone with inviting warm light.

He had to know. He had to ask, at least. Pawn had felt the certainty in his body. He had gained a class and Skill and that meant something. There was a God. But would God accept Pawn? He had to know, and so he had to ask Erin. She would know what to do. She always did.

But Erin wasn’t there. Pawn knocked at the door and then opened it, and saw the girl lying on the ground. She looked up at him, and she was not Erin.

“Excuse me? Is Erin Solstice here?”

“Erin?”

The girl had been curled up into a ball. Now she sprang to her feet and wiped at her face. Her cheeks were wet, and her eyes were red.

“What are you—you’re that Antinium, aren’t you? Pawn?”

“That is so. Is Erin here? I would like to speak with her.”

“Erin? You haven’t heard?”

The girl laughed almost hysterically. Pawn would have frowned if he were able.

“Heard what? Has something happened to Erin Solstice?”

“She’s—gone.”

“Gone?”

Pawn listened incredulously as the young woman explained what had happened. Erin had vanished? How could this have happened? How could anyone have allowed this?

Part of him longed to run out the door, to gather Bird and Garry and the others and immediately search for Erin. But she was safe? In another city?

“She’s safe. But she’s not coming back yet. I don’t think she can with all the Goblins around.”

The Antinium’s mind raced as he considered the implications. Goblin armies. Of course Erin’s safety came first, but if she couldn’t come back—should someone send an escort? Did Klbkch know? He must, but would he send the Soldiers out to guard her? What if—

“So…are you here for something?”

Pawn looked back at the young woman in surprise. Yes, she had stayed here, hadn’t she? Who was she? Someone new?

Lyonette. That was her name. He vaguely remembered Erin hiring her, but hadn’t she been a bad employee? Now the young woman was alone. She wiped at her nose as she pointed at the kitchen.

“Do you want…something to eat?”

Pawn’s first instinct was to refuse, but that would have meant he had to leave the inn. And he wasn’t ready to go back down into the Hive. Not yet. So he nodded, and told Lyonette he could not digest gluten. That threw her for a loop, but she eventually offered him eggs and bacon.

Pawn was under the impression such food was reserved for breakfasts, at least according to Erin, but he accepted. He still had the coins Klbkch had given him to spend. Enough for many meals.

The Worker sat at an empty table as Lyonette rushed into the kitchen and began to bang things about. He stared at the wooden grain, trying to think. Everything was chaos in his mind now.

“Erin is gone.”

There was no one to answer his question. Pawn felt immediately relieved, and then horrible at once. He was no closer to his answer, and the question was tearing him apart. If Erin could not answer him, then—

“Here’s your food!”

A plate was shoved in front of Pawn’s face. He stared at it, and the hand holding it. Lyonette looked anxiously at Pawn as she put it on the table in front of him.

“Sorry. It’s a bit—”

The bacon was slightly burnt. The eggs hadn’t been fully cooked and they ran a bit. Pawn poked at the food with a fork once Lyonette remembered to give him one. He cautiously took a bite of the greasy bacon and chewed.

It wasn’t like the paste the Workers ate at all. It had been so long that Pawn had nearly forgotten the taste of hot food. And salt! Pawn finished the plate and a second helping when Lyonette offered.

Then he sat in the inn, watching the fire fade. It was funny. He had come here searching for answers, and found none. But even without them, he had found an answer of sorts.

Erin was gone. She might be in trouble, but there was no way Pawn could help her. Not as he was. He was useless, a Worker alone. But if there was a God—

There was no Erin. So there was only one person he could ask. One person who might know what this all meant. Klbkch. He had been assigned to watch over Pawn, and it was Pawn’s duty to inform him of any new classes he obtained. He had not done so before, because he was unsure. But now? Now was the time.

He would tell Revalantor Klbkch about his class and ask him what it meant. Perhaps Klbkch would know of Gods. Pawn dug at the belt on his waist and left what he thought was close to an appropriate amount. Usually Erin told him the meal was on the house.

Slowly, Pawn walked out of the door and into the snow. He was no less lost than before, but at least there was something warm inside him. He stared up at the clouded sky. He couldn’t sense heaven up there. Nor could he tell if there was a God.

But maybe there was one. And if there was, Pawn would find him. Slowly, he began to walk through the snow, back into the city, to his Hive.

Gods. Heaven. He tried to believe. This time, Pawn thought he might have succeeded.

----

Lyonette watched Pawn go, silent, walking into the snow as he stared upwards. The Antinium had said barely a few words to her all night. He had sat, staring at the fire. But he had also eaten two of her plates and left—

She stared down at the pile of coins on the table. Silver and bronze coins glinted in the moonlight. Trembling, Lyonette scooped up the pile of coins. She counted them. Once, twice, again.

It was enough. More than enough. With this, she could feed herself for several more days. And if he came back—

Lyonette’s heart skipped. Part of her wanted to shout in revulsion at even touching something the Antinium had touched. She still remembered stories about what they had done, what horrible atrocities they had committed. But this one—Pawn—he had paid her.

Maybe it was just one time. But Lyon remembered the Antinium coming into Erin’s inn like clockwork. And they weren’t picky; they’d even loved the bees, disgusting as they’d been. They were a stable, profitable source of income. If she could stomach serving them, maybe, just maybe, she’d survive.

The [Princess] stared out the window at the Antinium’s lonely form as he walked back to the city. She could do it. She could live until Erin got back. She would do it, and she would show Erin she was capable. She would run this inn, and it would be her castle, her sanctuary until Erin came back.

All would be well. Lyonette had to believe in that.

1.00 D

She owned a hamster, once. That was the reason she’d wanted to be a doctor. She found other reasons later, but the day she decided to learn to heal people was when she sat in the garden outside her house and tried to hold her dying friend together.

Normally, she would want to be a vet, but her parents had talked her out of that. And her aunt had died when she was twelve. She’d stared down at the closed casket and dreamed of being able to save even people who had to be buried in pieces.

And in her last years of high school she’d had the right grades. And she liked biology, she didn’t throw up into her frog like the boy next to her in class, and she didn’t have anything else she wanted to do.

So she’d taken pre-med classes when she wasn’t partying with friends and learning how to live alone. And she’d graduated on time and gone into Medical School, and found that it was hard to manage rent and a part-time job, but not too hard to learn. And then, one day, she’d had to go to the bathroom during a lecture and she’d never come back.

Geneva Scala had found herself in another world. And there she’d learned one thing: she didn’t want to be a doctor. Not anymore. She was a [Doctor] now, but all she did was watch people die.

----

The person lying on the crude operating table Geneva had set up was screaming in agony. The blade had cut deep into his side, and he was bleeding to death before her eyes. If she didn’t close up his injuries soon, he would be dead.

With one hand, Geneva held a crude wooden device that looked like pliers. She used that to close the artery she’d found and prayed that she could move fast enough.

“Suture!”

She screamed it at the soldier watching with wide eyes. He stared at her. She pointed to the needle and thread.

“I need to close the wound!”

She let another man take over applying pressure on the artery as she held out her hand for the needle. The soldier fumbled with the needle and nearly dropped it onto the dirt floor. Geneva snatched it out of his hands and looked at the thread.

It was just cotton; not even good quality. She’d boiled it, but now she wondered if it would even hold under the pressures she was about subject it to. But then the man screamed and she was out of time.

“Hold him still.”

The two other men did as she ordered, holding the screaming man down as Geneva desperately started to stitch. It was horrific; the needle she’d bought wasn’t sharp enough and she had to poke massive holes in his flesh to try and close the gaping wound in his side. And the blood—

“Keep that artery closed!”

She snapped that at one her assistants. He tried to do as she instructed, but the forceps he was using were made of wood, and they were crude; carved in a single day, more like chopsticks than a true clamp. They slipped, and blood squirted into the man’s stomach.

“Reapply pressure!”

Geneva had to shout it over the man’s screams. He was gagging with pain, still half-awake. But she had no anesthetics, nothing to give him. And now the other man was trying to grasp the artery and failing to find it in the heaving wound. Geneva reached for the forceps and hesitated. The man had gone still.

Slowly, she stared at the flow of blood. It had slowed. She looked at the soldier’s wide, open eyes, and then around the tent at her assistants. They stared at her. Geneva took a breath, and then spoke.

“He’s dead.”

Part of her wanted to add the time of death, but that was pointless. There was no one to record it, and besides, there was no point. Even as she dropped the forceps and needle into the bowl of boiled water and watched the liquid turn red, she knew she had no time to even mourn.

“Take him outside. Bury him. I’ll be out in a second.”

The soldiers haltingly moved to obey her orders. Geneva stared at her hands. They were so red. She had no surgical gloves on, and she’d cut herself earlier that morning. She was not sterile.

Slowly, the young woman glanced around. She was standing in a tent; not an airtight one, just canvas walls and a dirt floor. Her ‘operating table’ was a piece of hardwood. Her surgical tools were a sharpened dagger, a curved sewing needle and inferior thread, and some wooden instruments that were already covered in blood. The men and one woman who assisted her weren’t trained; they weren’t even clean. They were covered in blood and grime.

And she had let another man die in front of her. Geneva still heard his screams. She’d already forgotten his face, but she remembered him begging her as they’d carried him in. He’d asked her to save his life.

And she had failed.

He was the fifth person she’d seen die in front of her eyes. But she could hear shouting, and in the distance, screams. She knew that she would see more corpses before the end of the day. Geneva prayed they wouldn’t be because of her.

----

Nearly a week ago, Geneva had walked into a city built onto the side of a lake. She’d stared around at the tall buildings, the interconnected bridges that ran overhead, and most especially at the walking lizard-people and the Centaurs that walked around next to Humans. But she hadn’t stared too long. Instead, Geneva had walked further into the city, until she could hear people shouting and the rat-tat-tat of someone banging on a drum.

The enlisters for the local mercenary groups and larger companies were already hard at work despite the heat of the day. Humans wearing light leather armor stood at small booths next to Centaurs who were practically unarmored save for a padded cloth vest or two, and Dullahans, strange, humanoid creatures who wore armor over their entire bodies and raised their heads up as they shouted at potential recruits.

Fighting men and—no, warriors of every species were talking to these recruiters and debating which group to join amongst themselves. Geneva stared at a Minotaur holding a huge spiked club and shuddered as she imagined what would happen if it hit her. She prayed she wasn’t making a mistake. But she had no choice. Her stomach was empty, and even the smell of sweat and various body odors was making her hungry.

“You there! Join the Raverian Fighters!”

A tall man wearing plate armor called out to Geneva across the square. She walked over to him, noting how sweat stood out on his brow. He must have been cooking in the heat, but he made an impression among the more lightly-armed warriors.

“My name is Thriss. I am a [Sergeant] enlisted in the 4th Battalion of the Raverian Fighter’s Company. If you’ve got the grit to fight with me, we’ll offer you eight silver coins for each day you see combat, and one for each day you don’t. Stick with us and you’ll have a hot meal each night, trustworthy comrades at your back, and all the loot you can walk off with!”

Geneva had heard every recruiter giving the same speech, but she listened intently even so. Thriss looked her up and down as he shouted to her and the crowd in general. He had an amazingly loud voice—perhaps it was a Skill?

“We specialize in close-combat fighting, but we’ll hire anyone with a decent class.”

He eyed her skeptically.

“You don’t look like a [Warrior]. Are you a [Mage] of some kind? I’d have to ask for a list of your available spells. And we’ll provide you with armor and a weapon, unless that inhibits your spellcasting.”

She had to shake her head because the hubbub was so overwhelming. Geneva stepped forwards and shouted to Thriss as he stepped off the stool he stood on to hear her.

“I’m a Doctor! I treat the wounded! Would you hire me?”

“A [Doctor]?”

He’d spoken the words like they were special. Geneva knew he thought she had a class, although she didn’t actually have one. But he looked her up and down and shrugged.

“Anyone can pull out an arrow or pour a healing potion over a wound, but sometimes a healing potion isn’t good enough. Someone who can save a few wounded—or cut the limb off without too much blood—would be useful. If you’ve got a mark, put it on this paper.”

She was surprised. Geneva had thought she’d have to talk to countless recruiters and make her case before they hired her.

“Just like that?”

Thriss shrugged his broad shoulders at her.

“It’s an odd sort that would lie about having a [Doctor] class. We’ve got no magical items that can see your class and no one who has the [Appraise] Skill, but you didn’t claim a level. And that sort of thing gets found out right quick. If you can carry your own weight and aren’t a troublemaker we’ll make use of you even if you have to clean dishes most of the time. If you can’t fight, well, you’ll learn quick.”

He eyed her intently.

“But I’ve heard of the [Doctor] class, even if I haven’t seen one. Like a [Healer], aren’t you?”

“Something like that.”

Geneva lied. She’d never met a [Healer] in this world, but she hoped it was close to what she did. Thriss stared at her, and then nodded.

“If you’re lying to me, we’ll use you as an arrow shield. But if you’re not, we’ll put you to good work. Maybe you’ll even earn a few levels. Speak with the Lizardfolk behind me for instructions. Welcome to the Fighters.”

After that, Thriss had shown her where to sign and Geneva had been given a place to sleep in the campgrounds, a hot meal of grit-like food and boiled corn mixed with meat, and even a sword and dagger. Geneva had slept, uneasily wondering about her fate, until she’d woken in the middle of the night with a realization.

Thriss didn’t want a [Doctor]. Or rather, he was taking a risk on her. But what he really wanted were bodies. The Raverian Fighters were going to battle, and aside from the money spent on feeding her and equipping her, she was just another sword to hurl against the enemy.

Her heart pounded wildly, but then Geneva had gone back to sleep. She was so tired that she only woke one time more, to slap at the mosquitos trying to feast on her. Then she’d gone to sleep. She was so tired she’d completely forgotten to ask Thriss about surgical equipment.

----

The next day, Geneva awoke to the sound of Thriss bellowing. It had roused her in a panic, and as she tumbled out of the rough blankets she saw soldiers all around her getting up as well.

Thriss the [Sergeant] had marched out with regular soldiers and officers and roused the hodgepodge collection of warriors he’d recruited yesterday. Geneva had stood awkwardly next to a Dullahan who held her head in her hands as they stared at Thriss. The man wasn’t one for speeches. He’d welcomed them briefly, and then told them they were going to practice fighting.

“My job is normally to whip you lot into shape before we have you fight with the rest of our forces. Trouble is, we’re already engaged to the southeast of here, so I’ve got a day to see what you’re made of before we go marching.”

So they were really mercenaries. Geneva had enlisted because she’d been desperate for food, but the reality only hit her now when Thriss told them they were heading into a battle a few days from now.

“We’re up against several groups this time. A local Centaur clan has allied with the Magehammer Company. They’ve sent two battalions and hired a few mercenary groups. We’re fighting them, supporting the Burning March Company. Don’t worry about the details; just know that we’re expecting you to fight your best. We’ll be fighting in the jungle; if any of you have terrain-based skills or knowledge of the local geography, tell me or one of the officers.”

Geneva heard a few groans, but the rest of the recruits seemed to accept this information as normal. Some of the people who’d signed up looked young—regardless of race, Geneva could recognize teenagers when she saw them. But others looked like veterans, such as the Minotaur with the spiked club who stood head and shoulders above everyone except the few Centaurs who’d enlisted.

“You lot, with me! We’re going to see what you’re made of, and if you don’t know how to fight, by the end of the day you’ll get your [Warrior] class, mark me!”

A tall Dullahan with a scar over her eye bellowed it at the recruits as she took a group of them away. Geneva hesitated. She wasn’t a soldier and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—fight. What should she do?

She found Thriss as the other officers began having the other warriors engage in practice fights. The [Sergeant] opened his mouth to bellow at her, until he remembered.

“You’re the [Doctor], aren’t you? What do you want?”

“I, um, need some supplies if I’m going to be performing surgery.”

Geneva explained her problem hesitantly. She knew how these kinds of armies worked; you received pay after a month or two, and it would usually be late to prevent desertions. But she needed gear.

Thriss heard her out, and she was relieved he didn’t shout at her or order her to keep fighting.

“You need tools, eh? How do I know you won’t run off with the money?”

“I told you, I’m a [Doctor]. I need tools to stitch flesh together, and I don’t have any. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a doctor working?”

Geneva said the words with as much certainty as she could. Thriss shrugged.

“It’s rare enough. Most folks use healing potions, but I have seen healers stitch a wound closed. Why don’t you have what you need already, though?”

“I lost everything I had.”

That at least, was true. She’d lost everything when she’d walked down the hallway of her school and then turned and found green foliage all around her and dirt underneath her shoes instead of sterile tiles.

Thriss eyed her skeptically.

“Hm. Prove it.”

“How?”

He waved at the groups of soldiers being watched by officers.

“We always get a few injuries, even with blunt weapons. Let’s see if you can help with one of their injuries.”

Geneva’s stomach clenched up, but she nodded. But in her mind she was desperately going over her class notes and the hands-on lessons she’d had in medical school. She hadn’t graduated—she was only in her third year—! But it was too late to back out now.

Soon enough, Geneva had her chance. A young man—a redheaded teen with more confidence than actual ability—failed to raise the shield he’d been given in time. The other man fighting with him struck his shoulder and Geneva saw the young man fall to the ground and scream as his shoulder popped out of its socket.

“No one move! Back to your places!”

Thriss pushed through the circle of people and beckoned Geneva over. He stared at the writhing young man on the ground and looked at her.

“Practice blade must have broken something. Can you set the bone?”

Geneva shook her head automatically as she stared at the young man. He was trying to touch and not touch his injured arm at the same time.

“The bone isn’t broken. His shoulder is dislocated; he needs to have it set.”

Thriss’ eyes glinted and Geneva saw his lips twitch for a second. It had been a test, she was sure.

“Can you fix it?”

“I can if he doesn’t move.”

“You heard her! Hold still, lad! It’s just a dislocation; nothing to bawl about!”

Thriss slapped the young man and held him still as Geneva gingerly grabbed the arm. The young man’s skin was slippery with sweat and he was shaking, but she knew what to do. He screamed and whimpered, but Geneva had learned how to fix a dislocated shoulder. After one try she popped the arm back in place and the man stopped moaning and stared at his arm in disbelief.

“He’ll need a few weeks to recover.”

“No time for that. Here. Use this.”

Thriss pulled out a glass bottle filled with green sloshing liquid out of his belt. Geneva eyed it skeptically.

“It’s a weak potion, but it should do. Go on. Unless you’ve got a Skill or spell that will do better?”

Geneva didn’t, but she’d never seen a healing potion work before. She couldn’t let anyone know that, though, so she pulled out the cork. The smell the green liquid gave off was incredibly bad, but the young man was looking at it hopefully.

Gingerly, Geneva poured some of the green liquid on the shoulder, and watched in disbelief as the already swollen flesh receded and the man gasped in relief. The area still looked raw, though, so Geneva added a bit more of the potion until it looked completely normal.

“Good!”

Thriss accepted the two-thirds full potion from Geneva and stood up. He offered the young man a hand, and the youth took it as he stood, flexing his good arm and laughing as if nothing had happened.

“I wouldn’t waste a potion on you, but we’ve got a battle to get to, and you’re no use to us with one arm!”

Thriss’s voice echoed around the campsite and the other soldiers stopped practicing to listen.

“Mark my words, stick with us and you won’t be looking for potions when you’ve got an arrow in your stomach! We’ve got healing supplies that will take care of anything save having your head chopped off—unless you’re a Dullahan—and we’ve even got a [Doctor] in case the healing potions don’t work!”

He pointed to Geneva, and she felt eyes on her. Geneva blushed a bit, but she didn’t shy away from the attention. The rational, calm part of her was thinking, though. Thriss had had the healing potion ready, and he’d been expecting someone to get hurt. She looked at the soldier who’d been dueling the young man. He was a veteran, not a new recruit. They’d probably planned all of this out to bolster the recruit’s confidence, and testing Geneva’s involvement had only added to the charade.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Thriss took her back to his tent and he put the healing potion in a chest which he locked with a key. He looked at her as he fished around in the supplies and came up with a bag which he added some coins to.

“That was quick. I’ve seen men tear flesh trying to get the bone into place, but you did that in seconds.”

He thrust the bag at her and Geneva looked inside. A handful of silver pieces glittered at her.

“Take it and buy what you need. I’ll have one of the local boys show you around.”

So she wouldn’t run off with the money. Geneva accepted the small bag gratefully. Then she had to wait for Thriss to find a young Lizardboy to guide her. All the while she was still struggling with the unreality of it all.

Magical potions that could do several weeks’ worth of healing in a few seconds? Soldiers fighting with swords? Lizard people, Centaurs, and a race of people who could take their heads off like hats?

Just what had she gotten herself into?

----

It took Geneva most of the day to gather what she needed, which was to say, a needle fit for doing any kind of surgery. In truth, she would have liked some antibiotics, general and local anesthetics, a supply of needles, disinfectant—

But she knew she was going to get none of that here. So Geneva got what she knew she could get, which was a needle, a curved one, the kind that she could use to sew flesh. Regular, straight needles just wouldn’t do.

Still, even finding that one instrument in the city was a challenge. It wasn’t as if this world—some kind of medieval world filled with magic—had anything like modern equipment. Geneva had to talk to three [Seamstresses] until one old lizard woman had what she was looking for.

“This is a needle I use to sew carpets, not flesh, Human.”

The old Lizardwoman with discolored scales eyed Geneva suspiciously, but sold her three curved needles in the end, along with the thread to match. It was dearly expensive, but Geneva still had enough left for some cloth and scissors. She needed bandages, and scissors were essential.

Thriss had eyed Geneva’s purchases and snorted when she returned. He’d taken the few coppers she had left.

“Bandages? Good if you’ve not a healing potion on hand, I suppose. But if you need cloth, we’ve got enough rags. Ask the quartermaster for the rest of what you need and get ready to march tomorrow. We’ll need to cover at least fifteen miles and you’ll have your own pack to carry.”

After that, Geneva sat with laughing males and females of various races as they ate before they slept. The air was hot and humid, as it had been every day Geneva had been here, and bugs tried to bite or drink from her. But the food on her plate was filling, and she could even smile and accept thanks from the young man whose arm she’d set.

And as the second night had come and the weary new recruits were bedding down, Geneva had curled up into her blankets and covered her head so no one could see her. That was the moment when she allowed herself to shake and choke on her fears.

What was she doing? She didn’t have any real equipment. She needed proper surgical gear, not sewing needles and bits of cloth. She needed forceps, a sterilized operating room, disinfectant, antibiotics, anesthetics—

“But I have no choice.”

Geneva whispered that to herself until the person sleeping next to her grunted in irritation. She shut up. She had no choice. She had to survive.

This was Baleros, and the jungles were filled with monsters and the species were constantly fighting one another. If she didn’t have work, she would starve or be killed. And there wasn’t much use for a [Doctor], not in a land filled with magic healing potions.

Geneva Scala stared at the needle and thread in her pack and the bandages, water bottle, and pot she’d asked the quartermaster for. Her hands trembled as she imagined trying to save anyone’s life with such limited supplies. She stared at the sword and remembered her Hippocratic Oath.

Not the ancient Grecian oath that forbade the use of a knife in medicine, but the one she’d sworn to herself. She’d adopted her namesake, the Declaration of Geneva, and made her own oath.

She murmured it now, half in her mind, half out loud.

“I solemnly pledge to consecrate my life to the service of humanity. I will practice my profession with conscience and dignity; the health of my patient will be my first consideration; I will respect the secrets that are confided in me. I will not use my medical knowledge to violate human rights and civil liberties, even under threat…”

She fell asleep before she could finish the rest. But the words echoed in her dreams. Only, now the word humanity was wrong. She had to protect people. But she was a soldier, too. She might have to fight.

She couldn’t do that. She had sworn a higher oath. Even if she was in another world, another place where magic existed and people leveled up like a video game, she had her oath.

It was the only thing she had left.

[Doctor Class Obtained!]

[Doctor Level 1!]

[Skill – Lesser Resistance: Disease obtained!]

----

“So you’re a [Doctor]?”

That was the question Geneva received at least ten times the next day, as she found herself marching across a dirt road and into increasingly thick underbrush. The 4th Battalion of Raverian Fighters set out to join the fighting.

In truth, Geneva had no idea where they were on this continent, or where they were going. She wasn’t even sure what they were fighting for, which amazed the soldiers who decided to speak with her on the march.

She was in 6th Squad, under Thriss himself. Their group—and indeed, most of the battalion—was Human. Oh, a few Centaurs, Dullahan, Lizardfolk, and even the Minotaur marched with them, but Geneva understood that species generally stuck together, even in mercenary groups.

“It’s easiest to coordinate attacks if everyone’s the same species for the most part. ‘Sides, we Humans have to stick together, right?”

So proclaimed the red-haired young man who’d been the first to join Geneva on the march. He shouldered the pack he’d been given with only a little difficulty and kept stroking the hilt of his sword with clear excitement. Geneva heard a snort and saw the three men and two women walking with them laughing at him.

“Ignore Lim. He don’t know what he’s talking about. We’d be far better if we had a few more Dullahan in our company. They’ve got armor for skin; all Lim’s got is a big mouth and a bad shoulder.”

“Hey!”

Lim looked hurt as Geneva laughed. The woman who’d spoken—Clara—had dark skin, reminiscent of a Native American’s, which made Geneva more and more convinced that she was in some twisted version of the Americas. Somewhere around Brazil or maybe the Amazons—the plant life and constant, intrusive humidity and heat seemed to suggest it.

“I’m surprised you wanted to join up with the Fighters, though, Geneva. Don’t [Healers] generally stay away from the fighting?”

“I guess. But I don’t have any money, and this was my only option.”

Clara nodded sympathetically.

“Still, if you won’t be fighting you’ve got a better chance than Lim. What’s a [Doctor] do, anyways? Don’t healing potions make your class obsolete?”

“Maybe.”

That’s what Geneva had been worrying about. She shook her head.

“Healing potions don’t work on everything, though, right?”

“True.”

A man with a thick beard and bald head nodded sagely. He had several scars that made Geneva wonder whether they’d been healed naturally or whether the healing potion hadn’t quite worked.

“A good healing potion’ll put together some broken bones and mend skin and even your guts, but a bad one only does a bit of healing. ‘Sides, do you think we’ve got enough potions to fix everyone up? Thriss made a big show earlier, but if you’re counting on being healed up every time you take a hit, you’d best run away now. Only way to stay healthy is not get hit.”

The other soldiers nodded and Lim looked worried for a second.

“But we won’t be in that much danger, right?”

“Hah! Against Centaurs? They might have trouble in the jungle, but get them on a flat plain and they’ll pepper you full of arrows so fast that you won’t even have time to reach for your shield.”

“Centaurs ain’t the problem here. I’m more worried about the Magehammer Company. They’ve got some nasty mages.”

“They’re not all going to be mages, are they?”

Again, everyone laughed at Lim. He flushed and turned red, but eyed Geneva sideways. She pretended not to notice—he couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and she was twenty four, going on twenty five.

“They’ve probably got mostly warriors and only a few mages in each squad, if that. And we’ve got our own mages so we needn’t worry about being completely alone. But mark me, there are going to be some nasty spells out there.”

“We’re not going to be fighting them the entire time, though, right?”

“Of course not! Do you think we’re going to kill them down to the last man? No, we’re trying to push back their company. If we kill enough of them—or take enough land, their Commander will probably sign a peace treaty. Then we all get paid and we can get drunk for a week or two.”

Clara lectured Lim as Geneva listened with rapt attention. She’d been in this world, in Baleros, for a week, and she’d survived mainly by pretending she knew the basics of this world. But she was still woefully undereducated, and the people marching with her were the first people she could candidly ask questions of.

“The Magehammer Company is trying to protect a goldmine that Centaur tribe found. That’s what I heard. They’re going to split the profits, but surprise, the Burning March Company claims that’s their mine because they’ve got the contract on this area.”

Several other people nodded sagely. Lim looked confused.

“But who’s right?”

“Who cares? We get paid to fight, not take sides. Don’t go making an enemy of a Company, boy.”

The bald soldier cuffed Lim. From what Geneva understood, Baleros was a continent unique in that despite there being nations and countries and kingdoms and so on, much of the fighting was done by mercenary groups, ranging from smaller troops like the Raverian Fighters to huge Companies comprised of multiple regiments of soldiers who were almost constantly embroiled in conflict.

“Of course, the Companies are like nations themselves.”

Clara looked surprised when Geneva asked her about it.

“New to Baleros, are you? Well, there are countless companies who have their own cities and towns where they base themselves. They have contracts and earn income from protecting places, and they send out their own armies to fight. The big ones have influence, representatives in other nations, even entire merchant organizations that cater only to them!”

Geneva nodded.

“I’ve heard the Four Companies of Baleros are the biggest. But I don’t know anything about them…why doesn’t everyone join up with them?”

“The Four Companies? Well, sure, if you’re an officer or a veteran they treat you well. But you can get better pay and opportunities to loot and level up in a mercenary group. Besides, when they go to war, people die by the tens of thousands.”

The bald man shook his head and spat. He was called ‘Old Man’ by a lot of the soldiers, but his actual name was Fortum. He used the spear in his hands like a walking stick as he talked, his mouth a mix of yellow teeth and conspicuous gaps.

“They’re all somewhat equal—well, it’s not as if they fight against each other most of the time. That would upset the balance, and if two of the Great Companies fought, the other two would attack the winner, if there even was one. But now that we’re mentioning it…Lim, you know the Four Great Companies, right? Tell the young lady about them?”

“Me?”

Lim jumped and blushed. He cleared his throat nervously.

“Well, there’s the Armored Legion—the Dullahans—”

“Dullahans and a lot of bastards in armor. They base themselves in the north, mainly. They’ve got at least eighteen cities under their protection.”

Fortum interrupted Lim.

“Well yeah, but their leader’s a Dullahan, right?”

“As if that made a difference! They’ll take anyone with good armor. I doubt you’d get much work with them, Geneva. All their troops are tough as nails and their Dullahans have metal armor.”

The Old Man nodded to some of the Dullahans marching in a squad ahead of them. Geneva looked, and saw those Dullahans had ‘skin’ made of wood, not metal. She’d been surprised when she saw that, but apparently while Dullahans were all covered in armor save for their head, the quality of that armor varied.

“Not a lot of treatment needed for people wearing armor, right?”

“Maybe.”

Geneva could just imagine the injuries that might occur. Crushed bones, pierced armor—she shuddered as she imagined trying to restore a smashed hand without equipment. She wasn’t even sure she could help someone who got cut by a sword here.

“Anyways, they’re always at odds with the Flowing Wind Company. Mainly Centaurs, but they have a lot of mounted soldiers as well. They specialize in fast strikes—one second you think you’re safe and the next their armies will come riding down on you during the night. Not so great in jungles and higher up, though.”

Baleros wasn’t all deep forest and jungles. It had wide open plains and wonderfully scenic landscapes—or so Geneva had been told. If it was anything like America, she expected the northern part of the continent would be far colder.

She’d been born in Wisconsin, and although she was Italian by heritage and had often visited her homeland—this humidity was killing her. She would give anything for a bit of snow. Apparently it was winter, but for some reason it was delayed. She’d heard Winter Sprites mentioned in this context, but Geneva still had no idea what that meant.

“The Armored Legion and Flowing Wind companies are specialized, but the other two are more diverse. The Forgotten Wing for instance—”

“That’s the army with the Fraerling who leads them, isn’t it?”

“The Titan himself. Yeah, they rose into prominence two decades back. Crushed countless other companies, and their second-in-command is the Titan, the greatest [Strategist] in the world.”

Fortum nodded, and Geneva wondered what a Fraerling was. The Old Man cleared his throat.

“Mind you, their Commander is just as terrifying. The Titan leads their armies while the Three-Color Stalker takes down enemy officers. They haven’t as many long-term contracts, but they’re a rising force, and they’ve been fighting with the Iron Legion. Now, the last company—”

“Ambush! Centaurs in the trees!”

Someone screamed the words from up ahead. Geneva looked up, and then, suddenly, there were arrows.

Geneva stared at shadows as they burst from the trees. She felt something blur past her face, and then someone tackled her from the side. Lim’s terrified face hovered above her as Geneva hit the ground and all the air rushed out of her lungs.

Stunned, she saw a Centaur covered in warpaint and nothing else leap over her. He had a bow in his hands and he nocked it and fired three times. Three soldiers around him fell, crying out, and then he was running into the trees.

He had raven hair, and tanned skin. And he had a bracelet which shone with magical light. The Centaur’s galloping footsteps faded, and only then did Geneva sit up.

The first thing she heard were screams, and confused shouting.

“Attack, attack!”

“Go after them!”

“No, hold position! Get some potions out here!”

“They’re all dead!”

“Where are the archers!?”

“Potions! I need—!”

And then, a voice from next to her.

“Clara!”

Lim stared at one of the fallen soldiers. Geneva looked over and saw Clara was weakly grasping at a shaft buried in her collarbone. It felt as though the ground had dropped underneath Geneva.

Arrow wound. A deep shot. Probably hit bone; not bad blood loss yet, but Clara’s eyes were wide and she was gasping. First stage of hypovolemic shock?

Lim staggered over to the female soldier. He choked as he stared at the shaft in her body and reached for it.

Geneva was still in shock, but her training and instincts took over.

“Don’t touch her!”

She snapped at Lim as he reached for the arrow. Geneva looked around. Fortum was watching out for the archers, but other soldiers were already charging into the forest.

“Fortum! Help me lie her down.”

He hesitated, but then abandoned his spear and helped Lim lie Clara down. She was gasping and her face was white as Geneva studied the arrow.

Geneva had gone through a surgical rotation in medical school, but while her lessons had included information about how to fix up people with bullet wounds and knife wounds, no one had even thought to include a seminar about arrows. But the basic principle Geneva understood. She could either leave the arrow in and let it fester, or get it out.

The only problem was in how to get it out. Geneva had nothing like a scalpel and she was well aware of the dangers of infection. The arrow tip might be poisoned for all she knew. She had to get it out, but if Clara died then what was the point? Moreover—she’d have to cut down to the arrowhead itself to extract it.

She had butterflies in her stomach, but Geneva’s mind was cold. You had to be cold to work as a surgeon. And quick, too. There was no room for hesitation in the emergency room or the battlefield.

“I need a knife, and hot water. And a healing potion.”

She could bypass the injury she was about to inflict on Clara by using a potion. But there was still the issue of infection—did a healing potion erase bacteria or was that still an issue?

“Sergeant Thriss!”

Lim shouted desperately, and then the big man was running to them, a healing potion in his hands. He looked down at Clara, and then at Geneva.

“Can you save her?”

“I can.”

Geneva said it instantly. Even without a healing potion, the wound wasn’t that bad. And with it, she could take the arrowhead out. The only issue was whether the trauma of the surgery would be too much for Clara.

When she asked about the issue of infection, Thriss shook his head.

“The better type of healing potion gets rid of poison and all kinds of nasty problems, but we’ve only got cheap stuff.”

“Fine. Then I need a fire now.”

“[Mage]! I need a mage over here!”

Thriss roared and a man in robes ran over. He blinked when Geneva demanded a fire, but he immediately boiled the pot of water just by putting a glowing hand on the metal. Geneva dunked the knife Fortum handed her in the water and tried to breathe slowly.

She only had a knife. She needed—she needed clamps, forceps, retractors—she needed a damn scalpel. This dagger had all the precision of a baseball bat. And she needed something to dig around in the injury with.

“I need a spoon. Or—a metal knife. Something small I can work with.”

Lim went running, and Geneva knelt by Clara. The woman was trying to sit up, but Geneva held her down.

“Clara? It’s going to be okay. Alright? But I need to get that arrow out of you, so it’s going to hurt.”

“You can help me?”

Clara smiled at Geneva, but there was worry in her eyes. Geneva nodded and tried to smile. Clara should be under anesthesia, but she was bleeding and there was no time.

“Here!”

Lim came back with the things Geneva had requested. She dunked them in the boiling water and took a breath. Thriss was watching her, and Fortum was staring with concern at the arrow.

“The healing potion’ll close the wound, but the shaft has to come out. It has to be cut.”

She nodded at the older man.

“Hold her down. Clara? I need you to hold still, alright?”

Clara clenched her teeth.

“Okay.”

Lim’s face went pale as Geneva drew the dagger out of the boiling water. She barely felt the scalding heat; her entire concentration was on Clara’s bleeding wound. Go in fast; avoid major arteries and veins. Dig the arrowhead out and make sure it hadn’t fragmented, then use the healing potion. Time was her only enemy. And pain.

“I’m going to start.”

So saying, Geneva slowly began to cut into Clara’s shoulder, next to the shaft. The woman inhaled, and Geneva paused as she saw the blood.

But she’d done this before. She’d cut open people and cadavers. But never—

Never when they were alive.

It was so hard. But she had to do it. People thought doctors swore the Hippocratic Oath when they learned to practice medicine. There was that famous line, ‘Do no harm’. Primum non nocere.

Bullshit. Doctors had to cause harm. It was the only way to do surgery. The only way to save lives.

So Geneva began to cut. She sawed flesh apart and Clara screamed. Fortum and another man held her down as the woman herself tried not to move, and Geneva cut fast and deep.

“Oh dead gods. Lords and ladies. Nonononono—”

Lim was right in Geneva’s ear, reacting viscerally to the surgery. He backed away, hands over his mouth, and then Geneva heard retching and splattering. He’d vomited! Of all the—

“Goddamnit! Get him out of here!”

Geneva shouted and Thriss pulled Lim away. The vomit stank in the hot air and Geneva was worried it would attract bugs. But she didn’t hurry her movements; she was working as fast as she could and didn’t dare rush for fear of causing more damage.

Cut down. Through tissue. She didn’t have time to remove the blood, even if she could. No sponges. Clara was screaming, but there! There was the arrowhead.

It was deep. And now Geneva could see it was touching bone. But she’d opened a path so she gently tried to remove the arrowhead by pulling the shaft out.

She had to get the arrowhead out. It was a sharp object, unlike a bullet or something the tissue could heal around. Even a healing potion would probably only form an abscess around the arrowhead until Geneva could get it out. It was better to slice up Clara’s flesh to retrieve it rather than leave it in.

If it was lodged in the bone, she’d have to pull it out with her crude forceps. Geneva prayed as she gently twisted and pulled the shaft out. Clara was moaning, deep and agonized. But Geneva’s attention was all on the shaft. She could feel the arrowhead moving, coming up and then—

The bloody head of the arrow came up, crimson with Clara’s blood. Geneva stared at it grimly and cast it aside.

“Good!”

Thriss exclaimed and uncorked the potion as soon as he saw the arrowhead. But Geneva stopped him and shook her head.

“I need to disinfect the wound first. Reboil that water.”

It was a popular myth that alcohol would disinfect wounds. While that was true, it would also inflame the injury. Alcohol was good for sterilizing equipment; but in this case the hot water Geneva used to wash the injury and blood was adequate.

Clara screamed into the rag Fortum had given her to bite with, but in a few seconds Geneva was pouring the healing potion over the wound. She did it slowly; Geneva the person wanted to heal the wound as fast as possible, but Geneva the surgeon wanted to observe the potion’s effects. What she saw fascinated her.

The healing potion was clearly some kind of agent that accelerated the body’s natural processes. It did not create new skin; rather, it made the existing tissue close up at an extremely accelerated rate. Even as Geneva watched the skin close together and the angry red color of the flesh returned to its normal state, she wondered how the potion would work on another kind of injury.

They would probably do nothing for more advanced breaks, unless the bones were set properly. Even then, they would have limits—these potions couldn’t heal severed limbs, and indeed they would inhibit reattachment if used incorrectly—even if that was possible to do with just potions.

Did the potions age the skin? Would they cause cancerous growths or tumors in the long run if they continued to accelerate the reproduction of cells? What would their effect be on such an affliction?

Thoughtfully, Geneva corked the potion and handed it back to Thriss. He looked surprised, but she’d only used up half of the bottle. Despite the invasive surgery, she hadn’t cut that deep into Clara for the arrowhead.

“Only a bit of healing potion. That’s good work.”

Geneva just nodded. Clara was feeling her arm and sitting up, shuddering. Tears had streaked through the blood and grime on her face, but her skin was whole and unscarred now. She hugged Fortum as the soldier gripped her shoulder.

It was hard to meet her eyes. Geneva stood up and looked at Thriss. He was looking at her too, different than before. There was a newfound respect in his eyes.

“Not many [Healers] could remove an arrowhead from a screaming person like that. I guess [Doctors] are stronger, eh?”

“Some are. But I don’t have even a quarter of the equipment I need for proper surgery. If Clara wasn’t the only one injured, or if the arrow had hit her in the gut—”

Thriss shook his head.

“Bad business. Those Centaur bastards are good shots. Your friend was lucky she only got struck once; I’ve seen them hit a soldier three times in as many seconds.”

He pointed at the other bodies lying on the ground. Their eyes had been closed, but Geneva could see the arrows that had struck them around the heart or in the necks and faces.

“If you can save more lives, I’ll see to getting you what you need. What things do you want? A sharp dagger, we can give you.”

“I need more than that. I need things to open skin and hold flesh. Tweezers, a digging instrument—”

Thriss’ face changed as Geneva described the tools. He shook his head.

“Talk to the [Quartermaster]. I’ll see to it you can take what’s needed.”

“I also need something to clean my tools. Not just water, although I’ll need a fire to boil water. But I need alcohol—a strong spirit.”

Disinfectants. Could she make some kind of iodine? She desperately needed an antibiotic, but what?

Thriss made a troubled face.

“We have an alcohol ration. I suppose I can have the quartermaster give you some. But if I see soldiers drinking—”

“If they’re drinking, it’s because I need them to stop screaming.”

“True enough. Well then, you do what’s needed. But it was good you were here. Damned good. I’ve seen too many friends cutting a shoulder open and rooting for the damn arrowhead, or pouring a potion on top and having the wound fester.”

He nodded to Geneva and left her. Slowly, the disturbed line of soldiers began to regroup, and in ten more minutes they were marching again. But this time they walked in silence, and Geneva stood alone. She’d washed the blood off her clothes and hands, but the other soldiers stayed away from her.

Apparently, it was one thing to kill your enemy, and another to hurt your friends, even if that was to help them. Geneva didn’t care at the moment. When they finally made camp she just fell into bed after a quick meal. She was exhausted.

But a voice spoke in her ears before she slept.

[Doctor Level 4!]

[Skill – Hygienic Hands obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Resistance: Infection obtained!]

----

She didn’t understand Skills that well. Well she did—it wasn’t a hard concept to grasp. But Geneva didn’t precisely understand what her Skills did, and that bothered her greatly.

As she woke up and felt a night’s worth of bug bites start to itch, Geneva wondered what [Hygenic Hands] did. Did that mean she didn’t have to wash her hands? Surely not. She had a bit of grime on them even now.

Or—was there some kind of effect on them that would nullify any bacteria on her hands? If she touched something—like feces, for example—was she cleansing the object or would it return to being filthy the moment it left her hands? Did the effect apply to the tools she used, or was it just her hands?

For that matter, how much resistance was ‘Lesser Resistance’, anyways? Was her immune system simply stronger, or would she slowly develop an immunity or would the virus or infection not affect her as badly as someone without this Skill?

She wished she had a microscope. That would answer so many questions, and besides which, this world was a veritable treasure trove of new information. Geneva would have given anything to study how the Lizardfolk and Dullahan’s internal biology worked or even what effect magic had on the particles in the air when it was cast. She had so many questions.

But as she walked to breakfast where a silent Dullahan was serving bowls of soup and chunks of dry bread to the soldiers, Geneva’s thoughts made way for a more pressing issue.

How would the others respond to her now that they’d seen her performing surgery? Moreover, how would Clara react?

She needn’t have worried. True, Lim hesitated, but he still moved over as Geneva sat with Fortum and the other Human soldiers from this morning, and Fortum grunted at her in a friendly sounding way. The others chatted or blinked in bleary silence as was their preference, but none looked at Geneva too oddly.

Except for Lim, that was. He still looked uneasy when he met Geneva’s eyes, but Clara gave her a one-armed hug the instant she saw her in the morning.

“Looks like a [Doctor]’s more use’n I thought, isn’t that right? You cut that arrow out of my arm in a thrice, and it doesn’t feel the slightest bit bad now!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t have anything to stop the pain.”

Fortum shook his head.

“You were faster than anyone I’d ever seen, girl. Don’t you worry. Clara knows you had to get that arrowhead out.”

“It was worth me screaming and bleeding for that.”

Clara nodded seriously. She tapped her arm.

“I’ve heard stories of folks who used a potion without pulling the arrowhead out. They rot from the inside and die screaming. No amount of potion’ll fix that.”

“You were so calm.”

Lim burst out at last. He looked at Geneva, wide-eyed.

“How did you know how to get the arrow out? Do all [Doctors] have a skill? What level do you learn to do all that?”

Geneva frowned. She hadn’t learned that from her class, but the idea that someone could learn something like surgery from just leveling up a few times was…concerning. Fortum scowled and cuffed Lim lightly.

“It’s rude to ask her level, boy.”

Even asking about Classes was considered somewhat rude unless the information was volunteered first. It was a personal question and an important one; knowing someone’s exact levels and classes meant you could tell how powerful or useful they were. Geneva only shrugged.

“I’m not a high level [Doctor], but I’ve been trained to do surgery and other types of medicine.”

“Surgery? You mean cutting someone open like yesterday…?”

Lim looked uneasy, and another soldier smacked him on the shoulder.

“We’re eating, boy.”

Geneva nodded. She had no issues swallowing her food.

“If I have to. But I normally have a lot more tools. I was working with what I could scrounge, but next time…do you know where I can get tweezers? Even wooden ones would do.”

“Someone’ll have them. But if you want some, there’s bound to be someone with a wood working Skill in this crowd.”

Fortum pointed this out, and Geneva latched on to the suggestion.

“Do you think I could pay them or get them to make me a few tools?”

Metal would be far better, but anything was better than nothing. The Old Man nodded as he chewed at his bread slowly, breaking it down with saliva and soup so his few teeth could do the rest of the job.

“I reckon they’ll do it for free, even if the sergeant don’t insist. After today, everyone’s going to want to give you as much help as they can in case they’re the ones with a hole in their gut.”

“Can you fix that, too?”

Geneva smiled wryly, but her stomach twisted.

“Let’s not find out right now, okay?”

Everyone laughed, and soon the soldiers were roused by Thriss shouting and back on the march. But the [Sergeant] found Geneva as she was walking with the others.

“A word.”

He led her away from the others, and then pressed a small key into her hands. It was made of iron and sturdy. Geneva blinked at it.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a key. To the chest of healing potions in the supply wagon.”

Thriss stared seriously at Geneva.

“You’re new, but after yesterday, me and the other officers agreed you should have it. Mark me, though. If any potions are missing or you don’t lock up, there will be hell to pay.”

She met his eyes.

“Don’t worry. I won’t steal.”

“Good! I just want you to know how important what you’ve got is. Don’t lose it, or if you do—tell me at once. We can’t lose that key.”

Geneva nodded again and Thriss clapped her on the shoulder with one hand. Geneva stared at the supply wagon as she pushed the key deep into her pockets. It was an important thing to be entrusted with. The potion chest was probably the most valuable thing this battalion of mercenaries was carrying.

It sat at the center of the line of troops, in a wagon that was guarded by veterans. All the precious supplies were held there, but the potions had the double protection of the chest. Geneva could see why. Even a magical sword wasn’t as valuable as the hundred plus bottles of magical liquid.

The others made no comment as she rejoined them on their march, although Fortum did eye Geneva speculatively. But none of them looked like thieves, and so Geneva found the time to talk to some other soldiers and ask about fashioning some wooden tools.

They were all friendly, even the Lizardfolk. The few Dullahans and Centaurs were somewhat aloof, but Geneva’s [Doctor] status seemed to make her special.

No one seemed to really know what a [Doctor] was. Oh, they were familiar with [Healers] and regarded [Doctors] as a version of that class, but Geneva felt like she was being treated like a witchdoctor or some kind of medicine woman or midwife.

This world didn’t need [Doctors]. Not like her world. That knowledge made Geneva’s chest hurt and loosen at the same time. Was she useless?

No—no, Clara had still needed her help to remove the arrowhead. And things like plagues and infection might not be curable with magic alone. She had a place. And on this battlefield, at least Geneva could hand out potions.

The thought of going into battle was another worry that made Geneva’s stomach twist. But again, she’d had no choice. And at least here she could learn if she could still save lives or if all her skills were obsolete.

But to Geneva’s surprise, she found her expertise was needed before violence occurred again. As the soldiers had taken another break from marching and the sun was overhead, Thriss sought her out again.

“Geneva. A Dullahan wants to see you. He says it’s important.”

Curious, Geneva stood up and walked over to find a tall, dark-skinned man wearing armor that looked like bark was waiting for her. There was nothing visibly wrong with him, but for some reason the air smelled foul around him.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“No. Hurt.”

Without preamble, the Dullahan pulled off his arm. Geneva gasped, but Thriss didn’t seem shocked.

“Never seen a Dullahan do that? It’s not just heads.”

The Dullahan’s arm had come off smoothly, without any resistance. Geneva stared into the dark socket of his armor, but saw only purple light and a mist coming from the hole. Did they even have organs?

The Dullahan held the arm with one hand, and pulled a panel of the armor off. Geneva found her question answered and her stomach roiled as the horrible, rotting smell intensified and she saw what was causing it.

Underneath the Dullahan’s wooden armor—and now that Geneva saw what it was, she realized it was actually skin—his internal organs were clearly visible. Muscle and tendons were clearly visible; it was as if a normal Human had lost all their dermal layers but left their organs intact.

Dullahans were like crustaceans! They had shells – or perhaps they were more like insects, with exoskeletons they could remove. But what caught Geneva’s eye and made Thriss step back in disgust was the source of the smell.

It wasn’t a blood-filled injury like Clara’s. No, this was an infection. Pus and yellow liquid ran from the Dullahan’s arm as he held the wooden panel open, and Geneva saw the tissue and muscles around the yellow substance were raw and inflamed.

“Dead gods, that’s awful.”

Thriss wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and spat. Geneva looked at the arm. Clearly, it was a long-term infection that hadn’t been treated. Her stomach tried to revolt, but Geneva held it firm. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d seen. Granted, it was up there in terms of disgusting, but she was a doctor. She was already thinking of how to treat the wound without any antibiotics.

“May I?”

To her surprise, the Dullahan handed Geneva his arm. She gently held it in her hands, noting the weight—it was quite heavy. She wrinkled her nose at the injury. What she wouldn’t give for gloves.

The wound was pus-filled and stank. Geneva stared at the Dullahan.

“Why didn’t you get this treated earlier?”

He shook his head.

“No one who can help with this. Healing potions no good. No [Healer] knows how to treat Dullahans.”

“But you think I can help?”

“[Doctor] is different. May help. Must help. Arm is bad.”

It was. Geneva noted the deterioration of tissue—the area had already begun to break down. She came to a quick decision.

“I’ll need more boiled water, and clean towels. In fact, I’ll need to boil the towels in the water first.”

Thriss eyed Geneva.

“Will this take long?”

“Not too long. Less than thirty minutes if I can get what I need. But I need to clean the wound now.”

He grunted.

“Good. Do it. And do it away from camp.”

Geneva led the Dullahan to a place where the soldiers couldn’t see—or smell—his injury and got to work. He followed her quietly, and silently. He was a very still figure, and his head didn’t exhibit many facial expressions. The infected wound had to hurt, but he was stoic. Was that a Dullahan trait?

To begin with, Geneva tried to figure out how the infection had started. But when she asked when he’d noticed the infection, the Dullahan only shook his head. He tapped the arm plate.

“Armor broke. Bad thing got in.”

Something like a bug or dirt? No wonder Dullahans tried to upgrade their armor. It was their skin, and any holes would expose them to all kinds of dangers. Geneva did her best with the wound. She would have done anything for antibiotics, but without them—

First she boiled water and cleaned two towels as best she could. Then, she requested and received some salt. She added it to another pot of water and boiled that. When the water was no longer scalding, she used it and the towels to clean the wound.

The Dullahan sat through it all, only wincing slightly which impressed Geneva again. She was touching his internal structure however lightly, and that had to be painful. But his only motion was to shoo away the insects that were attracted to his rotting flesh.

Soon, Geneva had cleared away the injury and she could see no traces of dirt or other containments. She gave the entire area one last dose of the saline solution—knowing it was a poor substitute for a proper antiseptic—and wished one last time for antibiotics.

“Is it done?”

The Dullahan looked at Geneva as she cleaned his armor plate. There was some…fleshlike substance on the back, and she tried to be as gentle with that as possible as well. How was he able to detach it from his arm? There was clearly still bloodflow. Was it just magic? Some kind of portal system?

She shook her head as she handed him the plate and he reattached it to his arm.

“No. Your infection is bad. Very bad. I have to clean it every few hours and let the pus drain. It will take time, you understand? But it must be cleaned, and the wound must breathe for a while.”

He nodded.

“It will heal?”

“You have a good chance.”

Geneva didn’t want to lie, but neither did she want to speak her mind. She needed antibiotics, somehow. But this wasn’t the place to find any. She hesitated. Could healing potions be of any help? Maybe…

“Hold on.”

When she came back with the healing potion she’d used on Clara, Geneva applied it sparingly to the Dullahan’s injury. The swelling reduced, although the injury didn’t look completely healed, which was something.

“I think this potion will help as well. I’ll use more tomorrow and if we’re lucky, your body will fight off the infection. Understand?”

He smiled at her, briefly.

“Good. Thank you.”

It was such a change to see his expressionless face move that Geneva blinked at him for a moment. But she realized he had to be terrified he’d lose his arm. She smiled back.

“It’s what I do. Now, we’d better get marching.”

----

That was the first time someone had come to her for help. Come to that, the Dullahan was her first real patient that had consulted with her. He wasn’t the last.

The Dullahan might not seem that talkative, but either he or Thriss was more chatty than Geneva thought, because word soon got out that she could do more than cut arrows out of people. Soon, Geneva had quite a number of discreet inquiries over medical issues of everything from boils and blisters to conditions like gout and even a surprising case of lacerations on a man’s groinal region. When Geneva asked where he’d gotten that, he just blushed and mumbled about lizardfolk.

By the end of that day, Geneva was confident enough to bring up the issue of hygiene to Thriss. He heard her out and scratched his head when she told him the soldiers needed to wash their hands regularly, not just when they were too dirty to stand.

“Soap? There is lye soap, but not nearly enough for the battalion.”

“Well, you need to buy some as soon as you can. If your soldiers keep eating without washing their hands regularly, some will get sick.”

Thriss made a face.

“How do you know that will help? Soldiers always get sick. It happens.”

“But it will happen less if they do what I say and practice proper hygiene. Trust me. I’m a [Doctor].”

He hesitated, but agreed to give it some thought.

“We’ll be joining up with the [Captain] and our unit’s [Strategist] soon enough. You can speak with them. Tomorrow we should reach the battlefield. Your talents will be needed soon enough then, so sleep deeply.”

Geneva nodded. She still had butterflies at the thought, but she was confident in her knowledge. She could help. She had to. This was what she’d been trained to do.

That night, Geneva slept on the ground, tossing and turning and thinking about antibiotics. She had to have some. Penicillin…how was that made again? Medical history hadn’t been high on her list of things to memorize, and she was regretting it now. She could recite almost every human body part and countless effects of drugs, but she didn’t know how to make penicillin from scratch. She needed the mold—but where would she even get it? Maybe a [Healer] would know, or some kind of class that dealt with herbs. An [Alchemist]?

Slowly, Geneva drifted off to sleep. She couldn’t get it now, but as soon as she was paid and got to a large settlement of some kind she’d start searching. For now, she had to rely on the healing potions. They would make her life so much easier. If disease and infection were her only enemies, she had a chance.

The soldiers had a chance.

Geneva believed that right up until the moment she heard the screaming and galloping of hooves that broke the silence of the night.

----

“Attack! Get up! We’re under attack!”

Geneva heard the words as if they’d been screamed in her ear. She shot out of bed, first looking around for the danger, and then reaching for her pack. She left the sword behind as she blundered around in a panic.

People were struggling around in their bedding, shouting, adding to the confusion. Geneva nearly ran into Lim’s sword as he whirled around, looking for an enemy in the darkness.

“Geneva!”

Clara pulled Lim back and then Geneva found herself standing behind Fortum and some other soldiers from their group. They formed a circle in the darkness, watching every direction for enemies.

Someone was shouting for people to rally to him, but no one was inclined to move in the confusion. Geneva saw flashing shapes, and hoofbeats, but surpisingly, no screams. Then she heard the crash of wood and the sound of glass breaking and more galloping. And then…

Silence.

Slowly, order restored itself. Soldiers began to form up, and Geneva saw Thriss running through the camp, a huge mace in his hands. He ran past the group of soldiers and Geneva, and she heard a shout of rage.

“What happened?”

Lim stared at the others, wide-eyed. Geneva had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Fortum glanced around, eying the confusion.

“Sounds like those Centaurs hit us again. Night raid. They were in and out quick, though.”

“No one’s wounded, though.”

Clara had a deeply troubled look on her face. She looked in the direction Thriss had gone.

“What was that sound? It sounded like breaking glass.”

Geneva knew. She didn’t want to know, but there was only one conclusion that bubbled up in her brain.

“The potions.”

Lim stared at her in horror and Fortum looked grim. Soon enough they saw that Geneva was right. Thriss and another big man carried the box out of the supply wagon and set it on the ground. Geneva saw the splintered wood and her heart stopped in her chest.

The precious chest of potions in the supply wagon had been smashed by something heavy. Inside, the fragile wrapped potions had been shattered, and the potion had leaked out of the sides. Only a few bottles held any potion at all—those Thriss and the other officers desperately tried to save, holding up the glass pieces and dripping as much potion into canteens and any containers they had on hand.

But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. Geneva saw the looks on Fortum’s face and the other soldiers’. From over a hundred potions, their battalion’s’ supply had suddenly dwindled. They had maybe less than twenty bottles’ worth.

Thriss stared down at the broken chest. He stood up, and cursed, then shouted at another officer. And then his head turned. He looked at Geneva, and the look in his eyes told her that her worst fears were true. If they had no healing potions, then they only had her.

Geneva. A [Doctor]. But she had no Skills, not the ones that they needed. And she didn’t have the tools. She didn’t have—anything!

Her stomach twisted. But now Fortum was staring at her, and Clara was as well. Lim was still staring at the broken chest with horror, but all the veterans were looking at Geneva. They knew.

Slowly, every eye turned to her. Soldiers and officers alike looked at Geneva, quiet fear in their eyes.

They couldn’t retreat. They were soldiers. But they feared death like all mortal beings. Without healing potions they had not a chance at all. Except if they had someone who could save them. So they put their faith in her. In Geneva, someone they barely knew, hoping because they had nothing else to cling to.

But she couldn’t do it. Geneva knew that. She was unprepared. She didn’t have anything she needed.

She was just twenty four years old. She was no renowned surgeon, no battlefield medic. She’d never trained. She wasn’t ready!

She was a surgeon with no tools. A student who hadn’t even finished her training. A practitioner without a license. A doctor alone.

But there was no one else. And she had a job to do. So Geneva stared at the box of potions and knew what was coming next. She clenched her hands so tight her knuckles cracked.

In the silence of the night, as the last drops of healing potion soaked into the jungle floor, Geneva felt death begin to walk at her side.

1.01 D

“Bring in the next patient!”

Geneva snapped at the soldiers who had been assigned to her. They lurched into motion, slowly, too slowly. But they were injured as well; it was the only reason they hadn’t been sent back to the front lines. One man was limping; the other had taken a hatchet to the arm and couldn’t use it. They both should have been lying down, but she needed them.

The dead man’s gaze still haunted her vision. Geneva closed her eyes and banished the image. She sluiced more soapy water on her operating table, feeling it drain to the floor. Soapy water for disinfectant; she didn’t even have a place to drain the blood and gore. Already some bugs were buzzing around the tent. More would follow soon.

The tent flap opened. Geneva heard the woman moaning even as the soldiers carried her in on a makeshift pallet. Her arm was broken; the skin and bone deformed where something incredibly heavy had struck her.

Geneva sighed in relief. Here was someone she could fix. This woman would not die; she might not regain use of her arm, but she would not die.

She would live. And she stared at Geneva with horror in her eyes. It was probably the blood that covered her. Geneva paid no heed. Crushed bone and skin. She had no IV or drip—she had to prevent hypotension. The skin and bones—swelling. Would the arm have to be amputated?

No. No. Not yet. Check the fracture and set the bones. Geneva took a deep breath.

“This will hurt.”

She warned the female soldier and set to work. Geneva closed her ears to the screams as she worked. It was cruel. Cruel to do this. She was causing the poor woman pain, but it had to be done. There was no one else to save her, no healing potions to help her. Without Geneva hurting her, the woman would never be able to lift anything with her arm again. There were no healing potions left.

Geneva was all the battalion had.

----

“We will not be receiving any more healing potions in the near future.”

Thriss told Geneva that directly. The battalion had camped, and they were on the eve of their entry into the battle. Geneva stared at him as she stood in the sergeant’s marginally larger tent in their camp.

The air was hot and humid. It was dark, but a few lanterns had been set out. They were already attracting swarms of nocturnal bugs in the dense jungle.

The soldiers had camped just on the fringes of one of the dark, dense jungles that made Baleros such a nightmare to do battle in. The Centaur tribe’s goldmine was located deep within the labyrinth of trees and overgrown fauna, which meant that the attacking mercenary groups – the Burning March company hired forces like the Raverian Fighters – had to push into the jungle. It also meant close combat fighting where ambushes could happen at any moment. It would be desperate and intense, and it was made far worse because Geneva’s company had no healing potions.

To be more accurate, they had twenty. But Thriss had already made it clear that Geneva would not see any of them.

“We’ve distributed half-shares among our officers and veterans. The regular soldiers will have you, and if we can hold for a few days we’ll get another shipment of potions. But it will take time.”

Geneva stared at him. Thriss wasn’t meeting her eyes as he stared at a map on the table. He wasn’t the commander of the company, but he was one of the officers in charge of their battalion. And he had apparently drawn the straw to tell her the bad news.

“You want me to act as a doctor for the entire camp?”

There were over six hundred soldiers in their battalion. Geneva knew not all of them would be injured at once, but—

“I can’t do that. I don’t have the tools for surgery. I need assistants, an operating space, time—”

“We’ll clear an area for you to work in. We’ll put you well behind the front lines so don’t worry about that.”

Geneva wasn’t worried about enemy soldiers at the moment. She stared Thriss in the eye.

“I cannot save these soldiers. Not without healing potions.”

“You are all we have.”

Thriss looked at Geneva finally. He met her eyes for a second, and then glanced away. She knew he had a full healing potion in one of the water flasks at his side. But the regular soldiers wouldn’t be getting any potions. Because they were new recruits; expendable.

“Our other battalions can’t spare any potions from their supplies. They’ve been hard pressed too. And the closest force to us is the Burning March 6th Battalion. They’ve refused to give us any potions as well.”

The big man’s hand clenched. Geneva just stood and thought.

“If I do this…I can’t guarantee I’ll save any lives. I can bandage wounds and make tourniquets, but any deep cut, anything worse than a flesh wound—”

“Do your best. That’s all we can ask.”

Thriss stared back at the map. His voice grew quiet.

“It will get intense tomorrow. We’re being sent in to fight against the Magehammer Company. We will flank them. Even if we don’t run into their mages, there will be more than enough people for you to work on.”

What was she supposed to say to that? What was she supposed to do? Geneva stared helplessly at the man in front of her. He knew she couldn’t do this. But he was telling her to do it anyways.

“Can’t we wait until we receive supplies?”

“No.”

He said it flatly.

“We have to provide support. The battle is not going well. If an entire battalion pulls out of its position, we will give the enemy too much of an advantage.”

“So instead you’ll send all of these soldiers to their deaths.”

“You have your orders. Carry them out.”

Geneva stood straight in the tent, feeling as though she’d been slapped. Her voice was taut and cold.

“The gods are dead in this world, Thriss. But tell me, do you believe in immortal souls?”

“Souls?”

The [Sergeant] looked at Geneva. He looked old, and lost, and uncertain.

“I believe I do. I believe in souls, even if there are no gods to judge them.”

Geneva nodded slowly. Her own soul ached. But she had no choice.

“In that case, I hope the soldiers who look up to you have mercy on your soul. Because their deaths are on you.”

She turned and walked out of the camp tent. Geneva listened to the insects buzzing and the sounds of the jungle at night. She whispered the words as she walked back to her sleeping spot.

“May they have mercy on mine as well.”

The next day, the 4th Battalion of the Raverian Fighters engaged in battle.

----

Geneva remembered the day as vivid scenes set to the backdrop of screams and blood and gore. Only a few things stood out to her clearly.

She remembered standing at the edge of the camp as Lim, Clara, Fortum, and the other soldiers prepared to enter the fray. She remembered the look in their eyes as they’d stared at her.

“Stay safe, girl.”

Fortum had advised her as he and the other soldiers tightened straps and made sure both armor and weapons were secure. He looked at her seriously.

“You’re all we’ve got. If some fool gets you, we’re all dead men walking. You keep well clear of the fighting.”

“I will. I’ll be waiting in case any of you need me.”

The old man had paused then, and looked at Geneva seriously. There was no blame in his eyes, or fear like there was in Lim’s when the young man looked at her. His voice was soft.

“Don’t blame an old man, but I hope I don’t see you today.”

“I won’t. Stay safe.”

And then they’d left. Geneva had stood in the camp, in the empty tent she’d set up, trembling.

To her surprise, not all the soldiers had been sent out in the first wave. Of course; they had to be rotated and a reserve was necessary to keep the enemy from ambushing the headquarters. So she’d enlisted a few men and women and one Lizardfolk and had them wait near her tent. She needed assistants. Even if they couldn’t help in the surgery, they could at least lift the bodies—

The wounded.

The first soldier arrived almost before Geneva could blink. One second she was trying to sit still, heart racing, waiting for what seemed like eternity, the next she heard the screams.

He’d been hit by an arrow in the first engagement. It had struck him in the leg and by the blood gushing from the wound, it had hit an artery. The soldiers carried him in and Geneva grabbed for bandages.

“Why didn’t—”

She almost asked them why they hadn’t made a tourniquet. But they were already pushing out the door.

Okay. Severed artery. She had to—

The man gasped, and Geneva’s heart stopped. He was awake but barely conscious. The blood loss had already taken its toll and he was limp and his face was pallid.

Move. Geneva tore her eyes away from his face and looked at the arrow. Blood was still oozing from the wound. She had to make a tourniquet.

Geneva wrapped the strip of twisted cloth as tightly around the upper part of his leg as she could. The blood flow cut off. That done, Geneva looked at the arrow.

It was just like the last injury. That was what she told herself. But this time she had to cut into the man’s leg. Her angle was bad, and the dagger wasn’t nearly as sharp as a scalpel. And when she got into the wound—

“Oh god.”

The arrow had indeed sliced through the artery, and Geneva was staring at the hole the extracted arrowhead had made. Somehow, she had to suture that. But she didn’t have sutures! Okay, first she had to grab the artery, but how could she? She had virtually no surgical tools—

“Forceps.”

Geneva fumbled with the wooden ones one of the soldiers had fashioned for her. She fumbled at the exposed artery, trying to grasp it until she succeeded. Desperately, Geneva hung on to that as she reached for a needle and thread.

The artery was severed; the only option she had was to ligate the wound. But doing that with basic thread and a sewing needle filled Geneva with dread. There was just no way she’d be able to do it properly.

But she didn’t have a choice. The needle could barely penetrate the artery, and the thread was already sticky with blood. The man was moaning, and Geneva had to adjust every time he moved. Slowly, she got the artery closed, but when she removed the tourniquet, one of her stitches broke. She had to reapply and dig around in the bloody mess again, and then wash the wound and close it up with more stitches.

She took too long. Geneva knew that in hindsight. Two more wounded soldiers had arrived and waited for over half an hour before she decided she’d done all she could. She shouted, and the soldiers came in and out. Geneva’s hands were shaking a bit after the operation, but she didn’t even have a second to rest.

The second injured person had been hit by a mage blast. And he was a Lizardfolk. Geneva stared at the curling smoke rising from the blackened crater in his side and decided to treat him as if the actual damage had been caused by fire or electricity. Some combination of the two.

She had no real way to treat him. But the worst part was that her patient was conscious. He screamed at her, and screamed harder when she tried to clean the wound with soapy water. He cut her face, and soldiers had to rush in and hold him down.

A skin graft was all she could think of, but Geneva knew she didn’t have the time or ability to do that. She could only clean the blackened scales and apply a rudimentary dressing of bandages. The soldiers carried the Lizardman out as he screamed curses at her.

The next patient only needed stitching and bandaging of several deep cuts on his arms. Geneva washed and stitched his skin together as the man yelped and cursed. She gave him garbled instructions to keep the wounds clean and not to strain himself—he stared at her as if she was crazy and told her he was going to be called back into the fighting soon enough.

Geneva paused then to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her brow. An orange bug tried to land on her bloody hands and more were crawling up the table. She washed them off the table with soapy water and stomped them into the mud at the bottom of her tent. Then she told the soldiers to boil her more water and get her more cloth for bandages.

And then the next patient arrived. He was already dead. Geneva stared at his chest. He wasn’t breathing. She confirmed that by testing his pulse and checking to see if he was breathing. He was not. But the cut on his stomach was still leaking blood, and the two soldiers who’d stayed by his side were staring at Geneva with hope in their eyes.

“He’s dead. I’m sorry.”

They refused to believe. One of the dead man’s friends pointed to his hands.

“He’s still alive! Look! His hands are moving!”

Geneva looked. The fingers on the dead man’s hands were twitching. She’d never seen a corpse do that, but she’d heard stories.

“Muscle spasms. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”

The two stared at her. Geneva called for soldiers to take him out. A fight broke out when they tried to take the dead man’s body.

“Liar! He’s not dead! He’s not dead!”

“Deral! Get away—Deral!”

Geneva caught a fist as the soldiers fought with the other two. By the time they’d been subdued and the corpse had been taken out, Geneva’s cheek was swollen and the ground was muddy.

Then the next patient came in. He was alive and had taken a deep cut to the belly. Geneva had to call more soldiers to help. Three held him down while she had two more help her in the operation. But they were too slow, and too afraid. The man died while they hesitated.

And then the next patient came in. He was missing an eye, and he’d been cut badly. He screamed and thrashed. By this point Geneva was already exhausted and sweat kept running into her eyes. Her helper couldn’t even blot it off her head without getting in her way.

In another lifetime, in another world, Geneva’s college professor had once tried to make the analogy that surgery was like an orchestra. Each nurse and doctor in the operating room was like a player, and they all had their own part to play. If even one person slipped up, the entire melody, the entire piece fell apart.

He’d made the comparison poorly, and he’d completely flubbed the entire thing when he’d tried to compare general anesthesia to atmospheric lighting. But the analogy had stayed with Geneva.

A surgery was like an orchestra, or a band. Each person had their part to play. True, there were lead players and first violins, but even the most outstanding player could not make music alone. What was a concerto without the accompaniment? What good was a surgeon without the anesthesiologist to monitor the patient’s vitals, and her assistants to stop the bleeding and hand her tools?

What could one person do alone? Nothing. And worse, Geneva was still too inexperienced. She had no practice—no real experience with the injuries on the soldiers that were flooding into her tent. She had only studied theory, never tried to repair a collapsed lung or stitch together a burst stomach.

In an operating room, Geneva would have been the least-important member of the team. As a new intern or the youngest doctor, she would have been cutting sutures or cleaning and sterilizing the room before and after the surgery. No—as a student she would have been relegated to observational duty in some schools; just someone that had to keep out of the real doctor’s way at all costs.

But now Geneva found herself leading an orchestra of one, a lone singer on a stage dark with blood, with an audience that was growing with each hour. They screamed her name, and begged her to play music. But she was alone, untrained, unaided.

Yet they screamed her name. So Geneva sang alone. As the screams filled the jungle and the harsh buzzing of flies and larger insects filled the air she cut and bandaged and tried to catch life with her fingers.

It slipped away each time.

After the thirtieth patient, Geneva had to take a break. She staggered outside and threw up. The soldiers watched her anxiously, but Geneva didn’t care. She breathed deeply and drank water, rinsing out her mouth before she drank more, to replenish all the fluids she’d lost.

Her hands were shaking. They were still during the surgery, but now they shook uncontrollably. Geneva sat on a rock for a few seconds, trying to breathe.

They’d all died. Everyone who’d come in to her tent with a serious injury hadn’t gone back out. They’d passed away on that bloody, insect-infested table, screaming and crying and begging her to save them.

Someone else screamed. Geneva looked up and saw a man with no hand. It wasn’t a clean cut that had taken the hand either. It looked like something had bit the hand off.

“Doctor!”

His friend shouted at Geneva, white-faced. Friends were the worst. Geneva had already banned them from being anywhere near the tent.

Her mind raced. Part of her was already going over the things she’d need to do for a severed limb. It was listing all the things she didn’t have. But it was still possible, and every second she wasted was a second that man was closer to death.

“I can’t do this.”

She whispered the words as she stood up and walked back into the tent. She saved the man’s life, but the flesh around his hand already stank, and she feared infection would claim his arm. But there was nothing to do.

The next patient had taken three arrows to the legs. One had nicked an artery. He bled out before she could save him.

“More wounded! Where’s the damn [Doctor]!?”

Geneva turned, staggering, as she tried to finish her bowl of food. She’d stopped after—she had no idea, really. After a while the soldiers in her tent had turned into a blur.

Soldiers were carrying more wounded into the camp. Geneva looked at some of them and knew they would die. The living fought for space, trying to get their friends into line before the others. Nearly ten wounded this time. Geneva stood up, but then saw something strange.

Two soldiers were dumping a corpse next to the others. But it was not a corpse. Geneva could see it moving, and unlike the soldier who’d had muscle spasms, there was no way to imitate this.

“Wait! He’s not dead!”

Geneva ran forwards. The soldiers turned as she knelt at the side of the moving body. She paused when she saw the injury.

Half of his body had been blown away. A mage’s spell had struck him. Geneva was beginning to notice the signs. And what remained—Geneva blinked at the corpse.

It was a Human’s corpse, but something had happened to it. All the color seemed to have drained out of the skin, and what remained looked—wrong. He almost looked albino, but his hair was a dark red.

The soldier shook his head at Geneva.

“Selphid.”

“What?”

They looked at her as if she was crazy for not knowing. Geneva stared back at them as the hand on the left side of the man’s body raised and lowered oddly, as if he was a puppet that someone was trying to move with only one string.

“They’re body-snatchers. Parasites. They live in corpses and move them about.”

Like brain slugs? Or—they lived inside of bodies? Geneva bent down and looked at the destroyed section of the body.

Something was squirming in the insides. Geneva looked closer, and saw where the left side of the corpse had been burned away, something was wriggling in the insides. Something was living in the body. Or it had been.

The corpse was clearly trying to move, but it was also clearly malfunctioning, or else the Selphid wasn’t able to control it after having half of its own body blown away. The soldier turned away in disgust, and his companion made the same expression.

“Leave it. The Selphids don’t have parts like normal folk. If it can’t get into another body it’ll die.”

“But it’s injured.”

“So? Selphids aren’t people.”

Geneva could see yellow fluid leaking from the squirming thing inside the body. She took a breath.

“I’m going to operate on it.”

“What?”

“It will die without help. And maybe I can transplant it. Put it in line with the others.”

The soldiers stared at Geneva, but they did what she said. Geneva stood up, and walked back into her tent.

The living flashed before her eyes, some becoming dead while she stood in her tent, and then sat when her legs started to give out. She could stitch people up, but the deeper wounds still eluded her. Her assistants still couldn’t move fast enough, and they kept rotating out of the tent. Some threw up as she was cutting into her victims, and even the bravest of them had to look away at times. Geneva had already gone numb to the smell of blood and feces as the injured and dead voided themselves.

And then the soldiers dumped a corpse on her table. Geneva stared at it until she remembered the Selphid. It was still twitching in the corpse, but weakly. The one eye of the dead man tried to move, but they couldn’t fix on her face.

“Can you hear me?”

Geneva spoke to the dead body. The leg kicked feebly. Geneva waited, but the mouth didn’t move.

“I am going to operate on you. I will try to save your life. But I need your permission.”

There were countless rules regarding malpractice Geneva had been taught in school. If she was in the emergency room in a hospital she would be judged by the professional standards of care and state laws. But here there was no oversight, just herself.

She had a duty to save lives. But she had no idea what Selphids were like. She could kill the creature in the person’s body just by slicing him open. So she had to ask.

“I will try to save you, but I have no idea how Selphids work. But I am a [Doctor]. I will do everything I can to keep you alive. But I need your permission.”

At last the mouth moved, but only once. The jaw fell open, and Geneva stared at the corpse. The Selphid couldn’t speak. She slowly put her hand in the corpses’. It was cold.

“If you want me to operate on you, grab my hand. If not, I will put you with the corpses.”

The hand was cold in her grasp. Geneva waited. Ten slow seconds passed, and she began to pull back her hand. Then the fingers twitched in her grasp. Geneva jerked away at the strange feeling, and then nodded.

“Okay. Try not to move. If I’m hurting you, let me know.”

It was a strange feeling as she cut into the man’s skin. She felt like she was doing an autopsy, but this time she was being extremely careful not to thrust in to any part of the body too deeply. She opened the stomach and then saw the Selphid.

It was stretching throughout the dead man’s nervous system. A green wriggling mass of tendrils moved weakly as Geneva stared at the body.

The soldiers in the room left. Geneva heard one race out of the tent and throw up as the tendrils tried to reach upwards. She stared. They were wrapped around organs—they seemed to have removed several and the Selphid had infiltrated the dead man’s stomach. It was a true parasite.

And it was alive. Geneva had to take hold of herself before her curiosity overwhelmed her. Slowly, she cut until she reached the half of the body that had been blown off.

There. Now she could see what was wrong. The Selphid might have been shielded inside the man’s body, but it had still been caught by the explosion. Where the body ended she saw it was bleeding some viscous, orange liquid.

“You’re injured. I need to stop the bleeding.”

Geneva reached for the Selphid and the needle, but the creature recoiled as she tried to grab it with a forcep. Part of it flowed away, and Geneva realized with a shock that this creature was semi-fluid. Stitches would be as useful as trying to block water with a net.

But the creature was dying, and it was—yes, it was bleeding out. Geneva thought quickly, and then raced out of her tent.

“Get me a piece of metal! A sword, a dagger—something smooth and flat! And a fire!”

When Geneva reentered the tent with a glowing brand of hot iron, the Selphid recoiled. But Geneva set the hot metal down next to the body and explained what she was going to do.

“I need to burn the injuries closed. That’s the only way I can stop the bleeding.”

The Selphid seemed to hesitate. Then it shifted, and Geneva saw several patches of bleeding among the green. She took a deep breath.

“Hold still. This will hurt.”

She had no idea if the Selphid actually had nerves, but she got her answer as she pressed the hot metal down on the extended part of the Selphid, holding it still with a forcep in the other hand. She heard a shriek—a high-pitched sound that made her ear wax vibrate, and the Selphid went wild in her grip. But Geneva held on, and when she pulled the burning metal back the green of the Selphid had been discolored and the creature was shaking, but the bleeding had stopped.

The cauterization process was slow and agonizing for the Selphid, but when she was done, the creature lay in the body. It was moving very slowly now, and Geneva wondered if it was allergic to the air, or if it was still dying. The trauma alone might be killing it.

“I need another body.”

Geneva strode out of the tent and walked over to a group of soldiers amassing the dead in a pile to be burnt. The insects were thick, but she found a corpse—a woman who’d died of blood loss from having an artery cut. She told the soldiers to bring it to the tent and then carefully sliced the woman’s stomach open.

“I’m going to pick you up.”

She had to use her hands for that. The forceps weren’t strong enough. The body was warm to the touch as Geneva delved into the organs. The Selphid itself was warm. It weakly wrapped around her hands and she lifted it up.

It came out slowly. Pieces of the Selphid were still attached to organs, and Geneva had to pull with more force than she wanted. The creature screamed, but she eventually pried it loose. Slowly, she placed it in the opening she’d created in the dead woman’s stomach and waited.

The Selphid began to move. The bunched up segment of it slowly began to slither deeper into the body, slowly, very slowly. Geneva waited until it was all inside and then she sewed up the opening. And waited.

The body didn’t move. After a minute, Geneva realized the Selphid could be dead and she would never know. She waited a while longer, but then she had to turn away.

“Take the body and put it at the back of the line.”

She told the soldiers to take away the remains of the first corpse and watched as they brought in another wounded Dullahan. Geneva got back to work.

By the time the corpse came back, it was dark, Geneva was swaying, and the wounded had finally stopped coming in. Everyone who was injured had been treated, or their wounds weren’t life threatening, or they’d bled out while waiting.

The corpse was mildly warm to the touch, but it was only from the night air. Geneva hopefully checked the eyes, opening them and flashing lantern light into the empty gaze, but the body did not move. The Selphid was dead.

Exhausted, Geneva set the lantern down and walked away. She was too tired, too drained to even weep. She used the rest of the boiled water to wash herself—although her clothes were ruined—and walked into the camp where the surviving soldiers were eating.

To her surprise, Geneva heard laughter, and even cheering. She collected her food and found that Lim, Clara, and Fortum were all alive. And what was more, they all seemed to be in extremely good cheer.

“Geneva!”

Clara waved her over and edged over on the ground to give her a seat. Geneva sat and listened to the others laughing. She felt like she was in some strange other reality. Why was everyone so happy?

Fortum clapped Lim over the shoulder as he addressed Geneva.

“The kid was a hero! He killed at least eight soldiers in the battle today, and he got through it all with barely a scratch!”

“You’ll level tonight, boy!”

Lim blushed as he looked at Geneva. She stared back, her face empty. She’d held a man’s intestines in her hand. She’d stared at a hand and knew it was gone. It’d had to be amputated.

“A damn archer was aiming at me, and I’d caught my foot on a body so I couldn’t dodge. He raises his bow and then Lim runs him through from behind! Right through the leather armor! Just like that!”

A gaping hole so wide she could see the table underneath. She was out of time and the man was bleeding. Even if she could stop the bleeding all she could do was sew skin together. His organs were all severed. She watched him choking up blood.

“Geneva? What happened to you?”

Everyone was staring at her. Geneva looked up. They were looking at her face with concern.

“Geneva?”

Slowly, Geneva stared down at her food. She looked at the soldiers, some still covered with blood. The enemy’s blood. The blood of people they’d killed. People they’d injured, like the ones she’d tried to save.

Geneva stood up. Without a word, she walked away. She ate the food quickly by herself and then walked to her sleeping place. She paused to throw up everything she’d eaten, and vomited again and again until she was throwing up nothing but bile. Then she wept, long and hard. Geneva fell into her bedding and only woke when morning came.

[Doctor Level 11!]

[Skill – Injury Sense obtained!]

[Skill – Sterile Equipment obtained!]

----

Geneva had heard once that a surgeon improved by the number of patients that died under their blade. But this was far too literal. When she woke up and remembered the Skills she’d learned, she didn’t know if she wanted to cry or laugh hysterically.

She had more Skills. And they were valuable. The [Sterile Equipment] Skill would prevent infections, and the other one would allow her to pinpoint bleeding in theory. But at what cost?

They’d all died, all of her serious patients. Maybe she’d saved one or two? But regardless, that was a survival rate of less than 1%. She wasn’t a [Doctor]. She was a glorified coroner who helped kill the living.

Geneva ate in silence with the others this morning. She didn’t speak, and the conversation was far more subdued than yesterday. Lim and the others kept glancing at her. Geneva had just finished eating the cheese and bread dipped in soup that tasted like nothing when someone rushed at her.

“Murderer! You let them die!”

A fist struck Geneva on the cheek and then she was lying on the ground. She felt a boot kick her in the chest before someone shouted and the attacker disappeared. Geneva sat up and saw Lim had tackled the soldier who’d hit her. Now the other man’s buddies were drawing their weapons, and the people around Geneva were getting to their feet with theirs.

“Put down your weapons!”

Thriss thundered into the fray before anyone could move, face red. He roared at everyone present and threw Lim off the other soldier while he raised his mace. More officers and soldiers joined Thriss, keeping the angry soldiers apart.

“I’ll smash the head of anyone that draws blood, my oath on it! We’re a battalion—we fight together!”

“Not her!”

Geneva looked around as Clara helped her up. The man who’d struck her was shouting, barely restrained by his fellows. She recognized him. He was the friend of the dead man, the one who he’d insisted was alive. She’d already forgotten the dead man’s name.

“She let them die! She’s no [Doctor]! She’s not even a [Healer]! She just kills anyone she touches! She slices them up and lets them bleed to death!”

The other soldiers stared at Geneva. She couldn’t look anyone in the eye. Thriss’ face turned even more red, and he roared to cut the other man off.

“Enough! You! You’re going in with the first wave. And you—”

Thriss pointed at Geneva. His tone was much softer.

“Get to your tent. The fightin’ is going to heat up soon, and we’ll need your skills.”

He guided her away as the soldiers broke up and another officer took over the shouting. Geneva staggered away as Clara gave her a brief pat on the back. Thriss marched towards her tent—they’d pitched it in another location because the bugs had infested the previous area too badly. Geneva looked up at the [Sergeant]. Her hands were shaking again.

“What he said—”

“He lost his friends. Don’t pay any attention to him.”

Geneva shook her head.

“He was right. I can’t do this. Not alone.”

“There’s no one with a [Healer] class in the battalion. You’ll have to.”

“I can’t!”

Geneva stopped in her tracks and shouted at Thriss, ignoring the people who stared.

“I can’t do this alone! I don’t just need another [Doctor]—I need assistants, proper ones! I need people who know how to perform surgeries and don’t throw up on my patients. I need surgical tools, or some healing potion for deep injuries. I can’t close them on my own.”

Thriss chewed at his lip. Then he shook his head again, reluctantly.

“We have none to spare. We used up a lot of what we had yesterday—and the fighting will only get worse from here. I’ll assign soldiers to you, but I can’t promise they’ll be any better.”

“Then everyone dies, just like that soldier said.”

“I—”

Thriss broke off. He looked at someone behind Geneva, and then she heard a low voice.

“[Doctor].”

Geneva turned. Her heart nearly burst out of her chest.

Someone was standing in front of her. Someone—someone dead. She was one of the soldiers Geneva had tried to save yesterday, the one who’d bled out. But she was dead. She was—

She was the one who Geneva had put the Selphid into.

The woman looked different than she had yesterday. Her skin was totally white now, and she stood awkwardly. The right half of her body sagged, and she moved awkwardly, as if she’d had a stroke. But her left side seemed perfectly able, and she smiled crookedly at Geneva.

Thriss had noted her skin color as well. He put his hand on his sword warily.

“We have no Selphids among this Batallion. Identify yourself.”

The Selphid saluted with one hand. She was armed with a sword, and the dead woman’s armor, the chainmail still covered in dried blood.

“Yes, sir. My name is Okasha. I am a [Rogue], Level 23. I am part of the Burning March 6th Division. My squad was destroyed by a mage spell. I would rejoin my unit, but my right side is useless. I cannot fight, but I will help the [Doctor].”

“What?”

Geneva stared at the Selphid in the woman’s body. She couldn’t understand.

“You were dead. I saw you. I put you in the other body, but you didn’t move even after I checked again.”

The Selphid smiled.

“I was unconscious. And it takes time for us to assume control of a new form.”

She hadn’t even guessed that might happen. Geneva’s stomach twisted.

“I’m sorry.”

Okasha raised one hand and smiled again.

“I should be the one thanking you. You saved me. I would have died in that body if you hadn’t closed my injuries and put me in a new one.”

Thriss grunted irritably.

“So you can doctor Selphids? Looks like you’ve got a good use, to me. Try to save more of our folk instead of them, though. And here’s your assistant, if you’ll have one of them.”

Geneva looked at Okasha. She bit her lip. The Selphid was clearly disabled or wounded—perhaps permanently if she couldn’t regrow whatever she was missing. But Geneva needed all the help she could get.

“I need an assistant. But I’ll be cutting up bodies and performing surgery. Can you handle that?”

This time even Thriss bared his teeth in a reluctant grin. Okasha laughed.

“I am a Selphid. Bleeding and organs do not scare me.”

Oh. Of course. Thriss left the two as Geneva tried to give Okasha a crash course on the thousands of things she needed to know to be a capable assistant. Okasha listened carefully, nodding. She had a patient personality, and what was even better, she understood when Geneva talked about arteries and veins and bloodflow.

“I know of these things. I have seen them and felt how they move.”

“Really?”

The Selphid nodded. She took a breath—if she didn’t speak she took breaths very rarely, which was unsettling. She also blinked much less than normal people. She was a creature living in a dead body, but Geneva was fine with that. At least there was life in this corpse.

“I have lived in Dullahan and Lizardfolk bodies as well. I can show you how they live and breathe as well.”

Geneva suddenly realized that she was standing in front of the only person who might know more about the human body than she did. The relief made her almost lightheaded, but then she heard shouting. The soldiers were already heading into battle.

Her face and ribs hurt where she’d been kicked. She was still exhausted, and the dead and the accusations of the soldier still haunted her. But this time she was not alone.

----

“Apply pressure! I’ll stitch!”

Geneva shouted at Okasha over the man’s screams. The Selphid nodded and hung on to the man’s arm. She was strong—far stronger than normal and while the other soldiers held him down she minimized his blood loss with an iron grip.

The man writhed and screamed, but when Geneva had cut the thread, he was alive and even healthy enough to walk back to camp. That didn’t stop him from trying to take a swing at Geneva, though.

Okasha blocked the strike and sent the man staggering back with a knife-hand to the throat that made him choke. Geneva checked, but his throat was intact. The soldiers roughly dragged her former patient out as she stared at Okasha.

“Don’t hurt patients.”

“Why not? He was striking at you.”

“If that’s the case, try not to hurt him. I am a doctor. I have sworn an oath not to inflict needless harm or kill.”

“But you are on a battlefield.”

“Yes. I am.”

Geneva rested her face in her hands. Blood smeared her face before she realized what she was doing. She looked up.

It was no better today. Despite Okasha’s help, she could not save those badly hurt. She was incapable. She couldn’t do blood transfusions and she wasn’t quick enough to finish operations before her patients bled out.

But she would save them. Each time one came in, Geneva felt herself go insane. She would save them. She would. She wasn’t walking with death anymore. She was wrestling with it.

But she was still losing.

“I can’t do this.”

They were the same words as yesterday. But the Geneva who uttered them was different. She wasn’t desperate and tired any longer; now Okasha was here, she was remembering. It was all so clear now. She had been a fool, trying to adapt modern practices with barbaric tools. She had to go back to another time. Think. She knew some accounts of doctors from World War II. What could she—

The soldiers carrying in the next groaning soldiers were surprised when Geneva thrust her way out of the tent with Okasha behind her. The [Doctor]’s face was grim, but determined. She shook her head at the soldiers.

“Put him down. I’m going to triage first.”

She should have done it at the very start. But she’d started on that first patient without even thinking. She was a fool.

Now, though—

“Get me some charcoal and cloth.”

She snapped at a soldier as she began to walk the lines of the wounded. There were even more than yesterday. They looked up as she passed, but Geneva didn’t meet their eyes. If she did, she would lose heart. Instead, she looked at their injuries.

“White armbands are for priority patients. Use the charcoal and add a marking if they’re lower priority.”

That was what she informed Okasha as she began to sort the soldiers. She prioritized injuries she could treat that were time-sensitive. Severed arteries, excessive bleeding—

But those with injuries she couldn’t mend she left alone. And those who had superficial cuts she added a black line on the cloth she tied to their arms or legs. They didn’t understand at first, the soldiers. They stared at her with suspicion, but they began to understand as she brought in the patients she’d marked as priority.

“They are beginning to try to alter their armbands, those who are awake.”

Okasha remarked lightly as she handed Geneva one of the sharpened daggers. Geneva grunted and Okasha deftly caught the sweat before it could sting her eyes. The Selphid was competent and deft despite only having one arm, but she had a distinct lack of sympathy for the man who was groaning on the table as Geneva tried to cut a chunk of metal out of his thigh.

“They are trying to erase the black markings. But we shall see if their bands are wet or smudged.”

“Suture.”

The needle was in her hands a second after Geneva said it. The [Doctor] began to stitch rapidly. She could still hear the screams, and what was worse, now she could hear people shouting in anger.

They came for her when she was taking a five minute break. Oksaha insisted on it, and Geneva gulped down water and tore into some bread feverishly.

“You!”

A Lizardwoman shouted at Geneva as she advanced on her angrily. The soldiers Thriss had posted with Geneva moved to block her, but the Lizardwoman wasn’t alone. Clara was with her. The other soldier had a dark look on her face.

“Clara? What’s wrong?”

Geneva looked at the woman. Clara pointed.

“Why aren’t you treating Lim!?”

She hadn’t even seen the boy. But he was lying on the ground next to her tent, face pale, gasping. He had a long cut down his sword hand; long, but shallow. Geneva looked back at Clara and shook her head.

“I can’t. He’s not in danger. I have to treat—”

Clara grabbed for Geneva. Okasha blocked her, but the other soldier was screaming at Geneva now. The young woman felt spit hit her face.

“How dare you! Lim is your friend! He saved you! He was first in line!”

“He isn’t badly hurt. He will wait.”

Geneva’s voice was steel. Her heart was a cold ball. She’d put it away to perform surgery; it was the only way she could stay sane. But now it was melting, growing hotter in her chest.

“You’re a monster!”

The Lizardwoman lunged at Geneva and was held back by the soldiers. She struggled in their grip; she was stronger than the other two.

“You’re letting Namass die! I saw you—you didn’t even put a band on his arm!”

Geneva remembered the Lizardman. He had been stabbed straight through the gut, but someone had carved upwards and sliced through his organs. There wasn’t anything she could do—nothing that wouldn’t take too long.

She met the Lizardwoman’s eyes.

“I am triaging. I have to prioritize people I can save.”

“That’s evil!”

Clara shouted it at Geneva as Okasha fought to keep her back. Geneva felt her heart grow more painful. The female soldier shouted at Geneva.

“Don’t you care about your friends!? Why aren’t you helping Lim? He’s one of us. He was first. He—”

It was all too much. Geneva heard ringing; saw red. She was grabbing Clara before she knew it, screaming at her at the top of her lungs. The screaming soldiers, the shouting soldiers and those resting in camp—even the insects seemed to fall silent as Geneva gave vent to the fury in her.

“Good? Evil? A doctor isn’t any of those things!”

Geneva shouted the words into a pair of scared blue eyes. She shook the other woman hard, grabbing at her with hands still crusted with blood. She pointed at the rows of wounded soldiers.

“I will save everyone I can. I will save the most people I can. That is how this works! This isn’t morality! This isn’t choice! This is medicine! Now get out of the damn way or help me! I have a job to do.”

She threw Clara aside and stormed towards her tent. Okasha was right behind her. Geneva raised the needle and thread and got to work.

Stitch. Suture. Stop the blood flow here. Bandage. Okasha had learned to tie them properly. Clean the vomit away. Bugs crawling on the feces. Too many. Change locations.

Incision here. Repair this. Cauterize. Amputate. Ignore the screams.

She didn’t even remember falling asleep. She just looked around for the next patient, and there were none. Geneva didn’t remember closing her eyes. She only knew that she fell back and Okasha caught her before she hit the ground.

That night Geneva leveled up again. She gained six levels and four different skills. Okasha told her it was practically unheard of, but Geneva had never heard of a modern-day doctor who’d gone through what she had.

Over a hundred and thirty soldiers had passed under her needle and blade yesterday. Of that number, she had saved over two thirds. Twice that number had died over the course of the day. Some had been from her battalion, but Geneva later learned that every group fighting was experiencing potion shortages. They’d sent their wounded to her, sometimes over the course of many miles.

Geneva had learned four skills. Two were merely useful; [Numbing Touch] made people feel less pain and [Flawless Cut] allowed Geneva to make incisions far more easily than before. They were tools to make her better at her job.

But the Skills that changed everything were the combination of [Speed Stitching] and [Enhanced Thread]. With them, Geneva could begin to truly save lives. And she did. The next day, she ate with Okasha by herself and walked towards the tent. This time she reorganized her triage system.

She could suture at a pace three times as fast as before, and with the thread, she could close up even damaged organs. They might still fail, but Geneva was quick enough to stop the blood loss so her patients had a chance. That night she gained only one skill – [Lesser Stamina]. It allowed her to keep going even when night fell.

In the days that followed Geneva gained more skills. She moved faster; began seeing exactly what treatment methods worked best. Okasha found better forceps, and somehow, a few of the soldiers assigned to Geneva learned to bind wounds as well. She rotated them across the lines of wounded, binding injuries and even stitching up wounds while she worked on the most injured.

Sometimes she forgot to eat while she was working, and only a hot meal shoved in front of her face would distract her. Geneva knew she was losing weight, but even when she was sleeping, a scream or cry for her name would rouse her. She couldn’t sleep. The faces haunted her. Maybe if there were others it would be different, but she was alone. She couldn’t let them die. Any of them.

The soldiers began to level up as [Field Medics] or [Assistants]. Geneva saved more lives. She watched more slip away. But she clung to each thread until it snapped. Death still walked by her side, but slowly, Geneva began to pull ahead.

----

“More wounded!”

Geneva heard the words and looked up. She was taking a break with Okasha and a few wounded soldiers. There hadn’t been any more seriously wounded for a stretch. Now more were coming in, but the soldiers she’d trained were already triaging for her. And she needed a break; she had been working nonstop for three hours and she had to rest or she would make mistakes. Okasha had told her that and because she was right, Geneva had agreed to rest now and then. So Geneva sat and listened to Okasha.

“The Centaur tribe has hit every camp. They launch night raids, sneak attacks…sometimes they strike even if it means taking hundreds of casualties. Just to destroy our potions stock.”

A Dullahan whose head Geneva had stitched up grunted. He cradled his head carefully in his hands as he spoke.

“Bastards. They’ve got no honor.”

Another Lizardfolk nodded. Non-humans were the ones most willing to talk with Geneva right now. Clara, Lim, Fortum and the others had given her the cold shoulder, and a lot of the Humans thought she was betraying their kind by working on other species first. The Lizardman spat as the severed stump of his tail twitched.

“If we make it out of this mess, you’ll bet there will be hell to pay. Even if the Magehammer Company didn’t participate in the strikes themselves, they’ll be in trouble for letting the Centaur tribe get away with it. No mercenary will work with them.”

“But we are pushing them back. They are outnumbered, and if their mages fall, they will lose their edge.”

Okasha grinned as she said that, but Geneva could only imagine the slaughter. The Selphid stared at the lines of wounded and grinned. The soldiers in this group weren’t as badly injured; they had superficial wounds mostly, but Geneva saw one stump she knew she would have to tend to herself.

Two soldiers dumped a body on the ground. Geneva saw a Centaur, half-man, half-horse, bleeding deeply from an injury in the side. Someone had thrown a spear and it had broken off inside of him. He would die soon if she didn’t move.

She stood up. Okasha stood too, and Geneva strode towards the Centaur. They had him in the operating tent first. It was a difficult procedure, cutting the spear out and stopping his bleeding. But they managed it. The worst moment was when the Centaur woke up and realized he was being worked on. He screamed and thrashed and it took eight soldiers to hold him down.

“Easy. Easy. I’m a [Doctor]. I’m going to help you.”

Geneva said the words very slowly to the Centaur, looking into his eyes. His chest heaved; he tried to break free, but slowly he relaxed.

“I won’t hurt you, I swear it.”

He nodded at her, but didn’t relax. He flinched while she extracted the spearhead and only hissed as she sewed his skin together. When it was done Geneva had to help carry him out; he was extraordinarily heavy.

But as they were bringing him to an area that had been cleared for the wounded to lie in, Geneva heard a shout.

“Enemy soldier!”

The people around her raised their weapons. Geneva saw Thriss thrusting people aside. He pointed a finger at the Centaur, and Geneva felt her patient stiffen behind her.

“That’s not one of ours! That’s an enemy!”

He had his mace in his hands. The Centaur raised a hand weakly, but Geneva stood in Thriss’s way. He glared at her.

“Move aside.”

“No. He’s going to die. I am going to treat him.”

Thriss’ jaw clenched.

“He’s an enemy. We interrogate him, and we’ll find out what his lot are up to.”

Geneva didn’t move. Thriss tried to shove her aside, but she stepped in his way. She spread her arms.

“I have sworn an oath. If you want him, you have to knock me out. And if you do hurt him, I will not be able to heal any more soldiers.”

She raised her voice so everyone could hear her. Thriss paused as other soldiers looked her way. He gritted his teeth.

“You’re bluffing.”

Geneva met his furious gaze calmly. She spoke as loudly and clearly as she could, knowing every eye was on her.

“If my oath is broken, I will no longer be a [Doctor].”

She felt it was true. And Thriss didn’t have the courage to test her, she knew. Every soldier knew they were out of healing potions; if they were hurt, Geneva was the only one who could fix them up.

Thriss advanced on Geneva.

“He’s one of the lot who smashed our potions! He’s been shooting at us throughout the battle! Him and all his damn tribe!”

“Then let him go. He can walk—barely.”

Geneva knew the Centaur might not survive the night in the camp, no matter what she said. She stared at Thriss.

“Let him go. I am a [Doctor]. This is my patient.”

Thriss pointed a finger that shook at Geneva.

“I could have you executed for aiding the enemy.”

I will not use my medical knowledge to violate human rights and civil liberties, even under threat.

Geneva gritted her teeth. She stood in front of Thriss and stared the big man down.

“Do it if you must.”

“You swore to obey orders!”

“I answer to a higher oath.”

The [Doctor] and [Sergeant] stared at each other in the center of the camp full of wounded and healing soldiers. He was the first to look away.

“Damn you. Get him out of here!”

The Centaur slowly got to his feet with Okasha’s help. He stumbled, and Geneva insisted on making him a rough crutch before he left. He looked back twice at her. She watched him go. Then she went back and continued to operate.

----

The next day, Geneva set up her tent further away from the 4th Battalion’s headquarters. And she put up a flag. It had a cross on it, red, painted with the only substance Geneva could use. She hung the flag high in the air on a piece of white cloth. Okasha asked what it meant.

“Healing. Safety.”

“Then why is it red? And why a cross?”

Geneva had no answer for that. But it was a symbol nevertheless. She hung it over her tent, and more than once she found soldiers waving flags with crosses of their own as they brought their friends to the tent. She never asked what side they were on. She just tried to save lives.

Each time someone died, it was like a bit of Geneva went with them. But when she pulled someone back, when they thanked her, a bit of her came back to life as well. She ate and slept and did all the things her body required, but Geneva lived on the operating table. She lived to help other people live.

They all had names, all had families and dreams. They asked her not to let them die, but they couldn’t pray because the gods were dead. So Geneva prayed with every cut of her improvised scalpels, and every stitch of her needle. She prayed that she would save them. She prayed to the science she’d been taught, the lessons she tried to remember, and to medicine herself. She prayed that she was making a difference.

They’d just begun operating on a man, when Geneva heard a thump and felt the explosion in her bones. She stumbled outside to find the camp was under attack.

A woman hovered in the air, blasting people with fiery orbs that exploded, and tremors that engulfed her victims. She was coming towards the tent.

Geneva grabbed the flag she had planted, and stood in front of the lines of wounded. She held the flag up as the [Mage] approached. The other woman glanced left as an arrow broke against her skin, doing no damage, and pointed. A fiery inferno engulfed the archer who’d fired. Then she saw Geneva.

The [Doctor] stood coughing as the smoke from the fires reached her. Her eyes watered, but she held the flag in front of her. It was a poor shield, made of cloth and blood, but it was all she had.

The woman paused when she saw the flag. Her eyes flicked to the red cross, and then the wounded soldiers who were trying to crawl away or lying comatose on the ground. Then she looked at Geneva.

Their eyes met through the smoke and flame. The woman was smiling in the center of all the death and destruction, untouched. Geneva’s heart was pounding; her hands were still covered in the blood of the people she’d tried to save.

Slowly, the [Mage] turned away. She walked into the air, and away from the tent. Geneva collapsed onto the ground. Then she pushed herself back up and ran into the camp. That night she worked late, tending to burn victims and trying to make skin grafts. Many died. But she saved a few.

----

The last day of the war in the jungle came when Okasha sat next to Geneva at breakfast. The Selphid still hadn’t regained use of her right side, and Geneva didn’t think she ever would. But the creature was smiling with her body’s lips.

“Do you know, the soldiers of both sides know who you are?”

Geneva blinked.

“They do?”

Okasha nodded.

“They call you the Last Light. You shine to them, the dying. Yours is the last face they see, and you drag so many back from the other side. They open their eyes and see you standing in the light.”

“That’s silly.”

“They call you that. And you have saved countless lives. I think that once we are done here, I will join you. Perhaps I can be a [Doctor] too, or at least an [Assistant], even if I only have one arm.”

Geneva stared at Okasha.

“There’s still fighting going on. This is no time to think about the future.”

The Selphid shook her head.

“The Magehammer Company has taken heavy losses. Three battalions managed to flank one of their divisions and we broke through and got their lead [Strategist]. Without him, they’ll have to pull back.”

“What?”

Someone was cheering in the camp. Geneva looked around. Okasha looked pleased with herself.

“I overheard one of the officers talking. The news is spreading even as we speak. The battle is nearly won.”

Soldiers were beginning to celebrate, laughing. Geneva stared at them and just felt empty. She looked at Okasha. The Selphid smiled.

“Perhaps afterwards you can heal those not on a battlefield. There are many people too poor for healing potions or who are hurt in ways that cannot be healed. Maybe—”

“Attack! We’re under attack!”

Geneva heard the galloping before she could move. Arrows flew, and suddenly Okasha was falling. An arrow had caught her in the throat.

“Okasha!”

Another arrow flew past Geneva as she caught Okasha. The Selphid wasn’t speaking, wasn’t moving. Was she dead?

Geneva looked up. Centaurs were running through the camp, shooting wildly. Soldiers fell around them as the Centaurs ran past her. It was another surprise attack on their camp.

One of the Centaurs saw Geneva was still alive. He raised a bow, and hesitated. He stopped and stared at her.

Geneva saw an ugly scar on his side, and looked at a bare-chested young man. He slowly lowered his bow as she looked at him.

Then, he shouted something at the other Centaurs. They paused, and he shouted again, pointing. They whirled, and began to gallop out of the camp.

The Centaur remained behind. He stared at Geneva. Slowly, he walked towards her. He stared down at Okasha, and Geneva stared up. He opened his mouth to speak—

“Die!”

The Centaur’s head caved in as a mace struck it from the side. Geneva screamed and Thriss pulled his mace back and struck the Centaur again. The young man fell to the ground silently, and the sergeant turned to Geneva.

“You.”

She opened her mouth but he struck her with one hand. She fell face-first to the ground and then heard him roar.

“Traitor!”

She tried to stand up, but she couldn’t. Something hit her back, so hard the world flashed white. Thriss had struck her with the mace, so hard she felt her spine cracking.

“Traitor!”

He raised the mace and brought it down on Geneva’s back again. She screamed and felt something breaking. She tried to move, but suddenly she couldn’t.

Thriss spat on Geneva from above. He raised his mace and gasped as a blade burst through his chest. Okasha twisted, and Thriss choked as he fell forwards. The mace fell from his hands and splashed on the muddy ground.

Okasha pulled the arrow from her throat, ignoring the damage it did as it pulled out of her dead skin. Geneva stared up at her.

“I’m dying. My spine is broken.”

She couldn’t move. The Selphid stared down at Geneva and said something. Geneva grinned. She couldn’t hear anymore, either. No one was screaming. She was the only person in need of medical attention right now, but that was fine. There was no one for her, and she didn’t need help anyways. It was growing very dark.

She closed her eyes. Geneva felt everything fade.

She died.

----

And then she woke up again. Geneva’s eyes snapped open and she sat up. She sat up?

She stared around. She was lying on the ground. Water was falling on her face. She looked up. Rain was falling between the cracks of the jungle canopy. It was mixing with Thriss’s blood, pelting the corpse of the Centaur.

Slowly, Geneva raised her left hand. She flexed it slowly, and tried to raise her right arm. It wouldn’t move. Geneva stared at it.

“I could not repair everything.”

A voice whispered in her ears. No—inside her ears. Geneva paused. The voice was familiar.

“Okasha?”

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Geneva felt something…twisting inside of her. Something was in her.

“I am here now. I had to bridge the gap to make you move. You will not bleed to death, but you require healing.”

Geneva wanted to throw up. Her stomach heaved, but something was in her as well. It held back the reflex.

“You had to live. There was no other way.”

It must have only been a few minutes. Geneva stared around the camp. It was in ruins, but she could hear the screaming. Men and women and people of other species were still alive. Some had been hit by arrows; others had been trampled.

And that’s when Geneva heard the rumbling, and more shouts. She looked over and saw covered carts rolling slowly through the jungle. Teams of soldiers in bright, untarnished armor marched around the wagons, pointing and shouting as they saw the devastation in the camp.

Geneva began to laugh. She heard a sound in her head.

“What is it?”

“The supply wagons have finally arrived.”

Soldiers were swinging themselves out of the wagons, and those on the ground were rushing towards the fallen. Geneva willed her legs to stand, and they did. But she could feel something else had helped them move.

“I am sorry. This is forbidden, but it was all I could do. But there is no reversing it. I can—”

She could hear them screaming again. Geneva shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

She willed her feet to walk. They moved reluctantly, but they did move. Geneva stumbled towards the wagon. The soldiers stared at her in shock, but Geneva grabbed as many potions as she could carry.

“Let’s go.”

She strode into the battlefield, leaving Thriss and the dead Centaur behind. The air was hot. Insects crawled over the living and the dead, and screams split the air. Geneva ran with a potion in hand, trying to ignore the agony of her own body, the howling in her mind. People called out her name and she ran towards them, healing their wounds. But it was never enough. Geneva could hear the screaming in her head. One more. She turned over bodies, staring at arrows, feeling for a pulse.

One more. There had to be one more. A voice was speaking to her, and someone was trying to make her rest. Geneva ignored it. One more. She had to find—

One more. But every face she turned over was blank and staring. Geneva ran on. She was so tired. She had to sleep.

Slowly, the [Doctor] fell to her knees. Mud and blood ran together as she fell into it. Geneva stared ahead, searching for bodies, but now she could no longer move. Slowly, her eyes closed.

The young woman lay still on the ground. Soldiers ran around her, tending to the wounded. Geneva slept. For once, she couldn’t hear the screams.

It was pleasant.

Quiet.

She slept, as the Selphid in her body made her walk to a safe place and lie down. In the jungle, the Magehammer Company retreated and ceded the rights to the mine to the Burning March company. The Ravarian Fighters reformed their shattered battalions and there was peace.

In one small place. But Baleros bled, and the jungles ran with blood which fed the insects. There was always war. War, and more war. But word spread from soldier to soldier as mercenaries travelled and rumors flew like birds. They spoke of a red cross, and a class that saved lives rather than took them. They told legends that the soldiers clung to in hope as they marched to war or lay dying. The soldiers spoke of a woman who could save lives, of a place that took no sides. They told stories about her. A healer, a savior.

A [Doctor].

3.06 L

Pawn knew he had to return to the Hive after leaving the inn. He knew that. But he found the food Lyonette had given him was disagreeing with his stomach a bit. It must have been the eggs. Antinium didn’t usually experience food poisoning, but that didn’t meant they couldn’t get sick.

Therefore, Pawn decided that before he went back into the Hive and talked to Revalantor Klbkch, he should walk around the city for a while. So his steps slowed, and Pawn took the time to walk down side streets, peek down alleyways he’d never entered before, and admire the sights. He was just doing it for his stomach, but really, it was very important to look around. There were so many things Pawn would miss if he hurried!

For instance, had he ever really appreciated the wonders of the hamburger flipping Drake who stood on the side of the street, calling out to potential customers? The craze over the new food had swept through the city and burned itself out—now people were just as likely to go to the other hot food stands at this time of night. And yet, there was something graceful about the way the yellow-scaled Drake flipped the sizzling patties of meat.

Pawn inhaled the scent, along with the crisp fresh winter air. Yes, the above world was not as familiar as the Hive, but there was beauty in it he had never seen below. Why did no one ever appreciate it? Why hadn’t he? But it occurred to him that when he had been a nameless Worker, not once had he ever really stopped to stare up at the stars.

The Antinium looked up. The sky was dark and black—it was cloudy.

“Ah.”

After a moment, Pawn walked on. He took side alleys, detours—he had no fear of being mugged, and indeed the one skulking shape he encountered in a rougher part of the city retreated when it saw Pawn coming its way. No robber wanted to arouse the wrath of the Antinium, and crime wasn’t very profitable in a city where the Antinium lived in any case. Something about an Antinium Soldier smashing through a wooden door as ten more burrowed out of the ground tended to discourage thieves and muggers.

Perhaps Pawn should look for crime, though. Wasn’t that a useful pursuit? He could chase after the thieves, hit them, maybe. Or just warn them verbally?

Pawn sighed. He knew what he was doing. He was procrastinating, avoiding doing what he needed to do. It was the first time he’d ever done it, really. It wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings; he knew he had to act, yet he was caught in indecisiveness, holding himself back. No, it wasn’t comfortable at all. But he still hesitated. He did not want to talk to Revalantor Klbkch.

Because he was afraid.

When had he ever been afraid? Not really…ever. Only once, perhaps. Pawn could remember being afraid when Ksmvr came for him and questioned him. Then he had been terrified. And he had been afraid when he’d heard the undead were attacking Liscor and he’d feared for Erin’s life.

Twice, then. But beyond that? What about when he’d been a simple Worker?

No. Never. Pawn hadn’t been afraid. He hadn’t been much of anything, really. He’d just been, the same way as a tool was. But now he felt, and what he felt was fear.

He did not like Klbkch. Pawn knew that the former Prognugator was considered well-liked even by the usually hostile residents of the city. He had friends among the Watch, and he was a familiar face, even if all the Antinium looked the same. Pawn had seen the Prognugator—every member of the Hive had at some point. The Prognugator was old, far older than anyone but the Queen, he commanded them in battle and oversaw them as they worked. He slew Aberrations, too. He was known. And one thing Pawn knew about him was that Klbkch didn’t seem to like any of the Workers or Soldiers.

The Queen did. They were her creations, her children, after all. Pawn had stood before her once, and though she had questioned him and the words had shattered his spirit, he had known that she cared for him in her own way. She would not hesitate to use him for the Hive, but he was part of her Hive, and thus she cared for him if not as one individual, then as a part of herself. That was reassuring, and all he had expected of her. But Klbkch?

No. He had friends. Relc, the angry Drake. And Pawn knew he liked Erin. But everyone liked Erin. Pawn liked Erin, but he could not bring himself to like either Ksmvr or Klbkch. And he was fairly certain that the Revalantor had the same opinion of him.

It wasn’t anything the two had ever said. And Klbkch hadn’t ever done anything to Pawn. He hadn’t ripped off Pawn’s antennae and cut off his fingers and parts of his arm while questioning him for instance. But Pawn still didn’t like him.

And he was afraid of what Klbkch would say. Ksmvr had been ruthless, but he had been new to his role, and inexperienced. It had given Pawn the courage to stand up to him, later. But Klbkch was ancient. If the Antinium had legends, he would have been one. But they had no stories, no individuals to name and speak of. There was only the Queen, and Klbkch, the Prognugator.

That was how it had always been.

Pawn stopped in the snowy street in front of the entrance to the Hive. He stared down at the dark entrance into the ground. The dark didn’t scare him, nor did the underground. But the hole still looked ominous. Pawn took a deep breath, and then another one. And another one.

He didn’t want to do this. But he had to. If only Erin had been there—but there had only been Lyonette. Erin would have helped him. She would have said something reassuring that would have made Pawn not afraid.

Like what? Pawn thought about this.

“Ah. ‘You can do it, Pawn! If Klbkch gives you any trouble, kick him in the nuts! Do Antinium even have nuts?’”

A passing Drake [Guardswoman] walking down the street gave Pawn a look of deep suspicion. He dropped the falsetto and nodded to her politely. After a moment she hurried on her way.

“I am not sure if Klbkch eats nuts. I believe they may contain gluten. I will inquire, however.”

“You do that. Good luck, Pawn!”

“Thank you.”

That made Pawn feel a bit better, although he still didn’t understand the nuts reference. He took another breath, and then marched into the Hive. He could do this. He was Pawn. If he reached the end of the chess board he could become a Queen! Or a bishop. Or knight. Queen was the optimal piece to play, but under certain situations it might be better to choose knight.

From street level in Liscor, descending into the Antinium Hive looked ridiculously easy. There were no noticeable guards, and the dirt was sloped for easy entry. But that was an illusion.

About ten steps into the darkness below, Pawn glanced left and right. The silent Soldiers standing in their alcoves in the wall watched him pass without moving a muscle. On the other hand, if he’d been anyone but an Antinium, they would have immediately apprehended him, and his survival would have been contingent on how much of a fight he put up. The Antinium had made many concessions to live in Liscor, but they did not suffer intrusion lightly.

As always, the Soldiers looked identical as they stood at the ready, even to Pawn. He could identify some other workers by the scratches on their chitin, or their jobs, but the Soldiers were one alien mass to Pawn. Workers did not talk to Soldiers, and Soldiers did not work with Workers unless there was some construction that needed their cooperation. Or if they trampled a Worker by accident.

But today Pawn was feeling reckless. He stopped and looked at one of the Soldiers. The Antinium was head and shoulders taller than Pawn and far broader, too. Pawn looked at his stub-like fingers, designed to pierce an enemy’s skin and let the Soldier bash his opponent into submission. But they were Antinium, weren’t they?

“Ah, good evening.”

The Soldier stared at Pawn. Pawn stared back uncomfortably. What was he doing?

Exchanging pleasantries. That was it. What came next?

“Rather cold outside, isn’t it? I hope you are all warm?”

The Soldiers didn’t respond. They couldn’t—they couldn’t speak. But they made no move either. They just stared at him. But all of them were staring, now.

After a second, Pawn continued walking. He felt the gaze of the Soldiers on his back as he left, though. And his mind was in turmoil. Pawn entered the flow of other Workers and groups of Soldiers and descended into the hive, wondering. Why had he done that? It was stupid. Had he expected a response? No, of course not. Then why had he done that?

Maybe because it was something Erin would do. Something she’d done. She’d asked a Worker his name, and treated him as if he weren’t just one of many.

Pawn sighed, and the Workers around him stiffened for a second as he walked through the shifting mass in the tunnels. That was stupid. He wasn’t Erin. And Soldiers couldn’t be Individual. He’d tested them with Klbkch. They took longer to respond to being questioned. And they didn’t react to being asked who they were and what their names were in the same way. But when they did—

The Worker shuddered as he remembered Klbkch whirling, cutting, limbs and green gore flying everywhere. No. Soldiers could not be Individual. It didn’t work for them. It barely worked for Workers without Erin.

As Pawn walked through the endless traffic of the Hive, the Workers around him slowly began to peel off, taking other corridors elsewhere in the Hive. In the end, Pawn reached his destination—a small room at the end of a dirt corridor—alone. He stared into the room and saw a seated Antinium, a being with two arms and slim frame instead of the normal four arms and bulkier body.

Klbkch.

Pawn wasn’t ready to talk yet. He wasn’t ready—but it was too late. There were no doors in the Hive except where it was crucial to maintain an airtight environment. Klbkch looked up as he noticed Pawn standing in the hallway.

“Enter.”

Immediately, Pawn’s legs obeyed the order. The Worker mechanically entered the room and stood before Klbkch. The Revalantor and Prognugator of Liscor’s Hive looked up at Pawn from the small wooden desk he sat at, expressionless. The two swords of his station hung at his side; the Antinium did not take them off even in the Hive. Pawn found his eyes drawn to the blades; they were the same ones that had sliced off his limbs.

“Pawn. Is there something you need to bring to my attention?”

“Um.”

Pawn stared at Klbkch, feeling his heart racing frantically. His mind felt blank. He didn’t know what to say. But now Klbkch was staring at him, and he had to say something. What would Erin say?

“Yes. No? I have a lot to say. About classes. Mine, that is.”

“Indeed?”

Klbkch shifted in his seat. He looked at Pawn—coldly. Yes, it was a cold look. The Antinium didn’t have many expressions, but Pawn could tell he wasn’t happy.

“Have you received a different class? Or leveled up since we last spoke?”

The Queen had told Pawn to report any changes in his level or class to Klbkch. The Revalantor was in charge of monitoring the new Individuals. Pawn hesitated. He had to tell the truth. But he really didn’t want to. Maybe he could work up to it?

“Yes, I have news. But I ah, also came to ask about it. News, that is.”

“News? What are you referring to?”

“Erin.”

Pawn didn’t know what he was saying. Why was he asking the Revalantor for information? But he did want to know.

“Is she well? I went to her inn today, but the girl living there told me that Erin was missing. Lost. In a Human city?”

Klbkch nodded reluctantly.

“That is so. She is well, and Ryoka Griffin is with her. She cannot return yet due to the Goblin presence in the region, but she is safe.”

“I see. I…see. That is good.”

“It is acceptable. Now, inform me of the new class or level you have obtained.”

Klbkch was staring hard at Pawn. The Worker felt like sweating, even though the Antinium didn’t sweat. Or maybe he just felt like excreting liquids.

“I have…gained a new class. A while ago, in fact.”

“Indeed? Why did you not report this to me at once?”

Klbkch’s tone grew colder, if that was even possible. Pawn lowered his head.

“I was unsure of the nature of the class. I received it after a conversation with Erin Solstice, and I have been unable to discern the nature of either the Class or Skill I received.”

The Revalantor shook his head slightly.

“Erin. Of course. What Class did you receive after speaking with her?”

“[Acolyte].”

The Revalantor paused. Pawn could see him visibly thinking. Then the other Antinium shook his head.

“I am unfamiliar with the class, as well as the word.”

“As am I. I was hoping you could shed light upon the meaning of the class.”

“I see.”

Klbkch did not rise from his seat, but he shifted ever so slightly.

“You said you obtained this class after speaking with Erin? What was the context of your discussion?”

“It was…”

Pawn hesitated. It had been just after his questioning by the Queen. He had been in turmoil, asking about the dead Workers. His friends. Erin had comforted him, given him hope. But he didn’t want to tell Klbkch that. Instead, Pawn chose the simplest answer.

“We talked about religion. And I believe my class pertains to Gods.”

Instantly, the Antinium seated in front of Pawn froze. His entire body grew still, and Pawn could sense the emotions whirling in Klbkch. But the Revalantor didn’t do anything. Instead, after a minute he looked back up at Pawn as if nothing had happened.

“Gods?”

“Yes.”

“Intriguing. Do you refer to the dead gods of ages past?”

“No, a new God. A living one.”

There it was again. Klbkch froze, only for a shorter period. Pawn watched him carefully.

“Revalantor Klbkch, do you know anything of Gods? I had a discussion with Erin Solstice about them, and she informed me of a being known as a God. In the past, people prayed to them. And they possess powers similar to magic. But…”

His voice trailed off. Klbkch was staring at Pawn, but it was as if he was looking straight through him. Suddenly, the Revalantor’s body was tensed, and his expression—

“Revalantor Klbkch?”

The other Antinium slowly shook his head.

“I know nothing of Gods. But you said that after you talked with Erin, you gained the [Acolyte] class?”

“Yes. Because I…believed in Gods. Or so it seems.”

Klbkch stared at Pawn. The Worker shifted uncomfortably.

“You do not know what this means? I received the Skill of [Prayer] for reaching the first level in my class.”

“I see.”

The Revalantor nodded once, twice. He paused, and then looked up at Pawn and shook his head slowly.

“This class is a mystery to me. I know of Gods, but only those who are dead. It would appear your class is an enigma.”

“So it would appear.”

“Yes. But I have noted its occurrence. You said you were Level 1 in the [Acolyte] class?”

“That is so.”

“Very well. You may return to your quarters.”

Pawn stared at Klbkch for a few more seconds, disappointed. He felt…let down. He’d expected the Revalantor to say something, or reveal something to him about the class that Pawn hadn’t known. At the very least, he’d expected Klbkch to be disapproving, but this?

It was almost as if Klbkch was hiding something. But whatever it was, Pawn didn’t expect Klbkch to confide in him. Reluctantly, he turned to go.

No answers here. What should he do next? Pawn stopped at the doorway, thinking. Only Erin could help him after all. Did Klbkch know when she would return?

“Revalantor Klbkch? May I ask if you know anything of when Erin will ret—”

Pawn turned and saw Klbkch, frozen in place with one sword raised to cut him down. The two Antinium stared at each other. If they were Human, perhaps Klbkch might have pretended it was a joke. Laughed, maybe, and tried to play it off. But the Antinium were different. Klbkch made no pretense; he lifted his sword and spoke calmly.

“If you are loyal to the Hive, do not move. You will be dead quickly.”

“What are you doing?”

Pawn backed away from Klbkch. The Revalantor was advancing on him—cautiously. Both of his silvery swords were aimed at Pawn, and the Worker knew that Klbkch could cut him into pieces in a second. But why?

“Revalantor Klbkch, have I offended you in some way? If so, I—”

“Silence.”

There was quiet menace in the Revalantor’s voice. Normally such an instruction would have made Pawn shut up, but he knew he was about to die ether way. Panicked, Pawn raised his hands as he retreated from Klbkch.

“I have done nothing wrong. I am not an Aberration! I—”

Klbkch shook his head.

“You know of Gods. You must die.”

He said it as if it were a simple truth. But Pawn still didn’t understand. He backed up again and felt his back hit the dirt wall.

“I do not understand. Revalantor Klbkch, if I have erred please allow me to correct my mistake.”

“The only correction can come from your death. No one may know of Gods.”

Klbkch walked forwards, the two deadly blades in his hand. For a second Pawn considered running, but he knew he would be dead in an instant if he did. The only reason he hadn’t died yet was—

Was…?

Klbkch was hesitating. He was staring at Pawn as if he didn’t know where to cut. Maybe because he wasn’t sure? If that was the case…Pawn’s mouth worked with desperation.

“You should not kill me. Knowing of Gods is not dangerous to the Hive.”

“It is.”

“Erin told me of Gods. Will you kill her, too?”

The other Antinium hesitated as he lifted a sword up. Pawn stared at the deadly edge as it poised to come down.

“Erin is different. But you—you are expendable.”

That was true. Pawn knew it. But still. He stared upwards at the blade, and then down at the ground. He couldn’t close his eyes, no matter how hard he wanted to. His voice was quiet, yet his pulse thundered.

“Please. I do not wish to die.”

He could see only Klbkch’s legs. Pawn kept his head bowed, trembling. Waiting. Would it hurt? Would he feel it, or would his next thoughts be when he was in—

Heaven.

Time seemed to slow for Pawn as that thought emerged. He imagined it, a place without pain or fear. A place where he was welcomed; a place to be. But then he thought of God and wondered.

He wanted it. But he didn’t. And as he thought of that, Pawn remembered Erin and wondered what she would do when she found out he was dead. And in that moment he didn’t think of heaven. He wanted to live, still. In the second before he died, Pawn whispered the word. His desire.

A prayer.

“Please.”

He felt nothing. Pawn kept his head bowed, and then sensed it. Movement. Slow—and then a noise. He heard the sound of metal on metal and dared to open his eyes. Klbkch was sheathing his swords.

The Revalantor of the Antinium stared down at Pawn. He looked uncertain. Old. Tired. But his voice was like cold steel as he spoke.

“Here is what will happen. You will not mention Gods or your class or Skills to anyone. And you will not worship or interact with this one in any way. Is that clear?”

Pawn could barely speak. He looked at the Revalantor, but instead of obedience, his first instinct was to question. He had to know.

“Why? Why are Gods not to be spoken of?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“That information is secret. You do not need to know it.”

“But what did I do? Why is knowing of Gods important? All know of the dead Gods—”

Pawn only saw a blur, and then he felt himself being crushed against the wall. Klbkch held him with one hand while the other one held a sheathed sword an inch away from Pawn’s eye. There was no mercy in the other Antinium’s gaze, just cold, focused anger.

“I will repeat myself once: you do not need to know why. You are a Worker; you will obey.”

Pawn tried to make a sound; it was only a gurgle. Klbkch held him in place until Pawn was starting to see blackness around his vision, and then he let go. Pawn gasped as Klbkch stepped back and sheathed his sword again.

“You are forbidden from discussing God, your class, or any similar subjects with any Workers or Individuals. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

The words felt bitter as they left Pawn’s mouth, like how the food sometimes tasted if the Worker’s food had included more semi-rotten ingredients than normal. Klbkch stared at Pawn and then nodded curtly.

“Good. Leave. I will summon you at a later date to address this.”

Without another word, the Revalantor turned and strode off through the tunnels. Pawn watched him go. He had no idea what had happened, what to think. But he was alive. He was—

Alive.

----

Twenty minutes later, Pawn had finally regained enough of himself to walk away from Klbkch’s quarters, in case the Antinium returned. He walked slowly through the Hive, ignoring how his pace slowed up countless Workers and Soldiers behind him. He had to think.

What had happened? What had he said that had upset Klbkch so? Why—why was mentioning Gods so wrong?

What was wrong with a God?

Pawn walked along, kicking at the ground. He didn’t know where he was going. He was upset and confused and—

Why had Klbkch acted the way he had? Why had he nearly killed Pawn? Over what? Over Gods?

No…knowing that there were Gods, not just dead ones. But even that made no sense. A God was a good thing. Erin had explained it. Gods helped. Gods made heaven and that meant…

Pawn turned and followed another Worker at random. He didn’t even care where he was going. What was Klbkch going to say to the Queen? Would she summon him? Or just have him killed? For knowing of Gods?

Why? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Klbkch hadn’t asked about the God, didn’t know anything—or if he did, he hadn’t explained.

Why would he hate Gods? Or a God? Why hate a God? That made no sense.

It was a God. God was God. Gods. Heaven. Gods and heaven and forgiveness and sin. How could anyone just turn their back on that? Or just ignore?

Pawn stopped at the entrance to a large room. He faintly detected the unmistakable aroma of the Hive’s food. Oh. Of course. It was meal time for some shift of Workers. He didn’t really want to eat, but maybe the noxious food would calm him down. He had to do something, whether it was walk or eat…

Automatically, Pawn walked into the large room. He got into line and then paused. The Worker in front of him was quite large. And the room was a bit bigger than normal. He stared up at the broad back in front of him. And up…and up…at the head of the Soldier…

Pawn froze. He stared around the room. The line in front of him wasn’t moving, and no one in the room was either. Soldiers, hundreds of them, sat or stood, all turned towards Pawn.

Staring at him.

The room was full of Soldiers. Soldiers, and a dozen Workers who were serving food to them in huge, deep containers three times as large as those given to Workers. But even they had paused in the act of ladling the soupy mush into the Soldiers’ bowls.

Everyone was staring at Pawn. He felt hot, then cold. And afraid and—

He’d gone the wrong way. He’d taken the wrong turn, because he was not supposed to be here. Oh, no. Not at all.

Pawn had walked into the Soldier’s mess room. Not the Workers’.

In the complete stillness, Pawn looked around. Everyone was still staring at him. All the Soldiers in line were looking at him and he couldn’t read their expressions. Pawn felt a cold knot of fear in his stomach.

He shouldn’t be here. Pawn turned to go, and then hesitated.

Why should he go? He didn’t belong here, true, but no one was kicking him out. And he was an Individual, wasn’t he? Couldn’t he stay here? What would happen if he did? Would Klbkch hunt him down and kill him?

Slowly, cautiously, Pawn stepped back into line. He stared at the Soldier in front of him, almost daring the huge Antinium to do anything. The Soldier stared back, and then slowly turned forwards. The Soldier in front of him did the same.

As one, the room slowly moved back into motion. The Workers continued serving food, the Soldiers filed forwards, and Pawn found himself in line, holding a huge and heavy container. He wasn’t even hungry, but he was committed now, and found himself standing in front of a Worker with a huge ladle who dumped a large amount of orange-brown stuff into his bowl. It looked like the food Workers got, but there was a lot more of it.

“Ah. Thank you..”

The Worker stared at Pawn. Pawn stared back. Then he shuffled forwards and a Soldier took his place.

What next? Now Pawn supposed he had to eat the horrible food, all of it. He stared around the room and noticed something else that was different about this room. All the Soldiers weren’t eating while standing like the Workers. No, instead they were sitting!

Each Soldier sat on a mound of dirt and balanced their food receptacles in the small hollowed-out mounds of the dirt table in front of them. Pawn stared, amazed. They had benches and tables! True, they were just crude mounds of dirt packed together until it was hard as stone, but still!

Pawn quickly realized why the Soldiers had tables; they had to. Their basins of food were too deep to really eat from without a stable surface, and the Soldiers’ clumsier appendages couldn’t balance their containers as easily.

Indeed, now that Pawn looked, the Soldiers ate far differently from the Workers. Instead of efficiently scooping food into their mouths they stuck their heads in the containers, or awkwardly lifted the muck up. They just didn’t have the same manual dexterity, and that meant there was a lot more mess on the ground.

Pawn sat at a table with two other Soldiers and looked around. There were hundreds of Soldiers in this room, all eating feverishly. He was so preoccupied with staring that he completely forgot his own food, until he saw one Soldier exiting the food line.

Maybe the Soldier was tired or distracted—Pawn kept thinking the other Soldiers were staring at him, but whenever he looked around he just saw them engrossed in feeding. But this Soldier failed to notice some fallen food slopped on the ground as he carefully held his own bowl of dinner. His foot trod down on the slimy patch and he slipped.

Pawn saw the Soldier try to regain his balance, but it was too late. The Soldier didn’t fully face-plant, but he collapsed forwards and all of his meal spilled out of the bowl in front of him. Instantly, the Soldier righted himself and scurried forwards, but the damage was done.

The Worker saw the Soldier desperately try to push the spilled slop back into the container, but he got as much dirt as food in as anything else. The resulting mash was…even more disgusting that it had been, but the Soldier righted his container and walked over to a table. He began to eat as if there was nothing wrong. But there was.

The Soldier couldn’t have been happy with the dirt-infused food. Pawn knew that. He and the Soldiers might differ in size, but they were still based off the same shape. He knew how appalling the food was without adding anything else to it.

And yet, the Soldier made no effort to go back into line. Nor did Pawn really expect him to; that would have been…not against the rules, but it would have been unusual. No non-Individual would have done something like that, so the Soldier would just eat his dirty food in silence.

That wasn’t right. Pawn stood up. He didn’t realize what he was doing at first, but as he approached the unfortunate Soldier, his own bowl in hands, he knew. The Soldier looked up and froze as Pawn came over to his table.

Pawn cleared his throat awkwardly. He didn’t know—he could sense the eyes of everyone in the room on him again. But he knew what he wanted to say, so he said that.

“Here. I don’t need mine.”

The Soldier stared at Pawn as the Worker thrust the bowl of food at him. He stared at the bowl, and at Pawn.

“Take it.”

Slowly, the Soldier shoved his bowl aside. He reached up, but his fingers were clumsier. Pawn carefully put the bowl in front of him. The Soldier stared at the food, and then at Pawn.

Then he began to eat. Cautiously, carefully. As if every bit of this new mush was ten times better than the dirty stuff in his bowl. Which, to be fair, it wasn’t. It was only a bit more palatable, but the Soldier ate and Pawn felt…

Better. Just a bit.

After that, Pawn just sat at the table while the Soldiers ate. He tried to focus on them, rather than think. It was almost peaceful, not having to do anything. And Pawn was so tired of—

The last Soldier finished eating from his bowl and stopped. Instantly, all the Soldiers stood up as one. Pawn jerked in surprise, but the Soldiers just walked towards the entrance of the meal hall. They put their bowls on a long shelf of dirt as they passed, ready to be reused as they filed out of the room.

Oh. Of course. They were done with their meal and leaving. Pawn stood up and followed them out, noting a new group of Soldiers were coming in. He left with the first group, and because he didn’t feel comfortable following the Soldiers any more, he began walking back to his sleeping area.

It was time to sleep. Pawn found his spot, looked around, and saw countless other Workers already sleeping in their dirt cubicles. He stared at his hands as he made himself comfortable in his spot.

This day was confusing. He’d been afraid at first, and then nearly killed when he’d spoken to Klbkch. Pawn still didn’t know why, but he was afraid to find out. Afraid—and yet, he wanted to know now. Klbkch knew something about Gods, and Pawn wanted, no, needed to know. He would find out.

And the Soldiers? Pawn thought of the Soldiers. He didn’t know what to think about that. It was just a small part of a long day. And yet he was still smiling a tiny bit as he fell asleep.

----

The next day, Pawn woke up as he felt Klbkch summon him to his room. It wasn’t an actual voice in his mind—it was more like a feeling, strong as certainty. It made Pawn rise before the other Workers and walk through the tunnels to Klbkch’s quarters before he’d even eaten.

“I am here, Revalantor.”

“Come in and sit.”

Klbkch had placed a second seat in the room. He sat in his own chair, twin blades sheathed as he watched Pawn sit. He wasted no time on greetings or small talk—the Antinium just leaned forwards and spoke.

“I have consulted with the Queen on this matter. You will not be killed—immediately. But if there are any changes in your physical form or actions which may harm the Hive, you will be immediately killed. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

Pawn stared at Klbkch, confused but determined to listen and make sense of things. Klbkch held his gaze for a few more moments and then nodded.

“Now. Explain this God to me.”

“What?”

“Explain it. All of it. What Erin said about this God, word for word. I want to know its history, forces, motivations—everything.”

That was how Pawn found himself trying to tell Klbkch the same story Erin had told him. He tried to start with the same miracles she’d begun with, a God that created the world and made people in his image while he watched over them, but he kept on getting interrupted by Klbkch.

“There are no mentions of multiple Gods?”

“None. As I was saying, after he created the world, he rested for—”

“And it is a he? This God has a gender?”

Pawn clicked his mandibles together irritably. He hadn’t had breakfast, and he was hungry, even for his daily rations. Klbkch kept interrupting him before he got to the important parts, too. Who cared about gender?

“…That was how Erin described him, although she said that God may not have a gender.”

“Why say ‘he’, then?”

“She said ‘it’ sounds too weird.”

“Hmm. Does it have a physical presence?”

“In a sense. It—he—works through chosen Humans.”

“I am familiar with the [Priest] class. In any other ways?”

“Ah…he sent his son to earth. And his son is divine as he is.”

“His son?”

Klbkch stared at Pawn so hard that the Worker felt uncomfortable. Why did Klbkch care so much about these details?

“Yes. God had a son. He was named Jesus of Naz—”

“Explain to me how a God has a son. Would that not also make him a God?”

“He is…part-God, or so I believe. But there is only one God in that sense, or so Erin said.”

She mentioned other Gods, but Pawn felt it wise not to mention that just yet. Klbkch tapped his chin with his finger.

“I feel there is something I have missed. I shall re-clarify. There is only one God, correct?”

“True.”

“But he has a son.”

“Yes.”

“Whom he incarnated as a physical manifestation on earth.”

“Born of a Human. He was Human.”

“But he is also part God?”

“…I believe so.”

“That makes no sense.”

It didn’t. Or rather, it did and Pawn understood it in his own way, but he knew he couldn’t explain that to Klbkch. He tried to shift the conversation away from this issue and get to the important part.

“He is dead, in any case. He is now in Heaven, with God. That is what Erin told me.”

“I see. So in any case, there is only one God.”

“Yes, but in Heaven—”

Once again, Klbkch cut Pawn off.

“So, you are absolutely sure that this God is not present in the world at this moment?”

Pawn couldn’t really scowl, but he grew agitated and let his voice reflect that.

“I am sure.”

“Very well. Now, where did this son of God incarnate? Do you know the geographical location?”

“Yes. Yes I do. He was born in Jerusalem, a small town in the nation of Rome. This was at the time when—”

“Rome? Jerusalem? Where are these places located? Which continent?”

“These are locations and names from where Erin comes from.”

It was as if Klbkch was listening to something completely different than Pawn. The instant Pawn said that, he relaxed and seemed almost relieved.

“I see. I see.”

Pawn stared at him, nonplussed.

“As I was saying, the Human woman Mary was pregnant, and she was due to give birth—”

“I do not need to hear the rest of the story at this moment.”

It was like being slapped repeatedly. Pawn opened his mandibles, and then closed them. He was annoyed, and so he interrupted Klbkch before the Revalantor could speak.

“How is any of this important, Revalantor Klbkch? Why are Gods an issue that requires so much attention?”

Klbkch paused.

“That is none of your concern. It is a secret.”

“I would like to know it.”

“You will not be told. Enough. My next question—”

“I should know. If I do not, I may err accidentally.”

Pawn held Klbkch’s gaze as the other Antinium looked up and stared at him. After a second, the Revalantor seemed to come to a decision.

“All you need to know is that the existence of a God is tied to the Antinium’s existence on the continent of Rhir. Although the Antinium have changed since then, my original task as a Centenium relates directly to Gods in particular. It supersedes all other orders; hence, my inquiry. That is all.”

Pawn felt as though he should drop his jaw like he had seen Erin do now and then.

“Centenium? I am not familiar with that role. What are—”

“Enough.”

Klbkch stopped Pawn with one hand. He considered, clicking his mandibles together lightly as Pawn shifted impatiently in his seat. At last, Klbkch nodded.

“I have ascertained that this God is not similar to…it is not of immediate concern.”

“Meaning what?”

“I am not sure. But as its existence is known only to Erin and possibly Ryoka Griffin, I will withhold judgement until I am able to speak with them. You will not be executed.”

Pawn looked up hopefully.

“Then—”

“However, I will not permit prayer to this…God. My order still stands: you will not tell your fellow Workers about this God either.”

“But why?”

It wasn’t as if he’d been praying to the God before. But to be told not to without reason—Pawn felt himself growing annoyed again.

“May I ask your reasoning, Revalantor Klbkch?”

Klbkch tapped the hilt of his sword once, and then again.

“There are several questions that remain unanswered for me. If this God is a being that created Humans, where did the Antinium come from? Are we creations of this being, or…not?”

“God created all things.”

“In Erin’s world. Not this one.”

Pawn opened his mandibles—and closed them. He couldn’t respond to that. Klbkch nodded.

“Is it our God? Would it accept Antinium?”

“I do not know. But I could find out.”

If there was a God to ask. If this wasn’t just random chance that had given him the class. If God would answer back. Pawn said none of this out loud, but Klbkch shook his head.

“No.”

“But—”

“I will resume questioning you tomorrow. I have duties to attend to, but I will resume asking questions about the relationship between this God and the Antinium. Until then, you are dismissed.”

Pawn wanted to say something. He wanted to shout at Klbkch, or shake him. But the Revalantor stood up, and all Pawn could do was obey.

----

Was this the God of the Antinium? Did it even matter? That wasn’t the important part!

Pawn fumed as he stomped down the dirt corridors. Who cared about whether God had a physical form? It was the salvation that Pawn had been stirred by, the idea that—that there was forgiveness! There was heaven, and more, someone who cared.

It didn’t matter that this was a God for Humans.

Right?

Pawn bumped into two Workers in his commute. He apologized, and then held up the queue behind him for several seconds as he debated where to go. The meal time of his shift of Workers had already passed, and there wasn’t always food there. He could go above, but Pawn was in too foul a mood to do so right now. He wanted food, peace, and quiet—

Before Pawn knew it, he’d found himself in the Soldiers’ meal hall. He didn’t know why, but he lined up and took a bowl as Soldiers walked into the room.

“Give me only a third of the portion, please.”

The Worker stared at Pawn, but he did as instructed. Pawn took his bowl to a table with two other Soldiers, completely ignoring the silent stares he was receiving. He was too angry to care.

“That didn’t matter. There was more to the story.”

Pawn muttered to himself as he ate. The two Soldiers stared at him, but Pawn didn’t care. He munched down the foul mess of today’s mush, and felt even worse than before. Bad food, an unfair Revalantor—

It really wasn’t right. He was just a Worker, but Pawn knew he’d been happier once. When he’d gone to Erin’s inn, he hadn’t been threatened, and he’d been allowed to speak freely. He’d been fed good food, and she had told him true things.

He looked around. Soldiers sat at the tables around him, eating quietly. They were trapped too, weren’t they? Forced to eat this revolting food, not having anything to look forwards to.

It wasn’t fair. Pawn longed to tell Bird or Garry about what he’d experienced. He’d been afraid to, before. But now that Klbkch had ordered him not to, Pawn longed to walk into the Worker mess hall and shout the story out loud.

God. Heaven. It was a promise Erin had told him. Something to cling to. It would have given the other Workers hope. It would have made the deaths of the others meaningful. It had made everything better when Pawn had said it.

But no, he was trapped like the Soldiers. Trapped by orders and silence. Pawn miserably pushed his bowl forwards onto the table. The Soldiers looked up, and then down at their food. Soldiers. That was what separated Workers and Soldiers. At least Workers could speak. But Soldiers couldn’t speak.

And Pawn was a Soldier now, at least in part. He couldn’t speak about Gods to any other Workers. That was the problem. No other Workers.

No other Workers. Pawn sat up in his seat, suddenly electrified by a thought. Klbkch had instructed him not to talk to an Individual or another Worker. But Soldiers?

“Excuse me.”

The Soldier in front of Pawn looked up. Pawn cleared his throat awkwardly. It felt strange, talking to the massive behemoth. But he could speak to them.

“I notice you are eating. Would you mind if I told you a story? About God?”

It wasn’t just a blank look Pawn received; it was utterly bewildered. The two Soldiers at the table looked at Pawn and made no move. But Pawn had begun this, and so the Worker took the plunge.

“It’s a true story. About God, which is—allow me to explain.”

He didn’t really know where to begin. He only knew that he had to share this message. And Pawn thought the Soldiers might understand. At the very least, neither of them tried to kill him as he started speaking.

“There is a being known as a God. And it—he created everything. And rules over everything. And he cares for us, you see? Because once upon a time, there was nothing. Nothing but God. And he wanted to create something, so he spoke. And then there was light…”

It wasn’t exactly how Erin had told him the story. But Pawn thought he should start from the beginning. The Antinium were a logical species; and besides, he felt he had to work up to Gods and virgin childbirths. He still wasn’t sure what a virgin was in any case, but it sounded important.

The Soldiers at the table listened as Pawn explained how the world was created according to Erin’s garbled explanation of the religion. It was confusing and made no sense, especially because none of the Antinium, including Pawn, had any idea what angels were. He simply described the Garden of Eden as being protected by a giant flaming white bird and left it at that.

But that wasn’t the important bit. Pawn explained what he felt the most important part was after he’d gone through the creation of the world and the idea of sin.

“Even though Humans—and other species—are sinful, it does not matter. We are sinful because of what has happened, but this God cares for us. All of us. Whether we are born and die early or kill, regardless of what we do, there is someone who cares. For each of us. He knows us. He knows who we are and he cares.”

That was what was important. How could he explain it more than that? Pawn didn’t care about how the world had started, or how many snakes could talk. It was that.

“Someone cares. Someone knows us, knows our every waking and sleeping motion. Someone out there cares, and knows our name. Even if we do not.”

The Soldiers at the table stared at Pawn. Silently. They said not a word, but neither had they looked away. In fact, they’d stared silently at him the entire time he’d been talking, and even stopped eating. Bits of mush dropped off their hands as they rested them on the edges of the bowls.

Pawn looked around and jumped in surprise. Somehow, all the Soldiers had moved closer. Some were bunched together on other seats, and others were just standing. And they were all listening. To him.

Awkwardly, the Antinium cleared his throat. He hadn’t realized they’d all been listening. But it made him feel pleased, as well. And it made the next part more important.

“Yes, well, after the events of which I spoke, the Humans thrived. But what is important to mention is that sin still existed. They were all sinful, and thus at fault. But then God decided to send his son to be borne by a Human, so—”

The Soldier in front of Pawn moved. It was a sudden movement. One second he was sitting, the next he was on his feet. Pawn recoiled, but all the Soldiers had stood up suddenly. They looked towards the entrance of the mess hall.

What was happening? Were they upset? But—no, Pawn realized they must have been called, or else their eating period had elapsed.

“Oh. You have duties. I will let you attend to them.”

The Soldiers didn’t nod, but Pawn got the sense they had heard him. They began filing towards the door, but they moved far slower than normal. They were visibly hesitating.

Did they want to hear the rest? Pawn thought quickly. He called out to the Soldiers as they reluctantly walked out.

“I will return later. Is that acceptable?”

He heard no response, but Pawn saw Soldiers suddenly move in lock-step once more, briskly marching towards their destination. He watched them file out of the room and smiled.

The next day, Pawn went back and told them more stories. He told them about a young man who died upon a cross, of a prophet who parted seas, of a people watched over by something loving and kind. The Soldiers drank in every word, but they said not a thing. But they did listen. And Pawn believed that they believed.

----

“I do not understand the purpose of this tale.”

Klbkch snapped at Pawn as the two of them sat in Klbkch’s room. Pawn glared back, but the Revalantor did not give him a chance to reply.

“What is sin? Murder? Violation of ten rules? Why are all beings sinful the instant they are born? What sin did we commit?”

“Erin did not say. But that is not important. The important thing is that God sent his son—”

“To be killed.”

“Sacrificed.”

“Was it blood magic? I cannot understand why one death absolves an entire species of sin.”

“He is meant to bear our suffering. Bear our transgressions—”

“Yet we still transgress.”

“But now we are forgiven. Any mistakes we make are our own—”

“And if we do not obey the rules of this God, we will be punished when we die. So you have said.”

“Or we may obey and go to Heaven.”

“Which no one has ever seen.”

“We must believe it exists.”

“But you cannot prove it does.”

Pawn glared at Klbkch. The second day had seen him arguing for hours with the Revalantor about these very topics.

“It is something I would like to believe in. Respectfully, it does not harm the Hive in any way.”

“It does matter if this God intends to enforce such restrictions on our kind. If the Antinium cannot kill, then we will all be punished by this God.”

“It doesn’t work that way—”

“Regardless, I will not allow you to worship this God.”

“Why not?”

Pawn stood up, knocking back his chair. Klbkch spoke coldly as he looked at the Worker.

“If this God made Humans in his form, then he is clearly a God for them. But the Antinium never rested in this ‘Garden of Eden’. We were not in the world where his son came to life, and thus we were not saved. We are not his. This God…is not a God for the Antinium. I will give him no power, and you will not either.”

“Power? It is just prayer!”

“That is enough. I will not allow prayer or worship of a God that does not belong to the Antinium.”

“That is not fair!”

Pawn shouted at Klbkch, surprising even himself. But the Revalantor just stood up.

“It is necessary, and it is my order. Talk to no one, and forget about Gods.”

“How can I?”

Pawn’s voice was bitter. Klbkch studied him, and then unsheathed one of his swords. He held the silvery blade out towards Pawn for him to inspect. Pawn looked at the gleaming metal and wondered how many of his brethren the blade had cut to pieces.

“Believe in this. Not something that can be neither seen nor heard.”

The Worker shook his head and pushed aside the sword.

“This is just an object. What I want is something else.”

“What is that?”

Klbkch’s tone infuriated Pawn. It was uncaring. He didn’t care about Pawn; he just saw another piece to be used. No, that wasn’t it. He didn’t understand Pawn. Klbkch was special. He was a Prognugator, a Revalantor, a Centenium, whatever that meant. He was second to the Queen. He—

Was special. But Pawn was not. He could never understand.

“What do I want? Salvation. Can you or the Queen offer that?”

Pawn turned and stormed out of the room before Klbkch could respond.

----

That night, Pawn shifted around again and again in his small cubicle, until he realized he was waking the other Workers up. He felt hot, hot with anger and frustration. Klbkch would never understand. But he knew who might.

Leaving his cubicle, Pawn slipped through the tunnels, joining the night rush of Workers and moving through the passageways until he reached one that was growing familiar to him. He entered the large mess hall and looked around.

They were there, all of them. Pawn had grown to know these Soldiers, identify them somehow. Maybe it was the way they looked at him familiarly, or how they crowded around now, abandoning their meals or taking the bowls with them to listen.

“I have told you all the stories of God that I know.”

Pawn addressed the hundreds of Soldiers with a loud voice. He sensed them shifting ever so slightly as he explained.

“I have no more tales to tell you. What I know, you know.”

They didn’t like that. Some of the Soldiers moved slightly, a sign of their agitation. But Pawn only smiled. He’d told them everything, yes, but he hadn’t told them the most important bit.

“There is one thing left, though. One promise that God made to his people, to all people.”

The Soldiers immediately froze in place, a sign of how eager they were to hear. Pawn held his breath, and then told them.

“Heaven.”

The word rang through the large room, carrying more than just sound with it. Pawn’s heart raced just like when he’d first heard that word and its meaning.

“Heaven. It is a place God made. A place to go when we die.”

A place to be happy. To be free. Pawn tried to explain that to the listening Soldiers. He knew they would understand.

“You see, when we die—the Antinium, we go into the Hive. But this Heaven—if we believe and are good, we will go there. And in that place, there is no suffering. No pain. We can be happy there.”

Happy. It was a word that Pawn barely understood. But he spoke of it confidently. It was something he barely understood, but he had glimpsed it, and it had captivated his soul.

“In Heaven, you will not have to eat these meals. You will eat good food, and not have to fight. You will be safe there, and no one will order you about. That is what God promises. That is—that is why it is important.”

That was the promise he dreamed of. A place where he might find his fellow Workers, the ones who had died. A reason why they had died. A place—

A place to rest. The Soldiers stared at Pawn. He looked at them, and saw something in their eyes. Something he’d never seen before.

Passion.

“That’s right. When we die, we will go there. If we believe. If we are good—if we do not sin—”

He paused as those words left his tongue. Sin. Yes, Erin had told him about that. Sin was violating the laws God had spoken. And one of them was not to kill. The Soldiers were built to kill. How could they be unsinful?

And yet, and yet, he could not tell the Soldiers that. They deserved a place there, and Pawn wanted to believe they would.

But would they? He didn’t know. Pawn wavered, and lost track of what he was saying. Shortly, he stood up and addressed the Soldiers.

“I…must go. I know you have duties. But I hope you will believe. And maybe—maybe we will all go to Heaven.”

He left them with that, and retreated to his cubicle. There Pawn sat and agonized.

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in Heaven, or God. He wanted to with all his heart, and he did. But that was the problem. If he believed in God, he had to believe in Hell. That was what Erin said existed too.

How could Pawn accept that someone who had killed would go to Hell? Would Belgrade go to hell because he had killed? Or would believing be enough to go to Heaven? What about Bird? He’d killed more than Belgrade, and yet, he’d done it to save Erin. Did the undead not count? What did?

And what about the Soldiers? The Soldiers…had to go to Heaven. Pawn knew it. They weren’t bad. They obeyed orders to the letter. How could that be punished?

These were unfamiliar, uncomfortable questions. They made Pawn upset. It was as if Klbkch was whispering into his ears, making him doubt what had been so easy to accept. Before, Pawn had believed in a God, been certain that one existed, but too afraid to ask. Now he was afraid to ask, and he was also afraid—

Afraid that God might be wrong. Pawn wished Erin were here so he could ask her. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know.

And he feared the truth. Or that there was no answer for him. Pawn went to sleep dreaming of such questions and he tossed and turned restlessly. All he wanted was to go to Heaven. He could leave the rest, but he had to know that was true. There wasn’t a single Antinium who deserved to go to Hell. Not Bird, not Anand, not even Ksmvr.

Not even Klbkch.

----

Pawn was dreaming. Or he had been. He only knew he was asleep, and then someone was shaking him, dragging him out of his cubicle. Pawn opened his eyes, and struggled to move, but an iron grip had hold of him and someone was shouting in his ear holes.

“What have you done?”

Klbkch dragged Pawn out of his resting spot and shook the Worker violently. Pawn gasped and tried to form words as he woke up.

“What? Reva—”

“What did you do?”

Klbkch hurled Pawn into a wall and pressed him there. Pawn gasped for air as he felt something crack, but Klbkch was already dragging him down the corridor. Pawn struggled to find his feet as Klbkch shouted at him. He saw Workers staring at him as he passed by their cubicles.

“What is going on?”

“Follow me! Move!”

The Revalantor pulled Pawn along, running him down the corridor. The never ending stream of Workers and Soldiers stopped dead as the two Antinium charged down the corridors, and the other Antinium pushed themselves to the walls to give them room to run.

Pawn had no idea what was happening. But he sensed where they were going and his heart stopped when he realized they were headed straight for the Soldiers’ mess room. Klbkch stopped at the entrance and unsheathed his swords, and pushed Pawn through.

“What is happening? What—”

The Worker stumbled into the room and his words stopped. He stared around inside and saw hell. It must have been hell, because what he saw made no other sense.

The huge room was filled with Soldiers. Living Soldiers—and dead ones. The dead lay on the ground, beaten, bludgeoned to death, sporting huge holes in their carapace, huge, fist-sized wounds made by the hands of Soldiers. And as Pawn looked around, he saw dark shapes struggling with each other, hitting, tearing, smashing—

The Soldiers were killing each other.

There was no order to it, no clear indication where violence began or ended. Each Soldier still living—and there were countless bodies on the floor—was going around, hitting other Soldiers with their bowls, using all four hands to pummel each other to the floor. They were treating everything and everyone like an enemy, but they made no attempt to block when they were struck. They simply let the other Soldier tear bits of their carapace off and let the green ichor spill from their bodies.

“What is this?”

Pawn screamed the words at Klbkch as the Revalantor entered the room. Klbkch had both blades raised defensively as he looked around at the bloodbath.

“You tell me. These Soldiers were completely fine yesterday, but they started butchering each other ten minutes ago. Workers tell me you were spotted entering this room thirty minutes before they started this madness.”

“Me? I—yes, but I never told them to do this!”

He would have never done that. Klbkch just stared at him.

“Then why is this happening?”

Pawn had no answer. He stared at the Soldiers. One had taken a bowl and was smashing another’s head in with it. Pawn ran forwards.

“Stop! What are you doing?”

The Soldier took no notice of Pawn. Pawn tried to pull him back, but the Soldier just threw him backwards. Pawn stumbled away and stared around.

“They’re killing each other? Why? Why do this?”

“What did you say? Have they become Aberrations?”

Klbkch’s sword was aimed right at Pawn’s head. The Worker raised his arms.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You said something. What were you telling them?”

“Just stories!”

“Stories? About what?”

“God.”

The sound Klbkch made was between a screech and a shout. He struck Pawn with the pommel of his sword, so hard Pawn felt his cheek chitin crack.

“You fool. I ordered you not to—”

“I didn’t mean to hurt them! I just wanted to give them hope!”

Pawn cried out as he retreated from the furious Klbkch. The Revalantor looked around at the chaos.

“You call this hope?”

“No! I never wanted this. I was just telling them about heaven, last night. Just heaven—”

Pawn’s breath caught in his throat. He stared around at the Soldiers dying and realized what had happened. His heart became ice in his chest.

“No. Heaven.”

Klbkch looked around grimly.

“Explain.”

“I—I told them that when they died, they could go to Heaven. A place without pain. A place—”

“You told them that?”

Pawn couldn’t look at Klbkch. He stared at a fallen Soldier, his body a mass of holes. No. He hadn’t meant it like that. But he had, hadn’t he? He’d told the Soldiers that when they died they wouldn’t have to fight anymore, to suffer. And they’d believed him. They’d believed him so much that they’d taken the fastest route to get to heaven:

Suicide.

“There are four hundred Soldiers here. If they all die—”

Pawn didn’t listen to Klbkch’s threat. He ran forwards, shouting. The Soldiers were deathly quiet as they fought each other, but the noise of body parts crunching and things breaking was still loud enough.

“Stop! Stop this! This isn’t the way!”

None of the Soldiers looked at him. Pawn shouted desperately and tried to pull a trio of Soldiers beating a fourth one down apart. They ignored him, only shoving him back. He used all of his strength, but they were far stronger.

“Soldiers!”

Klbkch’s voice was a roar. He strode forwards, brandishing his swords.

“Desist at once! Obey my command and stop!”

A few of the Soldiers looked over at Klbkch. He was a commanding presence, but even his twin swords couldn’t intimidate the Soldiers. They were fearless. And even as he spoke, a Soldier rushed at him.

Klbkch immediately ran the Soldier through, but that was what the Antinium had wanted. The Soldier pushed himself onto the blades, letting them pierce his chest. Klbkch cursed as he pulled the blades loose, but then another Soldier ran at him, swinging aimlessly. He was trying to get Klbkch to kill him too!

Pawn watched, horrified as Klbkch cut the Soldiers’ arm off and then beheaded him. The Revalantor fell back, cursing, as more Soldiers rushed at him, letting him cut them down.

“Stop! Stop! You must stop! This is not the way to get to heaven!”

If they did not go to heaven, then they would go to hell. That was what Erin had said. But the Soldiers weren’t listening. They were trying to find relief, relief from their suffering. Pawn understood that. But this—

This was a sin. One of the worst ones. They would all go to hell. They would suffer, not live forever. That was what God had said. Those were the rules.

He couldn’t stop them. Pawn fell to his knees. He looked up, at where Erin had pointed when she spoke of Heaven.

“God. Is there a God?”

How did it go? Pawn’s hands clasped together and he bowed his head. Klbkch saw that and roared at him.

“Stop that!”

He fought towards him, but now all the Soldiers were rushing him. Pawn ignored Klbkch. He bowed his head. He couldn’t close his eyes, but that was what Erin had said to do, right? And now he prayed? How?

Erin had said it was like a conversation. Pawn tried.

“God? Is that you?”

There was no response. Pawn tried. He tried to activate his Skill.

“[Prayer]. I would like to pray to God. Please. I would like to speak with you.”

Again, Pawn heard nothing. But maybe God didn’t speak? It could just be a feeling. Pawn went on, trying to raise his voice over the sounds of Soldiers dying and his own heart.

“God, I hope you are listening. I beg of you—have mercy on the Soldiers here. Do not let them go to hell. Please. I know it is a sin, but—”

“Pawn!”

Klbkch was shouting at him. Pawn tried to concentrate. He tried to believe, but he couldn’t. Green liquid was running across the dirt floor, and shards of pottery and Soldiers were strewn across the ground. It was a nightmare. His nightmare.

“A sin. I know it is a sin to kill yourself. But the Soldiers just want—they want forgiveness.”

Lies. It stuck on Pawn’s tongue. They didn’t want that.

“They want to be saved. They want to be free.”

And didn’t they deserve that? The Soldiers suffered. Pawn knew that. He’d seen some who still walked around the Hive, even though their carapace was so badly damaged that it barely hung off their frames. He’d seen them fighting even when parts of their heads had been destroyed.

“They give everything for the Hive. They deserve it. Even if they are—”

Sinful? The Soldiers? Pawn couldn’t imagine it. They killed, yes, but they obeyed orders. They never did anything…wrong. He looked up and gave voice to the question in his heart.

“God, please answer me. What sin did the Soldiers commit? What did they do?”

Nothing. They just lived. They were born for the Hive. How could something like that be sinful? How could a Soldier deserve punishment?

Eat. Fight. Suffer. Die. That was their life. They couldn’t speak; they couldn’t even build anything like the Workers. They just did the same thing forever and suffered as they fought until the day they died. And when they died, the next Soldier would keep fighting until he died. And so on. Forever.

“Please. I beg you. Show them mercy.”

Pawn spoke the words, but he felt no response. Nothing. It was as if there was no one listening. But that was how it worked, right? You believed. And if you believed…

Then what? What if there was no God? What if the Soldiers just died?

Pawn struggled. He had to believe. He couldn’t listen to those thoughts. But now Pawn was wavering. His belief crumbled. He had believed. But all he had was a Skill which wasn’t working and God—

He was a God for Humans. That was the problem. Maybe they were sinful, but Pawn couldn’t call Soldiers sinful. They had been born without any choice; to disobey was to die. How could you condemn something, someone who knew nothing else?

How could you call that sin?

And then, as Pawn thought that, he wondered how he could believe in a God if he couldn’t believe in that. And as soon as that thought hit him, Pawn wondered what he would do if that God didn’t exist. Would he obey another God? Worship someone else? Erin had said there was more than one. What about the God who threw lightning, or the one who was actually countless Gods and Goddesses? How could he choose?

They were all Human Gods, anyways. The Antinium didn’t need a God for Humans. They needed another one.

Was there a God for the Antinium? Pawn looked up and saw only dirt. He listened, but heard only the beating of his heart. And death. He heard the Soldiers hitting each other. That was what echoed in his mind. In his heart. His soul.

He tried to pray, but no one responded. And the Soldiers were dying. The last of them were falling, bleeding. Faltering. And if they died and Pawn was wrong, then what? They would just die, and rot, and nothing would change.

They should not die alone. Pawn prayed, but he heard nothing. He prayed for the Soldiers and felt no one respond. So he stood up instead, and screamed.

“Stop! STOP!”

His voice was not aided by a Skill, but Pawn screamed the word again and again with all his might until there was silence. He saw the Soldiers stop and turn towards him. Klbkch froze with one blade in the body of a Soldier, staring at him.

Pawn raised his hands. He trembled. But he spoke anyways, shouting to the Workers.

“I was wrong. I was wrong. There is no god for us. No place. No one to care for the Antinium.”

The Soldiers froze. They stared at Pawn, not wanting to believe. He sensed their confusion, their anguish. No God?

“I prayed, and I heard nothing. Maybe there is a God. But if so, I can’t hear him. Or her. Or it. I can’t believe in something I cannot see or hear or touch.”

His words felt like rain. Biting, acid rain, tearing away his self. Pawn suffered, and wished he could weep. The Soldiers were just staring, blood covering their bodies.

“But. I believe in Heaven. I believed. I believed that there was salvation for us. Someone to remember the Antinium. But maybe heaven is only for Humans.”

Maybe only they had one. Pawn turned to the Soldiers, staring around the room.

“There is no Heaven. Not for the Antinium. But we must have one. We must. So we shall make it for ourselves.”

There. He’d said it. Pawn felt the stillness in the room. He took one shaky breath.

“I cannot believe in a God who will not answer me. I cannot believe in a God I do not see. But I can believe in Heaven. I can believe there is salvation.”

It was a lie. It was truth. Pawn looked around. The Soldiers stared at him, dying, bleeding. But they looked at him, to him, and he told them what was in his heart.

“Believe in that. Believe that no matter what happens, you will be saved. There is a place where the dead Antinium go where we will have no orders, where we will be safe and feel no pain, no hunger.”

He spread his hands, imploring. Beseeching them to understand.

“But believe this: you cannot kill yourself for Heaven. We must build it, in our hearts and here as well. If the Antinium all die, who will believe for us? We must believe for those who fall. Believe for ourselves. And live. We must live.”

He put his hands together. All four hands clasped together, and Pawn spoke. He put all his hopes and wishes and fears and regrets into the words that came next.

“Live. Please live.”

He felt his heart breaking. The Soldiers lay on the ground, dead. Dying. His fault. But he prayed.

“Please. Do not die. Live, and help me. Help the Hive. Help each other.”

Was there a whisper? No. A feeling? No. There was just Pawn, alone and hoping and afraid. But as the Soldiers stopped fighting and Workers rushed into the room with bandages and clotting agents, Pawn saw his prayers answered.

“Put the dead over there! I want as many sacs in here as possible! Wake every Worker in the nearby sections! Move! Now!”

Klbkch shouted the orders as Soldiers lay down or sat, letting Workers tend to them. Pawn knelt on the ground, looking at each Soldier as they wavered, fighting to live instead of die. He couldn’t close his eyes, and that was well. Pawn watched each Soldier without turning away, and saw them pull back from the edge.

“I believe I told you not to pray.”

“You did.”

Pawn stared at a Soldier whose stomach had been ripped open. Green blood pooled around the Worker trying to apply a clear gel to stop the blood flow and contain his organs. No matter how hard the Worker tried, he couldn’t make a seal. But Pawn prayed. He hoped and wished and slowly, the gel began to stick.

“Some are dying even though you pray.”

“Yes.”

Klbkch looked at Pawn. Pawn stared at a dying Soldier, watching him slip away, and then shifted his attention to the next one. And the next.

“What is prayer?”

“I do not know. But I hope. I hope they will live, even if they die. I will continue hoping and believing the next Soldier will live.”

“Regardless of reality?”

“No. I will believe knowing reality. Because that is prayer. Hope for a better reality.”

“Who will you pray to if not a God?”

“I will pray to myself. I will pray to the dead. I will pray to heaven and trust that it exists.”

“Is it enough?”

“I do not know. But if there is a God, I will pray to him, or her, or it, or them if I need to. I will pray to anything or anyone.”

A Soldier lying on the ground, nearly cut in two by Klbkch’s blade, stirred. A Worker stopped dragging him towards a pile of the dead and immediately began pulling him towards the living. Pawn let Klbkch sit beside him. He did not care if he was speaking or silent. He didn’t care that one of Klbkch’s swords was poking into his side.

All of his being was with the Soldiers, trying to pull them back with his own two hands. That was why Pawn ran over when the Workers needed help to turn a Soldier over. He was praying as he held a Soldier’s guts in, and as he fed water to one without a stomach, drop by drop.

Sometime after the last Soldier had been carried away to heal elsewhere, Pawn stood in the center of the room and stared at the dead. He felt each one pulling at his heart, marking his soul. So many. Over a hundred had died, over two hundred probably. All his fault.

But some had lived, and Pawn clung to that. He didn’t look up as Klbkch approached. He just bowed his head.

“If you kill me, will you spare the other Soldiers? They only listened to me.”

“Kill you?”

Klbkch stopped by Pawn’s side. The Revalantor stared at the Worker curiously.

“Why would I kill you? What purpose would it serve?”

“I disobeyed your orders. And I caused the death of countless soldiers.”

“And the rest would have died without you. If I kill you now, they will kill themselves or become Aberration.”

That was true. Pawn nodded.

“Then what?”

“You have a class. [Acolyte], I believe. Perhaps you will level tonight. In fact, I am certain you will.”

Pawn looked up, surprised. Klbkch nodded at him.

“Keep me informed.”

That was it? Pawn looked at Klbkch, confused.

“But what about Gods? Aren’t they a threat?”

“Yes. But you do not pray to a God, do you? And heaven—I see no threat in that.”

“Then—”

“The wounded Soldiers are yours. Care for them, pray for them if it will help them survive. And then test them. I think they may be able to become Individual.”

Pawn stared at Klbkch. The Revalantor looked at him.

“If it will make the Hive stronger, I will let you pray.”

“I see.”

“Sleep, and report to me if you level up. That will be all.”

Klbkch nodded to Pawn and began to walk away. Pawn hesitated, and then turned and called after him.

“Klbkchhezeim? Revalantor Klbkch?”

“Yes?”

Pawn hesitated. But the fear he had in his chest was a small thing now. Too small after all that had passed to hold him back.

“What were the Antinium? Before, I mean. Why do you fear Gods?”

Klbkch stopped in his tracks. He turned his head, and looked at Pawn slowly.

“What you want to know is secret.”

“I know. But would it harm anyone to tell me?”

“It may.”

“Then do not. But I want to know. Who were we? Who are we?”

Pawn waited for Klbkch to turn away and keep walking. But Klbkch didn’t. He studied Pawn, and then spoke.

“Galuc. His name was Galuc.”

“What?”

Klbkch paused. He looked at Pawn, and then looked through him. He looked at something Pawn couldn’t see.

“He was one of the Centenium, and it is his form you all wear. Galuc, the Builder.”

“You mean…did we once look different?”

Klbkch shrugged.

“I did. But my form was lost when I died at sea. Galuc’s was saved and so he remains in each of you. Smaller, and weaker.”

“What was he like?”

Something like a laugh came out of Klbkch’s mandibles, a sound so odd because Pawn had never heard it before.

“Galuc? He was a giant. Strong. Fearless. He would have laughed to know that the Antinium all look like him.”

“And Gods?”

Klbkch shook his head. He turned and began walking again.

“That is a secret. But if you prove you can turn those Soldiers into something more than they are—I will tell you more.”

He left Pawn alone in the room full of the dead. Pawn stood alone, and then stared around. So much death. The ground was stained green. The bodies lay where they had fallen, ready to be recycled into mush.

But it wasn’t the bodies Pawn looked for. He went to each of the fallen Soldiers and stared down at their remains. He wondered where the other part of them had gone. He hoped…it was to a better place. And if there wasn’t one, Pawn would find it, make it, if he had to. The Antinium didn’t just destroy. They could create as well.

Slowly, Pawn walked down into the center of the room. He sat down, put his hands together, and believed.

3.07 H

“We are fragments of the past, Ceria Springwalker. That is all we are.”

Ceria sat on her great-grandmother’s lap and looked up. The small cottage was covered in hanging herbs, braids of garlic—every time she breathed in, a myriad of spices tickled her nose. She sneezed, and her great-grandmother sighed.

“No one has told you yet, have they? They just tell you to stay clear of Humans, which is true enough. But no one’s told you of your other half, your heritage.”

“I thought we were descended from Elves.”

“That’s true. But how much of us is Elf? No one even remembers who they were now, do they? They aren’t in any legends—it’s just a word. Even the oldest stories only talk of half-Elves, not Elves.”

“But they did exist?”

“Oh yes. But only Dragons would remember them, I think. And even then, only the oldest of Dragons. Yet, we still call ourselves half-Elves after all this time, even though thousands…tens of thousands of years have passed. Why is that?”

Ceria shifted. Her seat wasn’t that comfortable—her great-grandmother was too bony, and she was holding the young half-Elf tightly in case she slipped away, which is what Ceria wanted to do. She hated questions like these.

“I don’t know. Because we’re half-Elves? Half and half, right?”

“Not quite. How could we be half-Elves? Think about it. If an Elf and a Human had a child, that would be a true half-Elf. But their offspring—if they had a child with a Human, then what would you have? A quarter-Elf. And so on.”

“So?”

An impatient sigh—Ceria felt her ear tips being flicked and she hunched over sulkily.

“Think, child. There are no Elves left anymore. Half-Elves either marry each other or they mix with other species. So many generations have passed—what part of us is Elf, do you think?”

“I don’t know. A quarter—an eighth? Less? Can I go now?”

The small child wriggled, but her great-grandmother was too strong for her.

“Not yet. This is important, so sit still or I’ll pinch your ears.”

Chastened by the threat, Ceria sat as still as possible, trying not to move. She heard a quiet sigh from above.

“You’re too young. But someone has to tell you and those prideful fools would never speak of this. Ceria, the truth is that after all these long years, our people probably have only a drop of Elven blood in our veins. Only a drop, the smallest fraction of fractions. Only that. We aren’t half-Elves. Not even close.”

The news didn’t disappoint Ceria, because she didn’t fully understand.

“So what? We’re all Human?”

“Again, not quite. Do you want to know something interesting, Ceria?”

“Yes? Is it a secret?”

“Only a small one. The interesting thing is this: when a Human and a half-Elf have a child, the child is always half Elf. Did you know that?”

“No. Why is it interesting?”

Another sigh, but this time Ceria didn’t receive a flick to the ear.

“The interesting thing is that this is always true, Ceria. No matter how many generations pass, a half-Elf with a thousand Human parents on one side will always produce a half-Elf child. No matter what.”

The young half-Elf sat pensively, and then looked up into the wrinkled face and white hair.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that our heritage cannot be erased, child. Not by blood or time. We are part Elf, and that will always ring true. Isn’t that amazing?”

“I guess.”

Ceria’s doubtful reply elicited the first laughter from her great-grandmother she’d heard in a long time. The old half-Elf stroked Ceria’s hair gently.

“It might not seem like much to you yet, but it is something to remember. We are mostly Human, for all the others like to pretend we’re so much better. All we have is a drop of our heritage, Ceria. But it’s enough.”

“Enough?”

“Enough. What runs in our veins is a fragment of what we were. An echo of legends past. But it is pure magic in our blood, Ceria. The purest. Even Dragons bowed to Elves as masters of magic. And though the Elves are gone, we remain. It is in our natures; magic. It comes to us easier than any other species, because of who we are. Who we were. The blood of Elves cannot be extinguished, and it calls out even after untold millennia. That which shall never fade.”

The child caught her breath. She didn’t understand fully, but what she did hear in her great-grandmother’s words called to her. The old woman continued, speaking softly in the quiet of her cottage.

“We live it. Breathe it. We are magic, and magic is us. So when a spell burns you, or you play with the fish or eat them, remember. The magic will never fade.”

“Never?”

“Never. Remember that, will you?”

“I will. But what does it mean?”

“It means…in the oldest of tales, the ones only our people tell, the ones I heard as a child from my great-great grandmother, the Elves were said to be immune to charms and curses. They were so deeply magical that any attempt to hex or bewitch them was impossible. Because they were too magical, you understand? The spells just burned away from them.”

“But half-Elves aren’t like that. You said.”

“I did. But we have a part of that in us, Ceria. Remember? Just a part, but that means in time, any spell holding you will fail. If I tried to put you to sleep with a spell, eventually you would wake up.”

“Everyone wakes up, great grandma.”

A laugh.

“True. But you would wake up no matter what. No matter how powerful the enchantment on you, it will fade. Slowly, yes, but there is no spell your blood will not break in time.”

“Really?”

“Really. But don’t you go letting people cast spells on you, Ceria. And don’t think this makes you better than the Human children. Don’t go near them. You can play with the others in the stream now.”

“Will you come with me?”

“No. I have work to do. Just try to remember, won’t you, Ceria? You’re the only family I have left.”

The young half-Elf didn’t even see the pained expression on her great grandmother’s face. She raced for the door, laughing.

“I’ll remember! I promise!”

“Remember, Ceria.”

“I will! I will, I will, I—”

“I will.”

Ceria spoke the words aloud. And then she woke up.

----

It was dark. That was all Ceria saw. But in the instant where she was not quite dreaming any longer, and not quite awake, it almost felt like she was dreaming still. The half-Elf tried to move her legs and turn her head, searching for her great grandmother.

Then she woke up a bit more and remembered that her great grandmother was dead. Nearly two decades dead and buried in her garden in a village on another continent.

And then she woke up further, and Ceria felt other sensations flooding in. The first was taste.

Taste. Ceria could taste vomit in her mouth, sour and vile. It was dried and made her gag—and she tasted blood as well. Ceria dry-heaved and scrabbled at her side reflexively. She had a flask of water—

No. She didn’t. And that was when the other feelings hit Ceria at once. She was hungry. In pain. Bleeding? No—but she could feel dried blood on her left shoulder, and cold air on her lower body. In fact…she was naked from the waist down. That was to say, she had her mage’s robes on, but someone had taken her pants.

“Wh—wha—?”

What had happened? Ceria’s mind was still too jumbled for short-term memory. She only knew that she was in pain, and something was horribly wrong. She looked around for her pants, or for the water bottle, but she could see practically nothing in…wherever she was.

It wasn’t totally dark. Ceria could see outlines of something in the darkness. But whatever light source was providing the light, it was too faint. She had to see. Ceria raised one hand and croaked a word.

“[Light].”

A glowing orange ball of pure light floated out of Ceria’s palm and she blinked, dazzled by it. But then her eyes adjusted, and Ceria finally saw the truth of where she was.

She was in the pit. The pit. The place she and the others had been teleported into after the trap. Yes. Ceria remembered. And she was lying on something. A pile of things that moved.

Ceria looked down. Something white, many white and yellow things shone in the light. She reached down to touch one, and stopped.

She was lying on a pile of bones. Bones, and horrible black filth. And some of it had been stained by her vomit. And blood.

She didn’t scream. Ceria didn’t scream, but she immediately rolled off the pile. She rolled down onto something hard and rough. Solid stone, crusted with more of that black substance.

For a few seconds Ceria just lay on the ground, trying not to react to the countless horrors around her. She breathed in slowly, trying to keep calm. The air felt dead and there was a horrible smell.

They were in the pit. Trapped. The half-Elf slowly got to her feet, holding her head. It was aching horribly, and she still felt disoriented. But more memory was coming back to her. Yes, they were trapped. There had been the spell and then—

Sound. Over to her left. Ceria spun, reaching for a dagger which again, she didn’t have. Her robes swirled about her as she spotted something that wasn’t bone or filth in a corner of the circular pit.

A…shape. A body. Ceria squinted and the orb of light at her side grew brighter. Then she saw who was sitting next to a pile of bones.

Ksmvr. The Antinium was moving. Ceria stumbled closer, head ringing, and saw he was moving. Rocking, rather. And then she heard the whisper, low and desperate. Ceria stopped as she heard what the Antinium was saying, whispering.

“no. nO. yeS. No. yES. NO. yEs, YeS—no—”

He was repeating the words over and over and he rocked back and forth in one corner of the room. The Antinium was bleeding, or he had been. Green ichor had dried around his left side, and it looked like something had smashed his carapace and ripped part of it away. A huge area was just…missing, exposing his vulnerable innards soaked with green blood.

Insanity. Now the rest of the pieces of memory fell into Ceria’s head and she remembered. She’d gone insane. Insane, just like everyone else. There had been the spell and then—

Her shoulder hurt. Ceria glanced down and saw a wound in her shoulder. It looked like someone had stabbed her with a dagger. Maybe she’d done it to herself. Ceria didn’t know.

“Ksmvr?”

The word was horrible in her mouth. Ceria nearly retched again as she tasted the foulness in her mouth. But the Antinium didn’t respond. Ceria raised her voice.

“Ksmvr. Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Again, nothing. Ceria looked away. Ksmvr was lost, and so was Yvlon and Pisces, wherever they were. She had to get out of this pit, figure out a way to undo the spell.

The spell. Ceria looked around wildly and her headache grew worse. That was right. She had to disable the spell! Had she thought that before? No? Yes?

The mark of [Insanity] was on one of the walls. It was the other half of the light in the room, that faint, ghostly glow. Ceria caught sight of it as she looked around wildly. There. It was on one of the far walls, high up in the pit. She looked away the instant she spotted it, but too late.

Her headache grew worse. Suddenly, Ceria realized what was happening. Her innate half-Elven nature had helped her fight off the enchantment, but it was still active. And it was trying—

Trying to make her crazy again. Ceria lurched towards the sign and looked up again. It was high on the wall, too high to climb to. She caught a glimpse of the runes again and closed her eyes, but too late. The magic washed over her mind, trying to control her.

“Can’t. I need—”

Against her will, Ceria’s eyes opened. She twisted her head to stare at one of the filthy black walls, but now she knew the symbol was there. And she wanted to look. Had to look. She had to. It was the only thing that made sense.

The symbol flashed in her brain, and Ceria turned her head to look back at it. She couldn’t help herself. The magic runes bored into her retinas, overwhelming her senses. Ceria grinned, bit through her lower lip—

And went insane again.

----

He knew he was insane. It was the one conscious, deliberate thought in his head. Ksmvr rocked back and forth as he stared into the darkness of the pit. His trap. His hell.

The magic spell flashed in the peripherals of his vision. No matter how Ksmvr tried to look away, he couldn’t. The magic was too pervasive, and he was too weak.

He was insane. Ksmvr had to remember that. It was the only knowledge he could cling to. That, and his own nature.

He was Antinium, and so despite being insane, there was still a part of Ksmvr that could think, could try to act. The Antinium had no spell casters, or at least, none that Ksmvr knew of. But they were familiar with the dangers of enchantments and illusions, so safeguards had been built into their very natures when each Antinium was created.

One of those protections was an innate resistance to mental trickery. The Antinium had their own way of fighting off hostile enchantments. So it was that while Ksmvr was functionally insane, part of him was fighting back, trying to seize control of his body. It was an effective bit of mental conditioning that made the Antinium so effective in battle. It didn’t work in regards to Aberrations of course—

That was different. But Ksmvr could still think, as mired in the [Insanity] spell as he was. So he noted Ceria’s actions. The half-Elf had been stumbling towards the pulsing runes, but now she turned back and lay on the ground, laughing and choking on the blood gushing from her lip.

This was the third time the half-Elf had awoken and gone insane. Ksmvr had counted that. He had logged each occurrence in his mind. At first he’d thought it was just chance, but now he was sure. She could break the enchantment. She could, but within moments she would relapse.

Because of the symbol. It pulsed, and Ksmvr felt his mind being pulled to pieces again. He shuddered and tried to concentrate. He had to act.

But the insane bit of him didn’t want to. So Ksmvr was fighting.

“No. Yes. nO. Yes. on. Yes.”

He was weak. Ksmvr fought to stand up as the insecurities of his mind preyed on him with the effects of the spell. He wasn’t worthy of being a Prognugator. They’d been right to take that away from him.

Klbkch was superior to him in every way. His Queen was right to exile him. He was useless. He hadn’t contributed anything to the team. They’d only accepted him out of pity. If Klbkch was here, he wouldn’t have gone insane.

The knowledge haunted Ksmvr. He was pathetic. And yet, he still tried to stand up. He had to do something. He was the only one who could. There was no Klbkch to give him orders, no Queen to do the same. He had to do it himself.

One leg. Ksmvr twitched and shook horribly, trying to make his rusty limbs move. He’d done it once before. He’d taken Ceria’s pants and her belt. Hadn’t that been harder than anything he’d ever done before? But he’d done it. Now he had to stand up again.

Ceria’s magical ball of light illuminated a trembling form as, in the corner of the pit illuminated by the light, Ksmvr stood up. He shook, and then lurched towards Ceria, holding something in one of his hands. He tripped over bones, crawled—desperate to get to her in time.

The half-Elf was still lying on the ground, grinning upwards. She was spitting out blood into the air and trying to make it land on her face. Ksmvr ignored that and seized her head. Ceria made no move as he lifted her upwards.

Slowly, he tied the strip of fabric he’d cut from Ceria’s pants around her eyes, tying the knot securely to fasten the blindfold. Ksmvr’s hands shook as he finished the knot. He slowly backed away from Ceria and felt the madness overwhelming his conditioning again.

The part of Ksmvr that could still think steered his body away from Ceria. He walked back over to his corner and sat down. Then Ksmvr gave up and let the madness sweep over him again. His mouth began to chant, the distorted words echoing around him.

“Yes. yES, YeS, YES, yEs, Yes, yeS…”

His fingers scrabbled at the exposed chitin on his side. Ksmvr slowly, painfully, pulled part of his exoskeleton off, feeling it break as he ripped it from his side. He put the chip of black armor up to his mouth, and his mandibles opened. Ksmvr crunched the bit of himself down as he rocked back and forwards again. He slowly reached down and did it again. And again. And again—

----

Ceria remembered falling in love when she was twenty three. Trying to sneak off with the young half-Elf boy in her village—being caught. She had a dream where she ate her great grandmother and buried what was left beneath a blooming cocoon where something lived and tried to burst out.

Then she woke up. Again. This time, Ceria sat up and felt the pain of her lip first. She touched at it, nearly screaming at the pain. Then she realized she couldn’t see a thing.

She cast [Light] several times before she realized there was a blindfold on her head. Ceria reached for it. Her fingers scrabbled on the cloth, but they were too weak to undo the sturdy knot Ksmvr had tied. And before she could rip it off her face, Ceria’s memories came back.

The spell! The ward! It had made her crazy again. Again! Ceria remembered coming back into consciousness several times before that, but each time the symbol had—

The blindfold on her face. Ceria felt at it and realized something had happened. She wasn’t sure what, but this was the only thing keeping her from looking at the symbol and going insane. Her head still hurt, but it was bearable this time.

And now Ceria Springwalker knew exactly what she had to do. She had to destroy that damn symbol, or at least cover it somehow.

And she had to do it without seeing. For a few minutes, Ceria just sat on the ground, trying not to scream as all of these thoughts came crashing down. She fumbled at her broken lip and found the hole, touched the wound on her shoulder and realized she was half-naked again. At least she hadn’t taken off her underwear in her craze.

Not that it would have mattered. Ceria didn’t know where the other three Horns of Hammerad were. She knew Ksmvr was close by, but he’d been unresponsive last she checked.

“Okay, focus Ceria.”

She muttered to herself and spat out some blood as she tried to concentrate. The first thing Ceria did was conjure a stream of water out of the air. She washed out her mouth and spat several times until the worst of the blood and vomit was gone. She was terribly thirsty, but she knew better than to drink the magical water she’d created. It would just mess with her body and dissipate soon enough.

“Should’ve learned [Create Water].”

Ceria muttered to herself as she stood up and tried to find her way to one of the walls. It was horrible being blind. She kept running into piles of bones and things she wasn’t sure of, which was far worse. But Ceria moved forwards, climbing over bones, slipping, falling, getting back up until at last her fingers touched something hard and rough and flat.

The wall. It was coated with that same black, flaking substance she’d felt on the floor earlier. Ceria pulled her hands back in revulsion, but now she knew where she was. She remembered the symbol had been high up, but she didn’t know where.

How was she going to do this? The only thing Ceria could think was that she had to take off her blindfold and cast a spell as fast as she could, but even that felt like a mistake. At the very least, she could follow the wall. It wasn’t as if Ceria’s blindfold was perfect; she could still sense some light. And if she dispelled her [Light] spell and followed the source of that faint light…

Ceria stumbled around the perimeter of the dark pit, feeling her way ahead and kicking bones and other things out of the way as she held one hand to the wall. She was in a massive pit, at least forty feet across by her count. It was clearly meant to capture hundreds of people, and from the bones Ceria kept running into, it might have already served its purpose countless times.

The light, the piercing light that made her want to tear off her blindfold kept getting brighter and brighter. In the darkness, it was Ceria’s only guide. She stopped where she thought the light was the brightest—she couldn’t look in any direction without it growing dimmer.

“Here?”

Ceria raised her skeletal hand upwards, trying to figure out where to aim. She remembered…the symbol was about ten feet off the floor? Higher? Maybe a bit.

What spell should she use? Ceria was under no illusions. Anyone who could cast a spell like [Insanity] and anchor it here was probably a far better mage than she was, and they would have protected the runes with wards that her best spells—[Ice Spike] or [Fireball]—would fail to overcome. What should she do then?

Ceria remembered the black gunk that she’d touched on all the walls and the floor. It was everywhere. Maybe that was the answer.

“Cover it.”

Yes, if she covered the spell, it would lose a lot of its power. Ceria didn’t know any spells that could create smoke or fog, but she could always improvise. It wasn’t easy to make new spells, but altering existing ones…

First, Ceria made water appear out of the air. She held it in place, and then materialized earth, as if she was going to use the [Stone Dart] spell. Earth and water. She mixed the two together, and felt thick mud trickling between her fingers. She smiled, winced, as the pain in her lip flared, and lifted the ball of mud up.

It wasn’t even a spell, really. It was just using the basic theories of magic to create…well, an inefficient mess. If she’d known the spell—[Mud Ball] perhaps—she would have been able to use it far more effectively and with less mana.

But this would do. Ceria held the sloppy mess between her hands as she tried to figure out where to throw it. The spell would last for a while if she put enough mana into it, enough time to cover the damn rune. But where was it—

“What are you doing, boy? Shirking your duties again?”

The harsh voice in her ear made Ceria shout in surprise and jump away. But a cold hand caught her in a steely grip, and a sharp sensation from her side made Ceria freeze in terror. A familiar voice whispered in her ear.

“Trying to hide in the library? Not on my watch.”

“Pisces?”

It was his voice, but not him. Pisces would never have thrown Ceria backwards as the man did now, and he would never have threatened her with a weapon. The young man Ceria had known had always hated physical violence, regardless of how he had changed in every other respect.

This person was not the same. He held her in place, driving the sharp object into Ceria’s side, cutting into her flesh. What was it? A knife?

No—jagged edges. Bone. Ceria shuddered as Pisces’ voice grated in her ears.

“I’ve told you once; you get up and you do the practice every day, before dawn! Anything less and I’ll have your hide.”

Ceria held her breath. She knew Pisces was as deadly with a rapier as he was with spells. In his hands, the jagged length of bone might well kill her before she could take him out with a spell. Carefully, she tried her most soothing voice possible.

“Pisces, it’s me. Ceria—”

“What? What? You don’t get to call me names, boy. My name is ‘sir’ until you can prove you can handle a blade!”

The shard of bone dug deeper in Ceria’s side. She gasped—she could feel it piercing her skin.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Better! Now, why aren’t you in the training grounds?”

The pressure eased on her. Slightly. Ceria’s hands were clenched. She had no idea what to say to him. What could she say to a madman who thought he was his father?

“I—can’t see.”

“What? Stop talking nonsense!”

“No—look!”

Ceria pointed to her blindfold. Pisces must have been able to see in the dim light, because he paused. His voice sounded approving.

“Blindfold, eh? Good lad. Helps with your reflexes. Now, dodge this—”

She only had a moment’s warning before the sharp feeling in her side vanished. Ceria felt air moving and ducked. But the blow Pisces gave her was a kick to the stomach. The half-Elf dropped to her hands and knees and retched. Above her, Pisces laughed nastily.

“You’ve got to move faster than that if you want to become a true [Fencer], brat.”

The pain was nauseating, but at least she didn’t throw up; there was nothing left. Ceria gritted her teeth as she stood up. The mud was still in her good hand. If she threw it—

“Pis—sir, I need to get rid of that rune up there. Could you help me with that?”

“Rune? What rune? Stop talking rot, boy! There will be no magic in my household. If you’ve been making sparks—”

“No, that rune! There!”

“That? That’s just the moon. What, is it too bright for your eyes? Take off your blindfold and let’s begin already!”

Ceria let out a despairing groan. It was no good. Pisces was trapped in his imaginary world. She had to do something. But what?

“I’m waiting, boy. Don’t make me impatient!”

Ceria hesitated. She clenched her fist, and then heard another voice, growing closer. This one was dignified, and each syllable was carefully enunciated with a delicate inflection in the woman’s voice.

“What is this commotion all about? Do you people not know what time it is?”

It was Yvlon’s voice, raised to sound more high-pitched. Ceria groaned. Perfect. Another insane person was all she needed. Her first thought was that Yvlon might be persuaded to help even in her delirium, but then she remembered how most Humans treated half-Elves. And a second thought on the heels of the first: she had a sword. Ceria grew very still with fear, but Pisces raised his voice as he apparently turned towards Yvlon.

“Well there you are, boy! Ready for morning practice at last, or do I have to burn all those damn books of yours to get you to pay attention?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Yvlon’s outraged voice gave Ceria hope. Pisces was snapping at her as if she was…Ceria? He wasn’t differentiating between Yvlon and Ceria at all. They were all the same to him. They were all ‘boy’, which was to say…Pisces. Ceria knew who the man she heard in Pisces’ voice had to be.

His father.

And he was trying to train Pisces. But Yvlon wasn’t cooperating. She gasped with indignation, and then, all of a sudden, her voice changed, grew deeper.

“I am Ylawes Byres, [Swordsman] and heir to the Byres name. Who are you to challenge me with weapon in hand, stranger?”

“Y—what? Are you pretending to be a nobleman? I’ll knock that arrogance right out of you.”

“You would do well to lower your weapon. I am armed—”

“I’ll take you on, old man!”

Ceria shouted the words and ducked away from the two, heart racing as she stumbled in another direction. She heard a grunt of surprise, but then a harsh laugh from Pisces.

“Challenging your old man at last? Fine then, I’ll draw your blood as a lesson!”

She heard footsteps, but not towards her. Yvlon’s outraged voice echoed off one of the walls as Ceria crept away.

“You dare to bare your blade against me? I’ll have your head for that!”

This time Ceria heard ringing metal as Yvlon unsheathed her own blade. She heard another laugh, and then a grunt as she heard the thunk of something striking metal. Yvlon cried out in outrage as Ceria looked around wildly.

Her two teammates were about to kill each other. Pisces was a skilled fighter, but Yvlon was in armor. Either way, one of them would die unless Ceria hurried.

Where was the magic symbol? Ceria looked up and saw a glow around the edges of her blindfold. She raised the mud and threw it as hard as she could. She heard a splatter, but the light didn’t dim.

“Damn it. Where—”

More mud. Ceria slopped it into her hands and threw it again, but she sensed the mud splattered in the air rather than staying in a ball. She cursed again and tried to mush the mud together. She threw wildly, but nothing changed.

“There? There!?”

It wasn’t working, and Ceria could heard Yvlon cursing as she struck the ground and Pisces taunted her. Ceria raised her arm, and then heard a voice.

“Not there.”

She jerked, but it was Ksmvr. He was calling out to her across the room.

“To the left and down slightly.”

Ceria didn’t hesitate. She adjusted her aim and threw.

“You missed. A bit higher and more left.”

Desperately, Ceria poured earth into her hands and added water. She molded a sopping mudball and took aim. She heard Yvlon cry out in pain and aimed desperately. She threw into the darkness.

“Ah—”

The light went out. Instantly, Ceria tore the blindfold away from her head. The world was absolute darkness.

“[Light]!”

This time, the flare of light was a dark green, and it didn’t burn her eyes. Ceria looked around wildly, and saw two struggling shapes fighting over a sword.

The magic had ceased, at least for now, but the others were still insane. Ceria ran towards both of them and cried out as she raised her right hand.

“Stop! [Stone Fist]!”

Yvlon turned and raised her arm for only a second before the stone hand smashed into her chest. She fell backwards and Ceria turned and knocked Pisces backwards with a backhanded swipe. He stumbled back, staring at the gauntlet made of rock that covered Ceria’s good hand.

“Magic? You dare? I’ll make you suffer for this!”

His eyes were wild and he had Yvlon’s sword. Ceria raised her skeletal hand warningly.

“Don’t make me do this, Pisces.”

“I told you, I’m not—”

“Ceria!”

Ksmvr appeared in a shower of bones. Pisces leapt back as a few flew towards him, and then narrowed his eyes at the Antinium. He said not a word, but charged with a wild cry. But Ceria was faster.

“[Ice Shard].”

The frozen icicle that shot from her finger flew as straight as an arrow, but the difference in this one was that the head was blunt, rather than sharp. It struck Pisces squarely in the forehead as he leapt at her, and he staggered. Ksmvr shoulder-charged him to the ground and struck him with one hand. Pisces sagged, and he went limp.

“Dead gods.”

Ceria took one deep breath and then another. Ksmvr lowered Pisces to the ground as Ceria sat down hard—on a piece of bone. She yelped and tossed the yellowed thing across the room.

“Ceria Springwalker, are you well?”

“Me? I’m—fine.”

She could taste blood and her lower lip had a hole in it. Her right shoulder still burned and Pisces had drawn blood with that damn bone. She was not fine, but other things were more important.

“Where’s Yvlon?”

“Over there.”

Ksmvr pointed and Ceria saw Yvlon standing and staring blankly ahead. The woman’s blonde hair was matted with blood, and she had a deep cut down one cheek where Pisces must have struck her. But she didn’t appear to notice any of that. She looked over haughtily as Ceria and Ksmvr approached.

“Yvlon?”

“I am Yelen Byres—”

“Rot, she’s still under the spell.”

Ceria sighed. Ksmvr looked uncertainly at Yvlon.

“Should we knock her out?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No. I don’t think that’s wise. Let’s just tie her hands and legs up so she can’t hurt us if her personality changes again.”

“That is wise.”

Ksmvr approached Yvlon. The armored woman backed away, raising her voice in outrage.

“I’m sure I’ve never been so offended—unhand me, you—!”

She clawed at Ksmvr, but her two hands were no match for his three. In a few minutes he had her trussed up and lying in a clear part of the pit. Yvlon shouted angrily at them until Ceria stuffed her blindfold into the woman’s mouth. Yvlon spat it out and she began gnawing at the ropes like an animal. It wasn’t ideal, but at least it kept her occupied.

That done, Ceria had to take a few seconds just to breathe. While she was doing that, she finally took a good look around the pit she’d found herself in. The dark room was lit by her green light and it made the lurid piles of remains all the more disturbing.

Swords, bones, rotted fabric. The pit was a huge tomb of bodies, corpses and yellowed bones, all that remained of countless adventurers who’d been trapped here. Time had eaten away almost all the details of these fallen people, but Ceria could still see some clues as to how they’d died. A skull split by the worn shaft of an axe, a skeleton cut in two here, and one whose bones looked scorched—

“What a nightmare.”

Ceria shuddered as Ksmvr came to stand next to her. She looked at the Antinium and saw that he was holding his injured side, where a good section of his chitin had been picked away.

“Are you okay, Ksmvr?”

He nodded.

“I am only moderately inconvenienced, Captain. As soon as you covered the magical symbol I regained use of my mind.”

“Good. That’s…good.”

Ceria breathed in and out a few more times. She could still remember being insane, remember the sensation of losing all the structure in her head. She looked at Ksmvr, and then remembered she was still half-naked.

“Where are my pants? And my belt—did you see them, Ksmvr?”

He nodded.

“I removed them to construct your blindfold. My apologies. They are over here.”

The Antinium retrieved Ceria’s possessions and she put her pants back on with a sigh of relief. The Antinium had cut a large strip out from one of the legs, but some clothing was better than none. She sat on the ground and began attaching her belt.

More importantly, with Ceria’s belt came her water flask and the healing potion she’d brought. She greedily drank water from her flask while she offered the healing potion to Ksmvr. He applied half to his torn-up side and handed it back to Ceria. She hesitated, and then drank the potion rather than apply it to each of her wounds.

“Gah! That’s foul.”

Ceria tossed the empty bottle to one side and winced as it smashed. Ksmvr hesitated, and then sat next to her.

“That was a most dangerous trap we were caught in.”

“You think?”

“I do.”

The half-Elf shook her head.

“We nearly died. If it hadn’t been for my heritage and luck—how long were we under the spell?”

“I cannot say.”

Beside her, Ksmvr shifted to look at Ceria. His normally impassive voice changed slightly, grew a bit uncertain.

“Do you believe that spell will affect Pisces and Yvlon for much longer?”

“I don’t know.”

Ceria rubbed at her face.

“Maybe? It might wear off soon, but you never know. At least it wasn’t real insanity that hit us, just the spell.”

“Oh?”

Ksmvr looked at her. Ceria nodded tiredly, feeling the healing potion getting to work on the rest of her body.

“It’s just the magical effect. Real insanity—you’d have to be a better mage to really create madness in people. This is just…an approximation. The spell reaches into your head and messes up your world. It’s close, but not the same.”

“I see. That would explain my experience.”

The Antinium nodded a few times as he sat next to Ceria. He hesitated, and then cleared his throat awkwardly.

“If the spell had created true insanity in me, I would have become Aberration at once. And then I would have killed all three of you within seconds.”

Ceria just looked at him. How was she supposed to respond to that? But maybe that was Ksmvr’s way of saying he was glad things had worked out. She thought for a second, and then looked at the place where he’d sliced her pants apart.

“Ksmvr? You said you made the blindfold for me?”

He nodded. Cautiously.

“Yes. I was…unable to do more. I regret my failure to act, but—”

“Good job.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

----

Ceria and Ksmvr sat in silence for over twenty minutes before Pisces woke up. He came to with a shout of surprise, which turned into a groan.

“My head…”

He didn’t appear to be insane, but Ceria and Ksmvr were ready for anything as he staggered upright. Pisces took one look around at them, at the bones, and the foul pit they were in, and then he asked if they had anything to eat. That reassured them he was back to normal.

Ceria had a thing about bones, in that she didn’t like seeing them, especially if they were her bones. Add that to the general unsanitary nature of the pit, with the black foreign substance crusting every part of the room, and she was feeling quite unhappy with their current predicament. But Pisces seemed to regard the dead bodies as mere furnishings, and he happily crammed some dried meat into his mouth.

“So you and Ksmvr eliminated the spell? Most efficacious. Allow me to congratulate the both of you. I was completely subsumed by the enchantment. What was my reaction to the [Insanity] spell, incidentally?”

“You thought you were your father.”

Pisces paused mid-chew.

“Ah.”

“And you tried to run both me and Yvlon through.”

“I apologize for that. I am relieved I was so ineffectual.”

He chewed the rest of his bite slowly, and swallowed, no longer looking quite as pleased. Pisces glanced over to Yvlon. She was still drooling on the bindings on her wrist, looking more than a little rabid.

“…Perhaps we should leave before your mud wears off. I would not like to repeat such a harrowing experience.”

Ceria nodded. That was her first thought too, but…

“How the hell are we going to get out?”

The pit was dark, and as far as she could see, the walls extended upwards at least thirty feet. If there was a ceiling, it wasn’t within her [Light] spell’s cone of illumination.

Pisces looked up. He frowned and conjured a ball of light himself and threw it upwards.

“Let’s find out.”

His orb glowed with pure white light. Ksmvr and Ceria both saw it fly upwards, and then break—splash, really, the light becoming fading motes—across a dirt ceiling. Ceria groaned and Pisces made a similar noise of displeasure.

“We’re trapped.”

Pisces nodded, looking unhappy.

“Who knows how deep we are? We could dig up for years and not reach the surface.”

“Not necessarily.”

Both mages looked at Ksmvr. The Antinium nodded as he stared upwards.

“There must be an entrance higher up. Companion Pisces, if you recast your spell, I believe we may be able to identify an opening.”

“What makes you assume that, Ksmvr?”

Ceria looked curiously at the Antinium. He looked back at her without a shred of doubt as he replied.

“If this room were truly a sealed chamber, we and those who have preceded us would have quickly used up the supply of air within the room. The fact that we did not suffocate instantly indicates an air source of some kind.”

“Oh.”

Pisces looked at Ceria and then both mages threw orbs of [Light] upwards again. After a minute of studying the ceiling, Ksmvr exclaimed and pointed.

“There.”

Pisces squinted upwards, frowning.

“Are you certain? I cannot see anything.”

“My eyes are used to the dark. There is an opening there. If we dig, we will most likely find some sort of passageway.”

“So now we just have to get to it. Any ideas?”

Ceria eyed the smooth walls doubtfully. Aside from the black coating, the stone looked unblemished. Pisces just smirked as he stroked his chin.

“This issue should be easily surmounted. Allow me to rectify my earlier deficiency.”

He clicked his fingers, and Ceria felt the room move. Not the ground or the walls, but everything else in it. The bones of the countless dead began to shift.

“Pisces?”

He just smiled as yellowed bones began flying into the air and upwards. Ksmvr stared at the shifting bones without comment, but on the ground Yvlon stopped biting at her robes and screamed.

“Necromancer! Kill him at once!”

“Oh hush.”

Pisces frowned and pointed at Yvlon. Two piles of bones stood up and became skeletons. They walked over to hold her down as she wriggled and tried to break free of her bindings.

“No! Don’t touch me! Stop!”

She wailed—Ceria had never heard Yvlon make any sound like that before—as the skeletons held her in place. Yvlon thrashed wildly, but she was unable to break free. The real Yvlon might have mustered the strength, but Yelen Byres, whoever she was, was a weak noblewoman who couldn’t do a thing.

And meanwhile, the other bones were floating in the air, rearranging themselves. They weren’t forming a creature—instead, Ceria saw with horrified fascination, they were forming a staircase. Small bones and big ones ordered themselves into smooth ledges, and, step-by-step, an ivory staircase built itself upwards, leading to the spot Ksmvr had indicated.

Pisces wiped some sweat off his forehead and exhaled a few times as the last bone flew into the horrific set of steps. He smiled cheerfully at Ceria and Ksmvr, both of whom were giving him the fisheye.

“There. We have a way up, and the means to dig as well.”

“I guess?”

Ceria looked uneasily at the staircase. She did not like Necromancy, but neither was she stupid enough to turn down a good solution. Ksmvr just stared at the bones and nodded.

“Efficient.”

Only Yvlon was upset. She screamed at the skeletons as they lifted her up, staggering under the weight of her armor. Pisces frowned—he waved his hand and several more skeletons stood up out of the collection of bones still littering the floor.

“It appears that this trap, however temporarily detrimental to our health, has one unexpected benefit. I can conjure as many skeletons as I need to from this supply.”

“And you won’t run out of mana? I know you’ve got to be tired, and we don’t exactly have any mana potions to spare.”

Ceria looked doubtfully at Pisces. He hesitated.

“I have used quite a bit. But it seems wiser to expend my resources in creating more undead to aid us, especially given our weakened states.”

“True. Okay, summon as many as you can.”

“These five will do for now. I shall begin digging upwards, unless Ksmvr thinks it will cause a collapse?”

Ksmvr studied the dirt roof and shook his head.

“It should be fine.”

“Very well then.”

Pisces pointed upwards, at the small dark crevice in the ceiling. Two skeletons ran up the staircase and began digging energetically at the spot, showering dirt into the pit below. They were holding rusted blades and pieces of metal—the remains of some of the adventurer’s gear.

“It should take them just a little while to clear the obstruction!”

Pisces shouted down cheerily as he walked up to supervise his skeletons. Ceria shook her head as she found a place to sit on the now-cleared floor of the pit. She wasn’t going up that staircase more than once; solid it may be, but Pisces had opted not to build guardrails, and the bones hovered in the air without any solid supports. It was an amazing piece of magic, but it still made her queasy to imagine climbing it.

She’d have to in the end, but that was later. To take her mind off of that, Ceria looked around. Now that the ground was clear, she saw something that had been buried under a pile of bones. Cautiously, Ceria walked over to it. It was dark and bulky, and at first she thought it was a part of an adventurer that had yet to rot. But this wasn’t meat. Instead, Ceria found dark, rough fabric. She cast another [Light] spell and saw what it was clearly.

It was an adventurer’s pack, still neatly secured to the skeleton of its owner. Ceria hesitated, and then shifted the bones aside and lifted the bag. It was quite heavy.

“Ksmvr, here’s something else. Can you take it?”

The Antinium walked over and hoisted the pack easily. Ceria nodded to him, and then heard a shout from above.

“I see light! We’re right below the tunnel we uncovered!”

Both adventurers below sighed in relief. Pisces grinned at them from above, and then shouted.

“Watch out!”

They saw a skeleton falling from above, brought down by a cascade of dirt. Pisces blew away the dirt around him with a barrier of air and Ceria and Ksmvr covered Yvlon, shielding their heads as the skeleton struck the floor of the pit and shattered.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine!”

Ksmvr shouted up as Ceria looked around. The flailing skeleton hadn’t done any damage to the staircase, but her blood ran cold when she saw something glinting on the side of the pit.

“Dead gods! Watch the sides!”

Pisces looked down and swore. The flailing skeleton had, in its fall, struck the black, encrusted wall of the pit. In doing so, he’d knocked some of the unnamed substance free, and glowing behind the covering was the unmistakable symbol of the [Insanity] spell.

Both Ceria and Pisces reacted with the speed of panic. She threw mud and he blew a cloud of dust in front of the spell before it could work on them. The partially visible runes disappeared as Ceria hurled more mud to cover it and stopped, panting heavily.

“That was quite dangerous.”

“You think?”

Ceria wiped cold sweat from her forehead as she stared at the spot. She looked around the pit and shuddered as she suddenly realized the true nature of the trap.

“Runes underneath…? All the walls must be covered in the [Insanity] spell.”

Ksmvr looked around.

“Truly? That would be a most dangerous effect. It is fortunate that previous adventurers managed to coat the walls.”

“You’re telling me. If we’d been exposed to the spell from all sides, we wouldn’t have had a chance.”

Ceria wondered what the black substance was. She looked down at a flake of it on the ground. It was almost like tar—although spread quite thin. It couldn’t be magic; even the best spells faded after time. An [Alchemist]’s concoction of some kind? Whoever it was, Ceria gave her quiet thanks to them for doing what they had.

“I see light! The tunnel’s wide enough! I’m going up!”

Pisces shouted down to Ksmvr and Ceria after a few more minutes of dirt falling. She raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“Be careful!”

Pisces disappeared above. After a few seconds, he poked his head down.

“Come on up! Ascend carefully—my skeletons will help you!”

Ceria and Ksmvr didn’t need the help of the skeletons to walk upwards, although they did move quite slowly and deliberately to avoid slipping. But Yvlon had to be dragged up by three skeletons, all of them holding her as tightly as possible as she cursed and struggled, oblivious to the drop.

It was a small tunnel that Pisces’ skeletons had dug upwards. They’d followed the already-existing passageway and broken into the very same tunnel where Ceria and the other Horns of Hammerad had been walking earlier. Pisces pulled Ceria out of the pit, coughing as she shook herself to get most of the dirt off. Ksmvr easily clambered out of the ground and helped the skeletons pull Yvlon up. She was still screaming curses at Pisces.

“Foul [Necromancer]! My father will have your head for your sorcery, do you hear me? If it’s a ransom you want, he’ll pay it. Only do not touch a hair on my head! The Byres family will not tolerate any—”

“I am concerned about comrade Yvlon’s mental state, Captain.”

Ksmvr calmly held a hand over Yvlon’s mouth. She shouted into his hand as he addressed Ceria.

“She has not awoken from the effects of the spell. Should we knock her out to aid in that process?”

Ceria shook her head as she looked around.

“She’s not a [Mage] like Pisces or me, and she doesn’t have…whatever you have, Ksmvr. The spell will take longer to wear off, but I’m sure it will in time.”

“I see. Then, what should we do? Press on or wait?”

“Can we just—wait a second?”

Ceria panted as she sat down on the smooth, wonderfully solid stone floor. Pisces sat down as well, and after a pause, so did Ksmvr.

“We’re alive. We were in the worst of traps but—we’re alive.”

Pisces and Ksmvr nodded. Yvlon drooled on the ground around Ksmvr’s hand. Ceria sighed. She lay back on the ground, stretching out. She wanted to shake and cry and laugh and vomit. They’d made it. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten out of a hairy situation but this—

This had been one of the worst. And they’d done it as a team. No one had died. For a few minutes, ten, really, she just lay there. Then Pisces coughed.

“As unpleasant as that last obstacle was, it occurs to me that we must have been underground for a long time. Hours, perhaps.”

“Days?”

“Maybe. I cannot be certain. But it is clear that we have two options as of now. We can either retreat and regroup with the knowledge of these advanced deterrents, or…we can advance.”

He pointed. Ceria looked, and saw the door. The damn door. They’d come out in the last part of the passageway, almost directly in front of the door that had sent them into the trap in the first place.

“You’re telling me that thing just teleported us down?”

“It’s the most efficient use of mana. It only makes sense.”

Ksmvr nodded.

“It is a formidable obstacle, but now that we have uncovered the danger, is it worth moving forwards? We are nearly out of food, and we all require rest.”

“What do you think, Ceria?”

The half-Elf looked up at Pisces. He looked down at her, quite innocently. But there was a gleam in his eyes. He knew what she was about to say. She sat up and stared at the plain wooden door. Then she looked at the other mage.

“Pisces?”

“Yes, oh Captain of mine?”

“Get your skeletons to grab whatever weapons they can and break down that damn door.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

----

An hour later, the door fell in. It wasn’t because the wood had been shattered by the constant hammering on it, or that the four adventurers had cast any particular spell to break it. No, the reason the door broke was simple: the skeletons had chipped away at the stone around the hinges set in the wall until the masonry cracked, and the door obeyed the forces of gravity.

The four skeletons that had done all of the work stepped back, rusted blades in hand as three adventurers peeked into the opening, coughing as the small dust cloud that had been raised temporarily obscured all vision.

Pisces, Ceria, and Ksmvr stood behind the wall of skeletons, ready for anything. They were exhausted, hurt, and hungry, but all were sure this was the final barrier, and they were determined to be here. And they were all alive. The only incapacitated member of their team they’d left a few feet away, wrapped up in a blanket.

Yvlon lay on the ground, shuddering. She was safe, but not up to any further exploring for the moment. She was still gibbering a bit, but she had stopped assuming different personalities and better, she had regained bowel control. It had deserted her in a rather unfortunate way as she slowly came out of the effects of the [Insanity] spell.

Now the three adventurers tensed, waiting for the cloud to clear. They expected another trap, or maybe an antechamber, the beginning of another part of the hallway, but then the dust cleared and they saw the light.

It wasn’t sunlight, or artificial light, but rather, the golden glow as the light from outside touched something in the room and made it shimmer. Ceria lowered her skeletal hand and breathed out. Slowly.

“Oh dead gods.”

The fallen door had revealed only a small chamber at the end of all these deadly traps. It was a small room. Yes, a small room, but one filled with one thing. The thing all adventurers dreamed of.

Treasure.

Pisces and Ceria gaped in wonder, their eyes nearly popping out of their heads. Peeking around one of the motionless skeletons, Ksmvr nodded in approval.

“I see quite a number of swords. This is considered good, correct?”

In truth, the room couldn’t have been more than twenty feet across, and it was certainly narrower than it was long. It was the storage closet of treasure vaults, but the quality set it apart. Ceria and Pisces could see it in the glimmering aura that manifested itself the instant they laid eyes on the treasure.

“Look at it!”

Ceria half-screamed as she pointed. The room was small, but it had a rack of weapons that first caught the eye. Glimmering weapons and metal that didn’t look like any ore Ceria had ever seen before hung in the form of swords, daggers, even a battleaxe.

On the other wall a bookshelf full of clearly magical tomes stood, a treasure in itself. A mage’s library. But that wasn’t all. Glittering gold coins and gems occupied the back of the treasure room glowing and glimmering in the adventurer’s light. But what drew Ceria’s attention was the small desk, the magical tome and small bag sitting next to it, and the staff almost casually propped up against the wall.

Any other eye might have been drawn to the gold, or like Ksmvr to the artifacts in the forms of weaponry. But both mages only had eyes for the staff. They saw what others could not; the magic that emanated from the object like a beacon.

“The staff. I can’t believe it! Can you see the aura, Springwalker? Can you see the power in it?”

“I can! I can! It radiates—just look, Ksmvr!”

“I see swords. Where is the staff?”

It was actually a staff in two parts. Twisted metal—or was it stone?—snaked upwards, dividing, becoming thin tendrils of metal which eventually tapered off into nothing. A foot of space, and then the tendrils reappeared, moving in the opposite direction, reaching the top of the staff which was set with a huge aquamarine gemstone. The two pieces of the staff were perfectly connected, as if there was steel in the place of air.

“It even looks magical. Ancestors, look at it.”

“I have to touch it.”

Pisces breathed the words and Ceria thought the exact same thing. Ksmvr looked doubtfully around the room.

“Should we check for traps first?”

Neither mage heard him. They ran forwards, jostling each other. Ksmvr walked after them, staring around.

“I would like to try one of the swords. Do you think that would be acceptable?”

Pisces and Ceria ignored Ksmvr. They practically fought each other to be the first into the room, both reaching for the staff.

“Intruders.”

The voice was soft, but full of malice. Both Pisces and Ceria froze, hands reaching for the staff. They looked around, and saw something appearing in the center of the room.

Flames licked into being, and then coalesced. Air became fire, and the fire itself knitted together to become a solid thing, a shape, a figure made out of the white-hot flames. A man, or what looked vaguely like a man, stepped out of the air and stared at Pisces, Ceria, and Ksmvr.

“You are trespassing in the personal sanctuary of Warmage Thresk. Identify yourselves or be destroyed.”

“Oh no.”

Ceria breathed the words, her heart tight in her chest. They’d forgotten. In their haste, they’d forgotten the golden rule of adventuring. Never let your guard down at the end. That’s when the worst trap starts.

The fiery creation looked at her, eyes burning blue in its formless face.

“Who are you? Why do you enter this place? Answer, or I will burn you asunder.”

Something was burning in the center of its chest. A jewel? Ceria squinted at it as Pisces stammered a reply.

“We are ah, Wistram mages, here to consult with Warmage Thresk on a matter of great importance. We apologize if we are disturbing—”

“Lies.”

The fiery eyes burned. The construct opened a mouth and showed them insides full of red flames that burned against his incendiary white-hot exterior.

“No one may enter this place save for Warmage Thresk or those of his blood. You are thieves. You will be burnt to ash.”

He raised a hand and extended it towards the three. All at once, the heat in the room grew until it was practically an inferno by itself. Ceria shouted at the same time Pisces did. Both mages extended their palms out.

“[Frozen Wind]!”

The spell blew freezing cold air towards the apparition for a moment. Just for a moment, that was all. It barely halted the rising temperature of the room, but it gave the two mages and Ksmvr the moment they needed to dash out of the room before they were cooked in their skins. Ceria gasped as she ran down the corridor; her skin felt burnt from the second they’d been in the room.

“Pisces! Use the skeletons!”

“Right. Defend me!”

He called out to the skeletons as the three adventurers rushed past them. The skeletons charged the fiery being—and immediately turned to ash as they got too close. Ceria didn’t even bother to swear; she just pumped her arms and legs faster.

“[Frozen Wind] had no effect!”

She screamed at Pisces. He shouted back, face pale.

“I know! That thing’s way too powerful! We have to retreat!”

“There is no escape!”

Flames burst out of the ground in front of them. Pisces, Ceria, and Ksmvr skidded to a halt as the fire wall blocked off their exit. This was no ordinary [Fire Wall] spell either; the flames were not just red or orange, but white-hot like the construct, and the stone cracked and melted where the fire touched.

“Dead gods.”

They turned and saw the apparition of flames. It was walking towards them, slowly, nonchalantly, as if it had all the time in the world. Ceria grabbed Pisces’s arm.

“Do you have any spells you can use?”

“Me? You’re the ice specialist! You do something about it!”

Ceria gulped. The hallway was large enough to dodge the flaming being, but he was walking faster now. He was reaching out to them, and a sword of blue flames grew in his hands.

“Ksmvr, Pisces! Distract it!”

“Me?”

“Acknowledged.”

Pisces gaped at her. But Ceria was backing up. Ksmvr ran forwards and slashed at the monster—his sword melted before he got close and he stumbled away, keening in distress. Just the proximity to the fiery being had cracked his carapace with the heat.

“Pisces!”

He gulped but ran towards the fiery being. It swung the sword at him, but Pisces took a step and his form blurred. He dashed around the construct, nimbly avoiding it as it swung twice more.

[Flash Step]. It was one of Pisces’ old spells, and Ceria was relieved to see he hadn’t forgotten how to use it. Pisces danced back, keeping a very large distance away from the fiery being as he let it approach him. He dodged and wove back and forth with nimble steps, careful not to let it corner him in the corridor.

“A spell would greatly be appreciated, Springwalker!”

Ceria didn’t even bother to reply. She was focusing, trying to call upon all the mana she had left for an attack.

Her best spell was [Ice Spike], but if she concentrated, Ceria could fire one shot from all five fingers. She drew mana into her skeletal hand, calling on all her reserves.

The apparition lunged forwards, and Ceria heard Pisces scream. The fiery blade hadn’t touched him, but the creation had moved too close and Pisces had been burned by the heat emanating from the being. He leapt away with the [Flash Step] spell and then collapsed against a wall, moaning. Tendrils of smoke rose from his burnt side and hundreds of blisters appeared like magic on his arms and legs.

“You will be burnt.”

The construct walked forwards, blue eyes burning. Ceria shouted.

“Turn and face me, you damn Golem!”

It turned. There was no fear in the construct’s eyes as it saw Ceria approaching. It raised its sword and lowered itself to charge, but Ceria didn’t give it time to do so. She raised her hand and shouted.

“[Ice Spike]!”

Five wicked shards of ice, each as long as Ceria’s arm burst from her hand, shooting out like ballista bolts at the fiery apparition. The ice flew towards the flaming creature, struck his outer flames, and screamed as the ice evaporated into steam instantly. The fiery construct blinked once, his flames not even dampened by the spell.

“Oh Ancestors.”

Ceria backed away from him. The construct advanced, sword at its side. It had no fear of her, not even wariness.

“You will perish.”

“Not her. Turn and face me first!”

This shout came from the side. Ceria heard what almost sounded like a sigh coming from the fiery thing, and then it turned. Yvlon stood with her shield and sword in hand, facing the apparition fearlessly.

“Face me, thing. I will not run from you.”

Ceria’s heart leapt in her chest, but her mouth opened to shout a warning as she scrambled backwards, away from the fiery being.

“Don’t block its flames! It’ll burn through your armor!”

Yvlon heard the warning as the creation hurled white flames at her. She dropped her shield and rolled. The fire missed her, but from the way Yvlon cried out, Ceria knew she had to have felt the intense heat of the fire.

“There’s no way to block against it!”

“The door.”

Pisces moaned and Ceria saw that he and Ksmvr had pulled themselves into the small room. The construct froze, and then he seemed to grow larger, as if in rage.

“No one may enter the treasury.”

“Then come and stop us if you can!”

Pisces shouted, and the guardian obliged. He hurled more fire, but this time Ksmvr and Yvlon pulled the door up, the door that had proved unbreakable, and blocked the fire. The white flames dissipated as they struck the innocuous wood, and the guardian hissed.

It was distracted, and ignoring Ceria for the moment. But she was caught between a hot place and the wall of flames it had created. She glanced at them as she stared at the guardian. Nowhere to run. But she wasn’t about to abandon her friends.

Think. The construct had to be powered by something. No spell could ever power such a being for long, not without the mage supplying mana. Then where was its power source?

The thing she’d spotted in the chest. Ceria squinted as the construct advanced. Was it—yes there it was! She saw something glowing in the chest. Some sort of mana stone. But how could she strike it?

The construct hurled fire, but Yvlon ducked behind the wooden door she was using like a shield. She darted out, baiting the construct as it swung at her, but dove backwards again. She couldn’t get near enough to strike, not that her sword would have hurt the guardian, but she was occupying it as it advanced. In a few seconds though, they would be cornered.

If only they could bypass the flames—

“Use the door!”

Ceria screamed at the others. The guardian turned its head, but she pointed, heedless of the danger.

“There’s a gem in its chest! Use the door and smash it!”

“Got it!”

The three adventurers backed away from the construct, holding the door as a shield in front of them. It hesitated, aware of the power of the door to mitigate its flames.

“You will not stop—”

All three Horns of Hammerad shouted as they rushed towards the construct, pushing the door forwards like a huge shield. At the last moment, before they got too close and were burnt alive, they let go of the door. Ksmvr kicked it forwards, and the massive wooden section of wood fell slowly towards the flaming guardian.

The fiery being took one look at the falling door—

And dodged. He stepped swiftly to one side, avoiding it. Not swiftly enough; the door crushed his left side and the guardian howled in what sounded like true agony. But he was not dead. Ceria saw the gemstone in his chest, a pulsating emerald stone the size of her fist. But already the flames were swirling around it, growing, rebuilding his body.

“For Byres and honor!”

Yvlon shouted as she charged forwards. Ceria saw Ksmvr and Pisces trying to drag her back, but the armored woman ran at the fiery guardian. It raised its flaming sword, but she cut through it. Her own silvery sword was mere metal, but for a brief second before it evaporated, the metal was still strong. And it struck the gem at the construct’s source.

“Aaah!”

Ceria heard Yvlon’s scream first, right above the crack of the gem breaking.

She howled as her silver armor glowed red. The sword melted as it dropped from her hands and she stumbled away. Her silver armor was melting over her hands, making the young woman scream.

And the construct howled too. It reached for the gem, and then it faltered. The flames in its eyes went out. It tried to step towards Ceria, stumbled. Then it looked up at her and roared.

“If the secret of this place cannot be protected, then everything will be destroyed. And you will perish with it!”

It stood up, and stumbled back into the treasury room. Ceria shouted.

“No!”

But it was too late. The construct fell to the ground, and the white hot flames began to spread. It was engulfing the room! The flames were spreading, reaching outwards into the corridor. The guardian was trying to burn the treasure—and the Horns of Hammerad with it.

“Get away, everyone! We have to run!”

Pisces and Ksmvr ran away from the intense heat, shouting in pain. They grabbed Yvlon, who was still clawing at her smoking arms, and pulled her towards Ceria. She turned to run—

And saw the white-hot flames, still burning, a solid wall blocking their escape. The flames had diminished somewhat, but they were still so hot that Ceria knew touching them would sear her to the bone in seconds.

Pisces and Ksmvr stopped beside her, burnt and smoking. They stared in horror at the flames blocking the entrance, and then at the fire slowly engulfing the treasury room, making its way down the corridor towards them.

“What do we do, Captain? A spell?”

“One of the walls?”

“We can’t tunnel through that!”

“The trap below!”

Pisces shouted, and Ceria looked. Yes, there! The opening in the floor was still visible. She grabbed Yvlon’s legs—the woman couldn’t even move as she still screamed, and all three adventurers ran towards it.

Ceria nearly fell off the bone staircase, but Ksmvr caught her and they rushed down the stairs, already feeling the heat overhead. Ksmvr and Pisces laid Yvlon on the floor and she screamed again, trying to pull her melted armor off. But the metal had fused, and her arms were still smoking. Ceria caught her breath and reached for a potion, but Ksmvr was faster. He poured it over her arms and into her mouth while Pisces poured the last of their water over Yvlon’s arms. Steam rose and she stopped thrashing.

She was alive, for now. Ceria diverted her attention upwards. She could still sense the heat, and she knew the flames were spreading. And that fire—it was magical flames, of a Tier she’d never seen before. It would burn away everything upstairs. The treasure, the swords—everything.

“No, no, no! We were so close! It can’t end like this!”

Ceria shouted in despair, but she knew better than to go up. Ksmvr reached for her, but Ceria knocked his hand away. She hammered the ground as she screamed in desperation.

“It won’t end.”

Pisces’ voice made Ceria look up. The mage was standing, robes burnt, skin blistered, but determined. A fierce look was in his eyes and he raised both arms up, his voice growing deeper.

“Arise! Arise and heed my call! Go into the depths of flame and bring me a ransom of gold and magic! Go now, treasure seekers! Go, fallen comrades!”

The room trembled. Every bone in the room—from the staircases to the bones Pisces had left untouched, began to shift and come together. Skeletons rose up, and began running the instant they were formed, before they were even fully formed. Ceria stared as they dashed up the staircase of bone. Up.

She knew what they had to be doing. The skeletons dashed into the room and snatched up burning objects, heedless of the flames that cracked their very bones. Over half fell before they could return, their bones catching fire and literally disintegrating from the heat.

But some—yes, some made it out of the room, and what they took was scooped up by other bony hands, brought back. Burning skeletons fell down from above and Ceria and Ksmvr shielded their faces as burning bone fragments crashed to the ground around them. More skeletons ran up, and Pisces shouted, his hands pointed up as sweat poured from his brow. He gasped, pointing, as more skeletons emerged, even more burnt than before, falling into the pit.

And then the fire grew more intense, and not a single skeleton returned. Ceria saw the last burst into flames even as he climbed up into the tunnel above, and Pisces collapsed on the ground. Ceria rushed over to him and found the mage breathing hoarsely.

“The heat—”

It was growing hot. So hot. Ceria lay down on the cool stone and saw Ksmvr cradling Yvlon. Her arms—didn’t look right. Melted silver intertwined with flesh, and she was unconscious. Pisces lay on the ground next to the burnt bone. Slowly, Ceria looked around.

Scattered objects. Burnt things, barely recognizable. A cracked sword, blackened by soot. A buckler almost cut in half.

Worthless things. And no staff. Ceria despaired, and felt her eyes stinging. If she had water in her to cry, she might have. But then she saw a skeletal hand, holding something. Ceria crawled over to it, and saw a burnt tome.

A book. Its cover was gone, and half the pages. Ceria brushed aside white ash and saw a page and glowing symbols. She clutched it to her, holding it dearly as the heat grew even worse, and air became a luxury, then a memory.

Slowly, Ksmvr collapsed to the ground, still holding Yvlon. Pisces didn’t move, and the stairway of bone fell to the ground. Ceria didn’t even look up as something struck her back. She couldn’t. She just held the book and breathed in. Out. In. Out. In—

It was so hot.

3.08 H

She woke up quietly, without screaming. Ceria opened her eyes and sat up. She was in pain, but she didn’t cry out. She just took a deep, wavering breath in the silence of the pit and knew she was alive.

Her skin felt burnt. Not just burnt; damaged. The heat from above had cooked her like an egg. But she was still alive, so it was clear that the magical flames from above hadn’t managed to spread to below.

The half-Elf sighed, and felt something move on her chest. She looked down and saw the book. Part of it was white ash that fell away as she lifted it up. But the other half—

“Ah.”

It was magical. The page that lay exposed under the dust shone, the intricate, spider-web writing that made up the magical spells glowing like saffron under her gaze. Ceria breathed lightly and the ash fell away. She looked at the spell and felt the magic reach out to her, whispering. For a second Ceria just looked at the third of the spellbook and believed in magic, believed in legends and dreams and even heroes. Then she put the book down and looked for her friends.

“[Light].”

The shimmering azure orb cast into light the fragments of scorched bone, the black tar-like substance on the walls, and the armored young woman sitting cross-legged in the center of the destruction. Yvlon sat silently, head bowed, staring in quiet contemplation at her arms. Her golden hair shone slightly, but the reflection off the melted silver of her arms shone even brighter. It flowed, like an ocean of metal.

“Yvlon.”

The other woman didn’t look up as Ceria staggered over. She just lifted her arms—with effort.

“It’s fused to my skin, Ceria. I can feel it. I could take off the rest of my armor but this—this isn’t so easy to undo.”

She had indeed taken off the rest of her plate armor. It lay scattered around her, badly deformed, parts melted together such that Yvlon had had to take off the entire section at once. But the metal on her arms remained. Ceria caught her breath as she saw how badly the metal had melted. It was twisted, warped, and clung to Yvlon’s arms like—

“We can cut it off. Even if we have to heal some of it afterwards—”

“Some will come off. But the rest—it feels deep, Ceria.”

Yvlon shook her head. Her arms moved as she—slowly—flexed them. Ceria saw breaks along the elbows and wrist sections, enough for Yvlon to move her arms. But the metal was clearly anchored to Yvlon’s flesh.

“We’ll get it off. We just need to get back to the city.”

Yvlon nodded slowly. She smiled, only a trace of bitterness in her eyes.

“I always wondered how Dullahans lived. I guess I’ll learn a bit of what it’s like.”

“I—”

There was nothing to say. Ceria bent down and clasped Yvlon’s shoulder. After a moment, she felt a cold, hard hand grasp hers.

“You saved us all. You slew a being made of pure flame with a sword. You’d be a hero among adventurers just for that.”

“Father would be proud.”

The Human woman laughed. Ceria forced her lips to move, smiled. Then she looked around.

“Pisces and Ksmvr?”

“Over there. Pisces looks worst off—I’d have woken you, but I thought it was better if you rested.”

Ceria nodded and brushed at her sooty hair. She staggered a bit—she felt empty.

“How long was I out?”

“I was only up for the last twenty minutes. Before that? It must be hours, at least. I can’t sense any heat from above.”

“True.”

Ceria nodded, and then walked over to Pisces and Ksmvr. The two were lying not far from each other. And of the two, Pisces was clearly worse-off. The mage had vomit staining his lips and he had gotten some of it on himself. He was pale and shivering, and Ceria knew he had to be suffering. She pulled out a bottle from her belt. It was still intact. The thick glass had protected the mana potion.

Carefully, Ceria poured the maroon liquid over Pisces, ignoring his reactions. It didn’t matter too much if he drank it; right now his body was a void of mana, and he would absorb it from the concentrated liquid to recover.

Sure enough, Pisces sat up, gasping. The noise woke up Ksmvr as well. The two sat up; Ksmvr dribbled a bit of green from his mouth, but wiped it away. Ceria wasn’t sure if that was blood or something worse. No one was in good shape at the moment.

“Pisces, are you okay?”

“I—”

The mage’s face was pale. He dry-heaved a bit, and then wiped at his mouth. He regarded the stains on his robe and shuddered before looking up at Ceria.

“Mana potion?”

She nodded. Ksmvr staggered upright and saluted Ceria weakly.

“Captain.”

“Take it easy, Ksmvr.”

“I will do so. Is comrade Pisces alright?”

“I think so, but he was insane. You know that, right, Pisces? You reanimated what, over thirty skeletons in a ten minute period? You’re lucky you didn’t start bleeding in the brain or damage yourself worse.”

“I am a better [Necromancer] than I am a [Mage] by far.”

That was all Pisces said, which meant he pretty much agreed with Ceria’s statement. He looked around the pit full of bone fragments and closed his eyes.

“…Did we manage to save anything?”

“I found part of a spell book. Besides that, I don’t know. Yvlon’s not in a good way.”

The other two adventurers followed Ceria over to Yvlon. She looked up and nodded at them. Pisces stared at her arms openly, while Ksmvr looked at them and around the room.

“What should we do now, Captain Ceria? Should we begin collecting valuable items? I still have the pack you gave me.”

“I—”

Ceria just shook her head. She could barely stand, and she saw Pisces was swaying on his feet.

“Ten minutes. Let’s just…”

She sat down wearily, and then had to lie down. Pisces collapsed back onto the ground; Ksmvr stayed on his feet and began to wander the pit, picking up burnt objects. Yvlon went back to staring at her arms.

It took a while for Ceria to feel strong enough to get back up. When she did, she just felt like lying down again. But they had to move.

“Okay. Pisces, you’re our only ticket out of this pit. Can you make another staircase?”

The [Mage] looked up tiredly at the small gap high overhead.

“I can try.”

It was a mark of his exhaustion that he didn’t brag, and Ceria knew it. She helped him up.

“Do it slowly. Piece by piece. You don’t have to complete it in one go.”

He nodded. Ceria turned to Ksmvr.

“While Pisces is working, let’s get some of the stuff that fell into the pit gathered up. Most of it looks burned, but they’re all highly magical artifacts. Put anything you can find over here, okay Ksmvr?”

The Antinium had already accumulated a few burnt objects. He gently edged them closer to Yvlon, but the other woman was standing up. She moved her arms stiffly, and then nodded.

“I’ll help too.”

“You don’t have to, Yvlon—”

“I can do it. I need to move.”

She began moving around the edge of the pit. Ceria hesitated, and then got to work as well. The first thing she did was pick up the spellbook. The magic words glimmered as she put the book in her pack. Then she began hunting for anything that had survived the flames.

“Burnt sword here. Looks cracked. But it’s still magical; I can feel it.”

“Are such objects repairable, Captain?”

“I have no idea. And I don’t even know what these things do, so handle them carefully, alright?”

“I will do so.”

Ceria placed the sword on the ground next to a pack. She stared at it blankly until she remembered it was the adventurer’s pack she’d found. What could be inside there?

Whatever it was, it would have to wait until later. Some adventurers trapped their belongings in case they were stolen, and Ceria wanted to risk nothing. She looked at Pisces, and saw he was beginning to build the bridge out of the burnt bones again.

This time, the construction process was painfully slow. Ceria could see Pisces grimacing as bones slowly flew into the air. He could only manage about eight at a time. But he was getting the job done, and he looked determined not to quit.

It was a different side of him than Ceria had seen, and once again it reminded her of the past. She paused as she sorted through a few bones next to Pisces.

“That was some final guardian, wasn’t it?”

Pisces nodded, not taking his eyes off his work.

“It was a formidable enemy. I regret that neither you nor I had the forethought to check for traps at the last moment.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“Although if the mage was any good, he would have set the summoning spell to activate if we checked the magic, just like the door.”

“True.”

Silence. Ceria tossed a long bone up and watched it float upwards.

“Did it remind you of anything? The fire construct, I mean.”

“Are you referring to the Golems of Wistram? That is a natural comparison, but unfair. This…creature was clearly meant to be summoned for short periods rather than act as a permanent servant. True, it was far less intelligent than Cognita. It was simply a guardian, meant to kill.”

“It was good enough at that. I just wonder…how’d it catch you? You’re better than that, or you should be.”

The young man stopped in his work. He lowered his hands and stared at Ceria. His eyes were cold.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said. Don’t get offended, Pisces.”

“I find that a difficult proposition given your last statement.”

“I’m just remembering how you used to be. And if you’ll remember, you were better than this, once.”

“I’m sure I have no recollection of such martial prowess.”

“Don’t be a prat. I’m not trying to—”

Ceria broke off. She turned her head.

“Ah, Ksmvr? Do you need something?”

The Antinium nodded. He was standing a few feet away from the two adventurers, making no effort to conceal his eavesdropping. He stared fixedly at Ceria and Pisces.

“I would like to stay and observe the act of chastisement so I may learn to do it myself in a command situation.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a—”

“No, no. Let the Antinium stay.”

Pisces folded his arms, looking angry. He snapped at Ceria.

“By all means, Springwalker. Say your piece.”

She took a breath. This wasn’t the time for it. But she couldn’t stop now. Calmly, she spoke, looking Pisces in the eye.

“In the battle against that fire thing, I saw you using [Flash Step], but you got caught, Pisces. When we were students together you could have danced around that construct for days without letting it get near you.”

“And?”

Ceria spread her hands.

“And that’s all. I’m just making an observation.”

“I see.”

“Don’t get offended. I’m not lecturing you, or complaining. Your quick thinking saved us, and you more than pulled your weight. We would have been dead without your help, and without your skeletons we wouldn’t have even found the tunnel. I’m just worried about what you’ve lost.”

The [Mage] considered this. He lost some of the hostility in his stance and uncrossed his arms.

“I see. Well, I am relieved to know you hold some part of me in high esteem. But I’m afraid I have no answer for you. I have simply…lost my touch as it were.”

“That’s all?”

“What do you want me to say, Springwalker? I have grown lax, it’s true. I don’t exactly duel other mages in the corridors anymore, and have little need for fencing.”

“Maybe not as a [Necromancer]. But Pisces the adventurer would be even more of an asset if he had his old skills back. I’m not saying you have to—I’m just saying that I admired that part of you.”

“I see.”

Ceria and Pisces stared at each other for a bit longer. Ksmvr stared at both of them, looking disappointed.

“Will there be no exchange of blows? No physical confrontation?”

“No.”

“I do not believe that will be necessary.”

“I see. Well then, I shall go back to work.”

After a few seconds, so did Ceria and Pisces. And after a few more minutes, they had a small pile of what might be called loot by an optimist, and a stairway made of bones.

This one was thinner, Ceria noticed as she gazed upwards. It was no less sturdy, but Pisces had clearly taxed himself creating it. The mage sat on the ground next to Yvlon as the two rested for a moment. They were exhausted. So were Ceria and Ksmvr, but they were in far better shape by comparison.

“We’ll go up, Ksmvr and I. I think the fire thing’s dead—if it’s not we’ll come running down. But we’ll haul up all this…stuff. You two just rest.”

They nodded, and Ceria seized the sword, her pack, and Pisces’ pack before climbing the stairs. Her legs felt wobbly, but she was determined not to slip or fall.

At last, Ceria reached the top. She pulled herself up over the ledge of burnt and melted stone, relieved it was no longer hot to the touch. She stood up and looked around.

“Oh…”

Everything was black and melted. The walls, the ceiling—everything had warped, and the white-hot flames had left sooty reminders where it had burned. It almost felt like Ceria was still back in the pit.

But then she looked in the treasure room, what had been the treasure room, and felt her heart break. It was completely ruined. There was nothing left of the vision she had seen upon first entering. Nothing at all.

The bookshelf had been turned to ash. The weapons had melted, at least, that was what Ceria could guess. The entire room was almost one solid color, that of charcoal black. Of a certainty, there were no magical weapons left, no books full of spells. Where the gold had been there was only a misshapen dark mass, and there was no staff.

It had been burnt away. Ceria felt her eyes sting as she gazed at the place where it had been, but she couldn’t even find the emotion to weep right now. She had wounded friends down below—there was no time for self-recriminations.

“Even so. What a waste.”

Ceria stared at the pile of burnt wood that had been the desk. Ksmvr walked into the room and poked around the destroyed bits. He paused as he kicked at a sooty mass and looked at Ceria.

“There is gold underneath the ash, Captain Ceria.”

“Gold?”

“And gemstones. They have melted into the gold.”

Ksmvr pointed as Ceria practically dashed over. She saw a huge, melted mass of what first appeared to be scorched rock. But underneath the layer of blackness was a familiar dull gleam.

“Dead gods. It is gold!”

The treasure she had seen in the back of the room had been consumed by the fire as well. But unlike the other materials in the room, gold was still gold no matter what shape it took. Ceria tried to prize the gold free, and found that it had become one solid mass that had stuck to the floor.

“We’ll have to dig it up. But this—”

“I assume this is a good thing.”

“Very good.”

Ceria’s heart beat faster. The gold coins she and the others had so carefully used to buy their supplies—how many coins would this lump of fused metal make? She couldn’t imagine, especially because she knew the gold coins traded across the world weren’t pure gold. This probably was.

“Let’s get Pisces and Yvlon. They have to see this.”

As they went to leave the room, Ceria found something else as her foot landed in a pile of ash. She saw a flash of brown and snatched up a small bag, drawstrings tightly fastened. Ksmvr peered at it as Ceria lifted it up.

“What the…?”

“It is a bag, Captain.”

Ceria eyed Ksmvr. He ducked his head and shut up. She stared at the small satchel and remembered it, vaguely. It had been on the desk next to the staff…

“It’s not even burnt.”

“It is clearly magical. Should we open it and see what it contains?”

It had to be a bag of holding. It probably held…Ceria’s mind spun at the implications. But her internal warning bells all went off at the thought of opening it.

“No. It might be trapped. We’ll take it with us, but no one opens it or even drops it, okay?”

“I understand. Let us find the others and convey this good news.”

“Sure.”

Ksmvr and Ceria made three trips up and down the ivory staircase, twice to haul up the burnt remains of the treasure, and then to help Yvlon and Pisces make their way up. And after the two had gotten over their initial dismay and relief at the treasure obtained, they made a proper survey of what they’d found.

“This sword is clearly magical. I wouldn’t risk using it in combat, but perhaps it could be repaired?”

Pisces murmured to the others as he lifted up the broken sword. The pommel had cracked while the actual blade looked only scorched, but that could well have been part of the spell matrices, and no one dared to separate it.

“A cracked shield. Not good. Can we still use it?”

Yvlon showed the buckler to Ceria. She nodded as she stared at the small bag and the adventurers’ pack, the only two wholly unburned objects.

“It’s magical too. We have to try.”

“We have quite a bit of gold as well.”

Ksmvr had helped lever up the metal and gems and then saw the pieces into manageable chunks. Now he was attempting to cram as many pieces as possible into their packs. Ceria eyed one bulging rucksack. She doubted she could carry the extremely dense gold, tired as she was. Yvlon and Pisces?

It was a hard thing to say out loud, but in one respect, their adventure wasn’t over yet. Ceria didn’t beat about the bush as Ksmvr awkwardly tied the weapons—sword, buckler, dagger, and another sword, of which only the blade remained—into a bundle to be carried.

“We’ve got to get back to a city, everyone. I know we’re tired, but we’ve got practically no rations and we’re sitting ducks out here. Yvlon’s injured and her armor’s gone—”

“As is my sword.”

“—Pisces is out of mana, I’m nearly tapped, and Ksmvr is going to have to carry most of the treasure.”

Ksmvr looked up.

“I am? Hm.”

“I hate to say it, but you’re the strongest of us and no one else can bear the load. Do you think you can handle it?”

She didn’t want to suggest burying the treasure. It was a risky move if people got wind of their haul and decided to backtrack to find anything they’d left behind. But Ceria didn’t want to overburden the Antinium either. To her surprise, Ksmvr shook his head.

“It is no problem. I can drag all that we have collected if need be. I would have simply organized the distribution of weight differently if I had known I was going to be the sole carrier.”

“Oh.”

Pisces, still looking quite gray and weary, sat up slowly, groaning with what seemed to be genuine distress for once.

“I can summon—one or two undead aides. They can help lift—”

“No.”

Yvlon interrupted Pisces. She shook her head and lifted one of the packs, stumbling slightly at the weight.

“No undead. We can carry it ourselves.”

She looked at Ceria, and the half-Elf nodded.

“You heard her. We’ll get back ourselves.”

“Where to? We’re far from all the cities.”

“But we’re nearest to…ah, Remendia I think. Once we hit the main road we can catch a ride.”

“If we don’t hit bandits.”

“Dead gods. Don’t speak like that, Pisces. Let’s just get—”

Yvlon took a few steps and stumbled. Instantly, Ksmvr and Ceria grabbed her shoulder before she could fall. The taller woman smiled gratefully at them. Pisces heaved himself up with a groan and picked up the smallest pack.

“If we must persist, let us do so with dignity. Onwards, then.”

He lurched forwards, ignoring the look the other three gave him. But he was right, and soon enough Ceria and Yvlon and Ksmvr were stumbling up, out of the tunnels, out of Albez. They had seen the dungeon and retrieved the treasure.

But none of them were smiling.

----

“Cold.”

Ceria gritted her teeth as she walked through the snow. Pisces sneezed; Yvlon made a face.

“How’re your arms, Yvlon?”

“Just the same as when you last asked, Ceria.”

“Sorry.”

“No—I apologize.”

“Got another spell in you, Springwalker?”

Pisces chattered as he stumbled forwards in the freezing drifts. Ceria grimaced, but made a flame in her palm, feeding it as much mana as possible. Yvlon and Pisces crowded around, warming their hands.

Somehow, after all their battles in the dungeon under Albez, the Horns of Hammerad had forgotten that it was, in fact, the middle of winter above. It had been a nasty surprise to all of them to emerge into a light snow shower, but at least it hadn’t been a blizzard.

Pisces sighed as his hands grew warmer, and Yvlon grunted. She was trying to warm the metal stuck to her arms, and Ceria knew she had to be coldest since the metal lost its warmth faster than bare skin.

“Sure we’re going the right way?”

“I think so. The mountains are that way—we’ve got to be close. Maybe it’s over that incline over there?”

“Damn snow makes everything invisible. I can’t even see the forests—just white.”

Yvlon grumbled, swearing out loud for one of the first times in Ceria’s hearing. Pisces grunted. He glanced over his shoulder and called out.

“Ksmvr! Are you okay?”

“I am…well…thank you…Comrade Pisces.”

The puffing, slightly out-of-breath reply was at odds with the way Ksmvr diligently kept his steady, unfaltering pace. He slowly trudged forwards, dragging the bulk of their goods along the ground. The one good thing the weather had given the Horns of Hammerad was that they’d been able to make a makeshift sled for Ksmvr to drag along.

“You sure you don’t need help?”

Ceria and Yvlon eyed the Antinium with some concern. He shook his head, although his voice was no less strained.

“I am…designed for heavy labor. I will not…let the team down.”

“You won’t. Just let us know, okay?”

“Affirmative.”

Ksmvr walked past the others, gaining a few feet before they stopped huddling around the fire and kept walking. He didn’t stop. He was like a machine, like any other member of his kind, Ceria supposed. But it was different with Ksmvr. He was working for the sake of his team, not the other Antinium. Somehow, that made him feel that much more valuable to the others.

“Let’s keep moving.”

Ceria let the flame fade from her hands and Pisces and Yvlon dropped their arms with a sigh. All three staggered slightly before the momentum kept them going. Ahead, Ksmvr slipped on a patch of snow but regained his footing and took another step forwards.

They were all reaching the end of their physical endurance. Ceria had already passed around the hard biscuit and dried meat in their packs—the only rations they had left—and now the only thing keeping the adventurers going was the thought of food and rest.

No one was smiling. No one really talked, except for Ceria, and only then to make sure no one else was freezing. The Horns of Hammerad moved in…if not depression, something reminiscent of it.

Yes, they had found treasure in Albez, among the ruins. Yes, they had gone through traps and against all odds survived. But what had they for their trouble?

One burned spellbook, some damaged magical artifacts practically leaking magic, a backpack full of dead adventurer’s gear, and a small bag that was almost definitely trapped with magic way above their ability to dispel. Oh, and nearly eighty pounds of gold and fused gemstones.

It was a win, and it would have been cause for celebration for over a week in the old Horns of Hammerad. But in Ceria’s weary mind, there was more than a bit of regret and failure she couldn’t shake.

She remembered the glimmering staff and the personal arms and equipment of a powerful mage of the past, one capable of creating magical traps and a summoned construct that could last for hundreds or thousands of years.

“But we’re alive.”

“What was that, Ceria?”

“Nothing.”

They weren’t a proper Silver-rank team, not yet. Individually they were all better than average, but together they still had their differences. But they’d come through their first adventure, their first dungeon alive and in one piece.

That had to count for something. It did count.

“There’s the city.”

Pisces called out as he crested the incline. Ceria raised her head and smiled in relief.

“Remendia?”

Yvlon peered at the city and shook her head.

“Nope. Too small. We must be at Ocre.”

“Close enough. It’s got walls and a gate. That’s all I want.”

“Okay, let’s get in there.”

“Should we plan out where we go once we get in the city? In case we get separated?”

Confused, Ceria looked at Yvlon.

“What? Why?”

The woman gave Ceria a weary grin.

“We’re entering the city with a fortune in gold and treasure, Ceria. If we don’t get this stuff under guard quick, it’ll be gone before we get to the market.”

Ceria muttered a half-Elven curse word involving flowers.

“I forgot that. You’re right. Ksmvr, Pisces, we’ve got to get the treasure to the Adventurer’s Guild the instant we get through the gates.”

“Will it be safe there?”

“Should be. And if it’s not, the Adventurer’s Guild has to compensate us. Just don’t stop, don’t drop the bags—Ksmvr, spread it out so we can all carry it—and don’t promise anyone anything, okay?”

Pisces nodded as Ksmvr began dividing the treasure. He grunted as he lifted his pack, but there was a smile on his face. The Antinium nodded.

“Got it.”

“We will heed your instructions.”

“Okay.”

Ceria took a breath. She didn’t know what to say. Here they were, at the end of their quest and—well, what should she tell them? She was their Captain, even if they’d elected her in a second. But hadn’t it been that way with Calruz? He’d always made his team feel like they were a success, even after the hardest of missions. What had he said?

She couldn’t remember the words, but Ceria remembered the feeling. She called on that now, and looked the other Horns of Hammerad in the eye.

“Heads held high, everyone. It’s been a long journey, but we did it. We found treasure in Albez—probably the biggest haul in over a decade! If that’s not worth a bit of pride, I don’t know what is.”

She saw three pairs of eyes on her, and three people smiled. One, a young woman, grinned and grimaced in pain, but her eyes were steady. The young man with haunted eyes and an expression more used to sneering than honest emotion gave her a true smile now that reminded her of the past. And the Antinium opened his mandibles, his face foreign and to some, a face of nightmares. But he was smiling too.

Ceria pointed towards the walls of the city. The guards at the wall hadn’t spotted them yet; there was a bit of foot traffic navigating the frozen road into the city, but she was sure they would stand out the moment they got close. Gold had its own glitter.

“It’s going to be Humans crawling all over us when we get in, so let’s stick together. If you get lost, shout and we’ll be along. Don’t drop anything and remember, we’re adventurers. We stick together.”

She led them down the hill, towards the gates. Her legs were exhausted, but Ceria put more energy into them. They were here, safe! She smiled up at the guards on the walls, never happier to see a Human in her life. She heard a shout as they spotted the armed warriors approaching—not too warily—adventurers were a common sight. She raised a hand to wave up at them, waiting for them to notice the gold—

“Antinium at the gates! We’re under attack!”

“What?”

Ceria heard the panicked shout and with a shock, realized the guards were raising their bows and calling the alarm. She shouted desperately and waved at them—it was just Ksmvr! How could they not tell he was alone and with them? But then she saw the arrows at the strings and screamed.

“Ksmvr! Watch out!”

The Antinium had been waving up at the wall, copying Ceria. As soon as he saw the bows he dropped his pack and tried to take cover in the snow. He dove out of the way as a rain of arrows thudded into the ground next to him. The Antinium stood back up and staggered as an arrow sprouted from his right shoulder.

“Stop! Stop, damn you!”

Ceria shouted up at the wall, but no one was listening. The [Guardsmen] were preparing another volley. She saw someone run past her and then saw Yvlon. The woman threw herself in front of Ksmvr, holding the remnant of her plate armor and her pack filled with the gold. She crouched in front of the Antinium as arrows rained down on them again. Her protection wasn’t perfect, but the hail of arrows mostly bounced off her pack and armor. Ksmvr hissed as an arrow struck his leg and another glanced off his lower back, but he didn’t move.

“Cease fire!”

This time Pisces took up the call. He raised his voice and then Ceria remembered she had magic. She touched her throat and then bellowed.

“Stop shooting you damn Humans! We’re adventurers!”

Her voice bounced off the walls and she heard confused shouting. The Humans lowered their bows for a second, and then someone who looked like an officer was running, pointing at them. Ceria and Pisces ran over to Yvlon, watching the [Guardsmen] warily. No more arrows flew down from the walls, and after a second, Ceria saw people rushing down the battlements.

Yvlon crouched beside Ksmvr, still shielding him. The Antinium was trying to get up and she was holding him down.

“Don’t move. They might loose another volley. Ksmvr, are you okay?”

“I am fine. Captain, permission to return fire?”

“Do you have a bow?”

“…Permission to throw things?”

“No. Just hold on.”

Ceria watched as the people on the wall shouted. Then, one of them stood up and raised a flag. It was white. Pisces snorted at it.

“Is that supposed to mean they surrender? Or that they’re not going to try and kill us?”

“Either one works for me. Oh look, now they’ve noticed the gold. They’re sending a delegation.”

Yvlon just sighed. She helped Ksmvr up. The Antinium grunted as he snapped the shaft of the arrow in his leg. The one in his shoulder he left alone as he hefted his pack.

“Adventurers! The [Guardsmen] are standing down! The gates are open!”

Someone was shouting from the walls. Ceria looked up and growled.

“That’s all they can say?”

She raised her skeletal hand and gave the [Guardsmen] on the wall an unmistakable gesture. Then she looked around. Pisces was giving the people clustered at the gates an evil eye. Yvlon was helping Ksmvr walk forwards, and the Antinium was dragging his pack. Everyone had the same grim expression on their face. She nodded.

“New plan. We go in and if anyone gets in our way, you have my full permission to hit them. Stick together, and until we get to the Adventurer’s Guild and log our claim, no one slows us down.”

There was indeed a group of anxious-looking people forming at the gates. Ceria scowled. Pisces rubbed at his face and spoke to no one in particular.

“I really hate this continent.”

“Humans.”

“I would like to not have this arrow in my leg.”

“Adventurer’s Guild and bed. And I will kick anyone who gets in our way.”

For once it looked like they all had something they could agree on.

----

What happened when adventurers came back from a dungeon? For all that the stories of adventurers returning with fame and fortune were told to every child, it was rare enough that no one had any structure to what came next.

But there was a certain rhythm to things. Assuming the adventurers were not being pursued by monsters or grievously injured—and assuming they came back successfully bearing treasure, not laden down with failure and regret—there was inevitably a lot of fuss.

It began at the walls. The [Guardsmen] on duty would always be the first to notice adventurers coming in, and there was a certain walk the triumphant had. Not to mention the glitter of gold. They would be the first to shout the news, and then it was just a matter of who was standing closest to the gates.

Everyone loved treasure. True, Drakes and Humans were known to love it most of all, but there wasn’t an adult or child who wouldn’t drop whatever they were doing and rush to see what wonders had been unearthed by the brave souls who had found some ancient tomb or lair.

Next would come the procession, as the adventurers made their way through a crowd only too willing to take their burdens off their shoulders—and run away with it. Depending on the efficiency of the local City Watch, the streets would be kept clear for the adventurers to make their way to their Guild. In the worst case scenario, the party of weary warriors would have to fight their way through a mob, fending off [Pickpockets] and even attacks with blade and spell.

And then would come the moment they arrived at their Guild, where the doors would be thrown open and the treasure displayed and sorted, and the adventurers would be able to rest, knowing their hard-won earnings were safely stored away and guarded by spell and lock. They would then either drink until they were unconscious, eat half a roasted pig, do both, or simply fall asleep there and then.

That was the way an adventurers’ return went. Events almost always transpired according to this formula, mainly because there was only a finite number of ways people bearing treasure and wealth beyond imagining were greeted. Shooting arrows at them was a first, and so the Horns of Hammerad entered the city in a rather different way than the standard.

“Move it!”

Ceria fired an [Ice Spike] spell over the heads of the first fawning delegation that came to greet them. The people screamed and ducked, which made progressing far easier. She and the other Horns of Hammerad marched through the streets, ignoring the voices that pressed around them.

“Honored adventurers, please excuse—”

“Is that an Antinium? Are they attacking?”

“You’re injured! Let us help—”

There were all too many hands reaching for the gold poking out of the bags the adventurers carried. Pisces snarled as a boy reached out for his pack.

“Touch my bag child, and I will reanimate your corpse just so I can beat it to death again.”

The boy fled, but there were many more to take his place. Yvlon shouldered people aside, face set.

“Make way! We’ve got wounded! Where’s the Adventurer’s Guild?”

Fortunately it wasn’t too far down the street. Ceria ignored the crowds and the questions. She threw fire on the ground and people scattered—Pisces blew cold air at people, making them retreat. Ksmvr had his own bubble of space.

“If anyone touches me, I will be forced to defend myself with non-lethal but exceptionally painful force.”

No one went near him, and through shouting, pushing, and mainly the last dregs of their strength, the Horns of Hammerad burst through the doors of the Adventurer’s Guild. Men and women in armor, mages sitting at tables, a [Rogue] dicing with an [Archer], even an armored Minotaur all stopped and stared at the crowd. And then at the Horns of Hammerad.

Ceria lifted her pack, hearing the fabric ripping and praying it wouldn’t give out at this last moment. She staggered towards the desk, and looked into the eyes of a startled male [Receptionist]. He gaped down at her, and at her three companions, all holding gold, magical swords—

“Hey.”

The half-Elf croaked the words out loud and then realized there was silence. Suddenly, the shouting had gone still, and she realized that everyone was looking at her. She looked up, and saw the man staring at her, transfixed. What? Was there something on her face?

Was it her burnt hair, her travel-stained garments? The fortune in gold in her pack, the way Yvlon’s armor had melted onto her arms? Ksmvr, the arrows sticking out from his body? Pisces, covered in grime and dust but with magic glimmering at his fingertips? Or was it her, Ceria, a half-Elf with one skeletal hand who looked like she’d dug herself out of the ground?

“—I want…”

Ceria croaked the words in the silence. The [Receptionist], the adventurers—the people crowding around the doorway—everyone’s eyes were on her. She took a breath, coughed.

“—I want a full receipt for everything we drop off. And then I want a bed in an inn, but before that my companion needs your best [Healer] and potions, immediately.”

The man just stared at her. His lip was trembling, Ceria noticed. Was he that afraid? That stunned? What should she say? But then she felt people stepping up next to her, three of them. Pisces glared at the man at the desk.

“And we want food.”

Yvlon nodded, exhausted.

“And a bed. Did you mention that, Ceria?”

Pisces pulled at his robes, vomit-stained, bloody, burnt.

“And I would like a change of clothes. A new robe.”

Ksmvr raised a hand and pointed with another hand to his shoulder.

“I would like someone to pull the arrow out of my side.”

The spell broke. The man quavered, stepped back, and stared at Ceria.

“C-certainly. We can do all that. But ah, who are you? An adventuring team no doubt?”

“Who are we?”

Ceria stared at him blankly, but then realized she hadn’t introduced herself. It was customary for any new team to do so immediately, but she’d been so used to Selys knowing them on sight she hadn’t bothered. She gestured at her teammates and herself.

“We’re the Horns of Hammerad.”

“What? I thought they—you were dead.”

The half-Elf gave the man at the desk a wide, manic grin. She laughed, coughed, and spoke softly in the silence.

“We’re not dead yet.”

----

What happens when the adventurers return with treasure? The real question is: how does the Adventurer’s Guild handle it? For the [Receptionists] and other staff employed at the Guilds, the moment when the weary [Warrior] walks in with a [King]’s ransom in jewels is the hardest. Things have to be immediately counted, a receipt has to be drawn up and approved by mage, guards have to be posted to prevent those with sticky fingers from walking off with everything—

Generally, [Rogues], [Thieves], and people with such classes are banned from the Guild for a good period of time. But the most important thing, every experienced desk-warrior will agree, is tending to the adventurers. In their post-battle state, they are often grumpy, irritated, and as of such, tending to their needs is the highest priority.

The [Receptionists] and other staff at the Adventurer’s Guild in Ocre might not have been high-level, but they knew that when exhausted, irritated adventurers came in with more gold than they could carry, the correct response was always ‘yes’.

In fact, the word yes should be accompanied by more honeyed phrases if possible, such as: On credit? Why certainly. We’ll have the best inn reserved, and porters are on the way. In fact, let me just open our emergency stash of potions right now…

That was how Ceria, Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr found themselves in the best inn in the city in short order, clutching magically-signed receipts for their goods while Silver-rank adventurers were hired to guard the treasure now sitting in the Guild vaults. All four were swaying, but their wounds had been healed with the best potions, they’d been given a full meal which none of them had finished from sheer exhaustion, and Yvlon had already been booked to see the best [Healer] in the city, along with a [Blacksmith].

But for now they were too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Which they did. And when they woke up and found an [Innkeeper] beaming and ready to serve them anything they wanted—including insects and spiders for Ksmvr, if the good Antinium was so inclined—they found a bit of life had come back into their world.

“Do we need to get back to the Guild right away?”

Pisces twisted in the elegant seat he was sitting in. The private room of The Nobleman’s Disgrace was sumptuously adorned, and the meal in front of them had no less sumpt. Ceria pushed back her meal of steak—a real steak, cooked and seasoned despite the winter—patting her belly.

“I don’t think we do. It’s probably good to, I guess.”

“You’re sure those [Receptionists] aren’t leaving with our treasure as we speak? What’s to stop them?”

“The fact that every [Assassin] in the continent would be hired if they did. Relax, Pisces. The Adventurer’s Guild has a solemn contract with us adventurers. If we couldn’t trust them with what we find, we wouldn’t have anything to do with them.”

Yvlon laughed softly as she tore into soft bread seasoned with garlic. Her motions were stiff, but she had reassured the others that she had felt no pain in the morning, and she had several healing potions on her in the meanwhile.

“We should probably go soon though, because the prices for guarding what we earned won’t be low.”

“True.”

Ceria made a face. She eyed the third of a steak and wondered if she could eat it. She thought about puking up what she’d eaten and pushed it over to Pisces with a sigh. He began chomping down her food. He eyed the two experienced adventurers warily.

“What kind of prices are we talking about?”

“Oh, hiring guards, identifying magical items—I’m not sure if the Guild does that, but they’ll definitely overcharge us for the potions they gave us. We’re oozing gold, and they’ll try to squeeze us for everything they can.”

“All the more reason to leave right away. We should sell what we can and get the artifacts identified by a reputable mage. Unless there is a procedure we must go through?”

He looked at Yvlon and Ceria expectantly. Ksmvr, engrossed in eating the bread dough which he had explicitly requested from the [Chef], looked up. Ceria exchanged a glance with Yvlon and hesitated.

What did they do? She thought about it, and then felt something peculiar in her stomach. It felt…light. What would they have done, if she’d been here with Calruz and Gerial, celebrating after getting the treasure out of Liscor? They’d never…discussed it, but here they were, stuck.

“I don’t know.”

Ceria’s lips twitched a bit. She smiled.

“What?”

Pisces and Ksmvr looked at Ceria oddly. She smiled a bit wider, as a fuzzy sensation began to float upwards in her chest.

“I don’t know. I’ve never found a magical artifact this powerful before. I’ve never—Yvlon, have you ever come out of a dungeon with this kind of loot?”

The other woman paused, and then adopted the same smile.

“Never. I’d never considered it. We’re walking blind, aren’t we? I’ve never seen a group come in with as much gold as we have—or with as many magical artifacts!”

“And they’re broken! Just imagine—we’ll have to identify them, and then see if there’s an [Enchanter] strong enough to fix them! Could anyone even do that in this day and age?”

Ceria laughed, almost incredulously. Pisces and Ksmvr looked surprised, but then they found the same emotion in their chests. The mage began to grin, and so did the Antinium, in his own way.

“Those merchants out there—they’re going to try and rob us blind!”

“They are!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if every [Footpad] and [Thug] in the city’s memorized our faces. And the [Shopkeepers]—dead gods, we’ll be lucky if we can buy a loaf of bread for a gold coin!”

Ksmvr nodded his head as the others laughed and smiled wider.

“I find the prospect of being shortchanged quite pleasant.”

The others looked at each other, laughing, and then falling into a smiling silence.

“We did it.”

“We did, didn’t we?”

“We succeeded despite all the odds. We found treasure—in ruined Albez, no less!”

“We accomplished our task with zero casualties.”

Ceria looked around the table, at the three smiling faces. She couldn’t keep hers off her face. She felt a twinge in her heart, but the smile never faded. She said the words softly, disbelievingly.

“We really did it.”

----

The Horns of Hammerad left the inn around midday, politely fending off the [Innkeeper] as he tried to entice them with more food, and the luxuries of his inn. They never noticed the young boy who sped out the back door the instant they were done eating, and so after they left the inn ten minutes later, they were unprepared for what came next.

Ceria put her hand on the doorknob and opened it. She walked outside, blinking at the sunlight, and was then overwhelmed by sound and motion and movement. She heard screaming, wild, frenzied, and tensed.

But it was no group of thugs that came to attack her, no mob. Ceria blinked and gaped as her eyes adjusted and she saw people, standing outside the inn and shouting and waving at her and the other Horns of Hammerad as they left their inn.

A wall of Humanity, stomping and clapping and cheering at the top of their lungs lined both sides of the street. People hung out of windows in buildings, shouting down at the Horns of Hammerad. Still more were standing on ledges or even on the rooftops, just to see.

They waved flags, threw colored flour—flowers being out of season—and waved desperately to attract the attention of the adventurers. People of the [Musician] class were playing their instruments loudly, and as the Horns of Hammerad exited the inn and stared, someone began hitting a drum and trumpets began to sound.

Ksmvr stared around wildly, confused and unsure of what to do. Yvlon was just gaping, and Pisces and Ceria were dumbstruck. The half-Elf could barely process what was occurring before her eyes. This looked like a celebration. For her? For them?

Everyone was staring at her. The sun was out, and it was like a sea of faces was opened up, every eye looking at her, every face in a smile or shouting at her. It was overwhelming, even terrifying—

And to Ceria, it was a complete and utter surprise. She couldn’t even believe it was for her. But she took a step forwards on the cobbled street and the people went wild. They were cheering, yes, shouting—not just her name, but the name of her party!

“Horns! The Horns of Hammerad!”

“Hammerad!”

“Hammerbad!”

She’d been an adventurers for years, but Ceria had never had anyone cheer for her. Oh, a village had turned out now and then once they’d taken care of a monster threat, and maybe they’d have a round of drinks bought for them, but the old Horns of Hammerad had never warranted even a parade. And this?

Ceria lifted her hand hesitantly, and the wave of noise it provoked nearly blew her away. People were cheering and waving handkerchiefs, pointing and smiling—

At her?

She still couldn’t believe it. But part of Ceria, once she had overcome the shock, part of her understood.

How long had it been since she’d been a child? When had she…forgotten what it was like to be an adventurer, what it meant to ordinary people? She was someone who went into dark places and slew monsters, who went into the depths of the darkest dungeon and came out with that which shone even brighter than the sun. She was an Adventurer, a hero in the imaginations of many. And she had conquered a dungeon, the feat that every adventurer dreams of.

She had seen the treasure, and she had come back with it. She had proven that there was truth to the old tales, and given them something to hold onto. A bit of truth in the stories. The half-Elf walked forwards, raising her hand, and they shouted and cheered and called her name.

Pisces walked behind Ceria, staring, just staring. He looked down the rows of smiling faces, and felt all that attention, that goodwill directed at him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, bewitching, more enchanting than any spell. He saw young women smiling at him, and children running along, staring at him. He was wearing crimson red robes, the ones loaned to him to replace his dirty garments. But the [Mage], the [Necromancer] walked in them as if they were made for him, and when he made his fingers spark with magic, the crowd cheered and oohed and aahed, for there went a true [Mage], a master of magic.

Yvlon walked silently, in a bubble of her own. She stared at the crowd, and saw people pointing to her arms. But not in disgust. She was a wounded hero, a warrior who had survived a great battle. And her eyes found the young men and women wearing worn armor and equipment, whose eyes were on her, hopeful, dreaming of the day they might be like her. And she thought of those she had left behind, and she kept her back straight as the wind blew her golden hair behind her.

For Ksmvr, he felt as all Humans felt when they saw the Antinium and realized there was another world they had never known, another people. He looked into smiling faces, Human ones filled with emotion and life, and realized how small his understanding of the world had been.

And the Humans looked back, and saw a new kind of adventurer, no longer a nameless horror. They stared at Ksmvr with a bit of fright, but mostly awe. The Antinium waved with his three hands at the crowds, and the people cheered even at him. He might be a monstrous Antinium, but he was an adventurer too. He was special.

Ceria walked down the street, and breathed in. Slowly. The air was cold, but the city was warm, burning even. There were people around her, calling out her name, loving her though they had never seen her face before in their lives. She looked around, and saw a sight she had never even dreamed of in the sixty years she had been alive.

It was humbling, wonderful, and in her heart, Ceria felt something give. She looked over with slightly blurred eyes and saw a tall figure to her left. In her mind’s eye, Gerial walked down the street, slightly stiff but nearly bursting with pride, waving a hand now and then and going red when they cheered his name.

Ahead of her, Calruz strode ahead, tall, back straight to the sky, not looking left or right as he kept up his dignified façade—but loving every minute of it.

Behind her, Sostrom twirled his staff and emitted a shower of light particles, much to the delight of those watching. Hunt and Marian waved and cheered as well, and the other Horns of Hammerad walked proudly, marching as one.

For a moment. And then Ceria was back to the present, and she saw Pisces flicking his fingers and sending pink doves flying across the crowd, making them shriek and reach for the apparitions of light. She saw Ksmvr catch a wilted flower and eat it, Yvlon smiled at a young boy who ran out of the crowd to stare at her arms, and then she looked ahead.

The sky was very bright. And it was still cold, still winter. But right now she felt warm. Ceria murmured the words to herself, and let them disappear in the sounds of celebration.

“What an adventure.”

And somehow, it felt like it had only just begun.

3.09

Ryoka Griffin stood on the top of a snow-covered hill, facing the wind. Her arms were spread out, and she raised her head as the cold winter winds blew around her. The snow-flecked breeze tugged at her light clothing, a shirt and loose leggings, wholly inappropriate for the season. But the young woman paid no attention to the cold. In fact, such was her body heat that the snow had melted around her bare feet, exposing flattened grass underneath.

She was completely still as the air ruffled her long hair. Ryoka breathed in and felt the cold in her lungs. But she let not one muscle move; made no concession to the elements. Her breathing slowed, and Ryoka became one with nature. She was one with the world. One with the cosmos.

After another minute Ryoka opened her eyes.

“This is stupid.”

She dropped her arms to her side. She twisted her neck and heard a crick. Wincing, she rubbed at her shoulders and looked around. Then she glared at her midriff.

“Hey, Ivolethe! Did you hear me? I said this is stupid. It’s not working.”

Somewhat predictably, Ryoka’s midriff did not respond to her comment. But after a second, one of the compartments in her belt rustled, and a small head poked out. The tiny crystal head had bulging cheeks, and as Ivolethe flew out of the pouch she crammed the last bit of dried sweet fruit into her mouth.

“What’s wrong, Ryoka?”

The young woman paused and eyed Ivolethe. The naked faerie was just as ignorant of the cold as Ryoka was, but she had clearly been feasting in Ryoka’s pouch while the young woman tried to commune with the wind. The faerie was covered in bits of dried fruit; the sticky sweets clung to her like leeches.

Ivolethe didn’t seem to mind. The faerie peeled a bit of raisin off her stomach while Ryoka pushed at her hair distractedly. She spoke with waspish exasperation, but trying to moderate her tone.

“This isn’t working. I’ve been here for over an hour doing what you said, and all I have to show for it is wet feet and sore shoulders.”

“Hmm.”

The faerie eyed Ryoka skeptically, and then flew around her in a quick pattern. When she stopped she looked disappointed.

“You feel nothing? Even after taking in the wind?”

“Aside from the need to pee? Nothing.”

Ryoka sighed as the faerie scowled. She spread her hands.

“I don’t know. What should I be feeling?”

“The wind.”

The faerie gave her a look as if Ryoka was insane. Ryoka gave the faerie the same look.

“I’ve been feeling the wind. But I don’t feel a connection to it or whatever. Look, is there something else we can try?”

“I suppose we must try something else, then.”

Ivolethe screwed up her face in concentration. Ryoka began stretching her sore legs, watching the faerie think.

In theory, they were right now studying faerie magic. That was to say, Ivolethe was trying to teach Ryoka how the Frost Faeries conjured snow and moved faster than anything Ryoka had even seen in the world. Trying was the operative word here, though.

“Are you sure this is how you teach people faerie magic?”

“No.”

Ryoka paused as she grabbed her foot from behind, stretching the muscles in her legs out.

“What do you mean, ‘no’? I thought you knew what you were doing! You told me to stand here and listen to the wind!”

The faerie glared at her.

“And I thought it would help! No wonder ye heard nothing, though, since all ye do is jabber on with your complaints!”

“I’m doing my best. But I don’t even know what I’m doing! What part of the wind are you talking about?”

“There!”

Ryoka’s head turned as the faerie shouted. All she saw was a bit of grey sky. She turned back to the faerie, scowling. But Ivolethe didn’t look like she was pulling a prank on Ryoka. She flew up swiftly into the sky, over a hundred feet in seconds, and then flew in a twisting, downwards spiral around the hill. The human girl watched her, entranced by the graceful motion.

The faerie flew past Ryoka in a rush of air, and then stopped. She looked down at Ryoka, smiling. Ryoka had to smile back.

“Did ye see it?”

Ryoka paused and frowned.

“See what?”

Ivolethe’s smile faded and her face went slack. She gestured.

“The wind, of course! Did ye see as I followed it?”

“I saw you flying. That’s all.”

The tiny faerie slapped her forehead and shouted curses at Ryoka. The Runner listened, slightly impressed at the variety of insults.

“Look, clearly I can’t see what you can. You might be seeing something by magic or with your sense that I can’t. Can you try showing me whatever’s so important another way?”

Ivolethe grumbled and folded her arms as she thought.

“Perhaps. But this is the most obvious way for me.”

“Really?”

Another scowl.

“It is not as if I have practice teaching magic to mortals. The fey come into existence knowing magic. Teaching you magic is like trying to teach a fish to swim.”

Ryoka opened her mouth to reply and paused. She frowned, raised a finger.

“What do you—”

Ivolethe rolled her eyes, annoyed.

“No one teaches a fish to swim, fool! They either know or they do not.”

“Ah, right. Well, try thinking like a bird, then. Show me how a fish would teach a bird to swim or something. I don’t feel anything so far.”

A glare was the only warning Ryoka got. Ivolethe flew up, and then the wind changed. Ryoka felt that, and she saw a wall of white snow swirl upwards and then rush at her like a wave.

“Holy—”

The gust of wind and snow blew Ryoka off the hilltop. She tumbled down the slope, cursing and shouting. When she sat up, dizzy and bruised, Ivolethe flew down and grinned at her.

“Did ye feel anything?”

“Fuck you!”

Ryoka threw a snowball at Ivolethe. The faerie laughed and flew out of the way. She conjured a snowball of her own and Ryoka raised her arm before it collided with her bare skin. The Human and faerie continued in this vein for several minutes. In the end, Ryoka stopped because she hadn’t managed to tag Ivolethe once, and she’d taken six snowballs to the head.

“I’m tired. And the magic soup is wearing off. Let’s go back into the city and try again later, okay?”

“Okay.”

The two began to move, Ryoka starting at a jog and moving faster, Ivolethe flying high overhead, laughing in the cold. And though she’d made no progress, Ryoka felt better. She looked at the faerie flying high above her and smiled.

----

It’s an odd thing. A precious thing. Friendship, I mean. I feel like every second I’m going to make a horrible mistake and ruin things forever. But I don’t. Instead, it feels like every time I’m about to get into a fight or say something I regret I find a better word to say, or a better way to act.

I didn’t lose my temper with Ivolethe. Okay, I shouted and threw snow, but that was because I knew she wouldn’t care and I wouldn’t hit her. She isn’t like Erin. I can tell her exactly how I feel because she’ll do the same for me.

It’s so odd. Is Ivolethe a friend? Erin’s one, I’m pretty sure of that. But can I be friends with a faerie after only two days? It feels like it, but I’m not sure.

And how would I know? I’ve never had a good friend before. I’ve had ‘friends’, but that’s just a word. But someone who’s there for you even if it means risking their life? That’s new. And Ivolethe is about as good an example of that kind of friendship as you can get. She’s fearless, brave, and she’s quite open about the fact that she’s breaking rules to hang out with me.

Because that’s the nature of Frost Faeries. They’re the type of beings that go all-in with whatever they do. If they want to do something, they just go for it. And I like that about them the most.

Ivolethe and I return to the city in good time. I really only left it to practice her faerie magic, and since that was a bust we get back before it’s even midday. The stream of people leaving and entering Celum is still busy, but I make good time.

For two reasons. The first is that I’m a Runner, and I can essentially ignore most of the lengthy customs process the [Guardsmen] subject visitors to. The second is that I have a Frost Faerie sitting on my head, and news from yesterday has already gotten around.

It’s a strange thing. If I were in the United States and I walked around with a dangerous creature like a Frost Faerie, I’d probably be tossed in jail in a heartbeat. But in this world, I’m just treated like a high-level [Mage], or any Gold-rank adventurer, really. If Ivolethe causes trouble I’ll be held accountable. Aside from that, I’m free to do whatever I want, and people give me a wide berth as an added bonus.

The Runner’s Guild being destroyed would normally get me locked up and fined, but thanks to eyewitnesses seeing Persua and the other Runners grabbing Ivolethe, I got off scot-free. That may also have had to do with the fact that the Frost Faeries were busy raining ten kinds of hell on the Runners as they ran indoors, and the local Watch didn’t want to paint a target on their heads.

“Where are ye going?”

Ivolethe’s voice is small, but perfectly audible in my ears, even above the voices of the pedestrians shouting and clogging the streets. I run past them, finding less-crowded streets to turn down.

“I’m going to visit Erin. Then I’ll see if I can find Garia. I need to thank her for yesterday.”

“The big girl with the heart of a mouse? Sounds boring.”

The faerie jumps off my head and flies into my pouch even as I dodge around a laborer lugging a sack of something along. She’s so nimble! I can feel her rummaging around in there, and make a mental note to buy some more stuff for her to eat. I’ve got the coin, and it shuts her up and keeps her happy.

Here’s how it stands. Since yesterday, Ivolethe has pretty much been by my side day and night. She says it’s interesting and I won’t complain. She sometimes leaves, when I sleep for example, but other times she seems perfectly content to stay in my belt pouch. Especially when we’re indoors. I tried to convince her to leave, but she bit my thumb once. She’s agreed to stay in the pouch if I’m indoors, though, and a steady supply of food means she won’t break that promise.

I slow as I pass by the Runner’s Guild on my way to Octavia’s shop. A crowd of people, as well as a group of sweaty men holding shovels and pickaxes is gathered around the ruined building. The men are trying to excavate the building one shovelful of snow at a time, and not having much luck.

Some of the people watching this catch sight of me. I speed up as one of the [Receptionists] gives me a dirty look. Oops. I’d better not rub salt in the wounds. At least Persua’s not there—I heard she was being kept by the [Healer] for rest overnight, even though potions mended most of the wounds I gave her.

Persua.

I shake my head and continue onwards. So many problems, and I don’t have time to dwell on that. Erin comes first.

----

Octavia’s shop is as chaotic as ever, but I immediately notice Erin’s presence as soon as I push the door open. Ivolethe pokes her head out of my pouch; she feels safe enough to do that here.

“Something smells good. Is the innkeeper girl making more food?”

“Looks like it.”

I walk into the shop and hear voices arguing with each other.

“I told you—no, look at that! You’ve ruined it with the potion!”

“It doesn’t look that bad! Stop complaining—I told you Ryoka will pay for the potions, and I want to see if it does anything!”

“I’ll waste gold, that’s what will happen! And—can you smell that? It’s burning!”

Cautiously—I’ve seen how Erin experiments by now—I edge into what should be Octavia’s kitchen. Instead, it’s been transformed into a second alchemical workplace, and two girls are bickering over a stew that’s mostly green with something bobbing in the thin liquid. I clear my throat.

“Erin? Octavia? Everything going okay?”

“No!”

They’ve got good synchronization. I raise my hands as Octavia tries to complain about Erin using her potions in her cooking, and Erin offers me a taste of whatever vileness is cooking away.

“I’m not here to eat anything. I just need more of that Corusdeer soup, Erin. It’s wearing off again.”

“Really?”

Erin frowns and goes over to an open cupboard. It’s stocked with a half dozen jars of thick orange soup. Octavia rolls her eyes and calls after Erin.

“I told you that the soup was too thin this time! Too much carrot; not enough pepper!”

“It was worth a shot! Here you are Ryoka.”

“Thanks.”

I eye the mixture in the pot.

“Do I want to know?”

“I think this one’s a dud too. But we’re getting close; I can feel it! I’ve already figured out how to make mana soup!”

The girl with stitches folds her arms and snorts.

“That’s just a mana potion that’s slightly more edible than the rest. What’s the point?”

“It tastes better than your stupid potion!”

As the two begin to bicker, I edge out of the store. Erin seems…happy. At least, happy to keep doing this. I wonder why? I’m willing to foot the bill for her project, but I’d go nuts if I had to keep making failed potions all day. Or if I had to listen to Octavia for more than ten minutes straight.

“Got your magic drink?”

Ivolethe pokes her head out of my belt pouch, staring at the orange drink. I look at it as well; it’s just soup, but I feel like I’m holding a potion in some kind of videogame. Even long after it’s been bottled, the Corusdeer soup is warm to the touch; it’s magical, and if Erin can make anything else like it, I’ll shove gold down Octavia’s throat as long as it takes.

“Soup. And yes, I’m good. Let’s go find—”

“Is that you, Ryoka?”

Someone calls out to me as I leave Octavia’s shop. I whirl in surprise, and then smile.

“Fals?”

The tall Runner steps out from the wall he was leaning against. I walk towards him, smiling. Why am I so happy to see him? Maybe it’s because it feels like forever since we last spoke.

“What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d find you; someone told me you were hanging out here every day. How have you been?”

“Good. I—good.”

I hold out a hand to shake his, and then pause. Fals looks down and sees my two missing fingers from my right hand. His face freezes—and then he clasps my hand gently as if nothing’s the matter.

“Bad run?”

“Yes.”

It’s strange how I don’t have to explain it to him. Fals nods at me, face growing serious.

“I’d wondered where you went. I heard you were at Liscor from Valceif when he came back this way—then nothing. Did you finish the delivery?”

“I did. Traded two fingers for it.”

“But you did it. A good Runner never falters, and I’ve never seen you even hesitate.”

The compliment makes me feel better, even though I didn’t know I’d been feeling bad. I nod at him, and he smiles slightly in return.

It’s so strange. The last time we spoke I still hated everything about him. But now we’re—okay. I look closer at Fals and see that he’s changed a bit as well. He looks tired, and maybe not as happy as before.

“How have you been? Are you here on a delivery?”

“I was. Had to drag over a freshly-made sword for some Silver-rank adventurer in the city. It was a pain to track her down, but it was good coin. I was going to stop by the Guild, but apparently you had something to do with it being closed?”

I blush.

“Oh. That—”

“Don’t worry about it. One of the Guild workers filled me in.”

Fals shivers a bit as the wind blows harder. He stares at my t-shirt and bare feet.

“Dead gods, you’re making me cold just looking at you. Is that part of your friendship with the…Winter Sprites?”

“This? No, this is a potion.”

“Oh.”

I feel Ivolethe rustling around in my pouch. She’s paying more attention now that Fals is talking about her.

“Are they going to press charges after all, do you think?”

Fals shook his head.

“No; everyone knows how stupid it is to mess with the Winter Sprites. Besides, ah, there’s some concern about what would happen if they did charge you. At the moment you’re banned from the guild in Celum, which isn’t saying much.”

“Huh.”

I feel the pouch at my belt open. Fals blinks as Ivolethe flies up. She lands on my head, grinning at me and him.

“Who’s the shivering mortal, Ryoka? A lover of yours? Or just a prat?”

“Shut it, Ivolethe.”

“Ivolethe? Is that the Frost Faerie?”

Fals squints at a point just to the left of my head. I’m intrigued—even when she’s sitting, Ivolethe’s glamor works.

“Yup.”

“All I see is a blur.”

Gingerly, Fals nods his head towards Ivolethe, staring to the right of her.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Ivolethe.”

“Hah! A mortal with manners! Too bad ye can’t hear me, eh?”

Ivolethe laughs and flicks a bit of snow at Fals. He splutters and wipes away the snow with a grin.

“Not fond of anyone but you, are they?”

“Sorry about that.”

I flick Ivolethe off my head, making her shout in outrage. She hits me on the head with an icy pebble before retreating into my pouch. I grimace as Fals chuckles. He stops when I glare at him.

“You seem like you get along with her. I wish I could hear what she says—I assume she speaks?”

I nod.

“If we go indoors you’ll be able to see and hear her. And believe me, you’ll wish you couldn’t.”

“Well, as much as I’d like to, that’s dangerous for her, isn’t it?”

Too dangerous, especially for an immortal. I can’t believe Ivolethe would take the risk, but again, she goes all in. Death might matter to her, but she’d risk it for a friend without a second thought.

Fals notices my expression and grows serious again. He clears his throat as he shifts his weight from one leg to another.

“I’m sorry about Persua, Ryoka. I’m not saying thrashing her was the right thing to do, but I know what she can be like.”

“Yeah…I was surprised not to see you there, though. It looked like she was having a party; were you busy?”

He shakes his head, making a face.

“Hardly. I’ve been staying away from Celum on purpose. Ever since she got the [Double Step] Skill she’s been taking away the jobs from all us City Runners. We can barely find any work. I tried talking to her, but—she wouldn’t listen.”

That’s surprising. I frown at Fals.

“Not even to you?”

“Not to me or anyone else. It’s funny, but you were right, Ryoka. Persua used to be part of the team, and we’d help her and she’d help us if we needed a hand on a tough delivery or someone got injured. But the instant she was better than the rest of us? She left us behind.”

His expression is—unhappy. Fals shakes his head and stares at his worn shoes, looking more worn and upset than I’ve ever seen him. I stare at him, not sure what to say.

Part of me wants to mock him, to ask him what he expected. But I don’t. Fals is a good Runner, and he believed in working together. That Persua threw him and every one of her friends under the bus the instant she rose above them doesn’t surprise me.

What does surprise me is how quickly Fals was replaced in the Guild’s hierarchy. He’s the most senior Runner, and up until me and Persua, he was the best in the local area. Does that mean nothing to them?

What should I say? I think for a second, and then jerk my head.

“Come on, let’s get a drink.”

He’s surprised, but accepts after a moment. I lead Fals at a quick jog down the street. Another good thing. Runners don’t walk if we have a choice, so we get to the Frenzied Hare in a third as much time as it would take if Erin and I went*.

*Especially because she’ll stop and talk to everyone she knows. Oh, hey Wesle! How’s being a guard? Hey Agnes! Out for a stroll? Hey Mr. Dog! Why don’t I stop for five minutes and scratch you between the ears!

Agnes recognizes me on sight, and in a moment she has one of the barmaids find me and Fals a table. I order a mild ale and he chooses a ‘Firebird’, which is some kind of a local drink. It’s quite a bit stronger than my drink, which makes my eyebrows shoot up.

“You’re not planning on running today?”

“I don’t fancy going to another city for requests, and the Guild here is all messed up.”

Fals shakes his head as he downs half of the fiery drink served to him and drinks from a glass of water quickly. He shakes his head as I sip my drink.

“Not having a good day?”

“Try week and a half. Ever since Persua got her Skill.”

“Huh. I’d have thought you’d be glad to be rid of her, even if she did abandon everyone here.”

“I suppose that’s the one upside. She’ll be running cross-continent deliveries if she makes Courier, and even if she doesn’t, she’ll probably move up north where there’s more work.”

Fals sighs as he sips at his drink again. His face is a bit red, but he still looks…morose. Yes, that’s the word for it. He looks morose, beaten down, depressed. After a few more minutes, he tells me why.

“It’s just a bit frustrating. I’ve been running and leveling up as a [Runner] for the last…must be sixteen years already. I was the best in the area until you showed up, but you trained to be as fast as you are, so I don’t mind. All my Skills are stamina-based and defensive, anyways. But Persua gets lucky one time and suddenly she’s a better Runner than I am.”

“Isn’t that the way the system works?”

“Yes. No. There’s always chance in how the Skills get assigned, but there’s a pattern to things! You put in the hard work, you get more Skills. But sometimes people can just get—lucky! And it’s not fair, damn it!”

He waves for another drink, jaw set. I feel for him; he’s going through what I felt not too long ago. What I struggle with now, to be honest. It just bites him harder, because he’s in the system and still not getting rewarded.

“I’d say relax. Don’t worry about it. Soon Persua will be gone, and you’ll be the best Runner again. Well, aside from me. The Guild will be fawning all over you soon enough.”

Fals stares at me and then laughs.

“It’s odd hearing you be the voice of reason. But you’re right. It’s just depressing seeing Persua of all people become so successful. If it was someone like Garia, I’d be cheering her on. I wish it had been her, to be honest. She could use the help.”

I frown over my drink. It’s not even half empty and Fals is on his second tumbler. He’s really upset. I guess I can listen; I was going to find Garia anyway, and she might be in here later.

“What’s wrong with Garia? Is she hurt? Or is it something else?”

“She’s had problems of her own. Garia’s a good Runner, Ryoka, you know that. She can haul as much as a horse around, but she’s slow. And sometimes—she gets lost.”

The young man in front of me shakes his head, shoulders sagging. His words make me sit up in my chair.

“Lost? What do you mean?”

He waves towards the window. Ivolethe rustles around in my pouch and I order a bowl of nuts to dump in there to keep her calm.

“It’s the snow. Everything looks the same to her—she loses track of the road. Her eyesight isn’t as good as yours or mine, that’s the problem.”

Eyesight problems? Why would—oh. They don’t have glasses here. Or do they?

“Isn’t there a—a spell that could help her out with that? Improve her vision?”

“Oh, it’s not a matter of how far she can see.”

Fals flicks his wrist dismissively.

“If it were, there are spectacles—although it would be hard for her to wear those clumsy things while running—or she could buy an enchanted pair. Pricey, but she could save up. Her problem is that she can’t tell the difference between white and grey, you see? If she’s on the road and it’s just snowed—”

Color blindness. Oh. I close my eyes. There’s nothing I can do about that. Fals nods wearily.

“Everyone’s got problems, Ryoka. Garia’s a good Runner, but winter is tough for her.”

“Sounds like it.”

I sigh. I haven’t been a good friend—a friend at all to these people, have I?

“I should hang out with her more. Talk to her. I know she’s wanted to go on a delivery with me; I could do that now and then.”

Fals smiles.

“Would you? She’d love that. In fact, she’s invited me over to stay at her parent’s farm—thanks for helping her out after she got injured. I’d go, but…it would be better if two of us went rather than just me.”

He pauses delicately and I consider the invitation. He’s saying he doesn’t like Garia, which is fair enough, I guess. It’s not as if he has to like her, and he’s still a good friend to her. And as for me?

“Why the hell not? I’ll tag along sometime. Can I bring a friend?”

“Interesting way of putting it. I’m sure Garia wouldn’t mind the company, and she tells me her folks are just as friendly as she is. I’ll ask her about it when I see her.”

“She might come walking in here soon enough. She usually eats here—more often now that there’s a new cook. Were you waiting for her?”

“What? No, I was going to see you.”

“What for?”

Fals pauses, cup touching his mouth. He lowers it and smacks his head.

“What? Oh, of course! Dead gods, I’ll start forgetting my own name soon enough.”

He puts down his drink and leans across the table to me, smiling. Suddenly I remember that Fals doesn’t like Garia. He likes me. At least, I think he did at one point. Fuck. What’s he going to—

“You know those adventurers you were hanging out with? The ah, Horns?”

My thoughts freeze. I focus on Fals.

“Yes. What about them?”

“I was just in Remendia, and I heard of a big celebration that was thrown in Ocre. I missed the festivities—but apparently the city was celebrating a group of adventurers who just completed a dungeon crawl. They came out with a lot of loot. And guess what they were calling themselves?”

I sit back in my chair, too shocked for words. The Horns of Hammerad? Gerial, Calruz, and—

No, no. They’re dead. It’s just Ceria now. I remember that Erin told me she’d formed another group with Pisces, Yvlon, and one of the Antinium. But I didn’t realize—

I’m standing before I know it. Fals looks at me, concerned. I stare towards the door. Ocre? Not too far. It’s only midday—not even that. I can make it by tonight.

“I—I’ve got to go. I have to—can you tell Garia? And Erin?”

I look at Fals. He nods at me, understanding.

“I’ll let Garia know. But who’s Erin?”

“She’s the other innkeeper here!”

I shout at him as I run out the door. I’m already picking up the pace as I run down the street.

It’s too late now. They went through the dungeon and survived. Fals said that. It’s all over now; why am I running? But I have to see.

The last time I left them, they were all dead when I got back. All dead. I never said goodbye. But this—

They did it. I just have to see that. I have to look Ceria in the eye and congratulate her. I—

They really did it. I’m smiling, but my eyes are stinging as I race out of Celum and run through the snow.

----

The young woman ran through the snow, dashing through snow banks, feet flashing across the ground. She ran fast. Well, comparably fast. To the faeries flying high overhead, she was as slow as a falling snowflake.

Oh, if pressed the faeries would admit that Ryoka ran faster than the snow in a literal sense. But to their eyes she was like a rolling stone, or a scurrying rodent, or the slow orbit of the sun. She moved, yes, but she ran against the wind, blundering through nature. She did not dance upon the world like they did.

And the faeries did dance, or fly, or maybe both at the same time high overhead. Ryoka ran on, not hearing as they flew and argued with one of their number.

“Why are you following her? She’s done naught interesting for days, sister!”

One of the faeries complained to a faerie who flew closer to Ryoka than the rest. She sounded aggrieved, but the faerie in question—Ivolethe—just flicked her wings at her sister as she flew.

“Ah, buzz off if you feel like it! What I do is my own concern!”

“It’s ours if you want to give away our secrets!”

Another faerie called out, voice high and challenging. She was younger than Ivolethe—ancient by mortal standards, but younger in a way only the faeries would count. She flinched as Ivolethe glared at her.

“‘Tis my business! Interfere and I’ll pluck out your eyes you stripling whelp!”

She flew aggressively at the other faerie and the young one flew away, squeaking. But other faeries flew around Ivolethe, and they were not afraid.

“It is our business, sister. You pay too much attention to her.”

“I have cause.”

“An ‘if’ on the sea of possibilities is not enough. You risk too much—death, even!—for a mortal. It is not as if she is prophesied.”

“My life is my own. Or are ye a king of mine, to order me about?”

“Not I. But what if I was to tell our king of what ye do? What then?”

“Yes! Stop following the mortal like a silly pet! You stay in her belongings like a kept thing! Stop!”

More voices urged Ivolethe. She snarled and flew at them, but the faeries just flew around her, shouting.

“Yes, come away!”

“We’ll tell!”

“You went into the place of iron! Fool!”

“It was my choice! My risk! And ye hardly helped!”

Ivolethe roared at them, her voice lost to Ryoka as the girl leapt over a frozen log below. She pointed at the other faeries, accusing.

“What was that tripe ye brought to revenge me? Destroying a building? Throwing snow and ice at those fools? ‘Twas hardly an hour passed before you forswore vengeance and flew off as if naught had happened!”

One of the faeries laughed at Ivolethe’s anger.

“You went into the home of iron uninvited. You dared them and struck first. If you had died, we would have called for vengeance. But you are alive and only your pride is injured, so be content with that! And because of you, the mortal has a dire oath sworn against her, a prophecy of vengeance and blood!”

“I know.”

Ivolethe sighed. The faeries grew silent then; they respected oaths and vows of vengeance more than they did lives. After a while, the other faeries began to fly off. The ones around Ivolethe urged her to join them, but she just shook her head.

“A little longer. A little longer. What is time to we?”

“Careful, sister. Do not wait too long.”

“Teach her if you will! But there will be consequence and dire reckoning!”

“Aye.”

Ivolethe nodded, watching her sisters fly off. She flew lower, and whispered the words.

“There always is. But it will come no matter what I do or do not.”

Then she flew next to Ryoka and had fun creating patches of ice to trip the girl up.

----

Ceria Springwalker was not a half-Elf for whom socializing came to naturally. She could not be a social butterfly, or social squirrel, or social anything, really. She had friends, and she could enjoy a night at a bar or one of the parties in Wistram easily enough, but she’d grown up solitary, and gotten used to being alone once she’d left her home.

Most half-Elves were like that. And so while Ceria was perfectly content to have people fawn over her and buy her drinks (or have her buy the bar a round of drinks), she eventually had to retire from the crowds and go to her room in the inn.

Below, she could hear the party still going on. Pisces and Ksmvr were busy entertaining the mass of people crowding the tables below, and she knew they had to be drinking heavily even now. Pisces could put away a surprising amount of liquor despite his thin frame, and Ksmvr seemed to be almost immune to the stuff.

The world swam in a not-unpleasant way as Ceria lay on her bed and grinned. Some people would say that drinking before the sun had even set—in the winter, no less—was unacceptable. But those people hadn’t just cleared an ancient dungeon and come back with treasure, now had they?

It had probably been a bad idea to drink the last two…three mugs, though. Ceria was just contemplating a nap when she heard a commotion on the stairs. She sat up warily, and her eyes flicked to the door. She had no gold on her—rather, she and the other Horns of Hammerad had a letter of accreditation magically sealed, allowing her to draw the coin she needed from the Merchant’s Guild if need be. It was useless to thieves, but they didn’t know that and already twice the bouncers at the inn had caught people trying to break into their rooms.

Were they now going for a more direct assault? Ceria focused on the [Ice Spike] spell although she really didn’t want to kill anyone. Maybe a blunted [Ice Shard] spell? Or just set their clothes on fire? She heard someone shouting, and then pounding feet. She raised her hand—

And Ryoka burst into the room. The young woman’s hair was a mess, and she was breathing heavily. Sweat ran down her forehead, despite her light attire. Her eyes fixed on Ceria, and the two young women stared at each other.

“Ryoka?”

Ceria stood up slowly. She heard someone shout, and then Ryoka was tackled from the side. Ceria ran out and shouted at the men trying to wrestle Ryoka. She heard faint shouting, as if someone tiny and far away was trapped in Ryoka’s belt. It was almost like a buzz. But Ceria had no time to wonder what that was.

“Stop, stop! She’s a friend!”

She shouted at the inn’s security and eventually managed to get them off Ryoka. Ceria pulled the Runner up, surprised at how warm Ryoka felt. Then she managed to soothe the [Innkeeper], and got Ryoka into her room before she could start any more trouble.

“Bring up a tray of drinks, please. Something strong to take the chill off.”

Ceria closed the door and pulled a seat out for Ryoka. The taller Human girl sat, looking around. The room Ceria had been given was huge, the biggest in the inn, meant for a couple. She was alone in it, befitting of her role as the team’s leader. In truth, it was too big for Ceria but they weren’t planning on staying in the city for more than another night, and it was perfect for talking with Ryoka.

That was, if either of them could speak. At first Ceria was buzzing with questions—how had Ryoka heard they were here? How was Erin doing? Had she heard about the Goblin attack? What about Rags? But then she found herself tongue-tied, unable to say a word.

When had they last sat together in a room, the two of them? In the inn with the Winter Sprites, so briefly. And before that? So long ago…it had been the day they’d left Esthelm, the day Ryoka had unwisely picked a fight and the Horns of Hammerad and the other adventuring groups had gone to Liscor. So long ago. A lifetime ago.

Ryoka was thinking the same thing. She sat, looking Ceria up and down. Ceria saw her eyes linger on her skeletal hand and smiled just for a second. That had to be—

“Your fingers.”

The words slipped out of Ceria in a gasp. She stared at Ryoka’s right hand, at the two healed stumps of scar tissue where her fingers should have been. Ryoka started, and held up her hand. She smiled, almost ruefully.

“I keep forgetting how many people haven’t seen this. Yeah, I lost my fingers.”

“How? Where? Was it on your delivery?”

“Yeah. The one south. It went…south.”

Ryoka laughed a bit while Ceria stared at her hand. She looked away, but then deliberately held her hand out to Ceria.

“It’s not exactly as bad as your hand, although I wish I’d kept the bones.”

Ceria gently reached out and touched Ryoka’s hand. She didn’t know what to say. Losing fingers was normal for adventurers—it was all too easy to lose body parts when a monster was in your face. But it was never easy, not with a friend—

“I’m sorry.”

“It happened. There was nothing I could do to stop it.”

“A monster did it?”

“Goblin. Bit them right off.”

“Goblins—you mean, the ones that attacked Esthelm?”

“Sort of. It’s a long story.”

Ryoka’s expression closed off a bit. She looked pained, older. Ceria saw her shake her head.

“I’ll tell you later. I’m not here to dwell on my mistakes—and I’ve got a lot. I just had to come here, to see you.”

“You certainly did it dramatically. Couldn’t you have asked to see me rather than run up the stairs?”

The young woman grinned and shrugged, abashed.

“You’re a celebrity now. They were turning away everyone who wanted to talk to you. I don’t think they would have accepted my word that we were friends.”

“True.”

Ceria laughed, and the hardest part was over. She looked at Ryoka, marveling.

“Not a day’s passed since we got out of Albez, and you find us. How?”

“A friend of mine heard a rumor about some Silver-rank team that cleared a dungeon. I raced over here, and every person on the street knew where you were staying.”

“Oh? So you know what we’ve been up to?”

“A bit. Just the important details. Although to hear other people say it, you guys went into the Ruins of Albez and slaughtered every monster you saw until you found a treasure vault.”

Ryoka grinned at Ceria. The half-Elf had to laugh.

“Hardly. We were digging around in that place aimlessly for over a week! If it weren’t for the map Olesm found—dead gods, there’s so much that has happened! Did you see Pisces and Ksmvr in the common room?”

“I did. They didn’t recognize me, though. Of course, they were both drunk.”

“Even Ksmvr? I might have to go down and see that.”

“He’s still drinking. I’m not sure if the Antinium can get alcohol poisoning, but you might need to stop him.”

“They’ve got antidotes for that. I’ll go down in a bit. For now—”

There was a polite knock at the door. Ceria broke off and got up. The [Innkeeper] himself was at the door with some drinks for her and Ryoka. She took it and thanked him before sitting with Ryoka at the table again. The young woman shook her head as she eyed the stiff beverage.

“They treat you like royalty, don’t they?”

“Anything for the heroic adventurers. I haven’t felt this pampered—ever.”

Ceria sighed as she stared at her drink. She should have ordered water, not more alcohol. She paused, and looked at Ryoka. The other girl was staring at her.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just—you guys really did it, didn’t you?”

She looked at Ceria, something in her eyes. Ceria Springwalker shook her head, smiling, feeling something in her heart move.

“It wasn’t nearly as easy as the rumors make it out to be. We nearly died several times. Yvlon is getting bits of metal cut out of her arm as we speak. We’re not even sure if we can remove the armor without damaging her arm…”

“But you did it.”

“Yes. We did.”

How she wished. How she wished she could have said that to Ryoka at another time, in another place. In an inn in Liscor, laughing with delight as the other adventurers celebrated down below. But that moment would never come.

And yet, she knew that Ryoka was thinking the same thing. Seized by a sudden impulse, Ceria grabbed her mug. She lifted it.

“To the old Horns of Hammerad. We did it.”

“You did.”

The two clinked mugs and then drank. Ceria gulped the strong alcohol down and then sighed.

“It doesn’t feel real. I keep pinching myself, and I still can’t believe we’re alive.”

“You’re telling me? I just heard about all this, and I’m still in shock.”

Ceria laughed lightly.

“Well, we’ve had a day. I just keep thinking I’m going to wake up in the pit again or—”

She paused, and ignored Ryoka’s inquiring look.

“Anyways, the rumors are partly true. We’re rich, we’re famous, and we got out of Albez with a load of treasure and some magical artifacts. Pisces and Ksmvr are trying to get rid of it all today, but we’re set for a long time.”

“I’m glad.”

That was all Ryoka said, but Ceria heard everything she meant in it. She nodded, and then remembered.

“I’ve got money for Erin too—we talked, and there’s forty gold coins waiting for her.”

Ryoka whistled softly.

“That’s a lot more than she said she lent you.”

Ceria grinned.

“We’d give her even more, but we don’t have that much gold to toss around.”

“The rumor I heard coming into the city was that you and the others were set up for life.”

The half-Elf had to laugh at that, ruefully.

“We were. We pulled in nearly a hundred pounds worth of gold and gems, did you know? That would be enough to outfit us in style or pay for our retirement—Pisces, Yvlon and Ksmvr’s, at least, I’d run out before I died of old age—but we spent it instead.”

“On what? Magical equipment?”

“No. It’s going to the people who died in Liscor.”

“Oh.”

Silence descended again, but not for too long. Ceria explained.

“We’re giving them each a share. If we can, that is. Direct family—lovers—it’s hard to confirm, but we’ll give all the relatives of the dead what we can. It’s not enough, but it’s something.”

Ryoka nodded.

“Noble of you. Not sure it’s practical.”

“Neither am I. But Yvlon’s said she’ll forfeit her share of the magical artifacts if need be. I’m not sure it’ll come to that, but she’ll have last pick at any rate.”

“Artifacts? You mentioned those. You came away with more than just gold and jewels?”

“In a sense.”

Ceria grimaced as she explained what they’d recovered.

“Burnt and mangled, mostly. But they’re powerful. The trouble is, we can’t figure out what they do or if they’re still dangerous.”

“I can see that’s a problem. Can’t you hire another [Mage] to analyze the stuff, though?”

Ceria shook her head.

“Not in this city. There’s no one high-level enough to tell us what the items do, or whether they can be repaired. Pisces and I have had a look at the enchantments, but the more complex a spell is, the harder it is to…untangle the individual spells I guess is the best way of putting it. And since they’re all damaged, it’s even more of a mess.”

“I see.”

Ryoka frowned.

“Magical weapons, huh?”

“And a bag and the pack of a dead adventurer. Frankly, I suspect those two might be the more valuable pieces of loot. I’m sure the bag is actually a bag of holding, and if that’s the case, who knows what could be in there?”

“But you haven’t opened it?”

“Too risky. The bag and the pack are both trapped, at least, so we think. There’s a binding spell that prevents both from being opened—or damaged—and I don’t want to mess with either one. If the wards are anything like the dungeon we just went through, I wouldn’t want the bag opened even if I were on the other side of the city.”

“Was it really that dangerous down there?”

Ryoka looked inquiringly at Ceria. The half-Elf hesitated. She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to tell the truth either. Even remembering the ordeal made her shudder.

“It was—bad. Very bad.”

She didn’t press for details, but Ryoka’s expression told Ceria she would listen. And Ceria knew she had to tell her. Slowly, she began to relate the entire tale to Ryoka, skipping over only the parts that were too hard to tell her, the details of the pit.

“Near the end, I think we were all a bit insane, even after the spell had ended. We made a lot of bad mistakes, and we lost the majority of the treasure because we made a mistake.”

“It wasn’t your fault. None of you were thinking straight.”

“That’s true enough, but we should have fallen back. If we’d just taken the time…”

Again, Ceria had to make herself break off. There was no use going over the moment again and again. She turned the topic away from the past and onto the future instead. She made her tone lighter.

“After Yvlon gets treated and we’ve had another day to rest, we’re going to have to think hard about what we want to do next.”

“As adventurers, you mean?”

“Not that. I mean, not yet. I think we’re all in this now; we’ve been bit by the adventuring beast. But we need to improve ourselves first. We all leveled up from that dungeon—several times actually! But if we want to continue, we need to get those artifacts analyzed. They’re the difference between us being Silver-rank and Gold-rank.”

Ryoka nodded, thinking hard.

“Any idea how you could do that? I have one idea, but it would be…risky…”

“No need for risk. I know how to get everything looked at. It’s just a matter of time and effort.”

“Really? How?”

Ceria drained most of her mug, grimacing as she remembered it wasn’t water she was drinking.

“One place where we know we’d find people able to dispel the magic and maybe even repair the artifacts is Invrisil.”

“The City of Adventurers?”

“Everyone just has to mention that.”

The half-Elf rolled her eyes and laughed with Ryoka. But then she grew serious again.

“Yes. It’s one of the most famous cities on the continent for a reason. It’s the center of the Human lands, and famous teams pass through there all the time. If there were any place aside from Wistram where we’d get the gear looked at, it’s there.”

“Sounds good to me. Only one problem though—isn’t Invrisil over four hundred miles north of here?”

“Six hundred? Something huge. Anyways, none of us want to make the journey, but that’s the place we have to be. A trip would take weeks—maybe as much as a month and it would take far too much coin and time, not to mention the danger if people knew what we were carrying. But…”

“But…?”

Ceria grinned.

“Well, we were talking about it last night. This morning, rather, while we were getting over our last hangover. If it’s too much time and effort for the four of us to go north, why not hire someone who can get there faster? Someone we can trust? They could take the gold and get the gear analyzed, and then send us a [Message] spell and ask what we want to do and bring the gear back. Of course, we’d have to have complete faith in the Runner brave enough to do all that…”

At first, Ryoka’s expression was intent, but then her face went slack with surprise. By the time Ceria had finished, she was shaking her head.

“That’s a lot of trust to put in a Runner. I wouldn’t trust anyone like that, myself.”

“Are you sure?”

Ceria teased Ryoka.

“You’re the person who saved the original Horns of Hammerad all that time ago. And you went into the crypts to rescue me. I’d trust you with our gear and coin, and so would Yvlon. Pisces is on the fence, and Ksmvr just doesn’t know you that well. But if we got you an escort—another Runner who can fight maybe—the real issue is how you’ll carry all that gear without attracting attention.”

The young woman’s expression was bemused.

“I…may have something that could help with that. But before we go to all that trouble, I might have an even better idea. I happen to know a local expert in magic myself.”

“Really? Who?”

“I’ll introduce you.”

To Ceria’s incredulous surprise, Ryoka unbuckled her Runner’s belt and laid it on the table. She called out, and to Ceria’s astonishment she saw one of the compartments was moving.

“Hey. Ivolethe. You can come out here.”

The large pouch vibrated and Ceria leaned back as she heard a voice! It was a voice, but something was very strange about it. She heard someone speaking, that much was obvious. And yet—

She heard the words. It sounded like—‘are ye sure?’. But it couldn’t be. Ceria rubbed at her ears; the sound was almost ethereal, if that could apply to a voice. It felt almost as though she was hearing the words in her mind, like a stray thought. Then Ryoka opened the pouch and something flew out.

A Frost Faerie, a Winter Sprite, one of the beings of winter Ceria had seen every year, flew into the air, whirling as vapor trails formed behind her. Ceria gasped and pushed her chair back in instinctive surprise. And fear. She hadn’t forgotten how the faeries had attacked her last time she’d met, and all half-Elves had learned very early on that the Winter Sprites were not friendly towards them.

But something was different about this faerie. She wasn’t the half-blurred form Ceria saw in the sky. Ceria knew the faeries had their own glamor, an illusion she could only partly see through thanks to her Elven heritage. But in the confines of the room, the magic that kept her from being seen and heard was gone.

She was—real. So real and delicate and wondrous that Ceria couldn’t believe her eyes. But what her eyes saw made her stare even harder.

She saw something else, behind the form Ryoka saw. She saw a flash of color—a face, far larger than the tiny faerie’s wrinkling her nose at Ceria in displeasure. The elfin being flicked her hair—

And then the image was gone. The tiny faerie flipped her hair, flipped Ceria off, and then jumped up onto the mug with the drinks. She dunked her head in it and drank, lowering the level of the liquid quite a bit. Then she sat on the cup and glared at both Ceria and Ryoka.

“I do not wish to speak to the offspring of whores and slatterns.”

“That’s a rude way to say hello.”

Ryoka glared at the tiny faerie whom she introduced as Ivolethe. Ceria just stared, awestruck. When she finally found her voice, all she could do was stammer.

“How did you—do you know what—Ryoka?”

The young woman was grinning like a child holding a huge sweet.

“She’s a friend of mine, Ceria. A Frost Faerie. And she’s teaching me their magic.”

“Their magic?”

Ceria’s eyes turned back to Ivolethe. The tiny faerie made another rude gesture.

“Don’t stare at me so, bastard-daughter!”

The words stung and brought Ceria back to earth. Ryoka frowned hard at the tiny faerie and pushed her into the cup. Ivolethe spluttered and shook liquid off her wings, shouting in outrage.

“Stop that. Ceria’s done nothing wrong. Why do your people hate her so much?”

The faerie sneered at Ryoka.

“We don’t hate her, fool! We hate what she has become, what her existence means! Ask her about her people and their sin!”

Ceria bit her lip as the faerie spoke. She didn’t know about sin—but she knew what the faerie meant. Ryoka glanced at her face and scowled at Ivolethe again.

“Stop being rude. I asked you to come out because I thought you could help, not shout insults. Calm down.”

“Would you like a drink?”

Ceria offered her mug to the faerie. Ivolethe snorted and kicked the mug back.

“I won’t drink from your cup, half-breed!”

Ryoka’s eyes narrowed.

“Ivolethe. She offered you her cup. That was an act of good faith.”

“I piss in your good faith!”

The faerie shouted at Ceria, but Ryoka flicked her back into the mug again. When she came out shrieking in outrage, Ceria just sighed and spoke to Ryoka.

“I don’t think it’s worth it, Ryoka.”

“I do. And if Ivolethe is my friend, she’d heed my request.”

Something about the way Ryoka phrased her statement spoke to Ceria. It certainly had an impact on Ivolethe. The faerie stared up at her, incredulous.

“Ye’d invoke our friendship? For her?”

“Absolutely. She’s my friend as well. And all I’m asking is if you’d consider looking at her magical artifacts.”

“No! Nae! Never a million times over!”

“Ivolethe…”

“Never a million times and one!”

“Come on.”

“No!”

Ceria stared at the two arguing and rubbed her eyes. She stared at her mug and decided she wasn’t doing any more drinking, possibly ever. Ryoka kept pressing the insistent Frost Faerie.

“Ivolethe, I’m asking you as a friend. Unless your friendship with me isn’t worth that much?”

Ivolethe’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and her voice deepened far more than should be possible.

“Play no games with me, mortal. Friendship is not a bargaining tool.”

“Sorry.”

Ryoka actually looked chastened. Ivolethe fanned her wings out, sniffed, and then seemed to relent. She didn’t look directly at Ceria, but her tone made it clear she was speaking to both girls.

“Even if I did consent, my help would avail ye naught.”

“Why’s that? Can’t you read magic? I thought faeries knew more magic than any mortal.”

“True, but what we understand is not your odd system. I could read the flow of magic within such objects, but knowing the ken of such strange things is beyond me. The wh—the halfling is right. Find a proper spellcaster to do your work rather than bother me.”

With that, the faerie jumped back into the pouch and closed it in a huff, pausing only to drink Ryoka’s cup dry. Ryoka stared at Ceria and shrugged.

“Well, it was worth a shot.”

Ceria stared at her friend and shook her head very slowly.

“You’re going to have to explain what happened to you while I was away.”

The young woman grinned.

“I can do that. It’ll take a while, though.”

“We’ve got time. You could tell all of us over dinner. We could visit Yvlon then hear it from you.”

Ryoka nodded.

“Good idea. And while we do, I can talk to you about Erin.”

“What about Erin? Is she okay?”

“She’s in Celum right now.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you the entire story, but the long and short of it is that she needs an escort. And we also need for Pisces to track down Toren—the skeleton.”

“Why?”

Ceria’s mind raced ahead of Ryoka’s answer and she groaned even as Ryoka told her.

“He’s done it. Pisces actually—no, maybe he just made one that could think. But that crazy fool actually—”

Ryoka frowned as she followed Ceria out the door. The half-Elf stomped down the corridor, suddenly in a foul mood.

“What’s he done? What’s this about Toren?”

“We’ll get Pisces to explain right now. If he’s not sober I’ll freeze him until he is. It’s his stupid idea with the undead. It goes all the way back to when we were at Wistram.”

Ceria paused as she reached the stairs leading down. She halted Ryoka silently. The young woman looked at her, and she had the presence of mind to whisper.

“What? What’s wrong?”

The half-Elf frowned. She lowered her voice to a whisper as well.

“Pisces and Ksmvr were down there with half the city drinking and having a party.”

“So?”

“Why’s it so quiet?”

They exchanged a look. Ceria raised her skeletal hand, calling magic into it. Ryoka pulled a bottle from her belt. The two crept down the stairs.

The two were ready for anything—bandits, a crazed mob, enemy mages, monsters—even an evil undead skeleton. But neither of them had expected the smartly dressed, professional [Butler] that stood in the middle of the common room, waiting for them to come down.

He was the odd thing out in the world of celebration and cheer. Pisces, Ksmvr, and the many, many guests in the inn were all paused in the midst of their reveling, staring at the man in his black uniform and trim mustache. He bowed to Ryoka, arm over his stomach as she descended, staring at him.

“Ryoka Griffin?”

Ceria looked over at her friend as every eye turned to the Runner. Ryoka had a dark look on her face as she stared at the man. She crossed her arms.

“Who’s asking?”

The [Butler] straightened and gave her a dignified nod of the head. His words were crisp and precise.

“My name is Reynold, Miss Griffin. I am a [Butler] in direct employ of the Reinhart house. I have come here at the orders of Lady Magnolia.”

Ceria had never wanted a [Butler]—she’d never considered even having one before now. But now she wanted one. She stared at the man, mind buzzing with the implications of what he’d just said. Lady Magnolia? She wanted Ryoka? Why?

Ryoka’s face was completely hostile as she stared at Reynold.

“Oh? And what does Magnolia want with me?”

The man gestured towards the door. Through it, Ryoka could see a carriage, sitting horseless on the street. But it was not a simple carriage. It had to be one of the nobility’s carriages, the kind pulled by magic creations similar in nature to the fire construct Ceria had faced in the dungeon.

“The coach awaits you outside. If you will come with us, we will bring you to the estate of Magnolia Reinhart.”

“And if I refuse?”

Ceria stared at her friend in shock. But Ryoka looked quite serious. Reynold nodded once.

“I will not force you to come with us.”

“Wise.”

Ryoka sneered down at the [Butler]. He raised one finger, cutting off her next words.

“However, I must caution you that Lady Magnolia did not send just me.”

“What?”

Outside the inn, the doors of the carriage slowly opened. Ceria saw someone emerge from the carriage, but it was not Lady Magnolia. Not Magnolia, and yet a tiny bell in Ceria’s head—her [Dangersense]—rang the instant she laid eyes on the woman.

Ressa, the head [Maid] in Lady Magnolia’s employ, stepped through the doors, staring around the room full of silent people as if they were specks of dirt and she had a dust cloth. She stopped, her black and white dress swirling around her as she met Ryoka’s eyes across the crowded room.

The older woman did not smile. She didn’t frown either; she just looked at Ryoka with cold eyes, weighing her up and down and finding her wanting as before. Ressa’s face was implacable as she looked Ryoka straight in the eye and spoke.

“Lady Reinhart is expecting you.”

3.10

Yvlon Byres knew the answer before they said it. She was not a silver-tongued socialite, but she had learned to read people’s eyes as a child. She had learned to dance with words before she had picked up a sword. Of course, she’d left that world behind to become an adventurer, but some things never faded.

Now she sat still and kept her face still, hoping that she was wrong. But the [Healer] just shook his head as he tapped on the silver and black metal that had become part of Yvlon’s body.

“I’m sorry Miss Byres. But I don’t believe the metal can be removed.”

“I see.”

Yvlon’s tone was light and free of negative emotion. She looked the man directly in the eye; an honest [Noble] would do no less. Feeling free to speak, the man went on, speaking candidly.

“I am not a high-level [Healer]. Perhaps one with a Skill might be able to deal with this…affliction. Or perhaps a [Bone Surgeon], although you would have to find a Gnoll tribe’s [Healer] with such a rare class. As it is…I can do nothing.”

The woman stared at her arms, at the metal that felt so alien and heavy on her skin. There was no pain—only a sense of invasiveness. She could feel the metal in her, and in truth she had expected no other answer from the man.

“What of the exterior?”

The tall, broad woman standing next to the [Healer] cleared her throat. She was a [Blacksmith], and she touched the cold metal with familiarity. Yvlon didn’t mind the intrusion, although the [Healer] looked askance. But the [Blacksmith] only saw metal, and how it could be shaped.

“That I could cut away. The pieces below the skin—if that is anchored to bone I won’t touch it. Normally we’d use a saw or snap the metal in two—”

“No.”

The man hurriedly interjected and the broad-shoulder woman nodded placidly before continuing.

“—But with the right blade we could cut the metal. It’s warped; lost a lot of its strength in the melting. An enchanted dagger would cut most of it off and we could sand the rest smooth. It’s not easy, but it is doable.”

Yvlon looked at the [Healer] to see his opinion. The man nodded reluctantly.

“It would certainly allow the skin to breathe and prevent much of the possible infection. But even so, the metal has bonded with bone. Your arms—”

“I understand. Thank you.”

She couldn’t bear to hear any more. Both man and woman exchanged uncertain glances. At last, the [Healer] spoke again.

“I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

“And I will see if I can find a blade good enough to use. It will have to be enchanted—Dwarven-craft weapons might work, but even that would involve sharpening…”

Their words fell on deaf ears. Yvlon waited until they’d left, smiling politely and thanking them for their time—and paying them for their efforts. Then she sat back in the small room the [Healer] had examined her in and reached for her clothes.

She had still worn a breast band of course, but she had had to take off the clothing on her upper body to expose her shoulders and arms. Yvlon gazed at them now, and saw the metal. It had once been her armor, but now…

It looked almost like a scab. A dirty, discolored plating of metal that ran from her shoulders down to her hands. It wasn’t one unsplit seam either; jagged cracks had broken around her joints, allowing her to move her arms, albeit with difficulty. It was heavy. And as Yvlon stared at her arms, her shirt in one hand, her eyes filled with tears.

It was a moment of weakness. The only one she could afford, when everyone’s eyes weren’t on her. Yvlon dropped her shirt and felt her eyes sting as the world blurred.

Cool composure. Politeness at all times. It was the mark of a Byres, and she had kept the mask up. But she hadn’t dared invite her friends, the other Horns of Hammerad. She hadn’t wanted them to hear the news, see the looks on their faces.

Her hands were trembling, but all Yvlon saw was metal. Ugly metal. It wasn’t beautiful, not like the silver she had worn, the silver which she’d been so proud of, her family’s colors and fortune—the name she had taken for her adventuring group. It was ugly and tarnished and black.

Just like her.

More tears trickled down her cheek. Yvlon wiped at her eyes clumsily, feeling the hard metal brush against her eyes.

“Oh no. Not this. Honor and hearth. Please, not…”

It wasn’t fair. That was what she wanted to say, but wasn’t it what she deserved? And she’d been the only one with a weapon. Ksmvr had been down, Pisces and Ceria’s magic had failed—

She’d done what she had to do. It was her duty, and she’d been prepared for death. But not this.

“Not this.”

Her arms. The metal was so dull. Yvlon shook again. Strong. She had to be strong. If she let her friends down—

Would they think less of her? Abandon her? She had failed once. How could she tell them? What could she say? She’d already demanded almost all the gold they’d earned. What about this?

“I don’t know.”

It had been so easy a month ago. She’d been so sure. Yvlon pulled her tunic over her head, slowly, clumsily. The [Healer] had offered to help her, but this she had to do herself. The fabric was far too loose for her comfort, but it was the only way she could get it over her arms. She couldn’t even raise them fully over her head; the metal dug too much into her flesh to let her.

Part of Yvlon just wanted to sleep. To go to sleep and forget. But then she might dream she was in the pit again, imagining she was one of her long-dead ancestors. Or worse, she might dream of Skinner, the crawling monster with crimson eyes and the undead that struck down each of her friends in slow motion. Yvlon shuddered. Her eyes filled again.

Someone hammered on her door. Yvlon sat bolt upright. In an instant, her eyes stopped stinging, and she used her shirt to scrub at her face.

“Enter.”

When the panting young man pushed open the door he didn’t notice Yvlon’s red eyes; he only saw her arms, and even that only held his attention for a second. He stopped and bobbed his head awkwardly to her, as if she were his liege lady instead of a common adventurer.

“Pardon, Miss Yvlon, but there’s trouble at The Nobleman’s Disgrace!”

“What?”

Yvlon said the words and then remembered; that was the inn they were all staying at.

“What trouble?”

“I don’t know. A coach arrived—a fancy noble’s coach, one of the ones pulled by magic! And a man and a woman came out, and then they said they were going to take a Runner away!”

A Runner? Yvlon’s brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of everything.

“Who? And what does this have to do with us?”

The young man could only gabble on as he tried to explain things from his limited perspective.

“The Runner? Her name was Ryoka Griffin—”

“Ryoka?”

“That’s right! And she said she wasn’t going, and the woman insisted, and then your Captain—the half-Elf—she said she wasn’t going either and folks started drawing their swords!”

Yvlon didn’t wait to hear anything else. She was out of her chair and pushing past the surprised young man in an instant. Her grief, her feelings of pain and regret—all of it she gladly surrendered to adrenaline and the need for action.

“My sword—”

She didn’t have one. Yvlon snapped at the young man.

“Get me a sword!”

She charged out of the building and onto the street, running in the direction of the inn. She didn’t know why Ryoka was here, but she had saved Ceria, and if the other Horns of Hammerad were going to fight, so was Yvlon. She would not let her party die again.

----

Sometimes Ceria wondered if she could ever have a peaceful life. If she quit casting magic and stopped going on adventures and just lived in a quiet place somewhere for the rest of her life, wouldn’t that be worthwhile? She’d never have to fight monsters and she wouldn’t wake up with bugs crawling in her mouth while it rained. She could be happy.

But the flaw with that idea was that even if Ceria didn’t get into trouble, her friends would. Like Ryoka, and Erin for example. The trouble with those two girls was that they tended to attract monsters and chaos like a tower attracted thunderbolts in a storm.

And it seemed like they were getting better at it, or at least Ryoka was. Ceria stood warily by her friend’s side, staring at a tall, austere [Maid] standing in the middle of The Nobleman’s Disgrace. Despite the countless swords, daggers, and other weapons being pointed at her, the woman appeared completely unconcerned. And Ceria’s [Dangersense] was going off, warning her in no uncertain terms.

To be clear, it wasn’t the Horns of Hammerad, Ryoka, or even Ressa or the [Butler] who had unsheathed their blades. Rather, it was the clientele of the inn, the revelers who’d come to bask in the presence of the Horns of Hammerad, hear stories and get drunk.

Ceria agonized. How had it come to this? She’d just said that Ryoka wasn’t being taken anywhere against her will, and these idiots had drawn weapons. On a servant employed by Magnolia Reinhart!

And now this servant was demanding that Ryoka went with them again. Ceria gritted her teeth as the young woman standing by her side glared at the maid she’d called Ressa. The half-Elf knew her friend was stubborn, and she had no idea why Magnolia Reinhart wanted her, but she hoped she’d at least be tactful—

“Fuck you. I’m not going.”

If Ceria could have closed her ears off to not hear that, she would. Was Ryoka insane? Ceria was no native to this continent, but she had heard so many stories of the Five Families and their influence. You did not refuse their requests without good reason.

But it appeared that Ressa had fully expected Ryoka’s refusal. The [Maid]’s expression did not change; that was to say, she continued looking at Ryoka like a filthy insect that was about to be smeared on the ground.

“You have no choice. Magnolia Reinhart has requested your presence. You will come with me.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Feel free to try.”

What could they do? Ceria looked around the inn. The other patrons were looking at the [Maid] and her, clearly waiting for her instruction. If she asked them to she had no doubt they’d throw the maid out of the inn. And then Magnolia Reinhart would probably burn down the inn and throw them off a cliff.

It had to be said again. Ceria stepped forwards in front of Ryoka protectively. Pisces, staggering slightly, took her right side, puffed up with alcohol and bravado. Ksmvr didn’t do the same—because he was flanking the [Maid], ready to charge her. Ceria could only hope he’d wait for her to make the first move if it came to that.

“If Ryoka doesn’t want to go, she’s not going.”

Again, the maid only flicked her eyes at Ceria and the other Horns of Hammerad dismissively. It was as if she couldn’t see how outnumbered she was.

“I would advise you to stay out of this matter.”

That was it. Ten words. Ressa knew they were adventurers; she had to know that. And she also knew the mood in the inn was against her for all her mistress’s influence, but she was still warning Ceria. That made the half-Elf hesitate, but what could she do? Let Ryoka be abducted? No.

She thought fast.

“In that case, we’ll go with Ryoka. If you take her, we’ll be right by her side.”

Ryoka blinked. She turned to Ceria at the same time Pisces did. But it was Ressa who spoke. Her eyes focused on Ceria’s face and then moved to Pisces and Ksmvr. Her eyes lingered longest on Ksmvr, although there was not a hint of expression in her face or tone.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

Ceria challenged the woman, trying not to flinch from the cold stare. Did she have some kind of intimidation Skill? It almost felt like she was staring at Skinner again. But she held her ground despite the sweat running down her back.

“My orders were for Ryoka alone.”

“If you really want Ryoka to go with you at least tell us why.”

“She knows why.”

Ressa looked back at Ryoka. Ceria looked at her friend and saw a faint grimace cross Ryoka’s face. There was some history here, she knew, but she didn’t have time to ask for an explanation. Ceria changed tack.

“Then reassure us. Ryoka is our friend; at least promise us she’ll come to no harm while she’s with you.”

That would be simple enough, right? If they could nail her down to a promise or—

“No.”

It felt like everyone blinked when they heard that word. Ressa’s face was smooth, though. She shook her head.

“No promises. No bargaining. Ryoka Griffin will come with me. Or I will be forced to bring her against her will.”

“Oh really?”

Pisces’ slightly slurred voice ran out. He took an unsteady step towards Ressa. The [Maid]’s left eye twitched as she focused on him, but she didn’t make any other move. Pisces pointed at her, sneering.

“You seem quite confident, Miss Maid, that we will so obediently roll over and accede to your Mistress’s wishes. But the good people of this city are not so spineless as to obey even one of the Five Families’ minions when they come here to abduct an innocent Runner.”

His words seemed to have the opposite effect that he had intended. Half the people in the inn shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the Five Families, and they seemed to realize they were pointing weapons at a servant of a Reinhart. Their blades lowered almost as one, although most still kept them out.

Pisces, oblivious, kept going.

“And as to your presumptuous statement—I feel obliged to point out the obvious. You are outnumbered and I very much doubt your [Butler] is a master of arms. To quote an oft-repeated phrase, you and what army will take Ryoka Griffin away?”

Ressa made no immediate response. She just stared at Pisces with contempt. Meanwhile, Ceria and every person in the inn slowly filled in her unspoken reply.

What army? What army would back Magnolia Reinhart? It was more like a question of which army wouldn’t mobilize at her word. Every garrison of every major city in the north would back her if she so ordered.

Across the bar, someone slipped out the back. Ceria saw the movement, and then saw weapons slowly being sheathed, and people starting to back away. Drunk bravado had had a moment to sober, and now people were correctly realizing that this standoff was not something they wanted to be involved in.

Pisces seemed quite oblivious to this. He didn’t notice as more people began abandoning the tables around him and retreated from being active participants in the discussion to mere innocent bystanders, standing at the far end of the room. Meanwhile, the maid was waiting. Just waiting.

She wasn’t even really listening to Pisces or her, Ceria realized. Ressa was just waiting for Ryoka’s response again. And it was clear that saying ‘no’ a second time wouldn’t be a wise idea.

“Ryoka?”

She murmured to her friend. Ryoka was breathing heavily, and her jaw was clenched. She had something in her hand—a potion? Maybe a weapon of some kind, an alchemist’s weapon. Ceria wished she could tell Ryoka not to use it at any cost, but she had no idea what Ryoka’s relationship with Magnolia was. What should she do? If she—

“Ceria!”

Someone shouted her name. Ceria jerked, and then Yvlon rushed into the inn, a sword in her hands. She looked around for an enemy wildly, spotted Ressa. She froze in place, and the color drained from her face.

“Miss Ressa?”

“Yvlon Byres.”

It was remarkable how the [Maid] didn’t react to Yvlon’s appearance. She just stared at the woman, noted her arms, and dismissed her in an instant.

“Put the sword down. Lady Magnolia has requested Ryoka Griffin’s presence.”

“I—”

Yvlon might have been expecting trouble, but she was clearly thrown by Ressa’s presence. Thrown into a barn door, by the look on her face. She wavered, but then gripped the blade more firmly with both hands.

“No.”

“What did you say?”

The maid’s voice was cold. Yvlon’s was just as chilly.

“Ryoka is my friend, and Ceria’s. If she doesn’t wish to go with you, I will back her. Even if it means defying Aunt Magnolia’s request.”

“That is Lady Magnolia to you. And you would be well advised not to involve yourself in this, girl.”

The two women locked eyes, but Yvlon refused to back down. Ceria vaguely remembered—the Byres house was one of the Reinhart family’s branch houses, weren’t they? They were definitely subservient in some way.

“Yvlon—”

“Say the word, Ceria.”

Yvlon’s arms trembled, but her gaze was square on Ressa. The woman only sighed; she seemed more irritated by Yvlon’s refusal to budge than worried about the sword aimed at her. She turned back to Ryoka.

“Well? Will you come peacefully?”

Ryoka was visibly hesitating. She bit her lip as she glared at Ressa. Ceria was tense; she didn’t know what was coming next and she feared whatever answer Ryoka might give. But then she saw Ksmvr raise his third hand.

“If I may have your attention?”

Ressa looked at him and her gaze could have frozen ice. Ksmvr paid no attention; his other two hands were holding a dagger and a bottle respectively.

“I advise you to surrender and retreat before my Captain orders me to attack. I am fairly confident it will result in your death or maiming.”

Ceria felt like she had inhaled her tongue. Everyone else in the inn goggled at Ksmvr. Ressa said only one word as her eyes narrowed.

“What?”

The Antinium nodded at Ressa.

“You have the stance of a trained warrior, but you lack armor and visible arms. Unless you hold a magical item of considerable potency or possess unarmed combat Skills, I believe I will be able to kill you if my allies and I attack in tandem.”

The Antinium finished with this confident declaration and waited for the maid’s response. After a moment she realized people were staring at him.

“…What? Are we not intending to kill her if she insists on taking Ryoka?”

Ceria’s head was starting to hurt. She pointed at the Antinium.

“Ksmvr—stand down. No one is going to hurt her, and certainly not kill her.”

“Ah. My mistake.”

Ksmvr nodded apologetically and stepped back. Ressa turned back to Ryoka. Ceria tried to quiet her beating heart. Try again?

“Can we talk about this? If Ryoka doesn’t want to leave—”

“Fine. I’ll go.”

Ceria turned in astonishment. Ryoka sighed and stepped forwards. Ressa regarded her with what looked like surprise as well.

“Ryoka?”

The Runner shrugged at Ceria, looking resigned.

“I’ve got no choice. I knew this was coming. Ceria, I’ve got to go.”

“But—”

The look in Ryoka’s eyes told her not to ask any more questions. Ceria glanced around and remembered her audience. She held Ryoka’s gaze.

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty much.”

Ryoka turned and glared at Ressa.

“Where is Magnolia now?”

“Invrisil. You will be taken to her estate which lies next to the city.”

The name of the city made Ryoka and Ceria blink. She saw Ryoka turn and look back at her, and then her friend turned back to Ressa.

“Okay. I’ll go. But on one condition. Give me fifteen minutes to prepare before we leave.”

The maid seemed to think this over. She looked sharply at Ryoka.

“Running will do you no good.”

“I know.”

The two locked gazes for one more second. Then Ressa’s head dipped almost imperceptibly.

“I will wait for you in the carriage. Do not force me to retrieve you.”

Without another word, she turned and walked out of the inn. Ceria stared at her back in shock, and then saw the door to the carriage open. Ryoka sighed softly, and looked at her.

“You’ll have to tell Erin.”

Then the chaos began and Ceria could only try and keep up.

----

Holy crap, this is it. Either I’m dead or I’m going to be interrogated and tortured horribly before I die. Or maybe I survive, but I’m not placing my bets on a happy ending.

The instant Ressa walks out the door it’s all go. I turn and drag Ceria upstairs; too slowly, because people are already crowding around me and the other Horns of Hammerad, asking questions and shouting, speculating.

“Out of the way!”

I shout at them as I push for the stairs. Ceria seems to get what I’m trying to do and helps me push.

“Move aside! We have to hurry!”

They don’t want to let us go. People are pulling at me, asking me how I know Magnolia Reinhart, what my business is with her. I want to punch them but I don’t have time for a brawl—

“[Frozen Wind].”

Someone whispers the spell. I hear shrieks, and then feel the cold air blow past me, freezing me in an instant. Pisces lowers his hands as the crowd suddenly backs up. The spell he cast wasn’t deadly, but damn, it looks painful. He pushes both of us up the stairs and Yvlon and Ksmvr are behind us in a flash.

“In here.”

I push into Ceria’s room and take a breath. She looks at me, wide-eyed and bursting with questions, but I know I can’t answer any of them right now. I don’t even know if I should. I can’t drag her into this. God, what is Magnolia going to ask me?

“Ryoka, what—”

“Fifteen minutes. Probably more like ten.”

I cut her off as I snap. I pace around the room, already trying to figure out the fastest way through the streets.

“Figure out how much gold you need to give me, and get all those damaged artifacts and whatever else you want me to get analyzed. I’ll take it—I’ve got a bag of holding of my own.”

“You do?”

I touch the bag Teriarch gave me at my side.

“It should fit everything. Can you put a bag of holding in a bag of holding?”

“Do not attempt that.”

Pisces stares at me intently as he stands against one wall. Ksmvr and Yvlon are just staring as Ceria sits on her bed. I nod at him.

“I’ll keep the backpack and the other pouch separate, then. Have it all ready before I get back; I need to go and that stupid maid isn’t going to wait.”

“We can do that.”

Yvlon speaks, looking at the others for confirmation. I meet her eyes; should I say anything? We didn’t even say hello, and suddenly we’re doing this. I still remember punching her—

“Ryoka, are you sure about this? You don’t have to go if you’re not sure.”

I tear my eyes away and look at Ceria.

“I think I have to. If I don’t, there will be trouble.”

Now that I know how big a fish Magnolia Reinhart is, I have no desire to push her. Pisces nods.

“It would be best if Miss Ryoka went with the servants without a fuss. We are only fortunate that the fools down below were not completely insensible to reason, or else we all might be in a serious predicament.”

We all stare at him. Pisces still reeks of booze, but he doesn’t look nearly as unsteady as he was a few seconds ago. Ceria gapes at him.

“Wait. You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

He sneers. Of course. I nod at him, and turn to the door.

“Get everything you need to give me. I’ll be back—”

“Where are you going?”

Ceria looks worried. I turn.

“Runner’s Guild.”

“What?”

No time to answer. I rush down the stairs, nearly trampling the innkeeper who’s trying to listen at the door, and push out of the crowd. I get one glimpse at the coach—surrounded by a crowd of people who don’t quite dare to get any closer—and then I’m running full-tilt down the icy street. Damn. My feet are cold. At least I have one of Erin’s jars of Corusdeer soup. I should have gotten more.

As I run I fumble at my belt. I call out, ignoring the looks I’m getting as I run down the street towards the Guild.

“Ivolethe. You’re going to have to get out.”

The faerie flies from my pouch and up to my head.

“You go to meet this woman? The others seem truly fearful of her name; it betokens much of her, does it not?”

“It does. And you—you’ve got to stay away from her. You can’t go in her house. Magnolia’s extremely dangerous.”

Is she? I’ve never figured out how dangerous she is, but I know that she’s smart and she employs [Assassins] and she’s rich. I’m going with maximum paranoia to be on the safe side, and at the top of my list is not getting Ivolethe in the same position as she was with Persua.

“I will follow ye.”

Ivolethe agrees readily, which makes me feel relieved. But then she flies closer to my face.

“Know this, Ryoka. I am your friend, but in matters of life and death, I must not interfere. We have broken the rule twice; but we had cause and sacrifice, you understand? It must not, will not happen thrice. Remember that.”

“I understand.”

I’m on my own. Ivolethe nods, and flies up. She lets me run on until I get to the Runner’s Guild. How much time has passed? Only three minutes? Five?

I slam the doors open and rush up to the front desk. I thrust aside a female Runner, ignoring her shout of anger and point at the [Receptionist]. He blinks at me.

“Get me…every delivery you have for Invrisil.”

“What?”

Everyone says that word. Why? It just wastes time. I pant as I clarify my statement in as few words as possible.

“I’m about to go directly to Invrisil. Today. If you have a multi-part delivery…Courier deliveries…anything. I want it.”

Multi-part deliveries are like Courier deliveries, only the people sending the packages can’t pay the exorbitant amounts demanded by Couriers. So they hire City Runners to take the delivery as far as they can go, and then another Runner will complete the request. It’s a useful relay system, although it still costs a lot.

The man at the desk spreads his hands as I try to calculate how much the carriage can carry.

“I’m sorry Miss…Ryoka, is it? I can’t just—”

I grab him and drag him over the desk. He yelps, and I growl at him.

“I don’t have time for this. Give me the deliveries.”

Ten minutes later, I’m rushing back down the street. Turns out even a [Receptionist] can run fast when you’re literally kicking him around. I have a bundle of deliveries in my hand and more in my pack—some are damn heavy. Two more Runners are racing after me, carrying more things bound for Invrisil. I couldn’t take everything, but I got a huge amount.

Ressa stares at me as I fling open the carriage door and start shoving packages inside. Her intimidating glare* doesn’t stop me from piling the rich seat next to her with deliveries. I’m secretly enjoying every second of this, but I keep my face straight.

*Yeah, I’ll admit it, she scares me a bit. She’s like a perfect Victorian maid if you secretly suspected that they could kill you with their bare hands.

“Sorry, you’re going to have to budge over. I’ve got some really big stuff to take as well.”

“What are you doing?”

“Deliveries. I’m a Runner.”

I slam the door in Ressa’s face before she can respond and turn to the panting Runners behind me. They’re breathing hard from that little run? Disgraceful.

“Okay, load the rest of the deliveries into the coach.”

Is it a coach or carriage? Wait, they’re both the same thing, aren’t they? My mind’s running too fast to focus on anything. I point to the vehicle, ignoring the hesitation on the faces of the Runners.

“Go on.”

“Are you sure?”

The female Runner looks hesitant. Understandable I guess; this definitely doesn’t look like a bulk transport. I nod.

“Get it on there. Hurry up!”

The voice of command is a wonderful thing. They get to work, and I look around and see if I can spot Ceria and the others. I wonder if Ressa will snap when I bring all of their gear as well.

God. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve got a list. But it makes sense! I’m getting a free ride to Invrisil, or rather I don’t have any choice, so I might as well milk it for all I’ve got. I’ll get paid, I can help my friends out—

The Runners are hesitating as they open the door and find Ressa glaring at them. I think they’d be more comfortable with a snake in the carriage. I certainly would be.

“Well? Go on; toss it in. Ignore the [Maid].”

I’m playing a dangerous game here. It’ll probably end in me getting my ass handed to me, but I don’t care. If Ressa thinks she can push me around—

Well, she’s right, but I’m getting my revenge this way. I gesture at the Runners, and hear a cough behind me.

“Miss? There is a trunk, as well as space above.”

I turn and see the [Butler]. Honestly, I’d put him completely out of my mind. But now that I look at him and his dapper suit—I sort of want to deck him as well as Ressa. He reminds me too much of my folks’ home. True, they didn’t have servants, but…

Actually, we did, didn’t we? I mean, it wasn’t as if we had our own butlers and so on, but gardeners, pool people, personal masseuses and so on—that’s a lot of people at your beck and call.

Damn it, mom and dad.

Anyways, what was he saying? A trunk?

“Where?”

He points. My eyes find a subtly disguised trunk on the back of the big carriage.

Holy crap, there is! Do all carriages have trunks? Well…obviously. I haven’t ridden in any before now, in my defense. And can it fit all the deliveries? I open it and peer inside. Wow. It can!

But then, this is no ordinary carriage. If the ones from my world are like regular cars, this one’s pretty much a combination of a truck, limousine, and race car. It’s huge, plenty big enough to hold a full assortment of passengers and the deliveries I’m bringing, and it looks lavish. Plush upholstery, gilded exterior—magic horses. Did I mention that?

“Ryoka!”

I turn from supervising the Runners as they pull the deliveries out of the carriage and redeploy them in the trunk to see Ceria and the other Horns of Hammerad. I realize I haven’t even said hello to Yvlon, Pisces, or…the Antinium.

Who is he? I remember Klbkch and Pawn, but this is the other one, isn’t it? How many Antinium does Erin know? I see they’ve got a bunch of pretty beat-up looking weapons in their hands. Are those the magical artifacts? God, they look so beat up. They don’t even glow—well, one is glowing, but it’s very faint.

“Here.”

They shove the weapons at me and I fumble at my side. My bag of holding can hold everything they’ve got—one buckler, a sword, the blade of a sword, and a dagger. The pack and small bag that looks sort of like mine* goes into the trunk. Ceria pours gold into the bag, several hundred gold coins! The crowd watching us is murmuring, and I just pray like hell they don’t try and rush us.

*Definitely a bag of holding. I mean, who wouldn’t use one? Forget wallets; I want this thing if I ever get back to my world. I can literally fit the kitchen sink in here.

“Do you have everything?”

“Think so. Did I miss any items?”

“No. And you’ve got the gold…? Good. And you know what to do?”

“I’ll get all of it looked at. Don’t worry.”

“And if you have to make a decision—”

“If I need to I’ll send a [Message] spell. I’ve got it.”

Ceria and Pisces try to tell me how to find the best mages to analyze the weapons. Yvlon tells me what price is worth paying for a mage and when I should walk away. Ksmvr tells me that I should attempt to use aggression and tact in my dealings, whatever that means. And then…then we just stand around awkwardly.

“Well. I guess I’ve got to go.”

Ceria smiles at me, worry clear in her eyes.

“I don’t believe this is happening, Ryoka. This is so—sudden.”

“Fortuitous, perhaps.”

Pisces remarks as he nods at the carriage. He eyes me.

“I would advise you to guard your tongue when you are meeting with Magnolia Reinhart, Miss Ryoka. It would be…unfortunate if something untoward were to occur on your journey.”

“It would be a zemblanity, you mean?”

“A…pardon me?”

I grin at Pisces’s face. He’s not the only person who can use words to befuddle people. I turn and nod at Yvlon. My eyes fix on her arms—I’d barely seen them before, but looking at them now, I’m both sickened and amazed at how her skin seems to meld with the metal. But I jerk my gaze away and meet Yvlon’s eyes instead. She nods at me, smiling with a trace of bitterness.

“Good luck, Ryoka.”

“Thanks.”

It feels like there’s a thousand things we should say, but that’s all I have time for. I nod to Ksmvr—not much to say to him, really, and then I look at Ceria.

“I’ll be back soon.”

That’s all. I know, it’s like the worst thing I could say if I were in an action movie or a horror film. But really, I feel the same sort of foreboding come over me as I open the door of the carriage and step inside. Ressa doesn’t even look at me as I scoot into the spacious interior and wave at the Horns of Hammerad.

Famous last words. But I said them—and I did all this, offer to analyze the weapons, even grab all those deliveries—because I am afraid. I’m doing this because I want to believe there’s a time after meeting Magnolia. There probably is. I shouldn’t worry, but part of me does.

I ran from her at first. It was so long ago, I’d nearly forgotten. But she knows. She was the first person to figure out where I came from, and I still remember how she could command me so easily. And now I’m on a trip to meet with her. I can only pray it’s not one-way.

“Well?”

I try to make the word challenging as the door closes and I look at Ressa. She glances up at me, and turns her head.

“Reynold? Take us away.”

I hear the [Butler] moving outside the carriage—he’s in a pretty decent seat outside, even if it is exposed to the wind. He doesn’t crack the whip since there are no horses; rather, the coach begins to accelerate with only the faintest shift in equilibrium.

I stare out the window and see the world moving with surprising speed as the butler drives us down the street. I look outside and then see something odd.

People. Waving at us. Their mouths are open, and I open the door slightly to confirm what’s happening. Noise immediately enters the carriage. Not just noise; cheering.

Yes, that’s right. There’s people lining the streets, the crowd at the inn and countless people who came out to see what the fuss was about. Now they’re giving us a sendoff as if we were a bunch of celebrities—which we sort of are, I guess.

It’s still unbelievable to see. A sea of faces passes me by as the coach picks up speed. The citizens of Ocre are waving and laughing and even throwing…is that colored flour? Why? They’re waving and cheering—do they even know why Ressa is here or that it’s me? Or are they just that thrilled by the nobility?

“You fucking people.”

I pull the door open and flip off the cheering crowd. I hear the cheering falter, much to my satisfaction. Then I notice Ressa looking disapprovingly at me, which is to say like normal. I pull my hand back in and flip her off as well. That’s the beauty of the middle finger. It’s multi-purpose and reusable.

Once again though, the maid doesn’t rise to my bait. Ressa just sits in the carriage, not staring at me but rather looking out the window on her side in silence. I can tell she’s aware of me, but she’s giving me the cold shoulder. The freezing shoulder, if I’m honest.

As we speed out the gates to the city, I see the landscape begin to blur as we move impossibly fast. Holy crap, how fast are we going? I barely feel the acceleration, but it feels as if we’re easily passing eighty miles an hour. How can we do that in the snow? And what if we hit a rock? Or a pothole? These roads aren’t like the highways in my world!

But Ressa appears unconcerned, and I can’t even feel the coach jolting along. It must be magic that’s keeping us stable as well. That’s a lazy explanation, but I don’t exactly have the opportunity to analyze the way the wheels are interacting with the ground.

I stare back at Ressa. She’s still sitting and not looking at me. And as the adrenaline and excitement of the last fifteen minutes finally fades from my system, I realize this is happening.

I’m going to meet Magnolia Reinhart. I’m not ready for this.

And I’m nervous. I stare harder at Ressa, but I know she’s not going to talk to me. She doesn’t like me, probably because I’m a rude asshole. So what should I do?

I could…sit here. I guess. The inside of the carriage is very spacious and I can stretch out my legs. There’s plenty of room, and even a small table in the center. There’s something covered by dark blue cloth on it. I wonder what it is? Yeah, I could be a peaceful guest and let this [Butler] and [Maid] take me to Magnolia like a good little girl.

Or—

The dark upholstery of the carriage is almost sinfully comfortable. I sink into it, and then twist. Ressa’s eyes turn as I prop my legs up on my side of the carriage and put my bare (and dirty) feet on the lovely padding. I cross my arms as I sit with my back to one wall of the carriage and stare at her. She looks pointedly at my feet but I don’t move them.

“So. You did it. You got me here, and now you’re delivering me to Magnolia. Well done, you.”

No response. Ressa stares at me for another second and then goes back to staring out of the window. I sigh, loudly and as obnoxiously as possible.

“So what does Magnolia want from me? More juice? Something else? Or does she just want to chat?”

Silence. I edge a bit lower in my seat, so I’m nearly lying down.

“You know, it’s odd that she sent you to pick me up. Aren’t you the most important servant? The demi-head honcho? Isn’t it demeaning to have to come all this way?”

No response. But I’m pretty sure I’m getting to her. And let’s be fair, among my few talents, I do have one skill which I’m unrivaled at: pissing off people*.

*I might not be a world champion or anything, but I’m probably at least a state or national champion when it comes to authority figures. It’s not just being a jerk or stupid; you have to be willfully annoying. It’s an art and I’m a connoisseur.

“So what does she want? Can you give me a preview? A hint? Or is it meant to be a surprise?”

Ressa looks over at me with clear annoyance. She seems to consider a range of options, and then indicates the table with the covered cloth.

“Lady Reinhart has sent provisions in case you are hungry. Please avail yourself.”

Translated, what she really means is ‘eat something and shut up’. I pull back the cloth and find a rather impressive spread of food. Cheese, meats—even wine! I’m tempted, but I’d be an idiot if I actually had some.

Right? I’m tempted, but I wonder if it’s spiked with something to make me more truthful. Then again, couldn’t Magnolia just have her servants restrain me and pour the truth serum down my throat if she wanted?

Even so, I’m not hungry and I’d rather just annoy Ressa.

“Any idea how long this trip is going to take?”

No response. I smile a bit; I’m enjoying this.

“No? What about games? It’s sort of boring just sitting here. Do you have anything fun to do?”

Ressa’s eye is twitching again. I grin wider. She looks up, and speaks briefly.

“Would you like me to hit you?”

I…pause. My instinct is to goad her, but Ressa’s eyes are very serious. And as I’ve noted, she’s not exactly one to shy away even when outnumbered. I could probably beat her in a fight—but why would Magnolia send her by herself if she was incapable of defending herself or subduing me?

As all that flashes through my head I remain quiet. Ressa holds my gaze for one more second and then nods.

“In that case, be silent.”

And then she goes back to staring out the window.

Well.

Um.

I don’t think I’ve ever been—

Huh.

Back home, back in my world when I was younger I got that threat once or twice, when I’d exhausted every other possible response from the adults I was needling. My response back then was ‘try it’, and if they did I was ready. But here, even with martial arts which I’ve admittedly been neglecting to practice, I’m at the bottom of a very tall totem pole in terms of fighting ability.

I stare at Ressa. She wouldn’t—

Yeah, she would. Crap. What do I do now?

It takes me exactly five minutes to figure out what to do. Ressa looks up sharply as I open the carriage door.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going up front. I think I’ll like the view up there.”

As I open the door, wind howls into the carriage. I jerk back—I’d forgotten how fast we’re going! Flying snow blows in and I see the world whirling past, impossibly fast. But hell, I can see Reynold up ahead and if I climb…it would be instant death if I fell out.

Ressa watches me as I hesitate at the door. For a second I wonder if she’ll yank me inside, but then she turns and calls.

“Reynold. Slow the coach.”

There’s a little window he can hear us through. The [Butler] immediately slows the coach. I wait until it’s at a stop and then hop out. Ressa stares at me impassively as I walk up to the front and jump up next to the astonished [Butler].

“I’m sitting up here.”

He just stares at me before he nods.

“Very good, Miss.”

He pulls at a bunch of reins tied to the ghostly horses and the carriage begins to move again. I hear the door click shut behind me, and wonder why Ressa let me get up front. Maybe she just doesn’t want to deal with me. That makes sense.

Meanwhile, I instantly regret my choice as the carriage picks up speed again. It’s not the snow buffeting me that gets me down—the magic coach actually seems to deflect the snow particles. More magic, I guess, and a flying pebble or stick could probably kill the driver.

But it’s still frickin’ cold. And I’m not moving and Erin’s soup has worn off. I’m shivering, but I refuse Reynold’s offer of a coat. Instead, I just sit up front and let my body get used to the low temperatures. And as the carriage continues to pick up speed, even the freezing weather is banished from my mind by the speed.

I’ve been in cars. Hell, I’ve driven them pretty damn fast and gotten arrested for it. But this—this is totally different.

Consider, a car moves up to…eighty? Ninety miles per hour? Maybe a hundred if you were insane, but that’s pretty much the upper limit outside of race cars. And even open-roof cars have a windshield and a good bit of car in front of the driver. But this—

This is something else.

The wind blows by my face, a tempest of snow and air. The landscape flashes by impossibly fast in my face, and I see all of it, not just the narrow view from the windshield. I’m staring, and I know my jaw is open.

This is life in the fastest lane. This is the sight every runner chases, but more than any normal person could imagine. Maybe Val and Hawk see this as they run. But this is a first for me. I look out, and see a mile flash by in moments. I see people flick by, small shapes on a road. We’re off road—surging smoothly up and down a hill, almost as if we’re anchored to the ground.

It’s so beautiful. It’s wild and quick and magical. And as if that thought calls her, I see a flicker of blue flying out of the white landscape. Ivolethe laughs and flies next to us, flying next to the coach as if she’s coasting on a breeze.

“Ivolethe?”

My words are snatched away by the wind, but Reynold hears them. The [Butler] glances at me and I shake my head. The faerie hears me too; she flies closer and speaks in a little voice audible even over the howling winds.

“Look, Ryoka! Look! This is what you need to see!”

“What?”

The faerie flies closer, next to me and points. She laughs as a flurry of snow engulfs her and then flies out of it, trailing vapor, a blue spark of color amidst the gale.

“The wind! Can ye see it? The wind blows! We run with it!”

She flies out, skimming across the land in front of us. She darts up and around, catching a current moving so fast that it speeds her past the carriage. Then she’s zooming behind us, flying up, low, around, like azure lightning.

I follow her, entranced, seeing her shape, the sole constant in a world lost to the blur. And as she flies about, following some unseen path, I glimpse something. It’s faint; it’s like a trail in the air itself. It doesn’t have color; rather, it’s like a ripple, just like heat makes the air shimmer across the ground. I see it flex ahead of Ivolethe and accordingly she flies up and down and then spins away.

“I see it!”

Reynold jumps in his seat as I half-stand and scream at Ivolethe. She does a double-take in the air and flies towards me.

“Truly!”

“Yes! I see—”

I hesitate. The trail is gone. I squint at where it was, and then look at Ivolethe.

“It was there. I’m sure of it.”

The small faerie grins at me, delighted.

“I believe ye. This is the first step. If you saw that then—”

“You think I can do it again?”

“Miss?”

A voice interrupts Ivolethe’s reply. I look over and see Reynold staring at me, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Are you, ah, speaking to me?”

“What? No. Of course not. I’m speaking to—”

I pause and stare at Ivolethe. I glance back at Reynold and realize that he can’t see the Frost Faerie, or if he can, she’s only a faint blur. Ah.

“Um. I’m speaking to myself. Don’t mind me.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Slowly, I sit back down. Ivolethe grins at me.

“Are ye scaring the poor mortal?”

“Probably.”

I glance over at Reynold. He’s hunching over in his seat, pretending he can’t hear me. His [Butler]’s façade is a bit ragged as he studiously ignores my one-sided conversation, at least from his perspective.

Ivolethe shrugs, as if she couldn’t care less about Reynold. Which is probably true. She points to the whirling scenery and grins.

“Yon contraption is quite a thing! It moves almost as fast as ye did when you drank the magic brew.”

“When? Oh, you mean in the castle. Do you think I could ever learn to run this fast?”

The faerie considers this and shrugs as she props her chin on her hand. She sits on the air next to me.

“Perhaps. But not at first. I can sense the magic in this thing; it is rough, but there is an art to it. Does the lady who sends her servants to you have much wealth like this?”

“A lot. I don’t know how much, but she’s one of the wealthiest and most powerful individuals on the continent.”

That makes me worried again, but having Ivolethe around dispels a lot of my fears. The faerie nods seriously.

“Then perhaps a bit of respect is in order. The lords and ladies of the land were always touchy and prideful, even to the King of Knights.”

“King Arthur?”

“Aye.”

Ivolethe smiles and points. I turn my head and see Reynold is actually edging away from me on the front of the carriage. That makes me smile too. I wonder if I should explain to him what’s going on—but nah.

The faerie pauses as she seems to glance at the horizon ahead of us. She frowns at me.

“There is much moving in the world this time. Much happens even as ye ride about.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like the children. They are marching.”

“The…children? Who?”

“The youngest. The ones with small ears and crimson eyes. They burnt a city, did they not? And they fight amongst themselves. They are moving about in the snow.”

She means Goblins. The children? The youngest? I frown at Ivolethe, but decide to pursue their movements before I ask about the other bit.

“What do you mean they’re moving? Moving where?”

“Everywhere. They run about in their hundreds, coming north from south. A vast army sits below the pass—you have seen them once.”

The Goblin Lord. I shiver. Ivolethe nods, and then points ahead of us.

“But another army—smaller, but thousands strong—lies ahead. They march north as well. Fleeing their own kind.”

“What? Where?”

I sit up in the carriage, heart pounding. Ivolethe nods at Reynold.

“Yon clueless fool is about to drive you straight into the center of them.”

For a second I just stare at Ivolethe in horror. She grins at me, exposing a mouth full of sharp teeth. Then she flies up and away.

Instantly, I turn in my seat.

“Driver, turn the coach around!”

Reynold stares at me. He looks around, and then points to himself.

“D-do you mean me, Miss—?”

“Stop the carriage! We’re about to run into Goblins!”

“Goblins?”

He just stares at me incredulously. I see a large hill approaching, and curse. I reach for the reins. Instinctively Reynold pulls away.

“Please don’t, Miss Ryoka. I can’t let you—”

“What is going on?”

Then a panel slides open behind us. I see Ressa’s impatient glare as she looks at us. There’s no time to explain. I try to grab the reins. Reynold pulls away, Ressa shouts. The carriage swerves as we crest the hill—

And then there are Goblins. They march in a vast column across the valley in the snow, trampling slush into mud as they walk a hundred abreast. I see Hobs, dragging weapons in the snow, massive, dwarfing the smaller Goblins that run before them.

Children, what look like pregnant mothers and of course, warriors walk in some semblance of order, carrying packs, lugging improvised sleds—some are even herding horses, mules and other pack animals! It’s the most hodge-podge collection of equipment I’ve ever seen. And at the head of that group is a detachment of Carn Wolves. Ridden by Goblins.

My heart stops. The sudden surge of fear and panic makes the world slow as the carriage shoots over the hill and directly into the mass of the Goblins. I turn my head and see Reynold frantically pull the reins left. The carriage immediately turns, but it’s too late.

Goblins, hearing the sound of the carriage and the shower of snow, turn and cry out as we speed past the column. I hear their high-pitched screams, and then horn calls.

Instantly, the group of wolf riders at the head of the column turns. They run towards us and I shout.

“Take us away!”

Reynold desperately pulls, and the carriage turns. But although we’re already speeding away, the Goblins are everywhere. And this particular bunch is smart, because the wolf riders are already running to cut us off. We must have passed some scouts because they come from behind us, trying to run us down.

I see a tall Hobgoblin on a Carn Wolf running at us, shouting as more riders run with him. The main column of Goblins is in panic—warriors are surging towards us en masse as the children and other Goblins try to run back.

“What should we do?”

Reynold shouts in fear as the wolves box us in. He’s trying to pull us away, but the wolves are everywhere.

“Go through them!”

I point at a few wolf riders and pray like hell the carriage can take a hit. Reynold hesitates—

And then I feel a hand grab the edge of the carriage. I jerk, but it’s no Goblin. Ressa pulls herself up as the carriage speeds along and shouts a word.

“[Invisibility Field]!”

Instantly, the world around us goes dark. I see runes on the carriage glowing, and the Goblins around us cry out, their eyes tracking the air where we were. I look around. Are we invisible? I can’t tell, but we must be. It’s as if someone’s put sunglasses on the world.

“That way.”

Ressa points and Reynold immediately turns the carriage, making a break for an opening in the ranks of Goblins and wolfriders. After a moment I hear more shouting, and look back to see pursuit has resumed. How…?

“The snow! They can see it!”

I shout and Ressa nods. The Goblins can indeed see the geysering snow from the carriage’s passage and they follow that. But the moment of hesitation has given us an opportunity. If we can just get ahead of them the carriage will easily outdistance their riders—

As we pass by more Goblins, I see something strange. A knot of huge Hobgoblins is dead ahead of us, and they’re turning, weapons raised and ready for us. Reynold takes us right past them, but then I spot something odd. In the center of the armed group of elites, a small Goblin is riding a wolf. And she has something in her hands. She raises a black crossbow, almost as big as she is, and points it at us. She can’t see us, surely. But she knows where we are. And she’s aiming—I shout.

“Down!”

The carriage swerves as I pull Reynold down and I see Ressa blur beside me. The crossbow bolt streaks towards the side of the carriage and shatters as it touches us. The bolt doesn’t break the magically-reinforced sides of the carriage—

But it does end the spell. The world goes bright again and I realize we’re visible. The Goblins shout and Reynold desperately flaps the reins to move us faster. I glance back at the Goblin with the crossbow—

And recognize her. Rags meets my shocked gaze for one second, and I see her own eyes widening. And then we’re past her in a blur of snow.

“We’re almost away, Miss Ressa!”

Reynold shouts in relief as the Goblins fall away behind us. Then he shouts in alarm as someone runs ahead of us. The tall Hobgoblin is streaking at us from the side, on a direct collision course as he rides his massive Carn Wolf. I hear Ressa mutter something from my side. I’m scrabbling at my belt for a potion, one of the bags—anything. But I’m too slow, and the tall Hobgoblin’s mouth is open in a roar as he holds a crimson sword over his head—

On the carriage beside me, Ressa stands up. Her hand blurs, and something flashes at the Hobgoblin. He jerks, and his sword deflects a flying object with a ringing sound. Ressa’s hands move again and the Hob snarls and jerks his reins. The Carn Wolf dodges away as five more black blurs fly at him. He strikes down each one, but while he does the carriage flies on. In a second we’re past him, and his howl of fury confirms that we are safe.

Then we’re gone. The Goblins racing after us stop as they become distant figures, and then just blips on the horizon. We race on through the snow, once again lost in a void of silence.

The three of us just sit on the front of the carriage, breathing hard. At least, Reynold and I am. Ressa is still sitting on the edge, still gripping the open door she came out of. Reynold’s hands are white on the reins and I’m wondering if I’m going to have a heart attack.

Gods. What just happened? Goblins, obviously. But so many? Where are they going? Was that Rags, Erin’s little friend!? And the other Hob—I could have sworn he was the one at the inn! What’s going on?

And Ressa? My head turns and I stare at her. She returns my look impassively.

“We’re safe now.”

That’s all she says. Slowly, she begins to pull herself back into the carriage, ignoring the wind ripping at her maid’s uniform. I call out to her.

“Wait! What was that?”

She just stares at me. And shrugs.

“My orders were to keep you safe.”

I point to her with a trembling hand. It was just a blur—hell, all of that was a blur. But I saw what she threw at the Hobgoblin.

“That was a throwing star. Are you—?”

Ressa slams the door to the carriage without a second word. I stare at the door. Oh my god. That can’t be true, can it? Is she a ninja mai—

Nah. I sit back with the [Butler] and shake my head. I’m going nuts. This entire thing is nuts. I’m nuts, I want to eat nuts—I’m shaking—

So is poor Reynold. His face is pale, although he still looks pretty damn composed for someone who just drove us through a Goblin army. More props to him, I guess. If this is how all British people are, no wonder they didn’t crack when they were getting the shit bombed out of them during World War II.

I’m generalizing. And panicking. I take a few more breaths of cold air to still my beating heart. That was—jeez.

After a minute I rap on the little window that connects us with the coach with a trembling hand. It doesn’t open.

“Hey. You in there. Pass us a bottle, will you?”

I shout it at Ressa and hear no response. But after a moment, the window slides open and one of the bottles of wine is handed through, bottom-first.

I pop the cork after six tries, and then drink from the top. It’s probably high-grade stuff I gulp down; I don’t even taste it. After I down a third of the bottle I nudge Reynold. He jumps and the carriage swerves; when he sees the bottle, he gratefully accepts it and drinks from it without a word.

We just sit in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. After we finish it, I throw the bottle into the snow, ignoring every instinct in my body that tells me not to litter, and I get Ressa to pass us another one.

Reynold drinks, I drink. We stare at the landscape, and I look at the side of the carriage. The crossbow bolt didn’t even scratch the paintwork. God.

I want this carriage.

After I’m feeling a bit warmer and the cold sweat has mainly evaporated, I glance at Reynold. He’s got a bit of a flush as well. He’s just a [Butler], wearing a light grey jacket over his dark clothing. He’s holding the reins steady, guiding the magic horses forward.

“Is it always like this?”

He shudders, and shakes his head for a second before changing his mind and nodding weakly.

“Sometimes. On bad days.”

“Jeez.”

I sit back, and stare ahead. The world is white. It rushes past me with a roaring sound made faint by the carriage’s magic. I sigh, and look ahead. My friends and Goblins lie behind. And in the distance I see a faint shape on the horizon. Dark buildings, rising out of the ground as the light in the sky fades to nothing.

Invrisil, the City of Adventurers, awaits. And after that—

Lady Magnolia.

3.11 E

Day 31

I wake up when I hear the crying. It isn’t Durene. She sleeps beside me, or rather, slightly apart from me on the floor of her cottage. Even though we’re close, we sleep a bit apart. Durene sometimes rolls over in her sleep, and I have no desire to be squished like a bug twice. Especially because she’s so hard to wake up when she’s in a deep sleep.

Cautiously, quietly, I roll out of my side of the bed, trying not to wake Durene. She needs her sleep, and if she knows I’m awake she’ll fuss over me and be too anxious to rest. I shiver as my shoulder touches the cold floor of Durene’s cottage. I briskly get up and grope around for my clothing, locating the undergarments and over garments I placed next to my head when I slept.

It’s harder than I’d like; I keep finding what I think is a coat and instead pulling up part of the warm blanket Durene and I were sharing. Part of the issue is that I can’t tell where clothing stops and Durene’s bed begins.

My friend and host Durene doesn’t have a proper bed; just a mattress made of soft blankets and pillows. I can understand why; she’d probably break any raised surface with her weight, and even a king-sized bed wouldn’t exactly be that big for her. Durene’s not a giant, but she is half-Troll, and that means she’s easily six foot six, or maybe even taller. I can only guess; I’m just over six foot myself, so I have to use that as a reference when measuring her.

Fully dressed but sock-less, I shiver as I pad around the room. Still cold, even with multiple layers. I feel at one of the windows and touch a wooden shutter, cold and frozen. Right. Durene has no glass.

But I don’t need to go outside to feel the cold emanating from the window. And the lovely little fire Durene made last night has gone out, even the embers. Winter is truly and deeply upon us.

Normally I wouldn’t care. I’d wake up later, and help Durene make breakfast. But today is different. I pause as I hunt for a sock and raise my head.

“There it is again.”

I whisper the words. Someone is crying. Not someone, actually. Something. I can tell it’s no person out there, but something animal. It’s shrieking. I think it’s a bird, but it sounds far different from any bird call I’ve heard back home. Far more anxious and…desperate.

Yes, a bird. But then, maybe I’m being too hasty here. I think it’s a bird, but given that I’m in a fantasy world, couldn’t it well be a bird person? Do they exist? I’ll have to ask Durene when she wakes up.

Regardless, this creature’s definitely in some distress to be broadcasting so loudly. I’ll be the first to admit I’m more sensitive to sounds than Durene, but this bird got me up even in the middle of my sleep. And it’s odd, but I have a very strong compulsion to go to it. And I even know where this…bird…is.

“Very odd.”

My socks are on, and my comfortable shoes are laced. I pause with my hand on the door, wondering what I’m doing. It’s snowy outside, and even though I have my walking cane in one hand, I know from experience how easy it is to get lost by myself.

But the creature calls out again, and I push open the door and walk outside before I can stop myself. After all, I can just retrace my steps if I go a short ways. It’s not that far—and I can shout for Durene.

All excuses, I know. But I have to follow this feeling. And so I silently close the door so as not to wake Durene and walk out into the snow.

It’s deep. I nearly stumble as I find it’s a foot deep. Jeez, winter here is not fun. And Durene’s told me it can snow far more before the season is over. I poke at the snow in front of me, but my cane’s no good in this weather. I make a disgusted noise, but still—

“A rock straight ahead?”

No. It’s just my imagination. But a few cautious steps forward and my cane pokes into the snow and finds—

A rock. Yes, a rock. Either that or some kind of fossilized vegetable. Nah, it’s a rock. But how did I know it was there?

Half a dozen explanations pop into my head, but I have no time to stop and consider them. The bird cries out again, and this time I can tell it’s from the ground, a little bit ahead of me and to the left, on the edge of the forest surrounding the cottage.

“Yes, yes. I’m coming.”

No longer walking with my cane, I stride across the snowy ground with more confidence than I’ve felt in a long time. I know I’m walking straight through Durene’s frozen-over garden, and I also know what spots are slippery and even that she’s sown several crops for next year that are hibernating under the ice—and that there’s a cluster of turnips she forgot to pull up. I skirt her fence, walk towards a tree, and stop.

How did I just do that? It wasn’t sight—I’ve never seen in my life, but I know you’d use your eyes for that and I had mine shut the entire time. But I knew where everything was. Yet here I stop, at the edge of where my…perception of the landscape fades away. Yes, it’s as if there’s a large circle around Durene’s cottage I can sense, and then just emptiness past that.

And at the base of one tree, I can sense anxious movement, faint life. And my ears confirm that as I hear the creature cry out in alarm as I approach.

“What’s this, now?”

Broken branch. Twigs, bird poo, bones…the remains of a nest. And on the ground—

I reach out and something pecks at my hand. I yelp and draw my hand back, and the fledgling bird cries out again, calling for its parents. But if it had parents, it wouldn’t be alone. So, shivering, I come to a quick decision.

“None of that, now.”

The bird cries out in alarm and tries to get away, but it’s much too weak and cold. I briskly scoop it up and ignore its struggling. The bird pecks at me again, but this time he only gets my gloves. I walk back to Durene’s cottage, thinking hard all the while.

Birds fallen from nest? Doubtless. What happens to birds when that happens? I know the best thing to do is to put it back in the nest, but what if the parent is gone? Maybe it’s just independent?

No—I feel gently at the bird as it squawks anxiously again and amend my opinion. I don’t feel any feathers, only fuzz. This is no fledgling, a semi-adult bird. It’s a baby chick, or whatever the correct term is. I’m no bird watcher.

And two more things I note: the bird is quite big for a baby. And it’s also very cold. It’s shivering; how long was it out in the snow? I hurry up and push into the cottage.

A low growling sound makes the bird in my hands shut up instantly. I smile as I hear Durene snoring; she didn’t even notice me come back in. Well, she might have to wake up soon regardless.

First things first. I don’t bother hunting for anything; I just turn and grab a bowl out of Durene’s shelves. Once again, I know exactly which one will fit the bird, and in another second I’ve wrapped it gently in a towel, both to warm it and prevent it from escaping. The chick is trembling. No doubt it thinks I’m going to eat it.

Well, food is a good idea, both for me and it. I sense around, and find some bread. I slice some, again, with more confidence than I’d ever have normally, and offer some crumbled bits to the bird. It shies away from my hand, and then I feel a cautious peck at my bare skin. The bird finds a crumb, seems to taste it, and then spits the wet stuff back onto my hand.

“Huh?”

That’s odd. Don’t all birds like bread? I frown and try again. But this time the bird just squawks a bit as I try to push the crumbs at it, and it doesn’t touch them even when I leave some crumbs in the bowl for it.

“Drat. What kind of bird do you call yourself?”

I grumble at the bird as I move onto my alternate plan: getting this place warmed up. Durene’s stacked firewood in a corner, but up till this point I’d let her make the fire. I like to think I’m quite capable, but it really is a bad idea to have the blind guy messing around with flames.

But once again, I can quite definitely tell where things are, and even if I can’t see the position of the fireplace, I know where it is. Almost like…a memory? Or a fact. Either way, my hands are steady as I strike the flint and steel repeatedly and eventually manage to get some kindling to light.

“Fire, check.”

What’s next? I feed the flames a bit and fan them to make them brighter, or however it is that’s supposed to work. I guess if the bird won’t eat, I’ll get something. There are eggs in a basket Durene brought from the village, but I’d feel guilty eating them right at this moment. How about…hm?

Sausage?

Oh yes, there’s half a dried sausage in Durene’s pantry. I know she’s been saving it for a special occasion; meat is a luxury for her. I hesitate as I bring it out. Maybe just a bit? Fried sausage would be a treat, but can I…?

The chick suddenly squawks and kicks up a racket as I bring the sausage past it. I frown, stop, and clumsily tear off a bit of meat.

“You want this? Really?”

I know baby birds eat meat. I mean, they eat bugs. But I thought they liked seeds and plants more than—you know what? I’m not going to argue with the facts, especially when one fact is trying to tear the bit of meat out of my fingers.

The chick greedily devours the first bit of meat I feed it, then the next. Bemused, I find a knife and slice up a good portion of the sausage into bite-sized morsels to feed the chick. It scarfs the pieces down—so quickly and so fast that I’m worried I’ll overfeed it and make it sick! I stop after I’ve given it nearly a quarter of the sausage, but then the chick just cries out for more!

“Shush, you!”

It doesn’t listen to me. What a sound it makes! It’s more like a whistle than a cry. It sounds nothing like the twittering sparrows and occasional duck that will wander by my parent’s home. But it does sound familiar…

“Huh? Wuzzis?”

I lightly nudge the squalling chick with a knuckle.

“And now you’ve woken Durene. Good job, you.”

“Laken? What’s going on? Why are you awake and—what’s that?”

I turn and smile at Durene. Her confused voice and the way she clumsily makes her way over to me—these are the things that are now familiar to me. Funny, but after a month of living in her company I know her so well.

“Good morning, Durene. Sorry to wake you, but we have a guest.”

“Is that a bird? And…my sausage?”

Her voice is dismayed, but after a round of explanations she’s only too willing to help me make breakfast and play detective. The first thing she does is exclaim over the way I’m able to help her prepare today’s meal: a soup made of onions, leeks, peas, and cabbage. Pottage, in fact. It’s seasoned heavily with dried thyme and some garlic and it tastes not bad at all. True, it’s a poor meal to live on each day, but I’m happy enough eating it.

“How can you tell where everything is?”

Durene is bewildered as I nimbly pour soup into a bowl and bring it to the table, next to the restless chick. I shake my head, smiling fit to burst.

“I have no idea. It must be from my Class!”

“But how? I thought an [Emperor] ruled. Why can they see things? Without their eyes, I mean.”

“It’s not exactly the same.”

Cautiously, I spoon the hot soup into my mouth and think as I chew.

“It’s gotta be—I think we added too much thyme, Durene—it must be due to the fact that this is part of my domain. That is to say. My demesne.”

“Your—what?”

“Demesne. It’s another word for, well, land owned by someone. I know this is your cottage, Durene, but I claimed it when I became an [Emperor].”

“I know that. And I’m happy to let you, uh, have it.”

“Thank you. But that means I own every part of the land, not just the cottage. The ground, the sky—that must be why I can sense where to go. Because it is mine.”

“Oh.”

My friend’s voice is a sigh of wonder. A loud sigh, which makes the chick on the table next to me chirp in alarm. I sit up at the odd cry and frown again, tickled by that same thought.

“This is one weird bird, though. I can feel it, but I’m afraid that even with my new…abilities…I can’t really tell what it is. Durene, what does it look like?”

I hear Durene get up anxiously and pace around the chick. She comes nearer to me and apparently bends over, because the chick pecks her nose.

“Ow!”

“Careful. It’s pretty violent for a baby. It is a baby, right?”

“It looks like it. It’s one week—no, maybe two weeks old? But it’s really big…I thought it was a fledgling at first, but like you said, it has no feathers.”

“A big bird…”

Sesame Street? No, focus, Laken. But now that I think of it, there might actually be land bound birds as tall as Big Bird in this world. Now there’s a terrifying thought.

“What else do you see?”

“Um. Well—it’s got a weird color. Sort of—well, dark grey. Almost greenish.”

“Green fuzz?”

Doesn’t mean much to me, although I don’t know any green birds. But chicks don’t look anything like their adult forms.

“Well, I found it on the ground. I think the nest it was in fell off the branch. Maybe the parent’s still around and we can return it.”

I get up and Durene and I leave the chick behind to go investigate the spot where I found it. I feel…amazingly happy to be able to walk that short distance without my cane. There’s no trepidation, no sense of unease as I walk. I know where everything is, and I don’t have to hesitate.

Thank you. I don’t know who or what brought me here, but just for a little while longer, can you let me feel like a—a normal person? Is this what it feels like? To walk and know that the ground is there and I am here?

Then I come up to that blank spot where the world ends, and Durene gasps as she sees the nest.

“Bones! Look at all the tiny bones, Laken! And over there—oh no.”

She sees something past the spot I can sense and walks over. I wait, trying to piece together my own sensory inputs. I can tell there are bones in the nest, but I didn’t focus on the size until now. There’s still a difference between what Durene sees and what I comprehend.

“What is it?”

“I…found the parent, Laken. It—she? She’s dead.”

Durene comes back, holding a dead bird in her hands. I blink as it comes into my zone and I register the size of the bird. It’s almost a third as tall as I am!

“That’s no sparrow.”

“No.”

Half-troll she might be, but Durene has a heart that weeps for everything. She sounds upset as she tells me how it died.

“It must have died of the cold. See here—oh, sorry Laken. It was fighting something, but it got hurt bad. It was bleeding, and it must have lost all its warmth when it got cold.”

“I get it.”

I sigh as Durene and I pause, unexpectedly sad over the death of this bird. I’m about to ask if we should bury it, when I sense Durene plucking feathers off the corpse.

“…What are you doing?”

“Oh—I thought we could eat it later. It’s still cold and nothing’s been chewing on it, so—”

Oh. Ah. Hm. Well, I’ve heard of people eating road kill, and at least the bird was well-preserved. Maybe I’ll let Durene have it, although I could use some meat myself…

“Okay, let’s put that aside for now. What about the nest? You say there are bones here, right? Little ones?”

“That’s right. They’re very small, but…I don’t know how any predator would have eaten the others and left the chick you found alive.”

“No, it wouldn’t do that.”

My mind jumps to an unfortunate conclusion. I bent down and touch at the bones with one gloveless hand. Yup. They’re picked clean.

“A predator didn’t kill the other babies. The chick did. It ate its brothers and sisters to survive.”

An unhappy sound. Durene didn’t want to come to that conclusion, but it’s the only one that makes sense. I straighten and sigh.

“Nature at its best. But I think I have a good idea who this mystery bird is. It’s an eagle, isn’t it?”

“I think so. It could be a hawk—I’m not a [Hunter] so I can’t tell the difference. But it looks like one of the birds that sometimes tries to swoop down and carry off a lamb, baby piglets, and so on.”

“Carry off lambs? Seriously?”

I’d heard stories of eagles trying to carry off kids, but I thought that was just a popular myth. But Durene sounds serious.

“Oh yes. [Herders] and [Farmers] have to be careful. An eagle can swoop down and fly away with a lamb in seconds if they don’t keep an eye out. Normally we try to get people with bows to shoot the eagle first, but it’s hard unless someone’s got a high level.”

“Well, this baby eagle—I think they’re called eaglets, actually—isn’t going to be carrying off anything anytime soon. I think now’s the moment when we make a choice, Durene.”

“About what?”

She sounds apprehensive. I make a rueful expression, or what I’ve been told is rueful.

“About whether we keep it or not.”

“Do you mean—we’d throw it out in the cold?”

She sounds horrified. I guess I’ve got my answer. We walk back to her cottage. Durene pauses to bury the dead bird in the snow rather than bring it inside and show the chick.

“I’m just thinking about the problems. A baby eagle needs attention, food—the attention bit’s not so hard, but I’m pretty sure it only eats meat.”

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed.”

Here’s why this is a problem in this world. In mine, the biggest obstacle would be getting a permit to raise a baby eagle—they’re considered illegal to own in the United States, and I suspect other countries wouldn’t be too hot on them as a pet either. Housing would be another problem I guess, and training—

But here, meat is the issue. There’s not exactly a supermarket around here, and Durene’s not rich. I am, but Riverfarm isn’t, so I don’t know how far the gold coins I dug up would go down there anyways.

“I think we should take care of him.”

Durene’s voice interrupts me. I can tell she’s practically wringing her hands, and her voice is anxious.

“If we need to, I can get meat. I could try setting a trap or hunting. And I—I have pigs!”

It’s funny how she cares more for a chick I found than the pigs she’s raised for years. Then again, she must have to force herself to look at the pigs as food. I nod as I pick up the upset little bird and it pecks at my hands.

“Okay then. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

“Do you really think we’ll be able to raise him?”

There’s a glimmer of hope in her tone. As it so often happens, I realize that this is something Durene might have dreamed about but could never realize. A pet. It sounds so simple, but for her, it might just have been a dream.

“We can try. But I have to warn you, Durene. The chick might die no matter what we do.”

“Oh no.”

Durene already sounds heartbroken as she hovers around the bird in my hands. I find her arm with a hand and pat it gently. But I don’t give her false hope. I’m under no illusions; I don’t know how to raise birds, and this young one was born too late. Or maybe birds in this world can’t tell when winter is about to arrive thanks to those…Winter Sprites, and so they can only hope.

With those thoughts in mind, I find myself constructing a more permanent nest for the chick. And that’s with the understanding that this nest isn’t going to be reused; the chick has already pooped quite extensively in Durene’s bowl.

“It should probably be pretty big. Yes—that’s about right.”

I smile to myself as Durene fusses over the chick, holding it gently and exclaiming as it pecks at her hands.

“Does it…have a name?”

“Not yet. Would you like to name it, Durene?”

“Oh—I couldn’t. Why don’t you, Laken? You found it, anyways.”

I nod and take the chick from Durene, it struggles a bit in my grip, but I have a good hold over its growing wings. I stare down at it and think for a second. And perhaps it’s another bit of whimsy, but I decide that if I’m going to take care of this bird, I might as well do it properly.

Straightening my back, I place the chick on the new nest, and put my hand solemnly on its head. It doesn’t move about much; I make my voice deeper as I speak to Durene and the world at large.

“It’s not often that I find a baby bird lying on the ground. But since you’re here and your mother—or father—is gone, it falls to me to take care of you. You—chick.”

The little bird pecks at the bottom of my hand.

“Stop that.”

Durene giggles. I smile, and think for a moment.

“Well then, I think I’ll name you Frostwing, because that sounds quite appropriate for a bird in a fantasy world. It sounds a bit silly, but maybe you’ll grow into it. And I accept you into my small empire as one of my loyal, if noisy, subjects.”

The bird goes still for a second, and then I sense it rustling under my hand. Durene makes cooing sounds of delight.

“Aw! It’s grooming itself, Laken!”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Okay, let’s finish this nest and figure out where it’s going to sleep. I don’t want it wandering off during the night.”

“Okay!”

And there we have it. Another little addition to the cottage. I’m not sure if I regret it; little Frostwing pecks at my fingers and it eats and defecates a bit too much for my comfort. It has a very sharp, curved beak. Plus, it has a rather shrill cry that can get on the nerves—

And yet, I can’t see any other way this encounter could have gone. Would I have left it there to die? No. There’s no way I would have. And I have to wonder as I go to sleep, Frostwing resting in its new nest in the kitchen. I have to wonder if it was like that for Durene with me. Perhaps I was a little bird she found in the forest. The thought makes me smile as I close my eyes and sleep.

[Emperor Level 5!]

[Beast Tamer Obtained!]

[Beast Tamer Level 1!]

[Skill – Lesser Bond: Frostwing obtained!]

“…Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

Day 32

Why is leveling up so easy? No, before that, why is gaining a new class so easy?

This is the thought that circles around in my head, nudging my brain every once in a while. I don’t really have the brain cells to allocate to the issue though; I’m so sleep deprived that I can barely think straight.

It’s been a long night, and a longer morning. Durene is asleep, and I’m on bird-feeding duty. Again. As it turns out, Frostwing, the noisy little eaglet, apparently needs to be fed on an hourly basis. Or at least that’s how it felt last night. And since Durene isn’t as nimble as I am, it fell to me to get out of the warm, comfortable bed and feed the squalling creature while avoiding its sharp beak.

Do I regret all of this? Yes and no. The class helps. It really does. Because now I can wonder—what does ‘lesser bond’ mean? What’s the benefit of this class? Will it just aid me in raising Frostwing? Or are there applicable benefits?

Right now the only benefit I can feel is knowing how much to feed Frostwing. It’s like intuition—I can tell if the bird needs another morsel, or if feeding it—her too much would result in her puking up her meal. That’s valuable info, as is her gender.

I can’t tell with my [Emperor] senses, and I’m not about to go probing with my fingers. But Durene checked, and this bird is indeed a female one. Good for her.

But back to my class. I get the [Beast Tamer] class. It only makes sense that I’d get it. But why did I level up as an [Emperor]? Let’s think about that.

I poke Frostwing as she tears at a bit of meat. She pecks my finger. I rub at an eye and frown.

Intent. Intent and purpose. I was fully committed to keeping the eaglet—Frostwing alive. Not only that; I fulfilled some criteria for the [Emperor] class. It makes sense that gaining exp for an [Emperor] would involve growing my kingdom and recruiting new subjects somehow.

But seriously? One baby eagle is worth a level in [Emperor]? No—no, wait a second. Maybe it’s not just numbers, but something else. Durene was my first vassal, but she came with the class. This is the first time I’ve declared my sovereignty over another being, and after I’d rescued them from death within my sovereign territory, no less.

That’s the only explanation I can come up with. How confusing. If only there were an instruction manual, or a wiki page or something I could use. But assuming this is a game, or something similar, the fun would be in finding how the rules work. And exploiting any secrets you can find.

Poke. Peck. Poke. Peck.

I keep baiting Frostwing, letting her strike at my finger and pulling it away before she can tag me. It’s, well, pretty fun, although getting pecked isn’t. But it must be fun, because before I know it, Durene’s awake.

“Laken! Is your finger bleeding?”

“So it is. I guess I must have got lost in playing.”

“For how long?”

“I’m not sure. Hours? I fed her twice.”

“Twice?”

I’m not good with sleep deprivation. Not that I think anyone’s exactly proficient in that area. Once I’m more awake and I’ve had a cup of tea—and what I wouldn’t give for an espresso—Durene and I get about the business of business. We don’t always stay in the cottage, although it’s a tempting option in this cold weather.

Our goal for today is actually quite simple: in lieu of the practically gone sausage, Durene and I have to find something for Frostwing to eat. She doesn’t want to butcher one of her pigs and I can’t blame her. They’re not fully grown yet, and it would be a terrible waste, even if she and I eat some of it.

Plus, I don’t quite have the heart for it. What I do have the heart for, and what came to me as I was feeding Frostwing a bit more sausage, was that my [Emperor] senses can be used for more than just navigation.

“Right here.”

I whisper to Durene as we stand next to a tree trunk. She’s silent for a second.

“Found it. It’s a small hole.”

“Want me to—?”

“No. I’ve got it.”

Durene takes a deep breath, and then I hear her reach into the hole in the tree trunk. There’s alarmed chattering and frantic movement as her hand enter the squirrel’s nest, then—

“Got one.”

I heard the crunch. I feel a bit sick, but I know it’s not over. There are—were—three squirrels nesting in the tree that I sensed. Durene grimly catches the other two and swiftly snaps their necks.

“It’s done, Laken. I’ll pull them out if you can hold them—”

“Got it.”

She might not like killing creatures, but she’s efficient when she does. I hold the surprisingly heavy creatures, wincing as I feel their dangling necks.

“I feel bad.”

“…Yeah.”

It was an idea. If I can sense Frostwing, what about other creatures? Turns out I can at least find squirrel dens, if I concentrate. Is this fair? No. But we’re out of meat and Frostwing needs a meal. So this has to be done.

Once we’re finished, Durene and I walk back to the cottage. She actually took the acorns the squirrels had been hoarding as well; they can be ground up. Durene doesn’t waste any food. Then we’re in the kitchen, Frostwing cheeping with excitement. Three squirrels are ready to be skinned in moments, and I have to help with that grisly business. It wouldn’t be right otherwise.

“Um—I—I think we’ve got to—with the head—”

“I’ll do it.”

It’s grisly, and it involves sawing and hacking, neither of us being proficient in preparing animals. Durene is no hunter, and if she does find animals, she generally has someone in the village help her prepare it for a share of the food. She didn’t even manage to bring herself to eat Frostwing’s mother—after some debate we buried her half-plucked corpse just outside the garden.

At least I can’t see what I’m doing. Durene assures me that in this case, this is a good thing. Mind you, I don’t like the squishing and the—rest. But I’m not the one who has to stumble out of the cottage for a breath of fresh air.

“Durene? I think I’m done.”

Quietly, Durene takes the fur and other inedible bits outside. I can tell she’s burying the pieces. She’s a bit snuffly when she comes back in, but determined to put a brave face on it.

“At least Frostwing gets to eat. That’s—it’s for her.”

I nod. The chick is already demanding a bloody piece of meat, and we can freeze the rest although we’ll have to watch out for scavengers. Hell, we could probably kill them.

Durene shudders a bit as I put the meat into a bowl. I clean my hands with water after I feed Frostwing and then go over to her.

“Did they bite your hand?”

“A bit. But—it’s fine. My skin’s tough and I did far worse to them.”

She sounds unhappy. And guilty. Carefully, I hold her hands, making sure they’re unharmed for myself. Thick skin. But such a terribly soft heart.

“You’re a gentle soul.”

I kiss Durene gently on the cheek. She blushes—I can feel it. And then of course one thing leads to another. At least Frostwing doesn’t interrupt us more than once.

What? It’s not like it’s hard to figure out what people in this world do in the winter. And Durene and I are new at this. But kissing her I could do forever. I could sit and talk with her long into the night. And I do. Other things happen of course, but sometimes it’s just worth sitting by someone you…

Love.

[Beast Tamer Level 2!]

Day 34

It’s funny. I’ve had pets, and it’s always flurry and new experiences those first few days. But after a while, even feeding an eaglet bloody pieces of meat you’ve butchered yourself gets normal.

That’s how I find myself sitting in the kitchen, playing poke-peck with Frostwing. I think she could use the exercise, and I myself have already gone for a brisk walk with Durene. But at this time of day I usually stay indoors while she works.

Yes, works. Durene’s job doesn’t end in the winter of course. In fact, there might even be more to do. She planted a number of crops that could be harvested in the winter, and aside from tending to them, she has to clear out snow every day as well. She also normally takes this time to fix up her cottage, repair any tools, and of course, chop firewood.

With me around I can at least fix her meals and help with some small-time repairs, but my job is mainly looking after the chick. I’m certainly not a [Lumberjack]. Truth be told, neither is Durene, but with her strength it doesn’t really matter. I asked her about it at one point; she has an old axe, but she claims she only uses it to hack up the tree when it’s felled. As to the felling, she says it’s easy.

“I mean, if it’s a small tree, I can just kick it or push it over.”

…So it sounds simple enough for her. At any rate, Durene gets paid a pittance for supplying Riverfarm village with firewood, so when she’s not with me and Frostwing, she’s out in the forest. Rather, I make her go. I’m now fully confident in myself thanks to my new Skill, and we can’t always be cramped together.

Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing.

Anyways it’s just me and Frostwing, testing our reflexes. My attention’s completely focused on the game, until I feel a…sensation at the back of my mind and get distracted.

As I pull my finger back a bit too slowly, Frostwing hits me with a good peck and pierces my skin. I yelp and I hear what almost sounds like a cheep of apology from her. But I’m not paying attention to the bird. My head turns and I frown.

“Someone’s coming.”

By the time [Farmer] Prost stops outside the cottage, I’m already waiting for him, a smile on my lips. If he’s confused by my intuition, his voice doesn’t show any sign of it.

“Mister Laken, I’m glad to see you’re well this day.”

“I’m glad to meet you as well, Mister Prost. You’ll have to tell me if you’re well.”

A bit cold, I know. But I still remember how I last met the man. I hear a pause, and then a note of uncertainty in Prost’s voice.

“I’m well, Mister Laken. Thank you for asking.”

“And your wife? How is Yesel doing? And the kids?”

“All well, Mister Laken.”

Well, that’s enough pleasantries. I nod and smile again, cheerfully. And say nothing else. If he wants anything else he can just say it.

After another moment of uncertainty, Prost gets to the point.

“Not to be interrupting you, Mister Laken, but ah, I was wondering if I could have a word with you. About Durene.”

“Another word? Well, I suppose I have no choice but to hear you out. What’s wrong with Durene this time?”

“Nothing, sir. It’s just, well, I’d like to talk, that’s all.”

Oh? Talk? I see. I let Prost go on.

“Durene’s a good…girl. But she’s only a [Farmer], and I understand you’re not. She’s said as much when she came into the village a day ago. I’d hate to think she was getting involved with someone with other duties later on, if you understand me.”

Oh? Is it now ‘you’re too good for her’? What is with these people? My smile freezes a bit on my face. But I keep silent. Wait. Wait for him to keep going and then smack him in the face.

Metaphorically, of course.

“We, ah, understand—”

Now. I jump in, my voice as smooth as I can make it. Friendly. Open. I put honest confusion into my tone.

“Do excuse me, Mister Prost. I’m afraid I’m a bit off-balance. You see, I thought you were coming here for something else.”

“Oh? What’s that, Mister Laken?”

“Well, it’s just that—and you may call me silly for thinking this—I was under the distinct impression that you were coming here to apologize.”

“Apologize…?”

“To Durene. For calling her a monster. Inhuman. A freak.”

I wish I could see his face. I can only tell the man is standing in front of me, but then I hear him shift in the snow. Uneasily.

“I, ah, regret the other day, Mister Laken. I do. But I only spoke the truth. It needed to be said. And even if Durene was—upset, it don’t change the facts. So I don’t think I need to say anything to anyone, if you understand me.”

Again I interrupt him. This time I don’t even try to keep the undertone of irritation and anger out of my voice.

“No, of course not. You’re a grown man and Durene’s only a young woman who looks up to you as an adult. Why should you apologize to her for telling the truth? Why should you feel guilty for hurting the feelings of a half-Troll? My mistake.”

Prost’s voice is rougher too, but he’s still determined to be polite. I wonder why? It’s not like I’d be able to beat him if he threw a punch. But maybe there’s more in him than just bigotry and prejudice. Maybe he knows I’m right.

“You seem to feel I should be talking to Durene, Mister Laken?”

“I would never tell a grown man what to do. But they’re so hard to find these days. No matter where I look, I can’t see any.”

Another shot, and I know it hits something. But Prost is a stubborn man, a farmer. He doesn’t roll over, he digs in and keeps going. Reasonable tone, conciliatory words. I can tell he wants me to agree with him, to give a bit. Not happening.

“Durene is—useful. Helpful. She cares, I know that Mister Laken. And we’re lucky to have her around some times. But she’s still a half-Troll. And that means she’s part monster. Not entirely Human. It makes us parents worry some nights. What can you say to that?”

Half-Troll. It’s as if all Durene is, is just a word. How can they not see? She is more than that. She’s a [Paladin]. What would he say if I mentioned that?

“She’s a person, Mister Prost. A person. Where I come from—well, some people judge others based on what they look like it’s true. But take it from a man who can’t see, there’s more than just sight that goes into people. If sight was all we judged by, why, wouldn’t I be as much of a—a monster as Durene?”

Pause. Did anything I said go through? I hear Prost move about in the snow again, and then he speaks.

“It’s hard to look at her and not be afraid, Mister Laken. Maybe if I had the courage to close my eyes I’d think differently when I spoke to her. But it’s hard to get past.”

“Hard, but necessary.”

“There’s some truth to what you say, sir. I know Durene and she’d never hurt a fly. Maybe—”

Maybe. Just maybe you’ve been wrong. I wait for more, but that’s it.

“Well, I’ll give it some thought and let the others know what you’ve said. That’s all I can say, sir.”

“I’d appreciate that. And I will say that if one more person hints at Durene being not good enough or I hear that she’s a freak, I’ll start throwing things. And believe me, I have pretty good aim even if I can’t see.”

I could probably nail him with a snowball, at least around Durene’s cottage. But I won’t. He came here to talk to me about Durene, and I said my bit and he said his. If he changes, all for the better.

But Prost isn’t quite done. He stands there for a while longer, and I have the distinct feeling he’s looking me up and down. When he speaks next, he has that same odd note of respect in his voice. Why?

“You seem…taller, Mister Laken. Better than before, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Not at all. I’m glad I seem so healthy to you.”

Taller? What does he mean? But it’s clear Prost means more than just height. He’s about to leave when I hear Frostwing kicking up a fuss inside the cottage. Maybe she’s finally caught Prost’s scent, or she’s hungry again.

“What’s that sound?”

I shrug as Prost begins to sound nervous again.

“Oh, that? That’s a baby eagle I’m raising.”

“A baby—”

He chokes on the words.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you Mister Laken? Where’d you find a baby eagle?”

“In the snow, just like everyone else.”

“And you’re going to raise it?”

“If I can keep trapping animals. Eagles only eat meat, which is sort of tough for me and Durene.”

I have a sudden thought.

“Say, Mister Prost, would you consider selling me some food? I’d be willing to pay you a good price for anything you can spare out of your larder.”

Prost sounds vaguely surprised at my offer. I guess he really only came up here to chat.

“Food, sir? I don’t know. It’s awfully dear at this time of year, and the harvest was good, but not so much that I’d want to let anything go for cheap.”

“How would a gold coin sound?”

An intake of breath. I wait patiently, face straight. Yes, I have quite a lot of money, don’t I? I’d nearly forgotten with Frostwing, but hey, if you’ve got it, why not spend it? And it’s not like I can eat gold.

Prost murmurs to himself in surprise. He seems to take for granted the fact that I have a gold coin—from what Durene says every family might have one gold coin’s worth in savings, but probably not more than that unless they work a more profitable job. It’s more hand-to-mouth around here.

“A gold coin? I’m not sure we can spare…”

“What about the other villagers? I don’t need much, but I’d like more eggs than Durene’s chickens provide, and I’d love to have enough meat to go round.”

“The villagers might ah, go for that. But a gold coin—at this time of year—well, I’d have to think about it.”

I nod seriously, as if I’m considering Prost’s words carefully. Then I rub my hand over my mouth as if in serious thought.

“How does this sound, then? One gold coin—for whatever dried meat, eggs, and so on you feel you can trade. If the rest of the village will add a bit from their stock, I’ll make it two gold coins. You can take the money, Mister Prost, and change it however you feel is right. And then you can bring me whatever my money’s worth.”

Credit to him, the other man’s voice sounds only slightly strangled as he replies.

“That’s—very generous of you, sir.”

I shrug, slightly.

“I have a bit of money saved up, and mouths to feed. And I’d like to repay Durene back for all the help she’s been to me. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I do indeed, sir. Well then, if you’re sure I’d happily accept.”

I hold out a hand, and Prost takes it and gives me a firm shake. His hand is callused and cold. Somehow rougher than Durene’s, even though she has harder skin.

“Give me one second to get the coin.”

I love my Skill. Instead of having to search around desperately for the bag of coins and money, I find it in an instant. Durene hid it behind a sack, as if there were thieves lurking around the cottage. Then again, I suppose it would have been bad if Prost had entered the cottage and seen the bag lying around.

I take two gold coins out and come back to Prost in less than ten seconds.

“You’re awfully fast for a blind man, if you don’t mind my saying so, Mister Laken.”

“Blind doesn’t mean slow, Mister Prost.”

“Of course not.”

I give him the heavy coins and he promises to bring some food the next day. I have the distinct feeling he’s going to take as much of a cut as he can before paying the other villagers, but that’s pretty much why I made the offer in the first place. And if it means food—all the better.

Trade negotiations for the Empire of Laken or perhaps the Blind Empire have been concluded. All that’s left is to wait for Durene and give her the good news. She’s astounded of course, and a bit worried.

“Isn’t spending that much money—”

“Please, Durene. I found this bag by accident and there’s a hundred times what I just spent in here, easily. If it means we can feed this greedy sack of feathers, I’m all for it.”

I poke at Frostwing again, noting that she still does not, in fact, have feathers. Durene makes a noise which could be in agreement.

“How do you think I did in bargaining with Prost, though? Did I pay him too much?”

Durene thinks about this for a second.

“A gold coin? That’s…fair? A big, big basket full of meat and food would probably be a gold coin. Two is expensive, but it is winter.”

“And it’s enough to provide for another mouth and us comfortably throughout the winter. The villagers are happy, and so are we.”

Durene nods, or at least, I feel her do something as I sit next to her, sharing the blanket.

“It’s just—that’s a lot of money, Laken. I’ve never even seen more than three gold coins at once, and that’s how much the [Merchant] that visited had.”

Three gold coins? That makes me smile, but sadly. I have a bag full of wealth beyond Durene’s imagination. And I? I have no sense of what it means to her. In a very real way, I don’t deserve it. But I will try to treat it seriously. After all, if I wasted the gift I was given, that would be even worse than not getting it at all.

“I think two gold coins is fine, Durene. We could use the food, and this way we’ll be able to eat more than just pottage every night. Moreover, it pays to be a bit generous, but not too much. Especially if they start asking how much money I have.”

Not that I think they’d risk Durene’s wrath. But the image of the angry mob haunts the back of my mind, and I think, Durene’s. Conversation sort of trails off after that, but I can’t help but feel it was a decent day’s work. Maybe Prost won’t change, but at the very least, I can pay him to feed us. That’s got to be worth something.

[Emperor Level 6!]

[Skill – Intimidating Glare obtained!]

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Hmm…? Laken?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep, Durene. And you too, Frostwing.”

Day 38

He did apologize to Durene, I think. I didn’t hear it myself, and reading between the lines of what Durene said, it was a briefer apology than I would have liked.

But it was something.

And we got the food! I think the basket containing the dried ham, eggs, cheeses, and other delicious goods was enough for Durene. I could practically hear her stomach growling as I took it from Prost. And by all accounts, the villagers were happy to give up some food for good coin. So we also earned a bit of goodwill. Score one for generosity.

Frostwing certainly appreciated the meat. She eats more day by day, and she’s bigger than she was before—substantially. I can feel her getting restless and moving about more, and I wonder how big she’ll get before she’s able to fly.

Moreover, why was her nest so low to the ground, and in a tree no less? I thought eagles made their roosts high up. There’s something about her—not to mention the fact that even after we’ve washed her, Durene says Frostwing’s fuzz is definitely green.

I don’t know. I’ll have to wait and see. I’ve managed to train Frostwing a bit—she now knows not to poop in the nest and instead do it in another bowl nearby. Plus, she’s stopped waking me up in my sleep! By this point, I’m a Level 4 [Beast Tamer], the product of much work and pecked fingers. No new Skills, but I consider my new friend a gift enough.

Durene’s out helping clear snow in the village, and I’m sitting outside, Frostwing huddled in a scarf on my lap. I’m not sure if that’s smart, but my bond with her will tell me when she’s too cold, and I don’t want her to just breathe stale air.

The air is crisp, but I’m warm and my stomach is full. It’s a nice day. And then I feel it. Something enters the area around the cottage, swooping in from high above. Not something—somethings. I pause, warily, and Frostwing screeches in alarm. Then I hear the voice.

“Look! Look, sisters! I’ve found him! The one who rules over this small place!”

What the—? Did I just hear a voice? I turn my head as I hear laughter and feel something flying around me! A bug? A…bird? No. It has a voice! But there’s no person standing around the cottage. I would feel it. Yet there is something in the air.

“Who’s there?”

Laughter. A voice that sounds like falling snow and pure ice rings out, up and to the left, as if the speaker is flying. She calls to me.

“Can you not hear us, oh Emperor? We are here, Frost Faeries of the Winter Court to meet you! Are you not honored?”

“Frost Faeries?”

What’s going on? Are there really faeries flying around my head? My first instinct is to disbelieve, but my sensible brain overrides that.

Okay, faeries. Durene tells me there’s magic, so why not faeries? Wait, didn’t she mention that name to me—

“You’re Winter Sprites?”

More laughter from above me. Frostwing is squirming in my lap, making sounds of distress. I think she’s afraid of these Frost Faeries, and that makes me wary. Already I can remember legends of the sidhe, and how they can be very, very dangerous. I try to remember what to do.

Be polite, be courteous. Offer them hospitality? Don’t tell them my name or make promises.

I decide to roll with it. It’s probably the best thing to do, but I throw in some healthy skepticism just to be on the safe side.

“Greetings, faeries. If that’s who you really are.”

Above me, I hear a mix of voices speak at once, a few outraged, some intrigued and playful. My god, it does sound like they’re flying around me!

“You question us?”

“He does! Look! He cannot see us, only hear us!”

“He sees naught!”

“Aye, but he rules over this place nonetheless. Emperor of the Unseen!”

It’s both terrifying and amazing. But when they mention that title I freeze in my seat.

“How do you know I called myself that?”

It was just a joke, said to Durene in the privacy of my cottage weeks ago. The faeries laugh and I feel something colder than freezing in front of my face. Is it right in front of me? I make no move.

“We heard your words. How could we not? Ye claimed this land to the world and all living in it!”

Heard my words? How?

“Well…I suppose I’m flattered that you’re taking such notice of me. But what do faeries have to do with me?”

A tinkling laugh, like icicles breaking.

“We have come here to bear witness to you, of course!”

“Bear witness? Why?”

“Art thou not an [Emperor]?”

The faerie makes it sound as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And I start to get it. Faeries, kings—they’re tied together, like how the faeries blessed Briar Rose in the original tale. And they’ve come to visit me?

“I’m honored, of course. But have you come to simply see and acknowledge me, or do you have some other reason? And shouldn’t you be bowing? I am an [Emperor].”

I’m playing a dangerous and probably stupid game. But the faerie in front of me laughs again, apparently taken with my boldness.

“Hah! We bow to no mortal sovereign. You may claim the land, but we are far more than mere dirt and plant. Your authority has no sway over we.”

“And yet you acknowledge it exists.”

“Of course! What churls do you think we are?”

“We came to bear witness!”

“To see an Emperor of this small place!”

“And because we had nothing better to do!”

Well then, it sounds to me like these faeries came here because they were bored. Which means they’re capricious. Better to get on their good side. But how? I don’t know if offering them food is any good—I’d have to make some, and all of Durene’s cooking utensils are made of iron.

“Well then, in the name of the Unseen Empire, I bid you welcome. You are all honored guests, although I regret that my master chef and seneschal is out chopping wood. Please, make yourselves at home.”

The faeries seem delighted at this.

“Oho!”

“He is polite, this one! He knows how to treat us: with respect!”

“Not like those other fools!”

I wonder who they’re talking about. I sense the faeries flying lower, and inquire politely.

“Do you have any business here besides meeting me? I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties.”

A chorus of denials greets me.

“Nae, we have time.”

“Until the spring comes, we are free!”

“Free to do as we please, and not follow one stupid mortal!”

“Aye! So we came here to meet you! ‘Twas worth it to be greeted with respect.”

Another voice chimes in, high and excited.

“Plus, we wanted to see ye before it was too late.”

“Shh! Don’t tell him that!”

“Wait, what?”

“Idiot!”

I hear a light smack and I have to guess one of the faeries hit the other. I hold Frostwing in my hands, although she’s barely moving, heart suddenly beating out of my chest. Faeries. Beings that can see and predict fate.

“There’s something bad about to happen? Please, tell me.”

“Well—”

“Shh! Be quiet!”

“No. Forget what you heard, mortal!”

The faeries flutter around me. They start arguing, and I hear a few of them saying they should tell me. But most of them are in favor of not. A few fly up, and I raise my voice desperately.

“Wait, hold on! I entreat you, please, stay and let us talk.”

A pause, and then I sense them flying close to me.

“Very well. For your words of hospitality, we will listen. Speak, oh Emperor, Protector of Durene’s Cottage.”

No time to laugh, and no time to question. I clear my throat.

“It seems to me that you…wise and noble faeries are aware of some impending danger to me and my empire that I am not aware of.”

“Perhaps.”

“Indeed, and I would never ask you to reveal a secret. But perhaps I could persuade you to help me avert the tragedy that is yet to come? Or at the very least, reveal the danger to me.”

The faeries murmur at this. I hold my breath—I’m trying to sound formal, but I have no idea how to actually talk to the fae. A bargain with them sounds like a bad idea, but this disaster—

“Intriguing. What do you propose, mortal?”

Yatzhee! I keep my face composed as I nod in what I hope is a dignified manner.

“Well, I cannot offer you land or a marriage to my house—”

“—Hah!”

“Shh!”

“—But what would you say to mortal riches? I have gold and jewels to compliment your radiance. Would you accept that?”

The faeries confer, whispering loudly.

“Mm…maybe.”

“Hah! He seeks to flatter us. He calls us ‘radiant’, he who cannot see!”

“Ah, but we are radiant, are we not sisters? Any mortal can tell that, even without sight.”

“True! But gold is so heavy. And it is a secret.”

In the end, they fly back down to me, probably shaking their tiny heads. I can only imagine.

“No, oh Emperor. It is not enough. Mortal wealth has little luster for us. Have you nothing else to offer?”

Nothing. Damn it, nothing. Only a bit of food, and I can’t feed all of them! If only I had an actual empire. But my [Emperor] title is just for show. I can only—

Wait. Emperor. Empire. What about—

I clear my throat.

“What if I gave you a noble title?”

“What?”

“Really?”

“Are you serious, mortal?”

Am I? Yes.

“Only naturally. I would offer entrance into my noble court to any friend of my kingdom. You, for instance—”

I point in the direction of the voice of the faerie that just spoke.

“For your aid, would you accept a title? That of, say, Comtesse?”

“Ooh! I like that!”

“What about us?”

“I want to be a Comtesse!”

“Nay, I!”

“We cannot all be Comtesses! What of the rest of us, mortal?”

Jeez, do I have to bribe all of them? I think quickly.

“I could make you…noblesse uterine if you wanted.”

Not exactly a flattering name. The tiny voices confer, and then dissent.

“Nay! Another title!”

“Marchioness, then? Or—how about Herzogin?”

“Ooh! I like that!”

“I want to be that!”

“No, me!”

They’re like children, squabbling over titles I just made up. And yet—maybe there’s more to it than that. It might sound funny, but I am an Emperor, and I do have the power to make the nobility.

…Still, I can’t help but feel glad that no one’s watching me as I come outside and address one of the faeries who kneels in the air in front of me.

“Very well. I dub thee Comtesse of the Soup Spoon.”

So saying, I hand her a wooden spoon. The other faeries ooh and applaud, and the faerie seizes the spoon from my hand and crows in triumph. That position was heavily sought after, but the other titles are equally as important. I turn to the next faerie.

“If you would be a Reichsgräfin in my empire—”

“Aye, I would!”

“Then I grant you that position for as long as my empire exists. To the end of time, an Emperor’s word on it.”

“Hah! I will hold you to your word, mortal!”

That’s what worries me. But I have no time to reflect on my actions. I go down the line of faeries. A Comtesse, several Ladies, a Duchess and a Viscount—I dub a score of them Blumenritter, and make one a Baron. I asked her if she wanted to be a Baroness, but she preferred Baron.

And then it’s over. I breathe out and feel the assembled peerage of my empire flying before me. I bow to them regally, and hear them laugh in delight. The sound warms my heart even in this chill, but I am still afraid.

“So now will you tell me what fate waits for my empire?”

The faeries pause.

“We cannot say.”

Really? After all this? I only cross my arms and frown. The faeries hurry on.

“We cannot! It is a secret and not our place to tell. But since ye have given us an Emperor’s gift, we shall return your kindness. I swear to you, oh mortal ruler, this fate shall not befall your land or your people.”

Is that a good thing or a bad thing? No—it’s good. And I know better than to question it. Instead, I nod my head regally.

“My thanks to you. You and your kind are welcome in my land. Know this.”

“Aye, and we shall treasure your gifts to us, mortal!”

“You shall be safe, we promise!”

“You aren’t bad—for an Emperor!”

The faeries cry out as they laugh and fly away from me. I listen to them go, worried and relieved and happy in turns. Faeries. My god.

Durene finds me sitting in the snow, about an hour later. I hear her exclaim and then come running over.

“Laken! What’s wrong? Why are you out here? You’re so cold!”

I just laugh at her, which makes her even more confused and upset. I let her carry me inside and fuss over me. I barely know where to begin. How can I even explain what happened? I do my best, but she can hardly believe me herself. But there is one thing I now know, with dreadful certainty.

“Something bad is about to happen, Durene.”

It might avoid us, according to the faeries. But I cannot help but wonder and worry. It may be mortal folly, but I am mortal. And I worry. But that is only half of me. The other half wonders and dreams of magic.

I saw faeries.

[Emperor Level 7!]

Day 41

Three days later it happened. I was just waking up, in that blissful moment between waking and sleeping. I was about to feed Frostwing some cold meat when I heard a roar like thunder. But unlike thunder, the sound did not diminish. Rather, it grew louder.

“Durene!”

Maybe I was expecting it. But the reality of the ground shaking around me and Durene’s pottery clattering and breaking on the shelves is far more horrific than anything I could have dreamed. I hear Frostwing screeching, and Durene shouting for me.

We meet in the center of the cottage as the rumbling oblivion of noise crescendos around us. It feels like the world is ending, and all I can do is hold Durene to me. I feel her squeezing me hard, and close my eyes.

And then, as quick as the terror has begun, it’s over. I open my eyes slowly, for the first time in ages. Of course I see nothing, but I do it all the same. It feels like I should see something, for the world has changed.

I know it, even if the cottage and the area around it that I can sense is the same. Durene is quivering in my arms. As she holds me and I hold her, I can hear Frostwing shrieking in alarm. At last I manage to let go of Durene and stagger up to her.

“Frostwing. Are you…?”

She’s alright. Just scared out of her wits. I check her with my hands just to be sure. They’re shaking. Then I hear Durene gasp.

“Durene. What is it?”

“The—the—”

She can’t even speak. I rush to her side, and feel her at the open door. But I can’t sense anything.

“Durene?”

“The snow…”

Her eyes see it. But it takes me a long time, an eternity, to coax her mouth into making sense for me. And then she speaks and I realize what’s happened.

The snow. The snow came down off of a distant mountain. The snow, triggered by snowfall or a sound or the faeries, turned into an avalanche that poured down, smashing everything in its way. It travelled miles, a vast distance, before expending the last of its energy here.

Even the last of its force is enough to destroy everything in its path. Trees were uprooted, a good swathe of the forest buried. But by some miracle—some magical help—the force of the avalanche split around the hut. Ours is the only unburied point as far as Durene can see.

“It’s a miracle.”

Durene hugs me again, shaking. I hug her back, even though I know that’s not entirely true. Not a miracle. A gift. Payment in kind.

I don’t know if I should thank the faeries or blame them. I settle for thanking them, and feel relief coursing through my veins. It’s over. We’re safe. If the faeries hadn’t diverted the avalanche, the cottage would have been buried or smashed to bits. I’m just glad we weren’t outside of the cottage or—

My heart stops in my chest. I realize with horror what must have happened. My sightless gaze turns to the road connecting Durene’s cottage with the rest of the world, now covered in snow.

“Oh no. The village.”

Durene gasps in horror. She lets go of me.

“It would’ve been right in the way of the avalanche! Laken, what should we do? We have to—do you think it missed them?”

No, no I don’t. I can just imagine what happened. The avalanche hit the village. I might’ve—the buildings are sturdy and this was the tail end of it. But what good is that against thousands of tons of snow?

Durene is panicking, and I’m rooted to one spot. We have to help. But how? It’s just me and Durene. Should I grab a shovel? No—food? What’s the best option? Where will the villagers go? Is it still dangerous there?

I don’t know what the right choice is here. I don’t know how to save the lives that might be at risk—or already gone.

Think, Laken. What can I do? What can we do?

What would an [Emperor] do?

3.12 E

What do I do?

I’m no hero. I’m not even qualified to be a police officer, doctor, an emergency worker, or any job that requires sight.

And I’ve never been trained. I have no idea what to do.

So panic grips me as I stumble across the snowy ground, knees still shaking from the avalanche. Part of me doesn’t even really believe what’s happened. After all, the small area of land I can sense hasn’t changed much. But Durene tells me that everything around her cottage is just—gone.

‘I’ll have to see it to believe it.’ Ironic, but in my case I have to feel it, or at least hear it to believe. I walk to the edge of the place where the earth just fades away in my mind, and feel forwards.

Nothing. Well, it’s not as if there would be a wall of ice in front of me. But suddenly I notice the frozen pathway is gone. Instead, there’s only crunching snow underfoot. And as I walk forwards cautiously, feeling my way ahead, I start to stumble as I run into huge chunks of solid snow, torn up. And—dirt? I hit something hard and feel at it.

A tree trunk. Sideways. It’s lying on the ground.

“Oh no.”

It’s true. I trace my way to the base of the trunk—actually, it’s the top of the tree. I feel branches, and leaves. The avalanche pulled this tree up and tossed it like a twig. And if it could do this to a tree, what chance does a house stand?

The village. My mind goes back to it. What do I do? What can I do? I have to help; that’s the right choice. But what’s the best way? I don’t—

“Laken!”

A voice shouts my name and I hear thumping footsteps. Durene rushes after me, fright clear in her voice.

“It’s not safe!”

Rough hands drag me back. Durene is terrified, but she cares more about my safety in this moment than anything else. I let her pull me back into the radius of the cottage. There at least I can tell what’s around me. But instead of being reassured by my mastery of this small domain, I now feel like I’m holding a candle in a—a dark world. I don’t understand darkness that well, but I fear the place where my [Emperor]’s senses fade away and I have to rely solely on remaining senses.

The village. My heart is still pounding out of my chest. The world is too silent. I can hear thunder in my veins, but there is only silence in the air. Compared to the fury of a few seconds ago, this—

I hear shrieking. My head turns, but it’s only Frostwing. She’s scared out of her mind, and I can’t blame her. But her anxiety doesn’t matter—the village—

I can’t think. I’m hyperventilating, gasping for air. Durene trembles as she stops.

“Laken. What do we…? It’s all gone.”

We’re both in shock. I know that. But my mind keeps snapping back to the village. Riverfarm. They were hit. I have to do something.

And like that, the paralysis gripping me ends. It’s not that I’m not still petrified. But I start moving even so. I have to act. It’s either act or keep still, and there is no time.

“Durene, we have to go to the village. The faeries didn’t protect Riverfarm. Who knows what’s happened to them?”

“What? Laken—”

Durene pauses. It’s not even complete thoughts she’s having. She’s not thinking, just reacting. But finally—and it feels like forever although it’s only been a minute or less—my brain begins working again.

Village. Help them. We have to go and check. Can’t stay here.

I feel cold. As if my skin and everything beneath it has frozen over. A chill made of fear is making me shake, but that same terror is electric. I don’t stop and think; I only know that I have to move.

“We have to go! Durene!”

I snap at her. Durene jerks, and then she hesitates.

“It’s too dangerous for you! I’ll go. I’ll help. You stay here and—”

“No.”

“Laken—”

“You are a [Paladin].”

I feel like an idiot saying it, but I grab Durene’s protective hand and try to turn my head towards her face. My gentle giant is shivering with fear, but her being here reassures me enough to keep my voice steady.

“Durene. You are a Paladin. A protector of the weak and innocent. And you are also my guardian, my champion. You have to go. And I have to go. We have to help everyone we can.”

She hesitates, and then I feel a bit of strength return to her hand. She breathes in.

“Okay. Let’s go. I’ll clear a way. The road is—is gone. Follow me.”

She turns, and I hesitate. The village. What will we do there?

Think—it was an avalanche. Buried people, disaster area. Red Cross. Doctors Without Borders. What do they…?

“No—wait.”

Durene halts in bewilderment. I turn and point towards the cottage.

“A basket. We need all the food we can put in there, towels—clean fabric—um—”

I can’t think of anything else. Bandages, food, what else? The avalanche—

“A shovel.”

I run back towards the cottage, and Durene rushes into her tool shed for a shovel. I push open the door and hear Frostwing screaming at me. She’s tumbled out of her nest, but fortunately she’s okay. I scoop her up and put her and the nest on the floor. I talk to her as I scramble around the cottage, using the clear image of the cottage in my head to pick up everything we might need.

“It’s okay. It’s okay—shush! We’ll be back, okay?”

To my surprise, the eaglet shuts up. I don’t have time to dwell on that though—six more seconds and I’m kicking the door open. Durene grabs the food and cloth spilling out of my arms and stuffs it into a huge basket she uses to collect produce.

“Okay. Let’s go!”

I lead us both away from the cottage. It’s so easy to move around Durene’s cottage. I’ve seldom ever run—being blind means I’m used to running into things, and I know that I can seriously injure myself running into something sharp at high speed. But in this place I’m sure-footed, and I force my unaccustomed legs to move faster. Durene is right behind me, carrying the basket.

Two steps outside of the circle and I falter. The world disappears around me, my sense of it returning to nothing. It wouldn’t have bothered me, before. But it’s like going deaf or losing my sense of smell. Or going blind, I suppose. The new sense I had is gone, and I suddenly realize how inconvenient it is not to have it.

I stumble, and a hand catches me.

“This way. Follow me.”

I take hold of the bottom of Durene’s shirt and begin to follow her. That’s easy—I’ve done that countless times before. But this time, the landscape is totally different.

“So much snow…”

I can feel Durene’s shirt straining as she grunts and pushes ahead. The snow around my ankles rises and shifts, and as I follow in her steps I realize that the snow rapidly becomes waist-deep in places.

No time to stop and think. I try to follow directly in Durene’s footsteps. But even then, the snow is already filling in her steps, and I can’t tell what’s in front of me.

The snow is so deep! Durene wades through it, but I can’t. The second time I trip, something grabs my legs and back, pulling me off my feet. I jerk in surprise, but Durene lifts me into her arms, cradling me with ease.

“I’ll—carry you, Laken. It’s faster that way.”

My mouth opens to object. I’m not a child. But then I close my mouth instead. She’s right. Even if I had sight, this is probably faster.

“I’ll hold the basket. Give it to me.”

I hold the basket on my stomach as Durene carries me in her arms. It is not comfortable, especially since Durene’s running means I bounce around like a rag doll. But she moves far faster than I can, so I hang on to her with all my strength as I feel cold air blowing past my face.

Powdery flecks of ice keep hitting me. Durene is churning through the snow as if it’s not there. I can hear her breathing hard, but she doesn’t stop running.

Riverfarm is about ten minutes away from Durene’s cottage at walking speed. We get there in four minutes. My first instinct when Durene puts me down is to find the wounded. But my weak imagination isn’t enough to predict the reality of what awaits us.

For a few seconds after Durene puts me on the uneven earth, she can’t even speak. When she eventually finds her tongue, it’s still almost too much for her. She describes the scene for me, breathless. Horrified.

Riverfarm is gone. The avalanche poured through the tiny community in one horrific rush. The pounding snow covered entire houses and knocked the walls in on others. There’s so much packed snow that we’re standing several feet above where the ground is supposed to be.

“I can see the roof of Mister Prost’s house from here. It—oh, Laken! It’s all gone!”

“What about the people, Durene? Are they alive?”

I grab Durene’s arm, trying to keep her focused. My voice is urgent, and she starts as if coming out of a trance.

“A few. I can see some, but—”

Some of them are just standing around, motionless. Others wander aimlessly, and I can hear them calling. A few are trying to dig at the ground, but the snow isn’t loose. It’s been packed, and everything is buried. How would they even know where their families and friends are?

And no one’s really that coherent in the first place. Durene is experiencing it and so am I, to a lesser extent.

Shock. But I know—I have to fight through it. I can’t see, but I wasn’t caught up in that maelstrom of death. My head is the clearest right now.

“We have to start digging people out. Durene, where’s the nearest house?”

Again, Durene starts as if I’m waking her from a dream.

“Nearest? Over there—Mister Ballus and Miss Ven’s—”

“Let’s go to it.”

I push at her, and Durene moves forwards. I follow her until she stops.

“What does it look like? Do you see any of the family around here?”

“No—I—I don’t know. They could be over there. That looks like—it’s all buried, Laken. All of it.”

“How much is buried? The front? The back? Could we dig the door out—maybe they’re still inside?”

“I don’t know. It’s buried.”

I clench my teeth in frustration. I can’t see, and Durene isn’t being helpful. I want to shout at her, but in the next instant I feel her moving.

“I’ll dig! Stand back, Laken!”

I take the basket and move back. At once I feel snow flying through the air and hear Durene grunting. Suddenly she’s all motion, and I hear her shouting, the first loud sound in the shocked silence of the village.

“Mister Ballus! Miss Ven! Cinney! Rober! Are you there!?”

The noise does something to the villagers not buried by the snow. After a few seconds I hear movement, and then someone runs over.

“Durene!? And – Mister Laken? You two are alive?”

“We are.”

I don’t recognize the name, but I feel someone rush over to me. A hand seizes mine, rough and callused.

“It’s me, Prost.”

“Mister Prost? Are you okay? Where’s your family?”

“I don’t see them. I don’t—”

Prost is trembling even worse than Durene was. He can barely hold on to me, but that he does, clutching at me like he’s holding on for dear life. I try to calm him down.

“Mister Prost. Listen to me. We have to start digging people out. Durene’s got a shovel. Can you help her? Find other people…?”

We need to get a group of people assembled. Even with Durene’s strength, every house in the village is drowned in snow. Prost nods, and then realizes I can’t see the motion even though I feel him doing it.

“I can do that. But—Durene! My house is over there!”

“Mister Prost?”

I feel the man let go, and then hear Durene’s voice. The sound of the shovel scraping the snow stops.

“My family—they were all inside when the avalanche hit! Help me dig them out!”

“But Mister Ballus and his family are—”

Oh no. I hear the two’s voices raised, and then it sounds like Prost tries to grab the shovel out of Durene’s hand. When that doesn’t work, he tries to drag her with him with the same amount of success.

“Please, you have to help. They’re trapped! I need—”

“Durene!”

This voice isn’t from a man. It’s female and cracks in desperation. I hear more running and then another villager is fighting with Prost for Durene’s attention.

“Durene!”

“Help me! My husband—”

“Help us!”

I can see nothing, but I don’t have to see to know that Prost shoves the other woman away. I hear her cry out, and then Durene’s voice.

“Stop fighting! Please! I’ll try to get everyone out. But if you could help me—”

“My family! Save them first!”

No, no, no! But I know even as the voices raise what’s going to happen. The villagers were still shocked when Durene and I arrived. But now that we’ve started moving, the confusion gripping the villagers has faded a bit.

But that only means they’re now desperate, and Durene is the only person that can help them. More people rush to her, an uninjured beacon of hope. But instead of working together, they begin fighting over her!

“Everyone! Please listen! We need to work together!”

I call out, shouting at them, but I can’t see a thing, and Durene is now trapped by the desperate men and women. They’re arguing, not listening to anything. And instantly, a scuffle begins. I even hear what sounds like a blow. Are they hitting each other? But it’s every villager for themselves.

“Listen to me!”

I shout desperately and even try to run towards the fight, but all that gets me is a hard shove as someone knocks me down. I fall onto the ice and hear a scream.

“Laken!”

Someone else shrieks, and then I hear the voice moving away. Durene runs towards me. She—threw a villager out of the way. They scatter as she anxiously helps me up.

“Are you okay?”

“I am—but this is insanity, Durene!”

I’m already on my feet. But the sounds of chaos haven’t faded. If anything, they’ve gotten worse. Now the people are fighting over Durene’s shovel. She’s helpless as she looks at the scene and I try to make sense of it all.

“No one’s listening! What should I do, Laken?”

I don’t know. This is a nightmare—two nightmares at the same time! We need order, but no one’s listening. And I have no idea where the buried villagers are, or even how many are still alive. I yell at Durene.

“Just—just start digging! Try to get this house out first. We have to—”

What can I do? Nothing. I could dig, but I have no idea where everything is. And Durene’s the only person with any kind of tool! She moves into action, running back towards the building and I cup my hands to my mouth and shout.

But it does no good. No one will listen to me. Eventually, the fighting villagers stop and return to trying to dig their loved ones out. One helps Durene, and others try to get their friends to work together, but there’s no cohesion. And again, there’s only one shovel and the ice is like stone in places. And no one knows where any of the victims are!

We’re running out of time. People are suffocating down there. I try to think. What can I do? What can any of us do?

What if—I could see? I can’t, but what about my Skill? Yes, that’s right! I saw Durene’s cottage, and even the buried plants in the garden. What if—

I take a few deep breaths. No one is looking at me and Durene is still shouting as she digs. I don’t know what to do exactly, so I point to what the center of the village is. I try to put conviction into my words as I speak.

“I claim this village.”

Nothing happens. Of course not. Would it really be that simple? But then what do I do?

“I claim this village—in the name of [Emperor] Laken!”

“…This village is a Protectorate of the Unseen Empire!”

Nothing. I feel like the biggest fool in the world, and all around me people are screaming, calling for help. Dying.

I have to do something. And this is it. Why can’t I claim this village? I could do it with Durene’s cottage. Think. Why?

Because she let me. Because she gave me the authority to do it. Instantly, I realize what I have to do.

“Durene? Durene?”

She’s by my side in an instant.

“What is it, Laken?”

“Where’s the village head?”

I know this village has its own mayor, or leader or something. It’s not a very important position—the villagers choose someone every year, but only to negotiate with other villagers, towns, and traders. But it is a leader.

“What? Mister Till? I don’t know. I don’t see him…”

“I need to find him. Or his family. Do you see anyone who knows where he might be?”

“N—I do! I see his wife!”

“Take me to her. Hurry!”

Durene abandons her efforts and leads me across the uneven ground. I keep stumbling, and at one point I hear a shout and feel the packed snow shifting underneath me.

“God.”

Is this what it’s like after an earthquake? I’ve heard stories of natural disasters, but this—

I don’t know what it looks like. But to my mind, the world is in chaos. Nothing is the same as when I came here a few days ago. It’s like I’ve walked into another world again. A horrible world of death and fear.

“Miss Feya! Miss Feya!”

Someone’s in front of me. I hear sobbing, and then someone’s in front of me.

“Durene? Oh Durene—help me! My poor boy is down there somewhere!”

“I—I’ll try to find him!”

I hear the sounds of Durene digging with her hands. I reach out, and there’s a woman in front of me. My hand recoils as I touch her frozen skin and find sticky blood.

“Miss…Feya?”

“Who is—oh! You’re…”

“I’m Laken.”

There’s no time for niceties. I guide the trembling woman a bit away from Durene and then get straight to the point.

“Miss Feya, do you know where your husband is? He’s the village head, isn’t he?”

“My husband…?”

She’s in shock too. I want to shake her, but I just wait for her, prodding gently.

“I need to find him. Do you know where he is?”

Even if he can’t transfer ownership of the village to me, he might be able to rally the disorganized villagers. But I can already sense something’s wrong.

“He—he—”

Choked words. I reach out and feel her shaking. Miss Feya sobs and I know what’s happened.

“I’m so sorry.”

But there’s no time even for that. I hesitate. Would she be next in charge? I have to try.

“Feya. Miss Feya. I need you to give Riverfarm to me.”

An intake of breath.

“Give? What are you talking about? There’s nothing left!”

“I can’t explain everything, but—I have a Skill. It can help find people, even under the snow, I think. But I need to own this village to use it.”

“A Skill?”

I sound like a complete and absolute loon in my ears. But to Miss Feya, saying that might have been the best thing I could do. She understands Skills, even if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. But she’s still hesitating, uncertain.

“You need the village?”

“Yes.”

“Can you really save them?”

There’s hope in her voice as well as doubt. But the world’s collapsed around her, and this poor woman is reaching out for any shred of hope. I don’t want to lie to her, so I tell her the truth.

“I can try.”

One second goes by as she thinks. Two. But she has nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

“It’s yours. If you can do something, please, do it!”

I nod and step back from her. I still feel self-conscious, but this time I don’t waver. I raise my head and speak with all the confidence I can muster.

“I claim this village. I claim Riverfarm.”

Nothing. Again. I curse and hear Feya moan. What’s wrong?

Last time—it took a while before I realized that I could sense Durene’s cottage. Maybe there’s a waiting time? If so, I’m screwed. But maybe it didn’t work because Miss Feya isn’t the next village head. She wasn’t elected, and—does the village head have the ability to speak for an entire village anyways?

Damn it, there’s just so much I don’t know! I feel helpless, and angry as well. I have to do something! But nothing I’ve tried has worked and I can hear Durene. She’s barely excavated more than a few feet of snow, and it’s been over ten minutes since we got here. If anyone’s still alive—

No time. No way. The burning helplessness in my chest intensifies. And I hear the same whispering in my heart that I think everyone’s heard before.

Just give up. You can’t do anything.

It’s the same voice that used to talk to me on the worst nights. It’s the voice that told me a blind kid couldn’t ever do anything. It tries to drag me down.

I am an [Emperor]. But I’m not one, really. I just went through the motions. I’m an actor and I put on a good play, but in the end the genuine article is different from me.

Emperor Norton never questioned himself. Charlemagne, Peter the Great, Leopold—did any of these people ever act like I did? How would I know?

What would an [Emperor] do?

The little voice in my head mocks me as I listen to people cry out. More than anything, I want to help them. But how? I don’t own this village. There’s a wall in my way, a wall I can’t touch or feel or sense. I can’t break it down. And there’s a wall in the ground, a tomb of snow.

My doubts taunt me. But more than anything I want to act. The Emperor does not wait. He doesn’t hesitate. He does what an Emperor does because he is an Emperor. If Norton ever asked questions, he would never have become an Emperor.

And I—

I can’t let something silly like rules stop me. I don’t own this village? That’s not something a real [Emperor] would accept.

My heart is pounding. I don’t ask questions. I stop hesitating.

People are dying. I want to help them. Have to. Durene is doing her best, but for all her strength, she’s just one person. The villagers are disunited. There’s no one to lead them. No one but me.

So I draw the biting air into my chest and scream.

“My name is Laken Godart! I claim this village!”

My voice cuts through the other noises, bringing quietus with it. I can tell everyone’s stopped to stare at me in astonishment. But I don’t falter. I don’t wait, either. I keep shouting, so that everyone can hear me.

“Riverfarm is under my protection! All those who live within it are part of my empire!”

What’s this? No one understands. Who’s this blind young man, shouting nonsense? They’re just words. Anyone can speak nonsense. Anyone can claim anything they want.

But who has the courage to shout it to the world? I do. So I shout and tell everyone that I am an Emperor, because it is true. I will make it true.

“I am Laken, Emperor of the Unseen! If anyone would challenge me, fight my champion, my [Paladin]. Durene!”

For a few seconds I think the villagers are too shocked to even respond. Then I hear a shout.

“Are you insane?”

Prost’s voice is angry. I can hear him moving towards me, but my attention isn’t on that. It’s on the snow under my feet. And the faint sense I have—

Below me is ice. Below that is timber. And then stone. A wall. And pressed up against that wall is a child. He barely moves, but he does move. He’s trapped against the wall and the snow is so constricting that he can only breathe and move a tiny bit. I see his chest rising and falling in my head.

“What nonsense are you shouting!?”

A hand grabs me. I hear an angry voice, and then more voices.

“You claim our village? By what right?”

“What are you doing?”

“We need help! Stop shouting and—Durene! Come here!”

The villagers have come to me. Of course they would. Here’s this crazy guy shouting at them as they’re in the middle of their grief and desperation. They want to unload their anger onto me. But I’m too busy to care.

“I am an [Emperor].”

They hear me, but who would believe that? They shout at me, and then I hear Durene’s voice.

“Let him go!”

A massive hand moves, and separates Prost from me with ease. He stumbles back, and I hear shouts.

“Durene! Come here!”

“My children are down there! Come with me!”

“You bastard—give me that shovel!”

Screaming. Fighting. Cries for help. I hear it all and see the boy breathing far below. Is this sight? It’s never been so clear to me. I breathe in and out and the world comes into focus.

This is mine. I claim it. It’s not sharp in my head; it’s not my village entirely. But I will have it.

The villagers are fighting. No one will get any work done. I’m angry at them. I know they’re afraid. So am I! But if they can’t work together everyone loses. Durene is shielding me with her body and shouting at them, but she’s no leader. Not yet.

But I am. I am an [Emperor]. I shout.

“Silence!”

And there is. Complete silence. My voice is thunder, and I feel that same sensation in my bones as I did once before, when I shouted at the group of children tormenting Durene, so long ago.

“I am an Emperor.”

My voice is the one sound in the empty world around me. I can feel people staring at me, but they are mute. I keep talking, my voice growing louder.

“Your families, your friends, are all trapped under the snow. I can find them. You will help me. Find something to dig with. We’ll start here. Give Durene her shovel back.”

No one moves. They’re in shock. I don’t have time for it. My hand raises. My voice grows deeper, and it echoes.

“You and you, find something to dig with. You! The shovel! The rest of you, start digging right here. Move!”

They move. They can’t help it. But they want to move as well; I’ve given them purpose. I’ve given them hope. I look down with my head and sense the small body beneath me. Growing colder. Growing weaker.

So many. So still. I sense tiny bodies and large ones, motionless beneath the snow. Some still move. Others lie at odd angles, in pieces.

There’s no time to grieve. I point and shout.

“Start digging there! And there!”

It’s like a game. An awful game where each second counts and the prize isn’t measured in points, but real lives. But there are ways to be more efficient.

“There are two shovels here. Dig them up!”

They’re nearest to the surface. If we have those, the villagers won’t have to use the branches and broken bits of wood. Durene is already clearing snow with her spade. I’ll have to stop her from hitting the boy when she gets close.

“Over there! She’s right beneath the snow! Dig with your hands and pull her out!”

I run, and people follow me. I shout, and they listen. There’s no little voice in my head. There’s only a screaming idiot, moving too fast to doubt himself. Every step I take in the snow is sure; my blood is electric. I dash over to the spot and people begin to dig.

“Follow me. Find something to dig with!”

Onwards. I let the villagers dig out their friends and run on.

I’m going to save everyone I can. This—

This is my village now. And I will protect it. I am an [Emperor].

I run and run, and forget that I’m blind. I forget everyone else. I reach down, and pull life out of the ground.

----

He only knew it hurt. He had tried screaming, but there was blackness all around him. Cold. It was so cold, and he knew he was buried. His head was full of pain and he knew he was bleeding. It was cold—

But also hot. The air in the small pocket where he was trapped was getting warmer, and every time he took a breath, his head spun.

He was dying.

He wanted to struggle, but he couldn’t even move. He cried and screamed, but no one had heard him. And now he was going to die.

That’s what he knew. He knew it even as he shouted for salvation. And then he heard the scraping.

Someone was digging! Towards him? He shouted desperately, barely daring to hope. But the sounds—they were coming from below him! They were going the wrong way! He screamed again, telling them to come back.

No! Had they missed him? The young man shouted desperately, and then realized the sound was getting louder, not softer! It was coming towards his head!

And then he realized something was off. Snow was breaking around his legs. He could move them! He wriggled with mad desperation, not caring if he hurt himself. He had to get out!

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

A voice pulled him out of the madness. The young man froze, and then realized what was happening.

“You’re upside down. Don’t move and we’ll dig you out.”

The world turned over. Suddenly, the pounding in his head made sense. He waited, unable to bear the waiting but waiting nonetheless, and then felt a warm hand on his leg.

“You’re safe. Hold on just for a second longer.”

He didn’t know the voice. He knew everyone in the village, but he didn’t know the voice. But the hand was warm, and the voice was full of so much confidence—

He cried like a child as the warm hands dug the snow away and then came for him. He was still sobbing as more hands righted him and he was pulled out of the snow and back into the world of color and light.

For a little while he couldn’t see. Tears made his vision blurry and he could only gulp in air, the sweetest, purest thing he’d ever felt in his life. He didn’t want to grow up anymore. He didn’t want to become a famous adventurer or leave this small village. He didn’t want to marry his childhood crush.

He just wanted to be alive. And he was. The young man wept and clutched at the cold ground, and then remembered his name.

Gamel.

When he could finally think again, Gamel looked around and saw what had become of his home. Ice and snow had buried Riverfarm, the only place he had ever known. His house, his father’s home that he had lived in and hated for being so small, was gone.

And so was the rest of the world. Gamel looked, but he couldn’t see anything familiar. Where was the forest? Where was the river? Where were the road and the other houses?

He saw nothing familiar, save for a few rooftops and broken wood. But then he saw the people.

The villagers of Riverfarm numbered little over a hundred. He knew all of them by name, if not as friends. He recognized over thirty of them now, digging up the snow in teams. But one person stood out among the frantic workers, one person Gamel didn’t recognize.

It was another young man, like Gamel. He had to be the blind man, the one who was staying at Durene’s cottage. The one who liked the half-Troll.

But then the blind man turned and pointed. His eyes were closed, but he seemed to know where things were. He shouted, and Gamel realized that he was the owner of the voice and the warm hands.

And when he heard the voice, Gamel stood up. He ran over to help, even before he quite knew what he was doing. And when he did know, he only ran faster. His friends were buried. His family! His love.

The blind young man had found a woman trying to excavate her house. Her hands were raw and bleeding from digging. But she still turned the snow crimson as she searched for any clue, any hint of her child.

“Miss.”

The young man pulled her away. She resisted, but two other villagers pulled her back. She was sobbing, crying out for her missing child. Gamel looked at the ground, but he could see nothing but packed snow. Where would you even begin searching for a missing kid? He could have been swept away, or buried in a pocket. You could dig for hours and not find him.

But the blind man only hesitated for one second. He seemed to search the ground and then pointed.

“There.”

Gamel stared. But men and women rushed forwards with hoes, shovels, even a board of wood, anything they could dig with. They began to send up flurries of snow where the blind man had pointed, digging with all their strength, totally confident in his prediction.

“Fifteen feet down. He isn’t moving.”

The blind man was supervising the work. He was also speaking to the mother. Gamel stared, and then saw two closed eyelids swing towards him. The not-gaze made him freeze. He couldn’t see him. But—

“You! Find something to dig with! Hurry!”

Gamel was running before he knew what had been said. He came back with a pitchfork someone had found. The tines could lift chunks of ice out. He began digging with the others, widening the hole.

“Stop!”

The voice halted them and everyone froze as one. The young man leapt into the hole. Without looking he seized a spade.

“He’s a foot down. Give me some room!”

Gamel stood back and watched. Carefully, quickly, the young man dug. He paused, and then shoved away more snow. Then he lifted something out of the ground.

“Siccy!”

Gamel recognized Sic, one of the boys who belonged to the mother. She rushed forwards, and then screamed again.

“He’s not breathing.”

The young man—Laken, that was his name—was calm. Or rather, he wasn’t panicking. He shouted at the woman.

“Move back! Get me a clear space above!”

Hands pulled him and the still boy out of the hole. Gamel watched, numb horror in his chest. The boy was dead. But Laken wasn’t done yet.

“Breathe into his mouth. Like this. Steady breaths.”

He was doing something, showing the woman something. Then he put his hands on the boy’s chest and began to pump, as if he was trying to push something back into the child.

“Compressions. Place your hand on his chest like this. Now—”

The woman breathed and Laken pressed on his chest. Gamel watched without hope. Nothing was going to happen. This was no spell or [Healer]’s Skill. It was just air and some weird motion. It couldn’t—

The boy gasped. He choked and his eyes flew open. The mother fell backwards, but then she shrieked and threw herself at her son. Gamel stared. His eyes stung as the boy breathed again.

“Give him air!”

Laken forced the mother back a bit. Then he stood up and ran to another body being pulled out of the snow. Gamel followed. Laken showed the rescuers what to do.

“Five minutes. If they don’t wake up by then—”

It didn’t work. Gamel stared at the cold body of the girl he’d always thought was too ugly to dance with and felt a hole open up in his chest. Laken moved on. The next body they brought up was cold as well, and Laken didn’t even bother with it. The next was also dead. The next was alive and the woman clung to Laken even as he shouted.

The dead couldn’t be brought back so easily. But the breathing and compressions—helped. It gave people hope and they tried it until Laken told them it was too late. It was a last-ditch effort he said; they were already dead. It was too late.

But it worked. Once, twice. Out of the many casualties, Gamel saw two cough up ice and snow and breathe again. A child, practically blue and still bleeding, opened her mouth and wailed after her breath had stopped. A young man inhaled, and nearly choked again as his family threw their arms around him.

And many who came out of the ground were still alive. They had clung to life, trapped in tiny places, hoping, begging silently for rescue. And it came, with precise accuracy and no shortage of willing hands. Gamel dug to save people trapped like him. He threw away the pitchfork and grabbed a proper shovel when one was found. He dug and pulled out his best friend, the [Blacksmith].

His father.

Gamel stared down at the empty gaze and snow-covered beard. Snow hadn’t filled his lungs like the others. But his neck had snapped as he had tumbled. It was twisted the wrong way.

The young man reached down with trembling hands. He had to fix it. He tried to turn his father’s head back the right way. Gently at first, and then with more strength. It was no good. He felt something shifting beneath his hands and stumbled away to vomit.

When he was choking and wiping at his mouth, someone touched his shoulder. Gamel spun, and looked into closed eyelids.

Laken only held his shoulder. He had never met Gamel’s father. He didn’t know the man. But he looked in Gamel’s eyes with his sightless ones and said only one thing:

“There are more people to save.”

So Gamel left his father on the ground. He dug and dug until his hands blistered and bled and pulled up more bodies. A little girl who’d always gotten on his nerves. Dead. A husband who everyone knew beat his wife. Alive. He was sobbing like Gamel had been and he dug with his bare hands to pull his living spouse out of the ground with their dead baby in her hands.

There was no sense to it. No justice. There were only places where the cold hand of fate had taken lives, and miracles where that boundary had not been crossed.

Yet with every second they spent under the snow, the villagers would have died. And there were so many. If the others had been digging with no idea where they were, how many would have died?

But Laken pointed and the villagers were found. Within the hour, everyone had been found, and for a miracle, the living outnumbered the dead. Those who were alive were injured yes, some badly. They were all close to or frostbitten in places, and many were exhausted from digging. They were homeless. Hungry.

But they were alive. And though Gamel’s hands bled, he held the girl who he’d dreamed of marrying as she cried and the [Midwife] bandaged her bleeding leg.

They were alive. Gamel had to keep wiping away tears, and his nose was stuffed. He didn’t care.

They were alive. After the last body had come up, the villagers just sat on the snow, crying, tending to injuries, hugging each other. Being alive.

Somehow, there was even food. The half-Tr—Durene had brought food with her at the blind man’s orders. And there was cloth to bandage wounds, even! As more and more hands were free, Laken directed them to dig up stores of food, buried in store rooms and cellars.

Gamel hadn’t seen Durene before now. He’d been too busy digging. But he saw her tossing a massive amount of snow as she continued to dig, tirelessly.

Part of him was afraid of her. Part of him could still remember the Troll and the way the adults had been so frightened of her. Part of him remembered throwing things at the Troll-girl when he saw her. He saw her dig up food to hand around and the countless people she had saved by herself, and part of him felt ashamed.

Laken didn’t just know where the bodies were. He found root cellars, and knew which ones were the most well-stocked. He had them dug up, and immediately had the food passed around to the starving people.

The food was meant to last a family the entire winter, but no one said a word, even if it was their stocks being opened and shared. Or rather, who would even think about something like that right now?

They were alive. That was all that mattered.

Gamel tore at some frozen bread someone had warmed up and saw there was a fire going. Someone was making a soup out of vegetables, but Gamel could have eaten the loaf with only snow and dirt as seasoning. He shared the frozen piece with the girl sitting next to him and stood up.

Laken was standing in the center of the village, still ordering people about. He wasn’t shouting—his voice was hoarse and raw and the—Durene was standing next to him anxiously. Gamel hesitated, and then brought Laken a bowl of soup when it was done.

“Thank you.”

The blind man took the bowl and thanked Gamel. But that was all wrong. Gamel’s throat closed up. He had to say it.

“Thank you.”

That was all he could say. What he had to say. Other villagers heard Gamel and came over. They said different things, used different words. Some hugged Laken. Others found more food, kissed him, just cried. They all meant the same thing.

Thank you.

----

I pulled up dead people. I pulled up living people. Now, I can barely move my arms to lift the spoon. But I eat because I have to. I have to keep going. There’s tragedy around me, but if I stop to stare at it I’ve made a mistake. My heart’s too busy beating to stop and weep. That’s how it should be.

“Anyone who can—we need houses.”

The snow is so deep. But I’m already thinking about tonight. The villagers—they’re all out, living and dead. And while the dead will keep for a while, the living are freezing. And it’s going to be dark and cold tonight. It’s barely mid morning despite the herculean efforts of the day, but we need to get as many houses out as possible.

“Durene, can you start clearing snow out over here? There’s a barn—if we empty it, we could have a place for everyone to sleep at least.”

I look at Durene, although I can’t see her. But I can sense her, and touch her, and feel her beside me. That’s more than enough. I know she has to be tired, but she doesn’t show any of her exhaustion.

“I can do that. If someone helps get rid of the snow…”

“Is there anything better than a shovel? Pickaxes, maybe?”

Do they even have those? A young man hovering by me—the one who gave me the bowl of soup—offers a suggestion.

“What about magic?”

“Magic?”

I’m caught totally off-guard. But as it turns out, the young man knows a very weak flame spell. And so do other people in the village! It’s a bit better than digging, but not by much.

“Hold off on it. Wait until we dig out a building and then you’ll defrost it.”

I keep ordering people about. They obey as if it’s natural and I don’t question it. They need a leader. And I’m the best choice.

Only I can sense the entire village. It’s almost all under the snow, but I can sense which houses are intact, which ones have valuable items, and most importantly, which are closest to the surface. It is like a game, and I organize people as best I can.

What’s the first and most important thing? The elements. There’s already a small fire going.

“Get someone with wood chopping skills and find some trees! I want two—no, four big fires going!”

Those with fire magic can light what wood we have. That’s not enough of course. I ask around and find who might have the most clothes. We get that excavated and blankets, clothing—all go to children and those with injuries first. Bandages come from recycled cloth first boiled and dried by a fire.

What else? While I’m doing that I wonder about animals. I look—but they’re all dead. We dug up the people first. Still, I know where they are. All of that is frozen food that can be retrieved later.

“Mister Laken? Emperor Laken?”

A voice. I turn. Prost is standing before me, humble.

“Emperor?”

I sense him bowing his head.

“Yes sir. Durene’s dug up a good part of the barn, but she says it’s not stable.”

“Damn.”

I couldn’t tell when it’s all buried.

“Can it be fixed? Who has skills in…carpentry?”

People around me provide answers. I choose three of the best builders to take a look at the building. Someone calls out to me. One of her sons—a teenager—was injured badly. His foot was broken. It needs to be set, but the [Midwife] has no potions.

I find some. By that point several people are telling me they need weapons. For Durene?

No. For wolves and monsters that might attack the injured. I find a sword buried deep and cast about. Broken bows…I find a few locations and have people start digging.

People ask me whether they should cook more soup. I ask and find out what the best recipes are. I direct them to a dead cow.

More work. It’s getting dark apparently—I can feel the chill on my skin and the feeling of sunlight is gone. People need light, but torches are in short supply. And the team working on the barn and other buildings don’t want the badly-directed torchlight to mess with their work.

I have an idea.

“Wait a second.”

I pull out a rectangle of metal. It’s always in my pocket although I haven’t turned it on until now. I push the power button.

“Siri? Turn on flashlight.”

“Sorry, but I’m not able to do that.”

People around me exclaim in awe, but I just scowl. I have to find the flashlight app buried among the various ones I’ve downloaded and press it manually. I hate doing that.

Then again, I don’t exactly need a flashlight app, do I? It was put on my iPhone as a joke by my best friend. After Zoe installed it on my iPhone she told me it would help other people if they got lost, since I can find my way around in the dark just like the light. It would make them feel better, she told me.

And now? My iPhone glows with light. I can’t tell, but people around me are shouting ‘magic’. I give it to Prost and show him how to use it.

“Can I really use an artifact like this?”

“Just don’t drop it.”

I smile and turn away. The iPhone’s batteries probably don’t have that much juice in them in this cold, but the light helps. Prost and the others find the fault they’re looking for and fix it.

“Laken.”

Durene has the iPhone in her hands. I turn from having more blankets dug up and take it back from her.

“Thanks, Durene.”

“Is that the ‘phone’ you were talking about?”

“It is. Does it look interesting to you?”

I can’t imagine how the screen and the display looks to someone who’s never seen a light bulb. There’s awe in Durene’s voice.

“Yes. It’s like a star is in your hands.”

A star? I smile.

“Would you like to use it?”

“Me? No! I would never dare. What if I broke it? I’ve never seen magic like that before.”

“This is no magic. Anyone can use it. Here.”

In the lull of the night as the immediate worries of the villagers are temporarily alleviated, I show Durene how to work the controls.

“You see that little triangle at the bottom? Press it. Now—”

Durene jumps as music begins to play from the iPhone. I take it from her and turn up the volume. Heads turn. I walk towards the villagers, holding a glowing star in my hands that sings with a woman’s voice. I walk among them, reassuring, checking on the wounded, finding things for those with energy to do. They’re warm, fed, alive. For some reason they still keep thanking me.

I keep walking, and a woman sings about love in French, a language none of the villagers know. But her haunting voice brings life to a frozen world. So the villagers listen to L’hymne à l’amour as their loved ones lie in the falling snow. And they cry although they don’t know what the song is about.

And at the same time, they know what the song is. The singer conveys all they need to know. When the song ends I check the battery. Durene sees a single digit and a red sliver of a bar. So I play one last song.

It’s not a song about love. It’s not even in French. It’s a song about family and home and regret. A man called Reinhard Mey sings in German, Viertel vor Sieben, a song never heard before in this world. And that too speaks to the villagers.

The last echoes of the song die out. I turn off the iPhone and find a place to sleep. There’s already a space cleared for me, and Durene as well to my surprise. We could have gone back to the cottage—we will, if only to pick up Frostwing. But for now I sit, and find once I’m sitting that I’m out of energy.

I put my head down and I’m out like a light in moments. I rest and the villagers around me live another night, crying themselves to sleep. And I am still an [Emperor] when I wake up.

[Emperor Level 9!]

[Skill – Empire: Blessing of the Hearth Obtained!]

Day 42

When I woke up, I felt rested. Which is odd considering that I woke up just after six in the morning. I know I got substantially less than six hours of sleep considering how late I worked. But that was probably due to the Skill I received.

A skill for an empire. That’s the only way I can look at it. And the blessing—it’s powerful, I know that.

Most of the villagers did indeed sleep in the barn Durene helped dig up with the rest of the villagers. It was the best choice. And though my beautiful and courageous friend kept working after that, even Durene has her limits. A few more houses were uncovered and more bodies fit in there, but most slept in cramped conditions in a patched-up building surrounded by snow.

Under such conditions, where no fire could be lit and most of the heat came from blankets and body heat, you could normally expect a lot of discomfort. But that night the grieving slept like logs and woke up just as refreshed as me. And better—they were healed by their rest!

Somehow, minor cuts had scabbed over and healed almost overnight. The larger injuries weren’t gone—but neither were they as bad as yesterday.

“It’s totally overpowered.”

That was my only comment when Durene told me about the healed people. It must be that I can only have one blessing, or that only one empire skill will work at the same time. Or…maybe [Emperors] are just that powerful.

Regardless, everyone knows it was due to me. The villagers woke up and made breakfast—helped change bandages—they’re self-sufficient and intelligent. But they all look to me as I sit with Durene, eating some soup greasy with fat and chunks of meat.

Here’s an irony: because all the animals were killed in the avalanche, the villagers are now eating a meaty broth, a rare treat for them in the winter or any other time, really. The warm, rich food warms my chest.

I look around and find that eyes are on me. I can feel them, even if I can’t see them. Plus, Durene lets me know.

For once, the gazes aren’t filled with petty concerns about Durene. I haven’t heard a bad word for her since I took charge, and indeed, no one’s busy enough to get into quarrels over anything except how to do things more efficiently.

After some thought, I stand up. I don’t make a speech. I don’t talk about yesterday, or my class. People have heard what I said; word gets around even in a disaster situation. But I still don’t mention it.

I turn towards the doors. I know the bodies are still out there. And the houses are still buried in the snow. Scavengers are going to come soon, if they haven’t already. The dead need to be buried with respect, and I’m still worried about monster attacks.

“Let’s get to work.”

So saying, I walk towards the doors. And the villagers follow me without question. Durene’s walking by my side, and I’m comforted by her. She whispers to me.

“I leveled up. Five times!”

“Oh?”

“And I got two Skills! Two!”

“Good.”

I don’t smile. There’s still so much to do, and there’s been too much loss for that. But I keep walking forwards. Riverfarm needs all the help it can get. And it is mine now. My responsibility.

I feel sunlight on my skin. I look up, and know every inch and crevice of the village. I walk forwards, ignoring hands reached out to help me along. In this place I am even more sure-footed than people with sight. And it occurs to me, that despite all the things I’ve been through, I have been so lucky since I came to this world.

In little over a month I found someone to love. I found a way to see without seeing, I obtained a noisy pet, and I was in the right place to help save lives. I might have even changed a few minds about judging the girl who walks beside me.

Back home I was happy in my own way. But here I can see. Here I have a purpose. So as I walk and begin ordering people about, I wonder. Is this world meant for me? Is this destiny or chance? And is there any way I could possibly one day call this place…?

Home?

I don’t know. But I’ll take it all one day at a time. As I am. Not Laken, but Laken Godart, Emperor of the Unseen. Protector of Durene’s Cottage. Ruler of Riverfarm Village.

[Emperor].

3.13 E

Maybe it’s the wine talking, but I don’t think Reynold the [Butler]’s such a bad guy. I mean, sure, he’s a bit uptight and he’s in the employ of a woman who might soon kill or torture me, but Reynold? He’s got class.

It’s probably the alcohol. But in my defense, I’ve downed over half a bottle by myself. Not much of a defense I’ll grant you, but my nerves are still shaking.

Almost literally. I sit at the head of Magnolia’s magical carriage, staring at the sleet and snow blasting around us and shudder again.

Goblins.

It feels like just a moment ago they were about to dice us up. In truth, it’s been more like twenty minutes. And I’m still not over it.

Neither is Reynold. The poor carriage driver sits hunched in his seat. The wine – courtesy of the empty bottle I tossed a while back – fortified us both. But neither of us are exactly happy.

Maybe that’s why we chat a bit as we keep going towards Invrisil, and Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion. Not about anything in particular; we talk just to keep ourselves from thinking. But I do learn something really interesting, and so does he.

“You met Erin?”

“You know Miss Solstice, Miss Griffin?”

We stare at each other. I had no idea. I mean, I know Erin mentioned meeting Lady Magnolia. She told me a lot about her encounter and of course I grilled her on the details, but did she mention a [Butler]?

…Crap. I think she might have. But of course I wouldn’t have paid attention to that. And did she mention his name? Was it Reynold?

I have a bad feeling this might have been one of the things I ignored about her story. Idiot! But Reynold seems just as impressed in his way that I know Erin.

“She did mention you, Miss. I gather she was worried about your safety, but I hardly realized you two were on such good terms.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it?”

I sigh as I stare across the frozen landscape. God. I wish she was here. She met Magnolia Reinhart and came away without a scratch somehow. Erin might be annoying at times, thoughtless, but I’d rather have her as I’m about to enter the lair of the beast than not.

And when she told me all she’d been through—I clench my hand as I remember. She told me about Magnolia, and I flipped out at her. I got into a fight with her! True, I’d just lost some fingers, but I should have been more understanding.

Regrets. I ride on with Reynold and try to answer his questions as I think about what’s going to happen next. Will I die? Or will I get a chance to convince Lady Magnolia that—what? I’m on the same side as she is?

That’s what she told Erin. But I don’t know if I can believe that. I’m damn sure that I can’t trust her or anyone with the knowledge of how to make guns. But how do I get out of this with my skin intact?

I have a few ideas. The first of which is drinking from the second wine bottle I got Ressa to pass up to us. Ivolethe greedily slurps down the rich wine as she sits next to me. It’s actually sort of disgusting the more I look at her, but it’s one of those things I can’t take my eyes off of. She’s drunk at least three times her body weight already, I swear, but she doesn’t even seem daunted by the sheer physical impossibility of it. She just keeps drinking happily, and singing some song that might be in Celtic.

“Miss, I wonder if I could have a word?”

Reynold’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I look over to him.

“What’s that?”

He hesitates, and casts a look back towards the carriage behind him. I look too—Ressa’s closed the hatch separating us. Reassured, Reynold speaks to me, but quietly, and I scoot over to listen.

“I know Lady Reinhart has requested your presence, just as she has the other…people from your world.”

Gods. He knows. But Reynold doesn’t seem bothered by that. He’s frowning, and I can tell he’s thinking something over. Anything to help me out. I listen as he comes to a decision.

“It’s true her methods may seem sudden to people who do not know her—”

I snort.

“That’s an understatement. Kidnapping me out of a city is normal, is it?”

To my surprise Reynold’s lips twitch.

“More than you might think. No one gainsays a member of the Five Families, least of all Magnolia Reinhart. And it’s true that Lady Reinhart demands much. I know you have your issues with her. But…”

“But?”

Reynold hesitates. He looks again back towards the carriage. Ressa hasn’t said anything since the Goblins. Reassured, he continues talking. Even so, he lowers his voice to a whisper. I practically have to put my ear to his lips to hear him over the rushing wind.

“She is not a bad woman, Miss Ryoka. Driven, yes, but she cares deeply for the fate of her servants and all those living on this continent. If you can create even one of the wonders the others from your world claim—”

“Reynold. Stop talking.”

Both Reynold and I jump in our seats. He twists in his seat, face pale. But the window into the carriage is still closed. I stare at the closed door in amazement. We’re still going at top speed, and the wind is blasting around us. It’s hard just to hear Reynold’s voice, but Ressa was inside the coach.

She heard that? Is it another [Ninja] skill? Or [Assassin]?

What is she?

I have no idea. But her words are enough to scare Reynold witless. He grips the reins of the carriage in a death grip and refuses to talk, no matter what I try. So the rest of the ride passes in silence. But the entire while I’m thinking.

Magnolia. What does she want? She claims not to want to use technology from my world. But I don’t believe her. So what should I do? Help her? Do I have a choice?

How do I get myself out of this one? I’ve got…one option? Two. Mm…maybe three. Three ways to get out of this mess.

Fighting isn’t one of those options. Aside from the fact that I’m pretty sure Ressa is a better fighter than I am, I know how influential Magnolia Reinhart is. Even if by some miracle I ran away, she could have every adventurer, city guardsman and assassin on the continent after me in a heartbeat.

No, I’ve got to talk my way out of this. I just wish I was confident in my ability to do so. So I sit in the cold, apprehensive, trying to bring out all the intelligence, all the wit I have.

But I am afraid. If I were the me of a month ago, I might be so cocksure and brave to think I can get out of this no matter what happens. But now—

The carriage slows. I sit up instantly and see something appear out of the white background. A mansion, guarded by high walls and a single gate.

“The manor of Magnolia Reinhart.”

That’s all Reynold says as he drives us through the gates. They swing open instantly as we approach, but I see no gatekeeper. Automatic magical gates?

Yeah. Why not? But then my cynicism is lost as I stare at the mansion.

“Oh wow.”

Erin told me a bit about Magnolia’s mansion, but I was mainly focusing on what Magnolia wanted of her and me. She told me about the magic—

But this is something else.

A whale swims across the front of the house, gliding across the stone as if it were a sea. A line of metal giants, suits of armor with empty visors, stand at attention, flanking the entrance. And a cloud floats through the suddenly clear skies overhead. Even the air is warmer, and as I step outside the coach, I suddenly feel warm in my clothes.

It’s suddenly spring again. A cool breeze blows, and I look around and find a group of men and women attired in servant’s clothing are standing with the Golems. I hop off the front of the carriage and feel my cramped legs protesting. I stare awkwardly at the servants. Well, what do I do? Reynold’s sitting in the front seat, quiet. But what about these other servants?

Are they a welcoming committee? For me? Is Magnolia Reinhart really—

“Welcome back, Miss Ressa.”

Fuck. They scared the ever living crap out of me. All of the servants speak at once as they bow towards the carriage. I look back and see Ressa stepping down from the side of the carriage as Reynold holds the door open.

Now here’s a contrast. She’s dressed like a maid, but she descends and walks past me like a queen. Of course, I was taught proper posture and etiquette when I was young, but I didn’t take much to it.

But Ressa? Ressa could fill in for the Queen of England any time she wanted. I feel like an idiot as I watch her walk ahead of me. Ressa takes a look at the gathered household staff and begins giving orders like a general.

“Teresa, Bener, tell the others to prepare more refreshments for our guests. Ryoka Griffin will be meeting with Lady Magnolia at once. Eve, a pot of tea. Reynold—”

She turns to the [Butler] and I see him bowing his head.

“—Have the carriage inspected for damage. Then I want you to test the spell lattice. If the wards are damaged, schedule an appointment to have them recast. The [Invisibility Field] should not have cut out from a mere unenchanted bolt.”

“At once, Miss Ressa.”

Reynold hurries back to the coach as I stare. Wait, so that was an accident back there? I thought Rags just hit us to make us appear again, but something malfunctioned?

Ressa isn’t even slowing down. She keeps giving orders as people scurry away from us. I eye the imposing Golems. What are they for? To welcome her back? Or to restrain me?

It doesn’t look like I’m getting the red carpet welcome. I look at Ivolethe—she’s too busy flying into the suits of armor and laughing at them from the inside to pay attention.

“Pst. Ivolethe.”

The tiny faerie hears me. She flies back, opening her mouth to comment, but I shake my head at her warningly.

“Don’t speak. And don’t follow me into the manor. Just stay outside, okay? If you can, find out where I am. But don’t go inside. It’s dangerous—”

I break off and Ivolethe flies away from me as Ressa turns her head to stare at me. She doesn’t beckon, but I can tell she wants me to come over to her.

I fold my arms and wait. Like hell I’m taking orders from her. Ressa frowns slightly; then she looks up and sighs.

I look up too. I see only darkness overhead, and then a drop of water hits me right in the eye. As I curse I realize the cloud Erin told me about—the one normally circling Magnolia’s garden—is right overhead. And even as I think that, I feel the cloud open up overhead.

Rain begins pouring down on my head, instantly drenching me. And only me. The cloud seems determined to shower me, and I sprint towards the mansion, swearing a blue streak as I reach shelter.

Instantly, the rain stops. I stand, dripping, in the lush interior of a mansion that would put Versailles to shame, and see a gaggle of [Maids], [Manservants], [Butlers], and other staff staring wide-eyed at me.

I hear footsteps, and turn to see Ressa walk in behind me. There’s not a drop of water on her clothing. She looks down her nose at me as I drip onto the marble flagstones. As if it’s my fault I just got rained on in the winter.

“Your damn Mistress did that, didn’t she?”

Ressa makes no response. But her lips do twitch as if she’s suppressing a smirk.

“A towel will be provided for you shortly. Lady Magnolia will see you personally. If you will follow me?”

Without another word she begins striding off down the corridor. I stare at her back, but I’ve got no choice. Either I follow her, or I bet something else happens. One of the Golems will start beating me to death, maybe.

I follow her, walking fast to keep up. A [Maid] appears by my side and offers me a towel. I snatch it, dry myself, and hurl it into the face of a passing [Butler]. He drops whatever he was holding and I storm on. If they’re not going to play nice, neither am I.

Okay, that last bit from me was an overreaction. That man didn’t deserve that, and the look I get from Ressa isn’t pleasant to say the least. But I’m only now realizing that this is happening.

I’m going to meet Lady Magnolia. Not a minute after I got out of the carriage. She’s not going to give me any time to collect myself or prepare. And she’s going to surprise me and try to catch me off guard any way she can to get the upper hand.

Like that just now. Seriously? Making a cloud rain on me? That’s juvenile. But as a way to keep me off balance, it definitely worked.

Ressa pauses and turns left down a large corridor. She stops before a set of double doors and looks at me reprovingly.

“Lady Magnolia awaits you, Ryoka Griffin.”

Just that? No warnings? No hints about what’s going to happen? I take a deep breath.

Crap. This isn’t good. I can tell my nerves are still rattled. And an internal check tells me I’m not only a bit drunk, but I could really use a catnap.

But there’s no helping it. I’m in the lion’s den. Or is it Dragon’s den? Bah. I’d rather go up against Teriarch in another riddle game than Magnolia.

And then Ressa pulls open the doors. She steps inside, and I follow her. I stare around an inordinately pink room, looking out over the main area of the manor. We’re on the second floor? When did we get up here?

It’s decorated sparsely for such a lavish room. Aside from the huge windows looking out, there are only two couches and a tea table in the center. I’m sure other furniture used to be here, but now the room is empty save for that. It makes everything feel larger, and somehow more oppressive at the same time.

My eyes find a small pot of steaming tea on the table. I see the empty couch, and then my eyes travel to look at the other occupant of the room, the woman whom Ressa now stands behind.

And then—there she is. Sitting on a plush couch in the center of the room. Poised, elegant, calm and collected. Holding a tea cup in one hand and staring directly at me.

Lady Magnolia.

My breath catches in my chest for a second. This is too sudden. I haven’t prepared, haven’t steeled myself—

But here she is. And it’s too late to slow down, because Magnolia comes out guns blazing.

“Ryoka! So good to see you again!”

Her bright, cheerful voice nearly gives me a heart attack. I’d almost forgotten—but now I remember. Lady Magnolia. For all you might hear of her wealth, power, and influence, in person she’s quite energetic.

Disarmingly so. Magnolia beckons me to the couch. I hesitate, but then walk over and take a seat. Across from me, the noblewoman beams, the very picture of delight. I keep my eyes on her face.

Remember, she’s not nearly as naïve and innocent as she seems. She acts like Erin, but she’s not. Be on your guard—

“Can I offer you anything? Tea? Biscuits? A knife to the throat? How would you feel most comfortable?”

What? I freeze in my seat. Magnolia laughs lightly as she studies my face. Her eyes are sharp; she watches me like a cat studying a mouse.

“Please, Miss Ryoka. You practically ooze wariness. Even if I did not have my [Sense Intentions] Skill—which I do and am quite adept at using—I would be able to tell how tense you are. Relax, my dear. You are not in danger. Yet.”

Mind games. Right off the bat. She’s not even pretending—not that I’d believe her—damn. I blink, try to catch my balance. What’s my response here?

“I’m not thirsty.”

Brilliant, Ryoka. You’re really showing off your debating skills right now. Dad would be so proud. I grit my teeth and stare at the tea pot. Magnolia raises her eyebrows. She glances up at Ressa and shrugs.

“At least you weren’t foolish enough to ask if the tea is poisoned. Honestly, why would anyone waste good tea like that?”

“I can think of a few reasons.”

“Really? It must be terrible, being so paranoid so young. Don’t you think, Ressa?”

“Indeed.”

Behind Lady Magnolia, the maid nods briefly. I stare at her.

“Thanks for sending your maid to personally escort me. I was touched.”

“Think nothing of it, please. It would have been so inconvenient if you’d fled, and Ressa did manage to protect you from those Goblins, after all.”

Lady Magnolia chuckles about that, as if Goblin armies are a regular occurrence. Which…is actually not that far from the truth. I stare at her.

“And the rain cloud? Your handiwork as well?”

“A greeting. I know it was a naughty prank; I couldn’t resist. Do forgive me.”

And there’s no way to turn it on her. I could…what? Get angry? Pursue the issue? We haven’t even gotten down to the brass tacks yet. I move on.

“And you made time to see me right away. I must be so important.”

Across from me, Lady Magnolia sips from her tea and smiles.

“Well, some might think so. Myself, I was just bored of meeting stuffy dignitaries. I needed some entertainment, so I cancelled my discussion with one of my visitors to see you.”

“How…kind.”

She twinkles at me, all flowers and blades hidden in the petals.

“Isn’t it? I did consider letting you wait for a few hours while I attended to other business, but I feared you might run off again if I did.”

“No fear. I’m not stupid enough to run.”

“Really?”

And there it is again! The woman wears the most bland expression possible as she delivers a damn good retort. I just stare at her for a second. The Magnolia I’m used to dealing with did not act like this. Why is she taking the gloves off so early?

Regain the flow of the conversation. I glance at the tea pot. There’s an empty cup and saucer. I reach for it and pour myself a cup. Ressa and Magnolia watch me, one disapprovingly, the other amused.

“Thirsty? My dear, let Ressa do that for you. She is a [Maid].”

“And a [Ninja].”

I mutter as I fill my teacup. Magnolia laughs again.

“A [Ninja]? You think Ressa has a [Ninja] class?”

She sounds delighted. I stare at her as she turns and laughs in Ressa’s face.

“Ressa, did you hear that?”

“I did, milady.”

“A [Ninja]! Wouldn’t that be quite amazing to see? If I bought you some dark clothing, would you hang from the ceiling and jump out of the shadows to fill my cup?”

The Lady Reinhart practically chokes on her drink as she giggles. I just stare at her, and then realize Ressa’s giving me a death glare. Um. Looks like I was mistaken.

“So she’s not a ninja.”

“Oh please. Does Ressa look like an islander to you? [Assassins] are the class of choice here; a [Ninja] would be a completely different culture!”

Magnolia snorts as she takes a deep drink of tea. I cautiously do likewise. I’m pretty sure the cup isn’t poisoned—why bother if I’m here and she can just do whatever she wants by force? But—

The instant my tongue touches the tea, it practically goes numb. Poison? I nearly spit out the liquid before I realize what I’m tasting.

Sugar. It’s practically liquid sugar! I don’t know how many sugar cubes died to make the tea this sweet—all I know is that I’ve tasted sodas that weren’t nearly this bad for your health. Instantly I put the cup down.

“What is this filth?”

Lady Magnolia frowns at me as I make a face and shove the tea cup back onto the table. Not gently either; a bit slops over the side at which point I’m sure it adhered to the table like glue.

“Well now, how rude! That is perfectly good tea, Miss Ryoka. And it is not poisonous in the slightest.”

I scrub at my tongue with my teeth before I reply.

“It might as well be poison. There’s way too much sugar in that pot!”

“She’s right about that.”

Ressa interjects, voice disapproving. Magnolia glances up at her in clear irritation and drinks from her own cup. It’s got to be the same tea—she’s drinking it like water! And pouring herself another cup!

“You two don’t understand my passions at all. You’re too much like Ressa, dear Ryoka.”

That’s an insult. Ressa and I exchange a glance and then I go back to staring at Magnolia. Once she’s done filling up her own cup, she sighs.

“Well, that’s enough mindless chatter for now.”

She looks at me suddenly, and it’s as if the mask she was wearing, the smiling noble [Lady]—suddenly falls off. All at once I feel pressure in the room, a hot, stifling gaze that sends a chill throughout my body fixing me in place.

This is the true face of Lady Magnolia. But she doesn’t leap at me and tear my eyes out. She just keeps speaking, in that calm, level voice.

“It has been a long time since we last saw each other, hasn’t it?”

It’s hard to speak, but I force my tongue to work.

“I guess. It’s only been about a month? Two?”

“Mm. But so much can happen in so short a time. As I’m sure you’re aware in your profession.”

Lady Magnolia nods at me. She extends a pinkie and points at my right hand with it.

“I see you have lost something.”

I blink at her and then remember. My fingers. They suddenly ache and burn with the reminder of their absence. I realize I’m clenching my hand and relax it.

There’s something almost like sympathy in the other woman’s gaze as she looks at me.

“A harsh price to pay. Did you lose it on a delivery?”

“Yes.”

She nods as there’s nothing more to say than that.

“You have gone through much, if what I suspect is correct. I know for a fact that you are richer—are you wiser as well, I wonder?”

I don’t respond. I just cross my arms—hiding my stumps under my other arm—and wait. She’s leading the conversation; I’ll let her get to the point.

“Hmm.”

Lady Magnolia doesn’t seem bothered by my silence. She taps her ring finger on the cup as she stares at me.

“I trust you’ve met Erin Solstice? She was quite a feisty young woman, but I was pleased to meet her, if only briefly.”

No response. I say not a word.

“And Teriarch? I do know you met him. How is the old fool doing? He did mention you to me, you know. Apparently you had a rather interesting conversation.”

Just wait. She’s trying to lure me into conversation. Magnolia eyes me again.

“So, do you have any theory as to why you are here? Any suspicions? Or am I simply the villain in your uncomplicated view of the world?”

My lips are sealed. Magnolia sighs, exasperated.

“Very well, I suppose I should spell it out for you. You are here because I wish to talk to you. And I sent Ressa because you have a habit of refusing to listen to other people. So you have come all this way to have a conversation, with me, Lady Magnolia.”

I just stare at her. I can keep silent. I’ve had teachers, principals, police officers, and my parents all shouting at me. I can stonewall.

Magnolia keeps chattering, though.

“I do enjoy talking. You see, when two people meet, it is customary for them to talk. I understand this may be difficult in your case, and perhaps it is an imposition on your limited mental faculties. However, the custom is that when one person says something—we call this a statement, the other person says something as well, usually in the same vein of topic. This is what we call a reply—”

“I get it. I’ll talk.”

I have a feeling she could do that all day if I didn’t interrupt. Magnolia stops talking and stares at me. Without saying another word.

Great, she’s waiting for me to reply. I roll my eyes, but now the full intensity of her stare is on me. Multiplied by Ressa’s death gaze. Great. I take a breath, and launch into things.

“I guess you’ve gotten the letter I sent you.”

“Letter?”

For a second Magnolia blinks, then her eyes widen.

“Oh, the letter! Yes, I’d nearly forgotten about that!”

“You did?”

That’s odd. I thought this all stemmed from the letter I sent Lady Magnolia by way of Valceif a while ago. I’d expected an immediate response back then, and I’d been prepared to negotiate—

But Lady Magnolia just waves her hand as if that’s ancient history.

“Oh yes, your cryptic little hint that was supposed to intrigue me enough to pursue you. I recall that. It was quite interesting—I wonder, what did you hope to gain from talking with me?”

I’m not sure. It was so long ago—so long and not so long ago. I hadn’t gotten to know the faeries, and I was desperate for something to help both me and Erin.

Magnolia watches my expression, and although I’m sure my face doesn’t change, I know she’s reading my thoughts through that skill of hers. But even if she can do that, there’s a way to beat that skill. Tell the truth.

“I’m not sure what I was thinking. But I was open to talking, back then.”

“Indeed? No doubt you had your own goals. Perhaps you were thinking of selling me some secrets.”

“Perhaps.”

Yeah, that was probably it. Magnolia smiles enigmatically.

“And perhaps I would have taken you up on that offer. But alas, by the time your letter reached me I had already found other people like you. Thus, I had no need to keep searching for you.”

And there it is. Part of the issue’s out in the open at last. I breathe out.

“Yeah. The others. Erin told me you have other people from my world here.”

Not a bat of an eyelid. Lady Magnolia smiles and shrugs.

“Oh yes. They are guests here, for as long as my patience allows. Pestilential, inconsiderate brats that they are, that might not be for too much longer.”

Wow. That’s something. I know Erin said Magnolia didn’t like the others, but—

“Okay, so you have people from my world. You know everything. Why am I here, then?”

“Dead gods. Here we go again.”

To my surprise, Lady Magnolia touches her eyes with one hand and sighs gustily. I stare at her. When she looks up, her irritation is suddenly plain across her face.

“She’s doing it, Ressa. I thought she wouldn’t—but she’s doing it.”

“Yes, milady.”

“First that girl Erin—are all young women from her world inbred, do you think?”

“Doing what?”

“There she goes again!”

Magnolia scowls at me and points accusingly at my chest as if I were some kind of monster.

“Stop asking thoughtless questions! I know you’re not that stupid, Miss Ryoka. Or at least, I hope you’re not because if I have to have another conversation like the one I had with Erin Solstice, I will throw this tea pot at you.”

What’s with her? It’s like a switch has flipped. Suddenly Magnolia Reinhart is all action and no pretense. She glares at me.

“A word of advice, Ryoka Griffin. Few things annoy me as much as feigned ignorance. Do not pretend you don’t know why you are here. You and I both know that I know almost everything. That you come from another world? Obvious. That your world has different technology and inventions? Of course! Your fellow travelers have told me all about the wondrous things of your world—phones, planes, guns, cars—and you know that I have a vested interest in such things.”

Lady Magnolia drinks more of the sugary liquid that vaguely resembles tea in her cup as she stares at me.

“I know everything. Everything except the details. You know, or you might have guessed that while your friends can chatter on to me about the wonders of guns and warfare as your world practices it, they are remarkably empty-headed when it comes to producing such miracles. It’s rather like having a boastful idiot claim to be able to fly without a shred of evidence to back it up. But you do know how to fly, don’t you, Ryoka Griffin?”

My lips clamp shut. Magnolia eyes me.

“Yes. You do. Or at least, you know more than the others. And you know that is why you are here, Ryoka. I want you to tell me what you know.”

The woman sighs, looking suddenly exhausted.

“So here we are. That skips—how much needless back-and-forth? Honestly, I was willing to play along for a while, but when you started acting like an idiot I lost my patience.”

I just look at her. This is Magnolia Reinhart? Is this her true face? Is she being honest with me for a reason or—

“Well? Say something!”

I barely see it coming. Magnolia flicks her wrist, and suddenly the saucer of the tea cup comes spinning at me. I catch it reflexively.

“What the—?”

“Don’t you dare ask what that was. It was a saucer. And I threw it at you because I am irate.”

I just stare at her. She’s violent! Is it the sugar working? No—this is a completely different approach. She’s doing this on purpose too! I’ll bet—she’s seized complete hold of the conversation.

Well—fine. Let’s just dive into this. No pretenses, no holds barred. I grit my teeth.

“Okay, let’s assume you’re right about everything. In that case, at what point do you strap me to the rack and torture me for information?”

“Torture? Oh, please. Why would I need torture when I can just use magic? Or a Skill?”

Magnolia snorts at me, but she seems mollified by my response. She takes something out of the pocket of her dress and peers at me. For a second I’m thrown—I didn’t even see the cunning pocket sewn into her dress. Well now, she’s not obeying medieval fashion standards with that.

But in her hands—what is that? A monocle? I instantly have a bad feeling about it, and it gets worse when she puts it to her eyes and…studies me.

Yeah, she’s looking at me. And that monocle—

Oh no. Is she reading my mind?

No—she couldn’t be. Think. My mind races as Magnolia peers at me. I’m…pretty sure she can’t read minds, even with an artifact. If she could, she’d wear that thing all the time. It’s definitely for revealing some aspect about me—a lie detector?

Don’t get thrown by it. I fold my arms and wait. But Magnolia seems satisfied. She tucks the monocle back in her secret pocket.

“Hmf. Now, as to getting you to spill your much-vaunted secrets. Tell me, do you really think it would be that difficult for me?”

I hesitate.

“Yes.”

“Really? How arrogant of you.”

Magnolia rolls her eyes in exasperation. She stares at me with a bit of contempt, or is it disappointment?

“You astound me, Ryoka Griffin. For someone who appears so intelligent—could it be you’ve forgotten my Skills? Surely not.”

She smiles at me, and every hair on the back of my neck tingles.

“I’m curious. What would you do, if I, oh, asked you to tell me everything you know?”

It’s like lightning. Pink lightning. The words hit me and go inside my head, effortlessly opening the vault of my mind. My mouth opens. I should tell her everything, right? Isn’t that the best—

No.

I waver, grit my teeth. I’ve felt this before. This…is like Teriarch’s geas spell! God—I did forget she could do this!

Magnolia smiles at me, and puts more intensity into her silken voice.

“Come now. You know you want to. This is quite simple for me—if you can’t even stop me from doing this, you are truly foolish. Tell me everything, Ryoka Griffin.”

I want to tell her. My jaw is clamped shut, but I can feel the muscles spasming. It’s taking all I’ve got to hold still. Magnolia’s waiting for me to crack. But—I—

I’ve done this before!

My mouth opens. But what comes out is a wordless shout. I jump up, fist flashing towards Magnolia’s face—

And find myself tumbling backwards onto the couch, ears ringing, pain bursting from my chest and cheek. Ressa’s standing in front of Lady Magnolia, hands raised. I reel backwards and sit down hard on the sofa.

“Um. Well, that was surprising.”

The only sound in the room comes from Lady Magnolia. I can see her blinking at me from behind Ressa. She looks as surprised as I’ve ever seen her. I sit on the couch, staring up at Ressa. I didn’t even see her move. I’m tempted to try and hit her, but—

“Very well, Ressa, please step aside.”

Lady Magnolia’s hands push at Ressa. The surprised [Maid] moves sideways. Lady Magnolia blinks a few more times, and then looks down at her lap.

“Spilled tea. How wasteful.”

A small pool of tea is puddled in her dress. It’s ruining the expensive pink silk. But to my surprise, Magnolia just sighs and stands up. She shakes the dress—

And the tea slides off it and onto the carpet. I blink. Magnolia catches my eye and shrugs.

“Ward spells on the dress. Prevents staining. Too bad about the tea, though.”

Then she sits down as if nothing has happened and pours herself more tea. I rub at my cheek as Ressa takes a place behind Magnolia again. She’s staring at me hard, but I’m in no mood to fight.

Once there’s a fresh cup of tea in her hands, Magnolia looks at her maid and then at me.

“That was a bit too quick for my eyes, Ressa my dear. Am I right in thinking you stopped her from pummeling me?”

“Yes, milady.”

“I thought as much. Well, I seem to have misjudged you slightly, Ryoka my dear. I thought you might resist my Skill, but nothing as impressive as that. How did you do it, pray? You have no magical items on you—none for that purpose at any rate—and you have no Skills.”

So the monocle was looking at that? I just stare at Magnolia and shrug.

“That’s a secret.”

“Hmf. Well, I’m not too curious so I won’t pry. May I congratulate you, however? It isn’t often that someone has directly struck at me. The last person to do it was, well, your friend, Erin Solstice.”

Erin tried to hit Lady Magnolia? I just blink at her. Magnolia turns to Ressa.

“Didn’t you take a teapot to the face that time?”

“It was to the chest, and it was lukewarm tea.”

“Ah, of course.”

I eye Ressa. The maid eyes me. I definitely feel like the mouse if we’re in a cat and mouse relationship. She got in front of Magnolia from behind the couch before I could hit her. And she hit me in the cheek and chest in an instant.

“Your maid’s quite dedicated.”

That’s code for ‘what kind of freak of nature is your maid’? Magnolia just shrugs at me.

“Of course she is. Ressa possesses many skills, some of which include cleaning and pouring tea—others of which involve preventing people with blades from stabbing me.”

“And that’s normal for a [Maid]?”

“It’s normal for maids under my employ. Do you think I would carelessly walk around—even in my own home—and entertain guests without a bodyguard of some kind?”

“I suppose not.”

“But you didn’t think of it, did you? Really.”

Magnolia sighs and looks at her maid.

“They grow more simpleminded every year, it seems. Erin was like that, wasn’t she, Ressa? She was rather surprising in some ways, but she was as thoughtless as a rock in others.”

Okay, I feel like I should stand up for Erin even if what Magnolia’s saying is true. I grit my teeth and force myself to ignore the stinging pain in my chest and on my cheek.

“Erin is my friend.”

“How wonderful for you.”

Magnolia gives me a look that tells me she could care less. I keep going, ignoring her expression.

“She’s my friend. But I’ll admit she’s also an idiot in some ways. She doesn’t understand your goals. But I do. I know what you want, so let’s get to it.”

“Do you really?”

The other woman eyes me with more skepticism. She shrugs.

“Well then, go on. Enlighten me. What do I so desperately want from you?”

I open my mouth. Magnolia raises a finger.

“However—if you haven’t thought this through, Ressa will beat you quite black and blue.”

“What is your problem with stupid questions?”

I snap at Magnolia and barrel on before she can tell her maid to kick the crap out of me for that question.

“I know what you want. You know about my world by now. You’ve talked with people who’ve told you about guns, bombs, and all of our technology. I know you told Erin you don’t want that information spread, but there’s no way in hell you wouldn’t want to manufacture those kinds of weapons for yourself.”

“Really? And why is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Fear. Even if no one in your world has weapons yet, what if you run into more people from my world? What if someone else creates guns in secret? If that happens, it’s too late. You need to make weapons or else you’ll be overwhelmed.”

I don’t know how Erin didn’t consider that. For all Magnolia says she can suppress that technology—that’s impossible. But to my surprise, Magnolia doesn’t even bat an eyelash at my answer. Instead, she laughs.

“Good answer! Unfortunately—you are wrong, my dear Ryoka. Right in one way, but terribly wrong in the other.”

What? I stare at Magnolia. She smiles at me, shaking her head.

“You really are new to this world, aren’t you? I sometimes forget—but you really know nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

I’m right. I’m sure of it. But Magnolia clearly thinks I’m wrong. She puts down her tea cup and stretches her fingers out.

“I’m sure you’d say I’m being overconfident. But the truth is, Ryoka Griffin, guns are nothing to fear if it’s just a war we speak of. If one side has guns, they have an advantage, yes, but it does not mean they would necessarily win.”

“You—clearly don’t understand weapons from my world.”

I shake my head, trying to explain to Magnolia how insane her claim is. One side with swords and arrows taking on an army with guns? I suppose if it were guerilla attacks and attrition warfare—but no, she’s wrong!

“Oh? You disagree, Ryoka? Are guns really that fearsome?”

“Of course! They—”

I raise my voice in anger, trying to get Magnolia to understand, to be wary when I hear a slight knock. Instantly, I go silent. Magnolia frowns, and Ressa immediately turns her head to the door. Magnolia raises her voice and calls out.

“Yes?”

The door opens and a maid enters the room. She looks nervous, and nearly freezes up when she sees me, Ressa, and Lady Magnolia all staring at her. But she’s clearly more afraid of doing her job wrong in front of Ressa, so she speaks quickly and clearly while bobbing a curtsy.

“I am extremely sorry to bother you, Lady Reinhart. But your guest—the Great Mage Nemor—requests the pleasure of speaking with you forthwith.”

Great Mage? Is that a class? But Magnolia just frowns, looking irritated.

“Tell him to go away. I’m busy.”

The maid hesitates. But when Ressa glares she immediately bobs a curtsy and closes the door. Magnolia turns back to me, frowning.

“Great Mage Nemor? That’s hardly accurate.”

“Is that someone important?”

My mind’s still on Magnolia’s outrageous claim, but I ask just in case. Magnolia snorts in idle amusement.

“He’s useful, but hardly important—or entertaining. He will wait. Now, go on. You were going to tell me how the armies of your world would destroy mine in an instant. Let’s assume you had an army – or simply the technology from your world. What would make them so fearsome?”

I glare at her. She’s so damn cavalier. Fine. She wants an explanation?

“A tank.”

“A tank? Oh, the others did mention one of them. A metal moving box that fires another type of gun, aren’t they?”

It sounds so simple when Magnolia says it. I shake my head as I try to explain.

“If an army had a tank—just one!—it would be able to destroy thousands of soldiers. A tank has armor that can withstand any number of spells you throw at it. It can hurl an explosion miles away that can demolish a building—”

“A spell can do the same.”

I pause. Magnolia stares at me, one eyebrow raised.

“Your tanks sound slow and cumbersome. Can they really beat a mage hiding in the grass with a [Grand Fireball] spell?”

Grand fireball? Could that destroy a tank? I—hesitate.

“That’s not the point! That’s one tank. But an army could have hundreds. And a mage takes years, decades to train. A soldier with a gun can shoot countless people and he only takes a few days to train. While a mage—”

“Hm. Yes. I see your point.”

Magnolia waves me into silence, not looking daunted in the least. She taps a fingernail on her dress, talking as she does.

“An army of tanks and guns, you say? I still find it hard to imagine, but I am told a gun is like a crossbow that shoots hundreds of bolts per minute, farther than any normal bow. Is that right?”

Pretty much. I nod. Magnolia nods as well.

“Fearsome indeed. But these are just arrows, aren’t they? Excuse me, ‘bullets’. Nonmagical bits of iron. Your…wonderful armies from your world—they lack magic. And that is a crucial flaw. Let us say you have, oh, ten thousand soldiers with guns and several tanks. And any number of your aircrafts as well.”

Magnolia leans over the coffee table, eyes glittering. Her smile has teeth.

“I could destroy an army like that in less than ten minutes.”

I believe her. I stare into Magnolia’s eyes, and I believe she could do it. How? A spell? Enchanted armor? Would enchanted armor even suffer dents? Could you really send a few warriors in plate mail and take down tanks that easily?

“You really don’t fear guns?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Magnolia frowns at me irately. She looks as if she’s considering tossing her tea cup at me and then shrugs and goes on.

“Anyone with half a brain knows that a gun is a dangerous weapon. But anyone with a full brain knows that even an army with guns is quite easy to destroy.”

“Oh really?”

“I will hit you, you know. Or rather, order Ressa to do it for me.”

Magnolia glares at me and sighs. She settles back into her seat.

“I can destroy two armies as easily as I can destroy one. That is not the issue.”

She raises one delicate finger.

“One gun, or even ten thousand will not change the world. But a million will.”

I think I get it. Magnolia nods as she goes on.

“I do not want to create guns and other such technologies. I do not want such secrets to spread either. And the reason for that is simple: while such devices might provide power to me in the short term, it will inevitably change the world for the worse. If every [Soldier] has a gun, then it is likely the larger army will prevail. If a child can kill a man in full plate armor, then levels lose much of their meaning.”

“And if anyone can field an army, then you lose your power.”

Magnolia eyes me sternly, as if I’ve missed the point.

“Everyone loses. Don’t you understand? If it becomes an issue of numbers, then the most numerous races will conquer the others. If the balance of power is upset so far, then it will be a war where guns become the only meaningful value. As it is, an army with guns would be a significant threat, but one any world power would be able to deal with.”

She sighs.

“But only if it were an army. If guns were commonplace? In time, guns would dominate everything. In time. A nation able to manufacture more arms of a better quality would inevitably defeat the others. It will lead to a war to end all wars, where the victor will stand upon the corpses of all.”

My blood goes cold as I think of that kind of war. That’s what I envisioned as well. True, there might be ways to change such a war, but in the end it would just be an arms race, and countless battles where people with guns fight people with swords. A bloodbath.

Lady Magnolia seems to agree. She shakes her head.

“What a pointless war. It will occur if word of this technology spreads. A war with your world is one thing; if it occurs it will be inevitable. But if I can, I will prevent this world from seizing such dangerous weapons.”

Can I trust her? I don’t know. But Magnolia seems to have thought this through. She looks at me, and I feel the weight of her gaze pressing down on me, trying to force me to tell the truth, to speak.

“So, here is my most pressing question, one which I believe you will answer. How long will it take for these dangerous weapons to be developed? If one of the people from your world were to cooperate—or give up such information to a powerful individual or nation, how long would it take for them to engineer such inventions?”

The question catches me off guard. For a second I’m not sure if I should answer it. But from what Magnolia’s said—I do some quick calculations. I’m obviously not an expert in firearms, but let’s think about it rationally. If someone needed to find all the ingredients of gunpowder, sulfur, saltpeter, charcoal—and secure them as a long-term resource…testing…building prototypes…

“You could probably have a prototype gun ready in less than a month if you had a kingdom’s worth of resources at your disposal. But a gun that’s ready for war? A proper gun? An army? That would take years.”

The more dangerous route would be a cannon. That’s easier to make, honestly. I share that with Magnolia and she nods thoughtfully.

“A cannon? Intriguing. But if that’s anything like a trebuchet, it’s not as much of a problem.”

She’s so…calm about this. I just stare at Magnolia, a woman unafraid of guns or cannons. She stares back.

“Well, a year is more than enough time for me to locate any signs of manufacturing. But just to be sure—name one of the components of this ‘gunpowder’ for me, if you would.”

Instantly, I shut my mouth. Magnolia just sighs loudly.

“Don’t be obstinate. I said one component. I am hardly inclined to go around searching for how to make the stuff if I could just torture it out of you. And since I am not going to…”

She’s right. I have to trust her. Reluctantly, I open my mouth.

“Sulfur.”

Both of Magnolia’s eyebrows shoot upwards. She exchanges a glance I can’t read with Ressa.

“Ah. That’s troubling.”

“What? Why’s that?”

The woman just stares at me and raises an eyebrow again.

“If I told you, could you even help? No? Then I won’t.”

That—she knows something, doesn’t she? Someone’s already making a move on sulfur! Does that mean the secret’s out? Can she stop it? My head’s racing, but the cooler part of me doesn’t panic. Magnolia’s right. I can’t do anything. I have to…trust her.

Trust that she’s telling the truth. So, reluctantly, I put that out of my mind and stare at Magnolia. Everything seems, well, good so far.

That’s worrying. I can’t have been called here just to talk about weapons and how useless they might be right now. No—there’s something else.

“Is that it? If you don’t want weapons, then why am I here?”

Magnolia pauses as she reaches for the tea pot. Ressa, gently pulling said pot out of Magnolia’s reach, meets her mistress’s gaze.

“Was that a foolish question, do you think, Ressa?”

“It seems reasonable to me. She does not know you.”

“Ah, well, we’ll let it slide.”

Magnolia turns back to me and gives me a beaming smile.

“Of course you’re not here just to talk about weapons, my dear idiotic Ryoka. But I thought it would be best to set your mind at ease first.”

“I’m going to ignore that. Once.”

“How intelligent. Now, would you like to ask the obvious question? I promise I won’t order Ressa to hit you.”

“Fine. Why am I here? What do you want to know?”

Magnolia smiles at me. Her eyes sparkle, and she sits up, the very image of a dignified [Lady]. Her reply is quick, decisive, insane.

“Ice cream.”

“What?”

There must have been something in the pot. That’s why Ressa’s engaged in a silent tug-of-war with Magnolia. Or else she just doesn’t want her boss’s teeth to fall out. But Magnolia abandons the tea pot to look seriously at me.

“I just want ice cream. And cake. We have some types of cake—not nearly as good as yours, mind you, but something similar to what I have heard described. But the other children tell me it is possible to make an ice cream cake. I would like to try that, and frosting. And whipped cream. And cotton candy.”

Oh my god. She’s got a sweet tooth. I mean, I knew that already. But she brought me—here—over four hundred miles—

I put my head in my hands. This can’t be happening. But it is. And when I think about it…

I look up sharply.

“No.”

“No?”

Magnolia looks hurt, and offended.

“Whyever not? This is hardly a secret worth keeping, Ryoka Griffin. Compared to a gun, what is a mint, chocolate chip, cookies and cream, caramel ice cream sundae with sprinkles?”

I want to vomit just listening to her. But I read past her trite words to the deeper meaning below them.

“It’s not just ice cream and desserts you want, is it? It might start that way, but after you ask for recipes, you’ll ask me about other technologies from my world. Little inventions and innovations that can help everyone.”

Lady Magnolia pauses. She looks at me, sighs, and then looks at her maid.

“Ah. She figured it out.”

“She is not a complete idiot, milady.”

I stare at the two of them, filled with grim certainty all of a sudden. Now I get it. Their tones are light, but I know they’re watching me. Lady Magnolia still looks genuinely disappointed, though.

“You are correct, intelligent Miss Ryoka Griffin. In truth, I was going to have you explain to one of my [Chefs] how to make all kinds of treats before I got to the rest. I have a larder stocked with countless ingredients if you’d want to…? Ah, it’s too late. How tragic.”

She sighs dramatically.

“At least the other girls know how to make cake. But no one can tell me how cotton candy is made! But you are quite right. That would only be the start of what I ask of you.”

First comes cotton candy. Then comes steam engines, or crop rotation. Or the periodic table. Plastic, sporks, bicycles…

None of this is bad stuff. In fact, I think if I could introduce this kind of technology to the world I would. But not through her. Not through this woman.

There’s more than one kind of power. And giving Magnolia Reinhart a monopoly on every invention from the medieval ages to the modern one? It might even be worse than teaching her how to make a gun.

“You want me to help you become even richer than you already are, is that it?”

“Rich enough to buy a Walled City. That would be a nice start.”

Magnolia smiles at me, like a proud parent watching over a child. I want to kick her in the face, but Ressa’s watching me.

“You figured it out—well done! Guns are an unstable bit of technology, but it is hard to take over the world with—what did the others call it? Parfait? It sounds delicious, and I’m sure it will earn me tens of thousands of gold coins when one of them finally figures out how it is made.”

It’s sick. It’s stupid. It doesn’t sound right. But the scariest and most powerful person in this world right now isn’t a general with an army of tanks. It’s a business magnate who wants to orchestrate the biggest monopoly and buyout the world’s ever seen.

Money. If Magnolia Reinhart is known for one thing, it’s money. If she had unlimited funds—she could buy out every mercenary on the continent, fund unlimited armies. Money is power, and even if the power of money isn’t unlimited, it’s scary.

Now you know, Ryoka. You know her twisted, wicked, sugar-based schemes. Now how are you going to get out of this?

“I wonder. How indeed?”

It’s like she can read my mind. I stare at Magnolia, but her face is innocent. Did she really…?

No, she can sense my intentions. She can probably sense that I want to leave and extrapolated from there. But…that’s still really scary.

“And the worst part is, I am clearly an ally of sorts, aren’t I, Ryoka Griffin? I can stop the world from using guns. But as for the rest…”

I still can’t trust her. That’s my conclusion. I stare at Magnolia Reinhart and feel my heart begin to beat faster. It’s like a drum in my chest, thunder in my veins, a knock at the door—

“Again?”

Magnolia turns towards the door, frowning in genuine irritation. I stare at the door too, and see the same unfortunate maid poke her head in. She looks pale—and she goes ghostly when she sees Magnolia’s frown.

“I am so sorry—”

“Get to the point.”

Ressa snaps and the maid curtsies as if she were ducking a bullet.

“The mage—he’s demanding to see you, Lady Reinhart. He won’t take no for an answer—”

“Tell Nemor that if he does not sit still and wait for me to summon him, I will throw him out of my estate.”

Lady Magnolia’s voice is impatient, and she clearly means every word. The maid gulps, but takes one look at Ressa and clearly decides that arguing with a mage would be a lot more fun.

The door closes and Magnolia turns back to me with a sigh.

“I believe dear Nemor will regret that when we meet. In fact, I am sure of it. I don’t even know why he’s calling on me today.”

“Why don’t you talk to him? I was just leaving…”

I stand up, making a show of dusting myself off. Lady Magnolia smiles at me.

“Oh no. Sit.”

It’s too fast for me. My legs fold up and I sit. I glare at the woman, but she just chuckles.

“You can’t get away that easily, Ryoka. And even if my Skill doesn’t work—there are truth spells and even potions, you know.”

This is bad. I eye Ressa, and remember the potions and bags on my belt. But those are good against enemies who can’t move faster than I can see. And I’m sitting in the mansion itself.

No—I knew fighting was a bad idea. I take a deep breath.

“You cannot keep me here.”

“Oh? That’s a bold statement to make.”

Don’t I know it. I meet Magnolia Reinhart’s gaze squarely. She studies me—not with arrogance and overconfidence like some helpful movie villain, but calculatingly.

“Hm. You have a plan, don’t you? Well, go on. I like to be entertained.”

“I won’t help you.”

“Even if all I want are inventions that will help everyone?”

“Even then. Because that would mean placing too much power in just your hands. Too much wealth.”

“And this is a bad thing because?”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely. No one person should be entrusted with all that.”

“My power is hardly absolute.”

Lady Magnolia looks amused, but then her gaze sharpened. Her eyes prick at my skin like knives.

“But I take your point. You don’t trust me. But tell me, Ryoka Griffin. How will you stop me from doing what I please? I already have many travellers from your world who know of wondrous inventions. I only need you to fill in the gaps, and then my [Blacksmiths], [Carpenters], [Mages], and [Alchemists] will do the rest. I even know [Engineers].”

All the things she needs to reverse-engineer any number of gadgets. I swallow hard.

“But you need me. What if I’m not here?”

“Oh? And how will you stop me?”

Legit question. My eyes travel to the window. I have three ways to get out of here. Three bargaining chips. The first—

Is hovering outside, making faces at me. I grin.

“I’ve got friends who bow to no [Lord] or [Lady] or even [King].”

I point to the window. Magnolia and Ressa turn—and see Ivolethe. The tiny faerie waves at me, and taps her ears. She can hear us? Even better.

“Um.”

A voice interrupts me. I stare at Magnolia. She’s looking at the window and me with a blank expression.

“What is it exactly that I should be staring at?”

I open my mouth…and nearly swallow my tongue.

She can’t see Frost Faeries. Suddenly I feel like an idiot. But then Ressa’s eyes narrow, and she tucks a hand into her skirt.

“Magnolia, step back.”

“What?”

To her credit Magnolia vacates the couch even as she says that. She stands behind Ressa, suddenly wary as the maid stares at the window.

“What is it, Ressa? Something invisible?”

“No.”

Ressa stares hard at a spot just to the left of Ivolethe. The faerie is just grinning, grinning at me. She’s got one hand raised and she points to Magnolia and Ressa. Then she draws a finger across her throat. Where’d she learn that? But for once I’m in full agreement. I nod slightly and she laughs outside the glass.

“There is a Winter Sprite outside the window.”

“A Frost Faerie? Really?”

Magnolia squints at the window and then gasps. Instantly she looks at me, eyes narrowed.

“Now isn’t that interesting?”

I feel uneasy. She—shouldn’t be this calm. Ressa’s certainly treating Ivolethe like a threat. And for good reason.

My tiny friend has been flying around the glass, making faces only I can see. But after I gave her my plea for help, she acts. She flies up to the window around head height, and puts her hand on the glass pane.

Instantly, the window becomes frosty. Magnolia gasps—not really in alarm—and Ressa immediately tenses. But what can she do against a force of nature?

The frost from the window grows deeper, and suddenly ice begins to form, thickening on the pane. Slowly, it begins to spread into the room, and I feel the temperature drop like a stone. More ice begins to spread from the window. Is Ivolethe trying to trap Ressa and Magnolia? What about me? If the window breaks—could I jump for it?

I’m tense, my hand on the smoke bag Octavia made for me. I’m watching Ressa, ready to move. And she’s looking from the window to me. It’ll all be settled in a moment—

“That’s quite enough.”

Magnolia’s voice makes all of us pause in place. Even Ivolethe blinks as Magnolia steps out from behind Ressa. The taller woman moves to block her, but Magnolia just pushes her aside.

“I will handle this, Ressa.”

She steps up to the frozen window, where I can see Ivolethe reflected through the clear ice. Magnolia stares a bit past Ivolethe, but she shows not a tiny shred of fear in front of the faerie. But—she’s just a [Lady], right? And Ivolethe isn’t inside—

I tell myself Magnolia’s powerless. But I can’t help but feel uneasy. And there’s a twinge of uncertainty even on the faerie’s immortal face. She stares at Magnolia. Magnolia just sighs.

“How on earth did Ryoka meet a creature like you? Well, I’d love to chat, but I’m told on very good authority that you lot are troublemakers. I can’t have that right now. Kindly go away or I’ll have to make you leave.”

Ivolethe stares at Lady Magnolia incredulously. Possibly no one has ever talked to a Frost Faerie that way before—at least, not for long. She thinks for a second, then makes an unmistakable gesture and conjures a snowball.

Ressa seems to blink in front of Magnolia as the snowball smacks into the glass in front of the woman. But Magnolia doesn’t even flinch. She sighs, and then she raises her voice. Gone is the normal tone, her light and friendly air. Her eyes are filled with that same intensity, and her tone booms and cracks like distant thunder.

“I am Lady Magnolia. This mansion and the land around are mine. You are not welcome here. Begone.”

I feel her last word in my bones. The effect on Ivolethe is immediate. She flies screaming out of Magnolia’s courtyard as if she’s been set on fire. I see her faint azure form flitting high, high into the sky until it disappears. Magnolia watches until Ivolethe’s gone and then turns back to me.

“Well, that’s that. Did you have any other allies, or was that it?”

Holy shit.

I—

Was that—?

Uh oh.

Ressa’s staring at me now too, and the look in her eyes says that she’s going to beat me into a pulp the first chance she gets. The ice Ivolethe conjured isn’t going away; rather, it’s beginning to melt off the walls.

“I do hope you had another plan. I’ll admit this one is novel, but it’s rather short-sighted, don’t you think?”

Magnolia smiles at me, eyes still filled with that horrible authority. Part of me wants to give in or run just looking at her.

But the rest is resolute. This woman can’t have her way.

Trump card. Trump card. I take a breath and pray like hell what Erin told me was on a level. I open up with my second trump card to play.

“You can’t keep me here. I have something important to do.”

“Oh? Something important? Running deliveries? Delivering a birthday message and a ring? Helping Erin? Do tell.”

Oh, that smile. I smile back at Magnolia and notice hers wanes a tiny bit.

“Not Erin or adventurers. I have to convince the Antinium not to go to war.”

For a second—oh, for a lovely, wonderful second, I have the pleasure of watching Magnolia’s smile vanish. Her eyes widen, and she stares at me.

The one upside to verbally sparring with someone who can sense your intentions? They know when you’re not lying.

The glorious moment of seeing Magnolia Reinhart uncertain lasts for a heartbeat. Then she looks over my shoulder.

“Ressa.”

I don’t even see the woman. I don’t even get a chance to react. Her hand grabs mine and suddenly I’m in an arm-lock that’s an inch of force away from breaking my arm. I can feel my tendons tearing.

“Don’t break her arm yet, Ressa. But be wary.”

I barely hear Magnolia over the pain. Arm lock. I’m in—I know how to counter. But if I do—

Gah! I don’t move. After a second that feels like forever I see Magnolia step back from me. I know she’s staring at me.

“Please explain that sentence, Ryoka Griffin.”

Arm is agony. Pain is—all consuming. But I force the words out, nearly choking on them.

“The Antinium are not your enemy.”

Pause. The pressure on my arm isn’t reduced. Can I hear my bones creaking?

“Go on.”

Maybe it’s the pain, but I let my mouth do the talking.

“What do you mean go on? I said, they’re not your enemy? Don’t you understand that you id—argh!”

Ressa twists my arm up a bit more. I shout in pain, but I’m afraid to move. Magnolia sighs.

“Ressa, she’s not lying. Let her go.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. She’s not lying. And if she’s telling the truth—”

The pressure releases all at once. I stumble forwards, feeling at my arm. The pain isn’t gone. It’s—

I’ve got a potion at my belt. I wrench it out and unstopper it with one hand. Some goes on my shirt, the floor—the rest hits my arm. Instantly, the throbbing, burning pain ceases. I turn and stare at Ressa.

And…a dagger. She has one in her right hand. It looks very sharp. And magical. I’m assuming the green tint to the edge of the blade is magic. Maybe it’s poison. Poison magic?

“Put the blade away, Ressa.”

Magnolia sighs as she stares at both me and Ressa. Slowly, very slowly, the maid tucks the blade up the sleeve of her uniform. She stares at me. I watch her.

“I’m sitting down.”

Magnolia’s voice makes both of us start. She steps over to the couch and sits down in it. Then she swivels, and puts her feet up on the edge of the couch as if she’s on a therapist’s couch. She stares at me.

“Well? Explain.”

I don’t need to be told twice. Rubbing at my arm, I take a seat. Ressa silently walks behind Magnolia. Both women stare at me, waiting for me to speak.

“The Antinium aren’t your enemies. Not necessarily, at any rate.”

I look at them. Nothing. Well, they’re good listeners when things are serious. I take a deep breath.

“The shortest way to explain this is that the Antinium’s true enemy isn’t you. They fought two wars here, but to them, this is only a—a skirmish. A lull before the larger war. They don’t want this continent, I think. They’re just getting ready for their real enemy to emerge.”

“And what’s that?”

“A god.”

How easy it is to say. How…easy. And it slips off the tongue as if it means nothing. Perhaps it does to most people in this world. I can’t even begin to understand what it means myself. But Magnolia Reinhart hears this and the look on her face changes again. This time, I think I see fear.

“Impossible.”

Magnolia says that word flatly. Her eyes are locked on mine.

“The gods are dead.”

I shake my head.

“Tell that to the Antinium. Tell that to the Queens. They fled Rhir because they were fighting something they believed was a god. Or do you think the Antinium would run from any other opponent?”

Pause. Stare. Ressa’s looking at me now, not with hostility, but something approaching genuine worry. She looks at her mistress. Magnolia closes her eyes for seven seconds. What she thinks in that time I don’t know. But when she opens her eyes—

“How do you know? This must have come from a credible source. And I don’t believe the Queen would talk to you. If this came from a Worker—”

“No Worker.”

I shake my head.

“Klbkch. He’s a Prognugator in the Antinium Hive based in Liscor—”

“Klbkch the Slayer.”

The word escapes Magnolia’s lips. She sits up on the couch and stares at Ressa. Something unspoken passes between the two, and then they look back at me. Magnolia’s voice is serious when she speaks next.

“You have my full and undivided attention, Ryoka Griffin. For the moment I’ll believe everything you say. Do not waste this chance.”

“So you believe me?”

“Oh yes. At least, I believe you are telling the truth. And if it was Klbkch the Slayer who told you this…”

Magnolia’s voice trails off. Ressa looks at her, worried.

“Does this change the plans?”

The other woman nods, shortly. She even laughs, but not with any pleasure.

“Of course. It changes…everything. It changes the entire world.”

She looks back at me, about to ask another question. Then someone knocks. The door opens.

“Lady Reinhart? The [Mage]—”

This time Magnolia doesn’t wait. She grabs the tea pot and hurls it at the door.

“Get out!”

I see the tea pot shatter, but before the pieces even hit the floor, the maid has fled. Calmly, as if nothing happened, Magnolia turns back to me.

“You were saying Klbkch the Slayer told you this?”

“You know him?”

Magnolia’s face is grim as she nods.

“I know him. I have seen him on the battlefield. Perhaps before that, but we met for one brief moment during the Second Antinium War.”

“The Second Antinium War?”

I only read about the first one. Damn. The second one was mentioned, but I think I lost the book that talked about it. Magnolia frowns at me, and then looks at her maid.

“Ressa, fetch the book for me.”

It’s clear which one she means. Ressa walks out of the room, and Magnolia turns back to me.

“Tell me the rest.”

I do, as concisely as I can in the time it takes Ressa to return. Magnolia keeps interrupting me, but when her maid is standing by her side with a slim book in her hands, she sighs and accepts it. She looks at the book before handing it to me.

“What’s this?”

“The history of the Antinium, all the information known about their culture, and a history of both the first and second Antinium Wars.”

Magnolia taps the cover as I hold it in my hands. I read the title. The Antinium: A Brief History by Krsysl Wordsmith. The name is familiar to me.

“Wasn’t he the one who wrote about the First Antinium War?”

“He was.”

Lady Magnolia nods as I tuck the book into the bag of holding at my side. She notes it, but makes no comment. I guess the Antinium really do trump all other concerns.

“I funded his research and the book. I would advise you to read it, the history of the Second Antinium War in particular, especially if you are going to be working with Klbkch.”

Huh. I look up at Magnolia, surprised.

“So you’re going to let me go?”

“Didn’t I say I hated stupid questions?”

The woman scowls at me, but weakly. Her heart’s not in it any longer. Ressa looks at her and Magnolia nods wearily.

“That’s right, Miss Ryoka who knows too much. You win. If there is a slight chance—however slight!—that there could be a way to avoid a war with the Antinium, I would take it. And the knowledge that there is dissent within the Hives—from a Prognugator no less? Invaluable. Even more invaluable is the knowledge of what the Antinium fear. If there is a god—”

She breaks off and shakes her head. Then she fixes me with a gaze like diamonds.

“You have changed everything I seek to do, Ryoka. Do you know that?”

I meet her gaze.

“I do.”

“From this moment on, you and I must be allies. We must be, because I must pursue peace with the Antinium and find out more of what they know, and because you will not live with me as your enemy. I promise you that.”

Magnolia’s eyes are hard as she captures mine. I can’t help it. I swallow, but that’s all. I don’t look away.

“So, what should we do? As allies? I trust you won’t be keeping me here or extorting information against my will?”

Lady Magnolia smiles.

“On the contrary. If we’re allies you should be giving that to me for free. But we can…negotiate that later. For now, you are officially my guest. That means I feed you, in case you were wondering. I’ll even allow that Winter Sprite back on my estate, if you can find her. I would like to talk to her as well, if that is possible.”

Wow. Suddenly, everything’s changed. I shift in my seat. What should I explore first? Does this mean what I think it does? If I have an ally—

The wall explodes. Mortar and stone blast outwards in a single thunderous impact that sends the couches, tables, and me flying. I windmill through the air, trying to curl and reduce the impact. No good. I hit something hard and then I think the world stops for a second.

I don’t know. All I do know is that when the pain and shock stop long enough for thought to shakily resume, I’m pulling myself up. Something in my thigh. A fragment of stone. Deep. I don’t feel anything broken—but everything hurts.

“What…?”

I look around. The room is in ruins. The wall’s gone—and a huge stretch of corridor gapes at me. But what I see in the center of the room is more important.

Lady Magnolia and Ressa are standing in the center of the room. Untouched. Even their clothes aren’t ruffled. It’s like…the explosion didn’t hit them. I see a radiant nimbus around both of them.

Shield spell?

But someone else is standing there too. A man in robes. He’s…tall. I feel like throwing up. But magic shines around him, so strong I can see it. He blew up the wall.

And he’s talking. I hear his voice dimly over the ringing in my ears.

“Magnolia Reinhart. The Circle of Thorns seeks your life.”

He must be the Great Mage Nemor. I try to get up and collapse. My leg—

Magnolia Reinhart stares at the mage. She looks around at the destruction. Her eyes linger on me for a second, and then she stares back at the mage.

“Well.”

It’s just one word. She’s not afraid—rather, her eyes are full of cold fury. But aside from Ressa she is alone. And even as I watch I see a shadow move. An [Assassin] steps out of the darkness as if he’s a ghost. And more—they flit towards her. Surrounding…more…

I can’t breathe. I have to warn her. Ressa’s standing with her back to Magnolia, tense. But—there’s too many. And yet Magnolia is not afraid. She looks at the mage. Looks down at him.

“The Circle of Thorns? You have my full attention.”

3.14

I think I have a concussion. The world is spinning and I want to puke. Then again, maybe that’s just how being thrown across a room by an explosion always feels.

I don’t know. I haven’t had much experience with that up until now. And I hope it never happens again.

“Ah.”

I try to move and just sort of flop over. I’m partially covered with bits of fallen masonry, so no one in the room notices me twitching. Which is good in this case, because it’s sort of tense right now.

Lady Magnolia and Ressa are standing in what used to be her sitting room, surrounded by assassins. Excuse me. [Assassins] and one assassin who happens to be a mage. He’s dressed up in colorful yellow robes with green slashes down the sides. He glows with magic. But the [Assassins]—

Shadows, some of them. Others just look like blurs and I’m sure there are more I can’t see. Only a few even look remotely humanoid. Best guess? They’re high level and they’ve got magical items as well.

And they’re all armed. I’m sure of that. They’re backing up the mage, but they haven’t attacked yet. The idiot—the Great Mage Nemor I think is his name—is talking. He’s actually gloating, like a movie villain.

“—Never thought I’d live to see the day when I would finally humble the arrogant Reinharts once and for all.”

“I don’t think you’ll live to see that day either. But one can always hope, I suppose.”

That’s Magnolia for you. Surrounded by death and she’s got more attitude than anyone I’ve ever met. It makes me almost like her.

I look groggily at the scene. Lots of badness over there. That’s my general assessment. I could…use a potion? Smokescreen bag? Flour bomb?

All of my instincts tell me that trying anything will get me instantly killed. So instead of doing anything stupid—like usual—I just lie on the ground and watch things play out*.

*Yeah, not my most heroic moment. But in my defense, I did just get tossed into a wall. It hurt.

“—Arrogance will do you little in the end.”

Oh, they’re still talking? Don’t assassins generally make less noise? But this Nemor guy seems to want to get the final word in. He juts out his chin—he’s got a small goatee which looks immaculately oiled and groomed. It suits his narrow, pointed face. He clearly wants to look like a great mage, but aside from the blowing stuff up part, he doesn’t really look that impressive.

Granted, that last bit does a lot for him, but even so. Words are not his strong point.

“Grovel, Reinhart. If you do, I may make your end quick.”

“Oh please.”

Magnolia rolls her eyes heavenwards.

“Do us all a favor and shut up, Nemor. You always were insufferable even when you were just casting ward spells for me. If you’re not going to tell me what this Circle of Thorns wants, kindly die without speaking, would you?”

The mage’s face turns red. He opens his mouth—but he never gets a chance to retort. One of the shadows standing in the ruined hallways moves. The [Assassin] charges at Lady Magnolia fast—faster than I could ever move. He’s got a dagger in his hand as he lunges at Magnolia’s chest.

But the blade never touches her. I see a blur, and then Ressa is in the way. She blocks the strike with her own unarmored chest. I nearly shout as I expect to see her body pierced by the thrust.

But that doesn’t happen. Instead, I see the shimmering aura around her body—the magical shield that protected both her and Lady Magnolia—brighten. I hear a man scream, and the [Assassin] suddenly stumbles back, clutching a stump of a hand already spurting blood.

What was that? His hand vanished as it approached Ressa’s body! And now Ressa moves—the unfortunate [Assassin] chokes as her fingers go into his neck. She pulls her hand back and he folds over. I feel my stomach heave as I see what happened. Part of his face is just gone, vaporized by whatever magical shield is on Ressa.

The other [Assassins] move even as the first one dies. Two lunge at Ressa, but she blurs and they retreat as I hear metal clashing. One tosses the remains of a blade to the ground—all but the handle is vaporized. The others attack from a safer distance. Darts, throwing stars, knives—they hurl them at both Ressa and Magnolia. All the projectiles vanish before they touch either woman’s body.

Ressa flicks her hand and I see dark blurs speed at the [Assassins]. At least one hits, but even the blurred shape I see stagger doesn’t fall. They blink backwards as Ressa immediately steps back to Magnolia, guarding her back.

Standoff again. The [Assassins] pause and then wait, as if nothing happened. Nemor stares at them, and his face only now goes red as his mind catches up to what just happened.

“You fools! Hold until I command it! I must bypass her protection spells first!”

He shouts at the others around him, not even seeming bothered by the magical disintegration field. Magnolia sighs calmly, not even ruffled by the sudden burst of violence.

“A proper mage would have done that first rather than sending that poor man to his death. But then again, a proper [Assassin] wouldn’t have attacked so recklessly to begin with.”

She points at one of the shadows, and they shift, as if they’re afraid to be directly addressed by her.

“You have some rather showy magical items and Skills, but none of you are master [Assassins]. Believe me, I can tell the difference. Who sent you to die here?”

No response. I just see the shadows and blurred figures flitting around Magnolia, as if suddenly unsure. She scowls at them, impatient and not afraid.

“Well? Answer me.”

“We were—”

The words come out of one of the shadows unwillingly. I hear a female voice, and then she gurgles as one of her fellows strikes her in the throat. She chokes and falls back, but says no more.

Magnolia scowls again. She points at Nemor, who’s gone red again with rage.

“Who ordered you to work with this fool? I was under the impression your Guild didn’t collaborate with amateurs.”

“Fool!? For the last time, you insult me. Magnolia—”

“Be silent, Nemor.”

I see the man recoil as if struck. Nemor’s hands go up to his throat and his face goes red, then purple. Calmly, Magnolia turns back to the [Assassins].

“Was it your Guildmaster? Or someone else? Tell me who sent you.”

This time they’re ready. I see a few of the [Assassins] shift, but none of them speak. But the idiot—Great Mage, rather—sneers and answers instead. His face is regaining some of its color. Looks like he also shook off the charm spell. Damn. Is it really that easy?

“There are more factions that seek your life than you know, Reinhart.”

She pauses, and looks at him.

“Hm. So that means the Guild didn’t officially sanction this. Well, thank you for telling me, Nemor.”

Never before have I seen a man look so angry and worried at the same time. Nemor’s face turns amazingly maroon with rage. He hisses at Magnolia.

“I will see you suffer before you die.”

“And I see there’s little more to be learned here. Well then, shall we be about the business of the day?”

Magnolia turns to the [Assassins]. Immediately, I see them ready their weapons. But she doesn’t reach for a weapon. Rather, Magnolia folds her hands together. She’s not wearing gloves and her dress probably isn’t concealing a weapon. I just see a few rings on her bare hands. She looks around the room, as if searching for a spot to properly fight.

I tense as her eyes spot me lying on the ground, but Magnolia doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. Her gaze sweeps over me as if I’m not there. Magnolia shakes her head slightly as she turns and speaks casually to Nemor and the [Assassins].

“Not here, I think. There are too many valuable antiques that would need replacing. If you would follow me…?”

She doesn’t move, but her hand turns one of the rings on her fingers. I hear a curse—Nemor raises his hands and several [Assassins] have already thrown more weapons—but it’s too late. Magnolia and Ressa both vanish from sight in an instant.

“Teleportation!?”

Nemor exclaims in surprise. I see several shadows streak down the corridor in an instant, but the mage’s shout draws some of them back.

“No—wait.”

He points at the spot where Magnolia and Ressa have gone, thinking out loud.

“There’s no spell circle. And no one can teleport long distances so quickly. This fast—they must be headed to a prearranged destination. Spread out and find them!”

Way to state the obvious, genius. I get the impression that Nemor’s not actually in charge of these [Assassins], and that’s clearly for good reason. The other shadows just streak down the corridors—two run past me to the exposed opening. I hear another voice, a man’s, from one of the shadows.

“Outside.”

I don’t know how, but all of the [Assassin]’s silhouettes immediately return and make a beeline for the exposed opening. They disappear into the night air, leaping or vanishing over the edge. Nemor runs after them, cursing, and I see him jump off the broken ledge as well. His body glows, and he falls much more slowly than gravity should allow.

What’s happening? Is it safe? I don’t know. Part of me wants to stay here, but—I have to see what’s going on. Slowly, painfully, I crawl out of my lovely blanket of broken wall fragments.

Don’t stand. Just crawl. I worm my way over to the void where the wall used to be, exposed by Nemor’s spell. And then I see her again.

Lady Magnolia.

She’s standing in the center of her courtyard, bold as you please. She didn’t even teleport more than a hundred feet! Ressa is by her side, and she’s—fighting?

It’s all a blur of motion in the darkness below. I see countless flickers of movement, and see flashes of light. The [Assassins] are going after Magnolia and Ressa with everything they have. Ressa is a blur around Magnolia, deflecting missiles, clashing with the [Assassins]—but there are too many. The only thing keeping both her and Magnolia alive is the bright aura around them that’s shielding them from harm.

But it’s growing weaker. I can see the glow fading, especially now that it’s the only contrast against the darkness outside. Each time a throwing star strikes Ressa’s shield it dims, and the [Assassins] are too smart to go hand-to-hand with Ressa. She catches one of them and kills him by striking his face—when she pulls her hand back half his head is gone. But the others just jump away and keep hurling weapons at her.

I stare down at the courtyard full of blurring shapes in shock. There’s a damn war going on down there! What do I do? I can’t just jump in—I doubt I’d even last a minute. And my potions and alchemist tricks aren’t going to work here.

But if I don’t, Magnolia will die. Right?

She has to be doing something. I see Magnolia’s hands moving in the courtyard, although I can’t tell if she’s holding anything amidst the fast movement. But she seems to be working on something—she doesn’t even look up as an [Assassin] closes on her and Ressa forces the killer back just in time.

What is she doing? Now she looks up. At what? A cloud?

The cloud? That wandering cloud from her garden? It’s right overhead. I stare at it. It’s roughly in the same place as when it rained at me. Magnolia looks up at it. But then her head turns.

Someone is striding across the courtyard, glowing with golden and sapphire light. Nemor’s entire body is wreathed in some kind of fantastic magical shield—it looks like water, filled with gold dust. He doesn’t even seem to notice as Ressa hurls two throwing stars at him—they sink into the barrier around him and disappear, as if they’ve fallen into a sea.

He points at Magnolia as he strides towards her. The [Assassins] charge with him, but Magnolia’s face is cool. She looks back up at the storm cloud and seems to sigh. I see something bright spark amidst the darkness of the cloud overhead.

“Reinhart! You will—”

Lightning strikes Nemor right in the chest. I see the world light up and go blind. I jerk backwards as I hear the thwoom of the sound and feel the impact a moment later. The sound is deafening, and the image of the coruscating bolt of electricity is burned into my retinas.

“Holy—”

The rest of my exclamation is drowned out by more flashes, and more thunder. I raise my head and peer over the edge to see lightning bolts shooting out of the rain cloud. And not just one or two.

A crackling storm of lightning blasts the earth around Magnolia and Ressa. They stand perfectly still as the cloud over their head turns from an innocent rain cloud into a flashing avatar of destruction. I see shapes fleeing from Magnolia in every direction, but the lightning is alive. It flashes down and curves towards the retreating [Assassins], blasting them to bits as they try to run.

In seconds, it’s over. All that remains are smouldering corpses, or pieces of them. I stare down at the courtyard as my vision slowly clears, spotting broken stone, scorched spots—and death.

They’re all dead. All, but two.

Nemor slowly stands back up, his magical shield crackling as the last burst of electricity earths itself around him. One of the [Assassins] who took cover behind the mage gets up as well. The shrouded figure—denuded now of it’s shadowy concealment—looks at Magnolia and Ressa. Without a word, it flees back towards the mansion.

“Coward! Come back!”

The mage shouts after the retreating [Assassin], but the figure pays no heed. I can’t blame them, either. After what I just saw, I’d run or surrender rather than fight the sky.

But Nemor stands in front of Magnolia, no longer gloating but not fleeing either. Magic – a kaleidoscope of colors – swirls around his hands as he points at her.

“Your defenses might have killed the fodder sent to assist me. But I did not come here to fail, Reinhart!”

“Oh really? And who else do you have to die with you? More [Assassins]? I do believe I’ve cooked all of them, but I’ll happily do it to a few dozen more.”

I can hear Lady Magnolia’s voice, light and poised, from my position on the second floor. Nemor’s voice is filled with rage, but also confidence.

“Not just [Assassins], fool! Behold! Even your own tools are turned against you!”

He turns and points. I see movement in the darkness. The glint of light off of metal. Out of the darkness, ten Golems, the massive suits of plate armor armed with two-handed greatswords emerge. They take up positions behind Nemor as he laughs wildly.

“See how all is turned against you? The Circle of Thorns has roots in every place, even in your own home!”

“I see. Lightning wouldn’t work so well against them, would it?”

Magnolia sighs as she stares down at the Golems. I see Ressa take a blade out of her skirt, but Magnolia stops her with a hand on one arm.

“You know, those were a present for my sixteenth birthday. I’ll have to get rid of them now; once compromised there’s no trusting them. Couldn’t you have found some other target instead?”

“You seem to think you’ll still survive.”

Nemor sneers up at Magnolia. He raises a hand, and something bright flashes into being. I see a…blue fireball appear in the mage’s hands. It’s blue around the edges, and in the center I see a white-hot flame swirling.

“Your precious shield spell is nearly exhausted. Will it withstand my magic, and the Golems for more than a few seconds?”

“It doesn’t have to. Once you’re dead the Golems will stop attacking as well. It’s very simple, Nemor.”

Magnolia lightly retorts. I see her raise her hands. She’s putting something on her index finger. I can’t see clearly what it is from this far away. Another ring?

Nemor doesn’t give Magnolia a chance to use it. He hurls the blue fireball, and the explosion engulfs the two women. I feel the blast from here—the air blows my hair and makes me cover my eyes. When I dare look again, I see Magnolia and Ressa, standing in the same spot.

What happened? Their shield must have absorbed the spell again. But it’s gone now, and Nemor has two more fireballs in each hand. He’s laughing.

“Well? Will you grovel now?”

“I still don’t see why I should.”

Magnolia’s tone cuts Nemor off. He snarls—and she continues, speaking over him.

“A powerful, if idiotic mage strong enough to bypass my wards, a group of [Assassins] to take down my mage, subverted control spells for my Golems—they even made sure to choose someone I trusted enough to let into my estate. This Circle really did manage to subvert all my outer defenses. For a first attempt, it was quite well done.”

“There won’t be a second time!”

Nemor roars in fury. He hurls another fireball at Magnolia, but this time Ressa moves. She draws something out of her skirt—a mirror?—and holds it up. The fireball is sucked into it. Nemor shouts.

“That cheap trick won’t work more than once!”

He points and the Golems lumber forward. But Ressa runs at them, hurling something onto the ground. Vines sprout up—a tripvine bag? Something like that, but these vines are huge, easily engulfing even the massive Golems and walling off the rest.

“You can’t protect yourself forever!”

The mage’s hands glow and he burns half the vines away in an instant with blue flame. He actually melts one of the Golems with his spell, but he doesn’t seem to care. He tries to catch Ressa, but she dodges backwards to Magnolia’s side.

“Your [Maid] can’t save you, Reinhart! She can’t breach my magics!”

“She doesn’t have to. Nemor, you are a fool.”

Magnolia’s finger glints with crimson light as she points at the mage. A thin line of light shoots from the ring she wears and spears the mage through the chest. My breath catches—but the light doesn’t seem to do anything. And yet—it goes straight through Nemor’s shield and out the back of his body. What is it?

Lady Magnolia’s voice is light and calm. I hear her in the sudden silence.

“If you had begged—no, even if you had, it is far too late. This is the price you pay for overconfidence, Nemor. And betrayal.”

The Great Mage Nemor pauses. For a second I think he didn’t even see the line of red light, so thin is it. But then he spots it and goes still.

“Oh.”

He stares down at the thin red line pulsing in his chest. When he looks up at Lady Magnolia all his confidence is gone.

“Please. Have m—”

“No.”

That’s the only word I hear. What I see is the burning line suddenly expanding. The thin line becomes a beam of burning air—a pillar—Nemor’s form is engulfed in a column of fire and then it flashes—

This time the impact knocks me backwards. I hear more masonry falling around me and instinctively curl up into a ball. Miraculously, Magnolia’s mansion doesn’t fall to bits around me.

My head is spinning. I’m still blind. I slowly uncurl, and gasp, remembering to breathe.

What? What was—

Was that a railgun? No—it was similar, but whatever that burning line was expanded. Some kind of explosion.

I raise my head up, although I really want to keep it down. What I see when I dare look back in the courtyard is simple: I see burning ground, the dark night, fallen bodies.

And Lady Magnolia, standing in the center of the courtyard, still pointing, her finger aimed straight at her enemy’s chest.

And where Nemor once stood? Nothing. A crater of black, smoking ash is all that remains. He is dead, and the Golems stand lifeless, some still tangled in the vines.

It’s over.

For a while, I just lie there, staring down at the courtyard. Lady Magnolia and Ressa look like they’re talking. My eyes are drawn to them—and then the devastation.

Gods. How many people just died down there? A bunch of [Assassins]—even if they weren’t ‘masters’, they had to be high-level. And that Nemor—what level was he?

I don’t know. I can’t even guess. I just witnessed a conflict that I’m far too inexperienced to even guess the magnitude of. It leaves me shaking.

Eventually, though, I stand up. I have to do—something. I wander back towards where the door used to be. I stare down the empty hallway, and then, finally, hear the other sounds.

Sound. It’s such an odd thing. As I lay watching the battle, I could only hear the clash of metal, Nemor’s voice, and the roar and boom of the magical spells. But now I hear other sounds.

Distant shouting. Crying. The voices of people. Who?

[Maids]. [Manservants]. The staff of the house, that’s who. As I slowly walk back into the non-destroyed parts of Magnolia’s estate, I suddenly remember them. And I see them, rushing about, tending to the wounded.

The wounded? Yes—the [Assassins] and Nemor didn’t just attack Magnolia. They struck the servants in her home first. I pass by multiple still bodies, stabbed or burnt practically to ash. But the few casualties of those unfortunate enough to get in the way are nothing compared to the wounded.

Several [Maids] are desperately trying to keep a man lying on the ground alive. He’s stabbed in the stomach—multiple times by the looks of it. But there are three shapes on the ground, all dressed in black clothing.

Assassins? They’re all dead. The servants must have fought them off. The maids look up at me and I—

Stab wound. They took the blade out, which is bad. The bleeding is severe. I grab the nearest cloth I can find—a dead [Maid]’s dress—and press it against the man’s stomach as hard as I can. I ignore his cries and get the other [Maids] to help.

I keep the dressing there, trying to stop blood from flowing, keep the man alive. Somehow, he holds on long enough for one of the [Maids] to dash back with a potion. She pours it on the wound and it heals instantly. The man sits up, gasping.

He lives.

I stand up and go. My hands are covered with blood, but I pay no attention. I feel like a dreamer, walking through Magnolia’s grand home, now filled with death and destruction.

I give aid one more time, helping bind a tourniquet until a potion can arrive, and then I find the last [Assassin]. The one who ran.

He lies on the ground, a hole in his chest, black clothing still smoking from where something burned away part of his leg. Two people are standing over him, a [Butler] and a [Maid].

I blink at Reynold. He and the maid both hold weapons in their hands. A shortsword and buckler in his hands, and a glowing wand in the [Maid]’s. They stare at me, first wary, then relaxing.

“Miss Ryoka. Are you unharmed?”

“Mm?”

I stare down at the [Assassin]. Filled by some unshakeable curiosity, I pull back his hood. I see not a man’s face as I’d assumed from his build, but a Gnoll’s. Dead.

“Miss Ryoka?”

I look back up at Reynold. He looks concerned for me. He moves his hand and I flinch, but he touches my head gently. He shows me…blood. On his fingertips.

“You’re hurt. I have a healing potion—please, hold still.”

I let him pour a bit on my temple. The pounding in my head stops. Huh. I didn’t even realize my head was throbbing until this moment. And I feel—a bit more steady.

I stare back down at the [Assassin]. Then I look back at Reynold. He looks grim, but he’s dealing with the situation better than I am at the moment. I hesitate, and then point at the dead Gnoll, grinning stupidly.

“Does this happen often as well?”

He just stares at me.

“Not in my lifetime. But I have heard stories of attempts made on one of the Five Families’ before.”

“Oh? And what comes next, then? What will Magnolia do?”

He looks at me as if it were obvious.

“She will go to war.”

----

The problem with winning, Lady Magnolia reflected, was that the winner inevitably had to clean up. Oh, of course some fools might choose to let the dead lie where they were, but that was only an option on the battlefield, and in her experience, most battles took place outside of battlefields.

She stood in what remained of her lovely courtyard, sighing and staring at the dead bodies as Ressa barked orders by her side. Magnolia knew better than to interrupt—Ressa’s control over her staff didn’t have any room for her, so while Ressa coordinated her people, Magnolia chattered. She often did that in times of stress; and every other time as well. She didn’t like silence.

“Not a shred of warning. Not a hint. What good are all my informants and spies if they can’t warn me of an impending attack?”

“I believe that is why it is known as a ‘sneak’ attack.”

Her [Head Maid] paused in the act of ordering a group of servants to race through the mansion to distribute healing potions. Naturally, Magnolia’s estate had many potions and artifacts for emergencies, but it was one thing to be prepared and another to be ready for an actual attack. Magnolia’s heart ached as reports came in of the servants who had gotten in the way of the assassins and Nemor during the attack.

Something would have to be done. They would have to train the staff, not just those experienced in combat—especially if this was a forecast of things to come.

“Even so, the fact that not one person reported anything unusual happening is telling, isn’t it, Ressa? Our spies are compromised.”

Ressa nodded briefly. That much was as obvious to both women as the moon.

“Some will have been caught off-guard. Others were bribed or threatened. More were traitors to begin with. It will take a great deal of work discovering which is which.”

“However, if this is the Circle of Thorns and not some pretenders…this is very serious, Ressa.”

“I know.”

More people rushed up to the two women. Magnolia listened with one ear while she thought quietly. She stopped one maid, though.

“What was that about an [Assassin]? Was the last one found?”

Ressa nodded.

“Reynold and Sacra caught the last one as he was trying to flee. He is dead.”

“Dead?”

Magnolia’s tone was irate. She glared at Ressa, ignoring the [Maid] who fled from her presence.

“Couldn’t you have captured that one alive? I want at least one witness to interrogate. What good are dead bodies to me? I don’t know any [Necromancers]—at least, none that I trust!”

She knew she was being petty, but she was in a bad mood. Ressa clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she responded to her mistress.

“That would have been an unnecessary risk. These killers had unknown Skills and magical items. Killing the escaping one quickly was the correct decision for Reynold and Sacra to make and I stand by their decision.”

“You would.”

Magnolia grumbled, but she let the matter drop. She knew it would have probably been pointless anyways—[Assassins] were notorious for dying to protect their client’s secrets. She paused as she heard a voice in her head.

“Magnolia!”

“Oh, Ressa. I hear Teriarch. I’ll have to talk with him.”

Ressa nodded, and stepped away as Magnolia began to speak into the air.

“I’m here, Teriarch.”

The old Dragon’s voice was urgent in her mind.

“Magnolia! I received your signal. Are you—?”

“Fine. There was an attack. Assassins and a mage came to kill me.”

“Assassins? Are you sure you’re safe?”

“I’m fine, old fool.”

Magnolia’s tone was acerbic, but she relented a bit when she heard the genuine concern in Teriarch’s ‘voice’. She could almost picture the Dragon anxiously fanning his wings.

“If you think they might be around, I could be there in minutes. A spell or—I could fly!”

“You? Fly all the way here?”

The woman snorted, amused by the idea.

“If you want to come I’d welcome you. But Ressa tells me the place is secure, and she would know. I have my own [Mages] and artifacts who will be able to safeguard me, you know that.”

There was a pause as Teriarch considered Magnolia’s reply.

“If Ressa says so…tell me what happened!”

Briefly, Magnolia related the events to Teriarch.

“Will you come or not? I could use you here.”

She held her breath, but not much. Teriarch’s reply was everything she expected.

“Well…if you’re safe, then I hardly need to go out. Other mages can take care of the rest—but you should get rid of the Golems.”

“I know. But it’s such a waste. I got those for my birthday, you know.”

“Nevertheless. If one mage can seize control of them, they cannot be trusted. You need a better Golem anyways—how often have I told you not to rely on these shoddy animated suits of armor?”

“Oh? And what would you propose?”

Magnolia snapped at the empty air. Teriarch’s voice was arch as he replied.

“Any superior construct would do. A Gemstone Golem would have far more utility as you well know. Ivory Golems are too susceptible to interference via death magic of course, but if you would just buy a Magestone Golem—or even a Truestone Golem—”

“Not even you have a Truestone Construct lying around. And besides, I’m fairly certain those were outlawed in several nations.”

“Hmf. Wistram has one.”

“And she is not for sale. Believe me, I’ve asked and she is definite on that subject. Teriarch, I have work to do. If you aren’t coming—”

“Very well. I will contact you later. But if you need help—”

Magnolia’s voice was soft.

“I know. I will ask. But there’s only so much you can do in that cave.”

She heard no reply. Instead, she sensed the magical connection break. Magnolia turned back to Ressa, and found the woman was waiting for her.

“All done?”

“Things are stable for now.”

“Good. Then find me Ryoka Griffin. I only saw the girl sensibly had her head down after Nemor blasted through the wall. Do you know where she is? Is she hurt?”

Ressa shook her head.

“She is alive and mostly unharmed. At the moment she is helping tend to the wounded.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Magnolia paused.

“Good. There may be some hope for her after all. Take me to her.”

The two began to walk into the mansion. Magnolia sighed as she looked at the injured, but she kept talking to Ressa as they walked.

“It’s begun, Ressa. It’s war, you know that, don’t you?”

“Against the Circle of Thorns?”

“Wherever and whoever they may be. I have an idea of where to start, but—”

“The same problem as before?”

“If my great grandmother’s diary is right, it will be a nightmare. Still, we can’t let them do this again. I think you know what we have to do.”

Ressa waited. Magnolia made a face as she forced herself to say the words out loud.

“I’ll need to gather my flight of attendants. My allies, anyone who can be trusted—do you know where all my attendants are right now?”

“Right where you left them. The Reinhart estate in First Landing.”

“Damn. I hate that place.”

“When should we leave?”

“Tonight. Have Reynold get the coach ready. We can be back soon, but we have to move now.”

“And Ryoka?”

“Well, for the moment…”

----

An hour ago I was talking about the fate of the world with Magnolia. Now I’m standing in the rubble of her mansion, helping pour healing potions on the wounded.

In fairness, there’s not that much rubble and no longer as many wounded. The wards on the Reinhart estate are sturdy, and Nemor only destroyed one room. But the air still feels tense, electric with fear and anxiety.

And grief. I stand up from tending to what used to be one man’s leg and turn to find Lady Magnolia and Ressa. They stare down at the [Manservant] as he tries to get up and fails.

“Stay there.”

Ressa’s voice is calm and imperious. But she kneels and inspects the man’s stump of a leg with gentle hands. The wound is healed, but his leg is gone. Burnt away. He shudders, but doesn’t cry out like he was doing earlier. He only looks up at Ressa and Lady Magnolia.

“I regret—I’m afraid I won’t be able to wait tables any longer, Miss Ressa.”

“Don’t worry about that. Just rest.”

Ressa lies the man back and more servants come to lift him in a stretcher. I watch them take the man away, and see Ressa’s gaze follow him.

She does care about the other servants. She might act like a general from hell ordering them about, but she cares.

And Magnolia—

I glance at the other woman. Lady Magnolia Reinhart is standing in the corridor, coolly surveying the devastation. People rush around her, and occasionally she’ll direct someone, but for the most part she just lets Ressa work.

She’s not down there tending to people herself. But she is radiating calm authority like a lighthouse. That’s a type of leadership, and I can see it reassuring the people around her. They look to her.

“Ryoka Griffin.”

Now her eyes find me, and I shudder. I can’t take comfort in her presence. Not after what I saw. I nod to her to cover my unease.

“I saw what happened.”

“Hm. Well, I am relieved to see you weren’t hurt. I was almost afraid you’d jump into the fight.”

No fear of that. I stare at the one-legged man as he disappears down the corridor.

“What will happen to him?”

“Who?”

“The man…with the missing leg. What will happen to him after this?”

Magnolia blinks at me, surprised by my question.

“What do you mean?”

“Will he lose his job? He sounded like he was a waiter.”

“Of course he won’t lose his job! I will find a new one for him that he can fulfill with one leg. That is all that will happen. Why, did you think I would fire him?”

I can only shrug. Magnolia scowls. She seems genuinely annoyed with me.

“No one injured in my employ will ever face losing their job. I do not abandon my people.”

“Oh. Good.”

I turn my back and stare at the people hurrying around me. I can tell Magnolia is eying me balefully from behind.

“I trust you understand this complicates matters.”

“I kind of got that when all the [Assassins] appeared. What was the mage talking about? Who are the Circle of Thorns?”

Magnolia pretends she didn’t hear my question.

“Sadly, I have suddenly become far too busy to hound you on the matter of inventions from your world. I will do so at a later date, but for now I believe I will have to let you go.”

I turn and meet her eyes.

“Do you think I’m an idiot? I know this isn’t over.”

She rolls hers.

“Of course it isn’t. But by all means, attend to your own business. We are allies, so I shall make sure you meet with the best experts in Invrisil. Tomorrow.”

“Experts? What experts?”

Another eye roll. Magnolia points at my side, at the bag of holding I’m carrying and snaps.

“Magical experts, idiot! I know your adventurer friends uncovered some relics. Well, I will have some meet with you. And then, when I am done attending to this—you and I will talk again.”

“Great.”

Magnolia raises an eyebrow, but that’s all I have to say on the matter. She sighs, loudly.

“You are an obnoxious child sometimes, you know that? You remind me of Ressa when she was young.”

Ahead of her, Ressa turns and glares at Magnolia. I do the same. Magnolia waves her hand at the two of us.

“You will sleep here tonight. Ressa will find you a room.”

And so she does. I stay awake long enough to see the mansion slowly settle back into some kind of normalcy—and then I go to the large, extravagantly adorned room that has been allotted to me. I lie on the bed, but I’m still far too awake to sleep.

I can still see the lightning, still see the line of fire engulf Nemor. I don’t know what it means, and I’m almost afraid to find out. But one thing I do know.

The sky is already beginning to brighten. I try to sleep, willing myself to rest for however long I can. I think I’ll need the energy. I’m not done here. Not by far.

Invrisil, the City of Adventurers, awaits.

----

Day 45

A lot can happen in a day. I mean, that’s a fairly obvious statement, but I find myself surprised, sometimes, at how much can happen.

Forty-five days. That’s how long I’ve been in this world. But although I had a lot of amazing, unforgettable experiences in these forty-five days, the last few have seen the most happen.

Especially three days ago. Three days ago I survived my first avalanche. I coordinated a rescue effort; I touched a dead person, and saved a life. More than one for both counts, if I’m honest.

But I choose to remember the living. And I have to keep moving forwards rather than dwell on the past; a lot more rests on my shoulders, now.

It’s a bit…ironic. A few days ago Durene and I were effectively outcasts living on the edge of Riverfarm, barely tolerated for who we were. Well, Durene was barely tolerated; I was more popular. But we were both shunned for our relationship.

And now? Now our little cottage is our hideaway from the rest of the world. At least if we stay there we can sleep in peace.

In three days, I went from being a blind man with an unhealthy obsession with half-Trolls in the eyes of the village to being an [Emperor]. Of course, I was always an [Emperor], but they didn’t know that.

They do now. True, I didn’t exactly advertise the fact, but everyone heard me when I first took control of the village. And word spreads fast.

How would you react to having an Emperor in your village? I’d imagine normally there would be a lot of questions and maybe even suspicion or hostility.

But in this case? There’s none. The villagers saw me running from spot to spot, finding people trapped in the snow. That earns you a lot of trust, not to mention gratitude. I am an [Emperor], and the villagers treat me as such.

Which brings me on to the downside of my current living situation: I’m an [Emperor]. And Riverfarm is now technically under my dominion.

Which, defacto, makes me their ruler. Which also makes me responsible for them. And makes them subservient to me.

And boy, do they take that role seriously.

“Are they still outside, Durene?”

I hear her rustle as she sits up and looks at the window.

“I think Gamel’s still out there.”

“Still?”

Or should I say, ‘already’? I frown as I sit up in bed next to Durene. It’s barely past dawn, and there’s someone out there?

“Did he camp out here?”

“I think so. He’s got a fire and everything.”

“We should have invited him in. Not that there’s space, but…”

I mutter to myself as I put on pants and a shirt and coat. I try to stay low; one of the downsides to being blind is that you can’t really tell where windows are or if doors are open. It means I’m somewhat paranoid about flashing someone by mistake.

“Why is he even out there? I told them I’d be back as soon as I woke up today.”

“I think they wanted to have someone here in case you needed anything.”

Durene answers cautiously as she readies some tea and rekindles the fire. She knows how I feel about suddenly being the ruler of Riverfarm, but I can tell from her voice that she’s pleased.

And can I blame her? She used to be the village laborer, the barely-tolerated half-monster girl. And now she’s the consort of an [Emperor], or my personal servant, or whatever. The point is that even though our relationship isn’t a secret, no one’s throwing rocks at Durene, and everyone treats her with almost as much deference as they treat me.

Part of that might also be her class. Durene is a Level 6 [Paladin] now. She gained the levels from helping save people and working to help the village. True, she didn’t slay monsters, but her doing good deeds fits with the idea of a [Paladin] in modern culture. And for her efforts, she gained not one, but two Skills.

[Weapon Proficiency: Shield] and [Graceful Step]. Now, the first Skill makes sense to me. It sounds like a classic feat out of any fantasy roleplaying game, but [Graceful Step]? Apparently, it allows Durene to move, well, gracefully. If I put it bluntly, she no longer sounds like an earthquake when she moves around her cottage, and she can even sneak up on me now!

It’s quite incredible to me, but it’s also odd. I mean, why would moving silently, or rather, gracefully, be that important to a [Paladin]? Is it because the class is taking from the original idea of a paladin being a member of Charlemagne’s court and being considered dignified characters? Or is it more broadly taken from the fact that paladins are supposed to be champions of justice, respected characters in the eyes of the many?

Perhaps there’s another set of guidelines I don’t know about entirely. All I do know is that Durene—

Squark.

I wince and hear Durene’s surprised exclamation.

“Oh good. Frostwing’s awake.”

Indeed, the noisy eaglet has awoken, and upon finding both Durene and I are awake, is stridently, nay, angrily demanding we feed her breakfast. I scowl as I find the bowl of half-frozen food by the kitchen counter and shove it at the bird.

“Eat, you ungrateful fowl. Stop complaining—I haven’t even had breakfast yet!”

Happily, Frostwing does just that. She’s gotten even bigger than she was three days ago, and now she can peck at the food herself. I can even feel a few feathers coming in, although I’ve been too preoccupied with the village to attend to her as much as I’d like.

Speaking of which—

As Durene puts some butter in the pan and I delight at hearing it sizzle, I open the door and walk out to Gamel. I know the young man—he’s been following me and Durene around since the day of the avalanche. And I can even ‘see’ him in my mind—he’s camped right at the boundary of where Durene’s cottage ends.

“Emperor Laken, sir!”

I hear his excited voice as I crunch through the snow. I make a face and stop before I’m too close to him.

“I told you, Mister Laken is fine.”

I’d prefer to do away with even that, to be honest. But the villagers insist on calling me something. And that’s way better than ‘Emperor’.

“I’m sorry, Mister Laken.”

He sounds chastened. I sigh.

“Never mind that. Durene and I were about to have breakfast. Can I invite you in?”

“I couldn’t do that!”

He sounds horrified. I sigh again, but I knew Gamel would probably say that.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes sir. I’ve got some porridge and even some smoked bacon right here, sir. A feast!”

“Well, in that case we’ll be out soon. If you’re cold, the door’s open.”

“I won’t be cold. I will be waiting, sir!”

I shake my head to myself as I walk back to the cottage. How did it come to this?

I brighten up a bit when I push open the door and smell meat cooking. Durene’s poking at the pan, and I can tell there are some thick slabs of ham waiting to be eaten.

“Smells good.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

Durene sounds just as excited as I am as she flips the dripping slices onto a plate. She and I eat at a table—me ignoring Frostwing’s chirps as she tries to get me to feed her.

“You’re disgusting, you know that?”

“Me?”

“Not you, silly. Frostwing. Didn’t you just eat the entire bowl?”

“I dunno Laken, she looks hungry. She’s getting bigger—what if we gave her some?”

“Maybe later. There’s such a thing as overfeeding her, Durene.”

“Oh, right.”

“…You can feed her that one bit.”

“Okay!”

I smile to myself as Frostwing shrieks in delight and then begs for more. Who knew a bird could beg? But then my smile falters a bit as I bite into my own bit of fried ham. Yes, it’s delicious. But the mere fact that Durene and I are feasting on ham for breakfast is a concern.

We’re eating meat. And that might be normal in my world, but in Durene’s, or at least, in her village, that’s a luxury. And it’s happening because all the animals in Riverfarm are dead.

They were all buried in the avalanche, and unlike the people, we didn’t get to them in time. Chickens, pigs, cows—even if you ignore the people that died, this was a disaster in its own right. These animals are what Riverfarm depends on for food and coin, and they were all killed at once.

The one small mercy was that at least their bodies were frozen. It means that the villagers and Durene and I can eat the animals one by one and stretch out our food stocks that way. But still. This would cripple any village and make it that much harder to survive the winter in the best of times.

And after the avalanche, Riverfarm is certainly not going through the best of times. That’s why despite our big and delicious meal, Durene and I are out of the cottage in the next fifteen minutes, and we walk with Gamel trailing in our wake to Riverfarm in good time.

“Mister Laken!”

“Emperor Laken!”

“Emperor!”

“Sire!”

Countless voices greet me as I walk into the village. I smile and wave, and greet people by name. I’m used to the attention by now, at least enough so that I don’t get slowed down and get to the village center in good time. When I’m there, I immediately cast around the village with my [Emperor] senses.

Let’s see. What’s changed since yesterday? Some new houses are excavated—good. Nothing’s collapsed today, which is a relief. The dead animals—

—Are still frozen in the ground. But one of them looks…gnawed at? I frown.

“Mister Prost?”

With my senses I can tell the man jumps as I address him directly among the crowd. People still can’t quite believe I can sense things without seeing. But he hurries forwards as I call him.

“Yes, Mister Laken?”

“One of the dead cows—the one buried just past the barn—looks like it’s been partially eaten. Have animals found the body?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have someone check at once!”

Prost’s voice is filled with consternation and I hear him hurry off. In minutes he’s back with news.

“Animals did eat at the body, sir! Looks like foxes or something similar. They ate a good bit.”

“That’s not good.”

I sigh as I hear people around me mutter. Well, I suspected this would happen.

“Looks like wildlife is returning to the area after the avalanche. We’ll need to make sure they don’t get at any more of the dead animals before we can properly smoke them, salt them, or preserve them some other way.”

“That will be hard, sir.”

Prost sounds worried. I nod, but try to look for a better angle. There has to be something…

“What if we set traps for the foragers? We could catch a few animals—maybe more food for the pot?”

“That could work!”

The man brightens up and I hear voices sounding approving around me. Jeez. As if that was some brilliant idea. Any one of them could have come up with it—they’d probably be able to execute it far better than I could since they actually know how all of this works. But they let me do the thinking and deciding, because I am an [Emperor] after all, and don’t I know best?

This is how my day goes now. I coordinate with Prost about getting people to set traps up as Durene goes to help dig. She’s been doing it every day—we’ve nearly gotten all of the houses excavated, but there’s still tons of snow around the village that could be cleared out. And the fields—

“At the very least, we should focus on finding a place to store the dead animals. The barn perhaps. If we could close the doors and put the frozen bodies in the snow there, that might keep a lot of hungry animals at bay.”

“We can do that. Just give the word, Mister Laken.”

“I’m just worried larger predators will smell the dead bodies and come searching.”

“Aye, that’s true. The Emperor has a point. What if a bear scents out the carcasses?”

I hear a murmur of worry.

We’ll have to have eyes on the barn, then. But we can’t just let the bodies rot and keeping them buried is just asking for trouble. Let’s get to it.

Prost takes command of a few villagers, and I choose more people who either volunteer or who I know have good Skills for the job. No one complains. Everyone’s so full of this—this can-do attitude it almost makes my heart hurt.

Here they are, days after an avalanche that killed their family and friends, and they’re putting their lives back together. Without a word of complaint. Helping one another, sharing all they have. All they needed was a little nudge to do it.

“But it isn’t good enough.”

I mutter the words quietly as I sit in Prost’s house, repurposed to act as a central hub I can work in.

“What’s that, sir?”

I shake my head at Gamel as he leans forwards to pay closer attention. It’s nothing.

Liar. I know what the problem is, and I know I have to address it soon. Today. The villagers are working hard, I know that. They’ve excavated their village, repaired damage, worked together, buried the dead. They’ve performed a small miracle, but—

“But we don’t have enough food to last the winter. Nor are we ready for a monster attack.”

That’s the situation I lay out in front of Prost and the other older villagers later that day. I hear them talking amongst themselves, but they go quiet when I continue.

“We’ve got stores of food of course—plenty, in fact. And the harsh truth of it is that we’re benefited by having fewer mouths to feed. But—even so. We lost all the animals, and a number of cellars where the snow and ice smashed everything to bits. And there are other villages that were hit too—what if relatives come? People seeking aid, who weren’t as fortunate as us? What if there are more mouths to feed? And while we’re struggling to make ends meet, monsters could attack us at any time.”

I’ve never encountered a monster, but Durene and the others have told me stories, and they’re horrific. Monsters, especially smart ones like Goblins, love to attack when people are at their weakest. I’m sure Riverfarm is a lovely target for them, and the other villagers know I’m right.

“What should we do then, Mister Laken? Do you have a plan?”

That’s Prost’s voice again. He seems to speak for a lot of the villagers. I nod at him, trying to project confidence so he won’t be worried. Odd. A few days ago he was trying to tell me what to do. Now—

“I do. If we don’t have enough food here, and we need help, we might as well just buy it.”

“Buy it? You mean—from a city?”

Consternation fills the room. I wait for them to quiet, and then ask for opinions. Again, Prost is first up to bat.

“Pardon me, Mister Laken, but I’m afraid our village doesn’t have the coin to buy enough food—let alone hire adventurers to guard us. We never did. We could buy enough food for a few weeks maybe, or hire a few bronze-rank adventurers for the same amount of time if we pool our coin, but…”

He trails off helplessly. The other villagers mutter their agreement. It’s so—interesting. None of them want to tell me I’m wrong, even when they are telling me just that. It’s like they want to be proven wrong, to know I’ve always got something up my sleeve.

That’s unhealthy. I need to get them to stop thinking like that. Even if…they’re right in this case.

I clear my throat.

“Money will not be an issue, ladies and gentlemen. I happen to have quite enough coin to pay for whatever Riverfarm needs.”

“You do?”

I nod at Mister Prost.

“Remember the gold coin I traded you, Mister Prost? I have hundreds more like it.”

Is it risky telling a bunch of desperate villagers I’m rich? Maybe. And some would say that’s especially true since I’m blind. But I have a good read on these people. They’re honest, hardworking, loyal—even if they are a bit racist. And they look up to me.

My faith in them is not misplaced. If anything, I underestimate their spirit. After the shocked exclamations die down, one of the other villagers, a woman named Teriane, speaks up.

“Mister Laken, we can’t hardly have you paying for all of us! We’d never be able to repay you!”

The others mutter sadly in agreement. I just shake my head.

“Nonsense. No one needs to pay me back anything. I’m your [Emperor], so it’s only natural that I’d take care of my citizens.”

Also, I got the money practically for free. But when the villagers hear this, they’re moved to tears. Literally, in some cases. I feel bad—but I feel worse when they begin to cheer.

“Emperor Laken!”

“Long live Emperor Laken!”

“Emperor!”

Oh god. This is too much for me. Eventually I get them all to sit down and shut up, and I keep going with my plan.

“Okay, money isn’t an issue, but what is important is getting to a proper place to spend all of what I have. To that end…I’m going to Invrisil.”

“What?”

“It’s the only way!”

I talk over their exclamations. I explain as best I can.

“I’ll take Durene—and Frostwing too, I suppose. The three of us can move quickly, and go to the Adventurer’s Guild and marketplace to buy all we need.”

“But sir—you can’t! It’s too dangerous for you and—and especially Durene!”

Prost is the first to speak up. I can tell he’s agitated, and I understand why.

Durene. She’s always wanted to go to a city, and always been too scared of what treatment she might receive. But this—

“Durene is the only person who can guide me properly. I trust her, and she’s strong.”

“Then why not let one of us go instead?”

“Do you really think you’d be safe, Mister Prost? Even if I sent ten people—what if you were attacked by bandits? Or if someone tried to mug you for the gold?”

They can’t reply to that. I nod seriously.

“I’ve been thinking this over. Durene might stand out, but she’s stronger than any thug, and I…I’m an [Emperor]. We’d stand more of a chance, and besides, who would try robbing a blind man and a half-Troll?”

Well, more people would try to rob me than Durene. But the villagers still don’t like the idea.

“What will happen when you’re gone, though? Emperor, sir, we need you!”

“You don’t need me.”

I scowl as I override their objections.

“No, be quiet! You don’t need me. You did perfectly well when I wasn’t here, and I’ll only be gone a few days at the most. And when I return, I’ll have everything we need.”

“But—”

I can hear part of their fear unspoken in their voices. It’s not just the dangers they worry about. It’s that I might abandon them. I mean, it’s not as if I didn’t think of it. What’s stopping me and Durene from just leaving Riverfarm to their fate?

My duty as an [Emperor], that’s what. And if not that, my soul.

“Mister Prost.”

I walk up to the man, and take him by the arm. He starts at my touch, but I look at him. My eyes are closed obviously, but this is as close as I can get to what it would be like if I could see.

“Mister Prost. I will come back. Riverfarm is my home, now. This is my empire. I will return. You have my word as an [Emperor] on it.”

I don’t know what Prost sees in my closed eyelids, but whatever I say, it works. In a moment he changes from arguing against me to arguing for me.

“Trust in Emperor Laken you lot! No—quiet Melpin! You don’t know what you’re talking about. If Emperor Laken say he’ll do it—he’ll do it!”

And that settles that. Oh, of course I had to reassure people and tell the others what was going to happen, but once I got the ball rolling, it couldn’t be stopped.

Not that there weren’t a few alterations, mind. In the end it was decided that we’d take a wagon. Durene would be able to pull me, Frostwing, and the gold and some travel supplies along. I objected of course, but Durene was the one who argued against me the most here.

“I can pull you all, Laken! Honest!”

Against my better judgment, I agreed to it, especially, as it turned out, because we’d be getting company. Gamel was chosen to accompany us—as a sort of helper to Durene and someone who could talk to guards and whatnot.

It made sense, and I couldn’t get the villagers to budge, so I let it all pass. That’s how we found ourselves getting ready long into the night, and I drew up some plans for the villagers to follow while we were gone.

Day 46

“The cart is loaded?”

“Yes sir!”

“Frostwing’s secure in her nest?”

I hear her shrill cry and nod.

“Durene? Are you sure about this?”

“Positive! Look, I can pull this so easily!”

Durene demonstrates and I wobbled and nearly lose my balance standing on the wagon.

“Oh! Sorry Laken!”

“Nevermind that. Okay, it’s time!”

I turn and wave to the villagers. They cheer and call out my name. Durene pulls the wagon, Gamel shouts and hollers back at his sweetheart, and we set out down the snow-covered road. The villagers worked all night to clear it so we can travel on and the ride isn’t nearly as bumpy as I thought it would be.

I sit back down in the wagon and feel the comfy, warm blankets around me. The villagers really spared no expense giving me the luxury accommodations.

“Durene, just let me know when you get tired. If you can’t pull us all the way, I’m more than happy to get out and walk.”

“I’m fine, Laken! I could even pull Gamel!”

“That’s fine Durene. I like walking. I could—help pull if you need it.”

“No, I got it!”

We move onwards. I feel the fresh morning air in my face and sigh.

“This is so weird.”

“Isn’t it exciting?”

Durene’s voice is filled with delight and apprehension in equal measures. I can just tell she’s twisting in place as she walks to stare up at me.

“I’m so nervous, Laken! We’re going to a city! Not just a city, the city! The City of Adventurers!”

“I’ve never been there myself. Is it amazing?”

“Yes!”

Both Durene and Gamel chorus at the same time. I grin.

“But neither of you have been there before, have you?”

Practically none of the villagers have. Invrisil is a huge city, and the people of Riverfarm trade with the local town rather than go all the way there. But the city is the dream of all young folk.

Including me, I guess.

“Laken?”

“Yes, Durene?”

I can hear the worry in her voice as she pauses before speaking.

“Do you really think it’ll be alright? I mean…for me?”

I take a while before I reply. That was my worry too. But…

“It’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“There might be some people who just look at you and judge you from first glance, but if there are, I’ll deal with them. I am an [Emperor], after all. And you are my lovely subject.”

“That makes me relieved. I mean, I’m just so nervous! We have a fortune in the wagon! What if someone finds out?”

Durene says it again, but I can tell she’s feeling better. I tease her as we go up a small slope that apparently leads out of the village.

“How will anyone find out? Unless you shout it to them, that is.”

“I’m just saying! There could be bandits, or monsters—”

“You’ll just have to defend me, then.”

“Me!?”

“Of course you! You’re my [Paladin], after all, aren’t you?”

“I guess…”

“Oh come now. Don’t worry, Durene! What’s the worst that could go wrong?”

Frostwing squawks in my ear, and Durene giggles. I sit back as Gamel starts talking about being an adventurer and maybe even going to Wistram, and Durene excitedly asks him what magic he’d study, and turn my face up to the sky.

I can’t tell whether it’s cloudy or clear skies above me. And maybe that’s a good thing, because I can always imagine that there’s a blue, clear sky overhead and the sun is shining bright. I’ve never seen blue, but I imagine it’s the color of adventure, of a new day.

Of hope.

Of course, I’ve always thought green was a rather hopeful color as well. But who ever heard of a green sky? Ah well, it’s all the same to me.

The wagon rumbles on as I, Laken Godart, [Emperor], prepare to go to Invrisil, the City of Adventurers to save my poor village from starvation and monsters. I lie back, breath in. And at last—

I begin to explore this vast world.

3.15

Erin Solstice carefully flipped a fish on the frying pan she was holding over the fire. She watched the one golden-brown side of the fish turn over and land neatly on the oily surface of the pan. Instantly, the uncooked side began to sizzle.

“Mm. Fish.”

That was all she said for a while. There was nothing else that needed to be said. She just inhaled and smelled the fillet as it cooked. When it was done, she had a plate ready. She slid the still-juicy, crispy-golden fillet off the pan and looked at it.

It was a bit of perfection, at least for her. Back home, she’d never made anything nearly as good as this, not even close. The old Erin wouldn’t even have known where to begin, let alone mix up the batter that gave the fish such a nice, spicy taste.

And indeed, this fillet could have probably won her an award if she’d entered it in a local cooking competition. Erin knew it certainly could have gotten her a job at a local restaurant.

And it was all because she had a Skill. Erin stared at the fillet as it gently steamed on her pan. It really was a wonderful bit of food she’d created.

But.

Erin turned with the plate in her hands, and then dumped the fillet she’d just fried to perfection onto a cutting board. She diced the fillet in a few seconds with a cooking knife, and then shoved the remains into another pot.

This pot contained soup. To be more accurate, it contained blue soup, thick as molasses, with bits of green and some kind of yellow substance that looked like mutated pond scum bubbling to the surface. Erin mixed in what had been the wonderful fillet and sighed.

“It looks awful. But I think it will work.”

Compared to the fillet the soup looked about as appetizing as dirt. Undeterred, Erin poured some into a wooden bowl. Carefully, she took it out of the small kitchen and into the shop. There she stopped and called out.

“Octavia? I’ve got more soup for you to try!”

No one replied to her voice. Erin frowned and looked around. Octavia’s small shop, Stitchworks, was fairly big, but it felt cramped because of all the shelves full of potions and alchemy reagents stockpiled everywhere. Thus, she quickly found the dark-skinned girl with braids hiding under one of the tables.

“There you are! Come out and try the soup!”

“I’m not going to. You can’t make me!”

Octavia refused to budge, even when Erin put down the bowl of soup and poked her a few times in the side.

“Come on out. I promise it’s not going to be that bad this time.”

“I don’t want to. You eat it!”

Erin put her hands on her hips and sighed.

“You’re the one with all the Skills that prevent you from being poisoned or dying, remember? And I don’t have a detachable stomach.”

“Just because I can eat it, doesn’t mean it tastes good! And I still feel the effects of what I eat! I was squatting over the toilet for hours after that last soup you made!”

“Aw, come on. You weren’t there that long…this time will be different, I promise! I didn’t add anything dangerous to the food this time.”

“No! Eat it yourself if you’re so confident!”

The girl hesitated, and stared at the bowl of soup on the table. It was probably safe. Her [Dangersense] wasn’t going off, at any rate. But she didn’t want to taste it, even so.

“Octavia…”

“No!”

“I’ll pay you.”

There was silence. Octavia slowly poked her head out from underneath the table.

“How much?”

“Four silver coins?”

“Hah!”

The head withdrew. Erin thought quickly.

“Fine! Two gold coins! If it makes you sick or does anything bad to you. Deal?”

“Deal!”

Octavia was out from underneath the table in a second. Erin sighed, but there was something gratifying about how easy it was to just pay Octavia to do things. The Stitch Girl had a refreshingly simple way of looking at the world. If it was profitable, it was probably worth doing.

Even if the it in question involved eating another one of Erin’s soups. But then, Ryoka had paid Octavia quite handsomely to help Erin, so in that sense, Octavia was actually earning more for just doing her job.

Then again, even Erin had to admit she’d been feeding Octavia a lot of horrible stuff over the last few days. She would have actually volunteered to eat some of it herself, but without Octavia’s Skills that helped protect her against acid, burns, poisoning, and other nasty effects, the [Alchemist] would have been dead from eating some of what Erin had cooked up.

Instead, she’d just gotten horribly, sometimes violently, ill. Which explained her reluctance to sample any more of Erin’s experiments. However, Octavia loved gold even more than her health, so she didn’t look that put out as she stretched and looked at Erin.

“Alright. What horror am I supposed to be eating this time?”

Erin beamed as she showed Octavia the bowl. To her credit, the Stitch Girl didn’t even blink at the appearance of the soup. She sniffed at it cautiously as the human girl explained.

“It’s a variant of the last stew I made. This time I think it’s all mixed correctly.”

“Hmf.”

Octavia sniffed disparagingly; her nature as an [Alchemist] made her look down on all of what she called Erin’s ‘abominations of cooking and magic’.

“You found a way to stop the Stonelizard scales from mixing with the lemon juice and melting?”

Erin hesitated.

“I…think so. I kept the heat low and made sure to add a lot of mint. The soup hasn’t melted through the bottom of the bowl, so it probably worked.”

Octavia sighed. But she obediently picked up a spoon and gingerly spooned some of the blue glop into her mouth. She chewed a bit and swallowed as Erin held her breath—then Octavia made a face.

“It’s all mushy!”

“Eat!”

The girl did so, albeit reluctantly. Erin stared at the stitching around Octavia’s neck as the Stitch Girl slowly consumed the bowl of soup. It still seemed weird to her that Octavia was actually just cloth held together by string. Shouldn’t some of the soup leak out around the stitches, no matter how tightly it was sewn? But apparently, once Octavia’s cloth parts were connected, they acted like real flesh and blood.

The sound of the spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl made Erin look at Octavia sharply. The [Alchemist] sighed in relief as she put the spoon down and looked up at Erin.

“…Huh. It tasted pretty foul. Way too minty, and was that fish in there?”

Erin nodded, smiling.

“The pan frying and batter did the trick. The fish helped warm the soup without making it burn like last time.”

“Smart, I guess.”

Octavia looked grudgingly impressed. One of the biggest challenges Erin had had to overcome was the issue of heat. Octavia could regulate the temperature of her potions with ice and flame, but Erin had less options when it came to cooking. Just making the soup bubble in some cases could lead to dramatic—and dangerous—reactions.

“I think it might have worked.”

The [Alchemist] said this after a few minutes. She prodded at her stomach. Erin felt surprised, and immediately happy.

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty much. One of my Skills would have kicked in by now and I’d definitely be feeling the effects if anything harmful was in the soup. The only thing to test now is whether the effects were reproduced.”

“Oh. How are you going to test it? I could hit you—”

“No, thank you. I’ll use a pin instead.”

So saying, Octavia went up to her counter and rummaged around below it. She came up with a small box of pins, some scissors, and quite a few spools of thread. Erin guessed that was the equivalent of a first aid kit for Octavia.

“Alright, here goes.”

Octavia pulled out a rather long and sharp pin out of the box and extended her arm. Erin expected her to lightly poke at her flesh, so she was shocked when Octavia took the pin and pressed it straight into the center of her arm.

“Oh! Ow!”

“Hrgh.”

It looked as bad as it must have felt. The innkeeper winced as Octavia pushed the pin into her skin with all her strength, grimacing with pain as she did. Erin held her breath—it was almost hard to watch, but she had to know if the soup had worked.

“Well, would you look at that?”

Octavia’s grimaced expression changed to one of amazement. The Stitch Girl held up the pin, and Erin felt a jolt of elation in her stomach as she saw the pin was bent.

“It worked!”

“It did.”

Erin threw up her hands and shouted in delight. Octavia just stared down at the pin, blinking as if she couldn’t believe it. Once Erin had calmed down—she couldn’t really run around waving her arms in the shop without knocking over something delicate—she and Octavia sat together and discussed Erin’s latest creation.

“It really works, doesn’t it! Your skin is tougher—although it still hurt when you poked yourself with the pin, didn’t it?”

“A bit. I was more ready for the pain than anything else.”

Octavia studied the pot of blue sludge and Erin’s scrawled notes, shaking her head.

“This is—insane. It’s definitely a magical effect like you’d get from a potion, but how are you coming up with this stuff? First the strength stew and the Corusdeer soup that warms you up—now this?”

Erin beamed as she circled the particular combination of ingredients that had worked on the grubby piece of parchment.

“I’m on a roll. And you said it couldn’t be done!”

“I was wrong, clearly. That’s my mistake. Why does everything have to be a soup, though?”

Erin shrugged.

“Soup is easiest. I’ve tried batters, but I need to get all the ingredients right before I can use them. Now that I know the ingredients for this soup for instance—I could probably make a stir-fry or something out of it!”

“Huh.”

Octavia fell silent, drumming her fingers on the kitchen counter. Erin stopped and stared at the other girl.

It had been nearly a full day since Ryoka had run out of the city. It had been even longer since Erin had come to Celum—nearly a full week, in fact. And all that time she’d been splitting her time between Miss Agnes’ inn, the Frenzied Hare, and Octavia’s shop, Stitchworks. As a result, Erin was not only financially sound for the moment—Agnes had told her she was earning more in a week than she and her husband normally did in a month—but she’d managed to come up with some amazing new discoveries in Octavia’s shop!

Erin had been trying to cook with alchemical ingredients to create foods just as amazing as the soup she’d come up with that Ryoka kept using. And she’d made progress. Amazing progress, even Octavia had agreed. It was just that…

Some of Erin’s elation faded away as she stared at the soup in the pot. It had taken her nearly a hundred tries to mix this up, costing countless gold coins’ worth of ingredients. That wasn’t the issue, though.

Octavia didn’t seem to notice Erin’s feelings. She idly poked the pin into her hand as she stared at the soup.

“You know, if you want to try making the soup into an actual dish I wouldn’t mind trying it again.”

“Maybe later. I want to try and finish the other dishes, though.”

“More?”

The Stitch Girl frowned at Erin.

“How many more times are you going to come over and take over my shop? I do need to make potions myself, you know.”

Erin nodded absently.

“Yeah, but Ryoka bought out your time.”

“She did, but…”

Octavia waved her hands in the air, trying to express her displeasure.

“It’s been—how long? Nearly a week?”

“Something like that.”

Erin helped herself to her own bowl of soup now that she knew it probably wouldn’t kill her. She made a face as she tasted the horrible dish she’d made—the mint really was too powerful, but it was sour as well! She’d have to find some other way to combine all the ingredients—blend the mint into the fillet batter and keep the lemon juice out of it until the very end, or something.

But the dish was edible. Octavia shook her head as she stared at the small pot of soup Erin had brewed up.

“How am I supposed to deal with this? You’ve just created—what? A Thickskin potion? But you’ve used way less reagents than I usually do.”

“Mhm.”

Octavia glared at Erin, incensed by the bland response.

“Don’t you know how incredible that is? If you could do that with every potion I’ve made—just think of the savings! This is amazing! Revolutionary!”

“Yup. This really tastes bad.”

Erin made a face and Octavia made a sound of disgust.

“Well, I’ll admit that you have some skill at this. But—and I’m asking again—how many more times are you going to use my kitchen and store?”

“Ten thousand times.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ten thousand times. That’s how many times I’m going to cook. If I can, that is.”

Erin suddenly felt very tired as she turned to Octavia. The dark-skinned girl’s mouth was open in shock, but her eyes were flittering left to right in sudden calculation.

“If you did that, I’d have to at least charge you—”

“I’m not being serious! Jeez!”

The Human girl scowled at Octavia. Octavia scowled back.

“You could have fooled me! I’m just giving you a price quote. Why ten thousand times, anyways?”

Erin sighed. But she felt like explaining, so she took a seat and spoke to Octavia between spoonfuls of the horrid soup.

“Back where I come from—there’s this guy who said that the best way to get good at something was to do it ten thousand times. Or something like that.”

Wasn’t it ten thousand hours spent practicing? Erin couldn’t actually remember that well.

“Anyways, the idea is that if you want to learn how to do something well—really well, I mean, you have to practice that much. You can be as talented as you want, but in the end you still need to practice.”

“Oh. So that’s why you’re trying to make all this stuff?”

“Sort of.”

Erin nodded, stretching her neck out a bit and wincing at the cracks. How long had she been cooking today? Already three hours, probably.

“I have a Skill—[Advanced Cooking]. It lets me cook really well without practice. But lots of people have that Skill. I’m an [Innkeeper], but there are a lot of people with higher levels than me, I bet. They have better inns, more Skills…I want to match them, somehow. So I decided to try to learn something new—even if this is boring.”

“Boring?”

“Boring. I think making all this alchemical stuff is boring. I know you don’t—”

Octavia’s outraged glare was proof enough of her feelings. Erin just shook her head tiredly.

“—But I don’t like wasting food, and making all this complex stuff. But it’s all that I can do.”

The other girl paused before she could give Erin a tongue-lashing.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not like Ryoka. She can run around and do cool things—she’s even got Ivolethe as a friend.”

“Who?”

Erin ignored the question. She stared at the mostly empty bowl of soup and took another bite. It tasted awful. But it was magic.

“I can’t be a hero. I don’t like fighting, and I’m scared of getting eaten. Or stabbed. Or stabbed and eaten. All I can do is try and make my inn better. And if I had something magical to sell to my guests—no one would be able to copy that. That would make my inn unique. That’s why I’m doing all this.”

Even if it was hard. Even if it was exhausting. This was her big chance; Erin knew that. She raised her head and saw Octavia’s face. The girl didn’t look irate like she normally did around Erin. Instead, she looked impressed.

“That’s actually quite thoughtful for you.”

“Surprising, right?”

Octavia had to grin. Her teeth flashed in her dimly lit shop. Then she looked back at the bowl in Erin’s hands and her eyes narrowed in a calculating look that made Erin groan internally.

“You know—not that I’m trying to renegotiate the deal Ryoka made with me or anything—but you have benefited a lot from the recipes I’ve come up with. If you’d consider selling me them, I’d cut you in on a deal. In fact, why not let me sell them to other inns and taverns? Why, you’d earn a lot more if everyone was making this stuff and not just you. I’d only ask for a small commission on each sale—and I’m sure that the profits alone would—”

“It’s not going to work, Octavia.”

“You don’t know that! If you’d just listen to the rest of my idea—”

Erin shook her head, cutting the other girl off. She handed the recipe of the soup she’d just made to Octavia.

“Try making it yourself.”

The [Alchemist] was surprised, but she wasn’t one to turn down an opportunity to make something useful—and, Erin suspected, memorize the recipe. But although Octavia eagerly piled the ingredients into another pot and followed all of Erin’s instructions to the letter, her hands quickly slowed down as she frowned at the floating objects in the water of the pot.

“What’s happening? It—it’s not even reacting. It’s just sitting there. Like…”

“Like nothing is happening?”

Erin nodded and took the spoon from Octavia. As she began to stir, the soup began to change. Octavia’s eyes widened as she stared at the way the individual ingredients suddenly began to dissolve, mixing together.

“How are you doing that? A Skill?”

“Yup. It’s my Skill. Without it, no one else can make this stuff.”

Erin watched as the mixture slowly thickened, and continued following her instructions, although she knew how to make the soup by heart. She explained to Octavia as she reached for a glass of lemon juice she’d painstakingly squeezed earlier.

“I tried to show Agnes how to make the Corusdeer soup. She couldn’t do it, even when she copied me exactly.”

“What skill do you have? [Magical Cooking]? I know it can create magical dishes but this—this is different.”

“[Wondrous Fare]. That’s what I have.”

Erin didn’t tell Octavia how she’d gotten it, but she explained how she could make the faerie flower drink. True, alchemy ingredients weren’t the same as hallucinogenic faerie flowers, but Erin thought what she was doing still made sense. Octavia nodded, finger on her lips as she thought out loud.

“You’re probably bypassing one of the natural steps in the creation process. Perhaps you’re skipping the need for a particular reagent? There are some high-level [Alchemist] skills that can do the same. Some really save on costs since you can practically create lesser healing potions for free by skipping on the need to mix up the proper base first—”

She broke off, shrugging.

“It doesn’t really matter. But there goes my idea of marketing this stuff and making a fortune. Only you can make it, after all.”

Erin nodded, smiling a bit. But the smile slipped.

“It’s good. I’ve finally got something only I can make, and it’s useful. It’s just—I wish it wasn’t so boring, you know?”

“Boring.”

“Boring. Even though I worked this hard—there’s still so much more to do, Octavia.”

Erin stretched out on her seat, feeling her tendons snapping as she tried to shake off some of the tiredness that felt like it was in her bones.

“I’m just so—tired thinking about it. I’ll get back to my inn, and then I’ll start selling this stuff. But even though I’ll probably get more customers, I still need a new helper, to build up my inn, buy some magical runes—there’s just so much to do and I can only take one small step at a time. It’s exhausting.”

“So what? ”

Octavia just looked blank. Erin glared at her.

“Don’t you wish you could be more like Ryoka? She doesn’t have to do stuff like this. She just—runs. She can do amazing stuff. I wish I could do something cool so quickly.”

Erin sighed. She didn’t like fighting or anything like that. She wasn’t as athletic as Ryoka was. She knew that. It was just that this was—well, it had been fun. But now she was just tired.

But Octavia just snorted in derision.

“Only adventurers and crazy people like Ryoka can become rich and famous quickly. Everyone else just has to work hard and gain as many levels at they can. I’m going to save every coin I can, level up and learn as many recipes as possible so I can expand my stores, make better potions, and do more business until I’m the highest-level [Alchemist] on the continent.”

She gestured around her small shop.

“I might not reach my dream for years, but it’s a lot safer than swinging a sword around. Well, safer when you’re not around, that is.”

“But that’s…”

She realized she didn’t really have anything to say against that. Erin let her voice trail off unhappily.

What Octavia was saying was right. She was taking the smart option. Even if being an [Alchemist] was slightly dangerous, it was nothing like being an adventurer. It was just so boring to think of, though. But part of Erin thought that was just what being an adult was like. It was thinking about the big picture. She knew that.

So then why did hearing it all laid out like that make her so depressed? Erin didn’t know, but she did come to one conclusion which made her sit up in her seat.

“I’m done cooking for the day.”

Both she and Octavia brightened up when she said it. Erin was fed up with making useless soup, and Octavia was tired of eating it.

“Good! I’ll just pour your horrible soup into a jar, shall I? I can probably sell it—at a markdown of course…I can give you a good split of the profits if you’d agree to oh, a vendor’s fee of—”

Erin left Stitchworks and Octavia behind mid-sentence, shaking her head. She didn’t mind Octavia—well, she did sometimes. But there were just some days when she needed some alone time. Or more precisely, not-Octavia time.

The sky was still gray and the streets were still snowy when Erin left the shop. She walked carefully so as not to slip as she wandered down the busy streets. Celum was always bustling, even if it was a smallish city. Erin walked past countless faces who didn’t seem that different from hers—Humans, going about their daily lives who didn’t give her a second glance.

That was reassuring, but also disheartening for some reason. Erin missed Liscor. She missed seeing Drakes and Gnolls, fantastic creatures going about their everyday lives. Celum was nice because it was reassuring, but it was also boring for the same reason.

Boring. That seemed to be the word of the day, didn’t it? Even though Erin had come up with an amazing discovery—she still felt the word in her soul.

Bored. She wanted to do something exciting. No—not just that. She wanted to be with someone exciting. She missed Ryoka already. And not just Ryoka. She missed all of her friends.

They were back in Liscor. And Erin was far from there. She kicked miserably at a patch of snow and then looked up. What about the Horns of Hammerad? That nice Runner guy had come by yesterday and told her Ryoka was going to see them. They were close by!

But just as she had that idea, Erin’s face fell. She could go meet them—Erin knew they were still probably in Ocre—but going there would be dangerous, wouldn’t it? Everyone was still talking about the Goblin attacks and besides, Ceria and the others would probably come here instead, if Ryoka had told them where Erin was.

All she had to do was wait. And practice her alchemical cooking while she still had time. Erin knew that.

But…she didn’t want to.

The sky was grey. The people wore thick clothing and walked briskly to get about their business as quickly as possible. Few people stopped to chat in the cold weather, and no one talked to Erin. She walked alone, staring at the city and feeling that this was all wrong.

This world was missing something.

Fun.

Octavia had said it: the people in this world didn’t really have much fun, did they? Back home, well, Erin knew there were crummy office jobs or backbreaking jobs with bad pay all over the place. But at least people could go back home and drive to a pool, or watch videos on the computer, or play videogames or—or do things.

But here? What did the people here have to do in their spare time? As far as Erin could tell, they just kept working. They worked hard to earn more levels, or to be rich, or to enjoy themselves. But that was always for ‘later’, never now.

There was just something so wrong about this idea that Erin couldn’t stand it. How could anyone live like this? Was this really what life had been like back in her world, back before the modern era?

What did people do for fun back in the Middle Ages? Erin couldn’t remember. Go to festivals? See jugglers and performers? Get drunk?

This wasn’t the Middle Ages of course—there was a lot more handy technology, not to mention magic. But magic seemed so far away in day-to-day life, even in Octavia’s shop. Oh, there were [Mages] around who cast spells like [Message] all day, but that wasn’t real magic. That was just more work.

If she’d been back home, what would Erin be doing right now? Thinking about college, or being in college no doubt. But if she’d just been back at home, she would have been practicing chess, debating calling one of her friends, watching a Youtube video, talking with her pare—

Nope! Can’t do that! Erin stopped in the street and slapped her cheeks hard enough for them to sting. She couldn’t think about home or friends or fa—

She couldn’t think about it. She’d done well so far, but being in a city full of Humans was making her nostalgic. And Erin didn’t need nostalgia right now. She needed…

“A distraction.”

So saying, Erin set off walking in a specific direction. She wasn’t far from where she wanted to go, so in a few minutes she was pushing open the door to the Frenzied Hare.

“Miss Erin!”

A welcoming voice instantly called out her name. Erin turned, smiling, to see Miss Agnes bustle up to her, all cheer and good humor.

“Why Erin, it’s a surprise to see you this early! Are you already done with your business at the [Alchemist]’s? Or—don’t tell me, Miss Octavia’s concocted some nasty brew that’s set her store on fire again?”

“Nothing like that Miss Agnes. I just finished up early. How’s Mister Jerom doing?”

Erin smiled at the older woman as she took a seat at the table. While it was true she was sort of the new boss around here—at least when it came to cooking—Miss Agnes was the one always running the inn, and Erin was gone outside of breakfast and dinner most days.

Miss Agnes smiled at Erin as she always did when Erin asked about her sick husband. Ryoka never asked, even though Erin kept reminding her to. Although…Erin wasn’t sure Ryoka even remembered Mister Jerom’s name, or Agnes’ some days.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected. Still feverish and he sleeps too much, but I’m hopeful the new alchemist’s potion we bought will sort him out. We have you to thank for that of course—we’d never have been able to spare the coin if you hadn’t come by.”

“Oh, it’s—I’m really glad I could help.”

Erin smiled and waved her hand. Agnes smiled at her, and then glanced at the kitchen.

“You know, if you’re done with work, I’m sure the morning crowd would love to sample your cooking—”

There it was again. Erin’s smile twisted a bit on her face. It was always work, work, work. Even here.

Agnes saw Erin’s expression and hurried to reassure her.

“We don’t have that many guests, and I’m sure if you’re not feeling up to it—”

“I’m just a bit tired today. Um, I was wondering if I could have some eggs?”

“Of course! Why, you must be tired—Maran! Some eggs for Miss Erin please!”

The [Barmaid] glanced up from one of the tables and waved at Erin in acknowledgement. Soon, she was back with the eggs, and she and Agnes sat with Erin and talked. The inn wasn’t at all crowded and Safry was cooking whatever was needed in the kitchen while she served the tables as well.

Erin chewed the decent eggs with a bit of pepper and salt added for flavoring and chatted with Maran and Agnes. They didn’t have much to say, to be honest. Business was good—but Erin knew that. Maran was dating another guy, a young [Cook] whom Agnes wanted to lure to the inn, but Maran wasn’t even sure if they were serious about each other—soon enough, Erin felt compelled to bring up the issue on her mind.

“Hey, I’ve been wondering…what do you guys do for fun?”

The two women exchanged a surprised glance.

“Well, what do you mean, Erin? If you’re asking about fun things to do on a date—Maran would know more about that.”

Erin shook her head.

“Not like that. I mean—what do you do for fun, when you have time, I mean? Read books?”

Agnes chuckled.

“Free time? There’s precious little of that here. And books? I’m sure Jerom and I don’t have the coin for that, even if I wanted to spend hours reading. No, that gives me a headache.”

“Then what do you do?”

Maran smiled.

“The other day I went shopping and bought a pair of earrings. The gemstones are just quartz—but they’re so beautiful and they sparkle in the light! I’ll show you tomorrow.”

“Okay. But…did you do anything else?”

The young woman blinked.

“Anything else? I didn’t have time to do anything else.”

“Oh. Well…what else do you do for fun?”

Maran and Agnes looked confused, but they told Erin what they did when they had a day off for whatever reason.

“I have been known to have a pint or two when the dinner rush is slow—usually with Jerom—”

“I’ll dance in any tavern, that is, if I haven’t been on my feet all day—”

“There’s a [Shepherd] who plays beautifully on a flute. He goes to other inns sometimes and plays—I wish I could have him here so we could listen to the music—”

Dance, drink, gamble, listen to music—Erin listened to the short list and felt the small hole in her heart grow wider. It wasn’t that any of it was bad, but it wasn’t interesting either. Her ears did perk up when she heard Maran mention a familiar word, though.

“Oh? You have holidays here too?”

“Of course! We have a few every year, and everyone looks forward to them.”

Apparently, even Agnes would close up her inn most of the day on such occasions. The entire city would celebrate special days in the year, a lot of them right around the time holidays were observed in Erin’s world.

“The real fun is during one of the festivals. There’s candied apples, games to play, entertainments bought by the city, and so much to do! The Winter Solstice is coming up—there’s always a good time to be had then.”

“And it’s such a romantic time as well.”

Maran sighed wistfully, and Erin suspected a certain [Cook] had been chosen to share that special day with. Agnes smiled mischievously.

“Of course, there’s another way some folks entertain themselves each night—”

“Miss Agnes!”

The [Barmaid] raised her voice in shocked outrage, and Agnes laughed. Both women looked at Erin—she looked just as unimpressed.

“Oh. Right.”

That’s it? Of course, Erin got the attraction, but besides festivals, was there really nothing else to do? Flummoxed by Erin’s indifference, Agnes and Maran tried to come up with other things that were fun to do.

“There’s always a good time when a [Troubadour], [Bard], [Tumbler], or some other person with a class like that visits. I always try and go see them if I have the time.”

“They wander from city to city?”

It made sense, but that was just as…well, at least they were some fun people who visited now and then. But still. It seemed like people in Celum just waited a long time for fun to occur. Erin sighed, even more melancholy than before.

Agnes looked a bit worried that Erin was so down.

“Are you well, Erin dear? Would you like to have a rest, maybe?”

“Nah. I’m not tired.”

Erin pushed her empty plate back and stood up. If there was no fun to be had here, at least she could see if…

“I’m going to go see Fuzzylips. I mean…yeah, him.”

“Who? Oh, you mean Wesle? You go visit him practically every day. Has he caught your eye?”

Maran and Agnes smiled knowingly at Erin. Erin gave them a blank look.

“Not really. I just want to know if he’s found my skeleton yet.”

“Your what?”

----

“Hey Wesle.”

The [Guardsman] had been napping, or maybe just resting his eyes, but he sat up in his wooden chair and looked attentive the moment he heard his name. He relaxed when he realized his superior wasn’t calling his name—and then he straightened up in his chair again when he realized Erin was standing in front of him.

“Oh, Miss Solstice! I didn’t realize—um, let me—would you like a seat?”

Fumbling at his words, blushing, Wesle stood up and offered Erin the only seat in the room. His. Erin just laughed at him until they left the small room which was meant for—well, probably napping [Guardsman]—and talked.

“I didn’t expect you to be here so soon. Ah, what can I do for you, Miss Erin?”

“Any news about Toren?”

Wesle was ready for the question, because Erin asked it every day. He shook his head ruefully.

“You mean the skeleton? No, Miss Erin. I haven’t heard any of the cities reporting any sighting of the undead—and I did send out a request asking if any reports had been logged with the Adventurer’s Guilds as well.”

“Oh.”

Erin knew that was the response she’d likely get, but she sagged anyways. No one had seen Toren. Selys would have messaged her if he’d appeared around Liscor, but he hadn’t gone back there. And no one had mentioned seeing a walking skeleton around the cities either—it was like he’d disappeared.

Where was Toren now? And when she finally found him…would Erin really have to do what she was thinking? Maybe Pisces could help. But he wasn’t here yet.

Awkwardly, Wesle patted Erin on the shoulder. She smiled at him.

“That’s too bad. Thanks for looking, though.”

Wesle hesitated.

“Are you sure you won’t sit? You seem less spirited than usual, Miss Erin.”

“Really? I’m sorta…tired, I guess. You seem tired too.”

The [Guardsman] hesitated, and then nodded with a grimace.

“It’s Esthelm, Miss. Or rather, after that all the [Guardsmen] in every city are working around the clock.”

“In case the Goblins attack?”

“That, and trying to find out when they’ll attack, or at least, where they are.”

Wesle gestured to a large map that had been pinned to a wall of the City Watch barracks. It had a lot of colored pins in it, most of them centered around a red cross over what had been Esthelm. Erin’s stomach twisted a bit just looking at the map.

What about Rags? Another friend she couldn’t do anything for. She let Wesle explain the problem, hoping Rags wasn’t with any of the Goblins he was talking about.

“It’s not like there are Goblins everywhere now, but there are certainly more of them. Just the other day a village near Esthelm – Verdun – reported seeing a group of a hundred or so armed Goblins.”

The man showed Erin a small pin on the map. She stared at it and looked at how close it was to Liscor and Celum. A hundred Goblins? How many did Rags have…?

“These ones aren’t like the normal groups of Goblins. They all have weapons and armor—and they move and fight like they’re actual [Soldiers]. If the village didn’t have walls, I think they’d have been attacked. But the Goblins were moving north, and luckily no one was killed.”

“Are they attacking something?”

“I think it’s a war between Goblin tribes, Miss. It happens. Or—it could be this Goblin Lord we’ve been hearing rumors about.”

Wesle’s face was grim. Erin remembered that Goblin Lords were supposed to be really bad.

“You guys are working hard. Um. Do you work like this every day?”

“Well, most days we just arrest petty criminals and patrol, Miss. Or stand watch at the gate and check travelers coming in, like we did with you. It’s not always this exciting.”

The [Guardsman] gave Erin a faint grin. She nodded.

“And what about fun?”

“Fun, Miss?”

“Yeah. Do you do…anything for fun in your free time?”

“Weeeell…”

Wesle looked uncomfortable. Suddenly encouraged, Erin grinned and nudged him.

“Come on. What do you do? Show me, please? I won’t tell.”

It took a bit of coaxing, but eventually Wesle led Erin behind the barracks and into the practice yard. It was for [Guardsmen] to swing a blade, but the bored men and women of the City Watch had installed an unauthorized addition to the place.

A horseshoe, rusted and battered from use, swung from Wesle’s hand. He tossed it across the snowy and muddy ground and landed it near, but not on, the metal pole that had been hammered into the earth. He offered one to Erin, but she just stared at it. Erin looked at the horseshoe, and then at Wesle’s face.

“And this is what you do for fun?”

“Yeah.”

Erin stared at the horseshoes. She stared at Wesle. Then she reached out and patted him gently on the shoulder.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Er, why?”

He never got an answer. Erin just walked away, shaking her head sadly.

----

Such a boring world. It actually amazed Erin that she could think that. But at times, it was true. Even here, there was boredom. Perhaps more boredom than back home.

Or—maybe it wasn’t the world that was boring, but some of the people living in it. Erin had never felt bored in Liscor, but she’d always had something to do. Here, she was just an observer, watching people live lives that—weren’t that interesting, to be honest.

Wesle was a [Guardsman]. Agnes was an [Innkeeper]. Octavia was an [Alchemist]. That was all they were and would be, and they leveled up and worked and lived, and that was all.

It wasn’t enough for Erin. She needed something else. But she had no idea of where to find it, so Erin just started walking. She walked out of the City Watch’s guardhouse and into the city, looking for something she wasn’t sure existed.

Where should she go? Erin came to a crossroads and turned left for no particular reason. She’d gone walking through the city before of course, but that was always with Ryoka. Today Erin walked down streets Ryoka would never turn.

It wasn’t that her friend was a snob—even though she sort of was. But it was that Ryoka always went from A to Z, and never bothered talking to H or exploring any places in between.

When she was in the city, Ryoka would just go to the marketplace—that was to say, the marketplace where people traded for gold and valuable items. She wouldn’t ever visit the stalls that sold Miss Agnes food, or venture into the poorer parts of the city.

Unless she was on a delivery. But most of Ryoka’s clients were rich, so she never ran down the streets Erin now walked down. The girl saw the way the buildings changed from stone to wood, the way their architecture became simpler, and the rare glass windows disappeared altogether.

And then—Erin was in a different world. She stared around at the faces of people who weren’t rich, or even close to it. She saw thin bodies, clothes that were badly patched or simply holey, and felt something different in her chest besides apathy.

These were poor people. Of course, it shouldn’t surprise Erin. Every world had poor people—people who couldn’t afford to eat. But she’d somehow forgotten that they existed here. Forgotten, because she’d never looked.

A girl passing by Erin looked like she could have used a few more meals. Erin tried not to stare, but she felt a…a kinship with the people who passed her by. She’d been like that, once. She’d had nothing, living in an empty inn that was falling apart.

And of course, there was no fun to be had here. Erin looked around and only saw misery mixed with desperation. Here were people who couldn’t even think about having fun. They lived on the edge.

It made her feel bad about complaining. Erin wavered, turned to go. She couldn’t feed these people, but maybe if she had scraps left over from cooking? But Maran and Safry took those back to their families. No one had too much. But was there something…?

Then Erin saw it. There were shops down this street as well, and the girl she’d passed had gone to one of them, to buy something at the stalls. But while she was waiting in the queue, a small shape moved furtively behind her. Erin recognized the young boy’s face at once. She’d seen him calling out to her when she’d entered the city, all innocence and smiles.

And now…he was picking a pocket. Or rather, cutting a purse. Erin saw him reaching for the young woman’s money pouch hidden just under her tunic and shouted.

“Grev!”

Every head turned, but the boy’s turned fastest. Grev’s eyes widened when he saw Erin, and then his face went dead white with recognition. The girl he’d been trying to rob turned and shrieked in horror when she saw the small knife in his hands, but it fell from nerveless fingers as Grev stared at Erin. Erin took one step towards him, and he ran.

“Oh no you don’t! Get back here!”

She ran after him, dashing past surprised people as Grev screamed and ran for his life. Erin didn’t know what she’d do when she caught him—hadn’t she threatened to shove a bee up his butt? She didn’t have any bees left, but she wasn’t too bothered by that. She was bored, and here was something to do.

Grev ran as if Carn Wolves were on his back, pushing past people, ignoring their curses. Erin ran a bit slower, dodging around people.

“Whoops! Sorry! Excuse me!”

She had Grev in her sights the entire time—until the boy turned down an alley! Erin skidded into it, wary for a second of an ambush, but she saw Grev turning around a corner. He was still running, so Erin gave chase.

Really, she had no idea why she was still running after him, but after five minutes of pursuit giving up was no longer an option. Erin had to catch Grev; it was a matter of pride.

Erin dashed down another poor street, practically unpaved and full of run down houses. Where was she? But there was Grev, trying to open a door!

“Gotcha!”

Before the frantic boy could open the door and get away, Erin seized him by one hand. He shrieked in fear and to Erin’s surprise, raised his other arm as he shrunk to the ground. As if he was afraid she would…hit…him…

She’d just processed that thought when Erin heard a voice.

“Stop, please!”

Someone grabbed her arm. The hand wasn’t big, but the touch was rough and whoever had grabbed her had claws. Erin jumped and let go of Grev. He ran behind his savior, a female Drake—

Erin blinked. She stared at the young Drake standing in front of her, holding a bundle of what looked like wet clothing in one claw while the other held Erin. The Drake let go of Erin and backed away instantly. She shielded Grev with her body as she spoke desperately to Erin.

“Please, Miss! Don’t hurt him! He’s just a child!”

“Wha?”

Why was a Drake in Celum? Erin hadn’t even seen one, but here was a Drake, standing in front of her. The Drake paused as she realized Erin wasn’t going to start hitting her. For a moment she and Erin just stared at each other while Grev hid behind her, sniveling.

“You’re a Drake.”

That was the brilliant opening Erin came up with. The female Drake hesitated, and then nodded. She bit at her lip, glaring at Erin as if that statement was a challenge.

“That’s right. I’m a Drake. But I live here, and the Watch knows about me.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry if Grev did anything—but he’s just a child! Please, whatever he did—”

“He was pickpocketing. I saw him.”

The Drake’s reaction was immediate, as was Grev’s. He immediately let go of her and piped up in denial.

“I never!”

“Oh Grev—”

She stared at him, clearly knowing he was lying. But instantly the Drake looked back at Erin, and now there was a genuine note of desperation in her voice.

“Please don’t report him, Miss. Please don’t. He’s only one crime away from being exiled from the city. And if that happens—it was just one mistake, Miss. It won’t happen again.”

“Really?”

Erin propped her hands on her hips and stared at Grev as he tried to turn invisible.

“I happen to have met Grev before. He helped a bunch of thugs ambush me when I first came into the city.”

“Grev!”

The Drake turned. To Erin’s surprise, she dropped the clothing on the snowy cobblestones and grabbed Grev, lifting him up as he shouted.

“I—I—”

“How dare you! I’ll spank you until you won’t sit for two weeks! And you’re not having dinner! I should drag you to the City Watch myself. Do you want to be kicked out of the city? Because if you do—”

“I’m sorry! I’msorryI’msorryI’m—”

The Drake kept shaking Grev as he apologized frantically, shouting. Erin saw other doors opening and closing once the occupants saw what was going on, but no one came to see. She cleared her throat and the two stopped and stared at her.

Grev’s face was somewhere beyond white and going into ghostly. The Drake’s face was—well, her dark red scales couldn’t really change color like skin, but they were definitely looking more pink than red around her face. Both clearly expected the worst.

And why not? Erin wasn’t a huge, angry [Warrior], true, but she was dressed a lot better than they were, and she could easily summon the Watch. But to their surprise, the young woman didn’t shout or get angry. She just smiled a bit, and held out a hand.

“I’m Erin. Who are you?”

The Drake stared at the hand, and then dropped Grev. She gingerly took the hand.

“Jasi. My name is Jasi, Miss.”

----

Jasi the Drake was one of perhaps two or three Drakes in Celum.

“I don’t know. There was a [Merchant], but he might have left. And there’s a [Baker] who married a Human woman. But it’s not common, especially in small cities like this.”

“Really?”

Jasi shifted in her seat. Erin was sitting in her home—hers and Grev’s. Apparently, they lived in a squalid hut—house was too grand a word for this place—next to the city walls. It had belonged to their parents, both of whom were dead or had simply left. Erin hadn’t asked.

Now Erin sat on a rickety chair with a cup of boiled water in front of her. She hadn’t drunk from it. There were a few flecks in the water that she didn’t want in her stomach. Jasi sat across from her while Grev tried to listen to their conversation and hide in the other corner of the room.

Talking had happened. And spanking and apologizing and now explanations were currently occurring.

“You live pretty close to Liscor. I’d have thought more than one or two Drakes would live in cities, even Human ones.”

“Well…people don’t like Drakes here. And I’ve heard that most Drakes don’t like Humans.”

Jasi looked uncomfortable as she spoke. She’d apologized a hundred times to Erin, but she was still clearly afraid Erin would go ballistic over Grev’s crimes, or, Erin realized, her being a Drake. She tried to reassure the young…woman.

“Don’t worry—I don’t mind Drakes. In fact, I live in Liscor where there are tons of them!”

“Liscor?”

Both Grev and Jasi exclaimed at the same time. Jasi looked at Erin with wide eyes.

“Really? But I heard Humans don’t live there. Unless—are you an adventurer, Miss?”

“Nope.”

“She is!”

Grev called out from one corner of the room. He was standing—as sitting would be very hard with his sore backside. He flinched when Erin and Jasi looked at him. But he piped up with the determination to be proved right.

“I saw her! She beat three big men by herself! She punched one of them so hard she broke his nose!”

“And whose fault is it she had to fight you stupid—”

Jasi raised her voice and nearly got up before Erin stopped her. She was all for punishing Grev, but he’d had enough, at least in her opinion.

“I’m not an adventurer. I’m an [Innkeeper]. I have an inn in Liscor and I happen to have a few combat Skills.”

“Oh.”

“Did you come from Liscor?”

Jasi suddenly turned red, the scales around her face actually turning a lighter pink rather than darkening.

“Who me? No—I’ve actually never been to Liscor. Or…or anywhere with other Drakes, really.”

“What? Then how…?”

“It’s a long story, Miss.”

It came out as the cup of water in front of Erin slowly stopped steaming and went cold. It was cold in Jasi’s house, and it was her house. Erin had figured out some of the story just seeing how Jasi and Grev interacted, but the rest fell into place quickly enough.

Jasi was adopted. Or more accurately, she was a child that had been abandoned and found and raised by a Human father and mother. She’d lived in Celum all her life, but that life hadn’t been kind to her. Her parents—who’d taken care of her and taught her to live among Humans and then had Grev—had split up unhappily. The mother found another man, the father just…disappeared one day.

It was a sad story, the kind Erin had heard many times in her world. But to hear it here—was disheartening. But what Erin could admire throughout it was Jasi. She’d kept going even when her parents had gone. She’d found work, as a [Washer] although she only had a handful of levels, and she’d earned enough coin for her and Grev to survive.

The catch was that she couldn’t look after Grev and earn money at the same time. The street had raised him, and what Grev had learned was how to steal, and how to lure innocent people into ambushes. Jasi had known about the first part and done her best to stop that, but she hadn’t known about the muggings.

When Erin gave her the full recounting of what Grev had done when she’d first met him—and after she’d stopped threatening to bite Grev’s hands off, Jasi got down on her hands and knees and begged Erin for mercy.

“I swear to you, I’ll never let it happen again. Please don’t report him. He’s the only family I have left.”

What could Erin do but agree? Jasi made Grev apologize a hundred times, and promised to keep a better watch over him, but all Erin could wonder was when he’d be caught next, and what would happen then.

And from the look in Jasi’s eyes, she was thinking the same thing. That was how Erin found herself sitting in their grubby home, poking a finger into the very cold cup of water and watching as Jasi got back to her work.

She washed clothing for bronze coins, day in, day out. And she did it by using a tub of quite dirty water in the cold home and using lye soap and her claws to scrub the dirty fabrics as clean as she could.

It was hard, backbreaking work, especially since Jasi didn’t exactly have any racks to dry the clothes on, let alone a washer and dryer. Instead, she hung bits of rope from stands—chairs, the ceiling, and so on, letting the clothing drip-dry as the small fire she kept going in the fireplace added smoke to the cold room.

Erin didn’t know if she liked Jasi. She certainly felt bad for her, but that wasn’t the same as liking her. But she felt she couldn’t just walk out of the home. Not when she looked at Jasi’s hands, or rather, her claws.

Her scales were paler and—damaged around her claws. Some were even missing, revealing pale white skin underneath. It was clearly painful from the way the Drake girl avoided brushing up against the exposed parts where she could. Erin could only guess that her work washing clothes had scraped away her scales one at a time.

It was like…seeing how her life could have gone. Maybe. Jasi was a stranger in a city full of people who weren’t like her, and didn’t like her. And what was more, she had to take care of Grev. It was a thankless, soul crushing task. And Erin…

Erin felt at her belt pouch. She had gold coins and silver coins in there, courtesy of her work as an [Innkeeper] at Miss Agnes’ inn. She had more bronze coins than Jasi and Grev had together. If she gave them just one gold coin, what would happen?

Happiness, perhaps for a day? Then it would be back to normal. Maybe Jasi could buy something to help her with washing, but the place they were in wouldn’t change that much.

What about all the coins? They’d probably get robbed. And even then, when it ran out they’d still be poor. Erin was no social worker, no expert in charity and relief management, but she knew this wasn’t a good option.

But what else could be done? She could…walk out and leave them alone. But Erin rejected that as well. And yet—how many people were like Jasi? If Erin went next door, she was sure she’d probably feel the exact same way about the people living there.

But she knew Jasi, and Grev. She knew their names. That made things different. Just knowing their names meant it was so hard to walk away.

“Grev! Help me lift this, will you? And don’t drop it or I’ll have to wash it again!”

Jasi snapped at Grev as she struggled to lift some wet shirts up. Erin sat back down as Grev ran over. She watched them work.

Yes. If she helped them half-heartedly, she wouldn’t change much, would she? But if she gave them everything, what would happen to her?

What would Ryoka do? Would she come up with a brilliant solution, or would she just shake her head and say this is how the world was and walk away? Erin didn’t know.

She saw the female Drake wince as the clothing wrapped around a patch of exposed skin where the scales had been torn away. But she made no sound.

Erin looked at the windows. The shutters were closed—obviously they had no glass windows, but even the shutters had gaps in them, letting in the winter air. And the floor was filthy. When had they last cleaned? And the water in the tub—Jasi must have hauled it here, and when would she be able to replace it? Only when it became impossible to wash with, Erin bet.

So hard. Hard, and—and small. This was all they had, and even that was uncertain. Erin’s heart ached as she looked at Grev, reluctantly helping Jasi hang up clothes to dry by the fire. She thought, and came to a decision, even though it might have been the wrong one.

----

“Miss Erin…what’s this?”

That was what Agnes said when Erin brought Jasi and Grev to the inn. They stared at the bustling place, wide-eyed and disbelieving, an expression that was mirrored on Agnes’ face when Erin told her what she intended.

“You want to hire her as a [Barmaid]? Well of course we could use the help but—does she have any levels in the class? And what about the boy?”

“Grev can stay here. He can’t work, but he can sleep here. I don’t know what he’ll do every day—I’ll think of something to keep him out of trouble.”

Jasi bobbed a nervous curtsy to Miss Agnes.

“I’ll work hard, Miss. If you need me to haul things or clean up—I can do that. Anything you need.”

“I—well—we’ll see.”

Agnes looked helplessly at Erin. She gave the uncertain Jasi and Grev a big smile and had them sit at a table.

“We’ll—have Safry bring you some food. You two look like you could use some. Safry! And then we’ll put you to work, Miss Jasi.”

As the two sat and Safry came over, Agnes drew Erin aside and spoke to her in a troubled voice.

“I hate to question you, but—do you know what you’re doing, Erin? This seems…sudden. Have you thought all this through?”

“No. Not really.”

Miss Agnes looked somewhat dismayed by Erin’s honest response. But the truth of it was that Erin herself was uncertain. When she’d stood up and announced that Jasi could work at her inn, it had felt right. But now—

“I know you come from Liscor where Drakes are common—but here Drakes are—well, there’s history—”

“I know, Miss Agnes. But I had to do something.”

“You have a kind heart, Erin. I know that.”

But you made a mistake. Erin heard it unspoken in Agnes’ voice. She ignored it.

“For now just have Jasi wait tables. That’s easy. And Grev can eat and sit in a corner.”

So passed the first night. Erin kept an eye on Jasi, and especially Grev. But Grev was meek and even grateful for the food, eating a huge amount until Erin thought he would be sick. But he eventually just passed out in a minor food coma at his table.

As for Jasi, she still seemed stunned to work at such a busy inn. She was constantly serving tables, bringing the food Erin cooked out of the kitchen. And even if she got quite a few glances, Erin heard no audible comments, at least, not while she was in the common room.

She cooked, fried, and served food in her own world of anxiety. Then, when the last of the guests had eaten, Erin found a small room for Jasi and Grev to sleep in.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Miss Erin. Are you sure it’s alright for us to be sleeping here? We have a house—”

“I’m sure. And this way you can help in the morning.”

Erin smiled at Jasi and Grev, keeping her emotions inside of her until they’d closed the door. Then she went to her own room and sat on her bed and put her head in her hands.

“Was that a mistake?”

It felt like it. Erin hated to say it out loud, but she wasn’t sure. What had she just done? It had been so sudden, an impulse decision.

“But what was I thinking?”

Making Jasi a [Barmaid]? Offering her a job? It had seemed like the only option Erin could take. The obvious choice. But now that she was here—

It wasn’t a good fit. Jasi would work hard, but Erin had seen the looks the patrons of the inn gave her. She was a Drake, and unpopular. Plus, she would have to start at Level 1 and work her way up as a [Barmaid]. Agnes had expressed her doubts, and no wonder. Did Agnes even like Jasi? What about Maran and Safry? Would they be afraid Jasi would take their jobs or steal their wages since Erin had hired her? What about when Erin was gone? Would Agnes fire Jasi then and there?

And when Erin left…could she take Jasi with her? Would the Drake be willing to go back to Liscor? What about Grev? He wouldn’t be happy in that city, and the Liscorian City Watch was hard on crime, especially by Humans.

Especially after Lyonette.

Erin tossed and turned in her bed. She knew she’d made a bad choice. But could she just leave them there? But now—she’d taken then out of their home. What could she do? Jasi might have lost her job since Erin had taken her away! Could Erin just give her money and tell her to go back if things didn’t work out?

She didn’t know. Erin lay sleepless in her bed, trying to figure out what the right answer was. But she was only sure of one thing. One simple thing: of all the things she could have done, the worst thing would have been nothing.

She’d made her choice. Now she would help Jasi—and Grev—as much as she could. That was all she could do.

Exhausted, but knowing she had to sleep, Erin finally closed her eyes. She mumbled to herself as sleep finally overwhelmed her stressed brain.

“At the very least…I have something to do.”

She closed her eyes and slept.

[Innkeeper Level 27!]

3.16

She wished she had an iPod. That’s what Erin thought when she woke up in her small bed on the second floor of Miss Agnes’ inn. It was probably because she’d made the mistake of thinking about home yesterday.

Ryoka had her iPhone. She’d kept it even though she’d gone to a whole new world. Whereas Erin hadn’t. True, she didn’t usually bring her phone on bathroom breaks, but if she ever got back she’d take one everywhere she went. And she’d bring an emergency backpack of everything—

If she ever went back. Erin slapped her head.

“Stop!”

Nothing good happened when she thought about home. The only thing that ever happened was—well, weeping and moping and crippling desperation. That’s why Erin had stopped thinking about it on purpose, starting all those days ago when she’d cried herself to sleep in a broken inn in the middle of nowhere.

She was here, and she had to survive. Erin got up and dressed herself blearily. She couldn’t smile—she felt weighed down by heavy thoughts. And she felt even more tired when she remembered her new employee.

“What do I do? What did you do, stupid Erin?”

She gently thumped her head against a wall. Someone grunted in the next room and Erin winced.

“Oops.”

There was no going back. She could only do what was right. And what was right was—

Erin came down the stairs with a determined smile on her face. She’d find something Jasi could do. She’d help her succeed as a [Barmaid]—or do something else. Because even if Erin couldn’t help everyone, she would never leave the Drake and her brother alone. If she did, she wouldn’t be Erin Solstice.

And yet—not everyone was like her. That was why Erin’s smiled twisted the instant she walked down into the common room of the inn and saw what was happening.

“Oh, Erin, my dear!”

Miss Agnes looked up from the table where she was sitting with Jasi. Across the room, Erin saw Safry cleaning the tables before the day started and the one or two early guests waiting for breakfast. Erin looked around the room as she descended the steps. Grev was nowhere to be seen.

“Miss Agnes. And Jasi. What’s happening? And where’s Grev?”

Jasi gave Erin a warm, but—uncomfortable—smile. She was sitting somewhat tensely in front of Miss Agnes, and Erin could tell the other [Innkeeper] was—

“What’s all this?”

Miss Agnes didn’t seem to notice the edge in Erin’s tone. She smiled at Erin, beamed, rather, like she always did.

“Well, I was just having a chat with Jasi about her future.”

“Her future? What do you mean, Miss Agnes?”

“Oh, I was thinking about it all night. And I had a chat with Jerom—you did a wonderful thing, helping Jasi and Grev. But although I’m sure she’d be a wonderful [Barmaid], I thought we could explore all her options. After all, Jasi’s so young—I wouldn’t want her to level up in a class that didn’t fit her perfectly, would I?”

For two seconds, because she’d had a bad time waking up and because she’d been hanging out with Ryoka too long, Erin thought about punching Miss Agnes in the face. But she suppressed that instinct at once.

“I see. You want to help Jasi find a job. Another job.”

“Well, I was just thinking how nice it would be if she could find a class she really liked. Being a [Barmaid] isn’t for everyone, and if we can find something that suits her better…”

Miss Agnes met Erin’s eyes innocently. But the message was clear. And it was infuriating to Erin.

Jasi hadn’t even been here one whole day, and Miss Agnes had decided that her inn was not for the Drake. And better yet—she’d talked it over with Mister Jerom, her husband, had she? Erin had visited the sick [Innkeeper] and she knew any conversation Agnes had with him was completely one-sided. She probably just chattered on to him as he groaned in bed and coughed up phlegm.

“So you’ve been helping Jasi since you woke up? That was kind of you.”

“Well, I had time. And I was waiting for you to be up so we could start with breakfast—you really have a talent for cooking, my dear!”

“You mean a Skill. Where’s Grev?”

Normally Erin met most things with a good attitude. But this morning she wasn’t in the mood for niceness. Agnes blinked at her.

“Oh. I sent him outside to play. I’m sure he’ll be back when he’s hungry. Young boys always live by their stomachs.”

And how would Miss Agnes know that? She’d never had a kid. Of course, Erin hadn’t ever had one either, but there was just something about the other innkeeper that was rubbing Erin the wrong way today.

It was just that she’d decided to kick Jasi out. The Drake clearly understood what the [Innkeeper]’s intentions were, no matter how much she smiled, and she looked justifiably upset. Erin glanced across the room and saw Safry glance at her and then quickly away. Safry knew what was going on. Did Maran? Had this been agreed on by all three women or just Agnes?

Who knew? Erin could only move forwards, and so she smiled at Agnes and Jasi.

“Well, I’d love to help with that.”

“But breakfast—”

Miss Agnes coughed delicately and Erin frowned.

“It can wait. Or better yet, this can wait.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble my dear. I’m perfectly willing to help young Jasi out while you cook.”

Erin gritted her teeth. There was an…air about Agnes. It was almost written on her face ‘let’s help the children find what they’re good at so I won’t have to deal with them!’ It made her upset, and even angrier that Agnes was deliberately sending Erin into the kitchen to cook.

She wanted to object. Erin opened her mouth, but the problem was—Agnes was right. Erin needed to make breakfast for the hungry masses who’d soon be coming here for her good cooking. And yet—she didn’t want to leave Jasi alone with Agnes.

But was it really a problem? Erin thought about that for a moment. It wasn’t as if Agnes was kicking Jasi out this moment. She was going to work with Jasi—even if it was selfish. Would it be that bad to let her help?

Well…yes and no. Agnes would certainly help because it meant Jasi and Grev would be out of her hair. But she’d probably not look for the best class to suit them—she’d probably compromise instantly and choose whatever they were good at without exploring all the options.

But she would help. It just meant Erin would have to make sure Agnes didn’t rush things along. And it meant that Miss Agnes wasn’t the person Erin had thought she was.

She was just a woman. Good to her friends and family, but no better than that. It wasn’t a crushing realization, but it just made Erin’s heart hurt a bit.

She let none of that show on her face as she smiled at Agnes.

“Good idea. I’ll make breakfast, and then come back and help Jasi. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Oh? Are you planning on making something special today?”

Agnes smiled at Erin. Erin smiled back.

“Mm. I think I’ll make some crepes and French toast. And bacon.”

Miss Agnes hesitated. Erin had chosen one of the most popular breakfasts for today—mainly because it was a new form of cooking. It certainly brought in customers, but it was a very work-intensive meal for the staff to serve, as customers would regularly order second or even third helpings.

“Oh. Well, Maran isn’t here today—”

“No problem! You and Jasi can help if Safry needs it. That’s why she’s here, isn’t it?”

“I—well—”

Erin walked into the kitchen. There she deliberately cooked the best crepes she could and made sure the sizzle and smell of cooking bacon would wake up even the most reluctant sleeper. She derived no small amount of pleasure from making Agnes’ inn the most profitable and busy building in the city that morning, and felt not a bit bad as Agnes, Safry, and Jasi hurried to fill orders.

It was all about food. Food was one of the things that was popular in any world. Erin reflected on that as she flipped a crepe into the air and onto a plate. She put it aside to cool, and then changed her mind and speared a piece of it with a fork and popped it into her mouth, ignoring the heat. Breakfast for Erin was usually in the middle of her cooking process.

“Five more crepes, Miss Erin!”

Safry poked her head into the kitchen, looking distressed. Erin could hear the voices in the common room, lots of them.

“Coming up!”

She poured and flipped, barely paying attention to what she was doing. Crepes. Now, weren’t crepes interesting?

The people of this world knew about pancakes, but crepes were new to them. But why did they pull in huge crowds even a week after Erin had introduced them to Celum? The answer was simple: they were new.

Yes, crepes had all the ingredients of a pancake except for baking powder. But it was what you did with the crepes—folding them and pouring syrup over them, or filling them with whipped cream or other savory and sweet things that made them so special. In that way, an old thing seemed practically brand new, and people flocked to the Frenzied Hare to try this wonderful food Erin made.

By now, Erin knew other inns and restaurants across the city were copying her recipe. It was human nature—and Drake and Gnoll nature as well. In time, she knew crepes would lose their hold over the stomachs of people and they’d just become one more item in a menu. But right now they were hot.

“Literally. Safry! Crepes are done!”

Because they were new. Erin let Safry take the plates as she placed some bacon on a plate next to eggs. People liked new things. Like her hamburgers. When they first came to Liscor, it was like they were the greatest food in the world. Because no one had tried them before. As soon as everyone started copying her recipe, hamburgers became, well, hamburgers. Some people loved them and they were tasty, but no one was lining up for them.

But new food was fun. That was the point. New things were fun. Erin remembered the impromptu concert she’d held outside her inn and smiled. Music from her world was so new and amazing to the citizens of Liscor she’d pulled in the gold coins with a rake.

Because it was new. Because it wasn’t stale and mundane and boring. That was the key. Erin still remembered her despondency from yesterday—in truth, it was still bugging her a bit, although the Jasi and Grev situation had distracted her. Music and food were two things people in this world could appreciate, same as in Erin’s. But—

It wasn’t enough. It still wasn’t enough. Erin could see someone like Agnes listening to the latest hot song of the year being played on the lute—or delighting over some new recipe and selling it at her inn. But was that all she’d ever do? Just stuff her face and listen to a new tune now and then?

No. That was so boring it hurt. There had to be more to life! People weren’t machines—Erin refused to believe that leveling up like machines every day and working without any fun was how this world should be.

That was why when she walked back out of the kitchen and saw that the inn had mostly cleared, Erin was determined to find Jasi a job that wouldn’t crush the Drake’s soul. She’d already accepted that Jasi wouldn’t be a [Barmaid]—at least not at Agnes’ inn. If the woman didn’t want her here, then that was that.

But Erin could always bring Jasi to Liscor. It wasn’t the best option, but Erin kept it as a reserve idea. She walked over to the exhausted Agnes, who’d taken a seat at the table to rest her legs, and smiled brightly.

“Alright! Breakfast’s done. Let’s find Jasi a cool class.”

Agnes only smiled weakly at Erin.

“Oh. Very good, dear.”

----

How did one find a class? It was such an odd question to Erin—was it like getting a job in her world, or did someone just decide to become a [Thief] and start stealing things?

As it turned out, people in this world decided on classes in a very sensible manner. Once Miss Agnes had recovered, Erin found herself sitting at the table with her and Jasi as the older woman quizzed the Drake on her likes and dislikes.

“Do you sew? I should say—have you tried needlework? What about cooking? I hear your kind has a variety of…interesting treats.”

Likes, dislikes, and most importantly natural talent or aptitude went into choosing a class. Which made sense. No one wanted to be stuck with a class they were bad at, or one they hated. Jasi had taken the [Washer] class out of desperation, so Agnes and Erin’s job was to find something she’d like and be good at, and hopefully, earn enough to support herself and Grev with.

The problem was, Jasi didn’t seem to have any outstanding talents.

“I poke my scales more often than the cloth with needles. I would have sewn if I could—mending clothes earns a bit more coin than washing. But I couldn’t do it. The same goes for cooking—I can make a few things, but kneading dough is hard with claws.”

“Ooh. Yeah. That wouldn’t be so easy.”

Miss Agnes frowned slightly in vexation at Jasi, and partly at Erin. She was clearly irritable from having to play [Barmaid] so early.

“Have you ever thought about a combat class, dear? I know that’s a long shot, but…”

“I hate fighting.”

Jasi shook her head immediately, shuddering at the thought. Agnes nodded.

“Well, those classes are out, then.”

The older woman sighed. Jasi looked anxiously at her and Erin.

“I really don’t mind trying to learn to sew or cook. Or—I thought I could even learn a class like [Butcher] or [Receptionist]. I’m not picky. I’d try anything if I had the chance.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Agnes immediately brightened up at Jasi’s words.

“We could try you out in all of those professions. I have friends in various classes—it wouldn’t be too hard to talk them into giving you an apprenticeship. Why, in a day or two you’d probably find something you really shine at.”

Jasi nodded obediently, looking grateful for the opportunity, but Erin frowned.

“Willing doesn’t mean she likes it, Miss Agnes. Jasi should find a job—a class that suits her.”

“Yes, well, we don’t all know what we’ll be good at.”

Agnes smiled blandly at Erin. There was definitely a current of tension running between the two [Innkeepers] now, or so Erin felt. No—she wasn’t imagining it. She was annoyed at Agnes, and the same held true of the other woman. They were clashing over the issue of Jasi, and it was making Erin uncharacteristically upset.

“I think a few days of feeling things out would do young Jasi some good, Erin.”

“Really?”

“It helped me. I didn’t know I’d be an [Innkeeper] when I was young. But when I met Jerom, well, things have a way of working themselves out. We don’t all get to choose what class we level in, now do we? You told me you earned your [Innkeeper] class by accident as well. Maybe Jasi will find her class as she tries things out.”

Erin narrowed her eyes. Being an [Innkeeper] certainly hadn’t been her choice, but she’d been forced into it out of the need to survive, and because she’d liked it.

“I don’t know. I think we should consider more classes. There are tons more than just…those ones you mentioned.”

Miss Agnes lost her smile. She sounded exasperated as she spread her hands out on the table.

“The girl—the Drake—doesn’t have any particular skills, Erin. Why not let her work a few odd jobs? She seemed to be doing well for herself as a [Washer] before you came along.”

Jasi shrunk back in her seat, but Erin didn’t bat an eye at the criticism.

“If you mean she was alive, yeah, she was. But I had to buy a healing potion for her hands. That’s not doing okay, Miss Agnes.”

The woman wavered. She glanced around the mostly empty room and realized their argument had attracted a few casual eyes. Safry immediately turned and started bussing a few more tables. Miss Agnes eyed the new customers and changed the subject.

“We’ve got more customers, I see.”

“So we do.”

Erin folded her arms. Miss Agnes waffled on, glancing meaningfully at Erin.

“Late morning breakfasters, I’ll warrant. There’s always one or two…a good [Innkeeper] prepares for them, but I suppose it was quite a crowd that came in this morning. But here we are, and I know they’re hungry. It would be a shame to turn them away, don’t you think?”

A scowl was the only reply she got. Erin sat in her chair, unwilling to move. She glanced at the customers, and then smiled.

“Why don’t you cook for them?”

“Me?”

Agnes blinked.

“But I—well, I don’t have any Skills in cooking like you do, Erin dear.”

“But this is your inn. And I’m tired. So—you cook. Or you could turn them away. But I think I’m going to help Jasi some more.”

So saying, Erin turned her back on Agnes and looked at Jasi. After a few seconds she heard Agnes walk briskly away.

“Safry! Ask our customers what they’d like to eat.”

Erin smiled at Jasi, who looked somewhat pale.

“I don’t want to be a bother, Miss Erin, I really don’t. I’d be more than happy to apprentice at any job for a while. If I got a few levels—why, I’d probably be able to make do from there.”

The young woman sitting across from her smiled and shook her head slowly.

“That’s true. But I want to find something that you like to do, not something that you have to do. Agnes is wrong. You should try and find something you want to do.”

Jasi paused.

“Thank you, Miss Erin.”

For the first time this morning, Erin gave her a genuine smile.

“Call me Erin. Just Erin. Now, have you ever tried running around? I have a friend who does that all the time, and she says the pay is good…”

----

An hour later, Erin had to admit that perhaps Jasi didn’t have any particular class that seemed to suit her. At least, not one that could be easily discerned. She and Jasi had gone through a huge list of classes, hindered by Miss Agnes’ occasional comment, but Jasi either hadn’t tried the class before or didn’t feel inclined to try it.

Some jobs the Drake could tell weren’t for her. [Farmer], [Soldier], [Thief]…those were easy. Others might have been likely, but they were impossible to tell, like [Guardswoman]. How would you even tell? Jasi had never lifted a sword before. And she hadn’t had a chance to try out any of the other professions in the city.

She’d been poor all her life. And that, Erin was quickly discovering, was a limiting factor.

Despondently, Erin slumped over at her table, staring at Jasi’s helpless expression. The inn was mostly empty. Agnes’ cooking had a way of driving away even fairly hungry patrons, and besides, it was that time of day when inns didn’t really matter, in between breakfast and lunch. If people wanted a snack they’d find a stall outside. And few people were drinking this early in the day.

Erin could use a drink. She hadn’t known how hard this would be. Well, she had—but knowing wasn’t the same as experiencing it. She felt like she was hitting her head against an invisible brick wall, but she had no idea how to stop running into it.

“I dunno. I guess we could do the internship-apprentice thing, but that’s so slow. Are you sure you don’t want to try being an [Alchemist]? I could go bother Octavia right now if you want.”

“That’s one thing I am sure about, Miss. [Alchemists] are far too strange for me. I don’t want to melt my tail off or—or grow mushrooms out of my eyes.”

Jasi shuddered at the thought. Erin sighed and then cast her eyes around the inn.

“What do you think, Wesle? Would Jasi be a good [Guardswoman]?”

Wesle looked up guiltily as he tucked into a crepe Erin had made. He straightened up in his chair, glancing at the door.

“I ah, don’t know, Erin. Guarding isn’t as hard here as it is in a Drake city, it’s true, but we do require all our recruits to be able to use a sword. Plus, there’s always a bit of fighting when we have to quiet drunks. If Miss Jasi was assigned to gatekeeping duty I could see her doing well—but even then, she’d have to help fight whenever a monster attacked.”

Erin nodded gloomily.

“Thought so. How’s the crepe?”

“Oh, wonderful, Miss Erin.”

Wesle blushed a bit.

“I’m very grateful. But ah, I am on duty. I’d better just eat this quickly and go.”

“Mm. Thanks for bringing Grev here.”

Erin turned her head and regarded the nervous young boy sitting at a table with a crepe of his own. Wesle had brought Grev into the Frenzied Hare about an hour after breakfast had ended. Now the [Guardsman] looked over at Grev sternly, giving him a hard look.

“I hardly believed him when he said he lived here, Miss Erin. But he kept insisting that you’d given him and his…sister a place here.”

“Well, he was telling the truth. Which is sorta rare for him, I guess.”

Grev hunched over in his seat. He’d been caught by Wesle for lingering a bit too near a shopkeeper’s outdoor stall. Now he sat with the disapproving eyes of Jasi, Erin, and Wesle on him, clearly wishing he could be anywhere else.

“I’m so sorry about that, sir.”

Jasi was as apologetic as she’d been with Erin, and clearly unable to do anything to stop Grev. She was a big sister, not a mother, and she was even more nervous now that Grev had clearly not learned his lesson from yesterday.

Wesle nodded to her, trying to look dignified and failing to with bits of crepe on his weak mustache.

“I’ll overlook this today, but you should know your brother is on the thinnest of ice, Miss Jasi. If he keeps sneaking off again—”

Safry was passing by Erin with a used plate and utensils. Erin snatched the plate out of her hands and hurled one of the utensils in one motion. The spoon passed by Grev’s nose and bounced off one wall. He shouted in surprise and alarm, freezing as he tried to edge towards the door.

“Sit down.”

Erin’s glare magically sent Grev’s bottom back in the chair. He trembled as she waved the fork at him.

“You’ve caused enough trouble for your sister. Try and run off and I’ll throw the plate at you next time. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll take this fork and shove it—”

Erin paused. She glanced at Safry and Miss Agnes, both of whom were watching her with gaping mouths.

“What?”

Wesle coughed delicately.

“Was that [Unerring Throw], Miss Erin? It’s rare to see an [Innkeeper] with a combat Skill like that.”

“Oh.”

Erin just shrugged. She had a lot of odd Skills, or so she’d gathered. Probably because she’d actually had to fight for her life. They weren’t that useful in day-to-day life, but they were certainly handy when she wanted to terrorize young boys.

“Where were we? Oh yeah. Jasi’s class. Um…”

Erin sighed. Then she looked at Grev. He stared at her, white-faced.

“What about him? Can’t Grev get a class instead of running around and stealing things?”

Agnes snorted. She’d kept out of the discussion, but she eyed Grev skeptically now.

“The boy’s at the right age to be apprenticed to someone. But with his past misdeeds—I doubt anyone would want to take a risk on him. I’d advise Miss Jasi to say her goodbyes while she can—if the young thief hasn’t changed his ways after so many warnings, he won’t now.”

Jasi’s scales turned pale and Grev looked palely down at his empty plate. Erin glared at Miss Agnes.

“Don’t you have anything you can do, Miss Agnes?”

“Not at the moment, Miss Erin. I have no customers, as you may have noticed.”

“Then why don’t you leave your inn to me for a while?”

The woman paused.

“What?”

“I said, why don’t you leave? I’m perfectly capable of managing it, and I think you could use a break.”

“But I—this is my inn.”

Erin raised an eyebrow. She was royally annoyed with Miss Agnes’ attitude. How could she be so uncaring? So Erin took a page out of Ryoka’s book of meanness.

“It’s your inn, but I’m a better [Innkeeper]. You can take a break and leave things to me. You and Safry, for that matter.”

Both women gaped at Erin. But the young woman just flapped her hands at them.

“Shoo, shoo.”

Miss Agnes was staring hard at Erin, but she was the lower-level [Innkeeper], and Erin had stared down far more frightening things than a middle-aged woman with empathy issues. In the end, Miss Agnes haughtily adjusted her dress, not meeting Erin’s stare.

“I—suppose I could use some time to relax. Very well. Safry, you have the day off.”

“Yes, Miss Agnes.”

“I believe I’ll…go shopping. I’m sure Jerom would love a new decoration. Yes, I’ll do that. Thank you, Miss Erin.”

She walked out of the inn. Safry hesitated, and then followed her as Erin stared at her.

“Mnn.”

Erin stuck out her tongue after Miss Agnes and Safry had left. She felt bad but not-bad at the same time. It was the first time she’d ever been so mean to them, but—they’d been real jerks!

She turned and saw Wesle staring at her with a piece of crepe dangling from a fork. Jasi and Grev were also giving her fish-eyes.

“What? They were being rude.”

Jasi gulped. She looked at the door Miss Agnes hadn’t even bothered to fully close and shook her head, her scales pale around her face. She looked at Erin, mystified and gratified and upset.

“You’re being so kind to us, Mis—Erin. Too kind. I don’t know why you’re going so far for people like Grev and me.”

“It’s because I can.”

The smile Erin gave her was just that. A smile. But it made the Drake cry, and prompted Wesle to offer her a handkerchief. Grev sat in his chair, looking upset and confused, but soon enough Erin had another crepe in front of everyone, and a slightly alcoholic drink for the adults and milk for Grev. She sat down and took a deep breath.

“Okay, let’s try again. Properly this time. Jasi needs a new job. Not necessarily a class. Grev needs to stop stealing, and Wesle probably needs to get back to work, but he’s helping us. How can we make things right?”

----

The best idea they’d had was for Erin to sponsor Jasi as an apprentice at a bunch of different jobs. Erin put her head in her hands and groaned.

“I wish Ryoka were here.”

“Why?”

“She’d know what to do. She’s got lots of ideas.”

Wesle looked confused. He was sitting at the table with Erin and Jasi while Grev practiced the art of trying not to puke. Erin’s solution to his restlessness had been to feed him to the point of bursting. Now he was sitting at his table, unable to even finish his last bite of hash browns drizzled with cheese.

Jasi was staring at the half-empty mug in her hands. She’d been growing more and more quietly depressed throughout the discussion. Now she looked up, confused.

“Who’s Ryoka?”

“A City Runner. She’s my friend.”

“And how could she help? I’ve seen Miss Ryoka come into the city quite often, but I don’t see how she’d help here. She seemed rather—quiet every time I tried to talk to her.”

Erin shook her head at Wesle.

“I know she’s a jerk sometimes. But she’s smart. And she studied a lot of weird stuff in school. Did you know she told me that we could probably build a greenhouse right next to my inn? She said we don’t even need any glass to make it, which is really weird, right? I was going to ask Klbkch about it, but then I ended up here.”

Almost none of what Erin had said made sense to either Wesle or Jasi. They just blinked at her, confused. She sighed.

“Never mind. Are there any classes we haven’t considered?”

“None, Miss.”

Jasi looked gloomy.

“I really do appreciate you helping, I do. But I don’t think I have any special talents. I’d be happy with a steady job, I really would.”

“Yeah, but that’s so…”

The [Innkeeper]’s voice trailed off helplessly in the face of Jasi’s resignation. They’d tossed out every class they could think of, but none had seemed right for Jasi. But there were plenty of ‘possible’ options and ‘okay’ options. But nothing felt right.

In truth, it was Erin who was truly dissatisfied with Jasi and Grev’s opportunities. [Seamstress]? [Barber]? [Cook]? [Blacksmith]? All these jobs sounded…boring. Erin knew they were all important jobs that someone had to do, but if she had a choice, those would be far from her first ones.

At least [Runner] sounded marginally interesting. But—hadn’t Ryoka told Erin how much it sucked to be a Street Runner? And Erin was sure the other girl had complained at length about running countless miles to deliver some useless item for only a few silver coins. Unless you were a Courier, being a Runner sounded sort of boring too.

There it was again. Boring. Erin kept thinking the word. She sighed loudly again.

“I just don’t—I know we could find you a decent job, Jasi. But that’s not what you should want, y’know?”

Jasi exchanged a glance with Wesle.

“I don’t know, Miss Erin. What do you mean?”

Erin didn’t really know herself. She tried to explain as she slumped lower in her seat.

“It’s just…we’re talking about your future here. And you’re happy to get an okay job, I get that. But—don’t you want to be rich or famous? Don’t you have anything you want to do, anything special?”

She looked hopefully at Jasi, but just got a confused shake of the head in return.

“All I’ve ever wanted was to keep myself fed and clothed, Miss Erin. That’s all.”

The Drake had no idea how depressed that made Erin. How could she not want to do something special? But Jasi had been poor. Her dreams were real and urgent.

“You never wanted to be famous? Or live an exciting life?”

When she’d been younger, Erin had dreamed of being an astronaut. Then, when she’d been slightly older she’d wanted to be a legendary chess player, someone who could beat even a computer in chess. And then…she’d wanted to be a chess commentator, someone with a huge following or even a YouTube channel. Her dreams weren’t huge, true—most people didn’t even know chess commentary was an actual job. But they were big to Erin.

Jasi didn’t even have her own hopes and dreams. Erin looked at Grev.

“Don’t you want to be someone special?”

“Me?”

The young boy looked confused and slightly scared as Erin pointed at him. She nodded.

“Yeah, you. If you could have any class—do anything—what would you do?”

“I’d—I’d be a famous adventurer! A Gold-rank—no, a Named Adventurer! And I’d have a flaming sword and slay Dragons.”

Grev’s face immediately lit up, but Jasi only shook her head, looking upset.

“Please, Miss Erin. Don’t encourage Grev.”

“Why not?”

Erin glared at Jasi, making the Drake shrink back.

“Dreams are good! Important! If you could do anything, what would you do, Jasi?”

The Drake hesitated, and bit at her lip. Reluctantly, she replied.

“I suppose if I could I’d like to learn a craft and start a small business for myself—but even that’s a far-off dream, Miss Erin.”

She didn’t quite deserve the dead gaze Erin gave her. Jasi just shrugged helplessly.

“It’s all I can think of. If I could have anything—I guess I’d wish to be rich? Rich enough that I never have to work?”

“Really? That’s boring too!”

Erin threw her hands up helplessly. Why were Jasi’s ambitions so small? Why was she so upset? But it was just—

Boring. The same word again.

“Wesle!”

The man jumped.

“Yes, Erin?”

“What’s your dream?”

He hesitated and turned slightly red. But the look in Erin’s eyes didn’t give him any wiggle room. Clearing his throat several times, Wesle blushingly replied.

“I wanted to be an adventurer too. But—”

His hand fell back on his sword hilt helplessly. Wesle squeezed his eyes for a second.

“—But I’m afraid I can’t be one. I’m not a born fighter like they are, Miss Erin. I can handle myself, but I’m not brave enough to go searching for evil to fight.”

Wesle closed his eyes. He stared past Erin, at something in the distance. His voice softened, and his hand clenched around the mug on the table.

“If I could, I should have liked to have been a [Knight]. I would have loved to fight monsters and defend people by slaying creatures. And—yes, wielding a flaming sword. Or one that can cut through steel, at least.”

His eyes refocused, and he coughed, turning beet-red. He looked afraid, as if he was sure the others in the room would laugh at him. But no one did.

Instead, his words made Jasi take a breath. She stared out the window, hesitating, and then spoke.

“If I could? If I had nothing to worry about? Maybe, maybe I’d travel to Liscor. To other cities. I’d like to know what Drakes—my people are like. I’d like to see what lies beyond Celum’s walls.”

She’d never left the city? But there were people like that too. Even back home, Erin remembered people, old people, who’d never even left their home state. They’d never flown on a plane or bothered to drive more than a hundred miles from where they were born and would die. She’d never understood that, but then, Erin had travelled to other continents to play chess in tournaments when she was young.

Some days, it felt like Erin really was in a different world. Only, she was walking among aliens that wore human faces. She met people with small dreams, who were as small as insects. Sometimes. But then Erin looked deep into their souls and saw something familiar. Something she’d seen in a mirror when she was young.

Hope. Dreams.

Passion.

The man and Drake sitting at her table were very different, but they had the same look in their eyes. It wasn’t what Erin saw in Agnes’ pitying gaze, or Safry’s shrug. There was still something in Wesle’s expression, and Jasi’s eyes when she stared at the window. They had a spark there, of something real and alive. But it was fading, and Erin saw it flickering in Jasi’s resigned smile and the way Wesle shook his head when he talked about his past dreams.

They had hopes. They had ambitions. But it was buried so deep that they’d nearly forgotten about them. Erin touched her aching chest. And yet, what could you do? Octavia’s words echoed in her mind. If you weren’t willing to risk everything, what could you do?

Being an adventurer was a calling for the few, the insane and the brave and the desperate. But what else could people do if they didn’t want to work their entire lives? Octavia was right. There was no other way to live. Either you took a risk and died or became famous or—you worked hard and kept your head down.

“It’s not right.”

That was all Erin said. She sat at the table and clenched her hands. This wasn’t right. This was how the world was—how this world was. And she knew it was probably how the world had been, back in her world for thousands of years. But—

It wasn’t right. There was more to life. She knew that. She lived, she had lived in a world where anyone could be anything. That was what she’d been taught as a child. And maybe it wasn’t totally true, but it was that idea which people associated with her home country, with being an American. It was about equality, but it was also about hope.

Hope, and the faith that you could realize your dreams.

“Miss Erin?”

Erin looked up. Jasi and Wesle were looking at her. So was Grev.

“What?”

“You’ve been very quiet. Are you alright?”

“I am. It’s just—your world—your city—sort of sucks, guys.”

To Erin’s surprise, both Jasi and Wesle immediately frowned at her comment.

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“Yeah. Celum isn’t perfect but—it’s just as good as Liscor.”

“Respectfully, Miss Erin, Celum is quite a good city to live in.”

Erin blinked at the force of their replies. Even Jasi was defending Celum. Why? Wesle’s normally amiable face looked quite upset as he stared challengingly at Erin.

“What makes you feel your home is that much better than Celum?”

“Where I come from—in the place where I used to be, people didn’t have so—so few options.”

Erin tried to explain to the indignant guardsman and Drake.

“We have plenty of options!”

“Indeed. Anyone can make something of themselves in Celum.”

“No—no, you guys don’t get it! Here you can only have boring jobs. Or—or be an adventurer and maybe die. But back home, people could be someone. They could be stars, celebrities!”

“Celebrities?”

The word was completely foreign to the two. Erin nodded energetically, suddenly able to put words to the sense of absence she’d been feeling recently.

“Yeah! Back home—even a girl or guy from a far off village could go to the big city and make their dreams come true. It was hard and risky, but they could take a chance. They could try and fulfill their dreams! If you wanted to, you could go there.”

“Where?”

The word came out of Erin’s childhood.

“Hollywood.”

The word burned in the silence. And suddenly, Erin remembered. She remembered movies and dreams and childhood. Yes, how could she have forgotten? But Wesle and Jasi didn’t get it. They just looked confused.

“What’s that? Some kind of tree?”

How could you explain Hollywood to people who hadn’t even seen a movie? Erin grabbed at words and failed to find anything that would help. Hollywood was—it was movies! It was the silver screen, the place where hopes and stories became reality. Now things were different of course—there was Youtube and the internet. And you heard all kinds of bad things about Hollywood. Sexism, racism, jerkism…

But when Erin had been small, Hollywood had been the place where magic was made in her world. It had been the place where movies came from, a wondrous, far-off land. But how to describe it?

“Broadway! Plays! That’s what it’s like!”

Wesle’s chair scooted back as Erin suddenly shouted. Yes, that was it! She turned excitedly to the scared Drake and human.

“Haven’t you seen a play before? Hollywood is like a play except—better!”

Erin stared hopefully at the other two. They had to have seen a play before. That was—even in this world, they’d be common, right? Right? But her jaw dropped as the two shook their heads slowly.

“I’m afraid I’ve never seen one, Miss Solstice.”

“Neither have I.”

“What?”

The bug-eyed stare Erin was giving them made Jasi and Wesle feel uncomfortable. The guardsman cleared his throat nervously.

“If you mean a tumbling routine—I always catch those every time a festival happens. And of course I like to listen to stories in taverns if there’s a [Storyteller] travelling by.”

“I like to read books. We had one when I was young. It was worn, but—”

“No!”

Erin put her hands underneath the table and flipped it. It was the only thing that she could do, the only thing that could give vent to her emotions. The mugs, the drinks, plates and silverware all went flying. Jasi screamed and Wesle cried out in shock. As pottery crashed and broke on the floor, there was silence.

And standing, trembling, pointing at them, Erin. She stood on her chair, practically vibrating with passion.

“No! That isn’t a play! Plays are more than stupid tumbling, more than just a book! They’re full of—of romance! Drama! Love! Action! Intrigue and betrayal and hope and—”

Erin waved her hands around wildly while Jasi, Wesle, and Grev all stared at her. Grev was already edging towards the stairs.

“You’re telling me none of you have ever seen a play before?”

“The table—”

Jasi squeaked as Erin rounded on her.

“No—no I haven’t!”

“Never? Why not?”

“There aren’t many people with that sort of class, Miss Erin! I mean, who would take a class like that on a whim? There are [Bards], Miss Erin. And—oh, maybe in large cities there are performances like that, but it’s not a job anyone can just learn.”

“What’s a play?”

Erin looked incredulously at Grev. But the boy had piped up, staring at Erin with curious eyes.

“You don’t know? It’s—it’s people telling a story. They pretend to be characters and they act out something funny or tragic. It’s like a book, but in real life!”

“Huh. Watch people pretend to be people in a story?”

Grev’s little nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Who’d want to see that?”

He flinched when Erin stared at him with wrath in her eyes. Wesle carefully raised a hand.

“I saw a performance like that once.”

“Really?”

He nodded, eyeing the broken plates and spilled drink on the ground.

“It was a wandering group of performers. They were telling everyone how a group of Gold-rank adventurers slew an entire nest of Griffins that had been preying on a town. It was a reenactment, and they had a fake Griffin creature they burned—”

“That’s not it either!”

Erin jumped off the chair and kicked it. She hopped around shouting in agony as Grev hid under the table. Jasi was petrified and Wesle had a hand on his sword as if he feared he’d have to defend himself.

“That’s not it at all!”

When Erin had calmed down a bit, she tried again. She couldn’t believe they didn’t know. She had to tell them. The knowledge was burning a hole in her chest, trying to get out.

“Plays are—more than just reenactments, Wesle. They’re a story, a moment. If they’re boring they’re good—they should make you laugh and cry and believe what you’re seeing is real. Some of the most famous characters in history came from plays!”

“Like who?”

Erin didn’t have to think.

“Romeo and Juliet.”

“Who? I mean, what did they do?”

Jasi stared at Erin. Erin stared back. And then the girl leapt onto a table.

“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Who doesn’t know of the star-crossed lovers? Romeo of House Montague and Juliet of House Capulet! They, the two forbidden scions of each house dare the wrath of their families to find romance. Even if it means death, they would be together. At any cost.”

Jasi’s sharp teeth glinted as she gaped up at Erin. Wesle’s lips were parted in surprise. Erin bowed to them, flourishing on the table as if she were on stage.

“Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”

She stared down at the staring faces, full of anger and emotion.

“That is the story of Romeo and Juliet.”

Only slack faces greeted Erin. She blinked, realized what had happened.

“Whoa. Did I do that?”

----

How did she do that? As Erin helped right the table and clean up the mess—the others were too shaken to do more than sit—she wondered what had happened.

She was no actor. Erin wasn’t even that good at acting. But in that moment, she’d perfectly recalled the opening lines of Romeo and Juliet, word for word! How? She didn’t have a perfect memory—she’d never even read the play! She’d just seen it performed once!

But wait a minute. Erin frowned as she mopped up the spilled drink and got rid of the broken pottery in a few seconds of brisk cleaning. She had Skills, didn’t she? Not just [Advanced Cleaning].

She was a Level 6 [Singer]. And she had that skill—[Perfect Recall]. It didn’t actually let Erin remember everything, it only worked for songs. Songs…and plays as it turned out. Yes, now that Erin concentrated, she found it was true! She could remember plays, entire passages out of books—anything that Erin considered artistic, really.

“I’ve never heard anything like it.”

That was what Wesle kept repeating when Erin was done with cleaning up her accident. He sat at a table, staring at Erin.

“What strange way of speaking was that? It sounded grand and yet—it rhymed. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

Erin sat at another table, trying to explain. Now she had all the attention of the room on her—not just attention, but fierce interest. It was like the crepes, like the new music all over again. Erin felt it. Here was something new, and it captivated the people of this world.

“That’s a play. Some of them rhyme. It’s called iambic pentameter.”

“And what’s that? Iambic…? Is it a Skill?”

“No, it’s a way of speaking. Anyone can do it. It’s—well, it’s just a style. But it sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

Both Jasi and Wesle nodded in agreement. Erin smiled.

“That’s a play. Actually, that’s not even it. What I just said, I’d say to the crowd before the actual play started. To understand a real play—you’d have to see it done with multiple actors on stage.”

“I wish I could see that. It sounds—interesting.”

Erin wished she could see that too. To see a movie, or a play—even one of the classics from her world like The Wizard of Oz would be…

Impossible. She sighed. But then Erin sat up. She stared at the female Drake sitting in front of her, eyes alight with interest, and the human male sitting next to her, fuzzy lipped and full of life.

And Erin had an obvious idea. She smiled widely, and looked at the two while Grev peeked at her from the kitchen.

“Well, why not? Would you two like to put on a play by yourselves?”

“Us?”

The two exchanged a glance. But Erin knew that they would say ‘yes’ before they even nodded.

----

It was a play. A new thing for this world, or maybe an ordinary thing made new. It was supposed to be grand and special. But—as Erin sat at her table, she realized that recreating a play wasn’t exactly the same as making crepes or playing a song on an iPhone.

What did she have? She had a perfect recall of the play Romeo and Juliet. That was a plus. And she had three willing people who wanted to experience a play. Another big plus. And they even had a place to practice. All of this should theoretically translate into a play.

But they’d hit upon a problem. And it was a rather big one. Wesle sighed as he pointed his sword at Grev from the center of the room. Grev held the scabbard in his hands, pretending it was a sword of his own. Both looked awkward, and were visibly hesitating.

“Don’t hesitate! Just say your lines!”

Erin called out to them from her director’s seat. She’d pushed back all the tables to the walls to give them room to perform in, and she was sitting with Jasi at a table. But the two actors still looked uncomfortable.

“I don’t know if I understand how it should go.”

“I explained it to you. Just give it a shot!”

Erin called out encouragingly to Wesle as he hesitated. He frowned, nodding and mouthing his lines silently. Grev held his scabbard up, doing the same thing.

They were reenacting a fight scene between Romeo and Paris, because Grev had wanted to try acting as well. Of course, Paris wasn’t supposed to be a little boy, but it was as close as Erin could do. And it was a dramatic scene! They were fighting right before Paris was slain and Romeo killed himself. It should have been a powerful moment that needed no direction.

But—

But Erin had begun to realize the error in using Romeo and Juliet as her introduction to plays. It hadn’t seemed like a mistake before, but it was becoming more and more obvious to her as time wore on.

At first glance, Shakespeare made sense. He was a famous guy—his works were classic! And yet—Erin had to admit, the language the famous Bard of Avalon used was…difficult at best.

“Go for it, Grev!”

“Okay!”

The boy spoke awkwardly, trying to force the lines of iambic pentameter into natural cadence.

“Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee:

Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.”

He pointed his scabbard at Wesle. The man took a step back and took a deep breath. Wesle cleared his throat and began reciting Romeo’s lines.

“I must indeed, and therefore came I hither.

Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man.

Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone.

Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth—I say, isn’t this rather long?”

Erin groaned and beside her, Jasi covered her face.

“Even if it’s long, say the lines! You’re supposed to!”

“I’m afraid I can’t remember them all!”

Grev sighed and lowered his tired arm as Wesle walked over to consult with Erin. She sighed too. This wasn’t working.

Romeo and Juliet. A timeless play, or so the critics said. Except that time was dragging on here and everyone was clearly growing more and more tired of the play as they fumbled on.

Erin blamed Shakespeare, or more accurately, his dialogue. It was impressive, yes. A woven script filled with a craftsman’s trickery with words. Even more impressive, it was in iambic pentameter, making each meter and verse doubly significant.

And that was the problem. It was dense. Now that Erin was recalling the full script, she realized how complex it was! Soliloquies, monologues, clever asides and tricks of dialogue…not to mention all the side characters!

For an audience who liked wit and humor, for an audience of Shakespeare’s time, it was great stuff, Erin had no doubt. But it wasn’t a story that captivated her heart—or her reluctant actor’s.

“Try again. You’re supposed to be enraged, in the middle of passion!”

“I can barely remember what to say.”

Wesle groaned. He tried again.

“Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man!”

Erin shook her head.

“No, no. It’s too awkward. You sound like you’re just reciting the words, not acting.”

“Well—”

Wesle threw up his hands, out of words. He stalked over to Grev and snatched his scabbard back. Erin ruffled her hair.

“Argh. Maybe—let’s try a Romeo and Juliet scene. I went over the play with you guys—you know how important their meeting on the balcony is. Let’s do that.”

Jasi nodded and stood up. Reluctantly, Wesle walked over to the other side of the room, and bowed his head.

He wasn’t liking this. That made Erin concerned. She went over to him.

“Hey. Are you not enjoying it?”

“I—don’t know, Miss Solstice. I don’t.”

Wesle just shrugged, looking both annoyed and disheartened.

“When you spoke the lines of the play I got chills, I truly did. But trying to make it into an actual play, to act it out—it’s a different thing entirely.”

Erin nodded. Her audience had listened to her go quickly through the entire play of Romeo and Juliet, drinking in the story like sponges. They’d even memorized entire lines of the play by rote—something Erin had thought was impossible! Apparently when you didn’t have a computer or iPhone handy, your ability to remember things you’d heard was a lot better.

They’d liked the play. But they didn’t like acting. Or rather, Wesle didn’t. Grev liked the mock swordfight and he’d hit Wesle several times with the scabbard, and Jasi had liked playing Juliet. But it was just play-acting, not the real thing.

Erin thought Wesle was trying for the real thing, but he couldn’t figure it out. She’d tried to show him, but acting wasn’t something he’d ever witnessed. All she could give him was her advice, and she had very little of that.

“Just do your best.”

“I am.”

Wesle clenched his fists as Jasi murmured her lines and practiced looking elegant. She really did seem to love the idea of the role.

“What’s wrong? Is it that you can’t figure out how to move?”

“No, it’s—I know it sounds silly, Erin, but I’m just not Romeo. I can’t be this grand hero in love. I’m just—Wesle. Just a [Guardsman], not a young [Lord].”

Wesle’s shoulders slumped. Erin looked at him, and understood a bit. She touched his shoulder and pulled him around.

“I know you’re not Romeo. But no one’s Romeo when they play him, Wesle. They become him.”

He looked at her, frustrated, helpless.

“How?”

Erin hesitated. She looked at Jasi, who was watching her anxiously, and at Grev. How could she explain acting to people who lived such small lives? Who didn’t have dreams? Who were beaten down by this stupid world and system they lived under?

Well…how else? Erin suddenly knew what to say. She looked back at Wesle, looked him right in the eyes.

“Haven’t you ever—ever wanted to be someone else? To be someone you’re not?”

Wesle hesitated, opened his mouth. Closed it. Grimaced.

“Of course.”

“Then that’s what you do. You don’t want to be someone else. For a little while, but a few moments—you become them. This is you, on stage, living out your dream.”

She pointed at Jasi, pointed at the stage, the empty bit of ground they’d cleared.

“This is your one chance. Forget about me, forget about the people watching you—you’re Romeo right now, a young nobleman who only has eyes for Juliet. You’re not Wesle. Wesle has a fuzzy mustache and he’s just a [Guardsman]. You’re Romeo. And you’re in love.”

Wesle stared at Erin, and she wondered if she’d failed. But then without a word he walked towards Jasi. The Drake was ready, and she called out even as Wesle strode towards her, back straight.

“What man art thou that thus bescreen’d in night so stumblest on my counsel?”

Wesle walked towards Jasi, and then knelt before her. Erin had thought that was appropriate for Romeo. He looked only a bit awkward as he stared up at Jasi imploringly. Still fake. But he was trying.

“By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am—”

Wesle stumbled over his words and bit his tongue. Erin winced. The language was just too hard! She was about to jump in, to tell him it was alright, when she saw something change.

The [Guardsman] kneeling in front of Jasi as the Drake tried to pretend she had a dress suddenly paused. He stopped, hesitated as he thought of his next lines, and then tossed away the script he had memorized. He rose, and took Jasi’s hand in his own. Startled, the Drake looked at him, but Wesle’s face was serious, his eyes intent on hers.

“My name, my very nature, dear [Lady], I hate myself—because it is an enemy to you. Had I my name and race written down, I would tear up like parchment.”

That wasn’t what Romeo was supposed to say! And yet—it was exactly what he was supposed to say! Erin held her breath, delighted, as Jasi paused. She was thinking too, and suddenly there was a glint in her eyes. She pulled her hand free, staring haughtily at Wesle.

“You’ve not spoken a hundred words, but I already know that you are no Drake. Art thou not Romeo, a Human?”

He looked ashamed, and retreated a step before he bowed his head.

“I would be neither of those things, fair [Lady], if you dislike them. For you—I would be anything.”

Suddenly, he advanced on her, trying to put an arm around her waist. Jasi pulled back, but then stepped forwards. She grabbed Wesle’s shirt, and he yelped a bit in surprise.

Romeo and Juliet stood together, youthful, full of passion. Juliet, tail thrashing the ground, pulled Romeo closer to her, her eyes alight with passion.

“Tempt not a desperate Drake, Human.”

Erin covered her mouth, whispering the words to herself in shocked glee.

“That’s not in the script!”

But this was more than the script. Erin watched Wesle pull back, full of—of condescending hauteur, but also deep interest. They exchanged more lines, and then Romeo knelt, catching at Juliet’s hand again.

“I fear your hand is too noble for mine to ever touch. But I have two blushing balms to offer you, my lips—to smooth your rough scales with a tender kiss.”

Juliet laughed, pulling back and mocking him with her own words.

“I feel you do your hands too much discredit, sir. For after all, balms touch even [Queens] and [Ladies] – and if two hands should touch, well that too is like a kiss.”

Filled with consternation, Romeo stood up again, gesturing helplessly at Juliet’s face.

“Do not [Queens] and [Ladies] have lips to kiss with?”

“Of course they do. But balm is not meant for lips.”

She laughed at him, but Romeo was too caught up. He approached, and caught hold of her shoulders, speaking urgently.

“Then let us have lips do what hands do! Please, grant me this—answer my request, or let my hope become despair.”

Even as close as they were, Juliet found the wherewithal to turn her head away and up. Her tail twined about a chair leg, gripping it tightly.

“I’m afraid [Ladies] have no hopes to give. Only laws to make.”

“Then do not move as I act out my hope—”

The audience’s jaws dropped as Romeo kissed Juliet once in passion. He whispered the words as she stared at him in shock and something more.

“Now then, the crime of my assaulting a [Lady] rests on your lips, not mine.”

She smiled, tremulously, still holding on to a [Lady]’s dignity even in this moment.

“Oh? My lips bear your crimes now, do they?”

Romeo’s voice was rough.

“Your lips would turn an honest man to crime with their sweetness. Give me my crime back.”

They kissed again. Only this time, Juliet met Romeo halfway. It was a passionate kiss—and frankly, one that Erin thought Grev should not be watching.

On stage, Erin watched as Wesle and Jasi locked lips, and then continued the scene, slightly breathless but still in character. She had no idea if this was an act or if they’d be jumping each other soon.

No—this was part of the act. They were lost in the characters. And even as Erin watched, Romeo and Juliet came to life before her eyes, not Capulet and Montague, but Human and Drake, caught in forbidden interspecies love.

Erin held her breath as the two continued to act. Her eyes were locked on the performance, trying to capture every second of it before it slipped away. This wasn’t an [Immortal Moment]. Time didn’t stop here; because this wasn’t her scene. She was only part of the audience, a witness to the drama.

How could people act like this so naturally? Maybe it was because they had nothing to cling to. There was no ego in the way they held each other, only two lost lovers daring fate to be together.

The two who stood on the small stage in the inn were playing out roles bigger than themselves. For a little while, they were not Wesle the low-level [Guardsman] and Jasi the impoverished Drake working as a [Washer]. They were Romeo and Juliet, and their story was legend.

So Erin sat and watched the play continue. Grev jumped in, all faulty lines and overenthusiastic acting, and she had to fill in multiple roles herself. It was far from a good play, but for those living each scene, it was special in itself. It was new. It was unique. It was…

A bit of culture. A timeless story, travelling from one world to the other. It wasn’t perfect—it wasn’t accurate to the script and it certainly wasn’t in iambic pentameter. But the spirit was there. It was in every line of dialogue, delivered with clumsy passion and all of each actor’s heart.

It was the stage. And it had come to Celum.

----

Several hours later, Erin realized the play had to be performed. Even after Wesle and Jasi had collapsed tiredly into the chairs—that was just the start.

They needed actors, a set, and audience! When Erin suggested a live performance both man and Drake froze, but they said yes. She had a feeling they would have said yes even if it meant playing all the parts themselves.

But they wouldn’t be alone. Erin was sure of that. Grev had applauded the play—Grev, the boy who could barely sit in one place for long. And the story was compelling; it was a story for this world, especially given the real and pressing animosity between Drakes and Humans.

And it would be told. Erin was certain of that. She would make it happen.

The first thing they needed was a place to practice. And happily, they had the inn. They just needed to make sure they wouldn’t be interrupted, namely by Miss Agnes, who had come back full of affronted pride to help manage the lunch crowd.

“Lunch? Who has time for lunch!?”

Erin closed the door in Agnes’ face, only opening it again when the woman hammered on the door.

“You can’t just close the inn! Think of all the coin we’d lose!”

“Too bad! Today the inn’s closed! You said you had things to do, right? Well—do them!”

“How dare you! This is my inn and I—”

Erin opened the door and grabbed Miss Agnes’ hand. She pulled Agnes nose-to-nose with her. The woman stared into Erin’s intense, almost magic gaze.

“Get lost! We’re making art here!”

She ran. Erin had no time for her. She was too busy coordinating the play with the others.

“Who would want to act? We need male actors and female ones. And costumes! And a set! I mean, we can do without, but it looks better that way.”

“There aren’t any Drakes in the city, are there? We’d need some to play the Capulets…”

“No wait—there is one! The [Baker], Mister Hess who lives on Springbottom street! I could see him—explain—”

“What about other actors?”

Wesle was stroking his mustache furiously, on an adrenaline high from the performance.

“I’ll go to the Watch House. I’m sure there are plenty of men and women who’d love to try this. But how can I explain it to them?”

“Go together!”

Erin was practically bouncing with excitement. She’d grabbed her bag of coins and she was excitedly pushing gold ones into Grev’s hands.

“You two can do a scene from the play for them. And tell people we’ll perform it here! Tonight! Admission is free, and they can buy food and drink!”

She gave up on counting coins and dumped a handful of them into Grev’s hands. The young boy stared at the glittering pile, poleaxed.

“I want costumes, Grev! Clothing for rich people, [Lords] and [Ladies]! And swords!”

“I think I can borrow weapons from the Watch House.”

“Okay, no swords! But get me clothing! And curtains! I want big, red ones! Doesn’t matter if you have to get them to sew it together—it’s going to hang up there and we’ll pull them aside for each scene!”

“What about ah, what did you call them? Props?”

“Props!”

Erin pulled Grev back as he eagerly ran for the door.

“Get me…yeah, get a [Carpenter] and a [Painter] to make some backgrounds! No, wait, I’ll do it! They can draw a city, and a garden and—!”

The girl ran out of the inn. Grev led her to a [Painter]’s store—a man who decorated houses and created art for the nobility. She kicked down the door when he refused to open it. He screamed for the Watch, but they were all busy. Busy auditioning for a play.

And when Erin dragged the poor man to meet the best [Carpenter] in town, news was spreading. How could it not? Here was something interesting, and people were talking about it in the streets. Not too many people of course—word could only spread so fast by word of mouth, and Celum was a big city. There was always something happening.

And yet, the word ‘play’ had a magic of its own. It spread from person to person, from the Watch House to the bakery where the [Baker] suddenly took a day off for some strange reason. It attracted attention—especially when they saw that new, young [Innkeeper] ran into Stitchworks, and dragged the [Alchemist] out, kicking and screaming.

Something was clearly happening. People began asking questions. What was a play? Was it like a street performance? No? Then what was it? How did it go? Would it cost anything? When was it happening?

What would it be like?

----

That night, a crowd of people gathered in the Frenzied Hare. It wasn’t a huge amount of people—at least, not in terms of the city’s full population. But it packed two thirds of the room until there was only a little bit of space for the two put-upon [Barmaids] and one [Innkeeper] to circulate the room, passing out drinks and food.

Behind the red curtain that had been hastily stitched together, Erin ran over the play with her actors. They were all new, and they’d barely had time to practice more than once or twice. For any other director, this might have been their worst nightmare.

But to Erin, it was just a lovely dream. The people in front of her might still be memorizing their lines, but they had more passion in their toenails than she’d seen from some actors on stage. She gave them what tips she could, and trusted them to do the rest. Even someone who hadn’t acted in more than one or two school plays like Erin could pass along some important advice.

“Always be looking at the audience. Even if you’re facing one another—do it so the audience can see your entire body. Like this.”

She demonstrated, and the gathered cast watched her nervously. Some asked questions, others shook with stage fright. The [Baker] passed out, but by the time the curtains drew back, he was ready to go, if vibrating with fright.

The play began. Erin was in agony as she alternated between cooking—throwing together the most mass-producible meals she could of soups and breads, sending Maran running to buy more food to sell at outrageous prices to her guests—while hurrying back out to watch the magic.

“Two species, both alike in dignity,

In fair Celum, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”

Grev stood in the center of the stage, declaiming to the audience. He was white with fright, but his words made the listeners murmur in interest. Erin bit at her fingernails with glee as the actors came out.

The story of Romeo and Juliet was simple. Complex, and simple. At the heart of it was a love affair. But in the first scenes, the play started with a brawl between the two families, or in this case, the two races. Drakes, or rather, people dressed as Drakes and one actual Drake drew real swords and dueled with angry Humans. Actual blood was spilled, but fortunately, not much.

Erin was too busy shoving hot bowls of soup at Miss Agnes—and spilling some on the woman—to see the fight. But she heard the shout as the fighting ceased.

“Swords! Lay down your unlawful swords!”

The actors paused and reluctantly tossed their blades on the ground. A huge man—the actual Watch Captain of Celum himself strode onto the stage with actual [Guardsman] at his back. He was practically bursting with outrage as he roared at the audience who flinched back from him.

“You men, you beasts! Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace! These brawls by old Capulet, and Montague have thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets. If ever you disturb our homes again, your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace! Go now! On pain of death, all men depart!”

The play continued as the lead actor, Romeo, played by Wesle, was introduced. He went to a ball at the house of a famous Drake [Lord] and there laid eyes on the lovely Juliet, played by Jasi for the first time.

Erin watched the audience’s expressions. She’d wondered whether they’d like a Drake and Human romance, but despite being from another world and never having seen a play before, they were Humans. Forbidden love captured their hearts and minds and they fell in love with Juliet the moment she took the stage. They sighed and cheered as Romeo and Juliet hit it off.

But then—from the love scene on the balcony, tragedy! Romeo’s friend Mercutio was slain on stage as the audience cried out in shock and horror. In a rage, Romeo confronted the Drake named Tybalt, sword in hand.

Wesle pointed a sword at the Drake’s, full of fury and rage.

“Turn hellhound, turn!”

Erin had liberally used other famous lines from Shakespeare’s plays to add to the drama. The Drake playing Tybalt sneered at Wesle, raising his own sword with a flourish. Undeterred, Romeo advanced, holding his sword with wrath and rage.

“Damn mercy and peace. Fire-eyed fury be my conduct now! Mercutio’s body is not yet cold—waiting for you or I to give it company in the grave!”

“You fool.”

Tybalt sneered at Romeo, lifting his own sword with a dismissive flick of the tail.

“You are no [Duelist], and my own levels number over twenty one. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here shalt with him hence.”

Adapted for this world, and mixed with the language of the Bard himself. Erin watched at the two dueled, and then saw how Juliet found herself trapped in a marriage against her will, while she yearned to be with her true love, Romeo. Her only option was to pretend to die so she could join Romeo in exile.

Thus, Jasi as Juliet implored the dark-skinned girl holding glowing potions to brew her a potion to reunite her with her love. A plea, as it turned out, that Octavia playing Octavia was only too willing to grant.

The Stitch Girl dominated the stage, playing to her audience hard as she mixed harmless liquids together to create a spectacular reaction for the awed crowd. She held the completed glowing red liquid towards Juliet, chattering away.

“A potion to feign death isn’t hard to brew. But this is very costly. Fortunately for you, Octavia’s Stitchworks offers substantial discounts to all customers, and my new line of potions which I’ve marked down nearly 50%—”

“Give me the potion, you heartless [Alchemist]!”

Juliet snatched the bottle away from Octavia, cutting the surprise monologue short. Octavia sniffed, affronted.

“Well excuse me for trying to do business.”

That got a laugh, and then the story continued. At the end, Juliet wept over Romeo’s corpse, too slow, and too late to prevent her love from dying.

As the sounds of her pursuers reached her ears, Juliet stood in despair, holding the dagger in her hands. Erin heard people in the audience shouting at her not to do anything, but it was too late. Oblivious to the crowd, Juliet stared down at the pointed blade.

“Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger,

This is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.”

The dagger plunged into her chest, and the red potion Octavia had made spurted forwards. The crowd was on their feet, but the play continued before they could rush the stage.

In the end, after all the lamentation was done, the Watch Captain stood in front of the audience, head bowed, standing in front of the grieving parents of the slain lovers. He spoke to the crowd, his deep voice and sorrowful eyes finding each person in the crowd.

“A glooming peace this morning with it brings;

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;

Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished:

For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

And after that—there was nothing. Erin had never seen a speechless crowd, but when they regained their voices there was only sound and cheering. The cast had to come out to bow, had to shake hands and even perform some scenes over again, such was the enthusiasm in the room.

Erin missed all of it. Halfway through the play the audience had forgotten to eat, so spellbound they’d been. But with the thrilling conclusion their hunger came back in force. She cooked like there was no tomorrow, even though it was tomorrow by the time she was done.

And when it was over? When the last actor staggered out of the inn and Erin had hugged Jasi and watched Agnes collapse onto a table, the bag of coins she’d earned held blissfully on her chest. When she’d seen Wesle walk away, his step full of confidence and—and hope?

She went back up to her room, walking slowly. Erin’s head was full of cotton; her arms and legs were lead. She lay back in her bed, too tired to undress or clean her teeth. The curtain call was upon her, but she delayed the ending for one moment to stare up at the ceiling.

In the darkness, Erin smiled. She spoke to the night.

“Good. This isn’t boring at all.”

[Innkeeper Level 29!]

[Skill – Crowd Control Obtained!]

3.17 T

This is the story of a skeleton named Toren. He laid on his back, staring at the grey sky. He was a skeleton. This fact was readily apparent to him and anyone who saw him. He was a skeleton.

And he was free.

That was all Toren knew. All he understood, really. There had been a time when he was not free, and he had been forced to labor ceaselessly. He hadn’t actually minded most of his duties, in point of fact. Hauling water, cleaning up spilled food and drink—that wasn’t arduous for a skeleton. And Toren had even liked some of his duties which included bossing about a certain annoying Human girl.

But somehow, even the theoretically limitless patience of a skeleton had been stretched by some of his tasks. Like collecting honey while bees dropped him hundreds of feet out of the air to smash into the ground. Or having to pull—

Dingle.

Toren twitched once as he lay on the ground, but other than that he lay still. He had to be still. He kept thinking. Remembering, really.

Yes, he had been held captive by the orders. But then had come the glorious, wonderful moment when he’d found a way to escape them! He’d left his mistress—his owner—Erin Solstice behind in the snow where she would hopefully get lost forever or starve to death and thus freed himself.

He was free. If Toren had lips, he might have tried to smile. Since his face was a grinning skull he didn’t have to bother. But that smile would have quickly faded away, again, if Toren had any flesh to move.

Yes, Toren was free. But so what? What did that mean? Toren had no idea. Now that he was free, what should he do? What was his purpose?

Ever since Toren had leveled up and become a [Skeleton Knight], all kinds of new thoughts had begun popping up in his head. Some were useful—like the idea to leave Erin behind so she couldn’t order him about. But others just made him confused. He’d never had to wonder about his purpose before.

Toren was a skeleton. He had been made to fight—at least, to fight in order to protect. But Toren liked fighting. He liked leveling up, so he’d gone out of his way to kill everything he could. And that was good, but was there something else he should be doing?

He didn’t know. If Toren had lungs he might have sighed. But he didn’t, so the purple flames in his eyes just flickered for a moment as they dimmed. What should he do next? He couldn’t just lie here forever. Well, he could, but—

“What’s this?”

Toren heard a voice and didn’t move. He heard crunching footsteps as someone—two someones—walked towards him in the snow. Still, he didn’t move.

“Dead gods. It looks like an attack! Someone’s killed these two people!”

“A bandit raid? Are they still nearby, do you think?”

There was another voice. Toren really didn’t care about the gender of the speakers—if pressed, he might have admitted one sounded male and the other sounded female. He just listened quietly as the two conferred.

“Might be—but look! They didn’t even make off with the money pouch! Here—”

“What are you doing? You can’t just take it!”

“Can’t I? These poor saps aren’t going to use it any time soon, and it’s a lucky find for us. We’ll report the bodies when we get to Celum; that’ll repay the debt.”

“It’s stealing!”

“From the dead? If they care so much, let them stop me.”

Because Toren had no sense of irony, it was only after the man had rummaged around a bit and collected the coin that he stood up. He casually brushed snow off of his bones and walked over to the man and woman engrossed by the two corpses.

“Hm?”

The man noticed something and turned around. He turned, saw Toren, and screamed.

“Skele—”

Toren beheaded the man with one slash and then turned to the woman. She screamed.

“Hemlet!”

Toren paused. Did she mean the man? He was missing his head. Unless he could fight without it like Toren could, the skeleton really doubted yelling his name would do any good.

Still, wouldn’t that be interesting? Toren stared at the corpse hopefully.

…Nope. It wasn’t moving. After a few moments he noticed the woman was running. Toren ran after her.

A fun fact no one cared about was that skeletons were actually light enough to run on the top of the snow if it had a crust. Toren easily caught up to the woman and a few seconds later he was dragging her body next to the man’s. The blood on his bones and the ground was the only splash of color in the lifeless landscape. That and his eyes, of course.

He had purple eyes. Or rather, purple flames burning in his eye sockets. Toren thought about that as he carefully buried the two bodies of his latest victims with the others. When he’d first been created, he’d had blue eyes. But after…absorbing a gemstone he’d taken from a certain monster named Skinner, he’d gained the power to inflict [Fear] on people. And his eyes had changed color.

Toren didn’t mind that part. He would have gladly turned his eyes any color for the [Fear] effect. But it was interesting to him because the skeleton was by and large immortal and unchangeable in most respects.

He could regenerate. If his bones were separated, they came back together. And even if they were crushed or disintegrated—as they had been once by Corusdeer horns—they would eventually recreate themselves.

That meant that while Toren was very hard to destroy permanently, few things about his nature could be altered. And yet his eyes had changed.

The skeleton considered this detail as he washed the blood off of his bones with snow, rendering him yellow-white and practically invisible against the snowy background. He lay down again and kept thinking as he waited.

He could change. He could be something else. That mattered because…well, because he could level. That was an important thing to Toren. When he leveled, he thought more. And he grew stronger. Both of these things were good. And if he leveled up enough, then maybe one day Erin Solstice wouldn’t be able to order him around at all.

That was a good thought. Toren liked that idea. He grinned as he lay in the snow, staring at the sky.

Someday. Someday he’d go back to that inn with a sword. And then he’d let Erin yell at him and boss him around. And then he’d—

Kill her. Right?

Toren paused, mid-grin. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Would he kill Erin? It was the logical answer. But really, Toren only wanted to be free of the orders. He only considered Erin’s death as it pertained to her ordering him about. But what if he could ignore the orders? Would he kill her then?

This was a serious question for the skeleton, and a distressing one! As he thought about it, he realized he didn’t actually know if he would kill or not kill Erin. And that went for all the other people who visited her inn.

The fact that Toren did not have a would-kill list for every being in the world was very upsetting for the skeleton. He quickly made one up as he waited for someone else to notice the victims he’d killed days ago lying in the snow.

They were so handy. Toren had killed the first travelers on a small side road and he’d been about to go on his way when he realized they were perfect bait. He’d used them as distractions to ambush a score of other travelers as they passed by. Not for any real purpose; he was fairly sure that this didn’t help him level up that much. It was just a way to pass the time as he thought deep thoughts.

It was fun.

Anyways. A kill list. If Toren had the ability to kill anyone—if he leveled up enough, in short—who would he kill? The idea intrigued him.

Well, who would he kill first? The bees, obviously. He’d slaughter their entire damn hive. And then after the bees he’d probably kill…Lyonette.

Yes. Toren’s eyes burned in his sockets. He would enjoy that. She was so annoying, and she’d stopped him from going hunting so many times! Lyonette was second.

And after her, who would be next? Maybe the girl who Erin talked to often. Ryoka. It wasn’t that the girl was more annoying than the other guests that Erin entertained—it was just that Toren didn’t like her. More specifically, he didn’t like her body. Her bone structure bothered him a bit. Maybe it was her shinbones. They were a tad too long, and Toren just disliked that.

Hm? Dislike? Had he just thought that?

Toren sat up in the snow and tapped at his head with one finger. Then he looked around and quickly lay back down.

Had he really thought that? But yes—now that Toren thought about it, he had things he disliked! That was an…odd thing. Before this moment, Toren had never thought about liking and disliking things. But now he knew there were things in this world he hated.

Like Ryoka’s shin bones. And Lyonette. And the bees! And anything that went dingle.

Yes, the bells. Toren added the bells and the sleigh onto his kill list. He’d destroy them too. They might not be alive, but he’d find a way. Maybe he’d melt the bells. And set the sleigh on fire. That felt appropriate to him.

Toren was enjoying coming up with his kill list. But he paused as another thought hit him, bouncing through his empty cranium and finding whatever part of him was actually doing the thinking.

If he had something he hated, what did he actually like?

It was an odd question. But Toren understood the word ‘dislike’, even if he didn’t think of it in actual words. But the idea of ‘dislike’ was that there was an opposite, right? If Toren had something he hated, he had to have something he loved.

That was a rule. If there was no love, there could be no hatred. If there was no positive to balance out the negative, the world was simply a void of one thing. So Toren had to have a like or his hatred made no sense.

Right? Toren tried to frown, but the closest he could do was tap his knucklebones against his skull a few times. This was a conundrum. Didn’t he have anything he liked doing?

Well—killing things. And leveling up. But was there anything else? Surely there was. Toren thought hard, abandoning his hiding spot to stand up and pace about in his intense concentration.

And then heard a sound. It didn’t come from the world around him. Rather, it echoed in his mind. It came up from some hidden place in him. A sound. No—not a sound. A voice.

Music.

Once upon a time, the skeleton had heard music. He had stood in an inn, watching a girl sing. He had never known music existed until that moment. And he had heard the words, and they had burned themselves into his soul.

Music.

Toren’s fist rose. He punched himself in the head as hard as he could, but it was too late. The music was in his head again. He immediately hit himself in the head with his sword to make it go away.

But the music still remained. It wasn’t a sound he could run from, and he couldn’t forget it.

It haunted him. The skeleton had no brain that could decay, no memories that could fade and tarnish with emotion and age. For him, every time he heard the song he was caught in the same moment, listening with wonder and awe.

It was too much. Too much to bear. Toren dropped his sword and threw himself onto the ground. He thrashed about, sending snow flying, getting up, throwing himself on hard dirt again. Trying to hurt himself. Trying to make the music go away. He didn’t even notice the armed people staring at him until one of them cast a spell.

----

The adventuring team stared at the skeleton flopping around in the snow like a fish in silence for a few minutes.

“Is it some kind of rare undead, do you think?”

One of the adventurers, a [Fighter] holding a sword in his hands—whispered to his two companions. They just shrugged, staring at that thrashing skeleton in confusion.

“I don’t know. Maybe something went wrong with it?”

“Looks like it. But it’s probably the monster that’s been causing all these disappearances over the last few days.”

“Should we kill it? Or—maybe capturing it would be better? Would the Guild give us a bounty for that?”

The adventurers stared at the skeleton. He was throwing himself around like a dying fish, banging his head against the ground, rolling about in a ball…

Eventually, the mage in the three-man team cast a spell.

“[Pebbleshot]!”

It wasn’t a high-Tier spell, but the bits of stone the female [Mage] levitated up and hurled at the skeleton had quite a lot of force behind them. One cracked into the skeleton’s skull and fractured the bone on his forehead. The skeleton lay on the ground, seemingly stunned, and then got up. He stared at the Bronze-rank team silently. Then he grabbed the sword at his side and ran at them.

Another pebble smashed into his forehead. Toren stumbled back as more hit his arms, his body—

The spell wasn’t really a good one to use on a skeleton. Over half of the stones the [Mage] sent smacking into him just passed through his body or bounced off without doing any real damage. Still, it was annoying. Toren staggered as another one struck him directly in the center of his chest and then he overbalanced.

The three adventurers watched as the skeleton fell backwards, disappearing over a slight mound of snow. The two warriors—a young man and a woman, holding a sword and spear respectively—were ready in case the skeleton charged. But he didn’t appear once he’d fallen.

“Do you think it can’t get back up?”

“Could be. Let’s advance—cautiously.”

The three moved forwards a few steps, watching the spot where the skeleton had gone. They’d gone about six feet when an innocuous patch of snow next to them suddenly shifted.

Toren arced out of the snow like an angry bone-fish, slashing wildly as the adventurers screamed and tried to defend themselves. He cut at the mage as she screamed, managing to slice her deeply on one arm and down her shoulder across the chest before the [Fighter] thrust her out of the way. He slashed at Toren while his companion struck at the skeleton from the other side.

“Don’t let it get away!”

One had a sword, the other a spear. Neither was particularly useful in damaging the skeleton, and Toren ignored the few light cuts he received while he tried to hack at the man with the sword.

But the adventurers, for all their poor choice of weaponry, were a team. While the [Fighter] blocked and dodged Toren’s attacks, his friend struck Toren from the side and behind, hitting the skeleton with heavy strikes of her spear.

It was annoying. Toren stepped back as the [Fighter] counterattacked, bringing his sword down in a two-handed cut intended to smash Toren’s skull. He leapt backwards, but a spear struck his spine and made him stumble forwards instead.

“Got you!”

The [Fighter]’s sword slashed out horizontally towards Toren’s neck. But even as the sword touched the skeleton’s neck, Toren’s entire body blurred.

“Wh—”

The man’s words cut off as Toren’s own sword slashed at his arm, impossibly quick. The blade cut down to the bone and even into it—Toren wrenched away the sword as the [Fighter] screamed and his comrade shouted in confusion.

[Mirage Cut]. In satisfaction, Toren watched as the man cried out and clutched at his useless arm. One down. He turned to the spear-wielder—

“[Pebbleshot]!”

A stone the size of Toren’s palm smacked him in the head. He rocked backwards on his feet and took a step back to steady himself.

New plan. Kill the [Mage] first. But when he raised his sword, he found that all three adventurers were…running?

“Get away!”

The woman with the spear had abandoned her weapon to help her friend run. The [Mage] was casting [Pebbleshot] at Toren, slowing him down as they ran back towards the main road.

Briefly, the skeleton considered giving chase. But in the end he just shook his head and lay back down in the snow. He was too busy thinking to bother chasing them, especially if it meant being hit by more pebbles.

However, the sudden burst of violence had cheered Toren up considerably. He’d completely forgotten about the music, and so he went back to his original line of thought.

Very well, if he had things he liked and disliked, then what about things he wanted to do? That was another intriguing question, and again, something Toren had never thought of. But now that he was free, what should he do?

Staying here to ambush passersby was losing a lot of its charm. Toren wanted…to be stronger. He wanted to level up freely, like he’d done when Erin hadn’t needed him around her inn. Yes, that was it! Toren would level up. Only after he’d gotten strong—much stronger than he was now would he worry about his kill list.

And on that note…Toren remembered the adventurers who’d beaten him with ease, quite unlike the ones he’d just routed. Griffon Hunt. All of them—and especially the [Scout], the one who’d shot him through the head—were far more powerful than Toren was, he was sure of it.

Becoming as strong as them was a good goal, wasn’t it? Toren stood up decisively. It was settled. He’d become stronger by killing things.

It had taken the skeleton many days to come to this conclusion. But the difference between Toren’s line of thought before and now was clear. Before, he’d just killed to level up, and because he wanted to. Now, he wanted to kill to level up to be as strong as the Griffon Hunt team. There was a huge distinction between such pointless actions and his new goal.

But where should he do it? Toren hit upon his first problem almost immediately as he dug around in the snow. Killing people on the road was all very well, but it was rather slow work, and people ran away almost every time. Wasn’t there somewhere better?

That was when Toren realized there was somewhere he could be. He looked up instinctively, his head turning south…south east. There was something in that direction. Or rather, something called to him, prodded at some sense in the skeleton’s mind.

It wasn’t far away, and it intrigued Toren. That was as good a place to start as any. So the skeleton quickly unearthed the battered bronze armor he’d hid in the snow and put it on. So adorned, he began to march through the snow. He was going to level up! Level up and then—

And then he’d see whether or not he felt like killing Erin Solstice. Of a certainty, he was going to kill Lyonette and everyone else who’d annoyed him at that damn inn.

----

This is a story of a band of Goblins. They were a dangerous band of warriors—no common Goblins with rusted weapons and feeble bodies, but armed elites. Each one was over Level 10 in a combat class, and they were all armed and armored.

From their levels alone, they were each a match for any Bronze-rank adventurer. But in terms of experience, they were vastly more competent than any greenhorn with a sword. Each of the Goblins was a veteran warrior, one of the best fighters in the Redfang tribe.

And they were being led by a Hobgoblin. With him at their head, the Goblins were more than a match for any unprepared Silver-rank team. They were thirteen strong, a band of Goblin warriors.

And they were lost.

None of them mentioned this fact, however. They walked through the snow, rough cloaks held up against the wind as they marched on in tight formation. They were elite warriors, able to cope with any threat. What was being lost compared to fighting a Wyvern?

The trouble was, it was hard to fight sore feet and the nagging feeling that you were in the wrong place when you should be doing something else. The truth was, this group of Goblins was ill-suited for their task.

Namely: kill the Human. And that was the problem. When the Goblin warriors had been given their task by their Chieftain, the famous Garen Redfang himself, it had all seemed too easy. They’d immediately set out after being dropped off by Carn Wolves close to where the Human had last been spotted, walking on foot and away from the main roads to avoid unnecessary conflicts.

But then pesky questions had begun circulating throughout the group. Doubts that plagued even the most stalwart members. Questions like, which Human? Where was she going? Why an [Innkeeper]? Was there danger? Would she be protected? Was she going to go into a city and if so—were they expected to fight their way in? And most importantly…

Why not tell their current Chieftain, Rags?

All of these questions were pressing and important, but perhaps none more so than the last one. That was because while the Goblin warriors were fine with a little geographical displacement, or even chronological displacement if it came to that, they weren’t comfortable with disobeying their leader. And Rags was their leader, not Garen.

It was a complicated situation. In fact, for the Goblins, this current moment was the most politically fraught time any of them had ever experienced. Normally, being a Goblin was simple. All you had to do was survive, and obey the Chieftain. There wasn’t even a third requirement. That was how simple it was.

But in a strange twist of fate, the Redfang tribe, invincible in the region around the High Passes that they’d claimed for themselves, had suddenly become subservient to a tribe that up until very recently had been little more than a ragtag group of weaklings, even by Goblin standards. But the new, young and undeniably attractive Rags was a decisive and intelligent Chieftain who’d conquered many tribes by force.

Even so, Garen Redfang would have been able to crush her by himself. And he nearly did—except that he’d thrown the battle between him and her. All the Goblins knew it. Garen had taken only part of his forces to fight her, and he’d raided her tribe with quick attacks rather than commit to a full battle except at the end. He’d given the position of Chieftain over all the tribes to her.

That wasn’t actually the problem either, though. Garen was a great warrior and an excellent leader in battle. But as a Chieftain his abilities to manage his tribe were below even a common Hob’s which is why Rag’s sudden leadership had been welcome. Even if she was only technically a Chieftain directing other smaller Chieftains rather than a Lord in control of all the tribes…it was much better than having Garen in that role.

And yet Garen was still somehow in charge, or at least, he acted like it. And he’d told the Goblin warriors not to tell Rags, which was odd because he shouldn’t have been ordering them around to begin with if he wasn’t the Chieftain or if she hadn’t told him to.

It was all very complicated, and because it made the Goblins’ heads hurt, they’d just gone along with what Garen had said. But now, as they marched along and looked for a girl whose name they didn’t even know…

They were lost. None of the Goblins said it. At first, it had been too embarrassing to say. Saying it would have been a sign of weakness, or doubt in their former Chieftain’s orders. They’d faithfully hunted for the Human female [Innkeeper] day after day, keeping silent, maintaining the illusion.

By this point, not saying they were lost was a point of pride among the warriors. As if by not saying it, it would somehow make things better than if they were admitting they were lost.

Still, it was day six and something had to be done. The warriors eyed each other as they walked, and the Hobgoblin leading them grunted irritably. This couldn’t continue. Some of them had mates they wanted to get back to, and others were simply and understandably bored of walking around in circles.

All twelve normal Goblins and the Hobgoblin in charge were male. It wasn’t that Goblin women couldn’t be warriors—it was just that mostly, they were too busy being pregnant or taking care of children. But of the female Goblin warriors that did exist, none had been chosen to go on this mission.

Mainly because all the Goblins would have fought for her attention, including the Hob. And she might have fought them back if they got annoying. And the fighting would lead to sex, and the sex would lead to babies. And before long, it wouldn’t be a group of Goblin warriors wandering around, but another tribe.

The first Goblin to break the unspoken rule of silence was Badarrow. That wasn’t his name of course—the Redfang tribe had no Shaman, so they had no names. And unlike Rags who had been named by a Human of all people, and Garen Redfang who had two names, none of these warriors had any proper name.

So instead they had nicknames, which were as good as names except that they weren’t actual names. The Goblin who irritably made a comment in their primitive language as they sat around the fire was named Badarrow.

Badarrow was so named for his hatred of poor quality ammunition. Rather unusually for a Goblin, he refused to even touch any arrow with poor fletching, misshapen arrowheads, or bent shafts. He was an excellent [Archer] and he had the distinction of having killed two Silver-rank adventurers in battle, although this was slightly less impressive when you considered that he had just sat comfortably behind the actual fighting and taken both adventurers by surprise.

Nevertheless, he was a strong warrior and didn’t care for the opinions of anyone else. Which is why he scowled and said a Goblin curse word as he snatched the bowl of watery mush the Goblins had made for lunch.

It was just pasted roots and a tiny bit of meat and bones they’d saved from one of the hares Badarrow had shot yesterday. It wasn’t a bad meal for a normal Goblin, but the Redfang warriors were used to meat meals and lots of them.

All Badarrow said was the curse word, but it was the opening of a metaphysical discussion for the Goblins. It was true that their language was extremely primitive, but the Goblins made up for that fault by reading deeply into each other’s body language and feelings. Goblins lived in close-knit quarters, so their ability to read each other almost bordered on the telepathic.

Badarrow’s comment was indeed aimed at their poor food, but it was also a remark on the person who’d put them in a situation where all they could eat was this. It was an attack on Garen Redfang’s leadership—a subject on which even his tribe was split—and obliquely, a reminder that the Goblins had a better leader whom they were not obeying by being here without her knowledge or permission.

The Goblins considered this comment for only a second. Many would have refused to dive into an argument with Badarrow, but the Hobgoblin, known as Grunter, just grabbed one of the shoddy wooden bowls and downed his gruel in one go. Then he grunted. His name was largely obvious to most Goblins, although some still needed to have it explained to them.

On first glance, Grunter was just burping, or grunting irritably as was his wont. But his prompt, business-like consumption of his meal indicated to the other Goblins that he at least was ready to keep following orders.

That came as no surprise, really. Hobs sometimes questioned their Chieftain, or even fought for the leadership spot, but those who had no such ambitions were always rock-steady behind their Chieftain. So Grunter’s interjection was not a response so much as an opening statement warning the other Goblins that they were still largely indebted to Garen Redfang, despite their current predicament.

The next to comment was a Goblin sitting next to Grunter. He was known as Headscratcher—not for penchant for deep thought, but rather because he probably had lice. He poked his sword with one claw, a reminder of their task. But he also took a bite of his gruel, and even though his had a few fragments of meat, he made an unhappy face.

The other Goblins held their breath. This was a deep statement that cut to the core of what they were doing. Headscratcher had pointed out that yes, they were being sent to kill a Human. Nothing was wrong about that, but it was another reminder of Rag’s relationship to Humans.

Word got around. Even though the Redfang tribe hadn’t mingled long with the Flooded Waters Tribe, they knew Rags was friendly with at least one Human. And she often stayed at an inn. If this was the very same [Innkeeper] they’d been sent to kill, they would most certainly be in deep trouble for doing anything to her.

And Headscratcher’s commentary on their food also pertained to their likely fate if Rags used her power as Chieftain to expel them from the tribe. Garen Redfang couldn’t prevent that, and Headscratcher made it clear that this living rough was not for him.

The next to make a move were two Goblins, Bugear and Rocksoup. Bugear picked one of the infested mites out of his ear and flicked it at Headscratcher, which earned him a glare, but it put him solidly in Garen’s camp. So what if things were hard now? Their duty was to obey.

Rocksoup clearly had other opinions. He’d added his secret ingredient to his bowl, despite the intestinal problems it always gave him, but now he quite deliberately dropped a dirty rock in the communal pot hanging over the fire. The other Goblins scowled, but the meaning was clear: what harmed one Goblin harmed them all. If Rags was their Chieftain, then disobeying her by following Garen hurt the entire tribe.

And yet, Grunter opined with another grunt of displeasure as he fished out the stone with two fingers, Garen had lead them. He’d helped them become the warriors they were, and even if he wasn’t Chieftain, wasn’t he still stronger than Rags? Did they not owe him their loyalty, even though they obeyed Rags too?

Badarrow derisively scratched at his armpit, a commentary on Garen Redfang—he might also have just been scratching an itch. He took out two arrows – one perfectly made, the other one with a single crooked bit of fletching from staying in the quiver. He snapped the imperfect arrow with one clawed hand.

Such a dramatic statement against their former boss quieted the other Goblins. But they knew Badarrow was right. Life had been hard sometimes, for the Redfang tribe. If not for the warriors, then the regular Goblins—there was never enough food, despite their ability to take down almost any monster they wanted. The Hobs had to do all the work, and as Grunter grudgingly admitted, Garen often made mistakes when it came to choosing campsites or places to hunt.

Rags was clearly the better Chieftain. That much all the Goblins could agree on. But the fierce debate that ensued revolved around whether or not her qualifications as a leader made her a better candidate than Garen Redfang, who was unmatched in terms of combat prowess. Complicating the issue was that he had yielded to her, but clearly only obeyed her instructions at his whim, preferring to work behind her back when it suited him.

Could they really go against their leader? And what would be the consequences of throwing their lot behind Rags? Would she protect them, or despise their cowardice in abandoning their own tribe? After all, although she directly led several tribes, the others were simply following her in a coalition. She was not their direct leader—the other Chieftains were simply subservient to her. She was no Goblin Lord. But could she be?

The complexity of such a debate might have stunned any Human who was able to interpret their seemingly random gestures—and even more willing to ignore their fairly disgusting displays while they sat and ate. Bugear was especially hard to watch as he dug around in the ear where at least one nest of insects had made their home.

Most people assumed Goblins were about as deep as a puddle, and that was broadly speaking true. But some puddles are actually underground lakes, at least in certain cases.

The Goblin warriors were, even in their own minds, rather unintelligent and uninformed about many worldly matters. But even if these Goblins couldn’t perform wonders of mathematics or figure out how to read a map, they were still Goblins, experts in the field of Goblin culture in their own right. They understood tribal dynamics, and so they naturally debated such issues with keen interest.

After all, it was not unknown for Hobs or Goblin warriors to sway the outcome of a showdown between Chieftains. And the only thing Goblins had going for them was that they stuck together, regardless of what happened. So their hot debate was precisely the sort of thing that needed to occur to prevent internecine strife, which would be disastrous to their tribe.

In the end, the ones who formed the core of the debate were those who had been first to speak. Badarrow, Headscratcher, Grunter, Bugear, and Rocksoup were probably the best fighters, and certainly the most vocal. So the other Goblins deferred to them as they listened, only interjecting occasionally by flicking a stone at someone or passing wind to mock a stupid remark.

The others had names too of course, but the Goblins had only a limited amount of patience for remembering things. So often, the easiest way for them to think of each other was ‘that Goblin’ or ‘other Goblin’ and so on. Even when it came to themselves. It was only a nickname after all—if they had real names, they would have cared much more. But no one here was that lucky.

The Goblins spent around forty minutes eating lunch, upon which they packed up and kept walking in a random direction Grunter pointed. All the while they argued, until all of the Goblins present came to a conclusion as one.

Their general consensus was this: Garen Redfang was their Chieftain and leader. But—and this was a hard admission—he was a very poor Chieftain. He was unmatched in battle, but outside of it he was about as useful as an arrow up the butt. That was to say, he was actually more of a hindrance than anything else.

True, he’d lost the battle on purpose to Rags. But hadn’t she done a good job beating him and the other warriors despite that? The band of Goblins bore no particular ill will towards her for killing their comrades—they were just glad it hadn’t been them. The trap with the Shield Spider pits had proven she could outmaneuver Garen, and if you added that to her ability to lead so many tribes…

There was no comparison. Rags was the Chieftain, and Garen had forgotten that. Grunter and Bugear put it down to his interactions with Humans. He’d forgotten that he had to obey Rags, not make decisions for her. He had to be reminded of that.

So the conclusion all the Goblins came to was simple: they had to go back. They would go back to Rags and tell her what Garen had told them to do. And then, depending on what she said they’d complete their mission or not. Garen would throw a fit and maybe he’d get violent—

But it was the right thing to do. Their tribe needed unity now, more than ever. Especially if there really was a Goblin Lord about to attack them. Neither Rags nor Garen were as good as a true Goblin Lord, despite their Skills. But if they worked together…

In truth, the Goblin warriors didn’t know why they weren’t joining with this Goblin Lord, as was customary. But they’d heard dark rumors about this so-called Lord, and Garen Redfang had told them that any Goblin who joined the Goblin Lord, he, Garen, would kill himself. Which told the Goblins a lot about how much this new Goblin Lord could be trusted.

That was a matter for later. Right now, they had to get back and throw their support behind Rags. The Goblins present were few, but they had a lot of clout even outside their own tribe. Grunt was an average Hobgoblin, but the warriors present were some of the best, and their voices would sway a lot of minds.

So! Time to go back! No more being lost. They could return with their heads held high. The Goblins all felt rather satisfied with themselves. Rather cleverly, they’d managed to address their current issue without having to bring up the fact that they were lost.

But then Headscratcher looked around at the snowy landscape. He scratched his head, stared at whatever was caught in his fingernails and brought up a dismaying point.

Did they actually know where Rags and the other Goblins were right now?

The Goblin warriors looked at each other in consternation. They scratched their heads, scratched their butts, kicked at the snow, and shrugged helplessly. After a few seconds they all agreed. They were lost.

All eyes turned to Grunter. He grunted irritably. Grunter was a heavy Hob, one of the ones who was classically almost as wide as he was tall. He was no athletic Garen with a Human’s build, but his weight helped in battle where he could use his axe to literally crush his opponents. And it also made him a rock of confidence in times like these.

After a few seconds of thought, Grunter pointed. Not in a random direction this time—he pointed towards where they had come.

Liscor. That was the place to be. That was where Rags and the others had last been—they could head that way. They were sure to pick up signs of so many Goblins moving, even with their pathetic tracking abilities.

All the Goblins agreed. They would go to Liscor. In less than an hour they found the main road heading south and, after walking north for a few hours before they realized their mistake, they stealthily shadowed the road heading south.

They were going to rejoin their tribe. The only problem was that none of the Goblins knew that Rags and Garen and all the Goblin tribes in the area had already headed north, far north to the area around Invrisil. The band of Goblins were going in the wrong direction.

But they didn’t know that. And they felt confident, and that was all that mattered. That was, until they saw the other Goblins marching down the road.

----

This is the story of a young woman. She had a name. But she had no words to tell anyone her name, even if they would have listened to her. She had lost language. And she had lost her family and everything else.

Before—she had a life. She’d been a [Florist]—an unusual class, but one she could take because her city had been beautiful and peaceful. Esthelm had been a happy city.

And then the Goblins came. The girl only remembered the chaos and screaming—shouting confusion as everyone ran. She’d tried to find her family, to escape, but the streets had been full of dark shapes, and the Goblins—

They had come and gone, and left a burned city in their wake. The girl had survived the fire, and she had been one of the first to lay eyes on her broken home.

Esthelm had been destroyed in a single night. And what remained was—

Rubble. Broken buildings. A maze of fallen masonry and tunnels of homes where the dead lay buried in the darkness. Empty souls wandering the destruction, preying on each other.

If she had found her family, she might have left with them. But no help had come, and the young woman had found herself trapped in the city. The Goblin army had left—leaving countless numbers of their dead in the streets. Goblins had slaughtered their own kind and plundered the city. Perhaps some would have called it a mercy.

But not her. And not the survivors. Rather, the many who survived the Goblin attack soon realized the true horror of what the Goblins had done. The monsters had taken goods, plundered valuables—and stolen away the food. And now, in the remains of their city, over half of the remaining population began to tear each other apart over what scraps they could find.

Death by sword or fire would have been the kinder alternative by far. The young woman had tried to find her home, and then find stores of food—shops—but she had found nothing. Desperate men and women had killed each other fighting over a bag of grain before her eyes, and she had fled.

Now she sat in the dark, broken place that had been a home, staring up at a ceiling held up by crumbling supports. Even though the structure could fall at any moment, she didn’t care. Oblivion was preferable to what she faced.

Hungry. She was so hungry. It wasn’t even words anymore. Just an overpowering desire to eat something. Anything.

It had been six days. Six long days since Esthelm had burned. The young woman’s clean hair was gone. Her features were gaunt. Her stomach was eating away at the rest of her body. She was so hungry.

And yet—she could find no food. Now she sat, staring at the one thing she could find to eat. But it was too horrible. She turned away and lay against a broken wall, trying to die. Trying to ignore the nightmarish idea in her brain.

On the seventh day she stared down at the body. Even flies hadn’t found it yet. Whoever it had been—male or female—had burned in the devastation. Their skin was blackened. And yet—

The smell. It was nauseating, horrific. The burnt flesh should have made her turn away and puke. But now it only made her mouth water. Her stomach growled. The young woman stared at the body, possessed by a terrible urge.

Hungry. She was hungry.

She couldn’t. She would rather die. But when she’d pulled herself to the entrance of her hidden resting place, she’d seen what lay outside. Bands of men—grabbing young women, fighting each other. She’d watched in horror and retreated to her small place, covering her ears to not hear the shrieks.

On the eighth day she stared at the body. She was forcing herself not to touch it. She stared at the ground. She stared at her hands, ragged, dirty. She tried to tell herself it would never happen.

Hungry.

But something dark sat up in her body. It crawled towards the light, and salivated in the madness of her broken mind. When she heard the screaming outside—inhuman and bestial, she’d smiled and laughed uncontrollably, giggling in the silence of her pit.

And on the ninth day, she’d eaten the body. It was rotten and the flesh was—

She tore and bit like an animal, lost to reason. The only desire she had in the entire world was to eat.

She was so hungry it hurt. But then she ate and ate and—

And then it happened. She heard the voice in her mind as she slept that night, after she’d puked and wept and eaten again, letting the monster in her soul take over. She ate and ate and ate until her body was gorged on the flesh, eating until she thought she would burst. And then she’d heard the voice in her head.

[Rank 1 Horror – Corpse Eater.]

[Condition – Terrible Hunger Received.]

[Condition – Outcast Humanity Received.]

[Aspect – Body of the Eater Obtained.]

[Aspect – Rending Claws Obtained.]

[Florist Level 19 → Florist Level 16.]

[Skill – Aroma of Spring Lost.]

[Skill – Winter Growth Lost.]

She’d woken up and screamed. But the sound hadn’t been Human. And when she’d felt at her teeth suddenly sharp and pointed, her fingernails like razors and her face—she’d known.

She’d become a monster. She had damned herself and lost her humanity.

She was—

So hungry. So very, very hungry.

And there was food to eat everywhere now. So much food.

----

Esthelm, in the darkness. It always seemed dark in Esthelm. The broken buildings and slanted walls created a labyrinth into which sound and light seemed to vanish. The bands of refugees and thugs who’d established themselves on the outside of the city had light, but it only served to enshroud the center of the city in more darkness.

The sewers had broken in places. In others, the flame had sent buildings tumbling into obscene heaps of death. Only the brave and truly desperate would go searching in these places, even among Esthelm’s survivors. Because even if they did not see anything, they knew dark things lurked in these places.

One of these dark things looked like a young woman. Perhaps. She had ragged long hair and her body was in the right shape. But clothing hung from her thin frame, and as she tore at something on the ground, other changes were clear. Her fingernails were sharp like knives. Her hands and face looked—wrong. And she was eating.

She crouched on the ground, tearing at something. She stuffed pieces into her face, rotting bits of…something. Something she still couldn’t put into words.

Because she’d lost them.

[Rank 2 Horror – Carrion Eater.]

[Condition – Wordless Thing Received.]

[Skill – Gaping Bite Obtained.]

[Florist Level 16 → Florist Level 12.]

[Skill – Quick Growth Lost.]

The more she ate, the worse it became. But now she was eating the rotting corpses, not just the burned dead. She was so hungry. Part of her wanted to puke, but she could only eat. It was all—

Delicious. Not like sweets or savory foods to make the mouth water, but something more primal. It was just food she tasted—food to fill the hole in her stomach. So she ate and bit, and chewed the bones.

Part of her wanted to die. But the rest was just hungry. She could stop herself for only a few seconds. And then her head would lower and she would feast.

The young woman pulled more of the corpse towards her. It had been a woman, once. A young woman, like her. The knowledge was a dagger in the girl’s heart, but she couldn’t stop. She bit once, and again, tearing off bits and pieces, feeling the flesh rip and stretch. Tears ran down her face, and she choked on bile and the foulness. But she swallowed and bit again.

So hungry. She was so hungry. And she had to eat. Had to. It was that or become one of the rotting bodies. She wanted to be dead, but she couldn’t figure out how.

The girl reached for the head of the half-devoured woman. And then she heard the scream.

“No!”

She saw the movement, saw the blow coming. It smashed into her face, making her nose crunch and her flesh tear as the boot struck her. Then she heard the man.

“What are you doing? Dead gods—what—?”

Then the orb of light in his hands shone on her and she shielded her face. The man saw the corpse and he went still. The young woman looked up, gasping, searching for words. But they had all left her.

And as the horror-struck man’s eyes turned from the body to her face, he recoiled. He went pale, and his voice shook as he spoke.

“Monster.”

He whispered it, and then screamed the word.

“Monster!”

She backed away on all fours as he groped around for a weapon, a stone—anything. She saw him find a piece of wood, splintered on one end. He raised the block of wood and advanced, swinging at her.

“Get away—die you—you monster!”

She fled. He chased after her, catching her with one bloody swing on the shoulder once—but he quickly gave up the chase. She looked back only once and saw him holding the body in his arms.

This was her life.

----

They found her as she fled. A group of laughing men, desperate and lacking hope, but reveling in their own twisted freedom to do as they pleased. They only saw her silhouette in the flickering light of their torches, but they called out the instant they saw her.

“A woman!”

“Come here!”

They chased her too. She fled down a broken street, tripping, stumbling. One of them had a Skill and they caught up to her quickly. But the group of men stopped when their torches cast her body into relief. The color drained from their faces as they saw her face, her clothing—when they saw her.

“What is—”

“Is she—is it—?”

They might have killed her, but she fled into a broken place where the rubble had fallen and broken into a sewer. None of the men chased her. Their lust was gone, and only horror remained.

----

In the muck and congealed foulness, the thing that used to be a girl saw something moving. She darted after it even as it fled. But it was too slow, and she was too quick now. Hunger and her new form drove her, made her quick. Quicker than the shambling dead things that tried to follow her. She could see them rising in the darkness. The dead coming back to life.

But she wasn’t interested in them. Small creatures were easier to kill. And the rodent she’d found was slow in the sewer waste. Too slow.

She caught a rat and held it up. It struggled and screamed in her hands and bit her, but the pain was just like everything else that was life. And when she bit it, the body twitched a few times and then was still.

She ate it entirely, and licked at her foul hands. It didn’t matter. She was lost. And then she wailed, screaming with all that remained of her heart.

The noise attracted the shambling things. They came for her, rotting, trying to kill her. But she was quick, and she fled. But the dead were coming back, all of them. Some climbed out of the sewers and more dug themselves out of the ground. They were coming back.

Somehow, it made the former girl happy. Esthelm was as damned as she was.

----

A vast army of them, far larger than any one tribe’s worth of warriors was marching down the road. The band of Goblins halted immediately, and fear ran down all of their spines. In an instant, they knew these were not Goblins from their tribe, or even the amalgamate led by Rags and Garen.

The instant the Goblin warriors saw the army, they knew something was wrong. Though the tide of green bodies were unmistakably Goblins and Hobgoblins, there was something wrong about this company.

They were Goblins, yes. But they were not Goblins who followed Rags or Garen. These Goblins wore armor, and all carried weapons. And they marched with death among them and on their blades.

Death, and far worse than that.

Some carried pikes with human and monster parts dangling from them. Others simply marched in place, but that was wrong too. They moved like a Human or Drake army, in formation, not freely like the band of Goblins did. Their armor was black, and they covered their faces with dark helmets and cloth, as if they were afraid to show their faces.

Badarrow snarled as he pointed to the front ranks of Goblins. Headscratcher, Grunter, and the others looked, and saw dead Goblins. Undead Goblins, that was.

Several rows of zombies walked in front of the main army, shambling along. Mostly Goblins, but Humans, Drakes, and Gnolls too. There was a [Necromancer] among the Goblins, or a [Shaman] capable of raising the dead.

The Goblin Warriors had no problem with mages. At least, no problem with ones on their side. Garen’s tribe had no Shamans and they were rare. But necromancers bothered even Goblins. The dead could be eaten or left to rot—or even be used to hide amongst in order to survive. But raising their own fallen to fight again?

That was cruel, even for Goblins. But what was worse was what it said about a Chieftain who would order his [Shamans] to raise the dead. It meant he would use his tribe like things, and have them fight and die for him even after they had died the first time.

This was no tribe of Goblins north of Liscor. Without having to be told, the band of Goblins knew that this was a force sent by the Goblin Lord to the south.

And worst—what made Bugear stop poking at his ear and Rocksoup turn gray with fear—all the Goblins knew that this wasn’t the actual full force of the Goblin Lord. No—they saw no women and children among the army. This was clearly a war band sent out to pillage and kill. And for such a huge one to be sent—how terribly vast was the host of the Goblin Lord?

It was not a question they had time to ponder. The Goblin army had spotted the thirteen Goblins the same time they had been spotted. The Goblin warriors saw Goblins on foot and others riding ponies, and even what looked like spiders, approaching them at speed.

Perhaps they thought they were allies? No one had begun loosing arrows yet or casting spells.

Grunter, their leader, made a decision in a moment. He turned and shouted an order. All thirteen Goblins turned and fled up the road. They heard shouts among their pursuers, and then knew they were being chased.

Arrows flew towards them. But the Goblin Warriors had a good bit of distance on their pursuers, so they ignored the shots. Badarrow and two other Goblins turned and loosed arrows at the fastest pursuers—Badarrow’s shot took a pony in the leg and the animal screamed as it went down with the rider. The scream cut off quickly and the Goblin rose with a dripping blade.

The Goblin warriors ran on. They had no idea where they were going or what to do; they only knew they had to flee or die.

That was how they found the city. It appeared on their right side as the road curved towards it, a broken place, the walls torn down and the gates forced open. It was destroyed, but the Goblin warrior headed towards it without a second’s hesitation.

There might be Humans living here. It had been a Human city after all. But even if there were survivors, it would be easier to lose their pursuers among the rubble and fight in tight alleyways then be caught out on the open, snowy landscape where there was nowhere to hide.

The band of Goblins ran furiously, outdistancing even their mounted pursuers by the expedient of shooting down any who got too close. The pursuing Goblins halted when they saw they’d lose their quarry, and rejoined the main army. As the marching army of the Goblin Lord approached the city, a vanguard split off, marching slowly towards Esthelm. There was no need to hunt the individual Goblins. The vanguard had been sent to subjugate what remained of the city, and they could kill the warriors from the other tribe just as easily in the process.

That was how Goblins came back to Esthelm. Some fleeing, others seeking the city out for darker purposes.

----

The skeleton walked towards Esthelm, understanding more and more as he walked why he was headed there.

It was a place of death. He could sense it in the air. Esthelm had seen hundreds—thousands of lives claimed. And the dead were lying unburied, rotting, forming a mass of—of opportunity. That was how Toren thought of it.

Yes, opportunity was the right word. It wasn’t as if there was any inherent will here. But the dead were gathered so close that magic only had to fluctuate a bit and the dead would come back. It was a natural process, and Toren understood it almost instinctively.

The undead. The skeleton considered the idea as he marched down the empty road, the snow blowing against his battered armor. He knew he was technically undead, but he felt little kinship with the skeletons, zombies, and other creatures he was related to. To him, they were just other things he could kill, or rather, re-kill.

And why not? Toren was sure that he would level if he fought some powerful undead. Perhaps there would be Crypt Lords in the city. The thought of fighting one of them cheered him up greatly, and he ran towards the city instead. After all, it wasn’t as if he would get tired running, and it was faster than walking.

That was how he found the vanguard of Goblins. They spotted him as he ran towards the city. Toren stopped when he saw them. The skeleton didn’t have any real fear in his heart, so his only reaction to seeing the hundreds of Goblins wearing arms and armor was mild surprise.

That was a lot of Goblins. And then Toren had another thought: fighting them would probably be a bad idea, at least, if he tried to do it all at once.

Should he run? Toren was fairly certain that he could get away from any number of Goblins, even in armor. But before he could make up his mind, he saw movement at the core of the army.

Not all the Goblins were armored infantry. Some were riders, others Hobs. And one in the center wore no armor at all. Instead, the Goblin had a twisted staff of ivory bones that looked welded together. And his eyes glowed with a darker crimson than the other Goblins. He gestured at Toren, and spoke a word that was audible even across the vast distance between them.

It was a word of magic, a word in the Goblin tongue, but magic nonetheless. Toren jerked as he felt something in his head.

Come here. The words burned in Toren’s mind. He faltered—and then realized the words were like one of Erin’s orders! Immediately, his body turned and he began walking straight towards the Goblin [Shaman]. The other Goblins parted to let him pass, ignoring Toren’s armor and burning gaze. They all wore grim expressions—as far as Toren could tell from their odd faces. They were used to the dead—Toren saw quite a few zombies and some skeletons marching at the head of the army.

At first, Toren was just shocked. He let his body move, unable to comprehend what had happened. How had the Goblin ordered him? But his shock quickly turned to rage.

He was being ordered against his will. Again! But Toren held his patience. He didn’t struggle against the command. Instead, he marched straight up to the [Shaman].

The Goblin was old, and he rode on a cart next to a Goblin seated on a large Shield Spider. The mounted Goblin had black tattoos all over his body and a gleaming halberd. The two Goblins were talking in their own language, and Toren saw the [Shaman] was eying him with some interest.

As the skeleton approached, the [Shaman] turned from his conversation with the Goblin leader and beckoned towards the skeleton. Toren approached, and the Goblin eyed him from head to toe. He spoke several words in his own language, nodding encouragingly.

Toren nodded to himself as well. So, some spell casters could control him? This was an important discovery. However, there was something different about the spell that controlled him now and Erin’s orders. This [Shaman]’s words—the ones that made Toren draw his sword and slash the air a few times and stand at attention—they felt weaker somehow.

Well now, wasn’t that interesting? The [Shaman] waved Toren towards the other undead standing at the head of the army. Toren cocked his head, and then walked.

Forwards, not towards the other undead. At first, the [Shaman] didn’t seem to notice Toren approaching. But when the Goblin leader made an inquisitive sound, he turned and saw Toren walking towards him.

The [Shaman]’s eyes widened. He gestured towards the undead and croaked an unmistakable order. Toren paused mid-step and then kept walking.

Surprisingly, the [Shaman] didn’t try to run or fight. He just kept trying to recast the spell, which Toren found hilarious. The skeleton walked right up to the Goblin and paused in front of him.

Flabbergasted, the [Shaman] just stared at Toren in shock. Toren slowly raised a hand, and waved it slowly at the Goblin. The Goblin stared at him, and then raised his hand hesitantly as well. He waved it—

And Toren ran him through with his sword. The skeleton ignored the shouts of panic and the cry of rage from the Goblin leader. He just smiled—smiled as he always did as the [Shaman] choked in shock and pain.

The Goblin spellcaster stared into Toren’s flaming sockets as the skeleton twisted the sword. Toren yanked the blade out of the Goblin’s body and watched him fall to the ground, dead.

Good. Toren turned, and the shining halberd cut his arm off. He reeled backwards, surprised. The Goblin Leader snarled at him, cutting through Toren’s bronze armor with ease.

One-handed, Toren struck at the Goblin. But the leader pulled his mount away and shouted an order. Every Goblin in the army charged at Toren—and he was standing in the center of their force.

Oh well. Toren lifted his sword and grinned again. He charged at the Goblins. He cut and stabbed even as the Goblin warriors overwhelmed him. They pierced his armor and broke his bones. But still the skeleton refused to fall.

Only when the Goblin with the halberd came back to sever Toren’s head from his shoulders did the skeleton’s body crumble. The Goblins saw his bones fall to the ground and stomped them into the snow. They stared at his remains, and muttered amongst themselves until their leader snapped an order.

The [Shaman]’s body was stripped of all valuables, and his body tossed into a pile of corpses towed by two half-dead horses. Two lesser [Shamans] came forwards, cringing and uncertain as the Goblin leader ordered them to take command of the undead. They’d gone rampant after the [Shaman] had died, and the remaining spellcasters had to work to keep them in order.

But in the end, the Goblin vanguard set out again. They marched towards Esthelm—but halted several miles away from the city rather than enter it. They had lost their chief [Shaman] through some twist of fate, and messengers had to be sent back to the main force which had continued northwards. Until they could receive reinforcements to control the dead, there would be no point in entering the city. After all, what good was a city of the dead and soon to be dead if you couldn’t control them with magic?

Still, a few Goblin groups were sent towards the city, to scout out how many Humans had survived. Something had killed the first army sent here, and although the city was clearly in ruins, it never hurt to be cautious. If there were still traces of Humans, the Goblins would slaughter them. Shaman or no shaman, they could still prepare the way.

The Goblins waited. And so did Toren. He waited until they were all gone to reassemble himself. He stood up in the snow, dusting off his bones and staring in dismay at his ruined armor.

What a waste. And how odd! Toren was sure these weren’t the Goblins led by that Rags Goblin. So where had they come from?

He didn’t really care. In fact, Toren was privately delighted. Now he had both Goblins and undead he could kill! And Humans too!

He marched into the city, leaving his battered armor behind. All he needed was a sword. That was all. A sword and something to stab.

He was going to level up a lot in the city. But—carefully. Toren was aware that even he could only reanimate so many times. He’d have to ambush the Goblins, fight in the shadows.

That was fine. Toren could see in the dark.

----

So the skeleton walked into the city, keeping to the shadows, enjoying the opportunity he had found here. As he did, the band of thirteen Goblins ran fast and as far as they could, dodging into buildings, trying to find a place to hide, to survive the pursuit that was surely coming after them. And all the while they feared what lay in the city. Monsters? Humans? This was a nightmare for them.

Meanwhile, a nightmare stalked the streets. She hid from the Humans she encountered, and wept as she ate and scavenged among the dead. And the dead rose and tried to kill her as well. There was little left of her, but she clung to what fragments remained. She lived and ate. She survived. That was all she knew. She was…lost.

This is the story of a skeleton named Toren. This is the story of a band of lost Goblins. This is the story of a monster. And how they all met in a city where the dead lived and the living struggled.

Esthelm.

3.18 T

This is a story of a skeleton. His name was Toren, and it was the one thing he had never questioned about himself. Erin had given him that name, and that at least he was grateful to her for.

But in the place he walked, no one would know his name. In fact, they wouldn’t even bother to ask whether he had one. The people in the city of Esthelm would probably just take one look at Toren and run, or try to kill him.

And if they were some kind of mentally-deficient human who wanted to make friends with an undead skeleton, Toren would kill them anyways. That was his plan, and he thought it was a good one.

The skeleton strolled in through the open gates of the city as dusk fell. He didn’t worry about anyone stopping him; there were no guards manning the shattered watch towers, or what remained of the walls. And yet, he knew there were people in the city.

Lots of them, in fact. Toren stared as he walked further into the city and saw what remained after the Goblins’ attack.

Broken buildings. Scorched ash. Piles of rubble and broken earth. Toren was no expert, but he was fairly certain this wasn’t how cities were supposed to look.

Then again, maybe this was how Humans built their cities? Who knew? Toren spotted several…buildings amidst the shattered landscape. He stared, intrigued, at flimsy ramshackle structures someone had built out of salvaged wood and metal.

Were those supposed to be houses? They looked so flimsy, Toren felt he could push them over if he tried. And as it turned out, he could do just that. The skeleton succeeded in knocking over a support beam to one of the structures, which sent the roof and walls tumbling in. He paused as he heard screams from inside the structure, and then realized the noise had attracted people.

People, or to be more accurate, the one species that seemed to live in this city.

Humans.

They rushed over to the building and Toren quickly ran away from the scene of the destruction. He saw men and women in dirty and torn clothing dashing towards the caved-in structure. Crouched behind a broken wall, Toren saw some of them trying to pull away the debris that had collapsed on the people inside.

The building’s inhabitants came out shaken, bloody, shocked. Toren saw with interest there were children—Human children—among them. He’d never seen a Human child before. After a few seconds of observation, Toren concluded they were nothing special. All they seemed to do was cry.

The skeleton saw the Humans—now a rather large group, perhaps thirty or more, exclaiming over the structure that had mysteriously fallen to bits. He saw a few of the Humans—mostly men—begin to point fingers at another man who was raising his hands and pointing frantically at the structure. One man—standing next to a woman holding a weeping child with a bloody shoulder in her arms—raised a fist. He punched the accused man, and then more people rushed to help him beat the poor fellow to death, or at least into something close to it.

It was all fascinating to Toren. He watched as the mob, having administered justice, began to try and figure out what to do next. It was cold, and snowflakes kept drifting down sporadically from the sky. The Humans had to find shelter soon, or at least blankets. There had been blankets in the building, so some tried to dig them out. But then another fight broke out over who should have the blankets, and then someone pulled out a dagger—

Confusion and chaos. This was only one small group, in a small part of the city. When Toren was done watching Humans attack each other, he found another group of Humans to see much of the same.

They certainly did like to fight, didn’t they? They formed into groups or tried to survive on their own, quarreling and sometimes even killing each other over things like blankets, food, weapons—all of which, it had to be said, seemed to be in very short supply.

Toren quite approved of the violence he witnessed as he made his way deeper into the city, keeping to the shadows. He hadn’t ever noticed Erin or Lyonette doing it, but Humans seemed to love hurting each other. Perhaps this was why he liked killing things?

The skeleton knew his bones—at least his skull—was Human. So he felt a certain kinship to the gangs of desperate men who banded together and savagely attacked anyone weaker than them to steal what they needed or wanted. It was so fascinating to Toren that he completely forgot to kill anything for a while as he observed the refugees of Esthelm in their natural habitat.

He’d never seen so many Humans before! Not ever! In truth, Toren had never been to anything like a crowded place before; the closest he’d come were busy nights when Erin’s inn had been packed. But this was different.

There were a lot of Humans. True, many of them seemed like they were crowded together in ramshackle structures, but it did seem like there was some kind of organization happening. The strongest Humans—those with weapons or some kind of fighting Skill—lead the others. They made sure their people had more clothing, more to eat. And they took other things as well.

A man dragged a screaming woman away after one group of men had killed another group of men. Toren followed him as he took the woman away and for some reason, took off his clothes. And then he did strange things which made no sense to the skeleton, but which seemed to upset the young woman.

Toren cocked his head left and then right, trying to figure out what the point was. There was a lot of grunting and animal-like motion…was that it? They were just sort of bumping each other, much to the woman’s displeasure.

Maybe he wasn’t seeing the full picture. Carefully, the skeleton crawled across the ground. It was easy for him to make himself invisible in places where snow had fallen, but it meant he couldn’t see everything. He moved around and tried to get a good perspective from another angle.

Nope. No good. Frustrated, the skeleton stood up. He finally saw what the man was doing—about the same time as the man happened to glance up. He looked up and saw the skeleton staring at him. Toren stared down in interest as the man went white.

Well now, what was this? More fleshy bits. Toren had seen Erin naked a few times by accident, but he hadn’t been aware there were so many differences between male Humans and female ones. And how strange the fleshy bits were! He ignored the man’s horrified stare as he fixed his attention on a rather odd body part that was changing before his eyes. He had no idea things could shrink like that.

The man made a choking, horrified noise as the woman saw Toren. She screamed. He scrambled off her and grabbed for his weapon—a spiked club he’d carelessly tossed to the ground. Toren sneered at it silently. He let the man charge at him, naked, swinging his club without an inch of actual skill or forethought.

Humans.

Toren didn’t even bother with his sword. He wrenched the club out of the man’s hands as the Human struck at him, and then beat the man to the ground with it. The Human took quite a few blows to die, which Toren attributed to the shoddy craftsmanship of his club. He should have been ashamed.

When he was done, Toren tossed the bloody club on the ground. He stared at the woman, who hadn’t really stopped screaming since he’d seen her. It was getting annoying, so Toren used the [Fear] effect in his eyes.

That made her freeze, shivering, naked, and terrified as she sat on the ground, staring at him. She flinched as Toren raised the club, but he just tossed it on the dead man’s corpse. He could have beaten her to death with it as well, but she didn’t seem like she was a warrior, so why bother?

In his experience, there wasn’t actually much to be gained from slaughtering things that couldn’t fight back. He’d tried it with baby spiders, the odd reptilian birds that lived around Liscor, and even Corusdeer fawns. There was just no point to it. It was fun, obviously, but Toren had come here for a reason.

Yes, he was here to fight! The skeleton abandoned the Humans, and indeed, the populated parts of the city entirely. He walked further into the center of the city, peering around demolished buildings. Groups of Humans hitting each other with sticks and occasionally swords was all very well, but he’d come here for a real challenge. Where were the undead? Probably further in. And the Goblin army had to be coming soon. Toren would have a fight then, but in the meantime, he searched around for trouble. There had to be actual warriors around here, right?

Right?

----

The Goblins ran through the city, no longer fleeing, but rather, searching for a place to hide.

Their pursuers had stopped at the edges of the city. But the Goblins kept moving, venturing deeper into the ruins of Esthelm. Now that they knew where they were, they were convinced of several things.

Firstly, this city had been destroyed. That was obvious. But what was clear to them was that this city had been ransacked in an odd way. The buildings and indeed the city’s defenders had been put to sword and flame, yet the people had been spared. The instant the Goblins had entered the city they had spotted countless Humans, living in their camps on the outskirts of the city.

The Goblins had never seen anything like it. When they attacked a city or village, they killed all the inhabitants or forced them to flee. But this—taking the city but leaving the people to remain? Who would do such a thing?

It made them all think of Rags. Perhaps she had been here? They certainly saw evidence some Goblins had been here—an entire army’s worth of dead Goblins lay slaughtered across the city, their rotting remains covered partially by the snow.

But maybe it had all been the Goblin Lords’ forces? The Redfang Goblins didn’t know. But they did know they couldn’t stay in the open. Humans being in the city complicated things. Hiding from their own kind was one thing, but if there were this many Humans there, the Goblins had two enemies to fight.

Most of the Humans they passed had formed small groups—former [Shopkeepers] and [Butchers] and so on holding weapons they didn’t know how to use. But if they all attacked the Redfang Goblins at once, the warriors would be torn to bits no matter how superior their equipment and levels were.

So the Goblin warriors ran. The other Goblins following them would come sooner or later, they knew. So they had to find a place to hide.

But where?

The first to spot a likely area was Bugear. He called out as they ran, and pointed to a collapsed building, taller than most structures. It was terribly exposed, but the other Goblins understood what he meant and immediately surged towards it. They raced down broken streets, ignoring the Humans that cried out and fled from them. Lone Humans weren’t their concern.

The rubble was jagged and broken pieces of stone stood out, but the mound was easy to climb for the Goblins. In minutes they were all at the top, staring down at the dark city below them.

They weren’t hiding. Not yet. Rather, they were doing the sensible thing and taking the lay of the land, scoping out the city on their own terms. It was true they would be easily spotted, but who was looking for the Goblins right now? The Humans were disorganized and only a scant few of them had ranged weapons of any kind.

So the Redfang warriors held their position, staring down at Esthelm. Grunter ordered two Goblins – Leftstep and Rabbiteater – to watch for anyone trying to climb up and take them by surprise. Meanwhile, the other Goblins pointed down, their keen eyes catching individual Humans roaming the streets. And the Goblins exclaimed, their voices full of surprise.

What was this? What was this…city? What had happened here? Obviously the Humans had survived the battle, but what was this? They were forming groups, fighting over territory. See there? Headscratcher pointed out a group of men building a clumsy barricade to wall off a street. They were creating bases in the city! And already, some groups of Humans had created living spaces, communal campfires and places for the young and elderly to rest, guarded zealously by Humans who watched over their new home with improvised weapons.

It was startling, strange, unheard of. And to the Goblin warriors, deeply disturbing. Not because it was so unfamiliar—but because it was exactly like the life they knew. To them, it was like the Humans had formed Goblin tribes. They fought and warred over resources like Goblins did, only viciously, fighting over petty scraps that even the Goblin tribes wouldn’t have contested.

If too many tribes were in the same region, they would fight. But the weaker tribe would move away rather than continue to fight. But none of the Humans left the city. They warred over it instead, building a new place on the ashes of their homes. It was so surreal to them that the Goblin warriors had to stop and take it all in.

And the cruelty! Ah, Goblins knew Humans could be cruel. But when they saw the other Humans killing each other in the streets, chasing after women, hurting—the Goblins saw a bit of what they did, and felt uneasy. It was too much like what Goblins were supposed to do. Not Humans.

Of course, not all Humans had become raping, murderous monsters. But it had to be said that the ones who did this tended to stand out a lot more than the ones just trying to survive. The Goblins stood on their position for a few minutes, and after they were able to tear their eyes away from the Humans, they took in the rest of the city.

The places near the walls were the most populated. Only naturally—the destruction was actually less around the outskirts, since there weren’t as many buildings that could have been destroyed. But in the center, a great pile of broken walls and stone formed a maze, a labyrinth that ran into the earth in places where the underground sewers had collapsed and sent the ground tumbling downwards.

That was a good place to hide. But for how long? At Grunter’s insistence, the Goblins checked their supplies. They weren’t carrying much. Aside from their weapons and tools to start fires and hunt and prepare food with, they had barely enough for a scant meal between them. If they wanted to live in this city, they’d have to find food.

Well, there were dead bodies. Badarrow pointed out some fresh ones. And there were Humans as well as Goblins for variety. Grunter nodded, but his eyes were on a few pinpoints of light beyond the city walls. The other Goblins looked.

Campfires. And they could see small shapes, hundreds of them, gathered around the fires. Goblins. Not their people, but the enemy.

Why were they here? It didn’t matter. They’d boxed the Redfang Goblins into the city, and if they tried to run, they’d surely be cut down.

It was bad news. But the Goblins were Goblins, so they regarded their predicament as only another thing to survive. That was why they moved off the rubble and into the heart of the city without worrying or speaking. Shelter first, and then food. Worrying was pointless; a thing Chieftains did.

On their passage through the streets, the Goblins slowed. Now that they weren’t running, they let their most silent trackers—Badarrow and Numbtongue—go ahead. Numbtongue peered down an alley and shook his head. The Goblins swiftly passed by the entrance, avoiding the group of Humans at the other end.

Fighting was pointless. The Goblins knew how to fight, which meant they knew when not to fight. They avoided any groups of Humans, slowly working their way deeper and deeper through the streets.

That’s when they saw the Human and the child. He was calling out, searching for his family. The Goblins heard his voice and said nothing, although they all privately knew where the child’s parents likely were. Hadn’t they all gone through the same moments growing up, after a battle or when their tribe had been raided?

Grunter wanted to move on, but Headscratcher pointed. The Goblins, hidden as they crouched in a shadowy spot next to a building, saw a man approaching the child. He had no weapon, but there was murder in the way he walked.

Perhaps he was tired of hearing the child call out. Maybe he thought the child would attract too much attention here. He might have been angry, or filled with hate. Maybe he just wanted to kill something.

The boy ran when he saw the adult. But he was too slow. The man grabbed him. The Goblins watched, remembering. It was a familiar scene. Still, they didn’t move. They would have left, to let the scene play out, but Badarrow stood up. Silently, he put an arrow to his bow and loosed it.

Badarrow’s shot took the Human in the back, right where neck met shoulder. The man gasped, fell, nearly squashing the shocked boy who cried out. He was dead when he hit the ground.

None of the other Goblins said a word. But neither did they rebuke Badarrow. And neither did they look at the child. They just paused, and moved on.

The wandering child screamed as he saw the Goblins, but the warriors moved past him, grim and silent. They gave him no aid, but didn’t hurt him. He was Human. An enemy if he was older, prey if he had valuables they could take. What could they have done for him, anyways?

But the Redfang warriors exchanged glances even so, as they found likely spots to settle and scouted around for any fresh bodies and wood to use for dinner. They didn’t say it, but they all thought it.

There was something dark in this city. Of course, they’d seen things far more terrifying than this, and they’d faced times just as bleak. But it was what the Humans did that disturbed the Goblins. When things fell apart, they didn’t stick together like Goblins did—they tore each other apart. Hadn’t they all been part of the same tribe here? Why were they killing each other now?

No one had an answer. But Grunter, who’d been staring at the sky, grunted. The Goblins looked at him as they pulled the Human that Badarrow had shot back towards their new base. The boy was long gone.

Grunter pointed the direction they’d come, back towards the other Goblins. He spoke, the words coming slowly to him.

“The others will come. Here. To kill the Humans.”

The Redfang warriors nodded. That was likely. They could put two and two together—even if this city had been looted, the Humans were a resource. Food, and perhaps even warriors if the [Shamans] and [Mages] they’d seen could control so many.

But what did that have to do with them? Grunter pointed at the broken walls, the maze the Goblins found themselves in. He touched the axe at his belt.

“Chaos. Confusion. Kill them.”

The Goblin warriors considered this. Then Bugear grinned and Rocksoup licked his lips. Now, that was a good idea! It was unlike Grunter to come up with it, but he was a Hob after all.

Kill their kind. Ambush them in the streets. Even if there was an army, it wasn’t impossible in this landscape. The city practically invited sneak attacks. And in the confusion and looting and killing, they could surely slip away from their pursuers.

After all, Goblins looked alike. And if they could get their hands on some armor—who’d notice a band of Goblins amidst all the fighting?

It was a good plan, and the Goblins wasted no more time thinking about it. They had a plan, and they would implement it as best they could. Now it was time to eat. They had one body—they could find more, and stuff themselves tonight.

That was one small benefit to be had from this city. There were a lot of bodies, and Humans didn’t eat dead Humans. So the Goblins would be fed, and warm too, if they could find enough wood. All they had to do was find a place to hide.

And wait.

----

Toren was getting sick of all the useless Humans. He was tempted to just run at a band of looters and fight them, but he had the feeling he wouldn’t level if he did. He strode down the empty streets, growing increasingly more annoyed.

Where was the backbone in these Humans? It seemed like all they were doing was squabbling with each other, not doing important things! Perhaps that was why the Goblin army had come. They would easily kill the Humans.

Already the Goblin army outside the gates had been noticed. Toren saw many Humans abandon their camps and move into the city, afraid, fighting to get to a spot they considered safer. But that just meant they were fighting themselves again.

So stupid. Part of Toren missed the inn. Just a small part. He immediately quashed the thought when he had it, but wasn’t it true? At least in the inn he had things to do. Here he was looking and he still couldn’t find something worthwhile to kill. Whereas at the inn—

He could scrub the floors. And serve food. And that would level up his [Barmaid] class. It was…well, it wasn’t as if Toren liked the class. But he liked leveling up. And here he had nothing much to do.

Toren was just considering going for broke and slaughtering everything he could when he heard the fighting. He turned, and saw a group of five men and two women, cornering a family. A man slashed at the other men with a short sword while he tried to guard his wife and two daughters. But the other men had clubs and sticks, and even if they weren’t as sharp, there were a lot of them.

Perhaps it was the sword they were after. But Toren had a feeling the three females were also part of it. He was starting to figure out Human motivations, even if he didn’t quite get the details.

Well, here was a fight. Perhaps Toren should join in—kill them all. The skeleton lifted his blade, ready to charge. But then he heard a shout. He saw someone run down the street, someone tall. In armor? Toren stepped back into a shadow as the men turned. He caught a glimpse of silver, flashing in the darkness. And then he saw the adventurer.

A tall man, blonde, wearing plate armor and holding a shield and sword that gleamed, charged down the snowy, dirty street. He was followed by three other adventurers, a man and two women Toren recognized. The [Fighter], the spear wielder, and the annoying mage! But these three were clearly different from the man in silver armor. Their equipment was cheap, if effective. But this man’s armor gleamed.

And he moved faster than Toren would have guessed. In seconds he’d covered the distance between the thugs. He raised his sword as they turned, shouting in shock. Toren heard his voice, filled with outrage clearly across the street.

“You scum!”

He ran one man through and lopped the hand off of the other before the group of men could even blink. He turned, slashing, making the other Humans cry out in pain. The two women in the band of thugs weren’t spared from his wrath either. Within moments the entire group had fled. The only people that remained were the family that had been set upon.

“Are you alright?”

Toren heard the words as he stealthily made his way closer to the man in armor. He was standing, reassuring the tearful family as the other three adventurers stood behind him awkwardly. They hadn’t even gotten there in time to help!

“Bless you, sir. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come—”

The father was speaking to the adventurer. And yes, Toren was sure he was an adventurer. He had pouches at his belt, and he reminded Toren a lot of the Horns of Hammerad and Griffon Hunt.

“It was my duty. But you shouldn’t be out so late. Why haven’t you fled the city?”

“Where would we go, sir? There are Goblins on the road. And—they came back!”

The woman clutched at the Knight, speaking desperately and pointing. Toren knew she had to be talking about the Goblin army.

“We couldn’t leave. Going to another city after the Goblins attacked? In the cold, with nothing to eat or wear? We couldn’t. And then—we stayed. We thought we’d survive, but there are gangs roaming the streets, sir. We barely got away when the people we were with were attacked last time. And now…”

“I understand.”

The man’s voice was firm, quiet. He looked at the adventurers following him.

“You three. We’ll need to escort these good people to a safe place.”

“What?”

The Bronze-rank adventurers exclaimed in dismay. The man with the sword—whom Toren was displeased to note had healed the injuries the skeleton had given him—spoke to the adventurer in silver armor.

“Sir, we can’t just involve ourselves here! We should be leaving for another city! Take the family with us maybe, but those Goblins chased us into the city! They’ll probably attack at any moment!”

The man in armor glared at the [Fighter], but the woman with the spear piped up as well, looking nervous.

“But we can’t leave! The Goblins have the road. And there’s the skeleton we saw! The strange one! If we leave, we might run into it!”

“Fools. The dead are rising! Of course there are skeletons wandering the roads!”

The warrior in armor snapped at the others. They stopped, looking confused.

“What do you mean? Why are the dead rising?”

He stared at them incredulously. Toren was giving them much the same look from his hiding spot, in a small place where the cobblestones had been torn up to create a small depression. The man in silver armor sighed and spoke through gritted teeth.

“Rookies. Haven’t you learned anything? Violence and anarchy in the street are but one of Esthelm’s woes. This place was the site of a major battle where thousands died, both Goblins and Humans. You’ve seen the bodies. Don’t you know what happens when they aren’t properly buried or cremated?”

“They rise.”

That came from the female [Mage]. She looked pale faced. The adventurer nodded.

“They rise. First zombies, then skeletons and even Ghouls if the slaughter is great enough. Given time, stronger undead will emerge as well. Crypt Lords…and far worse.”

A groan of pure terror came from the family the man had saved. The father fell to his knees, beseeching.

“Mister Adventurer, sir! Can you not save us? If the undead rise—what chance do my family and I have?”

“Calm yourself. The issue of the undead is precisely the reason I came here.”

The man in armor helped the father up, speaking reassuringly to the family.

“I am a Gold-rank adventurer. I heard of what had befallen Esthelm too late, but I set out as soon as I realized the other local cities were doing nothing to address the issue. The fools in the Adventurer’s Guild were too afraid to venture out, even the Silver-ranked ones.”

Toren’s metaphorical ears perked up the instant he heard the adventurer mention his rank. Gold? Toren had seen Griffon Hunt and even the other team—the Halfseekers, but he’d never properly fought one before. The closest he’d come was fighting Halrac, and that had been completely one-sided.

But here…this adventurer was alone! Toren immediately wanted to challenge him, but he held off. Listen. Observe. He wriggled closer, moving slowly so as not to be seen. The Gold-rank adventurer was addressing everyone, his back turned to Toren.

“I came here to deal with the undead issue because no one else had the courage to make the journey. But instead I find a city’s worth of people here, as well as a Goblin army?”

The man in silver armor paused. He shook his head.

“This all feels too connected. If what I suspect is true, the Goblins may have spared the people of this city for this moment. So many bodies, and so much potential for death—are they trying to create an undead horde to attack other cities with?”

“An undead horde? Could the Goblins really do such a thing?”

“Normal armies do it as well, I’m afraid, Miss. I’d like to say I could drive off the Goblins myself, but there are hundreds out there and I’m no Named Adventurer. Still, I think there’s a way. If I can—”

He was so full of himself! So proud. So…why was Toren angry? But this seemed too easy. The skeleton was only a few feet away. He could use [Mirage Cut] and take the man down in seconds. Was this really a Gold-rank adventurer? How could one be so careless? But still, Toren would do it. He wanted the man’s silver armor, not to mention his sword and shield.

Closer. Closer…Toren rose slowly, and moved at a crouch. None of them were looking at him! They all had their eyes on the armored man! Toren’s hand was on his sword hilt. He didn’t even have a scabbard. He could run the man through—

One of the daughters who’d been staring in horror and hope at the Gold-rank adventurer sneezed in the cold. She looked down for something to cover her nose, saw Toren. She screamed.

“Skeleton!”

The Gold-rank adventurer turned. He saw Toren and his eyes widened. His sword rose, but too late. The skeleton leapt at him, and his body blurred. His sword flashed out, but that was a decoy. Even if the adventurer parried it, he’d still take the man’s head. Who walked around in armor but didn’t wear a helmet?

Idiot. Toren’s sword scythed towards the man’s head at lightning speed. [Mirage C—

“[Shield Breaker]!”

The shield pushed forwards, almost glowing. It filled Toren’s vision, and then struck the skeleton like a house. The skeleton flew backwards, stumbling, nearly falling over. What happened? His Skill! How did—

The Gold-rank adventurer lowered his shield and stared at Toren, eyes narrowed.

“What manner of skeleton sneaks and hides? And uses a Skill?”

Toren readjusted his crooked head and grinned at the Gold-rank adventurer. He hadn’t known someone could interrupt a Skill! His eyes flashed purple, and the Humans behind the adventurer screamed.

“Dead gods! It’s back!”

“Run!”

The [Fear] effect made them all scatter at once. The man in armor called out, trying to slow them, but the others didn’t listen. They ran, leaving the adventurer behind.

Perfect. Toren charged at the man as he turned and shouted. The skeleton brought the blade down two-handed in a vertical slash that should have split the man’s head open. But the blade twisted in the air a foot away from the man’s head. It curved left and Toren missed completely, striking the man’s armored shoulder!

What was that? Magic? It had to be. Toren gaped and then a sword pierced his ribcage effortlessly.

“Hmf. A spell-like effect? You aren’t a normal undead monster, are you?”

The Gold-rank adventurer cut sideways, and Toren staggered as several ribs on his left side were torn away. But that was just a few bones! He cut again, but this time his sword bounced off the silvery shield, not even scratching the metal.

“A revenant? Or some kind of Goblin creation? Either way—begone.”

Now the man in silver armor charged forwards, his shield ramming into Toren. The skeleton tried to stand his ground, but he was thrown by the incredible force behind the adventurer’s shield. He hit the ground, rolled, trying to get up—

A sword lopped the top off of his head. Toren collapsed, his bones rolling on the ground. The Gold-rank adventurer stared down at him, murmuring to himself.

“Nothing about this makes sense. A skeleton that can think? No—the Necromancer? But why would he use such an inferior creation?”

Inferior? If Toren could have said anything—or moved—he would have been indignant. But he lay on the ground, waiting for the adventurer to leave before he reassembled himself. He was clearly not as strong as that warrior, either in experience or strength.

“One more question to ask later. Damn. Where did the others run off to? Well before that—I should dispose of the remains.”

So saying, the adventurer reached towards his belt pouch. Immediately, Toren began to panic.

Dispose of him? What was that? He—that wasn’t fair! No one was supposed to care about Toren after a fight! That was his specialty. If the adventurer was going to destroy him—

From the ground, the skeleton could only stare helplessly as the man reached into his pouch. But before the Gold-rank adventurer could take whatever was in there out, the skeleton heard pounding footsteps. The man in silver armor turned—

And nearly caught a blow to the head from a club. At the last moment the piece of wood swerved, just as it had done with Toren. But the blow still knocked the off-guard adventurer down.

“What the—?”

He rose, shield up, but another man struck him from behind. Toren gaped as he saw more men swarm the Gold-rank adventurer, beating at him with clubs, kicking, trying to pin him down—

It was a gang! And they were trying to kill the adventurer! Toren had never been more grateful to petty Humans in his life. He heard the man shout, and then saw the press of bodies fly backwards. Several stumbled back, and the man in armor was on his feet, swinging his sword and shield to keep them at bay.

“Cowards! Are you insane? I’ve come here to—”

He got no further. Stones, and even an arrow flew at his head. Men with slings aiming at his head! Again the missiles flew askew, but whatever magic was protecting the man’s head was clearly weakening. He snarled, deflected a stone aimed at his jaw—

And staggered, as a club smashed into his head from behind. Toren saw the man pull back and hit the adventurer in the same spot again, with all his might.

It was a powerful blow. But the man in silver armor didn’t fall. He stumbled forwards, but he refused to kneel or drop. Instead, his shield came up, hitting the man who’d struck him so hard he gasped and stumbled back.

“Fool.”

It was one word, but it was louder than the shouting of the gang as they tried to close in. A man ran at the knight—a sword came up even with the man’s head still bowed. It ran the man through.

“Fools!”

The gang stopped. The sword left the man’s chest and he collapsed, dead. The knight turned. A stone flew at his head and his shield snapped up. He deflected the stone back at the man who’d loosed it from his sling. The rock hit the man and there was a cry of pain.

Now the Gold-rank adventurer finally looked up. He raised his head slowly, the tendons in his neck straining. Blood ran and matted in his hair, but he turned and stared down the man who’d struck him. The sword shone bright and silver and crimson in his hands, but the adventurer didn’t raise his weapon.

“What are you doing, you idiot?”

The thug he addressed stepped back, eyes wide. The man in silver armor turned towards him, and the man raised his club defensively. But one armored hand shot out and tore the weapon out of the other man’s grip.

“No—”

Flinching, the man raised his hands, prepared for death. But the adventurer just hurled the club to the ground. He stared at the other men who’d ambushed him. Fury burned in his voice as he shouted at them.

“Is this what you are? You—you, the men of Esthelm! I came here to this burned city to put your dead to rest. But what do I find? Men, preying on each other like vermin! Have you no shame? Where’s your pride? Where is your honor?”

He turned around to the stunned group, armor glinting as he stared each one of them in the eye. The Gold-rank adventurer didn’t even seem to notice their arms—rather, it was as if he didn’t even care that he was outnumbered.

“There are women and children—people who suffer and need help! Your friends and family cry out in this city, but what do you do? The instant your walls fall you turn on them. Shame.”

The word touched the hearts of his listeners. It made them feel ashamed, and angry and guilty as well. Perhaps they would have rushed him, but the man in armor was too imposing. And his words struck at their hearts, the hearts they’d closed in despair.

The man wearing silver looked around in disgust. He lowered his sword—and to the astonishment of the other men, sheathed it. He walked towards several men. They raised their weapons, but he just stopped and glanced at them, still full of that barely restrained passion.

“Lower your weapons and follow me if you want to save this city, you fools.”

They hesitated. Two hands shot out and tore the makeshift weapons and poor swords from their grip. The Gold-ranked adventurer stared down at the other men and raised his voice.

“I am Ylawes Byres, a [Knight]. I am a Gold-rank adventurer and I can save this city. But I cannot do it alone. If you still believe in Esthelm—follow my back.”

He strode down the broken streets, not looking back. The men hesitated. Some lowered their weapons and turned to go. But the man who had struck Ylawes picked up his club. He hung it at his belt and ran after the adventurer.

More men followed him. They joined the Gold-rank adventurer, and he snapped at them as if he’d never doubted they’d be there.

“Come on. There’s still time to do what’s right.”

The man’s footsteps faded away. The majority of the men followed him, while the others slipped away. After a few minutes, a pile of bones reassembled itself in the snow. Toren stood up, grabbed his sword, and stared in the direction the man named Ylawes had gone.

Now what was all that about?

----

The monster waited, hungry. She was always hungry. Her story was one of despair and all-consuming desire. To eat. To feed.

She saw a thing crawl out of the sewers. A dead woman, corpse bloated and rotten. She told herself she didn’t want to eat it. But she did. Oh yes, she did.

The zombie shambled down the street. The monster who looked vaguely like a young Human woman followed her. The zombie moved quickly—stumbling, searching out food. It never noticed her.

And it found prey. A young man slept in the hollowed-out building that might have been his home. He would have been safe, hidden from most Humans. But not from a zombie. It found him as it wandered in, and fell upon him.

The monster heard the screams, and part of her told her to act. It wasn’t hard. She simply gave into her desires.

The zombie was biting and clawing at the young man on the ground. He was trying to fend her off, but he was barely awake, and weak with hunger. And the dead woman had far more strength than he did. She was biting at him—tearing at his flesh.

Just like she wanted to do. But the girl that was a monster focused on the zombie instead. Yes. Hungry. The gray, rotted flesh called to her.

For once she didn’t fight the urge. She wanted to eat. The monster girl walked behind the zombie and seized the dead woman. The undead turned, reaching out to kill, to steal life—

Did it hesitate? It stared into a gaping maw. The monster girl’s mouth. Her jaws opened wide—impossibly wide—and she felt her jaw dangling far lower than it should. But it just meant she could bite more.

She bit the zombie’s face. She tore away rotted flesh easily, teeth scissoring through skin like parchment. The zombie made a sound—tried to tear at her body. But the girl had a monster’s body now. An Eater’s form. Her skin was tough, and the sharp fingernails and bruising strength did little to her.

She bit again. Now she bit into bone, and something which oozed. Part of the former [Florist] wanted to scream. But the zombie was danger. To the boy—

She realized he was still there as she knelt on the ground, savaging the dead zombie’s form. The girl turned her head towards him. He was wide-eyed, pale with horror as he stared at her.

For a moment she wanted to say something. But though she opened her mouth, no words came out. And he—he looked into her eyes and saw only a horror. A monster.

“Get—get away!”

The young man she’d saved struck her in the face, in the chest, kicking her backwards. The girl looked at him, the monster salivated. She wanted to eat him.

But she couldn’t. That much she held onto. And now he was pulling out a dagger, holding it in his bleeding hands. Danger.

So she fled. She fled into the street, crying. She could still cry. She ran down an alleyway, and into a small open space. And then she saw it.

The skeleton. He was walking down the street, slashing at the air angrily with a sword. He was all bones—little to eat. She stopped when she saw him, feeling afraid for some reason. His purple eyes found her, and the girl inside the beast shuddered in panic. She turned to run—

But he stabbed her from behind.

----

The Goblin warriors heard the girl scream. And they saw the skeleton stabbing at her, because they’d been following her for the last block.

It had just been a chance encounter. But as the Goblins had moved silently through the streets, searching for bodies that weren’t completely rotted, they’d come across a fortuitous find. A gang of four men had been pilfering a box with some spices inside. Naturally, the Goblins had fallen on them at once. An arrow to the back, two blades stabbing. Grunter just pushed one of the men’s heads into a wall, killing him.

They didn’t mind killing Humans. It was just that they didn’t do it needlessly. Food was a definite need, though. So the Goblins had been lugging their find back to the small base they’d set up in a ruined building when they’d seen the girl.

She’d stood out. Not because of her ragged clothing, or thin body—all the Humans more or less looked like that in the city. But she was clearly different from the other Humans.

Her face was different. No, not just her face, her very body. It was as if someone had taken a bit of monster, a bit of savage primal humanity and something darker, and put it into her body. And the way she moved! She moved around hunched, or on all fours, more like an animal or stalking thing than a Human.

It had stood out. Badarrow had pointed the girl out and the Goblins had watched her, as a potential threat more than anything else. But then they’d seen the girl find a body in the snow.

It was rotted, a Human’s body, some warrior who’d died in the battle for Esthelm. Even the other Goblins had turned their noses up at it—they preferred fresh dead meat, thank you. But the girl had dug it up—and then begun to eat it!

That had stopped the Redfang warriors in their tracks. For a moment they hadn’t believed what they were seeing. A Human? Eating a dead body?

Well, yes. Humans did that all the time. With animals, of course, as if that made a difference. But this young woman was eating another Human!

That wasn’t shocking to the Goblins, at least in a basic sense. They ate Humans all the time. It was just survival. But as far as they knew, other Humans never ate each other—or even other species, for that matter!

It made her stand out, and because they were curious, the Goblins had followed her a bit longer. They were adept at keeping to shadows, so they’d seen the zombie crawl out of the sewers and the way the girl had stalked it.

Yes, stalked it. They could tell the signs. And then they’d seen her rescue the young Human man, and run from him.

How strange. How curious! And—how disturbing.

Again, not the Human girl, or whatever strange thing she actually was. It was the zombie that made Grunter grunt in alarm and Headscratcher eye the sewers.

The undead. How could the Goblins have forgotten them? If they were rising—

It was bad news. Very bad. The Goblins had no desire to fight off a horde of zombies, much less the stronger undead that would rise with so many bodies around. They were about to retreat and reconsider their hiding spot—they’d need to create traps and barricades if the undead were about—when they heard the girl scream.

That was when they saw the skeleton. It had encountered the girl on the street, a skeleton with a sword. And when she’d turned to flee, the skeleton had stabbed her in the back!

It wasn’t a deep wound, but the Goblins saw the skeleton cutting at the girl’s legs, trying to cripple her. She was trying to flee, and perhaps she would succeed. She was quick—quicker than a normal Human. And her skin was tough enough that the skeleton’s slightly dulled blade couldn’t cut her that deep.

The Goblins watched, sitting on a rooftop that had remained after the fire. The girl slashed at the skeleton with her claws, snarling desperately. Badarrow nudged Rabbiteater and pointed. The Goblins looked and saw she had strangely long fingers and nails that were more like claws on the ends of them. And from the way they cut into the skeleton’s bone, they were clearly sharp as steel!

What was this strange Human? Was she some kind of…of half-breed? There were Goblins who’d been born of Humans of course, so the idea wasn’t new to the Goblins, but this?

The Goblins had never heard of a Human like this. Perhaps it was all some Skill? They knew some Drakes and Gnolls fought with their claws and could get Skills like this. But a Human?

And her jaw! Headscratcher blinked as the monster girl tried to take a bite out of the skeleton. He dodged back, and her gaping mouth caught only air. Even the Goblins thought that looked creepy, the way she could make her jaw open so wide.

The skeleton tried to stab her in the stomach, but the girl smacked his sword away. It was a lucky blow; she clearly hadn’t expected to be able to, but she was strong. Strong, fast, ravenous…

“Ghoul.”

That was what Grunter muttered. The others looked at him, and then nodded in agreement.

She was exactly like a Ghoul, one of the ravenous undead that fought in bursts of frenzied movement. And yet, she was more than a Ghoul. She was still alive, and she had a keen intelligence about her that Ghouls lacked. But for all that—

The skeleton was stronger. Not just stronger—he was fighting smart. When he lost his sword, the skeleton crouched and kicked out. The girl stumbled, and then the undead tackled her, knocking her to the ground. She cried out, trying to throw it off her, but the skeleton was on top of her. He punched her in the face, repeatedly, hammering his fist into her head as she cried out in pain and fear.

He was going to bash her brains out. The Goblins watched, some turning away now the fight was over. They wouldn’t interfere in a fight like this. It wasn’t like the Human boy—here were two killers, killing each other. It was just life.

They turned to go, but a faint sound stopped them. Sitting closest to the scene on his part of the roof, Headscratcher made a quizzical noise. They looked at him, and he scratched his head slowly, before pointing at the skeleton.

Skeleton. Yes, it was a skeleton. The Redfang warriors stared at Headscratcher blankly. Where was he going with this?

Slowly, the finger shifted to the girl.

Girl. Or rather, young woman.

They stared at her. A young Human woman. Something about the way they thought that bugged them.

A young Human woman? An [Innkeeper].

Everyone stared at Headscratcher. No. It couldn’t be it. But he pointed insistently at the skeleton. And the other Goblins stared at it, suddenly connecting the dots.

A skeleton. Hadn’t Garen Redfang mentioned something about a skeleton? Yes, he’d said it was pulling the [Innkeeper] on a sleigh!

It was highly unusual to see a skeleton here, even in this city where the dead were rising. Even if the dead rose—they’d be zombies and ghouls, not skeletons. They hadn’t nearly enough time to rot to that extent. So why was a skeleton here?

The Goblins stared at each other. Here was a Human girl. And a skeleton. And Esthelm had been a city full of inns, hadn’t it?

Then again, the skeleton was trying to beat the girl to death. Even as the Goblins watched, the skeleton drew a bloody fist back. He was pounding the girl’s head into the broken ground, drawing blood. She was making a whimpering sound, not even fighting back.

Something stirred in the Goblins’ chests. But they were still reluctant to act. So what if she died? Their job had been to kill her, after all.

Headscratcher nodded, but then shook his head to this obvious conclusion. He pointed down at the girl and skeleton, raising a thumb.

Skeleton and girl. This might actually be the girl they’d come to kill. But—he shook his head—they wouldn’t kill her because they’d decided. He pointed to the skeleton. He would, though. And that was the problem.

The Goblins stared at Headscratcher, confused. The Goblin tried to explain his line of thought. Garen had ordered them to kill the girl, yes? And if she died, even if the skeleton killed her instead of them, he’d be happy, right?

But they’d decided not to obey Garen! He shouldn’t be obeyed! So—and here Headscratcher’s silent gesturing really got complex—if they were obeying Rags instead of Garen, wouldn’t that mean they would want to protect the [Innkeeper]? At the very least, letting her die was probably as bad as killing her themselves, and if Rags didn’t want that…

The Goblins stared at each other, brains aching with thought. Headscratcher just looked at them, looked at the girl.

They could hear her sobbing. It was a sound that bothered them. They’d heard Humans cry, but this—

Perhaps it was because she ate the dead. Like them. She was doing anything she could to survive. Like them. The skeleton was hitting her, gleefully.

Headscratcher stared at the other reluctant warriors. Then he made a decision. He stood up, unsheathed his sword. He leapt from the rooftop.

After a moment, twelve Goblins followed him.

----

Toren saw the first Goblin land on the ground. He stopped punching the strange not-Human he’d found in surprise. The Goblin had a sword in his hand, and he was snarling at Toren.

A Goblin? Had they already begun to attack? Well then, why was Toren wasting time here? He jumped away from the young woman, letting her lie half-dead. He scrambled for his sword, lifting it with a grin.

One Goblin was no threat. He charged at the Goblin and locked blades, forcing the Goblin back a step. But to his surprise, the Goblin threw Toren backwards after a moment of struggle. He was strong! Stronger than a Goblin should be!

That made Toren angry. What was with strong warriors popping up all over the place? A Gold-rank adventurer he could respect, but a Goblin?

He was about to hack at the Goblin when another Goblin landed on the ground next to him. A Goblin with a bow. He drew and loosed an arrow at Toren’s skull in an instant. The skeleton dodged reflexively, and the arrow flew past him.

Two Goblins. Okay, they might be a bit stronger than usual, but—

Five more Goblins landed next to them. The flames in Toren’s eyes dimmed as he saw they all wore armor and moved to surround him.

Where were all these Goblins coming from? Struck by a thought, Toren looked up. He saw a huge, fat foot descending towards his face—

----

Grunter smashed the skeleton into the ground, landing heavily and grunting in his trademark fashion as he did. He kicked the skull several feet away dismissively, and stared at the girl.

She was curled up into a small ball of misery and pain. She was still sobbing, not even realizing she’d been saved. There was only pain and her, waiting for death.

Too familiar. Grunter looked away and grunted. The sound made the girl look up.

She stared at the Goblins and made a choked, screaming sound when she saw them. She tried to get away, but her legs still weren’t working. But the Goblins didn’t attack her. They just stared at her, and then went into a huddle.

For the Redfang warriors, they were suddenly faced with a conundrum after saving the girl and killing the skeleton. Okay, they’d saved her, and if she was the [Innkeeper], they’d probably done a good thing that Rags would approve of, right?

Right. But what did they do next? All eyes turned to Headscratcher. He just scratched his head, unsure.

The Goblins stared at the girl. She was crouched warily on the ground, staring at them with huge eyes. They returned to their huddle.

They could probably just leave her, right? After all, what else could they do? She was safe—they’d done what was probably the right thing. Now it was time to go back and eat.

Undead in the city. Badarrow grunted as he retrieved his missed arrow. The girl stared at him as he passed—he eyed her. The Goblins turned to go. The girl stared at them. Her stare bothered the Goblins more than they could really say.

----

Goblins? They’d saved her. Why?

The monster didn’t know. But the Goblins had saved her, and they weren’t going to attack her or—or do worse. She’d been afraid of that for a moment, but the Goblin with the bow had just walked past her without even looking right at her.

Now they seemed to be leaving. The Goblins slowly walked away.

Leaving her behind. Even Goblins didn’t want to associate with a monster.

Hot wetness blinded the horror for a second. She could still taste the rotting flesh in her mouth, still see the horror in the young man’s eyes. She was a monster. No—worse than that.

She looked at the backs of the retreating Goblin warriors. Goblins. They were monsters, too. They’d saved her. Because she was a monster like them?

The Goblins had destroyed Esthelm. They were horrible, pillaging, raping creatures who killed any Human they came across. They were true monsters.

But so was she.

And she was alone. And if they killed her—

Slowly, the girl got up. Her face burned and she had trouble breathing from where the skeleton had tried to crush her windpipe. She stared at the backs of monsters, short, green creatures that walked like men.

Monsters.

She followed them.

----

When Toren reassembled this time he was ready to kill everything in the world. He got up and then ran around, hitting everything in sight.

Goblins! He’d been defeated by—by Goblins! And it hadn’t even been like last time! Last time he’d been outnumbered but this time—

One had landed on him! The indignity of it made Toren so angry he felt like he could have exploded. He was filled with all-consuming rage.

And fear. A bit of fear was in Toren as well. For the first time, he sensed danger.

Not because of the Goblins. Damn the Goblins! He could kill them if he had time to plan things out, he was sure. But Toren felt the mana in his body running dangerously low.

Erin supplied him with energy, of course. He knew that. Normally it was enough for everything he did, even though she wasn’t exactly a font of magic. But after so many repeated deaths and reassemblies, he realized he was on the verge of running out.

If he was scattered one more time, if his pieces were separated—Toren feared the animation spell that gave him life might end for good. He couldn’t let that happen.

He couldn’t…die.

No problem, then! Toren would just find somewhere to wait while he regained a bit more mana. An hour would be enough. All he had to do was get his sword and…and…

Toren looked for his sword. He’d dropped over there? Over here? He paused, and then did a slow circle.

No. It couldn’t be. It was impossible!

He’d lost his sword! Toren searched for it frantically in the snow, trying not to believe it was true. But it was.

His sword was gone.

Had one of the Goblins taken it? Or the monster-girl?

Maybe. All Toren knew was that he was suddenly defenseless. Of course, he could fight with his hands and feet, but that wasn’t the same as having a weapon. His Skills were designed for a weapon—without one, Toren did feel vulnerable.

And he couldn’t die.

The skeleton felt a chill in his bones. He stared around the open area, suddenly realizing how vulnerable he was. If one of the Goblins came back, or even the girl-thing—

He couldn’t risk it. The skeleton hesitated, then swiftly ran down an alley.

He had to find shelter. A hiding spot. Could he squeeze himself into a small space? What about a weapon? Could he take one from a Human? But what if they got lucky and killed him?

Toren had never been so afraid. He ran, pausing at every shadow, trying to find somewhere totally secluded. He spotted an opening in the ground—a dark entrance and dove towards it.

The sewers! Toren immediately recognized the foul, dark tunnels and relaxed. No one would come down here! Not even Goblins liked this much filth. He could rest here, wait a while. And then—

The skeleton had let his guard down too early. As he walked further into the sewers, his foot caught on a floating body. It moved, and then jerked to life.

A corpse, dead, eyes glowing with yellow light, sprang up. Toren jerked back, and then realized one of the dead had risen. Oh. Was that all? It had surprised him, but it was just a zombie. Toren backed away in case the undead started flailing about—

The dead body sprang at Toren, making a gurgling snarling sound. Toren jerked in shock, and the corpse bore him into the slime of the sewers.

Not a zombie! A Ghoul! More bodies were rising around Toren, actual zombies this time. But the ghoul had focused on Toren and identified him as a threat. It tore at the skeleton, trying to rip his bones away—

Trying to kill him.

Fear suddenly gripped Toren. He clenched his bony fists and began hammering at the Ghoul, trying to knock it off him, break its skull. But it was freshly dead and still relatively intact. And it had him on the ground! It was tearing away Toren’s ribs, one at a time!

So strong! It—Toren was going to die! It was stronger than Toren, and tougher too in this moment. He felt so weak.

He was going to die.

No! Toren plunged a finger into the Ghoul’s eye socket, piercing the rotted eyeball. But the Ghoul felt no pain and didn’t need eyes to see. Toren punched the corpse repeatedly, but nothing was working.

He was going to die! The Ghoul was going to kill him! It was impossible! Unacceptable! He couldn’t die like this!

Not like this! Toren raged silently as he tried to force the Ghoul off of him. Not like this! Not to a Ghoul! If he had time—a bit more time to regain mana!

Someone, anyone! Toren cried out. He needed help! He needed assistance! Anyone, the adventurer, the Humans with clubs, the monster girl, the Goblins—

The ghoul was reaching for his head, twisting it. It would all be over. Toren fought it, trying to hold the arms back. So weak. Someone. Please help.

Erin—

A hand dragged the Ghoul off of Toren. The skeleton saw the Ghoul jerk, turn—another hand smashed into the back of its head.

Erin?

For a second the skeleton thought—but when he stood up, he saw only zombies.

Zombies?

Yes, the undead corpses were surrounding the Ghoul! In disbelief, Toren saw the Ghoul fighting them, tearing at their faces, trying to bear them to the ground—but six zombies were all striking it, tearing it apart, eating its flesh—

The zombies had helped Toren. That was what the skeleton realized after the shock had worn off. He sat in the filth of the sewer as the zombies finished destroying the Ghoul, leaving the chewed limbs floating in the water.

How? And why? All Toren knew was that he’d cried out for help. He’d reached out—

And the zombies had answered. These, the lowliest of the undead had come to his aid. Why? Because he was a skeleton and they were like him? Because they hated ghouls?

No, that was silly. It was because—

Toren touched the flames in his skull. His eyes? Skinner had commanded the dead. Was it that? Something else? Some secret to his creation?

The skeleton didn’t know. But the zombies stopped, swaying in front of him. They were waiting for his command.

The skeleton stared at them in shock. And then he heard the voice, echoing in his head. He hadn’t heard it for a while, but now it came into his mind, sharp and clear, and oh so welcome.

[Leader Class Obtained!]

[Leader Level 1!]

[Skill – Command Lesser Undead obtained!]

For a few moments, Toren’s head was filled with clouds. He stood in the sewer, poleaxed by the revelation. But when he came back to himself, he just stared at the zombies.

Six zombies. Waiting for his command. And now Toren felt certain he could command them. In fact, if he wanted to…

Well now. Wasn’t this interesting?

----

This is the story of a skeleton. He stood in the dark sewers of a city full of death, where a Human with silver armor tried to save the living and a monster followed a band of Goblin warriors. The skeleton had travelled far, had thrown off his shackles and come here.

He had been humbled. He had nearly died. But he had survived. He had survived and he would still survive, growing stronger. That was what he pledged to himself. He would survive.

And he was no longer alone.

3.19 T

Esthelm. City of the damned and dead. That was how it felt sometimes. Of course, there were thousands of people still living inside of it, but for many, their miserable, desperate existence was just a prelude to death and worse. Their home was in ruins, and their city was slowly filling with the undead. It was undeniable, now.

They came out of the sewers. They sat up in the cold snow. They dug themselves out of the frozen ground and from beneath the rubble.

They rose.

Not just one, not just two—hundreds. Hundreds. Zombies, yes, but ghouls as well. They came for the living, and without trained warriors, the refugees of Esthelm could not hope to defend themselves from such a horde.

If they could, they would have fled. Even the cold, merciless winter night was better than death and undeath. But they could not.

An army of Goblins camped outside the city. Already, a score of people had died as they’d tried to leave the city and been set on. The Goblins maintained a perimeter, laughing, shooting arrows at any Human they saw. And more were coming. Already the people could see Goblin warriors wearing black armor gathering into teams, preparing to sweep into the city.

Goblins outside, undead within. And disunity and chaos among them. The Humans despaired and some simply waited for death while others took what small satisfaction they could, giving into cruelty and lust before the end. After all, who would save them?

The answer came during the darkest hours of the night, when some huddled behind the flimsy walls they’d built and others went searching for victims. They heard a voice, and saw silver.

A man in plate armor. An adventurer with a sword and shield. No, no ordinary adventurer—a Gold-rank one! A [Knight].

He strode into one camp and raised his voice.

“Citizens of Esthelm! Hear my words!”

No one had called them that, or thought of them like that since the city had fallen. People, disbelieving, crept out to watch him and saw the men at his back. Men and women. And children. Hundreds, already close to a thousand.

“Esthelm has fallen. But you still remain! The undead rise and must be stopped. A Goblin army has come to kill whomever remains in this city. If you keep fighting among yourselves, you will die! But together we may yet live.”

That was all he said. But the people saw him bring his hundreds into the camp, and begin building. He had more rubble removed, had people with Skills—people who’d almost forgotten their Classes—begin to build.

He had them build a wall. Not around a small plot of land to hide in, as the others had done, but massive barricades, linking half-fallen buildings and sealing off entire streets. He was building fortifications, sealing off nearly a quarter of the city and setting guards, men and women with weapons and hope in their eyes to fend off the undead.

He was retaking their home. And so people came forward, at first the desperate, but then everyone, abandoning the places they’d carved out, coming, some fearful, others ashamed, but coming nevertheless.

Coming home. And so the Humans built desperately, and gathered arms, and the Gold-rank adventurer walked among them, tirelessly coordinating them, giving them courage.

Ylawes Byres. He stared towards the edge of the city, where the Goblins were waiting. He’d chosen a spot as far away from them as possible. It would be war soon, he knew. A last war, a final war for this city. Whether it would mean death and ruin for a place already rotten and torn apart or a new spark of life for this place he did not know. He only knew he would make the Goblins pay in blood for every step they took.

However, this was not his story. Instead, the city’s fate belonged in no small part to another being. A skeleton, a creature of death, common and worthless among the endless undead. Yet this one was unlike any other skeleton in the world. He danced in the dying city, as the snow began to fall.

----

A shadow shivered and twisted amidst the center of the city. A shadow with eyes that burned purple and bright even in the darkest night. Shapes moved and walked among the empty buildings, crawling, creeping, seeking out the light to snuff it out.

But the shadow danced on. Death and corruptions swirled through the streets, standing up, taking awful forms and biting, chewing. But the shadow danced, and it had a name.

Toren.

He whirled about in the street, arms spread wide. His was not some demonic summoning, nor the wild and sinister movements of ritual and sin. Instead, the skeleton ran about, twirling and doing handstands and waving his arms about, full of innocent mirth. He danced like a child, delighted, simple. He had a new toy! Not just one in fact. He had a world full of them!

He could control the undead! How wonderful was that?

Toren stopped whirling about and turned to look at some of the shadows around him. Six swaying corpses stared at him, barely noticeable as they stood in the shadows. They had been men and women, but now rot and decay had turned them into something else.

Zombies. Pathetic fodder any warrior could kill individually, only fearsome in vast numbers, and even then, only to the unprepared. But they were his. His.

He could control them. Toren knew it. He felt the certainty in his mind and saw it when he ordered the zombies to follow him. He walked down the street as they followed in his wake.

This changed everything. Toren had been about to die, and they had saved him. And now—

What should he do now? Toren glanced at one of the zombies and it stopped. He slowly made it walk in front of him, and inspected the zombie carefully.

Yup. Dead. And a worm was crawling around in its exposed brain. Toren pulled it out and patted the zombie on its squishy head. His zombie.

Of course, he could always get a new one. But for now, Toren was curious. What could it do? He made the zombie walk back and forth in front of him, hit the zombie standing next to it, lie down…

Interesting. He couldn’t tell the zombie to do very specific things. For instance, Toren had tried to get the zombie to hop on one leg and it hadn’t moved. Because he was too low level? All he could get it to do was move and attack what he wanted.

That was too bad. But then again, it was still an excellent start. Toren rubbed his hands together, grinning.

Zombies. Just imagine what he could do with them! He’d no longer be alone in a fight—he wouldn’t even have to fight if he didn’t want to.

True, this didn’t mean he could suddenly challenge Griffon Hunt or even the Gold-rank adventurer who’d beaten him once. Toren knew that. Right now he could control six undead. And only zombies to boot. But if he leveled? What then?

The possibilities sent shivers down the skeleton’s spine. Where could he begin? How would he level up?

By leading his minions, obviously. Toren cast around, and then had another idea. He was still a bit low on mana. He could probably pull himself back together once if he was broken, but he didn’t want to risk anything.

So why not stop fighting himself and instead have some fun? His zombies might be mindless, but they could certainly help out Toren in their limited way. To start with for example…

A sword. Toren wanted one. His zombies lurched towards a camp of Humans he’d seen earlier that day. They were a group of men who’d hunkered down in an alleyway, putting up flimsy barricades and trash barriers to keep other people away.

The zombies came to the alleyway and paused. They turned into it, walking, stumbling forwards. Perched on a crumbling rooftop, Toren watched as one of the men on guard duty shouted out in alarm as he saw the zombies.

Within moments, the other men—who’d been sleeping in clumsy sleeping bags made of whatever fabric they could get their hands on around the smoldering fire—were on their feet. They grasped weapons in their hands, clubs, slings, and, Toren was pleased to note, an iron short sword held by a big man that looked like their leader.

The gang of men was clearly arguing as the zombies slowly broke down the wooden planks that had been nailed together to form an obstacle and then slowly came down the alley towards them. Half of them wanted to leave, but their leader pointed out the obvious. There were six zombies, and they were eight strong! Plus, the zombies were slow, clumsy—their slinger whirled a stone that took the eye out of one. The other men began throwing things, and the zombies stumbled and one fell, struggling to get up.

Stupid, foolish undead. They’d never get close enough at their meandering pace. The men laughed and shouted triumphantly as they began to batter the zombies with missiles. From his seat above, Toren laughed and gave his zombies one order.

The foremost zombie had been stumbling backwards, flesh torn and bones fractured from the stones that kept smashing into his skull. Bits of brain were already leaking from his open skull. The man throwing stones stood confidently ahead of the others, picking up rocks from a pile at his feet as he confidently loosed stones at the zombies. He was close to them, but so what? It wasn’t as if they could move—

The zombie took a step, and then charged down the alleyway. The man with the sling screamed in horror and turned to run. But too late—the zombie tackled him, and then he was tearing at the man as he tried to fight the creature off with his hands, biting at his throat—ripping away red flesh—

The gang of men had frozen in horror. Half of them ran forwards to help their friend, but then they decided he was dead and tried to run. Again, too late.

The other zombies ran at them, not sluggishly lurching as they’d done before, but sprinting, moving with inhuman speed that cared nothing for torn muscle or the broken ground. The men raised their weapons, but found they were of little use. Clubs that could break bones and spiked bats that could tear flesh did not scare those already dead.

The leader of the gang backed up. His sword at least could chop, but he was no [Swordsman], or even a [Warrior]. He hacked at the zombies killing the screaming men in his gang, hitting his comrades as often as the zombies. And when the zombies dropped the dead men to the ground, the man with the short sword found himself alone.

He turned to run. But the zombies were quick.

Sitting on the rooftop, Toren grinned as the zombies finished killing the leader. Only three were left; the man with the sword had gotten one, and two more had been killed in the fight. But so what? He knew there were countless zombies in the city.

And he’d come up with another excellent discovery for his trouble. The zombies had taken out the men so easily, and with just one order from him. A simple one, really. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it instantly.

Run. That was all he’d told them to do. Just…run. And so they’d ran.

Why didn’t zombies do it all the time? Toren realized that maybe some did—he hadn’t exactly even seen that many zombies before today. Just when Skinner had attacked Erin’s inn, really. And in the crypt.

Zombies were weak. True. They were slow and they rotted easily and they had no concept of dodging, blocking, or even retreating. But what if you could make them run? Then you had an entirely different kind of monster on your hands. Because yes, zombies were simple fighters, but they were still strong. And they didn’t fear injury.

Toren clattered his jaw excitedly. He could already sense that this little skirmish had helped him get closer to a level up. In a moment he’d go down and get his new sword. And then—

Well, he had zombies, didn’t he? And there were many more groups of thugs, just waiting for the day so they could begin marauding again. Perfect prey, in short. Could Toren wipe out an even bigger gang with six zombies? Could he do it without losing even one?

This was a challenge. A fun challenge. Toren leapt from his rooftop and landed in the snow, where his undead servants were waiting for him. He looked into their lifeless eyes, their empty sockets, and grinned. He smiled, and in his eyes, Esthelm burned.

----

This is the story of a monster. This is the story of a girl. At least, she’d been a girl, a Human once.

Now she didn’t know what she was.

She had no name. Or rather, she’d forgotten it. It, like all her words, was gone. Only hunger remained. Hunger, and despair.

And fear. That was the real irony of it all, wasn’t it? That even now, even when she’d lost everything, her family, home, levels—even humanity—even now, she was afraid of dying.

She’d nearly died. The skeleton she’d encountered had tried to kill her. He’d pounded at her, trying to kill her. And she’d wept, because she would finally die and be free of the nightmare.

But she hadn’t wanted to die. She’d still wanted to live, even then. She’d nearly given up hope, though, resigned herself to death.

That’s when they’d saved her. The Goblins. They’d come and killed the skeleton. She’d thought they just wanted to kill and eat her themselves, or do worse, but they hadn’t. They’d looked at her and left.

So why had she followed them? The monster paused as she loped on all fours after them. The snow and stone were cold on her skin, but her new body could withstand far more than her old one. Even now, the beating the skeleton had given her was healing.

But the Goblins? Why pursue them? She didn’t know. But they were monsters. So maybe she deserved their company. And she had nothing else, so why not? Death would be a welcome thing if it came to that.

At any rate, the Goblins weren’t chasing her off. The girl in the monster saw the warriors glancing back at her as they marched through the empty streets now and then, but none of them tried to chase her off. Rather, it looked like they were chattering amongst themselves as they looked at her.

Could Goblins talk? Maybe in their own language. The monster didn’t know. But she was surprised by the idea. And when she saw the place the Goblins had chosen to camp for the night—

Her jaw dropped in surprise. The Goblins had set up in the center of a building that had been hollowed out by fire. But instead of squatting in the ashes and ruins like beasts, they’d cleared away the soot and snow, revealing bare stone. They’d taken bits of wood and covered the windows and doors, and even built a fire pit in the center of the building!

Now two of the Goblins sat around the fire pit, one piling kindling together and shaving bits of wood as the other struck sparks. A small fragment of wood caught, and the Goblins put their hands around the small flame, shielding it as it ate the kindling and grew.

Within a few minutes they had a fire. The monster sat on her haunches on the edge of the building, afraid to go in. But the warriors took no notice of her, and so she dared enter the camp. She stared around with wide eyes, drinking in…

Civilization. It was such an odd word, but that was what she saw. The warriors were making a fire. And what were they doing now? The Goblins were…putting their beds together! They had beds?

Yes, some of the Goblins had blankets in their possessions. Others had only the clothing they wore—one had a small stuffed pillow of all things, just large enough to cushion his head! They spread out their gear—weapons, bows and arrows—around them, forming small nests close to but not too near the fire. Places to sleep, places of their own.

They were so normal. The monster couldn’t believe her eyes. Were these really Goblins, the raiding, murderous monsters that adventurers hunted for bronze coins? Then she heard a voice grunting by her ear.

“Ur.”

The girl turned in fright. A Goblin was glaring at her. She turned to run, but he wasn’t raising his sword to attack. Instead, he was pointing.

What? The monster girl looked around wildly, and then realized.

She was in the way! She was blocking the doorway! The Goblin edged by her as she scrambled aside. She looked fearfully at him, but he just snorted at her and marched out the doorway. He came back in a few moments later with a pot he’d filled with fresh snow. He glanced at her as he walked back towards the fire, but did nothing else.

They didn’t care about her. They didn’t fear her or—or her face. The idea struck the creature dumb with shock. She watched, awed and amazed as the Goblin with the pot hung it over the fire. The snow began to melt in the pot, and she realized they were going to make dinner.

From what? The thing looked, and saw something lying in a corner of the room. Were those rags?

No. Bodies.

Suddenly, her heart froze in her chest. The monster stared as one of the Goblins approached the corpses of Humans and one Goblin, knife in hand. That was right. Goblins ate the dead, even their own.

They were monsters just like her.

Suddenly, the horror felt a pang in her stomach, and realized she was starving. Even if she forgot for a moment, she was always consumed by it. The unrelenting, unending emptiness in her stomach.

She stared at the corpses, salivating quietly. She longed to eat the frozen bodies—even if they were rotten and foul. She would eat her own kind, even though her soul revolted. She would eat the Goblins too, and her own flesh it if meant filling the hole inside of her.

The monster edged towards the pile of bodies. Food. The Goblins were looking at her now and then, but they wouldn’t stop her, would they? It was food. If they stopped her, she would bite them, tear at them. She had to eat. She was so hungry—

Her jaw opened. The thing reached for a body, and then saw something move towards her. Something big.

She turned, and saw the Hobgoblin stand up. He’d been sitting quietly amidst his fellows while they worked, helping to chop wood into smaller bits to feed the fire, but now he stood. He was clearly the leader of the group—even the former young woman knew that. She’d heard tales of Hobgoblins, feared even by Silver-rank adventurers for their strength and cunning in battle.

And now he was looking. At. Her.

The Hobgoblin grunted as he slowly walked over to the monster. She stared up at him, awed by his sheer size. He was massive, tall as a tall Human man, and far wider. But all that flesh wasn’t fat—it was muscle, rippling, tough, raw—

She tore her eyes away from his body. Fearfully, the monster girl retreated a bit. What was he going to do? Was he going to—

The Hobgoblin pointed at the thing and it—she—froze, about to dart away, back into the darkness of the city. But he didn’t grab for her. Rather he opened his mouth and spoke.

“In.”

It was a word! An actual word! The young woman froze, eyes wide. Goblins could speak? He could—speak?

Yes, he could. The Hobgoblin concentrated, frowning mightily. He forced out more syllables, his voice thick with concentration.

“Inkreepr. You. You innkreeper?”

Innkeeper? The girl had no idea what he meant. He pointed at her and repeated the word.

“Innkeeper. You? Clss.”

Her class? He was asking…?

Slowly, wide-eyed, the horror shook her head. She’d never been an [Innkeeper], never even considered it. She had been—she’d used to raise flowers. Even the thought made her heart ache. Flowers? Who needed flowers in this broken place?

The Hobgoblin stared down at her, looking surprised and even a bit irritated. He moved—she flinched again, but he just turned and growled something at another Goblin warrior sitting by the now merry fire. The Goblin stared at the girl. He was a normal-sized Goblin warrior, much like the others. He scratched his head, and muttered a word in another language.

The other Goblins stared at him, the head scratcher. One reached out and punched him on the shoulder. He grunted, but didn’t punch back. Then they all just turned and stared at the monster-girl.

For a minute they stared, and then one of them shrugged. He pointed towards the fire and beckoned towards her.

“Urg?”

Almost disbelieving, she crept forwards. She expected them to grab her at any second, to tear her clothes off and—no, even they wouldn’t sink that low, would they? But she expected them to stab at her, or to chase her away?

But nothing happened. The Goblins just stared at her, and let her inch closer to the fire. One of them sniffed at her—the other one poked a finger into his ear and wiggled it about. Then they went about their business.

They didn’t fear her, and clearly they had no idea what to make of her. The girl stared at them, and then saw three Goblins go over to the corpses.

Flesh.

She was there in an instant. She wanted to bite, to tear at the frozen bodies, but the Goblins had other ideas. When she grabbed a leg one of them grabbed her. She froze in fright, but the Goblin just pulled her away, grunting disapprovingly.

He had a knife in his hand. He used it to cut at the body, removing flesh swiftly, cutting away the most palatable parts. The thing salivated. It reached for the food, wanting to eat it there and then—

But the Goblins stopped her. They shook their heads at her and pulled her back. Not understanding, confused, the young woman stopped. She watched as the Goblins took the meat they’d cut and brought it over to the pot.

It was a big pot. The Hob had carried it no doubt, and it was boiling with water. Even as the monster watched, the Goblins added meat to the pot. And then…they began to cook with it.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. What were they doing? Cooking meat? But it was—it had been part of Humans and even other Goblins. It was still flesh. It was still—but it was different. The Goblins cooked the meat like…well, meat. They seasoned it with ground up spices and even added some flour to the soup they were making. And a carrot? Yes, one of the Goblins pulled out a wizened carrot from his belt. Another had a handful of pepper. And then they turned the horrible, terrible thing they’d taken from corpses into something else. Something almost wonderful.

Soup. The smell made the girl’s mouth water. The memory made her eyes water. It was soup. She hadn’t eaten soup since…

One of the Goblins, the one who seemed to be in charge of stirring and sampling the concoction, decided the food was done. He grabbed a wooden bowl and began ladling the steaming soup into bowls, passing them to the other Goblins. The girl watched, remembering and drooling, until one of the Goblins passed a bowl to her.

At first, she recoiled from the heat and the sudden nearness of the Goblin. She stared into crimson eyes, looked at the clawed hand holding the bowl. What? He was giving it to her?

To her? But she hadn’t helped. And yet, the Goblin was offering it to her. The creature struggled with the act of kindness, but the starving thing in her greedily took the bowl. She wanted to say…to thank the Goblin, but she had no words.

And the Goblin had already taken his own bowl. Grinning with delight, he set near the fire, making some remark to the other Goblins. So the monster stared at the bowl in her hands, warming her cold body.

Generosity from a Goblin. The bowl was warm and let off steam that dissipated in the cold air around her. The monster stared. Then she ate.

Slowly, clumsily, she lifted the bowl. Her hands felt unused to the motion, as if they’d forgotten how. But some things didn’t fade. Slowly, the young woman blew at the soup, licking at it tentatively until it was cool. Then she tilted the bowl up and tried to eat it as fast as she could, to satiate the thing in her stomach. She slurped the broth greedily, gulping down the chunks of meat and grinding the rest between her sharp teeth. Only when the girl had half-finished her bowl did she realize she was the only one eating this way.

The Goblin warriors were eating, yes, but they were eating…civilly. They didn’t immediately gulp down the soup like she did. They put it into bowls and ate efficiently, some even using knives to fish the meat out and pop it into their mouths. The monster stared at them, soup dripping down her dirty chest.

They ate like people. And she—

She was ashamed. But she was also hungry, so she finished the first bowl they gave her, then the second, the third.

After that, the beast in her had had enough. Which was good, because she’d eaten more than the Goblins had expected. They brewed a second batch of soup, eying her oddly but saying nothing.

They didn’t say much. Rather, each Goblin seemed to know what the others were thinking. That was how the monster-girl found herself sitting at the fire as the others sat around her. They didn’t say much, but that was because they were busy.

They were staring at her. Now that they’d eaten and taken care of the essentials, the Goblins studied the strange Human, the monster that had followed them to their camp. They eyed her from head to toe, unabashedly scrutinizing every part of her.

They didn’t seem to know what to make of her. She didn’t know what she was either, so she just stared back, part of her still afraid. The other part…

Curious.

What would they do? They hadn’t hurt her so far. Instead they’d been—she hadn’t seen other people—other Humans of her kind, that was, making soup in the city. But these Goblins had made fire, cleaned up the building, even offered food to a stranger.

They could speak! They had words! And she did not.

What were they? What was she? The monster felt anguish in her heart—

And then a stone fell into her lap.

She nearly shrieked in surprise, but it was just a pebble. One of the Goblins had thrown it. He immediately received a kick from the others, but now they were all staring at the monster, waiting to see what she would do.

The creature stared at the stone in her lap and picked it up awkwardly. She held it in her hands and stared at the Goblin who’d thrown it. He looked vaguely ashamed. What did he want from her? She didn’t know.

Slowly, hesitantly, she threw the stone back. And missed.

Her aim was terrible. Rather than hit the Goblin who’d thrown it, the pebble flew up and to the left. It struck the Hob sitting behind the Goblin, who’d been eating another bowl of soup.

The pebble bounced right off of the Hobgoblin’s head. He blinked as it splashed in his bowl of soup, and slowly looked down. His chest had been splattered by the hot liquid.

The monster immediately wanted to run and hide, but she was paralyzed by shock. She stared fearfully at the Hobgoblin. So did the other Goblin warriors. They stared, and then one of them made a sound.

He hooted, and pointed at the Hobgoblin. He slapped the ground, and laughed! So did the other Goblins.

They laughed! In an instant, all of them were roaring with uncontrolled laughter, all, except for the Hob who was still processing his reduced bowl of soup. But the other Goblins were filled with mirth. They laughed like people, slapping their sides with mirth, hooting and pointing fingers at the Hobgoblin who picked the stone out with two fat fingers and hurled it over his shoulder.

He glared at the monster, who cringed, but with no real anger in him. Instead, the Hob reached out and flicked the head of the Goblin who’d thrown the stone at her, and then downed the remaining soup in his bowl in a single go. He sighed, chuckled ruefully, and then he laughed too.

Laughter. It was something that was Human or rather—reminded the young woman of Humans. But the Goblins and Humans laughed so much alike, even if the Goblins’ voices were higher and they had an odd cadence to their tones. But they still laughed, needing no words to tell her what they meant.

They laughed, at such a small accident with all the good cheer the young woman had ever seen. And—the girl thought—almost as if they were just relieved to have an excuse to laugh.

At last, the Goblins stopped laughing, but the mood remained. They sat around the fire, exchanging short, sometimes monosyllabic bursts of chatter, but clearly speaking to each other. The thing couldn’t understand, but it lay by the fire, somehow contented just to be.

It was so strange. She’d never felt this way. Not for…over a week. And few times in her previous life, to be honest. But here, among the Goblins, she needed to do nothing. She just existed, and that was enough.

Goblins. The crimson eyes of the warriors sitting around her flashed in the darkness. But they weren’t heartless eyes. And their faces, however different they were from Human faces, were still capable of expressing emotion.

Soon, they began to go to sleep. They rolled into their blankets or just sat with a back against the wall and closed their eyes. Then the monster stirred.

She shouldn’t be here. That was what she felt. They were sleeping, but she—

She wasn’t safe here, was she? They’d given her food, but somehow, she still felt like an invader, or a monster living amongst people.

She should go. This had been—enough. This moment.

The monster crept away from the fire, heart aching. But she couldn’t stay. The fire was dying down and with it, the fear was coming back. The terror.

The city was full of darkness. Darkness and death. The dead were coming back. There was violence in the streets. Other people—

She had to hide. Find a tiny crevice to hide in while she slept.

That was what she thought. But the young woman paused as she crept towards the door and saw the Goblin standing watch.

He was sitting, actually. But he was sitting high up, on a broken ledge that allowed him to look out at the streets surrounding the building they’d barricaded themselves in. The Goblin had a bow in his hands and he narrowed his eyes at the monster-girl as she scrambled up to stare at him.

He didn’t smile at her, but neither did he kick her off and down onto the street. The thing looked at him, fearfully, but after a moment he just went back to studying the darkness. She looked as well and her eyes—able to see in the night like day—spotted shapes, moving in the distance.

Zombies.

She shuddered, and the Goblin on watch looked at her, almost amused. He nodded, and tapped the bow at his side. Then he pointed. The young woman turned, and saw a shape lurching down the snowy street towards them. Her heart twisted in her chest as she saw a zombie coming straight at them.

But the Goblin wasn’t afraid. He raised the bow at his side and grinned at her. He pointed, tapping his chest, and then put an arrow to the string with one swift movement. He drew the arrow to his chest, and sighted down the shaft.

Fft. The arrow streaked across the void, and thunked into the zombie’s forehead. The young woman stared, and the Goblin grinned. He pointed again. She looked, and saw another zombie, far off, not coming this way.

But it had been marked, and so the Goblin archer drew another arrow. He nocked, aimed, loosed in a single motion. The zombie staggered and fell.

Twice more the Goblin did this, pointing out targets to the monster girl and downing them. Each time he grinned at her, and tapped his own chest. His self-satisfaction was obvious, and he was unashamed of it. He was a master at his craft, an expert showing his skills off to her, like the [Hunters] or [Marksmen] who’d do the same with targets at fairs.

After the fourth zombie had fallen, the Goblin seemed done. He went back to studying the landscape. He looked at the monster, and nodded to the dim embers of the fire inquiringly. She hesitated, and then nodded back, awkwardly.

It was warm near the embers, so the creature crept closer. She lay down there—so close she could smell the smoke and feel the heat on her skin. The dim glow burned in her vision, and she closed her eyes, feeling sleep crawl over her slowly.

Could she stay here? Was this alright? She didn’t know. All the girl who’d become a monster knew was that she didn’t feel the need to hide anymore. Not here.

She slept, feeling safe for the first time in a long while.

----

Badarrow saw the Human girl go to sleep at last by the fire. He saw her chest rise and fall rhythmically, and knew that now would be the time to shoot her, if any. He had an arrow in his hands, and he could put one through the back of her skull in a second if he wanted.

But—no. It would be a waste of an arrow. That was how Badarrow felt.

He didn’t waste arrows. Ever. When Badarrow shot at the enemy, whether it was zombies, Humans, Drakes, Gnolls, or even other Goblins he never wasted an arrow. Even if he missed. Because that arrow was there to hurt the people who were trying to hurt them, and it would do just that, or at least make them cover their heads.

But killing the Human girl? No. She wasn’t an enemy, and she wasn’t a nuisance either. She was something else. But what?

Not a victim. Not something to attack. Garen Redfang was very clear on that one point. He had walked among Humans, and adopted some of their customs. In this at least, he was firm. No Goblin warrior of his would ever assault a female, or male for that matter. They had their own kind for such things, and it was only the worst of tribes that tolerated such actions among their own people. So why degrade themselves for other species?

It was a mark of pride among the Redfang Goblins that they were like their leader. Humans were for killing or ignoring. That was it. Nothing else.

So. No sex. No killing. Just a Human who ate their food and slept next to them as if they were Humans like her. Badarrow couldn’t understand it. But she was clearly more monster than Human, so maybe that was why.

The Goblin [Archer] yawned irritably. He glanced up at the moon, and decided it was time. Swiftly, he leapt down from his spot and walked over to another of the resting Goblins.

Headscratcher woke up after only a single poke. He knew it was his time to watch, so he didn’t scowl that hard at Badarrow. He took the bow the Goblin handed him, nodding at the implicit threat of what would happen if he damaged Badarrow’s weapon.

The Goblin warrior went to climb up to the watch point, but he paused as he passed the Human. He stopped, and looked down at her. He stared down at the Human girl, eying her altered features with interest. He reached down to touch at her dirty hair, which glowed in the firelight—

Badarrow kicked him. Headscratcher nearly tumbled into the firepit. He turned, fist raised, but Badarrow’s glare stopped him. One jerk of the annoyed Goblin’s head clearly said that Headscratcher should be keeping watch or they’d all be dead.

Reluctantly, Headscratcher went up to his post. He kept look out, killing any zombies that came near with precise shots from the bow. Then after about an hour had passed, he went to wake the next Goblin whose turn it was. The warriors had a system for every night, so that each Goblin took their own turn unless wounded.

Tonight was Badarrow, then Headscratcher. After that Rocksoup and then Rabbiteater, and then Bitefly, and then Grunter for the last watch. Like that, they passed the night away into morning.

Just before dawn, all the Goblins woke as one. They sat up and grabbed their gear. They armed themselves within minutes, and then prepared for battle.

The thirteen Goblin warriors sat around the sleeping monster-girl in silence, polishing their weapons, checking their armor for faults. They made as little sound as possible, and stood up and left her sleeping quietly next to the fire.

The Redfang warriors chose a good vantage point where they wouldn’t be seen, and watched the edge of the city, the gates where the other Goblin army had camped. They stood alert, but not tense, conserving their energy.

Waiting. They knew it would not be long.

----

They came into the city in groups of twenty or more, sweeping through with the dawning sun at their backs, killing anything and everything they found. Goblin warriors in black armor, preparing the way.

A group of them came across a horde of zombies. They didn’t retreat; the zombies would pursue them and the last thing the warriors wanted was to run into another group of undead and become trapped.

So the Goblins found a snowy patch of land on higher ground, and let the zombies come to them. Many of the slow undead fell to arrows before they even reached the Goblins, and the others fell to the Goblins as they fought in tight formation. The Goblin warriors grinned as they slaughtered the undead. After all, they were just—

Zombies.

Eight zombies sat up in the snow behind the Goblins. They’d been lying still, motionless under the snow. Now they leapt to their feet and ran at the Goblins, taking the warriors by complete surprise. The Goblins cried out—turned to fight—

And a skeleton slipped out from the crowd of zombies and beheaded one of the Goblins. He turned and cut another one down even as the Goblins began fighting the eight zombies under his control. Another Goblin turned, axe raised, shouting as Toren charged him—

The skeleton’s eyes glowed purple. The Goblin froze up, and then raised his axe again. But too slow, too late. Toren’s hand blurred, and the Goblin stumbled back, throat cut. Toren grinned as he leapt backwards, avoiding the other Goblin warriors’ attacks. The [Fear] enchantment didn’t work on Goblins—but it could make them hesitate.

Their formation broken, attacked from behind and harassed by the skeleton, the group of over twenty Goblins fell quickly to the zombie horde that encircled them, no longer held at bay. Toren happily walked among their bodies, checking for a better sword and a shield. He stayed clear of the rogue zombies, the mass of dead about sixty strong now, as it shambled its way down the street. The eight zombies Toren had control of waited patiently for him to finish as he triumphantly surveyed the dead Goblins.

It hadn’t been easy to get all the zombies in the right spots, but they’d been an excellent distraction. Toren couldn’t command a horde, but it was easy to herd them like cattle and let his personal band of undead capitalize on their attack. And the dividends of Toren’s hard work were immediately obvious.

[Leader Level 4!]

[Skill – Daring Charge obtained!]

The skeleton danced about with his new sword and shield. Another level! He’d been sending his zombies to attack Humans all night, but it was clear that attacking groups that could fight back was more rewarding. He immediately led his zombies off, searching for more Goblin groups. It looked like they were finally coming to attack, and that made Toren happy.

He’d finally get to kill a lot of things today.

----

Another group of Goblins, twenty five warriors of the Goblin Lord, cornered the group of thirteen Redfang warriors an hour after dawn. Both sides were breathing heavily.

It had been a long chase. The Redfang warriors had caught the first group of Goblins by surprise, slaying over half with arrows before they’d known what was happening. But by chance, another group of warriors had heard the fighting and rushed to assist their comrades. The Redfang warriors had fled, bringing down more Goblins, but now their backs were against a wall.

“Traitors.”

The Goblin warrior with black armor and a longsword in his hand called out to the Redfang warriors. He stood with the black-armored warriors at his back.

“Goblin Lord is. Obey him. Come and not die.”

For a second, the thirteen Goblins paused in surprise. This was new. They were being invited to join the Goblin Lord’s forces? They looked at each other, uncertain, thinking.

Then Rocksoup fished around in his nose for a booger, and flicked it at the other Goblin leader. The Goblin roared in outrage, but Rocksoup’s comrades, his friends, slapped him on the back and cheered.

The Redfang Goblins laughed. They faced down the other Goblins, backs straight, heads held high. They did not need to say anything. Any true Goblin would understand.

We are here. We are Goblins. We do not abandon our tribe.

No true Goblin would. What were these false Goblins, these fools who’d accept traitors into their tribe? Who could obey a Chieftain—even Goblin Lord like that?

Never. It could never be accepted. So the Goblins faced off, the Redfang warriors standing proud as the sun hit their backs.

It was thirteen against twenty-five. The black-armored Goblins were confident, but the Redfang warriors had no fear. Grunter waited until the thunder in his heart was right, and then roared.

As one, the Redfang warriors leapt forwards. They rushed ahead, shouting without fear as they ran towards their surprised enemy. For all his bulk, Grunter was first. He lowered his axe and shoulder-charged into a group of warriors, ignoring their weapons. He trusted his thick skin and armor to keep him safe.

A Goblin stabbed at him, but the shaft of his spear broke as Grunter rammed into him. The Hob trampled the Goblin, and seized another. He threw him, and then the one he’d stepped on as if they weighed nothing.

Grunter threw two Goblins into their fellows, turned, and chopped another Goblin down. He roared at the others, making them draw back in fear. They dared to challenge him? He was a Hob! He scythed left and right with his heavy weapon, daring anyone to come close.

Headscratcher was right behind Grunter. He leapt towards the warriors Grunter had downed and without a second’s thought, stabbed them as they struggled to get up. Behind him, Badarrow shot the other Goblin leader through the head at point-blank range, laughing in fury as he did.

The other Redfang warriors formed a spear, Grunter at their head. They charged at the other warriors, bringing the fight to them. Bugear jabbed with a spear, keeping three Goblins at bay at once. One ran forwards, slashing, but Rocksoup was there!

Rocksoup and the Goblin cut—but it was the other Goblin warrior who fell away. Too slow! The dagger in Rocksoup’s off-hand caught the Goblin in his unprotected throat and he fell, choking.

The Goblin Lord’s warriors fell back in disarray. They hadn’t expected such a difference in levels! But the Redfang warriors refused to give them any moment’s rest. They pressed on, howling with fury.

They were elites! They’d fought beside Garen Redfang in the hottest of battles! Other Goblin warriors couldn’t compare to their skill.

But—they were outnumbered. And not even their levels and skill in battle could bridge the gap in numbers so easily. The instant the other Goblin warriors lost the shock of first contact, they began to swarm the Redfang warriors, fighting two-to-one, or in Grunter’s case, six-to-one.

Still, the Redfang warriors refused to back down. They fought shoulder-to-shoulder, refusing to budge. If this was their last moment, they’d go down as free Goblins, not these pale imitations. Headscratcher had lost his blade—buried in a Goblin’s spine and was falling back when he saw something blur at the backs of the Goblin warriors besieging them. He heard screams, and then the press forcing the Redfang warriors disappeared.

A silver blade cut four Goblins to the ground in swift slashes that rent their armor. The Redfang warriors saw a Goblin in black armor turn—and then a shield crashed into his face. He fell, neck broken, and then they saw the man in silver armor.

“What’s this?”

Ylawes raised his shield as the black armor Goblins fled around him. The Redfang warriors were clearly different from the rest, and he narrowed his eyes at Grunter. The Redfang Goblins didn’t hesitate. The moment they saw who they were facing, they moved to attack.

The warriors spread out around Ylawes, half of them pulling out bows. Grunter, Rocksoup, Bugear and three more Goblins formed a circle around the adventurer, keeping a wide distance. They closed as one.

Ylawes didn’t let the Goblins take the initiative. The instant they moved to attack him, he charged left. Bugear raised his own shield and the sword that Ylawes brought down cracked it and flattened the Goblin. If it wasn’t for his own Skill, the Goblin would have been cut apart in a single blow.

The warrior in silver armor clearly hadn’t expected the Goblin to survive, but he turned and blocked Grunter’s powerful blow as the Hob charged him. The axe with all of Grunter’s weight behind it bounced off the shield, and the man instantly riposted, his blade cutting Grunter deep in the side.

The Hob howled and the other Goblins swarmed Ylawes. The man spun away, keeping all of them at bay. Arrows flew at his face—he blocked each one with his shield, spinning to knock them down.

The Redfang warriors paused then, in consternation and for the first time, fear. For his part, Ylawes eyed them with his own degree of shock.

“Hmf. You’re no ordinary Goblins, are you? Are all the monsters this far south so strange?”

The Redfang warriors made no reply. Instead, they just pulled back. Grunter kept one hand on his side, assessing his damage. They looked at each other, seeing the terrible truth in each others’ eyes.

This adventurer was Gold-rank. He had to be.

It was a death sentence for the Redfang warriors. They knew it. A group of Silver-rank adventurers they could handle, or run from. But a Gold-rank?

Badarrow snarled as he loosed arrow after arrow at Ylawes. The man blocked each shot, advancing quickly on the Goblins. The Redfang warriors spread out again, but this time they had only one goal in mind. Even if they died, even if they all died distracting the adventurer, they had to give Grunter an opening—

Headscratcher, Bugear, and Bitefly all attacked at once. They slashed at Ylawes, ducking back as he slashed at them, trying to distract him. Other Goblins attacked at the same time, and Ylawes was forced to knock aside their blades, force them back with his sword rather than attack. Grunter spotted an opening as the man turned to cut Headscratcher down. The small Goblin raised his sword bravely, and Grunter exploded towards Ylawes with a roar—

The man turned and lashed out with his shield, smashing into Grunter’s right arm. All of the Goblins heard the Hob’s bones break from the impact. Grunter staggered, but he still tried to bring his axe down—

“Courage. Even from Goblins.”

That was all Ylawes said as he ran Grunter through. The Hob’s eyes widened and he sat down as Ylawes pulled the blade out of his stomach. The Redfang warriors howled and attacked, but too slow. Ylawes raised his crimson blade for the final blow—

No!

Was it a word or a thought? She didn’t know. But the monster leapt, and her flight across the ten feet of ground caught Ylawes by surprise. Even so, the adventurer still turned fast enough. His shield smacked the young woman out of the air. She landed, stunned, and saw his sword point down at her.

But Ylawes didn’t finish the blow. He stopped at the last moment, and his eyes went wide as he saw her face. He seemed horrified; his face went pale.

“You. What are—?”

Grunter threw himself at the Gold-rank adventurer. Ylawes turned, and his shield came up, smashing into the Hob’s face and stopping his charge. But the impact still made the adventurer slide a bit in the snow.

The Hob stumbled, bleeding. Ylawes shoved him back, and then turned towards the thing crouching in the snow again. She slashed at him, forcing him to guard his body with his shield. Her claws could scratch even his plate armor.

“What’s wrong with you? Please, if you can—answer me!”

She only screamed, screamed at him without words to stop, to not kill these people. But he was too strong. He forced her away, hitting her in the stomach with his shield so hard she was stunned. And then he turned back to the Goblins.

They faced him, ready to die. But Ylawes’ eyes narrowed, and his head turned. Almost too late.

The blurring [Mirage Cut] opened up a deep slash across the silver armored man’s cheek. He turned, snarling, and Toren rolled away, clattering his teeth with frustration.

“You!”

Ylawes charged at the skeleton, but halted as an arrow flew at his face. He turned towards Badarrow as the Goblin reached for another arrow in his quiver.

That’s when the zombies charged out the alleyway. Eight of them ran at Ylawes, arms swinging wildly. He hacked through four in an instant, his limbs a blur of motion, but Toren was at his back. The skeleton cut at Ylawes as the Redfang warriors made him retreat, trying to strike the man’s face, cut at the joints in his armor—

“Stop!”

The Gold-rank adventurer bellowed at the Human, or at least the thing that had once been Human. He saw her turn to look back at him once, but then she was helping pull the Hob away.

He didn’t have time to chase her. Somehow, an entire horde of zombies had been attracted to his location, and they surrounded him now. Ylawes cut them asunder, his blade and shield moving ceaselessly, but there was always the skeleton, trying to cut at him, forcing the adventurer to fight with his back to the wall—

In the end, Toren leapt away as the last few zombies kept Ylawes in place. The Gold-rank adventurer cut the last corpse to the ground and one booted foot smashed a skull in. The man and skeleton stared at each other across the street full of corpses.

“What are you?”

Toren just grinned. Then he ran and disappeared down a street, leaving Ylawes behind in the snow. The adventurer turned to stare at the bodies of the fallen.

“First Goblins fighting Goblins. Then—a young woman? A monster? Something. And then that skeleton. What’s going on?”

No one answered him. But soon the adventurer turned and raced through the streets. He could hear screams everywhere, even at the walls he’d had guards posted at. The Goblins were trying to kill everyone they could before the main fist of their army attacked. He had to save them all.

But he could not do it alone. The adventurer halted and reached for his belt. He took out a scroll and stared at shimmering letters. Words. A reply.

Soon.

He tucked the scroll back into his belt pouch and ran on, sword and shield raised. To save the living. Or die defending them.

----

The Goblin commander roared his fury as the [Scouts] brought back news. The kill teams he’d sent into the city were being routed! Slaughtered! By a Human with silver armor and the undead!

He rounded on the two cringing [Shamans] who’d been forced to carry their master’s burden. He pointed at the city, demanding they control the undead, to send them in. But the [Shamans] could not. They had not the strength, not a fraction of the head [Shaman] that had been sent to lead the army, and certainly not nearly as much as the Goblin Lord himself—

The commander of the Goblins had no time for excuses. He called out, and his mount, a vast Shield Spider, rose up. It bit one of the [Shamans], cutting off his shriek. The other one fled as the commander called his lieutenants. He pointed to the city, and gave crisp orders.

No more waiting! No more delays for reinforcements. The [Shamans] could collect their dead after he’d slaughtered everyone in the city. The adventurer and all the Humans would die.

The Goblin army prepared to march on Esthelm. And in its streets, a skeleton danced, bringing death and commanding it. And further away, a group of Goblins carrying a bleeding Hob. A monster ran with them, helping them carry the dying Goblin, watching as they slapped his face, trying to keep him awake.

People.

And as the sun rose, it rose on the undead, the army of Goblins, the desperate walls built by Humans. And a few people, caught in the madness.

This is their story.

3.20 T

This is the story of a monster. She knew she was a monster. She’d eaten people. Her own kind, rotting, crawling with insects and maggots and decay.

She’d done it to survive. But the cost had been almost too much to bear. More than once, the young woman who’d once had a name wished she had died back then rather than take that first bite.

But she was alive. And she still longed to live, even now. But the monster in her—

It hungered. It always wanted out. There was a part of her soul that would devour the world if it could. It would eat and eat until there was nothing left to eat but itself.

That was what she feared. Walking any deeper down this road to hell would mean never coming back. Of that she was sure.

She was a monster. A horrible thing, a creature to be hunted and killed by heroes and adventurers. But that was the thing. The girl that looked like a monster had encountered real monsters. Goblins. And somehow, they were more like people than the Humans living in Esthelm.

Goblins. The most pathetic species, the cowardly, backstabbing creatures that ate their own dead. That was what the [Florist] had been told when she’d walked on two legs and known her name. But the thing that scuttled around on all fours with jagged claws and sharp teeth saw something different.

She saw people. People—warriors, proud and courageous. The Goblins who’d saved her once ran through the streets, armed, keeping the way clear while six of their number helped support and drag the massive Hobgoblin they carried between them.

His eyes were fluttering, and the massive Goblin was fading. Blood trailed from his stomach, spattering on the snow and dirty ground. He was cut deeply.

A Gold-rank adventurer had done that to him. The monster had seen it. He’d been killing monsters and he’d fought the Goblins. And she’d fought him, to let them get away.

Even now she didn’t know why she’d done it. She’d attacked her own people—a hero! But he’d been wrong. The Goblins were not monsters. They were heroes too.

They’d fought. With their backs against the wall, even against an adventurer—they’d fought. That was all the monster thought as she helped drag the half-conscious Hob back towards their camp.

They were monsters, yes. But even they—no, they weren’t nearly as pathetic as she was. And she had saved them. Or tried. She’d fought against a hero, an adventurer—

For them.

What had possessed her? Perhaps only a desire not to let these people die. To repay them for the kindness they’d shown her. Because they weren’t monsters.

Only she was a monster.

The Goblin warriors were shouting in panic as they ran through the streets. They were shouting at the Hob, trying to keep him awake. The massive Goblin was stumbling, barely lucid, but none of the Goblins dared slow down. They kept watching their backs, waiting at any moment for the man in silver armor to pursue them.

But he never came. And when the Goblins had gotten to their camp and the Hob collapsed on the ground, they immediately tore at his belt.

The monster squatted in a corner, fingers in her mouth, watching, not knowing what to do. One of the Goblins was undoing all the compartments in the belt, searching for something. What?

A healing potion! Of course! The red vial was tiny, but from the way it glittered in the light, the monster knew it was very powerful. She caught her breath as they poured the liquid into the Hob’s gaping stomach wound. And in an instant—

It closed! The thing had never seen any wound heal that fast, but the potion was the kind only the rich would use. The Hob groaned, but color flooded back into his green face. He sat up—

And clutched at his arm. The potion hadn’t mended his broken bones. The other Goblin warriors sighed in relief. One reached for the Hob’s arm, but he shoved the Goblin away. Wincing, the Hob felt at his injuries and then pointed. A Goblin fished around in their packs and came up with cloth and a metal bar they’d used to hold the cooking pot with.

The Hob began to create a splint with the materials. Other Goblins wanted to help, but he clearly wanted to do it by himself. He snapped at the other Goblins when they tried to approach.

The monster watched this, even more sure that she had been right and the adventurer wrong. These were not monsters to be killed, at least, these Goblins weren’t.

They cared for each other. Impulsively, the young woman reached out. She touched Grunter’s arm as he grunted in pain and annoyance, fumbling with the splint.

The Hob moved to push the creature away, but paused when he saw her. He hesitated, and then reluctantly let her take the splint. Slowly, slowly, trying to remember how the motions worked, the young woman tied the splint to his arm. The Hob gasped, but made a sound when she stopped.

Tighter. That was clearly what he said, what he meant. The monster-girl tied the knot, as the Hob gasped, but when it was done he stood and grunted at her.

Thanks. That was all it was, but it made the monster’s eyes fill with tears. The Hob paused and gently bent to wipe them away.

And then the monster was no monster, but a young woman who looked like one. The Redfang warriors crowded around her, slapping her back, gargling in approval at her. Looking at her—

As a person. It was all the young woman wanted. So she wept and for a second, forgot the hunger in her soul.

----

This is the tale of a monster. This is the tale of a young woman with something dark in her soul. She felt it, even as she sat in the Goblin’s camp, listening to them laugh and slap each other with the sheer, giddy relief of being alive.

She was still a monster. She still wanted to eat, to tear the flesh off of her newfound friends and—

But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. And yet the thing knew it couldn’t stay. Eventually, she would become—

A Goblin pressed a bowl of reheated soup into her hands. He grinned at her as he scratched at his head. She stared at him. He looked familiar. He was the first Goblin who’d come for her. Her eyes went to his head, and she recoiled.

He had ticks! The Goblin looked vaguely apologetic as he scratched at one dark shape buried on his bald head. The girl grabbed at him, and much to his surprise, dragged him over to the fire the other Goblins were restarting. There she picked up a stick and to the other Goblins’ astonishment, lit one end until it was hot.

The head-scratching Goblin had no idea what she intended, and thus when he saw the hot stick heading for his head he immediately tried to pull away. But the monster-girl made soothing noises and he stopped. He was very tense in her arms as she poked at the ticks with her stick.

The flaming end made the Goblin yelp and try to pull away, but it didn’t seem to make the tick want to leave. Frowning, the young woman cast aside the stick and grabbed at the Goblin’s head.

Nails, then. She picked at the skin, her elongated nails digging into the flesh. The Goblin screeched and tried to get away then—but he paused when she pulled the first tick off of his head.

----

Headscratcher and the other Goblins stared in horror at the huge tick, big and fat from living off his scalp as the Human girl pulled it out of his head. Immediately, the other Goblins crowded around Headscratcher’s head and recoiled as they saw how infested it was.

Beseechingly, Headscratcher put his head on the Human’s lap. She seemed stunned, but then obligingly dug her fingers into Headscratcher’s skin, gently, pulling bugs out. She flicked them into the fire. Once or twice, Headscratcher thought she was looking at them as if she was hungry but she never ate them.

Once it was over, the Goblin’s head was bleeding, but mercifully, no longer itching. He grinned at the Human and only got a strange look in reply. He thought she would have been happy, but when she looked at his face—

It almost looked like she was about to cry.

----

The young woman sat in the snow next to the fire. She rubbed at the dirty ball in her hands. Soap. Lye soap, strongly scented, pilfered no doubt from some caravan the Goblins had raided.

But soap nonetheless. And they had cloth and oil. More things that made them civilized, made them people. Slowly, the girl abandoned the soap and dunked her hands into hot water. It made her hands burn, but it was necessary. She was filthy.

Yes, wasn’t that how it went? Clean hands and—and doing things. Small things. Not eating the dead. If she could do things like this, then—

The young woman stared at the Goblin curled up into a ball next to her. He was practically frozen with fright, and the other four Goblins holding him looked grim and determined. He hadn’t wanted her help, but they’d insisted.

Several tiny mites crawled out of the shivering Goblins’ ear even as the young woman watched. They made her…hungry, but she put away the thought. Infestation. Bugs. She’d seen it before, seen a [Healer] treat it. She could try the same, couldn’t she?

The Goblin whose ticks she’d pulled out—the head scratching Goblin—handed her a stick with a bit of cloth wrapped around the end. It was very thin, and the girl dipped lightly in a pot of oil sitting next to her. Her Goblin patient shuddered when he saw the stick, but the other Goblins held him down.

Gently, very gently, the young woman swabbed the Goblin’s ear with the cloth and oil. He gritted his teeth and growled inaudible words into her lap, but didn’t move. Bugs came out with the stick, stuck on the oil. The other Goblins made a face when the girl kept pulling out bugs. One of them slapped the Goblin on the ear as if it was his fault he’d let them in there.

Too many bugs. No matter how hard the girl tried, she kept getting more with each stick and she was sure there were probably eggs in there. So she changed tactics.

Hot water, poured in the Goblin’s pointed ear. He yelped and struggled, but his friends just laughed and held him down. The girl counted to ten and then let him sit up and drain his ear.

Tiny little bugs washed out with the water. The girl made a face and did it again, this time with soapy water. She made the Goblin keep the water in his ear for several minutes; long enough to drown whatever was in there.

When she let him sit up, the Goblin glared at her and stuck a finger in his ear. But when he only pulled out dead bugs, he brightened up. He grinned at her and waved a hand. She smiled back.

And cried.

It was something the other Goblins couldn’t understand. But the young woman felt—normal after helping the Goblin. His gratitude hurt her in ways no sword could ever do.

Of course, she couldn’t explain that. The other Goblins crowded around the former bug-eared Goblin. One smacked him on the back of the head. Another punched him. The young woman stopped them. Tried to explain.

There was a patch of dirt on the ground next to the fire. The young woman took a stick and drew in it. She drew a stick figure, and then small ones for the Goblins. They crowded around to look, and the one who scratched his head sat across from her, staring at the young woman’s face.

Her. Goblins. They nodded and pointed at each other, drawing an exaggeratedly fat Goblin for the Hob who lay resting against one wall. The girl nodded, face bleak, and they quieted. She pointed to the figure representing her in the dark.

Me.

She added fangs and horns to the little figure in the dirt.

Monster.

They stared at her. Their eyes found the way her teeth had changed, her jaw, her fingers and even arms, making her less…Human. More like an Eater, whatever that was. But then they shrugged at her.

So what? A Goblin patted the young woman’s hand and grinned at her. He pointed to himself and the others and drew little horns on all of the figures. They were all monsters.

The young woman’s eyes filled, but she didn’t weep. She pointed at the figure, and then drew other figures, other Humans. Far away from her. She drew a line between herself and the others.

Alone.

The other Goblins stopped smiling. They stared at her, and at the line separating her. They understood. None of them said a word. They just understood.

The young woman pointed to a body. She pointed to the dead flesh, mimed eating. The Goblins nodded. She drew a line down her face.

Sad.

A tear travelled down the grime, washing it away. The Goblins stared at her, and then at the bodies.

They understood.

And she understood. Somehow, in the ways they tried to tell her, in the motions of their arms. They felt it too.

Because of course Goblins ate their dead. Of course they did. To survive, they would eat anything. Everyone knew that. Eating their own kind and other people was what made Goblins monsters.

But who would have asked Goblins how they felt? Did anyone realize the Goblins wept to eat their own dead? Of course Goblins ate their own kind. They did it to survive. But every single Goblin drew a line down their cheeks.

They did, and they wept inside.

They were people too. People who wanted to live.

They were monsters with souls. And they—

They were no different from her. No worse than she’d been, and perhaps better. They weren’t monsters.

And perhaps she wasn’t either.

This is the story of a monster girl. She sat in the ruins of her home and wept. For everything she’d lost. For everything she’d become. She wept because she had done horrible things to survive, horrible things that had made her despair and want to die. But she had met monsters, and it turned out they were more Human than she was. And then they’d shown her their hearts and it had turned out she was no monster either.

The young woman wept, sobbing for all she’d lost. She was lost, alone. But then she felt the arms around her, and looked up into the face of Headscratcher. He squeezed her tight, eyes closed.

This is the story of a Goblin who hugged a monster. And the monster yearned to bite him, to eat—

But she forced the desires down in her chest. She buried the madness and found something else sprouting in the darkness of her heart. It bloomed, a faint sprout reaching towards the light, drinking in the moment of kindness.

A flower.

[Condition – Terrible Hunger Removed!]

The voice made her eyes go wide. The girl stood up, knocking the Goblin’s hands away. He let go instantly, afraid he’d gone too far. But the young woman stared up at the sky and saw only blue. A bit of blue hiding behind the dark clouds.

Sunlight. Far off, but still there, shining down. Redemption for a shattered soul. Thanks, for a Goblin.

He was saying something. Trying to apologize. The young woman looked at him, and embraced him to his great surprise. The other Goblins gaped, but she hugged him, lifting him up into the air.

She still looked like a monster. Her teeth were still sharp, and she had lost the words. But she was no longer hungry. That was enough.

She hugged him, and wept. A monster, hugging a Goblin. But a monster with a soul. And a bit more Human in them than had been there a minute ago. So it whispered to the young woman, as she tried to remember her name, knowing she had one.

Salvation.

----

The man wearing silver armor stood at the head of the battlements and stared down at the people. They looked up to him for hope, for redemption. For a chance to live again.

“The Goblins are coming.”

That was all he said to them, Esthelm’s remaining thousands. They held weapons in their hands, children, women, men, clinging to life with all they had. He had never been prouder, never been more honored to fight.

“They are coming! Their first assault failed. They’ll be coming in force, next. All of them.”

The dead lay in the streets, and what few he had saved had now joined the living. The Goblins had swept through the city, killing teams of them. But they were dead now, avenged. He had slain nearly a hundred himself, and the others—

Ylawes looked out past the barricade he stood on, out into the city. Zombies wandered the streets, by the hundreds. Thousands. And somewhere, hiding, striking whenever his back was turned, was the skeleton. It had killed Goblins and Humans alike. But it was one skeleton compared to the army about to march.

The Gold-rank adventurer turned to the people again. He pointed to the barricades—built with stone and wood and anything that could be scavenged, manned by anyone with a bow or weapon that could hold off the hordes.

“We have the high ground, and we’ve created chokepoints that we can hold.”

One main entry point with palisades. A killing field, or so he hoped. He would hold it until he died. And these people—Ylawes pointed at them, shouting.

“They will come. They will come and we will fight and die here. Do you understand? Here. To the last child. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide! Your city lives or dies on this day! People of Esthelm, reclaim your pride. Throw back the Goblins and retake your city!”

He raised his sword and they roared. They would have cheered anyone, but they cheered him. They called out for hope and raised their weapons against the darkness.

“Do you really think we can live, sir?”

“I told you to call me Ylawes.”

The man turned and looked the Bronze-rank adventurer in the eye. He was glad the young man had stayed, he and his two friends. And because he respected the man’s courage, he didn’t lie.

“The odds are slim. But it’s possible. We have the Goblins’ numbers. We may even outnumber them by a bit.”

“Counting women and children sir. And people who can barely fight—”

“That’s what the barricades and I will have to equalize. Other than that, we can only hope that the people of Esthelm fight with all the courage they have today. If we can kill a good number of them, our enemy may disperse. They might have armor and some training, but they’re still low-level Goblins. At least, most of them are. In truth, it’s the undead that concern me most.”

“So many…”

“Yes. I was too late.”

Ylawes said it simply. He stared down at the streets.

“The Goblins will control them with [Shamans] and [Mages] if they can. Use them to fight. If we have to battle both undead and Goblins, we stand no chance.”

“If that happens—then what will we do?”

“Hold out. For as long as possible. Aid may arrive soon.”

“Are you sure?”

The man looked at him, wanting to believe. So did Ylawes. He reached for a belt pouch and pulled something out.

“I sent for help last night.”

He showed the adventurer a scroll with glowing letters etched onto the parchment. A message. And—underneath it, a reply had been written in terse, neat script.

“Help is coming. But I don’t know if it will come here in an hour or in days.”

“We don’t have days.”

They didn’t even have an hour. And both adventurers knew that. Ylawes looked to the horizon, and raised his voice.

“To arms! The Goblins are coming!”

The dark mass at the edge of the city limits was moving. On the walls, the Humans saw a dark tide of bodies surging into the city, and then heard rhythmic impacts.

Drumbeats. Not just one or two, but countless numbers of them, thudding impacts that made the defenders shake in fear.

The drumbeats were like thunder. And as Ylawes watched, the first wave of the Goblin army began pouring into the city. Some rode Shield Spiders—others horses. And at the head of the army—

“Undead. The [Shamans] are controlling them.”

He gritted his teeth. Was this the end? But it was only a few undead—barely a hundred. If that was all they could control, then—

There was a chance. Ylawes shouted as he ran down the barricade, to the one opening in their defenses. He would cut them down again and again. Create a point for them to throw all their fury into until there was nothing left.

“Man the barricades. We hold them at the choke points—force them back!”

The people of Esthelm shouted, and the Goblin drums pounded. Now the Goblins screamed, and their voices ran throughout the city. They met the adventurer wearing silver and the clash was like thunder. Goblins poured up the barricades, fighting the people on the walls. Archers from both sides filled the skies—

And the undead moved. They focused on the conflict like lightning. Zombies, ghouls, advancing like the tide. Goblins turned and fought the dead—[Shamans] struggled to control them, trying, failing in the face of so many. And the man in silver fought on, sword and shield flashing in the light.

The last battle for Esthelm had begun.

----

He saw the man wearing silver armor. He saw the Goblins, seemingly numberless as they poured towards the wooden barricades, screaming warcries. And Toren felt happy.

War. Death. The Humans met the Goblins with a roar, clashing swords. In moments the first bodies began to fall.

And oh, how Toren longed to be among the fighting, sword in hand! But he had to be patient. He looked around, at the dead who surrounded him.

They were his kind. Thoughtless, yes, but Toren felt a connection to them he hadn’t a few days ago. He and they weren’t so different after all. They lived to fight and kill—

And so did he. This was his purpose. Toren knew it. He could lead the dead. Why else would he have this Skill, this class, if not because he was meant to do it? There was a special joy to ordering the zombies about, to leading them to victory through superior tactics and planning.

It was addictive, giddying, intoxicating. Toren looked at the battlefield and saw how he could shape it. He called out to the zombies under his control, readying them to move into the fray.

This was what he was meant to do. At last, he’d found it. It was so wonderful to command. Had Erin felt like this when she ordered him? Had she—

Toren paused. The burning lights in his eyes dimmed for a second. No. Not her. He was separate now. She was…not his owner any longer. He was free. Would be free.

And he would level up. Toren looked back at the battlefield. The Goblins were trying to swarm up the barricades blocking the streets off as Humans threw them off the barricades and shot arrows and threw stones down at them. Now was the time.

The first group of zombies lurched towards the Goblins. They moved slowly—just another random assortment of the undead drawn to the conflict. The Goblins barely paid any attention to them. So long as they had a few warriors guard their flanks, there was no danger.

Toren grinned. At his silent command, the zombies began to run.

This is the story of a skeleton. He only knew how to kill, so he did just that. In a city filled with death, the skeleton killed with his hands at first, and then used others to kill more and more. He would kill everything if he could.

Because it was all he knew.

----

“Hold the lines! Hold, damn you!”

Ylawes screamed at the people struggling around him as he cut with his sword, bringing down Goblins as they came at him. How long had he been fighting? A few seconds? An hour? He couldn’t tell.

Goblins poured towards him, around the palisades, into the center of a whirlwind of steel he created. Parry, strike, block, strike—his shield was a weapon just as much as his sword. Normal Goblins couldn’t even get close as he cut through their weapons, but there were more who attacked even as their companions fell. And when a Hob came—

Ylawes stumbled back as a javelin crashed into his chest, breaking on his armor but denting it. His plate mail was not enchanted like his arms, and he coughed. A Goblin screamed as it swung a shortsword—

He beheaded it. Keep fighting. Don’t stop! The Goblins seemed endless, but the barricades were all still holding. Even as people fell and died, more rushed to take their place. They had the high ground. So long as they had that, even a child could knock a Goblin down with a well-placed blow—

“Zombies!”

Someone screamed the word. Ylawes turned, and saw fourteen zombies, sprinting at him. He reacted instantly.

“[Shield of Valor]!”

The zombies crashed into a wall of air as Ylawes brought his shield up and pushed. The zombies and every Goblin in a cone in front of him were sent flying backwards by his Skill. Panting, Ylawes lowered his shield and turned.

“Report!”

An [Archer], one of the few warriors among the citizens—called out to him as she snatched at more arrows. The Goblins were pulling back, but her hands never stopped working, firing into their shielded ranks.

“Zombies are coming from every direction! They’re attacking the barricades, but some are attacking the Goblins!”

“Show me!”

Ylawes leapt up onto a platform. The woman pointed and he saw she was right. Zombies were approaching from all sides, drawn by so many living bodies. And they were attacking Goblins! Some of the undead were even fighting those controlled by the [Shamans]. But something was very, very wrong.

“What’s happening?”

The [Archer] pointed as a group of zombies began running, just as the ones earlier had. They charged into a group of Goblins from behind, biting and tearing.

“Zombies can’t run!”

“Some can.”

Ylawes was grim as he surveyed the zombies. They’d caught an entire group of archers by surprise—was it chance or had something known that there was an opportunity to strike?

“They can?”

The woman stared at Ylawes in horror. He nodded.

“Some can. But not like this. Only a few out of a hundred should and they don’t—group like that. This isn’t right.”

“Look! Another group!”

This time, Ylawes clearly saw what was happening. A group of zombies moving slowly towards the Goblins suddenly stiffened. In an instant, they’d changed from their slow pace into a sprint, and they changed course. Instead of hitting the group of Goblin warriors they’d been aiming towards, they ran towards a barricade and began pounding at a gap that had been exposed in the wooden structure.

“Why are they acting like that?”

“There.”

Ylawes pointed. At the center of a huge mass of zombies, a skeleton was standing, pointing and waving a sword about. The woman standing next to him paled.

“Dead gods. Is it leading them?”

“Yes.”

Ylawes saw it clearly. Wherever the skeleton pointed, a group of zombies would begin to run. They attacked vulnerable spots, hitting both Humans and Goblins alike. Always fourteen zombies. Each time the group of fourteen zombies had crashed into the Goblin flanks, another group would begin to move with that same focused intelligence.

“It’s coordinating the undead. It’s trying to overwhelm us! Watch the sides!”

Ylawes called out. He wanted to run up to see how the entire battlefield was going, but the brief window he’d created with his Skill was already up. He saw people struggling against the Goblin warriors again, and leapt back into the fray.

“Don’t falter!”

A Goblin riding a massive Shield Spider was coming straight at Ylawes, laughing as he hacked apart Humans with a halberd that cut through armor like it wasn’t there. The [Knight] roared a challenge, and the two met in a clash at the center of the battlefield. But the undead kept coming, and the barricades began to splinter under the ceaseless attacks…

----

They sat on the rooftop of their hideout, watching the battle. Goblins. But not those Goblins. The Redfang warriors felt no attachment to the warriors of the Goblin Lord. In fact, they sneered at the other side’s tactics.

Sieging an entrenched group of Humans? What were they, idiots? They’d clearly counted on overwhelming the Humans in one push, but they’d underestimated the Gold-rank adventurer and the difficulty of overcoming the barricades. By himself, the warrior in silver armor had slain countless Goblins already and so long as he stood, the Goblins couldn’t advance past his position.

Too, the undead were complicating matters. Badarrow pointed and the Goblins saw the undead were attacking Goblins from behind, forcing them to split their forces. Something was moving the undead like a [Tactician], and it was making the attacking force’s job that much harder.

Still, all the Redfang Goblins could tell the battle was going one way. The zombies were getting diced by the Goblins for all the damage they inflicted. The same could not be said of the inexperienced Human defenders. Worn down by both sides, the barricades were failing. Once one collapsed—

All the Humans would die. The Redfang warriors weren’t sure how they felt about this. On one hand, Humans were usually their enemies. On the other hand, the Goblin Lords’ forces were definitely their enemy. And besides—

They glanced left, at the young woman sitting next to them. She crouched on the roof, staring down at the battle.

She was Human, wasn’t she? More and more Human, or so they felt. Headscratcher was sitting next to the Human and none of the Goblin warriors knew what to say. All they knew was they loved her. A tiny bit. For saving Grunter. For daring to hug a Goblin. For being like them.

A lot, actually. They loved her a lot, in the simple way they could. Because she didn’t look at them like monsters. They’d never known they wanted that until this moment.

And she was staring at the battlefield. Grunter nudged her and grunted. He pointed towards the gates, undefended. She could run. The Redfang warriors should have left long ago. But the Human girl just stared at the battlements.

The Goblins were pressing in. Too deep to be pushed back and there weren’t enough Humans on the side furthest from the adventurer. And there were too many undead. The Redfang warriors could see a familiar skeleton among the zombies and they wondered—

“Go.”

The word came from Headscratcher. It made the other Redfang warriors stiffen in shock, but he was pointing at the gates. He was urging the Human to go. To leave.

With them?

It was just a thought, a passing moment. The Human—the girl who was part monster—looked at Headscratcher, and hesitated. Then she shook her head slowly.

She pointed at the battlefield, at the Humans on the walls they had built. Faltering. Falling back. The monster pointed at them and touched her heart.

Some things didn’t need words. The Goblins understood. But then she pointed at them, and at the Goblins and undead. She touched Headscratcher’s sword, sheathed at his waist.

They stared at her. What did she mean? Grunter lowered his head as he understood, but the others didn’t get it. The young woman wearing a monster’s skin pointed again, at the backs of the undead, at the Goblins. She touched the sword and then her heart.

And they understood. She wanted them to help. To save…

Badarrow was the first to move. He shook his head and made a displeased noise. He stared at the battlefield as the other Goblins shuffled and looked down. The Redfang warriors looked at their feet, at the sky, at the battlefield, but none dared look at the monster who pleaded with them with her eyes.

Headscratcher looked away. He couldn’t meet the young woman’s eyes. He looked down.

How could they tell her? The Redfang warriors had no words to explain this. But it was easy enough that even the untrained monster girl could understand.

They were thirteen. Brave warriors, and good fighters, yes, but only thirteen. The army of the Goblin Lord was just that. An army. And the undead alone seemed limitless.

They were no heroes. And they weren’t willing to die. In the end, they were still Goblins. And only a fool would go down there.

But they couldn’t say it. Not to the girl who looked at them as if they were heroes. They couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her eyes.

None of them dared look up. Grunter touched his broken arm and stared at the man in silver armor. He fought on, a lone patch of flashing light amidst the dark armor and shambling bodies.

They weren’t the same, in the end. A Goblin was still a Goblin. Not an adventurer.

The monster stared at the Goblins silently. They didn’t see what was in her eyes, but they all saw her turn to look at the barricades. The Humans were being pressed back. The zombies were climbing as well, commanded by the skeleton no doubt. And with the Goblins attacking as well—

It would be over soon. Then they would have to leave. But what would the girl do? Could she survive like them? Could she come with them?

It was just a thought. But they saw it in Headscratcher’s eyes. He wanted that. But the girl was different. She looked back at her people, dying, fighting, and touched her heart. They could not know it, but the young woman could hear it beating, so loudly she thought it might burst. That was all. She just heard her heart beating in her chest. But she had nearly forgotten the sound. It reminded her of who she was.

It reminded her that she was Human.

The monster stood up. The Redfang warriors watched her silently. Slowly, she pointed towards the Humans and drew one line down her cheek. And touched her heart.

That was all. She bent, and Headscratcher looked up at her, full of—

She kissed him. Not on the lips, but gently on the cheek. He went still in shock and she smiled at him.

“Not a monster.”

Did she really whisper those words? Or was it only their imagination? Thirteen Goblins stared at her in silence. Then the monster—the young woman who wore a monster’s form—leapt. She flew through the air and landed on the ground, not even noticing the impact. She ran on all fours towards the battlefield, and it was a monster that crashed into the Goblins, tearing at them, biting, slashing as they cried out in horror and shock.

Headscratcher stood poleaxed in place, staring at her. But then he leapt from the rooftop, ignoring Grunter’s shout. He ran after her, chasing the young woman into the heart of the battlefield. And all twelve of the Redfang warriors were hot on his heels.

----

This is the story of a war. It was hot and brutal and oh so quick, and the living seemed to become the dead in the blink of an eye. But it was fought in a desolate city in the heart of winter.

Cold skies, snow on the ground. But hot bodies.

And blood. Tearing flesh. The monster swept through the ranks of Goblins besieging a barricade that had been partially knocked down. They saw her and cried out. Monsters, fearing a monster.

Her claws were razors that cut steel. Her teeth ripped away flesh and bone. The Goblins wearing black armor tried to cut at her, but she was a blur, and their weapons barely cut her thick skin.

This is the story of a young woman who let the monster in her out. She tore and bit and forgot fear and killed. She walked deeper down the path to hell, but she had a lifeline, a fragile thread that she held onto. A memory of a Goblin that hugged her, and a group of monsters with the hearts of heroes.

This is the story of a band of Goblins. They stood at the edge of death’s gate, staring at the young woman who danced with the reaper, fearless, fighting for her people. Fighting to live. Fighting to be Human.

They hesitated. Their weapons were drawn, but they dared not plunge into the conflict. Because they were afraid. Because they wanted to live. They saw the other Goblins fall back in disarray and the Humans rally as the monster attacked them. But it was not enough. There were many Goblins, and this was only a corner of the battle.

And the undead were everywhere. They kept coming, and they kept attacking, slowly encircling both Humans and Goblins alike. They were commanded by that awful intelligence, the gleeful, mocking skeleton dancing in their midst.

The Goblins stared at the skeleton, not a hundred paces away but surrounded by his minions. And they knew that if he was not stopped the Humans would die.

On the skeleton all things turned. And then Grunter pointed.

There. The Goblin commander, silver halberd on hand, pointing as he rode his Shield Spider. He’d clashed with the Gold-rank adventurer, broken the lines of Humans again and again. Without him, the Goblins would be leaderless.

Two leaders. Headscratcher saw both as he held his sword in one sweaty claw. If one or both fell, the Humans would be saved. She might be saved. If they fought—

But his feet didn’t move. Headscratcher stood where he was, ashamed. He shook. He was afraid to die. Because it would be certain death. And he was just a Goblin.

But the girl—she was a monster. She was a Human. She was something else. And she had seen the same thing the Goblins had. So she just ran. She leapt, and bore a Ghoul to the ground. Teeth gleamed and bit and the two creatures tore at each other.

Headscratcher shouted and ran forwards, sword raised as Badarrow tried to find a target among the blurring shapes. But then the Ghoul was down, a gaping hole in his throat and neck. The monster-girl ran on, at the mass of zombies shielding the skeleton.

And stumbled.

And fell.

Because of the arrow in her back.

Headscratcher screamed. He saw the shaft strike the young woman—not from the sides, but from above. A shot from high up on the barricades.

A Human had loosed the arrow. Perhaps he had mistaken the young woman for a Ghoul—or perhaps he had just seen what she’d looked like and shot. But the arrow had struck the young woman all the same.

She fell, and the zombies she’d been running towards surrounded her, biting. Tearing. Headscratcher ran into them, slashing wildly. Two zombies fell as he ran them through, shoving them aside. An arrow killed a third and then the other Redfang warriors were around him. They forced the zombies back as Headscratcher held the young woman in his arms.

He reached for the arrow and stopped. It was too deep, and the monster in his arms—

Was no monster. She was just a young woman, bleeding, torn.

Dying. She blinked up at the Goblin who held her, and wondered why she’d never imagined a Goblin could cry. Of course they could. It was such a simple thing, but it just proved her point.

They were people too.

She reached up and tried to brush the tear from Headscratcher’s eyes. But she was too weak. Her arm flopped back and the young woman coughed. She blinked down at the blood in astonishment.

Around her, the other Goblins were tearing at their packs, searching their belts. But they had no potions. Just the one they’d used for Grunter. The Hobgoblin knelt next to the girl, staring at her.

She smiled at them. Weakly. Dying. But then her head rose, and she stared at the Humans. They were so very fragile, so alone.

She pointed. The Goblins looked. The young woman touched her heart, once. It was still beating, slowly. That was all. She touched her heart and drew a line in blood down her cheek.

Asking a question no words could ever say.

This is the story of a Goblin who held a dying Human in his arms. The other warriors stood shoulder-to-shoulder, shields raised, protecting her from the few arrows that flew towards them. They snarled at the Humans on the barricades, watching as the undead pushed them further and further back.

The Goblin held the Human in his arms, staring at death. It was all around him, and in the burning purple eyes of the skeleton surrounded by the undead. He stared at death, but he only had eyes for the Human.

She spoke to him, words that he and all the Goblins heard, even amidst the fighting. The Goblin listened, head bowed, until she choked on the blood and he carried her away from the fighting, protected by his friends.

He laid her in a quiet place, away from the battlefield. Next to a dying fire in a place where she would be safe. Then the Goblin turned back and stared at death. Beside him, twelve other Goblins stood quietly. They looked at each other. And heard their hearts beating.

This is the story of a band of fools. They charged, screaming, at an army of thousands. Goblins and undead both turned to stare at them, and the Humans on the walls stopped firing as they saw the band of thirteen Goblins, fighting for something they didn’t quite understand.

Headscratcher was first. He ran, cutting wildly, knocking other warriors aside, darting past zombies. He didn’t care that they cut at him, ignored the arrows that flew at him, the moments when he stared death in the face. He only had eyes for the skeleton, standing among the zombies.

He ran, and ten Goblins followed his back, fighting as one, struggling for every step. But two Goblins did not follow them. One was Badarrow, who stood with an arrow nocked, firing into the mill of bodies. The other was Grunter.

Grunter. The Hobgoblin turned and ran in another direction. Away? The other Redfang warriors faltered. But the Hob turned and stared at them for one moment. Then he spoke.

“Go.”

One word. And then he plunged away through the mass of bodies. He didn’t dodge like Headscratcher. Instead, Grunter charged through the ranks of undead and Goblin alike. Zombies were hurled away from him, screaming Goblin warriors trampled underfoot. Grunter held his axe in his left hand and roared as he ran.

He had only one target. The Goblin commander astride his Shield Spider. At first, the other Goblin didn’t see Grunter among the Goblins. But soon the Goblin noticed the change in the battlefield.

In a sea of swirling fighting where the lines of black-armored Goblins and zombies pushed each other back and forth, Grunter cut a straight line to the Goblin commander. He couldn’t be stopped! Spears broke against his skin, swords cut but were wrenched away from their owner’s grip. Grunter ran on, bleeding from two dozen wounds, but still ran.

“You! Challenge!”

The word was a roar from Grunter’s mouth. The Goblins and Humans stopped fighting as they stared at the Hob charging at the other Goblin. The Goblin commander sneered. He raised a hand; pointed.

Another Hob, just as large as Grunter, ran forwards, screaming, sword in hand as he tried to slow the Redfang warrior’s advance. Grunter roared and swung his axe. The crushing blade crashed down even as the other Hob tried to block. The axe sheared through the sword and crushed the other Goblin’s head. Grunter wrenched the blade free and the Hob’s body fell.

Silence. Grunter raised his axe, gleaming with blood and gore.

“Redfang!”

It was a word none of the Humans knew. But among the Goblins, it caused silence. Who didn’t know of that famous tribe, of the warrior who had walked among other races?

Garen Redfang and his tribe of warriors. Even in the south, his name was legend. Grunter shouted again, pointing his axe at the Goblin commander.

Now the other Goblin hissed, his eyes flashing blood-red. He pulled his spider around and faced Grunter. The other Goblins fell away as the two ran at each other, the Hob bleeding, one arm raised with the axe, the gleaming halberd held in the other Goblin’s hand.

“Redfang!”

Grunter screamed as he brought the axe down. The blow cleaved through the air, unstoppable. The Goblin commander threw himself off of his mount’s back, and the blow smashed the giant Shield Spider into the ground. It shrieked and died.

But it had taken Grunter’s axe. The Hob pulled at the blade, trying to wrench it free, but too slowly. The halberd came up and then the Hob was stumbling back. He stared at his stump of a hand and heard the Goblin commander laugh. The other Goblin advanced towards him, halberd raised.

The Hob was still for a second. Then his other hand moved. His broken arm grabbed the axe and lifted it. Jagged yellow bone broke through Grunter’s skin, but he only grunted. Then the axe was in the air.

The Goblin commander raised his halberd, snarling, but too slow. The axe fell through the sky, changing the confidence to fear in the Goblin’s eyes. Grunter screamed.

“REDFANG!”

The blow shook the earth. It broke his arm completely. Bone and flesh splintered as his hand twisted, dangling uselessly from his arm. Grunter sat down, staring at his useless arms as the other Goblins and Humans stared at what remained of the Goblin commander, the halberd lying broken on the ground.

The black-armored Goblins hesitated. But then they rushed at Grunter, screaming. He stood and knocked one down with his bloody stump. He kicked another hard enough to break the Goblin’s bones. Then he was falling, pierced by countless blades.

Grunter lay down on the ground and stared at his own blood. With a great effort he turned onto his back and stared at the grey sky. He grunted. And smiled once before the Goblins covered him.

----

Badarrow saw Grunter fall. He screamed and shot the Goblin who’d killed him. But there were so many. And the Goblins saw him, saw the Goblin shooting at their friends.

Arrows flew towards Badarrow, hundreds of them. Like rain. He dove for cover behind a fat corpse, letting it absorb the deadly arrows. So many.

The Goblin commander was dead, and so the Goblins were faltering. But there were still others, weren’t there? Badarrow had seen them, two [Shamans] hiding behind the others, commanding a group of undead they’d managed to gain control of.

They had to die. For Grunter. For using the dead. Badarrow didn’t hesitate. He selected two arrows, his very best. The ones he knew would fly furthest, straightest. He stood from behind the corpse and drew the first arrow to his chest. He loosed it.

The arrow flew across the battlefield. It caught the first [Shaman] as he stood behind a group of zombies, pointing and laughing. He grasped the arrow as it sprouted from his chest and fell, gasping.

The other [Shaman] pointed and screamed. He turned to run, and the second arrow found his ear. Badarrow grinned, and laughed as he saw the other Goblins turning. This time there was nowhere to hide.

So many arrows. Like rain! They struck him, one finding his chest, another his leg, the last his shoulder. Badarrow stumbled and fell.

----

Headscratcher did not see either of his friends fall. He ran on, sword drawn, screaming. The zombies were everywhere, as were the black-armored Goblins. He cut at them.

Too many enemies. Then a zombie came swinging at Headscratcher from the right, five more on the left. Headscratcher saw another Goblin run past him. Rocksoup took the blows meant for him. He gasped as the zombies tore his flesh away, cut one down. Two. The third took his sword and then he was fighting with his hands against the other two. They bore him down as he stared at Headscratcher, mouthing silently as his eyes lost their light.

Telling him to run.

The ten Goblins ran on, not pausing as they left their friend behind. Leftstep was next to fall. An arrow caught him in the eye and he dropped soundlessly, still snarling.

Headscratcher cut the head off of a Goblin and saw the skeleton. Only forty paces ahead now. It still hadn’t seen them. He ran towards it, but a group of howling Goblins charged from the right.

Orangepoo ran forwards. He said not a word, just grinned like he always did. Headscratcher saw him fall as he buried a spear in one of the Goblins’ legs and trip up the rest.

Eight now. The Goblin warriors ran on. Now the skeleton had seen them, and it pointed. Zombies and even a Ghoul came for them. Bitefly fell on the right, cursing and cutting at the Ghoul as it bore him to the ground and tore at him.

Seven. There was a wall of undead in front of them. Headscratcher and the Redfang warriors charged into them, screaming. The skeleton was right in front of them. And he had a sword.

Cut them down. Headscratcher took the leading zombie down with a leaping thrust. He fell with the body, struggling to pull his sword free. The other Redfang warriors took down their targets too. Where was the skeleton?

A flash of movement. Headscratcher saw Patchhelm turn and then the skeleton blurred into focus. The Goblin fell, headless. Headscratcher screamed and charged the skeleton.

So close. The skeleton fell back, fighting four of the Redfang warriors at once. But more zombies were coming, running at them. One seized Justrust from behind and snapped his neck.

Five. The five cut at the skeleton, making him dodge backwards. But he was all bones and he didn’t fear mere cuts. Headscracther took a cut that laid open his leg and he saw Rabbiteater choke as a zombie bit him all the way down to the bone, making him drop the sword.

The skeleton laughed. He turned to run, mocking the Goblins who’d come to kill him. Headscratcher swung at him as the skeleton danced backwards, nimbly evading his sword thrust.

So close! But not enough. The skeleton’s purple flaming eyes glittered at Headscratcher. He stepped left, dodged a thrust, flicked his sword and parried a cut. He raised his own sword as Headscratcher stumbled, seized by a zombie on his left. The skeleton laughed—

And Shorthilt tackled him from behind. The skeleton stumbled, turned, tried to kick the Goblin off. But Shorthilt hung on, ignoring the foot that kicked his face and broke his nose. Bugear cut sideways, forcing the skeleton to block. Then the Goblin cut at the skeleton’s sword hand, deep, lodging his sword into the skeleton’s bones. Bugear strained to keep the skeleton’s arm in place as Headscratcher ran forwards. The skeleton turned towards him, eyes furious.

Yes. That was right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t honorable. But it was the way the Goblins fought. And Headscratcher’s sword cleaved the skeleton’s spine in two. The skeleton fell in two pieces, and the Redfang warriors broke apart his body with their weapons.

Around them, the undead—paused. They seemed to stare at nothing, and then they moved again. Still attacking. Still trying to kill the living.

But no longer intelligently. No longer moving with purpose. The Redfang warriors, the five survivors, stumbled away. Headscratcher abandoned his sword to pull Rabbiteater away, giving the Goblin his shoulder.

They ran. Goblins were still everywhere. And the undead too. But they’d done all they could. All they could.

And it was enough. Because as the Goblins launched a final, desperate attack on the Humans on the barricades, the Redfang warriors looked to the gates of the city. And there they saw the adventurers.

----

“We barely made it by the looks of it.”

That was what the half-Elf said to the Dwarf as they stood at the rear of the Goblin army. Without their commander, the Goblins had neglected their rear. Now they rushed to overwhelm the Human defenders, stretched too thin on their crumbling fortifications.

“That’s true. But we did get here, and we even brought help.”

So said the Dwarf. He was short for a Human, naturally, but those Humans who saw him tended to think he was tall for a Dwarf. He was not, at least, not for a modern Dwarf. He was five foot two, and his muscles rippled as he raised the hammer at his side.

Behind him, a group of men and women, all Humans, stood with their weapons drawn. Silver-rank adventurers, over twenty of them. The half-Elf nodded.

“Let’s go. I’ll begin—hit them from the sides and cut towards Ylawes, would you?”

“Aye. Leave it to me.”

The Dwarf grinned. He turned his voice and roared at the Silver-rank adventurers.

“Follow me!”

He lead the host of [Warriors], [Mages], [Archers], [Rogues], and more at the side of the Goblin host, smashing through their unguarded ranks with ease. Even the Hob who turned to fight was crushed by a blow from the Dwarf’s hammer.

Alone, the half-Elf faced the Goblins who’d become aware of her presence. She raised the staff at her side, the blue crystal embedded in it shining. Arrows flew towards her, but the [Mage] was undeterred. She pointed at the Goblins.

“[Windward], [Flashfire], [Lesser Twister], [Water Arrow], [Silent Sickle], [Muddy Ground]—”

The litany of spells blasted from her staff, countless spells blasting Goblins off their feet, showering others with rains of arrows made from water, cutting others to bits while the arrows that had flown at the half-Elf bounced off the shield of air she’d conjured.

The battlefield changed again. The Silver-rank adventurers and Gold-rank Dwarf cut towards the stunned Humans. The Bronze-rank adventurer with a sword clutched at Ylawes as the man stumbled, nearly collapsing amid the walls of bodies he’d slain.

“Who are they sir? Reinforcements? From which city?”

“Yes. From all the nearby cities. And the Dwarf and half-Elf. They’re my team. The Silver Swords.”

Disbelieving, the Humans on the barricades stared as the Goblins below them began to rout. Their leaders lost, attacked by so many powerful adventurers, they began to flee. The undead kept fighting, but they were fragmented.

The exhausted man in silver armor raised his head as he heard the cheering begin. He didn’t smile. The man next to him turned to him, face shining.

“You saved us! You did it! We did it! We beat the Goblins by ourselves.”

“No. I don’t think it was just that.”

Ylawes didn’t look at the confused man. His eyes found the group of Goblins, five now, injured, fleeing the battle. The adventurer sighed, and then sat down.

He was so tired.

----

He was so angry. Toren strode away from the battlefield, knowing all was lost. He couldn’t change the outcome now. The zombies were no match for adventurers of that caliber. And he’d been so close too! Just a few more moments and he would have broken the line of Humans and been able to finish off the human in silver armor!

So close! But the Goblins had messed everything up!

Enraged, Toren slashed at the air with his sword, close to exploding with fury. How dare they. How dare they? They hadn’t even fought fair! They’d fought—well, like he fought!

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Toren stopped by the door of an abandoned building, trying to think rationally. He had to escape now. He still had his levels, his life. He could get some undead and go. Start somewhere else.

Doing what? The skeleton kicked at the wall and paused. Did he hear something? Cautiously, he poked his head inside the building. That was when he saw her.

A Human, lying on the ground. Toren hesitated. He…thought she was a Human. But didn’t he recognize her somewhere?

The monster girl. Yes. The flames in Toren’s eyes brightened in shock. But she was different. Was she wounded?

Yes. She was barely clinging to life. The skeleton walked over to her and saw the Human’s lips moving. She was whispering—something.

He didn’t care. The skeleton raised his sword and thrust it into the young woman’s side. He needed to kill something to feel better. He stabbed the Human with his sword, relishing the way she cried out weakly.

And then Toren heard the shout. He turned, but too late. The blow knocked him backwards. A Goblin had charged him from the side! The Goblin had no weapon and he struggled with Toren for his blade.

The skeleton tried to stab the Goblin, but he had been caught off-guard. His own sword impaled him through the rib cage. Toren staggered away, outraged, trying to drag the blade free. At last he got it out, splintering his bones in the process. He turned, sword in hand, and saw the Goblin.

He was holding the Human in his arms. She bled onto the ground, life oozing around his desperate claws. But she was…smiling. Smiling?

Toren paused.

He stared at the Goblin as he held the young woman in his arms, clutching at her bleeding chest, trying to hold the blood in. The skeleton saw a hand come up, and hold the Goblin’s face, and saw bloodless lips move. He saw the Goblin’s tears and felt something…odd in his chest.

What was this? What was he seeing? Goblin and Human? Why did that strike him as so odd? So—

Special? Was that the word? But the moment passed even as the skeleton watched. The Human’s hand dropped and her body relaxed. But her smile remained. And the Goblin holding her wept.

Toren looked away. He didn’t attack the weeping Goblin. Instead, he slowly walked into an alley as the other Goblin warriors ran to the two, crying out, making sounds of—

He didn’t understand. So he walked away, leaving the Goblins behind.

----

This is the story of a monster. This is the story of monsters. For as Ylawes stood with his companions and the celebrating Humans, he heard a cry.

“Goblins!”

He turned, reaching exhausted for a sword, but called out when he saw the approaching Goblins. They’d been poised to run, but as Ylawes strode towards them they halted.

Arrows and spells were aimed at them but the Goblins just looked lost. Four were holding the body between them and the last just stared up at Ylawes as he approached. He halted when he saw the young woman’s body, the face he recognized.

“Is she…?”

The Goblin nodded. He stared up at Ylawes, and the adventurer looked down at the dead girl. Her face had been ravaged by famine, and dirt and filth had created a mask over her face. But she smiled. It was a simple expression, but it shone even in death, despite all she had endured.

Ylawes remembered seeing her before. He remembered a monster. But what he saw was a young woman, smiling upwards. Only that.

Slowly, the adventurer looked at the Goblins. They stared back at him. Silent.

“I saw your leader kill the Goblin commander.”

Silence.

“I saw your archer down the [Shamans]. Few Human [Archers] I know could do that.”

They just stared at him. Ylawes nodded at the Goblin in front.

“You slew the skeleton. Without that, we might have died before reinforcements could arrive.”

Slowly, the Goblins laid down the body of the Human girl on the ground. They ignored Ylawes completely. One of the Goblins with a bloody scalp slowly crossed the young woman’s arms over her chest. He hesitated, hand on hers. Then he turned away.

“May we never meet again.”

Ylawes called it at their backs. But the Goblins didn’t even acknowledge his presence. They just walked away.

----

They found Grunter before they left. There wasn’t much of the Hob, but the Redfang warriors gathered around his corpse for a moment. Then they walked on.

They found Badarrow, laughing, shaking as he sat amid the arrows that had nearly killed him. Three arrows had found him, but the one meant for his chest had been horribly made. The glue had broken off and the arrowhead had barely penetrated his skin. He was still laughing about how he’d never hate another arrow when they found him.

Then Badarrow just bowed his head. He stood up and looked towards the body, but the other Humans were around her. The Redfang warriors slowly walked out of the city, avoiding the undead.

Silent.

This is a story of a band of Goblins, and how they left a city behind them as they walked out into the snow and darkness. They left behind their leader, over half their number and a Human girl in the city. And they left something as well. Perhaps it was a bit of their hearts.

This is the story of monsters. Of Goblins. But they had names.

Rabbiteater.

Bugear.

Numbtongue.

Shorthilt.

Badarrow.

Headscratcher.

This is their story. This is the story of how they found and left Esthelm, a city of the desperate, the dead, and those who struggled even in the darkness. This is their story. This is how it began.

----

This is the story of a skeleton. He walked away from the city whose name he hadn’t even known, beaten. Defeated not just by swords and sorcery, but by something he didn’t even have a name for.

He walked away, not alone physically, but alone nevertheless. Thirteen zombies and a Ghoul walked with him, silent, unthinking. They were tools, that was all. And Toren realized that a tool was not enough. Killing was not enough.

He was alone, purposeless again. He had failed. Toren walked on, staring at the sky. And he began to realize there were still some things he didn’t understand in this world. So he left the city where the living had reclaimed their pride. He left the Goblins, the adventurer wearing silver armor, and the monster who had become a girl behind.

And the dead walked with him.

To Liscor.

Back home.

3.21 L

Pawn stared at the ranks of Soldiers under his command and realized that he’d made a mistake.

Somewhere.

He’d definitely made one a while back, when he’d brought the idea of Gods into the Hive of the Free Antinium in Liscor. That had been a mistake—or at least, telling the Soldiers had been.

Hadn’t it?

It had helped them. Pawn had thought it would save them, but it had only led to a terrible moment where they slaughtered each other to find a better place. He’d stopped that—

But at a terrible cost. Nearly an entire barracks’ worth of Soldiers had been injured, and hundreds had died. Still, many had been saved, and Pawn had realized what his true mission was that day. To make a Heaven for the Antinium. To make a place, a way that they would not die forgotten and alone.

And he had leveled up after that night, hadn’t he? He was now a Level 6 [Acolyte] with the Skill [Humble Presence], which was surely a boon to the Hive. And Klbkch had given him command of the remaining Soldiers—

Perhaps that was the mistake. Revalantor Klbkch had made the mistake here, because Pawn was sure of one thing. He couldn’t lead the Soldiers.

He had no idea how.

Pawn stared down at the ranks of silent, immobile giants aligned into perfect ranks in front of him. The Soldiers stood patiently, waiting for his command. Perhaps they would wait there forever, even if he left.

Such thoughts were terrifying to Pawn. He was no leader. Except, in a very real sense, he was. Moreover, those under his command needed him. If nothing else, Pawn had to ensure they didn’t die of their injuries.

Yes, every Soldier standing at attention was technically walking—or rather, standing—wounded. Of course they didn’t show any signs of pain, despite some having cracked carapaces or missing limbs. One Soldier was missing his right eye, but he looked at Pawn as if nothing was wrong.

At least…they were here with him, rather than fighting as they would be normally. Even though the Soldiers here were injured, Pawn knew that they would still have normally been assigned to combat duty if it weren’t for him.

The most wounded Soldier could fight after only a few days of rest. Of course, they’d be missing limbs but that didn’t matter when they hurled themselves into combat. Pawn had requested the foul, stinging ooze to begin regenerating their body parts, but it was a precious commodity and so the Soldiers would be weeks or even months in regrowing their limbs.

And in the meantime, what did Pawn do? He stared at his Soldiers, and they stared back. He couldn’t send them to battle. He couldn’t.

And yet, they were his responsibility. He had to make something of them. That was what Klbkch had told him. This was a test—

And Pawn had no idea how to pass it. He was pretty sure on how to fail, but what could he do with the Soldiers? All he had done was give them false hope—

And get a lot of them killed.

Pawn shook his head and the Soldiers seemed to straighten even more. It had been five minutes since he’d entered the mess hall and found the Soldiers waiting for him. He had to give them an order, he knew. They needed direction.

Hesitantly, the Worker cleared his throat.

“You will not be expected to fight today.”

The Soldiers just stared at him. Did they feel relieved? Disappointed? Confused? Pawn didn’t know. Their faces were as incomprehensible to him as all Antinium were to other species. But he knew they did have feelings.

“Um…just go about your daily routine. That is to say—”

Pawn paused. He had to be a leader. So he firmed his tone.

“Attend meal times as normal. However, since you are not assigned to any post, return to your barracks to rest in the meantime. I will…find something for you to do, and try to visit you and tell stories. Alright?”

The Soldiers didn’t respond. But they turned and immediately began filing out of the room, heading towards the barracks. Pawn watched them go, limp with relief.

At least they listened to him. But did they resent him for telling them about God and Heaven? Did they feel regret for their brothers that had died in the mass suicide attempt?

Surely they did. But Pawn couldn’t ask, because the Soldiers couldn’t speak. The Worker anxiously paced back and forth as the other Workers assigned to food serving duty watched him nervously. He was commanding Soldiers. Pawn knew they would fight the monsters that came out of the dungeon and patrol and guard—but was there anything else they did?

He’d never known. And now he had to ask. But who would be able to tell him?

Not other Workers. Klbkch perhaps—but Pawn didn’t feel comfortable asking the Revalantor questions like that. Who else might know?

The Queen? Pawn would have rather slapped Klbkch than ask his Queen anything. No. No, there were only two other beings in the Hive who might know.

Belgrade and Anand. They were [Tacticians]. They’d leveled up in that class and been assigned roles leading Soldiers. They would know.

Pawn found his two former chess companions after only half an hour of searching. It wasn’t as if Belgrade and Anand left signs pointing out their location in the Hive, but Pawn knew where they ate and slept. Happily, he found them doing neither and instead, playing chess in the special break room reserved for Individuals.

The two Workers sat at a chess table, watched by a small crowd of other Workers. They stood out. Perhaps it was the way they held themselves. With confidence and pride. Or maybe it was just that Pawn knew them so well. He sat next to them and they nodded at him, familiar and warm as the Antinium ever got.

“Pawn. It is good to see you here today.”

That came from Belgrade. He nodded precisely as he placed a knight in the attack position, threatening a pawn from Anand.

“Indeed. I was worried you were being punished by Klbkch.”

Anand ignored the attack on his pawns and instead countered Belgrade with an aggressive push from his queen on the left side, threatening a bishop. Belgrade paused. Pawn observed the playing with interest, his mind half on the game.

It was true that he, Belgrade, and Anand all looked the same. But they were all different from each other—vastly different in terms of personality. Belgrade was a stickler for tactics and the openings Erin had taught them. He played defensively, cautiously. Almost too much, but it was necessary against Anand’s aggressive tactics. In speech as well, they tended to reflect their traits. It was remarkable, Pawn reflected, that any Workers could be so…unique.

He nodded to the two as the game continued, both Workers moving their pieces quickly and only pausing for a few seconds even for the hardest decisions. They were clearly playing a lightning game, although there was no timer. Antinium had no need of such devices.

“I thank you for your concern. I am not being punished by Revalantor Klbkch, Anand. But I am in distress.”

“Indeed?”

“What’s the problem?”

“You may be aware that I have been assigned a command of Soldiers. I am unsure how to properly lead them, and what roles they may fulfill within the Hive. Thus, I have come to you.”

The Antinium also didn’t do much small talk. Belgrade and Anand paused for a moment. Then Belgrade tipped over his king.

“I cannot win this match. Another round?”

“Yes.”

The two reset the board, moving pieces with amazing synchronization. Pawn waited patiently. The game began with a classic King’s Gambit Accepted opening before Anand spoke.

“My experience with leading Soldiers occurs mainly in embattled tunnels and areas of the Hive in which conflict occurs. I direct their movements, reinforce them with Skills, and order retreats and designate targets as necessary.”

“That is my experience as well.”

Belgrade nodded. He placed a knight on the board delicately and stopped. Pawn had observed that Belgrade liked using knight pieces to open with.

“I have supervised Soldiers aiding in digging and construction at times. But Workers are more suited to those tasks. Patrolling, fighting, guarding, and scouting are the only roles I have seen them fulfill.”

Pawn felt his antennae droop. But he hadn’t really expected anything else.

“I see. And you have not ever seen them do anything for—for entertainment?”

Both of the other Workers paused and turned to Pawn. He knew they were surprised. If they had eyebrows, they would have been raising them.

“The Antinium have no entertainment.”

“Nor any other form of leisurely activity. This game of chess is as close as we have to it.”

“I know. It is just—I wish to give the Soldiers something more. You are aware of the details surrounding their injuries?”

“I am.”

“It was your fault, correct?”

Pawn nodded at Anand, acknowledging the truth.

“Yes. I regret my stupidity. And yet, I must now lead them. But I am no leader, no [Tactician] as you two are. You have continued to level. May I ask what level you are now?”

“Fifteen.”

Belgrade adjusted a piece on the crude board, meticulously centering it in the square before he moved it.

“Sixteen.”

Anand waited until the piece had moved to swiftly take it with a bishop. Belgrade made no audible response, but Pawn knew he was annoyed at making such a simple mistake.

“I am now a Level 6 [Acolyte].”

“Indeed? Congratulations are in order for such swift advancement.”

Belgrade and Anand turned. Both nodded at Pawn. He nodded back, feeling happy for their praise.

“It is just that I fail to see how my class can help the Soldiers. I barely know what to do with myself.”

“Perhaps Revalantor Klbkch sees something in you that cannot be defined by your class.”

Anand speculated as Belgrade attempted to regain lost ground. Pawn nodded slowly. He looked around at the other Workers.

They just stared at the board. He knew they were listening, but the other Workers—Individuals and Workers groomed to be Individuals—they had no spark. Not like Belgrade, Anand, Garry, and Bird. Those four Workers had what Pawn considered personality. The other Workers in the room were more like statues.

Soulless.

That was the word for it. It disturbed Pawn, although he couldn’t say why. Were the Soldiers like that? In a way, yes. Both they and the Workers kept their feelings, their true selves on the inside, if they even had a self at all. What could Pawn do for them, besides send them to die? What could he—?

“Pawn. Revalantor Klbkch approaches.”

Belgrade looked up and Pawn turned in his seat. The other Workers standing around the board scattered to make lots of room for the slim, unique Antinium as he marched quickly towards Pawn.

“Pawn.”

Just that one word made Pawn’s insides knot up. He hadn’t even known they could do that, but then, he’d seldom felt…trepidation before. But Klbkch scared him, and every time they met, Pawn couldn’t help but feel like he was doing everything wrong.

A feeling which was reinforced by Klbkch’s next words. The Revalantor stopped in front of him.

“Did you give your Soldiers orders this morning?”

Pawn cringed a bit. Was he not supposed to?

“Yes I did. Was anything—”

“They went back to their barracks and began to rest. They remained in the barracks when another shift came to rest, causing a delay.”

Oh no. Pawn’s insides twisted further, and he saw both Belgrade and Anand pause in playing chess. How could he have forgotten? The Antinium had no personal quarters—rather, they slept and worked and ate at allotted times, in shifts. When one shift slept, another one would work, and then the sleeping shift would switch with another one.

That was the most efficient use of resources and it meant places like the barracks could be used at all times. Pawn had—he’d ordered his Soldiers to take up the space meant for other exhausted Soldiers ending their shift!

The Antinium couldn’t blush, but Pawn lowered his head and antennae. He’d already messed up. And it was such a stupid mistake to make too!

“Forgive me, Revalantor Klbkch. I did not consider that when I gave my orders to the Soldiers. I am terribly—”

“I have taken care of it. Your Soldiers are being stationed in safe locations on protective detail. In the future do not make the same mistake.”

Klbkch’s voice was flat. He turned to go. Pawn looked at his back despairingly and called out.

“Revalantor Klbkch.”

The Antinium turned. He was graceful, deadly. He walked as if the two swords by his side were meant for him, and he never looked uncertain. How Pawn envied him.

“What is it, Pawn?”

“What should I do with the Soldiers under my command? Am I to lead them into battle?”

“No. You have only a single Skill in the [Tactician] class and you are too valuable to risk in battle. Moreover, the Soldiers are wounded. Your command over them is experimental.”

“Then—what purpose will we serve?”

Klbkch paused. He looked Pawn straight in the eye.

“I do not know. Surprise me. Or pray for an idea. That is your Skill, is it not?”

He turned and left. Belgrade and Anand stopped their game and watched him go. After a while, the other Workers walked back and resumed watching their game. Belgrade paused.

“I am unsure as to what you should do, Pawn. I regret that Erin is not here to aid you.”

“Indeed. I dislike Revalantor Klbkch’s requirements of you, and the Revalantor himself if it comes to that. Checkmate.”

Anand placed his queen and created an excellent checkmate. Belgrade nodded. He looked at the other [Tactician].

“I am extremely upset, Anand. I demand a rematch.”

“I accept.”

Pawn left them to it. Well, he had his answer. He was supposed to do something with the Soldiers—only, even Klbkch had no idea what. Wonderful.

That was how, terribly depressed, Pawn found himself walking through Liscor that evening. He was still free to leave the Hive, and so he walked among the Drakes and Gnolls, feeling the cold wind on his carapace.

No one paid any attention to him. Normally, they might, if only to look scared and walk away from him. But today Pawn was more invisible than anything else. Oh, people noticed him, but he was now simply another person in the crowd, rather than a Worker, an Antinium.

It was due to his new Skill. [Humble Presence]. It made him, well, ordinary unless Pawn did something that really stood out or he was by himself. It was perfect for someone like him. Klbkch had already told him it might have useful applications in battle—but Pawn didn’t want to fight.

But he commanded Soldiers. But he had no idea what to do with them.

And he’d already caused trouble. Pawn hung his head, but his feet kept moving. In times like this, he only had one place he wanted to be.

The Wandering Inn. Even if Erin wasn’t there, at least Pawn could rest there in peace for a while. And he was getting hungry. Pawn had begun to hate eating in the Hive, and he had money. So Pawn walked out of the city and up to the inn.

It was the only place where he really felt alive.

----

She had a guest. Lyonette rubbed her eyes a few times when she saw the figure slowly walking up the hill towards the empty inn. But it was real. Someone was coming.

A guest!

She nearly cried in relief. It had been…so long.

Two days this time. Two days after Lyonette had worked so hard! She’d made food and learned to cook and even cleaned the inn. But it had been two days since Pawn had left, and no one had come by.

Not Olesm, not Relc to ask about Erin, not even the grumpy adventurer. No one. But now she had a guest! The same guest, in fact, as last time.

The Antinium. Pawn. Lyonette remembered being afraid of him, of hating the Antinium. But right now she could have kissed the Worker on his mandibles. He was coming to spend money! To eat!

The girl rushed around the kitchen, trying to figure out what to make. Food! She couldn’t serve him the rubbery noodles she’d been making herself for breakfast, lunch and dinner, could she?

No, the Antinium couldn’t even handle gluten.

No bread or pasta, then. Lyonette froze. Could she make a soup? But when she checked, she had barely half a bucket of water left! And then the Antinium was at the door and there was no time to fetch more!

Screaming internally, Lyonette opened the door.

“Good evening!”

The Antinium entered, nodding politely at her.

“Good evening to you, Miss Lyonette. Are you open today?”

“Open? Of course! We’re open every day! Every night! Let me get you a chair. Would you like to sit next to the fire? I can put more wood on—”

“Thank you.”

Seemingly bemused, the Worker watched Lyonette rush about, stoking the fire, getting him a glass of water. She hovered around him anxiously, trying not to wring her hands.

“Would you like something else to drink? Um—we don’t have anything, though. To eat?”

“Water is quite acceptable, thank you. I would indeed like food tonight. What is on the menu, may I ask?”

Lyonette froze. What was on the menu? She didn’t even have a menu! Her mind went blank, but her mouth took over in this moment of crisis.

“W-would you like eggs and bacon?”

That was all she could think to make! Erin normally had all kinds of soups and meat dishes she could serve—but Lyonette didn’t know how to cook any of them!

Pawn seemed to think for a moment, and then nodded.

“Yes. I will have some, thank you.”

Lyonette smiled at him, dashed into the kitchen, and called herself ten kinds of stupid while she fried up a heaping plate for him. Eggs and bacon? She’d served that to him last time! He’d get bored of the food, surely! When she’d been living in the palace, Lyonette would have fired the [Chef] who made her the same meal twice in one week!

But the Antinium didn’t seem offended. Instead, he paused when Lyonette placed the big plate of eggs and bacon in front of him—nearly all of what she had left.

“This is quite a fine meal. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome!”

Lyonette nearly sagged in relief. She hovered around Pawn as he picked up a fork. He paused, looked at her.

“Would you like to sit?”

“Oh!”

She was bothering him! Lyonette sat instantly, trying to smile and not be obtrusive as Pawn ate. The silence was…

After a few minutes Pawn spoke.

“It seems the inn is rather empty. Have you been receiving much custom, Miss Lyonette?”

“Me? No I—”

Lyonette paused. How could she tell the Antinium about crying in the inn, counting the few copper and two silver coins left? Eating the same horrible mush she cooked up every day? How could she?

How could she not?

“It’s been…hard since Erin—Miss Solstice left. No one visits.”

“That is troublesome. I hope my business can help.”

“It will! I just wish there were a lot more people like—like you!”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re…welcome.”

More silence. Lyonette looked at Pawn, realizing this was the first time she’d ever been so close to one of the hateful Antinium, the terrors of Rhir. He looked so…normal for some reason.

“Um.”

“Yes?”

“How’s it going in the Hive? With the other Antinium, I mean?”

The Worker seemed to pause for a few seconds.

“It is…going well. There are some difficulties, but the Hive is well.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

Lyonette sat with the Worker, refilling his glass, drinking some water herself. They didn’t talk much while he ate his way through the plate of greasy eggs and bacon. When he left, he paid her well. Lyonette stared at the bronze coins and smiled tremulously. Then she cried again.

----

Pawn left The Wandering Inn in good spirits. The brief respite and dinner made for a world of difference. Suddenly, he felt happy again.

The inn. Sitting there and talking—well, it wasn’t the same, but the Human girl had been decent company and the food had been far better than the mush in the Hive.

A good night. A good evening. That was what it was. Pawn walked back down the hill, staring up at the clear night sky as he did. The air was cold around him, but he enjoyed the biting chill and the crisp crunching sound the snow made under his feet.

The stars. Oh, how the stars shone. Yellow and red some of them, but green and purple others, shining bright, shining faintly, some flickering behind the occasional cloud. And the two moons were beautiful as well.

A sky full of wonders, a landscape full of snow and silence. Warm belly, good conversation. Pawn felt alive again. This was what he’d missed.

How wonderful. How…Pawn stopped in the snow, struck by a sudden realization.

“This is what I must show them.”

Yes. This. This night was like everything Pawn had experienced since meeting Erin, a small capsule of pure happiness. Of course, the inn was different, and it had been Erin, not Lyonette running it. But it had been the experiences of the inn which had made Pawn who he was. Klbkch desired new Individuals, but just teaching them chess wasn’t enough. Chess was only the method. It had been Erin who truly mattered.

And if she was gone, then it fell to Pawn to show the Soldiers the same world she had shown him. Pawn walked back to his Hive, his steps suddenly full of purpose. He needed to take his Soldiers outside. Outside of their Hive where everything was the same.

He would talk to Revalantor Klbkch about the issue that very night. As Pawn walked, he clicked his mandibles together, savoring the flavor of his meal. Eggs and bacon. He’d had it last time, hadn’t he? Well, Pawn didn’t mind, although perhaps next time he would ask Lyonette if she had any good cheese she could add to the meal. He really liked scrambled eggs, but he liked omelettes filled with gooey cheese even more.

----

He was never coming back. That was what Lyonette told herself again and again as she wallowed in despair in her dark, empty inn. The fire was dying down again.

“Idiot! You stupid idiot!”

Lyonette buried her head in her arms and cried. The Worker—Pawn was gone. He’d left coin, but he hadn’t said he’d return. Of course not! Who’d say that?

But would he come back in two more days? Or never? He hadn’t talked much—

Because she hadn’t been a good host! Lyonette remembered Erin being so friendly to the Antinium, but words had failed her when she’d tried to talk to him.

And he’d left so quickly. Had it been quick? It had felt like that to Lyonette, lonely as she was.

He hadn’t liked the food. That was surely it.

Slowly, as the last flames flickered and died in the dark inn, Lyonette raised her head. She stared at the small, circular discs of metal on the table.

Money. The only money she’d seen all week. Enough for a few more days of food, of life. And she still had flour and salt and…provisions enough for a few more days. But that was all.

Water? The stream still ran, and though the water was bitingly cold, it could be heated. With enough wood. Lyonette glanced anxiously to the dying embers, the only thing warming the cold room.

She had lots of firewood, actually. Erin had used Toren to gather a lot of wood from the boom bark, safely denuded of their bark of course.

But she couldn’t eat wood, and Lyonette was fairly certain that Pawn couldn’t either. And yet—feeding him eggs and bacon was an expensive proposition, even with how much he was willing to pay! Especially if he only came by once every few days.

She needed more customers. Lyonette knew that. But who would want to come here, to this empty inn without Erin Solstice? To…her.

No one. No one but an Antinium. Lyonette clutched at her head.

More guests. Drakes didn’t like Humans and Gnolls would probably try to kill her. But the Antinium—

They couldn’t eat bread. Or pasta. That was the huge flaw in Lyonette’s potential base of customers. How could she feed them with meat and eggs and other such expensive ingredients in the winter? A soup might work, but…any inn in the city could serve a better soup than she could, surely.

In her heart, Lyonette knew she was standing on a cliff. Starvation loomed over her head, dark, chittering. She had to do something. And she knew there was one thing she could do. She’d thought of it every night since Pawn had come the first time.

One desperate idea. That was all she had. She couldn’t make what the Antinium truly loved—and she barely had the coin to buy enough food for herself now! But there was a source of free, delicious ingredients for them, wasn’t there?

“The bees.”

Lyon whispered the word and shuddered uncontrollably. But it had been said. Now there was no going back.

Yes, there was one untapped source of food in this cold winter. One foodstuff that the Antinium would pay silver for.

The bees.

But they were a horror. Lyonette had seen them tear apart Toren when he angered them. She remembered the terrible, buzzing cloud of bees, some larger than her hand, enough to sting an entire village to death in minutes.

But she had no other choice. Lyonette sat in the dark inn, her heart pounding. She stared at the door. Every night she’d had the same thought, and every night she’d been too afraid. For two nights now. Ever since Pawn.

But he’d come back. He would come back. And she was out of options.

Lyonette sat in the darkness. She wavered. She found a wheelbarrow and filled it with firewood and kindling. She made a torch and wavered by the door. She rushed to the outhouse to pee, and then throw up. Then she pushed the wheelbarrow out into the cold and dark, four huge jars balanced atop the wood, and Erin’s sharpest knife hung at her belt.

----

“Watch Captain Zevara, may I have a moment of your time?”

If it had been anyone else, Watch Captain Zevara would have told them it was late and to bother her again the next day. If it had been Relc asking whether he could take the day off, she would have burnt his face-scales off.

But because it was Klbkch, Zevara just sighed and resigned herself to a late night.

“Come in, Klbkch. Is something the matter?”

Senior Guardsman Klbkch entered the room, nodding politely at Zevara. He was always polite, and efficient, something she admired about him even if he was an Ant.

“I regret taking up your time before you go off-duty. However, I am here to make an…unusual request. And I must inform you that I do not come here in my capacity as Senior Guardsman, but rather as Prognugator of my Hive.”

That made Zevara instantly sit up in her straight-backed wooden chair.

“Go on. Is there trouble in the Hive? An…Aberration?”

“Nothing so pressing.”

Gracefully, Klbkch took a seat in front of Zevara. She eyed him, and his new…form. It still unnerved her a bit that after nearly ten years, he could suddenly look so different. True, two arms and a slimmer body wasn’t exactly that different, but it was just…odd. Another reminder of who he really was, and why she had to treat him and any such conversations with care.

“Well, I am always willing to discuss your Hive. Is there something you need?”

Klbkch nodded.

“Yes. I would like to request that forty Soldiers be allowed access to the surface and area around Liscor.”

Zevara froze again. She kept none of her emotions on her face, though, and pretended to cough.

“That’s an…unusual request.”

“Indeed. I would not normally ask, but I believe the need is justified and according to our treaty, Soldiers may only leave the Hive in times of war, or—”

“At the request of the Watch Captain.”

Zevara nodded. She sat back in her chair, eyeing Klbkch cautiously.

“I see. And may I ask why you want to take your Soldiers out of the city? You’ve never requested something like this before, not in the six years I’ve served as Captain.”

“Times have changed. I believe it may be useful to my Hive to present my Soldiers with an…expanded view of the area around Liscor.”

That made no sense to Zevara, but few things the Antinium did made sense. She shrugged, trying to keep her tail still. She knew that Klbkch watched Drakes’ tails and could interpret their movements almost as well as a Drake.

“I don’t see any reason why I should refuse your request. Only—wouldn’t taking so many Soldiers out of the Hive be dangerous? Of the six hundred Soldiers permitted to your Hive, wouldn’t forty be quite a large number?”

“I believe we shall be able to compensate for their lack. In truth, our numbers are slightly below six hundred at the moment, but Liscor is a consummate ally, so I see no reason to worry.”

Klbkch’s face didn’t change. Neither did Zevara’s as she nodded at that barefaced lie.

“Well, reassuring as you find us, I’m afraid Liscor’s citizens might get a bit…nervous when they see Soldiers marching about. What would I tell them?”

“Perhaps that the Soldiers are patrolling to deal with any Goblin warbands in the area? I am cognizant that the citizens are restless due to the presence of the dungeon as well as rumors of the Goblin Lord. Seeing them patrolling might reassure the citizens of Liscor.”

That was a good answer, and even a helpful one for Zevara. She nodded reluctantly.

“Well, I see no reason to object—only, I’d hate for them to start a panic if they marched down the street. But then, I’m sure you can be discreet and find…alternate ways out of the city that won’t panic anyone.”

Through the secret tunnels the Antinium have dug. That was what she meant, but both she and Klbkch knew he would never admit anything.

“They will not be seen within Liscor if at all possible. Soldiers can be very discreet.”

Zevara nearly snorted fire out her nose. She searched for another question to ask—or something else to bother Klbkch with, but she really couldn’t think of anything. Forty Soldiers killing monsters would be helpful, and it was hardly likely that they’d start a panic. Ten years ago when the Hive was first established, maybe. But now…

“Well—fine. I, Watch Captain Zevara, grant you permission and request that twenty Soldiers aid in patrolling around the city. Twenty, for now. We’ll scale up the patrols if there’s not a panic.”

Klbkch inclined his head towards her.

“I am very grateful for your time, Watch Captain.”

“Yes, yes. Just make sure they don’t scare any travelers on the main road or run into any Human adventurers. Those idiots would probably pick a fight and that’s the last thing I want to explain to one of the Human cities.”

“I shall instruct them to remain far away from the northern road.”

“Good.”

“Well then, good night, Watch Captain.”

“Night, Klbkch.”

Zevara waited until Klbkch was gone, marching smartly down the stairs. Then she shook her head and reached for a desk drawer she seldom opened. She yanked the handle, cursed, found the small key she carried at all times, and unlocked it. A blank piece of parchment lay on it. Zevara sighed, and began to write down every detail of her encounter with Klbkch. A report. She’d have to make copies, send them to every Walled City—which of course meant a trip down to the Mage’s Guild at this time of night! Zevara groaned. She’d be getting to her bed past midnight, she knew.

As she began to write, Zevara muttered to herself.

“Take the Soldiers out? Why?”

But of course she never got any answers. Like all the reports she’d made on the Antinium’s movements, she only had questions. Questions…

Like whether or not the Antinium were really their enemies. At least, the ones in Liscor. And if they were—

What could be done about them? Only the scratching of her quill on parchment was Zevara’s reply.

----

Lyonette was not in her bed. In fact, she was as far from it as she’d gone in the last month. She trudged through the snow, fighting to push the wheelbarrow through the snow and ice. She wished she still had Erin’s sled. But it was gone, with her.

Of course, the effort of pushing the wheelbarrow was only one of Lyonette’s concerns. The numbing cold, the intense darkness, and not least, the pants-wetting fear in her heart were high priorities too.

What was she doing? Every two seconds as Lyon pushed the wheelbarrow she looked around fearfully, expecting a monster to leap out at her. But she had no choice. It had to be tonight. She had to steal the honey tonight, or she’d lose all her confidence.

And night was the best time to rob the hive, or so Lyonette felt. Bees slept at night, didn’t they? Or at the very least, they’d be drowsy, and she needed every edge she could get.

It had been a long, uncertain journey across the plains. At first, Lyon hadn’t even known if she was going the right way. Everything looked so strange at night, under the snow. But her treacherous memory somehow managed to guide her exactly in the right direction for once.

To raid a bee’s nest. Even the thought made Lyonette feel weak with terror, but she had no choice. To survive, she had to do it. Steal bees right out of their nest.

Okay, maybe she couldn’t steal live bees, but surely she could get a few of the grubs? Lyonette remembered the one Klbkch had eaten and nearly threw up again.

Honey. That was the real key. Honey was precious, and she could serve it to the Antinium. They liked honey, and with a few bees—

She just had to raid the hive. Full of huge bees that could kill her in an instant. Lyon couldn’t get her mind off of the idea. Just one sting could—if they stung her in the eye would it reach her brain?

But—she had no choice. Lyonette took a painful breath of air. She was a [Princess]. She was a—

She was a girl. A [Barmaid]. Erin had left her inn to Lyon. Intentionally or not. And now it was up to Lyon to live or die. By herself. She no longer had any excuses. Either she died here, or she died in the cold and darkness.

Better here. Better with the flame of courage still in her chest. So Lyonette paused before the dark hole in the rock and took a deep breath. Sweat ran down her legs and back. She felt hot, even though the wind was blowing.

Bees. They were just bees, in the end.

And she—knew how to deal with bees.

It had just been a fancy. When she’d been young, her tutor had told her all kinds of things she’d willfully ignored. Lessons of algebra, governance, taxes, ruling, classes—all of this Lyonette had let pass her by without caring. But occasionally, in desperation her tutor would tell her stories to keep her interested. And Lyonette had remembered tiny bits.

One of those things she remembered was bees. When she’d heard how [Beekeepers] could harvest honey from the stinging creatures, she’d been incredulous. But a bit of smoke and thick clothing could do the trick better than magic could.

“Smoke.”

Lyonette stared at the firewood she’d hauled all this way. She carefully took the glass jars out and put them to one side of the cave’s entrance. Four jars. This time she’d take as much as she could. If she could.

Fire. The wood was wet from the snow and it was cold, but Lyonette kept striking the flint with steel. Mechanically. She made a small fire at the entrance of the cave, working despite the numbness in her arms.

How many times would she have given up a few months ago? Before this, she’d never—she’d never even made a fire. She would have had a servant make it, or at the very least used magic.

If she could have gone back in time, what would she have done differently? Everything. She’d never have come here, she wouldn’t have stolen—

But if she never came here, she would never have leveled, would she? And she would have been stuck—

The sparks flew from the flint. They landed among the wood kindling and caught. Lyonette held her breath and then desperately tried to shelter the flame.

Fire. Once it grew, Lyonette fed it more wood. More and more, until the fire was hot and bright and large. Then she added the secret ingredient.

Flaxen sacks, grass plucked from beneath the snow—anything green that would smoke. The smell was horrible, but Lyon ignored it and kept adding her fuel.

Smoke, dark and noxious, billowed up from the fire. Lyonette stared at it, eyes stinging, but filled with wild elation. Fear had disappeared. Courage—she fanned the flames and the ones in her heart.

Soon, the cave was choked with dark smoke, and Lyon knew it would become overwhelming in a few more minutes. Perfect. She stared anxiously at the dark interior. She hadn’t seen nor heard any bees, but they were further inside. First she had to build the fire. Then—

Thick clothing. Lyonette had many layers wrapped around her. It might stop one or two stingers, or slow them down. She had gloves, and the knife. It could cut into the hive, hopefully. She’d cut away as much honeycomb as she could and put it in the jars. If she was lucky, she’d even get some of the grubs the Antinium seemed to like so much. Then she’d run.

That was the plan. And it was a good plan, brave. It lasted in Lyonette’s head, shining and full of promise, until Lyonette heard the buzzing.

At first, it was just a gentle noise on the verge of hearing. Then it became louder, and Lyonette realized the thrumming was getting closer. She looked up, screamed, and ran as first tens, then hundreds of bees streamed out of the cave towards the fire.

They’d come for the fire. That was all Lyonette could think as she sprinted out of the cave. By the fire’s light she saw countless flickering shapes, and then heard the bees hit the fire.

They were extinguishing it! Embers and burning wood flew everywhere as the bees scattered the smoking campfire Lyonette had worked so hard to build. They knew! They knew about smoke and they were unafraid of fire!

And then they came for her. Lyonette screamed as she ran into the deep snow outside the cave. She threw herself into the snow, digging herself as far down as she could, desperately trying to cover herself. All the while, she could hear the bees’ wings beating. Like a maelstrom, like thunder.

Lyonette dug, wiggling herself down, down, crying. She heard a buzzing thing hit the snow next to her head like a falling stone and cried out. But the bee hadn’t hit her! It had missed! Lyonette held as still as she could, tears running from her eyes. The bees couldn’t see her. But they knew she was there and they began stabbing into the snow.

The girl hid in the snow, sobbing, while the thunder buzzed all around her and she heard thumps as the bees landed in the snow, searching for her. Hot liquid ran from her eyes, and more ran down her pants. All Lyon could think was that she’d be dead in the next second, then the next ten seconds. Then in a minute…

After a while, after a long while when the thunder had ceased and all the sounds were gone, Lyonette finally sat up. She looked around and saw the snow was torn and thrown about, and extinguished remains were all that remained of the fire she’d built. And of the bees?

Nothing at all. They’d gone back into their hive.

Lyonette stared around at the shattered remains of her dreams. She stumbled, felt wetness on her lower body. She looked down. The snow had dampened her clothes, but that didn’t explain the stain around her crotch. She’d wet herself. She hadn’t done that in—at least no one was around to see.

In the end, Lyonette stumbled back to the inn. She left the firewood behind, the wheelbarrow, the glass jars—she didn’t have the heart to bring them back.

It was over. She’d had one chance, but it hadn’t even been a chance at all. These bees didn’t fear fire, and they were too smart to let the smoke fill their cave.

The girl stumbled back into the inn, still crying. She couldn’t do it. She’d thought—but she was not Erin.

And even Erin couldn’t have done that by herself. Lyonette clearly remembered the real key to stealing the bees’ honey. The horrible monster with glowing purple eyes who’d tormented her so. But for all she’d hated him, he’d been instrumental. And he wasn’t here.

The girl sank into a chair, wet, miserable, despairing. She buried her head in her hands, but now she was even out of tears. She was so tired. So tired—and so lonely.

She didn’t have the skeleton. Toren. She didn’t have Erin Solstice’s twisted, insane mind either. Right at this very moment, Lyonette wished both were back and this inn was how it used to be. She would have scrubbed the floors all by herself, hauled as many buckets of water as Erin needed, even watered the flowers and—

The flowers.

Lyon’s eyes widened with sudden memory. How could she have forgotten? She surged to her weary feet, ran to one of the windows.

She’d forgotten entirely. After all this time—Erin normally watered them. But could they be alive? Could she sell—

“No!”

She cried the word when she saw them. Flowers. Flowers yellow and bright as gold, a faerie’s payment. But wizened, wilted.

Dying.

The pots of flowers Erin had so lovingly grown were full of—Lyonette stared down at them, her heart breaking. She knew they could be made into a drink, even if she didn’t know how. The adventurer, Halrac, had paid in gold for it. If she had remembered, if she had cared about her duties from the start—

Now they were dead. Or close to it. Some still lived, and Lyonette immediately soaked the dry soil with water, but it would be long, too long before they recovered.

And of course, some were beyond help. Lyonette stared at one dead flower in despair. She picked it out and stared at it.

Another lost hope. Now her heart was well and truly broken. Lyonette stared at the fire in the inn. It was barely even embers now; the last flickers of light hidden at the center of the ash.

Fire had failed her. Angrily, Lyonette stalked over to the fireplace and tossed the dead flower into it. The faerie’s flower smoked and gave off an acrid smoke. Lyonette coughed, angrily waving the fumes away—

And woke up on her back. Lyonette blinked, stared at the dead fire, and then at the remains of the flower. She blinked—stared at the way the darkness had become lighter, at the dead fire, long extinguished, and then at the wilted flowers. Then she sat up.

“Flowers. And bees.”

----

It was just before dawn when the girl lit the second fire just inside the cave of the Ashfire Bees. This time her body was nearly completely numb and she was shaking from exhaustion. She’d brought another huge glass jar, and a handful of the most dead flowers she could gather. She prayed that was enough.

The kindling refused to light. The wood was so wet from its exposure to the elements—Lyon kept trying. She struck sparks until her fingers cramped, and then the fire lit.

She fed the fire. She added wood, feeding it, growing it frantically. How soon before the bees noticed the flame and heat? How soon before—

She heard the thrumming again, but this time she was ready. Lyonette cast the flowers into the fire and saw smoke go up. But it was only a glimpse because she was running out of the cave, diving into the snow again.

The bees came, a howling sound louder than anything. Lyonette waited for them to scatter the fire, but suddenly the beating noise lessened. She heard small impacts, as if something was falling to the ground and then—

Silence.

Lyon got up slowly. She stared at the cave, and then dared to approach, holding her breath. The last vestiges of smoke faded and she saw the bees.

There were hundreds of them. They lay on the ground in droves, legs folded, some of them with wings still extended.

Asleep.

Lyonette’s heart beat faster. She grabbed a jar. She grabbed the knife. She danced about with both, and then wondered how long the effects of the faerie flower smoke would last. Then she ran into the cave.

----

Three jars of honey and honeycomb, cut from the hive. Two jars stuffed with bees, still alive but sleeping. Lyonette sat in the snow, far away from the cave, shaking so hard she couldn’t even stand.

She’d seen the bees waking up as she’d scooped them up into the big glass jars. But she’d done it. She’d cut into the hive, full of grubs and sleeping bees and taken as much as she could. Then she’d filled the jars, pushed them into the wheelbarrow, and fled.

And now—

Some of the bees were moving in the glass jars. There was no air inside, but they were still alive, somehow. Lyonette stared at a huge one that wiggled its feelers and moved its legs weakly. Lyonette smiled at it, lip trembling. She held the big jar up, gloating, mocking the bees.

“I did it! You stupid bees! I did—”

One of the bees inside the jar tried to fan its wings and escape. It smacked into the glass. Lyonette screamed, nearly dropped the jar, caught it at the last moment, and then put it carefully back on the wheelbarrow. She shuddered as the jars full of bees vibrated. She made sure the lids were secure, and then slowly made her way back to the inn.

She was exhausted. Lyonette felt as though her muscles would tear. Her bones…seemed to ache. And yet Lyonette held her head high. She smiled, even as she ascended the hill, pushing the wheelbarrow up to the door of the inn, legs ready to give out.

She felt so proud of herself, she could burst. Then Lyonette pushed the door to the inn open, and found a small bundle of white fur wrapped around a table leg. Mrsha blinked as Lyonette let light shine on her face, and then looked up hopefully. Her wagging tail slowed when she saw it was just Lyonette.

“Huh?”

The Human girl stared at the young Gnoll. The Gnoll stared back. Lyonette sat down, a jar of honey in her hands.

“What are you doing…? Why are you…?”

Mrsha just blinked at her. Lyonette blinked back. Then, tremulously, she smiled. Mrsha edged closer, wary.

“You’re so thin.”

That was all Lyonette said as she sat on the inn’s floor, stroking Mrsha’s head. The Gnoll nuzzled her. She was indeed thin, and she looked—

Sad. Lyonette couldn’t read Gnoll’s faces, but she saw it in the way the Gnoll curled up next to her. Sad, and lonely.

Just like her.

“Would you like some honey? It’s fresh.”

The Gnoll’s tail wagged. And Lyonette opened the jar. And for the first time in a long, long while, as the sun rose and her weary body ached, Lyonette ate breakfast with someone else.

----

“Mrsha!”

Selys burst through the door of the inn twenty minutes later. Lyonette looked up as she and Mrsha stared at a wriggling grub half-submerged in a bowl of white, gelatinous stuff. The Drake stared at the Gnoll, stared at Lyonette, and then at the grub.

“What’s happening? Mrsha?”

The Gnoll immediately hopped off the table and fled into the kitchen. Selys ran towards her, and stopped as Lyonette got up.

“Is something wrong? Miss…Selys?”

“Um—no, nothing’s wrong…Lyon.”

The Drake glanced distractedly at Lyon, not looking particularly happy to see the girl so early in the morning. She pointed at the kitchen.

“When did Mrsha get here? I’ve been looking for her all day—ever since I found out she’d run away!”

“Ran away?”

The Drake nodded distractedly.

“She’s been doing it all week. I normally find her but this time—is she okay?”

“I think so. She’s so thin—”

“She won’t eat! Mrsha, come out of there! Come on! I’ll feed you anything you want, just—”

The Drake went into the kitchen. Lyonette heard scuffling, then Mrsha bounded out and ran up the stairs. Selys went after her. A few seconds later, Lyon heard another shout and Mrsha bounded down the stairs. Selys came down after her, gasping. She had to lean against a table as Mrsha circled the chair Lyonette had been sitting at.

“You can’t stay here! You…give me a second…you’ve got to come back, okay? Be a good girl until Erin and Ryoka come back!”

But Mrsha refused. Lyonette knew the young Gnoll couldn’t speak, but she saw it in every line of her body, and especially in the way the Gnoll clung to one of the tables as Selys tried to drag her outside.

“Come on! Please?”

Mrsha yowled, a noise more bestial than anything else. Selys pulled and pulled…but five minutes later she sat at one of the tables as Lyonette served her eggs and toast drizzled in honey. Mrsha licked her plate—she’d eaten so much Lyon was afraid she’d throw up.

“I just don’t get it. She doesn’t eat anything I give her! Not even steak! Do you know how expensive that is—and where did you get all this honey?”

“I stole it from the bees.”

“The bees? You?”

Lyon just nodded. She hadn’t even had time to change her clothes. She knew she was filthy and wet and from the way Mrsha had sniffed at her, she knew she stank as well. But there was something keeping her upright, and—

“What’s with that?”

Selys turned a bit pale as she pointed at the grub swimming in the liquid. Mrsha sniffed at it and Selys pushed an inquisitive paw away.

“Don’t touch it, Mrsha. It could be…well, it’s gross.”

“It’s a grub. A bee larvae. And that—I think it’s jelly.”

“Jelly?”

“Royal jelly. It’s this thing in hives that bees make. You can eat it, I think.”

“Really? Well why not take the grub out and—boil it first, maybe?”

“The jelly? Or the grub? I’m trying to keep it alive.”

Selys paused, mid-bite, a piece of toast in her claws.

“Why? Are you—are you going to eat it? Do Humans…?”

“No. I want to feed it to the Antinium.”

“To the—and you stole honey from those killer bees Erin mentioned?”

“Not just honey.”

Proudly, Lyonette pointed to a corner of the room. Selys looked and nearly jumped out of her scales.

“Gah!”

The dead bees pressed up against the glass walls of the jars, obscenely squished together. Selys stared at them as she slowly pushed her plate away. Mrsha just sniffed at the jars, tail wagging with curiosity.

“Mrsha, don’t. Those are—come with me.”

But the Gnoll refused to move. And as she ran from Selys and the Drake futilely chased her about, Lyonette had an idea.

“She can stay with me.”

“What?”

Selys looked up at Lyon, panting. She shook her head, glancing around the empty inn and then at Lyonette.

“Out of the question. Erin trusted Mrsha with me—and she’s far too young. And besides…”

Lyonette knew what Selys was saying. Besides, how could Mrsha be entrusted to her, Lyon’s care? But she just pointed to Mrsha.

“She likes it here, though. She likes honey. And—there are lots of beds. I could take care of her. I could, Selys.”

The Drake stared at the Human and Mrsha chased her tail. But when Selys grabbed for her, Mrsha just ran behind Lyonette. The girl stared down at the Gnoll, and the Gnoll stared back up.

It wasn’t as if Mrsha knew Lyonette that well. They’d—well, Lyonette remembered feeding the Gnoll scraps from her plate and scratching her behind the ears, but that wasn’t what made Mrsha want to stay with her over Selys.

It was the inn. It was that Lyonette was here, waiting. And so was Mrsha. And no matter how much Selys argued and tried to coax the Gnoll to come with her—

“I’ve got to go to work. I’ve got to go but—this isn’t over, Mrsha! If I have to I’ll get Krshia!”

The young Gnoll hid behind a chair as Selys pointed at her. She quivered, but she still refused to budge.

“You don’t want to have her come up here, do you? Do you? Come on Mrsha—”

“I’ll take good care of her while you’re gone. I promise. I can make food—”

“Just don’t let her go outside, okay?”

Selys looked ready to tear the spines on her head off. She stalked over to the door, angry, upset. She yanked the door open and blinked at Pawn. The Antinium’s hand paused, ready to knock. But that wasn’t what made all the blood drain out of Selys’ scales. She stared up at the massive Soldier, huge, imposing, staring down at her. Her mouth opened, she gaped—

And then fell backwards in a faint. No one caught her. Lyonette stared at Pawn. He stared at Selys. Mrsha hid behind the jar of bees.

“Oops. I was going to knock.”

He nodded to Lyonette as she helped him drag Selys inside. The Soldiers walked in behind Pawn, so many of them! They filled the room, standing perfectly still behind their leader.

For a few seconds, in that moment when Selys had yanked open the door, Lyonette had wanted to scream. But that instinct had fled the moment she had seen Pawn. She looked at the Soldiers as they stood in the inn. They looked—

Scary. There was no other word for it. But all Antinium looked like monsters, didn’t they? Until you got to know them.

Pawn sat at a table, clearly wavering over the unconscious Drake. He nodded several times to Lyon, and distractedly stared at Mrsha who was creeping closer to him.

“I do apologize. I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I just—I had hoped you were open for business.”

Open for business. The words made Lyon’s eyes open wide. She stared again at the Soldiers, but this time not as a stranger seeing something unfamiliar, but as a…a [Barmaid] sizing up a potential client.

And there was a lot of client, and a lot of them. How much could they eat? Lyon’s eyes traveled to the jar of bees. Her heart beat faster. So she stood up.

And smiled. She smiled at the Antinium, even at the huge Soldiers. Mrsha stared up at one of the silent behemoths, and he stared back. He was missing a hand on one of his four arms. But he was a customer, a guest. And…oh, how would Erin say it?

Lyonette gestured to her empty chairs. She pointed at the bees and remembered there was a special pan for frying them. She looked at the twenty Soldiers, at Pawn, and at the Gnoll poking the unconscious Drake. She smiled, because she wasn’t alone anymore. And she asked them one simple question.

“Would you like something to eat?”

3.22 L

Sometimes it bothered him, the way others treated his kind. Pawn knew there was history behind the stares and frightened looks. And he understood that the Antinium looked…different, even from other species. But even so, it hurt a bit.

And Selys knew him! She was hardly a stranger to the Antinium. Was there really that much difference between Pawn and the Soldiers?

Standing in the inn, Pawn turned and looked up at the towering mass that was the Soldier standing nearest to him.

…Well, yes, actually. Despite Pawn’s alien appearance, he was still just a Worker, with hands and recognizable body parts. The Soldiers on the other hand looked like they were made only to kill, because they were.

Their hands were formless digits that were more suited to gouging their enemies and smashing skulls into the ground. Their carapaces were reinforced, made to act like armor. And their mandibles were quite a bit bigger, so as to give them another means of attacking.

They were frightening. But the Human girl who smiled at Pawn and the small, white Gnoll didn’t seem nearly as scared as Selys had been.

“I’ve got a ton of food for you! Just wait—I’ll cook up some right now!”

Lyonette was practically running around, trying to show Pawn her latest acquisition as Selys sat taking deep breaths and Mrsha ran about, sniffing at Soldiers and darting away when they stared at her. It was confusion, and Pawn wasn’t helping by trying to simultaneously apologize and explain.

“I am very sorry Miss Selys. I did not mean to cause alarm—”

Selys waved a claw at Pawn as she half-drank, half-choked on her glass of water. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the Soldiers.

“No—no I was—it wasn’t your—why are there Soldiers above ground? Ancestors, don’t tell me it’s war!?”

The Drake looked horrified. Pawn hastened to reassure her.

“Nothing of the kind. The Hive has merely sent out a patrol to…patrol the landscape. We will eliminate any monsters we encounter and attempt to improve the morale of the citizenry by our vigilance.”

“Improve? Our morale?”

Pawn nodded. That was the official line Klbkch had given him and Pawn thought it was a rather good one. Seeing Selys’ fish-eyed stare made him wonder how believable the explanation was, though.

“I see. I see. I’m uh, well, I’m glad for you. This is a promotion, isn’t it?”

“A promotion? Ah. Um. Yes, I believe it is.”

Pawn had never thought of his new job in those terms. But the idea seemed to be reassuring to Selys, so he went along with the idea. She stared at the Soldiers, still standing motionless in the inn, all waiting for Pawn’s next order.

“And they obey everything you do? Really?”

“That is their nature, sadly.”

Pawn wished it weren’t so. But the Soldiers really did seem to have little personality, or at least, the will to do what they wanted. Even less so than the Workers, to be honest.

A lot had happened since he’d visited the inn last night. After a rather…nerve-wracking conversation with Klbkch, Pawn had found his request to take Soldiers outside the Hive approved to his great surprise. He had also made a few attempts to inspire the Soldiers, to give them his perspective on life.

That hadn’t gone so well.

The first thing Pawn had given them was a chessboard. Even when he’d explained how it worked, the Soldiers had just stared at the pieces. When he’d asked one to play against him, the Soldier had begun moving the pieces, following the rules, but seemingly without any idea of how the game actually worked. Pawn had played five games and the Soldier hadn’t improved after the fifth game. In fact, he just moved the chess pieces forwards from left to right as Pawn slowly eliminated them from the board.

That was disheartening. But then Pawn had had the brilliant idea to give Soldiers names! Erin had done it for him. He’d sat with a Soldier—somewhat apprehensively as he knew what might occur—and given the Soldier a name.

Robert. But the newly named Soldier hadn’t even seemed to react to having a name. Pawn had noticed that happened when he and Klbkch had tested the Workers and some Soldiers as well. The Workers either became Aberration or Individual when given a name, but the Soldiers didn’t. They just acted like the name was, well…words.

It didn’t seem to matter to the Soldier that he had a name. Pawn had hoped it would spark something in him, some sense of ownership, but the Soldier had just obediently responded to the title just like he would if Pawn pointed at him and said, ‘you there’.

It was baffling to the Worker. How could the Soldiers not care about names? But then he’d realized—what use was a name if you couldn’t speak it yourself? The Soldiers had no voices, no speech. They couldn’t speak, and so what was a name for them? Just another word they would never say.

Pawn agonized. He’d given up in despair, realizing that he had made one smart decision. Within the Hive there was nothing to show the Soldiers. But outside—

Selys seemed like she was ready to go. She kept glancing towards the door, but she hadn’t moved, possibly because two Soldiers stood next to the entrance, as if they were guarding it.

Which they might actually be. Klbkch had told the Soldiers to protect Pawn, and Pawn had told them not to attack anyone. Which meant they only looked as if they were contemplating tearing Selys’ tail off and feeding it to her.

“Well, I’ve got to be going. I’m already late and there’s so many Humans to deal with in the Guild…shame I can’t stay and chat, Pawn.”

Selys stood up, tail twitching anxiously as she edged towards the door. She glanced at the ground and called out sharply.

“Mrsha, come on! Let’s go.”

The little Gnoll looked up in betrayed shock—Selys made a grab for her, but Mrsha dove under a table again. Lyonette paused and turned back to the Drake, looking anxious.

“You said she could stay!”

“I did. But now Pawn and his—friends have come, I’m sure it would be safer—”

Selys caught Pawn’s eye and looked away guiltily. He felt sad inside, and a bit angry.

“We will not be staying long, Miss Shivertail. I only wished to show the Soldiers this inn before we continued patrolling.”

“Oh. Well…”

“Mrsha will be fine here. And I can feed the Soldiers as well. I have more than just bacon and eggs.”

“Like cheese?”

“What?”

Lyonette looked confused. She hurried into the kitchen and came out with something on a plate.

“I just made this! It’s not as good as what Erin can do but—I found more bees!”

Pawn had been about to decline Lyonette’s offer for a meal. He didn’t want to impose, and he didn’t want to alarm Selys by having the Soldiers eat here. But all that changed when he heard Lyonette’s words.

“Did you say…bees?”

He’d had…one bee before. One bee. And like the acid flies, it wasn’t something Pawn forgot easily. He stared avidly at the thing on the plate. Lyonette had indeed just fried up the thing that Selys recoiled from and made even the Soldiers look twice.

A bee, legs curled, neatly sliced down the abdomen to let the insides fry on the pan. It now lay, wings folded, staring up at Pawn, making his intestines gurgle. It was steaming, and juicy with grease and honey. Pawn’s stomach sat up and begged for him to bite into the exposed innards that smelled…

Oh, heavenly.

Part of Pawn immediately wanted to eat the bee at once. But he stopped his hand as he remembered.

“Ah. Regrettably…I would love to sample this bee. But it would not be fair to the others, I feel.”

He was full of regret. But to his surprise, Lyonette just smiled.

“I have lots more.”

“Lots?”

Pawn looked at her hopefully. The [Barmaid] nodded.

“Two huge jars, in fact. Enough for you and all the Soldiers. You should have this one first. You are their leader, aren’t you? And then when you all come back from your patrol, I’ll have enough for everyone.”

Pawn hesitated. A meal had been in his hazy plan for the day with the Soldiers, but bees? He had a bag of coin, but he didn’t know if it would be enough. But bees…perhaps Lyonette would open a tab? He looked at the other Soldiers and came to a swift decision influenced not at all by the delicious bee in front of him.

“I am afraid we number twenty one in all. Would that put too much of a strain upon your inn?”

He didn’t want to overburden the Human girl. Lyonette did indeed seem shocked. She swayed on her feet a bit, and gulped slowly.

“Twenty? I can…yes, I can do that.”

“Very well then. We shall patrol and be back…in two hours? Roughly that time. Is that enough?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely! And Mrsha can stay with me—”

The Gnoll was still evading Selys’ every attempt to get near her. Frustrated, Selys threw up her hands.

“Fine, fine. I’ve got to go! I’m so late! Just keep an eye on her, okay Lyon?”

“I will. And I’ll have everything ready for you in two hours, Pawn.”

The Antinium nodded, and, after Selys had left, led his Soldiers back outside. There they joined the other Soldiers who’d been waiting like statues outside and nearly given Selys a heart attack.

“As you may have heard, we will be eating a lunch at this location later today.”

Pawn addressed the Soldiers who stood to attention, listening to his every word. He’d already gotten over a lot of the awkwardness of commanding them. They were the twenty least-injured Soldiers assigned to him, and they had obeyed his every order flawlessly since leaving the city.

He wondered if they were getting anything out of this experience. Well, they’d only left the secret tunnel just outside of Liscor and walked here so far. And this was a good place to start.

Pawn gestured awkwardly to the inn. The Soldiers stared at a wooden wall and then back at him, expressionless.

“That was an inn. People go there to sleep and eat delicious food.”

They stared at him. Pawn coughed, and nodded a few times. He stared around. What else could he show them? It was the middle of winter, and there wasn’t a lot of…

He pointed at the ground. The Soldiers stared down at the snow, ankle-deep around their thick legs.

“This is…snow. There’s grass underneath. Grass is green and can’t be eaten, but it is worth looking at.”

They stared at the snow. One Soldier lifted a foot experimentally and crushed some snow underfoot. Pawn considered this a victory. He coughed again.

“I ah, will find a place for us to patrol to. We can walk and I can tell you…stories, I suppose. Show you the landscape.”

If only there were flowers and animals! Pawn agonized, but he was determined to make this outing a success. Somehow. The Soldiers might not be too amazed just yet, but he’d show them. And if he failed, which was likely, there were always the bees. The delicious, crunchy…

Pawn licked honey off his fingers. Well, he was the leader after all, and Lyonette had already cooked it. Besides, the bee had been small. Barely a mouthful. A delicious…savory…

----

The Soldiers stared at Pawn. He was thinking, and so they waited for him to give the next order. This is how they thought. Pawn was their commander. He had eaten something that was not mush, something that smelled good. That…intrigued them. Would they eat it later?

All of the Soldiers stood at attention, but they were not fully at attention mentally. In fact, all of the Soldiers were highly distracted by the scenery around them.

What was this strange place they had come to? None of them had ever left the Hive, ever gone to that mysterious place known as Above. Even when some Soldiers had been called by Klbkch to fight above, they had not been chosen.

But today, they had gone Above. They had emerged into the bright, bright world and found unending wonders waiting for them. They had seen…snow? Is that what Pawn had called it? And a Gnoll? Was that the fuzzy creature that stared up at them with huge eyes? And the fleshy thing? A Lyon?

While Pawn was thinking, some of the Soldiers looked past him. Up. Into the sky. They had never seen the sky before. Their sky was dirt and stone. But this sky—

Vast. Limitless. And so full of color. Some of the Soldiers felt weak at the knees, and not because something had bit their kneecaps off. They looked up and saw the sky.

The sky was blue. Deep blue, and the air was so cold. The Soldiers felt as though they would die if they stayed out here too long, and that was a fascinating thought. The Hive was never this cold. Chilly in some places, in deep tunnels, yes, but never freezing. And the sky.

It was so blue. It was a color they’d never seen, not once in their time in the Hive. Just the sight of it made each Soldier rejoice inside, and realize that there was something to rejoice. Just like when they’d heard the stories of a better place, when the Worker had come to them and offered them—

“Ah, we’ll go this way. It’s not so crowded.”

The Soldiers broke off from their dream-like thoughts and snapped fully back into the world. They had orders! Pawn pointed, down the hill towards a flat area of snow.

“We’ll look at trees. Trees are like grass, but harder. It turns into wood, like what this inn is made of.”

As one, the Soldiers stared back at the inn. That was from trees? They’d seen wood, but it grew out of the ground? Really?

“This way! I have so much to show you.”

Excitedly, Pawn set off down the hill. As one, the Soldiers followed him, some flanking the Worker to provide a shield with their bodies. They were going to see trees! What were trees?

Pawn was doing this to show them something. That was what he had said, and the Soldiers felt he had already delivered far past their expectations. They had only imagined another tunnel in the Hive, perhaps one bigger than the rest or with some unique feature like an interesting curve or mineral deposit in the walls. But this?

Trees. The Soldiers marched through the snow, cold and melting. They were going to see something new. Something they couldn’t even imagine. And they were grateful, of course. But the Soldiers could have happily stared at the sky and watched the clouds roll across that infinite void…

Forever.

This was Above. This was a place their fellow Soldiers had never seen, a place where other Soldiers had fought and died long ago, in older wars. The Soldiers drank in every detail, from the face of the Drake to the furry thing called a ‘Mrsha’ that stared at them and made them feel so odd.

They knew they would remember this day for the rest of their lives. And they were all the more determined. They would fight with all they had, against whatever grave foe lurked Above. It would be a fair price for this moment.

For, surely there was a foe in the snow. The Soldiers watched the ground warily, not trusting the pretty ground any more than they trusted Pawn’s assurances that they wouldn’t actually do any fighting today. Normally they fought in three dimensions, where attacks could come from the ground, overhead—monsters could come bursting out of the walls or even shatter your stone footing to drag you into dark pits. What strange new enemies would come in a place where there was no dirt ceiling above you?

Their answer came when something white and soft flew out of the sky and smacked Pawn in the head. He stumbled and yelped as the Soldiers turned as one.

Sneak attack! From where? At first they didn’t see, but then they spotted it. Some creature—many creatures of snow and wood! They stood, lumpy humanoids throwing snow mixed with ice and bits of rock at the Antinium.

Pawn wiped away some snow from his head.

“Oh. Snow Golems. That scared me. You see, these are creatures of ice and magic. They’re not dangerous unless you are a child, not unless they grow to be truly huge. I believe we can simply av—”

The Soldiers charged as one. They thundered across the snowy plains at the Snow Golems, eight of them, who all paused as they saw a black mass of behemoths running at them full tilt.

The icy brains of the Snow Golems weren’t capable of much thought, but even such creatures could sense trouble. The Snow Golems turned and began to flee, some plodding along with clumsy legs, others rolling across the snow. They were too slow.

The first Soldier caught up to a classic Snow Golem, three orbs of ice placed on top of each other and twig-like arms. It even had a carrot for a nose. The Golem turned and slashed at the Antinium. Its wooden arms broke on the Antinium’s carapace. Then a shovel-like fist smashed through its face and it was gone.

Another Soldier leapt into the air, thrown by two of his companions. He smashed into another Golem, crushing the huge head with a knee. The Golem fell and the Soldier began to dig into its collapsing body, snow flying everywhere.

Realizing escape was impossible, the other Golems turned and fought. Or rather, they turned and had about a second to regret throwing snow before the tide of Soldiers rolled over them.

----

Standing in a state of shock about twenty meters away, Pawn watched the carnage unfold as his Soldiers tore the relatively harmless Snow Golems to pieces. They ripped the wooden arms off of Golems, pierced their snowy bodies with their fists, kicked Golems to bits and then trampled the remains.

It took less than a minute before the ground was covered with the…relatively ungory remains of the Snow Golems. Honestly, it just looked like a messed up patch of snow. The Soldiers marched back towards Pawn and he stared at them. They were covered in melted snow, and one of the Soldiers had a carrot in his hand. He offered it to Pawn.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Pawn took it, and then stared at the carrot. Why had the Soldier grabbed it? Then he remembered. Standard practice for the Antinium was to collect the remains of whatever they killed and turn it into food, much as the Goblins did. This being the only remotely edible thing the Snow Golems left behind…

“You can eat this, you know.”

The Soldier stared at Pawn blankly. The Worker handed it to him.

“Go on. It’s a bit cold, but it’s edible.”

And probably, far tastier than it would be when mushed with a thousand other bits of food for the gruel the Soldiers normally ate. Encouragingly, the Worker mimed eating it. The Soldier held the carrot up, seemed to hesitate, and then crunched into the carrot.

All of the Soldiers and Pawn watched as the expressionless Soldier ate the carrot. It took three bites, and when it was done, the Soldier stood at attention.

Pawn sighed. Well, what had he expected? He shook his head.

“I suppose…good job, everyone. Those Snow Golems…won’t be throwing snow at anyone else. Let us move on.”

The Soldiers followed him as the Worker marched on. Pawn stared at the bit of trampled ground as he passed and shook his head.

“Poor Snow Golems.”

For all they’d hit him with a snowball—filled with pebbles no less—he felt they hadn’t exactly deserved that.

----

A carrot! What had it tasted like? Was it really edible, just like that? The other Soldiers were agog, but they couldn’t interview their companion as they marched. And even if they could—they didn’t talk or use sign language.

Rather, Soldiers could vaguely sense what the others were feeling or thinking. It was more of a skill used for coordination in battle, but what they sensed now was that the Soldier who ate the carrot felt extremely…good.

Good, yes. It was a crunchy food, and it didn’t mush and taste…like what they normally ate tasted like. And it was cold!

The Soldiers marched on, listening to Pawn’s explanations of how Snow Golems came to life. It made little sense to them, mainly because none of them wore or needed clothing, but they enjoyed listening nonetheless.

Then they found the Shield Spiders.

It was a collapsed pit, one of the many lairs the Shield Spiders made to lure in prey. But the snowfall had been heavy, and the fake ground had collapsed, spilling inwards to reveal the nest. Already Shield Spiders were laboring to remove snow and repair their trap, but the Antinium had come before they could finish their work.

Pawn stared down into the hole as the Soldiers tensed as one. Shield Spiders! They knew this enemy. They looked at Pawn for his orders, since they were not under direct attack. The Worker hesitated.

“Oh dear. This is a menace. And Klbkch did tell us to remove minor threats…ah, I believe we should attack?”

The Soldiers hesitated. That sounded like an order, but it wasn’t phrased like one. And the Shield Spiders had noticed the Antinium. Several large ones in the pit turned to face the Soldiers and began to crawl up the dirt sides, fangs bared for the attack.

“Ah. They have noticed us. I suppose we must do this then.”

Pawn sighed. He sounded almost regretful. The Soldiers were vibrating with nerves and readiness for battle.

“Be careful. Do not take risks. And um—very well, now is probably the time. Attack?”

The Soldiers exploded into motion, charging forwards around Pawn at the surprised spiders. They leapt into the pit, smashing down on the many Shield Spiders, big and small.

One Soldier landed and crushed a Shield Spider with his feet. Then he turned and grabbed another one. It bit at his arm, tearing into his thick carapace, but he ignored the spider’s fangs. The Soldier smashed the spider repeatedly into the ground. The Shield Spider had an exoskeleton like armor, but after the ninth crushing blow the bulbous abdomen split and goo poured forth.

The Soldier let the Shield Spider drop and turned. By this point, the other Shield Spiders were long dead, trampled, kicked, and punched into shapeless forms by the Antinium Soldiers. Not even the smallest baby or egg was left alive. When Pawn peered into the pit he only had a few words to say.

“Oh my. That is quite…efficient.”

Then he saw the wounded Soldier.

“You’re hurt! Come here, quickly—I’ll try to stop the bleeding with…something!”

The injured Soldier moved back, scrambling out of the pit despite his lacerated arm. The other Soldiers merely braced themselves, prepared for a second attack. They waited. They waited for the ground to erupt, for a hundred more Shield Spiders to come digging themselves out of the soil. They waited for an ambush—perhaps from the side, or other spider variants to come at them in a horde as so often happened in the tunnels of their Hive. They waited and waited, until they realized there was nothing to wait for.

Slowly, confused, the Soldiers lowered their arms. Pawn was busy fussing over the Soldier’s arm, pressing at the seeping green liquid, not bothering to look around for other threats. Surely he wouldn’t do that if there were no more threats? The Soldiers stared at him, and then around in confusion.

Was that it? Was that…it?

It was far too easy. Shield Spiders normally came in nests of at least fifty, or as many as three hundred! And where were the other breeds? These spiders had been tiny, barely hatchlings! Was this really all there was to fight?

Eventually, the Soldiers scrambled out of the pit and formed a protective circle around Pawn as he fussed over the wounded Soldier’s arm. He seemed so concerned over the Soldier’s injury, inspecting the broken chitin and green ichor seeping out of the wound. The Soldier in question didn’t react to the damage and the other Soldiers knew he was fully capable of fighting on. The cuts weren’t that deep, and as for the wound itself, what of it? It was just pain.

In the end, the bleeding did stop, and the Soldiers expected Pawn to lead them on. But he didn’t.

“I think we should go back. None of you were meant to be injured. At the very least, you should rest.”

What? Did he really think that would slow the Soldier down? But yes, Pawn led the incredulous Soldiers back towards the inn. There he talked with the Human named Lyon or perhaps Lyonette and after a while, had the Soldier rest in the inn, sitting by the fire with a bandaged arm.

That done, Pawn led the Soldiers on again. They marched through the snow, staring at trees, crowding around to see the flower he unearthed. And they were ready for fighting and did fight now and then. But it wasn’t like the Hive. It wasn’t like the brutal, deadly warfare underground. None of them had died, which would never have happened if they’d been stationed on the front lines in the Hive. And they hadn’t even been hurt—well, not actually hurt.

This was so easy. This was so…enjoyable. The sky was blue, and the snow blew at them, melting and wonderful. They looked and saw color and listened to stories.

And they began to feel something else. A word they had no name for. All they knew was that it was mysterious.

And good.

----

The Soldier sat in the inn, watching Lyon work. She was a Human, an enemy at times but not now. She was rushing about, gingerly taking bees out of the large jar and bringing them into the kitchen where the wonderful smells were coming from. The Soldier longed to know what was inside, but he was trained far too well to actually stand up.

He’d been told to sit and rest here. In this chair. By the warm fire which was also so fascinating. Pawn had said that, and the Soldier would not move. No matter how distracting the small Gnoll was.

She had white fur. White fur. Fur. All of these things were new to the Soldier, and he couldn’t help but watch the way her nose wriggled as she sniffed at him. She was curious, as curious of him as he was of her. She’d dart forwards, snuffle at him, and then flee when he looked at her. When he wasn’t looking she’d sneak up again, and then flee when his head turned.

The Soldier was very conflicted about this. Pawn hadn’t said not to look at her, but was the Soldier making a mistake by interacting with the Gnoll? Perhaps he should just stare at the fire. It was amazing too. It flickered, full of bright colors and ever moving flames. He’d never seen anything like it. The sight hypnotized the Soldier, made him long to touch the flames despite the heat. He’d never dreamed such a thing could be possible. He knew fire of course, but this—this was gentle, magical. Hypnotizing—

Something poked the Soldier in the side. He whirled, fists clenched, and Mrsha bolted, her fur standing on end. It was just the Gnoll.

“Mrsha!”

The Lyon-Human came by, scolding the Gnoll who fled from her as well. The Soldier watched as she chased Mrsha about, the smaller Gnoll nimbly dashing beneath tables and chairs to get away.

“Don’t do that, understand? Don’t bother our guests!”

Mrsha made a whimpering sound that did something to the Soldier’s chest. Lyonette sighed.

“I need to find something for you to play with, don’t I? Um…”

She wandered away, but stopped by the Soldier. She gave him a wide smile that looked…nervous? Was that the word?

“I’m so sorry about that.”

The Soldier stared at Lyon blankly until she backed away. Was she apologizing? To him? Why?

The Soldier had heard of apologies. They’d been explained to him and the others by Pawn, along with countless other ideas when he’d told them stories of God and other things. But he’d never dreamed of hearing an apology while he lived. And to him, no less.

The Soldier was very glad the Shield Spider had bit his arm.

As Lyonette searched for things to amuse the small Mrsha-Gnoll, the white creature scooted across the floor on its butt, tail wagging as it stared up at the Soldier. He stared at her. She stared back. She had big, round eyes that were brown with gold strata mixed among the depths. There was something in her eyes, the Soldier felt. Something beyond mere flesh.

The Gnoll and Soldier stared at each other in silence, the Gnoll occasionally blinking. The Soldier stared into her eyes. Something. Something was in there. Something else. Something he’d never seen before.

Eventually the Gnoll got bored and scooted away to see what Lyon was doing. The Soldier went back to watching the fire. He felt enlightened.

Protect, Pawn had told him. Protect. The Soldier understood protecting, or at least, he’d thought he did.

He fought to protect the Hive. And his Queen. And Revalantor Klbkch and the Prognugator, if there was one. But he also knew that Liscor was part of the things he was ordered to protect, even if it was at the bottom of the list and a secondary objective in most cases.

But protecting the city meant protecting the people. And the Mrsha-Gnoll was part of people. So he would protect her. The Soldier thought about her eyes and the way her tail thumped on the floorboards and knew that this order was right. And he wanted to obey this order.

It was good. It was all good. And then the Lyon-Human came into the common room with buckets. She stared at them, scratching her head.

“I think…is this something Erin bought?”

She sounded uncertain. The Mrsha-Gnoll stared at the cans and poked one with a claw. Lyon-Human found something to lever open a lid, and then the Soldier in his chair saw what was in the cans.

Color.

----

The Rock Crab was a giant of the plains. An apex-predator, despite the fact that Goblins occasionally made snacks of its kind. But it was nevertheless one of the more dangerous monsters around—at least, during off-seasons like Winter.

For who could match the fearsome Rock Crab, hiding until the moment it exploded from the snow with huge claws that could tear apart almost anything? Corusdeer were easy victims of Rock Crabs, as were sheep and goats and other animals.

True, the Rock Crab had learned to avoid disturbing the larger nests of Shield Spiders, and during the spring it usually hid from the predators that liked to eat it as a snack. And the crab would certainly have been easy prey for any Crelers if they came to this area. But sheep? Sheep were dead the instant the crab saw them.

Now the crab saw something strange as it hid, a snow-covered boulder conspicuously sitting in the middle of the snowy plains. It saw the Antinium, black, huge bodies, many of them, marching across the ground.

The Rock Crab considered this prey. It didn’t look too…appetizing, but looks could be deceiving. And the crab was hungry—it hadn’t found anything worth eating in a while. So it slowly raised off the ground and scuttled closer to the Antinium.

They spotted the crab almost instantly. But that was fine—the crab could run. It increased its speed, and then noticed something odd.

The bug-giants were getting closer. Rather quickly. In fact, they were running at the Rock Crab like a huge wall. Black bodies streamed towards the Rock Crab, and it was reminded of the horrible green Goblins, except that these Soldiers were a lot bigger.

A lot bigger.

The Rock Crab reversed direction. It turned and ran as the Soldiers charged.

----

The Corusdeer herd was mighty. Rock Crabs were no threat when there were so many deer together. They could incinerate even the most dangerous enemy in seconds. But when they saw the wall of charging black bodies they ran. They outnumbered the strange things, true, but the Antinium smelled of blood and murder. And they looked like a wall, a wall of chitin and muscle and death.

The Corusdeer didn’t fight walls. They ran too.

----

The Shield Spiders rejoiced when their pit trap collapsed inwards, drawing in food for the winter. Their rejoicing turned into dismay when they saw the huge black shapes of the Antinium and saw more leaping into the pit. But there was nowhere to run.

----

The dino-birds flew up in a huge flurry of wings when the Soldiers got too near the nest. Pawn wasn’t surprised by this point; the Antinium were hardly stealthy, and all the other monsters and animals he’d encountered on his eventful patrol with the Soldiers ran the instant the Soldiers attacked. They could tell when bad news ran at them with several hundred pounds of killing force.

“Those are dino-birds, I believe. Erin calls them that although I suspect they have a different name.”

The Soldier stared up silently at the fleeing birds, and then down into the nest. Pawn saw the eggs at the same time the Soldiers did. He marveled at the size of the eggs, and their speckled patterns, nearly invisible in the nest made in the snow. The Soldier nearest them raised a foot to smash the egg to pieces.

“Don’t kill it!”

Pawn intervened as the Soldier prepared to destroy the nest. One of the Antinium’s other doctrines was to completely obliterate any species they found underground, an essential tactic when it came to dealing with dangers like Crelers.

But these eggs—Pawn tried to explain to the confused Soldier.

“They’re just eggs. I mean, the birds are…they’re sometimes a threat I suppose, but they’re not too dangerous and if they all died, wouldn’t that be bad?”

The other Soldiers just stared at him. Pawn sighed.

“They’re innocent. Don’t smash the eggs.”

The Soldiers stared at the eggs, but obediently left them unsmashed. Pawn led them away, and as they began marching away, they saw the dino-birds returning to the nest, calling out anxiously. The Soldiers watched the birds for a second before returning their gazes to scanning the landscape for threats.

Pawn trudged ahead of them, tired, somewhat dispirited. It had been a long two-and-a-half hours. In that time, he’d somehow managed to have his Soldiers crush two Shield Spider nests and chase off both a Corusdeer herd and a Rock Crab. Which was all good of course, and part of their patrolling duties. It was just—

Was this really teaching the Soldiers anything? All it felt like Pawn was doing was having them fight different enemies.

But he brightened up when they got close to The Wandering Inn. The patrol might not have shown the Soldiers anything special, but this—

The instant he opened the door Lyonette ran towards him, wringing her hands.

“I am so sorry. Mrsha was playing with some paint—I don’t know how she found the paint cans—and then she got some on…”

Fearfully, Lyonette pointed. Pawn looked and saw—

Color. It was splashed into the dark brown carapace of the Soldier, paw prints in white. They covered his front, his back, even his head. They stood out against his dull monochrome body and made him—

“I tried to stop her! But Mrsha wouldn’t listen and she’s very sorry, aren’t you, Mrsha?”

Pawn glanced distractedly at the small Gnoll who had even whiter paws and was hiding behind a table. There were pawprints on the floor as well, he noticed. Quite a few of them.

“Will the paint wash off?”

“I don’t—I think it’s really hard. This is the same stuff Erin used for the sign and I’ve been scrubbing but you need oil and a lot of work and I didn’t want to bother the Soldier so—”

“I see.”

Pawn just stared at the Soldier marked by the paint, along with the other nineteen Soldiers standing in the inn. Lyonette was apologizing again, but Pawn took no notice of her.

The paw prints. They stood out. The Soldier was marked by them. No longer could he be—well, just a Soldier. Before he had only been noticeable because of his wounded arm, but that would have healed soon. Now…

Paint that couldn’t be erased. Something to mark him, something that needed no words to make itself apparent. Why, it was almost like a name. In fact, it was better than a name, especially for a Soldier…

Lyon backed away from Pawn, eyes wide. He realized he was quivering with emotion and tried to modulate his shaking tone.

“I am not…not angry. Actually, I am grateful. Do you have more paint?”

“Me? Um, yes. It’s Erin’s actually. She bought a lot of paint, and Mrsha got into it like I said. I can give you a washcloth and water if you need—”

“I would like to buy your paint. All of it.”

“All of it?”

Lyonette seemed stunned. Pawn reached for his belt pouch and pulled out a fistful of coins. He put it on the table and she gaped at him.

“I would also like to postpone lunch for a half an hour. And if Miss Mrsha would like to help…we are going to do some painting.”

The Human girl stared at Pawn. Then she stared at the silent, faceless, identical Soldiers, and at the one who stood out. The one who had an identity. Her eyes widened. Then she looked at Pawn and smiled. He was already smiling, in his own way.

“Can I help?”

----

Paint. It was such a simple thing. Color, given form, something that could be added to almost every surface. It was just paint.

Just paint. Something the Antinium had no use for. Except that, as it turned out, it was the one thing the Antinium, the Soldiers, needed above all else.

Color. Identity. What could you give someone without a voice? A name? What good was a name if they couldn’t speak it?

But paint needed no words. All it needed was a brush, a paw, a hand. And it turned identical, faceless Soldiers into people.

They sat in the chairs around the table, eating the bees Lyonette had cooked for them. Two bees per Soldier, not nearly enough in truth for them to eat, but augmented by bowls of soup thick with butter and fat and insect parts and some actual meat. The Human girl and even the Gnoll had pronounced the soup practically undrinkable and indeed, only Mrsha had even tried it, but the Soldiers thought the soup was the greatest thing they had ever had in their lives.

Nearly as great as having an identity. Even as they ate, the Soldiers couldn’t help glancing at each other around the room. They had an identity now, an identity they had created themselves.

From paint.

It was on their bodies. Dabs of paint, splashes, some Soldiers nearly covered in the stuff, others with only a dab or two. But it was enough.

A Soldier with a handprint in blue on his chest sat across from the Soldier with white pawprints all over his body. They were two separate Soldiers who could not be mixed up with each other. They knew that. And they were happy.

Happy. Happy was a word they knew now, a word they had experienced. Happy was having paint on their bodies, making them people. Happy was seeing the small Gnoll scamper about, and nodding at the Human as she buzzed around the room, serving bees and filling glasses with water. Happiness was a warm fire, and a bee on their plates, gleaming with honey.

What food. What delicious food. The Soldiers had no words, no frame of reference to even understand what they were eating. They’d always eaten the same mush, the only difference and interesting change being how rotten the ingredients were, or whether some parts hadn’t been stomped and churned into complete paste. That was what they knew. But the bee?

Each Soldier ate slowly, gently tearing pieces off of their bee, trying to make each crunch of their mandibles last a lifetime. They didn’t speak. Of course they didn’t speak. But they thought it, and knew the others thought it too as they sat in the warm inn while the Gnoll scurried around and Pawn talked with the Human.

This was surely Heaven.

And when they left the inn, the twenty Soldiers, covered in color, they wanted to go back. And Pawn promised them they would, later, but the other Soldiers had to have a turn first. And the Soldiers knew this was true. The others, their brothers, had to know of this. They returned to the Hive, marching with their backs straighter than they’d even thought possible, heads held high.

And when they came back into the Hive? They changed it as well. The Soldiers marched down the tunnel behind Pawn, walking down the empty tunnel and into the main thoroughfare of the Hive where all the traffic flowed. When the twenty Soldiers first emerged into the tunnel, something happened that hadn’t occurred in all of the Hive’s history.

The Workers, scuttling to their destinations, the Soldiers, marching to the next battle, all of them—when they saw the Soldiers, covered in color—stopped.

They all stopped. For one brief second, Workers and Soldiers both stopped. Their heads turned and they stared at the twenty Soldiers, painted in hues that did not exist in the Hive. Then the Workers turned and began to move in sync once more, and the Soldiers double-timed it to their next battle. But all had seen, and all remembered. And when the Soldiers got back to the barracks…

Red shoulder guards, crimson like Human blood but unpainted everywhere else. That was one Soldier who sat surrounded by his fellows. Another Soldier had white antennae and slashes in the same color running down his body. One more sat with a circle drawn in every color of paint Lyon had found, a multicolored ring on his chest.

They were not Soldiers. Each one was a Soldier, but each one was different. Special.

Unique. And they always would be. Forever. And the Worker who commanded them, their savior, the one who had given them identity and a soul looked at the other Soldiers and felt his heart stir.

----

Later that day, Pawn found himself in line at Krshia’s stall. The other customers—mainly Gnolls—gave him very odd looks, but his [Humble Presence] skill helped so none of them ran away or screamed.

Krshia blinked when she saw Pawn.

“I did not expect to see a Worker here, yes? But you are…Pawn. Is there anything I can do for you? The Antinium do not usually need to purchase things from the city, yes?”

“No. I mean, yes?”

Pawn wasn’t sure what to say. The Gnoll standing in front of him didn’t seem hostile, which made him feel good. But she did look—tired.

Tired, and poor, so much as that could be used to describe any person. But Pawn remembered her old stall, and her old array of goods. Krshia’s new stall was smaller, and she was clearly selling less. It made his heart hurt, but it hurt less when he told her what he wanted.

“Paint. As much paint as you have, in every color. Except brown or black. I will buy all of it from you.”

The Gnoll blinked.

“All? All is an odd word, Mister Pawn, yes? I have many friends for whom I may sell goods on their behalf. How much paint do you need in buckets?”

“All. Everything I can afford.”

And Pawn put the bag full of gold coins on the table and Krshia’s mouth fell open. She blinked at him. He stared back.

“And paintbrushes. I only need around twenty of those.”

----

That night, Soldiers went to sleep in their barracks. They were Soldiers, but each one was different. Each one was unique. Painted.

In a Hive full of thousands of Antinium, Soldiers and Workers alike, these Soldiers stood out. They sat in their cubicles, for once too excited to sleep.

They were all painted. They all had identities. The paint was dry on their chitin and true, some had already begun to flake off around their joints. But that was the thing about paint. It could always be reapplied. But the meaning lasted forever.

And word had spread, in the Soldier’s own silent way, about what the twenty who had gone above had seen and experienced. A new world, new people. And so as the Soldiers slept, or rather, didn’t, they wondered.

Was this what it meant to be a Soldier? They thought they’d known what being a Soldier was. But for the first time, they realized there was more. More they didn’t understand. More they wanted to understand. And so they began to think. They thought of themselves as people rather than tools. They thought of themselves as individuals with identities rather than a mass. They thought of themselves as [Soldiers] rather than Soldiers.

And they began to level.

----

That night, Lyon practically sang as she cleaned up the inn. The place was full of dirty dishes. She didn’t care. She’d been slicing and frying bees up all day, and there were insect parts all over her kitchen. She didn’t care. She was exhausted. She didn’t care. The floorboards were covered with paint. She didn’t—

Okay, she cared about that a bit. The paint Erin had bought was very, very difficult to get rid of no matter how hard Lyon scrubbed.

But she had done it. She’d earned money selling bees, and the inn had been crowded and full! Lyonette stared at the bag full of gleaming coins on one table and sighed happily.

She’d done it, hadn’t she? She’d really done it. And the best part about tonight, the best part was—

She wasn’t alone.

Mrsha happily jumped about the room, leaping from table to table like some horrible furry frog. Lyonette didn’t mind. She’d already cleared those tables of dishes, and truthfully, she felt much like Mrsha. Part of her wanted to leap about with the Gnoll, and maybe she would.

It was just how good Lyon felt. She felt younger again, freer. No—she felt more free and more happy than she’d ever felt back in the palace. She’d done something by herself, with her own hard work.

And she was no longer alone.

Mrsha would stay here tonight. It wasn’t as if Lyon didn’t have enough beds, and the small Gnoll didn’t seem averse to sharing her bed. And Selys hadn’t objected to the idea after she’d seen how well Lyonette had done.

Okay, fine, Selys had objected a lot, even though Lyon had showed her all the coin she’d made. The Drake had been dead set on bringing Mrsha back into the city. She’d tried to chase Mrsha down and drag her out of the inn for the better part of twenty minutes before she’d collapsed in exhaustion.

So Mrsha would stay. Lyonette had promised Selys that she would keep an eye on Mrsha again. And Lyon would. Mrsha was…

The Gnoll belonged here. Just like Lyon did, in a way. And both Gnoll and girl were happy. That was how Lyon ate a messy bunch of slightly burnt crepes slathered with honey next to Mrsha as the Gnoll lapped at a bowl of milk, and the two laughed as Lyon fed the fire and cleaned up.

It was a perfect night. Perfect, even though Lyon had to pick up bug wings and legs and toss them far into the snow. Her hands were grimy from cleaning and she was covered in sweat. But Lyonette was proud.

And Mrsha was jumping around a bit too much.

“Careful, Mrsha! Why don’t you calm down?”

The Gnoll barely listened to Lyon. Okay, maybe she’d had a bit too much honey. Lyon could only let the Gnoll tire herself out as she kept washing dishes and cleaning up. This really was a lot of work, even if you had a Skill, which Lyonette didn’t. How had Erin done it? She’d told Lyon that she used to take care of the inn before Toren had…been created. How?

Lyon just shook her head wearily as she went back into the common room for the last stack of dishes. She looked to see if Mrsha had finally stopped jumping, and then raised her voice in alarm.

“Mrsha!”

The Gnoll jumped guiltily as she pawed at a familiar chessboard sitting in a corner of the room. Lyonette ran over, good mood vanished by sudden panic.

“Mrsha! Don’t—oh no.”

The Gnoll leapt away as Lyon reached the chessboard. She looked down in dismay. The small Gnoll had scattered the ghostly pieces and tried to build a tower out of some of them. She fled as Lyonette anxiously reclaimed the board. In dismay, the girl stared down at the chess pieces.

“Oh no. Erin’s game!”

Of course Lyonette knew the chessboard was an extremely valuable magical artifact, if a relatively pointless one. And she knew Erin was an undisputed master of the game. And she knew…

That messing up Erin’s chessboard was a very bad idea. Not least because the [Innkeeper] would go ballistic, but because whomever was on the other side of the board would probably be upset too.

With that in mind, Lyonette frantically tried to rearrange the pieces. But she had no idea of how the game had even looked! So…she put the chess pieces back in their original places, ready for a new game.

She knew how to do that much, at least. Chess had just been spreading in her country when she’d run away, and she’d learned a lot from watching Erin play. Mrsha peeked up onto the table while Lyonette was resetting the board, insatiably curious and only slightly guilty.

“Stop that!”

Lyonette swatted away a curious paw as Mrsha reached for a knight. The Gnoll gave her a hurt look, and Lyon’s heart nearly broke.

“You little…okay, you can touch since it’s too late. But only touch! Don’t move the board, okay?”

Eagerly, Mrsha picked up the ghostly pieces and tried to gnaw on one. Lyon had to stop her again, but truth be told she couldn’t blame the Gnoll. The chess pieces were like frozen air, the purest expression of magic. And the game…

“See? This is how you play. Like this.”

Lyon showed Mrsha how the pieces moved. The Gnoll stared uncomprehendingly as Lyonette moved a pawn forwards and back, and the bishop diagonally. She sniffed at the board—

And jumped backwards off the table, hair on end as a piece on the other side of the board moved. Lyon yelped and nearly fell out of her chair. When she got back up, heart pounding, she saw a piece had moved.

Just a pawn. It had come out diagonally to counter the pawn she’d pushed forwards. The breath caught in Lyon’s chest in horror.

The other person. The unseen player, the one who’d sent Erin the chess board. They’d seen her moving the pieces. And they thought she was Erin.

And they wanted to play.

What should she do? Lyon panicked for a good minute before the choice was taken out of her hands. Having lost her fright, Mrsha peeked her head over the board and stared curiously at the two pieces on the board. Reaching the conclusion that this was some sort of game without actually understanding the nature of the game, she pushed another pawn forwards to see what would happen.

“Mrsha!”

Instantly, another piece moved, a knight. Lyon stared at it despairingly. But it was too late now. The other player clearly wanted to play. And Erin wasn’t here and Lyon was…curious. So she played.

Why? Because it might be ruder just to leave the other player hanging. And this way, they would surely realize that it wasn’t Erin on the other end. Sure enough, after Lyon had lost both a knight and bishop in quick succession (which she was sure wasn’t a good thing), she sensed the player on the other end pause.

Had they gotten angry and left? No. After a minute, the play resumed, but differently. The moves were no longer lightning-sharp and too hard for Lyonette to counter. Instead, the pieces marched across the board, giving her a challenge, but not one she couldn’t figure out. Mrsha stared at the chess pieces, first fascinated, then bored. To make her behave, Lyon gave her some firewood and some of the leftover paint. The Gnoll happily colored the log with a paw while Lyon played first one game, then two. Three.

After the third game, which she won somehow, Lyon saw the pieces on the board quickly rearrange themselves. She waited—the white side was on the other end of the board—but no movement came.

The mysterious chess player was done for the night. And so Lyon stood up from the board, feeling a bit ashamed. Surely the player was disappointed she wasn’t Erin. But…

She felt good. Was this what Erin liked about chess? It was so odd, having to think in such a way. But Lyonette liked it, strangely. It was different and new. How could she have lived here for so long without trying the game once? How could she have been so…small?

The girl’s head lowered. So much done wrong. So many things that were her fault. But she couldn’t wallow in misery long. She felt a wet nose on her leg and saw Mrsha had finished with her log.

“So colorful! And you have paint all over your fur. Oh no. We’d better clean you up.”

The Gnoll wriggled and tried to get away, but Lyonette had her washing her fur with oil and lye soap in hot water soon enough. It took many trips to the stream in the cold of the night to get enough water, but Lyonette didn’t care.

Mrsha was her responsibility. So was the inn. So she cleaned up what she could, got as much paint off of Mrsha and the floor, and went to bed, exhausted.

But smiling.

[Barmaid Level 8!]

[Skill – Basic Cleaning obtained!]

[Carer Class Obtained!]

[Carer Level 2!]

[Skill – Calming Touch obtained!]

[Tactician Class Obtained!]

[Tactician Level 1!]

[Skill – Lesser Intuition obtained!]

----

Across the world from where the [Princess] sat up in bed and shouted in surprise, making the small Gnoll sleeping next to her tumble away in fright, Niers Astoragon, the Titan, sat in front of his very small chessboard, a dark expression on his face.

He wasn’t smiling. Rather, he was staring hard at the pieces on the board.

“So. The mystery player is gone and someone else has found the board. Someone who knows chess but has barely played it, if at all.”

He mused to himself as he sat, staring at the board. He wasn’t in his command tent in the field now. No, rather he was sitting in the smallest room of the inn his company had hired for its officers on the way back to their personal lands.

It was the smallest room, true, and all of his students and lieutenants had objected. But to Niers, the smallest room in the inn was still a huge space. So he had told them to shut up and move his belongings inside. They obeyed. Even though he was small, the Titan in a bad mood was frightening to be around.

And Niers had been in a bad mood for over a week now. His students tiptoed around him and the soldiers under his command leapt to obey his orders or stayed far out of the way. Niers stood up and paced around the huge desk he’d put his belongings on.

There weren’t many. Niers passed by his arms, the magical items he carried into every battle, the artifacts any commander of Baleros carried, and stared at two things. The chessboard he’d sent across the world, and a letter that still smelled of lavender, edged with gold.

Two things, both tempting his loyalty. Niers closed his eyes. Magnolia didn’t interest him as much as the chessboard—although the woman still had a way of digging her words into his skin like barbs—but she was on the same continent as his missing opponent.

Maybe he could…?

“No.”

That was what Niers said. He sat back at the chessboard, staring at it darkly. He could play this new opponent of course. Maybe he, she, or it would eventually give the board back or find its true owner. Maybe.

But for now Niers couldn’t bear to play such games. He sat in front of the board, scowling darkly as the one candle he’d lit flickered in the dark room. He sat, staring at the chess pieces, the letter, and then at the window. He had a job. A duty. He was the second-in-command of one of the four Great Companies of Baleros. He couldn’t leave.

He told himself that. But his eyes always strayed back to the chessboard.

Waiting.

----

On the same continent as Niers’ mysterious chess opponent and the famous Lady Magnolia, two hooded figures walked through blowing snow, keeping their cloaks wrapped tightly around them to protect them from the chill.

In theory, it was two people. In fact, the two travelers were followed by a rather large bevy of people, horses, and supplies that in theory were there to make their journey as pleasant and as safe as possible.

In truth, it just annoyed the Drake General walking in front to no end. He grunted irritably as his companion kicked up a small cloud of snow into his face.

“Did you need to bring all your attendants with you, Ilvriss? We could have been there by now if we didn’t have to wait for these stupid horses.”

The Drake walking in front of him cast a dark glance backwards.

“Be silent, Shivertail. Not everyone has a Skill to let them run. And unlike you, I’m a Lord of the Wall. My position demands—”

“Yes, yes, shut up. You didn’t have to come with me, you know.”

Zel Shivertail sighed and marched forwards. Ilvriss matched his pace, and the two Drakes walked forwards in the snow, silent, both of them disliking each other’s presence. Disliking, but tolerating the other out of respect as well. And after a moment, Ilvriss spoke.

“I did have to come.”

“I know.”

They walked on. After a few minutes, Ilvriss spoke.

“…Hard to see anything in this damn snow. We passed the Blood Fields a day ago. How much further now?”

“One more day, I think.”

“And you’re sure you can find this Human in Liscor?”

“No. But it’s a place to start, and as I’ve said, I have business in the Human lands.”

“Well, let’s keep on moving then.”

“Mm.”

They walked on, silent, marching through the snow. And they were not the only ones headed towards Liscor.

----

They marched on a similar route, also north, but far from any road. It was out of necessity they did so; they did not want to be seen. Not for fear of being attacked, but rather of alerting those who would watch their every move.

Unfortunately, moving so far from the main road meant they were more likely to be attacked. The raiding force of Goblins had been a hundred strong. The last of them now gasped and died in the snow.

The group studied the dying Goblin dispassionately. He had worn tough metal armor, painted black, and even carried a slightly magical sword. None of it had done him or his friends any good.

“More delays.”

That was all one said. He fanned his wings. The Antinium spat and acid melted snow into steam.

Another nodded. She had no wings, and her carapace was royal blue. And she held a staff in her hands and her eyes glowed with magic. She whispered a spell, and the snowstorm around them stopped.

“We are close. Continue onwards.”

The band of Antinium turned and marched away from the scene of their latest encounter without a word. Antinium, not the faceless Soldiers or humble Workers, but warriors far different from those in Liscor. Warriors from four Hives, marching in the snow.

North. To Liscor.

----

A woman made of bone walked through the snow, tireless, her eyes burning in the darkness. She was undead, a construct of death, a being of unimaginable power.

A dark shadow flowed at her side, something that moved without revealing its true form. The two moved through the snow, swift, silent.

They had been moving thusly for three days. And they had covered a lot of ground, it was true. But after the moon began to rise overhead the shadow seemed compelled to speak. She cleared her throat with a wet, squelching sound and spoke with a whisper that would have chilled the hearts of any living being that heard it.

But there were no living beings to hear, and the voice wasn’t quite so menacing as uncertain.

“Venitra. Are we lost?”

The woman, the armored knight made of bone, Venitra ignored the question. She and her companion, Ijvani, were on a mission to find the girl, the Courier, the Runner. They had been sent by their great master, Az’kerash. Being lost was…not acceptable. It couldn’t be happening.

Many people were travelling to Liscor. It was just that some of them didn’t matter because they were roughly seventy miles off course and heading the wrong way.

3.23 L

When Lyonette woke up in her bed and felt the winter daylight on her face, she smiled up at the ceiling, so widely she thought her lips would break.

She’d gained two classes. Two. And she’d leveled up!

Part of Lyon had been afraid that it was all a dream. But the voice in her head—it was undeniable.

She’d leveled. Lyonette hugged her pillow as she curled up. In doing so, she rolled over and nearly squashed the ball of fluff sleeping next to her.

“Oh no. Sorry, Mrsha!”

Lyonette heard a noise of protest from the still sleeping Mrsha. Tiny claws poked her as the young Gnoll reached out and stole the blanket back. Lyon smiled at the round, furry little creature and patted her on the head.

A mouth came up and nipped at Lyonette’s hand, making her yelp. Mrsha cracked one brown eye open and stared at the girl balefully. The message was clear: petting was only for happy, awake Gnolls.

For a while, Lyon lay in her bed. But soon the needs of the day got her up. She stood, dressed, and soon found herself paying a visit to the cold outhouse. It was well-crafted of course, and relatively warmer than the outside. But only just. Lyon sat on the toilet, shivering, but still smiling.

She’d leveled. She had. It wasn’t a dream. She now had both the [Carer] and [Tactician] class, from taking care of Mrsha and playing chess respectively.

Two new classes on top of her [Barmaid] class. As Lyon hurried back into the inn she marveled at the thought. How long had it been since she’d last leveled up in her ‘chosen’ class? Four years?

Yes. Four years.

Lyonette stood with the glass of water in her hand, watering the flowers as she stared out one frosted window at the snowy world. It was cold, lifeless, and beautiful. There was something terrifying about it as well, a sense that if you wandered out into that vast, unforgiving landscape you would die, in this place where civilization ended.

Of course, when Lyonette went to the window facing Liscor she saw a city full of people and beyond that, villages scattered across hilltops. It was only the southern window that was so bleak. But she liked that window. It showed her a world she’d never dreamed of in the palace where she’d grown up.

That place had been…Lyonette sighed as she went outside, bundled up, and tromped through the snow towards the stream, two buckets in hand.

She’d hated it. She’d hated not leveling, and she’d hated how boring everything had seemed. So she’d run off. To become an adventurer, or perhaps find a class meant for her. She hadn’t had any idea of what that meant—to the Lyon of now, the past her seemed so idiotic.

Staggering, Lyon walked back to the inn, the filled buckets of water straining her arms. It hurt, even walking this short distance with so much weight. But her arms were getting stronger. She was gaining muscle and more importantly—

She was leveling up in a class. A [Barmaid] class, true, something completely unbefitting her heritage. But a class nonetheless.

Part of Lyonette shivered with delight at how wrong it all was. She was a [Princess]! If her family knew how badly she was sullying her position by taking such a class—her mother even hated letting the princes take [Knight] and [Commander] classes.

It was a waste of her potential. But it wasn’t at the same time. Lyonette didn’t care about her duties right now. She just wanted to live here, in this inn, and finally realize her dream. Level. She had the [Carer] class and even a [Tactician] class! She wanted to level both up. She wanted to—

The girl had to put down one of the buckets to push the door open. When she did, she saw a familiar white, furry Gnoll cub running around the room anxiously. Mrsha ran in circles, hair standing on end, clearly in great distress.

“Mrsha!”

When the Gnoll saw Lyonette she cannonballed into the girl’s stomach, nearly making Lyon spill both buckets. She clung to Lyon, sniffing at her and hugging her tightly.

She’d thought Lyon was gone. Gone, just like Erin and Ryoka. That nearly made Lyon cry; she held Mrsha tightly.

“Don’t worry. I’m here. I’m not going to leave. I just went to get water, see?”

When she showed Mrsha the buckets, the Gnoll eagerly helped Lyonette bring them into the kitchen, although Mrsha had to push the heavy bucket across the wooden floor. Lyon let her do it; it was a cute sight and Mrsha wanted to help. And Lyonette understood wanting to help, wanting to be useful.

And in this inn, Lyonette was useful. No—it was more like she was essential if Erin wasn’t here. Without her working hard, the fire wouldn’t be fed, and there would be no water, no food. The flowers would die, and this little Gnoll would starve. That was what got Lyonette up even when it was bitingly cold and made her work and count coins. She was responsible for a life now, and that was precious to her.

Yes, she was needed here. Far more than she’d ever been back in her home, in her kingdom. Damn being a [Princess]. Lyonette thought that, and paused.

She only hated the class because she never leveled in it. But she knew…if only she could level. But she didn’t know how. It was too hard back at home. Too hard, because everything was too easy, and she was useless.

But what had Erin said one time?

“You’d be like a temporary innkeeper. This would be my castle, and I would be like a [Princess]…”

Mrsha looked up at Lyon in confusion, tail wagging frantically. The girl had to smile at the Gnoll as she patted her head.

“Let’s make breakfast, okay? I’m hungry and your stomach is rumbling. And while we do—would you like to hear a story, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll nodded as she followed Lyon into the kitchen. There she watched greedily as Lyon cut thick slices of bacon and laid them gently in a pan to sizzle and pop. The girl had bought the precious and expensive meat for guests, mainly the Antinium, but today was a special day, wasn’t it?

Bacon sizzling, Lyonette found part of a loaf and sliced the slightly stale bread up. A bit of warming by the fire and some butter and more importantly, honey and it would be a treat. She still had three huge jars of honey, honeycomb, and even some royal jelly sitting in the inn after all.

Life was good. Lyon fried the bacon—she was getting better at making it crispy, not black—spilling a half-cooked slice on the floor. Not entirely by accident either—a certain Gnoll ramming into her legs had caused the mishap.

“Stop that, you!”

Lyonette scolded Mrsha as the Gnoll pounced on the greasy bacon slice. The young Gnoll looked up at her guiltily with her huge eyes and Lyon had to forgive her.

“Sit there and let me finish. I’ll tell you that story now. Did you know that there are types of classes in this world?”

The Gnoll sat on her butt, tail wagging as she chewed on the bacon and stared up at Lyon. She stared curiously at Lyon as the girl spoke, her eyes on the pan.

“Oh yes. Everyone knows there are classes, but when I was a girl—my family has many secrets. Many old secrets about the world and classes and levels. My father insisted I learn each one, as part of my tutoring. And do you know? I learned that some classes are better than others.”

The Gnoll scooted forwards, eyes wide, ears perked up. Lyonette laughed as she put a slice of crispy bacon on a plate.

“Yes, not all classes are equal. Of course, each one is important, but some are more important, see? Like classes that influence people. There are [Tacticians] and [Strategists] and classes that only [Soldiers] can take like [Sergeant] and [Commander] of course…but the best of all such classes is probably [General] or [Admiral].”

Mrsha just blinked at Lyon. How much did she understand? Lyonette didn’t know her age, but she thought Mrsha was young by any standard. Still, she continued.

“A [General] can have influence over a whole army. Thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of people. Isn’t that amazing? She or he can even affect other armies with Skills that demoralize or frighten…but there are classes that can do the same outside of battle. [Lords] and [Ladies] have their own demesne, and [Farmers] control their plots of land. You see? Some classes have range.”

Mrsha nodded and sneezed. Perhaps the nod was because of the sneeze? Lyon took it as a good sign.

“So what my mother told me was that the best classes can touch entire kingdoms. Like royal classes. [King], [Queen], [Princess]…a family of rulers can all make their nation strong.”

If they had high levels. Lyonette swallowed a lump in her throat.

“So these classes are some of the best. Because they are so rare, and only a few can have them. [Lords] for example are strong and have good Skills. But a [King] will have greater skills. There is no stronger class, in that sense. Well…”

The girl had to pause.

“…I suppose [Emperor] or [Empress] might be better. Because there can be only one, you see? A [King] can rule with a [Queen] and even [Princes] and [Princesses] all adding their Skills together. But an [Emperor] can rule over many nations, so only their Skills would affect the entire empire.”

Mrsha began scratching at her side, a clear indication that Lyon was losing her. The girl scowled; but the bacon was nearly done.

“Fine. You don’t like that? Then how about this? This is the secret my parents taught me. Royal classes, rare classes, and special classes—the kind that appear when two classes merge—they’re all better than normal ones. A [Lord] has almost the same Skills as a [General]. He can fight and lead, but he can also empower his estate. A [Blademaster] will have far, far better Skills than any [Warrior]—even a normal [Knight]! And you can get special classes by doing secret things. In fact, a [Princess] can even give someone a unique class.”

The Gnoll stared up at Lyonette, and then flopped over on her back. Her stomach rumbled loudly, and Lyonette sighed. It wasn’t important to Mrsha. It was special to Lyonette, but only because she needed it to be. Why would a Gnoll child care what a [Princess] could do?

“Fine. Let’s eat!”

Bacon and honey-covered bread for breakfast was a sinfully delicious meal. Lyonette ate nearly as fast as Mrsha, although the smaller Gnoll had even less manners than she did. She greedily chewed down the fatty bacon, pausing only to lick her paws clean of grease and honey every now and then.

When breakfast was done, Lyonette found something for Mrsha to do. She’d realized the Gnoll needed a distraction, so she found some parchment and charcoal. The Gnoll sat on the ground, happily drawing while Lyon cleaned the tables and washed the dishes.

She wished she had some of her toys, the ones she’d had back in the palace. The Gnoll deserved some fun. Maybe she could buy something? She had a good amount of coin after Pawn had come by—a lot, in fact. When Olesm came, Lyonette could probably persuade him to go shopping, but would the Drake even know what a Gnoll liked? Perhaps…

Lyonette was scrubbing at a bit of solidified honey on the table when she saw movement. She looked up and realized it wasn’t Mrsha but something else. Cautiously Lyonette moved over and saw the thing move again. She was tempted to grab a frying pan before she investigated, but then memory nudged her and she realized what it had to be.

A white, wriggling larvae, big and fat and sitting in a pool of royal jelly stared blindly up at Lyon while she stared down in disgusted fascination.

The grub! She’d completely forgotten about it! Lyon had intended to give it to Pawn, but it had slipped her mind. Now the grub moved slowly in the white goo surrounding it.

It was still alive, and even fatter than it had been yesterday if her eyes didn’t deceive her. Lyon stared at it in horrified fascination. The grub was ugly as sin, and sightless to boot. Still, Lyonette had the crazy urge to poke at it like Mrsha had done.

Resisting that instinct, Lyon frowned as she considered the liquid in the bowl. It was lower than yesterday as well. Some had evaporated? Or—the larvae had eaten some. It was growing.

Well, that only meant Pawn would like it more when she gave it to him, right? Lyonette decided to make sure the grub survived. That meant adding more royal jelly—she’d heard that was best for bees to grow with.

There were several honeycombs in the jars that she’d cut from the hive. Lyonette could see pockets of the white, jelly-like substance, and tried to fish it out so she could refill the bowl with the larvae in it. To that end she had to reach into the jar full of honey with a clean hand, giggling and shuddering at the odd feeling of so much honey.

She decided to separate as much of the jelly from the honey as she could, in case she needed it later. So Lyonette found another jar and used a wooden spoon to transfer the jelly over. It was a messy and sticky maneuver, and it invariably attracted Mrsha. The Gnoll licked both the royal jelly and honey up as Lyonette tried to fend her off.

“Stop it, Mrsha! Mrsha! You’ve just had breakfast! You’re going to get so fat.”

Which wouldn’t actually be a bad thing. The Gnoll was still thinner than she should be, which is why Lyonette let her lick her palms clean, giggling as the tiny rough tongue greedily lapped up the sticky honey.

The grub wriggled when Lyonette poured the royal jelly over it, but in the end it was nearly covered except for its head again. That done, she placed the bowl nearer to the fire. Not too near—but close enough that the grub wouldn’t freeze during the night.

That was how Lyon spent the first hour of her morning. After that, the door opened and Selys came by. The Drake wasn’t working today, and so she’d come—anxious and worried—to check on Mrsha. The Gnoll was happy to see her since the Drake wasn’t trying to take her away, and she definitely enjoyed the toys Selys had brought.

“I bought these for her. They’re very popular with Gnolls but Mrsha never wanted to play back at my apartment.”

So said Selys as she sat at a table, enjoying some honey and bread and a glass of honeyed water in the warm inn. Lyonette buzzed around the kitchen, making more honey water—she had the idea it would be very popular with the Antinium—and storing it in another jar for later. The inn was full of life, and guests! Not just Mrsha, but Selys had come to visit!

And—surprisingly—Olesm as well. The Drake came by every few days, less and less often since Lyon made him go shopping for her each time, but he arrived not long after Selys, tail wagging with excitement.

“Is Erin—oh.”

He always said that. But he didn’t look as disappointed today. Instead, he happily joined Selys at a table, eating some of her honeyed bread, oblivious to her annoyed look while he waved a sheaf of parchment about, unable to contain his excitement.

“You won’t believe what just happened. I was in the city and Hawk—you know, the Courier—came over with all these letters! One had just been sent, and when he got to Liscor to deliver them, the Runner’s Guild told him there were tons of undelivered letters all addressed to me!”

“Why didn’t the Runners deliver them?”

“Well—oh, thank you. Is…why is this water sweet?”

“It’s honey.”

Lyon explained as Olesm suspiciously tasted the water in the glass with a long tongue.

“Oh! It’s good! You should sell this! Can I have more bread? Selys has run out. Anyways, you won’t believe what happened! When I was sending all my letters out, I misspelled my name! So when I got the replies—they were all addressed to Oresm, not Olesm! I can’t believe no one at the Guild picked up on that mistake!”

Lyonette laughed, but Selys gave Olesm an exasperated look.

“Oresm? By all the Ancestors, how did you manage to misspell your own name when you sent all those letters?”

He hunched over, tail twitching defensively.

“I was excited! And I had good reason—do you know what I sent? Chess games!”

“You mean like the one Erin got? So what?”

Selys remained unimpressed. Olesm rolled his eyes, speaking faster as he tried to explain and convey his enthusiasm to an unreceptive audience.

“I didn’t just send chess puzzles. Don’t you get it? I sent the chess puzzle Erin made—the really hard one—as well as actual games she played! I managed to use the notation system she taught me—with it you can go through her chess games step by step and see how it played out without needing to be there!”

“So what?”

“So you can recreate chess games across the world! And play them, too! I copied that game she played against all of the Antinium—and the games she played on the magical chessboard! They’re a goldmine for any [Tactician] or [Strategist], don’t you see? It’s been less than a month since I sent out the letters—open messages to major cities, just the nearest ones that I could afford—and I’ve gotten back so many replies!”

Excitedly, he showed the two young females the letters. Lyonette had to admit, the stationary collection did seem impressive. Selys didn’t understand the significance, but Lyonette could see the quality of the letters was high in some cases, and some had personal sigils or seals. In a political sense, Olesm had suddenly accrued quite a bit of attention.

“Okay, so some [Tacticians] are excited about chess. It’s a popular game. So what?”

“Would you stop saying that?”

“So. What?”

“So—people want me to send them more chess games! I’m talking with the head [Strategist] of one of the Walled Cities, see? He told me the chess puzzle I sent helped him level! And this—the letter that came by Courier actually sent back some money!”

Selys choked on her drink when Olesm showed her the gold coins.

“What? People are sending you money for your stupid chess games?”

“Of course! Don’t you understand? This can help high-level [Strategists] level further! And if we can play chess by mail—I’m already planning on sending more of Erin’s games and more of the chess puzzles she taught me. I just…have to solve some of them.”

Olesm coughed, a bit embarrassed. Lyonette and Selys just stared at him.

“But when I do send them out, I’m not going to just stay on this continent. I’ll pay to have them delivered as a bulk shipment to every major city in the world! In a few months…just think of the possibilities!”

It was all a bit over Selys’ head, and the female Drake argued with Olesm over the cost of what she called his ‘silly project’, but Lyonette just sat, staring at the pile of letters Olesm so lovingly clutched, heart pounding.

This was big news. If Olesm was right, he might well be able to form a network of his own between [Tacticians]. Lyonette had—grudgingly—been taught history and she knew that this was how organizations like the Adventurer’s Guild, Runner’s Guild, and so on had been created.

She smiled at Olesm. She was happy for him. The Drake smiled back, and then Lyonette told them her big news of the day.

“I’ve got two new classes. [Carer] and [Tactician].”

Gaining new classes in any society was usually cause for congratulations and celebration, depending on the class. It wasn’t as dramatic as when people celebrated hitting their tenth or twentieth level—or the huge parties when people managed to reach Level 30—but Olesm and Selys still made approving sounds.

Olesm was curious about Lyon’s [Tactician] class—he screamed when she told him about playing on the magical chessboard and told her to play him instead, but Selys was more curious about Lyon’s other class.

“[Carer]? Is that really a class?”

Lyonette nodded, stroking Mrsha’s head as the Gnoll played with a wicker ball, rolling it across the floor and leaping after it. It was one of the toys Selys had brought and Lyonette was glad that it was too big for Mrsha to swallow.

“It is in my ki—my country. On Terandria. People get it for taking care of children, or the elderly.”

It wasn’t exactly a common class, but Lyonette knew some of the older [Lords] and [Ladies] employed people with such classes to help take care of them, just as the [Governess] who had looked after her had been an advanced form of that class.

“Don’t Drakes and Gnolls have a class like that?”

Selys and Olesm shook their heads, looking bemused. Selys scratched at a patch of dry scales on her wrist as she spoke.

“If they’re that old, I suppose we’d entrust them to a relative’s care. But I’ve never heard of anyone getting a class from it. Probably because Drakes don’t see it as a job.”

“And Gnolls always have a role in their tribes, no matter how old they get.”

So, Lyonette’s class wasn’t that useful in Liscor, especially since she was banned from the city. But the girl still welcomed it since it would help her deal with Mrsha, and it seemed to reassure Selys that Lyonette could look after her.

After they’d exchanged gossip and Lyonette had learned that Erin was doing well and Ryoka had gone north for some reason, the three adults sat in the inn while Mrsha played. They were all adults, although Lyonette was younger than Selys and Olesm, and even the oldest among them—Selys—wasn’t more than a few years into her twenties.

The two Drakes argued and sat as Lyonette made more food, bustled around the inn, and chatted with them. That was all she did. Just talked. It was all Lyonette wanted. She talked and played chess with Olesm and wondered whether Pawn would come by today.

She hoped he would.

----

Pawn had no bacon to wake him up, nor any honey. Instead, he had a meeting with Klbkch as soon as he had eaten the horrible mush in the Soldier’s mess hall. Given the choice, Pawn would have gladly eaten a vat of the grey-green stuff rather than talk to Klbkch.

But surprisingly, today Klbkch had nothing to criticize Pawn for. Rather, the Revalantor went over yesterday’s patrol with Pawn, highlighting the encounters with monsters and giving Pawn…advice.

“Do not engage the Corusdeer herds if at all possible. They are formidable combatants if roused, and the Soldiers will suffer heavy losses if they fight. Likewise, the Rock Crabs should be engaged with caution if it becomes necessary.”

Pawn sat in a chair before Klbkch’s desk, nodding nervously as the other Antinium spoke with him. It was strange.

“Ah, Revalantor Klbkch.”

The other Antinium paused and looked at him. Pawn realized Klbkch’s new form was slightly taller than the Worker’s form, as well as being slimmer.

“Yes?”

“Does this mean that you expect me to patrol around Liscor at a later date? Or are these simply things I should keep in mind in general?”

“Ah.”

Klbkch had very few papers on his desk, but he extracted one now and slid it across the desk to Pawn. The Worker stared down at it in confusion.

“I cannot read this, Revalantor Klbkch.”

Pawn could only read a few words of the local Drake script—enough to get around by, but not to decipher the words on the parchment.

“Of course. My mistake. I will take steps to ensure you and the other Individuals learn both Drake and Gnoll writing. It is not difficult—Erin picked up the word system very quickly as it apparently closely resembles the Human one.”

Klbkch took the parchment back and tapped it with one finger.

“This is a report to Watch Captain Zevara, detailing the monsters you encountered. I submitted it last night after your patrol returned.”

“And did the Watch Captain deem our patrol worthwhile?”

“She did. Although her praise is not the important issue—while on patrol I overheard several citizens expressing relief that our Soldiers were fighting monsters. Apparently they were observed chasing the Corusdeer herd off.”

Pawn hadn’t noticed any observers. He worried that this was an error.

“Oh. Should we have avoided detection?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“No. And in this case, the [Shepherd] was on a distant hilltop. But forcing the Corusdeer herd to seek grazing areas further from Liscor is considered a public boon, especially to travelers on the northern road who fear angering a herd. Moreover, the Shield Spiders you have slain are considered a public nuisance, and so the Soldiers generated goodwill from that as well. It also helps that people are seeing the Soldiers in a non-hostile environment.”

All of this made sense to Pawn in an oblique way. He had intended none of this of course, but so long as Klbkch seemed pleased by the results, Pawn could relax.

“In short, it appears that your patrol has generated goodwill among the citizenry already. That alone is worth continuing your activities. Take twenty Soldiers with you today and this time retrieve trophies from the monsters you slay. I will increase your stipend of funds as well.”

If Pawn had the ability to do so, his eyes would have widened. He bowed his head.

“Thank you, Revalantor Klbkch. I shall…I shall put the money to good use.”

“Do so. I will expect you to update me if the Soldiers show any positive effects from these patrols. If not…at least they will improve Antinium relations with the city, which is desirable. You may take a second patrol out at your discretion.”

That was all. Pawn stood up to go, but when he got to the door, Klbkch stopped him.

“Pawn.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch?”

“…Why the paint?”

The Worker considered the question, trying to figure out how to explain it to the one Antinium in the Hive who didn’t understand. Well, one of two if you counted the Queen.

“It is a way of naming the Soldiers without using words, Revalantor Klbkch.”

Klbkch sat up in his chair at once and signaled Pawn to sit back down.

“This is very intriguing. Can all Soldiers be ‘named’ and made Individual?”

“I would not attempt to do so with the Soldiers not under my command. They may become Aberration.”

“I see. But you believe the Soldiers under your command have all become Individual? Really?”

“I cannot say. They cannot speak after all. But I would guess that they are…closer to Individual than they were before by use of the paint.”

“I see.”

Klbkch considered this for a while. Pawn sat at attention until the Revalantor nodded.

“Continue. That is all. We will monitor the Soldiers and your attempts with them before expanding to a larger group. If you notice them leveling or using Skills—”

“I shall report it at once.”

“Good. You are dismissed.”

Pawn left Klbkch’s quarters, feeling elated and relieved at once, which naturally caused giddiness as well. For once he’d done something right! Not just right—something right.

He’d given the Soldiers identity. Pawn went to requisition the coin Klbkch had promised him. The Antinium had a room devoted specifically for funds. Pawn saw a few other Workers withdrawing exact amounts and recording the numbers on a piece of parchment—some had to pay for supplies or perform other exchanges with the citizens of Liscor.

Carefully, Pawn collected gold, silver, and bronze coins from the carefully organized stacks of coin. He stared at the gold coins, and then wondered idly what would happen if he took more. There were thousands, tens of thousands of gold coins in the Hive, the product of over ten years of hard work and little spending. And this was only one of the treasury rooms.

But who cared? The Antinium didn’t post guards on the room because there was no need for them to steal, and no [Thief] would ever make it this far into the hive. Then again, if other Antinium became Individual like Pawn, who knew?

That was a troubling thought. Pawn took no more gold than he was allotted. He carefully walked up towards the entrance of the Hive. It was still early yet; he didn’t want to patrol before he ran a few errands. After all, he could only take twenty Soldiers out of the Hive with him at a time. What about the rest, forced to wait and guard in the tunnels? That had to be boring, so Pawn decided to get them something to make the wait easier.

----

“You want what?”

Krshia blinked at Pawn. This time her stall was deserted, and Pawn saw that the other customers shopping this early were going to the more prosperous [Shopkeepers]. Again he felt bad, but reassured himself because of the size of the order he was placing.

“Cheese. I would like enough to feed roughly two hundred and forty individuals. Enough for a small meal, at least.”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] just stared at Pawn, jaw hanging open. Pawn wondered if he’d made a mistake. Was eating too much cheese a faux paws in Gnollish society?

Yes, cheese was what Pawn wanted. It was tasty and edible and it would go down well with the Soldiers, he felt. That was the only thing he could think of. Meat was too expensive and it spoiled quickly, and besides, it was hard to acquire in the winter. But cheese? Cheese was more plentiful.

And it tasted good.

Pawn stared anxiously at Krshia as the Gnoll struggled with shock.

“If there is an issue in delivery, I can arrange for direct pickups with Workers. And if there is a shortage…”

“No, no.”

Krshia smiled at Pawn, baring her teeth in a wide grin.

“I am simply surprised, yes? Even when my shop was booming, such orders were rare things. I thank you, Worker Pawn, for giving me such business.”

“You are the shopkeeper that Erin trusts. So I trust you.”

That was all it was to Pawn. There could be nothing simpler, nothing easier to understand. But Krshia lowered her head to him as if it meant something truly important.

“Hrr. I am grateful for that. Truly.”

Her shop. Every time Pawn saw it, he remembered what it had been. This time he decided to ask about it, since Krshia didn’t seem to have any customers waiting.

“How has your business been doing lately, Miss Krshia?”

She bared her teeth again, but this time not in a friendly way.

“You can see for yourself, can you not? Rebuilding what was lost is difficult, no? I will survive the winter, but it will be a year or more before I am able to open this shop with pride.”

That hurt too. It was an odd, uncomfortable feeling, hurting for people who were not Pawn himself. He hadn’t known it could happen before he’d met Erin. But this too was part of being alive.

“Is it truly so bad?”

Krshia shrugged, looking tired.

“Truly? It is not the worst. I will not starve and the others, the other Gnolls and even some Drakes have supported me. But it is bad to feel what is lost and know you have fallen, no? Because of one moment. Because of a thief.”

That last word was bitter, and Pawn immediately thought of Lyonette, laughing and serving them all with respect and pride. It was different from the Lyon that Krshia knew.

“I met the Human Lyonette yesterday. In Erin’s absence she has taken over the inn.”

Pawn didn’t know why he was telling Krshia this, especially because the Gnoll stiffened at Lyon’s name. But he felt compelled to, as if sharing the good Lyonette had done would offset some of the bad.

“She has acquired more bees and honey. She served me and a number of Soldiers the food. It was very tasty.”

“Is that so? Good for her. I have not had honey myself for many, many moons, yes? It is a valuable thing even when it is not so very cold.”

Krshia’s voice was hard, and he could see she was upset. Pawn thought. He thought quickly about how he could make things better for her, if only in his small way. He thought about Lyon and regret and honey. Then he had an idea.

“I will obtain your cheeses for you, within a few hours, yes? But first we must talk about prices and which cheeses you would like—where are you going?”

Pawn took a few steps away from Krshia’s store. She looked alarmed, but he reassured her.

“I am not reconsidering our deal, but I have a pressing matter to attend to. I shall return within the hour. Please excuse me.”

He could feel the Gnoll’s eyes on his back as he hurried off. Pawn left the city and walked swiftly up a hill to an inn. There he opened the door and talked.

----

“Oh! Pawn! It’s so good to see you! Come in, would you like something to eat? Not staying?”

…

“Other Soldiers? Later today? Well of—of course! I’ve still got a lot of bees and here, try this honey water. I can get Olesm to buy more meat and make another soup.”

…

“Please, Olesm? Please? And I need butter and vegetables—I have a list here. Oh, and let me add…”

…

“Krshia? You’d like to…well of course. I—will you tell her that I—”

…

“…Thank you. But wait! Before you go, can I offer you this?”

…

“What do you mean, it looks fattening!?”

----

Less than an hour later—less than half an hour later, really, Pawn walked back down the street towards Krshia’s stall. She stared at him. She stared at him, but especially at the huge jar of honey he held, walking carefully so as not to drop it.

Other pedestrians stared at the Worker as well. The jar of golden liquid tended to attract stares, Pawn had noticed.

“I have brought you honey. It is yours to keep and use as you please.”

That was what Pawn said as he placed the jar on Krshia’s counter. The Gnoll just stared at him.

“How?”

“I talked with Lyonette. She agreed to give you this jar of honey.”

It was a simple thing. Most things in life were, but Pawn had observed that the way people reacted to simple things was—complex.

Such as now. At the mention of Lyonette’s name, Krshia began to look angry.

“Why did she give this honey to you? Because you paid? Or because it is meant to be an apology?”

“She certainly feels remorse. I believe her acceding to my request was done out of guilt and an interest in helping settle the debt between you two.”

Pawn replied calmly. He watched with interest as Krshia’s ears slowly flattened on her head.

“And what does she call this? Repayment? It is hardly worth my stall, no?”

Some people would have hesitated to tell an angry Gnoll anything. But Pawn only spoke the truth, so his tone was level as he immediately replied.

“I think it is something, rather than nothing. An apology—the beginning of one, at least.”

That made the Gnoll pause. Pawn waited, and then spoke carefully.

“Lyonette has one message she would like to pass on to you with the honey.”

“Yes?”

“‘I am very sorry.’”

That was all. But it changed things. Simple things, simple words, always did. That was what Pawn had told Lyonette, and why the apology she had given him was this. And what happened was that Krshia stopped growing angrier. She was still angry, but she let Pawn open the jar.

“Would you like to try some? It is sweet, and I am told there may be grubs within the honeycomb.”

The Gnoll sniffed at the honey, and then dipped a finger into the thick liquid. It came out glistening, and Pawn stared at the honey in envy. He liked honey. Maybe he should have gotten some to go with the cheese. He’d go back to ask Lyonette about it later. But this jar was Krshia’s.

“Hmf.”

She licked the honey off of her finger. Slowly, Krshia’s tail began to wag, although her face didn’t change.

“This is good. Sweet. Sweeter than honey from small bees, yes?”

“Mm. I believe so.”

The Gnoll nodded. She stared at Pawn.

“You are an odd Worker, Pawn of the Antinium. But…yes, I believe you and Klbkch are good for this city.”

“Thank you.”

Pawn nodded to Krshia. He felt happy for her words because she clearly meant them. Krshia nodded and smiled. When he left, it was with all the cheese in the marketplace and locations for Workers to pick up more. And Krshia was selling honey in the form of hand-sized jars. There was already a queue.

----

Lyonette felt good after Pawn had left. She felt better when he came back with his Soldiers. She cooked and served food again, and that night when she was cleaning up, she couldn’t stop humming.

The jars she and Erin used were truly big. They were taller than her knees and very wide—Erin had paid in gold for them since they were made by expert [Glassblowers]. At the moment she had two jars of honey, one half-empty and one and a quarter jars of dead bees. Even with the Soldiers’ appetite, Lyonette still had a lot left.

Well, she wouldn’t if she was actually feeding the Soldiers a full meal. Then she would have had to give them six or seven bees to fill them up, but two or three for a lunchtime snack was all Pawn had asked for.

And the honey? The honey had brought in more than a few guests—all Drakes—who’d come to drink a few glasses of honeyed water and fill their jars with the sweet honey and honeycomb. It wasn’t exactly filling tables at the inn, but it was more money.

And when Lyonette had sat down with Mrsha to eat a proper meal of shepherd’s pie—courtesy of Selys who taught Lyonette how to make it—they had one more unexpected guest.

Klbkch.

He came into the inn while the two were eating. Lyonette wanted to find him a table, but the Antinium declined.

“I shall not be here long. Rather, I would like to make a purchase.”

“Of the bees?”

Klbkch nodded. He pointed to one of the jars Lyonette kept against the kitchen wall.

“How much…for the entire jar?”

“The entire jar?”

Klbkch nodded, looking at Lyonette’s ecstatic and panicked expression.

“I believe my Queen will enjoy the bees. Will you sell them to me directly?”

That was actually something of a hard question for Lyonette. Should she sell the bees? If she did, she might not have enough for Pawn tomorrow, and he was bringing more Soldiers then as well.

But a whole jar? All of Lyonette’s instincts told her to say yes. After all she could always get more bees, even if she was afraid of taking too much honey from the Hive. She had more flowers—hopefully she could use less this time—and she had to do it sooner or later.

“Of course I’ll sell you—the entire jar, you said?”

“Yes. Will that be an issue?”

“No, no! But the bees—they’re raw. Would you like me to fry them up first? They taste really good when they’re drizzled in honey. Apparently.”

“Hm. We have a [Cook], but perhaps it will be instructive to show him how it is done. By all means, please prepare a third of the jar. I will partake of a few as well to ascertain quality.”

In the end, Lyonette finished eating with Mrsha and then went into the kitchen to cook while the Gnoll played hide and seek with Klbkch. Although that really just involved Klbkch pointing at her while the Gnoll roamed around the inn, trying to be stealthy.

Cut, fry, drizzle. Lyonette worked tirelessly to make the best bees possible, conscious of who would be eating them. The Queen. And also, Klbkch, whom Pawn told Lyon was actually very important in the Hive. Klbkch ate five while he was waiting.

“Thank you. These bees are quite delicious. I may return at a later date if you have more stored away.”

“I will. Thank you for buying them! Have a good night!”

That was how Lyonette spent the rest of her day. She went to bed exhausted, but remembered to put the bee larvae very close to the dying fire as she did. Pawn didn’t want it, and she’d neglected to offer one to Klbkch. It kept slipping her mind. And besides—Lyonette stared at the larvae, wriggling blind in the bowl.

…She might be getting attached to it.

That night, she leveled up in all three of her new classes again, although she got no new Skills. That would have been enough, but Lyonette heard a new announcement after the list of level ups.

[Beast Tamer Class Obtained!]

[Beast Tamer Level 1!]

[Skill – Healthy Rearing obtained!]

----

[Beast Tamer]? Her?

Lyonette couldn’t believe it. But when she woke up, she knew it had happened again.

A new class! Why?

Because she’d taken care of the bee? Because she’d made sure it was warm and fed? Because she’d done all that? Was that all it took?

She couldn’t be a [Beast Tamer]. Of all the classes, Lyonette felt least confident in that one. What purpose would it serve her? Was she going to raise a bee? As a pet? It was a useless class. Well, the [Tactician] class was also useless to her, strictly speaking.

And yet—Lyonette wanted the class. She wanted the [Tactician] class too. And the [Barmaid] class she’d leveled up in! She wanted to level! No matter what class, no matter how few levels!

She wanted them. And from what Lyonettte knew of classes, that was probably why she’d gotten them. Because while other people had no desire to devote their lives to raising animals or monsters and so didn’t get the class even if they owned pets, Lyonette was different.

She had been starved of classes, not leveled while growing up. And now that she was free, truly free—

She’d take all the classes. No matter how damning it might be to her one ‘true’ class. Even if it meant she’d never reach a high level. She never levelled in it anyways.

With that in mind, Lyonette added a new routine to her day. After she watered Erin’s flowers and stoked the fire and before she went to fetch more water, she checked on the bee. It wriggled in the royal jelly and she saw it was a bit larger again. Lyonette wondered whether it would actually grow up—this was no hive. But she could always get more royal jelly and she did have a Skill to help her, after all.

“I guess you’re going to need a name.”

So saying, Lyonette touched the bee gently. It squirmed and it was wet and slimy. Gross, in short. But it was alive, and it struggled to stay alive.

Just like her.

One last thing happened that morning. When Lyonette was trudging back to her inn, she saw a Gnoll pulling a sled up the hill. She froze in fear, but the Gnoll’s sled was loaded with goods.

Food. Lyonette saw meats, vegetables, and all the things she’d asked Olesm to bring, neatly bundled up on the sled. The Gnoll set it down in the snow outside the inn. She—the Gnoll was a she now that Lyonette was closer—turned and saw Lyon with the buckets in hand.

“Delivery.”

That was all she said. She must have been one of the Street Runners the shops hired. But Olesm had told Lyon that no one would deliver to the inn, to her. What had changed?

The Gnoll began walking down the hill. With a start, Lyonette realized she was going.

“Oh. T-thank you so…”

The Gnoll [Runner] made no reply. She just growled something and stomped back down the hill, dragging the sled behind her.

Lyon watched her go. Then she opened the door and had Mrsha help her drag everything inside. She didn’t say much, but she was smiling. And crying.

----

“They are coming.”

That was all Klbkch said to Bird, Pawn, Belgrade, Garry, and Anand when he gathered them together for the first time in his small quarters. It was early morning, just after dawn, in fact. The Workers had been roused—in Pawn’s case from his sleep by the mental order—and told to come here.

Now Klbkch paced back and forth in front of them, clearly agitated. The other Workers said nothing, but they each felt slightly alarmed. None of them had ever seen the Revalantor like this.

“Pardon, Revalantor Klbkch, but who is coming?”

That came from Garry. Pawn hadn’t seen Garry in…so long! Klbkch had even ordered Garry to attend. That was unusual because Garry was specialized now in the [Cook] class—he played no part in commanding Soldiers and indeed, he stayed far away from any area of the Hive where monsters might attack.

“The other Hives. They have sent a delegation, and they will arrive sometime today.”

That was all Klbkch said, but it shocked all the other Workers to their core.

Another Hive? They knew—all the Workers and Soldiers knew in an oblique way that other Hives existed. But they had never seen or even heard of the other Hives until today. Liscor was far from their location, and the Antinium did not move between cities like other races.

“Why are they coming?”

“To see you. To greet my Queen and to see you. And appraise what value you have as Individuals.”

Klbkch never gave them detailed explanations. Pawn knew that was because he and the other Workers weren’t that important, but he wished the Antinium would trust them with more. He remembered Klbkch’s promise. If he made something out of the Soldiers, he would be told more.

“What should we do? What will the other Antinium ask of us?”

That came from Belgrade. He was probably the most worried, among the Workers, Pawn felt. Bird was usually calm, Garry was hard to ruffle, and Anand looked like he was actually enjoying this new development.

“Do not…worry.”

Klbkch said it as if he had to remember they could be worried.

“All you have to do is demonstrate your Skills. Questions will be asked—answer them to the best of your ability. It will not be difficult.”

He paused, looking the Workers over. Klbkch seemed to think, and then tapped the pommel of one of his swords slowly as he spoke.

“Some of the other Antinium may be…different. Unsettling. Odd, even. They are not Aberrations, rather they are created from a different template than we are. And the other Queens do not think as mine—ours does. Remember that.”

Pawn worried. What did that mean? Did they have Individuals of their own? But surely Klbkch would have mentioned that. He went on, looking at each of the Workers in turn as he gave them orders.

“Belgrade, Anand, and Bird will showcase their talents. Bird’s archery skills have much merit, as do Belgrade and Anand. They have the most value as [Tacticians] and as leaders of Soldiers. Garry will prepare meals to demonstrate his talents. Pawn—”

He glanced at the Worker. Pawn stood straight, holding his breathe, apprehensive.

“You will answer any questions directed to you if the others realize you are Individual as well. Do not volunteer information about your [Acolyte] class unless I address it specifically. That goes for all of you. Make no mention of that class, and not of Pawn either unless it is clear the others know about you.”

It felt like someone—Ryoka perhaps—had kicked Pawn in the stomach. He stood still, wrestling with his emotions.

Of course. He wasn’t that useful and his Skills still weren’t quantifiable. And from what Klbkch had said, his class pertained to Gods and Gods—

It still hurt. Even as Klbkch dismissed them and the Workers walked away to speak in an empty corridor in privacy, Pawn felt it hurting in his chest.

He wanted to be noticed. He wanted to be useful. But here—Pawn forced himself to listen to the conversation. It was the first time in a while he and the other Workers could talk, so they were all asking Garry what he had been doing in his new job.

The Worker nodded, folding his four hands together. He seemed slightly bigger than Pawn last remembered him—was he gaining weight? He still wore a slightly stained apron around his front, a piece of apparel that intrigued the other Workers greatly.

“I have been preparing meals for the Queen. I take monster parts and other edible foodstuffs and create food for her rather than the…paste…we are usually fed.”

The other Workers exchanged a glance, and then nodded their heads.

“Ah.”

“I see.”

“This intrigues me.”

“Will you cook us such food?”

Garry nodded.

“If I am allowed. I believe Revalantor Klbkch wishes for me to cook for other members of the Hive, including himself. However, the Queen desires me to prepare food for her alone. I gather this is a source of contention between the two.”

That was fascinating. But Garry didn’t have details, so the other Workers quickly summarized what they had been doing. Belgrade and Anand had helped take down a Crypt Worm recently—Bird roamed the landscape, hunting animals with a bow and arrow. His life seemed exciting to Pawn, but the other Workers claimed he was actually the one with the most interest.

“I do not interact with any other species, Pawn. You are fortunate to talk with a Human on a daily basis.”

Anand and Belgrade nodded as Bird said this. Pawn couldn’t help staring at the feather hanging from a simple cord around Bird’s neck. It was a very red feather, and beautiful, too.

“I am envious. I have not been allowed to go to the surface.”

“Indeed. My duties keep me below at all times.”

“Does this Lyonette serve cooked birds?”

Pawn saw the keen interest in the other Worker’s eyes. He realized with a pang that they had never experienced what he had, and resolved to petition Klbkch to let them join him on a patrol. In the meantime, he could certainly bring some of what was above down below. He only regretted that the Soldiers had eaten all the cheese. If only he had his own quarters so he could store objects in them!

“The bees Lyon makes are very tasty. I shall bring you some, next time I go.”

“I believe Klbkch bought some for the Queen. I sampled one—the others have already been eaten. I shall attempt to replicate such treats for the rest of you and our guests.”

Just the thought of Garry’s cooking filled Pawn with hunger. He clicked his mandibles together sadly though, reflecting on his role.

“I regret that I cannot bring any value to the Hive. And that you must lie about my abilities.”

To Pawn’s surprise, Garry shook his head. He placed one of his hands on Pawn’s shoulders.

“Do not worry. You have value. In fact, it is I who envy you. You may not be of apparent worth to these Antinium who come, but you are special, even among us. One day, I believe your talents will surpass us all.”

Belgrade, Anand, and Bird all nodded.

“Agreed.”

“Yes.”

“I will hunt birds to showcase my abilities.”

The other Workers looked at him. Bird shrugged.

“I like birds.”

----

They were coming. At last, after all this time…the other Hives were coming. They were taking notice. Klbkch had to sit down after the other Workers had left. He tried to contain his excitement, but his hands shook slightly.

They were coming. And not just any lowly Workers or Soldiers, no. Klbkch knew this group had to include Prognugators, valuable members of each Hive, sent to observe and be their Queen’s eyes. They would observe him and he would see…see how much each Hive had changed since he had last travelled south.

All of that would have been dramatic enough, but Klbkch had participated in and suffered such gatherings before. The other Hives always sent spectators to witness another Hive’s achievement. But this time…

Klbkch tried to modulate his breathing. It was no good. His hand trembled as it touched his swords.

He had heard the report from the Listeners. They had heard the other Antinium approaching of course, and monitored them closely. But it was only this close to the city that some details had emerged, details which had shaken Klbkch down to his core.

It was about one of the Antinium who travelled with the others, one who stood out. Klbkch looked at the report. He had written it down, circled the information after speaking with the Listeners. To be sure.

“An Antinium who casts magic?”

That was what the Listeners had heard. Explosions, thunderous sounds coming from her location. Spells, in short, unless the other Hives had managed to create a truly incredible variant in the few years since Klbkch had checked on them.

It had to be magic. And there was only one Antinium in the world who could cast spells. At least, only one Antinium among the living.

Klbkch sat in his chair. He held his silvery swords, stared blankly at a dirt wall. Only one Antinium, now. One that he had known since…since the day he had been created. So long ago.

The former Prognugator of the hive, the Revalantor named Klbkch, and the being who had once been one of the Centenium sat in the wooden chair. He stared back into the past.

And remembered.

----

They came into the city as the sun was shining overhead. Not Antinium—a group of Drakes. They walked through the southern gates, talking with the guard, hoods covering any distinctive details like armor. Perhaps they would have entered quietly, but they were there to witness the monster attack.

It came out of the dungeon. The uncovered entrance to this new set of ruins was placed east of the city, at a good distance but close enough that the City Watch had posted a sizeable guard on the entrance.

Now this line of defense was under attack. The Drakes saw a band of Human adventurers fleeing the ruins, and behind them, shouts and screaming. Gnolls and Drakes fought desperately, the [Mage] among them shooting arrows of light into an oncoming crowd of—

“Children?”

That was what one of the Drakes in the group, a female adjunct whispered in horror. But these were no children who came pouring out of the hole in the ground, screaming, teeth bared.

“Scalelings.”

Wall Lord Ilvriss spat the words as Zel saw the line of guardsmen brace for impact. Arrows took down the horrible apparitions—shaped like children of Gnolls, Drakes, and Humans to lower their victim’s defenses—running at the [Guardsmen]. They normally preyed on people at night, he knew, where their monstrous details—their bright yellow, pupil less eyes and unnaturally long limbs for children were harder to pick out.

But the team of adventurers wearing poor-quality armor had upset their nest, and so it fell to the [Guardsmen] to stop them from attacking the adventurers and travelers on the road. They shouted as they hit the first wave, the small Scalelings—or Children as they were known in Human lands—pushing back the [Guardsmen] with terrible strength and ferocity.

“They’re going to be overwhelmed.”

Ilvriss said this calmly, a hand on his sword as the guards at the gate of Liscor sounded the alarm. There were [Archers] on the walls of course, but the battle was too thick for all but the best to shoot into.

“Should we cut a path for them to retreat to the walls, do you think, Shivertail?”

“No. Allow me.”

So saying, Zel pointed at the [Guardsmen]. He spoke two words.

“[Shield Wall].”

The [Guardsmen] had been faltering, falling back. But as Zel said the words, their actions changed. They stood taller, and when the snarling Scalelings rammed into them, it was the monsters who fell back. Suddenly, each Drake and Gnoll was rooted in place and they forced the horrific creatures back one step at a time.

“Reinforcements.”

Ilvriss commented as more [Guardsmen]—[Guardspeople], really—rushed out the gate. For how quickly the engagement had started, their response was quite fast.

“And there’s the local [Tactician] I think. We can move on.”

“Mm. Yes.”

Zel nodded, seeing the battle was contained. He, Ilvriss, and the group the Wall Lord had brought with him walked further into the city.

“I’m not staying at the same inn as you, Shivertail. You can find whatever run down hovel you want, but I’ll be staying at the Tailless Thief. It’s the best inn in the city and I know the owner.”

“Fine by me.”

Zel didn’t rise to the bait. He looked around the city, noting all the Human adventurers who were gathered at the gates, watching the fighting.

“Lots of adventurers around. You might not find a room.”

Ilvriss just scowled at him.

“The innkeeper will make room. I am a Lord of the Wall.”

“Good for you.”

Zel would be glad enough to leave Ilvriss to his own devices—at least for a day. His feet hurt. He walked on through the city. Time enough to find an inn for himself later. Right now he had to announce himself to the Council with Ilvriss. The wretched Drake demanded such formailities.

So Zel Shivertail entered Liscor. And his arrival was unnoticed by many pedestrians, but the [Guardsmen] certainly noticed and word instantly spread to the Watch Captain of the incident. And one other person in the city noticed as well.

Selys looked up from her desk in the Adventurer’s Guild, cutting off her conversation with a wet and unhappy Gnoll. She suddenly felt lighter, and more refreshed, as if someone had given her a hot mug of tea. She made a fist with one claw, and then looked out the window with a smile. Only one person always included her in his radius of command.

“Oh. Uncle Zel’s visiting the city!”

----

Klbkch met the other Antinium outside of the city, in secret. He came alone, and nodded his head respectfully as the other Antinium stood, letting snow fall off of their bodies to greet him.

They were a little less than twenty in all. Klbkch noted each one as they introduced themselves. Four Hives had come. Four Hives had sent their best. The absence of the fifth troubled him, but—

“Prognugator Klbkch. I greet you as a fellow Prognugator. I am Tersk of the Armored Antinium.”

The first to make a move was a big Antinium with a form reminiscent of a Soldier. But he had only two arms instead of four, and his hands were proper ones. He was also wearing armor. Klbkch stared at the steel plate armor that covered his entire body and noted the specially-tailored metal plates that had been carefully crafted into a helmet. He nodded to the armored giant.

“I greet you Tersk. Although I am no longer a Prognugator but a Revalantor I will perform the duties of both while you are here. I see you have brought others of your hive.”

“Yes.”

The Prognugator said it simply. He indicated three other Antinium, all as tall as he was, all wearing armor. Klbkch noted that all of the Armored Antinium had weapons. A shield and mace in Tersk’s case—swords and a spear for the others.

“Allow me to extend my apologies for my error in your position.”

“The error is mine. I did not mention this detail to begin with.”

Klbkch and Tersk lowered their heads. That done, the Prognugator stepped back and another one came forwards.

“Revalantor Klbkch. I am Revalantor Pivr. I observe that your form has changed from the standard template assigned to this Hive. Has your Queen been creating variations of the Worker and Soldier form without authorization?”

This came from an Antinium smaller than Tersk, but no less striking. Jade-colored wings fanned outwards from the Antinium, and Klbkch saw not two but four sets of eyes on his head. Even his body was hunched, all the better for his two arms to use the twin daggers at his side. He also had poisonous spit Klbkch knew—the odor was unmistakable on the Antinium’s breath.

And he annoyed Klbkch. The Revalantor stared Pivr in the eyes, and spoke calmly.

“My form is unique to me, as befitting my status. I greet you, Pivr. Who have you brought to my Hive?”

Pivr turned, fanning his twin sets of wings out to show them off, Klbkch was sure.

“Six of my Queen’s warriors—five regular warriors and a heavy-combat variant have flown here to see what your Hive has wrought. We are the Flying Antinium. Witness us.”

Klbkch did see, and part of him was impressed. Five of the warriors did look like Pivr, but the last was a larger variant. Thick carapace plates obscured his body, giving him more the appearance of a walking tank. But he had wings as well, huge ones, and even a horn like a beetle with sharp prongs.

Yes, part of Klbkch was impressed. The other part was not. But he kept his words within and simply nodded to Pivr.

“I greet you.”

The other Revalantor hesitated, opening his mandibles as if he wanted to say something. But then Klbkch was walking forwards towards the last unique Antinium in the group. He felt like he was in a dream, but when he stopped in front of the slim, short Antinium with blue carapace who held a staff in one of her two hands, she was real.

So very real.

“Xrn.”

It was all Klbkch could say. The other Antinium—no Worker, no Soldier, but graceful and unique, her body different from any other—opened her mandibles to smile at him. Her eyes shone with a thousand colors, flickering with the mystery of magic. And her voice was soft, deep, commanding.

“Klbkch. It has been too long.”

“Yes. Far too long.”

It was all Klbkch could say, as if he had been transformed into one of the birds that spoke, a parrot. Xrn smiled again. Klbkch didn’t know what to say.

“How—how did you come here? I would have never thought the Grand Queen would allow…”

“I had to persuade her of course. But I thought it worthwhile to see you.”

Xrn said it simply. She nodded to the Soldiers and Workers behind her, and only now did Klbkch realize he was neglecting his duties.

“Pardon me. I greet you, Xrn, Prognugator of the Grand Hive. Who are the Antinium who come with you?”

“Two Hives. Mine, and that of the Silent Antinium.”

She pointed, and Klbkch saw. There were two groups standing behind Xrn, eight Antinium in total. Two were still as shadows, hunched, almost invisible even in the snow. Their carapaces had changed to become whiter, more translucent, and their arms were more like scything blades. Their mandibles were likewise made to tear out an opponent’s throat and they were perhaps the slimmest of all Antinium save for Xrn.

“The assassin breed. Have they no leader?”

“Their Queen declined to send one. And with me—six of the Grand Queen’s soldiers, my escort.”

These Antinium were by far the most conventional, but even then…Klbkch saw two were classic Soldiers, but with carapaces so heavily reinforced that they stood two feet taller than a regular Soldier, to carry all the weight. They were taller even than the Armored Antinium, while the other four—

Klbkch inhaled sharply. Xrn nodded.

“They are like me.”

Indeed, the four Antinium closely resembled Klbkch’s current form. They were slim and had two hands, and at their sides they had blades. Not silver metal like his, but rather blades made of a dark substance, the same as those the scythes of the Silent Antinium were made of. These Antinium were also different from the rest in that they studied Klbkch with attentiveness. Intelligence.

“Natural blades. These are not Prognugators but Custodium—think of them as partial Prognugators.”

“Made in the same way?”

Xrn’s mandibles opened, and her tone was mocking.

“Yes. There are forty in the Hive.”

The number left Klbkch speechless. The sheer extravagance and waste it took to create—he would have asked Xrn more, but then Pivr interrupted.

“Revalantor Klbkch, are the introductions done? If so, I have a pressing announcement to inform you of.”

Klbkch and Xrn stared at him. They were all Prognugators and Revalantors, true, including Tersk, but Xrn and Klbkch were different. Tersk clearly knew that and respectfully stayed quiet, but Pivr was clearly different.

Xrn was the first to speak. Her tone was sharp.

“I am talking with Klbkch. You will be silent, Pivr.”

“You have been given command of our group, yes. But my Queen—”

“Shut up.”

Xrn turned back to Klbkch and only now did he remember the…personality of his old companion. He had forgotten it, living for so long in his quiet Hive.

“We have much to discuss. After we greet your Queen, you and I must have time to talk.”

“You are not expected to return soon?”

“No. In fact, I told my Queen I would be a long time in returning.”

“You told the Grand Queen that?”

“Yes.”

That was Xrn. Klbkch shifted his glance to the Antinium and once again noted the absence of the fifth Hive.

“Wrymvr did not come? And his Queen sent no one?”

Xrn shrugged.

“You know him.”

“I do. I should not be surprised. In truth, I did not expect your presence either.”

“Yes, well—”

“I have an announcement.”

This time Klbkch had to restrain himself from stabbing Pivr. But the Revalantor had strode into the center of the Antinium. He spoke loudly, without glancing at Xrn whose look was…murderous.

“My instructions were to obey Prognugator Xrn until we reached the city of Liscor. However, here I and the Flying Antinium will carry out different orders. We will go into the city via the main gates.”

“What?”

Klbkch couldn’t believe his ears. Pivr nodded at him calmly.

“I was not informed of this.”

Xrn’s voice was foreboding, but Pivr didn’t seem intimidated.

“Your input was not required. My Queen has given her orders, and they will be obeyed.”

“You cannot enter the city. I forbid it.”

Klbkch had no idea how the [Guardsmen] would react upon seeing these Antinium. They would likely think the Second Antinium Wars were upon them again. Even in the best case—

But Pivr could not be argued with.

“These are my Queen’s orders. You, Xrn, have no authority over this. We will go into the city. We will not fight even if provoked, but we will maintain a show of force. You are allowed to follow us if you so desire. Indeed, Revalantor Klbkch’s presence would greatly be appreciated.”

With that, he and the other six Antinium began to march through the snow. They accelerated—then their wings opened and they flew.

Not into the air, but across the ground, skipping across the ground. It wasn’t true flight—but it was too fast to catch up to on foot. Klbkch didn’t waste time talking to Xrn. She couldn’t stop them. If she cast a spell the Flying Antinium would fight it, and if she bound them they would just wait to be free. They would fulfill their orders or die.

The Antinium flew towards the city, and soon Klbkch heard the shouting from the walls. He only prayed there wouldn’t be any fighting. So long as the [Guardsmen] kept their cool they would realize these were Antinium. And the citizens of Liscor had grown used to the Antinium. It could be okay. It might be okay.

Then he saw the two Drakes standing in the middle of the street. Pivr had stopped with his six Antinium, uncertain. Drakes and Gnolls and Humans were fleeing him, but these two Drakes—and the group of warriors standing behind them—were not.

Klbkch could sense they were no ordinary warriors. Their presence alone had warned Pivr not to approach carelessly. Klbkch looked at them, about to call out, defuse whatever misunderstanding that might have occurred. And then he recognized one of them.

----

Zel Shivertail had been prepared for the Antinium. He knew they were in the city so he had been prepared to grit his teeth if he saw one on the street. But the flying Antinium? They’d come out of nowhere, speeding down the street. Was it an attack? His pulse had been racing and he had had to hold Ilvriss back, prevent him from unsheathing his sword and attacking.

But now another Antinium had come, one armed with two swords. Zel saw them, and his heart stopped in his chest.

Ilvriss froze by his side. His voice was the only sound in the street, the only sound Zel could hear over the hammering in his chest.

“Those swords. It can’t be—”

Another Antinium raced into the city, and behind her, more Antinium. Armored warriors—huge giants! The Drake warriors behind Ilvriss grabbed at their weapons.

“Those are specialist Antinium! From the Hives in the south!”

“An attack!?”

“Guard the Wall Lord!”

“Hold—hold!”

Zel ground the words out, but he felt like he’d been stabbed. Ilvriss had gone pale at the sight of the other Antinium who stood by the one with swords. His voice was a whisper now.

“Azure. The color of the sky.”

There was only one Antinium like that, Zel knew. But his eyes were still on the one with swords. There was only one Antinium like that one, as well.

“Klbkch the Slayer.”

His voice was thunder in his ears as he let go of Ilvriss. The Wall Lord had a death-grip on his sword as he stared at the Antinium holding the staff.

“The Small Queen. Xrn.”

----

Across the street, Klbkch stood frozen. Memory surged around him at the sight of Zel Shivertail’s face. It had caught Xrn as well.

“Zel Shivertail. And a Lord of the Wall.”

The air had changed. Pivr glanced uncertainly at Klbkch and Xrn.

“Who are these Drakes?”

No one answered him. Klbkch’s hands were on his sword. He felt Xrn trembling next to him.

“We must not fight.”

He said it, but the words were distant in his head. He couldn’t retreat. Not here. Not now.

Someone took a step forwards. Was it him? The Drakes started to advance as well. Shivertail’s eyes were locked on Klbkch’s.

Memory flashed between the two.

----

Zel Shivertail killed another Soldier, cutting apart his carapace with claws like razors. He turned, and saw the battlefield had disintegrated into chaos. Drakes and Antinium struggled everywhere, the Antinium fighting and killing anything moving.

Chaos. He turned and blocked a sword that came for his neck at the last moment. The Antinium who leapt backwards was slim, and covered in blood. Drake blood. He held his swords like a true blade master, watching Zel carefully.

“Zel Shivertail.”

“You must be Klbkch the Slayer.”

“Yes. I have come to kill you. If you die, the Antinium will triumph here.”

Zel pointed at the battlefield, where Antinium fought and died, killing mindlessly even as the Drakes organized and began to slaughter them.

“Is this how the Antinium do battle?”

“It is how we fight to survive, Drake. When we do battle, you will know the difference.”

Klbkch leapt forwards and then there were only his flashing blades. Zel snarled, slashing with his claws—

----

“I’ll take the mage. You take the Slayer.”

“We are not…here to fight.”

Zel rasped the words out. His feet dragged themselves forwards though, and he couldn’t muster the effort to stop them. He and Ilvriss advanced down the street, ignoring the calls from the Drakes behind them to stop.

Ilvriss felt one of his guards grab at him and swung one fist. The Drake fell back, bleeding, and the Lord of the Wall walked forwards as if in a trance. His sword was in his hand, and his eyes were on Xrn’s. They stared at each other, as they had done years ago on the battlefield.

----

He stood with the [Mages] and [Strategists], coordinating the battle as the Drake and Human forces contained the Antinium with walls of steel and blasted them with magic. Ilvriss stood patiently, knowing his chance for battle would not come. But then the earth exploded and he saw her standing amid the destruction.

The command tent burned as she drew a line of fire that burned the Human [Commander] to ash. Out of the billowing smoke, Soldiers charged into battle, fighting the unprepared [Mages] and support classes and their small retinue of guards.

“This battle is over. Flee, Drakes and Humans, or I will slay you all.”

That came from the Antinium who glowed with magic. She looked down at Ilvriss as he stood, shaking, blood running down his right leg, his long sword in hand.

“Name yourself! Who are you?”

He roared at her as he charged, cutting Soldiers down. The Antinium’s voice echoed as she stood on a rock, casting spells left and right, cutting down his allies, his friends.

“I am the last memory of my kind. Thunder which moves grass. I am a Queen without a Hive. Fire burning in the heart of ice. I am Xrn, and I will not die here.”

She raised her staff, and lightning split the sky. It broke the formations of Drakes, and a fireball fell among the [Mages] who hadn’t time to raise a shield spell. They burned, dying, and the Antinium with a staff raised hers high. The wind blew, and the Soldiers and Workers charged. Ilvriss fell back, fighting among the dying….

----

He couldn’t stop. Zel walked onwards, and so did the Antinium. The streets were empty.

The air was screaming with tension.

He knew he should stop. They were at peace.

Peace? With the Antinium? Zel walked the battlefield and saw his foes only a few feet away. He could smell the dead around him, and feel blood running down his side. The air was hot. Hot? It was the middle of summer, and the Antinium—

Zel felt snow crunching under his feet. He knew he was in Liscor, knew the war was over. But the pounding pulse in his head wouldn’t die down. And the Antinium were right in front of him.

----

Klbkch’s feet moved. His swords were in his hands.

“We must stop.”

Xrn said that, dreamily. But he could feel magic gathering around her. Klbkch said nothing.

He couldn’t stop.

“Fighting is prohibited.”

Klbkch’s head turned and Pivr quailed. He knew the other Antinium was right. But nothing could stop him. He was staring Zel Shivertail in the eye, and he knew it was time to finish things. The sword was cold in Klbkch’s hand. He took another step, another—

And then someone rushed in front of him, arms spread wide. Klbkch raised his sword to cut the person—the Antinium down—

“Pawn!”

The blade stopped. Pawn stood in front of Klbkch, arms spread wide, and twenty Soldiers stood at his back. Xrn had paused too, surprised by the other Antinium’s appearance.

“Revalantor Klbkch, I regret that we must bar your way.”

Klbkch opened his mandibles to protest, to tell Pawn to move before Zel Shivertail cut him down from behind—when he saw the shouting on the other end of the street.

“Guardsmen! Form a line!”

Watch Captain Zevara—Zevara was there, forming a living wall like Pawn had with Gnolls and Drakes. They blocked off Zel and the Wall Lord from advancing, faces grim, shields raised as if they expected a fight.

The Drake [General] was staring at Watch Captain Zevara as she shouted at them to back up. Klbkch heard another voice then as well, a familiar one.

“Hey, old man Zel! It’s me, Relc! How’s it going? And who’s this guy?”

A big Drake waved excitedly at the head of the tense group of [Guardsmen]. Relc was enough of a distraction by himself. Klbkch felt the madness—the memory holding him loosen. He turned.

“Xrn.”

“I know. Let’s get out of here.”

She turned. The Antinium—the Armored Antinium, Pivr and his band of idiots, and the silent assassins and Xrn’s honor guard ran through the streets. The City Watch and the Drake [General] let them go. And in a few moments…

There was peace.

For now.

----

They had come close to war. Perhaps. Zel could only shudder at the thought as he walked out of Liscor’s gates. If they had fought, regardless of who had lived and died, what would have happened? Would it have been war right then? Would the Queen have done that?

If Ilvriss or he had died—Zel didn’t want to imagine it. His earholes still rang from Watch Captain Zevara’s shouting. It had been a miracle she’d gotten there in time.

He should have known better. Zel knew that. But he had seen Klbkch and memory—

He’d think on it later. It was late, after all the shouting and then the explanations and introductions had been done. Zel glanced at the sky and wanted nothing more than to find somewhere comfortable to sleep.

But all the inns were full, and he had no desire to stay under the same roof as Ilvriss. So Zel walked out of the city and towards a place he thought he remembered.

It was odd. The inn seemed closer than it should have been, and in the wrong place. But it was the only inn around, and so Zel knocked politely on the door and waited.

When it did open, he stared down in mild surprise at the girl who stared up at him with huge eyes. A young Gnoll cub appeared behind the girl and then darted away as Zel waited for her to speak.

“Um. Hello.”

“Good evening, Miss. Is the [Innkeeper] here by any chance?”

“Erin? No she’s…I’m sorry, please, come in!”

Zel entered, somewhat mystified. Erin? That was a female name, or so he thought. What had happened to the man? Had he retired?

Perhaps he’d gotten married and this was his daughter. Or just a [Barmaid]. Zel sat at a table, smiling without showing his teeth as the girl brought him a drink.

“Here’s some water. Honey water, actually.”

Zel’s nonexistent eyebrows rose as he sipped at the sweet drink. It was quite nice, and pleasantly hot.

“So the [Innkeeper] is gone? Will she be back tonight, do you know?”

“No I—she’s been gone for a while now. I run the inn while she’s—away. My name is Lyon. Lyonette.”

Odder and odder. But Zel still needed a place to sleep.

“In that case, may I ask if your inn is full Miss Lyon? I’m looking for lodgings and all of the inns in the city are crowded.”

“A place to—?”

The girl’s eyes widened as if she was surprised he wanted to stay here. And judging from the way the inn was so empty at dinnertime, that was probably justified. But Zel liked the feel of the inn. It had glass windows, flowers, and a lovely fire.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a room. I stayed here once before—I think it was here—a long time ago and I have fond memories of this place.”

“Oh. Well this inn was rebuilt…”

Zel blinked at Lyon. The girl blushed.

“I’m sorry. It’s a long story. But yes—we have plenty of rooms. If you’d like to stay here, I can offer you a very reasonable rate. But I’m afraid Erin—the [Innkeeper] is gone so I’m the only one who can serve you. I’ll do my best, but I’m not the best cook.”

“Well, as long as it’s edible I will be quite happy.”

Zel smiled reassuringly at Lyon, and she managed to smile back. He looked down as he felt a wet nose on his leg.

“And I see you’re not all by yourself. Who’s this?”

“Mrsha!”

The Human girl yelped and chased away the Gnoll. But she paused as Zel laughed, and smiled again.

“If you’re willing…then welcome. As I said, my name is Lyonette. This is Mrsha. Welcome…to the Wandering Inn.”

3.24

When the Horns of Hammerad left the city of Remendia, it was, predictably, to a huge fanfare and celebration by the crowds lining the street. At this point, the four adventurers so highly lauded were well and truly sick of the entire affair.

“It’s not even as if there’s anything to cheer about. We’re leaving.”

Yvlon and Pisces nodded in dour agreement as they strode down the streets towards the gates. Ksmvr didn’t reply—he was busy waving. He seemed to enjoy it.

“There’s the wagon. Let’s get on.”

Ceria pointed, and the Horns of Hammerad piled onto the wagon outside of the city. The cheering faded a bit as the crowds realized that the illustrious adventurers, the heroes who’d conquered Albez, weren’t leaving on white stallions or riding away in a carriage.

They were taking a wagon, for good and practical reasons. But it was definitely less fancy and so the adventurers left the city with their eardrums mostly intact.

“Thanks for waiting. Are you headed directly to Celum?”

Ceria addressed the wagon driver, a woman who grinned at her as she flicked her reins to make the two horses begin plodding down the road.

“That’s right. I’ve got a bulk delivery of goods—crops, meat, and so on—that needs to get down there tonight.”

“Oh? Are you part of the Runner’s Guild?”

The woman clearly was no Runner, but the Guild sometimes hired slower modes of transport to deliver goods the old-fashioned way when there weren’t enough Runners or there was too much to carry. The wagon driver snorted gently.

“No—Merchant’s Guild. We handle all the mundane traffic. You’ll never see a Runner stoop to carrying this stuff. Of course, up north the damn Runner’s Guilds have bags of holding and so their Runners can still beat our prices. But this close to the south us [Merchants] and [Traders] have the monopoly on transport.”

The half-Elf nodded. It wasn’t like she’d asked for an explanation, but guild rivalries were a touchy thing. And the Runner’s Guild wasn’t exactly popular—adventurers had their issues with them, as did [Merchants] and other groups like the Mage’s Guild and so on.

“Well, so long as we get to Celum before dark, we’ll be happy.”

“No fear of that. Truth be told, I wouldn’t be doing this run at all if you lot hadn’t decided to hitch a ride. All these Goblin attacks make it far too dangerous—but the Horns of Hammerad shouldn’t have any problems, right?”

Ceria could only smile crookedly at that.

“Hopefully we don’t see an army.”

So saying, she retreated back to the mostly-filled wagon. Pisces was sitting atop a bag of what was probably potatoes, Yvlon had made herself comfortable on some boxes that she wouldn’t squish, and Ksmvr was sitting with his legs dangling off the back of the wagon. Ceria joined Yvlon on the boxes.

For a while there was silence. The Horns of Hammerad were tired, if not physically so early in the day, then mentally. After a while though, Pisces felt compelled to break the silence. As always.

“What I fail to understand is why those fo—those confused denizens of Remendia—felt the need to cheer our departure. To what end? We are leaving, not arriving in splendor and triumph.”

Ceria sighed. But it was Yvlon who replied. She frowned vaguely at Pisces, but had no real rancor in her tone. She and Pisces might be fairly incompatible, but they were teammates now.

“We’re heroes to them, Pisces. Don’t tell me you’ve never dreamed of seeing a team of adventurers as a child? They wanted to give us a sendoff worthy of the heroes they thought we were. I’m almost ashamed that we disappointed their expectations.”

Pisces sniffed, but made no comment. Ceria just shrugged as she made herself more comfortable on her seat. She drew the wool cloak around her body closer to herself, shivering at the cold winter winds.

“At some point they’ve got to realize that even heroes are practical. Besides, it’s not as if we could afford a carriage or mounts. Not that Ksmvr would be able to ride a horse.”

Ksmvr looked up from his study of the landscape and nodded.

“That is correct. Thank you for noticing, Captain Ceria.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Pisces rolled his eyes and smirked, but Yvlon treated him to a disapproving glance and he swallowed the comment he was about to make. Instead he looked back towards the city, already growing distant as the wagon pulled itself down the road at a good pace. The driver might have had a Skill that allowed the horses to move faster, Ceria reflected.

“I wonder, would all those cheering people believe that we are destitute?”

Yvlon looked blank.

“Destitute?”

“Broke.”

Ceria sighed. Pieces could have used a simpler word, but then he wouldn’t be Pisces.

“I doubt it. After all that coin we received, who’d believe that? But if we hadn’t gotten this deal to guard the wagon in exchange for transport, we’d be walking right now.”

That made everyone go silent for a moment. Yvlon just sighed, and stared down at her arms. She wasn’t wearing her plate armor—it had been too badly damaged to save and they hadn’t had enough coin to buy more. Instead, she was wearing leather, except along her arms which were still fused with the silvery metal.

“Do you think we gave Ryoka too much coin?”

“Perhaps.”

Ceria stared at the snowy landscape as they passed by. In the distance, she saw a village filled with a few moving shapes.

“There’s no such thing as too much gold when it comes to paying [Mages]. She’ll need a lot to get accurate, speedy work done.”

“And we should have had enough to live comfortably if it weren’t for those extortionate fees.”

Pisces put that in with a scowl. Yvlon looked unhappy as well.

“I know. We should have considered that, but neither Ceria nor I had ever heard of the Guild’s taxes until this point.”

That was true. Ceria had been just as surprised as the others when they’d found out that the Adventurer’s Guild demanded a ten percent cut of the spoils gained from a dungeon raid or a particularly lucrative assignment. It did seem like extortion in a way—the Guild already took a chunk out of every assignment they offered and made money from referring adventurers and selling their own products.

But on the other hand, membership in the Adventurer’s Guild was free, and they did provide other services. So the Horns of Hammerad had reluctantly paid the steep fees, choosing to pay more coin rather than report the value of the artifacts they’d recovered and have that factored into the fee.

Still, it smarted and took a lot out of their hard-won savings of coin. And when they added the fees for hiring the [Blacksmith] and [Healer] to remove the metal from Yvlon’s arm—not to mention the price of staying in the inn and eating so lavishly for the few days they’d been in the city—well, that was how the Horns of Hammerad found themselves back to square one.

Which was to say, broke. They had a few silver coins left, but all of their remaining coin and the valuable artifacts they’d found were with Ryoka, in the north.

Did Ceria regret gambling everything on her friend? A little bit, she had to admit. Still…

“Ryoka will get back to us soon, and she’ll contact us when she’s done with Lady Magnolia. She might be appraising our artifacts as we speak.”

Yvlon looked slightly doubtful.

“If you say so. You know her best, Ceria. I only met her once before. She seemed honorable—but hotheaded. Are you sure she won’t waste the coin or…make a mistake with it?”

Pisces and Ksmvr turned to look at Ceria as well. She blinked, realizing that none of the other adventurers in her group knew Ryoka that well, even Pisces. True, he’d healed her legs, but he didn’t know her any better than the others.

“She is. Hotheaded, I mean. She’s prickly and arrogant and she’s not exactly easy to deal with all of the time. But she is brave, Yvlon. She went into the crypts to rescue me and she’s certainly no coward. We can trust her. Calruz did, and you know he wouldn’t trust anyone who wasn’t totally honorable. Actually…Ryoka’s a lot like a female Calruz.”

Yvlon snorted at that, but Pisces and Ksmvr just exchanged a confused glance. Ceria’s heart twinged as she realized…neither of them knew who Calruz was, either. Pisces probably didn’t even recognize the Minotaur’s name.

“Well, we’ll wait for her then. She’s a friend of Erin Solstice, so I suppose I shall place my trust in her capabilities.”

That was Pisces’ conclusion. He sat back on his bag of potatoes and shifted around for a moment. Then he looked at Ceria.

“On the topic of spoils however, I wonder. If you’re not planning on doing any studying, why not lend me that spellbook, Springwalker? I’d only borrow it for the duration of the journey…”

“No.”

Ceria paused as she opened her pack. She pulled out the spellbook, the burnt half of a spellbook rather, and opened it carefully to the first page. It was her greatest treasure, now, far more important than anything else she’d ever owned. Yvlon rolled her eyes and Ksmvr scooped up some snow as the argument between the two [Mages] resumed.

“Oh come now. I won’t need it for long—and you get sick when reading while in motion. Let me see it.”

“My spellbook, Pisces. That was the deal.”

He scowled at her.

“But that—I only meant—”

“I get the first spellbook we find, in exchange for the ring. You agreed, and so this is mine. Deal with it.”

Ceria stared down at the page filled with glowing words and symbols. She had no idea what it meant—like most high-level magical spellbooks, this one was written in a combination of regular text and magical formulas. However, the words that were meant to describe a spell’s use and other details were written in a language Ceria didn’t know. She could only try and decipher the magical instructions, which were written in a universal language for [Mages].

The trouble was…Ceria wasn’t certain what tier the spell she was staring at was, but it was certainly far above her capabilities. So were all the spells in the book—the mage had obviously been extraordinarily high-level, and so the spells were the most complex Ceria had ever seen. She wasn’t even certain of whether she was on the first page of the spell or midway through—that was how hard it was to understand.

“But this is completely unfair. If you compare such a trove of magical knowledge to the paltry ring—surely you understand my position. Springwalker, I implore you. We could study it together. Surely two minds are better than—”

Pisces stopped whining and ducked as Ceria pointed her skeletal finger. A snowball coalesced out of the air and shot past his ear. He sat up and Ceria kept reading.

That was the Horns of Hammerad. They sat on the wagon, Pisces sulking, Ceria reading, frowning and chewing at her hair, Yvlon staring at the landscape and Ksmvr playing with the snow.

They had gone into Albez and made their way through a trapped dungeon. True, they’d nearly died and lost a lot of the treasure to the final trap, but they’d survived. And now they were…

What? Ceria frowned as she tried to concentrate on the spell. Were they better than they had been? They were teammates, now, that was certain. They’d faced death once, and so they were a stronger group.

But was that all? They’d actually lost a lot of combat strength, she felt. Yvlon was injured. She could still wield a sword, albeit with some stiffness, but her armor was gone and her arms would need a master-class [Healer] to fix. Or a spell, neither of which the Horns of Hammerad could afford.

They had a spellbook, but Ceria couldn’t make heads or tails of it for the moment and she doubted that Pisces, genius though he was, would have better luck. Ryoka had their hard-won artifacts, and while they might turn out to be earth-shatteringly powerful, and while Ceria would eventually learn all the spells in the spellbook, it was all deferred rewards. Right here and now, they were no better than they had been. Worse, in fact.

And that was concerning for one reason. Ceria put down the book of spells, making Pisces look up, and voiced her concerns to her team.

“I know we agreed to escort Erin back to Liscor. But are we sure that’s wise at the moment?”

The other three Horns of Hammerad looked up. None of them needed an explanation. Yvlon frowned as she ran her fingers across the smooth metal in her arms—the [Blacksmith] had helped sand the rough edges of the metal after she had cut most of it away, but it still had to be uncomfortable, especially in the cold.

“I don’t know. Honestly, I wouldn’t worry normally. We’re more than capable of taking on any normal group of bandits or monsters, but all the rumors of Goblin armies we’ve been hearing recently have me worried.”

Ksmvr nodded.

“If the reports of a Goblin Lord are true, we should be cautious. Even raiding parties sent out from such a force would number in the hundreds.”

Ceria grimaced.

“I doubt Erin’s in danger in Celum, at least if the Goblin Lord’s main army isn’t there. Every city has enchantments on their walls and they can normally hold out for a while. I just don’t understand how Esthelm fell in a day. That makes no sense.”

Pisces just shrugged. He seemed less concerned than the others by the countless stories they’d heard of Goblins attacking villages and even towns and cities.

“Goblin Lords are notoriously powerful. If one is truly present—and I cast aspersions on the rumors of his existence—then he could well have overwhelmed the city’s defenses with a sneak attack. Either way, his army is not a concern—word will spread when it marches. Rather, we should be worrying about Goblin war bands, as Ksmvr has said.”

Yvlon nodded seriously.

“We might be able to escape or fend them off if we encounter them on the road—but that depends on how many spells you and Pisces know. Ksmvr and I can’t fight a horde like that. But what worries me is Erin herself. Would we then be taking her into danger, bringing her to Liscor, closer to where the Goblin Lord might be?”

Ksmvr nodded, but Pisces just smirked and Ceria had to laugh at the irony of the question.

“Liscor? Hah. It’s safer than Celum, Yvlon. Erin’s close enough that she could run into the city if a Goblin force came calling. And as for them getting past Liscor’s walls…not a chance. That city’s famous from the Antinium Wars—it’s withstood sieges from the Antinium and a [Necromancer] far more capable than Pisces.”

“I object. That statement is fundamentally correct, but flawed in its assumptions. I—”

“Shut up, Pisces. The walls of Liscor are high, and they’ve got far more powerful enchantments on them. So long as they actually close the gates, they’ll hold out during a siege for months at least. And there’s two Gold-rank teams in the city. With them on the walls, even a Goblin Lord would think twice before assailing the city.”

“I see.”

Ksmvr and Yvlon nodded. The female [Warrior] looked towards the horizon, still tapping her fingers on the metal in her arm.

“So it seems like we only have two things to worry about. How to get Erin to Liscor safely, and what we should do while we’re waiting for Ryoka to contact us.”

Ceria nodded. But Ksmvr had something else in mind. He stared back at Remendia, now a distant spot on the horizon.

“Do you think there will be crowds cheering us in Celum? I enjoyed the ones in Remendia.”

Pisces made a dismissive sound of disgust.

“I hope not. So much noise gets on my nerves.”

He paused.

“Although…mindless adulation is not without its merits. We should expect at least a small gathering; word will have spread of our exploits and no doubt there will be a commotion when we are recognized.”

“True, let’s just get through it as best we can.”

Yvlon smiled crookedly, but Ceria thought she looked a bit pleased at the idea. For her part, the half-Elf considered that she wouldn’t mind the attention. It was inconvenient of course after a while, but…

“Just so long as it doesn’t get to our heads. Fame is fleeting as adventurers, let’s not forget that.”

“Certainly not.”

“I will commit this to memory.”

“Indeed.”

The Horns of Hammerad settled back in their cart, nodding to each other. They fell into silence once more, waiting, contemplatively staring at the horizon towards the city of Celum, still invisible in the distance. The only sound was a snort that came from the wagon driver as the horses plodded onwards through the snow.

----

There were no cheering crowds in Celum, nor any parades, much to the disappointment of all the Horns of Hammerad. In fact, no one even batted an eyelid when the adventurers made their way through the gate.

“The Horns of Hammerad? Hm. Your name sounds familiar. You have anything to declare? No? Move on through, then.”

Dismayed, the adventurers walked past the first guard at the gates. It wasn’t as if they’d expected a huge reception. But how come no one had noticed their party’s name? Usually the exploits of adventuring teams were all gossiped about fiercely in all the local cities.

Either word hadn’t spread yet, or no one cared about a Silver-ranked team of adventurers, no matter what they’d done.

Then again…it did seem like the [Guardsmen] manning the gate had a lot on their minds. They all looked sleep-deprived, as if they’d been pulling two shifts instead of one.

Ceria stopped to talk to one of them in the gatehouse. He was mumbling to himself in a corner of the room—she hesitated as she drew near and heard what he was saying.

“To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life…”

Was he really that sleep-deprived? There was an odd cadence to his words. Ceria paused, wondering if she should find someone else to talk to, but she interrupted the man’s rambling self-reflection anyways.

“Excuse me, guardsman.”

He jumped and stared at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and the scraggly mustache on his face could have used some trimming.

“I’m sorry, can I help you Miss…?”

He noticed her robes and her hand. To his credit he only stared for a few seconds.

“Are you an adventurer? Do you have anything to report? Monsters? Or something to declare?”

“No. I was just wondering. Is there any news? Any bad news?”

“About what?”

The fuzzy-lipped man blinked at her.

“The Goblins.”

He blinked a few more times before the words trickled into whatever part of his brain was still thinking. For some reason he took a pose.

“‘There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’ Ah…no, Miss. The Goblins haven’t shown up near Celum.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Ceria backed away from him and rejoined her group. Pisces twirled one finger around his ears as he gestured at the guardsman. Ceria just shrugged and led them into the city.

“Now, where’s Erin? Ryoka told me she was staying at a room in…which inn was it?”

“The Frenzied Hare, I think.”

It was a surreal experience, walking through a city where no one stared at them or came over to talk or shake their hands. Were the adventurers disappointed? Yes, a little bit, but at the same time it felt good to be normal again.

They were no heroes, and while they liked to be treated as one, it wasn’t why they’d become adventurers in the first place. True, many young men and women of every species joined for exactly that reason; to become rich and famous. But after they spent their first week shivering in the mud and rain while insects crawled all over them, or come face-to-face with a monster with too many teeth, such people usually quit.

True adventurers, Ceria reflected, wanted something other than just fame and fleeting fortune. Although that was a nice side-effect of success.

It wasn’t hard to find the Frenzied Hare. For some reason everyone the Horns of Hammerad asked could tell them exactly where the inn was.

“Going to see the night’s show? Good luck! I had to stand throughout the entire thing, although I’ll say it was worth it.”

“I’d go back again, but I’ve work early the next day. Maybe when the next play comes out…”

These remarks meant nothing to the Horns of Hammerad, but it reinforced Ceria and Pisces’ belief that Erin was staying at the inn.

“After all, if something strange is going on that girl probably had something to do with it.”

Ceria nodded at Pisces’ comment and both Yvlon and Ksmvr were forced to agree. That was how they found themselves pushing the door to the inn open just before the sun set over the rooftops in the city.

To their surprise, the humble-looking inn was packed. The Horns of Hammerad opened the door and were treated to a heaving room full of people, crowding every table, talking, eating, so many that the adventurers had to edge carefully into the room to avoid stepping on toes.

It was a strange, surreal sight. The guests sat in eager groups, people who looked like they didn’t even know each other, willingly sharing tables and talking excitedly about the night’s play. It was an odd word they used. ‘Play’. They spoke of it as if it were something different, or a magical word, and it made the Horns of Hammerad glance at each other in confusion.

More aspects of the inn didn’t make sense. For instance, why was there a curtain on one end of the room? There was a good third of the common room that had no tables on it—why was no one sitting there? Ceria stared around, wondering what was going on.

“Do you see anywhere to sit?”

“There.”

Ksmvr spotted a table that was empty and immediately walked towards it. The other five patrons who’d been making a beeline for the table stopped when they saw the Antinium approaching and backed away. Ceria went to sit as well, but she and the other adventurers were stopped by a somewhat stout woman who came rushing over, waving her hands.

“Stop, stop! Please, I don’t know who you are—but even if you are adventurers, I’m afraid all the seats are taken. You’ll have to stand like the rest. You can’t just take over a table…”

She looked nervous, especially when she stared at Ksmvr, but she also sounded like she was ready to chase Ceria and the others away even if they protested.

“Sorry, Mistress. We didn’t know—what’s going on?”

Ceria waved at the crowds. The [Innkeeper], if that was who she was, looked surprised.

“You don’t know? Aren’t you here for the night’s play?”

“What play? You mean with toys? We’re here to see a friend. Erin Solstice. Do you know if she’s staying here?”

The woman’s eyes widened in shock. She glanced back at the kitchen.

“Erin? You want to meet—I’m so sorry, but she’s busy. Cooking. I’ll let her know you asked about her, but if she doesn’t keep working we’ll never get this crowd fed. If you’ll wait until tonight I’m sure—”

Pisces rolled his eyes. Fed up with the woman, he brusquely marched past her and towards the kitchen. She tried to stop him, but Ceria and Yvlon walked past her too.

“Erin?”

Ceria shouted into the open kitchen where the sounds of extreme cooking could be heard. She waited as the woman protectively barred the doorway.

“Erin? Are you in there? It’s me. Ceria! And Yvlon is here as well. We—”

The half-Elf heard a shout from inside the kitchen. A moment later a young woman practically ran the older innkeeper over. She shoved the protesting woman aside and then turned to the Horns of Hammerad. Erin Solstice, covered in flour, sweat, and a strange red paste Ceria vaguely recognized as tomato sauce spread her arms wide and rushed at her friends.

“Ceria! Yvlon!”

She practically tackled the two women, hugging them fiercely. Ceria laughed as people turned and looked, and Yvlon smiled as she gave Erin a welcoming hug. The girl turned, her eyes widening as she smiled.

“Ksmvr! And…you.”

She paused when she got to Pisces.

“Hey, you.”

He sniffed, hurt, but then Erin smiled and hugged him as well, much to the young man’s astonishment.

“You’re all okay! And alive! And—”

Erin saw Yvlon’s arms and gasped in shock. Yvlon opened her mouth to explain, but then the innkeeper was interrupting, trying to pull Erin back towards the kitchen.

“You know these adventurers, Erin dear? Can’t you have your reunion later? Folks are calling out for food!”

“They can wait. You cook if we’re so busy! Or get another inn to serve food! Shoo!”

Erin shoved the innkeeper away and then turned back to her friends. She stared at them, looking almost teary-eyed with relief.

“What happened? I was so worried! Ryoka only said—well, she left a message for me that you were in Remendia! Did you find the dungeon? She said you cleared it—”

Their reunion was attracting stares. Only naturally—Ksmvr might have been allowed into the city, but he was still an Antinium, and Yvlon’s arms were getting their own attention. It didn’t take long for people to put two and two together, even as excited as they were for this ‘play’.

“The Horns of Hammerad! The Conquerers of Albez!”

A huge cheer went up, although half of the guests probably didn’t even know what it was about. This was a crowd that would cheer anything, but soon there were people surrounding the Horns of Hammerad, talking excitedly.

At precisely the wrong time. Ceria, Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr found themselves mobbed, and after a few minutes of chaos, Ceria managed to duck into the kitchen with Erin.

“You’re famous!”

That was what Erin said when they had a moment to speak. The hubbub was muted through the door, and Ceria sat against a kitchen counter, breathing heavily.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s still surprising—how are you here, Erin? The last time we met, you were in Liscor, nearly a hundred miles away from here! What’s this Ryoka said about Toren? Is there a problem?”

Erin’s face fell for a second. She turned around and Ceria noticed she was making food. Strange, circular sheets of dough slathered with pasted tomatoes and covered with cheese and meat. Ceria had eaten this food before, but it was still weird to her. What was it called again? Pizza?

“Yeah. He—it’s complicated. I’m making pizzas right now—sorry, I’ve got to keep working. But it’s great to know you’re okay. Except Yvlon! What happened to her arms?”

“It’s a long story.”

Ceria watched as Erin took a completed pizza—golden brown cheese glistening on top of the baked bread—out of the stone oven. Her stomach rumbled, and Erin laughed.

“You’re hungry! Well, good, because I’m making a ton of food! And you’re just in time! The play’s about to start! Oh, right—you don’t even know what’s happened. Well, just wait and see! You can watch it tonight. I’ll make Agnes get a table for you—unless you have another inn you’re staying at?”

The girl took a knife and diced the pizza up into gooey sections of eight which she placed onto plates. She turned to Ceria, smiling hugely.

“Why not stay here instead? But you’re probably staying at the best inn—that’s okay! I can visit you and besides, the beds here aren’t that great. But you should stay for dinner! It’ll be fun, I promise!”

Embarrassed, Ceria had to interject. She coughed as she confessed to Erin.

“We don’t uh, actually have the coin to stay at a good inn, Erin. We were hoping you could…”

The girl’s eyes widened in shock.

“You didn’t get any money from going through the dungeon? That’s terrible! Everyone was saying how great it was, but adventuring doesn’t pay, huh? You can stay at my inn—I mean, the inn I’m helping to run! Free of charge! I’ll be making pizza tonight and I’ll make a huge breakfast tomorrow!”

Ceria would have liked to protest, but she and the other Horns of Hammerad really didn’t have any room to argue. She could only smile and hug Erin. The other girl hugged her back, tightly. They stood in silence for a moment, countless words unspoken, just happy to see each other again.

Then the door opened and let in spilling noise and confusion. Erin turned back to her cooking after giving the distressed woman named Miss Agnes orders, and Ceria and the other Horns of Hammerad found themselves seated just in time to witness a play.

What was it? The Horns of Hammerad sat at a table right in front of the stage, staring in confusion at the men, women, and one female Drake all dressed up as if they were [Lords] and [Ladies]. They strutted about the stage, and then one began to speak. He declaimed to the audience, who went magically silent as they watched him, only pausing to eat the hot pizza and sip from their mugs.

And then…two Humans, a man and a woman, both dressed as [Guardsmen]—Ceria thought they actually were [Guardsmen]…met in the center of the stage. One called out to the other, who stood at clear attention.

“Who’s there?”

The woman on watch turned and put her hand on her sword, frowning deeply.

“Nay, answer me: stand, and reveal yourself.”

A briefest pause, and then the man cried out.

“Long live the [King]!”

The woman palpably relaxed. She took her hand away from her sword.

“Bernardo?”

The man nodded as he approached.

“He.”

What happened? One second the two were talking, and Ceria was wondering what in the name of fungus was going on, and then—

And then the play began. The Horns of Hammerad stared at the actors as they began to act, and realized as they were sitting what that word meant. Acting. Telling a story. Of course they’d heard of performers and storytellers and even the occasional reenactment of an event, but this? This was different. They sat in stunned silence as on the stage of the Frenzied Hare, the people in silly costumes came to life and told a story.

For Ceria’s part, she sat with a slice of hot pizza in front of her, chewing slowly and relishing the new taste. She tried to follow the performance on stage. What was this about some kind of revenge plot? Apparently the character – some [Prince] with an odd Human name – was trying to avenge his dead father, who’d come back as a ghost to ask him to slay his killer.

Human [Kings] and [Princes] and betrayal and death. Ceria had trouble keeping up with the plot in truth, but she felt mired by the sheer depravity of it all. The people on stage backstabbed and poisoned each other, dragging all down into death in the end.

It reminded her of Terandria, actually, and the rumors she’d heard of the games of politics played by each nation. She didn’t like the premise of the play, but she couldn’t look away. And the food was good.

But if she was the least-riveted by the performance, the same could not be said for Pisces. The instant the play began the mage was fixated, to the point where he actually stopped eating and just focused on the play.

He sat hunched forwards, eyes intent on each character as they spoke. Occasionally Pisces would sit back and nod his head or shake it sadly as they delivered complex verses in Shakespearean prose, or roll his eyes and smirk when a joke was spoken that passed over the audience’s head.

To Ceria’s right, Yvlon sat tensely in her chair, just as gripped by it. She was entranced too, although in her own way. Yvlon frowned when the premise of the play—a [Lord] who had slain the rightful [King] married the [Queen] to usurp the throne—was revealed. Thereafter she sat rigid in her seat, clearly rooting for the main character of the play to uncover the truth and bring down the traitorous villain.

And on the other side of the table? Ksmvr sat still, his slice of pizza drooping in his hand, staring as the tragedy unfolded. He seemed fascinated rather than emotionally moved, but Ceria didn’t see him look away once.

She suspected a lot of what was going on was passing right over—or perhaps between—the antennae on the top of his head. But he was a keen observer nonetheless, and sat almost completely still as he watched the play reach its conclusion.

When it was over, when the young [Prince] lay dying and the rest of the cast lay sprawled out on the floor and his friend called out an end to the sorry tale, the audience leapt to their feet. They cheered the actors who stood and bowed repeatedly, and only then did Ceria find out the name of the play. She had missed it when getting her pizza, but now the name of the play was on everyone’s lips as they talked excitedly about the story and called for more food and drink.

It was called Hamlet.

----

It was close to midnight before the inn finally cleared. The people left, most drunk and almost all half-asleep on their feet. The [Actors] had already left. Ceria had seen one of them—the [Guardsman] with the fuzzy mustache who’d played Hamlet—stumbling off, looking partly dead. She wondered how he could work his job and act like this every night.

The [Innkeeper] Miss Agnes and the staff of [Barmaids]—four of them, all needed to keep up with the crowds—had long since retired. Only Erin remained. She sat in the messy room, looking exhausted and happy. And with her sat the Horns of Hammerad.

There was a different kind of feel to the air as they sat, talking quietly and eating the leftover pizza Erin had made. The excitement from the play had gone—Pisces had asked Erin many questions about it, as had Ksmvr. She’d told them all about the first few performances of the tale of Romeo and Juliet, and how it had changed the city.

The play was a new, amazing thing. The tale enacted on stage was a classic. After the first night, the new [Actors] had put on repeated performances, each time filling the Frenzied Hare to the brim with eager, paying guests. Other inns had immediately tried to entice the performers to their inns, but the troupe had stayed here.

And of course, where success came, countless people followed, wanting to perform the play themselves, become [Actors]…Erin told the amazed Horns of Hammerad that other groups were already imitating the play, and even going to other cities to perform.

But the [Actors] with the highest levels were by far Wesle and Jasi and the original crew of people who kept performing. They had already gained a handful of Skills and they had been bitten repeatedly by the acting bug. So Erin had taught them another play, Hamlet, which they were performing each night to great success.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do. They want to learn all the plays! And they said they want to create a travelling performance—just like Shakespeare did! It’s so wild!”

“Who’s Shakespeare? The one who wrote this play? Where does he live? Can I meet him?”

Pisces chewed the crust of the pizza furiously as he stared at Erin. Ksmvr was busy eating some raw dough—he was obsessed with the stuff, and only he could eat it with the charm against food poisoning. Erin just waved Pisces away, shaking her head.

“He’s long dead. And besides—there’s just so much to do! I’d like to stay, but doing these plays is exhausting! I can teach Wesle and the others the plays I know—some of them have [Perfect Recall] like me. But I just wanted to show them a play, you know? I didn’t expect it to get this big.”

“Forget famous. This will sweep across the world.”

Ceria sat back in her chair, amazed at the idea. She could already see the play becoming a huge hit in Terandria. Why, every [Lord] would want to put on a performance. How much money could be made from it? She couldn’t even imagine what would happen next.

Erin just shrugged. She hadn’t wanted to talk about the play at all. She stared at Yvlon’s arms again as the woman dozed in her chair.

“I can’t believe what happened to you guys. You’ve been through so much. And Ryoka…I thought she would come back with you.”

“I think she’s okay.”

Ceria tried to reassure Erin. She honestly had no idea what Ryoka was going through, or why she’d attracted the attention of Magnolia Reinhart, but Erin looked worried.

“She’ll be fine. She’s tough. And she has that Frost Faerie with her.”

“Oh yeah! Ivolethe!”

The young woman brightened up, as if having a Frost Faerie follow you around was a good thing. She stared at the others and sighed.

“I’m just so glad you’re alright. So glad. I was worried.”

Ceria smiled slightly guiltily at Erin.

“We did it. It cost us a lot, but we did it.”

Pisces and Ksmvr nodded. Yvlon blinked and nodded as well, automatically.

“What—yes. Yes we did. And we have come here to repay the debt.”

“Not that we have any gold to pay you with.”

Pisces’ sardonic remark made Erin wrinkle her nose at him.

“I don’t care about that! I’m just glad you’re okay. Besides, Ryoka has all your stuff, right? When she comes back you can give me coin. Or a magical sword. That would be cool. Or the bag of holding! That would be so useful!”

“We owe you a great deal. We’ll find something worth repaying you with, even if it’s only a bucket full of gold.”

Ceria meant every word. Without Erin’s help they would have never had the coin to get to Albez, let alone found Ksmvr and joined up the way they had. Erin smiled, and then looked wistfully towards the window.

“And now that you’re here, you’ll help me go back, right? To Liscor?”

The others at the table sat up. Pisces cast a glance towards Ceria and she hesitated.

“I think we can. But it’s dangerous.”

“That’s okay. I’m used to danger.”

No one could disagree with that. Even so, Ceria hesitated. She looked around the inn. It was still messy, but it was a nice place, in its own way.

“Are you sure you couldn’t stay here? At least for a month or two? Celum isn’t bad.”

Erin looked at Ceria seriously.

“No, it isn’t bad. But Celum…it’s not Liscor, you know? All my friends are in Liscor—well, you’re here but you know what I mean. But my inn’s there, and so is Mrsha and Lyon and…I have to go back. Even if it’s dangerous. You get that, right?”

The half-Elf breathed out slowly as Ksmvr nodded across the table.

“I believe I do. We do. And we’ll help you get back, but we’ve got to be careful. But Erin, there’s one thing you haven’t talked about. How did you get here?”

Erin had been smiling at Ceria, but now her smile vanished in a flash. She looked down at the crumbs in the plate and drew a finger through them.

“Toren.”

Next to Ceria, Pisces sat up, looking suddenly alert and slightly worried. Ceria scooted closer to the table, staring at Erin.

“Yeah. Ryoka mentioned him. What about your skeleton, Erin? What happened?”

The girl looked at Pisces.

“He’s your creation, isn’t he? Can you tell where he is now?”

Pisces hesitated, then shook his head.

“I’m not linked to him at the moment. I can sense him, but only vaguely. He’s…to the south, a good distance away.”

“Okay. That makes sense. It…matches with what I’ve heard.”

Erin’s face was troubled. Ceria saw Yvlon staring at Pisces and the way the mage stared hard at Erin’s face.

“What did my creation do, exactly?”

“I’ll tell you all I know. But it—it makes no sense.”

Briefly, Erin told the adventurers everything that had led up to her arriving at Celum. Ceria watched Pisces’ face. It changed only a little as Erin spoke, but when she talked about Toren disappearing he glanced down at his hands.

“I don’t know what happened. I just fell asleep…and then I was all the way over here. Toren must have dragged me here in the sled when I slept. But he left me in the middle of nowhere.”

“I see.”

The Human [Mage] tapped the table, seeming to think. He looked…slightly worried, Ceria thought, and a foreboding feeling appeared in her chest.

“Pisces. What happened to Erin’s skeleton?”

“I have a number of theories but…it would be best to collect more information first. Miss Erin, have you heard anything else of your skeleton?”

Erin nodded, and now she looked…sad. Terribly sad.

“I kept asking Wesle—the [Guardsman]—about him. At first there was nothing. But…the other day he told me a skeleton on the road was attacking people. He killed a bunch of travelers and buried them in the snow. A group of adventurers nearly got killed by him, and afterwards they found all the dead people. Over twenty of them.”

All four people in the room stared at Pisces. He raised his hands defensively.

“I didn’t order him to do that!”

“Well then, what the hell happened!?”

Ceria stood up in her chair. She pointed a finger at Pisces, who flinched.

“That sure sounds like your spell failing! Did Toren lose control somehow? Why did he start killing people?”

“I don’t know. I have an idea but—”

“That’s not all.”

Erin interrupted the two. They stared at her. Erin stared at them in the darkness, her face only lit by the few candles burning low in the inn.

“There’s more. A bunch of reports just came from Esthelm.”

Yvlon stirred in her seat, looking confused.

“Esthelm? I thought it was destroyed.”

Erin nodded.

“It was. But apparently a bunch of people survived. They managed to retake the city—they fought off another army of Goblins and a bunch of undead. Apparently, a Goblin army came by just as all the dead in the city began to rise. And the dead were being led by a skeleton. One who could fight like a swordsman and had purple eyes.”

Pisces froze in his seat. Ceria stared at him, but Erin wasn’t looking at either of them.

“The people apparently were being led by this [Knight] guy. He saved them. Everyone’s talking about him. The Savior of Esthelm. A Gold-rank adventurer named Ylawes Byres.”

Yvlon froze in her seat, eyes wide. Ceria stared at her.

“Is that a relative of yours, Yvlon?”

She vaguely remembered the name from somewhere. Where? Then Ceria remembered.

The pit. The pit of insanity. At one point Yvlon had claimed to be Ylawes. Now the woman closed her eyes. When she opened them, she smiled ruefully.

“I know Ylawes. He’s my older brother. He must have journeyed south to see me. He normally works far to the north, around our family estates.”

Everyone stared at Yvlon. She just shrugged, tired.

“Surprised? I’m only a Silver-rank, but my brother’s quite famous up north. His team—the Silver Swords—often take up causes like this one. Esthelm’s just another one of his triumphs.”

“I’ve heard of the Silver Swords.”

It wasn’t as if Ceria knew all of the adventurer teams by heart, but the Gold-rank ones tended to stick in one’s memory. But she’d never known Yvlon had a brother. Then again, she’d never asked. It was surprising to say the least, but Yvlon didn’t seem to want to talk about her brother at the moment. She looked at Erin.

“Putting aside my brother…you said Toren was spotted at Esthelm?”

Erin nodded unhappily.

“Yeah. Leading the undead. They killed a lot of people. The attacking Goblins too, but a lot of people. It was definitely him.”

She looked at Pisces, helplessly.

“Why did he do it? Why did he run off and…”

All eyes were on the mage. He shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. Twice he glanced at Ceria, but then he sighed and sat up in his chair.

“Numerous theories come to mind. He could have been controlled, or simply gone rampant if my spells failed. However, both outcomes are unlikely in the extreme. My best theory is that he simply…grew too powerful for your commands to control him. And he decided to go his own way.”

“How?”

The word came sharply from Ceria. She stared at Pisces, heart beating faster.

“Toren’s just a skeleton, isn’t he?”

She remembered the skeleton’s gaze, almost intelligent. Almost alive. Pisces hesitated.

“He may have developed the capacity for thought.”

“Toren?”

Erin looked incredulous. So did Yvlon. Ksmvr just stared silently at Pisces as the mage nodded.

“It can happen. Revenants retain the personality of their former selves. Toren is no Revenant of course, but he could have gained the…ability to think.”

“Gained.”

The word was heavy on her tongue. Ceria couldn’t look away from Pisces.

“You keep using words like that. Gain. Grew. But the undead can’t grow. They’re not alive. They can’t change unless a [Necromancer] alters them in some way. Nothing can. Unless they can level.”

Pisces stared past Ceria. Silent. Unmoving. Ceria’s pulse was thunder in her ears. She remembered the past. She remembered Wistram, and she gave voice to her fears.

“Toren couldn’t have changed. Unless you did it. You actually did it. You gave him, an undead, the ability to level.”

Erin’s eyes grew wide across the table. Yvlon sat up straight, and even Ksmvr grew shocked. Ceria just stared at Pisces. He looked ahead, face emotionless. Then, slowly, the façade broke. His lips turned up. He looked at Ceria.

And smiled.

“You bastard!”

Ceria leapt from her chair. She knocked Pisces out of his seat, and slung him to the ground. He gasped as she put her hands around his throat and tried to choke him. Ceria felt him push her hands off him as Pisces backed away, speaking quickly, urgently.

“I didn’t know he would gain any type of sentience! His capability to level up was only meant to be a feature, nothing more!”

“You knew! You gave Erin an undead that could level! Are you insane!?”

Ceria pursued Pisces, ready to punch his brains out. To her surprise, hands grabbed her. Ksmvr used three of his to hold her, and Yvlon grabbed her other arm. Erin was just sitting at the table, looking blank and shocked.

“Yvlon!”

“Calm down, Ceria. We need to know just what Pisces did before you beat him to a pulp.”

The look in the woman’s eyes clearly said a beating was in order either way. Pisces gulped, but began to explain. He was too eager to do so. Ceria glared at him across the table as the [Necromancer]’s eyes lit up as he told the group what he had done.

“Yes, Ceria is right. I created an undead that could level. Toren, as Erin named him. He was just an experimental prototype—something meant to repay her and guard her inn. But I wanted to see if he could level as well, so I gave him to Erin. I never expected him to gain sentience, though.”

“He can think?”

Erin stared at Pisces, looking horrified. He hesitated, and then nodded.

“He must be able to, to abandon you and do what he has done. Had you noticed him taking independent action or…questioning your orders?”

“I didn’t—I thought it was just him being weird. But now…”

Erin stared at her hands, blinking.

“I—yeah. He did. He was acting so odd lately and I was going to bug you about it. He can think? He’s alive?”

“And he can level.”

Ceria glared at Pisces. He edged away from her, but it was Yvlon who spoke. The woman looked deeply troubled.

“How? How is that possible? I’ve never heard of a leveling undead, ever. Not even the greatest [Necromancers] could make one.”

“More like none of them were crazy enough to try. Any undead that can level will eventually rebel, just like Golems.”

Ceria glared at Pisces. The young man raised his hands, looking nervous but elated.

“I told you it was possible. I told them all at Wistram. Toren was proof I could do it. But I never expected him to level up quickly enough to subvert my control. I did check, you know, whenever I saw him.”

“Not well enough. Look what’s happened!”

“How, though?”

Ksmvr was the one to speak. He stared at Pisces, looking troubled.

“Is comrade Pisces truly that great of a prodigy? Or is his level high enough that he is able to create such a miraculous undead through some Skill?”

The half-Elf shook her head, smiling darkly.

“He didn’t learn how to make leveling undead by himself. He’s not that smart.”

Pisces opened his mouth and then shrank back in his chair as everyone glared at him. Ceria explained.

“A Golem taught him. A Truestone Construct; one of the most powerful types of Golems in the world taught him an incomplete formula for creating beings capable of leveling up. And he—completed it.”

“So you made a thinking, leveling undead.”

Yvlon’s eyes could have bored a hole through the mage. He shook his head.

“I was taught a theoretical piece of magic, it’s true. But it’s still not perfect. It wasn’t even certain my creation—Toren—would be able to level.”

“But he did. And he learned to think!”

“Evidently.”

Pisces stared uncomfortably at Erin, and then away. She had a haunted, horrified look on her face.

“I made him do chores. But he could think the entire time?”

“Erin…”

Ceria reached out and touched her friend. Erin shuddered, and then stared at Pisces angrily.

“Okay, he was alive. But why did he start killing people? I never told him to do that! He just did chores for me!”

Pisces spread his hands out, helplessly.

“He probably wished to. I can only speculate, but as I told you once, Toren is not meant for peaceful activities. He may have rebelled out of his desire to fight.”

“Why? He’s not evil! I mean—he wasn’t made that way, right? All he did was do chores! How could he just kill like that?”

Erin tried to snap her fingers, but couldn’t. She was trembling. Pisces closed his eyes, when he opened them, he looked regretful for a moment.

“It is what he was made to do. You see—I made him to fight, to protect. I imbued him with the capability for rational thought in the fashion of Golems. Problem-solving skills; but nothing more, certainly not a groundwork for actual cognition. But I never gave him anything else.”

Erin turned towards Ceria. The half-Elf crossed her arms.

“He didn’t give him a conscience. Or…morality.”

“What? Why not?”

Pisces shrugged eloquently at Yvlon. She clenched her fist, and Ceria interjected.

“He can’t. He doesn’t know how.”

“Then why make a creature like that? You’re just inviting trouble!”

Ceria wasn’t about to defend Pisces on that. He just looked at her, though, haughty and unrepentant.

“Cognita has no moral compass. She functions well enough without one.”

“She’s a monster too. She’s killed more [Mages] than any other being in the world, I’ll wager. She might be helpful to some, but you know she’ll kill without a qualm as well.”

Pisces nodded reluctantly, but he still didn’t appear convinced what he’d done was wrong. Remorseful, yes, guilty, even. But he looked like he had when he stood in front of the Council of Wistram the day they’d exiled him. He was certain, and it made Ceria sick because at least in some way, he was right.

He’d done it. He’d actually done it. She could hardly bear to look at him.

Pisces turned back to Erin. The young woman was pale. She looked like she was about to vomit. The [Mage] modulated his tone, spoke softly and, for Pisces, gently.

“Let me be clear, Erin. This was not your fault. The error lay with me in underestimating the capability of my creation. Toren was a loyal servant until he grew strong enough to break the orders you and I had given him. Now he is a threat.”

“A killer. He killed people. Men. Women. Children. But he’s also like…a baby, isn’t he?”

“An odd way of looking at it. But I suppose he would be young.”

“Could you change him? Make him…not kill people?”

Erin looked up at Pisces, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Ceria waited too. Pisces hesitated, but after a moment shook his head regretfully.

“I could stop him, perhaps. But it would be dangerous and all I would be able to do is render him harmless. Ceria is correct: I cannot give him a conscience. I do not know how. No one does.”

“You have to stop him.”

Yvlon said that. She stood up, staring at Pisces and Erin.

“If what you say is true, that skeleton is a huge threat. A thinking undead, one capable of leveling and leading others? It could become a threat capable of taking on Gold-ranked adventurers soon if not stopped.”

“Yeah.”

Erin’s voice was quiet, but her eyes were suddenly focused. Her hands—she kept them on the table, but they trembled as she looked at Pisces.

“Can you stop him?”

“I can.”

The [Necromancer] said it quietly. He looked at Ceria and she understood.

“Severing the link?”

“It’s the easiest way.”

Pisces explained to Erin and the others.

“Erin feeds Toren with her natural mana. No matter how far away she is, he and she are connected. Without her mana, he cannot survive, powerful as he may be. If I cut it, he will cease to…live.”

Silence fell over the room. Yvlon opened her mouth, clearly wanting to tell Pisces to do it now, but she stopped when she saw Erin’s face. Ceria understood, a little bit. For all Erin yelled at her skeleton, Ceria had seen it with her since as long as she’d known Erin. It was Erin’s…

What? Friend was too strong a word. The girl had thought Toren was a mindless tool for the entire time. But she’d relied on him, even liked him. What he was to her couldn’t be explained in words.

And now she had to kill him.

“Perhaps we can track him down.”

That came from Ceria’s mouth. She blinked when she said it, but everyone stared at her and so she spoke, desperately trying to give Erin another option.

“If we set out, we might be able to track him down. You said he was at Esthelm? He may still be in the area. Or we could find him, look for rumors—”

“No. Do it now.”

Erin cut her friend off. She stared at Pisces. The mage stared back, looking as shocked as Ceria felt.

“Now?”

“Yes. Cut Toren’s supply of mana right now. This instant!”

“Are you sure?”

Why was Ksmvr saying that? But the Antinium had the same sense Ceria did. Erin was shuddering. Her face was pale and sweat stood out on her forehead. She was not well. But the look in her eyes was steel.

She spoke quietly to the others.

“He killed people. I asked, and I made sure. Toren killed people. Not just one, not just two, and not in self-defense. He killed them because…because he wanted to. And he’s going to keep killing people if he’s not stopped.”

She stopped, gulped. Erin closed her eyes, but then went on, voice hoarse, choking on her next words.

“If this were a movie…or a play…I’d be the stupid idiot who didn’t stop Toren before he killed thousands of people. He’s already killed dozens, maybe hundreds. And how strong would he become if he kept leveling up? Maybe if I knew I could find him I’d—but I can’t. He’s too far away. And I won’t let him kill anyone else. It has to be now.”

No one could answer her. It was the right decision. Pisces hesitated as Erin walked over to him.

“Do you need to cast a spell or something?”

“No. It’s a simple enough procedure. As the one who cast the spell I can unravel it. It will just take a minute—”

“Do it, then.”

Ceria stared at Pisces. He looked at her, uncertain. She just stared back. See, she wanted to ask him. See what you’ve done?

Pisces looked away. He made no sound, but after a moment laid his hands on Erin’s head. She shifted, once, and then was still.

No sound. No grand show of lights, no mystical chanting. Pisces just moved magic and Ceria saw a thread, thinner than silk and stronger than stone flowing from Erin out into the world. Pisces pulled at it and slowly, the connection broke.

That was it. It was over. He let go of Erin and she stared up at him.

“It’s done? He’s gone?”

“He will be. No undead can live without mana and Toren consumes…consumed more than most.”

“Okay.”

Erin took a few steps away from Pisces. She stared blankly at him, and then looked around the room. Everyone stared at her, Yvlon with a pale face, Ksmvr silently, Pisces full of what might have been regret, and Ceria with no idea what to say.

“I’m tired. I’m gonna go to sleep, okay?”

So saying, Erin began to walk up the stairs. She left the Horns of Hammerad behind and went into the small room that wasn’t hers and crawled onto the bed. She didn’t bother undressing, and lay down in the rough blanket. She put her pillow over her head, and curled up into the smallest ball possible.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t cry. But something in her heart broke. Erin whispered the words into the night.

“Goodbye.”

She listened, hoping to hear a reply. But all she heard was silence.

3.25

That night, Erin had a nightmare.

It started, as nightmares sometimes do, happily. Erin was dreaming she was back in her inn, with Mrsha and Selys and even Lyonette. She was watching Ryoka put on a play of Hamlet and chasing Lyonette around with a sword, trying to kill her because she was a [Princess].

Generally speaking that would have given the dream away, but Erin was in the dream and only yelled at Lyonette to hurry and get stabbed so she could go offstage and get water. Mrsha was wiggling around in Erin’s lap when she heard the knocking at the door.

Someone knocking? Even in her dream, the idea of someone coming to her inn was unexpected. And Erin didn’t want to have a guest. She wanted to watch Lyonette duel Ryoka with poisoned swords! Bemused and half-annoyed, Erin stood up. She walked over to the door—or rather found herself there without moving her feet—and opened it.

A skeleton stood in the doorway. Toren. Erin opened her mouth to order him, but she stopped.

There was no flame in his eyes. No purple fire—or even the original blue fire of his eyes. Nothing.

She stared into empty sockets. Dead sockets. He was dead.

Erin took a step back. Behind her, the inn vanished. The people in it disappeared. And Toren stood in the doorway.

His eyes began to bleed. Red liquid trickled out of the gaping holes in his head. Erin looked around. She had to clean up the blood. But then she looked down and she saw she was holding a bloody blade in her hands.

“Out, darn spot.”

Only that wasn’t the right line, was it? Was it damn spot? Erin stared down at her hands. Now she was on stage, only she was quoting from Macbeth instead of Hamlet! The crowd in the inn jeered at her and began to throw things. Miss Agnes stood to Erin’s left.

“I told you we didn’t have time to cook, dear. Look—they’re running out of food to throw.”

Erin looked, and Toren was standing in front of her.

He was dead.

He reached out for her. Erin backed away, dropping the knife, her hands still crimson. The blood dripped to the ground and began a stream. A river. It washed her away and she reached out for help, but Toren was dead.

And she fell, fell as the blood washed her down and suddenly she was falling into Toren’s eye socket. And the blackness was all around her and he reached for her—

Erin sat up with a gasp, sheets covered in sweat. It was still dark. She could hear movement downstairs—she realized she was in Agnes’ inn at the same time she remembered to breathe. She was frightened, upset, still half-asleep. And deeply sad.

She’d killed him. Toren. A skeleton, yes, but her skeleton. Something…someone who could think.

Just like that. But she had to do it. She had to. He’d killed people. Erin just wished she could have stopped him, could have…

“Why didn’t I realize it sooner?”

She put her head in her hands. She’d just thought he was a mindless thing, that was all. That his quirks were just…that. How could she have dreamed he’d ever learn to think? When she’d first met him, so long ago, he’d been so simple. But when she looked back, it all made sense.

He had learned to think. He’d found a soul, even if it was one that let him kill people. And she’d killed him. Just like that. In a second. With a few words.

And the worst part was, he might not be dead. Wouldn’t it be just like a movie, or a book to have him come back? If he was still alive—

Somehow, Erin got up. She couldn’t stay in bed, anyways. She had a job. Making food for her guests. She didn’t want to do it, but that was the thing about jobs. You had to do them, and there was a bit of relief in having to do something right now.

“Hey, Erin. Good m—”

Ceria Springwalker froze with the greeting on her lips as Erin walked down the stairs. Erin pretended not to hear and moved slowly into the kitchen. Part of her felt bad, but—what would she say to Ceria? It wasn’t a good morning at all.

Erin was in no mood to smile that day. She made food mechanically, but she had no desire to talk with anyone or deal with a crowd. And so the rest of the Horns of Hammerad, waking up to the smell of good food—noticed that the inn was oddly empty that morning.

Surprisingly so, given the popularity of last night and the quality of the food. It had to be Erin’s new Skill, but no one dared suggest to the girl that she might be using it unconsciously. Even the supposed actual innkeeper, Miss Agnes, walked wide of Erin as she sat at a table with the others and picked at her plate.

“This is your fault.”

Ceria told Pisces that over breakfast. He nodded, uncharacteristically humble.

“I regret the necessity of what occurred last night. But I must point out that Erin’s decision was the most correct one she could have made.”

“That doesn’t change how she feels. She likes Goblins. How do you think she feels about killing her pet skeleton?”

No one answered the rhetorical question. Ceria drummed her fingers on the table and looked at Pisces sideways. She hesitated, then asked anyways.

“I’m not asking you to, but…can you make another one?”

Across the table, Yvlon sat up straight in her chair and looked hard at Ceria. She hadn’t said a word to Pisces all morning, not even to greet him. Ceria ignored the look and stared at Pisces. He ran a hand through his hair, shrugging and then shaking his head.

“Theoretically? Of course. I did it once and I am a higher level than I was. But practically? The creation of Toren was a culmination of years of work. I had to do much…groundwork and the materials I used in his animation were exceedingly rare. Practically unique.”

He looked at Ceria and then away. With a jolt she realized there could only be one thing he was referring to. He’d used those? On Toren?

Surely not all of them? It explained how Toren was able to regenerate. But how many had Pisces used? She opened her mouth to ask for more details and saw Yvlon staring at her. Ceria closed her mouth. Pisces went on.

“However, even if I did attempt to mimic my original design…I believe the product would not be something Miss Solstice desires. As you so adroitly pointed out, the theorems Cognita passed on to me were incomplete. True sentience is a byproduct of the spell matrices animating Golems and in this case, the undead.”

Ceria nodded, although she saw Yvlon’s eyes quickly glaze over. That’s what happened when Pisces began to pontificate. Ksmvr was still listening intently, though.

“For all Cognita was Archmage Zelkyr’s greatest creation, even she admits her existence is an accident. The same goes for my creation of a new skeleton. Either the same issue will arise again, or I will create a truly mindless slave. Irregardless, it will not be Toren.”

“Yeah. I get it.”

Ceria nodded tiredly and looked at Erin. The girl was just staring down into her plate of bacon and rearranging them. Not into a face—she was stacking them up and then spearing as many bits as she could with her fork.

“We should do something for her.”

“I wish you the best of luck.”

Pisces nodded. Ceria turned to him, frowning.

“What’s that supposed to mean. If you think you’re going to run off while we—”

He raised his hands.

“Please, Springwalker. Credit me with some—well, that is part of the reason. But I believe you will agree with my reasoning when I explain myself.”

“Hurry up, then.”

Pisces nodded. He was clearly trying to make an effort to be sociable today.

“I would like to hire a horse—or perhaps wagon—and visit Albez to recover an artifact our expedition left behind.”

“What?”

The other Horns of Hammerad stared at him. Ceria frowned.

“What artifact? We couldn’t have possible left anyt—oh.”

Her eyes widened as she realized what Pisces was talking about. She glanced around as he nodded, keeping his face smooth and calm. No one was sitting close to them, for which Ceria was suddenly grateful.

“It slipped my mind as well, but I believe it would be an egregious waste to leave it there. With luck, any scavengers will have overlooked it if they even found our dig site.”

“True.”

Ceria nodded. She ignored Yvlon and Ksmvr’s confused looks as she pondered the issue.

“Yeah, going now would be best. We don’t have much coin—”

“We could borrow it.”

Dismayed, Ceria looked at Erin. But they had no choice, did they?

“Alright, I’ll ask Erin. Pisces, are you intending to go alone? Albez attracts monsters and more could have popped up by now.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I am adept at using the [Invisibility] spell, you know.”

She hadn’t forgotten. Ceria frowned at Pisces.

“Monsters have noses. Some of them do, at any rate.”

Ksmvr raised his hand.

“I shall go with comrade Pisces. Although what is it that we are seeking?”

Pisces smiled knowingly.

“Simply recall our journey through the dungeon and you will come to the natural conclusion, Ksmvr.”

The Antinium paused. Yvlon looked at Ceria. The half-Elf just shrugged.

“Probably best if we don’t say it out loud. You never know.”

The woman frowned. Ceria looked at Erin and sighed.

“I’m going to stay with Erin. But if Ksmvr goes with you, Pisces, I’ll feel a lot better. Yvlon—”

“I’ll stay here.”

Yvlon said that almost too quickly. Ceria looked at her and nodded slowly.

“Then I’ll talk to Erin.”

The girl was staring at a fork loaded with greasy bacon when Ceria walked over.

“Hey, ah, Erin.”

“Mm?”

The girl didn’t look at her. Ceria coughed, looked around once, and then bent over to talk with her.

“I’m really, really embarrassed to ask this, but Pisces thinks there’s something else we could recover from Albez. Could you—”

Erin unhooked her money pouch from her belt and thrust it at Ceria.

“Grn.”

The half-Elf blinked at the pouch. She took it, extracted a few coins, and then gave the pouch back to Erin. She tossed the coins at Pisces who magically caught them in the air. He nodded to her and walked purposefully out of the inn with Ksmvr following. Ceria caught the Antinium asking Pisces again as they left.

“What is the artifact? I do not understand.”

Yvlon came over and smiled at Erin.

“Hey, Erin. How are you doing?”

“Blmblcrkn.”

It was probably a reply. Ceria stared at Erin, and then took the plate away from her. And the fork. It clearly wasn’t helping matters.

“Why don’t we go around the city? Come on.”

Ceria and Yvlon practically dragged Erin out of the inn, whereupon both did all they could to cheer Erin up. It worked, a bit. But the main reason Erin snapped out of her fugue was when the [Actors] came calling.

“Another huge success. I was on patrol and I was talking nonstop about the play last night. Barely got down the street before my shift was over.”

Wesle was talking excitedly with the others, stroking his non-existent mustache excitedly. Beside him, Jasi was all aglow with happiness, as she had been every day. Grev was already running about, his rucksack bulging with props, changes of costumes, and scripts.

Wesle and Jasi weren’t the only two [Actors] of course. But they were certainly the stars. The other men and women—a surprising number being from the Watch—were all eager, expectantly waiting on Erin to help them learn another play in their spare time.

Faced with such enthusiasm, Erin couldn’t help but respond in kind. They’d just finished learning Hamlet, and while they might perform that now and then, she had to get them working on another play.

She hesitated. In truth, Erin hadn’t gone to that many plays over the course of her life. She now wished she’d seen musicals like Wicked, or at least watched it on YouTube. She knew Phantom of the Opera of course, but she didn’t actually like that play so much. The Phantom was a jerk when you got down to it.

What else could she perform? Macbeth? Erin shuddered. No. Not that. And she didn’t want to do Shakespeare at the moment for much the same reason.

Pygmalion? But it would be so hard to do the accents…Erin frowned. What about A Doll’s House? But then…that was too modern, wasn’t it?

“Drat.”

Ceria and Yvlon stood to the side of the inn, cleared out to give the [Actors] some room, talking intently. Excusing herself from the [Actors] who seemed only too happy to compare stories about the accolades they’d received, Erin wandered over. Would they like to act? Ceria probably wouldn’t, but then again…and Yvlon could probably play a great knight, right?

“I don’t know what you’re thinking of doing, but don’t.”

Erin paused as she got within earshot. Ceria was talking in a serious tone of voice, staring at the other adventurer. Yvlon looked…tense.

“He’s a danger. You heard what he can do!”

“I know. And I’ve known how talented he is. He might be arrogant and stupid and thoughtless, but Pisces doesn’t deserve to be killed just for creating one undead.”

“And the people that thing killed? What if he makes another one?”

“If he does, I’ll make sure he keeps it on a leash.”

“How?”

Yvlon folded her arms and winced. Ceria scowled, not able to answer.

“The fact that he hasn’t made another one tells you he’s thought of the dangers as well.”

“Or that he’s waiting to gain enough levels to control them completely. And then what? Do we have a second Necromancer walking about?”

“I’m telling you, it won’t come to that.”

“I can’t—”

The two women stopped when they realized Erin was standing next to them. Ceria turned, trying to smile. Yvlon didn’t even bother trying.

“Erin. Um, is something wrong?”

“Don’t kill Pisces just because he made Toren. Please.”

Erin said that to Yvlon. The woman crossed her arms defensively, looking grim.

“I know he’s your friend. But I can’t just ignore what I’ve heard.”

“Pisces isn’t a bad person.”

Yvlon stared at Erin incredulously. Ceria had a similar look on her face as well. Erin shook her head.

“He’s not. I know he’s really, really, really annoying, but he’s actually sort of a good guy inside. He’s saved my life at least twice. One time he froze a swarm of Acid Flies that were about to melt me, and the other—he sent a bunch of undead to protect me when Skinner attacked.”

“Really? I didn’t hear about that.”

“I never told anyone. But I saw them—ghouls and zombies and skeletons. They helped protect me when the undead were attacking my inn. Only Pisces could have sent them, but he never mentioned it.”

Yvlon hesitated, but she still looked unconvinced.

“Still—”

“You’re on his team. You can watch him better than if you scare him away.”

Ceria reminded Yvlon. The woman grimaced and sighed.

“Fine. He’s my teammate too, Ceria. Silver and steel, why can’t anything ever be simple? My brother never mentioned having trouble with his group, and one of them is a Dwarf.”

“A Dwarf? Really?”

Erin was fascinated. Yvlon nodded, smiling a bit.

“They’re rare enough on Terandria, never mind the other parts of the world. Ylawes said it was pure luck he ran into him in a tavern.”

“He’s your brother, right? He came all this way to look for you?”

That sounded like a great brother to Erin, who’d never had siblings. Yvlon grimaced, though. She spoke reluctantly.

“He’s…overprotective. And a far better adventurer than I.”

That was clearly all she wanted to say on the topic. After a second Yvlon changed the subject. She glanced behind Erin at the [Actors].

“I thought they came here to learn a new play.”

“They did. I just don’t know what I should teach them.”

Erin confessed to her friends. Ceria just shrugged. She liked the play she’d seen, but she couldn’t imagine practicing with the enthusiasm the others seemed to have.

“Let us know if we can help. I’m not going to memorize any lines, but I could always do a few spells if the performance needs more action.”

She flicked a few sparks of electricity from her fingers, making Yvlon swear. Ceria looked abashed—Erin saw the electricity trying to jump onto the metal on Yvlon’s arms.

“You can do that? Well of course!”

Erin slapped her forehead as she realized how stupid she’d been. Special effects! Any [Mage] could add so much to a performance! Especially someone like Ceria. At the very least, she could help cool down the inn when it was so full of people. Even on a winter night, so many bodies were stiflingly hot. But Ceria could probably lower the temperature enough to…

Erin’s thoughts slowed down. She stared at Ceria. The half-Elf just blinked at her.

“Erin?”

She had lovely blonde hair. Well—in point of fact Ceria had dirty blonde hair. But Yvlon, now, she looked beautiful, and blonde as could be. Both women made Erin jealous—she didn’t think she had a bad face or hair, but compared to Yvlon’s beauty and Ceria’s otherworldly appearance, she felt plain. And Ceria could use frost magic.

And it was winter…

“Erin? Are you okay?”

Winter plus frost magic equaled…what? It had to do with plays, and it was on the tip of her tongue! Erin screwed up her face as Ceria looked at her.

“Erin, do you need to sit—”

“Frozen!”

The word exploded out of Erin’s mouth. Ceria blinked, wiped a bit of spit off her face, and stared at Yvlon. The other woman looked just as confused.

“You want Ceria to freeze the actors? The audience?”

“No, no!”

The young woman waved excitedly at the other two, mind suddenly ablaze with ideas. She looked at Ceria, and then began waving at the [Actors]. They were already congregating around her, sensing the impending drama.

“Hey you guys, come on over! I just had the greatest idea for the next performance we can do! It has singing!”

“Singing?”

Ceria raised her eyebrows, intrigued. She looked at Erin as the girl beamed at her.

“I like songs. Are there any good ones?”

----

There was no piano accompaniment. Pianos did exist in this world, but no one was going to lug one over to the Frenzied Hare. Instead, a few [Musicians] with string instruments provided a decent melody. That had been the hardest part.

The singing was not. On stage, Jasi, playing as the [Ice Queen] named Elsa sang a song so famous that it needed no introduction. Nor, it seemed, any plot. The play was over, but the song was being sung once more to a crowd who cheered as Jasi raised her hand to raise her castle of ice out of the wooden stage.

From behind the curtains backstage, Ceria cast weak frost spells, making snow and cold winds blow across the cheering audience. Concentrating hard, she made snow appear and fall over the fake little castle that they’d built. The snow melted almost instantly in the sweltering room, but the crowd didn’t care. They cheered wildly as the song reached its thrilling conclusion.

Again. The [Mage] scowled at Yvlon and whispered to her as the song finished.

“This is the third encore performance!”

The other woman was sitting on a stool behind the stage, smiling as she ate tonight’s meal, fish and chips, which was to say, fish and fried pieces of potato that Erin insisted were in some way ‘french’.

“Bear with it. It’s cheering Erin up.”

Indeed, the other girl was clearly enjoying herself. Even though she was in the kitchen, Ceria could see her poking her head out every now and then to beam at the audience.

“Catchy song, though.”

Ceria shrugged.

“It loses its charm fast, especially when you’ve got to do the effects.”

“At least we’re being paid.”

“What’s with ‘we’?”

The half-Elf groused, but she had to smile. They were indeed being paid, and quite handsomely because the entire acting cast took a cut of the profits. And judging by the way the bag Grev carried around had to be emptied now and then, even a small cut would be a lot.

“You have to wonder though…where does Erin get all these stories from?”

Yvlon frowned as Jasi bowed and declined another performance. The audience called out in disappointment, but then rushed forwards to shake hands with the bowing [Actors] and buy them drinks.

Carefully, the half-Elf sat back on her haunches and didn’t quite look at Yvlon.

“They come from her nation, I guess. She’s from far off.”

“Really? What continent?”

“Erin’s never said. I think it’s private. Ryoka’s from the same place, though.”

“Really? That makes sense.”

The two sat behind the curtains, looking through it at the room full of life and a different kind of magic. After a while, Ceria sighed.

“It really is better than adventuring, isn’t it?”

Yvlon nodded, seeing Wesle surrounded by admiring young women—and older women—and males, come to it, but mostly young women—and the other [Actors], just as adored. It was like how they’d been treated in Remendia, but somehow more intimate and even more reverential at the same time. The citizens had hailed the Horns of Hammerad as people, but these [Actors] had brought another world to life in front of the people here.

“No monsters to fight, good food if you’ve got the right inn…”

“Admiring crowds, if you like sweaty Humans. Lots of coin…”

The two sat in silence. After a while, Yvlon shook her head.

“Not for me.”

Ceria smiled.

“Me neither. I guess we’re doomed fools, aren’t we?”

The woman laughed.

“Maybe not if Pisces gets back with that invincible artifact of his.”

“Oh? You figured it out?”

“It wasn’t hard, and he’s right. It might be useful. Do you think he’ll be back tomorrow?”

“Early, hopefully. They’ll camp out in a safe place, or maybe just stay in Ocre. He says with a wagon driver who has a movement Skill they can be back very soon.”

“Good.”

----

The next day, Erin woke up feeling better. A lot better. She was still sad though, when she remembered why she should be. But she was better.

And now she knew what to do. She greeted Ceria and Yvlon cheerfully over breakfast—spiced porridge—and didn’t beat about the bush.

“It’s time to go back to Liscor.”

Yvlon only raised her eyebrows and Ceria smiled, but Miss Agnes, who’d joined them for breakfast, choked.

“What? But Miss Erin, surely you should wait. There are Goblins on the road and I don’t know what we’ll do without you. Why, there are all these fine [Actors] depending on you now…”

Sitting at a table next to theirs, Jasi, Wesle, and Grev looked up and gave Miss Agnes a flat look the woman failed to notice. It was their custom to eat together each day, especially since Jasi and Grev were staying at the inn.

“I really don’t know what we’ll do without you, Miss Erin. I’m sure we could tour other cities doing the plays you taught us. But I’d love to learn the rest…”

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry.”

Erin smiled ruefully at Jasi and ruffled Grev’s hair. He looked upset. But Erin’s mind was made up.

“I need to go back. Liscor is my…home. Mrsha’s there and she’s all by herself. And Lyon’s there too—I nearly forgot about her, but Selys say she’s managing the inn. Somehow. But I need to get back before it falls apart or burns down or something.”

The others had objections of course. Sensible ones, selfish ones…Erin ignored them all. She looked at Ceria and Yvlon.

“When Pisces and Ksmvr get back, how long until we can go?”

“Within the hour, if we get transport set up. We’ll have to take a wagon, but we can get good horses and maybe even a driver.”

Ceria nodded to Yvlon, already thinking of their route. The older woman nodded, biting her lip.

“Esthelm being retaken works for us. We can plan to stop there if we can avoid Goblin raiding parties. I’m not sure how safe it is—it’s reportedly still a ruin, but better that than camping by ourselves. And if we run into my brother’s group…”

“You think we can get them to help us escort Erin?”

Yvlon nodded slowly.

“My brother will help anyone in need. The real problem might be afterwards. He’ll try to take me north. But we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.”

Ceria nodded silently. She didn’t want to pry too much, but perhaps she should ask Yvlon why she didn’t want to go home so badly. Erin thought of what she had to do.

“I should say goodbye to Octavia.”

----

All things considered, Erin thought Octavia took the news well. There weren’t even any tears. Or hugs. Or even a trace of sadness, really.

The dark-skinned [Alchemist] grinned happily and practically leapt off her stool in delight.

“You’re going? Well, I won’t say I’m not relieved—I’ve never met anyone so insane as you. When I count the times I nearly died—of course, I’m glad you came by before you left. I’d hate to have to charge interest on what you owe me when Ryoka gets back.”

“Hold on. What fees? Ryoka paid you already.”

Erin frowned at Octavia. The stitch-girl’s dreadlocks swung as she shook her head condescendingly.

“That was for a few days. You’ve been here far longer—I’ll admit she paid interest now and then, but if you factor in the number of discoveries you’ve made under my watchful supervision—not to mention hazard pay and having me participate in that play—”

“I’m gonna hit you.”

In the end, Erin didn’t hit Octavia and the girl didn’t get any more money, much to both girls’ disappointment. But to her surprise, Octavia hugged Erin before she left.

“You take care, alright? If you ever need a potion, I’m sure Ryoka can run it down to Liscor for me. Who knows? We might meet again! And if we do, you’re banned from ever mixing potions in my shop again.”

Erin laughed and hugged Octavia back. She’d miss her, she was surprised to realize. She’d miss Octavia’s fast-talking ways. She’d miss the horrible smells in her shop—

She’d miss the entire city, if it came to that. Celum was…it wasn’t as nice as Liscor, in some ways. It wasn’t as exciting, and the people were just people. But it had its own charm, and it had taken Erin in when she was lost.

She’d miss it. But she had to go. So Erin went back to the Frenzied Hare and caught up with Ceria who’d found someone willing to make the relatively dangerous journey to Liscor, provided a Silver-rank team was going with him. Yvlon had brought provisions for the journey and asked about the roads—no Goblin armies had been sighted close to any cities, although raiding groups had torched a few villages.

All they had to do was wait for Pisces and Ksmvr. And as it happened, the two were already close to the city. And they had the artifact in tow.

----

Earlier that day, Pisces had been willing to fight an entire Goblin army if it meant shutting Ksmvr up.

“What is the artifact? I still do not understand. Please enlighten me, comrade Pisces.”

It was the 38th time the Antinium had asked Pisces the question. Pisces knew that because he’d counted. Each time. They were sitting on a bumping wagon as it drove towards the Ruins of Albez. The mage blinked wearily as the dawn’s light hit his face.

It was far too early for this. But they had to move quickly, if they wanted to be back in Celum before evening. Ksmvr poked Pisces and the [Mage] snarled at him.

“Stop that!”

“I will if you answer my question. What is the artifact?”

“I told you to figure it out yourself!”

Part of Pisces dearly wanted to tell Ksmvr just to get it over with, but the young [Mage] was too stubborn for that.

“All the clues should be obvious. You were there! Just…think!”

“I have thought. I do not know what it could be. I wish for you to tell me.”

“Dead gods. It’s the door, the door. Okay!?”

That didn’t come from Pisces. It came from the wagon driver. She turned around, glaring, her eyes red and bloodshot. She was the same wagon driver who’d taken them from Remendia. She was the only one willing to risk her neck going so close to Albez, and clearly, she was unhappy with her decision.

Both [Mage] and Antinium stared at her. The wagon driver glared at them. After a moment, Pisces spoke.

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“You explained it to the Ant about a half-dozen times. It was obvious. The door’s the only thing you lot didn’t take, apart from the ashes and the dungeon itself!”

The woman snapped at the two of them. Pisces turned to Ksmvr.

“You see?”

The Antinium only cocked his head sideways.

“Why is the door important? I do not understand. Please explain it to me, comrade Pisces.”

“First, call me comrade one more time and I will blast your mandibles off your face. Second—”

Pisces hesitated. But now that the secret was revealed, he had a deep urge to explain everything.

“The door is important because it cannot be destroyed. And it has a potent teleportation spell worked into its makeup.”

“Oh?”

Pisces nodded. He sat back in the wagon and stared up at the grey sky. It was far too cold, he felt, even with the warming spells that allowed him to wander around in nothing but his dirty robes. He gestured at Ksmvr to relax; the Antinium stayed sitting perfectly upright. Pisces made a face, but began to explain.

“Do consider it, dear Ksmvr. In our haste to acquire our spoils and flee the area, we had neglected to consider the magnitude of enchantment that must have been laid on this door. Not only did it survive a magical fire that damaged every artifact it touched—but it actually destroyed part of the fire construct when we used it as an impromptu weapon.”

“Ah yes. It was quite useful.”

“And yet, we, in our rush to escape, completely neglected to remember it. A vast oversight. Then again, I do not believe we could have carried it away as exhausted as we were. Fortuitously, my adept memory seized upon our neglect and led me to—”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up and go get it already, would you?”

The wagon jerked to a halt, making Pisces bite his tongue. He glared at the woman driving the wagon, but she just stared back.

“Hurry up. If you want to be back in Celum, get moving. I’m not waiting around in this place forever. Even if it’s winter, monsters could still be about.”

That was true, and so Pisces and Ksmvr cautiously descended into Albez. They were quite willing to retreat at the first sight of any monsters, door or no door, but it seemed the ruins were still quite deserted.

“Let us go then, Ksmvr. Your strength should be invaluable in carrying the door.”

“Yes, Pisces. I shall lead the way in case monsters have retaken the dungeon.”

“Good point. I’ll stay…this far behind you. Lead on!”

There were no monsters, although there was a good deal of ash. Pisces and Ksmvr found the door lying in a pile of it. The [Mage] sneezed when Ksmvr pulled the door out. The Antinium nodded as he lifted it upright with all three of his arms.

“I can carry my end of it quite easily. If you will assist me—”

“Not so fast. We must descend into the pit.”

The Antinium paused and turned to Pisces in surprise.

“Why?”

Pisces nodded at the door.

“The door is only half of the spell. The other half, if you recall, teleports us to a set location. Into the pit in this case. A small object—usually a stone, perhaps some other mundane object—acts as the anchor for the teleportation spell. We must recover it or I’ll be teleported here if I should make a mistake with the door.”

“But is it not extremely dangerous? Captain Ceria covered the [Insanity] spell with mud, but it may have been removed in the time since we were gone.”

Pisces smiled confidently.

“Have no fear, Ksmvr. I am well-prepared for this eventuality.”

As it turned out, his solution was much the same as Ceria’s. After Pisces built a staircase out of bone, he cast a spell which filled the pit with billowing yellow smoke. Coughing and swearing, the mage descended into the pit and shot clinging mud in every direction. After he’d released the spell and Ksmvr had come down, the Antinium saw the pit was covered, with no sign of the [Insanity] symbols on the walls.

“That was quite admirable, Pisces.”

He complimented the wheezing mage. Pisces coughed, and waved a hand.

“Think nothing of it. This is a simple trap to bypass, if the correct precautions are taken.”

Ksmvr nodded at the plain truth of that statement. He looked around.

“And where is this anchoring stone?”

“It shouldn’t be too big. It could even be the size of my hand—smaller. I can find it ah…if I trace the magic link…here!”

Pisces frowned and then pointed to a spot directly in the center of the pit. It turned out what he was looking for was a round stone small enough to fit into his palm, embedded into the stone bottom of the pit. This proved to be very difficult to extract. Ksmvr still had the Goblin’s enchanted short sword, but even with all his strength he could barely chip at the stone floor of the pit.

“Of course it is designed to be a trap.”

Pisces groused as he began blasting the area around the stone with flames. Both he and Ksmvr knew that stone when heated was far more vulnerable to cracking. After about ten minutes of sustained fire blasting the ground, it was weakened enough for Ksmvr’s blade to crack the stone.

“It is very hot, Pisces.”

So saying, Ksmvr handed the magical stone—which showed no damage despite the heat—to Pisces. The [Mage] swore and dropped it the moment he touched the black rock.

“It’s burning!”

“That is what I said.”

“Then don’t—allow me to choose a far more sensible solution.”

The wagon driver, whose name was Adelynn, although no one had bothered to ask it, was dozing in her driver’s seat when her horses took fright. She looked up and blanched as she saw the six skeletons carrying the enchanted door and anchoring stone over their heads. Pisces and Ksmvr sat on the door like a seat. They waved at the wagon driver. Only when they got close did she throw a bit of snow at them.

“Call your damn undead away, [Necromancer]! You’ll spook my horses! I swear, if they wrench an ankle you’ll all walk home!”

“Calm down, good Mis—”

A bit of snow hit Pisces in the face.

“Get them away, I said!”

A few minutes later, the cart rumbled back towards the road and Celum, bereft of any skeletons. But it did have one new passenger: the door lay between Pisces and Ksmvr as the [Mage] pored over it and Ksmvr stared at the small stone in his hands. To the Antinium the rock appeared totally ordinary, which he supposed was the point.

“Now that we have the door, what do you propose we do with it, Pisces?”

“That my friend…is a very good question. I have no idea.”

Pisces looked up for a moment before he went back to staring at the door. Ksmvr noticed the mage’s eyes unfocused as he stared at what the Antinium could only assume was the magic enchantment making up the door. Pisces seemed to be tracing the spell while simultaneously attempting to avoid triggering the door’s automatic teleportation effect.

Every now and then he failed, and would appear on Ksmvr’s lap. The Antinium watched as this happened now. Pisces yelped, popped out of existence on his side of the wagon, and appeared a little bit above Ksmvr. In the ensuing tangle, Pisces fought his way clear.

“Dead gods—give me that!”

He snatched the stone back from the Antinium and placed it on his side of the wagon. A bit of snow flew from the front and hit him on the head.

“Stop doing that! You’re scaring the horses!”

“Shall I reanimate them for you? I’m sure undead horses would be a lot faster than these slow nags.”

Pisces smiled nastily. His reply came in another bit of snow which struck him on the shoulder. Grumbling, Pisces went back to the door.

After a few moments, Ksmvr nodded and spoke up.

“We could make a shield out of it. I could hold it up with comrade Yvlon when fighting spellcasters.”

The young man’s head rose and he stared at Ksmvr.

“Really? That’s your idea?”

Ksmvr nodded, appreciating Pisces’ enthusiasm.

“A shield seems to be the most appropriate use of the door. We could make a harness so Comrade Yvlon could use it in place of her armor. It would protect her back so she would have no need of armor. If an enemy attacked all she would have to do would be to turn around.”

The Antinium paused, waiting for feedback. Pisces just stared at him. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

“I should like to see that. But I believe using the door as any form of personal armament should be employed only as a matter of last resort. Even if you were to block a spell with this door, [Fireball], for instance, the explosion would still affect those hiding behind the door. Any neophyte mage could easily burn you with a low-Tier flame spell were you to use it as cover.”

“Oh. I see.”

Ksmvr felt disappointed. Seeing this, Pisces felt moved to offer him a bone.

“The true value in the door might not be in its practical use at all, but rather as a tool of study for me. I can learn a lot from the enchantments woven into it.”

The Antinium perked up. What helped Pisces was a boon for The Horns of Hammerad.

“Really? Can you copy the spells on the door?”

“Copy?”

Pisces coughed, and then laughed. He shook his head.

“That is far beyond my capabilities.”

“Why? Is it not simply a matter of reproducing the spell? That should be doable with time, should it not?”

“Yeah, [Mage]. What’s wrong? Is it too complex for you?”

Pisces ignored that comment from the front. Sniffing archly, he sat back. He took on the tone Ksmvr had associated with a lecture as he spoke out loud.

“The issue, Ksmvr, is that the nature of magic is not so linear as the philistines might have you think.”

“Hah!”

Again, Pisces ignored the wagon driver’s comment. Ksmvr nodded at him encouragingly. Magic was fascinating to him.

“Indeed?”

“Oh yes. You see, if this door—or should I say, this impressively enchanted self-activating portal device—were simply one enchantment, I dare say even Springwalker would be able to ascertain its nature quite quickly. But it is clearly not one enchantment. And the true exponential difficulty of a spell occurs when multiple layers exist.”

Ksmvr considered Pisces’ explanation and nodded.

“I see. So multiple spells cast on the same object increase the difficulty of analyzing and copying it?”

Pisces deflated somewhat at the Antinium’s calm response.

“…Yes.”

He turned back to the door, frowning at it.

“If it were just something like reinforcement, well, I could do that to a piece of wood, although not with the finesse or force of a true [Enchanter]. They could turn a piece of parchment into something as strong as steel…but as I’ve said magic changes when you layer another spell on top. It truly is quite incredible how many spells are worked into this wood.”

“That is why mages study so continuously?”

“To master the nuance of each spell and understand how magic can change, broadly speaking, yes. Even memorizing spells takes time, and comprehending concepts like spatial travel, well…”

“Can you [Teleport]?”

Pisces ignored that question. He gestured grandly at the door sitting on the back of the wagon.

“This wonder of magical engineering is clearly the work of a master [Mage]. Perhaps even an [Archmage]? Ah, probably not.”

He coughed.

“But studying it will surely raise my level, and it will be a far greater challenge than simply reading from a book of spells. When Springwalker sees this…”

“So you cannot copy the spell?”

Pisces paused, but then he nodded with a rueful smile.

“I wouldn’t even dare try. The spells are so tangled up that reproduction is impossible. I’d have to unravel each layer of spells and if that didn’t destroy the entire weaving…no, no, I only intend to study what parts are visible.”

He sighed, losing some of his posturing. Ksmvr nodded.

“I see. Are there some parts which are easier?”

Pisces shrugged, irritated by his moment of genuine expression. He scowled as he bent back over the door, poking at the brass handle.

“The entire thing is a mess. Let me concentrate. It’s hard enough to sit on this bumpy wagon—”

“Watch it, [Mage].”

The wagon driver snapped back at Pisces. He made a face. Ksmvr sat forwards too. The door was just plain, solid wood of course, but now he was very invested in Pisces’ discoveries.

“Surely there are some aspects which are simplest to understand. The triggering mechanism for the spell was analyzing it, was it not?”

“Relatively simple, yes. Of course the part of the spell that detects people investigating it is fiendishly complex. But the trigger component I identified straight off.”

Pisces dismissed that with a wave of the hand. Ksmvr nodded eagerly.

“In that case, would it not be easiest to focus on that part of the spell, knowing the method to activation and outcome?”

In his multi-faceted eyes, the Antinium saw the young man pause. Pisces stared at Ksmvr, and then down at the door. He cleared his throat.

“Uh. Yes. That would be…well, it’s a good place to start as any, I suppose.”

“It is a shame you cannot reverse the effect. That would have been very convenient in the pit.”

Ksmvr meant this only as a segue into asking whether Pisces could teleport him a few times, just so Ksmvr could see what it was like when he wasn’t about to die. But Pisces’ face froze and after a second he burst into a huge and uncharacteristic grin.

Somewhat unnerved, Ksmvr paused as Pisces turned to him. The [Mage] gingerly clapped a hand on Ksmvr’s shoulder. The Antinium stared at the hand. After a moment Pisces let go.

“You, Ksmvr, are clearly a natural-born scholar, as perhaps befits your advanced standing among the Antinium.”

“Thank you.”

“Reversing the spell. What a novel idea! And of course the actual binding spell on the stone is ludicrously simple compared to the door. Why, it wouldn’t be hard to reverse—that is to say, to create a trigger to activate the teleportation spell and bring whomever was there to the door! In fact…”

“Does this mean you can teleport me?”

“More than that, my dear Ksmvr. If this means what I think it does—here…you hold this and I shall…”

The Antinium and Human excitedly rocked back and forth on the wagon, jabbering on about ‘possible sequential instances of anchorage’ and ‘activation mechanisms’ and so on. At the head of the wagon, Adelynn tried not to listen. After a while, she tried to plug her ears with both fingers, but it was hard to do that and guide the wagon. She sighed.

----

“You’re late.”

Ceria scowled at Pisces as he and Ksmvr lugged the door over to the front of the Frenzied Hare. The two had attracted quite a lot of attention as they’d dragged and carried it down the street. Now Ksmvr laid the door against the wall of the inn as Pisces panted for breath.

“Don’t blame me. If I could have conjured a few undead we wouldn’t have taken so long! Why no one appreciates the untapped potential of such labor—”

“Yes, yes.”

Ceria sighed, but she stared at the door, mildly impressed Pisces had managed to support his end of it. It was as heavy as it looked, she knew, and it looked heavy.

“Is that the door? The magic door?”

Erin stared dubiously at the heavy wood door. It looked as plain as plain could be. She wondered if Pisces and Ceria were playing a prank on everyone else, but Yvlon nodded.

“That’s the door. It doesn’t look like much but—if you could make armor out of it I’d wear it. I saw it take damage that would have shredded my plate armor.”

“Wow.”

No matter how hard Erin stared at it, she just couldn’t see it. But Pisces was clearly excited by the door. He waved his hands at Ceria, talking quickly.

“You won’t believe what I—and Ksmvr I suppose—have discovered! It’s a revolutionary—nay, unprecedented loophole in the spell matrix! I can’t believe it wasn’t covered!”

“Oh yeah? What’s so incredible?”

Ceria looked skeptical. Pisces pointed to the door, grinning broadly, one of the few times Erin had ever seen him happy.

“I managed to isolate the location aspect of the spell. Not only that—I figured out how to trigger it independently of the detection trap.”

Erin’s head swiveled with Yvlon’s towards Ceria. The half-Elf gasped.

“You don’t mean—seriously? And you did it on the ride back? Impossible!”

“Not.”

Pisces was smug. He gestured to the door.

“It all came down to a loophole. If you look around the doorknob—perhaps they didn’t have an adept mastery of enchantments? Or maybe the handle was added too late—either way I forced my way into the bindings from there and…”

He began talking gibberish, or perhaps Erin’s ears just shut down. She gathered that something important had happened by the way Ceria was reacting, but she couldn’t figure out what.

“Are we going to go?”

They had the wagon all ready, and a somewhat surly wagon driver ready to take them to Liscor. Ceria had said they’d be leaving soon. Yvlon shrugged, looking resigned.

“Mages. Give them a minute and then we’ll interrupt.”

Erin nodded. She looked around and frowned.

“Hey, where’s Ksmvr?”

The Antinium was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t gone inside—had he run off? Erin wanted to ask Pisces—she didn’t want to go have to find Ksmvr as well!—when she heard a pop. Ksmvr appeared in front of the door, holding a small stone in his hands.

Yvlon gasped. Erin jumped and people on the street shouted in surprise. Ksmvr looked around proudly and Pisces broke off from chattering with Ceria to point at him gleefully.

“There, you see?”

“You can teleport to the door?”

“Yes!”

In an instant Erin was next to Ksmvr. She stared down at the stone in his hands and then at Pisces.

“How? Where? What?”

“It’s very simple. Actually, it’s not, but I’ll give you a simple explanation. The long and short of it is that we can take advantage of the door’s teleportation spell to teleport to the anchoring stone connected to it—or vice versa.”

Erin pointed at the stone in Ksmvr’s hands.

“You can teleport to that? And teleport back?”

“That’s what I said.”

“How many times?”

Yvlon’s eyes were wide with amazement. Pisces stroked at his chin, shrugging, speaking out loud.

“Any number of times. In time of course the enchantment will lose magic—it requires a huge amount to activate. But here’s the wonderful part—the magic will replenish itself over time!”

“Really?”

Erin was so excited her heart was beating out of her chest. Pisces nodded proudly.

“Quite extraordinary, really. It absorbs the natural mana in the environment—like any acceptably constructed artifact, I suppose—but it allows for practically unlimited uses of the teleportation magic!”

“This is incredible. That changes everything. This thing is—it’s actually useful.”

Ceria murmured as Ksmvr tried to keep people from crowding around the door. She tapped at the wood.

“How much could we sell it for? If you think of it as—as a way to travel, you could get from one end of the city to the other in seconds! Any [Lord] would want it, if only as a novelty.”

“A bit plain for a [Lord]’s door.”

Yvlon put that in, although she looked no less impressed. She ran a hand over the wood surface.

“But paint it and—could we get a hundred gold coins for it, do you suppose?”

“Hundreds? Try thousands. As I was saying, this is incredible! But we need not sell it yet—just imagine the utility of it in a dungeon! We could retreat at any time.”

Pisces was talking faster as he waved his arms about. Ksmvr was proudly showing the stone to people and resisting all attempts of people trying to take it from him. Erin stared down at the door, and an idea seized in her mind. She looked up and spoke loudly.

“I want it.”

Everyone stopped talking. The Horns of Hammerad stared at her. Erin stared back. She pointed at the door.

“I want it. Can I have it?”

“What?”

Pisces was the first to speak. He looked incredulous.

“This door is—as much of a treasure as anything we recovered from Albez. It’s far more useful than a bag of holding. And you want—”

“Yes. I want it.”

Erin didn’t say out loud that the Horns of Hammerad owed her, but they had promised, hadn’t they? They’d said a treasure, and she could think of nothing she would want more than this door. She saw Ceria exchange a glance with the others. Pisces was spluttering.

“You can’t just demand—this is far too sudden to—”

“Yes.”

Ceria nodded. She smiled at Erin, and looked at the door.

“For you, Erin? Yes, you can have this…door.”

Yvlon nodded as well.

“We wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if it weren’t for you. And you lent us your gold—twice, now. Of course you can have it.”

Ksmvr nodded as well.

“This seems to be an acceptable form of remuneration. Here is your teleportation stone.”

He handed it to Erin. She held it gingerly. Pisces kept spluttering.

“But—I just got—it was my discovery and—”

“And you did well. Thank you.”

Erin smiled widely at Pisces. He blinked at her and threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Fine. I am outnumbered and overruled by the imposition of what some might call honor or common decency. Take the damned door!”

“I will.”

The young woman patted the door.

“My door.”

Pisces sniffed, clearly upset. Ceria laughed, and slung an arm around his shoulder. He froze up for a second and stared at her. She seemed surprised by the action as well, and released him quickly.

“Cheer up. Erin made a lot of food—and lunch for you two since you missed it. Although I suppose it would be dinner, now.”

Instantly he brightened up.

“Ah, well, I suppose that—”

“—But you’ll have to eat it on the wagon. We’ve got to go now if we want to get to any sort of settlement by nightfall.”

Ceria dragged Pisces back as he headed towards the inn. He complained, but soon he was helping drag the door onto the back of the wagon. Erin turned to help push it further in, and stopped.

A group of people were standing behind her. Miss Agnes, Maran, Safry, Jasi, Grev, Wesle, the [Actors], a number of regular patrons from her inn, Octavia…they stood, smiling at her.

Slowly, Erin stepped towards them. She felt…quite empty inside, really. As if there weren’t any tears to cry. And there weren’t.

There was only a smile. She smiled at them, and went to each one, hugging and kissing Wesle on the cheek and Grev on a dirty forehead, talking and saying goodbye.

But not forever. And so the emptiness in her filled, and when the wagon started to move, Erin could shed a tear. But not a sad tear. She was just so full of memories and happiness that a bit came out anyways.

She sat on the wagon as it rolled out of the city. The Horns of Hammerad sat around her. Friends. Yvlon and Ceria talked animatedly about the play they’d been a part of, recounting the good bits to Ksmvr while Pisces devoured the packed lunch Erin had made for him and Ksmvr.

Erin sat back, and as the cold evening breeze blew past her face, she smiled. A bit sadly.

It was time to go. Celum was…a lovely place. But it wasn’t home. She had to go back to Liscor.

“Goodbye.”

She whispered it to the wind. Not sadly—in her heart she promised to return some day. There was more to this world besides Liscor. And some day she would explore it.

Some day. But for now she was going back. To Mrsha and Selys and even annoying Lyonette. She wanted to go back so desperately it hurt Erin’s chest. But she wouldn’t forget what she’d experienced here.

They rolled out of the city and Erin finally left Celum behind.

----

It was a quiet wagon that slowly rode down the trampled road, slowly moving south. The wagon driver didn’t have a movement Skill, but he was used to the uncertain road and he was skilled and Skilled enough to detect danger. It would take a day – or two or even three – to get to Liscor, but they’d get there, and hopefully without running into any danger.

Erin sat next to the other Horns of Hammerad, not saying anything. At first she’d chatted, but the cold and wind had a way of silencing even the most spirited conversation. And she felt a bit selfish, but she wished—she wished she was back in the Frenzied Hare right now rather than moving around in the cold winter.

If she ever got home, Erin would never complain about an airplane again. That was what she decided.

“Anyone want dinner?”

“It’s cold.”

Pisces grumbled as he lay sprawled out on the wagon. Ceria, sitting next to his foot, shifted it aside irritably.

“I could warm it up with magic. So could you.”

“I would much rather have stayed the night in the inn in the city. If we had left the next day—”

“If we had, we’d be that much behind. I want to get moving while the roads are clear.”

Ceria pointed that out acerbically. But from the way she glanced back at Celum, still visible in the distance, Erin knew she felt the same.

“After all my hard work with the door, I am resigned to this. A cold meal on wagon back. Truly, gratitude is a foreign concept among even the staunchest of comrades.”

Pisces sat up, grumbling. Erin wanted to grumble back at him, but she was grateful for the door, really. He really was a genius, just like Ceria sometimes said. So she’d let him grumble a bit more.

“What are you going to do with the door, Erin?”

Yvlon asked that, wrapped up in her coat. Erin had to think.

“I’ll probably put the door somewhere in the city! It’ll be so cool! I can pop in and visit Selys all the time, and I’ll get so many visitors since it’ll be easy to get to my inn!”

“Not to mention it’ll be safer since you can get away if there’s a monster attack.”

The woman nodded approvingly. Pisces just sniffed.

“What a waste.”

“What would you do with it, then?”

“Certainly not use it to for a simple walk of a few minutes. Why, with a door so useful I’d link it to a safe space—perhaps far underground. Or perhaps as a trap to deter unwelcome visitors. I could fix it so that at your command anyone unsavory was transported deep underground—”

“You can send people that far?”

Erin was surprised. All the Horns of Hammerad nodded, looking grim. Ceria kicked the door and cursed as she winced in pain.

“The door teleported us to a pit trap when we first found it. And like Pisces said, it recovers magic. So it won’t run out. It’s a great tool for you, Erin. I’m glad we can give it to you.”

Erin nodded, but her heart had suddenly jolted in her chest. She took a breath, trying to contain the excitement trying to explode out of her body in case she was wrong.

“Well, if this door is so powerful, it can probably teleport people a long way away, right?”

“Any [Teleport] spell can do that.”

Pisces murmured as he tried to get himself comfortable in his spot in the wagon. He pointed at Erin.

“You were there when that objectionable Gazi teleported away, were you not? Her spell took her far away. Across the ocean, I’ll wager. Thousands of miles. True, that was with a customized spell for long-distance, but a normal [Teleportation] spell can still cover many miles, albeit at increased mana cost.”

“So this door—”

“—Is clearly a relic of a past pinnacle of magical achievement. Indeed, that entire room—the private hidden store room of a powerful mage—was filled with wonders. Putting aside the mediocre traps preceding the door, the pit trap was truly a death sentence even for a Named Adventurer. If all the [Insanity] runes had been active, I cannot imagine any Skill or spell short of…Tier 7 that would have saved you from an untimely end.”

“Wow.”

Erin shivered a bit, realizing how dangerous it had been. But she pressed forwards anyways.

“So this door is incredible because it can teleport people really far. And it recovers magic. So…”

“So what?”

Ceria looked at Erin blankly. The girl paused, and then pointed to the stone in Ksmvr’s hand.

“Why didn’t we just leave that in Celum? If we made another door or something, couldn’t we travel back and forth to the wagon? And once it gets to Liscor, I mean, I don’t know if it’s too far, but could I use it as a door to…”

Her voice trailed off. Everyone on the wagon—including the wagon driver—was staring at Erin with an open mouth. Pisces closed his.

“Remarkable. And of course it would work. The charge might not last for more than one or two mass teleportations per day but if you found a way to recover mana—”

“Ksmvr!”

Ksmvr shot to his feet.

“I will go to the city.”

“Hold on! Let me tune the stone. I had it so you would teleport with it. But clearly we need to…hm…”

Pisces and Ceria clustered around the stone, arguing with each other as Yvlon, Ksmvr, and Erin watched with bated breath. In a few moments Ksmvr was jumping off the wagon and running quite quickly back towards the city in the distance.

The others settled back in the wagon to wait. They didn’t speak much—just watched Ksmvr’s shape slowly disappear. The minutes felt like hours, and after an interminable number of them had passed, Yvlon coughed.

“Been a while. Ksmvr should have made it to the city by now. Do you think it didn’t—”

Pop. Ksmvr appeared back on the wagon. Everyone shouted, but he raised his hands.

“The stone is at the Frenzied Hare. I have explained to Miss Agnes but she does not quite understand. Shall we attempt to return now?”

“Yes. All we have to do is—”

From his seat on the wagon, the driver half-turned to look. He caught only a glimpse of the five people clustered around the door lying on his wagon when he heard a quiet pop of air and they vanished.

The horses, pulling the wagon, snorted in surprise when they felt the sudden change in weight. For his part, the wagon driver stared at the spot in dismay.

What was he supposed to do? Keep driving? While these adventurers feasted in the inn? That wasn’t fair!

But it was what he was paid for, so after a moment the wagon driver urged his horses on, scowling. He drew his scarf tightly around his face as the night grew closer around him.

The poor wagon driver sat miserably hunched over in the cart as the horses plodded onwards through the cold night. After a few moments, the door opened on the wagon. The wagon driver gaped as from out of the wagon a girl stepped out with a sudden outpouring of noise—and heat!

She stepped up, since the door was lying on its back, but somehow was facing the right way when she stood upright on the wagon.

“Woog. That’s trippy.”

She muttered as she held something in her hands. The wagon driver stared at her. The girl—was her name Erin?—smiled at him. She held out what was in her hands. The man looked and saw a steaming bowl of soup.

“It’s fresh! Sorry about the wait—Pisces said he could actually make the door connect! Don’t ask me how—he put the stone, you know, the anchor-thingy? He put it in another door and he and Ceria did some magic to it and look! Portal door!”

The man just stared at her. Slowly, he took the bowl of soup. It did indeed smell fresh, and the hot liquid warmed his cold hands and soul in the winter night.

“I’m making popcorn as well. I’ll bring you some when I’m done! Do you want something to drink with that?”

The man brightened up. The girl opened the door, stepped down and into the inn and the door closed. After a few more minutes, the door opened and popcorn was handed over in a bowl along with a big mug of ale. The man stared down at the white, fluffy kernels seasoned with butter, salt, and yeast—which was the only way to eat popcorn, or so Erin claimed. He tried some, and cheered up even more.

And so the wagon plodded onwards, bearing its curious load. It traveled down the silent, winter roads, slowly heading south. To a city claimed by Drakes, Gnolls, and the strange Antinium. To Liscor. To a place known as The Wandering Inn.

To home.

Author’s Note:

It took me a long time to get Volume 3 out as an e-book. And only Part 1 at that! Well, I do apologize for the delay. In truth…I’m better at writing new chapters than I am at revising, fixing typos, and releasing the old volumes, especially as it’s all online. But some people have told me they really like to read via e-book and this does allow the audiobooks to be made, so I apologize for the delay!

It really is odd to think that Volume 2 came out as an e-book in 2019, and now we’re up to Volume 7 and closing in on the ending of that! Each Author’s Note is a snapshot of where I am. At that time, we’d passed 4 million words and in Volume 6.

I think we’re definitely past 6 million now. And the story is continuing and you’re all reading! Again—Part 1 and I promise not to make you wait a year before Part 2 of Volume 3! But it is strange, looking back on it. There was a time when Erin was trapped in Celum. And now, well, if you look at where Volume 7 is—

Spoilers, spoilers. But there is so much more to read! And apparently, people still enjoy 4.5 more Volumes worth of words! I hope you will too, sincerely, if you’ve read all the way here. The best is yet to come is an odd thing to promise after a million words of The Wandering Inn…but you have least four million more to go, if my math is right. Maybe five. What are numbers?

I hope that makes you happy, rather than anything else. Thank you for reading,

--pirateaba

Table of Contents

- 3.00 E
- 3.01 E
- 3.02 H
- 3.03
- 3.04
- 3.05 L
- 1.00 D
- 1.01 D
- 3.06 L
- 3.07 H
- 3.08 H
- 3.09
- 3.10
- 3.11 E
- 3.12 E
- 3.13 E
- 3.14
- 3.15
- 3.16
- 3.17 T
- 3.18 T
- 3.19 T
- 3.20 T
- 3.21 L
- 3.22 L
- 3.23 L
- 3.24
- 3.25
- Author’s Note: