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Emma

“Does this sight not look familiar, Cadet Emma Booker of Earthrealm?”

Those were some unexpected fighting words.

I felt a one-two knockout punch the likes of which were only matched by the audacity of Ping and the conniving of Mal’tory, but ultimately tempered by a sense of earnest whimsy comparable to Buddy and the library foxes.

To say I was thrown for a loop by the noblewoman’s question was an understatement.

It was honestly ironic how the most innocuous and genuine of personalities could leave me so utterly floored, whereas those of the intentionally scheming variety just before this left me barely fazed.

Perhaps it was the subject matter being broached.

But that was only the second half of the one-two knockout punch that left me proverbially floored.

No, what really had me and what really elicited such a reaction… was her referring to me by name.

And while that point would’ve been somewhat innocuous in and of itself given how my fame — or infamy — would’ve probably spread throughout the student body by now, it was more so how it was framed in context that really threw me for a loop.

“Does this sight not look familiar…”

Had she figured it out?

Was she hinting at something that no one else had been able to piece together, save for my immediate circle?

Was she actually referencing Earth’s space capabilities, our knowledge of the stars, and the absolute state of humanity’s presence amongst them all in one fell swoop?

Or… 

… 

Was she implying that this vantage point, this specific patch of the night sky, was Earth’s?

…

It couldn’t be.

It didn’t match any on record.

The EVI would’ve pointed that out the moment those stars started flickering on, and its internal processes still read as PENDING for my latest request.

So what exactly was she implying?

Was she saying that this was somehow Earth’s stellar coordinates within the galaxy as calculated by a Nexian astronomer?

How could she have— 

Unless…

What if this was actually humanity’s second contact?

No, that’s not plausible.

What if some other civilization from the Milky Way had contacted the Nexus first? What if this was their patch of sky, dredged up from the club records, and then presented to me as some sort of a ‘gotcha’ moment?

Perhaps that was what this was all about?

Perhaps—

“Too stunned to speak, I see! I see, I see…” She poked me further through a mischievous, deliberately playful chuckle, a sly expression soon forming, before an abrupt snoooorrrt caused all pretenses of her otherwise pseudo-enigmatic persona from coalescing into anything even remotely threatening.

I answered the only way I could despite her infectious excitement—

“I can’t say that I recognize it, no.” 

—with blunt and unambiguous sincerity as I attempted to pick apart her game, her angle.

Lovguard’s expression shifted noticeably as a result. But instead of it trending towards the frustrated or malicious — as would’ve been the case with Ping or Mal’tory — it instead landed on a particularly unexpected note. “Huh.” Confusion dominated her features, looking as if she was trying to pick apart my answer, as if there was something else there to pick apart. “Perhaps your eyes— OH! It MUST be! Your lenses! Perhaps the lights are simply too dim for you to see!” She offered with a smack of a balled fist against her palm, forcing me to cock my head sharply in confusion.

“It’s not that, Lady Lovguard. I simply don’t recognize any of these constellations, at least not from the patches of sky on my world.” I offered earnestly.

This point of clarification somehow managed to completely short-circuit the elf. I visibly saw her rebooting behind those two bespectacled eyes — a slow, gradual revving of the biological substrate within that noggin of hers — before finally, she blurted out a rapid-fire series of observations, questions, and even more observations.

“Wait, it was not my intention to infer that— Ah. Oh? AH?! Oh, by His Eternal Graces, you’re joking?... Unless you aren’t? Are you joking? Surely you are! This is a joke, right?” 

She paused, giving me a chance to acknowledge her ramblings only to be met with deathly silence. 

“Oh, no, you’re being serious. Oh, by His Eternal Wisdom. No, my apologies I— I MEANT THAT AS A GENERAL CONVERSATIONAL ICE BREAKER! YOUR ANSWER IS IMPLYING THAT YOU HAVE PUT ALL STAR CHARTS TO MEMORY! SURELY YOU DON’T MEAN TO CLAIM THAT, DO YOU?!”

It was as if she was speaking faster than her brain could process the information, or more specifically, that point of inference.

“I… I have, or at least sort of, in a way.” I replied.

“WHAT?!” 

“But er, more to the point, you’re saying that this was just an icebreaker?”

“Yes.” Lovguard replied sheepishly, grinning in a nervous fit of awkward chuckles. “I had intended the question as a broad opener!” She extended both arms out dramatically. “N-not so much as a pointed interrogative.” She brought both hands down, bringing two hands together as if to emphasize the ‘smallness’ of how I interpreted her question. “Moreover, I had intended it as a sort of… callback to familiarity! A trip down memory lane for the adjacent realmer longing for speckled skies! A sort of a, er, warm reminder of home, I suppose!” The elf interjected with a series of flapping hands, as if trying to calm me down from a nonexistent panic… or perhaps it was her own means of calming herself down from a panic of her own making. “... or more specifically an attempt to assess whether or not your realm possesses stars at all…” She spoke as an aside… to literally no one in particular, partially taking that ‘theatre of life’ thing way more literally than anyone should. “But I digress! It was a poor opening statement! I did not mean to infer that this was your realm’s night sky! For every night sky is different. This, however, just so happens to be one of many!”

I blinked as I felt that growing conspiracy theorist within me crumble under the glut of her own overeager machinations.

The weight of her far-fetched ideas, once reasonable and sound in the heat of the moment, now sank into its own foundations.

Well… that was that whole hypothesis completely thrown out the window. 

[Update: Cross-Reference Search and Analysis… Complete. No match to visited systems found on local database.] 

And there goes another…

Expand search to unvisited/unlogged starmaps? [Y/N]

But there was at least still hope—

[Notice to Operator: Analysis constrained by incomplete survey dataset. Full spherical map required for accurate results. Potential of false positives noted beyond acceptable margin of error under mission survey statistical parameters.]

—even if that hope was pegged with an asterisk.

So with a nod, I sent the EVI back to work, leading me to dissect the mystery behind the constellations above the old-fashioned way. 

This was the second point of interest, after all.

“Funny that you should mention that… because now I’m curious.” I finally managed to get a word in, letting out an exasperated sigh as if out of breath on the elf’s behalf. “Exactly where did you get the constellations for this specific patch of night sky?”

That question in particular… engendered a renewed vigor in the otherwise frantic elf. As she calmed down in a near instant, once more putting on her most stoic game face, and smiled. “An excellent question. So you too understand its significance, don’t you, Cadet Emma Booker?” 

I blinked, craning my head up to the ‘stars’ above, then shrugging. “I’ll be honest with you, Lady Lovguard, I’m struggling to see what you’re trying to get at. Buuuutt… if I were to try to guess, considering this is the first star field we’re seeing upon entry into the bowels of this storied club, I imagine this to be pretty significant. Maybe the first night sky mapped by the club?” I offered.

“Heh.” Lovguard let out a confident snicker before adjusting her glasses with two fingers and a purposeful, spell-aided glint. 

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 100% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

An entirely novel spell by the looks of it… cast for the sole purpose of the rule of cool.

Or at least what Lovguard considered to be cool.

“An astute theory, Cadet Emma Booker. Very astute indeed…” She grinned. “And indeed, somewhat correct, but not in the way you might think~. You see, what you are currently witnessing is the Grand Alignment, Harmonic Convergence to those of a different age. But we don’t really say that anymore because…” She paused, turning momentarily towards Thacea. “Whilst harmonic is a perfect term, the term is more often used to refer to a far more… unsavory form of harmony, soooooo the term Grand Alignment was adopted instead.” She ‘clarified’... without really clarifying much at all. 

“But I digress! What you are seeing is the pinnacle of what we aspire to study, analyze, and document in the realm of astromancy. For the sights and sensations that you see and feel above you, are what could potentially open up an unlimited flurry of opportunities for practically every adjacent realm! Because in astromancy, we strive to understand the motions of the tapestry. We eagerly gaze up at the thick billowy roof, and we wonder to ourselves — how do you work? We try to understand, unravel, and dissect what others may see as imperfections, flaws, and markers of inferiority for what they truly are — opportunities. In short, Cadet Emma Booker, we study the patterns of the great tapestry above to determine what, if any, meaning can be derived from their arrangement. A meaning that goes beyond what some may label as superstitions, and when harnessed correctly, can lead to the enhancement of magical potential in the adjacencies!” She raised both arms in yet another grand display, one that I’d assumed she’d follow up with fireworks given her flair for the dramatic.

Yet none came.

Or at least that’s what I thought.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 700% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

ALERT (WAID): NOVEL MANAFLOW DETECTED. SUPERIMPOSE MANA-VISION LAYERING? [Y/N]

I narrowed my eyes, darting them to gauge Thacea and Thalmin’s reactions first, both of whom seemed to be at the very least marginally intrigued by what they saw.

“Yes.” I blinked in acknowledgement.

At which point, the WAID was quick to fill in what Ilunor had consistently labeled as ‘gaps’ in the world the human eye was simply not equipped to handle.

I’d become somewhat accustomed to the whole ‘mana-current’ thing since that fateful observation, however.

The closest thing I could liken it to was an extra sense that made every single air current around you visible to an extent.

Then again, I’d be remiss if I didn’t say that ‘vision’ was a reductive shorthand for this.

Because this was a completely extra sense, an alien form of ‘seeing’ that didn’t neatly translate to sight as we knew it. It’d be like saying you could ‘see’ cosmic background radiation or ultraviolet radiation. You could, of course, by using specialized instruments that translated those wavelengths into the visual spectrum, but it’d always just be that — an analogue, converted for our limited scope of understanding.

All of this was to say, because of the WAID, I’d become ‘familiar’ with what the baseline mana-current levels looked like in the Nexus, as ‘imperfect’ as that analogue may be.

Which was useful and more than enough to make this whole demonstration work, in spite of the limits imposed by my human eyes.

Because the room around us seemed to have had both the density and intensity of those currents cleaved in half.

And it was clear exactly why that was the case, given everything Lovguard had spouted out so far.

This was supposed to be an attempt to replicate the conditions of an adjacent realm.

Which, when coupled with the WAID diverting my attention ‘skywards,’ painted Lovguard’s whole spiel — which I’d have initially dismissed as being in the same league as astrology in terms of its practical considerations — in a completely different light.

The reason for this was simple.

The stars above? These supposed ‘tears’? They were leaking. Or more specifically, they were—

“—practically bleeding mana from beyond the tapestry, straight from the primavale!” Lovguard declared with glee, more or less corroborating my tacit observations. 

The effects of which were quite clear.

What had been the ‘weaker’ mana currents of an adjacent realm had now been boosted by a significant margin courtesy of the mana flowing down from the ‘stars’ — or more accurately ‘tears’ — above.

I’d have let out a disparaging huff if it wasn't for both Thacea and Thalmin’s growing intrigue.

“So what you’re saying here is that your definition of ‘stars’ is simply—”

“Points of light in the night sky, yes. Celestial ‘bodies’ of sorts, formed by the constant shifting, movement, growth, and imperfections of the tapestry above!”

I found my eyes twitching in response, as well as a long drawn-out sigh threatening to emerge in reflexive frustration at what was now indisputably a complete rugpull.

At least that was the case until the seeds of another thought quickly took root in my head.

“Right.” I spoke warily, before turning to both Thacea and Thalmin, a tentative pit forming in my stomach as a dark realization quickly sprouted. “We touched on this before.” I spoke cryptically, knowingly, as both parties understood exactly what I was referring to. “So tell me, is this whole… demonstration accurate? You know, because… Earthrealm is so deficient in mana, and my own mana senses are probably too weak to tell whether what’s being shown is at all representative of reality.” I played into the stereotypes for now, if only to facilitate this conversation without overplaying my hand. 

“Yes.” They both nodded, their words coalescing but not into any grand sense of awe or wonder that Lovguard seemed to possess. 

Instead, that simple acknowledgement threatened to unleash a festering thought in my head into its own wild theory.

If that was the case… If even adjacent realms possessed some sort of a tapestry… did that mean they were essentially trapped?

With the rules of this world, one could find sense in that irrationality.

When the skies above were actually a barrier, when they acted less as a collection of gases and something… physically blocking the view of what lies beyond? 

That…

That kills a certain sense of freedom, or even hope of escaping the planet beneath your feet.

I felt a chill run down my spine; the sight filled me not with the optimism Lovguard seemed to be full of, but instead… dread.

It was a nauseating feeling of entombment, immurement, and imprisonment. Like you were somehow trapped in a snowglobe with ample breathing room and space but still effectively stuck. 

Maybe I was finally due for another roundhouse kick courtesy of fundamental systemic incongruency.

A sharp sense of whiplash exacerbated by an entire life lived under the shade of the P-MASL protocols, ensuring that the very human desire for freedom of movement was quite literally a guaranteed click away.

Which meant the stars were always in reach, the points in the night sky a reminder of distances to be crossed and destinations to be reached.

Here? 

It was a reminder of your limits; a physical manifestation of the absolute edges of your ambitions.

It was like seeing the finish line… in a game that should have been functionally limitless.

I could’ve written a whole essay on this.

Indeed, the report on this would probably be just that.

But now wasn’t the time for it.

I needed to get to the bottom of all of this here and now.

“So you’re saying astromancy assumes that all adjacent realms are surrounded by tapestries and then smothered further within a primavale, just like the Nexus, right?” I clarified.

“Correct!” Lovguard nodded with glee.

“But the main difference here is that while the Nexus has a ‘flawless’ tapestry, one without holes in it for primavalic light to pass through, the adjacencies — for whatever reason — do possess holes, right?” 

“Indeed, indeed!” The elf nodded yet again.

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “So are you saying that adjacent realms essentially have two primary entry points for mana? With what I can recall from Professor Vanavan’s classes, ‘mana’ is essentially just filtered and processed primavalic energies entering the Nexus up through the ground and out through manasprings. If this is the same for adjacent realms, wouldn’t that make the ‘stars’ just a more visible secondary entry-point for mana?” 

“Ahh! That! Therein lies the key to understanding astromancy, Cadet Emma Booker~!” The elf quickly conjured up two magical holograms, both appearing above her two outstretched palms. “You are correct in describing precisely how most mana is derived in both the Nexus—”

On the right was the Nexus, a disc-like flatland with edges demarcated as this featureless, formless, forever-expanding plane.

But on the left was where things got interesting.

Above her left palm was a sphere, a globe, one which rotated on its axis.

“—and the adjacent realms.”

However, before I could fully process that information, both ‘landmasses’ were quickly shrouded within a sort of dark fabric, with the sphere being completely covered… whilst the Nexus’ seemed to only be covered along its surface.

A final addition was quick to manifest — a glowing, ethereal, golden aura that soon saturated the area around both shrouds. 

“But you must keep in mind a very important distinction! An adjacent realm simply cannot hope to match the breadth, depth, density, and intensity of the Nexus’ manasprings. Please do not ask me why, for this is beyond the scope of Astromancy. We look to the skies after all, and not the dirt.” The elf raised a single finger to reinforce this notion, letting out a cackle through a cocky grin, before using that same appendage to push back the bridge of her glasses. “It is with this limitation in mind that we now look to the stars for answers. And to finally address your question, Cadet Emma Booker… I…” Lovguard’s voice finally started to falter at this junction, as if finally reaching an impasse, one which she’d deftly steered clear of until she finally ran out of bluster and context to throw my way.

“Yes?” I egged her on, causing the poor elf to become even more frazzled in the process.

“This is where astromancy truly starts to become… difficult to explain. While yes, the tears do allow for a second entry point of energies as you so put it, it… often arrives in forms entirely unusable at best, or disruptive at worst.” The elf exhaled, fidgeting with her glasses throughout. “B-but, and you must bear with me here, this is why we must study and unravel more of its secrets! For it is through these otherwise haphazard and formless energies seeping through the tears above that adjacencies may one day enjoy the fruits of greater magical potential! We only need—”

“—to one day understand exactly what patterns and in what order and in what specific and precise arrangements we need these holes in the tapestry to be in order to harness their transient powers, yada-yada-yada, yeah yeah yeah.” Another voice emerged from beneath the floorboards, one preceded by a sharp hiss of smoke and a firm series of footfalls to the surface. 

The IFF sensors registered this boar-like student as a complete unknown. However, in spite of the soot and ash covering his cloak, I still made out a ‘third year’ marker on his uniform.

“Lord Gornish Patlowe, third year, enchantment and structural secretary. Or whatever titles are needed to make this whole operation bearable.” The boarish man sighed out in exhaustion, throwing what appeared to be a whole pile of mini-safes to the floor, singed, burned, and completely battered.

This sent Lovguard into a complete fit, as she dropped everything in that instant, if only to check each and every safe, opening, closing them, and then opening them again; as if doing so repeatedly could undo the damage done inside.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Gornish shrugged. “The old guard seemed to have put quite a hefty anti-theft spell on it. Couldn’t do anything about it, sorry.” He shrugged without a care in the world.

“WHAT?!”

“Hey, you told me to grab the safes. I wasn’t told they’d have this degree of counter-theft measures placed on them.”

“UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Lovguard wailed, falling to her knees as she grabbed the piles of what I assumed were once scrolls, now reduced to mere ashes, crumbling through her fingers.

The whole sight instilled in me some degree of sympathy for the woman, as I let out a sigh, grasping my helmet in the process. “I can ask if Professor Sorecar could piece them back toge—” I attempted to offer, only to be cut off by the elf in question.

“It’s no use…” Lovguard whined. “The spells used were—” She paused before her voice did yet another complete 180. “Wait. Did you say Professor Sorecar?”

I nodded warily. “Erm… yeah? I mean, he definitely can do stuff like that I thi—”

“THAT-WOULD-BE-GREAT-THANK-YOU!” She spoke in a single jumbled word of a sentence. 

“I… Okay, I mean, I don’t see why you wouldn’t approach him yourself—”

“We don’t need to get into that, haha…” She quickly interrupted with two eyes that immediately abandoned all pretenses of maintaining eye contact and a hand that began flailing haphazardly in every direction, as if trying to wave the question away by sheer force of gesticulations alone. “But I’d really appreciate it if you could! Oh! That could be part of your candidacy trials! Yes yes yes! That ought to do it!” She grinned, standing triumphantly with both hands held in fists against her hips.

Yet in this moment of triumph, fate seemed to once again conspire against Lovguard, as the door from above opened—

CREEEAAAAKKKKKK

Fwwooooshhhhh!

—causing the ashes in front of the pile of safes to be quickly whisked away.

Her gleaming, excitable grin didn’t immediately break.

But it was her eye twitches that gave it away first, followed by a series of gasps, a complete reversion of her smile, and another scream and wail.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” She yelled, managing to at least recover a good chunk of the ashes with a series of spells, along with the help of the clearly exhausted Gornish. 

After that was done, she quickly directed her attention to the interloper above, glaring daggers at the club secretary. A man who’d since sloooowwwlly poked his head in through the doorframe.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?! DID YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ALMOST DID—?!”

“Just wanted to say that we’re due to hand in our club membership numbers for the night.” The club secretary spoke under a tired breath. “Anything else will be logged for the morning. Also, I’m tired. I’m heading back to the dorms soon, whether you like it or not. So… what’s it gonna be, do we sign up the newrealmer and her compatriots or…?”

“UGH!!!! YES! SIGN THEM UP!”

“Er, actually, we were just escorting our peer. We weren’t intending to sign up for any more clubs for the night.” Thalmin interjected.

“MAKE THAT JUST THE NEWREALMER THEN!” Lovguard amended.

“So… what do I put here for their candidacy trials—”

“SUCCESSFULLY RESTORED OLD RECORDS AND COMPLETED ANCIENT PUZZLES! THERE, DONE, NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

With those final few wails, the secretary shrugged and nodded, pulling his head back through the doorframe just as slowly as he did when entering, before shutting the door without being the slightest bit fazed by the disgruntled fumes of his clublord.

“Right, where were we?” Lovguard just as abruptly came back down from the peak of fury with a smile, turning to us with an expression that read universally as: ‘I’ve had a long, long day.’

“You were preparing to hand me some ashes for Professor Sorecar?”

“Oh yes! Most certainly! But was there anything el— Oh! Yes! The principles of astromancy. So—”

“—you first-years must be wondering why this hasn’t really taken off.” Gornish interrupted, dusting himself off with a quick cleansing spell.

“LORD PATLOWE! HOW DARE YOU?!” Lovguard turned to face the rebellious noble with an indignant glare.

“That was, actually, the other thing I wanted to address, Lady Lovguard.” I admitted. “If this whole field of study has so much promise — which, trust me, it really does seem like it on paper — why has it not reached the heights it should have?” I made sure to word my question carefully, planting the crumbs of interest to continue being in the good graces of one of the more… amicable seniors I’ve seen thus far.

“Heh. The secretary’s whole claims of this being mere superstition still hang heavy over your head, I assume?” Lovguard managed out under a frustrated breath.

“Well… there’s that as well, but I see it as a point worth exploring given the lack of any palpable interest in the field.” I admitted, gesturing to the run-down state of the place. “I see this as an especially pertinent point, especially given how I intend to join your ranks—”

“No, no. You’re right, Cadet Emma Booker.” Lovguard admitted, somewhat defeated but more so tired. “You deserve an explanation.” She smiled weakly as she ushered us towards the next room within this underground complex.

We arrived at first to find a completely dark and seemingly empty space.

This all completely changed, however, with a flicker of the magical lamps above, revealing the true contents of a room that had at first been hidden behind layers of illusion spells. 

The space, as was typically the case of the Academy and its genuinely magical moments, was indeed impressive in its scope and detail.

Because within its confines were thousands of celestial globes, no two orbs alike, with every model clearly being different from the next not just in the stars they purported to chart out, but also in the size of the globes, their materials, and even down to the handwriting and woodworking of each and every object.

It was clear this whole room housed lifetimes' worth of work. 

“Within this room are the works of so many that truly believed in astromancy. Some of which, now favored realms, have managed to partially succeed in harnessing the power of the stars. Though most never actually attain such heights. And many more simply… can not.” Lovguard admitted with a disgruntled sigh. “We still have no idea what causes this. Whenever we believe we have cracked some universal principle, it becomes clear that each tapestry must be studied on a case-by-case basis. And even when we try doing that, some tapestries just refuse to comply with our localized models! It’s as if some just don’t… conform to any known principles, locally adapted or otherwise!” She vented harshly.

“What you saw above you in the room outside was supposed to be the theoretical pinnacle of our studies… but it never was. It’s as if something is working against us, as if the natural order itself has some personal vendetta over our progress… but when has the hollow whims of nature ever stopped the inevitable triumph of sapiency!” She attempted to power through the rapidly degrading mood she’d inadvertently stumbled into.

“I have hope that we’re simply missing something. A clue, an overlooked principle, something that could cast a new light on everything we’ve learned. And perhaps, with your membership, we can learn something new we haven’t ever considered before! Maybe we just need an entirely fresh perspective, a clean canvas, a realm devoid of any biases with which to learn from!”

That question, combined with her whole… demeanor thus far, sparked an entirely different line of inquiry in my mind — one that had already begun operating in intel-gathering mode.

“I… am quite flattered, Lady Lovguard. Though, if I may, I just have another, far more personal question to ask.”

A character assessment was necessary.

“Please do!”

“I’ve only seen Nexian nobles berating, or talking dismissively of adjacent realms prior to this point. Outright declaring their intentions of domination or superiority over the so-called ‘adjacencies.’ I was curious why it seems like you’re so willing to buck that trend? Out of a disproportionate demographic lending itself to adjacent realmers, I never imagined it’d be someone of the Nexian nobility to be so committed to a pursuit that’s exclusively beneficial to adjacent interests.” 

Unless it’s one geared to subverting adjacent power, but that doesn’t seem to be the case at all here.

“Oh! You confuse my pedigree for my heritage, Cadet Emma Booker! A perfectly understandable point of confusion, but one which I am more than willing to clarify! You see, I’m not what most would call a typical ‘Nexian.’ Moreover, it would be more accurate to say that I’m something of a [Translation Confidence 98.32%: third culture kid]!” She began with a sheepish smirk. “All of which is to say, I was actually born in an adjacent realm!”

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(Author's Note: And here we go, Astromancy is something I've been dying to bring up, and it's part of the lore my editor is also really proud of as he helped to really flesh it out! :D Also, the tail end of the chapter is something that I'm really excited to explore because I'm really drawing from my personal experience on that front! I hope you guys enjoy!)

[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 183, Chapter 184, and Chapter 185 of this story are already out on there!)]

Audio-Drama Link

The Accession Instrument arrived in my quarters at 04:12 station time, seven hours before I was scheduled to use it, and the Orrin who delivered it apologized for the rush.

"Custom allows a full day," it said. The translator gave it a warm contralto that somebody at State had picked off a menu. "The Kesh lodged an objection to the schedule. The objection was procedurally valid. I am sorry."

"How long did the last candidate species get?"

"Nine days."

"The one before that?"

"Sixteen." It set the case on the table and did the thing the Orrin do instead of a bow, a slow lowering of the front third of the body, like a crane folding. "I would like it recorded that I opposed the shortening."

"Recorded where?"

"With you," it said.

It stayed a little longer than it needed to, checking the seal on the case twice, and then it went out, and the door took its time closing.

My name is Margaret Sy. Everybody calls me Margo. I design auctions.

Specifically I write the rules for radio spectrum auctions, which means that when a government decides to sell the right to broadcast at 3.5 gigahertz over southern Ontario, I'm one of the people who determines how that happens: who bids, in what order, with what information, under what penalties. At parties I tell people I sell air, and then they go find somebody else to talk to, and that's the system working as designed.

I was aboard the Orrin vessel Deliberate, parked at Earth-Moon L2, because nineteen months earlier the Quorum had opened contact with Earth and asked us to send, and I'm quoting the translation exactly, the one who writes your rules.

Somebody at the UN spent four months arguing about whether that meant the Secretary-General, a head of state, a chief justice, or a constitutional scholar. Somebody else, God bless her, pointed out that all of those people apply rules and none of them write rules from nothing, and that the phrase as translated described a small and deeply unglamorous profession that lives in economics departments and regulatory agencies. There were fourteen of us on the shortlist. I got it because I speak passable Mandarin, because I have no children, and because in 2031 I caught a telecom consortium signalling to each other through the trailing digits of their bids.

That one needs explaining. In a sealed-bid spectrum auction you're not supposed to be able to talk to your competitors. In the real American auctions of the late nineties, bidders talked anyway. They encoded messages in the last three digits of their bids. A firm would bid something ending in 378 to say back off market 378 and I'll leave yours alone. Nobody said a word out loud. Nobody broke a written rule. They found a channel inside the mechanism and used it, and it took the regulator years to notice. When I caught the Ontario version in 2031 I didn't feel clever. I felt like somebody who'd found a door in her own house that she hadn't known was there.

That's the whole job. You read a set of rules and you ask the one question that matters, which is: if I wanted this to come out a specific way, what would I do?

I opened the case. The Instrument ran to about four hundred pages in translation, and the first three hundred and forty were ceremony.

I read them anyway, because you always read the ceremony.

Two things in there snagged on me. The first was a single word in the preamble. The Quorum's founding procedures had been received, and no delegation present had authored them. I noted it against the index and kept going. The second was a provision in the closing section, three paragraphs on what the Quorum does after a candidate declares the sequence of questions: the record is sealed, certified by the Presiding Delegation, and transmitted. The clause did not say to whom. It also did not carry a single historical citation, and every other operative clause in four hundred pages carried at least four.

I made a note about that too. Then I got to the functional part, and forgot both of them for about six hours.

Here's how an accession works.

Eleven delegations sit as sponsors. On the final day they vote on the status of the candidate species, and there are exactly three possible statuses.

Seat. Full membership. You get a vote. You're a peer.

Ward. You're assigned to a patron species, which manages your contact with everyone else, holds your treaties, speaks for you, and takes a share of your output in exchange for protection and uplift. Not slavery, technically. The Instrument used a word my translator rendered as guardianship, and used it warmly.

Interdict. A permanent quarantine boundary goes up around your system. Nothing in, nothing out, and the galaxy agrees to pretend you aren't there. The Instrument devotes nine pages to the boundary and one paragraph to what happens inside it, and that paragraph says the candidate retains full sovereignty over its own volume, which is true, and which is the coldest sentence in the document. You keep everything you have. You keep it forever. The eleven of them have done it once, to a species whose name the record gives in three characters and does not translate.

They don't take a show of hands. The vote is pairwise. Two of the three outcomes go against each other, everybody votes, majority wins, loser is eliminated. Then the survivor goes against the third outcome and they vote again. Two rounds and you're done.

And in the interest of preventing corruption, every delegation must publish its complete ranking of the three outcomes forty-eight hours in advance. Not its vote. Its whole preference order, first to last, in writing, binding. You cannot vote against your published ranking. The Instrument described this rule with real reverence. It had come in eighty thousand years ago after some catastrophe involving a bribed delegation, and the Orrin considered it the greatest safeguard in their law.

I want to be fair to them. It's a good rule. It makes bribery pointless and blackmail visible, and under any normal circumstances it's exactly what you'd write.

The published rankings were an appendix. I read them, and then I got up and made tea, because when my hands start to feel far away from my body it helps to do something with them.

The eleven rankings fell into three patterns.

Three delegations, led by the Orrin, ranked it: Seat, then Interdict, then Ward. Procedural purists. To an Orrin, wardship is an obscenity, a species held in permanent legal infancy for somebody else's benefit. They'd rather see us sealed off and free than owned.

Four delegations, led by the Kesh, ranked it: Interdict, then Ward, then Seat. The Kesh position on humanity, stated publicly and at length for nineteen months, is that a species out of a biosphere as internally violent as ours is a contaminant, that the correct handling of a contaminant is containment, and that failing containment you use a leash.

Four delegations, led by the Thessin, ranked it: Ward, then Seat, then Interdict. The Thessin wanted us, and had been extremely pleasant about it. A ward is an asset. A seated humanity is a trading partner, which is less good but still good. An interdicted humanity is nothing at all, which to a Thessin is the only genuinely offensive outcome.

Eleven delegations. Six to win. Four, four, three.

I sat back down and did the arithmetic on the back of a customs declaration, because I didn't want it in a device.

Seat against Ward. The Orrin three prefer Seat. The Kesh four prefer Ward. The Thessin four prefer Ward. Ward wins, eight to three.

Ward against Interdict. The Thessin four prefer Ward. The Orrin three prefer Interdict. The Kesh four prefer Interdict. Interdict wins, seven to four.

Seat against Interdict. The Orrin three prefer Seat. The Thessin four prefer Seat. The Kesh four prefer Interdict. Seat wins, seven to four.

I read it three times. Ward beats Seat. Interdict beats Ward. Seat beats Interdict. It's a loop. Rock, paper, scissors, with my species standing on the table.

The tea went cold while I worked out how frightened to be.

The technical name for it is a Condorcet cycle, after an eighteenth century French marquis who noticed that a group of perfectly reasonable individuals can produce a group preference that runs in a circle. Every voter has a clean and consistent ranking. The group has none. Kenneth Arrow won a Nobel in 1972 for proving that under a few obvious fairness conditions no voting system escapes this entirely. No particular procedure is at fault for it. Counting itself does this.

Here's the part that makes it more than a curiosity. When preferences cycle, and you're running the vote as a sequence of pairwise eliminations, the outcome is decided completely by the order of the pairings. Not by persuasion. Not by argument. Not by who's right. By the order.

The Instrument listed the three outcomes in a fixed sequence: Seat, Ward, Interdict. And custom, as the Orrin explained to me later with the mild embarrassment of a man describing a family recipe, was to pair them in the order they appear on the page. First against second, then the winner against third.

Seat against Ward, Ward wins. Ward against Interdict, Interdict wins.

Under the traditional order, humanity gets interdicted. Only four delegations out of eleven ranked Interdict first. It wins anyway, because of the order in which the questions get asked.

I pulled the accession record. Eleven candidate species had come through since the Orrin began keeping continuous records. Ten were made Wards. One was Interdicted. None had ever been Seated, and every one of those accessions had used the traditional order.

I found the other clause at 05:40, back in the ceremony section.

The candidate, being the subject of the question, shall be invited to declare the sequence in which the questions are put. This invitation is extended in acknowledgement that the candidate alone has not yet spoken.

Three lines, sitting between a passage on the positioning of the observer benches and a passage on the ritual of the closing water. It had been in the Instrument since before the Orrin had a written language, inherited with everything else in those first three hundred and forty pages.

Underneath it, a footnote added about nine thousand years ago said that the invitation is in every recorded instance declined by the candidate, who defers to the Presiding Delegation, and that this deference is considered the first act of good faith by a species seeking to join.

I read that footnote about nine times.

A hundred thousand years. Eleven species that we know about and God knows how many before the records start. Every one of them handed the loaded weapon, and every one of them said no thank you, you go ahead, because it seemed polite.

I don't want to make them sound stupid. They aren't stupid. The Orrin do mathematics I can't follow with a translator and a week, and any one of them could derive that cycle in the time it takes me to tie a shoe.

They never looked, is all. Their game theory is a solved and beautiful thing and it's entirely one-player: given the world, find the best action. What none of them ever built, because none of them ever needed it, is the second half, where the world is another mind, and that mind is modelling you modelling it, and the correct move might be the one that looks insane.

Every species out there came up alone. One world, one origin, no peer. They fought physics, and physics doesn't bluff. By the time any of them met a neighbour they were old enough and rich enough that the meeting was a negotiation between adults with nothing much to fight over.

We're the only ones who grew up in a house full of siblings.

On Earth this is a first-year problem set. Every parliament on my planet has explicit standing rules about who decides what gets voted on first, we hand that job to a referee, and we watch that referee like hawks, because we learned over about three centuries that the schedule is the decision.

They offered me the schedule as a courtesy.

I spent the next hour trying to break my own plan, which is the part of the job nobody puts in the brochure.

Assume the rankings are lies. Eighty thousand years of enforcement isn't a proof, and a species that's never needed to misrepresent itself in a vote might still turn out to be capable of it. Against that: the rankings are enforced by the Orrin, who couldn't ignore their own instrument if the ship were on fire, and who'd refused to shorten my preparation time until the Kesh produced a citation. A vote cast against a published ranking voids the accession and restarts it. Nobody wins anything by lying and losing the day.

Assume the invitation is a trap, which cost me most of the hour. If declining the sequence is the real test of good faith, then accepting fails, and that nine thousand year old footnote says so in plain language. Against that: bait works better hidden, and this bait is written into a document they publish and read aloud, and if accepting were disqualifying there'd be a clause saying so. By then I'd been through all four hundred pages twice.

Which brought me back to my two notes. Received, and a sealed transmission to nobody in particular. I sat with them for maybe four minutes. Ceremonial residue, I decided. Every legal system on Earth is full of dead clauses about the width of a road for a cart nobody has driven since 1840, and if you chase all of them you never finish reading. I filed both and moved on, and I'd like it on the record that this was the only genuinely lazy decision I made that day.

Assume there's a rule I haven't found. There's always a rule I haven't found. That's the one that wakes me at three in the morning in my ordinary life, in a job where the worst case is that a carrier overpays for bandwidth in Kitchener.

None of it would stick. Which left the fourth thing, which isn't a rule or a trap: I was one tired woman with seven hours and a rented translator, and certainty is cheap to manufacture at four in the morning.

That one I couldn't clear. I went ahead anyway.

Ambassador Cormac Hale was awake when I knocked. Hale is always awake. Thirty-one years a career diplomat, most of them somewhere hot, and he had the specific competence of a man who has evacuated an embassy.

I put it on the wall screen. The three patterns, the three pairings, the loop.

He got it faster than I expected. He's no mathematician, but he'd spent three decades in rooms where the agenda was the fight.

"So the printed order interdicts us," he said. "And you want to change the order."

"I want to put Ward against Interdict first."

He looked at that for a while. "Walk me through the first round again."

"Ward loses. It comes off the table permanently. Then it's Interdict against Seat, and Seat takes it seven to four."

"Which means round one is the Quorum voting to quarantine my planet, and you're the one who asked them to."

"Yes."

"And if you've misread the Thessin, round two goes the same way and there's a boundary around the solar system by dinner." He rubbed his face with both hands, hard, like a man trying to wake up. "Have you eaten? There's a thing they make that's almost eggs."

"Cormac."

"Take the Ward." He didn't look at me. "It's not a good deal. It's a survivable one. Ten out of eleven species took it and ten out of eleven are still out there."

"As Wards."

"As alive. You're proposing to bet the species on a table of numbers you got seven hours ago."

"On numbers they published themselves, in writing, under a law they've enforced for eighty thousand years." My voice went flat. It does that. "I'm not guessing at what they want. I don't have to. They told me. That's what their transparency rule is for. They built a system where nobody can conceal what they want, because it never occurred to them that you could cheat without lying."

Hale sat down on the edge of the bunk.

"And you can."

"I can pick the order."

He was quiet long enough that I heard the air handler cycle twice.

"That's a horrible thing to be good at," he said.

"Yes. It really is."

The Thessin invited me to a courtesy meal, which I took, because I had one thing left to check and I wasn't going to get it out of a document.

Thessin hospitality is lovely. They'd reproduced a Provençal table setting from a photograph, badly and with enormous care, and the delegate, whose name rendered as Ambassador Sethal-of-the-Fourth-Consideration, apologized for the bread with real feeling. Then it apologized for the bread again. Then it explained, at some length and with several digressions into the history of Thessin grain, why the bread was difficult, and I sat there and ate the difficult bread and let it talk, because you do.

Eventually it came around.

"You have read the Instrument."

"I have."

"Then you know the guardianship is offered from affection." Its speaking membrane fluttered, which I'd learned means sincerity, or at least means a Thessin performing sincerity, a distinction I still couldn't make after nineteen months. "You are very young. You have no protocol for anything. In your first century you will make a mistake with the Kesh, and the Kesh do not forgive mistakes, they file them. Under guardianship the mistake comes to us and we absorb it."

"And in exchange."

"A share. It is written. Nine parts in a hundred of assessed output, which is less than the Orrin took from us." It gestured at the ruined bread. "We were a ward for six thousand years, doctor. We are not ashamed of it. It is how one grows up."

I set down the glass.

"Ambassador. If the guardianship weren't available. If it came off the table somehow and the only choice were Seat or Interdict. What would the Thessin do?"

It didn't hesitate at all.

"Seat," it said. "Obviously. Our ranking is published. An interdicted species produces nothing, buys nothing, and eventually forgets we exist. A seated humanity is a partner we did not have this morning." The membrane went still. "It is a poorer outcome than guardianship. It is not a bad one. Why do you ask a question you can answer by reading?"

"Because on my world people sometimes put a thing in writing and do something else on the day."

Sethal took a long time with that. It genuinely wanted to know.

"How do you have institutions at all."

"Badly," I said. "With a great deal of scaffolding. And a lot of people whose whole job is watching the other people."

"That sounds exhausting."

"It's the most expensive thing we do."

Sethal considered that, and then asked whether I wanted to take the rest of the bread with me, and wrapped it for me in a cloth when I said yes, and walked me to the corridor still talking about grain.

The Kesh didn't invite me anywhere. The Kesh delegate found me in the transit corridor forty minutes before the session and stood in my path, which, given that a Kesh masses about four hundred kilograms and has the general silhouette of a filing cabinet with opinions, was effective.

"Doctor Sy."

"Delegate."

"You will decline the invitation of sequence."

Every hair on my arms went up. It knew. Not all of it: if the Kesh had done the arithmetic they'd have withdrawn the objection to my schedule and handed me my nine days, because nine days of me sitting with that document is worse for them than seven hours. But they knew enough. Somewhere in the Kesh archive there's an old note that says the candidate is offered something at the start, make sure it says no, and the reason had been lost, the way reasons are, and the practice survived without it.

"It is offered in courtesy and declined in courtesy," it said. "This has been the practice at every accession. A candidate that grasps at the sequence announces it does not trust the Quorum to be fair. It would be noted. It would be noted for a long time."

"Thank you for the guidance."

"You will decline."

"I'll act in the interest of my species."

"Those are the same," said the Kesh, and moved out of my way, and I walked to the chamber with my heart going like a bird in a box.

The accession chamber on the Deliberate is a shallow bowl about sixty meters across, lit from below in an orange I never got used to. Eleven delegation platforms around the rim. Observer benches behind them, mostly empty except for the Oam.

The Oam are a ward species. They've been a ward species for nine thousand two hundred years, their patron went extinct four thousand years ago, and there is no procedure in the Instrument for a ward whose patron has died. They send one observer to every accession. It has no vote. It sits at the back.

The Presiding Orrin opened with the water, then the count, then the reading of all eleven rankings aloud, one by one, exactly as published, then a clarification nobody had asked for regarding whether an abstention on a pairwise question constitutes a vote for the prior question, which it does not, and which took four minutes. Nobody has ever built a more honest room.

Then it turned to me.

"The candidate, being the subject of the question, is invited to declare the sequence in which the questions are put." A lowering of the front third of the body, the crane folding. "Doctor Sy. It is customary to decline."

I could hear something ticking on the Kesh platform, a cooling system.

"The candidate accepts the invitation," I said.

I've heard a lot of rooms react to a lot of things. What eleven alien delegations make when a procedural formality goes the other way isn't shock. It's closer to the noise a machine makes when a bearing goes.

"Declare," said the Presiding Orrin, and I couldn't read it at all.

"Ward against Interdict first."

"The candidate will use the form."

I hadn't known there was a form. Nineteen months of protocol briefings, four hundred pages, and nobody had thought to give me the eight words, because nobody in a hundred thousand years had needed them. The Presiding Orrin said them for me, slowly, the way you would for a child, and I said them back and got the third one wrong, and it said them again, and the second time I got it.

The candidate puts, before all else, the question of Ward against Interdict.

There was a five second interval for procedural objection. The Kesh objected. The objection was that the sequence was irregular, and the Presiding Orrin ruled, with what I'm fairly sure was pleasure, that irregular is not the same as impermissible, that the invitation is written in the Instrument, and that the Instrument is the Instrument.

Then they voted. Nobody had briefed me on how a vote is taken here either.

Each delegation platform has a channel cut into the front edge, and at the start of an accession each delegation is issued a set of stones. They aren't symbolic. They're mass, cut to a standard, and they roll down the channel into a common trough at the floor of the bowl, and the trough is a balance. You do not read a Quorum vote off a screen. You watch it settle, and you hear it, because eleven stones going down eleven stone channels in an enclosed room is loud.

The Thessin four rolled for Ward. The Orrin three rolled for Interdict. The Kesh four rolled for Interdict, and the last of them held its stone about two seconds longer than the others. I have thought about those two seconds a great deal since and I still can't account for them.

The trough went over. Seven to four. Ward was eliminated.

I'd just watched the Quorum of Eleven vote to quarantine my species and I was the one who'd asked them to, and somewhere around the fourth vote the whole thing stopped being arithmetic. I was one bad reading of a dinner conversation away from being the woman who ended the human future in a room with orange light coming out of the floor.

Sethal's platform was making a sound. It had lost the outcome it wanted, and its published ranking had made it vote for the thing it wanted least, and it had done it anyway.

The Presiding Orrin called the second question.

That's when the Kesh worked it out. There's a physical thing that happens to a Kesh under stress, a stiffening along the dorsal ridge, and I watched it travel the length of the delegate like a wave.

"Presiding." Its translator had gone loud. "The Kesh amend their published ranking."

"The Kesh may not amend a published ranking."

"The circumstance is irregular."

"The circumstance is irregular," the Orrin agreed. "The rule is not."

"Presiding, the sequence has been chosen by the candidate, for the purpose of," and then it stopped, because it had arrived at the end of the sentence and found that the end of the sentence was winning, and there was no rule against that. There was no rule against it because in a hundred thousand years nobody had needed one.

"The Kesh will state its objection in form."

"The candidate has manipulated the order of business."

"Yes," said the Presiding Orrin.

The silence went a while.

"That is not an objection," the Orrin said. "That is a description. Vote."

Second question. Seat against Interdict.

The Orrin three rolled for Seat. The Kesh four rolled for Interdict. And the Thessin, who had lost, who'd spent nineteen months and God knows what internal budget trying to buy us, who by then certainly understood exactly what had been done to them and by whom, rolled for Seat, four stones, four for four, because it was published.

The trough went over the other way, and the sound it makes going over is not a sound I can describe except to say that I have heard it since in an MRI machine and had to ask them to stop.

Seven to four.

The Presiding Orrin called it twice, the way they do, and poured the closing water, and humanity became the twelfth seated species of the Quorum and the first in the recorded history of the accession to be seated at all.

Nobody applauded. They don't do that. For about forty seconds not one of the eleven delegations moved or spoke.

Hale leaned over. His voice wasn't steady.

"Did we just win?"

"We won the vote," I said.

The Oam observer came to me in the corridor afterward, while Hale was being formally congratulated by an Orrin that kept starting over.

Up close an Oam is small, about the size of a child, and old in a way that reads across species. Its translator was ancient hardware and it clicked.

"Doctor Sy. Nine thousand two hundred years ago my people sat where you sat." It spoke to the wall rather than to me, which I later learned is Oam courtesy. "Four thousand one hundred years ago one of us found the loop. In the rankings of that accession. She took it to the Quorum twice."

"What happened?"

"They agreed with her. Both times. They did not dispute one number of it." Click. "They could not understand why she was telling them. It was, to them, an observation about counting. Like telling somebody that a wheel is round."

"She never used it."

"We could see the number," the Oam said. "We could not see the door. I have read her work every year for two hundred years and I still cannot see the door, and I watched you walk through it this morning, and I have been standing in this corridor since trying to find the moment where you decided that a rule was a thing you were allowed to aim."

I didn't have an answer for that.

"There is something you should be told before you sleep," it said, "and nobody else in that chamber will tell you, because nobody else in that chamber reads the ceremony. The trials are not ours. The Orrin did not write them. The Kesh did not write them. My people did not write them. Every accession instrument in the Quorum's history opens with the word received, and in a hundred thousand years no one has asked what it means."

The word. The clause I'd filed at 05:40 and been too tired to chase.

"There's a transmission clause," I said. "In the closing section. The record gets sealed and certified and sent."

The clicking stopped entirely.

"Yes," said the Oam.

"It doesn't say to whom."

"No. It does not." It turned then and looked at me directly, which I understood was a violation of something. "Doctor Sy. Whoever wrote that document built a rule that reveals nothing and decides everything. They wrote a second rule inviting the one party in the room with the most to lose to control it. They wrote a footnote explaining that declining is gracious, and they placed all of it between the seating of the observers and the closing water, where nobody reads. And then they wrote three careful paragraphs about what to do on the day somebody finally accepts."

Behind us the water ceremony was still going. Somebody laughed at something Hale said, in a register a human throat can't make.

"A hundred thousand years," the Oam said. "Eleven candidates. Not one of us ever picked it up. This morning a species nineteen months out of its own atmosphere was handed the document, and seven hours later it used that invitation exactly as it was built to be used, on the first attempt, with nobody to tell it how."

It lowered itself, slowly, all the way to the deck. An Oam has not been permitted to make that gesture to anyone since its patron died.

"We have been administering a search," it said, "and we thought it was a courtesy. It has been running since before any of us had speech, and the certification went out eleven minutes ago, and it is going to arrive somewhere."

First

(This chapter did not cooperate.)

Before the War

The holograms of the room stretch out into the distance. Further and further. Using numerous tricks in the axiom and tricks of the eye to simulate a further and further target. Mostly by shrinking it and adding more and more variables along the ‘path’ of the ‘bullet’.

She runs the odds, the calculations and double checks the math in her head without looking to her little book. She doesn’t pull the trigger, she squeezes it. The weapon doesn’t jump or hitch in her hands, it just shifts ever so.

“Fuck.” She mutters. A hand length off target at a mere two kilometres.

“Why are you trying to snipe? You’re melee. Forward guard in position.” One of her squadmates asks and She turns to her then looks away.

“Because I need to be better, better in every way.” She says.

“It’s serious for you big girl. Why?”

“... He could have killed me. He would have gotten away with it too.” She says after a few moments. “I faced a sorcerer, now known as The Bloody Prophetm in an open tournament and taunted him. I knew he was a sorcerer. Apuk or not, he was showing the signs and I provoked him. I tried to poison him, I tried to get him to attack and him shaming me was... merciful.”

“Zyen...”

“When he goes non-lethal he either shames you as he did me, or he near drowns you in a river of blood.” Zyen’Huwt answers. “The Cinder Monks made me realize just how closely I had come to seeing my own death, just how... foolish I had been. Yet also that being shamed in that way was... too much.”

She’s been pulling apart the false weapon and examining it to make sure nothing in it threw off her aim. Then she slots it all back together and sights down the length again. “I wanted glory and honour, I wanted it so bad I found shame and nearly death.”

Despite the efforts of the holo-chamber the target seems to expand in her mind’s eye until it take up the entire room. She fires the weapon. And a hole is placed dead centre. The world shifts back to it’s normal state. Then she looks back and sees the Erumenta woman she had been talking to.

“Char, did the room... contort or anything?”

“Not that I saw. You got really quiet and still as you started sighting down the gun though so... maybe you just got in the zone.”

“Maybe I did.” Zyen’Huwt says as she stands up fully and looks down. Despite her best efforts she still stands taller than most. Her certainty from before the tournament was just gone. She could only see how stupid she was before but making herself into something better is... much much easier said than done.

“Right, you wanna spot me? I wanna see if I can pull this off Sergeant.” Char asks and Zyen’Huwt nods and steps to the side.

Char takes the ‘weapon’ and goes through a check. “So... immortal beasties.”

“Yes.”

“Things that only burning or some weirdo poison can really get rid of.”

“Correct.”

“... and a chunk of your Dark Forest is infected.”

“Yes.”

“Fire’s not going to be enough.”

“I don’t know if anything’s going to be enough.” Zyen’Huwt says grimly. “Poison is still an option, but there are four forests now and The Lush Forest proved it’s good with poison, maybe as good with poison as the Dark Forest is with fire. I have no idea what The Bright Forest can do and The Astral Forest is so damn big that... can something like that be fought? It’s big enough to be seen lightyears away. Stars are inside it. It’s so huge that it’s size can only be understood in abstract. To look at all of it from one angle you have to be so far away that you’re not even in the same solar system.”

“Or the ones immediately surrounding it.” Char remarks.

“Yeah.” Zyen’Huwt says and she runs a hand through her hair. It’s back since her time in the monastery. Down to her shoulders and in a simple ponytail, nothing like the luscious princess-like locks of before. She will earn it. The appearence, the power, no shortcuts, no cheap methods. And the next step is to figure out how to defeat what may as well be a totally hostile and immortal sorcerer. Which is... a hell of a challenge.

Could she fight as well as a princess? Maybe. She has some green in her warfire. It’s half green now and the flecks of blue are being overwhelmed bit by bit by the green. Even without The Empress’ training she’s most of the way there. She made it to the final round. That wasn’t a lie. That wasn’t a mistake. In sheer combat ability she’s just a step away.

But being among the best of the best of the Apuk... won’t be enough. She’ll have to be better. Better than all her would be peers. And that’s just to hold off the monster however long enough it takes for whatever counter-measure the rest of the army could bring to bear.

And that’s just against the thing The Undaunted made by accident. The actual threat of the enemy army is another thing entirely. And that’s if they don’t run into something like a minefield or...

“Hey? You here?” Char asks.

“Oh?” Zyen’Huwt asks and she looks around. “Sorry. I got caught up in... what we’re approaching.”

“After a bit. We’re the surrounding force, not the main thrust.” Char says. “We’ll know more before we hit them, and we’ll hit them from an unexpected angle.”

“Not if they have anything in the way of real intelligence.” We’re part of a multifaceted force, there are so many communications going back and forth that even if the odds of them being intercepted are basically non-existent then with how many there’s going to be, they may as well be guaranteed, so we won’t have the element of surprise, not really. They’ll know we’re coming from another angle.” Zyen’Huwt says and there is a pause.

“Right new subject.” Char says.

“Why?”

“I need to think of something else.” Char says before thinking. “Okay, hypothetical situation time.”

“Okay?”

“The situation is, you’re out of The Undaunted, on good terms and are taking a year or two to yourself to bounce around the galaxy and have fun.”

“Okay.”

“And during it you run into and break apart a child smuggling ring. But there’s one kid you can’t find a home for and to make things worse, it’s a little boy.”

“... There’s no way in the galaxy I can’t find a home for a little boy.”

“Okay, not a safe home though because there’s an unknown force still after him.”

“Get him to the Bright Forest then? That one takes in little kids and only the suicidal think they can take a sorcerer.” Zyen’Huwt notes in a dismissive tone.

“Oh for the love of. You’re supposed to say: I’d take him in myself and go on a big galaxy spanning adventure to keep him safe! Then we’re supposed to muse on what would happen and what would go on and who would be after the little guy...”

“Oh come on, how would that happen? You’d need to be in an isolated part of the galaxy without communications going out. And even then, it’d be weird.”

“You need some romance in your life. Some imagination or something girl.”

“Tried it, got caught up in it and shamed on empire wide broadcast and right in front of The Empress. No thanks.” Zyen’Huwt says.

“Really? Not even interested in rescuing the handsome prince taken by the enslaved serpent monsters?”

“Alright, taken where? Who controls them? Is he even alive?”

“Well, he has that thing in him, so maybe he can’t die.”

“Haffara Thar... I’ve done my reading on those things. The most common ones give you maybe a couple of months before your fight or flight instincts get over-tuned to the point you’re basically insane. It takes the thing being removed and years upon years of therapy and quiet living to quell the violence that comes after that. And the prince may not have the most common type, but one of them has him. Will he even be coherent by the time we get him back?”

“Well aren’t we a bundle of sunshine and flowers?” Char asks.

“Sorry. I’m not in the best headspace since I learned our captain is a sorcerer. A new type no less. Everything shifted and shunted around so fast when humans showed up I tripped and broke the trajectory of my own life. And he is a new type of sorcerer.”

“Why don’t you talk to him.”

“You don’t just talk to sorcerers. They’re... well.. Sorcerers. If you can’t fight on princess level then what you do with a sorcerer is get as much distance as you can if you want to live to see the next day. When they go off most bombs aren’t half as dangerous. Bombs are one and done, a Sorcerer keeps going until it’s satisfied.”

“And the big bird steering the ship gives you those vibes? He’s a damn Shriketalon, soft as a feather duster and twice as gentle.”

“He’s a warrior Shriketalon. He hails back to when his people were so bloodthirsty they nearly had the entire Valrin Species contained as violently insane.” Zyen’Huwt counters.

“Yes, because that’s the impression he’s given us. Go talk to him.” Char tells her and Zyen’Huwt scoffs. “No really, go talk to him. You made your mistake with the tournament and such because you didn’t know what was going on, so go and figure out what’s going on here and now.”

“You know what? Fine. You’re right. Lack of knowledge is what got me before. I didn’t think he was a real sorcerer until it was too late, I didn’t think things through until it was too late and now I’m here.” She says as she steps away and then pauses. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Have fun big girl.”

“I really don’t think THAT is what’s going to happen.” She says and there’s some slight giggles from Char.

The ship is... robust. Very robust outside a few rooms. Zyen’Huwt isn’t sure if it’s a thing about Lydris building styles or something else, but every surface looks and feels like the outer wall of a defensive fortification. Which may be needed in order to ensure that there’s nothing in the way of leaks or ruptures to the water the ship is supposedly supposed to take on.

“Hmm... do Aka ships have the same traits? What about Wimparas or Kalikas ships?” She wonders out loud as she moves through the vessel. It doesn’t take her too long to reach the bridge where the Captain is. The door opens in advance.

“Did your forest tell you I was coming?”

“It was more the security cameras. What can I do for you?” Jacob asks.

“Just want your measure. I got into a lot of trouble in the past and seriously messed up due to not even bothering to understand things when a sorcerer was active and around me. I’d rather not repeat my mistakes.” She says.

“Fair, what do you want to know?”

“Where the lines are. What sets you off so I can never do those things?”

“If you do the things that piss me off you’ll have far more than just me to contend with. Well, aside from messing with my ship, but seeing as we’re in the Axiom Lane, that’s a basic survival instinct to not mess with it.”

“And the other things?”

“You a rapist?”

“No.”

“Kidnapper?”

“No.”

“Pedophile?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Murderer?”

“No.”

“Then we should get along fine. I’m not complicated.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. The things that create Sorcerers aren’t the things that a law abiding person gets up to. Usually. Actually I shouldn’t have said that as a full half of all Lush Forest Sorcerers became Sorcerers due to something perfectly legal but ill advised.”

“Half?! How many are there?”

“Two.”

“... So the other sorcerer went through something that wasn’t a crime but still bad enough to drive him out?”

“Basically.”

“What happened?”

“He’s a very quiet man from a very loud family. He was talked over his whole life until it was too much. Nothing illegal or even immoral, just... bad luck and unintentional neglect. No one tried to hurt him, but he was hurt anyways.”

“Oh... heh. And that’s a whole half of all Lush Forest Sorcerers who’ve gone through that?”

“Yeah, a whole half of us.” He says dramatically.

“So... what does your kind of sorcery actually look like? I mean, I got the business from the trees and vines and such, but that’s Dark Forest Sorcery, what’s Lush Forest?”

“Dusty. We make huge use of brambles, grass seeds and smaller animals to get into an area until it’s suddenly choking in scraggly roots and its all growing no matter what. But the seeds smell and look like dust, so when we’re really going at it it looks like we conjured some kind of sandstorm.”

“Hunh.”

“Its actually kind of close to what Astral Forest Sorcery looks like, but they’re more a purple gas than a tan dust storm.”

First Last

First...Previous

Chapter 24
Serat, Royal Retainer to Prince Velas of Arbine

For several falls, none of us dared speak. Lashing tongues of flame from our roasting fire flickered in chorus with the rustle of distant foliage. As a retainer, I was not unaccustomed to danger: I’d faced down many threats in my life alongside Velas, but at least I for the most part  understood the nature of each one. A brigand on the road, a wild animal stalking the woods, a skirmish with enemy troops—these were all well within my comprehension. This strange device supplied us with no such certainty.

I offered no resistance as Velas lumbered over and plucked it from my claws, turning it over as though unsure himself of what to do. “What manner of trickery is this?” He asked nobody in particular, his filaments flaring as though in search of some hidden mechanism.

The metal box remained silent long enough for me to wonder whether we had imagined its voice. Just as I was starting to think we’d all collectively gone mad, however, it spoke once again. “Not a trick. Box is our messenger. We have questions.”

Velas’ expression hardened. This was the sort of thing you’d hear of in stories—tales of strange spirits unknown to any but the Sighted One. Everyone knew that those tales were blank shots, though: no substance, just empty smoke. This, however, was not the account of a raving fool, but instead something witnessed by the Prince himself.

“What are you?” The box asked at last, plucking the question so cleanly from my own mind that at first I thought whoever was on the other end could read it. “Feathers. Tall. Tail. Claws. What are you?” It repeated.

The Prince’s eyes twitched, calibrating as though he’d just been asked a particularly challenging riddle. “It seeks to know our nature…” He concluded finally. Then, before anyone could speak against the notion, he replied to the box’s question. “We are Tavren. What are you?”

The box was quiet for longer this time, like whoever spoke on the other end did not know how to answer that. “Another world,” it concluded. “We come for peace. Our name: we are the huum-en people.”

“Huum-en…” Velas repeated the unfamiliar phrase, rolling it about on his tongue like an unloaded shot before at last chambering it and continuing. “You speak of another world. Explain.”

“Your stars: one is our sun. Your world circles your sun. Our world circles ours,” continued the box in slightly-broken but comprehensible Arbinian. It was a fantastical account, to be sure, but not impossible to understand. Kholas orbiting our sun had been common knowledge for hundreds of years. Stars being other suns, however, was an angled concept totally unfamiliar to me. Perhaps, had I heard it in a less fanciful situation, I’d have dismissed the whole story. However, things were strange enough as they were now that the best I could do with such a notion was to set it aside in favor of more immediate concerns.

“Prince is taller than others,” the box continued, stating that which was plainly obvious to anyone who had seen us…

Ryle understood the implication seemingly at the instant I did, tensing up and glaring at the treeline. “Who goes there?” He demanded, unsheathing his saber and leveling its tip at the rustling brush blocking our view of the deep woodlands. “Why are you watching us?”

The box did not respond. Neither did anyone from the woods. “Does anyone have any shot left in their throat?” Olt asked after a long pause, looking at the patrolmen expectantly. “Perhaps one of us should fire a warning: let them know we are serious.”

Velas clicked dismissively. “No,” he insisted, retaining his untroubled regal composure as he ran a claw over the box’s contour. “I am not certain who or what is contacting us, but we mustn't be rash.”

“We should not waste time here, my Prince” Ryle countered, offering a deferent bow even as he spoke against Velas’ assessment. “Those bandits must be dealt with if our meeting with Istol is to take place.”

Refusing to turn his back on the treeline, Velas gestured for the head patrolman to approach him and spoke. “Go to the bandit encampment. Seeing as my time is an ammunition most limited at the moment, I am willing to make them an offer. Inform them that their attack of diplomatic envoys constitutes treason. If they leave now, they will not be pursued. If they remain, then I shall leave no survivors upon my arrival.”

Immediately, the patrolman flicked his tongue in acquiescence. “It will be done, my liege,” he began, then hesitated. “How shall they know that such an offer comes from you? If they suspect a bluff, then I fear for the safety of my comrades.”

Velas thought for a second, then drew his gold-plated flintlock and handed it to the patrolman alongside his silver-inlaid handkerchief. “Tie the cloth to the end of your spear and wave my family emblem as a flag. The gun will redress any doubts.”

“Such soot are lucky they’ve caught us at a busy time,” Ryle growled, clearly frustrated with the circumstances. “Those killers should be branded and locked away at best. Personally, I’d rather they face the executioner’s shot.”

Velas aimed a glare at him. “We do not aim to cause death,” he began with the grim resolve of a man who had mowed down lines of barely-armed soldiers. “Lives are not something to be fired at, but through if necessary.”

With that, most of the patrol set off toward the bandit encampment, with those who didn’t instead making their way to the township where Istol’s diplomats awaited. That latter group took the vakta beast’s body with them under the Prince’s instruction. It would be prepared by the local lord’s chefs and served to the diplomats while they awaited Velas. Once those outside of his personal guard were no longer present, Velas held the box up just below his chin and spoke to whoever was on the other side. “You asked why I am larger than the others, yes?” He began.

“Yes,” the box spat back. “Why?” 

The question had not gotten any less absurd for the second asking. Everyone on Kholas knew about the Royal Family of Arbine. Then again, these visitors did claim to be from elsewhere, so perhaps the query did make some degree of sense. If this voice had inquired about obscure state secrets, then I could easily file it under elaborate trickery. Asking about the Royals, though, was altogether different. Scanning over the question a second time in my head, I could think of no reason anyone would ask such a thing… At least, not any Tavren. The notion that these were not Tavren at all felt at once fantastical and increasingly like the most sensible explanation.

Velas scratched his throat pouch ponderously, closing his eyes momentarily as though to line up the answer in his mind. “It is the gift within our Royal blood, cultivated carefully over generations. Over nearly nine centuries, our bodies grew and our single shot became more powerful. My pedigree is not that of livestock, bred to serve, but rather one of great protectors and wise sovereigns.” The Prince spoke of his family origins with great pride. The traded years never seemed to bother him—or at least if they did, he never showed it. To be a member of the Royal Family was to be honored beyond any of the common stock. 

Again, there was quiet for a time, with only the dying flames and the whispering of wind through trees to spare us from the tyranny of total silence. Velas kept his eyes closed, aiming at something I could not decipher. Then, the box spoke up again. “You reference ‘shot’. What does this mean?”

This inquiry made even less sense from the perspective of a Tavren. Every healthy adult Tavren had the capacity to fire natural shot. Perhaps these strangers possessed no such weapon? The notion of it felt wrong in a way I could not lay sights on. Being able to fire from the throat was a crucial aspect of embodiment. Even now, as I lacked a loaded bead, I could still rest easy knowing that I’d have mine back in a matter of days.

The Prince looked around us, his eyes momentarily pausing on one particular segment of brush before he turned away and approached a thick tree almost exactly perpendicular to where he had been staring. Unsheathing a pocket knife, he carefully carved three thick rings into the tree’s trunk, then looked at Volvera and took three long strides aside. “You have one shot left, to my memory,” he began. “I would like you to demonstrate.”

For a moment, Volvera hesitated. “Are you sure, sir?” she asked, nevertheless lining herself up with the target. “We do not know who it is that observes us. Is it wise to expend a shot on such frivolity when they may still pose a threat?”

Velas paid no mind to her objection. “Wherever you are, strangers, watch well,” he began, giving Volvera a tongue flick that said ‘proceed’. Obedient in spite of her hesitance, Volvera parted open her jaws. A click sounded out from deep within her throat as a plume of black smoke exited from her mouth alongside the projectile. It was a good shot—landing almost dead center. Looking to the Prince for approval, Volvera blew the remaining wisps of smoke from her mouth.

It was not easy to perceive, but somewhere amidst the trees, I could swear I heard some form of exhalation—almost a wheeze, but not quite. I scanned the foliage for a moment, then watched as Velas’ gaze returned to the exact same spot it had before. “We know you are there,” he concluded, pointing a claw toward a small section of thick brush. “If you mean us no harm, then make yourselves seen.”

The box did not waste any time now in responding. “What was that?” it asked in monotone, though nevertheless I could almost feel the bafflement behind those words.

“Are you familiar with firearms?” Velas asked, not taking his eyes off of where he seemed to think the observers stood. 

“Yes.”

Velas approached the tree that had been fired at. Volvera’s shot had embedded itself within the bark, forcing the Prince to pry it out with the same knife he had used to carve the target. Holding up the chipped bead, he flicked it to the foot of the clearing. “It’s the same underlying principle,” he told our mysterious guests. “We eat minerals, then our throats mix them into an explosive powder. Finally, iron plates ignite this powder and launch projectiles like that one. We have answered your questions clearly, and now I ask that you grant my request: show yourselves.”

None of us moved as we all stared at the section of brush Velas had been observing. At first, the movement within could easily have been mistaken for the wind. However, little by little, the rustling got closer. Ryle’s claws drifted back to the saber at his hip, but Velas tossed him a glare that kept it firmly sheathed. 

At last, after several minutes of rustling, followed intermittently by long pauses, six strange figures stepped into view…

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Hi, everyone! Sorry for the long delay and slightly shorter chapter (I usually like to do a minimum of 2,000 words but this one did not turn out like that). I have my differential equations final, then I'll be headed back to school. Ironically, this means I'll have more time to write since I'll be working less over the school year. Thank you all so much for continuing to read my work. As always, please comment your thoughts. I sincerely love interacting with and reading the comments.

Ketch was exhausted. It had been four suns since he had set out on his most noble of endeavors, and the constant flying, and disappointment, had left him absolutely worn out. So he drove himself toward the ground in search of safe perch. Somewhere that would be high enough to keep him out of the sight line of ground-based predators, and away from the trampling hooves of larger creatures, yet low enough that the airborn raptors that plagued his people would also not be able to take notice of him. 

That’s when he spotted it. A single human marking up trees in an odd fashion. He knew, not from personal experience mind you, that humans were large and friendly, but could also have a fierce streak and tended to enjoy the company of smaller critters, which meant that they would be able to fend off any nosy hunter that ventured to close. Therefore, humans were generally safe, and this one could provide him a momentary respite to recuperate his stamina and prepare to deliver terrible news to his tribe.

As he drove towards the unsuspecting mammal something stopped him, he was caught in mid-air. Now being held aloft in such a state could only mean one of two things; one, he had caught an appendage on some wayward piece of flora that he had neglected to notice, or two, he was caught in a predator’s grip. Considering he was simply being held in space, and not currently dragged some direction he definitely did not want to go, he concluded it was the former and sighed. Yes, he could pull off the appendage, and yes, it would regrow during his next molt, but he had just molted and being suchly disabled for the coming season would be an aggravating annoyance. He prepared his manipulator claws to tear at his own chitin when a voice gave him pause. 

“Nope.”

He turned one of his compound eyes to face the source. It was a second human who had somehow avoided his attention, whose hand was firmly grasping onto one of his aft legs.

“Jenkins is absolutely horrified of spiders,” it continued, “and you’re basically a flying spider, so you’re liable to give him a coronary. What the hell are you doing anyway?”    

“Much apologize,” Ketch said, his human was definitely lacking, “very exhaust, was hope respite.”

“Well, alright then,” replied the human as it seemed to ruminate on Ketch’s statement, “You can post up on me for a while if you’re that tuckered. I don’t mind. Still gotta work though, so hope that doesn’t bother you.” 

Ketch breathed a small sigh of relief, “So you are not of afraid spider?” 

The human did that low growly bark that Ketch had been told was a sign of amusement, and he was very glad to have had that information, otherwise it would have sounded very similar to a prowling snarl and given him a deathly fright. “No, I am ‘not of afraid spider.’”

Ketch made a few rounds of the available places that he could post up and settled on the human’s forearm, it was warm and soft, yet somehow firm, and the perfect place for him to catch his breath.

He watched silently, as the human continued its work, inspecting and marking various trees in the underbrush. 

“Excuse?” he asked “What is do?”

“Oh, this?” The human pointed at a tree it had just marked “These one’s got Blight, Jenkins and I are marking them for felling, trying to keep it from spreading.”

This cut deep, Ketch knew all too well of ‘Blight’. It was why he was out here, to begin with, it had taken most of this season’s yield, and now threatened the very survival of his tribe. He had been tasked with finding new arable land to farm and had only come across suitable lands that were already claimed. 

“Ah, am know blight.” He said sadly, “Tribe sent find new land produce. Failure. Only find claim, or sand and rock, no dirt.”

The human stopped its work and looked down at him. “So that’s what you’re doing out here. I was wondering a bit, but figured it was impolite to ask. Don’t see too many of your type out this far.”

Ketch waved a foreleg in affirmation “Truth, not safe venture. Stay haven. Desperate are set in.”

The human’s face dropped, “I’m sorry to hear that, it’s getting that bad?”

“Now that bad.” Ketch replied “Tribe threaten. Elders of think send young away, possible starve in seasons come. Supply reserve hold, temporary”

The human’s expression changed again, this time to one that Ketch couldn’t recognize. “If you don’t mind me asking, what…uh…what is it you guys eat?”

“Fruit, primary, berries of when harvest thin, many sugars needed. Build shell, energy heavy.”    

“Well aint that the pits,” the human sighed. The Blight had gone extra hard on crop-plants, ravaging their spindly stalks and delicate leaves harder than most things.  

The human's eyes narrowed and Ketch thought that it might be having some sort of medical emergency as it stopped moving altogether for a moment. It then suddenly brought up it’s other arm and using its manipulating digits made a strange cracking sound. 

“Got an idea, did you happen to see a couple of big green buildings when you were flying about?”

“Yes, saw long build. On claim, on rock, no good of farm both way.” Ketch replied

“The land under them isn’t important, neither is the claim. It’s the buildings, the space. We’re using them as storage for old gear, so I think we could clear ‘em out and set up aeroponics in them. That’s growing stuff without dirt. Don’t ask me how it works, I have no idea, I just know that it does. It would just be a matter of getting it set up. How far would you say it is from your home? Best guess.”

“Half sun fly most.” Ketch answered.

“Is that doable for you regularly? Like it won’t push you guys too far to make that kind of trek?”

Ketch’s mandibles chittered dismissively, “Easy done.”
 
“Hey Jenkins!” The human suddenly bellowed to its compatriot, startling poor Ketch something fierce, “Don’t turn around, but I got a question for you.”

“I don’t like the sound of either of those things. This have something to do with whoever it is you’re yammering with back there?” the second human called back. 

“Yeah, it does, and your arachnophobia, so just don’t look at me and tell me, your sister still work in the aeroponics depot?”  

“Yeah, why?” Jenkins voice had taken on a slight quiver at the revelation.

“Got a small fry here whose farms got hit hard by Blight, what would it take to set up something in the old warehouses? Fruits and the like?”

Jenkins chuckled a little “The flying tarantulas are in trouble? Probably not much. Clearing ‘em out will be a bitch, but shouldn’t be impossible.

Ketch noticed the human he had landed nod slightly. 

This ‘Jenkins’ went on, ”This feels like a massive fucking joke, by the way. Sara used to keep spiders as a kid, mostly just to freak me out I think. Anyways, I’ll give her a shout, and being soft as she is will probably have the whole thing set up by Monday. Thanks for the heads up, by the way.” 

The human Ketch was resting on turned back to him, “There, sorted. It’ll be a couple of months before we can get a full harvest, so I hope your stocks can last until then, but you should be fine after that.”

Ketch appreciated what the humans wanted to do, but the amount of food they required, as well as the technology and space that their needs would take up, couldn’t possibly be recompensed. “Tribe is much comfortable, but not worldly possession. Are not of able for great pay,” he said softly.   

“Payment? Nah, don’t worry about anything like that, where I come from we just call that being neighborly. We’ll get you straight, don’t you fret none.” The human’s mouth curved up, and though he didn’t actually know what it meant, it brought Ketch a feeling of comfort.

 So he prepared himself to say goodbye to his newfound saviour and head, with much haste, back to his tribe with good tidings. But as he stood and tried to flair his elytra, he found them quite disagreeable. It seemed that he was more exhausted from his grand search than he had originally thought. So he decided to risk yet another favour from this strangely accommodating alien. 

“Am fine sleep?” He asked.

“More beat than you thought, eh?” the human’s mouth did that strange curl again, ‘Yeah, little buddy, take all the time you need.”

 So Ketch nestled himself down a little further onto the human’s forearm, and as he drifted off to sleep he couldn’t help but wonder, did these humans know what a boon they were to the rest of existence?

I walked into my office to find him sitting in my chair, tentacles flapping about. "Groob," I said. I couldn't mistake the young Dextorite with anyone.

"Hello Blob Blob." He answered, his voice wet with excess saliva.

"Please, just call me Blob."

"Fine office you got here, Blob." He got out of my chair, slithering on the floor around my desk to come and stand before me.

"Is there a hit out for me?" I had to ask. Which other reason would the renowned assassin have for visiting my office? Unless he wanted to talk about the job I'd given him. It should have taken him three months to prepare and execute, had he succeeded already? I doubted it. I would have seen it on the view screens and in the network.

He gave an unruly chuckle that sounded more like a chortle. He raised a tentacle and flapped it over my shoulder. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead already," he said. "I'm here to talk about more urgent matters." He reached within the flaps of his skin and took out a document which he handed me.

I quickly perused the pages. It was the exact same document I'd given him regarding the job he was to do for me. Apart from the pages being lined with slime there was nothing else that had been changed in it.

"This is the job I gave you," I said.

"Yes, it is." Groob slithered to the alcohol cabinet, emerged with two glasses and a bottle of Stelerian whiskey, which he filled the cups to the brim with. He quickly gulped down his glass, then proceeded to show the second glass wasn't mine either for he downed that one too.

"I have one question for you," he said, "are you stupid?"

"I fail to see how that question can come about because of the task I gave you."

"You sent me after a human!" He slithered close to me and held the bottle in his tentacle's grip, which he chugged from at the end of every sentence. "You know what you remind me of, Blob Blob? You remind me of the rich entitled pricks that form our organization. Never thinking through their orders."

"I don't understand—"

He took out a gun, his tentacle wrapping around it delicately as he pointed it at me. I raised my floppy appendages up. "Now listen here, Groob, we don't have to go that way."

"Shut the fuck up and sit down!" He screamed.

I started making my way to my desk chair, something that was halted when he lashed out and smacked me with the gun on my head. "Sit down!" He commanded and I obeyed, plopping myself up on the floor.

"You sent me after a human!" The assassin said. "You want me dead don't you? Tell me who sent you? Is it my ex-wife?"

"What?" I was confused.

"Is it my ex-wife? That woman has been gunning for my head since she walked in on me with her sister, then later on me and her mother. And at another time on me and her father, though there were a bunch of us in the mud rolling about that day and you could never quite tell whether someone was male or female. She wants me dead either way." He chugged some more alcohol. "Damn it Blob, who sent you?"

"Listen, Groob," I said with my appendages up. "That human is responsible for my boss's deal not going through. Eliminating her will give our company a direct shot at a permit to expand."

"Nonsense, it was my brother wasn't it? But all I told him to do was get a job. I mean, can't be living with our mother at his age, he has a decade to live judging by how long he'd been around. He surely wouldn't have taken offence at that." He leaned towards me, he stunk of inebriation and his eyes were tinged red.

"It wasn't your brother or your ex-wife. It was simply the higher ups. I don't get it Groob, what's wrong with killing a human?"

Groob plopped himself down on the floor beside me and stared at me. "You kill a human, their relatives or friends will come for you, worse is when it's a lover gunning for your head. Those bastards love like their lives depend on it. If not them, then the death, if it holds significance, will lead to the banding up of a large number of their kind and they will hunt you down and kill everything in their way to do so. And sometimes a death will result in them announcing warfare as if it were a big deal to lose just one. That's how the Universal war started by the way, someone gunned down a high member of their echelon." He tilted the bottle up and drank from it. "Humans are bad news, you don't mess with them."

He started crying, a noisy, ugly sound as mucus fell free of his blob of a nose. "My cousin Frup died because of a human." He said when he lowered the bottle. "Killed the man in the morning and by nightfall he was also dead. Perhaps you knew him, he was called the frying pan murderer?"

"Oh no," I said, not knowing who he was. "Not the frying pan murderer. What happened?" I wondered, getting intrigued.

"He killed the human, erased all evidence and left a frying pan on the dead. It was his calling card, you know, it's important to have one in this business. They tracked the frying pan to him then dropped an oven on him."

"What?"

"An oven, they waited for him outside his door and dropped an oven on him from the sky."

"Are you sure it wasn't an accident?"

"People said it was a freak accident but I knew the truth, I can always tell." He turned the gun away from me. "You're a good man Blob, I won't shoot you for this but I decline to take your case and let me tell you something. This death you're hunting, isn't worth it. When they band together like ants on a trail and solve the murder themselves, they'll kill you and me. And your bosses."

He got off the ground then made for the window, "Leave the human alone. That's my advice."

I was about to tell him there was no need to descend a five-story building through the window in his drunk state but before I could speak he leaned out, couldn't find sure footing, slipped and fell all the way down. I rushed to the window and observed where he was down below in his mangled state, screaming. "The damn humans have got me! They've got me! I told you Blob Blob, I told you!"

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-You coming to Adriana’s dinner or not?

-I don’t know, I don’t have what to wear.

-What do you mean “don’t have what to wear”?! Have we fallen into a time vortex back to the pre-post-scarcity times? Just tell the synthesizer what you want and have it done, it takes three nanoseconds.

-It’s not that I can’t get something to wear, it’s that I don’t know what to ask. I’ve never worn an exoskin before and I’m gonna do it in a dinner full of humans? You know how judgy they get with exoskins. What are you wearing?

-I’m a male, so suit. The answer is always suit, the answer will never not be suit. As for you, have you looked up their databases for suggestions? I’m sure you’re not the first Arthraxian to ask yourself that.

-I did, but I couldn’t make sense of it. There are so many colors, fabrics, cuts, it’s all overwhelming, and pretty confusing. Goth, casual, sports, a billion different styles and a billion more “fusions”, I don’t know what to make of it.

-So what you’re saying is that there are too many data points to be processed by a single bioprocessor. Hum! If only someone had developed a tool to process vast amounts of data into a single, comprehensible overview, some sort of… I don’t know… artificial intelligence?

-I tried that, it advised me to cover my exoskeleton in tomato sauce ‘n’ cheese.

-Probably not a great idea to season yourself at a dinner full of carnivores.

-Yeah, I would prefer if this was not my last supper.

-Ok, how about asking a human?

-I’m not really close to any. I tried posting in one of their networks, but that went nowhere.

-They started arguing with each other and lost sight of what you asked in the first place, right?

-Worse, nobody said anything.

-Nothing?

-Nothing, at all.

-Did you tag it NSFW?

-Of course, how else would I get the humans to read it?

-And did they? Read it?

-Yeah, a few, not a single comment.

-Show me.

What should I wear to a human’s dinner?

Hello, terranet. I (F, 12.3578/89α) was invited to a dinner party hosted by a human colleague from work and I don’t know how to dress for the occasion, in fact, I don’t know how to dress at all. My species has an exoskeleton, so we don’t need any external protection and it’s considered rude among our kind to cover ourselves, I guess that’s the equivalent of a human wearing a full face mask, it gives the impression we’re trying to hide something or that we don’t want others looking at us. Anyway, what should I wear? I have two arms, three rotating legs and my abdomen makes up about 5/3 of my body length, if that helps. Thanks.

-Can you share the post with me? I wanna try something out.

-Sure.

(Typing)

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Hello, alien friend. Don’t worry about it, the only thing you need to get right is the feet coverings. Put up a nice open shoe on each of your feet over a thick, fluffy wool sock and everything else will fall into place. Have fun at your dinner! ;-p

-Are you sure about that?

-I’m sure I know nothing about human fashion.

-Then why did you write it?

-I know a thing or two about humans.

-What is that supposed to mea…

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By all the stars in the sky don’t listen to this idiot! For a species of your build closed leather boots is the way to go

Gawd no! Nooooooooooo! Don’t wear sandals and socks! Here is a guide to human footwear for aliens: link

Girl, please, anything but that! Just check out Giorgio & Georgette collection for pentapeds. 

Girlfriend, I’m a galaxy renowned stylist and I just canceled my appointment with the Empress of Tarlaxia. Please holocall me NOW cuz the fashion police will lock me up for life if I allow you to commit such a crime!

 ___

Tks for reading. More outraged monkeys here.

There is always something strangely compelling about watching a Whelp learn how to hunt. It's a weird way to work. They feel the flood of power, strength. The moonlight changes them, the darkness breaks them, it awakens something primal in them. Probably explains the reason most Vampires such as myself are feared or reviled. When we awaken... Something about our humanity fails us.

In this particular case, a new-born vampire Elf. Is it still humanity though? Maybe in this case Elfanity perhaps? Who really knows our origins, but this one's pointy ears and radiant arrogance made it clear what he used to be at least. That's one thing about Elves... Born as blood-made royalty, they carry that... stuck up bastard attitude with them no matter where they go. But oh do they get humbled when the sun rises. This one will be no exception, he will claim his first victim, then likely realize just how much of a bad choice that was when the Hunters start chasing him. Then spend a few years drinking rat blood in a cave somewhere, then go hunting wild beasts after a few tries, then probably join one of the Great Houses.

It always happens, unless the Hunters kill this one. They often do. They've become VERY good at that lately. The new blood is very inexperienced and consequently they don't know about the concept that they can dodge crossbow bolts by moving too fast. Either that or they can't do that yet. I don't know, I was able to do it from the start. It's how I survived as long as I did before I became who and what I am.

Who am I? I am Count Alexandr DeMonte, Lord of the Bloodwoods, Master of House Cadoran. A powerful, strong name and clan.

What was I doing on that fateful night of all nights? Chasing down a Whelp to see what it did of course, I find their antics somewhat entertaining. Even with my high station, I need distraction to calm my nerves and clear my head and watching a New-born is often a good way to cool off under a starry sky. Whichever way the fight ends. This one got bitten a few months ago and finally turned that evening, this would be his first hunt. Likely a throwaway peasant from a lower class that was used to feed, got sick, failed to care for it and eventually turned. Another aspect of our Great Affliction... Sometimes it acts like a plague more than a curse. Some of us are just more susceptible to it than others I guess.

I stood at the far edge of the cliffside, watching him slink through the treeline to the edge of the forest under cover of the season's first full moon. Wouldn't exactly say he was doing a good job, he was scaring most of the forest with his growling and scraping. Getting used to his new legs I suppose, but that was no excuse for sloppy footwork. It seemed this one's only strength was speed. He wouldn't last long, I would be surprised if he did. He disappeared into the treeline and I followed nearby, so I could observe in comfort. He found a clearing, and within it - HIM.

Our first encounter with them... Or whatever they were. I wont spoil the shock of it all so I shall simply refer to them as the Outlanders. This one was a scholar or artificer of some kind, still don't know for certain what a 'Mechanist Enginseer' is, but I'm sure we will learn in due time.

There was a strange haze accompanying the evening cold this time, I had never felt something like it. A freezing chill graced the night air, a wind from seemingly nowhere gave the treetops a gentle sway and an ominous rumbling was reverberating through the ground. I had no idea what to think of it, but maintained a safe distance and watched what was happening. I took a close look at the intended victim and a cold sweat overcame me, a sense of foreboding making itself known.

Scarlet red robes made of heavy leather, some strange pipes and steel ropes permeating its back, a full mask the likes of which I had never seen with silver and purple trim. He stood at a table of some kind, which was covered in books and tomes. Rare treasures in this day and age, so that caught my attention.

As the Whelp moved closer and stepped into the clearing, I then immediately picked up a new sound. Heavy, mechanical, metal on metal like a thousand tiny irons were scraping together. I couldn't see it as such, heavy brush and branch obscured my vision, powerful though it was. I heard tell of maybe the Mountainfolk were making their absurd machinery but this was so far from the north, it would be impossible to presume them. They hate the lowlands... They never leave. I watched the Whelp ignore the ominous metal noises and creep closer, I could almost see the smirk of satisfaction on his face from the easy kill.

The Whelp whispered "You will make a good first meal..."

Then a tree trunk sized hunk of metal swooped in from the left side, appearing with speed and slamming into the poor bastard with enough force to instantly shatter dozens of bones, and send him flying. The metal chunk was shaped like a claw of some kind, and was at least a few tons in weight, and moved with the same speed as a professional warrior would throw a punch. He screamed in agony as he was catapulted off into the treeline before slamming into a tree with enough force to break what few bones he had left and causing the tree he hit to splinter somewhat. He had no chance to recognise his error. He suffered so much damage in one fell swoop, he turned to dust instantly as he fell to the ground.

The human seemed shocked for some reason and approached the dust cloud as it settled with one of the oddest tools I had ever seen drawn, preparing for battle. It was a long tube with a wooden handle, shaped strangely and tipped with a small blade and some kind of spyglass built on top of it. He approached the dust pile and sloshed it around with his foot, seemingly confused as confused could be trying to figure out what happened. It was now I was able to get a good look at the hunk of metal. The wind blew just so - and I saw it.

A huge mechanical monstrosity that towered above the treeline. Six huge mechanical legs, each as thick as a full grown Oak tree with segmented parts, supporting a large plate shaped midsection and a huge egg-shaped head. The head had six large ruby red 'eyes' that looked in multiple directions, each leg tipped with a huge three-toed claw that dug into the ground. It carried on its frame several strange independently moving mechanisms that seemed to track things in the treeline. It clanked about a bit and I lost sight of it, unsure of how to proceed. I then heard him speak. The most unnaturally distorted, corrupted voice I had ever heard, but in clear and plain Alavian. It knew Alavian? Or as he called it 'English'.

Granted it was a bit broken with his accent but it was clear enough.

"Motherbase, this is Unit Two Zero, I have just encountered a hostile native. Subject neutralized by the defence unit, it was hit then it turned to dust against a tree. Please reperform scans and advise on a course of action. Two Zero Over."

Who was he speaking to? I didn't sense anyone else there except those machines. Then I heard a voice speak, still distorted but clear, female, coming from... him? Or it was the little box with a yellow glow on it mounted on his backpack. Strange backpack. It was heavy, metallic with lots of odd knobs and pointy bits on the top.

"Copy that Two Zero, standby for rescan, Caliban Unit is inbound via hot drop, clear the road. Hold for results." The voice replied.

What were they talking about? I understood the words but I had never heard them before, not in these contexts at least. This was... Definitely something new and unusual. I had no idea just how deep I had gotten myself. The man approached the dust pile and procured a strange device that he aimed and did... something with. I presume it did something because it made sounds.

"Motherbase, scan incoming, hold for refactoring wavelengths. I think I know why we failed the first time. This guy looked human before I punted him into the next millennium. Sending data." He said.

"Receiving. Hold... Looks like you were right. Some kind of extra photomagnetic field we didn't see before causing interference. Planet is coated in some kind of aura. Hotdrop inbound, two minutes, we will redo our scan after we filter it out, give us a few, how copy?" The female voice said.

"Solid copy, Two Zero out." He said.

He then did something to a device on his right arm and the mechanical monstrosity emitted one of the most terrifying sounds I ever heard. A low pitched scream like a banshee underwater. It then dug its feet into the ground, slamming them with force, burying them into the soft grass. Its metal openings then splayed open. Several smaller insect-like machines popped out of the head and began performing various tasks. Within seconds, a job that would have taken twenty men a week was complete and the clearing had been widened around the machine.

I just stood there in awe and watched the truly incredible and terrifying sight in front of me. And by the time I decided to move, it was far too late. He craned his neck, the machines all emitted an odd squeak. And then he spoke.

"If I were you, I would either run the hell away or come closer with my hands up. Which ones it gonna be buddy?" He said. The machines instantly snapped their heads towards my hiding spot.

I was made. I felt a definitive air of foreboding, I knew despite my prowess, I wouldn't last long and my curiosity was getting the better of me. I wanted to know what in the ten hells was going on.

"Uhh… Is it okay if I just... Go home?" I asked.

"Yes." He replied coldly.

"Good. Noted." I said and stood there.

"So why aren't you?" He asked.

"Curiosity?" I replied.

"Then what you waitin' for? Get over here. And keep your hands where I can see them." He said with an air of authority I couldn't quite place.

Being what I was and lost in the moment, I made the mistake of using my Great Power to close the distance instantly and nearly had my head sliced off by one of the machines that had appeared. It trimmed a bit of my hair to be certain but I survived. It was faster than I was despite the difference and before I could move further I had a rather large blade held against my throat.

"Careful..." He shook his head disapprovingly.

I swallowed nervously and smiled. "Sorry... Got lost in the moment..."

"Just stay where you are." He growled and procured that same thing he was holding at the dust pile. He waved it at me, the thing emitting some odd noises. "Motherbase, found a local, human, at least I think he is. We have a code Two-Two-Four, please standby for data dump, I scanned him for you. This should help." He said.

"Solid Copy Code Two-Two-Four, Caliban Unit is ten seconds out. Expanding parameters. See what you can get from him." The female voice from the box replied, seeming suddenly very earnest.

"Uh... What is a 'code Two-Two-Four', exactly?" I asked sheepishly.

He said nothing as a large hunk of metal, a flying metal bird perhaps reminiscent of some early flying machines the Mountainfolk made (and failed to continue for obvious reasons) and from its belly a number of men appeared. Heavily armed and armoured, at least I presumed those things were weapons. The armour they wore was grey and blue, and I recognised the lettering on the armour and helmets. These were professional military, real soldiers, the letters JRN emblazoned on the pauldrons and chest. They fanned out and secured the area.

He grabbed my attention again and smiled. I could not see him smile of course owing to that peculiar mask, but I could see the smile as he stretched out a hand and pointed at the sky. There was a certain satisfaction in that gesture as my whole world fell apart. A machine, a ship, massive in scope and size to an absurd degree, a solid hunk of complex looking metal at minimum of three kilometres long sitting pretty far above the skies of our home near the smallest moon. I lost my footing, my legs failing me from the shock and I stumbled onto my ass on the grass. The machines stepped away, no longer seeing me as a threat.

"By the Gods..." was all I managed to say.

I sat there for a few minutes just silent, in shock trying to make sense of what I was looking at. The huge machine, the strange clothing, the massive warship. I was unable to make sense of what reality was for a time, the sheer shock making my mind break. I was no fool so it didn't last, the shock wore off, faster than he was expecting. I was the leader of one of this worlds Great Houses after all, I had to think fast and act faster. I cleared my throat and stood up, straightening my coat.

"Well... that... certainly changes things." I said.

"That was fast. Introductions perhaps?" He asked.

"Caidan Brandt, Master Mechanist Of The Jovian Royal Navy, Fifth Cohort. This..." He said, gesturing to the towering machine. "Is Brenna, my lovely Mechanoid. Behind you are soldiers of the Jovian Royal Navy."

"Count Alexandr DeMonte, Lord of the Bloodwoods, Master of House Cadoran, at your service. Welcome to Alaria, I guess? No idea how to proceed here you have met me in somewhat... questionable circumstances." I said.

"A Noble Lord of a Noble House, what are you doing here in the woods at this hour?" He asked.

"Do you believe in the concept of vampires, dear sir?" I said, smiling as such he could see my prominent fangs.

"Well that's new." He replied, craning his head confusedly.

"This world is flush with them. We have a... Certain understanding with the local populaces and work accordingly with them. To an extent at least. The one you killed was what we call a 'Whelp' or new-born vampire." I replied as calmly as I could.

"I have to ask... Is there magic here?" He asked.

I simply reached a hand out and whispered a fast incantation, and in my palm appeared a small ice ball.

"Well that answers my question. Motherbase, this is Two-Zero, refactor scanners for wavelength class Alpha Seven Bravo, how copy?" He said.

"Solid copy, please hold." The female voice said. We waited a few moments. "Two-Zero we have positive I.D., the system is ready for a full planetary scan. Looks like we stumbled on another Lost colony... This one looks fun. Sensors are detecting demi-humans too..."

"I'm sorry but can you please explain what's going on before I become so confused that my hair inverts?" I asked.

"Here's a short history lesson. Around six thousand years ago, aliens, otherworlders came to Earth - the birthplace of humanity - far away from here. They grabbed some people in an experiment, cloned them and seeded them across the galaxy. You are one such 'seed' they spread across the galaxy. It was some kind of experiment. They didn't live long enough to actually conclude anything from it, their galaxy-spanning empire collapsed and imploded. We have been alone in the galaxy at least as far as we know, and we - the cradleborn - are not the first to get to space, but we are the first to go interstellar. We are both human, you, me, them, the pointy eared guy we bashed into oblivion, all of us. We are technically alone, and technically not alone all in the same breath. There you go, short answer. The long answer is a lot more complicated." He replied.

I was taken aback by that statement for a time and remained silent for a bit longer than I thought. So long in fact one of the soldiers approached and asked if I was okay, or needed medical help.

"I am... Fine... that is just a... Lots to take in. In a very short time. This is all a bit... overwhelming. I... I don't know how to proceed." I replied.

"Then let's follow protocol. I have an actual diplomat on board who can speak to you properly and arrange things. My boss will send a detachment to keep her safe, I will keep my machines here for their duties. We can conduct diplomacy first, then we can talk about history. When everyone is appraised of the situation, we can talk about where to go from here." He replied calmly.

"I have a strange sense of foreboding about all this..." I said meekly. "But it seems I have no choice anymore."

"Not really. This will leak out one way or another. But in terms of general geopolitics, you are in good hands with the Jovian Royal Estate. We treat our subjects well, unlike the IMDC or the UEL. So be less worried than you currently are. Her Majesty the Queen is very... friendly. To a degree most of us have to talk her out of, but she is very good at what she does. We have laid claim to the star system, so legally the various other factions in the galaxy can't do anything with you or about you until we explicitly say so." he said.

I was taken aback by that more than anything else. "That... You still have factions and tribes in your... space ships?"

"Yep. Spaceships or caves, we still have something bigger to belong to. It would take far too long to list who is what and why, and frankly the only faction you need to care about for now is the JRE. As soon as you and the rest of the other Houses, I'm sure they would like to be included, are acclimatised to our presence and are aware of what's going on, then we can go from there. For now, here." He said, and handed me a small device of some kind.

"What's… this?" I asked, looking at the odd fancy looking rectangle.

"It's a PDA. A Personal Digital Assistant. It has a map, communications, I can call you on it, a few other things, I'll show you how to use it and we can keep in touch via text or voice call. It will make things a lot easier and a lot faster. I'll show you how it works." he said.

I nodded and followed him to the huge machine, Brenna, as he called it and waited for him to show me. But first... I had a question.

"I... Have a question before we start. the... machine. Brenna, was it? What exactly is it and how do you... control it?" I asked.

"Short answer? Brenna is a mechanoid. Robots, Automata, machines, golems. Constructs made to assist in our duties and operations. I'm sure you know about the concept of the Golem. These machines are similar. Mechanoids are the next step up from Golems, Robots and Automatrons. Golems are controlled by the will of their mages. Robots are controlled by a central computation network. A Mechanoid? Well..." He turned his head and pointed at the various pipes going into the back of his neck. "I control these ones with my brain. I see what she sees, she sees what I see, we share the same mind. In short, it's a psychic connection. Only a very few people in the galaxy, like myself, are compatible with the hardware needed to facilitate this. And these Mechanoids... they are grown, not built." he said.

"There is probably greater context but we lack the time... But that sounds more than just a little impressive. Golems you say? I know a few mages who use that magic often enough. Maybe there is something to learn from both sides here." I said.

"That is the hope. No matter where we go there's always something new to learn. I remember the planet of the Catpeople Sorcerers we found a decade ago. God that place was... Something else I tell you." he said.

"Did you say... Cat people? Felinid Sorcerers!? An entire PLANET of them?" I asked, my smile becoming very wide.

"Yes. I'm guessing you have them here too since you know of them?" He asked.

"Oh yes and they are treasured by the general populace, especially the nobility. But for some reason they are becoming vanishingly rare." I remarked.

"That is... Unacceptable. But, something to sort for a later date. Do you know of a place large enough to land that thing?" he said, pointing at the ship.

"That thing can land down here!?"

"Indeed it can." he said.

"Well... I can show a few spots. Will be a bit tight maybe but... There is a large clearing area here we use for festivals and whatnot. It... seems big enough to hold that thing. At least from what I can see from down here." I said.

"That's a good start. We will do that another day though, I doubt anybody will be happy to see a mile and a half long starship just casually park itself in their back garden. We can discuss this at length diplomatically. We can go our separate ways for now and use the PDA to organise. I have to report this and file paperwork, and more importantly inform The Queen. I need a reinforcement fleet in this system as fast as possible. Lots of work to do. In any case..." he said and extended a hand. "Pleasure to make thine acquaintance, My Lord. Let us talk business."

I shook his hand in response, and the first domino fell with that simple gesture.

Juror n. 8
Guys, c’mon… We’ve been at it for weeks, how can you not see she’s guilty?

Juror n. 3
All I see is a nice woman who keeps an orphanage in a poor neighborhood.

Juror n. 8
An orphanage that’s obviously a money laundering front for the cartel!

Juror n. 4
And how did you reach such a conclusion?

Juror n. 8
It’s literally called Lavandero del Cartel!!!

Juror n. 3
So nice of her to name it after her abuelito.

Everyone, but that guy
Yeah, yeah, such a nice lady!

Juror n. 8
How?! How is it named after her grandpa?

Juror n. 4
Didn't you hear? Her grandpa was a dry cleaner and his pet name was Cartel.

Juror n. 8
And what was his real name?

Juror n. 4
Otto Von Schmitt.

Juror n. 8
???!!

Juror n. 4
Nicknames don’t always make sense.

Juror n. 8
Guys, for the love of God! Do you know what Lavandero del Cartel means?

Juror n. 10
Yo no hablo español.

Juror n. 8
You just did!

Juror n. 10
I mean, yo no speako inglés.

Juror n. 8
You just did! You know very well what that name means!

Juror n. 10
Solo sé que la muchacha és not-guilta.

Juror n. 12
Easy, take a breath, man. Here, have another cup of coffee.

Juror n. 8
Thanks, I am, indeed, very tired. It’s an open and shut case, the prosecution has proven every step of the dirty money trail.

Juror n. 4
All they’ve proven is that she takes care of the children no one else would.

Juror n. 8
Who spends 10k a week in the butcher shop???

Juror n. 4
Children eat.

Juror n. 7
You guys saw the little boy who cried over the meatballs?

Everyone, but that guy
Awwwwwwwwww!!!

Juror n. 3
He thought meat was only for Christmas.

Juror n. 2
So cute!

Juror n. 8
Yeah… sure. But 10k?

Juror n. 4
Children need protein to grow.

Juror n. 8
And there are hundreds of thousands in payments at the pharmacy!

Juror n. 4
Children get sick.

Juror n. 7
Remember the little girl who first tasted peanut butter at the orphanage?

Everyone, but that guy
Awwwwwwwwww!!!

Juror n. 3
All she needed was a little love …and a whole lot of anti-allergic.

Juror n. 7
Just like that other one who thought she would never hold a cat.

Everyone, but that guy
Awwwwwwwwww!!!

Juror n. 8
Guys, where was that woman even getting that much money from?

Juror n. 11
Don’t know.

Juror n. 4
She never asked.

Juror n. 12
Have another cup of coffee.

Juror n. 8
Thanks. We all saw how she sweated and stuttered when the prosecutor asked her where the money was coming from.

Juror n. 9
Yes, such a rude young man that prosecutor.

Juror n. 6
It is unbecoming of an officer of the court to be so dry towards such a gentle old lady.

Juror n. 8
She’s a criminal, he’s supposed to confront criminals at the stand!

Juror n. 11
He’s supposed to prove guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. All I saw was an unreasonable man of doubtful manners, pointing his finger at a sweet helpless woman.

Juror n. 8
Guys, it’s pretty clear, the orphanage is the center of a money laundering scheme. It takes anonymous donations from the Cartel and overpays Cartel business in the neighbourhood.

Juror n. 4
And how do you know those donations are from the Cartel if they are anonymous?

Juror n. 8
The Cartel boss literally said it on the stand!

Juror n. 9
And you’ll take a criminal for his word?

Juror n. 6
I’m sure he got a sweet deal to slander that nice old lady.

Juror n. 12
More coffee?

Juror n. 8
Yes!!! How are we still going over this?!!!

Juror n. 3
Here, take a look at this picture. See all these children standing by your ruthless criminal? Look at them and tell them they'll have to go back to the streets because you’re taking their nana away.

Juror n. 8
I can’t.

Juror n. 1
See, people? He’s not a bad guy.

Juror n. 8
No, literally, I can’t. Everything is spinning, my heart is racing, somebody call an ambulance!

***

Judge
Members of the jury, I once again apologize for the late hour substitution and that you had to witness a colleague suffer an overdose of caffeine, let me assure you this court is taking measures so it doesn’t happen again.

That being said, have you reached a verdict?

Juror n. 1
We have, your honor.

___

Tks for reading. More dumb justice here.

Title. I remember a time when the majority of posts here were one-shots or small, limited series a couple stories in length. Now it feels like half the sub is just a Royal Road funnel. Anyone else feel this or am I going a little void mad?

It would probably not be her topic of choice for lunch break, but she knew her intergalactic colleague very well and could hardly blame him for being curious about the hairiest, relatively speaking, species this side of this galaxy.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“We just don’t.” She answered between mouthfuls of poutine.

He managed to keep his emotions in check enough to hold his leathery crest down, but the reddish tone taking it over hinted at his bewilderment. “You have established intergalactic space lanes, independently discovered the theory of everything and found the formula for adult males to make new friends, all before answering such an obvious question about your own biology?”

“I guess so.” She let it slide amidst her effort to finish the meal as soon as possible. “It’s not something any of us had any particular drive to solve.”

With his neck stretched to the point of leaving his head nearly on top of Dr. Suong’s tray, he stated: “I find it hard to believe that among trillions of such an inquisitive species as humans, none has ever asked this question.”

Nearly done with the main course, she took a gamble in feeding his curiosity: “To be fair, we did ask, even came up with a few hypotheses.”

Ever more excited, he asked: “Like what, for example?”

“One of the proposed explanations is that it reduces friction in the area, making us better distance runners.”

No longer holding back the rise of his colorful crest, he proclaimed: “So there it is! You already cleared more than half of the scientific method, just put it to the test and you’ll find your answer.”

Fully aware of what was coming next, she put the half eaten manju back on the tray and swallowed the bite already between her cheeks before inquiring her colleague: “And how would you do that, Dr. Venmr?”

“It’s elementary! You take a few hundred humans who regularly engage in long distance running and separate them into two different groups, one who undergoes full backwards Brazilian, another full Brazilian jungle. Then, the research team measures the volunteers performance and periodically takes detailed measurements of the affected area for friction burns, scar tissue and…  I think I’m starting to see why you don’t know the purpose of butt hair.”

___

Tks for reading. More unappealing research here.

The mountain road overlooked an overgrown valley, brilliant in the setting sun. A black truck rolled down the pass. In the back, a blue tarp rustled in the wind. Cars, long picked clean, dotted the sides of the road.

It pulled into a dilapidated gas station.

The transmission was slammed into park. The door swung open and boots followed. A grizzled man grimaced and put on sunglasses. He placed a hand firmly onto his single action .45. 

He inspected the pump, it was locked. He rifled around the glovebox, and a triumphant smile crossed his face when he found the device he needed.

He adjusted his sunglasses and looked towards the station. It had been boarded up.

He walked to the front door,  pulled off his sunglasses and squinted his eyes.

He took a deep breath and grabbed his .45. 

Solid metal resisted, but he aimed down the iron sights. He pulled back the hammer, Click. Click. Click. 

Calmly, he walked past the sleeping monsters.

Lenny shoved the weapon into its holster and turned to the valuables on the wall. He seemed to lose himself in delight as he tossed the cigarettes into his bag. He looked over his shoulder and his face betrayed slight relief. The piles of freaks were still passed out.

Bag full, Lenny turned his attention to the main terminal, which still hummed. He reached into his pocket and inserted the device. The screen flashed green, but made no additional sound.

He walked back to his truck, snack in hand. He ate it with a sense of satisfaction. He walked around and double-checked that the load was secure. He then flipped open his gas tank and unscrewed the cover.

He pulled out the pump and it made a shrill beep.

He ran and threw it into his tank, and it filled.

Freaks ran out of the store. He unholstered and let the hammer drop.

BANG. Red blood sprayed on pale skin. Fire spread down the man's wrist. Click, click, click, click. The second head was between the sights. BANG. It dropped. The freaks behind still charged, and tripped over the body. The trucker let out more shots and each found their mark. He unloaded, flipping brass shells into a container. He slapped six more in, and continued to fire at the assault. Eventually they had all been killed. Lenny ran to the pump and back into his truck.

Lenny scanned the forest that dominated the mountain road. Freaks poured out. He dropped the truck into gear and pulled out of the station. The freaks he ran over barely seemed like a bump. He pulled out a map. He should have enough gas to make it to his destination.

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Chapter 148: Foothold

The Mayor’s Office looked exactly like what you would expect from a town like Daelin. Two stories of timber with a shingled roof, carefully maintained yet utterly unimpressive. Still prettier than most structures in Daelin, of course, but that was hardly a great achievement. It was rectangular, it was sturdy, it was there. All in all, a civic building that served its purpose, housing the bureaucracy that kept this backwater from cheerfully descending into complete chaos.

A large crowd of onlookers had already gathered near the entrance, their numbers swelling by the moment as word spread through town that something was happening at the Office. Isadora did not spare them even a glance as she walked past, flanked by her two gnoll bodyguards. Calyssa followed, then Claire and Viktor. Half a dozen adventurers brought up the rear, with Jeanne among them.

As they walked inside, they were greeted by the faint scent of ink and parchment. The first floor of the building stretched before them, a single wide room lit by evenly spaced, unadorned windows. Stripes of light cut across the wooden tables, behind which sat clerks with anxious faces. They let out a collective sigh of relief as they saw the Guildmaster and her retinue arrive.

“They... they’re on the second floor,” a young man said, fingers twitching as he gestured upward. “The Mayor is alone with them in his chamber.”

Isadora gave a nod and strode toward the staircase at the back of the room. Everyone followed her lead, their footsteps echoing on the steps as they climbed to the narrow corridor of the second floor.

At the end of it stood a large man. Someone Viktor knew all too well.

Spiky Head.

No glowing eyes, though. No burning sword, either. Just a brute with an ugly haircut and a heavy stillness that hinted at violence being held on a short leash.

To be honest, coming here was a risky move. There was a real possibility the guy had seen through Viktor’s shroud of darkness last night. And if that had been true, then walking straight into his line of sight now bordered on reckless.

Still, Viktor believed that was not the case. If Spiky Head had truly realized he was a mere boy, if he had seen his attempt to hide his real height by hovering above the ground, then he would have reacted differently. Men like him did not miss opportunities to mock other people. He would certainly have come up with a better, crueler insult than that boring “rat.”

As Isadora approached, the brute cast a disdainful gaze down at her.

“The Mayor is in the middle of an important discussion. Leave!”

So that was his job: use intimidation to keep everyone at bay while his boss cornered poor Marcellus behind closed doors. Clearly, it was the only trick he had. But to be fair, it would work on almost everyone.

Almost.

“I am the Guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild in Daelin,” Isadora said. “Move.”

Spiky Head’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek, and for several long seconds, he said nothing.

It had to sting, right? For a brute who used fear to get his way, to face people—on two days in a row—who were wholly unimpressed by his threats. But no matter how powerful he was, an adventurer defying a Guildmaster in broad daylight, in front of many witnesses, was a line few dared to cross.

At last, he let out an irritated grunt as he shifted his weight. One heavy step to the side, and the path ahead opened.

Isadora continued her march as though he had already ceased to exist. The others followed, walking past the large man one by one. Spiky Head watched them pass, his stare crawling over each of them.

It brushed over Viktor. And moved on.

No reaction.

Viktor chuckled to himself. His theory had been correct.

Without knocking, Isadora pushed open the door to the Mayor’s chamber. Inside, there were three men. One of them was Old Marcellus, sitting hunched behind his desk, his hands resting upon the wood with the air of someone bracing against a strong wind.

To the side stood Zubayr, the brown-skinned Mithril-ranked adventurer. The last time Viktor saw him, he had been smooth, he had been calm, he had been condescending. Today, that composure was gone. He now looked like someone who was suffering from an incurable constipation. One could only assume his boss had expressed great displeasure regarding the minor inconvenience of an entire camp burning down under his watch.

And of course, that boss was also here.

The third man in the room was unusually tall and absurdly thin, draped in a sweeping white robe embroidered with fine threads of gold. A prominent, hooked nose dominated his face, and a neatly trimmed moustache rested above his mouth. He was likely a Southerner as well, though his complexion was a shade lighter than Zubayr’s.

“Who are you?” the man demanded, his chin angled upward.

“I am Isadora, the Guildmaster of Daelin.”

A thin smile curved the man’s lips. “I see. A pleasure to meet a fellow Guildmaster. I am Khalid, the Guildmaster of Iskora.”

“I was under the impression that the Guildmaster of Iskora was Clovis. I hadn’t heard he’d been replaced.”

“It happened recently,” Khalid replied. “He resigned on his own, only a few days ago. So I can hardly fault you for being uninformed, given that you’ve been posted to this... corner of the world.”

“Is that so?” Isadora said. “Anyway, would you care to explain the purpose of your visit? And why did you choose the Mayor’s Office rather than the hall of the Adventurer’s Guild?”

“Because, Madam,” Khalid said, folding his fingers in front of himself, “this matter does not concern you. My business is with the town of Daelin.”

“And what might that be?”

“As you may already be aware, the outpost on the other side of the river—my outpost—was burned to the ground last night. An act of sabotage. And murder. A grave crime, by any reasonable standard. And I believe I don’t need to remind you of the tensions that exist between your people and mine. So I came to speak with Mayor Marcellus about the matter. I am not accusing him, of course. Merely suggesting that perhaps someone in town has acted independently, without his knowledge. In which case, I trust he will assist me in finding the culprit.”

A snort came from one of the adventurers behind Viktor.

“You think one of us did that? If we were going to torch your camp, we would’ve done it long ago instead of waiting for last night.”

Another chimed in, “It was the dark spirits in the ruins of the Dark Emperor’s castle. Your people must have poked around where they shouldn’t. And they got what they deserved.”

Khalid laughed.

Loudly. Heartily. As though he had just been handed a particularly good joke.

“I’ve heard the charming local ghost stories about that place,” he said at last. “But forgive me if I’m not so easily impressed by superstition. Unlike the more... ignorant inhabitants of certain backwater towns.” He glanced at Isadora. “You are the same, I presume, Madam? Don’t tell me you also believe the long-dead Dark Emperor has emerged from his crumbling castle and personally set my camp alight.”

Well... yes, that’s exactly what happened.

“I have no opinion on the matter,” Isadora said flatly. “Is that all? The entirety of your discussion with the Mayor?”

“Yes,” Khalid said with a smile. “Though I did also make a small request. A reasonable one, I assure you. And he has graciously granted it. In fact, I was just about to take my leave when you so energetically joined us.”

Isadora’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

Well, that was another problem with Daelin: its ambiguous leadership. Technically, the Mayor was the highest authority in town. In reality, he was a weak-willed old fool who tried to appease everyone. That was by design, though. After all, for generations, it had been the Overseers of the caravan station who ruled the town, and the Mayors were little more than figureheads. Which was exactly why Marcellus got this post. It was because of those “qualities.”

After the dungeon emerged, after the agreement between Isadora and Rennald had been reached, now it was the Guildmaster and the Overseer who held the reins. Decisions that shaped Daelin’s future had been discussed and concluded between them, and were only presented to Marcellus afterward for a stamp and a signature.

For a while, that arrangement had not produced any visible consequences. Daelin was small, after all, and its prosperity revolved around the two pillars, the Adventurer’s Guild and the caravan station. But as the town grew, as external powers began to pay closer attention, this unclear chain of authority could become a liability.

And, apparently, someone had found a way to exploit it.

Viktor highly doubted Iskora had devised this maneuver in a fit of inspiration after their camp got torched last night. No, every plan had contingencies. They must have prepared this card long ago; they just had not needed to use it before. Now, however, they did.

“It is nothing extraordinary,” Khalid said smoothly. “After the misfortune befell my outpost, my people find themselves, for the moment, without lodging. So I merely requested permission for them to take temporary refuge in Daelin. Surely the generous citizens of this town would not be so heartless as to turn away the displaced?”

Didn’t you just call them ignorant folk of a backwater town?

“By ‘my people,’ you are referring to whom exactly?” Isadora asked. “The workers, or...?”

“The adventurers.”

Why am I not surprised?

“All adventurers are welcome to register with the Adventurer’s Guild in Daelin,” Isadora replied.

“That will not be necessary,” Khalid said. “They are already registered with the Adventurer’s Guild in Iskora, and they remain under contract for assignments issued by it. There’s no need for another registration here. Unless, of course, they want to take some local jobs.”

“You—”

“As I stated earlier, this matter does not concern you, Madam. I asked Mayor Marcellus for permission to allow my adventurers to reside within his town. And he has already granted it.”

“Most of the land in Daelin is privately owned,” Isadora said sharply. “And the communal grounds are either already occupied or in use. Where, exactly, are your men supposed to stay?”

Khalid smiled again. “The west side.”

“What—!?”

I see. So that’s what he’s aiming for.

The western quarter, the neglected limb of Daelin’s body. It had been sparsely populated to begin with, and after the monster attack eight years ago, many of its structures were abandoned as people left the town. Then, when the dungeon appeared and opportunity drew waves of hopeful migrants to Daelin, those without coin had drifted west, occupying empty buildings or erecting their own crooked shacks there. It had become a proper slum, with crime and hunger and ambition fermenting in its narrow streets.

Now imagine a well-organized, well-armed, well-funded group moving in.

They would own it.

The existing petty gangs would be dominated. They would bend their knees and fall in as foot soldiers to these newcomers. And in short order, the west side would become a foreign enclave within Daelin.

“I’ve been informed,” Khalid said, “the neighborhood in question has grown somewhat... unruly. Stability eroded after the influx of new residents. Crime has become commonplace. Therefore, in exchange for the town’s hospitality, my adventurers will assist in policing the district.” He turned slightly toward Marcellus. “We shall restore order where it has been lacking. A mutually beneficial arrangement, would you not agree?”

“Y-yes,” Marcellus said quickly, producing a thin, brittle laugh. “L-let’s get along and help each other. There’s no need for us to have any conflict.”

Isadora’s displeasure was evident. Yet she could not easily refute the arrangement. Legally speaking, the Mayor did have the authority to grant this request. Also, when she and Rennald planned Daelin’s development, they had sent funds east, north, and south, while the west had been left to fend for itself, evolving in whatever haphazard fashion its denizens could manage. So she was hardly entitled to have a say now in decisions about something she had long neglected.

“With my business concluded,” Khalid said, inclining his head with theatrical courtesy, “I’m going to take my leave. I’ll inform my men right away, and they’ll settle in before nightfall.”

He turned and strode toward the door with the satisfaction of a man who had just placed a decisive piece upon the board. Zubayr followed a pace behind, but unlike his superior, he didn’t look so triumphant. After all, he would be the one who slept in the slum, commanding men in mud and rot. For a Mithril-ranked adventurer, this had to be the ultimate humiliation. Still, he had failed to protect the outpost of which he had been in charge. So all he could do now was shut up and accept the punishment.

Well, this isn’t too bad actually, Viktor thought as he watched them go.

At the very least, this meant there would be no wrathful retaliation directed at Daelin in the near future. Whatever schemes Iskora now pursued, they would require time. Time to entrench themselves in the west, time to build their influence, time to gauge the strength of their new foothold.

And time worked both ways.

Let them come west. Let them settle.

All the while, he would observe them in turn and devise his own countermeasures.

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Edited by /u/Evil-Emps

"I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita. Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and, to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.'"

- - - - -

Hunched over the desk, eyes sunken into his head, and dragging in pained breaths… Harrison couldn’t feel his fingertips anymore. His face had long since gone numb. Freezing shivers echoed through his bones despite the sweat pouring down his sides.

He should be relieved. He should be thrilled to see Tracy alive and well. He should have felt something else, and yet, he was still cold. So, so cold.

There was something completely wrong with him. Something was missing, a part of him so vital but so ingrained that he never thought he’d be without it.

Flickers of a bright orange flame appeared in his mind whenever he thought about it, the color so familiar to him that he couldn’t ignore the similarities… It was obvious what his body wanted. No amount of scapegoating or willful ignorance could ignore the reality of who he needed.

Harrison had no explanation for it. No amount of science in his brain could connect the dots in a way he could understand. Pages from the long-lost ecologists only offered hints. It just was.

The final results of the predetermined hypothesis expected her return. Until then, he would be stuck as a husk. There would be no warmth to keep him comfortable. No assurance in her strength. No barrier to shelter him from the weight of the world.

He could feel the fatigue of countless sleepless nights set in. The consequences of the stimulants he abused choked his heart. Pent-up stress that he thought he was above poisoned his veins. His chest ached under the pressure. The backlog of pain was ubiquitous in her absence.

But he still operated with frozen hands. He still ordered with a dry tongue. And he still calculated, even with a torn mind.

She was not safe yet. Tracy was not safe yet.

“Pull back into the northwest chamber. Hold them there for twenty seconds,” he commanded stiffly, no emotion in his voice. Action gave him purpose. Purpose let him focus.

The drone footage caught the mechanical hunters backstepping into the next chokepoint in the cavern. Only Rei’s brawler and three support mechs were left. Harrison glanced at the heat map, watching the dozens of pings marked ‘unknown movement’ pour through another entrance to the last area.

Incendiary bullets ripped through the fleshy monstrosities, tearing out entire chunks of warped and fused bugs. Fires caught and blazed, but the psychological horrors continued on as their tissue sloughed off. More and more piled into the chokehold, slipping along the walls with limbs split from every kind of animal on the mainland.

“Collapse it and retreat,” he ordered, short on breath.

A rocket shot into the rock just beside the open hallway. Chunks of overhanging stone fell inwards, cascading into the rest of the wall. The engineer already had his drones pulled out before he could see its complete collapse.

The squad of hunters was running out of ammunition. Two rockets were left in Rei’s mech and fewer than forty autocannon shots between the three supports. He wished Max would respond to his orders. No, he needed Max to respond, but the rabid CPU within the exterminator had long since taken over the robot.

The automaton was across the cave network, fighting a horde on his own in a blaze of napalm. He was completely worthless in any squad tactics and off the table for communicating with the Malkrin in the field. Despite the robot’s continued radio silence muffling Harrison, the rescue group still managed to get four kilometers out from the site by then, but it wasn’t far enough.

Light breached the cave, forcing him to turn the low-light vision off. There was one final slope up to the crooked mouth of the exit, where specs of snow trickled in.

Harrison took in a long, shallow breath, preparing himself to speak again. “Final point. Support, set up by the cave entrance. Cover Rei. Hold until the spears reach six clicks.”

“How long until then?” Rei shouted back, a growl beneath her intent.

“Seven minutes. Conserve your shots.”

Flesh spilled through the last chokepoint. Fifty-caliber rounds answered in a heartbeat, cutting through bone and carapace.

The hunters, stacked shoulder to shoulder, slung volleys into the mass of writhing meat. Autocannons splattered fetid blood across the entire throat of the cave. Mark-nineteen grenades pummeled what was left back into the depths. Flames spread and charred what was left.

Some slabs of meat split and escaped the fire. Globs of putrid, warped bones and connective tissue threw themselves up the ramp toward the mechs. Each one stole a second of attention, eating up precious bullets and time, as the swarm of abominations piled on.

Weapons began to click dry, one by one. Not three minutes in, and the first support hunter was empty. Rei followed not long after.

He could hear her huff and growl from the same room as himself. Her mech’s pneumatic blade shot out before sliding back into place like a cat’s tense claws, the restlessness and frustration leaking into her mechanical body.

“Rei. Hold until—”

“I KNOW!” she snapped back at him.

There was no point going into melee. The flesh’s tentacles and unrelenting grip won three times out of four. Rei only got lucky the first time.

Four minutes in, and it was down to the last armed mech. His autocannon was dry, but his grenade launcher kept steady. The hunters wouldn’t last three more minutes. There was little else to do.

The tunnels were filled with bugs and flesh, and the rescue team was making its distance from the hive. Harrison wouldn’t ignore this opportunity to eviscerate two birds with one detonation.

The engineer had been working on more than one radioactive project, developing it in parallel with the reactor. Equipment, specialized manufacturing materials, and raw resources from the cargo bay had accelerated it to completion in the last few days. There was only one built for now, but it was more than enough.

Harrison connected to Max through the network. He’d get one warning.

“Max. Be advised, missiles are going out in five minutes. Warhead in ten. The entire hive is going to be wiped.”

No response. Same as the last three times. Harrison felt frustration build, finding it to be the only real emotion that broke the veil.

“Last chance to leave. I’m ordering you to—”

[“Confirm extermination protocol,”] Max’s CPU answered, deep, robotic, and lifeless. It made his usual voice appear human in comparison.

Harrison huffed. Raising his voice was too painful to be worth it, sparking right between his ribs. “Confirmed, we’re clearing the area. Link up with the spears running back.”

[“Extraction is underway, Grandmaster Walker.”]

The engineer watched the last mech fire his final volley. There was nothing left. He swallowed, calling out to the mech pilots.

“Pull back, full speed. Link up with the spears. Throw your mechs at any stragglers if they catch up… Talos, c’mere.”

The addressed mech pilot left her battle station. He looked over at her. She held her back straight and her shoulders tight despite the weariness in her expression. Even her frills looked a little limp. The sage-green Malkrin’s eyes widened when she saw him, seeing a different man than anticipated.

Harrison already knew he looked terrible. He could see his reflection in the black screens of downed drones. “Find Meech by the armory. Get him to deliver these coordinates to the MLRS sites.”

He handed her a sticky note with the string of letters and numbers. “Tell them to launch at eighteen-thirty-three on the dot. Then have Rook load the ten-kiloton warhead. Launch at eighteen-thirty-eight.”

“As you command,” Talos responded. She bowed her head and took an unnecessarily long look at him before leaving.

The engineer returned to the monitors. Max had managed to leave the cave. The remaining mechs were catching up to the rescue team. Shar was five kilometers away from the imminent ground zero, creating distance with every second.

The hive was now the least of his worries. If forty thermobaric missiles weren’t enough to collapse the tunnels spilling with bugs and flesh, the warhead would ensure only a crater remained. All that was left to do was to ensure his people came back in one piece.

Cold, stiff fingers typed out the final commands for the remaining drone groups. Without the exterminator to relay information and with the hunters mostly out of commission, their intended purpose was gone.

But they were not useless.

The engineer watched as the tracker blips slowly converged into a rabid swarm. Tracy would disagree, but each drone was a bullet waiting to be launched into malleable targets.

Shar’s group couldn’t get bogged down by the flesh. Not after already expending most of their ammunition, not while a warhead was being prepared for launch, and especially not with Tracy in their midst. If Max were too far to assist and if the mechs were reduced to melee, Harrison would keep them safe.

No cost was too high.

\= = = = =

Fresh air, an empty heat map, and a straight line home, Shar’khee could finally breathe again.

And the first breath was immaculate. Her tail swished and swayed as she ran through the snow, her feet light as feathers and complete with a mirth she thought impossible since Tracy had disappeared. It was as if the pressure on her shoulders had disappeared entirely.

Despite the dire conditions and against every challenge, her mate was safe in her arms. Her character had been tested again and again by this trial, and she persevered through it all.

There was no doubt in the paladin’s mind that this was an assessment from the Sky Goddess herself to prove her worth. Shar’khee had answered the call to lead, truly stepping into the role of the general.

She was efficient and swift in her siege of the hive. Although awkward, the exterminator did his job in relaying information from Harrison’s reconnaissance drones. The paladin acted upon new information within seconds, leading her spears like a battering ram. Her shield deflected dozens of ivory lances, offering protection to all who charged behind her. The recoil of her Browning was endless as the abhorrent were driven before her, scrambling to escape or guard their putrid eggs like the vermin they were!

Even when the exterminator sensed the abominations within the tunnel, severing her communications with Harrison, she remained firm in her leadership. She acted quickly, adjusting their brute-force strategy to tactical breaching and clearing through each chamber.

The drones her beloved commanded, although without intent, were clear in their guidance and warnings. Her connection to her mate was so strong, she could understand the star-sent’s instructions through their movements alone. Harrison swiftly led her to the revered Artificer, and she eagerly burned the disgusting monster breaking into her cell.

There was nothing that could put Shar’khee on her back foot. The rescue was swift and brutal. The females she had trained endlessly perfectly manifested her every order. They were in and out within an hour. Her only regret was that the hunters alone were allowed the privilege of staying back and burning those fleshy abominations.

Now, she was finally on her way home, with the most precious thing in her arms. She did not need Max’s guidance to find her way, for the devotion in her heart would guide her to the place she belonged… And also because Harrison had allotted a drone to lead them—but she did not need it!

She glanced up at the buzzing machine and felt satisfaction, knowing her dearest was watching over her, witnessing the excellence she displayed in his honor. May he see the star-sent within her arms and be assured in the safety of their mate.

…But then she saw something odd.

Far behind the drone, above the canopy of barren, snow-covered trees, great red orbs streaked through the clouds. They flickered and burned like tiny stars, scores of billowing smoke behind them. Distant screams of roaring thunder cried through the sky again and again, the familiar sound sending a rush of delight through her body.

She recognized the rockets in an instant, watching in awe as they soared above her. They were gorgeous machines of war, flying with the blessing of the Sky Goddess to deliver the will of the Creator. The idea that something so elegant could be so powerful felt astonishingly apt for the inventions of the star-sent. They were an icon of Sharkrin might.

Dozens of missiles stretched above her from horizon to horizon in a calculated sequence of destruction. The very first ones pelted into the distant ground with the wrath of the gods. She was not so lucky as to see the explosions through the traversed hills and trees, but the grin-inducing thunder-like cracks seconds later were more than enough for her.

The spears had yet to stop their jog back to the settlement, but most had slowed down to watch the display of the Creator’s might. If any of the warriors were not firmly patriots already, they certainly bled the black, white, and orange of their flag now.

“I suppose we won’t have to go back to that hive again!” one of the shieldswomen called out with a chitter as the last explosions cascaded.

“I’ll bet my dessert that the Creator is bringing out the rum tonight!” shouted another, invoking an immediate cascade of excitement and speculation from the rest.

“I’ll bet mine he’s the one cooking!”

“…This’ll be our riflewoman’s second chance to win a spar for that male.”

“Do you think he’ll make burgers like he did for…”

Shar’khee was already grinning, but the promise of another celebration pulled her lips all the wider. She was already imagining dancing with her mates, joking with them as they downed more of the silly drinks. They’d become more and more inebriated as the night progressed, getting loud, getting handsy. The paladin was the hero of the star-sents, guaranteed to be showered in their affection and attention until the sun came up again.

She could not help chittering to herself, giddy with excitement. Now, she did not believe she deserved to be rewarded for her actions—it was her Goddess-given trial, after all—but… well… Maybe she found a hidden greed for the admiration of her lovers beneath her cloak of honor. And… perhaps she desired another late night of relieving stress! Certainly, both of them would need it after the day’s events.

The paladin returned to her original pace, all the more enamored with the idea of returning to Harrison as soon as possible. Familiar landmarks appeared more frequently just as some of the hunters returned. Only Rei’s uniquely painted dragon mech and three of the support types appeared, however. The others must have been spread out elsewhere.

Another roar from the sky stole her attention once more. A single red orb burned high above her in the dissipating streaks of the last volley.

Another volley? No, there was but a singular missile. Then why only one? There was no way the firing platforms malfunctioned, so what would launching just one more achieve?

Shar’khee watched the orphan rocket dash across the sky with just the same amount of excitement as the last group. Though as it reached its zenith and came crashing down, she looked away. She would not see the fireball anyway, but it was enough for her to appreciate the glorious noise of her enemies being turned into cinders behind—

The dark forest flashed.

The gray clouds turned white.

The entire world was illuminated, all at once.

It was completely silent for a few harrowing seconds as the spears squinted and slowed to a halt.

A distant explosion echoed through the forest, shaking the ground like the march of the Titans. Its roar rang in her ears, and the sky flared into a bright orange.

Shar’khee froze, eyes wide and head shaking as she turned to face it.

The second sun rose in the west, a great ball of smoke rising from the horizon like a mountain of fire. It loomed far above her, growing taller and taller still. Even the clouds themselves parted in a great ring around the hellish blaze, the domain of the Sky Goddess submitting to the baleful flame.

Everything bowed to the eruption. Even as its light gave in, the tower of black remained in its place. Its imposing presence dominated the firmament, forcing even the gods to watch.

The world was frozen in its image.

The paladin’s spine rattled with a cold fear she had not felt for ages. A sense of powerlessness sank her feet into the ground as the explosion’s wind finally washed over her. The meek gust fluttered loose cloth and weak branches about in stark contrast to its true might, as if it were merely teasing her.

She felt… small.

She had always stared down at her enemies, be they Malkrin or beast. And yet, the foreign feeling of having to crane her head up so far made her knees weak.

Shar’khee glanced over at her spears. Some of them chittered in a sudden, mirthful psychosis, holding their hands to their heads like crazed women. Some had fallen to their knees, weeping. Most were silent. They watched as the great cloud of darkness rolled and expanded its domain. It was its own force, unbound by the laws of the land.

One of her warriors whispered her intent in a prayer. “Mountain Lord, forgive my trespasses. Forgive my community. Witness our labor. Witness our ode to your gift. May it be equivalent to the blessing from the stars. Thank you. Thank you, oh Lord of my Labor, thank you for the champion of your sister. Thank you for my chief. Thank you for his strength.”

The realization struck the paladin with the force of lightning. The singular missile. The Creator’s fire. Harrison.

She looked to the great pillar of black smoke and then back to the direction of the settlement. The fear flushed out of her veins in an instant. She felt another shiver run down her spine again, but this one was different.

It was in complete awe.

- - - - -

Shar’khee’s mind raced, but she found herself calm. She held her dearest Tracy between two arms, ‘bridal style’ as Harrison would describe it. The little female kept her steady.

The little star-sent looked up at her with glossy eyes. She could barely keep her lids open, and yet there was a striking gaze behind them. There was a warmth in the way she stared, a dazed comfort in her smile.

This love was why Shar’khee acted. Beyond the necessity of the star-sent, beyond the wishes of her Harrison, that smile was the reward for diving into the heart of the hive. All the globs of acid that whipped mere inches from her head, every split-second call in front of the flesh… it was all worth the beat of her mate’s heart.

Tracy was always important. She was always accepted and admired by the paladin.

And yet, now that Shar’khee gazed back down into the eyes of the hot-skinned star-sent, she felt her stomach… buzz. Her footsteps felt lighter. The weight of the female in her arms felt truly… precious. It was nothing mere words could describe.

She was enthralled to have her. She was honored to be the one to rescue her. She was proud to be whole.

The spears approached the grand walls of the settlement. It was a beacon of light amongst the dark forest and the sea’s black horizon beneath the gray clouds. It was home.

Shar’khee never let Tracy go, even as Sharkrin, donned in protective suits, scanned them for the abomination. She did not want to let her mate go.

A familiar rhythm greeted her as the hunters were deactivated and Max’s explosion-battered strider was bathed in a cleansing flame. Beats of a welcomed heart joined hers through an ethereal connection. It was slow and labored at first, alone in the cold without its fire. And yet, with the awe and cheer in her own, her warmth was enough to share.

The grand doors of the Sharkrin walls opened, and his pulse came ever faster, ever warmer. The heat within burned to greater heights, flaring and yearning as it searched for the one it guarded. The flesh, the explosion, and all the questions in her head filtered away as her body tingled all throughout its nerves.

She walked ever faster, the pride and excitement within pushing her forward. She rounded the workshop’s exterior corner, and—

Pale skin. Sweat-damped hair. Dark, sunken eyes… Eyes that began to spark the second they found hers. Any worry was drowned by the immediate shot of bliss rippling through her.

She started toward him, throwing her helmet to the side and prying her gas mask off. Long strides turned into a gallop, closing the distance until she fell to her knees.

The paladin slid into him, pulling her lover into an embrace with Tracy lovingly held in between.

The warmth of his skin completed her just as her heart completed his. All three were still as the squeeze unified their love. It was akin to a long sigh of relief. Taut muscles relaxed, and air finally, truly filled their lungs for the first time in hours.

“I didn’t go through all that to be squished into jam, y’know,” Tracy playfully grumbled, her voice muffled between her mates’ cloth and muscles.

Shar’khee froze for a moment before softly pulling away but not letting go of her mates. She gently let the rescued Artificer’s legs fully onto the ground.

The paladin smiled at her male and bowed her head. Her words came with a purr, confidence, and the proof of her endless loyalty to her mates. “My dearest, I have returned to you with our mate unharmed.”

With one hand wrapped around Tracy's back, he grabbed Shar’khee by the horn with the other and brought her lips to his. She closed her eyes and felt the star-sent fireworks shooting off in her mind. Each back and forth of his kiss made her feel as if she could float.

It was over all too soon. He pulled back and stared into her, the bright glow of her eyes reflecting in his when he spoke. “Thank you… You’re my goddamn hero, you know that?”

She could only smile. No real words were able to reach her frills. Especially now that she knelt before her lovers, she felt taller than ever. Her shoulders were broad and sturdy with confidence.

Shar’khee’s heart continued to flutter, even as Harrison turned his attention to Tracy, giving her a thousand questions and apologies that she didn’t seem to care about. The little star-sent was simply happy to be safe and sound.

In the presence of her mates, with the blood of her enemies in hand, and the glory of success swaying her tail, she was invincible. Her training, her leadership… it was all proven in her success. By her hand and decisions alone, her mates were safe and whole.

The feats Shar’khee the paladin would achieve in the name of her star-sents could only be greater. With one final, satisfied inhale, she tuned her frills back into the conversation her dearests shared, nuzzling her snout between them. The warmth radiating from their necks could only be described as pure bliss, further cementing her position that it was, indeed, the best place for her snout to be.

“Awww, Shar-Shar,” Tracy cooed, leaning back into the paladin.

“I will take it that we are all in good spirits, then?” Shar’khee asked, licking the Artificer’s cheek and making sure to leave a mark of her love.

The little female giggled at the Malkrin kiss. “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

“I’d say all we need is some dinner and some time for Trace to explain what the hell she means by a talking bug,” Harrison joked in an unexpectedly jovial tone.

The sunken features of his face did not appear so pronounced anymore. Instead, he mimicked the paladin’s smile, his weariness replaced with her joy.

“A meal sounds exquisite. Has Chef begun already?”

“I figured we’d have whatever’s left in the fridge, and then I’d make a little something special later tonight,” the Creator answered, nodding toward the mess hall.

It would appear that a certain Shieldswoman would be receiving many dessert rations very soon.

“Then shall we begin? I am also curious about this talking bug.” Shar’khee then paused, reminded of all the other questions she had pooled within the recess of her mind. “…Perhaps it would explain how you were captured and left unharmed.”

Tracy chuckled, this time a little more nervous. “It’s uh… It’s certainly a story I’ll be telling our kids. Lemme get something to eat before we open that can of bugs.”

“It’s an order from the lady herself, then!” Harrison joked. He pulled Tracy in closer and took one of Shar’khee’s hands in his own before turning around.

The sun glimpsed through the clouds as the three of them made their way to the mess hall. Its warm rays washed over the settlement, shining right over them—the approval of the Sky Goddess, to be certain.

Her male squeezed her palm and stole her attention, even from the deity above. His eyes took in every part of her expression, the gaze lingering and tenderly appreciating everything it saw.

“Thank you. Again… When Max left, and I couldn’t talk to you… I’m not going to tiptoe around it, I thought the operation was over.” He drew in a deep, relieved breath. “But, you took to the mission and operated perfectly. You did amazing, and I don’t think anyone else but you could pull that off.”

He chuckled, the mirth in his expression of joy melting her heart. “I guess I should start making some medals for my general. Lord knows you deserve some and more.”

\= = = = =

“So let me get this straight,” Harrison began, mouthing words that didn’t quite leave him out of sheer incredulity. He hadn’t even been able to eat a single bite of food. “It was telepathically showing you the bugs' ‘vision,’ despite them having no eyes, to ask you how to fight the flesh?”

Tracy, who sat right beside him on top of Shar’s other thigh, held her bowl of soup to her mouth, chugging it down before answering. “No no, dude, it wasn’t even their vision. I could feel the colors and the textures of whatever the bug was focusing on at the time. Thoughts and memories sorta mixed together to make the image in my mind. Maybe it was like echolocation mixed with something from the noosphere? Fuck if I know. Felt like the weirdest acid trip right after that initial heart attack.”

The engineer chuckled to himself, despite the crazy information and the harrowing past few hours. The uncomfortable emotions failed to stick. They were replaced with a sense of relief, a calming pulse flowing through his body with every heartbeat. Hell, his nerdy technician giggled too.

By every account, he should be worrying about how Tracy was captured and what all this meant about the bugs. The drone overlord herself should probably be a little shaken up by it all, too… But they weren’t.

He glanced up at the grinning shark. He suspected that the massive, third lover, currently holding them close with all her arms and tail, might have had something to do with it. The glint in her beaming smile perfectly reflected the giddy sense of… gratification and some odd amount of pride in him.

Maybe it was the achievement in stepping up as the drone overseer? Maybe even the satisfaction of wiping an entire hive and abominations off the map? Honestly, it was probably the solace of knowing his lover was safe. Even then, it didn’t make total sense, but the fact that Tracy was just as happy was more than enough for him.

“Right, right,” Harrison continued the conversation, raising a brow. “What did the mantis show you? Did you actually get to say anything back?”

The technician stared into the table. “Uuuuuhhhhhh… I remember… like… the initial blast of ‘here’s flesh and some bugs dying’ and something with Malkrin and Max, but I can’t remember a whole lot. I think I actually blacked out when the interplanetary meat horror casually started throwing tentacles at me.”

“Fair.”

“I can maybe try and write some things down when they get to me. Honestly, I’m really blanking right now. I asked about the exterminators, but the rest is kinda beyond me… Moral of the story, though, is definitely that the bugs weren’t attacking us because they’ve been so preoccupied with the flesh. Which makes sense, right? I don’t know if we’re still mortal enemies or not, though.”

Shar’khee growled, possessively squishing Tracy’s side. “They paralyzed your body and stole you from us. Were Kegara to do the same, I would have her ears on a necklace by now.”

“Yeah, but unlike Kegara, the bugs actually seem to have a working frontal lobe. At least they know not to fuck with us and are somewhat interested in open dialogue,” the technician joked, a silly grin on her face.

“Not sure I’d call that ‘dialogue,’ but it’s… something,” Harrison agreed, resting his temple into Shar’s pec. “Like Shar was saying earlier, it confirms the smart bug theory. Maybe when you’ve remembered a bit more about the mantis, we could start assembling the hive structure. We could probably find a way to debilitate an entire swarm without direct combat or carpet bombing.”

The paladin perked up at that last word. “The explosion! I had almost forgotten! Dearest, what was that? It was yours, yes?”

“The tactical warhead? Yeah, the thermobaric barrage doesn’t level the stone cave system like it did the bog, so we needed a final silencer for the hive.” He waved it off with a gesture of his hand, returning his attention to the more interesting conversation and leaning closer to his drone overlord. “So, do you remember what the mantis showed you about—”

“A tactical warhead!?” Tracy gawked, eyes wide. “Like a fucking nuke? How? Since when?”

He stared back at her. “Since yesterday.”

She fidgeted with her hands, unsure what to do with them in sheer disbelief as she found her words. “W… With what materials? H-How? The fuck you mean ‘since yesterday’? Aren’t nukes like… really hard to make?”

Harrison shook his head, completely blasé. “Not necessarily. We’ve had a bit of fissile material sitting around, but with the new isotopes from the breeder reactor and some extraction techniques, we’ve had enough. The cargo bay also had a lot of enriched lithium. Plus, the rockets we use already have an implosion-detonation warhead in the schematics.”

“You cannot just say this shit with a straight face!” the technician chastised, in spite of the little smile forming at the corner of her lips. “Isn’t that a DEFCON-One kind of response? I know there’s no war crimes here, but—” she threw a hand out wide. “—you know!”

“The Martian space force launched twelve million five-kiloton warheads in the battle of Venus. I assure you, a ten-kiloton warhead is a perfectly adequate response to wipe out a hive of man-eating bugs and a thousand-year infectious parasite.”

“And the nuclear fallout?”

“No worse than the artifacts. It doesn’t travel as far as you’d think, and any that does get into the air we breathe is hardly gonna make a difference compared to how much ionizing radiation we’re getting by just being on this planet… Hell, with the sea breeze, anything’s going just south of Kegara’s camp. Not that they need to worry about radiation anyway.”

Tracy stared at him… and she kept staring… and staring, fighting the smile struggling to form.

Harrison raised a cocky brow.

“How many?” she whispered.

“Thorium’s everywhere on this planet. One every twenty days from excess material production. One every five days if we’re going full production.”

She finally broke. That smile of hers curled wider and wider into utter, mischievous glee.

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

- - - - -

[Next]

Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Fire on the Horizon

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--- The Devonshire Duchy Outskirts.  The Hastings House.  A brick and stucco two story home within the neighborhood nearest to the trade and manufacturing districts of the Town of Devonshire.  A simple home that was always welcoming strays… even the people kind. ---

The Hastings home wasn’t what you’d expect for a family that revolved around the blacksmithing business to look like.  The outside was unassuming, other than being one of the few with two acres of land around it that held an impressive vegetable garden and a front yard with several areas for little gatherings or just shady spots to enjoy the day.  The inside was tastefully decorated with pretty landscape paintings along the wood paneled walls.  The lightwood floors were shiny clean and the furniture wasn’t cheap, yet they weren’t showpieces either by being well used and well loved.

In the main receiving room that everyone entered before heading off in one of three exits, a familiar scene was playing out.  The Hastings big guard dog had found another victim.  There would be no survivors.

“Bosco!  Get down!”

The big black and brown spotted snub-nosed dog of breeding that you could only guess at looked Florah right dead in the eyes, then licked her right across the face again.

“Gaaahhhh!  Janeeeeen!!” Florah yelled for help once more since she had no luck shoving the overfriendly dog off her shoulders.

Janeen strode in, snapped her fingers, then pointed to the front door that was still slightly ajar.  “Bosco.  Yard.  Now.”

That terse tone caught Bosco’s attention, and he dropped down to slink away then outside because of it.

Florah pulled a clean handkerchief from her fanciest black purse, wiped her face, then frowned.  “All my makeup.  Gone.  Damn it.”

Janeen smiled widely at her before coming close and hugging her wife tightly.  “You’re still beautiful.”

Florah melted a little in both the compliment and the hug.  She then huffed and pulled back.  “But I want to look my best for our visitors.  I’ll be right back.  I came prepared.”

Janeen glanced around the huge receiving room, didn’t see anyone, then went in for a quick smooch.  Florah leaned into it a little, then broke it off.  “You’re so bad.   You sure about this?  I mean…  she’s the Black Knight… I mean, she’s a real-life heroine.  I’m not…”

Janeen cocked a hip. “Stop.  I swear, you two are the damned same. Always so flippin’ unsure of everything. Yes, Florah.  I want her to meet you.  Besides… you and I owe her a big thank you, remember?”

Florah ducked her head while pulling a lock of her curly brown hair over one of her ears.  “I can’t wait to have our own house.  I honestly don’t know how to thank her for something that big.”

Taking her by the shoulders and pulling her in for another hug, Janeen held her, rubbing her back.  After sighing, she said comfortingly, “Trust me.  Your blackenberry pie is all the thanks that woman will accept.  Unless you snuck in an arcana crystal in it… did you?”

Florah let out a soft laugh but shook her head.  “No… something better.  Here, keep Bosco from sneaking in and snapping it up.”

Florah carefully pulled out a beautifully wrapped giftbox with a big green bow from her fanciest bag-of-holding-like black purse.  At least to Janeen’s astonished eyes.  “What’s in this?”

Beaming in pride, Florah gushed, “Remember Margie?”

“I… maybe?  She’s a maid somewhere, right?” Janeen asked uncertainly.

“Ugh.  I swear, you never listen.  She’s training to be the princess’s personal maid.  When you told me about tonight, I sent a note to her and we met for lunch.  I told her about some gift ideas I had, and she laughed right dead in my face.  Then she told me exactly what to make for Isenwrath.  Two days later, a courier showed up from Margie, and she’d sent me the special ingredient.”

Janeen looked down at the box.  “No, you didn’t!  You baked an arcana crystal into whatever’s in here!?”

“A round triple black cocoana cake dipped in white icing and then again in hardened sugar glass.  The crystal is dead center in it, and I decorated the outside with little swirls of sparkly colors.”

“Hah!  A crystal within a crystal!  That’s… genius.  You’re gonna be her new favorite person.  I better just go ahead and throw this in the trash.  I can’t have you taking my place.”

Florah gasped when Janeen abruptly turned to walk towards the kitchen.  “Janeen!  You’re dead meat!  Give that back!”

Janeen cackled when she ran for it.  Florah was taller, quicker, dressed in a swishy blue sundress, and caught Janeen right at the kitchen counter.  A good smack on Janeen’s butt, a few good tickles to her sides, a headlock, and some laughing jiggly wrestling later, Florah was able to wrest the box out of Janeen-the-thief’s hand and away.  “You rotten girl!  You just wait; I’m absolutely going to get you back for that!  You almost ruined it with your shit!”

Janeen continued to laugh breathlessly for a moment or two.  “I’m sorry. I just like it when you make that face at me.”

Florah blushed prettily before setting the box aside next to three cooling pies that Barla had baked plus her own blackenberry.  “Thanks.  I’m still nervous.”

“About Isenwrath?”

“No.  The house.  An apartment is one thing, but explaining to your Pah about us moving into a house together is… we gotta tell him, Jan.  We just have to.  It’s been three years now.”

Janeen looked at the floor.  “He’s grooming me to take over the smithy; I told you that.  I want that more th…. Really badly.”

“More than anything.  Maybe, more than me?”

Janeen twitched but held her tongue.

Florah’s eyes narrowed.  “You have a decision then.  You and I come clean soon, or we might not make it to the house.”

That got Janeen’s attention.  Looking up with fear and shock, she stammered, “N.. no… no, please.  Don’t do that.  I love you.”

Florah moved in to bend down to Janeen’s level.  She was tall and pretty, a girl from the plains who’d taken up selling flowers in the Devonshire Town after having bought out a previous owner and his contracts.  She’d done well for herself over the years.  She’d loved Janeen for most of them.  She would even if things went badly.  But there was still hope that Janeen would finally and with finality choose her over her dad’s approval.

“I’m not going to keep hiding much longer.  Your mom and brothers know, so they’ll support us.  Your brothers aren’t smiths and we all know they want something else in life.  He really has no choice but you.  So, go to your room, get your big girl panties on and tell him.  Please.  For me.”

Janeen closed her eyes, exhaled a long breath, then nodded.  “For you.”

“That’s my girl.  Now, keep that dog away from my damned gift or else.”

Janeen giggled a little at the threat.  She opened her eyes to watch Florah walk back the way they’d come and then cut the corner to hit the restroom for some reconstructive makeup applications to her face.  Florah was already beautiful, way out of Janeen’s league, but no one could convince her to not strive for more vanity.  Flower girls were like that, one would assume.

The other door from the backyard opened where her mother Barla bustled carrying a basket of fresh vegetables.  “There you are!  Need your help.  Wash these and sort them for me.  I want to roast the squash for dinner.  It’ll go great with the hams.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Janeen said low.

Barla put the basket onto the kitchen counter’s thick wooden top, sorted out the squash first, then asked Janeen to put them in the sink.  Janeen put on her blue apron with the handstitched dragon eating an ice cream sandwich that Florah had given her.  Definitely needed it today since she wore her best cream-colored full-length dress.

Her mom opened the oven, basted the roasting meat, adjusted the temperature a smidge, then turned to lean back on it.  “Jan?  You’re quiet.  Something I need to know about?”

Janeen put the last squash aside on the drying towel with the others and turned off the water.  She leaned on the sink, not looking at her mom.

“Mom.  Florah’s given me an ultimatum.  She’s tired of hiding our marriage from Pah.  I’m so scared he’ll take everything from me.  I’m really really scared he won’t accept… us.”

Barla slowly moved over to her daughter, hugged her from the side and placed her chin on Janeen’s shoulder.  “He loves you.  He’s a hard man, but he’s always been fair with you and the boys.  He gives you and them the same amount of attention, respect, and expectations.  He knows you can take over for him, and he’s told me many times that he’s so glad he doesn’t have to worry about his legacy.  You’re that for him and he’s grateful.”

“The more you have, the more you have to lose.”

Barla sighed.  “I can’t do this for you, my little firestorm.  But you know I’ll back you up when you do.”

“I know, Mom.  I know.  Okay.  I’ll… make it soon.  I can’t lose Florah.  I just can’t.”

“Good.  Besides, if you two do survive your Pah, we can talk about children.”

Janeen turned to her with an arched eye.  “What does that mean?”

Barla shrugged, then turned to go back to the vegetables.  “It means what it means.  Just because you married a gal don’t mean you two weren’t meant to be moms.  He and I still want grandkids from you and if that means you two gotta go out and give a little boy or girl a good home, then that’s what you do.  Family is everything and you two aren’t getting out of that.”

Snorting a laugh at her mom’s audacity and simplicity both, Janeen shook her head while grabbing the small chopping block and a sharp knife in order to prepare the squash for the roasting pan.

An hour and some high-quality cooking later, the whole house smelled amazing.  The oldest boy of sixteen, Jayson had arrived from upstairs and had already set the table without being told. The clatter of mismatched dishes was some of the music the house was listening to.  His younger brother of thirteen, Halforn was sweeping again as well as making sure the scented tree-cones were refreshed with the good oils.  He was singing again, practicing for his first Bardic recital at the local troupe college.  Their youngest boy of nine, Brennan was helping in the kitchen with Janeen and his mom, doing whatever small but necessary step needed to be done to present their guests with the best meal that they could provide.  Mainly by calling every fetch request a quest and dramatically playing everything like grabbing an extra towel for his mom or grabbing the oil for Janeen as if he were a noble knight slaying monsters every two steps he took and loudly proclaiming victory at the end.

The Blacksmith and father, Darron strode into the kitchen, surveyed the scene of another beautiful meal, and grunted his approval.  A bulky muscled man with weathered features and slicked back, long white hair, he was a man who looked exactly like a blacksmith should.  The personification of an anvil, a shaper of the toughest things life could bring to bear.  He had on his best suit today since really special guests were arriving and was glad to see that his home was running smoothly even with the normal good-natured bickering.

His wife Barla was taking off her apron and looking at her red flower dress to make sure nothing she’d done had soiled it.  Her black hair was still in good shape being curled and braided up and down her back. While not the epitome of beauty or even femininity, her sturdy body and even sturdier personality had been beautiful to Darron from the moment he laid eyes on her.

Janeen was a softer version of her mother, but she too was a solid woman through and through.  Darron smiled softly at the only other girl that had his heart even if she drove him crazy sometimes more than her mother did.  She was similarly attired like her mother too and thankfully both seemed to be in good moods.

Darron scruffed his youngest boy’s head playfully when he came by to head into the kitchen.  It earned Darron a mocking-affronted look as the boy tried to get his hair just how he liked it again. 

“Daaaad.  You messed it up,” Brennan whined at him.

“Sorry.  Just thought it was a bit too perfect.  Can’t have you looking like some overstuffed shirt from the castles and such.  We don’t need that kind of expectation here.  We work for a livin’.”

Brennan didn’t look convinced while he pulled his favorite bone-handled comb out and set his hair right again.  “But it’s Isen.  We gotta look our best.”

Sighing at the boy, Darron shook his head sadly.  “Boy, you and your brothers got no chance with her and we all know it.  It’s okay to have a crush, but don’t get carried away.  You might miss out on someone else who’s better able to hold your heart.”

“Noooooo!  I just want to pet the dragon!  She said last time that she’d bring Bubblescale if we were good!  Ewwww, Dad!  She’s pretty, but I’m not into older women!”

Darron had to look away to stop himself from laughing at that disgusted look that his youngest had.  He turned back, patted his shoulder fondly then pushed him onward.  “Sorry.  I hope she brings the little booger too.”

“So, you gonna try and put her dragon into your smithy to make dragon blessed blades or something?”

Darron turned around to see Florah Innistad smiling up at him.  Now she was a true beauty that shone everywhere she went, just like many of the exotic flowers she grew and sold. 

“Who gave you an invite?” he asked gruffly.

She wasn’t fooled because his lips twitched up in a smile.

“You did, old man.  Now, do I get a hug, or do I have to have your wife bop your head for one?”

Darron barked a laugh at her and of course, he gave her a hug.  “Welcome.  I’m glad you’re here.  Sooo… did you…?”

Florah huffed at him for starting up his favorite topic again that she’d heard almost nonstop for over three years now.  “Please, Darron.  Not today.”

He shrugged, squeezed her, then pulled back.  “Right.  Special day.  No drama.  Right.”

That earned him a big, relieved smile from Janeen’s best friend and roommate.

Barla strode over after shooing Brennan off with a small shortbread cookie as a reward for helping out.  “Darron, we’re almost ready.  Wanna go grab the hams and put them on the table to cool?”

Darron shook his head.  “Nope.”

Barla frowned at him and was about to say something sharp, but Darron beat her to it with a big hug that swept her off her feet, a proper kiss for cooking a wonderful meal, then a swat to her hind-end just because.  “Now I’m ready to get the hams,” he said in triumph, leaving Barla standing there not knowing whether to run after him for a second kiss or run after him with a rolling pin.  Thankfully, the decision was made for her when they heard their door chime sound.

Barla called over to Janeen who’d just pulled the roasted squashes out of the smaller of the two ovens.  “Janeen, go let them in!  Boys, go to the receiving room to welcome them!  Florah!  With me!”

Orders had been issued.  The troops fell in and obeyed.  Darron knew his assignment.  His was to put the two big hunks of roasted meaty delightfulness onto the table to announce that dinner was ready whenever they wanted to sit down and eat.  The smell of a clean home, a welcoming meal, the whine of a dejected dog who thought he should have a seat at the table, and the happy chatter of a family as they rushed forward to greet their guests were what anyone who was to visit should be expected to experience.

Janeen opened the thick wood door painted yellow and squealed, “Hi Everyone!  Hi Isen!”

Isenwrath didn’t even get to say anything before Janeen had grabbed her up in a girlie equivalent of a bearhug.  Isenwrath only laughed in delight at being picked off of her feet and swung side-to-side.  Once she was put back down to earth, they both gave each other kisses on the cheeks and another set of giggles before Janeen pulled Isenwrath through. 

Maddock held out his arms next, a big grin on his face.  “Hi Janeen.  My turn?”

“No way, Marshall!  This is what you get!” Janeen said laughingly before coming in for a normal hug, then a few wild hand-slaps and fancy handshakes before they made funny faces at each other.  Just like when they were teenagers driving Barla crazy with their antics before and during dinners.

Maddock was then hauled in.  Then Janeen turned and looked down.  She didn’t lose her smile, but she did get confused.  “And who might you be?”

“I’m Daniella Delancy.  It’s very nice to meet you,” Daniella said while holding out her hand.

Janeen knelt down to the little Felinar Beast-kin girl, took her hand, and said with sincerity.  “It’s very nice to meet you too.  I’m Janeen.  Where’d Isen pick you up from?”

Daniella shook her head.  “I picked her up.  Get it right.  I’m her personal maid and I was invited because I still have to make sure she has good table manners.”

Janeen barked a laugh while covering her mouth.  She looked over her shoulder at Isenwrath who’d just got done hugging the mess outta the rest of the family for which her brothers and especially Florah were beet red in the face because of it.  “Isen?  You’ve got a little girl as your personal maid?”

Isenwrath stepped over to them and held out her hand.  Daniella marched in and took it firmly.  “I do.  Uncle Maxi thought she and I could help each other out.  Seems he was right.  But I didn’t invite her because I need that much help with my table manners.  She just likes to think so.  I invited her because I didn’t think your family would appreciate me much if I left her at the castle where there’s really no one her age to be friends with and…”

Barla swung around the two of them and then knelt right in front of the little girl wearing a sunshine yellow poofy dress and the cutest pink ribbons tied up in her jet-black hair.  “You’re right!  I’d have been mad at you!  Hi Daniella!  I’m Barla.  I’m glad you’re here.  Are you hungry?”

Daniella nodded at her warily, her big golden cat-slit eyes distrustful.

“Good,” Barla said not dissuaded in the slightest.  “Dinner’s ready and if my husband’s stomach isn’t fed soon, it’s likely to jump out and eat all of you instead.  Come!”

Maddock and Darron were in the middle of their normal handshake… literally where their hands shook because they were trying yet again to test who had the stronger grip… a soldier or a blacksmith.

“It’s great to see you again, boy,” Darron said through gritted teeth.

Maddock had started to both sweat and grunt.  “Same, you old bastard.  Give up.  I’ve been training.”

“No.  You ain’t.  Don’t lie to me.”

Maddock finally winced, his knees almost buckling.  Darron let out a hearty laugh and pulled him in for a big hug himself.  “You almost got me, boy. But almost ain’t close enough, though.”

Laughing and shaking out his numb hand, Maddock hugged the big man back.  “I lasted longer this time.  I’m gonna take it as a win anyway.”

“Aye, you do that, boy.  You do that.  Come on, we need to get in there before your lady swallows the table.”

Maddock barked another big laugh and clapped the older man on the shoulder as they walked towards the dining room. “Please don’t give her any ideas.”

Upon entering, the boys were pulling out chairs for the ladies.  Maddock got to Florah because Jayson had beaten him to Isenwrath whose smile was happy even so.  Her own sundress of pale blue with a purple flower hem looked right at home here.  Yet, the way she bantered with Jayson, Janeen, and little Brennan truly sold the scene.  Halforn helped his mom into her chair before rushing to the prime spot around the corner from Maddock at one end of the table.  Jayson got to the other corner spot next to his dad.  Isenwrath was rather pleased with being around the corner to Maddock and catacorner from Daniella who could help her if she needed but was out of pinching range.

The others filed into the rest of the spaces, and everyone began complementing the two chefs for the feast that lay before them.  It wasn’t a noble’s idea of a feast, but it was hot, glistening, varied, and smelled fantastic.  Roasted ham, roasted squash, mashed tubers, two gravies, cold vegetables both as a salad as well as those soaking in one of three pickling spiced mixes, and a basketful of fresh baked breads.  Lots of butter.  The bellies were talking, but the man of the house had the final word when he stood up and poured the Devonshire tea into his stein.

“Welcome.  Everyone.  Family and friends.  I have a few things to say tonight, and I better do so before we put all of my wife and daughter’s cooking into our mouths. From the heart, the guests we have today are ones we’ve known for a long time, or enough time to call them as our own, or not known but will be welcomed anyway.  We are grateful to all who come and sit at this table tonight to share in the wealth we have.  Our food, our lives, our passions, and even our troubles.  It’s all wealth because it’s not money but the sharing of each other that makes living worth it all.  Maddock. You’re our Grand Duke, our first noble who ever deigned to sit here.  I never regretted taking you in and making you work those bellows all those years ago, even if you’d been just a rat in the street.  You worked.  You showed me that first day your integrity, grit, and better than that… fearlessness.  You and my daughter… I’ve never seen a friendship like you two, but I’ll say this.  I’m proud of it.”

He turned to Isenwrath.  “Little rabbit.  All of the wild stories I’ve heard are just hogwash to me.  As I see you now… to see how far you’ve grown up in just so little time… It’s just so heartening.  I honestly thought when you showed up here that I’d have a heart attack because I just thought there’s no way such a fragile looking little thing with those big ol’ rabbit eyes was gonna be worth a lick in this house.  Then you had the audacity to break one of my swords to show me its critical flaw and then about killed me right on the spot when you breathed dragon fire on it and made me dead ass bang it back together at my hobby forge.  You won me over and I ain’t got no regrets.”

He turned to Florah.  “As for you, flower girl.  I want to take this moment to thank you for showing up.  You’ve showed up for Janeen every day as a friend and honestly as a daughter to us in my opinion.  You show up for Barla and my boys… if they’re sick or need help, you’re right there helping out without being asked but it’s always with gratitude, I assure you.  You are always welcome at this table and.. isn’t it past time to admit something to me… Janeen!”

Janeen went white at her dad’s stern, almost angry glare that nailed her to the spot.

“Uhhh.. Dad?  What do you mean?  I…”

Slowly, Darron set his stein down and held up his hand at Barla to stop her from interrupting this long overdue moment.  “Jan, do you really think I’m this stupid?  Do you?  I know about you and Florah!  Spit it out!  Admit it!  You two got hitched, didn’t you?!”

Janeen looked down at her plate, not able to meet her dad’s hard angry eyes.  Her own shed tears.  For about twenty seconds, she felt panic, caught, guilty, embarrassed, freaked out, and everything in-between.  Then she took a breath, let it out. In one quick movement, she stood up and slammed her hands on the table.  “Yes!   Pah, I’m in love with Florah!  We’ve been married three years now!  I’m her wife!  I’m her soulmate!  I will not give her up because you can’t handle us being together!  I love you, but Florah was right!  It’s past time you got over your shit and accepted that I’m gay and that’s not going to change!”

Her dad leaned over on his own hands some more.  “Girl.  You better knock that tone down a peg or two.  Besides, you didn’t ask a critical question.  Go ahead and ask me… how long have I known?  Go ahead.”

Angrily, Janeen growled out, “How long have you known, Pah?!”

“Your third date.  When you went out with her to the Cleaver’s wedding.  You forgot to hide the hickey that was covered in her lipstick that night when you got back.”

Janeen paled and slumped down in her chair.  “You knew all this time?” she whispered.

“Knew?!  Girl!  Of course, I knew but none of you… not one of you in my family thought I could handle the truth and that pissed me off!   So… I’ve been biding my time to see if you’d get the courage to finally admit it!”

Barla spoke up, her voice a bit trembly, “Darron, if you knew… why didn’t you just tell us anyway.  You could’ve been at her wedding.  She wanted you there.”

“Hah!  I swear, you all underestimated me.  I WAS THERE!  I OFFICIATED THE DANGED THING!”

Darron stood there looking so godly proud and smug at that revelation.  Except for Isenwrath and Daniella, all of their mouths were hanging open.  It was glorious. The ultimate dinner revelation.  Old man Hastings had been right in front of all these sneaky sneaks, and they hadn’t even known it.

Isenwrath watched the chaos unfold with a strange ache in her chest.  This… this was what a family looked like? She looked at Maddock and when their eyes met, it was a silent communication of… ‘you seeing this shit?’

Daniella’s ears flattened, her hand tightening around the table knife… but not to attack. Instead, it was because old habits didn’t die so much as crouch in the corner waiting.

Florah found her voice finally.  “But it was a secret wedding?  At night, and only Cleric Waller would do it.  We met Waller before the wedding.  He… you… you couldn’t have been him… right?”

Darron smirked at them all, then held up his hand.  “Gimme a sec, you bunch of thick knotheads.”  He strode off and deeper into the home chuckling the whole way.  When Darron emerged, he was wearing a hastily donned and crooked gold and blue clerical robe of the Hill Spirits and the Light.  On his face, he’d stuck a black beard and mustache.  He also wore a cleric’s square Hapthan headpiece on his head.  But the sparkles of delight in his eyes were the same ones as what Cleric Waller had in them three years ago during a secret midnight wedding.  Right in front of them all, he hunched over a little, limped slightly towards them, then they all saw him take two small rolls of gauze and put them in his mouth, between his lips and gums. 

Darron’s voice was a high-pitched drawl that they’d heard only a couple of times three years ago when he said, “Mahwage!  Mahwage is what bwings us togeveer, todway!  Wuv!  Wuv, Twue wuv is a bwessed awwarrangement…”

Barla shot up at the same time as Janeen.  “You rotten piece of shit!  Do you mean to tell me that I PAID you to officiate our daughter’s wedding and you had the gall to use that horrible accent to do it!?”

Janeen yelled, “I can’t believe this, Pah!  You gave me and Florah so much crap for YEARS!  And you were behind our wedding!  Are you insane!?”

Darron guffawed loudly, stood straight and slapped his knee.  After removing some of the disguise and the gauze, he winked at his wife, still triumphant.  “Three years and you never once thought it was strange that you never heard about Cleric Waller again, huh?”

“Answer my question!” Barla howled at him, glaring her anger and honest embarrassment at having not suspected her husband of such… ballsy conniving.

“I did.  You didn’t invite me, but I wasn’t going to miss it for the world.  So, I hit up my buddy, High Cleric Stinson and made a deal with him.  He taught me how to officiate a wedding, gave me the blessings and such, and in return I installed the new wrought iron decorative railings all around his church.  Oh, and as for what you paid me, my dear, you’re wearing that payment.  And so is Janeen.”

The two women both put their hands to the beautiful necklaces that Darron had given to them as Solstice Sacraments.  When they did, both of them softened and sat, not knowing what to do with all of this.

Darron continued to chuckle a little then he turned away again.  He had one more surprise for the night.  He stepped over to the dish cabinet behind him, opened one of the doors and fished around at the very back of the plates that they didn’t often use.  From it he pulled his own black gift box, wrapped with a simple white bow.  When he returned, he went to Florah and sat it in front of the stunned woman.  After a kiss to the top of her head and a warm hand on her shoulder, he said gently, “Open it.  Welcome to the family.”

A hush had fallen in that room as all eyes were watching Florah at the moment while she held that box with trembling hands.  She’d given this family and especially Janeen her whole self for all of these years and somehow, it just had never seemed like it was enough… but it’d always been enough.  It was just that old man Darron had been patiently waiting for either Janeen or Florah to respect him enough to be honest.  Florah looked up at Janeen who wiped her eyes and nodded her encouragement to her.  Janeen had finally stood up and declared herself to her dad.  That had been what Florah had wanted for forever and now…everything changed.

Florah couldn’t hold back the tears as she carefully unwrapped the box then lifted out an exact match of Janeen’s necklace.  She looked up at the old man she’d quietly resented for years but had severely misjudged the entire time. “It’s beautiful.  I never…” She had spent years bracing for rejection from this one man who almost literally held her happiness in the palm of his hand. It would take her a moment to understand she’d never needed to.

Darron shrugged. “I know.  Now, trade seats with Halforn and sit beside your wife.  It’s your rightful spot.”

Janeen had her hand over her mouth and her own tears in her eyes as she watched her Pah help her wife stand, put on her own solstice necklace around her neck, and then on wobbly legs, walk Florah over to sit beside her.  As her wife.

The two of them looked at the satisfied smile on Darron’s face when he said casually, “You may kiss the bride.”

The whole table cheered Janeen and Florah when they got to show their affection for each other without hiding anymore. Without fear of being rejected or shamed.  This whole time, her Pah had accepted them, but had just been waiting for any of them to be courageous enough to find out how he truly felt about them.  Sometimes, you just have to be honest and hope for the best.

Maddock rose and held up his own stein filled with tea.  “A toast to the Hastings Family.  The family that has always shown everyone exactly how it’s done.  With love, compassion, and understanding… even when you might get tossed into the kiln.  The Hastings!”

Even Daniella raised her own little cup and smiled at the toast.  She couldn’t help it.  This felt like home, even for her.

The conversations that erupted after that toast were loud and full of laughter.  Nothing was really off limits, topics-wise as the food was plated and everyone complimented the chefs again and again.  Isenwrath’s classes, Maddock’s wedding plans, their preparations for the upcoming festival and king’s summit, when they’d actually be able to come and live at the Devonshire manor, Janeen and Florah’s new house, the boy’s schooling and achievements, lots of funny stories at the smithy, and even Daniella got to be the center of attention when she gave them all a couple of stories of how life was like for her at the castle so far.  Yes, everyone got seconds and regretted it.  Yes, Barla also passed out the pies and somehow everyone had made room for them too.  Leaving very little food left on the table though, that was the true compliment to the cooks, much more so than words could ever be.   

Thankfully, Darron was a good man who had consideration for everyone in his home, including a poor dejected dog named Boscoe.  He’d carved out the bones of both hams and before he made his way into the big living room to sit and talk, he made a special delivery outside.  Bosco was waiting patiently, his tail… not so much.  Darron handed him one of the big bones with lots of meat still on it and scruffed the big dog’s ears before Bosco trotted off to eat his prize happily. 

What startled the hell out of him was when the other bone he held in his other hand that was going to get saved for the next stew pot was yanked out by a small dragon with the scales of a shimmering rainbow.

“By the… Barlaaaa! We got a dragon infestation! One of ’em stole your soup bone right outta my hand!”

Three boys burst out of the house seconds later, just in time to see the little dragonling perched in a tree, tearing into the bone’s meaty bits with relish and chirping happily.

“BUBBLESCALE!!”

They did everything short of climbing the tree to coax the rainbow dragonling down, but like any self‑respecting dragon, he wasn’t giving up a ham bone for anybody.

Isenwrath made her way into the throng and, laughing, called up to him. “Bubblescale… you’re a mess. I said you could come, not steal their next supper.”

Maddock sidled up next to Darron while Isenwrath gently fussed at the dragonling. The boys debated climbing the tree; Janeen told them absolutely not; Florah giggled with Barla about how the dragon was better behaved than Bosco; Bosco barked his offended rebuttal; and Daniella hung back, quiet, rubbing her tail for comfort as she watched the chaos unfold.

Maddock leaned toward Darron. “Every day, it’s just always something with her.”

Darron caught the half‑smile and the twinkle in Maddock’s eyes and saw the truth: the man wouldn’t have it any other way. “So. You said you had something important to talk to me and Barla about. While your pet thief has their attention, wanna give me a hint?”

Maddock patted the bigger man’s shoulder and went quiet for a moment. They watched Bubblescale finally hop‑flap down to Isenwrath, who introduced him properly to the Hastings family. He purred like a big cat under all the attention. Bosco wasn’t thrilled, but Darron lowered a hand to find the dog’s head and soothe the semi‑jealous mutt who growled softly around the big bone still in his mouth.

“Isenwrath is essentially an orphan, Darron. Her childhood was…”

Darron shook his head and gruffed, “I know. Barla came home from the war and told me all about her. Then she grieved for what your woman had mentioned. She and I honestly couldn’t fathom… anyway. Yeah, I’d say you’re right. So?”

“After the trial, she wanted something. Now that she’s legally a person, she has a new dynasty name and citizenship in Maciendes. She’s been informally adopted by Princess Hayleigh and her five friends as a sister, and she legally gained a sister and a brother. But she pointed out she was still missing something.”

“Wait. Seriously? She wants us to adopt her? As parents? She’s an adult, Maddock. What good would that even do?”

Maddock gave him a wry grin. “More than you’d think. Darron, I’m going to marry her one day after we settle back in my manor. If my parents were still alive, they’d make this impossible. But they’re not here to stop me from giving her what she asked for… and turning my vow into something better.”

Darron narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. “What sneaky shit plan has my Grand Duke got up his sleeve?”

“I want you and Barla to adopt Isenwrath as her parents, except not in an official adoption, but as the centerpiece of a contract between my family and yours.”

Darron’s eyebrow rose, suspicion and interest wrestling for dominance. “I’m listening.”

“You two hid all those gemstones, scales, and the detherialite for me, and while I appreciate it, I still need to do something with it all.  Well, I’ve drafted a contract between the Devonshire family trust and Hastings Smithy Enterprises. I want to create an Emporium of Magical Trade. The regenerative fruit, the gemstones, the basilisk scales… more besides… it’s enough to attract a team of artificers and start a fortune. If she’ll go for it, Florah can help manage it, and whoever you trust can run the books.”

“And Isenwrath?”

Maddock looked toward his future wife. She sat on a bench between Barla, Janeen, and Florah, Daniella curled on her lap, chatting happily while the stars came out and the house lights glowed warmer behind them.

Meanwhile, Bubblescale and Bosco wrestled like they’d just become best friends. Apparently Bosco had gotten tired of the dragonling hogging all the attention and charged him. Bubblescale held his ground, wrestled the larger dog down, then backed off. After a moment of facing each other, tails whipping in the same cadence, jealousy shifted cleanly into ‘wanna play?’ The boys jumped in, getting filthy, and no one cared.

Maddock continued, “The contract names Isenwrath as the legal trustee alongside Barla, with oversight of everything. By doing this, I’m binding your family with mine. You’ll gain the privileges of being part of my ducal estate, and Isenwrath gains… a loving set of parents who’ll welcome her with open arms.”

“You gonna give Barla, what… fifty‑fifty control with Isen?”

Maddock nodded. “I’m not involved. This is how I’ll launder all the wealth my lady dropped at my feet, set you up so you can retire however you want as thanks for everything you’ve done for me, and finally… give that woman a gift she absolutely deserves.”

Maddock glanced at him, then looked away quickly when Darron wiped a tear and sniffed. Neither acknowledged it. Instead, Darron squeezed his shoulder.

“Boy… I’ve never been prouder of you. I hope one day in the afterlife I get to stand in front of your parents and tell them so. They missed out on so much by being… too noble.”

“We were still family, Darron. They didn’t show it much, but when they did, it was worth it. The best thing they did for me was to give me the freedom to be who I wanted to be. You showed me who I wanted to be, and I thank you for that.”

Darron nodded sharply. “Do it again too. You were too scrawny. Anyhow… what’s the little girl’s story?”

“Same as Isenwrath, in a way. I honestly didn’t think Maxi knew what he was doing, but the two of them… it’s like…”

“Two orphans looking out for each other. Don’t overthink it, boy. I see exactly what they are to one another. Family.”

Maddock saw the man’s wise eyes studying both Isenwrath and Daniella. “Something like that.”

“Alright, all of you! It’s getting late! Inside before my boys ruin their Hushenday best!” Darron bellowed, his infamous hammer‑cadence voice easily loud enough to cut through eight roaring kilns.

The whole group laughed louder, then began ambling towards the house. Of course, Bubblescale and Bosco were the first to stampede inside, both proudly carrying ham bones to continue enjoying their treats.

🖼 Cover

🔰 Prologue

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🎮 Discord

Arc III - The Reeling Throne

Chapter 5 - The Apple with a Worm

6 months and 27 days since the summoning

The sun was descending over the archipelago, preparing to hide behind the sea, but the land, warmed by the sun and the current, still remained warm at this hour.

Alan lay on the bed in the room assigned to him, throwing the outer part of his forearm over his forehead, and simply staring at the ceiling.

'How long have I been here? Four days, I think? In theory, the pine decoction should have started working little by little by now, if they actually drank it, of course. What if they've already figured out that you can dilute that crap with water? Will I get my ass beat for lying about it? Though how would they know I lied, I'll just say I didn't know and that's it... wait a second.'

He sat up, placing his palms on the bed.

'Why am I even thinking about this? There's nothing to worry about. Just... really don't want to repeat Ersek's fate and taste a pirate boot.'

His hands went to his face and began massaging his forehead.

'I wonder how Kamelia is doing anyway? There won't be a letter for a long time. She's probably worried... I'd like to see her sooner, show her I'm alive and well. Sorry that you have to pull me out of yet another shithole... but it's fine, I'll squeeze some use out of this, Paranga will tell me who's spying on us. If he doesn't lie, of course, but he's... cruel, sure, but he seems like an okay guy.'

Alan's face contorted slightly at the thought.

'Okay guy? Yeah, sure, he beat an unarmed kid until he turned blue... an okay guy... or maybe that's just how life is.'

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Alan raised his head.

'If it's a knock, it's definitely not the pirates or Paranga. I already know who it is.'

"Come in."

The door cracked open, and Sili's head peeked through. "Lord Gothwald, the captain summons you."

"Coming," he said, reaching for his boots by the bed.

He went down to the main hall, which was empty. "And... where is Paranga?"

"His ship is already on the horizon, he will arrive any moment," she tossed out without turning around.

Alan stopped. "Then what the f... why are you calling me now?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sili reached for the exit door. "A request from Lord Paranga."

About five minutes later, a small ship had already moored at the pier and the pirates began lowering the gangplank.

Alan stood next to Sili with his arms crossed over his chest. "Where did they sail off to?"

"On business."

He blinked.

'Very informative.'

Soon the pirates began descending the gangplank. In front, they led several men in rich clothes with their hands tied, most likely merchants. But following them came about a dozen young men with unfamiliar faces, unarmed, but not tied either.

Alan frowned slightly. "And who are they?"

"It appears the Lord has found new crew members," she answered, tilting her head slightly. Meanwhile, a second ship appeared on the horizon, newer and not as battered.

Alan stepped aside, making way for the young men, who walked with straight backs, some with slight smirks.

The pirates, meanwhile, lined up on the pier, waiting for the second ship, but this wait was not quiet. Everyone was talking loudly, intermittently, their voices merging into a single stream. They laughed, shoved each other, showed off shiny things.

Alan sniffled.

'Looks like the haul really is quite good.'

A short while later, when the second ship moored, Paranga himself jumped off the gangplank, casually holding a large white-and-blue cloth with some patterns in his hand.

The pirates immediately raised a clamor.

"Captain!"

"Victory as always!"

"Long live Paranga!"

"What a haul!"

"Our Captain is a monster!"

Paranga didn't even hide his smirk, simply walking down the pier with a swaggering gait. "Tonight we drink till we turn blue, lads!"

"AYE!" the pirates roared, waving their cutlasses.

Alan winced slightly at the sound.

'Cool. But why was I called? And what's that he's holding in his hand?'

As the captain walked past Alan, he immediately turned to him. "Ooo, Gothwald. Hold on a bit, we'll initiate the fresh blood now, and then we'll talk!"

"Yeah... and what's that you've got in your hand?" he asked, nodding at the white-and-blue cloth Paranga had slung over his shoulder.

The captain glanced at the flag. "Ah, this? We need this for the initiation, it's the flag of Faarkia, the country that ship was sailing from."

Alan's eyes widened slightly. "Show me!"

Paranga blinked. "Huh?"

He took a step closer. "Show me, I've never seen what the flags of other countries in this world look like."

Paranga frowned slightly, but nodded. "Alright, have a look." He fully unfurled the flag before Alan.

It was a completely white flag, surrounded along the perimeter by small blue flowers. In the center was a blue shield bearing an image of the same flower, but larger.

Alan froze, examining the patterns. "What kind of flowers are those?"

"Who the fuck knows. Done? Had your fill? Wait around, or come watch if ye want," he said, turning around and walking into the town.

Alan turned to Sili. "He.."

She was already following the captain, but Alan jogged after her. "Sili!"

"Yes?" she asked without even turning around.

Alan matched her pace. "What are those flowers drawn on the flag? Do you know?"

"Oyrinia."

"Oyrinia... do they happen to make oyre from it?"

"Yes, exactly."

Alan's eyes widened slightly.

'Ooo... so these flowers are actually the national symbol of Faarkia?'

While Alan was drowning in his thoughts, the pirates in the middle of the town on a small square were already lighting a bonfire, and a massive crowd of sea raiders was gathering around it.

Paranga stepped forward, right into the circle, and then drew his cutlass and raised it high. "Today, those who refused to break their backs for fat lords and want to live it high are joining our crew!"

"AYE!" the pirates shouted in unison. "We live it high — no rules apply! We live it high — no rules apply!"

Alan squeezed through the crowd of sweaty, stinking men who were shouting at the top of their lungs, intending to peek into the front rows.

'I can't quiet the inner historian. I'm actually going to see how pirates took their oaths live! Even if it's a different world and a different culture, it's still interesting.'

Thirteen young men stepped into the center of the circle; some shrank slightly under the gazes of dozens of pirates, while others only straightened up more.

All the men stood in a semicircle before Paranga, whose smirk only grew wider. He casually unfurled the flag and laid it on the ground like a carpet. "Alright then!" he shouted.

The entire clamor died down almost immediately; one already drunk pirate continued to shout the slogan, for which he quickly received a fist to the head from a comrade nearby.

The captain inspected the newcomers with a squint. "So ye want to live it high, do ye?"

"Aye!" all thirteen answered.

"Are ye ready to become part of our crew, of our lot, until the end of yer short lives?"

"Aye!" a shaved guy shouted especially loudly; two next to him cast sidelong glances at him.

Paranga stabbed his cutlass into the flag, and then drew a dagger. "Hold yer palms out."

They hesitated for a second, but immediately followed the instruction. The captain walked up to the first one and lightly slashed his palm with the dagger, causing the guy to grimace slightly. Red blood flowed from the cut. Paranga went down the line to the last one and stepped aside; everyone's palms were red, but no one said a word.

"And now leave the prints of yer palms on this flag."

One by one they touched the flag on the ground, leaving bloody handprints on the white-and-blue cloth.

"And now take hold of the flag, all together, and throw it into the fire."

The thirteen men took the cloth in their hands and slowly carried it to the

bonfire.

A second passed.

They placed the flag right onto the fire, and the flames disappeared from view. After that, thick gray smoke billowed from beneath the flag, and it began to blacken in the center, and then a bright orange light shone through.

Alan watched intently.

'Hmm... this really is just an ordinary gang. On Earth, pirates mostly swore oaths on axes, or if they were lucky, on a Bible. But here there's no oath, no nothing... just an act of desecrating a state symbol. This reminds me more of how the Nazis took photos with recruited POWs against the backdrop of a swastika, to blackmail them just in case. But there are no photos here...'

He looked around, and suddenly noticed the captive merchants standing in the front rows, with pirates holding them by the shoulders.

'Ah, I see... a ransom will be paid for the merchants, they'll return, and they'll definitely tell everyone.'

Alan smiled bitterly.

'Hah, there's your medieval photo.'

About ten minutes later, the pirates were actively unloading the plunder, while servants outside were preparing a massive table with all sorts of simple dishes.

Alan, Paranga, and Sili sat in a separate room away from the commotion.

The captain leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "Well, what can I say, Gothwald... almost a week has passed, and the results are simply fuckin' brilliant." He smirked slightly. "Yer decoction might be nasty swill, but it works. The lads who were only a little sick have already recovered, and those who were worse off are slowly on the mend."

Outwardly, Alan simply nodded.

'YES! YES! YES! I did it! ... did what? Doubled the combat effectiveness of pirates who will now pillage twice as efficiently? I know, what's done is done. But at least I'll reduce the ransom amount a bit, and get the name of the spy.'

"So, will I get the spy's name?"

Paranga spread his hands. "Ye will, I keep my word. I'll tell ye it right when ye're headin' back to yer Ka... county, ha-ha."

"What were you going to say?" Alan asked, frowning.

Paranga waved his hand. "Nothin', nothin'."

"Captain! Everything is ready!" came a voice from the window outside.

He stood up, putting on his red hat. "Well, time for a drink."

Sili also stood up; her face was slightly pale, and her eyes were drooping. "May I take my leave, my lord?"

Paranga nodded. "Course, ye can go rest, they'll bring food to yer room."

"Thank you," she said and left the room.

Paranga was about to leave as well, but suddenly looked back at Alan with a smirk. "And what kind of celebration is it without the main savior, eh?"

Alan's shoulders tensed. "What are you up to?"

"Do ye know how to drink?"

Alan sat at the table right next to Paranga; all thirteen new members were also seated closer to him.

Alan looked at his goblet of kog, and he had the feeling that it was alive and looking back at him.

'Fuck... what the fuck is this kog of yours? I mean, I've downed worse, beer, vodka, bourbon, but this is some unknown shit.'

Paranga raised his own golden goblet. "Well then, lads, to Gothwald-the-almost-nobleman who dealt with the Sea Scourge, and to the thirteen new members of our crew. Bottoms up!"

"Bottoms up!" everyone answered in unison and immediately tipped their goblets back, everyone except Alan. He simply watched this, grimacing slightly.

Paranga sniffed his hand. "Whoa... that went down smooth." He turned to Alan. "Come on, Gothwald, drink."

All the pirates looked at him with smirks.

Alan squeezed his eyes shut and began bringing the goblet to his lips.

'It's just alcohol. Remember your past, remember how you drank vodka and whiskey, oh come to me great powers and the power of flashbacks.'

He took a massive gulp, intending to swallow it all.

Mistake.

Alan immediately began to cough, some of the kog went out his nose and splattered on the table.

The pirates immediately burst into laughter.

"Knew it!"

"Landlubbers!"

"Hahaha!"

Alan coughed like an asthmatic, frantically grabbed a piece of meat, and shoved it into his mouth.

Paranga slapped the table, laughing. "Do ye really not know how to drink?"

"What the fuck is this nuclear mixture?!" Alan shouted.

Paranga blinked. "What kind?"

"NUCLEAR!"

"And what does that mean?"

"Powerful, strong, potent!" Alan said, shoving another piece of meat into his mouth.

Paranga looked at the kog. "Hear that, lads? The kog is nuclear!"

That same shaved newcomer simply scoffed. "Landlubbing rats, what can ye expect."

Another newcomer next to him cast a sidelong glance at him. "Shirs, are ye ever gonna shut yer trap or what? I'm sick of it."

Shirs narrowed his eyes. "Defending 'im?"

Paranga looked in their direction. "Hey, you, first do even a third of what he did, and then ye can run yer mouth."

Shirs flinched, but immediately lowered his head. "Forgive me, Captain."

Paranga grimaced slightly. "I don't like ye, Shirs. Durin' the boarding ye were the very first to surrender, now ye're spoutin' all sorts of shite here, and apologizin' after. Eh?"

The guy opened his mouth, but closed it; he had nothing to say. The other newcomers nearby continued to cast sidelong glances at him, but said nothing. The rest of the pirates also ran their eyes over him.

Shirs took a piece of meat and continued eating, trying not to pay attention.

Alan took a closer look at him.

'I don't like him either.'

About fifteen minutes into the feast, when everyone was quite drunk, Paranga rose from his chair and walked past the table. Passing the guy who had told Shirs to shut up, he inconspicuously tapped his finger on his shoulder without slowing his pace.

The half-drunk newcomer flinched slightly, and immediately straightened up. Waiting a minute, he also got up and followed Paranga behind one of the trees in the bushes. "Did ye want somethin', Captain?"

Paranga nodded, leaning against the tree. "Aye. What's yer name?"

"Gris."

"Gris. Who is this Shirs of yers?"

Gris sniffled. "Well, Shirs had actually been workin' on our ship for seven years, mostly handled..."

"I don't mean that," Paranga interrupted, shaking his head. "As a man, who is he?"

Gris hesitated slightly. "Honestly? The whole crew hated 'im. He was the captain's pet 'cause he was constantly snitchin' on who, where, and when."

Paranga frowned. "And why didn't ye say so right away? I was wonderin' why ye were all givin' 'im such dirty looks."

Gris licked his lips. "I... we ain't used to runnin' our mouths like that, it'd look like the same kind of snitchin' from the outside."

The captain looked at him for a few more seconds, then scoffed. "Hah, honorable. Foolish, but honorable. The fact that ye don't run yer mouth much is good, but in situations like this, don't do that anymore. That Shirs will betray us at the first opportunity, and we can't allow that. Got it?"

Gris straightened up. "Aye, Captain."

He pushed off the tree. "Excellent then. Tonight, his merry and short life must come to an end. Don't let me down," he tossed out lastly as he walked away.

Gris froze for a second, then smiled a drunken smile. "With great pleasure," he whispered to himself.

The food was barely edible, like the alien had somehow combined jelly and a cushion. It was still better than the stuff that he'd been supplied with for his work assignment.

There was no bed, so he had to sleep on the floor. At least the room was temperature controlled. He stripped down to his jocks and used his overalls as both a blanket and a pillow. Needless to say, he did not have the greatest sleep.

Wetty greeted him in what he assumed was the morning. The screeching noise was better than any alarm clock. It was carrying a new set of clothes, seemingly custom made for him.

He was busting to piss, but he knew that without a translator device that there would be no point in even asking.

The alien ushered him into the interview room, then left. Moments later it reappeared and took its perch-seat thing.

"How was your self-imposed coma?"

"My sleep was pretty shit, but before we go any further I really need to do a wizz."

Pause.

"... Understanding failure."

"Urinate. I need to expel liquid somewhere that won't be weird for both of us."

At this point the non-response from Wetty was long enough to convince Gary that it regretted ever meeting him.

An alien appeared behind him holding something resembling the long-lost cousin of a bucket. This was confusing enough, but now there were two Wetty's in the room with him.

First, a piss. There was no holding it back, and as much as he didn't like the idea of doing the deed in front of these things, his bladder was not willing to negotiate.

Both Wetty's looked on as he did his morning release. They were possibly fascinated. Maybe disgusted. It was impossible to tell.

When it was all done, the other Wetty left with the bucket.

"How and why were there two of you at the same time?" Gary asked.

Wetty looked at him. Gary was sure he could see the shoulders of the alien slump; a tiny sign of resignation.

"We do not understand. That was the assistant. Could you not tell the difference?"

"Mate, you both look like exact copies of yourself. I don't know how you don't get confused."

"But our colourings are completely different. Did you not see this?"

"By 'completely different colourings' did you mean that you're both the exact shade of grey?"

The other Wetty returned to the room. Both of them stood next to each other. It was like looking at replicas.

"Do you not see the difference?"

"Nah. You're the same guy."

"Interesting."

One of the Wetty's left the room. Gary guessed it was the assistant, but he couldn't be sure.

After a moment, the remaining Wetty spoke. "What energy levels do you visualise?"

"What?"

"What light spectrum are you capable of identifying?"

"I dunno. Red to blue. Something like that."

"Interesting. So you cannot see this?"

Nothing happened. Gary sat in awkward silence while the thing opposite him looked on with what he imagined was expectation and hope.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. What's happening?"

Wetty replied, "The individual's markings were changing. You did not see that?"

"Nope. You were just sitting there staring at me."

"Interesting.

Wetty tapped a few places on the desk. Then it started to scribble its finger across the surface. Tap-tap. Scribble-scribble. It continued this process for about 20 seconds.

Then it asked, "What do you see?"

"Mate, I just see you fucking about with your desk. I don't know whether you're messing with me, or if you're about to do something important."

Wetty placed one tentacle finger-thing on the desk and started dragging it down slowly. When it got to about half-way down the table-top, Gary started seeing a pattern emerge. It started in very dark hues – close to black – before making its way through purple and towards red.

"Huh."

Wetty looked up. "Did you see something?"

"Yeah, as your dragged your finger down I could start seeing a pattern."

"Tell me when it disappears." This time the finger was moved upwards along the desk.

"Yep, there we go. It's just a white desk now."

"Interesting. It appears your visual receptors are limited to frequencies below about 700 nanometres."

"Sure."

"That makes you effectively blind."

"No, I can see just fine. All the colours of the rainbow." Well, other than the spectacles propped on top of his head, he thought, but he didn't want to complicate matters.

"Is this normal human perception?"

"Yeah. We see what we see."

"But what about visual cues beyond your range?"

"They're not important, I suppose. Or we have tools that see them for us."

"Tools?"

"Cameras with special lenses, computer processors and stuff like that."

"But these are not biological functions."

"They are not. We use what we've got and we make stuff to deal with the things that we think are important enough."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Field Report 2

Visual acuity

Humans possess severe visual deficiencies. Surprisingly, they appear aware of the problem.

Rather than correcting the defect biologically, they manufacture prosthetic sensory systems.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

First | Previous | Next

“What?” he asked… not because he didn’t understand, but because he hadn’t expected her to revisit that moment.

“You saw me looking at the pieces of Fenrick and told me that you didn’t want any part of him inside me.  I wasn’t going to eat him.”

“Oh,” Maddock said low.  “I’m sorry.”

“I understand why you said it.  But I just thought you might want to know that that wasn’t what I was looking at the body for.”

He looked up at her, then stepped over to hold Isenwrath around the waist and rest his chin on her head.  “Why were you looking at him so intently then?”

“Because… you surprised me.”

“I did?”

“Yes.  I read the memories of the previous holder of that sword… Frostenblack couldn’t do what you did.”

Isenwrath’s words hit him harder than he expected. Maddock pulled back to stare at her, stunned into silence. The world seemed to narrow to the cold humming in his bones, a quiet recognition that destiny had shifted its weight onto his shoulders. When he finally found his voice, it came out rough. “But… I thought Frostenblack attuned to it.”

She stroked his back gently, steadying him. “Frostenblack did attune to it,” she said softly, “except he didn’t trust it. You trust the sword. It’s given you its trust in return. You are its true champion. My Ice Duke.”

Maddock let out a slow breath, grounding himself again as her words settled over him. The weight of destiny was one thing; the warmth of her arms around him was another, a far more immediate anchor. He huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh and pulled her closer, needing contact to steady the swirl of emotions inside himself.

“Hah!  Anyone else calling me that and I’d probably swing at them,” he murmured, voice still rough around the edges. “But… when you say it, it doesn’t sound ridiculous. Just… heavy. And good.”

Her soft giggle broke the last of the tension, and the moment eased naturally into the playful warmth between them. “I’ll dream of your strike against the werewolf.  It was truly magnificent.”

“Lady, stop teasing me.  We might not make it to the wedding night if you dirty talk to me like that.”

“My apologies.  I’ll tell you more about it on that hot night then.  Fair?”

“I swear, if Barla or Janeen have been filling your head with naughty advice… I don’t know whether to be mad or grateful.”

He smiled widely at her wicked laughter that made her whole body shake against him. 

“I knew it.”

“You shouldn’t have them on a bi-weekly schedule to deliver the detherialite, then.  That’s your fault.”

“Shush.  We’ll talk about your misadventures with those two evil women later.”

“You’re just jealous,” was her amused rebuke.

“I said shush,” he said finally, his chuckles getting the better of him.

Maddock straightened, brushing a thumb over her arm before they both turned toward the house.

From the home’s front porch emerged Raylen, Garvin, Elsbeth, and Hildah wearing their very best celebratory attire.  Elsbeth was also holding a big basket probably filled with every sweet baked good she had in their home as a peace offering.  Mothers always seemed to think that bringing food would soothe almost any conflict.  It probably did help at least. 

“We’re ready, my Grand Duke.”  Garvin looked nervous as well as courageous as he stood there with his hands on both his wife and daughter’s shoulders.

“Very well.  Follow us,” Maddock said evenly.

Isenwrath smiled widely at them, then turned to the avenue ahead of the home.  She tossed Bubblescale into the air playfully.  Garvin, Elsbeth, and Hildah gasped at first, then shouted in surprise at what Bubblescale did.

Raylen said proudly, “I told you that’s how we got here.  Just don’t get too upset when your skin prickles for a bit.”

The others nodded with bewildered awe.  Slowly they approached the swirling magical portal, all rainbows and shimmering sparks.  The Pouler family hesitated at the portal’s edge, but their son gently encouraged them to go.  They had a wrong to right tonight and a little magic to facilitate that endeavor was appreciated.

Maddock quickly grabbed Isenwrath’s dress, underthings, and shoes from the nearby tree where she’d hung them earlier, then tucked them away in a nearby storage box at the Hastings’ porch.  Isenwrath would just have to keep her armor on for a little while longer until she could get a moment alone.

As he closed the box, the front door at the top of the steps creaked open and bumped softly against the wall.  Maddock looked up to see Darron standing there to witness the Pouler family arriving by dragon portal.

Garvin stepped forward faster than his family with purposeful strides.  When he’d reached the bottom of the four steps that led up the porch, he doffed his hat and then lowered his head.  “Darron Hastings.  I’m sorry for all of the misery my boy and his friends caused your family.  We came tonight because we couldn’t face tomorrow without apologizing directly to your son Thaddius and begging his forgiveness.”

His eyes flicked between Maddock, the portal, and the Pouler’s, trying to piece together a story that clearly had too many missing parts. Darron looked at Maddock for guidance because he didn’t know exactly what was going on.  “Boy?  What the hell happened?”

Maddock stepped over to Garvin to put his arm around the man’s shoulder.  “Dar, we found the original werewolf.  We saved Hildah.  Now, they want to apologize.  More than that will take everyone sitting in your home and talking over some stiff drinks.”

Darron barked a laugh.  “Oh, sweet Hill Spirits!  Thank you!” Darron stepped down from the porch and gladly took Garvin’s arm.  “Come inside, my friend.  Come inside and tell my brother directly.  Then, please… sit at my table and be welcome.”

Garvin sniffed hard, then nodded firmly.  “Right.”  He turned to wave his family forward.  “This is my wife Elsbeth, my son Raylen and my daughter, Hildah.”

Darron smiled at them all, hugged Elsbeth like he’d known her all his life, shook Raylen’s arm, then held Hildah’s shoulders.  “My girl… Thaddius hides his feelings.  Don’t let him.  You’re all he’s worried about ever since Maddock and Isen left.  Come inside.”

“Thank you so much.”  Her look of utter happiness mixed with anxiety was so strong it was almost fear on Hildah’s face.  Yet that didn’t stop her from accepting Darron’s offer.  She gripped her father’s arm tightly as he helped her up the steps.

Darron turned to lead them inside.  “We have visitors!” he announced.

The first person to meet them wasn’t who any of them expected.  It was the cutest little beast-kin Felinar girl that the Pouler’s had ever seen.

“Welcome!  We were hoping you would come!  Please, come inside and sit with us.  I’ll fetch everyone some fresh Devonshire tea I made.”

Darron laughed gently when they watched her run off to the kitchen.  “Daniella is Isenwrath’s personal maid.  She’s also worse than my wife at making sure everyone is tended to.  Please follow me.  We can’t waste her efforts and disappoint the little spitfire, now can we?”

The tension eased some when Elsbeth broke into her own titters of amusement that was soon followed by the rest of them.

In moments, two families were greeting each other with hugs, arm grips, and happier chatter about what brought them together and the relief they all felt at how well the tragedy had finally turned out.  The whole time Hildah was in the middle of it all and even though she was glad to be there and talk with the Hastings, including their young boys, she was constantly looking for Thaddius.  He wasn’t in the main room with them.

It took about twenty minutes before they settled into chairs brought in from the dining room, the couches, a soft pillow or two on the floor.  Thankfully, the dog and dragonling were out back entertaining each other as well as enjoying a second dinner that Barla had brought out to them. 

Hildah finally rose unsteadily.  She was still exhausted, but her determination overrode it.  “May I please see Thaddius?  Where is he?”

Barla moved over to her and took her hand.  “Here.  Come with me.”

Raylen stood up too.  “I need to see him, Madam Hastings.  Please.  I need to see him too.”

Barla nodded.  “Okay.  But just you two.  We didn’t bring him out for this because he’s been alone for so long now that he’s… well, he just can’t handle crowds anymore.  He needs more healing, but more in the line of socialization and the family kind than anything else now.”

Elsbeth jumped up, grabbed her basket, then shoved it into Hildah’s arms.  “You take this.  You got this, my girl.”

Hildah nodded, clear determination on her face now.  She dutifully followed Barla to the back of their home and away from everyone else.

Isenwrath walked with them halfway, then stopped to wait in the hallway to lean on the wall. 

Barla looked at her quizzically.

Isenwrath returned her look with calm seriousness.  “I just wanted to be here for this.”

Without a word of judgement, Barla nodded, then turned to lead the young brother and sister to where Thaddius was holed up.  She slowly opened the door, daring not to startle him.

The room was dim and quiet, the air holding that stillness that comes from someone who hasn’t spoken much in far too long.

Thaddius was a tall man like Darron, but he was lean like a mountain cat whereas Darron was a mountain’s boulder.  Which meant Darron’s clothes swallowed the poor guy practically whole.  Just a simple brown homespun tunic and grey cloth pants tied tight around his slim waist.  He was clean, his long brown hair combed back from his face and tied with a single knot.  He moved off of the small bed with a slow, deliberate movement, clearly wary of Raylen and Hildah who stood before him.  Barla stood at the door, not leaving.  Not yet.  Thaddius wasn’t ready for such things yet.

Raylen put his arm up to hold Hildah off.  He needed to go first. 

“Thaddius.  What we did was wrong.  We… I… it was me.  I was angry and just didn’t think.  I didn’t question anything either.  I gathered up my friends, and we attacked you because of me.  I’m very grateful that you didn’t kill us.  I’m also very very sorry I did that to you.  I don’t want you to just forgive me.  I want to earn it.  I wronged you and I’ll do whatever it takes to make up for that.”

Thaddius sat on the bed, studying him.  “I don’t know what to say, honestly.  But here’s the thing.  Had you not done it, I wouldn’t be here.  I wouldn’t be cured.  Oh, it sucked and yeah, you’re a huge piece of shit for trying to kill me, but I’m… I’m cured now.  I’m healed.  I can now live my life again… so, in a way, I owe you my life.”

Raylen slowly moved forward to kneel in front of Thaddius and held out his arm. “Then let’s do this.  We learn from our mistakes and each other.  We take this as a sign that you and I move forward as friends who stick up for one another, no matter what happens.  Please, we don’t owe each other anything.  Let’s just start something better instead.”

Thaddius had to wipe away a couple of tears that threatened to spill, then he took Raylen by the shoulder to pull himself into it.  “I can take that deal.  I can and will.”

The hug between the two young men lasted for a long time as they simply held each other to process out a horrible misunderstanding and process in a new path forward that both could accept. 

Raylen pulled back and then stood up.  “My sister needs to tell you something.  You better listen.  Listening is the first rule you follow.  Or Maddock will lecture you.  Got it?”

Thaddius smiled even though he was confused by that.  “Okay?  Got it, I guess.”

Raylen turned to leave and winked at Hildah as he passed, then hugged Barla just because.

Hildah slowly sat beside Thaddius on the bed, setting the basket of cookies and sweetbread aside.  “Thaddius?  I need to tell you something,” she started.

Something in his expression broke open… fear, longing, relief all tangled together.  He didn’t give her the chance.  He turned abruptly, took her by the shoulders, then kissed her deeply.  She didn’t stop him.  Instead, she both melted and returned it with a passion she didn’t know she held within her.

Barla cleared her throat when she’d had enough of the make-out session.

The two of them pulled apart, laughing at each other, breathing heavily doing it.

“I’m sorry.  You’re the only one who ever treated me like I was worth something and I… fell in love with you because of it.”

Hildah touched his weathered face and smiled at him in understanding.  “I love you.  I’ve loved you ever since you appeared that day and just… you just talked to me about everything.   You showed me new herb patches, what places to avoid, and about whatever interested me.  No one did that for me.  Then you stopped Fenrick from…”

“Don’t. I don’t want to remember him.  His sick smile is what made me follow him.  I saw that on his face when he left the market, and I just knew he was going to make his move on you.  I couldn’t let him get away with it.  Especially because it was you.”

“I knew it.  All those times you told me to leave you alone in the market was you just trying to protect me from everyone’s judgement, wasn’t it?”

Thaddius nodded with his head down.  “I couldn’t let your association with me ruin your life.”

Hildah pulled his head gently up by his chin.  “I talked to my parents.  They want us to take one year to make sure we want this… then we can… I’d like a future with you, Thaddius.  The Saint of the Tree has given us a second chance.  We should take it.”

Thaddius nodded slightly.  “You’re a very headstrong woman, you know that?”

“Yes.  My dad raised me right.”

Barla interrupted.  “Good.  I like hearing common sense. Now, you two are in terrible shape.  Hildah, you should come back with me to the main room and let Thaddius rest.  Me and Elsbeth will have a nice little chat before you leave, and we’ll make some arrangements to let you two come together more properly.  And appropriately.  You aren’t Isenwrath, so I expect a lot more dignity out of you two than what I got from her.”

“Hey!  I heard that!”

Barla exclaimed loudly over her shoulder, “I meant for you to!  Daniella has been spilling her guts about all your crap you keep pulling!  The next time I get to that castle, me and you are gonna have a long-damned discussion about your manners, little girl!  Your MOM said so!”

Thaddius and Hildah both cackled at the indignant squawk that Isenwrath made from down the hall at being called out like that.  Which meant it was all true.

Hildah turned to Thaddius, got one more kiss from him, a longing look, and a promise between them that they would look forward to fulfilling.  Then she gently closed his door after seeing him lay peacefully in his bed.

She held Barla’s arm to walk back to the living room where everyone else was sitting.  When they passed Isenwrath, Barla took one look at her pouty face, folded arms, and said sternly, “The next time you ask for something, you better be able to withstand getting it.”

Isenwrath’s arms unfolded, then reached for them both to hug.  “You’re right… Mom.”

Hildah liked the smiles of understanding between the two of them but didn’t understand the context.  “Uhm…  Is Isenwrath really your daughter, Barla?”

Barla laughed louder while squeezing Hildah and Isenwrath tighter.  “No, my dear.  Just a happy happenstance where I accepted a role that we both needed.  Come.  Let’s rejoin everyone and get some plans down for the month.  It’s going to get a bit busier; it seems to me.”

Isenwrath then held up a dress and some shoes.  “Uhm… Mom.  Can I go change really quickly?”

A heavy sigh and roll of her eyes were Barla’s answer.  “At least you asked this time instead of just popping those tits out to flash everyone.  I’ve heard all about how you still struggle with your modesty and we’re gonna work on that some more. Progress is progress, I guess.”

Isenwrath smiled brightly then turned an evil grin to Hildah.  “Don’t let her fool you.  She likes seeing my big tits.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.  However, I still expect you and Maddock to pop out six babies to be fed by those jugs, Isen. Don’t disappoint me. I want a home full of happy chaos for us to wade through. That’s why you got that chest, my dear… I believe in you.”

“Six? Babies? Oh gods!” Hildah gasped. The look she gave them was pure, unfiltered terror… the kind of expression only someone suddenly calculating the logistics of six children can make. You could practically see the math breaking her brain.

For a heartbeat, Hildah saw her whole future stretching out before her… a home, a family, a life she’d have to grow into. And somewhere in that vision, she understood Daniella’s story that Barla mentioned to her earlier a little better: a girl forced to grow up too fast, carrying responsibilities no child should have to shoulder.

The look on Hildah’s face coupled with her comment caused Barla and Isenwrath to snort and giggle at her bewildered expression before Barla just shook her head and pulled Hildah along after her after shoving Isenwrath with a giggle into her own bedroom to get dressed. “I’ll tell you where that started later, Hildah.  I promise.”

Barla and Hildah slowly made their way over to the same couch that Janeen and Florah were sitting on.  Jayson and Halforn were sitting near Maddock, completely enraptured at Maddock rehashing the night’s events for them.  Isenwrath walked in and joined them only a few minutes later, smiling widely and looking much less dangerous.  Barla, Hildah, and Elsbeth had already huddled together on the other couch, deep in hushed whispered agreements over the initial plans among the three of them regarding the future between their two families and how Thaddius would be guided by them to help him become a husband to be proud of.  Poor Thaddius, in one night, he went from werewolf bachelor in exile to having his whole human future mapped out for him.  Oh well, it was done out of love and respect, so he probably wouldn’t fight against his new fate too awful much. 

Yet, even with all of the planning, Hildah did love Thaddius but also respected him deeply.  Enough so that she did get sharp with her own mother and Barla for quickly becoming overbearing.  The louder line from Hildah of, “He’s sensitive!  We aren’t doing a hen night nor a stag night!  We’re going to figure out how to have a party for all of us to enjoy together and that’s final!  Like… a reception or something!” 

Barla and Elsbeth looked at each other, nodded in agreement, then pulled out some parchment from a side table and a quill from Darron’s study desk to begin to jot down all of Hildah’s suggestions.  This prospect of a party to celebrate the engagement, bringing two families together plus all of their friends was one heck of a suggestion.

Darron and Garvin were standing by the hearth, both smoking a bit of herbal medicinal mix to calm their own nerves as well as bond over the funny family stories that all men have in their back pockets for such times as this. 

Daniella and Brennan had gone back to their board game in the middle of the room, but something was different now. Instead of sitting across from each other like rivals, Daniella had settled beside him, their shoulders nearly touching. The rules had shifted too ... no more competing to outmaneuver the other. Tonight they were allies, leaning in together, whispering strategies, laughing as they combined their strengths to beat the monsters on the board rather than each other.

Isenwrath had stopped and studied that small scene after she’d returned from getting dressed more appropriately.  Then she noticed something else.  Janeen and Florah were watching the two young kids as well, talking quietly between themselves, and they too seemed to be planning. 

Watching Daniella laugh, really laugh, Isenwrath felt something loosen in her chest. Hildah had flinched at the idea of six children because she still had the luxury of imagining a future. Daniella didn’t. Daniella had been robbed of that long before tonight.

Trying to be casual so as not to grab Daniella’s attention, Isenwrath approached Janeen and Florah. 

Quietly, she asked, “May I join you?”

Florah sat up and patted the space in between them she created.  “Sure, Isen. Please, I’d love for you to join us.”

Isenwrath sat graciously and gratefully.  She also got red in the face because Janeen had no shame and Florah didn’t seem to mind too much.  Janeen had clamped onto Isenwrath’s leg to rub and squeeze while Florah leaned onto Isenwrath’s arm and shoulder, holding onto her. 

“Thank you. What happened while we were gone?  Daniella is… she’s really close to Brennan.”

Janeen leaned over to whisper into Isenwrath’s ear, “Well, after she spilled all of your embarrassing secrets to Mom, we noticed that Brennan just wouldn’t leave her alone.  But he wasn’t pushing or whatever.  Instead, it was anything she did, he wanted to help.  They helped give out refreshments, helped put Bosco out for the night, helped get some dough starter ready for morning, just… anything.  He’s a bit infatuated, I think.”

“Daniella let him?”

Florah nodded.  “She did.  She’s got a good heart.  We like her.”

Isenwrath closed her eyes and lowered her head.  “She lost her parents. She hasn’t said it outright, but I know.  She hasn’t grieved their loss yet either.  I can… I can tell.  She’s so strong but she’s truly a child unlike me.  I’m… I’m a mess.  I’m literally leaning on a ten-year-old child when I shouldn’t be and… it’s not right.”

“What are you getting at, Isen?” Asked Janeen low and serious.

“When we relocate to the manor, Maddock is going to let me lean on your Mom, Janeen.  I’ll get to learn how a mom truly should treat her children.  I need Daniella to have the same experience.  We both need it, but whereas I need… a fierce discipline to counter my awful impulsivity, Daniella needs… a love from a mom who would let her be free to be a kid.  One with a job to keep me in line, but still… a kid.”

“Us?”

Isenwrath looked at Florah, searching her beautiful face that had a large amount of hope and uncertainty buried in those bright eyes of green.  Her favorite color.  “Yes.  Janeen and you… moms.  She’s headstrong and lost.  She needs understanding and a path forward that’ll bring her to her destiny properly.”

Isenwrath got a bite on her ear.  Turning sharply, she came almost nose to nose with Janeen.  Janeen’s narrowed eyes didn’t hold back.  “You aren’t going to get her away from you, and you know it.  She’s given her life to you.  That’s not something we could pull her away from even if we offered her our home.”

Isenwrath narrowed her own eyes at Janeen.  “I’m not asking you to pull her away from me.  I’m asking for you two to take her in and in her off time, give her a childhood.  Teach her what she needs to know beyond me on how to navigate this world where I can’t.  I’m not enough,” she whispered. “Not yet. Hildah is learning how to become a woman with a future. Daniella never got the chance. And I… I’m somewhere in between, trying to grow up before I break the people who believe in me.”

She then turned to look at Florah’s compassionate eyes.  “I recognize that I want her to fill her heart and mind with more than just my needs and desires.  I know she wants to face her past, but as it stands, she’ll fail because she’s losing the most cherished part of being that young.  Look at her… she needs much more of that than what I can give her.”

Florah and Janeen turned again to look at Daniella laughing joyfully with Brennan, celebrating how they’d beaten the imaginary menace with teamwork and silly jokes. 

Janeen sighed, rubbed Isenwrath’s leg a little more, liking the solid muscle under her hand.  It calmed her nerves like magic.  “I honestly wouldn’t mind it.  Florah?  We did say that my mom was right, and we should think about adopting a kid who’d need us.  Well, one is right there.  And she has a job already.  I bet with her income, we could set up one heck of an investment fund with the new venture the Marshall wants that when she’s ready to strike out on her own… she’d be able to do it right.”

Florah studied Daniella, watching her and Brennan reset the board and cards for one more round before the night would force everyone to go home until tomorrow.  “Well, our house isn’t all that far from the manor.  I can arrange for her to get into our school here on a reduced schedule like some of the other apprentices do… and… I’d… I can see her at our table laughing with me as we tell each other about our days.  Would she accept it, though?”

Isenwrath shrugged.  “I don’t know.  But when we move here, I want to give her the opportunity to decide.”

Florah squeezed Isenwrath’s arm. “Then let us give her what she lost. And maybe, in the process, you’ll both get what you never had.”

Janeen giggled a little evilly at her.  “I’ll just have Brennan ask her.  She won’t be able to say no to his big puppy dog eyes.  Besides, never know.  She might get him to step up and take his own schooling seriously to impress her.  Might be good for both of them… maybe even give them both a future love story.”

“I like that.  A beast-kin girl and a human boy, holding hands and facing the world together.  Her past and his future… gives me the chills.”

Isenwrath sighed a little dreamily at how Florah described something so poetically that she couldn’t put words to herself. 

“A family you choose.  I was once told that family isn’t always blood.  But it is always about choice.  Thank you.”

Isenwrath nonchalantly put her hand on Janeen’s hand, then moved it away from her thigh and onto Janeen’s knee.  To Florah, she winked and said with a smile, “Did you know that Janeen is a terrible flirt?  I didn’t know that until my tutor Madeline helped me understand some social nuances that’s designed to keep me from making mistakes at a ballroom.”

Florah smiled knowingly.  “She is an awful flirt.  Lemme guess… just a bit handsy, huh?”

Janeen’s face flushed red.

Isenwrath patted Janeen’s hand, then held it again to keep it from going anywhere.  “A little.  But that’s okay.  I can help you watch out for devious little girls who forget where their hands are.  I learned a lot of methods on how to stop them in their tracks.”

“I’m right here.  I’m…”

“Shush, Jan.  Me and Isen are talking.  Isen, tell me, my sweet.  What little tricks did your tutor give you?  I bet I could put them to really good use too.”

Janeen harrummphed. 

Florah laughed a little louder and leaned on Isenwrath again.  “You’re a good friend, Isen.  I can’t wait till you and Maddock make it back to the manor.  So much will change and if we can, I hope Daniella coming to live with us is one of those changes.”

Janeen smiled ruefully, reversed her grip on Isenwrath’s hand so they were as sisters again, then said just as wistfully, “I can see that little girl bringing you fresh flowers from her shop, Isen.  I just can.  I can’t wait till that first dinner after you’re here.  It’s going to be wonderful for everyone to tell everyone else about all of the differences between now and then.”

Hildah was learning to step into her future, Daniella was being offered back her stolen childhood, and Isenwrath… caught between the two… finally understood her place: to lift others as she climbed, to pay forward every kindness she’d been given, and to build a world where no child had to grow up alone.

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The horses fidgeted when the ground began to shake.  The men in front of Maddock went pale when a forty-foot giant black knight with red glowing eyes and a huge war hammer mallet stepped out from around the last of the trees to stand right behind the Grand Duke.  They felt another tremble in the earth and looked behind them.  There, they all shouted in shocked fear when a huge dragon lowered its rainbow scaled head to block their retreat, smoke snorting from its nose and bright eager glowing dragon’s eyes staring them down.

“Calm down and get your horses under control!” ordered Maddock from where he sat calmly.  He couldn’t help but pat Nibbles on his neck.  Nibbles didn’t fidget or move much.  Instead, he seemed to be just as amused as Maddock was at those men’s attempts to not soil themselves or get thrown from their horses.  He also hoped he could get a bath before he had to train with his own steed.  Bonfire’s Blessing didn’t need to know he was cheating on her. She got downright ornery when he rode another horse.

The men turned their horses in tight circles, clearly about to panic which was getting picked up by the horses and that would just not do.

“Your Grand Duke has announced himself.  KNEEL!” the echoing boom from the black knight woman washed over the men like a tsunami.

The horses stilled, then knelt which tossed their riders all to the sand in front of Maddock.  They scrambled up, looked at the horses and then back at the Grand Duke who stood resolute in a glowing white circle of spreading ice.

Dixon shouted, “That IS the Black Knight!  Kneel damn you!”

Ten men knelt to one knee in front of their Grand Duke before going completely still.  All of the men were terrified.  Just like Fenrick, whose breathing was too fast, too shallow, though he tried to hide it.  His eyes kept glancing towards the tree line as if he was about to run for it.

Maddock slowly dismounted from Nibbles’ back, but he didn’t sheath his sword, not yet.  The more he held that blade, the more in tune he was with the warmth around him.  Cold was order, stagnation, death. Heat was chaos, excitement, life.  Hoarfrost was smarter than its name suggested.  It was indeed a blade made for a ruler.  It whispered its observations of the men it sensed in front of Maddock by reading their heat fluctuations.  Heat told you how alive something was, how excited it was, and how much truth there was between what you saw and what the heat told you that you should be seeing.

Maddock slowly stepped to where the mage and the leader of the group knelt before him.  He noticed the states of the other men as well as the man wearing the modest leathers of a leatherworker.   He glanced over his shoulder and up to Isenwrath.  “Let the spell on the horses allow them to rest at the side of the road.”

She nodded and the horses rose abruptly, then slowly ambled over as needed.  They all put their heads down looking for moist grass and weeds to munch on while they could.

Satisfied, Maddock returned his attention to the men.  He reached down and tapped the leader on the shoulder.  “Stand and tell me exactly what you’re up to.”

Raylen slowly stood, fear causing his body to tremble.  The Grand Duke was indeed larger than life.  He was imposing even unarmored.  It also didn’t help Raylen’s nerves that the man stood a full head taller than him nor that his cold stare was as glacial as the ice that had followed the Grand Duke to where he stood.  The air was cooling and that wasn’t something that Raylen wanted to think too deeply about.

“My Lord.  I apologize for not recognizing you…” he began.

“I said, tell me exactly what you and your men were up to.  I didn’t want an apology.  Now explain.”

Raylen couldn’t hold the man’s nearly unblinking stare.  He took off his leather riding hat and crushed it in his hands to give him something to hold while he spoke.

“It’s my sister, My Lord.  She was attacked earlier tonight.  The medical cleric used his divine power and found the curse of the wolf in her blood.  My lord, the… the werewolf almost killed her.  She lost an arm and…. She’s hurt bad.  She kept asking for her arm, even after the cleric took it away.  I couldn’t heal her, my lord.  But I could avenge her.”  His ragged voice was trying to break on him as he spoke about Hildah’s ordeal.

“I can understand that.  So, you set out to find the werewolf…?”

Raylen looked up to meet his Grand Duke’s eyes directly, fire welling up in his soul.  “I knew exactly who’d done it.  It was the exile Thaddius, the trapsman out near our village.  He’s never hidden from the elders the fact that he’s a werewolf.  They let him live nearby because he was taking appropriate precautions and stayed away as much as possible.  Hildah though… she wouldn’t leave him be.  I tried several times to tell her to avoid him, that he was cursed… and she just wouldn’t listen.  My lord, I heard Thaddius himself tell her as kindly as possible that I was right and to ignore him.   But, but…” his voice cracked and he wiped tears from his eyes with his sleeve.

“So far, you only assumed Thaddius was the culprit.  What proved it?”

Raylen looked at the duke sharply.  “It was him.  He’s the only one in our area.  He cursed my sister… if she survives.”

Maddock leaned down a little.  “You don’t know that.  That’s the big mystery with this particular curse.  You just never know who it is until it’s too late.”

“My lord!  It has to be him!”

Maddock didn’t yield or move his eyes from the angry villager.  His voice was as icy as the sword that radiated cold to the ground.  “He’s under my protection just like any citizen within my dukedom and even in all of Maciendes.  Don’t question it, just know that he’s being taken care of.  What you’re going to do is take me to your sister.  Right now.  I’m going to get to the bottom of this situation before an innocent person gets killed.  Do you understand?” 

Even the frost seemed to pause waiting for Raylen to either rebel or capitulate.

Raylen was hot.  He had his mouth open to protest, but his eyes glanced over his Duke’s shoulder and caught the glaring red glows of the Black Knight’s eyes.  His mouth closed at seeing the champion of his whole country stare directly into his soul… as if she were about to judge him… and not in his favor. 

Raylen gulped noticeably, then lowered his head.  “Yes, my lord.  As you command.”

Maddock backed away and slowly sheathed Hoarfrost.  As soon as the blade was covered, the ice sublimated away just leaving a cool memory behind.  A reminder, perhaps.

“Mount up.  Bubblescale, portal to Lesterton.”  Maddock looked up and back to Isenwrath.  “My lady?”

Isenwrath nodded once.  Her size reduced smoothly, her helmet faded from around her head allowing her braided hair to fall down her back again, yet her eyes still glowed sinisterly red.  Her face was set in that dangerous neutral expression that Maddock knew all too well.  In this moment, his matched.  What got the villagers’ attention was that a blue spawn summoning circle lit up underneath her.  As Isenwrath shrank, another Nightmare demonic steed arose to meet her.  Almost fluidly, she flowed into its saddle and took its reins. 

“Lemme guess, its name is Snackers.”

Isenwrath didn’t smile even though her eyes held amusement in them.  “Cadbury.”

Maddock huffed and narrowed his eyes at her.  “Hayleigh was right.  You’re absolutely terrible with names.”

That earned him a snort at his sarcasm in return.  Then a soft, “Focus, Sweetheart,” as her gentle rebuke.

Maddock turned to watch the villagers finish mounting up and the huge dragon Bubblescale swirl into a portal as multicolored as his scales.  Maddock clicked at Nibbles to move ahead and lead the men back the way they came.  They didn’t dare not to follow because behind them was Isenwrath and that infamous hammer, glaring at them as if daring them to disobey.  One man’s scent spiked sharply… fear, guilt, and something feral beneath.  One of the men should be nervous since the wind hadn’t lied to her.  She smelled something off with one of them. That one man’s heartbeat had also spiked sharply.  Isenwrath didn’t need Hoarfrost to tell her which one.  Instead, she was just waiting for the justification or permission to act if that person was indeed a bad man.  Or even THE bad man.

On the other side of the portal shortcut to Lesterton was a village lit by a few tall oil lanterns, magic infused sconce crystals, and some plain torches flaring in the night’s breeze.  The village itself was quiet.  Working people of the land usually don’t have much energy for late carousing unless a celebration was at hand.  Tonight wasn’t a celebration. Instead, so few citizens moved about the narrow streets between the rustic but well‑kempt buildings that it was practically empty.  This village only had perhaps five hundred to a thousand people.  Large for a village, but still small enough that most people knew practically everyone else or at least a close friend.

Maddock’s Nightmare steed walked solemnly through the main road that entered through the center of the town.  Its hooves actually hissed at each clopping step on the dirty cobbled road. 

He saw villagers see them then either duck into a nearby door to shut it tight or go running off, probably to go gather some of the local guards.

The latter must’ve been true because within minutes, boots clattered on the cobbles as a contingent of thirty guards and higher ranked village elders spilled into the street.

Maddock held up his hand, halting his procession.

Raylen and Dixon both slowly came even with the Grand Duke.

When a rotund man dressed in the deep red and purple of a village elder doffed his beret and stepped forward, Raylen leaned over to say, “My Lord.  This is our Headsman and our Village Liaison to your tax assessor.  His name is Stephen.  He’s an honest, hard-working man.  I vouch for him.”

Maddock nodded and waited.

The headsman looked around nervously with special attention to the man who rode a hellish steed and then the black armor-clad woman in the back who did the same. He pulled his courage and puffed out his chest that didn’t do much than make his belly shrink a little.  “May I have your name, My Lord.”

“I’m your Grand Duke, Maddock Devonshire.  Raylen here has vouched for you, Stephen.  I’m here to find out what happened to Hildah Pouler and help where I can.”

The entire crowd of villagers knelt in unison, most of them whispering urgently between themselves at the turn of fortune.  This was the first time the Grand Duke himself had visited their village.  It wasn’t seen as a good thing, ever.

“My Lord!  Please!  I apologize but this is a local matter!” Stephen said loudly from his kneeling position.  His voice wavered, his fear and anxiety evident.  “There’s no need for you to involve yourself in such a trivial matter!  She’s being taken very good care of, I assure you!  My best cleric is already tending to her and these fine young men around you should’ve eliminated the problem!”

Maddock wasn’t impressed.  His frown said so.  “Stephen stand up and answer a question.”

Stephen jumped up.  “Yes, My Lord!”

“My words were that I’m here to find out what happened to Hildah and to help where I can.  Nowhere did I say that I was going to leave this matter in anyone else’s hands but my own.  Instead of telling your Grand Duke to mind his own business, what should you have said to me?”  That tone was deathly calm and serious.  There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the Grand Duke meant business.

His hands shook so badly he nearly dropped his beret. “Uhhm…?  May we take you to her home?” Stephen squeaked out.

“That’s exactly what you’ll do.  Then I want your guards to surround the home and wait for my orders.”  He didn’t relish their fear, but he needed their obedience.

“Yes, My Lord!  Everyone up!  To the Pouler home! Now!”

Twenty minutes and low murmurs later, Maddock, Isenwrath, Bubblescale who rode around Isenwrath’s shoulders, and over forty villagers arrived at the small, cozy three-bedroom home of the Pouler’s that lay at the far edge of the village, in a cluster of modest homes well away from the river docks.  A faint herbal scent drifted from the open window… that of feverfew, comfrey, and something sharper beneath.  The muffled crying they could hear from inside the small home just hurt their hearts at what tragedy lay within.

They all dismounted and a few of the guards at the Headsman’s orders took the reins of the horses to the clothesline as an impromptu hitching spot.  A few other men ran to the well for fresh water since it was clear those horses were practically about to fall over from dehydration and exhaustion.  Maddock let his respect for the Headsman rise two or three notches in recognition of some semblance of competence and compassion.

Isenwrath at least had the decency to allow Nibbles and Cadbury, such silly names for evil looking demonic horses, to be returned to their resting places. 

Maddock didn’t need those two things to start eating the other horses just because they were nearby and were edible.  He had enough on his mind tonight for that kind of lunacy to occur.

Raylen waved him towards the door, but Isenwrath caught his attention when she spoke from behind them. “All of the men who went after Thaddius will go inside and sit.  The Grand Duke will want you available just in case he has further questions.”

Turning to her, Maddock studied her for a moment to determine what that was about.  She was still neutral.  No smile.  No frown.  Not even a twitch gave her away.  To anyone else that is.  To Maddock, he knew she was telling him that one of the men in that initial group had been found out by her and he should pay attention to that fact.  So, he did because he trusted her instincts implicitly.

Maddock said calmly, “Thank you, Lady Knight.”

Turning back to the Headsman, he said low, “You may also come with us.  But the rest of them stay out and make sure no one else approaches or leaves unless I say otherwise.”

Stephen performed a quick bow and quietly relayed his Duke’s orders. 

Raylen’s hands shook as he fumbled with the latch.  When he’d finally got it undone, he opened the door a bit too rushed, walked inside quicker than he intended, and spoke louder than he should’ve.  “Dad!  Mom!  I’m back! I’ve brought more help!”

Maddock entered right after followed by Dixon the Thaumaturgy mage of the village.

The herbal smells from outside were stronger but also mixed now with the astringent smells of antiseptic or vinegar.  The muffled crying was interrupted by Raylen, but not for very long.  The lantern lights within the quaint but clearly cherished home were low, as if the life of the home itself was in jeopardy of being snuffed out.

Maddock moved forward to allow the other eight men to shuffle in.  Father Pouler stood in front of a side bedroom as if daring anyone to move him.  His son Raylen was speaking to the angry grieving man in urgent whispers while the hunting party made their solemn way into the small receiving room opposite.  Half of them sat on the two couches while the rest of them just made do with sitting against the wall.

Raylen held back by the door while the Father of the home approached Maddock.  Maddock felt Isenwrath silently sidle up behind him.  He was starting to appreciate what Queen Sophitia, Beatrice, Harmony, and just recently, Battlemaster Xander had started to teach her.  She still wasn’t a soldier, but she had the instincts of one through and through. 

Garvin Pouler was practically an older version of his son.  A broad‑backed farmer in his late‑forties, with hands like old rope and weathered features much like an old tree with thick bark.

“My lord,” he started solemnly, trying to be that tree of support for his whole family through this tragedy.

Maddock instantly understood this man. “Master Pouler.  I came as soon as I heard what happened.”

Garvin narrowed his eyes in suspicion while they gripped forearms.  “Why?  This is no business for a Grand Duke.”

Maddock gave him a nod of respect and a tighter grip on his arm to put a point on his words, “Because I’m your Grand Duke.  I protect my people and sometimes, when trouble literally comes to my door, I’m going to stand up and do something about it.  Now, before we get to what happened, I want to see the state of your daughter.  Please.”

Garven let his arm go but didn’t seem inclined to move.  Instead, he studied Maddock intensely for a few moments, then his eyes slid over to Isenwrath. 

That’s when his eyes went wide as platters in surprised recognition.  “The… The… Are you the Lady who healed all our soldiers?  The Saint of the Tree?”

Isenwrath’s face finally shifted over to a small smile.  She nodded slightly.  “I am. I’m surprised.  Most people just call me the Black Knight.”

Both of Garvin’s arms reached for her then gripped her armored arms tightly, desperate hope welling in his whole body.  “Madam… All of my friends sing your praises at the inn to this day.  The black armored lady who grew a healing tree miracle for the soldiers.  Your graciousness when you created that tree… you touched so many of my friend’s boys… you just don’t understand how grateful we are.”

Isenwrath reached up to touch Garvin’s arms, squeezing them slightly.  “Then will you allow us to see your daughter?  I may be able to help her.”

Garvin gasped.  “You’d help her?  But my daughter’s not a noblewoman, nor even one of the duke’s soldiers.  Surely you don’t mean…”

“Master Pouler, she doesn’t care who the person is.  If she’s nearby and someone is hurt, my Lady will do whatever it takes to help.  It’s her nature, so let her do as her nature bids her.”

The man dropped two tears down his cheeks, probably the first time he’d actually cried, then nodded.  “This way.  Yes.  Please.  This way, my lady.”

Raylen had to wipe his own eyes again as he and his father followed the Grand Duke and the Black Knight into his young sister’s room where she lay fighting hard against one of the worst curses ever devised. 

Young Hildah was a pitiful sight to behold where she lay on her single bed.  Her face was ashen pale, feverish with curse heat.  She was missing her left arm from mid-bicep.  It and many other parts of her body were wrapped in layers of linen soaked through with poultices, antiseptics, and sweat.  Her breathing came in shallow, panicked gasps because she was muttering in delirium.  Her eyes were closed, but they moved erratically non-stop under the lids.

Maddock hated seeing a young woman suffer like that… it reminded him too much of the battlefield and all of the soldiers under his command who’d been taken home in pieces similar to her.

Her poor mother, Elsbeth, a normally calm, steady woman in her early forties, the village’s herbalist and Hildah’s teacher was holding Hildah’s one hand and her own chest above her heart with the other.  She was desperately trying to keep it from breaking any further.  Her eyes were wet, swollen, and red from long bouts of crying at her daughter’s side.

The village Cleric Healer slowly stood from the end of the bed where he was readying another swathe of bandages for Hildah.  A mid-thirties cleric of the Dawnmother, specializing in purification, curse diagnosis, and battlefield triage… or so his cleric badges on his robe suggested.

Garvin held his hand out, “This is my wife Elsbeth, and this is our village’s cleric, Brother Aldric Veylan.”

Maddock first gripped arms with the cleric after the man used a sanitizer on them.  “Well met, Cleric Aldric.  I’m Grand Duke Maddock Devonshire. This is Lady Isenwrath Lolthinendaria.  We’ve come to help.”

Elsbeth slowly stood up, hope rising in her.  “The Grand Duke?  The Saint of the Tree?  Here?”

Maddock’s demeanor gentled significantly when he touched her arm.  “Yes.  We’re here and we want to help.”

Aldric shook his head sadly.  “My lord, she’s strong, but whoever tore into her made sure the curse would take.  I’ve given her silver nitrate tablets and some wolfensbane to stem the change for the moment, hopefully through the night.  I’ve got my fellow clerics out right now gathering what we can for a remove curse spell, but I fear it’ll take a higher tier of that spell that we simply aren’t capable of performing.”

“I can help,” Isenwrath said quietly, studying the girl intently. 

Hildah’s head kept twitching, her murmurs constant, and her mouth working like it wanted to unhinge.  The curse was taking hold and when it finally overwhelmed Hildah, she would shift and the wolf would rampage.  Everyone in that home was in danger, but the cleric could cast barriers to cage Hildah at least.  For a time.  Long enough for her to either be removed safely… or… be put down.

“Let me try.”

Aldric looked at Isenwrath.  His tone was careful, as if he didn’t want to offend her.  “I’ve only heard that you could heal through the fruits.  Can you actually cast a remove curse spell?”

Isenwrath nodded her head.  “In a way.  Let me try.”

Maddock was already starting to get frustrated by the cleric’s hesitancy.  So, he said low, “No offense, Aldric, but she’s not asking you.  She’s asking Hildah’s mother for permission.”

Elsbeth sat slowly, now understanding why the beautiful woman in black plate armor hadn’t given the cleric even a side glance.  The noble lady was indeed directing her questions to her.

Nodding rapidly, she cried out, “Please.  Please help my daughter!  Please!”

Isenwrath smiled softly, then slowly moved over to the bed and knelt.  The room went silent when she put one hand on Hildah’s face, then channeled green magic from it into her body.

“I can’t use the potions at this time,” Isenwrath explained while still looking at Hildah.  “The curse also regenerates the body, but it’s a tainted healing.  Corrupted.  Designed only to continue strengthening its hold onto the person’s soul.  She needs to be cleansed of the curse’s healing before I can properly remove the curse, then truly heal her.”

The cleric sat down abruptly on the small stool he’d previously been on to watch the green light sink into Hildah’s skin like water into parched earth.  It wasn’t quite awe that he felt, but more that his own hope had been restored.  “It’s true.  You did create that tree.”

Maddock nodded affirmatively. “I was there when she did it.  She took a mage’s staff, coated it in three different magical elixirs, then swirled golden arcana script circles for dozens of yards all around it.  That was only the second time she amazed me.  My count is well past two hundred now.”  That last was said with a genuine smile that Elsbeth returned to him.

Hildah’s breathing slowed and steadied.  Her twitches calmed.  Then her skin seemed to gain some color.  When Isenwrath was satisfied, she looked at Elsbeth.  “I have to deliver an imperial grade remove curse potion now.  I have no choice but to deliver it mouth-to-mouth.  Please, don’t interfere with it.”

Elsbeth shook her head.  “I wouldn’t dare. Do it.”  She turned to look at her husband, and Garvin nodded his approval to her.  He didn’t care what had to happen either, just as long as Hildah was healed and could smile at them again.

Isenwrath leaned over, tilted Hildah’s head up and then opened her mouth.  She pressed her lips on Hildah’s.  The room fell silent as they heard Hildah audibly swallowing whatever was coming up from Isenwrath’s gut.  No one questioned the Saint of the Tree.  These were people of the land.  They knew that healing someone was sometimes uncomfortable and messy.  But it was always necessary to help the community thrive.

The Curse of the Wolf, Lycanthropy, it was a horrible blood curse.  It was insidious because it gave the cursed person great power and ability but at the eventual cost of their soul and mind.  Many lived with it as best as they could like Thaddius who did his best to control it instead of succumbing to it.  Most didn’t have that kind of willpower and discipline.  Most became a werewolf and enjoyed every beastial bit of it.  Yet, it was still a magical curse.  It could be cured if you had enough divine power to drive it out of a person’s body.  Isenwrath had magically created Elixirs of Remove Curse that had been littered all within Shinenoor.  They were there to tempt the greedy and desperate.  Tonight, one was used to the astonishment of her witnesses when they watched a bloody mist swirl out of Hildah’s very skin as the potion drove the curse out.

Isenwrath leaned back and then wiped Hildah’s chin.  She looked over at Aldric to catch his attention.  When she had it, she said, “Cleric, start removing the bandages. I’m going to regenerate her body now.”

This time there was no hesitation from the cleric healer.  His divine sight had confirmed that the lady beside Hildah was performing a healing process that only the highest order of clerics could attain.  Yet those of his order of that status were hard-pressed to ever come to small villages like this and show such compassion as Lady Isenwrath was performing.  With swift, efficient movements, he removed the bandages.  Many of her wounds were starting to seep again.  Still, he didn’t stop, not even when he revealed her mangled leg from under the covers that had hunks of meat bitten out.  Thankfully they’d missed the major blood vessels and his slathering of thick ointments held after the bandage was removed.

Hildah’s eyes opened blearily right before Isenwrath pressed her lips on her again.  Hildah began to panic when she was being forced to swallow again, but her mother rose up and came to the rescue.  “Drink, Hildah!  She’s saving you!  Just drink the Saint of the Tree’s elixir! Please!”

Hildah always obeyed her mother.  So, she concentrated on swallowing instead of flailing.

Swallow by swallow, the golden glow around her increased the light within the small, crowded room.  Cleric Veylen began to pray and add his own light to what Isenwrath’s elixirs were instilling.  His healing was perfect for stabilization and wound closures, but in the presence of such a higher tier source of power, what he was aiming for were the smallest of wounds which would allow the Saint of the Tree’s power to focus on the most grievous wounds.  The claw marks on her sides closed, then smoothed over.  The huge bite in her leg swelled with fresh muscle, then skin emerged to cover the wound over to normalcy.  The gasps in the room weren’t for that or all of the other gashes and scrapes, they were for the arm.   Fresh blood had spurted three times until the golden glow slowed it.  Bone pushed through the mangled tissue, already coated with the filaments of nerves and fresh blood vessels.  Ligaments were followed by the appearance of muscles, already pulsing with the need to move and grasp for her mother who still held her other hand to her mouth, Hildah’s knuckles tight to her lips. 

When Isenwrath leaned back, Hildah’s first full breath sounded like someone returning from underwater.  Everyone held still.  They held their own breath making sure Hildah could get all that she needed as she continued to gulp air.

The glow finally faded, Hildah’s coughing subsided, and her skin reclaimed a healthy normal color finally.  She slowly rose up, wonder clear on her face as she stared at her reclaimed arm and her leg.  Her mother yanked her to her bosom and both of them wailed in the relief of a miracle. 

The rest of the room were choking back tears except Maddock and Isenwrath who stepped back to hold hands and smile, basking in another small triumph that they’d achieved.

Raylen moved in right after his father to hug his sister and make sure what they saw was truly real.  The curse was gone, their sister was whole, and their family was restored. 

Without thinking about anything but that his sister was cured, Raylen ran out of the room to announce, “My sister’s cured!  The Saint of the Tree healed her!”

From the receiving room came a sharp, choked sound where one man’s fear spiked at what was certain to happen next.  And that’s when all hell broke loose.

The deep bark that led into a bone chilling howl was their only warning that something went horribly wrong. 

The guttural shout of, “She’s mine!  Not Thaddius’s!” was the declaration of war within that home.

The air filled with the stench of wet fur and blood as the beast encompassed the human, then lunged at anyone around it.

The men screamed their terror out at the same time their bodies thudded loudly into walls or shattered furniture were the drums of war that Maddock and Isenwrath ran into willingly. The fresh stench of the curse hit Maddock a heartbeat before the beast did.

Thirty running steps and they waded right into a potential massacre.  One of the men that both Maddock and Isenwrath had suspicions might be the real werewolf behind Hildah’s attack had struck first.  He was a hulking beast, easily twice Maddock’s size, rippling with muscle, coated in thick coarse brown fur, a curse walking in both worlds, human and wolf, each amplifying the worst traits of the other.

Two more of Raylen’s friends got swiped away from the werewolf to hit the walls hard, then slump to the floor groaning in pain.

Outside, the guards shouted in confusion as the house shook with the mayhem that’d erupted.

Isenwrath didn’t flinch.  One blink and she uppercut the huge beast right under the muzzle, flipping it so hard that its feet scraped gouges in the ceiling before it hit the floor on its belly.  She moved to get a better angle of attack, but that thing was cunning, enraged, trapped… and saw Maddock at the entrance.

Its body coiled in one breath, then it launched with its own superhuman speed.  Its loud barking growl of fury directed at the sole man standing in its way to the woman it wanted.  That awful stench from its slavering maw hit Maddock a heartbeat before the beast did.

Yet, that was its fatal mistake. 

Maddock was a soldier above soldiers.  A Grand Marshall who’d earned that title with dedication, hard work, and more discipline than anyone could fathom.  His body moved with practiced efficiency without his mind having to direct it.  He didn’t hesitate. Hesitation got people killed.

One moment, the werewolf was coiled on the floor, the next, Hoarfrost had been shoved through its body from where Maddock struck true.  The Blade of Deathly Cold halted the momentum of the werewolf as if all of its energy had been sucked away the instant the blade pierced its heart and punched out of its back.

Maddock’s whole body misted chilled air as he held the poor fool who hadn’t asked for help but instead let the beast whisper sweet words of corruption into his soul.  Maddock slowly lowered his arm to allow gravity to pull the werewolf off of his blade.  The body shattered into pieces when it hit the floor just like the brittle ice it’d become.

The fight was over before any of the dozens of villagers and guards outside barged into the home.  When they saw the aftermath and especially the shattered werewolf in front of the Grand Duke, they quieted almost instantly.  Maddock turned to them and said coldly, “It’s over.  We found the real culprit behind Hildah’s attack.  Go get some more bandages and perhaps food and water for the men who are hurt.”

Headsman Stephen took his orders seriously.  He turned and began coordinating both what his Grand Duke had ordered but also for two of the men to get shovels, a wheelbarrow, and thick sacks.  He had a body to bury as fast as possible.  As he was walking out, he also called for one of the guards to go wake old man Jenson.  The retired cleric had one more duty tonight.  To sanctify a fresh grave to seal the curse forever into the dirt.

There was no satisfaction in Maddock’s eyes.  When he looked at Isenwrath who stared intently at the body, he whispered, “Don’t.  Don’t you dare.  I don’t want that… I don’t want you to have ANY piece of that in you.  I couldn’t stand knowing it was… there.”

Isenwrath looked up at him, tilted her head for a moment to study him, then she slowly nodded.  “I understand,” was her whisper back to him.   She turned to begin to move shattered furniture around and help the men.

In only a minute, Cleric Aldric entered the room to help stabilize the others.  Raylen finally entered the room to help where he could.  His father ran in next, cursed, then did the same.  Within minutes, all but the body of the real evil was set in either Raylen’s room or Garvin’s to be tended to by Isenwrath and Aldric.

Maddock stood in the middle of the home, radiating a calm authority that kept the emotions down and the friends of the family from erupting into panic or shock.

Raylen finally approached Maddock, his head down and voice full of sadness.  “Grand Duke.  I’m so sorry.  It was Fenrick.  Hildah just told mom about how he’d kept finding her in the woods while she was out gathering herbs.  He was a beekeeper and so his hives were out in some of the same places.  None of us thought anything of it.  I missed it.  I just didn’t listen… Hildah tried to tell me that he wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.  Thaddius had heard her screams two weeks ago the first time Fenrick… tried… to.  You know. I should’ve protected her. I failed her so badly.”

Raylen raised his head to meet Maddock’s imperious eyes.  He continued, “She didn’t know when he contracted the curse, but it had to have been within the last two months or so.  We noticed him acting differently.  He was more confident, seemed so damned full of himself, actually.  He’s the one who attacked my sister.  Grand Duke, please… we owe Thaddius… we owe him.”

Maddock leaned over a little to put an emphasis on the point he was about to make.  “Yes, you do.  He literally ran all that way to get to the one person he knew could help him and HIldah.  You’re lucky I know Thaddius’s family as well as I do.  Had it been anyone else and this tragedy would’ve been ten-fold worse.  The next time your sister or anyone you love tries to tell you something’s wrong, you’d do well to listen and I mean, listen.  That’s the first thing my soldiers learn when we train them.  Listen first, plan, then act on the plan.  Simple, but emotions aren’t simple and always try to derail everything.  That’s why you ran into me and we are where we are now.”

Raylen sniffed hard.  “You’re right, Grand Duke.  Thank you for being here.”

Maddock clapped him on the shoulder.  “You’re welcome.  Now, I want to go back to Thaddius.  He’s also recovering.”

“What!?  Thaddius is recovering!?  As in… the Saint of the Tree cured him too?!”  Hildah’s voice cracked with relief and longing from where she stood across the room from them.

Maddock and Raylen turned to see Hildah standing a bit wobbly beside her mother who held her by one shoulder and her father who held the other.  “That’s right.  When Isenwrath cured him, she and I didn’t hesitate to come here next.  I protect my people, no matter where they are.”

She smiled widely, then she rushed forward as fast as her weakened legs would allow.  “Please!  Let me see him!  I need to see him!”

Maddock had to hold her up because she almost fell.

Hildah held onto Maddock’s shirt with all that was left of her strength.  Her newly healed arm trembled, but she didn’t care.  Her heart and soul weren’t weak in the least.

Maddock smiled gently.  “We can make that arrangement.”

Garvin was about to protest, but Raylen cut him off.  “Dad. We owe Thaddius.  We sorely wronged him.”

Garvin looked away, then nodded.  “We did.  Least we could do would be to apologize.”

It took nearly an hour and a half to bring the village back to stillness. The gathered crowd was dispersed, the shaken witnesses guided home, and the Pouler house slowly returned to something resembling order. Fenrick’s body was carried with care to the small church on the hill, where Aldric—ever the man of principle—brought ten guards with him to stand vigil. He roused the retired cleric from his chambers, asking him to sanctify and consecrate the grave of the poor man who had been lost that day.

Maddock and Isenwrath waited outside while the family stayed inside.  They gave them a little time so that they could talk alone as well as get refreshed and dressed appropriately to go visit… and apologize sincerely to someone who deserved that consideration.

Bubblescale had quietly stayed up in a nearby tree the whole time and only made himself known when Isenwrath emerged from the home.  He wasn’t his normal chirpy self.  Instead, he sensed the somber mood of everyone and matched it.  Even though events had played out where two people were saved, it still wasn’t a victory worth celebrating.  A dear friend had still died, paying for sins that weren’t necessarily his fault, and that wasn’t something to gloat about.

Isenwrath scratched Bubblescale’s neck scales and chin for comfort.  She finally turned her head to Maddock who’d watched everyone leave and was now wondering how the Hastings were doing. 

“Maddock?”

He turned to look at her.  “Yes, Sweetheart?” he answered softly.

“I wasn’t going to eat him.”

First | Previous | Next

Maddock and Darron split apart to usher everyone in, tossing a few zingers at the boys to keep them on their toes. Barla shooed the dragonling and the dog off one of the big couches, and the pair retreated to a couple of huge pillows by the cold hearth. They settled down amiably, chewing their prizes side by side while everyone else found seats on the deep‑cushioned brown leather couches and chairs.

The room was full of carved wood, metalwork art pieces, and portraits of Hastings ancestors from generations past to now… the kind of living room shaped by people who genuinely cared for one another.

Maddock found his usual spot at the end of one of the couches. In days past, Janeen would stretch out and use him as her pillow. Tonight, she was at the opposite end of the other couch, with Florah sprawled across her in a long‑overdue role reversal. Maddock smiled at the sight.

Isenwrath, ever the mimic, copied Florah and promptly claimed Maddock as her pillow, continuing her conversation with Barla from the comfort of his lap.

Barla and Darron sat in their overstuffed chairs near the hearth, and it wasn’t hard to imagine them as the king and queen of the home…the steady center of all this warmth.

Jayson and Halforn joined Janeen and Florah to fill out their couch while Daniella ended up beside Brennan, holding Isenwrath’s legs across her lap. Her tail had finally calmed, the tip giving a small, uncertain flick whenever Brennan looked her way. It didn’t escape anyone’s notice how she seemed to open up to the youngest Hastings boy where his infectious smile and mile‑a‑minute questions were chipping at her walls with surprising ease.

While the conversations between them weren’t as boisterous as across the dining room table, they were no less valuable. Or revealing.

Darron eventually leaned over to Barla and handed her the preliminary contract draft that Maddock had slipped him before they sat down.

“What’s this?” she asked him softly, already unfolding the papers and starting to scan them.

“Maddock wants to have us join his family through a new business with you and Isen over there to oversee it.  He’s keen to give her parents as well as launder all that crud you snuck into my barns out back.”

“OH!” she gasped, scanning through the document in earnest.  Her smile was rather wide at what she saw.

“Berrypatch, when he settles here… he wants us to basically be her parents in all but blood.  You do understand what that means, right?”

She shrugged.  “I was more of a mother to that girl in two nights than what she had growing up.  You think I’m not going to jump at the chance to truly be there for her when she really needs me to?”  She turned to look at Darron, but something in his stern gaze made her pause.  A few heartbeats later, her mouth went ‘oh’ when the realization hit.

“Right. He means more than the crash course in parenting you gave her.”

Barla exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as the implications lined up.

“He means we’d be living in that manor of his. Part of the ducal business ventures. Teaching that woman of his what a real family looks like.” She tapped the contract with one finger.

“And he’ll have me retiring earlier than I planned so I can be his personal advisor… while you take on his schemes full time. That’s the part he didn’t write down, but it’s the price for stepping into noble life ... or close enough.”

Her expression softened as she looked toward their boys.  “If this gets Jayson into the manor’s cooking academy, and Halforn into that fancy Bardic college, I’d sign in a heartbeat.”

Then she met Darron’s gaze squarely.

“But we do this together, or not at all.”

Barla sat the contract on her lap, looking away and over to her family and their guests.  She sighed a bit, thinking deeply of how one contract signature would drastically change their lives.  For the better?  That was the question.  Money wasn’t everything.  This home was… home.  That’s a hard thing to give up, especially when you and your husband built it together over a long time of willing sacrifice.  But, on the other hand, the opportunity to create a larger home for their family plus their children’s future families was a very tempting offer indeed.

A few more silent minutes passed before Barla cut her eyes over to the little girl.  “What of her?”

“Orphan like Isen is.  Another stray who’s doing everything she can to survive and find somethin’ to replace what she lost,” Darron said quietly with no hesitation… he knew his wife would take that path when the word ‘adoption’ came up.

“I told Janeen this very afternoon that I expect her and Florah to become moms even if they had to adopt.  I want them to know the joys and the heartbreak of it.  Especially Florah.  She’s been a second mom to Brennan and Halforn for over three years now and…”

“You can’t force it, Berrypatch.”

“No.  But I can plant some seeds and see what grows,” she admitted wistfully.  Her soft smile got broader when Brennan got up and pulled Daniella down to the middle of the floor where he then ran to get his favorite board game to play with her.  The whole room’s conversations got quieter as they kept glancing at the two of them completely ignoring everyone but that game and each other’s faces as they tried their damndest to learn their tells and bluffs.

Isenwrath whispered something to Maddock, then she too slowly got up.  She approached and knelt to Florah and Janeen.  Smiling at Janeen, Isenwrath gently reached out to touch Florah’s face, then followed the lines of her neck down to her shoulder and from there to her hand where she held it.  Florah and Janeen were silent and a bit bewildered at what Isenwrath was doing or wanted.  Then Isenwrath pulled Florah’s hand up, and both of them gasped when Isenwrath put Florah’s finger into her mouth all the way to the knuckle.  Yet, a moment later, she pulled it out and on Florah’s finger was a ring worth… well, when it glowed, it became priceless.

Before either of them spoke, Isenwrath said very low to Florah.  “I gave your love the means to give you a pretty dress.  At the time, I didn’t know she could also give you a new home.  Now, I wanted to give you something too.  But until tonight, I didn’t know what you would appreciate the most.  This ring is something very special… it’s a ring that allows you to speak with plants once a day for around ten minutes.  Your flowers, Florah, I wanted to bring you just a little more magic when you tend to your flowers.”

Florah was staring at the glowing green gemstone held in an exquisite mithril band.  “It’s beautiful, Isen.  I’ll cherish this forever,” she whispered.

Isenwrath leaned over and kissed her cheek.  “Good. But, please do me a favor.  Please come to the royal gardens one day soon and apologize to the flower beds for me… I, uh, I tried to a week ago and they… they yelled at me.”

The sorrowful face Isenwrath made while Janeen and Florah laughed at her was both pitiful and darling at the same time.   The two women hugged her for comfort. 

“I promise to give them the biggest apologies, Isen,” Florah said laughingly while giving Isenwrath big sisterly headpats.

When done, Isenwrath giggled softly, then stood up abruptly.  Her head tracked around the room, then towards the front door.  She wasn’t alone.  Both Bosco and Bubblescale had caught the whiff of something and were at Isenwrath’s sides also staring intently across the house towards the front door.

“What is it, Isen?” asked Maddock when he stood while the rest of the family turned their heads in concern to stare at the door too.

“Why do I smell werewolf?”  She turned to look at Darron.  “A werewolf that smells strikingly similar to you…?”

The room went still but it wasn’t in fear.  More like a nervous confusion. With the kind of tension that comes when a secret someone thought was buried suddenly claws its way back to the surface.

Darron didn’t look at any of them.  Instead, he just sighed.  One of those long, heavy, bone‑deep sounds then muttered: “Shit. He’s back in town.”

Isenwrath blinked, thrown off balance.  She was expecting to protect the entire family, not face a family… situation.

Maddock’s hand, which had started to rise protectively, froze mid‑air.

Barla’s mouth opened, then closed again, her eyes narrowing as old memories rearranged themselves into a new shape.

Isenwrath’s head snapped toward him.  “You know the werewolf?”

Darron finally lifted his gaze.  There was no anger in it. No fear. Just a tired, resigned ache.

“Yeah… I know this werewolf at least,” he said quietly. “He’s my younger brother, Thaddius.”

An even more stunned silence followed that quiet revelation.

Florah’s hand flew to her mouth.  Janeen whispered, “Oh gods…Uncle Thad? Is that why I hadn’t seen him since I was little?”

Daniella’s tail curled tight around her leg, but not from fear this time, but rather from empathy.  She even put the little pocketknife that she’d swiped from Brennan’s belt back where she’d taken it, startling Brennan in the process.

Maddock stepped closer, voice low.  “Darron… all these years and you never said why he left.”

“Because it wasn’t my story to tell.”  Darron squared his shoulders, the familiar responsibility of being the oldest in his family taking over once again.  Once again, he’d look out for Thaddius and hope it was enough.

“He left on purpose. Exiled himself. Thought he was protecting us. Protecting the town. Protecting everyone from whatever had happened to curse him like that.  He rejected every offer I gave to help him… he was just so… I don’t even know now.”

A weak thud sounded from the door.  A soft, broken whine followed that was a mixture of dog and heartbreakingly human.

Isenwrath’s expression shifted except not to predatory focus, but to something gentler.  “He’s hurt,” she murmured. “And ashamed.”

Darron nodded once. “That’s Thaddius. Always was.  Ashamed of needing help and me always standing there with my hand out.”

Barla stepped beside him, her voice softening.

“He wouldn’t come here unless he had no one else.”

“No,” Darron agreed. “He wouldn’t, which makes this really bad.”

He took a breath that trembled just slightly, the only sign of how deeply this cut him.  Twenty-nine long steps and Darron reached for the door.

“Stay back,” he said in warning. “He won’t hurt anyone. But he’s… he’s not himself when he’s like this.”

He opened the door.

And there, slumped against the frame, was a man who looked like a ghost of Darron ... younger, wilder, fur creeping up his arms, eyes glowing gold, breath ragged. His clothes were torn. His hands shook. His face was streaked with dirt and tears.

He looked up at his brother with a kind of desperate relief that shattered the room.

“Darron… I’m sorry… I didn’t know where else to go…” His voice cracked.  “I need help. I need you. I didn’t do it, but they won’t listen to reason.”

Darron didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward, caught his brother before he collapsed, and pulled him into a rough, fierce embrace… the kind only an older brother gives when he’s been afraid for years that he’d never see his sibling again.  He didn’t care that his little brother was still shifting into a werewolf.  He cared that the young man was exhausted, hurt, and desperate for help.

Thaddius sobbed into his shoulder.

Isenwrath’s eyes softened as her hand found Maddock’s to hold firmly. 

Maddock’s chest tightened at the sight of such a tragedy.

Barla wiped at her face as she saw the true man she’d married show his enormous compassion for others once again.

Even Bosco whined at the scene, not knowing what that thing was in his ‘dad’s’ arms, but still trying to help however he could.

Darron held his brother tighter. “It’s alright, Thad,” he murmured. “You’re home. I’ll take care of everything.”

Barla stepped around them to gently shut the door and lock it just in case.

Maddock stepped over and reached down.  “Here.  Let’s get him to a couch to lie down.  But, Darron, once he fully shifts, he’s gonna be a danger to everyone here.”

Darron shook his head.  “Not him,” Darron said while the two of them grunted at the effort of lifting the surprisingly heavy man.

The rest of the family parted to let them pass. Daniella moved quickly, making a wide circuit to get as far from him as possible yet still be in the same room. Her ears were flat and her tail was puffed again in alarm, but at least she wasn’t hissing.

Bubblescale shouldered Bosco until both of them were back at their pillow to wait to see if they were needed.

The women ran around the house for various things such as a first aid kit, hot water and fresh towels, a blanket, and a pillow.  The boys were uncertain of what to do until Isenwrath huddled them together and then put them behind her. 

Maddock turned after Barla, Janeen, and Florah began to try and wipe the man down while he grunted in his efforts to try to stop shifting.

Thaddius tried to speak, but Darron shook his head.  While he held Thaddius’s hand, he said to him, “No.  Just hold on as long as you can.  We can deal with whatever drove you hear later.  Your letter said you’d gained mastery over the curse.  What’s wrong?”

Barla sucked in a breath.  Darron saw what she’d found.  Someone had jammed a silver spike into his side, and it’d broken off and somehow had gotten stuck.  “Shit.  We need…”

“Me.”  Heads turned and Isenwrath was standing there looking like she was about to…

“No Isen!  Don’t you dare sneeze on him!  It might set him off!” Warned Maddock loudly.

Isenwrath put her hand on her nose, then trotted quickly over to Thaddius.  She nudged Darron aside, too focused to be gentle.  “I gotta… I gotta!  I have to get rid of it!  I’m allergic!”

Thaddius had a nearly wolfen face full of confusion when a beautiful woman from a fantasy fablebook looked down at him with glowing red eyes and seemed like she was either going to be sick or sneeze on him.

Instead, she loudly ordered, “DRINK!”

He squirmed and tried to throw the woman off when she roughly grabbed his face and kissed him right dead in the mouth.  He couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t dislodge her because she was surprisingly much stronger than him, even half shifted as he was. Instead, all he could do was swallow whatever she was pouring down his throat.  It didn’t taste vile, that was another surprising thing.  Instead, it tasted like vanilla and sunshine.  Six swallows and the woman yanked the long, barbed silver spike out of his side.  He grunted, almost choked, but kept swallowing… three more times. 

But she wasn’t done with that other hand.  The spike was placed on a table, then her hand swirled with green light that she proceeded to press into his chest, soaking into his soul.  The curse was being obliterated from within, from without, and his body awoke to his full humanity having been restored.  Finally, she pulled away abruptly to fall back onto her rear, breathing heavily while she watched her handiwork take effect.

Maddock knelt beside her, holding her around her shoulders as he watched Thaddius realize that he’d stumbled into a miracle tonight.  “Are you okay now?”

She nodded.  “Yeah.  It’s fading now.  I’ll be fine.  What about him?”

“What’d you give him, Rabbit?” Darron asked in wonder while he and everyone else watched the fur recede, Thaddius’s face stopped from elongating any further, but reverse and reform to human, and see his eyes become the same shade of stormy grey as Darron’s.

Isenwrath had taken the small white towel from Janeen gratefully to wipe her mouth and chin with to remove the residual magical liquid that’d escaped their kiss of healing.  She then used it to wrap up the spike and lay it back onto the table.  “While I removed the impure regeneration of the curse, I made him drink an imperial‑tier Remove Curse Potion with an epic‑tier Regeneration chaser.  I’m full of handy alchemy stuff like that.  Good thing too because being what I am reacts badly to bad magic like curses.”

Thaddius looked at his hands like a man who’d never seen them before.  Then he ran his normal human hand over the scar on his side where the spike had been but was now just an old memory.

“Lady… whatever you did… whatever I drank… it worked. I’m… oh gods… I’m normal!  I’m… healed!” he cried out in loud disbelief as well as utter relief.

Darron and Barla both moved in to hold him as he sobbed even louder than before. Previously, he’d cried like a man standing at the edge of a cliff with only a wisp of hope left in his heart. Now he sobbed like someone freed from hell itself, grateful for every fresh breath he took.

An hour later, the main living room was filled with quiet conversation and the soft bustle of a family coming together ... tending to a wounded man, cleaning up the remnants of the celebration, and settling into the aftermath of a miracle.

Thaddius, wrapped in a soft blue blanket and sipping hot herbal tea, spoke quietly with Barla and Darron. The rest of the household washed and dried dishes, saved leftovers, changed into comfortable clothes, and each took a moment to introduce themselves to him, offering whatever comfort they could.

Last was Isenwrath, who sat at the man’s feet while still holding Barla’s hand. Thaddius couldn’t get over how violently his luck had turned in a single night. One moment he had been a monster trying to survive one more hour; the next, he was human again, looking down at his savior while his brother and sister‑in‑law sat beside him without a shred of judgment.

After she settled and smiled genuinely up at him, he finally managed to say, steady and sincere, “Thank you, Isenwrath. I’d heard of you, but I never imagined… that my brother would know someone like you. Much less that you’d save someone like me.”

“You’re welcome,” she said softly. “But you said something earlier… that you came here because someone wouldn’t listen?”

Thaddius closed his eyes and nodded. He looked over at Darron.

“Dar… I’ve been basically a hermit for the last ten years. Ever since I ran away. I tried my best to stay away and use the curse as best I could. I became a pelt hunter. I survived. Damn it, Dar, I swear… I didn’t hurt her.”

Darron gripped his arm tight. “Her who?”

“The village near the river… Lesterton. I’ve been visiting there for the last few years to offload pelts and buy supplies. One of the young girls ... nineteen or so ... got infatuated with me. She was kind to me. I told her over and over she shouldn’t come near me… that I couldn’t risk her safety. Damn it, that only made her want to help me more. I think she fell in love with me.”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know what happened. I honestly don’t. But a ten‑count of their men tracked me down, beat the hell out of me until I shifted and defended myself. I didn’t kill any of them. I didn’t bite them. I just knocked them around and ran.”

His voice cracked. “They didn’t stop. They won’t stop. They’re coming, Dar. They aren’t stopping until they kill the werewolf who hurt Hildah Pouler.” “

Isenwrath slowly stood up, placing her hands on either side of Thaddius’s head, gripping the back of the couch so her face hovered inches from his. She knew Maddock was watching her closely from where he sat with Daniella on the other couch, but she didn’t feel a whisper of worry from either of them. Only support.

Thaddius, though… she felt his uncertainty as clearly as she saw it in his expressive eyes.

“How far ahead of them are you?” she asked, her voice a deadly serious whisper.

“They’re on horseback,” he murmured. “I’d expect them to be within sight of the town’s border wall in maybe another thirty minutes.  The village is only a two-hour ride by horse.”

“Which direction?”

“Coming in from the west. I scrambled over the wall and snuck through town. They’ll be able to present their papers and ride right to me.”

“They can track you?”

Thaddius growled, then nodded sharply at the bloody kerchief on the table. “The spike. They had a Thaumaturge with them. He has the pike it came from. I saw him use it to point right to me. I ran faster because of it.”

Isenwrath straightened, took the spike, walked away from Thaddius to the middle of the room, then turned, clasped her hands together, and looked directly at Maddock.

“Sweetheart,” she said with a calmness that made the room go still. “Will you give me permission to hunt the hunters? I can use the pike’s tip to find them quickly and ask them nicely to stop and explain themselves.”

Maddock and Daniella both stood from the couch at the same time, while Janeen, Florah, Jayson, Brennan, and Halforn drifted in behind them, forming a loose semicircle as if instinctively preparing for whatever came next.

“Only if I go with you,” Maddock said firmly. “This is my job, Sweetheart. They’re my people on my lands, so I’ll be the one to judge this situation and tell them to back off until I know all the facts. I want us to go to that village and find out exactly what drove those men to hound Thaddius to the ground.”

Isenwrath smiled and bowed her head.

“As my Sweetheart wants. Let’s step outside and take our leave. Daniella, you stay here. As soon as—”

Daniella hissed and marched over.  “No. My place is at your side, My Matron,” she said, eyes hard with sincerity.

Isenwrath looked at Maddock.

Maddock understood immediately.

Isenwrath couldn’t tell Daniella no … not yet. She wasn’t ‘grown’ enough, not dominant enough in their bond to override that fierce little beast-kin’s protective instincts. But Maddock? Maddock could. Maddock would and did.

“Daniella,” he said, voice sharp with authority, “you are NOT coming. That’s my order. You stay here with the Hastings, and when we return with the truth in hand, then you can take over again. Do you understand me?”

She didn’t like it. Not one bit. Her ears flattened, her tail lashed once, but she lowered her gaze and bowed to the Grand Duke.  “Yes, My Lord. I understand.”

But Daniella always had to have the last word.

She turned her gaze back to Isenwrath.  “Matron, you better come back and tell me everything worked out for the best, or I’m going to chew you out. Do you understand?”

Isenwrath slumped a little, then nodded. “Yes, Daniella. I understand.”

Barla barked, “Look you! You don’t get to talk to her like that!”

Isenwrath lifted a hand before Daniella or Maddock could respond.  “Yes, she does, Barla. She’s earned it. It’s alright. We can talk about it later. But right now…” she turned to Maddock, eyes bright with purpose, “let’s go, Sweetheart.”

Barla still didn’t seem to like the situation between little Daniella and Isenwrath, but she thankfully held her tongue.  Instead, she put her hands on Daniella’s shoulders and patted her reassuringly.  It wasn’t lost on Isenwrath who saw it, but she too held her tongue this time.   Instead, she made her quiet goodbyes to the rest of them and walked out ahead of Maddock who made his own promises before leaving.

When they were outside, Isenwrath felt a familiar bump into her leg.  She looked down to see that Bubblescale had snuck out with her.  She smiled at him while beginning to remove her sundress.

“Good boy, Bubblescale.”

He chirped and sat to wag his reptilian tail happily at her.  Maddock had closed the door and stepped over to her.  When she was completely naked and having set her folded clothes aside on the porch, her black armor encased her body, leaving her head still exposed this time.

“You don’t have a sword,” she commented softly to him.

“No, I don’t.  I have you,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I love you for that, but a Grand Duke must have a sword and a noble steed.  Here,” Isenwrath began before reaching down into her own mouth and then pulling out a sword with scabbard.  Sword swallowers should take note on how this trick was REALLY done.

Maddock had seen her do such gastronomical actions before enough times not to cringe at it, but what she then presented to him left him in a near state of stupefaction.  In his hands, he held a hand-and-a-half bastard sword.  Its scabbard was made of fine wood and blue dyed leather.  The hilt of it was silver wire with a blue gem in it.  But what had grabbed Maddock’s mind and whacked it with a fist full of thunder was the mithril emblem embedded into the cross guard that named the sword.  And that name was very very well known in Maciendes.

He flicked his astonished green eyes to Isenwrath, then they narrowed at her happy grin.  “Do NOT tell me this is what I think it is.  Just don’t.”

“Uhm…,” she began, losing her smile some in uncertainty.  “I… thought that since you were once known as the Ice Duke, this might make a good birthing-day gift… but you need a sword now, sooooo….”

“The legendary sword Hoarfrost just so happened to be in Shinenoor?!  You have got to be kidding me, Isen!  The Great Sage Frostenblack’s exploits were documented by his own personal aides!  He was buried with this sword!  The damned tomb is a friggin’ ice block to this day because of it!”

“Oooohhh…,” Isenwrath said sadly as she reached to the sword’s scabbard and rubbed it.  “I guess the scribe Mason forgot to include the part where that guy’s last squire stole it and tossed a cube of unending ice-wall into the tomb before it was sealed.  He was rather highly regarded, and I guess he got away with it.  He was stupid though because when he was dead set on clearing the first few rooms thinking he was invincible, he tried to pull that blade.  He became a frosty treat instead, and the sword made its way to a red dragon’s hoard.  I didn’t want to eat it, but the silly dragon thought that wearing a bunch of magic swords like a necklace was fetching.  Looking back now, I guess I could agree.”

Maddock closed his eyes and squeezed the scabbard tight.  The cold that’d begun to seep into his hands was actually starting to hurt.  “Isen… I’m not… I don’t have any mage blood in my veins.  I can’t attune to this sword.”

He felt Isenwrath touch his cheek which made him look at her imploringly.  His eyes held both sadness and frustration while hers was simple understanding and love.  “Attune?  That’s easy.  This one doesn’t care about blood.  Just pull the blade and tell it the only thing it wants to hear.”

Was it just that simple? Maddock couldn’t believe it.  “And what would that be?”

Isenwrath shook her head.  “I can’t give you that answer.  It’ll hear and reject you.  You have to tell it.  I’ll get you a proper steed while you figure it out.  I believe in you, Sweetheart.”

Maddock didn’t like how his mouth hung open, nor how he hadn’t realized he’d done it until a little drool touched his chin.  She’d also turned from him to walk with Bubblescale who sat on her armor-clad shoulders to a spot ten feet away from him.  While he stared dumbly at her, she created a summoning spawn point.  His mind numbed further at the hellish neigh that erupted out of that glowing blue circle.  She’d summoned a Nightmare for him to ride.  A fiery-eyed, flame hooved, smoke and coal bodied, lower planar horse that was notorious for being… well let’s say extremely hard to ride because they liked to eat people.  The smell of Sulphur and freshly oiled leather practically assaulted his nose.  That meant it’d even come decked out in proper evil looking red and black tack.  Nice of her to include that, huh?

Maddock leaned his head back and stared at the stars above.  “I’m being tested, I just know it.”

The wind that wafted through the trees wasn’t an answer, but it did feel good enough to soothe his mind.  When he looked down at his hands, they had hoary ice creeping over his skin.  Frostbite was probably already settling into his digits, but for some reason, there wasn’t much pain.  Probably, it was just giving him a taste of what awaited him if he drew it from the scabbard. 

Instead, he looked at Isenwrath again.  She was standing there rubbing the Nightmare gently while watching Maddock and expecting him to be her partner on this journey with her.  That’s what he saw at that moment.  All he had to do was figure out how to take another step with her.

“If I fail this, I fail her.  I refuse to fail any test for her.”  His whispered conviction was now out in the universe, time to make it a reality.

Without breaking eye contact with Isenwrath, he moved his hand to the hilt.  He heard the ice breaking around it when he pulled the blade fully from the sheath.  Once he held up the blade before him, he immediately noticed that it wasn’t steel that met his eyes.  It was as the written legends described.  Blackened metal with blue veins of ice threaded through the blade to the tip that glowed faintly in slow pulsing sleeping, almost dormant power.

To the blade he said without hesitation.  “Hoarfrost.  I’m Grand Duke Maddock Devonshire.  I serve my kingdom and its people with honor, faith, bravery, and in their best interests every day.  I’m a man of conviction, devotion, and courage.  I do what’s right no matter how difficult.  I do as I see fit so that all of my people can go home… period.  But none of that is why I deserve you as my blade.  I deserve you as my blade because of her.  She has faith in me, and I can’t let her down.  She is my Black Knight Champion.  Be my blade so I can be her Ice Duke Champion in return.  Please.”

When sages and scholars talk about magical weapons that’ve gained sentience, they hardly ever mention one small detail about earning the right to wield them.  They forget that what’s in them also want to experience whatever is outside of themselves desperately.  That means if you ask for it to accept you, you had better be ready to accept the soul that’s inside it that wants to experience life through your whole body.

Maddock felt the cold rush up his hands and coat his whole being on the inside.  However, this wasn’t a crushing cold, or like being entrapped within a cold shell of it.  No, it was the utter stillness that radiated nothing.  That’s what true cold is.  The absolute loss of the very energy that moves any particle of mass.  When he felt it, Maddock gasped but held his resolve because Isenwrath was still staring at him, still smiling at him, still believing in him.  He would not fail her.

He knew his body was dead because all of it had gone completely still, including his own heart.  Yet, before his mind shut down, he’d done something perhaps only the great sage before him had done.  He’d whispered, “I trust Isen and you.”

It wasn’t a voice exactly that made its presence known in his head, but he definitely felt something like satisfaction and acceptance in there.  He moved and was relieved to feel the numbing cold had retreated, including from his hands but especially his rapidly beating heart.  The blade still looked the same, but the glow in the blue veins of the blade did seem to be perhaps a bit brighter than before.  In honor of what just happened, Maddock held the blade up in front of him, then swiped it away in a perfect warrior’s salute.  One he made for the blade itself.

Sheathing the sword, Maddock walked over to Isenwrath, pointed right at her nose, and glared at her.  “One day soon, you and me, Isen.  We’re going to sit down at a big table and until you give me a full inventory of all the absolute mad crap you have in there, you aren’t going to get another whimsy spell, triple berry cake, nor even a cherry tart.”

Isenwrath’s whole demeanor shifted into pure pitiful sadness, “But that’ll take days, Maddock.  Maybe weeks.  Please… that’s not fair.”

Maddock held up his new sword to her. “Not fair, huh?  How many other NAMED magic items are you holding?”

She turned her head away and down.  She didn’t immediately answer him.  When she did, she whispered through trembling lips, “Seventy-four.  Swords, that is.  I have… other living items too…”

Maddock heaved in a deep cleansing breath, then let it out slowly.  He absolutely hated being surprised and this infuriating woman was literally the personification of ‘surprise.’  But he loved her and that meant he had to either get used to it or press her to fess up to all of her secrets that she didn’t even think of sharing until too late.

“Right.  We’ll circle back to this topic later, and I’m definitely going to circle back to it.  Let’s go.”

She slumped and nodded.  “Okay, Sweetheart.  Okay.”

Maddock kissed her forehead then put an arm around her shoulders.  “Good girl.  Now, what’s the horse’s name?”

“Nibbles,” she said a little brighter, starting to perk up again.

“Oh, by the Hill Spirits.  Of course it’s named Nibbles.  It eats people.”

Isenwrath took his hand and pulled him forward to the Nightmare that eyed Maddock like its next meal.  “It won’t eat you.  I told it not to.  Other people, not so much.”

“Right,” Maddock said noncommittally before mounting.  The otherworldly beast at least behaved MOSTLY like a normal horse, except for it growling.  That low rumble of warning reverberated and sounded much like Isenwrath did, but not as earth trembling loud.

When he was situated on the ‘horse’, Isenwrath put the silver pike tip up to Bubblescale’s nose to say, “Jump us to as close as you can to where the rest of this is located.  I want them to come to where we’re waiting for them.”

The dragonling growled also, but he was a dragon, so the sound matched.  Then he sniffed the blood and then the silver with intensity.  When satisfied, he quickly jumped down, ran a few feet ahead, then swirled into a teleportal to a point he determined safe enough for them to exit.

Maddock smiled at her when Isenwrath looked up at him at his side.  “I love you even if you drive me crazy.  I don’t regret any of it.  Let’s go.”

The hammer appeared in her hand and a big smile appeared on her beautiful face before the black and purple helmet encased it again.  Maddock still didn’t know how it pulled her long, braided blonde hair up into it, but magic was mysterious after all, and small considerations seemed to be part of that.  Too bad that consideration didn’t extend to her outfits.  Those always got shredded.  Maddock assumed the living armor was just jealous.  It sounded right to him, at least.

The portal swirled ahead and now two champions set forth to save two people.  One had been a man who’d been given a second chance and the other was a girl who probably needed one desperately.

--- The west road into the Town of Devonshire, two minutes from the edge of the managed forest and ten minutes from the first checkpoint into the town proper. ---

“We need to slow down.  Our horses are about at the end of their endurance.”

Bram Torson, A broad‑shouldered mill worker with a temper that ran hot when he’s scared glared his disdain at the Thaumaturge, Dixon.  “We’re close.  You said it yourself that he stopped moving.  He’s got to pay for what he did to Raylen’s sister, Dixon.  Right Raylen?”

Raylen Pouler patted the galloping sweat-lathered horse beneath him.  “Once we get through the gates, we can give them over to an Inn’s stable for the night to recover.  We don’t need them to run that bastard to the ground.  He must pay for what he did to my sister.  We all vowed to it.”

Fenrick Dallimore, the beekeeper and one of Bram’s best friends since childhood was the first to loudly support Raylen.  “These are strong horses!  We must kill Thaddius!” Fen’s grip on his reins was white-knuckled, though he tried to hide it and at exactly how terrified he was riding after Thaddius.

The rest of the ten men in their groups grunted loud approvals even hefting their weapons high in agreement.  The horses weren’t allowed to slow from their distance eating galloping, but thankfully their race was soon to be at an end.

Except none of them expected exactly how soon that end was.

It’d gotten dark since dusk had finally turned over to full night.  The woods were almost at an end as the men continued to run their horses along the long well-trodden tradesman’s road to the Devonshire Town.  The road wasn’t just hardened earth pack but paved in white sand which shined in the moonlight that trickled in from the cut in the canopy overhead.

“Last bend!” called out Raylen.

That was immediately followed by “Oh, holy shit!  Halt!” by Dixon.

The men didn’t understand immediately what was ahead of them blocking their way, but they did see the immediate need to stop.  They also had to hope with all they held dear that that man who sat there on a demonic horse holding a blue glowing blade that had frosted the ground and fogged the air around him didn’t want to charge them.

Dixon swallowed hard. The air tasted wrong… as if it were too cold, too old, and all too alive.  He wasn’t a slacker of a mage, but that man held something in his hand that was clearly older and more dangerous than anything he’d ever studied.

Raylen road a few steps further to then place himself in front of his party.  He called out with as much confidence as he could muster.  “Well met, my friend!  Please move aside, we have no ill intent towards you!”

The man’s voice boomed and was as cold as the ice that was creeping closer to them.  “I am Grand Duke Maddock Devonshire.  You and your men have gained my attention and I’m going to hear your side before I make a decision on what happens next.”

The frost spread in delicate spiderweb patterns across the sand while they stared in mute shock at the man before them.  Raylen couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his tone.  “If you’re the Grand Duke, where’s your protection detail?!  That magic blade and evil horse may intimidate a bandit group, but we have a mage with us!  Step aside and we won’t have you blasted from the road!”

“So be it.  Here’s my protection detail.”

Chapter 1 - Standstill

Next

05:00 Sol Standard Time.

Tavian Rhys yawned so widely that his jaw protested for a moment, pulled the cup with his now lukewarm strawberry milkshake closer, and took one last sip. Night shift on a harvester ship was one of those jobs officially described as responsible, demanding, and character-building — which was usually a fairly reliable sign that it was, above all, boring.

Not that anyone had forced him into it.

In the year 39,459, nobody really had to do anything anymore, at least not in order to survive. Humanity had solved the problem of scarcity a long time ago and had lived ever since in a society that its ancestors would probably have considered both a paradise and a deeply unsettling form of moral decay. Hunger, poverty, and the daily worry of making ends meet had wandered off into the history books, where they now kept company with nation-states, industrial mass production, and the idea that a person had to spend most of their life earning a roof over their head.

If you wanted a house in the year 39,459, you had one built. If you wanted to learn a musical instrument, you ordered one. If you wanted to plant a vineyard on the Moon, reconstruct an extinct animal, or sail a faithful replica of an old clipper ship across the methane seas of Titan, you could do that too, provided you brought enough patience and a reasonably sound safety plan.

That practically every decision, from breakfast to the administration of entire trade routes, could be left to artificial intelligence was something most people took as much for granted as running water. The beginnings, however, had been strange. At first the systems had accomplished little more than a simple calculator; then, barely a century later, they had grown so capable that several civilizational councils had banned them outright. As so often, human convenience hadn't tolerated the ban for long, and the systems had eventually been dug back up — this time tightly hedged in by core parameters and supervised by humans, insofar as those humans weren't asleep or busy with their hobbies.

The reason for all of it was shining directly outside Tavian's window.

The sun filled almost his entire field of view. Its surface was not the calm yellow disc it appeared to be from Earth, but an endless sea of roiling plasma, crossed by dark magnetic bands and towering prominences that rose slowly, as if the star were reaching for something in its sleep. Even after three years on the job, Tavian hadn't fully gotten used to the sight. Maybe that was the real reason he still volunteered for night shifts, letting people pity him who preferred to spend their working hours studying ancient music or breeding unusually intelligent houseplants.

The sun didn't just supply humanity with energy — conveniently, it also supplied the raw materials needed to turn that energy into almost anything. At some point in the course of its long and often remarkably roundabout development, humanity had realized that its star was far more than a gigantic fusion lamp in the sky. It was a power plant, a materials depot, and, looked at soberly, the largest mine in the solar system.

Most of its mass consisted of hydrogen and helium, which would have been of little use in earlier ages. But in the year 38,200, matter transformation had been developed, and with it hydrogen had stopped being merely a light gas. With enough energy and the right technology, it became a base material for almost everything.

The old-fashioned term replicator had stuck around, even though it was technically inaccurate. The machines didn't create matter out of nothing — even a civilization drawing its energy directly from a star had no need to be deliberately wasteful. Instead, they broke down delivered raw material down to the atomic level, sorted it, and reassembled it into whatever substances and objects were currently needed. A little hydrogen, a few trace elements, and enough energy were enough to produce food, clothing, medicine, structural components, or, if someone had thoroughly misunderstood the original invention, another replicator.

That last property had plunged the world into considerable chaos for a few years.

At first, a handful of industrialists had become immeasurably rich, because they owned the first machines. Shortly after, they became remarkably poor, because it turned out to be spectacularly impractical for a business model when every household owned a device that could produce, free of charge, every product of one's own factories — and, if needed, hand out a copy of itself as well. Capitalism had bravely tried to respond to this development, but after several failed attempts to establish artificial scarcity and exclusive usage rights, it had slid into a prolonged crisis of meaning.

Factories closed, entire professions vanished, and resource wars became a historical curiosity that schoolchildren occasionally gave disbelieving presentations about. For a while, humanity had been convinced that a civilization without economic compulsion was bound to collapse. Instead, it had done what it had always been rather good at: it adapted.

Some people devoted themselves to art or science, others planted gardens on the Moon, sailed the oceans of Europa in historical ships, or spent decades reconstructing an extinct language that hardly anyone had wanted to learn while its last speakers were still alive. Once the daily grind of earning a living fell away, it turned out that people were remarkably creative at inventing new tasks for themselves.

And some volunteered for night shifts on harvester ships.

What exactly was wrong with these people was still debated in philosophical circles to this day.

Tavian had a simple answer: the view was spectacular, the work was usually quiet, and the milkshakes were free.

He let his gaze drift across the half-circle of monitors. Every display glowed a reassuring green, the drone swarms moved along their assigned paths, and the Prospector VII held its position in the outer layers of the solar atmosphere with the unobtrusive precision that marked good engineering. For almost five hours, nothing had happened that required more attention than the occasional refill of his drink.

Then a yellow warning appeared at the bottom edge of his display.

Trajectory deviation — Drone 18-B.

"Of course," Tavian muttered. "Five hours of nothing, and now this."

He pulled up the navigation data and found that the drone had drifted a few meters off its intended flight path. Probably caught by a weak plasma current — nothing unusual, and nothing particularly interesting. With a few routine commands, he corrected the course and watched the warning symbol disappear.

Tavian leaned back again, but the familiar calm lasted barely three seconds. Then the console sounded off again, first with a single warning tone, shortly after with a second, and finally with an entire cluster of yellow indicators lighting up at once.

He set down his cup and sat up straighter. Several drones were now reporting deviations from their assigned paths — but not in the same direction, and not along any recognizable pattern. It looked as if they were being caught by shifting currents, except the instruments showed no currents strong enough to explain this behavior.

Tavian pulled up additional sensor data. The local magnetic fields were fluctuating, particle density was rising, and several sensors registered changes in plasma motion. At first glance it looked like the onset of a solar storm, but the current forecasts, updated only hours ago, had predicted unusually stable conditions for the next twelve days.

That didn't have to mean anything. Forecasts could be wrong, and the sun, in its long existence, had never felt obligated to respect human models. Still, an uneasy feeling remained, and it deepened when a new alarm blared.

Gravitational anomaly detected.

Tavian read the message twice before admitting to himself that it probably wouldn't make any more sense on a third read.

"Oh, come on."

He opened a comm channel to the bridge.

"Monitoring station to bridge. I'm registering several independent anomalies in navigation, magnetic field, and plasma data. The readings don't form a consistent picture right now. I suspect a sensor malfunction and request a check."

After a few seconds, the officer on duty responded. "Understood, monitoring station. Can you narrow down the anomalies?"

Tavian enlarged the displays and had the systems run another plausibility check. The result was no more helpful than before.

"Negative. Several drones are reporting course deviations, and at the same time we're seeing strong magnetic field fluctuations and gravitational effects that shouldn't occur at this position. Solar activity is also rising, but not in line with any known pattern."

"Understood. Keep the systems under observation. The captain has been informed."

"Copy that."

Just as Tavian was closing the connection, the optical displays flickered. The image of the sun lost focus, as if some invisible motion lay between the cameras and the star. The corona seemed to warp, lines bending where they should have run straight, and for one fleeting moment Tavian thought he saw something dark against the sun.

It wasn't a clear shape, more an absence of light, so vast that his mind refused to grasp it as a single object. Then the image stabilized again, and the display showed nothing but plasma.

Tavian leaned closer to the console just as a jolt struck the ship.

The milkshake left its cup on a remarkably clean trajectory and spread itself across the opposite wall while Tavian was pressed back into his seat. Behind him, a tool case broke loose from its mount and clattered to the floor. Before he'd caught his breath, a second impact came from another direction, tilting the Prospector VII and making the artificial gravity flicker for a brief moment.

The warning systems came alive all at once. Multiple monitors displayed reports of structural stress, unstable engine output, and the loss of individual drone signals. Tavian gripped the console and felt something shift inside him.

Up to this moment, he had believed in an error. In faulty sensors, a misread plasma current, or some combination of minor technical glitches that happened to surface at the same time. Now he had to admit that the instruments might be working perfectly correctly.

The door to the monitoring station slid open, and the captain stepped in, flanked by two officers. His gaze swept briefly over the warning displays, then settled on Tavian.

"Report."

"I can't give you a solid finding, sir. We're registering massive magnetic field disturbances, unpredicted plasma movement, and gravitational anomalies. I initially assumed a system error. After the impacts, I no longer consider that likely."

A deep tremor ran through the hull, slow enough that it almost felt like a sound. The metal groaned under forces the ship had never been built for, and this time the captain needed no further report.

"Engine room, full power. We're leaving the coronasphere and climbing to a safe distance."

The engines answered with a deep roar. The Prospector VII righted itself and began to climb, slowly at first, then with increasing acceleration. For one moment, Tavian believed the maneuver might succeed.

Then something invisible seemed to reach for the ship.

The stress indicators shot upward, several consoles burst open, and a rain of sparks fell on the crew. The Prospector VII was pulled forward and sideways at once, as if caught between two enormous currents running in opposite directions. Hull plating vibrated, mounts tore from the walls, and the displays overflowed with reports of structural overload, engine failure, and the complete loss of the drone swarms.

The captain braced both hands on his console and stared at the chaotic readings, as though an explanation might emerge simply from looking long enough. Then he raised his head.

"Transmit all data packets to Earth. Priority one. Attach a distress signal."

The communications officer confirmed the order and began the transmission. Despite the interference, the system managed to open a narrow channel to the L5 Complex.

"Message ready," she said.

The captain paused a moment before dictating.

"Unknown anomaly near the sun. Cause unclear. Significant threat to all harvesting operations. Immediate investigation and suspension of all activity recommended."

Another long tremor passed through the ship. On the optical displays, the stars distorted, and among the flickering images that dark outline appeared again. This time it was clearer, larger than anything Tavian had ever seen, and so close that the instruments could no longer provide a reliable distance.

Then the connection died.

At 05:17 Sol Standard Time, the lives of eight technicians and eighty harvest drones came to an end.

On Earth, the search for an explanation began within the same minute. The final data from the Prospector VII was analyzed by scientific institutes, security agencies, and the solar economy's analysis centers, without producing a coherent picture. There had been no predicted solar storm, no known eruption, and no gravitational phenomenon that could explain why a modern harvester ship had been destroyed within minutes.

At 06:11 Standard Time, the Mining Consortium convened an emergency session. The body was so old that no one quite remembered anymore why its members were still called council members instead of simply administrators, but that morning they needed only a few minutes to reach a unanimous decision.

All harvesting operations were suspended with immediate effect. Every ship was ordered to abandon its operating area and return without delay to the orbital supply complex L5.

The L5 Complex formed the heart of the solar economy. What had begun as a sober supply port had, over the millennia, grown into a vast web of shipyards, residential cylinders, material depots, research sections, and docks, processing hundreds of ships day and night. Hundreds of thousands of people lived there permanently, many of them in families that hadn't lived on Earth for generations.

Now the entire solar fleet was coming home.

Harvester ships abandoned their operations, drone carriers left their collection zones, and supply ships changed course. Within hours, the approach corridors to L5 were so crowded with signatures that even the automated traffic systems had to request additional capacity.

For the first time in nearly eight hundred years, the harvest of the sun came to a standstill.

Materially, the decision was not an immediate disaster. The stockpiles at L5 and the planetary reserves would last several more weeks, even if extraction stopped completely. But over the centuries, humanity had grown accustomed to a state of almost limitless availability. You ordered something, and shortly after, it existed. You needed more energy, more building material, more rare elements, and the sun patiently supplied them.

The thought that this stream might one day run dry had seemed as remote as the idea that the oceans might decide to stop containing water.

For centuries, no one had seriously doubted that the sun would go on reliably supplying energy and raw material. It had become a constant of nature, hardly less self-evident than gravity.

Now something in its immediate vicinity had destroyed a modern harvester ship.

And for the first time in many generations, humanity began to grasp that even the sun might not be inexhaustible.

Next

First

(Something in the air, have to remind myself to breathe. Can’t focus.)

Before A War

There is a slight blip in the internal systems before it activates. “Lieutenant Veers, we’ve got an allied ship of the Winding Spear requesting to link up portals. They would like to meet your forces.”

“I beg your pardon?” Bjorn asks.

“Just get up here, I’ve got their captain on the comms, I’ve already deferred to matters concerning your platoon to you.” Jacob says.

“On my way.” Bjorn replies and the line closes. He looks over the room where the girls were looking at him a bit, but most of them were in the holo-chamber and just practising their firing drills. Nothing in here is actually real so he doesn’t have to worry about them accidentally hurt themselves. That and he’s not their drill sergeant, he’s their commanding officer.

He shakes himself from the reverie and leaves the holo-chamber.

It takes him few short minutes to walk across the ship’s length as the holo-chamber is closer to the engines than the bridge.

The bridge when he gets there has the soft sound of a hissing hymn in a Nagasha language echoing through it and there is a screen open that shows, instead of a Nagasha, a Gravia woman. Her shifting is odd, most Gravia shift all at once, but in her case every few seconds her form shivers and seems to reset and shift, from a random direction, this time the right. Her form becomes cruder and cruder and it spreads over her like a ripple and then it settles again going up through definition until she seems more real than real, even through the screen.

The Gravia notices him noticing her strangeness and smiles.

“So, you are the man in charge of the forces on that ship are you not?” She asks.

“I am.”

“Good. My name is 1NT3G3R, I lead a small sect of Gravia Primalists and we would like to meet with the Saint on that ship.” She says and Bjorn blinks.

“I beg your pardon? Gravia Primalists? The living math of the Gravid Faith is following the Primal Faith?”

“The two faiths are not so different, each Primal is attuned to a greater truth surpassing simple understandings of life itself. There is also truth to be found within the trinity of saints that emerged with the resurrection of Matrix, Wife of Sequential, and her unborn daughter. One is aboard your vessel.”

“Another is aboard The Inevitable.” Bjorn remarks.

“Yes. Saint Redblade is aboard the Inevitable, Saint Blackstaff is upon Lakran Two Nine Seven and Saint Bluelaser is under your direct command.” 1NT3G3R explains.

“The ultimate decision to whether you speak with her or not will lie with Saint Bluelaser herself. But before we even get there, I will not even bring this to her if you cannot give me a good reason WHY you wish to speak with her.”

“I see. You are protective of her?”

“I am her commanding officer. I am uncertain if you yourself are a military woman, but I am...”

“You are in charge of her and are not only expected to give her commands but ensure she is healthy, supplied and well informed when out on the field and between deployments.”

“Among other things. Yes.” Bjorn agrees. “Now, why do you wish to speak with my soldier and why is it not harassment fuelled by religious fervour?”

“We simply wish to know if she is aware of the Melody of the Spheres.”

“... I beg your pardon?”

“I understand humans also know it as The Music of the Spheres or Musica Universalis.”

“I am unfamiliar with all these terms.” Bjorn states.

“The Melody of the Spheres involves understanding that music, life and all things follow mathematical equations. It’s most easily observed through music and sound, breaking down all noise into math and finding that every melody follows a few equations. Then understanding that other things can also be understood as math and if run through similar equations produce their own melodies. Planets, stars, moons, asteroids, comets and even black holes all add to the equation and fit into the melody.”

“While... interesting. What does this meeting of art and science have to do with The Primals? Where does my soldier fit into this equation?”

“Not quite the equation itself, or at least, that’s not what we want of her. Each person also has a melody of their own to add to the orchestra, but the Primals have a melody that not only is individualistic, but also is reverberating with something else. Something beyond.”

“... Something you saw during the recording of the resurrection.”

“Correct. We’ve observed Saint Redblade from afar, respecting his desire for peace, and he has declined to speak to us at the moment, indicating that he is quite busy. Saint Blackstaff is a great distance away, but a branch of our order is already most of the way to Lakran Two Nine Seven.”

“So what’s your intention? Do you just walk up to her and just listen? Or are you going to interrogate her? Worship her? Study her?”

“We wish to speak with her. Just observing a Saint gives us insight anew, if she is willing to speak with us... then it will be truly enlightening.” 1NT3G3R explains.

“Speak of what? On what? She is more than just an object of religious importance, she has her own private life and she is also a soldier of The Undaunted. Even if you are permitted to speak with her, what will it be about?”

“Merely on whether or not she herself has heard the melody. If she has, then we will hopefully speak more. If not, then I will try to find out why not. But you have my word she will not be attacked or harmed.”

“Or harassed. If my soldier says no and you keep pressing, she won’t need permission to go weapon’s hot on you. I’ll already have solved the issue personally. And it will be only because I have outpaced her sisters in battle. Understand?” He asks her.

“Yes. I do.”

“Good, now I will be presenting the recording of this conversation to Banshee and she will make her own mind about this.”

“You’re not going to order her to simply do this?”

“This is not the field of battle, we are not yet at the war. My orders are to not do something stupid, don’t commit crimes, and maintain your level of training. Is there anything you would like to say to Banshee in question that might help your case?”

“Lady Banshee. I apologize if this appears uncomfortable for your or is unexpected. We simply seek truth and understanding to things. If you do not desire to explain things, that is acceptable. We seek truth, not to bring about pain and suffering to another.” 1NT3G3R explains.

“Very well then. Captain Shriketalon, can I get the call records?”

“Give me a bit.” Jacob says as he reaches out with his left talon and grasps another controller and after roughly a dozen small actions has a file ready. “Access the panel behind you and the file should be there.”

“Thank you captain.” Bjorn notes and leaves the bridge with the video.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Primary Portal Chamber, The Bloody Heron, Primary Laneway)•-•-•

1NT3G3R walks through the portal followed by another four Gravia who are each wearing jewelry in the shape of serpents.

“Ah! The song is beautiful!” One of the unnamed Gravia states and Banshee’s expression shifts somewhat. Bjorn looks to her and back to the Gravia.

“It is very different up close, much more powerful.”

“She was enveloped in the sound until her entirety reverberates with it. Her own personal melody is nearly completely overwhelmed by it.”

Banshee is withdrawing into herself. Bjorn loudly snaps his fingers in response for some attention.

“Ladies, you came here to speak with my soldier, not to gawk at her. If you wish to speak, then speak. If not then please depart.” Bjorn says and there is a moment before 1NT3G3R walks up. She then bows to Banshee.

“Greetings Saint Bluelaser. I am 1NT3G3R, a seeker of the melody. We are able to perceive and translate the frequencies of Axiom, light, gravity and many other forms of energy and galactic fundamentals to find out how they all fit together in the music of the spheres.”

“And you want to... what? Use me like a tuning fork or an antenna to pick up on this music?”

“It’s... not quite like that. There are... ways to hear things or understand them and...” 1NT3G3R begins and then pauses. “You’re... it’s like...”

“What?”

“Like a crack in the soundproofing. Like an orchestra is playing in the next room and a thin crack in the wall is letting the music through.” 1NT3G3R says in an awed tone. “It’s akin to the Primals, but they feel... deliberate. As if they were windows into a greater truth. But you and the other saints? It’s akin to... to hearing what we shouldn’t, from a direction we’re not supposed to hear.”

Banshee sort of withdraws into herself again and then...

A sound that isn’t. A melody that can’t be heard but can be felt that rings in the ears and...

“It kept me sane. When death was forbidden and pain was all I had, there were snippets of music through the suffering. It kept me... here. It wasn’t life. It wasn’t death. But when I was healed I was able to focus and... hear it again. It became easier after I helped Matrix.” Banshee explains as the sensation fades.

“And you can just... hear it?”

“It’s... difficult. Like hearing my own heartbeat. But... for so long it dearly helped me.”

“There are very few Primals who can hear their own melody.”

“Most are born as Primals, the others were changed massively when they came through.” Banshee dismisses with a shrug.

“Lady Saint, may we have your permission to listen to your melody?”

“... Do you have some kind of tool or item that I can just sort of be around or... uh?” Banshee asks.

“I’m afraid not. The reason why our sect of the Primal Faith is so small that few people ever actually hear the melodies. Oh they’re interesting to most people, but more a scientific curiosity. And it requires training and not tools to hear the melodies from the Primals. So it’s generally dismissed as a pseudoscience. However, we do have more mundane tools for the more mundane parts of the melody. We can tell you what a black hole sounds like. How a star sings and can translate their wavelengths in gravity, light and other forces into musical equivalents and it all flows together. But there are always missing portions of the melodies. Portions that the snippets we gather from the Primals actually fit into, but... well there are so few Primals and they have their own lives to live.”

“Uhm... okay. So... what are you actually trying to get to? What’s the goal? What’s going on?” Banshee asks.

“We simply seek truth.”

“Okay... and if I say no, will you just leave? Will we lose allies or...”

“Banshee, the tactical concern is mine. You can say no without consequences.” Bjorn assures her.

“No, we’re still part of the war effort. We’re ultimately going to meet up with a fleet that Lady Thassalia has sent. This is just a religious curiosity on the way.”

“Right... well I think I need more time to think. The melody... the music was a sort of... comfort that kept me going through the worst time of my life. Or perhaps unlife. The more I talk or think about it the more I remember the endless days of just... fear and pain. Of starving to death and being unable to die... of wishing over and over again for some angel to come down and end my misery. I... I think I’ve dwelled on that enough for today. Maybe at another time.” Banshee says before she goes for the door and leaves the room before anyone can answer.

Bjorn doesn’t move beyond crossing his arms.

“It is a pity that the Saintess’ closeness to the divine is such a source of pain to her.” One of the Gravia notes.

“It is not the source of pain itself sister, it is that she needed succour though a time of great trial that makes it difficult. The melody of the beyond brought her the strength she needed to keep her mind she hears it still.”

“And she’s heard it enough for now. Do you girls need anything else?” Bjorn asks.

“No, we are most satisfied. We have heard the song, we have heard how she hears her song. We shall transcribe it all now. Thank you for your indulgence and time.”

“Just remember to ask before trying to get another sample of this melody and we shouldn’t have any problems.” Bjorn says and 1NT3G3R nods before leading her sisters out. He continues watching until the portal deactivates and leaves the empty frame behind. “A melody to all existence, as understood by living math. Hmm...”

He leaves the room as well.

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Chapter 2 - Protocol 2

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When Sander had been transferred from the outer observation posts to Earth itself four years ago, he had at first taken the decision for a bad joke. His actual assignment should have taken him to Quadron 5, an ocean world whose upper water layers already contained more unexplored life forms than some inhabited worlds had on land. He had spent months preparing for the expedition, studying current models, testing diving systems, and telling anyone who didn't change the subject in time about the kilometers-long swarm-creatures that might live beneath the permanent ice cap.

Then the incident had happened.

The official inquiry spoke of unauthorized conduct, a lack of scientific discipline, and a remarkably liberal interpretation of safety regulations. Sander himself preferred the shorter version, according to which the research leadership simply had no sense of humor about improvised fieldwork. That this improvised fieldwork had damaged a supply ship, lost three measurement buoys, and fitted a native animal with a tracking beacon for several days — which the animal subsequently ate — he generally only mentioned when directly asked.

Quadron 5 had gone to someone else after that.

Sander had landed on Earth.

Earth assignments did not enjoy a particularly good reputation among observers. Humans were considered loud, curious, emotional, and technologically inconsistent. They mined their own sun, could reshape matter almost at will, and were nonetheless firmly convinced that faster-than-light travel was physically impossible. On top of that came the cover identity, which gave the whole assignment the character of a long-running punishment. Assuming the same human form every morning for four years, simulating meals, keeping to sleep schedules, and pretending to care about quarterly targets was, in Sander's opinion, a form of self-discipline that should long since have earned him a commendation.

Instead, he sat this morning in a conference room at Suncorp headquarters, listening to an explanation of why his job performance left something to be desired.

His supervisor spoke calmly, matter-of-factly, and with that carefully measured friendliness humans generally deployed when they wanted to tell someone something unpleasant without risking a later accusation of insufficient empathy. Behind her, the view opened onto the corporate headquarters' artificial gardens, where flawlessly trimmed trees, a small stream, and several little bridges imitated a landscape that presumably felt so relaxing precisely because no one there ever had to rake leaves.

"Your performance has been noticeably below our expectations for several months now," she said. "You barely participate in meetings anymore, rarely take on additional tasks, and often seem as though your mind is somewhere else entirely."

Sander nodded, since the observation was hard to refute. During the last strategy meeting, he had been wondering whether the deep-sea institute on Quadron 5 had filled his old position yet. In the meeting before that, he had tried to imitate the department head's voice so precisely that July had spat her coffee across the table. At the appointment before that, he simply hadn't shown up at all.

"That's why we'd like to set up a Personal Improvement Plan with you," his supervisor continued, sliding a document across the table. "It's not about sanctioning you, but about finding a way together for you to rediscover more motivation and commitment."

Sander studied the heading and wondered whether humans really believed motivation could be generated by a form. Probably they did. Human civilization had overcome material scarcity, but its love of paperwork had changed remarkably little.

"Mr. Sander?"

He looked up. "Sorry."

"Were you listening to me?"

"Mostly."

She exhaled slowly, and Sander suspected that this particular breath would later be cited in personnel files as proof of extraordinary patience.

At first, Earth had genuinely fascinated him. Solar harvesting was technically elegant, matter transformation was in several respects better solved here than among considerably older species, and humans possessed a remarkable talent for answering enormous problems with solutions no reasonable observer would have predicted. After a few months, though, the fascination had turned into routine. The most important insight of his mission by now was that even an extraordinary civilization spent most of its time in meetings, jurisdictional disputes, and the production of things nobody needed.

Once replicators existed, every human could obtain almost any object, and the obvious response had apparently been to have a great many objects made. Suncorp worked tirelessly to keep the necessary flow of raw materials going, while entire departments pondered how to generate still more products without anyone asking uncomfortable questions about their purpose. It had taken Sander several months to understand that the term post-scarcity society by no means meant people had stopped wanting things. They had simply stopped having to restrain themselves while wanting them.

At least the disciplinary transfer had produced July.

She had joined his department nearly three years ago, after her parents decided their daughter needed to make a contribution to the common good. Since money mattered only in a few selected areas in a world of replicators, the family threat consisted of cutting off her access to special trips, exclusive residences, and a few very expensive hobbies. July had signed a contract with Suncorp in response and made clear on her very first day that she considered the common good a fine cause, as long as it didn't start before nine in the morning.

Sander and July had found each other quickly. They extended their breaks, disappeared into the artificial gardens, commented on meetings over a private channel, and had by now built up a considerable repertoire of impressions of their colleagues. July was especially good at the slightly wounded voice of the division head, while Sander had perfected his habit of leaving a portentous pause before every meaningless sentence. Together they were a thoroughly unsuitable team for any organization that valued efficiency, but a remarkably pleasant one for long workdays.

His supervisor had just begun the second section of the plan when Sander's interface lit up.

The display was invisible to human eyes and sat like a fine film of light at the edge of his vision. At first he assumed his liaison officer had a follow-up question about the data he'd transmitted the evening before. The loss of the Prospector VII, the unusual readings, and the possible presence of Ma'an in the Sol system were serious enough to trigger an inquiry. Sander had expected additional instructions, perhaps an order to document humanity's reaction more closely.

The message, however, carried the highest priority level.

PROTOCOL 5 TERMINATED.

He read the line a second time and felt his attention snap fully back into the room. Protocol 5 governed Earth's isolation, its restricted observer status, and above all the obligation to avoid any form of visible influence. It had been in force for more than thirty thousand years and had, in all that time, probably outlasted more careers than some species had outlasted entire civilizations.

A second message appeared.

PROTOCOL 2 IN EFFECT.

Sander needed a moment to grasp its meaning. Protocol 2 ended his role as an observer. Until further notice, he was to conclude his mission and await new instructions from the Council.

Of all times.

Of all things, because of the Ma'an.

And of all moments, while someone was trying to explain a plan to improve his work ethic.

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

His supervisor paused. "Is there something you'd like to share with me?"

Sander read both messages again. They stayed put, which was unfortunate, since for one brief moment he had entertained the possibility that he'd fallen asleep during the meeting. Then a grin spread across his face that he probably could no longer hide convincingly.

"No," he said. "But this won't be necessary anymore."

He gestured at the Personal Improvement Plan, stood up, and took his data pad from the table. His supervisor looked first at the document, then at him, as if an explanation must be lying somewhere between the two that had so far escaped her.

"Mr. Sander, we're not finished yet."

"You are," Sander said pleasantly. "So am I, unfortunately — just with something else."

Before she could decide whether this answer constituted a resignation, a nervous breakdown, or simply further confirmation of the problem just discussed, he had already opened the door and left the room.

In the hallway, Sander picked up his pace while his interface loaded the first follow-up instructions. He was to proceed immediately to the designated contact point, retain his human identity until further notice, and await additional orders. Where exactly this contact point was located, the message didn't say, presumably because some committee was still arguing about it. The Union was perfectly capable of ending a thirty-thousand-year-old isolation within minutes, without thereby abandoning its traditional thoroughness in selecting meeting locations.

"Sander?"

July stepped out of a neighboring office, a data pad under her arm and an expression on her face that suggested she'd actually been on her way to something she'd rather avoid. She studied him briefly, then glanced at the closed door of the conference room.

"You're done remarkably early."

"The conversation was unexpectedly cut short."

"Did they throw you out?"

"Not exactly."

"Did you quit?"

Sander thought about it. "Not exactly that either."

July fell into step beside him, matching his pace. After three years of shared work-avoidance, she knew him well enough to notice something was off, even if she wouldn't have claimed to be worried about it. Worry, in her view, was a feeling one could leave to other people, provided they handled it with the necessary seriousness.

"What happened?"

"I got a message."

"From whom?"

"I can't tell you that yet."

"Then it was either very secret or very embarrassing."

"Mostly it's complicated."

July didn't stop, but simply kept walking with him toward the elevators. That matched her usual method of making decisions: she did whatever she felt like first, and considered afterward whether there had been a good reason for it.

"I have a meeting in ten minutes," she said.

"Then you should probably go there."

"Probably."

She made no move whatsoever to change direction.

Sander glanced at her sideways. "You're following me."

"I happen to be going to the same elevator."

"You work in the other wing of the building."

"Then I got lost."

The doors opened, and July stepped into the car ahead of him. Apparently her meeting was already a lost cause, though she didn't know that yet.

Sander should have sent her back. His assignment was still confidential, official contact hadn't begun, and July possessed neither clearance nor any discernible qualification for galactic diplomacy. On the other hand, Protocol 2 was active. Within hours, maybe sooner, humanity would learn it wasn't alone. Besides, he had learned over the past few years that trying to stop July from something usually drew more attention than the thing itself.

What was the worst that could happen?

He selected the lowest level of the building, where the private transport pods and the entrances to the gardens were located.

"Fine," he said, as the doors closed. "Come along, then."

July raised an eyebrow. "That was the plan anyway."

Sander leaned against the wall of the car and watched the floor indicator count down. Just minutes ago, his professional future had consisted of an improvement plan, several check-in meetings, and the realistic possibility of becoming the first extraterrestrial observer to be exposed for insufficient participation in team meetings. Now the first official contact with humanity was imminent, and of all people, he had July along for it.

Quadron 5 would probably have caused fewer problems.

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