The Comfort Of The Knife

[MxOberon]

Whoever I was before that night had drowned in the waterlogged silks that hung from my body like flesh on an old man's neck. Any feelings had sunk beneath the waves of some great internal darkness. I know because when Melissa answered the door—apparently at some point I knocked—no lust nor love sparked within my chest. It should've, she was my fiancee and was wearing just a tee shirt. My shirt. Stolen after some clandestine tryst. At least I think.

I probably looked as bad as I felt going by how she ushered me inside. From front door to living room, the Knitcroft house was cozy. Quilts preserved and extended since the Changeover were stacked in a little wicker basket. The couch was a plush thing whose fabric exterior was specially woven so the cats—Melissa's and her mother's—could scratch away but never mar it. While every other wall was a competition between family photos, bookshelves, and tapestries. They didn't even have a television.

"Nadia, what happened?" Melissa asked.

She reached for my face and wiped away tears I hadn't realized were still flowing. Before I could answer I heard her mom, Erin, descend the stairs.

"Melly, can you call the Temples. Something's up with the NewNet again and—," she lost her sentence when she saw me. Her eyes took me in like one would a ghost, wide and disbelieving.

"Mrs. Knitcroft," I said.

"Did something happen at the temple?" she asked.

I nodded. My jaw worked over the voiceless problem of how to answer. "Yeah. It's gone."

That simple admission struck me to my knees. My hands weren't sharp enough as I tore at my arms confident that my spilled blood could explain what words couldn't. Melissa fumbled with my hands to make me stop. While Erin ganged up on me by resting my head against her chest. She cooed softly in the way all moms seemed to know how to do.

"Mom. Mom!" I said before I screamed.

Erin pricked me with her nail before my throat would be too raw to say what happened. From there—whatever Sorcerous toxin she injected in me—glued shut the floodgates of my heart. All feeling stopped, and I found a stillness come over me.

"Melly, I'm going to make some calls. You go get her into a shower and clean her up," she said.

Melissa answered with a silent nod and guided me to the bathroom. The toxin left me so still I couldn't even undress myself, so Melissa did that for me. She pried away the silks and cotton of my robes until my skin met the cool air that flowed through the house—courtesy of the shrines my dad had repaired only yesterday. They weren't boxy like the Old World AC units I had found photos of on the NewNet. No, Dad's shrines were works of art. The one's in Melissa's house were composed of the thinnest strands of maple woven into ceiling-mounted laurels.

"Nadia," Melissa whispered—I think she was scared too startle me, "the shower's hot."

My feet slid snail-slow across the tile until I felt the water hit me.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "I'm not feeling much."

Melissa choked down a sob. Tears crowded at the corners of her eyes—and whether from toxin or whatever darkness had replaced my heart—I couldn't grasp how I caused it. The me before all of this would've known I think. She was astute like that. . . I think.

From there she took soap to my body. In small circles she removed so much dirt and sweat that the water ran brown—until it ran red.

"I'm sorry," she squeaked.

I looked down to see that she had gotten soap in some scrape I had acquired. It was still that candied red color. Fresh. Probably gained on my trip over. I met her eyes and did my best to smile. This also proved to be the wrong move when blood dripped from my split lips. Her face fell and she returned to cleaning me.

"Ironic huh?" she said. "You're always begging me to do this for you after your training sessions."

"Hmm," I hummed.

"Yeah, and I'd say, 'No way, it's too pervy.' Then you'd say. . ." she trailed off.

I didn't pick up.

She began again, "You'd say, 'Nothing pervy about it. Think of it as another chance to examine your mom's hard work.'"

The shower strummed against the tile as the moment stretched. I didn't quite know what to say—my heart wasn't in the moment and her recitation inspired nothing. Though the memory echoed inside and resonated with something that was beyond me at the time. We were only saved because Erin's entity, a Baron in the form of a plump six-armed woman with the many eyes of a spider, had pushed inside. She had a towel, pajamas, and a bathrobe ready.

"Spawn of my lady, you and your consort should exit. The guests are here," she said.

The heat from the shower had evicted the chill from my bones. Got the blood pumping, and that toxin had already begun to decay in my body. Which is to say that I was more capable of hurrying and dressing myself. A surprise to Melissa when I took the long-haired and soft belt from her hands, and tied it off.

Now my turn to descend the stairs, I found the living room more cramped than when I had left. A trio had crowded in a corner near the door. One corner held some of the premier leaders of the town. There was the Head Aid Steward, she was in charge of helping those in crisis—but I knew her for how she'd stumble to my house arm-in-arm with Mom. Faces flush from a night at the pub, and a candy in hand to buy my silence. She didn't have candy this time. Next to her was an old man whose skin had only just began to leather, my principal and one of the few elders in town who was alive to see the end of the Old World and still present enough mentally to shepherd the New. Finally, there was the town's Chief Summoner, a frail skittish woman whose Earl ferried her everywhere as its head was an ornate throne atop a leonine body. She always visited Dad with some worry or otherwise, and he'd just flash a smile to banish it away. I tried to shape the same one. She just cried and clutched at her compendium.

"I put out my famous hot chocolate for you. To help," she said.

Her and Melissa guided me to the couch in front of the steaming cup. I took a sip and watched as they all winced—the drink was still scalding hot and I felt only the barest touch of warmth. The principal gingerly lowered my arm.

He said, "Nadia, we're here because you said the temple's gone. Can you tell us what happened?"

I nodded, and considered how to tell the story. My first draft was messy.

"Killed Dad," I spat. "They killed Dad."

Melissa gasped. The adults didn't—and it was only much later that I learned why. There comes a point when death ceases to surprise and just becomes the scenery of life.

"Nadia, listen to me when I tell you that I understand what you're going through. Death is never easy to deal with, and there will be a time for you to grieve," the principal said. "Right now though, the town needs you to tell us everything that happened. Can you do that?"

I knew even then that the story had scrimshawed itself onto my bones.

* * *​

The severance of myself began when a goddess fell into my house. Her body—I knew she was her in the place where I knew I was—laid there supine, slain and beautiful. The only reason I could make her out in the darkness was by the flames that had already began to drag the temple into ash and ruin. Their light the perfect compliment to her cold divine flesh. It was a sight that blew away my heart like so many flower petals. In that moment I never thought I could love. The feeling just another petal on the wind of grief at something so beautiful and broken.

I could've stood there until the stars were candles starving for wax, but I didn't wait that long. Instead her body discorporated from Realspace to return to wherever Sovereigns go. While my body was jostled from stillness by Dad's bloody roar. My mind tumbled down the question of, "Alls below, what the fuck's going on?" as I ran-climbed up those endless stone steps.One, two, three at a time at speeds that would've impressed my P.E. teacher—she always wanted me for the track team. I probably stumbled a hundred times in the process. A hundred microseconds that could've gone toward. . . something more productive than a scraped knee or skinned palm. In the end though, I didn't matter in that moment and I couldn't've changed anything. All I could've done was arrive a bit sooner, and witness more of my father's execution.

It was a beautiful affair. The main promenade to the temple—the same promenade I'd sweep at night—was an impressionistic display of what had to be a battle most epic. Flower petals littered the promenade in charnel reds and purples. Glass craters dotted the way like a heated ice cream scoop had gone at the path. While the wisteria trees had withered into the saddest versions of themselves. Their dourness offset by the lightning-bright sword echoes that had carved through the earth. The only thing not affecting the earth were the millions of raindrops that spun gently in the air—dancers at the wings for the grand finale.

At the center of this scene were five strangers and my father. Posed in baroque anticipation. They loomed over him like crows, and he—one leg severed and one grotesquely folded beneath himself—lofted a sword like a holy symbol with the conviction that it'd once more turn away evil. They stood like that for interminable seconds. Maybe I could've said something, but my presence did enough.

Dad caught sight of me from the corner of his eye—the other was clogged shut with blood—and for the first time in my life I saw fear blossom in him. The strangers took him in this moment of distraction. My distraction.. One of them strode into the tip of Dad's sword. The blade buckled in upon itself before exploding into steel-gray flower petals. The person touched his chest and a placid air fell over him. He fluttered to the ground. The fight exorcized his body. A different person swept forward—a double hand-spell already formed—and clapped. This cue.

The legion of raindrops converged on Dad and took the form of a coffin. Then I watched as they quivered and steamed. So much force exerted on his body until he just imploded. The entirety of a man gone and in his place was just a cloudy red diamond. They dropped the spell after that. Watched the diamond warily as it bounced against the stone. Stilled. Then when their fears didn't come to pass they looked relieved. As if my dad, a small-town architect for temples and shrines, was ever a match for them. The five of them!

Then they shared a few words. Don't ask me about what. I was too far away and the rain was too loud. One of them pulled out a shrine about the size of a backpack. Tapped at it and waited as it rolled out this long bone-shaking om. Realspace shuddered as the shrine's sorcery pushed at its membrane. Pop. The sound of a birthing mother's scream played backwards split the peacefulness of the scene. The promenade's tilework fluttered before a segment fell down into itself to form a Staircase. They strolled down into the Underside, and after the last one was beyond view the entrance closed back up. Realspace once again cohesive.

* * *​

My last words lingered in the air for a moment. I think it was the same moment they set aside for Dad before they worried about themselves.

"Anything else you can tell us?" the Chief Summoner asked.

I rolled my eyes into the past. "Yea they were the same height, gender indistinct, and they wore armor. Black, slightly shiny like a crayfish shell, and perfectly a-twin in make. They had him surrounded when I reached the top of those steps. I used to sit on those steps with him. We'd stare at the town, the only thing that looked alive nestled in these hills—,"

The principal snapped his fingers. "Tonight, Nadia. Only think about tonight."

The chief summoner squawked, "A Sovereign. They killed a Sovereign? Oh."

"No way it was a Sovereign, right? I mean, everyone knows Kareem wasn't bonded," the Head Aid Steward said.

"Bullshit, Kareem was strong. Both of you have entities too far down the Chain to feel it, but his spiritual musculature was dense as a star. Reality rippled when he moved," the Chief Summoner said. "He never told me exactly how strong he was, but a Sovereign tracks."

The principal shook his head in disappointment. "We had a Godtender in our midst and you didn't investigate? Sharon, I taught you—"

"Not enough to deal with one. If I took the wrong approach he could've snuffed my spirit out. So forgive me if I decided to not press the matter further," she said.

The Aid Steward argued, "If we knew then we could've helped."

"Really, and what could we have done to help a Godtender? What power are you secretly hiding, Joyce!" screeched the Chief Summoner.

"Both of you!" The principal said, voice a whip-crack that reminded them of where they were.

My eyes had drank it all in. I saw the story that was spinning up. My dad was a Godtender with a past that had finally caught up with him. Maybe the town could've helped protect him, but by the irony of my father's choices that option was off the table. We had all been made agency-less. It was their way to wipe away the guilt. The way they had already decided to take so they could be reassured that it'd all be peaceful again. In none of their eyes was the spark of something that began to flutter and heat in my chest. My memories rose unbidden and fed to it. Fanned it until every extremity knew only heat.

Every eye rubber-banded back to me. I looked down at my hands and saw the mug had shattered in my grip. Hot chocolate dripped from my fingers. A shade darker than my own skin—a rosy-undertoned umber.

"I think I need to rest," I said. Voice cloud-soft but finely edged

The Head Aid Steward asked, "What happened to your mother?"

I shook my head. "No idea. I didn't find a trace of her in the ruins."

Erin ushered the trio out after that..

"Feel free to take the couch," she said. Before she fled—and with that speed she did flee.

The house eventually settled back into its proper creaky-quiet state of two in the morning. Such was the hour when everything made its affair with oblivion. Except for me. I lusted for no dreams that night as I was convinced that only nightmares awaited me. Though this too was a shallow thought; my waking world was horrific enough. Then I heard the tell-tale creak of the staircase. Melissa's head peeked about the corner. A shy but still concerned smile on her face.

She asked, "Are you asleep?"

My eyes never left the ceiling. "Yes."

Melissa chuckled and padded over.

"Can I join you," she asked.

I scooted the best I could and rolled over to face her. Lifted the quilt in reception..

"No," I answered.

She crawled beneath it, and claimed the space I had made for her. I folded my arms around her until she was tucked into me. Her head slightly above my chest, and our legs intertwining reflexively. It was the position that worked for us; Melissa was too short for anything else, but the way she'd tell it was that I was too tall. We only had ten inches of difference between us.

"Do you wanna talk?" she asked.

I ran my fingers through her hair. "You already heard the story. I'll need more time before I find a better way to tell it."

She shook her head tossing the waves. "It doesn't have to be about that. To be honest, I'd rather it wasn't about that."

My brow arched. I asked, "What else is there to talk about?"

It was the wrong question. Something shattered in her. I felt it break in my hands, and I didn't think about it any further.

Melissa asked a different question. "What do you think they'll do?"

Something adumbral must have come over me then because I wound my fingers in her hair. Closed a fist at the base of her skull, and ever so gently I tilted until her face met mine. So close that had I not lost love from my heart I might've stolen a teasing kiss. Instead I let rage flow.

"Do? Do what? The minute they realized my dad was a Godtender—fuck, he was a Godtender—they had written themselves off the hook. There was nothing they could've done, and so there's nothing they have to do."

"I'm sorry for asking."

"Don't be," I crooned, "at least you're thinking of things to do. You always were my little problem solver."

She blushed. Tried to turn her head to hide it, but I tightened my grip and kept her steady. She moaned. I shushed her. I was nearing something, and I needed her to witness.

"In fact," I said, "I think it might just be the two of us that think there's anything we can do. See, everyone was so fixed on the fact that my dad was a Godtender. Logic would dictate that nothing could have harmed him."

"But they did," Melissa said.

I felt the heat bristle. My grip tightened. Melissa squeaked and tears welled. She blinked them away and gazed into mine. Saw the fire that had already initiated its feast of me.

"They did. They did the impossible, and killed a Godtender. Which means, I can do the impossible. I can kill them," I stated. The answer, a handful of salts that made a rainbow of feelings color the fire that burned within me. Something about me was on the cusp, and needed one more blow to set it into place.

"You can't," Melissa said. Wrong statement. I pushed her away from the comfort of my embrace. Rolled myself atop her until I straddled her waist. My eyes—amber lit by a noontime sun—shone in the night. My hand made her head raise to meet me as I craned.

"I can," I hissed. For a moment, everything seemed to still. There was no night time breeze teasing the windchimes on the porch. The house suffered not a single creak. Nary a drop of water passed the lips of the tap. This was a moment made a moment by my declaration.

"I will find those five. And I will, on the ashes of my father's temple, swear, that I will kill each one of them." The blow this time struck true. My oath echoed in the chambers of my heart.

I rose from the couch and didn't look back at Melissa. I didn't want to see the monster in me reflected in her eyes. Didn't want to notice the heavy off-tempo rush of breath. I didn't want to see anything in her that would've tested my still malleable resolve. So I made for the door, and tossed over my shoulder, "Thank you for the cocoa."

 

[MxOberon]

I let the wind tug at my uniform, and imagined it would lift me from the roof so I might take flight in pursuit of my father's killers. The rapid tap-tap-tap of Melissa's shoes pulled me back from my fantasy. I turned to face the door, back pressed against the chain-link fence that lined the roof's perimeter. Melissa swung the door wide and joined me. Her face was red from exertion. Her normally wide eyes shut tight as she gathered herself.

"How've you been?" I asked.

Her head whipped up in astonishment. "You don't get to ask that?"

"Why not? It's been a week since we saw each other," I said.

"And whose fault is that," she grumbled.

I couldn't help the fact that a smirk formed on my face. Melissa looked even more heated because of it. She looked so cute pissed off.

"What are you smirking for?" Melissa asked. The heat in her voice already cooling.

"Just surprised you could actually get mad at me there for a minute."

Her shoulders slumped. "I don't want to be mad at you. You just ran off into the night a week ago, and I hadn't heard anything from you."

I shrugged, "Didn't you hear, the temple went down. No Newnet until a SIRD researcher can come out to design a replacement."

"You could've left a note."

"Perhaps the absence of a note is a message in itself."

The wind tugged at our uniforms. Silence was usually short-lived between the two of us. Since Dad's death, it seemed to have found the perfect conditions.

Melissa tossed a package at me. It was wrapped in brown parchment and tied off with twine.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Your clothes. Mom repaired them. Had them laundered too."

"Why?"

Something broke in Melissa again. I noticed it more this time. She seemed sadder by my lack of understanding. Her eyes were wet, but she pushed aside any nascent tears.

"Cause we care about you you fucking idiot. My mom remembered making these clothes. Your mom designed them just for you. My mom couldn't let you just lose these."

I tugged the package close. Tilted my gaze up toward the sky with its fat springtime clouds. They were a shade away from rain.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. "I care about you too. When you took off I. . ."

"Worried I'd do something stupid?" I offered.

She shook her head. "I worried about where you'd sleep. Then when you didn't show up to class for days, that's when I worried you did something stupid."

"Most of the house is fine, surprisingly. Still livable. Just empty," I said. "As to not coming back to school. . .I was busy sorting through the shadows of my dad's life. Most of it was paperwork. Left me little time to plot."

I made my way to the door, but Melissa hooked my sleeve with a finger.

"Why are you here then?"

I glanced over my shoulder to her, "I needed information."

My attempt at playing coy didn't last long. The answer found her as she trailed me down the stairwell and into the first year hallway. Where the crowd of students parted around me, Melissa had to dance between them to keep up. Hardly benefitted by so many being taller than herself. When we neared the next stairwell she finally broke free from the crowd and raced ahead to cut me off.

"It's the spiritual?" Melissa said.

The ends of my lips quirked upward. She really was a little problem solver.

"Is that a question, or your answer?" I asked.

She re-stated, "It's the spiritual." I nodded in affirmation. Melissa continued, "You need to know what your mass and density are so you can see what you can safely summon and bind."

"You're making assumptions," I said. Then I lowered one of the arms she held up to block me, and slipped by. In my passing I whispered, "Safe isn't in my criteria."

Her hand fled to her ear. Behind her the crowd of first years let out little "ooo's," and "aaaaah's," unaware of any of what we were saying. Freshmen were simple like that. Melissa, to her credit, kept herself as composed as she could. I flashed her a puckish smile.

"Promise me you won't do anything reckless?" Melissa asked.

"Meet me on the roof afterwards. We can share our results," I replied. Then disappeared beneath another turn of the stairwell.

***​

I was in my seat by the time the bell rang. Similar to Melissa, the majority of the class held questions for me. They perched on the edge of propriety; oh how they yearned to know. I raised my head from my hand and locked eyes with each of them. Assumed the kind of wilted and pleading smile they no doubt expected of me. I nearly chuckled when I saw how shame settled upon their shoulders. Some of them didn't even notice that they were standing until they found themselves touching the cool wood of the chair.

When the teacher walked in she nearly jumped at the sight of me. As if I was some entity here to remind her of her undoubtedly imminent demise. That was the weird thing I had learned over the past week. People do feel bad that you suffered a death, but they feel bad because they're a little bit happy. Death could've found someone they loved or even themselves. By that same measure, I realized I had become marked by death's grace as a result. My presence was as good as the real thing. Meant that children, like my "peers," were intrigued and sought questions of that which was still alien to them. While adults responded like my teacher. With great unease.

She settled behind the lectern. Gathered herself before she said anything.

"It's a pleasure to have you back, Ms. Temple," Mrs. Fizeri stated.

"Can her last name still be temple if it burned down?" one of the boys muttered.

"What the fuck, Beau?" one of the girls asked.

"Settle down," Mrs. Fizeri said. Her voice wobbled as if underwater. A sign that she had exerted an edict over the room. One of the sorceries she possessed due to her entity being from the Court of Tyrants. My eyes leaned toward it, a child-sized stele with a relief of a six-eyed bull's face carved into its lapis surface. One of its eyes opened and held all us all in its gaze. Ready to spot—and punish—any who refused to settle and thus denied the edict she set.

"Now, I know that what has happened to our town is shocking and appalling. No doubt you all have questions, but your desire to make sense of this will not come at the loss of the peace in this classroom. Nor will you deny Ms. Temple's own peace," she then turned to me, "I do apologize for my rudeness when I walked in. Are you well?"

I shrugged, "Who can say? All I know is I just want to finish out the year. Not much time left."

"That there is not. Speaking of time, while access to the NewNet is down all papers must be handwritten."

More eyes had flitted over to me after that point. They needed someone to blame now that they couldn't psionically transcribe their paper anymore. I rolled my eyes, granting them grace from my judgment. I hadn't much to spare at the time, as so much of myself had become committed to my cause.

That includes my memory. I don't remember what that last class was on anyways. Don't even remember what it was on. All I do recall is how she saw us out when our class block was called. She had said, "You're about to get a lot of information, and you'll be expected in some way to build a future for yourselves on it. Just remember that you build your futures, not whatever you learn in this one spiritual."

The lot of us sat there in a final brush with contemplation. We didn't quite get what she meant. I think I only get it now by way of irony. Mrs. Fizeri, you see, built a future as a teacher using Tyrant sorcery. Decidedly unconventional. Maybe I shouldn't have remembered her saying that. Things might have been different.

But I did remember, and I was already on the same page as her. If I was to avenge my dad I needed a power that no one would expect. Unfortunately, there are hundred-and-twenty-one Courts that an entity could hail from. Considering that I'll most likely prove only capable of summoning one of the Soldiery—the lowest in the Chain of Vassalage—I would be faced with a near infinite number of options. If I was fair though, this wasn't just true for me wanting to murder five people. All of us seniors, no matter our goals, had to decide what singular entity we would summon and bond with. A bond we'd likely be stuck with for the rest of our lives as we teeter upon the knife's edge of control needed to stay sane and free. It was why the spirituals were invented to help us narrow down this infinity of choice to something more manageable. No more farmer sons going insane because they lacked the spiritual density to control an entity from the Court of Cultivation.

We traveled as a pack down to the practicum building. It was basically a massive veranda that stretched out behind the school. Whole thing was built atop long pools over the marshland back during the thirtieth year of the Changeover. The founder believed that peace would be in sight. Poor guy was off by ten years, and died during the tenth. His son became the principal. He had said he knew what I was going through, but standing there in the practicum I knew he didn't. His whole purpose still stood here, a sign his father existed, and something that became beloved by an ideal it stood for. My dad's sign was ashes now. No one would remember he built that thing after moving to town and hearing the story of the school. That he wanted to help safeguard the New World by helping educate those of us born into it.

Tears rolled down my eyes as I settled on one of the measurement mats the nurses had laid out. I looked up to the researcher in front of me. He was a mousy one with round glasses. Like all of the researchers that came to administer our spiritual, he was fulfilling part of his exam to upgrade his license. Meant that he was still pretty young and affected by feminine tears.

He stuttered through his statement, "Ma'am, I'm here today to administer your spiritual musculature examination. Do note that I hold a Level two license with the Association of Sorcerous Advancement which you might know as AoSA. If you wish to be examined by a researcher of a higher level you may request it. If you understand this information, do you wish to proceed with the exam?"

"I do," I said. Tears rolled down my face.

He got his voice under himself. "You know if this is too hard to do right now, you can postpone your exam. Some studies have shown that being in a non-ideal condition can impact examination results."

A muscle in my face twitched tugging up the side of my mouth. Humored that anyone—that I—would delay this moment simply because I was crying. That I was grieving. I replaced my face with a confident one. Tossed my curly little pixie cut.

"I've read the studies. Let's proceed."

He answered with a nod. Tapped the shrine standing next to him with his foot.

"In a moment I'll activate this shrine and you will find yourself in conditions similar to being in the Underside. This means you'll be subjected to a temporary dosing of Conceptual Space. Are you ready?" he asked.

I nodded. We began. He arched and tented his fingers with both hands shaping the hand-spell needed to activate the shrine. It looked like a jenga tower where some mad man removed bricks from every single level. No method or consistency. When the shrine was activated a cloudy light shone from within. It revealed that each brick was made from what looked like thousands of smaller micro bricks. The wood grain was the pattern of their arrangement. While at a shrine scale, it was indeed temple-sorcery at work.

The examiner leaned forward in surprise. I hadn't closed my eyes when the Conceptual Space fell over me. Most people did to avoid any accidental sanity degradation from the experience. Me, I looked at my arms as if I'd never seen them before. My body and clothing had fallen away under my sight. Gone was the tenderness of flesh, and in its place was a red metal with a complex rain-drop damask pattern that crossed my body in binding stripes.

"I'm a Metallic," I said.

"You sound disappointed," he said.

I shook my head and my hair followed as if underwater.

He chuckled, "It's okay if you are. Studies have shown a majority of children want to find out they have a Radiant musculature."

"I've read the studies," I muttered in tacit admission.

"Then you also know there's no proof that your musculature controls any aspect of who you are or what you'll go on to do."

I did know. We all do, but it doesn't stop the little traits we can't help but notice. Phantasmals are flighty. Fluids noncommittal. Plasmics—short for Ectoplasmic—were clingy. Metallics, like it seemed I was, are obsessive. Crystalline are self-righteous. While Radiants, no one ever had a bad thing to say about them. Why they're said to have a Hero's Musculature. Who wouldn't want to have that.

"If you're ready, I'll be placing the weights here," he pointed to the trio of circles in front of me. "We'll be starting at fifty undergrams."

He grabbed a fist-sized sphere and placed it into the fifty undergram circle. The weight immediately shot up into the air. Was at least an extra foot above. He removed the sphere from the air.

"Let's try a hundred," he said. Then replaced the fifty undergram one with a sphere about the size of a head. When he let go I slowly levitated into the air. A breath of excitement escaped me. The examiner nodded in approval because we—the weight and myself—weren't yet level. He added the fifty undergram weight back in. He rolled past his fingers, and I rose a few inches more. He tilted his head and then shook it in disbelief. We still weren't level. From there he grabbed two ten undergram weights and rolled one in. Not level. Then the other. Level.

"Fuck," I spat.

"Hey, a hundred-and-seventy undergrams is nothing to be unhappy with," he said.

I waved off the admonishment. "I wanted to hit two hundred."

"You kids always do. Even if you did hit two hundred you'd be advised to not summon anything with a coefficient beyond one point three. There's too much risk trying to take a Baron when you haven't tussled with one of the Soldiery."

He was right and we both knew it. Back in the Changeover people focused too much on the first spiritual. Granted, it was likely their only spiritual, and so they fixated on skipping the first link in the Chain. It rarely went well. My fists clenched, but when it did. I let out a breath as he slowly removed the weights. My body lowered back to the mat.

"Density is next," I said.

He formed a new hand-spell and I levitated back into the air. His hands twitched and tweaked the spell. Sometimes I rose and other times I lowered. As he worked he said, "To measure your spiritual density I'll be adjusting the conditions of the Conceptual Space. Once we have you settled against the ground we'll know. So please be patient."

Unlike the mass test I had no way of knowing the numbers he was working with. All I could do was sit and hope it was a good number. I had no intention of skipping a link in the Chain, but that didn't mean I wanted to stay there for that long. While my entity would determine what coefficients I needed to challenge the Baron it never hurt to have yours be above two. When I finally settled onto the ground he unwound his fingers. Scrawled a number down onto a slip of paper.

"You have a coefficient of one point twelve," he said.

I wanted to scream. The sheer gulf between my mass and density was horrible. Besides being out of proportion it meant that while I could attract a potent entity the odds I could retain control would be horrible. My teeth ground together. I looked up and saw the researcher stare at me. He pitied me.

"My measurements please?" I asked, hand thrust out.

The man tore off the slip and handed it over. From there it was a quick hand-spell to deactivate the shrine. I left the practicum post-haste. Most of my peers milled around to discuss their numbers. Gossip over their futures with one another. I just wanted to hurry up and finish the damn thing.

When I left the room I joined the newly sprouted line leading to the guidance counselor's office. It moved quickly. I soon found myself sitting across from a woman only a few years older than me. Her eyes were bright and her face squirrely. The office was a mess as four filing boxes corralled her behind the desk.

"Name please?" she asked.

"Nadia Temple," I said.

"Oh, you're here?"

"Just trying to finish out the year."

"That's very good of you," she said. I think she even brushed aside a tear. So touched. Then she bent over and began rooting through one of the boxes. Another convenience made a casualty by my dad's demise. I mourned him by appreciating the guidance counselor's choice in fashionable shirts. A hard thing to find with her size.

"Found it!" she declared before she settled back in her seat. She flipped it open and scanned a snapshot of who I no longer was. Then she slid between us her chart model of the Courts. Most folks referred to it as the "Isles of the Underside," seeing as so much of the chart was empty. A map to the limited information kept on the Public Record. I stared at the map trying to divine at what intersection of Principles I would find my murder weapon.

"Are you still interested in temple-sorcery? Your last career survey said you intended to take over for your dad. I know this must hurt, but—"

I cut her off. "No, I don't. There's nothing left to take over from him."

She said, "Nadia, this doesn't have to destroy your life. Your scores are very good, and between you and me there have been many collectives hounding us in anticipation of your graduation."

"That's on them for hoping," I said. "I want to become a summoner with full combat capabilities."

"Nadia, you had a Court picked out. This meeting is for finding an entity."

My voice rose. "I wish to become a summoner with full combat capabilities. Now please, what Court will let me do that?"

She shuttered her eyes to keep the worry in. I handed over the slip with my measurements. A moment later she examined them. Then flicked her gaze back toward me.

"You're a metallic," she said.

"Forgive me my stubbornness."

Her hand cut through my polite attempt at an apology. "Just be careful about what you get stubborn over. I'm a Metallic too, when we get stubborn on something we get hot. Our musculature turns molten as we reshape ourselves. The pattern of our spirit made anew in honor of our fixation. Be careful about what shape you hammer yourself into."

I didn't have anything to say to that. Any words would've given away my fixation. Better they not know. Better they deny me like they did Dad. Our eyes lock, her and I, and I can't help but see how wet her eyes are. She breaks first, and picks up a marker to notate atop her chart.

"The most well known combat capable Court on Public Record belongs to the Court of Glory," she said.

The Court of Glory was one of the seasonal courts. Named as such for how dominant it'd be in the Underside that time of year. Made it easy to find an entity for those whose family couldn't afford a hunter crew to catch one nor inherited any old summoning circles. Just had to wait until the right time and any generic circle could bring one your way.

"Too common," I said. "I don't need a well known Court."

She let out a heavy sigh. "It'd be helpful if I knew what kind of combat this would be," she said.

"I can't say," and I couldn't as I didn't know. "Let's just go for something adaptable and strong."

She circled the Court of Tyrants, the Court of Sacrifice, and the Court of Upheaval.

"Tyrants is known to be exceedingly strong," she said.

"They aren't adaptable," I countered.

"Tyrant sorcery makes the world adapt to you. Get good enough and you don't have to adapt."

I relented to her point. She continued, "If you go Sacrifice you'll be able to hit high up the Chain."

"I just can't miss," I said.

"Yeah. Upheaval is one I shouldn't even bring up as an option," she said.

She was probably right. The Court of Upheaval's reputation depended on who you asked. Some would say they were gallant revolutionaries first to imagine a New World. Those that lived through hotzones said all their summoners were butchers gleeful at the slaughter of the Old. Either way, we live in the shadow of their swords.

"Why not?" I asked.

"A Tyrant can still teach. A Sacrifice can become a doctor. A summoner of Glory can do anything. Upheaval. . ." she let her implication float between us.

"What if I want something more exotic?" I asked. She rolled her eyes and withdrew a politely staid book from the shelf behind her. It was a compendium like the Chief Summoner had clutched in her hands when she visited. The book had the official ERO seal in the corner approving of its information. The guidance counselor handed it over to me.

"While the NewNet's down borrow this. You might find a Court in here to use, or at least cross reference the ruling and advising Principle to find a Court that might work," she explained.

I reached for the book and she pulled it back. "Don't seek out an uncharted Court. Your father wouldn't want that."

I snagged the book this time. We both held an end. "I never knew you were a friend of my father's," I said. She gasped and let the book go. I smiled at her in thanks and left.

***​

The Fourth-years had the rest of the day to themselves. Some people studied. Some left for home in a hurry to catch up on sleep that precious currency of high-schoolers. I leaned against the school's gate mid-read of the compendium the counselor gifted me. I had gained some ideas about Courts in the process. The Court of Rot intrigued me for its offensive and defensive benefits. The Court of Saints appealed to the part of me that saw my commitment as a righteous one. It wasn't a big part of me though. I was always pragmatic with these things. Even here the math was simple. Five people killed Dad, and now I'll kill five people. Perfectly balanced with little room for righteousness to intrude.

"Nadia," Melissa called out. I bookmarked my page.

"Yes?" I asked.

Her eyes were puffy and nose red. They made me feel worse than any tears could.

"You said to meet up on the roof. I waited for you."

I looked away from her. Craned my neck to stare down the road.

"I must've forgotten," I lied.

"Sure. And you're just reading here because the light is good?"

I shook my head and threw her a bone. "I'm waiting. The reading is just to pass the waiting," I said.

Melissa asked, "Can we still share our results?"

I offered her a smile. "Of course. I'm a Metallic with a Mass coefficient of one-point-seven. Density was one-point-twelve."

Melissa had the good nature to not wince. She didn't have the good nature to not smile. She probably saw this as a good sign that'd make me give up.

"That's totally alright," she said, "do you still want to hear mine?"

"Sure."

"Crystalline musculature. Coefficient of one-point-nine for both."

I whistled and tousled her hair gently.

"Impressive," I said. Her smile blossomed alongside the rose dusting her cheeks.

She joined me against the gatewall. Her bag swinging in her hands.

"What happens now?" I asked.

"I don't know. We could talk the future," she said.

"You first," I responded. Checked the road again—there was a van down the hill but steadily climbing.

"I got offer letters from a few collectives contingent on based on my success bonding an entity by the end of summer. Though I'm also considering attending the university. Learn a little bit more before I take over my portion of the business."

"Sounds like a good plan," I said.

"What about you?" she asked.

"I'm going to join the Summoner's Lodge."

She looked hurt by the statement. "Why? With those coefficients—,"

"I can still find a good entity. Just means I won't have absolute control," I said. "More so, getting licensed by the Lodge has plenty of benefits and amenities. A comfort on my road to vengeance."

She shuddered at the word. "You're really going to do this? Toss away all your options?"

I could hear the van now, so could she. Melissa wracked her brain to imagine who I was waiting for. Her tongue blep'd a bit when she thought too hard.

"Melissa," she met my eyes, "stop it. It might hurt you to hear me say it, but I'm committed to this. I swore an oath, remember?"

She blushed as the memory came over her. I wrapped her in my arms. The van pulled up in front of the school. Door slid open. One of the crew leaned out, an older woman with raspberry red locs that matched her eyes.

"Hey Temple, we're headed off," she called out.

I ignored her for the moment. Instead I squeezed Melissa to keep her from speaking.

"Now, you can either be a tailwind that supports me, or you can be a headwind and impede me. If you're the latter then I want—I need you—to understand that you'll be my enemy. I don't want you to be my enemy."

"I don't want to be either," she muttered.

I tousled her hair. "Good girl," I said, misunderstanding her. Then pushed her away from me and entered the van.

"You said you didn't have much time to plot," she said.

"I didn't. This step was simple," I responded. "I'll bring you a present when I'm back."

I closed the van door and took my seat. The woman shared with me a look meant for an asshole. She took one glance out the door window.

"Does she know what you're doing?" she asked.

"It's none of her business," I answered.

She chuckled, "Okay, coward," and took her seat next to me. The driver put the van in gear and soon the school receded into memory behind us. If I knew it was the last time I'd see the place maybe I'd have looked back. Though, maybe not. I had to focus after all.

The driver announced, "Hunters, next stop is the Underside!"

 

[MxOberon]

Technically our next stop was the Staircase on the outskirts of town. The area was far enough away to be called wilderness. A fact the trees, redwoods, reminded us of with their cyclopean nature. Wide as houses and tall as ten they still found a way to stand close together. It was why you couldn't see the hill, or the sun. The Staircase was at the base of one of these trees. Where the roots formed a sort of arch beneath the stump. Dirt steps covered in moss descended down into its adumbral depths. A path from Realspace into the Underside.

"Huddle up, guys," the crew lead called out. I pulled away from the entrance and hustled over the best I could. The Undersuits we wore were bulky. Modeled after Old World hazmat gear. Though these were a decided upgrade and the only way to guarantee a curse won't attach itself to you. A fact enough of the crew took seriously to warrant everyone leaping into their suits. Just standing near the Staircase was enough to worry them.

"Since we have some new crew members with us I'm gonna ask y'all to pair up senior to junior."The seniors in the crew grumbled. The crew lead shouted back, "Hey, we all had our first descent. We're only here cause we had seniors keep our dumbasses alive. Now pair up."

Despite their grumbling, this wasn't a surprise to any of them. There were always folks who joined up with a hunter crew. Most were high schoolers like myself—too broke to pay for capture and no inheritance to make summoning easy. This would likely be our first and last descent. The rest of them were legacies most likely. Eager to descend and be baptized into the life.

Unlike everyone else here, I hadn't realized I'd be joining up until a few days ago. Happened after I combed over the entire house and didn't find a single circle left for me. Between that and the lack of money, whatever Dad's plans were had died with him. As such I stood there like I was caught in the nude while strolling home. Astonished at the speed with which I became the odd woman out.

"Temple, you're with me," the woman from earlier said. She didn't look happy about it, but not really sad either. Just kind of bored.

"Sure. What do I call you?"

"Any chance it can be Boss Lady?" she asked.

"None."

She circled me, a dog intrigued by something new.

"Is there a problem?" I asked.

"Only that Undersuits don't have enough room for you to have a ladder up your ass," she said.

"What happened to it being a stick?"

"I know, it's a classic. But you're not typical now are you. You need a whole ladder up in there to feel something."

I groaned and she smirked up at me. I glanced over to the other hunters who held back chuckles from the routine she had pulled me into.

I said, "What happened to showing sympathy?"

"Must have misplaced it in the same spot you left yours. Maybe the Knitcroft girl can help us."

I pushed her aside and went to grab our kit. She hounded me with the quiet refrain of a chicken's squawks. Kept it up until our kit was in hand. Then she was all business and took off to join the crowd reforming.

One of the kit team stopped me. "Hey, Amber can be so annoying you'd think it was her Court. Just, don't mind it because out of everyone here she's the best hunter. Stay close to her and you'll stay safe."

"Thanks," I said before I went after her. When I neared her I asked, "Amber, how's the kit looking?"

The Undersuit's helmet perfectly framed her scowl. "Not cool Derrick," she called out to the guy who spilled the secret on her name. She looked back to me, "Kit's good. Our phones should work once we're down below—you do have a phone right?"

I reached into my suit pouch and pulled out the quartz slate that was my "phone." Had been useless since the temple burned down. Amber examined it.

"Damn, daddy didn't believe in keeping you up to date huh?"

My fists clenched at my sides, but she didn't care and just continued on.

"When we're down there we'll sync to whatever will be our comms channel. You should already know the crew one. Rest of the kit is standard. Four water pouches to attach to our suits, twelve binding capsules, a security shrine, and a map from the territory survey done yesterday."

She closed the backpack that held our kit. Then threw out her hand for me to help her up. Amber groaned the entire time. Blamed it on her "elderly bones," and tossed me an expectant look in hopes I'd dispute. She was as attractive as the moon. Possessed by a gravity that made you sneak glances her way and pulled you into her bullshit.

A teasing smile crossed my face as I gave her nothing. We both knew it was the tax for her "jokes" and joined the growing line.

While we had arrived in one van, the entirety of the hunter crew spanned at least five of them. Smaller crews from smaller towns and some that were more itinerant in operation. The desire for safety and general etiquette kept conflict minimal despite the motley we had. Our crew lead—and thus the lead for everyone in assembly—took his spot just to the side of the Staircase.

"Everyone, we'll be descending now. As you pass onto the Staircase you'll be given the target list. We'll be down there for the day and meet back up at basecamp the following morning. Wish you all luck hunting, and may we all ascend back to the Real."

"May we all ascend," the crowd called back.

The line moved relatively apace. When we were handed our target list I snatched it before Amber could get her hands on it. Flipped through it until I spotted Melissa's name—technically her family's name. I traced my finger from it to the target entity, a symbiosnake. All of her family bonded to them starting out. Rather fitting, a safe choice for safe people. I hadn't expected anything else of Melissa.

"Head in the game, Temple. We're going down," Amber said, her elbow jabbed into my side.

I folded the list until it could hide in my palm. Then, lockstep with Amber, I set foot on the Staircase. It was. . . softer than expected. Had a sort of marshmallow quality to it. I took my next step, then another, and another. With each one my hesitancy was brushed aside to reveal a dirty sort of disappointment.

There was reverence and terror at the way people talked about Staircases. Unlike entities which had become mundane, these still lurked beyond the light of knowledge having claimed the deeds of Old World myths for themselves. They wore the raiment of fairy circles, hell mouths, and the bifrost. You could stand on one and learn the entirety of how Real and Conceptual space interacted. It was even said that sometimes you would see someone ascending or descending from another point in time.

"How'd you get on this hunt, Temple?" Amber asked.

I said, "My mom and dad used to go on hunts with these guys. Offered me a spot once they heard about what happened. Didn't have any other options."

Amber hmm'd softly in response. The endless darkness we walked in caught the sound and buried it. Made the Staircase hum with a deep vibration that snuck up your bones. Resonated with all the disappointment you buried inside. It took us thirty minutes to reach the Underside

***​

When we arrived, I realized that all the magic I wanted in the Staircase was found here. As darkness gave way to light my eyes grew in astonishment. The trees here dwarfed the ones in Realspace. Unbound by physics—by anything Real—they had ascended beyond something as simple as the word, "tree." The bark had curtained the horizon and any canopy was unseen. Gave way to a darkness, a Gloom, that would brook not even the memory of light. My vision became crimson and my cheeks moistened. I knew it would be doom to dare myself to see for the underpinning of sight was light—no, was Star? Could these marry—

My head snapped to the side and my eyes shuttered. The only dark I perceived was the pitiful black of closed eyes. I gripped my head to take hold of sense and righted myself.

"Fuck, Amber, that hurt," I spat.

She nodded with glee. "Good. If it didn't we'd have a problem. Now, look at me."

I opened my eyes. They stung. Amber's face became the totality of my vision. She operated my head this way and that in examination. Drew backwards to present me a thumbs up.

"Good news, your sclera are still white, your pupil is still a circle, and your blood is already drying." I stared at her in confusion. She shook her head, "And here I heard you were a good student, Temple. They're the Three Tests for Underside exposure."

I pushed past her. I wouldn't let her luxuriate in the win. Unfortunately she walked fast.

"Body, Mind, Condition. Fail any of them and it's suggested you be hustled back into Realspace or Realspace-like conditions. Which, if this was a full on hunter company, we could provide the latter. If you get exposed then you're done," Amber intoned.

I whirled to face her, my face hot and teeth bared. She smirked amusedly.

"Finally got that ladder loosened. How's it feel to connect with an actual person, again?" she asked.

It made no sense to me. My heart rate fell and my anger cooled.

"I'm not going to be a risk to you," I said. "Just, let me do my job."

Amber's face fell. I didn't know why my request hurt her.

"It's not—okay. Quick way to avoid Underside exposure by way of sanity degradation. Blink."

I did. Her lids shuttered fast as a journo's camera. "A lot," she added. "If you blink you can't stare. Can't stare then you can't try to understand. If you can't try to understand then you avoid comprehension. Don't stare at anything. Even if you think you saw something strange. Especially if you think you saw something strange."

We padded down toward basecamp. The ground was an uneven mass of interwoven roots the size of trains. A trait that had me look away before I attempted to understand anymore. Most of the crew was scattered off on the hunt already. Amber gestured at the backpack.

"Grab the map. You're navigating," she said.

I scrounged it out from beneath the water packs. Wiped away some of the condensation. Unfolded and pinned it with my fingers to Amber's back.

"Try to find a direction that'll let us capture the most targets," she instructed.

My eyes roamed the map and I took in the sheer variety within even this local slice of the Underside. While the dominant Court that set the territory was Cultivation, the Spring Court, in every direction were localized territories belonging to a myriad of Courts—including Mutation, the Court the symbiosnake belonged to.

My heart's sails tilted angle and thoughts of Melissa caught them. Feeling billowed out in me—hurt billowed out of me. The Court of Mutation's territory was Northeast; far out of the way with very little overlap to other Courts. I warred with myself; one side intent to turn from her—sparing her the corruption of my presence. The other, hungry for her every smile and flayed by every tear. I had promised her.

"We're headed Northeast," I declared. Amber turned her head and ran her gaze over me. Examined my decision for the hair thin crack of self-doubt. Then shrugged.

"So we are," she said.

***​

I set a hard pace for us. We were behind the other crews and I couldn't let Amber—for all she annoyed me—suffer too much in loss of captures just so I could honor a tossed away promise. We walked until the roots gave way to cerulean waters the color of the sky. Rode its unseen currents on a barque formed from clouds.

Soon though our cloud ship began to curve brushing a flower field. Amber interlocked her arm with mine and we leaped from the ship into the field. We plummeted further than I expected—the flowers were taller than me. As we traveled the field the flower's petals fell down in a pleasant rain and wilted before they touched ground. While the flowers above bloomed anew.

We were forty cycles before the field gave way to a gargantuan yonic tunnel of double-helixed vines, the entrance to Mutation. I stood on the cusp and marveled at the undulations of the vines.

"Temple," Amber said. My eyes flicked to her. "Check the map."

I blinked my eyes and unfurled the map.

"Path has us set through Wanderlust and Rebirth to reach here," I said.

She quirked her brow, "Reach here?"

"It's a good boundary spot. We have some targets here and then catch what we need on the way back," I said.

She gave way to my hurried passing. Called to my back, "That's some efficient thinking, Temple."

I throttled the map in my fist. She didn't have to twist the knife if she knew. Not that she knew, but Amber would look at me as if she did. Her eyes would twitch from my lips to my eyes. Then they'd crinkle with the joy one had in finding a novel sentence in a book. She acted like I was so readable that it didn't matter if I actually was.

When we left the humid tunnel we emerged out onto a cliff face that gave us sight of the writhing labyrinth below. Laid out like entrails the walls would bloat into the shape of buildings before deflating back into an amorphous barrier of meat. The map had named the territory, the Shifting City. An understatement.

As we descended the cliffside path, Amber chose that moment to reveal her entity. She formed her hand-spell, inflated her cheeks, and blew. It didn't matter that technically her breath couldn't escape the airtight seal of the Undersuit. She had performed the motions and invoked the Concept behind them. A cloud of butterflies spiraled into open air just off the path. Conjured from nothing, they clumped en masse and from within their overlapping wings peeked two eyes the color of lime juice.

Amber continued walking. "This is Nahey,"

"A pleasure," I said. To which the clump of butterflies tittered ever so softly.

Amber glanced back at me mischievously. "Oh Temple, to seduce someone's entity is scandalous."

I chuckled and passed her. She looked after me with bemusement.

When we reached street level Amber settled to the ground. She removed the security shrine and propped it up.

"Nahey is going to scout for us," Amber said. At that, Nahey took off.

I asked, "What about us?"

Amber cast the hand-spell to activate the shrine. A translucent egg of force grew around us.

"We get to know each other," she said.

"Do we have to?"

"No, but would you rather silence for potentially hours while we wait?"

I removed the counselor's compendium from my own backpack and resumed reading. Amber huffed. She huffed every time I turned the page. Her gaze assailed my forehead. I made it two chapters.

"What do you want to know?" I asked.

Amber's mouth split into a cat's grin. "What are you here to hunt?"

I tried to return to the book. She yanked it from my hands. My eyes returned to where she had been, and I blinked. Forced my eyes to face her where she was.

"I don't know."

She dropped into a squat. Head balanced on her knees. Our eyes equal.

"Interesting. Did you know before he died," she asked.

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"I don't remember."

"Try."

There was no mirth in face. Her lips were but a plush line held taut. I would find no slack in this endeavor. So I tried, and found the tips of my conscious mind graze a barrier I hadn't seen. You couldn't see this kind of block. Could only find it when forced against it like she had done to me. Pressed as I was, I realized it wasn't completely solid. There were holes and cracks. A keyhole through the pain.

"A thought-fish," I answered. My mind pulled away from the wall and my tears felt moist. "Are my eyes bleeding again?"

Amber shakes her head. She had her hand on mine.

"Remembrance. You wanted to be a researcher?"

"I did."

"You still can," she said. I believed her. When the smirks were gone and the trickster sparkle of her eyes dimmed you would too. The magic she held over me was softer than sorcery. It was comfort and permission. I could let go—

A screech ripped through the air. My hand leapt from beneath hers and the warmth cooled. All around us the flesh-structures of the labyrinth deflated. Gas and fluids evacuated in a wet screech from an alien throat. Our eyes were still locked. I could still see the way she had proposed. I blinked instead and found my feet.

"That option burned down with the temple. I'm looking for other ones."

Amber nodded and flipped through the compendium. She noted my dog-eared pages, and followed the trail of my thoughts.

"Options like Rot? Or maybe Saints, Tyrants, Sacrifice, Glory, or Upheaval? Good luck on finding your way to the last one," she said before she tossed the book at me.

She pointed. "Those are the kind of Courts someone looks at when they want to kill a motherfucker."

"My teacher is bonded to a Tyrant entity. Keeps great classroom order," I said. Amber scoffed at the fragility of my rebuttal.

"Fine. Is that what you're hunting for, a way to teach?" she asked.

"No. And I don't want to kill one motherfucker, I wanna kill five." My body shuddered from letting go of the burden of secrecy. Still, I held her gaze.

"If you think it's right, why do you struggle to admit it?" she asked.

I sneered. "Cause people like you can't handle me saying it. The same way my teachers can't handle me sitting there. I'm tainted by death."

"And seek to deal it," she added. "Temple, most of us adults lived through the Changeover. We're all tainted by death as we saw to the murder of the Old World. We can handle it. What we can't handle is seeing a child born to a peace unimaginable seek it out. They don't want to be there when you find it."

I stormed over to Amber to leverage what few inches I had on her.

"If not me, then who?" I asked.

"Who what?"

"Who avenges my dad?"

She didn't look away when she asked me this. "Does he deserve to be avenged?"

Nahey tittered quietly. I had my fist raised but it hadn't fallen yet. Just hung there—quivering, frozen—undecided. My body moved slowly as I refamiliarized myself with its control. I drew back from Amber.

"What did Nahey find?" I asked.

"She said she found a castle of some sort in the center of the labyrinth," Amber answered. "Apparently it's not shifting."

"Meaning it's not Mutation,"

"And not on the map." Amber grumbled, "Don't seek out unknown Courts in summoning or in hunting, advice number one."

"Everything known was once unknown. Can Nahey lead us there?"

Amber twirled her finger and Nahey took off toward the castle. We followed close behind. We made lefts at pagodas, rights at pueblos, and cut through a gap a wall made by five fleshy yurts lined up entrance to entrance. The castle came into view not long after. It was a Gothic thing sporting a hundred golden fleches that dripped down the castle walls like dollops of melting wax. These light-catching lines framed windows of kaleidoscopic glass. Which split the light emanating from within to create a localized rainbow that stained the world in its colors.

I was yanked back behind its boundary by Amber.

"You can see enough from here," she said.

I shook my arm free. "What if our target's inside?"

Amber narrowed her eyes. "We passed a nest of symbiosnakes on the way here. If you care about our target then we turn back."

"What if the thing I'm hunting for is in there?"

"You don't know what you're hunting for."

I turned back to the castle. My heart beat a furious melody. There was no sensible reason to enter. We didn't know the Court and thus we didn't know the dangers. Yet I yearned all the same. An ominous portent in hindsight.

Before I could answer, it emerged from another part of the labyrinth. Something fleshy like a salamander. Plates ran along its spine as if an armadillo. It scurried atop fifty pairs of legs. While its face was skink-like and dotted by six tar-black eyes that wept endlessly.

"A lindwurm," Amber spoke softly. The entity, the lindwurm, was sensitive to its own name. She swung us out of sight as its head rose to give a half-hearted once over of the area. We heard it leave—its walk the refrain of a platoon at march—and only when the echo died did we move.

I flipped through the compendium to find whatever that was. Amber lowered my arms.

"You won't find it. It's not on the Public Record."

I asked, "Then how do you know what it is?"

She glared at me. "How do you know?" I asked again.

"Changeover. Watched a cult use five of those shits to poison a river down to its ontological foundation. Far as I know it never got cleaned."

I stared at her in awe. "You saw them make the Black Vein?"

"Eh, it's not a big deal. Everyone saw something historic in those days. Though back then it was just traumatic." Amber glanced toward me and scowled. A cruel smile had wiggled across my face. It was rude not to listen—adults rarely spoke about their memories of the changeover—but my mind was busy imagining my dad's killers weeping tar-black tears from behind their masks.

"What Court is it?" I asked.

"Desecration," she answered.

My tongue ran across my lips. The taste of the word was smooth and cold. Two perfect traits for what would be the method by which I exacted revenge.

"Amber, I'm going to hunt the lindwurm," I said. She watched—probably in horror—as I raced into the castle intent on making its power my own.

 

[MxOberon]

Amber caught up to me in the castle's foyer. Admittedly, the castle was more manor by way of castle than an actual fortress. No clearer was that than the immediate opulence which bombarded you upon entrance. The floor was polished to a mirror sheen and held within its stone the impression of cosmic depth. I moved from floor to ceiling only to see spheres of light swim through the air above. Each of them bound by a rope of light that marked their formations out as constellations. Having learned my lesson, I didn't try to see beyond them. I even gave my eyes a good blink to help my mind reset. It allowed me to see how much gold—or what passed as gold—gilded the walls. They too were spotless to the point of being mirrored sunshine.

I smirked at Amber. "Thanks for not abandoning me," I said.

She flipped me off. "Oh don't worry, I still am. I just wanted to be present for the look of despair when you try to capture a lindwurm without a single binding capsule."

"Oh."

"Mhmm," she said before she slammed one into my hand. The capsule was a hexagonal prism of polished corundum whose ends were capped in filigreed silver. I turned it over and noted the button on one of the caps. You pressed it before casting the capsule at the entity you wanted to bind. Simple to use. . . provided you don't forget them.

"Thanks. If I'm going to hunt this, I'll um. . ." I trailed off.

Amber rolled her eyes. "Be a big girl. Use your words," she teased.

I grimaced, "Can you tell—,"

"Please. Say please if you're going to ask your more experienced senior a question."

"Ugh, you're obnoxious," I said.

She shrugged, "And you're self-serious. Fork found in kitchen."

"Can you please tell me what I need to know so I can hunt the lindwurm?" I asked.

She threw her hands behind her head and sashayed over to a pillar in a room to the left of the foyer.

"Formed by the ruling Principle of Pyres and the advising Principle of Gloom, Desecration is the foul inversion of the reverence that can be found in its cousin courts."

Amber squatted on her haunches and waved me over. Her other hand ready to guide my eye to the base of the pillar.

I asked, "What am I—?"

She cut me off, "It's sorceries and entities agents of corruption and degradation. A toxin antithetical to existence itself." Her voice was ironed to crisp perfection; an affectation held by whoever it was Amber's rendition was in ode to. "The pillar, Temple," she added.

My eyes had failed to follow her hand—something had caught my eye, I suppose—so she rapped her knuckles against the pillar. Careful to avoid the blotch of inverted color that crawled up its surface the way ink spreads against a wet page. I blinked my eyes before the uncanniness of the scene could take me. Redirected to something safe—Amber's face.

The gravity of her attention folded down upon me. In some part of myself I recognized the feeling. It reminded me of back near the shrine—but my comprehension fled when she spoke.

"Temple, Desecration is a path for those ready to be a walking sin against life. Would you damn yourself that much for vengeance?" she asked.

I stared back unsure. "What's sin?" I asked.

Amber quirked her lips in appreciation of a joke I never told. I had known sin was some Old World concept. Saw it mentioned in a book once. Felt like a heavy word. Same way that Desecration was. The way vengeance was. What humor she derived from my question clattered to the floor as she read something in me again.

I stood first. "Can't say. . . to your question that is. Right now I just need the power to get started," I said and pointed to the corroded remains of what had once been a cellar door. A small trail of inverted blotches led to it in the next room over.

We passed through the room and did our best to avoid looking at its overflowing bookshelves. I blinked so much that what remained in my head was more slide-show than memory. Books shot out. Fell open. Tomes rained down. Sensorial slices of the Underside's most famous memetic hazards—knowledge.

To a summoner, any bit of information was as good as salt. A little stretched a long way whether it opened new doors or preserved something for when you'd need it most. The problem though was that few cared to make it wildly available. Those sorceries that went unshared were the cornerstone to every family story of how they got through the Changeover. As such, everyone hoarded a little and in the case of collectives they hoarded a lot. Sure, the Public Record existed up on the NewNet as, "the world's Grimoire," but it was always a secret behind.

This might have been okay if the entities we bonded with were forthright. Unfortunately they played a game all their own. If you were lucky, the entity might teach you a hand-spell here or there. For most summoners you had to rely on pure observation. Divine a sorcery by watching an entity work miracles with about as much effort as it takes to breathe. It was why these books were so tempting. The Underside doesn't lie, but it also doesn't hold back. To figure out a sorcery on your own meant creating something a human mind can handle. Trying to learn from one of these auto-generating grimoires on the other hand would be akin to a deity inscribing the secrets of the universe into your gray matter. You'd be overwritten by the first page.

My body unclenched when we arrived at the trapdoor. While the literal door was in shambles the ladder that plunged down into that impenetrable dark was untouched. Some part of me clenched.

"Can we send Nahey down? Scout things out for us," I said.

"First rule of a hunt, don't do anything that could tip off the target."

I nudged her—well, I was tense so I really jabbed her. "I thought the first rule was to not explore the territory of unknown Courts?"

She replied, "Yet here we are. My job is to keep you from straying to your death. We do this the right way."

My nervous attempt at a grin was trampled. I let out a breath and ignored the way my suit hummed as it cycled it away so I didn't poison myself—though what's life but an endless dosing of poison until one day it takes you.

I threaded my way past the inverted blotches and onto the ladder.

***​

The ladder terminated before it reached the ground. We were high enough that we couldn't peer into the room below. From within the dark of the tunnel we could only spy a sea of dusty blue stone. With nothing to compare to the fall could have been six feet or sixty. Amber didn't press me to make a decision. When I looked up at her she read my face. I read her as she read me—whatever she saw made her smile softly and with great pity—so I let go of the ladder.

When you fall from a high enough height it doesn't feel like falling. Instead it's some sort of terrestrial parallax where all of creation moves around you. Until you hit the ground you're weightless.

My legs buckled beneath me when I hit the ground. The face shield of the Undersuit slid atop a piece of stonework broken free from its neighbor tiles. My world became it as I hung at the edge of my senses. Was that a crack or a scratch? Could I smell the room I'd fallen in or was it simply my own breath? I heard a whistle. Thin and light, the teasing call of air slipping past. My heart chased after that whistle and banged a wretched beat within my chest.

"Are you getting up, Temple?" Amber asked.

The whistle stopped when she spoke. I pulled myself to my knees and watched her whistle—thin and light. A chuckle escaped my lips. When I found my feet I took in the room we had fallen into. The walls were roughly hewn stone. It was the striation in the walls that had stained the dust—and now us—with a faded indigo hue. A bright streak of stone ran through the walls. The streak was low to the ground and the cost of its light was that the ceiling was given over to a miasma of shadow.

It didn't take me a single blink to turn away from it. I had become comfortable with the dark that teased me like some gothic ingenue. Instead I found more interest in the ground. Pitchfork shaped tracks—which matched the shape of the lindwurm's feet—led a tight march down the length of the room. Then, they stopped.

Amber shook me by the shoulder. "Temple, the walls—," she said.

My finger pointed at the absent tracks. "Can Desecration teleport?" I asked.

Amber snorted. "If any Court can, I don't know which. Doubt it'd be that one."

She turned around and measured the tracks with both hands.

"There's a simpler answer than teleportation," she said. "Lindwurm's long enough that it probably just reared up and started walking on the ceiling. Put those gecko toes to work."

I nodded in understanding, and saved my life.

The sound hit me before recognition did. A breath drawn in so fast that it clicked on a flameless lighter. The heat warmed the suit enough for me to feel the gentle caress of doom. I turned—stunned stupid—and drew my lips back into a polite 'O' the way one would to humor a child telling you a fact like, "the sky is blue." That was my face when I saw the rigid spear behind me. It wasn't there before the heat or the sound.

Amber—my trusty senior—had already summoned Nahey in the time it took for me to consider that I should turn around. The clump of unearthly butterflies took toward the ceiling. Each flap released a pulse of something that strummed the fibers of my spiritual musculature. Then, from nowhere at all, a spotlight fell upon me. The next pulse called a spotlight down onto Amber. The third banished the dark of the ceiling—that I had ignored, confident in assessment—to reveal the lindwurm. It's maw unhinged and yawning. Past three sets of rotted teeth kept in place by black gums was the wiggling stump of its tongue. Sinuouslike it thrashed within the entity's mouth as the tip bubbled with new flesh.

"Nadia we have to move," Amber yelled.

Her hand clutched mine as she took off. We raced forward without knowledge of anywhere to run. I turned my head back to the lindwurm just in time to witness its tongue fully reform. Its head drew back like an atlatl and I marveled at how its tongue stiffened to a sadistic point. The corruption coating its tip as black and lustrous as an inkbrush.

"Down," I called out. Amber didn't question me and slammed us into the stone floor. Then there went that sound again as it fired its tongue-lance at the now vacant space. We shot from the floor after it as where it had gone was the opposite direction of the lindwurm. In the midst of all this—between huffed breaths and the way Amber's hand was smaller than mine yet vicelike—I remembered the binding capsule.

My thumb pressed against the button. The red light of the corundum warred with the wall's blue until they settled into an affair of violet. While the capsule was primed the new light had revealed where the dodged tongue-lance had landed. It had lodged itself into a great stone door that plunged seamlessly into the floor. Twin sphinxes with lids shut in pleasant contemplation framed the megalithic slab. A well-eroded inscription in some forgotten—though hopefully human—script. The door no doubt was commanded by some mechanism that the inscription explained. I watched Amber run her eyes—unblinking—over the door again and again. As if all it needed was one more read and would make way for her.

I left her to her battle, and set my eyes upon mine. The lindwurm has scurried at double pace along the ceiling. Its tongue not yet reloaded. My head raised in acknowledgment of its power. The entity's forward body peeled away from the ceiling, and twisted itself mid-air. Closed its mouth so I might meet its eyes, and gifted me a tilt of its head. Acknowledgement.

Gone went my fear. Doubt banished to the hinterlands of my thoughts. They had no place in our duel. Instead I hefted the capsule and reared back my arm. From some primal part of my brain I discovered that a defiant scream had flown free from my throat. Just as the capsule cleared the tips of my fingers. There was no reason to scream, but I felt better all the same.

The capsule flew true in a tight spiral. Years of playing catch with my dad evident in the beauty of its arc. Unfortunately the lindwurm's very existence was the corruption of beauty. It's tongue-lance didn't fire. Just thrust. Pierced the capsule and skewered my hope. The entity's dark eyes drank deep of the red light—an accentuation to its merry sadism. Yet in the next moment, the capsule twitched. In the next it came undone. The facets disconnected and disgorged red threadlike tendrils that arced around the lindwurm's body.

It fell from the ceiling as it tried to thrash, writhe, and slither its way free from the binding. In response, it flared and sizzled against the entity's glistening flesh. The lindwurm loosed a bellow that made the rocks dance.

"I did it," I said. "It's mine. How do I bond to it?"

"You don't." She added, "At least not with the suit on. If you want power you need to be vulnerable. Though I don't think you have to worry about that."

As if cued, the bindings flared once more leaving the memory of stellar chains behind my eyelids. When they shattered and the light died I knew the lindwurm was freed.

 

[MxOberon]

We stood there still as statues. Expressions chiseled into the eternity that the moment stretched into. I imagined this was how prey felt when finally cornered by a predator. Frozen and clinging to the fallow hope that in stillness could come safety. At least, that's why I didn't move.

I whispered, "The prism was supposed to bind anything from the soldiery."

Glurk glurk glurk. It was a revolting noise reminiscent of someone pulling a shoe free from mud. My wide doe-eyes narrowed to compliment the sneer that formed. I hated when someone laughed at me. The lindwurm's eyes swiveled chameleon-like to stare at me. Its sucking deep throated chortle ceased.

"Oh, spare me your eyes lest I snatch them," the lindwurm said. "It's not my fault you poorly graded my own magnificence."

Amber swore beneath her breath. "Are the theatrics necessary?"

The lindwurm huffed. "You're the one who placed me into the spotlight. Though, you've been on the stage for quite awhile already yourself, little player."

"If you're not a soldier then what are you?" I asked. "Don't I at least get to know the name of the entity that'll kill me?"

The lindwurm reared itself up—the damn thing was vain as hell—and pressed a gecko-esque paw to its chest. "My name, no you don't get to have that. I enjoy not being caged by you summoners. The rest though I suppose I can answer," it said. "Upon the great Chain of Vassalage, my rank is baron. My title, The Song That Resounds Amidst the Ruins."

"Pleasure to meet you," I said. My own fear melting into acceptance.

"You bespoil the etiquette behind those words," it said. "Lovely. Now, you did get one more thing wrong."

"That is?" Amber asked.

"That I'll kill you. It'd be a shame to slay someone so willing to betray all that they are." It leveled these words at me. "So I offer you this deal: bond to me and I spare your friend. I'll even make sure we get the vengeance you crave."

I glanced at Amber. "You're my senior," I said. They were the only words needed.

She shook her head. "Desecration respects nothing. Any deal you make with it expect to come out the loser."

I turned to the lindwurm, "You heard her. Plus, I prefer to keep my autonomy and my mind to myself. I'd lose both bonding with you."

The lindwurm released a rancid sigh. "Well then. . ." it trailed off. Silence settled around us to compliment the standoff we were in.

Amber chuckled, "I always thought I'd die by firing squad—" tink. The frail noise severed her words. We both spotted the small chip of stone that had fallen away from the door behind us. She tilted her head, spotted something, and turned back. An ember of mirth had returned to her.

"If we're to die, let's make a game of it. Give us one chance to start this chase all over again," she said to the lindwurm.

It chuckled before asking, "What happened to 'Desecration respects nothing?'"

"Oh it's still there, but would you really miss out on a chance to have some fun?"

"I don't know if the moment calls for fun," it answered.

She shook her head. "It doesn't. This is a somber tragic moment in which our poor heroine meets an untimely end. It calls for a solemnity."

"Solemnity?" it asked.

"Yes. Endings are a sacred thing, really."

I watched as her words elicited a hiss from the baron before us. A dry spot hand appeared upon its chest. The lindwurm's head rocked side-to-side like a swaying ship. Its jaw worked over the problem before it. 'Honor' the moment and kill us easily, or risk it all on an impromptu game.

"I. . ." the dry patch spread. Flakes of skin snowed oh so gently. "The game," it responded.

Amber grinned, "Five shots. Take five shots of your weird tongue thing at us at point-blank range just as we are now. If we avoid them all then you let us pass, and we start this chase over."

"If I win?"

"Well, you get the outcome you would've had anyways. Hell, you still might even if we 'win'. We have a deal?"

The lindwurm lowered itself. "Yes," and opened its maw to reveal a pre-loaded tongue-spear. I snatched Amber's arm and pulled her back towards me. The spear went wide and thudded into the door behind us. Stone chips showered behind us like the embers of a sparkler. The lindwurm tsk'd and began the process of reloading its tongue.

I asked, "Have any spells to help us win?"

"None at all. Hope you were good at dodgeball," she answered.

My breath slowed as I did my best to watch the lindwurm. Any twitch of motion that could give away its next target.

"Don't forget to blink, Temple," Amber said.

I turned my head toward her. "How am I supposed to—"

Her leg lashed. Hooked my ankle and pulled. Thwoomb. The lindwurm's tongue zoomed above my body. I clattered to the ground. Looked up at the door to see the three tongue-spears embedded deep into the stone. Fissures connected them like a grim constellation.

Amber swung her arm out my way—kept her eyes fixed on the lindwurm the entire time—and helped me up. When my hand slid into hers I tapped a finger against her palm.

"You sure?" she asked.

"I'm the navigator, aren't I?" I asked back.

She laughed. I hate when people laugh at me, but hers was a laugh like helium. Made you lighter than your problems versus highlighting that you had them at all. My mouth twisted into a smile as I found my feet. Together we could face—

"Argh," she screamed. I turned and felt joy curdle. We had believed the lindwurm's attacks were just simple projectiles. Fired and left inert upon arrival. Yet here they were removed from the door and twined together into a fleshy-rebar that punctured Amber's thigh.

She dropped to a knee. The lindwurm chuckled as well.

"You cheated," I said.

It smiled at me. "Oh summoner, you always need to think about your words. The game was five shots for your chance to run again. Not that I'd only shoot you."

Bitterness settled in my heart alongside the guilt already present. The lindwurm didn't need to add that even if we did win any chance we could win the later chase had plummeted. My eyes blurred as fat tears rolled down my face. The lindwurm began to reload.

I wouldn't give the lindwurm the pleasure of seeing the despair on my face. Instead I eyed the slowly crumbling wall that we had placed our hopes on. The force of the removal hand taken that constellation and turned it into a spiderweb of fractures. Even at this degree of degradation the door stood solid. It'd need another blow before it crumbled. I slammed my fist into the door and shattered three bones in my hand. Hissed through clenched teeth at my own weakness.

"Give it up Temple, you'd need a steel hammer to get through that door," Amber said.

Steel. I raised my fist again, but this time I turned it over to spot the linking cuff between the gloves of my suit and the main body. Pinched the cuff between my fingers to release it. With a hiss, I tore the glove off and watched as a windless force stole the skin from my fist to reveal the damask-patterned spirit that lay beneath. A metallic sheen danced across my knuckles as I reared back one last time—exactly how Dad showed me.

All of myself was engaged when I threw that punch. Not just my hips and shoulders, but my hatred too. I threw it not just wanting to strike stone, but strikethrough an enemy. All my enemies. The five masked killers, the adults of the town, and my own pitiful weakness. There was resistance when my knuckles kissed the stone. When I torqued my body I ground it to dust. Only to feel the sweet nothing of air right behind it. I smiled as the stonework flew off into the void.

My smile turned to a gasp of surprise as I followed the stone and my fist down the flight of stairs. Behind me I saw, inverted, Amber crawl through the chunk of now revealed stone. In her hurry she fell with me. Behind her came the rushing bulk of the lindwurm. It slammed into the door and roared in disbelief that even missing a chunk the door rebuffed its assault. Our death delayed once more, Amber laughed as we tumbled into the dark.

* * *​

When we arrived into a well-bruised heap at the bottom of the stairs, I found myself enraptured by a large stained glass window. I crawled out from beneath Amber—who slapped away my hand to camp herself against a wall—and stumbled to the center of the room. The walls were packed earth and minimal stone. Shelves for mummified corpses.

"What leaves a corpse in the Underside?" I asked.

Amber rolled her eyes. "Now you notice them? Temple, this whole place is a crypt. Swear, hunter thinks they're near a…"

I tuned her grumbling out. There were no more than twelve bodies here. I examined a shelf near Amber's head. Ran my hand through the dust to reveal a name.

"Shariq Ayyad," I read.

Amber rolled her head toward me. "You're not supposed to read anything in the Underside, Temple," she said.

"I know, but what does exposure matter if we'll still die?" I asked.

"Might still die," she amended.

Our eyes met and I read her for even a hair-thin crack of doubt. "You really think we can still get out of this?" I asked.

She shrugged and looked off into nothing. "Don't you? No one punches through a door if they think it's hopeless."

She had me there. I rose to my full height and wiped off the dust on another shelf. This one read: Zayn Moore. A chuckle escaped my lips. Amber looked up.

"You go mad?" she asked.

I began to strip off my Undersuit. Left it in a crisp puddle near Amber. The rest of my body took on the metallic hue of my fist. While my clothes fluttered away alongside my flesh. Amber shook her head mournfully and muttered, "Yup, she went mad."

I took my place in the center of the room and took in the stained glass window. There was no light here, not even a candle, but still the window glowed with an inner radiance. It illuminated the glass depiction of a host of creatures that frolicked below in fields. There was even a sphinx. Above that host was a smaller number of beings. Going up and up in a pyramid—no, a chain—that terminated at an apex depiction of something that whether an eye or a galaxy.

"I'm not crazy you asshole. I'm learning. This window it's a grimoire," I said. "Those names were human, not some gibberish the Underside came up with."

"You really think the Underside can't make a name?"

"Amber, please!" I asked softly, "Just humor me."

Her eyes fluttered away from me and back again. She rocked herself to her feet and shuffled next to me. Then, from my own vantage point, she saw what I saw. She even saw a little more.

"Aw fuck, this is some cult's initiatory space," she said. "Yeah, they even have a focusing circle."

I looked down and noticed that below us was a chipped mosaic of occult complexity. When it was new it must have been beautiful. Clean and glossy tiled arcs tracing shapes inside and outside the circle. A landing strip and radio station for a summoner to call down any entity from the court. At the moment though, it was a shabby broken thing. Only the circle remained—too thick for a few chips to ruin it.

"We could—," I said.

"Temple, we're not using some busted cultist focusing circle."

"We will if I want to summon something."

"Something, she says," Amber muttered. "You don't even know what you're going to get. You don't know what this Court is. You don't have a single name to identify the entity. Even with the summoning circle you're flying blind. There's a reason people summon only from what they have records if they summon at all. We need tools if we were going to do this right."

"Good thing we have this cultist focusing circle. Should still be keyed to the Court."

Amber's mouth fell in astonishment. "You'll have no protection if you do this."

I smirked, "Didn't you say you have to be vulnerable if you want power?"

Amber flipped me off. Then shuffled behind me.

"Then let's do this. Know how to sit seiza?" she asked.

I answered by taking the position. She carefully settled onto her knees. I tried to ignore the squelch of blood getting pushed out from her motions.

"Temple, align your mind on as clear a desire as possible. That desire's the message you'll be broadcasting across the Underside," she said. "Remember, no matter what answers it's your decision to bond with them."

My mind raced alongside my heart. Worried breaths shuffled in and out of myself. I'd love to say I had a clear desire in mind, but I didn't. When I tried to focus on the idea of just getting out of here my nerves crept over my shoulder to remind me that bonds were lifelong. A marriage of spirits. So then I looked to my future, and felt even the firmness of my vengeance fracture. Amber had asked if my dad deserved to be avenged, and while one part of me roared yes another part stayed silent. He was a Godtender and never told me. He was my dad, but that quiet part dared to ask, "Is he?"

I scurried from that thought and bumped into the reality of how much I didn't know. I didn't know the lindwurm was a baron. I didn't know the faces of my father's killers. I didn't even know their Courts. If I was to find them it'd be a miracle because I didn't know how. In fact, all of my problems were some cousin to the reality that, "I didn't know." The conviction that led me to this moment was based on a "didn't know." I scowled and shook my head. I may not have known, but I knew what I didn't need and that was self-pity. My head rose and fixed on the window. A stubbornness suffused in myself as my spirit flesh rose in hue. The heat I felt on the night I swore vengeance crept up my limbs again. Raced toward my heart as I blazed orange-white once again. I forged myself once again.

I was the navigator. I opened the doorway. I find the way. As I stared at the window I felt my eyes unfocus. A message had fixed itself in me. Wove around my spine to alert the entirety of my being. I wanted to find the way forward. Always forward.

At some point, Amber probably asked if I was ready. I don't remember saying anything else, but she knew. She wove a hand-spell made of a series of seals. Finished the sorcery by stamping her thumb against the base of my skull. Then unlocked my spirit.

My chest bloomed and came undone. Orange-white camellia petals made from my own spirit flesh parted to form a flower that was my entirety. Thin cordlike tendrils emerged from within and shivered in the windless breeze of the Underside. The pistil and stamen of the flower I sported. The physicalization of my desire. I sat there and waited.

In the distant shadows of my mind, I could hear the avalanche rumble of rubble tumble down the stairs. I even noted how the tips of my metallic petals seemed to tarnish ever so slightly. Desecration was on the wind. The lindwurm was coming. It was in those far wings where sensation lived and thought died that I knew Amber was alone. She needed me.

"She needs us," a voiceless voice said.

Voiceless because there was no sound at all. The Underside had no need of it. Instead, I felt the meaning with the entirety of my being. That's when I felt reality purr in approval of my understanding. Space—me—the Underside rippled to the frequency of that lascivious purr.

"Ah!" The moan rushed free from me as I felt my petals be pinched between cosmic fingers that ran back and forth in examination.

"You'll do well for me," the presence said.

My vision refocused as I took in the window. The stained glass figures had turned their heads to face me. Their glass mouths moved in unison as the voice spoke.

"Weren't you warned about staring," it reminded me.

I couldn't blink though. I couldn't do anything but behold. In fact, I didn't want to. I felt my pistil and stamen wind around this power's fist. It yanked me from my sitting position to one that was decidedly kneeling.

"That's what I like about you, Nadia."

"How do you know my name?" I asked.

"The same way you know mine," it responded.

Those fingers loosened their grip and twined within myself. Yet it meant I was also twined with her. I moved to speak her name. Yet before I could I felt fingers grasp my tongue. Make a haven of my mouth. I suppose you could say I was in her clutches.

"That you are, my little summoner. Still, better to be in mine than to tumble free until you splatter against the firmament," she said. "That's what happens when one as weak as you tries to lift the burden of my name. So be silent and just hold it close to your heart."

I felt something slide within me. Like a tapioca ball shooting through a straw. Until it plopped and sunk within my mind past the probing fingers of my own consciousness.

"Good girl," she said. I knew she was because she made sure I knew. "Now, before we bargain—,"

"Bargain?"

"Bargain. Before we do so, I want you to tilt your head backwards. There, there," she said as I followed the instruction.

My vision fully inverted I saw the twisted form of the lindwurm propel from the shadows. Maw yawning and tongue sharp, so it could consume Amber. I saw Amber's eyes had slid to the corners. She probably caught sight of the smallest blur of the lindwurm. Not enough time to even be fully aware she would die.

"You stopped time?" I asked.

"We wouldn't have had much time to bargain if I hadn't."

"Oh, I'm being Observed," I said.

Existence purred once again, and I formed a weak smile around her fingers. As kids we all learn about Observation. First in rhymes and songs, and then in the myths told about the heroes and villains of the Changeover. Many of the facets are the same no matter the story: time slowing or stopping, hearing voices without any sound, being touched by the universe. They were all in agreement that it was the worst fate that could befall a person.

"It's not that bad," she said. "All around you are those I once Observed."

"They're dead," I remarked.

"That's not my fault," she replied.

We both knew that wasn't true. Reality doesn't take well when an entity decides to make their presence known through Observation. Whether in Realspace or the Underside, an unincarnated entity was just too heavy for existence to carry. So reality tended to buckle, and the influence of the Court would seep in. Whether warping matter or manipulating outcomes the entity didn't have to do anything. Just watching was enough.

"What did I do to catch your eye?" I asked.

"No need to be so glum darling," she stroked my face. "You did a very good thing. You've provided me a way into the world again."

"Again?"

She nodded. "My enemies razed my court to nothing. Slew every link in the Chain until not a single piece of me was left incarnated. Slew my summoners so my many names would be lost. I'd still Be for I already am, but I couldn't let them get away with it. Who would avenge me?"

Water—or something like water—seeped out around the frame of the window. Ran like rivers past me. Tears of my own poured down my face.

"You see Nadia, I want a way as well. Be the navigator that might chart a Sovereign's vengeance and my return to reality. In turn I'll be yours, and guide you to your own foes."

The deal was good, but it needed one more thing. "Kill the lindwurm, please," I said.

The universe bounced with laughter. She leaned in close—or rather existence did—and whispered to the ribosomes at the center of my cells.

"You're lucky you're my favorite summoner," she said.

I smiled, "I'm your only one."

"So you are."

There was a snap as if reality rubber-banded into one point. The stained glass shattered. Yet the shards tumbled inwards to reveal a sea of blazing stars. An endless expanse of tomorrow down which one could tumble through a hundred-thousand futures that diverged—

"Blink."

I blinked. Blinked again. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Everything was still red! Then it was null.

"Breath," she said.

I obeyed. With the gentle sweep of a divine hand the universe was shuttered to me.

"I always forgot to warn people not to look. But you can now," she said.

Her hand was removed and reality returned to me. The window was whole. My vision was clear. Though I saw droplets of my blood frozen in mid-ascension. Like raindrops in reverse. What was also before was a sphinx. Whose feathers were opalescent and shimmered with secrets. Its body rippled with muscle and its fur was spotted like a snow leopard. Though the sphinx's spots were like eyes on a peacock's feather. Its face was heart-shaped and androgynous with a strong nose, smooth forehead, and half-lidded eyes that held barely a smidge of bemusement.

"Behold, the guardian of ways and your initiator into the mysteries of my Court," she said through the sphinx's mouth.

I tilted my head in acknowledgement. Then I felt my pistil and stamen guided by her fingers to intertwine with the feather's of the sphinx's single outstretched wing. She wove us together into the singular being our bond now made us.

"The lindwurm," I said. "You promised."

"So I did," she said.

Piloting the body of the sphinx you passed me. The bloom of my spirit closed up and smoothed back into my chest. I rose to tired unsteady legs. Watched as my new partner approached the lindwurm and placed a single paw against its head. She looked back to me—cause apparently the sphinx could rotate its head like an owl—and revealed the armory of knives that hid in her mouth under the guise of teeth.

"Pay close attention my dear summoner, for this is the power of Revelation."

All the outcomes that ever could be swirled into this moment. Under control of a divine will it condensed them until they were but a single bead of power. Then, with a deft control, she bisected infinity and unleashed a glorious stream of chalcedony flames. They spiraled down the lindwurm's gullet illuminating its entire length as they ate it from the inside out.

In this timeless moment, I watched the lindwurm become a silhouette of ash imprinted onto reality. The sphinx returned to me and sat upon its haunches with a wan smile. She was still piloting it. Through eyes half-lidded I locked gazes with a goddess.

"Don't expect me to save you again, my summoner. The way is only worth the effort we put into walking it," she said.

Then I watched as she stepped away from the moment and time resumed. The patter of my raining blood marking her exit. Amber's hand stilled as she turned to spy the ashen silhouette that hung in space. The last remnant of the lindwurm. Finally, she looked at me and nodded.

"Introduce me to your entity later," she said. "I want to get back topside soon as possible."

She took a few steps before collapsing to the ground. The leg of her suit was so suffused with blood that it welled up from within the fabric. I slid to my knees and cradled her. Struggled with her wrist so I could check the vitals watch built into the suit. Her heartbeat was dropping fast. The sphinx sidled next to me and crouched.

"Your legs are slow," it said.

Nahey tittered at me. Fluttering violently around my head no doubt worried I'd drop Amber. So extra carefully I laid her across the sphinx's back. Then I climbed atop it myself.

"Do you know a way out?" I asked.

"Summoner, we're of Revelation. We always know a way," it answered. Then sped off in a race against Amber's plummeting heartbeat.

 

[MxOberon]

From my vantage point atop the sphinx I saw the Underside unfurl before me. A quilt of Courts and their psychedelic domains flowed into an impressionistic blur. I wanted to try and appreciate it—I was flying after all—but at the center of my vision was Amber's slumped body. Her life dripped around a wound that would've been better served on me.

"Guilt is ill served when walking the way," the sphinx said.

"How do you know I'm feeling guilty?" I asked.

The sphinx chuffed. "Our natures are fibers interwoven, summoner. While your soul proves expansive enough that our thoughts don't blend it hardly means I hear nothing at all."

I searched my own thoughts trying to find any sign of the bleed that the sphinx spoke of. Yet my mind was a house in a tornado. I'd never find any trace of it, but I could exhaust myself in the search. That was the most efficient method an entity used to undermine their summoner. Make them doubt their thoughts, doubt their family, and reduce them to a sorcery casting shell that sought succor in power. At the end of those tales the summoner would attempt the trial to graduate their entity into one of its upChain forms only to fall short. Dad had said we lost most of the Old World leadership that way.

"Doubt is. . . better for the way." The sphinx added, "but let it not curdle to paranoia. My Sovereign has need of you, and shells of men are ill-fit to bear the weight of Revelation."

I did my best to block out the slowing pace of Amber's heart beat. "What happens when she doesn't need me anymore?"

The sphinx was silent for a moment. I couldn't see its face, but as I fixed myself on trying to interpret the small tilts of its head I felt. . . discourse? I wanted something firmer than that but before I could press the curtain of trees that surrounded camp came into view. In preparation for landing, I gathered Amber into my arms best I could.

We glided downward through the trees—their density forced us from proper flight. From branch to branch the sphinx made light work of the arboreal obstruction. Until we finally broke free from the treeline into the "clearing" that the hunter encampment had nestled into.

To their credit, the hunters had already formed hand-spells of their own on the off chance it was an attack from some unbonded entity. There was even someone who brandished a gun in one hand. A dull piece of metal scuffed from use. Not common anymore—most didn't want to waste the resources on shaping bullets—and functionally useless against entities. A reminder that despite Amber's talk of peace we still needed ways to put down our own.

With my hands full I propped Amber up and gave her a good wave.

"It's me, Nadia Temple. Amber, she needs—," and before I could finish the medics on standby claimed her.

I watched as she disappeared into their white tent. Looked down to see my own hands—metallic, empty, and stained—and slid from the sphinx's back. The rest of the hunters had already lowered their hands. Though the one with the gun walked over with it still raised.

"You in charge?" he asked.

"Pretty sure," I said.

He drew back the hammer and leveled the gun at me. The barrel settled into my blindspot—I had to cross my eyes and look up to even see it—while the now doubled crowd pressed in.

Someone shouted, "Put it down, Reggie, she's good!"

The gunman, Reggie, turned away to shout back. "She ain't in her 'suit. For all we know she's riddled with curses. Alls below, look at what she rode in on. You think that thing is soldiery?"

The bystander was silent. "Thought not," Reggie said.

Standing there gun to temple, I was furious. Here I survived an encounter with a baron—without an entity mind you—and could nearly be domed by this camo clad asshole. On reflection, he was right to be wary. I was forgetful and left my suit—ignore the fact I was rushing to save Amber's life—and yeah, the sphinx was beautiful. Too beautiful for most soldier class entities. Heck, I'd even give it to him that there was a fair threat that I bonded to something beyond me and had become a puppet under its power. It's what the lindwurm wanted me for afterall.

All the same, I was tired of being treated like I was powerless. The image of the Sovereign—unincarnated but still powerful—returned to my mind. In the pocketful of seconds Reggie had turned away from me I had deduced my first sorcery.

My index and middle fingers crossed. Their tips settled against the elbow of Reggie's outstretched arm. The blustery fuck didn't even realize people had stepped backward. I felt the energy of hundred steps walking a million roads bind into those fingers. Then I split infinity.

"Gah!" Reggie screamed.

I don't recall what he looked like after I released the spell. My eyes were fixed upon the bouquet of chalcedony fire that sprung from my fingers. I had cast my first true sorcery. Not the civic minded domestic garbage that we called, mortal tier—the garbage my father had dedicated his life to—but rather the kind of glorious working that became the stone that had shattered the foundations of the Old World. A weapon that could sever an arm. Could kill a father.

"Nadia," the crew lead said. His hand wrapped over my own. Turned my outstretched fingers—because I had aimed them at Reggie's fallen form at some point—into a fist inside his. "No more."

I moved my gaze from Reggie to the crew lead. There wasn't any judgment there. Just pity? My lip quivered as I couldn't face that. Still can't. So, I lowered my arm.

"Good girl," he said. "Congrats on becoming an adult."

I gave him a half-hearted smile in thanks—he deserved more than I had—and retired to a spare tent. It wasn't a camping tent necessarily, but more of an event kind. Where the ceiling was high, had smooth canvas walls for rain to roll off of, and was big enough to hold some cots and trunks. Most hunters ran this sort of set-up because graduation hunting was usually easy. The sort of affair where hunters could roam out, get a few catches and come back in time for a beer and a barbecue.

My head fell against my arms to a bassy clang.

"I messed up," I said to no one.

Lips pressed against my forehead. I tilted my head to meet the eyes of the sphinx.

"That too is the way. Revelation is unseen where perfection walks," it said.

"What?" I asked, humor edging into my voice.

Its mouth took a downtilt—no doubt sensing my poorly restrained chuckle. "Comfort is spoiled upon those without eyes to reflect."

It turned its face away from me. I lifted my head fully and set a hand against its shoulder. Felt the muscle that rippled beneath the fur that was soft as any Knitcroft-made fabric.

"I'm sorry." I admitted, "I just didn't expect it. Comfort that is."

The sphinx's eyes met mine at its corners. "Really? I see so many velvet ties wrapped around your heart. Even the mummer you had me ferry is still wrapped about you."

The humor in my voice chilled. "Amber wants to comfort me?" I hardly deserved it.

"Open hands find it easier to give than a fist finds it to receive. If you could see more deeply you would know this." It continued, "Even now you fixate on a perceived failure. Yet look beneath, you found yourself a weapon by which you might wound others. Have saved the life of a friend. Accomplishing all you sought to do by your arrival."

"Now who has to see more deeply?" I said, "Because I didn't accomplish everything. I—" and found the admission caught in my throat like a bone. I had forgotten Melissa in it all. Sprinted past the very thing I promised to bring back. The very reason I charted a course that brought us to our cross with the lindwurm.

"I didn't get a symbiosnake for Melissa."

The sphinx stared at me before it settled against the tree root that formed the "floor" of the clearing. I heard—no, felt—it engage in discourse again.

"Who are you talking to?" I asked.

The sphinx's eyes cracked open. "So now you see things, hmm. If you must know I was deliberating," it said. The sphinx had set the lie between us, but I didn't have the heart to point out as much. It continued, "This task that weighs on you can still be completed."

"Really? How?" I asked eagerly.

"Rein thyself first," it said. "It can be completed, but your time with the maiden ends upon delivery. Any path with her is a beleaguered one."

I scowled, "So I cut her from my life?"

"That's the bargain."

"Deal," I said. "This isn't anything I wasn't already going to do."

The sphinx chuffed before it rose to its paws and padded out the back of the tent. I rose with it, but it pawed the air dismissively. Stay here. So I stayed and I waited until sleep claimed me.

* * *​

"Awaken, summoner," the sphinx whispered. Its voice was different from the goddess'—the Sovereign—raspy and low like the singers on Dad's records. A texture unlike the Sovereign's which was a honeyed intoxicant that dragged you below the threshold of sense. Still, my eyes fluttered as I pushed away from the cot and to my feet.

"Can we stop with the 'summoner' and 'my summoner' stuff?" I asked. "My name's Nadia."

The sphinx's head tilted ninety-degrees. "Is it critical to our partnership that I do?"

I nodded. I needed at least the illusion of companionship. The feeling of need must have touched the sphinx at the place where our minds intermingled. Its head righted itself as its tail flicked through the air.

"Fine, Nadia," it said.

"Can I call you anything?" I asked.

"Soldiery have no names."

"Technically, but even Amber gave Nahey a nickname."

The sphinx rolled its eyes and spun its head. "The soldiery have no names. It is only by the right of graduation to a higher station that we might gain them."

My own frustration edged in to meet its own, "Why are you so firm on this?"

"Because my purpose is to be a gatekeeper. Not a friend. If you find fault in this then blame yourself for you summoned me, Nadia," it hissed. "Now, gather your gift and let us make haste. The camp is departing."

It was then I looked down to see the symbiosnake that had been placed just ahead of where my feet had fallen. The shifting twining thing squirmed against the red bindings which kept it in place. I stared at the bindings for the slightest change in hue. Nothing. Released a breath and plucked it up by the handle that the prism caps formed once deployed. Then set off for the surface with the rest of the hunter crew that had already begun the breakdown process.

Up the lightless Staircase we ascended, and free from my Undersuit I felt the change from Conceptual Space to the Real. It reminded me of my young years at the lake with Melissa—and the rest of our school to be technical—where we'd kick our feet hand-in-hand to break for the surface. Feel the way the water slid its fingers against our skin. The memory of moisture rapidly disappearing when met by the sun's light. Yet the passing was marked by the way our fingers wrinkled and skin glistened. It was like that—feelings and all. My skin even seemed to wrinkle, but as I pinched my skin to look more closely I just finally saw the damascus pattern of my spirit which gave the impression.

The sphinx was the one whose transition from Conceptual to Real was perhaps most jarring. I hadn't realized that the time with which I had looked at it its body had been so illustrative. As if a painting you could view in the round. Yet now the painting had become not an idea but a compromised manifestation. Its fur was now distinguishable as a not-yet infinity of hairs. While its wings were such that each feather could be made out. Its lips made glossy in a—

"Nadia, you're staring," the sphinx said.

I blushed and turned away. "Sorry, it's just so. . . so ya know?" I asked.

The sphinx smirked, "Would that I could say you have hit upon the unspeakable nature of our Court." It shook its head. "However the nature of this transition can be described effortlessly. Awful."

The sphinx increased its pace until we broke from the pack of hunters dispersing to their left behind transport. Took a stretch and then shook wide its wings—they had grown.

"A negotiation with what you humans call physics. Don't stare too long at it lest the bitch know we've cheated."

I mounted the sphinx hurriedly at that insistence. There was a honey'd lilt at the end of its voice. As if the emotions from some higher force dribbled down onto its words. Amidst the crowd I noticed an older man and a boy—a kid a grade below mine—finish stacking crates of entities up at the checkout booths. Checkout booths that I had passed unknowingly.

I said, "I think we have to stop—"

"Dad, I swear we're missing one!" the boy screamed.

"Nah, sure we got everything," the dad said.

"It was a symbiosnake. Red as the bindings but super glossy with an amber central eye. Come on, I was going to use it to ask out Mrs. Knitcroft's daughter."

I scowled at that. The boy was going to try and buy off her heart. A pointless gesture—she was mine and had been for years per our parents agreement three years prior. A thought that had me look away from remembering what I'd be doing later.

"Hmm, which one was that again?" the dad inquired. Which in turn made his son dye red as frustration overtook him. The sight of which rippled laughter through the audience. Distracting them all from spotting the dad as he shot a thumbs-up my way. Questions opened in my mouth, but shot back into my throat as the sphinx leapt into the air. Galloped twice as gave a hearty flap of its wings. Hot winds caught the tips of its fingers as we rode the wind.

"Negotiations, Nadia. No need to ask for that which you surely won't want to know," said the sphinx.

We soared home and once more the world unfurled before me. Though its colors were hardly psychedelic. Rather they were morbid in their beauty. The late evening sun bleeding sanguine reds and new-bruise purple into the leaves and the rock. Rolling hills looked less like slumbering women but ladies freshly-slain. I blinked my eyes. Though not in the Underside, there were things, feelings better left uncomprehended. So instead I focused on the winds as they scythed at my cheeks like young weasels—mischievous but sharp. My eyes moved to the desaturated horizon where heavy clouds crawled fat with rain.

I urged the sphinx to fly faster, and was forced to clutch its fur as payment. The wind now pressing me tight into its muscles. Fortunate as I didn't want to look down and see the ant-sized lights that'd pixelate the valley. Evidence of families getting ready to celebrate the festival the night would bring. The sphinx stared for me though and didn't care for my lack of desire to talk on the subject.

"What's the festival?" it asked.

I kept my lips shut on the matter. Which earned me a hearty bucking. An aerial trial I don't wish on anyone.

"The festival," the sphinx said.

"Can we talk about anything else? Behold, the sun, don't you want to know what that is?" I asked.

"Hardly, its nature is simple and an altogether boring existence compared to the alliance of Sainthood and Glory that is evidence in the Painting of the Firmament That Girds All," it said.

"The-the Underside?" I asked.

"Yes. So no. I wish to learn of the festival."

"It's the Omenday festival," I said.

"Go on," it growled.

So I mumbled into its fur. "Celebrates the omen of fortune that'd fall on a family. The entity that graces your door—courtesy us hunters—is meant to prophecy how things would go. Strong entity from a less than positive Court, very bad. Strong entity from a more positive Court, very good." I smirked, "Whole families would rise and fall. While marriages would be. . . announced or canceled."

"Hmmm, I like this day," the sphinx said.

"Doesn't matter much for us," I said.

"Why not? Sure tragedy has already befallen," it said. "But that was far before today."

I perked up, "So then what makes the omen for today?"

"Nadia, see more deeply for its simple." It preened, "Today you bring home the potent—yet neutral—Revelation and shall make apparent the Concepts which make up your family past and still very possible present."

"What concepts make up my family?" I asked.

"That, I can not answer. Only your actions will as we see to the completion of your quest and mine."

On that, I could wholeheartedly agree. From there we flew on in silence. Past the rippling rows of golden pearls that shone atop the town. Out into the heavy mantle of sun-set shadows that stretched on. I pointed out which shaded hill was my own. The sphinx spiraled down to the dirt. Amidst the spiral I noted the minitruck the Knitcroft's used to make deliveries. In the bed was Melissa reading a book by flashlight.

The pages fluttered angrily as our landing wind toyed with them. Melissa stuck her head up, and I caught full sight of her as the wind pulled taut her sundress for a few glorious fabric snapping moments. Her hair was a slightly gray birch-bark with tiny lake-sized waves that took to the wind nicely. Made it all shimmer. Framed her eyes perfectly—green as spring. While her body was what my mother once described as Rubenesque. I had asked her what it meant and she would always get so sad. Then mutter, "If I could show you I would. We lost those a long time ago though."

When the wind had settled, Melissa hopped out the truck bed and rushed over to me. A smile crossed my face right before she two-handedly shoved me from the sphinx's back. Which in turn watered a smile onto the traitor's face.

"Alls below," I groaned. My arms crossed over my chest in pain—depending on perspective, Melissa had the best or worst aim when she didn't mean to hurt someone. Even when they deserved it.

She leaned over the sphinx. "You don't get to say that, Nadia," she cried, literally. The tears beading her lashes. I found my feet and took advantage of my height so my eyes could fall just beyond the teary face I had made.

"The office told me you checked out cause you went Graduation Hunting," she said.

"I did. If you noticed what you pushed me from," I said as I gestured to the sphinx.

Melissa knocked out a quick curtsy. "A pleasure to meet you," she said.

The sphinx chuffed. "As is mine. Now, I find myself more interested in exploring the grounds," it looked around the still devastated hill. "Or what remains of them. Than I do in being between your righteous anger." Then it padded off to do just that. Leaving no other obstacles.

Melissa's fists clenched. I quickly raised my arm.

"Your present, before you act on any anger?" I asked.

She set her eyes on the symbiosnake in the binding. I gave it a polite shack and she took the entity by the binding's handle. Held it away from herself the way one might have their hopes.

Her silence forced more words out. "Red as the blush of your cheeks. Amber eyed to off-set the Spring of your own."

She blushed. "Is the bonding room?" she asked, unable to state the full question.

"It is. I can walk you to it. Turns out navigating some temple ruins can be harder than when its properly assembled."

Her anger still half-remembered, she shook her head. "I've explored plenty. Waited here night and day in the hopes you'd come home."

Then she walked. I watched her disappear into the ruin that was my family's namesake. The sphinx returned to my side.

"You lied," it said.

"Only a white one," I parried.

"Any occlusion of the truth is a further step from Revelation."

"Well some revelations are too painful to give someone."

The sphinx scowled, "It still doesn't change what you have to do." Skewering me where I stood.

I watched as the sphinx disappeared as well. Then watched the shadows inflate with each inch of sun disappearing beyond the horizon. I followed after. Slipping amidst the ruins of a spell given architectural form. The way Dad had brought the NewNet to the valley. Linking us all in the "Akashic Network," that SIRD had been building for a decade and a half. This temple changed everything for the town. It had helped the Knitcroft create a mini power out of what was once a simple fabric co-op made by three of the founding families that had first settled. Began the slow unification of our families. I was going to spoil decades of good will in one night.

Though I was last to come to the house, it was still another half-hour before Melissa joined me in the tea-and-tv room—as my mother so uncreatively coined it. The floors were deceptively cushioned and warmed via runic inscription carved into the wood beneath. In the center of the room about three large square mats from the television set into the wall, was a mini hearth that heated the tea pot I had prepped. She sat down in time with the pot's impatient hiss.

"Tea?" I offered. "It's raspberry and hibiscus."

"My favorite," she said with a dark glint of skepticism. She held out her cup. Hers because she had one in my family's set. Mom had made sure of it when she got it commissioned. Would tease Melissa everytime she drank out of it too. Melissa must have remembered those times as well as she quickly blinked away tears before they ripened.

"Did the bonding go well?" I asked. "When I did mine it was a trip."

Melissa huffed. "Of course it was. You skipped the classes we had that taught us a good technique for it."

"A good one, as opposed to a bad one?"

"As many ways to put together a fabric are there ways to bond to an entity. Some safer and saner than others."

I chuckled at the irony. "The sphinx keeps saying I need to see more deeply. Guess it's right."

Melissa joined me in good humor. "Can't forget broadly. You always tunnel vision once you get something fixed in your mind. Takes all my energy to make you see the other paths you can take."

We sipped our tea.

"Even now, there's a lot more in this room than something as simple as two friends. Right?" she asked.

She sipped her tea. Mine sloshed in my shaking hand.

"Of course. We're also betrothed. Or are we?" I asked.

She smiled and took a sip of her tea.

"Of course. I'm glad you'd think to ask," she said. "Though I'm not talking about that. But about what we said the night. . . it happened."

The night. I watched her awkwardly slurp at her tea. Wounded by having to ask.

"What did we say?" I asked.

She choked on her tea. Looked up red in the face.

"We parted with love that night. So much that we could pour it into the other's heart and find ourselves threatening to overflow," she wailed. "Did one night change it all to vinegar?"

I shook my head. "Never, no. I just," and I struggled to find more words. My throat was dry. I gulped down the tea—didn't mind that I probably burnt my mouth.

"It's just that when it happened I woke up," I said.

"You woke up?"

"In a world I didn't know anymore. While what was left behind before it it's. . ." I trailed off. Heart aching and slowing to excruciating detail.

"It's what?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Barred from me. What I can see is minimal. Let alone feel it most of the time. If there's love beyond there it's too much to squeeze through some keyhole in one burst."

She had stopped drinking her tea. So I went on. "But I can feel it—squeezing—filling every gap so it can fill my heart. So I can remember. Because there's so much love to remember."

Our eyes met with the wariness that only comes when you're forced to see a new layer to your love. A complexity that either adds or mars the beauty of what you had. What you're unable to unsee.

Melissa moved aside her teacup. She crawled to me. Hands and knees with a predator's sway. Her eyes looked upwards with a wet and wanting coquettishness. My teeth sunk into my lower lip as I felt an urge of restraint well in me. Still, I slid my cup aside as well. I didn't want her to accidentally spill it. Yet, with obstruction put aside, she found her way into my lap. Slid beneath my arms and allowed my hands to roam. Something gave in my resistance as I fell backwards.

The sun slunk past the horizon and light fled from the room. Save for the dull glow of the hearth. Beyond Melissa's head, the starry mural my mother painted glowed into view. Bestowing the girl—no, the young woman as she was an adult now same as myself—a heavenly aura.

"Then let me tear down the wall," she said. Stood above me. Unbelted her dress and let it tumble down before she kicked it away to some dark corner. Settled back into my lap—though now my hands touched her with even more care. There was a wind today yet she was so hot.

Melissa cupped my face and guided our lips together. Where they met, I could only taste salt. Tears joining where our tongues twined. Her own hands slid from my face and roamed the territory of me. In search of some purchase by which she could take hold and pin me lest I escape. At the touch of such want it would've been rude if it didn't inspire my own. Though mine shattered free from want into outright hunger. If this was to be my last meal with her then I prayed she would forbid my gluttony. Even as a growl rumbled into her mouth—oh how my hunger exceeded her want—and I tilted her from my lap. Poured the beauty to the cushioned floor and took my position—favored and well-tested—above her. I slid on my knees back until level with her glory. Pressed inwards and with my tongue tilted her until she poured into my mouth. An experience for her and a taste for me, that wrung harmonious moans from both of us.

It wouldn't be for another hour until we had slaked her thirst upon each other. Though, despite my promise to the sphinx, I found ourselves more entwined than I had intended. My thigh was well-set between Melissa's. Her head made a pillow of my hand—the hand I cut a man's arm off with. I jerked it back toward my chest ready to apologize for the red on her face. Though there was no red save the gentle blush that joined with her glow made her so divine.

"Do you see it now?" she asked. "The love that's beyond that wall."

She pressed her hand over the one I clutched. I looked down at it, and saw the love. Saw the way that might open to me if I only took it. Showers of rice, towers of gifts, and the construction of a new house. Attached of course to the sprawling Knitcroft estate. My lab nestled with hers. I could even see how we'd bother each other every couple minutes. Our hands full with simple problems as an excuse to squeeze even a few more lines into every moment of our life. This moment—the one that had broken me—could be the mortar that builds me anew. Into some woman that values every moment with love and appreciation. We would even have kids together—her family having long developed a technique for couples like us to conceive.

A sickness rose in me. A vengeful bile that paired with the sound of a strained spirit. Pulled ever so tautly that a voice could run through it.

"The deal, Nadia," the sphinx reminded, "lest you fray that which keeps us truly bonded."

And lose the power I had nearly lost someone's life to acquire.

I shoved Melissa's hand back against her chest. Disentangled our limbs with disgust on my face. My hand found her dress as I crawled backward, so I handed it to her. It wrapped around her body from my toss.

"Right now, the thing I see is you trying to steer me away from what I'm meant to do," I said.

"Nadia, I—" she tried to speak, but I cut her off. I was too weak otherwise.

"I swore I'd avenge them because otherwise you'd have me live in a world that just moves on from them. Let them drip away to nothing but memories of a wrong unanswered."

Melissa told me I was screaming by that point.

"Let the world think I'd just stand aside as those I love are cleaved from my arms. No," I said. I stomped over to her—my shadow now a vengeful mural in the flickering light of the hearth.

"I could never do that to my parents. I couldn't do it to you," I bellowed.

My voice echoed in this dead house I haunted.

"So what are you saying?" she asked.

"That whoever you marry shouldn't allow it to happen to you," I said. "I won't."

She was quiet as she rose to her feet. Dress clutched tight against herself.

Her voice was soft, "Why?"

"Because—,"

"No," she interrupted, "not if you're going to lie to me."

Her eyes blazed in the hearth-light and turned her tears into crystals that trapped her hurt. My reasons weren't lies, but they were hardly the truth.

"It was the cost for your symbiosnake," I said.

Truth was the fan that caused her fury to bloom. She shoved me. Shoved me again. Her tears streamed as her fists fell against me.

"You paid it," she said. "You paid it and now just throw it in my face. What did I do that was so bad? We're supposed to be partners, and you just keep deciding things for me!"

I caught her fists. Together we trembled on the precipice of too much truth—and I tossed us over the edge.

"Why not, you decided I was a monster. That night on your couch when I needed my partner, where was she?" I asked.

"I was scared, Nadia. You didn't feel anything. You hurt me!" she screamed.

Melissa flung her arms free from my grip and stumbled backwards—she used more force than needed. Then kept walking backwards. When she stopped she looked at me. Alls below, she saw me for everything I was—and everything I told myself I would be.

"You. . . ," she gathered herself. "You looked then like you do now. Like your heart is crumbling. But this time, I'm not going to help you put it back together."

Then she made her left.

A few minutes after I heard Melissa's car start, the rain arrived. From the opposite end of the hallway came the sphinx with lidded eyes and a bemused smile. It found me curled up, flesh nude and heart raw. I could feel the pleasure that it emitted as it strolled around me. The way a predator would its prey. At some point I had forgotten it was dangerous.

"What is dangerous are poorly conceived oaths, Nadia. Especially between such partnerships as an entity and their summoner," it said. Before it settled behind me in the shape of an oversized bread loaf. Its wing tucked me in against it. A bulwark against the wet-cold of outside that overwhelmed the hearth fit only to warm tea.

Nadia asked, "I'm not in charge, am I?"

The sphinx's laugh vibrated through its body in a slow dull wave. "Oh, Nadia, you are no more in charge than I. It's to your luck that we are equals rather than either of us proving deficient."

"So my orders?" I asked.

"Are to be considered as requests. The same as mine to you. The only guarantee being self-benefit and that to break oaths set between us would harm the bond we depend on."

Confident, it added, "But, seeing as you're so broken. I'll give you a name to call me by. Sphinx."

It was my turn to laugh. That was to be our relationship—negotiations and malicious compliance. Simple and dangerous. One I'd be navigating alone. My thoughts turned to Melissa as I ached to share my newly sown fears with a heart that beat to a human rhythm. Unlike the alien one beside me that drummed in jazzy syncopations too cruel for a man to ever play.

 

[MxOberon]

Sleep—that state of rest, not the Court—never took me. The erratic beat of Sphinx's heart had waged war on the very idea. Instead I stared at the void behind my eyelids. Better that than the umbral devils that danced in time to flickering hearth-light.

"Sphinx," I nudged it with my elbow, "are you awake?"

It swiveled its head to meet mine. An embarrassed grin chiseled out of the usual emotions its face allowed a half-step to express.

"Entities never sleep," it said.

"Humoring the behavior then?" I asked.

"Mm, more that in my experience summoners find it too terrifying to think that something as strange as myself might be watching them sleep. Eyes unblinking."

A shudder passed through me—my forebears had the right idea. At the same time, it was a comfort. Meant I didn't have to worry about waking someone up even as my feelings ran circles in my heart. Pain and guilt and rage flowing into an unbroken circle. A brand which wouldn't remove itself from the flesh it took merry pleasure in searing.

I clawed at my chest. Tried to focus on the sound of my nail tugging unevenly upon my skin. It didn't quite what was in me. So I extricated myself from beneath Sphinx's wing and stumble-walked to the end of the ruined hallway. When the god had fallen it all but deleted Dad's listening room. All the records he preserved over the Changeover just gone. The only memory of its existence being the vinyl shards that decorated the earth. When I planted my feet down into the muddy soil I prayed in hope that those little pressed daggers might shred my feet. Sphinx didn't follow me beyond the hallway though—even though it was only part cat it didn't seem to enjoy the rain.

The rain was what I came for. My feet slid through the dirt until my toes kissed the stone of our courtyard. I moved from mud to rock and threw wide my arms to increase the area by which the storm could buffet me. See, I didn't come for enjoyment or comfort. As rain broke on my skin and the wind pummeled me my only thought was to conjure my father to mind. That moment where I saw his skin press against his face. Could count every microfracture that flatted his facial topography. Yet, the way his eyes wouldn't open to respond at all—not even when they had liquified and ran down his face as milky tears. I let the sky pour into me every hurt that I needed engraved into my bones. Anything that would put out the brand which even now began to render the fat from the memory. Remove all the other moments, all the other faces, everything but that moment when Melissa had looked at me with the distance of a stranger.

I don't know when Sphinx decided to join me in the rain. At some moment the wind and wet had stopped renewing themselves upon me.

"If you get sick it won't further either of our goals," it said.

I rose from the flooded stone. Stood willow-loose as it seemed the storm in me and the storm outside had equalized. The coolness never came, but I would take emptiness.

I said, "You're right. Let's be productive. Teach me another spell."

Sphinx regarded me, but shook its head. "That's not our arrangement. Anyways, better understanding could be found in this moment."

A shred of a smirk stretched my face. "Are you violating our oath to each other?"

Sphinx looked aghast. "How've you come to that assumption?"

"You said, 'in turn I'll guide you to your foes.' Yet here I stand with not a single lead. Even worse, in asking for a spell you deny me even a metaphorical guidance." I rose to my full height forcing Sphinx to look up. "Or is this not true?" I asked.

It clenched its eyes tight. I could feel the discussion it was having in powerful waves that lapped at my own consciousness. Not enough to make out words, but I still had impressions. There were a number of speakers. A congress of them. Then in moments it stopped. Face returned to its cool understanding and watchfulness.

"Fine. Kneel for us, Nadia, so I might anoint you," it intoned. I could hear the rumble of pleasure at the command.

Still, I complied. My knees splashed the water that had made a pool of the courtyard. Sphinx's face loomed above mine. Its lips dripping rainwater into my mouth. Its smile curved moon-like.

"Keep wide those eyes as I give you the power to see."

Then with the suddenness of any well-planned betrayal, its mouth opened—hinged wider—and I witnessed the dagger-teeth that it sheathed behind such an enigmatic pout. Then I felt it's tongue swing past my eyes. Wind carrying drops of its saliva crashed into my pupils. The burning came not long after.

The world had become lilac as it burned. Uneven at first until the mouths crawled into one another. Slowly until one giant mouth remained behind which emerged my new vision. My peripherals were cleared soon after. What remained was. . . beautiful.

It had to have been midnight by now. The dark had been that oppressive when I stepped into the storm. Now, it was just faintly lilac and a gossip of shadow. Everything else I could see clearly. Even the rain. Even the wind. They all rippled like threads of silk catching the light. Yet they were hardly threads in a simple fabric. The threads were all woven in perhaps a kalpas worth of loops. Though across those loops I saw what seemed as nautical lines stretching off across the space and through time. They connected to other things and in others they connected to some other strand—an idea, maybe a Court.

"Hmm, there's not really a name for this, but seeing as it's the night of Omensday we can just call this the Omensight," Sphinx said. "Once again, behold Revelation and ideally learn something."

"I heard that," I said. "Believe it or not, but I'm a good learner actually. Now, teach."

Sphinx taught. "If you really are then this'll be your new best friend. Within it is the essence of Revelation. Otherwise, you might best understand it as a method to perceive the relationships between things."

"A marriage of fate and history," I offered.

Sphinx scoffs, "If you need such aphorisms. See broadly and deeply, Nadia, for this will remove the panes of causality that blind your kind like you do hawks."

I turned my head with a wide smile—there was so much elegance to this. Then I saw the house. Where the god had fallen I could still perceive its corpse. Even discorporated—even dead—it held a vibrancy that rivaled my own living corporeal body.

"Some things," Sphinx began, "have such weight to them that they make an impression upon things. Think of it as the hand of the powerful tracing deep into the sand of the world's memory. One day new grains will trickle in. Recontextualize the chasm into a valley. Until the fact it was a chasm isn't known any long. Go, examine it and find the leads you seek."

So I stumbled toward my goal. Through the house where I did my best to not examine the ghosts in time that lingered inside the space. I climbed the stairs and then climbed again. Pushed out the window and onto the roof. My feet slid against the clay shingles. A few of them loose from the fight tumbled off the edge like rain. So I became a beast, and on foot and knee and hands I crawled. I crawled my way to the face of god. My own teary eyed face reflected in the glossy oblivion of its pupil.

"Let me see what happened," I prayed. My gaze diving as deep as I could. Deep enough to when dark broke to light like a television sparking on.

* * *​

Mom was waving away the last couple customers for the night. Some people didn't own the tools to access the NewNet, and others were too afraid of compromising their mental defenses. That was the case for plenty of the teens and elders in town. Though seeing them now, so bereft of those nautical lines—those ties—to anyone I realized how many were lonely. Mom never stopped waving until the last one crossed the edge of the hill. Then her eyes rose as she rushed forward to the same spot Dad's killers had departed.

I'd never seen Mom move that fast. Her shrine operational robes snapped a four beat from how the wind pulled. In that same clap-flash of motion I saw a crescent glaive pour into her hands. Color and material conjured ex nihilo filled in like a mold. Wherever my face was, I smiled, as in that one swing I saw the millions of times she showed me how to do that very motion. Guided me through the elegant biomechanics. Hips and shoulders torquing contrapposto—potential moment channeled and concentrated. When the five had exited their Staircase, Mom released.

Her body rotated back the other way. Space rippled around the force of those blows. The ontological truth that gave them density burned as fuel to rocket them toward those strangers. One of them hurriedly interspersed themselves. Their hands raised in a double hand-spell to impart as much power as possible. It proved barely enough.

The rain of flower petals burst on their arms. Scattered sedate as snowflakes around them. Bloom. Bloom. Two more broke. Then they went to work. They surrounded Mom and moved in time with her. Across the entranceway. Through the air. There was no escape. One of clapped their hands and forced Mom's movements to a stutter. The other—the one who the attacks broke off of—clapped their hands together as if to kill a bug and pray at once. Mom had become all but still. The third attacked while the fourth hung back. Number four had the right idea.

The moment number three had closed in Mom had already propped the glaive up. He skewered himself mid-run. Hadn't even had time to fully raise a fist. Mom noticed something in the body—its vibrancy was only intensifying. She flicked the glaive and sent number three wheeling through the air. Just in time as a radiant glow pincushioned out of the body. Then exploded into a meteor of refulgent fire.

Still, Mom was frozen. I saw her call out to Dad. Where was he? Then muttered something to herself and unzipped. A perfect imitation of the divine corpse that was in front of my body—wherever that was. It stepped free of my mom's body—its costume I realized. Then it rapidly grew to its true behemoth size. Where I could perceive a hundred hundred arms—no—just two arms. Two arms that were a hundred by a hundred in possible outcomes. They were just all at once. A fluttering through of options with each pair of arms wielding some revolutionary weapon. A machete, the first rifle, and even a molotov—how'd I know what that was? She had them all as did she sport the army of phantom dreamers that'd turn the world topsy-turvy at her back like one would a cloak. She was gorgeous. Just not my Mom.

My mom was a surprisingly short woman. With an oversized personality. A firework frozen in memory. With hair sproinging off in loose silly curls. Secrets hid behind her mouth, but she always seemed to smile at the sweetness of them. Her eyes would sparkle when she wiggled her eyebrows. That was my mom. Yet here this deity stood sober faced. Mouth at a downtilt at the bitterness of what she was forced to do. Yet her eyes blazed with the purpose of it—or at least the belief of that purpose. Then she bellowed boldly, "Come die you fuckers!"

I blinked and skipped to the end. I promise—who'd want to watch the entire thing just to reach a spoiled ending. Not me. At the end, the deity had crashed into the house. The density she had caused reality to sputter and succumb to the entirety of the moment. Lest she just shrug off all causality like a mere suggestion. It didn't help that she was dying. Her great eye observing me while I observed her. Then I realized she wasn't looking at me. She was Observing me.

Her mouth muttered words across weeks. "I'm sorry babygirl. Mommy couldn't win this one. Be good, please?" she asked of me. In the same way Mom would ask me not to tell Dad that she set up a prank for him. She was my Mom.

* * *​

I stumbled back from the vision. Consciousness returned to body, and sliding down in the water. Sphinx caught me with its side. I muttered a 'thank you' and crawled back up. I stared at the memory of my divine mother, and watched it flake away from the fabric of everything. In her place was just the pale-light shape of a crescent glaive. My Mother's Last Smile.

Any strength left in my body was spent as I sprinted through time and back—even if only by sight. As such the wind did its best to fling me from the roof. Punishment for my causal hubris I supposed. Reality had a way of snapping back when toyed with by Sorcery. Though at the time I had no thoughts, just an overflow of feeling that flowed in rivulets with the rain. Hot emotion drawn from the red crescents my nails made across my palms joined as well.

I forced my eyes open and followed Sphinx's laugh. It stood there wings wide and the starburst peacock eyes shimmering across its feathers.

"Tell me, Nadia, does their lie blunt the pain?" it asked.

"Fuck you, Sphinx," I screamed. "What's anything any more. Who's my mom?"

"If you mean the woman who raised you, the Sovereign of Upheaval"

"Who's my mom!"

"You have eyes. If the answer isn't obvious then go find it yourself."

"What am I?"

Sphinx laughed. "An orphan."

* * *​

I loomed atop the crumbling roof of the house—its status as "home" revoked when my goddess-mother's corpse elbow-dropped through it. Eyes were bloodshot from crying. I had blinked it back on when my tears had run out. Only to cry more tears because everytime I activated it that burning sensation would come back. As if my eyeballs were being dipped in hot sauce. Sphinx told me it was a side-effect of the spell. I hoped it would get better overtime.

My Omensight was still on and so I spotted Amber before I saw her. The thread between us made slow traversal over my body in tracking where she was. Soon her motorcycle swung into view. I watched the line not move as she parked. Only to move again when she took the stairs by foot. I even watched the line dawdle a smidge when she took a glance back to town. I'd become so impatient that I couldn't muster a smile for her.

"Temple, you couldn't even visit a girl at the hospital?" she asked.

I rose to my feet and the world swayed. My limbs had gone cold in the storm. While my stomach grumbled with each unstable step toward the edge of the roof. Concern flashed on Amber's face. She rushed over to the ledge. I disappointed her by not immediately going over.

Instead, I said, "I was going to see you today. You didn't give me enough time."

Amber said, "Forget it, Temple. I got myself a good constitution. I always bounce back."

"That makes one of us."

Amber choked her worry down. "Can be both of us if you come down safely."

"I can come down, but I can't promise safe." Then I tumbled. Headfirst like a dropped doll. The glaive landed a bit to Amber's left. I landed in her arms. She realized I was naked after she caught me. Then hurried me inside. Things became a bit black after that.

When everything cleared, I was in the tea room. A beer bottle and a bowl of what smelled like chicken fried rice placed next to my head. I slid my knees under myself. Eyes half-lidded I stared at the two items. Looked up to see Amber eating and drinking herself.

"This is Mom's good beer. I'm not supposed to drink it," I said.

Amber shrugged. "Someone has to now. Welcome to being a survivor."

She pushed the bottle. Popped the cap off with her bottle. Handed me the foaming little rocket. I stared at it and took a swig. Then wagged my tongue. It was so bitter and spicy?

"Your mom had good taste," Amber said.

"I wouldn't know," I said. "There was a lot I didn't know. Like how I didn't know you could cook."

Amber lowered her bowl. "I used to do it for siblings," she said. "Besides, you never asked. Alls below, I didn't get to drown your ears in any of my good campfire stories."

"Did you tell these stories to your siblings during the Changeover?"

"How old do you think I am?" she asked with faux annoyance. She had gotten at least an attempted joke from me. Her eyes slid over her memories. "Not really. They weren't really story people. Most of them struggled to be people people."

I rolled the bottle between my hands. "Apparently so did my mom. She was a Sovereign."

"That make you a princess?" she asked.

"Amber," I said. "She lied to me. She was just a deity in a mother shape."

"So," she said, "most people are in some kind of shape or another. What I find matters is whether you live in it or not. From what I can tell, your mother lived in it."

"What difference does that make?"

"Means at some point it stopped being a shape and just became her. People usually forget the difference between the shape and themselves when they live in it. Given enough time there's no real difference. Sometimes they even like it more that way. So they take the truth of things and bury it below the concrete."

My spoon is tracing the bowl for more rice and at least one more piece of chicken. "I also like the Yonick stories."

Amber smiles, "They were pretty good. Some of the last movies made before the Changeover."

"What was it like?" I asked.

Amber's smile shook. She looked for any hint that I asked a different question. There was none.

"You ever been to a Declaration of Thunder festival?" she asked. "Ya know, big party to celebrate the. . ."

"Godtenders. When they declared the Changeover to be done. I've been."

Amber frowned and took another swig of her beer. "Yeah, those things. Think about the fireworks.How they'd be everywhere exploding, splashing color, ripping into your memory through sheer violence. That's what it was. Every day."

My words struggled to come out. "But you were mainly around for the end, right? Things were nearly over."

"But nearly over isn't over." She looked down toward one tragic memory of many. "Men will do a lot of bad things to get rid of that near, Temple. The Godtenders were the worst of them."

"They're the good guys?" I asked not too confident in the face of a lived understanding.

"Yeah, and that was how low the bar was in those days. See, the Godtenders, if by your understanding, are kind and good just remember they had to be big enough monsters for those luxuries. Cause it takes a special kind of monster to be strong enough to the world, 'we're done,' and the world listens."

Together we drained our beers. Eyes locked as I asked the question that I'd have to solve if I wanted a lead. "So what's strong enough to slay it then."

Amber shuddered. "I don't know. Just, why not consult whatever spell gave you those freaky eyes," she said.

I took in my reflection around the errant grains of rice still in my bowl. I flicked the Omensight back on—I had forgotten I turned it off at some point—and gasped. My iris was gone and my entire eye was black. Save for the luminiscent lines that criss-crossed my eyes like there was a giant cat's cradle hiding behind them.

"Oh. Well, I tried, but they were wearing masks. I stayed up trying to see through them. My eyes just kept sliding off. Best I got was a shape for each." Amber handed me a pad and a little pen.

"One was a dorsal-finned ogre looking thing, heavy brow ridge. The second was smoothfaced with a curled spiraling horn and closed eyes as if it'd never been woken up before. The third was drawn back like paint was splashed into their face—riotously colorful. The fourth was a skeleton with mushrooms blooming through its eyeholes. While the fifth was the most mask-like, as if wanted you to know it was a mask, and sat over a veil that hung heavy like a curtain."

When I finished there were five drawings in the pad. "No faces though," I said.

Amber nodded sagely. "Give up on going through the mask. Try going around it. Maybe one of the masks saw someone with their mask off."

So I tried. Traced the thread down to the mask. Then from the mask peered as deep as I could go. Hot tears waterfalled down my face. Until I arrived to a sight.

An older woman with ruddy cinnamon skin. Eyes shut with a ballcap laid across her face. While her shaggy black tresses swung behind her. Leftover traces of red dye flecked throughout. She had just kicked her feet up on the desk. It had a nameplate. It read. . .

"Nemesis Khapoor," I said. Tasting the name of my lead and my enemy.

Amber sputtered, "The regional Lodgemaster?"

"She's one of the killers," I said. "And she'll die."

I blinked away the Omensight. Amber had her eyes locked on me. She was reading something in me again. Then shook her head.

"I'll go secure passage," Amber said. She rose to her feet and made to leave.

"Passage for what?" I asked.

"The Summoner's Lodge exam. I always heard if you score high enough when you join the Lodgemaster gives you an advisory one-on-one," Amber explained.

I slowly rose—tested hope. "My chance to strike?"

"Your chance to kill her."

I asked, "Why help me?"

"You saved my life. Only fair I help you take one," she said.

I pounced on her to pull her into a hug. Though Amber wasn't strong and fell over. I didn't give a single thought to the math she laid out. I wasn't alone in this. I'd get my vengeance!

We parted for the day. I hurriedly packed and then I slowed down. Then I stopped. It was going to be my first time going to the city. Melissa and I had sworn for years we'd visit together. Probably live there for awhile as we studied at a university. We hadn't had the heart to ask if we'd move back home, or join some collective together. Yet here I was about to leave the town—leave her—all behind.

I turned back on my Omensight. Held my breath as I searched all the ties between me and those who mattered. It didn't take long for me to find ours. It was the color of an autumn leaf and just as wilted. I let the spell carry my vision down the thread to her room.

She was in her bathtub. From her pores flowed a green mucus-like substance. It was her mutagenic fluid—she was making a chrysalis. I scrambled to my feet.

"No," Sphinx said. "Remember our oath."

"I am," I said as I tore across the courtyard to the shed. Pulled free mom's moped. Gave it a rev—it still had battery—and mounted it.

"The oath was for me to cut her from my life. Which I have, and I am sure it is not repairable. It said nothing about not letting me say a single goodbye. Does it?" I asked.

Sphinx was silent. Then swung its head away from me in disgust. "You'd risk an easy road for a single goodbye. Fine. My wings won't carry you."

"I used wheels before wings, Sphinx. I'll be fine." I twisted my wrist and shot off for Melissa's.

* * *​

If Mom was alive she'd be crying. In my haste I didn't properly park the scooter. Just leapt from it and let it slow to a stop before it tilted and fell. My eyes were only for the door. Then I heard the whistle of a needle on the wind. Dived to the side and watched as a cluster of knife-sized wasp stingers injected the ground. They quivered and released the acidic venom they held turning earth to a purple sludge. I looked up to see Melissa's sisters, the five of them, lounging on the roof. The oldest one, Emma, stepped forward."Turn right around, Nadia," she said.

"I just, I have to say goodbye," I yelled.

She shook her head. "You idiot. You did that last night. Now go, before we actually try this time."

I look from them to the point where the walls are just a suggestion and I see Melissa. The mutagenic fluid is at her neck. Her head's turned just enough as she listens.

"I'm leaving tomorrow for Brightgate. I'll be taking the entrance exam for the Summoner's Lodge," I said. I searched for anything else. "I'm sorry for breaking a second promise to go together, but I'll never forget you."

Her head stayed askew for a few moments longer. Then she cried and dove into the mutagenic bath she'd made. I stood there and watched as it solidified. Then I pushed the moped off the gravel and swung it around for the road. Mounted up and waved goodbye to her sister's that would've otherwise been my sisters in a few months.

Amber returned later that night with our tickets. We drank another and she helped hold me until sleep took hold.

* * *​

The next morning was a slow crawl. We only had a few hours before the parade—the weird assemblage of vans, bikes, and rideable entities—would be taking off. Yet, those hours never seemed to end. I checked and re-checked my bag. Made sure I had the glaive in my hand. Amber didn't need to check anything. So she just took the last two beer cases and dropped them into spell-storage.

"Sphinx, when can I do that?" I asked.

"Who says you ever could," it answered.

Besides that there was just little banter. Little to do, and eventually I just had Amber take me down to the parade's launchsite. I clung to her and enjoyed the wind teasing my hair. I took my last whiff of the local leaves and moss. It was a unique perfume, honestly, but I guess everyone says that about their hometown.

While Amber finished selling her bike, I got food. Just a few grilled skewers of this and that. They were dusted with a bright red chili powder. As I ate I stared at the hill in the distance. At my home. Though from where I stood I could make out other buildings. Their own memories fluttered up into the air like a bunch of fireflies.

"The goodbyes never get easier," Amber said.

She opened her mouth for a skewer. I fed her.

I said, "I wasn't going to ask that."

"My mistake," she said. "I do find though, if you did need it to be easier, a little salute helps."

"A salute, really?"

She polished off her skewer and stole another from me.

"The formality helps you feel like you're not just saying goodbye, but honoring it. A thank you for all the memories, beautiful and painful." She shrugged and walked off. "What do I know?"

The parade conductor pulled the rope on the side of the outpost. A shrill whistle cut the air. We'd be heading off in five minutes. I chuckled to myself when I knew I'd do it. Then I shrugged the glaive from my shoulders and lifted it up just like Mom taught. My heels parallel—only to slide into a perfect L. The glaive glided through the air in the path my feet had dictated. It was a glavirista's salute. At least, that was what Mom called it. Never cared that it wasn't a real word. Would always say, "Not with that attitude."

I turned away from the town and the wet spots on the ground I left behind. Made my way to the rounded bus that Amber bought us passage for. As I slid through the vehicles I heard her.

"Wait!" Melissa yelled.

I turned back to town and there she was. . . flying. Large dragonfly wings a gossamer blur as she sped down the road. I noticed she was listing and her face was red from effort. My arms were outstretched ready to catch her. She saw that and turned directly into one of the cars. Kicked off it into a vault over my head. Stuck the landing without a stumble.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

She scowled, "I can't fly all the way to Brightgate."

"But what about your life, the collectives scouting you?" I asked.

I chased after her, but she whirled on me. The twin irises of both her eyes—that was new—lanced me by four.

"Good questions, and ones I don't have to answer," she said. "To my wife, it'd have been a discussion. Not so much to you though."

She turned from me and headed toward the bus I was riding on.

Amber called out, "You're Melissa right?"

"I am," she said. From the tone I knew they'd probably get on well. I jogged after her with the errant hope that I could keep them from sharing too many words.

Sphinx looked down on me from its place atop the bus. "Truly we walk the beleaguered path."

 

[MxOberon]

Amber's laughter leaked between my fingers to drip in my ears.

"No," she exclaimed.

Melissa circled her heart. "Promise it's the truth. From ages eight to ten, Nadia had my mom working harder than she'd worked before. She ended up discovering a whole new spell just to remove the odor that'd linger in the fibers."

I turned away from them and slid further down the seats. The main seat was a large L-shaped piece with a fabric upholstery. While the other was a simple two-seater that was pushed back-to-back with the driver's bench. It even had a table—which Amber had kicked her feet up on when the drive had started. Leave it to her to be at home no matter the space. Me on the other hand, I had slid all the way down the neck of the L-seat in a vain attempt at escape.

"Temple, please, you have to tell me—," she said.

"I don't."

She wrapped her arm around Melissa and pulled her in close. The two of them assumed the most pitiful looks they could—eyes wide and lips pouted. Amber even had tears well up.

"Please, Ms. Temple, tell us the story behind your piss-yellow past," she implored.

I groaned and flung myself to the seat. Buried my face into it to hide the shame made apparent on my cheeks. Amber whimpered ever so gently you'd think I broke her heart. It thawed mine.

"Fine." The duo cheered—even the bus driver chuckled. "I had nightmares, okay. Dreams where I was stuck in the Underside."

As I spoke the intimations of feelings rose gently like sand being kicked up underwater. Beyond the shame there was a fear that haunted me back then. Every time my eyes blinked it would take me fast as dogs on a hare. In the shadow behind my lids I would recall the entities that filled my nightmares the previous night. Their forms a mockery of sense and propriety with implications that took many years to suppress. Eventually I tried to stop sleeping, but it just made me tired in the dreams. That was even worse because it meant I couldn't run away as fast. Wasn't as nimble as I needed to be to avoid what I knew lurked in the Underside.

Melissa said, "Nadia, I'm sorry. I never knew."

A smile touched my lips—she was sorry and meant it. Even when she wanted to mock someone she'd pivot so fast to care. I was just touched that I was still worth some of it. Though when I propped myself back up she caught the tail of my mirth. Rolled her eyes and looked away from me as if to say, 'No, we're still not good.' That smothered it back down.

"Well, glad they stopped eventually," Melissa said. "You stopped sleeping over those years. Thought you hated me."

"Never," I said.

Melissa opened her mouth, but was cut off by Amber who leaned in front of her.

"Nope, not doing that," Amber said.

"Not doing what?" I asked.

She searched my face and her brows rose. "You're not slick, Temple. I'm not letting you get out of telling me your worryingly yellow lore. Especially if it's gonna lead to you two acting all divorced the entire trip."

This time I opened my mouth to speak only for Amber to pin me with those rose eyes.

"If you're speaking it's to tell the end. What made the nightmares go away?" she asked.

I shook my head. "It'll sound ridiculous."

"Let me decide," she said and slid back in her seat. Melissa looked from her to me and nodded. Her chin the gavel that would cement their stance. I had to finish the story.

"Fine, I dreamed my way out." Though not by myself.

"Really?"

"Yes." There was a woman. Older than me though not by much. She had found me cowering in some library that Mom would've described as, 'Escher-esque,'—another one of those names belonging to an artist she couldn't show me. It was a good word though because space was wrong in that place. A maze in three dimensions where horrors lurked behind every shelf. Let alone the way the books would sing when night—or what passed for night—would take command. Their songs like the most soothing lullaby mixed with the tantalizing tones of a shaved ice seller pushing their cart. You couldn't help but drift toward them like a leaf in the autumn wind. That was how she found me—hands about to open a book and obliterate my nascent ego. She had slammed my hands back shut, but her palms were so soft.

"But you were probably running the whole time those years. It doesn't make sense that you'd just suddenly get away," Amber argued.

"I had a guide, okay." For that entire night she led me by the hand down hallways I had gotten turned around in a hundred times. It took two nights to escape. I had thrown my arms around her begging her to save me—and she did. Led me by the hand over silver sand dunes and through nocturnal jungles where star-filled clouds slinked through the trees.

"Was she hot?" Melissa asked.

My shock gave way to my guilt. "I guess, but I wasn't thinking like that back then." At least before her I wasn't. She was the one who ignited the furnace of my heart. My first, and my hero. I would try to dream of her but it was impossible. I had witnessed true beauty and like all beautiful things it wouldn't allow memory to mistreat it. Left me only with feeling.

"And so begins Nadia Temple's deep affection for older women," Amber intoned.

Melissa's eyes flashed to her in disbelief. Then to me in examination. . . did I? The heart—I unfortunately admit—is the biggest traitor. I swallowed loud as a pin dropping on a headstone.

"I thought you just liked teachers," she declared. Amber's mouth opened wide as a tunnel. I clambered over the far bench to slide next to the driver.

"How long until Brightgate?" I asked—yelled.

The driver, a portly man in an indigo turban with an axe-dark beard, looked at me in shock.

"We're not going all the way to Brightgate. We—," he said.

"What's he talking about, Amber?" I asked.

He patted the air and I lowered back in my seat. "I run the relay routes. You'll be getting dropped off at a station outpost. No need to worry," he said.

"A station outpost? Amber, we're riding a train?" I asked, excitement building.

Amber crabwalked across the bus and laid her hand on my shoulder. Something in her eyes shifted—playful to intense. Her voice lost its jocular bounce.

"We're going to be on time. Trust me, Temple," she said. Each word a post to mark her stance.

"Okay," I said. Then exhaled an anxiety that claimed far too much room in my chest.

The driver asked, "Are you all taking the Summoners' Lodge exam?"

"We are," I said. "That obvious?"

He chuckled, "Eh, you run enough of the routes—relay or longhaul—you start to get a sense of who's traveling when. If they're off to university, they'll travel just before summer's end. A collective, then right before the solstice. When it's only days after Omensday, then it can only be to go take the Lodge's exam."

"That's very attentive," I said.

"Thank you, you have to be if you're fixing to ride in the parade. We're all we got out here in these between spaces." He then asked a question. "Why the Lodge, though? Driven so many of you over the years but I still don't get it."

I leaned my chin into my palm. Eyes narrowed to better see the blue shard of ocean that draped across the horizon to the west. There—where the sun kissed its reflection—I had hidden my vengeance. So far that only I knew what I was looking at. Then I slid my eyes across the water and back to him with an answer.

"It's the knowledge. Besides the Public Record, there's almost no one that just hands out information to people. At least not without tying them down to one place," I said.

Amber shouted, "Wrong! The Lodge might let you roam but they tie you down with work. All Lodgemembers have a quota of missions they need to undertake in the Lodge's name. Which is a whole other burden."

"Please, that's hardly the worst thing about the Lodge. The institution—if you could call it that—is just a den of violent layabouts that didn't have the decency to die out back during the Changeover. It's their work that makes them even vaguely redeemable," Melissa retorted.

"Why take the exam if you feel that way?" the driver asked.

Melissa's eyes locked with mine in the rearview mirror. I broke the gaze first.

"I have my reasons," she said. "Though if you ask me more people should try and join one of the collectives."

Amber and I both scoffed. Melissa regarded Amber with a pantomime of betrayal.

"And here I thought we were bonding," she said.

Amber tussled Melissa's hair. "We were. We were. Just, I wouldn't be a good senior if I didn't teach my well-intentioned but oh so misled junior the truth."

"Which is?"

"That the collectives are controlling assholes. Like an art commune meets one of those Old World think-tanks. They'll only take you if you're bonded to the 'appropriate' Court in their eyes, and alls below, you better follow their mission manifesto or whatever."

I called back, "Is there any group you don't have a dim view of?"

"Nope! That's the beauty of the New World that you both are too spoiled to see. It's a place where a rootless drifter, like yours truly, can go wherever she wants with no one to bother her. And a world where a bunch of folks with the same bug for travel can just go. Together only by nature of the way they're going with no one to command them otherwise," she said.

The driver roared happily. "Now that I can get behind. Ain't nothing purer than Wanderlust," he said as he mashed the horn. Up and down the parade it was echoed by artisanal honks, howls, and screams the drivers had designed for themselves back when they first hit the road.

"All the same, I wish you all luck with the prelims," he said.

My brow scrunched in confusion. "The Lodge holds prelims?" I asked.

"Well—," Melissa began.

"You did not learn about the Lodge's exam structure during the last weeks of school," I said.

Melissa smirked, "We didn't, but I overheard what one of my aunts said after my cousin came back from her 'vacation' last year. Apparently the Lodge always does a preliminary exam before the actual exam as a way to weed out the folks too unqualified to realize they're unqualified."

"Like your cousin?" I asked jokingly. She wasn't a cousin Melissa particularly liked from how she would complain about her for days after anytime they spoke to each other.

"Tiff loved to wear silk but lacked the patience to weave it," she said.

Amber added, "The prelims aren't even the real exam. Apparently the Lodgemaster designs each exam. Only rule is it has to have three tests. Other than that it's free rein."

I let their words settle as the road ahead sketched itself out to me. The driver nudged me gently—I must've looked worried.

"Hey, stick with those two and I'm sure you'll get through the exam," the driver said.

Which caused Amber to develop the scummiest smile. "Don't worry Temple, I'll carry you across the finish line."

* * *​

The teasing lasted for about another hour before I drifted to sleep. Maybe it was the fact that I wasn't in the carcass of my home, but for the first time in a long time, sleep was peaceful. When Amber shook me awake I nearly screamed. My hand jutted toward the horizon and wrapped a fist over the sun. Loosened my fingers and found that my vengeance was still in hand.

"Temple, we're here," she said.

I nodded mutely and slipped from the bus. Sphinx sat next to the bags and examined the outpost. The place was small and quiet. Ahead of us was the station and the inn that sat right above it. While behind us, past the bus, was the road that would wind away from this grain of civilization and back into the free wilds.

The driver didn't belabor the goodbye—parade-folk never did, he explained—and pulled away to rejoin the procession. We had only been on the bus for four hours, so I had no reason to feel anything about our parting. Yet still I felt. So I watched just long enough for the bus to melt into the burgeoning night.

"The way can't be walked unless we make peace with where it splits in twain," Sphinx said.

I took its cue and gathered my bags—Amber and Melissa waited for me. Melissa's face was somber as her eyes trailed the mote of light that was our bus into the far distance. Amber only had eyes for me. Her smile was a thin spread just enough to carry her intention. I see you.

"Cmon, the rooms won't book themselves," she said.

We hauled our bags—Melissa and I seeing as Amber had some storage spell she still refused to share—and entered the station. It was a beautiful construction of stone walls and massive wooden pillars polished to a mirror finish. We padded across the central rug to the front desk where a woman—older and scarred—watched us with a small amount of contempt. I noted the book she hid away and realized we interrupted her reading.

"How many?" she asked.

"Three," Amber answered.

The woman shook her head. "Only have two available. One bed each, and no pullouts."

Melissa muttered, "Why not lead with that?"

"How are we handling rooms?" I asked.

Amber said, "I figured I'd go with you."

"No way you and Nadia should share a bed," she said. Her voice spiked in urgency only for crimson to bleed into her face. The fierceness of her disagreement surprised even herself.

Amber smirked, "You're really bad at this divorced thing."

"Stop saying it like that," Melissa said. "Nadia can be in my room and just take the bathtub or something. There is a bathtub right?"

The woman nodded. Melissa turned back to us, "See, works out perfectly."

"Hardly," I said. "I'm not sleeping in a bathtub."

"Well I want a bed," she said.

Amber interjected, "I can share with anyone."

"Then you go with Amber, and I'll take a room to myself," I said.

"Works for me," Amber shrugged. "Two is fine. Can we get it on three keys? Two for one and one for the other."

She huffed out an agreement. Revealed a large quartz slate from beneath the desk. Her fingers rapidly input the rooms we'd be under. Then she slid it around to face us.

"Sign under sign in. Then you might as well wait in the station tavern while I set up those keys."

The woman ambled off into a back room. An entity—see through and glasslike with a bright orange core—bobbed in the air after her. It had also been resting below the desk. We signed our names and swung a right toward the tavern. The place had the same rugged design as the lobby. The only difference was the addition of long bench tables that were little more than slabs of driftwood cut lengthwise and varnished with linseed oil.

We threw our bags atop a table, and Amber put in an order for two beers—Melissa begged off hers after she proclaimed herself a lightweight. So the two of us nursed our drinks while Melissa flipped through her book of proofs. The silence that stretched through the tavern was appreciated. . . and short-lived.

A heavy boot kicked a door in, herald to the herd of bullheaded men that stomped in from outside. Behind them trailed a nervous cadre of younger men and women—fresh graduates like Melissa and myself. The lead bullhead had his arm thrown around the smallest of the graduates, a guy who embodied "boy" more than "man" with a thick sheeplike haircut that emphasized his meekness.

"I'm telling you kid, with moves like those you're not making it through the exam. Let alone the prelims. I mean look at ya, all skin and bones. Even your spirit felt thin out there," he bellowed.

To his credit the boy protested, "That was just some spars. They're not the full story."

"Bah, that's what all you losers say," he declared while the others of his herd grabbed a round of drinks. "Spars are the only way you can see yourself clearly. If you freeze in the spar you freeze out there. Spell comes out too slow and you can be sure it won't be ready in time."

I lowered my beer—the taste had gone sour. Melissa stopped reading as well to instead examine the lot of them. Our distaste apparent that our gentle silence was spoiled by someone so vacuous. Still, we didn't go say anything or tell him off cause Amber did that first.

"With prescriptive thinking like that I would've pegged you as a doctor," she said. Downed her beer and strode over to the tables across the room that the people had claimed. "Though your face says otherwise. What kind of doctor looks like they ran into a wall on purpose."

The man sneered and tried to wave her off. Amber caught his hand by the pinkie and ring finger. Gave a gentle twist and walked his hand—and thus the rest of his arm—away from the boy. Pried free, he bolted from the bench and took a spot behind Amber. She ignored him to instead look at the man's hands.

"Look at that, just like I expected. Your hands are too pampered," she said.

The man rose from his seat like a corpse to the surface of a shallow grave. He was taller than Amber, but that was only objectively. In my eyes—and from the faces on everyone else in the room—the real titan was Amber. Her presence dwarfed the man.

"Check again. These hands are calloused from decades of the best martial training of any collective," he stated.

She mused, "A collective you say." Amber hid her mouth behind her hand as she caught Melissa's gaze. Mouthed out the word, asshole. Then turned back to him and shook her head. "If you stopped running into the wall the twentieth time you'd understand. See, your hands are calloused from training and sparring. It's impressive, but those worlds are fake."

Then I watched as her hand blurred through the air. A smear of color and motion. Only to stop right before she clawed out his eyes. His pupils dilated as they processed their aborted doom.

"These are the hands that matter. The kind where the blood seeps into the nail bed. Proof that you were in the shit and got out," she said and only then lowered her hand.

The man took a step backward. "Like you've seen blood. You're barely older than me."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said. "But even if we were the same age, I've lived more than you. My years so full of learning and pain that it'd take you a decade to catch up."

She hopped up onto the table and stole the man's beer that he'd yet to open. Twisted off the cap and took a deep gulp. "Why are you talking about the exam anyways. Not like you've passed, or have you?"

The boy piped up, "He hasn't." Then squeaked as the man glared him back into submission.

"Even if I haven't it doesn't mean I don't know anything. This'll be my third time taking the exam," he grumbled.

Amber took another sip. "Doesn't that just mean you failed the other two times. Who'd want to listen to you?"

"Nothing wrong with failure, or sharing the understanding that comes from it. Though since I'm obviously missing something, what do you think the trick is to passing?" he asked.

His arms crossed—the idiot was confident that he had Amber trapped. Instead he had just given her a stage. She climbed atop the table—conspicuously ignored the bartender telling her to get down—and held up her hand.

"You only need five things to pass the test. One, an attack spell. Two, a defense or healing spell. Three, a spell for reconnaissance or general information gathering. Four, a trick."

"Four spells, really?" he asked.

Amber dropped from the table back to the floor. "Only four. Cause that's where the fifth thing is the most important," she said.

Then took her remaining finger and jabbed the man right between the eyes.

"Smarts. If you're smart enough you only need four spells to solve any problem," she said.

With her display over no one dared to challenge her on her points. Instead silence crept back into the tavern and took a seat as everyone—even the blowhard—thought her words over.

The boy spoke first. "How many spells do you know?"

"Kid, never ask a lady her age or how many spells she knows." She took a swig of her drink and thought over her answer. "Funny to say that though as it's the same answer: thirty-two."

Everyone gasped as her statement lit the air on fire—thirty spells would be someone with an entity at the rank of Marquis. General convention said by the end of each link you should have six spells of the corresponding rank. Unless you were a genius, the only people with that many spells were in their fifties and that's if you made good time. I watched as Amber tilted the bottle back and stuck her tongue inside to snatch any errant drops—she was hardly a genius.

"You really had me going. Pick a better lie next time." He called out to Melissa and I, "You two, how many spells do you have?"

Melissa went first, "I have six."

I leaned across the table. "Seriously?" I asked. "You've had your entity for less than a week."

"Why are you surprised? My family's been bonded to Mutation for three generations. I have three books full of proofs."

My mouth worked but nothing came out. I wasn't surprised—I'd seen the mini-library of proofs and theses her family had added to over the years. My eyes fell and I searched the grain of the wood for what felt so wrong. I found it in a knot. She was ahead of me. For years I led and she followed with no complaint. And now she led and I trailed behind.

"How about you?" he called out.

I looked up to see Melissa's befuddled expression and considered lying. Then I noticed Sphinx's smirk—no doubt sensing the outline of the thought. In the back of my mind I heard the storm.

"Two," I said.

If there was anything good about my answer it was that it lanced the tension from the room. Only for it to spill all over me.

"Now that's bold," he yelled. "Even Mr.Meek over there had more than two spells. Left it all on the sparring yard outside."

The newly dubbed, "Mr. Meek," laughed at me as well. "I don't know if two spells will even get you to the sparring yard."

"Well hold on, maybe she's bonded to something really impressive. Like the Court of Dumb Luck!" he yelled. Galvanizing the room into an avalanche of belly laughs and creative jeers.

My fingers slid across the table in preparation to summon the chalcedony fire that was my most well-practiced spell. Before they did though Melissa reached out with a hand. Laid it over mine and gently pressed my hand to the table.

"They're not worth it," she said.

I scoffed, "I wouldn't do anything."

She scowled at my baldfaced lie, but didn't challenge me. Only listened.

"I'm just stumbling in the dark and running into walls," I said.

"Didn't you put in some sort of teaching clause in your bond negotiation?"

I glanced at Sphinx who smiled softly as it held its own confidence. Then huffed in frustration.

"We bonded under some intense circumstances. I didn't have much time to negotiate," I said.

"Okay, so what about the Court? You know the ruling and advising Principles," she said. "You can just deduce some proofs from that and work bottom up to some spells. You do know your Principles, right?"

My other hand clenched into a fist. She squeezed me in reassurance, but it felt more akin to pity's clammy touch. I couldn't even appreciate the fact that her eyes had a softness for me that was absent when we left home. The tavern's laughter had bullied my eyes shut.

"Your keys are done," the woman yelled from the front desk. Her entity dropped them at our table. Each one a thin wooden tablet with a room number one side and a trio of linked sorcerous phonemes on the back depicted in calligraphic strokes of Under-ink. The best medium for working mortal tier magic at complexity levels below shrines.

"Sphinx, get up. We're going to the sparring yard," I said.

I pocketed my key and snatched my hand back from Melissa. Added another fist at my side as I rose from the bench. She rose with me, but stopped halfway as she recognized the steps to the dance that had ended. That I ended. Her concern retracted and she lowered to her seat. Took a breath and regarded me with cool eyes as she opened her book again.

"Hope you learn something," she said.

It might have hurt if I didn't notice that the book was upside down. Who knew you had to practice how to be normal and divorced? I shoved the thought aside and dropped my bag onto Amber's lap. She slung the bag over her back and flashed me a thumbs up. While Sphinx and I pushed through the door the crowd had come in from.

The sparring yard was a circle of soft dirt that was as dark as my Dad. I ran my hand through my hair pushing back the loose curls as I regarded Sphinx.

"I need to know more spells," I said.

"Agreed," it said.

"So you have to teach me."

It demurred, "Mmm, now that's a conclusion I don't agree with."

"Why not? You need me strong enough to get your vengeance and I need to be strong enough for mine. At this rate I won't even pass the prelims. Let alone net the top score, so I can get into a room alone with Nemesis," I said.

Sphinx curled in on itself atop the dirt. Its wings stretched and folded back in on itself.

"Sphinx," I snapped. "You can't just brush me off. We have our oaths."

"Which you so helpfully remind me of, Nadia." It hummed, "Unfortunately I have fulfilled that oath. You have your tool to seek your foes, and thus my onus is fulfilled. Even so, a trick is only cute the first time around. Otherwise you risk the ire of your audience."

"Is that a threat?" I asked.

Sphinx smiled, "It's advice so you don't reach beyond your grasp."

"Why are you getting in my way?" I asked.

Sphinx reached out with a paw and pressed it against my shoulder—I had curled up in anger. Its voice was soft like powdery snow. Yet its words carried that same chill down into my core.

"I am what you summoned me for," it said. "You wanted a gatekeeper, and so here I am keeping the gate. If you want so badly, scale it. Otherwise I'll fulfill my existence and turn you away."

I didn't let the words rest long on my shoulders—the idea that I wanted to be turned away. It—it wasn't something I could process. Sphinx removed its paw and sidled next to me. Its bulk bumped into the side of my knee and nearly caused it to buckle.

"Ignore that then." Anger crept into Sphinx's voice, "See broadly and perhaps conceive of a struggle beyond yourself. I'm alone in this world of yours. The lone spark of Revelation to be found in the dullness of the Real. Any works or thrones of the Court—save the one you stumbled upon—are most likely lost. In such isolation you really think I would fight this hard to not make you into the best sword possible? If so then we might as well slit our throats together and give up on this venture."

I let my butt hit the dirt. Dug my fingers into the soil and listened. The edge that had found its way into Sphinx's voice was uncharacteristic. It had a heat that broiled at the edge of fury. Hissed sharp as a kettle trying to catch your attention. I dusted my hand on my pants, and then laid it atop Sphinx's head. Ran my fingers through its hair to scratch its scalp. A purr rumbled from within its chest. As my hand moved, so did its head to chase my fingers to the next spot. We sat like that as I processed its words. My memories lilted in the direction of the lindwurm and the game that nearly took Amber's life.

"You can't teach me, can you?" I asked. Hand stalled to let Sphinx think properly.

It murmured, "Teaching isn't Revelation. Even if I laid before you the wonders of the Court it would be pointless. Our nature is as much the process of understanding as it is the content."

"You lost me," I said.

Sphinx rocked its head in thought. "What did you feel the first time you slept with the maiden of Mutation?"

"I'm not telling you about the first time we had sex," I balked.

"Think beyond the superficiality of the mechanics. What did you feel?"

My eyes tilted to the blushing sky as the sun lost itself in the depths of the horizon.

"Nervousness. I wanted to be confident for her. We were still so early in everything. Each touch and kiss a discovery of how we fit together," I said. "So when we went there, I wanted to be so good that we'd do it again. But I was drowning in anxiety and didn't know what to do."

The middle fingers of my left hand curled against Sphinx's scalp. Then made tight circles that elicited a groan of pleasure.

"It was her voice that broke the haze. I was so in my head that every move was wrong, but I had fallen so deep that I just kept moving my body hoping I'd be right eventually. When I was, Melissa all but sang to me. So I focused on her. Each tilt and toss of her body I followed and I listened. By the time we finished, Melissa's voice was hoarse and I was in love."

"Now, imagine if I found you before that night. Told you how it would end. What would happen?"

I wandered down the hypothetical. "I'd probably be fixated on every noise wondering if it was the noise. Probably go right by it without realizing."

"And thus, any Revelation to be gained would be lost. Your romance dead without ever getting to live," Sphinx said.

"Maybe it'd have been for the best. Avoid all this pain and awkwardness."

Sphinx rolled onto its side—its head laid across my lap to catch my hiding eyes.

"That's the wrong conclusion," it said.

"Why?"

"Because then we wouldn't have met."

Its eyes held mine for an interminable number of moments. Then it rolled free from my lap.

It said, "All Revelations aid in walking the way no matter how small."

"But discussions, like we're having, are okay?" I asked.

Sphinx quirked a brow. "Yes," it said hesitatingly, "they are. Revelation lives in the fertile jungles between voice and meaning."

"Then, let's talk. Is there anything you can say about Revelation? Like the Principles," I said.

Sphinx frowned, "The concept is familiar amongst my betters, but I've never been taught."

"You'd have to be taught?" I asked. "Thought you were all just born knowing."

Sphinx rolled its eyes. "We are born knowing what we need to know as dictated by our betters. Though I might add that few things are born knowing their inherent nature."

"Fair," I said. Then marked out a table with twelve entries across and twelve down. Filled them in: Renewal, Passion, Stars, Caverns, Pyres, Seas, Storms, Gloom, War, Death, and Dream.

"The x-axis is the ruling Principle, and the y the advising. If x determines the territory then y determines the culture," I said.

"And the Court becomes a country." Sphinx stared at the chart. Shook its head, "I'd need time to ponder—."

Its eyes snapped upward in the direction of our room. I fluttered my eyes and ignored the tears that poured as I activated the Omensight. Sphinx raised a paw and I traced it to the black and red threads of Hope and Sacrifice that twined thick as rope up to our room. Before I can speak, Sphinx shoots forward running through the dirt-drawn table. I nearly cried out in frustration—tables take so long to draft up—but then I saw its paw print. There was only one, strange as that was, and it landed perfectly at the intersection of Stars and Dream. Under the Omensight I could see the way the strands wove together into the color of Revelation. The smallest Revelations indeed.

I took off after Sphinx, and hopped upon its back. It flew around the inn toward our balcony on the third floor. We landed and my fingers were already crossed. On three we burst through the wooden doors to discover a person—their appearance androgynous and teasing—sprawled across the floor. Their blood a stream that wound its way underfoot.

 

[MxOberon]

I shook the spell from my hands and all but slid on my knees down toward them. Carefully, I lifted them from the sanguine puddle that had formed. Slipped them onto my bed as I took them in. Their clothes were tattered to the point that they'd no longer deserve the designation and their face was tight and pained.

"H-help," they said. Their voice but a puff of strength that barely held.

I swept my head toward Sphinx. "Get Melissa and Amber, it's an emergency."

"Is it?" Sphinx asked.

"Do I need to add, please? Cause please, this is an emergency."

Sphinx gave a slow feline blink before it leaped from the balcony. I turned back to the person that seemed to be dying and saw that their eyes had cracked open. They were blue as the horizon and swooped with the most beautiful hint of joyful sorrow.

"No people, please?" they asked.

"Don't worry they're. . . well. . .good," I said. "They're really good."

"But can we trust them?" they asked.

I gestured at my eyes. "We can and I have ways to see beyond liars."

Then examined them more closely. They were an embroidery whose threads had come loose. I was fresh to the Omensight, but I could tell that wasn't a good thing. As I focused though I noted a brightness about their spine. It was coiled tightly before it spun to the extremities of their body—when my eyes noted pubic hair as flung them back to the person's face. They mistook my expression.

"It's an old spell. Some sorcerous surgery to align things better about myself. . .my body."

"I totally understand," I said and I really did. Melissa's aunt—one of the few Knitcrofts to not go into the fabric tradition—had done similar for myself. Before I was Nadia. We shared a smile of shared struggle.

Bam! The knock at the door shocked us from the connection.

"Temple, you didn't give Sphinx the key," Amber yelled.

I patted my pocket and felt the edge of the wood then hurried to the door As I opened it I had only then realized the image I presented. Besides the pool of blood on the floor, I had a nearly naked—and surprisingly stunning—person in my bed. The perfect image to your recently divorced wife.

"Nadia, what the fuck?" she asked.

Amber winked. "Seems you're into more than teachers"

"Just get inside," I urged. Slammed the door once they did. Melissa finally noted the blood—again, it was everywhere—and hurried to their side.

"What'd you do to them?" she asked.

"Nothing!" I hissed.

Melissa fluttered her fingers against her collarbone. It must've been some cue because that was when the symbiosnake emerged. Slid out from above her collarbone to slip round her neck like a crimson choker. It's head in the position where a pendant would be. The thing stained Melissa's neck as her blood dripped down into her chest.

"Belay current mutation order. Expedite and maintain sewing nails for," she voicelessly muttered some calculations, "five minutes. Set fiber to suture-silk."

The command finished, the symbiosnake dove back into her skin—it parted like sand against its nose. Half a minute later the mutations Melissa demanded took effect. Her nails—a reflective steel that extended to her wrists when her fingers closed. She tapped each nail to her wrist attaching silk to needle in eight individual threads. Her fingers blurred and her twin pupils rolled from each other to follow two threads at a time. Where her hands lingered, wounds closed.

A smile inched across my face to see her work. Before. . . everything, I would be laid up in her bed doing homework each night. Watched as she'd practice her sewing. Whether fabric or flesh she had the same look of intensity. Her eyes fluttered while her tongue blep'd between her lips like the cutest little puppy.

"So, who did do this to you," Amber asked the wounded stranger in my bed. She had claimed the chair across from it and had made it the throne from which she'd carry out her interrogation.

"A cult," she answered. Amber wound her hand.

"Yes, but which one? The Dancers Of Death's Orchestra, the Bats Sullied Sky? I need something to work with."

"I think they called themselves, the Lurkers in the. . . Deep?" they answer-asked.

"Hmm," Amber said. "Most of the cults in this region were squashed by this place's Lodgemaster last I checked."

"Well they did," snapped. Then hissed as a needle pierced one of the wounds on their inner thigh.

"Okay, they did," Amber allowed. "What'd they want? Cults only move when they think there's something out of it. Otherwise they get their kicks from jerking off over liturgy."

"I-I can't say," they said.

Amber gave an understanding nod. Then tapped Melissa's shoulder removing her from her flow.

"Stop, junior," she said.

Melissa grumbled, "I'm not your junior."

"Amber, alls below why are you stopping her?" I asked.

"They're trouble we don't want," she said. "If it wasn't something they'd get in trouble with some boss about revealing the secrets of they'd just tell us. No one struggles to say their family was abducted to be used as a sacrifice for Sacrifice."

"Melissa?" I asked.

She was conflicted—her lips pinched whenever she was. "Before I left Mom said the roads are confusing out here. Maybe Amber's right?"

"Oh, careful with all the praise there princess."

"I thought I'm junior?" she asked.

Amber smiled, "Remember, flattery will you get anywhere."

Melissa rolled her eyes. While the person—only half stitched up—was astonished. Tears rolled down the edge of their cheekbones. Slowly rained onto the sheets.

"They wanted the axis mundi," she said.

"What's that?" Amber asked.

"It's a—,"

"A Staircase, technically," I said. "But we call a Staircase a Staircase, and use axis mundi to mean a temple-sorcery to pierce down into the Underside."

"Fancy," Amber purred. "They kick you out of your house then."

"No," the person said, "they stole it. We hadn't just built an axis mundi; we made one as a shrine."

Her eyes landed on me while mine landed on that night. My dad's killers had made an impossible escape, but right in front of me was someone who just said it really was possible. I all but lunged at them eyes wide with homicidal yearning.

"How many did you make?" I asked.

She stammered. "One."

"When?"

"A month ago. They've held us hostage since." Before his murder.

"What research group were you?"

"AoSI. We work for the—,"

"Lodge." It lined up. It all lined up.

"You two, out," Amber barked.

I turned to her, my face broad in exaltation. Hers was stone, smooth. She led us out of my room into the hallway. It had a green carpet and ensconced lamps up and down the hallway—no other doors but my own. A trick of Remembrance used in most inns and hotels. You could only perceive the door you had a key to. Dad called it, 'the Mother's Prayer," an old formation said to have been made back at the beginning of the Changeover. Said it was made by a child as a bundle of them hid and begged their dead mothers to keep them safe.

"Amber," I whispered, "it lines up."

"Nadia," Melissa whined.

"It does," I snapped.

Melissa stepped back. Amber held out her hand pacifying me.

"It's one way it lines up," she said.

"But," I stammered, "i-it does."

"Maybe too well."

Her insinuation fell like sand upon the forest fire of my thoughts.

"You and princess are children of the NewNet. Your psychic defenses aren't that robust. I bet no one's rooted through your head that hasn't warned you they would," she added.

My hands explored my hair. Pulled at locks in examination of my own thoughts. Searching for the sign I was tampered with. That maybe I just heard what I wanted to hear. I paced slow enough that Melissa caught up to me. She stopped me. Guided me back to Amber.

"They were lying," Melissa said. "When Sphinx came to get us Amber said she'd tap my shoulder if they weren't telling the truth."

"You're not the only one with special eyes, Temple. Too much of her story was either delivered poorly or "

"It lined up," I whimpered.

"Too well," she said. "Most of their story wasn't true. What was was an off delivery of it.."

"Their wounds were weird too." Melissa said, "They were shallower on one side, and they were cut to have the most blood spill not impair function. At least if they were healed quickly enough."

"All of their lines, rehearsed. Their costume, chosen. They set bow to your heartstrings and played you. I bet they even threw in an early, 'can we trust them,' to help bring you close together," Amber said.

She called every bit of it down to the we. My mouth warped into a sneer. Fingers crossed and already hot as I drew on a thousand possible paths for me to torment them. Met Amber's gaze and found it to be cool.

"I don't want to play games," I stated.

"Then we don't. Do what you gotta do, Temple," Amber said.

"Wait, do what?" Melissa asked.

I had already pushed free of her. Threw the door open and stomped through their blood. They looked up at me with hope only to realize it was wasted upon a woman's dreadful fury. I split infinity and let fire touch the bed. In an instant it was consumed by chalcedony.

The person fell from their suddenly aerial position. I pounced atop them. My hand-spell ready with my nails set between their eyes.

"Truth. Now." I said.

"What'd they say to you," they said.

"I want the truth," I reiterated.

"Alright," they said. Gone was the meek worry and exhaustion that lightened their voice. Instead it was thin and tinny. Like everything was a cute little joke.

"What gave me away?" they asked Amber.

"The big one, you stalled when you said you couldn't say. Most people when they're that messed up are quick to say everything. Especially if they were an AoSI member who had their super special research stolen. Let me guess, you're an infiltrator focused on sabotage."

"Infiltration focused on rapid information acquisition. Sabotage takes too long," they said.

"Of course it does," Amber rolled.

I squeezed shut the burgeoning confusion. Dug my fingers deeper into their skin.

"Who are you?" I asked.

They looked away coquettishly. "I really hooked you didn't I," they said. "But sure, I'm Secretary."

"That's a job not a name," I said.

"For them it is," Amber said. "They're the Lodge's spies. All of them take the name Secretary and have their actual name stripped from their mind."

"Ohhh you're well informed," Secretary said. "Fan of the craft?"

"When it's done well," she answered. Secretary gave a look of fake shock.

"So what's real?" I asked.

Secretary settled their eyes back on me. They cut a smile that didn't match right—the eyes like you were looking at the saddest thing but a mouth like you were so pleased it was sad.

"Which do you want to be?" they asked.

I tasted copper in my mouth. Sphinx sidled next to me and leaned all their way into me.

Sphinx hummed, "Is this the way you want to travel?"

It made me—unfortunately—have to think about it. Slowed my heart that banged on the door of sense. I knew I'd have to kill people eventually, but I only wanted it to be those five. I wanted it so badly that Secretary could see it in me. Plucked it from me most likely. The horizon wasn't far enough especially when it was in their own eyes.

My hand lowered and I shook free the spell. Melissa reached out for me, but found only Sphinx's fur. The two of them shared a look that I didn't see. I only felt the fierce desire for distance directed at her.

"You're infiltration not torture. Leave Temple alone, and answer the question," Amber ordered.

"Ugh, why when you already have the answer key?" Secretary asked.

"Want to see if you'll cheat."

"Smart," Secretary tossed. "AoSI facility attacked, yes. Me as AoSI, obviously no. The attack wasn't months ago. It was a week. Only picked up something was off because of the news of examinees disappearing from this location."

"And the shrine?" I asked.

Secretary smirked, "True."

My hand fell on Sphinx's head and gave it scritches. Focused on that than the fact that it didn't line up anymore. Maybe there was still some way it all made sense, but it wasn't in the room with me. I looked back to Secretary.

"What do you want from us?" I asked.

"First, help me deal with the cult's agents downstairs. Then, help me go snag the information from the research facility."

"What's in it for us?" Melissa asked. Then flicked to me and then Amber for approval. Amber gave her a small thumbs-up.

"What all you examinees want: a prelim exemption pass. All Lodgemembers in good standing—even us spies—are allowed to grant a maximum of four a year. If you want them then fetch doggies," they said.

"We don't need them," Amber said.

"We'll do just fine without them," Melissa added.

I killed the discussion. "I only have two spells."

Secretary looked scandalized by my admission. While the other two's faces fell low. It was just Amber's theory, but after how badly I was played the scales had fallen from my eyes. Even if everything didn't line up with the past that didn't mean this way couldn't still lead to my future.

"We'll do it," I said.

Secretary clapped gently and suddenly I remembered they had no wounds and their clothes were perfectly pristine—they wore a suit over their flat but supple chest, and a high waisted skirt over stockings in black leather boots. I blinked my eyes rapidly, but the memory was already set.

"What Court are you?" I asked.

They smirked, "Remembrance, darling."

"That's for researchers."

"And spies," they corrected.

"That's the other thing, you looked too pretty. Real amateur shit," Amber said.

Secretary pouted, "Forgive me for wanting to leave a pretty corpse at any time. Now, if you hadn't already noticed your fellow examinees have already been incapacitated. Oh, listen, you can hear your chance to do your job walking right toward us."

We all turned to the door. I flicked on the Omensight and peered beyond the wall. A vague form creeped ever so slowly—they even slid their feet to test for squeaks in the wood with their toes.

"Temple, tell me when they're in front of me," Amber said.

Step step step step—now! "Go go go," I insisted.

Amber held one arm out and shaped a hand-spell with the other and then fell into space. Their body seemed to shrink the way a ball did when sinking into deep mud. With the Omensight it looked like Amber had disappeared beneath the threads of the world. Wait—she came out. Her arm took our problem in the neck. Curled tight into a one-armed chokehold. Then Amber fell back into the room the way she left.

"Mr. Meek?" I asked confused.

Amber pointed at the sheepish boy in her arms. "Now this is a great infiltrator. You'd bet the loudmouth downstairs would be the one. Cultists think so much of themselves."

Secretary rolled their eyes. "Alive please."

"I'll get him," Melissa said. Her mouth yawned open to reveal elongated fangs. She sunk them into Mr. Meek's arm and held him there as she pumped a familiar toxin into him. I recognized the stillness which had come over him. His pupils dilated and reflected the nothingness behind his eyes. Wherever he went it was deep in the quiet. Amber lightened the hold enough to not suffocate him.

"How long before re-application?" she asked.

"His size and that dose, I'd call it two hours," Melissa said.

Secretary stood and looked Mr. Meek in the eye.

"Works for me," she accepted. "What's the plan for the rest downstairs?"

Amber stretched as she spoke. "My favorite. I call it, 'Sir, you'll have to leave the theater.'"

"Cute title, but they outnumber us if you forgot," Melissa said.

"True but we outnumber them in what really matters," Amber gestured to Mr. Meek's slumped body, "information. They struck down the others using stealth. You only do that when you're not strong enough to win a stand-up fight. The moment they attacked and didn't get us was the beginning to their end. Plus, they only have soldiers"

I nodded along but Melissa was still unconvinced. "Okay, but it only takes five summoners working together to wield the same power as the link above them."

"Oh junior, it takes five to approximate the power of the link above. It's not really the same thing—though they are all using the same Court which can definitely help," Amber said.

I pointed out, "Whether real or approximate, there's only four of us. And all of us have soldiers."

Sphinx shook its head. "No. Only two, you and the maiden of Mutation."

My face scrunched in confusion—Amber's entity wasn't of the soldiery, but what about the lindwurm and—she clapped her hands once, a command of our attention. Then formed her hand-spell and lightly blew across her fingertips and I watched as breath became butterflies.

"Nadia, I promise we'll talk later, but yes Nahey's a Baron. Doesn't look like it and that's exactly how we like it," Amber said. A proud smile on her face as she stared at the clump of butterflies.

"Where's your entity in the Chain?" Melissa asked Secretary.

Secretary examined their nails. "Baron, but I don't see how it's relevant—," they said.

"You're needed in the plan," Amber said. "It is still your mission after all."

Secretary shared an annoyed smile with the room. Then formed a short series of seals before the hand-spell took shape, and we all remembered the Baron was already there. Specifically, it sat atop the dresser of the room, legs crossed, and in an outfit that looked like a butler. I hadn't known what a butler was until then, but the information just slid into my mind as if it always belonged. When I took in its face I scoffed and rubbed my eyes as if it could scrub away what was in front of me. The Baron's face was my dad's—same generous smile as if he had so much happiness to share, same eyes that crinkled with pleasure that he got to see you again.

"Why does it look like my dad?" I asked.

"Nadia, restrain yourself," Sphinx said.

"No, it looks like my dad. Why?"

Secretary hummed. "It's not Blotomisc's fault. He always adjusts to the psychic waves of others."

The Baron—Blotomisc—lowered its head in apology. "I only wish to provide what would make people comfortable. Familiar faces tend to do the trick. Though I apologize if I misjudged."

Sphinx bowed its own head, "No apologies—."

"Yes, apologies. I'd rather stare at your real face than this," I said, altogether unwilling to be met by a face I'd never see again. Let alone see it speak without his voice.

Sphinx glanced at me before it raised its own head—its lips tight with restrained thoughts.

"Okay, so how do we win with two Barons and two Soldiers?" I asked.

When I turned to face Secretary my back was to Amber. It was with my back that I felt her press into me. She was soft—her chest spread across my back as she pulled me close—and her grip was firm as I couldn't get away. Amber laid her chin atop my head and cooed softly.

"Deep breaths, Temple," she said first. "We win with you. Same way you helped me nab our first cultist is how we bag the others. So, relax and use those special eyes of yours so we can get more info on 'em."

My own exasperation with her antics had leaned ever so gently against instability in my heart. Somehow she just balanced me and as a result I barely cried when I activated the Omensight. She slowly turned me—the lilac world shimmered like the setting sun on a lake in the summer—then guided me to my knees. Tilted my head just so, and said, "There."

I focused my gaze to the ground and once again felt my vision paw at the world sliding aside the threads of its tapestry to see deeper and deeper. First the light threads of carpet then the sturdier flooring. I reached the first room and breathed deep like you'd do before lifting a heavy weight then began again. It was harder this time because of the distance I needed to cross to even attempt to see through the floor—don't forget I was maintaining a gap already—and I felt my moisten. Tears. You'd think they'd make the task harder, but instead they marked an expansion of myself. Flames ate away at my image of the world as everything sharpened again and I could see everything within the tavern two floors below us.

In that unknown area where my self was woven with Sphinx came a throbbing of pride.

"Causality is but a pane of glass that dulls the truth. Congratulations on tossing away another one," Sphinx whispered.

"Can you see them?" Amber asked.

"Yeah," I answered. "What am I looking for?"

"Any clue as to how they beat all the examinees," she said.

I could see the lines that tied the cultists to each other and to the bodies around them. When I tried to touch them I felt my cheeks moisten again—would I break through again—but instead Amber squeezed me and I lessened the pressure on the thread that'd lead me through time.

"Temple, you okay?" she asked.

"No," Sphinx said. "Nadia, don't reach for defeat past the victory you've already gained."

"I need the answer," I said.

"Yes, but now is the time to see broader and note the answer within the present."

The scene below me distorted so that the entirety of the tavern was in view. I even caught some of the lobby and noticed something strange. Under the Omensight everything was a touch of lilac—though now a smidge darker since my advancement—but where the tavern met the lobby I realized something.

"The color's wrong," I said.

"Color?" Amber asked.

I nodded and gestured to the threads only I could see—a habit I've yet to break. Where tavern met lobby was a gradation of color, but under the Omensight color meant the world. It meant Courts. This color was an ocean at its darkest. Where time and light would go to die. Whatever it was, had woven itself to the backing layer of Realspace.

"Sounds like a field-ritual," Amber said. A response to the thoughts I'd spoken aloud—it was like the understanding broke itself in the prism of my mouth in anxious escape. Then I realized she had said it was a field-ritual. A combination of more than two Summoners casting a spell in unison—strengthen their power—with the spell in question being the establishment of a field. An area of Realspace tainted with a Court's nature overriding local Real. The singularly focused variant of conceptual zones.

"Courts?" Secretary asked.

"Seas and Gloom probably. With the cult called the 'Lurkers in the Deep,' I'd hazard that their little group worships the Court of the Abyss."

"The lady at the front desk did have a sea angel looking entity. It tracks for me," Melissa added.

"You can stop now, Temple. Come on back," Amber said and rose to her full height.

My eyelids fell and when I opened them again the "panes of causality" had returned to me. They let me see that Melissa's hands were shaking. I examined my face and my hands came away bright red—blood. Sphinx leaned over and ran its tongue against my cheeks—it was textured with each ridge grazing my skin with just enough friction to be enticing. Melissa's worry gave way to confusion and then she blushed. Sphinx had licked away my tears. . . and I liked it.

"I'm okay," I blurt out. "My eyes heal after the spell every time. They're normal. . ."

I trail off because though causality had returned its glass it wasn't the same as before. There was a crispness to everything—details you'd miss otherwise became glaring, like how the wood grain in the floor told the story of a forest fire but the wood of the wall spoke of heavy rain.

Sphinx rumbled with pleasure. "They're better. Revelation leaves its mark even when its brilliance dims to the basement of memory."

"So, they're better," I said, not quite focused on parsing Sphinx's poetic dialect at the time.

"Any guesses on the field-spell?" Secretary asked.

Amber dismissed the question. "No need to guess. Nadia, did the weird color backing thing look like a solid color or like it had faded?"

"Faded. The Court felt deep but also like it had bottomed out and just begun to rise," I said.

Amber chuckled, "Yup, the cultists gave our exam competition a 'bender.'"

"As in the bends?" Secretary asked.

"And a clever pun since they used it on drunks." Amber continued, "their field-ritual dropped the pressure incrementally on them. The normal dizziness you'd feel was masked by the booze."

"Then you drop the pressure so fast it'd make them feel like their skull slammed against concrete, shocking the brain," Secretary said.

Amber shot them two thumbs up. "Exactly, which means the ones who have to go down there to face the lot of them will be me and Melissa," Amber said.

I shot to my feet and whirled on Amber. "No way. I have an actual weapon," I said.

Melissa yanked me back to face her. She said, "Stop deciding for me. That's not us anymore remember? Besides, Mutation is never without weapons."

Secretary chuckled and jeered at me. "It's not even the point. I don't have any spells that let me adjust to levels of barometric pressure. Do you?" they asked.

"Just how it goes sometimes, Temple. My bag of tricks runs deep and I have a Baron. I'm already dense enough that their spell would struggle to keep me down. Mutation is just wiggly enough to ride along the pressure waves. This is just a case of a place you can't go," Amber said.

I looked around for anyone to take my side—no one did. Especially not Sphinx. I could feel worry radiate in waves from them all fixated on me. So I released my puffed chest.

"Okay," I said.

Amber smiled softly before she called out to Secretary. "Can you break the Mother's Prayer?"

"What!" I exclaimed. The Mother's Prayer was used almost everywhere. It was the cornerstone of most privacy formations. For many it was often the only formation of privacy they knew. I looked to Secretary and saw them grin in annoyance at the question.

"It'd undermine the faith people have in the Lodge if I answer that," they said.

"I have no faith in it. Melissa has perhaps negative faith," Amber said.

Secretary pointed at me, "They have a smidge."

"It's needed for the plan," Amber said.

Secretary huffed and pushed back from the wall they leaned against. Slipped through the door and waved us into the hallway to follow. We piled in there and Amber eyed the stairway. I watched Secretary reveal how much privacy was an illusion people like them maintained to spy on people like us. Their hands curled into a double hand-spell while Blotomisc took position behind them, hands at the ready to clap.

"Remember what came before," Secretary incanted. Then cast the spell in time with Blotomisc's clap. A tone rippled down the hallway in a range you couldn't hear. It was for the floor and the walls—a reminder of a time before they were marked and forgot the sight of their architectural kin. My eyes flicked from Secretary to the walls, and I remembered that there were six rooms on both sides of the hallway. I could actually acknowledge them.

Amber whispered, "Mark this down, Temple. This is the way smart summoners fight: gather enough information and cheat to victory. Safest way to win, and kill someone up the Chain."

She walked past Secretary as Blotomisc helped them up.

"Really, took you casting this as a two-hander and you needed to dual cast with him? Wasteful," Amber tossed at Secretary. "Now it's time to kill the lights."

She formed a hand-spell and said to me, "Temple, turn those eyes of yours on. This is a teachable moment. Princess, if you and the shit spy have a form of conceptual sight you might as well watch. Might pick up a trick."

I flickered on my Omensight and winced. Nahey was. . . brighter than expected. Amber as well. With an even sharper corona of brightness at their edges. I quickly adjusted and witnessed Nahey split apart from the spell, but I noticed the thread—albeit extremely thin—that connected each individual clump of Nahey to each other. Nahey was still one.

"First," Amber said, "your entity is an imposition on Realspace. Sure, at the soldiery it's more of a negotiation, but as it graduates and ascends the Chain it'll be more of itself than the world can handle. Let's it start breaking rules like being in only one place at a time."

Nahey slipped through the floors in the same way Amber moved through the wall. I set my sight to the floor and opened it so I could peer into the tavern below. Nahey hung close to the ceiling, set itself into corners and random spaces.

"Second," Amber began, "ritualizing a spell is generally a good idea if you want to give yourself a bit of a force multiplier and the spell is a one-and-done. It's less of a good idea when you need something constant and stable like a field. No matter how good you're trained, it's never easy to maintain a unified focus. Someone's going to lapse, and the longer you hold it the more out of pace they become. Makes your field—which should feel like a singular voice holding the perfect note—into something more patchwork. A quilt of wills that doesn't line up quite right."

It was then I realized that the Nahey's had all settled on the borders of each cultist's control.

"Means when I contest, I'm not facing the will of ten summoners in one fight. I'm fighting one summoners five times. Which at our distance is a light warm-up," Amber said.

Nahey's incandescence peaked and then puffed out beyond their bodies.It imposed itself onto Realspace—ripped wide the patchwork field the cultists erected—and revealed the yawning dark that sat below the abyss. Water, pressure, and the vestiges of light swirled down the drain Nahey had formed. It went to the same place Amber had when they stepped through the wall.

The cultists did as people normally do when the lights go out—they wandered. Hands out and probing in search of anything familiar. As if the sudden darkness had taken their memory with them. It wouldn't have helped because they all started moving far enough away that they couldn't guess where anyone was.

"They're scattering," I said.

"Good." Amber crowed, "When it's Quiet in the House, you can't see anything but what I want you to see. Can't hear anything but what I want you to hear. Missed this spell."

Amber then snapped to grasp Melissa's attention. "Ready up junior, it's your turn."

Melissa rolled her eyes at her ever-shifting status with Amber. She clasped her hands together and formed a hand-spell with a seal that looked as if her two hands had become one. Her skin flipped up and over like sequins under a child's gliding hand—scales appeared in the wake leaving her arms gauntleted. While muscle rewove itself beneath flesh before they doubled and doubled once again in threadcount. Her arms bulged and capped with sickle-claws. From the sharp snap of bones I knew there was more changing under her the scales that coated her body. When her bones snapped back together Melissa had doubled in height—the ceiling was low and forced her eight foot body to slump. Her gorget of toxin-tipped spines bunched with her shoulders. Her face bent ever so slightly to afford a wider mouth of thresher-like fangs.

"Oh," I said, though it came out husky and moanish.

Under the Omensight the process was just that beautiful. Her—herness—doubled with her size and there was so much more to. . . appreciate. I swallowed as softly as I could, but Melissa noticed. She blushed—which in this form brought a sunset-y peach to her cheeks—and then purred. Did she think I liked purring? It rumbled in a place only my bones could feel. A massage from the inside. The vibrations died at my extremities and then I saw how smug she looked. She'd just proven that I maybe did like purring.

Amber pulled a syringe gun from her storage spell. Handed off a few vials for Melissa to fill up with the toxin from her fangs. When that was done she pressed in close.

"Hold onto me," Amber said. "You'll need to grasp the ceiling right when we slip into the tavern. Try not to drop me."

"No promises," Melissa rumbled.

She swallowed Amber inside her arms. Amber formed the hand-spell needed and the two of them fell sideways through the world. Through the floor below us. Into the tavern—Melissa caught the ceiling with her claws—and Amber initiated the final step. In that sightless soundless dark she had subjected the cultists, they never had a chance to realize that they were prey.

Amber formed the hand-spell that summoned the spotlights. In unison the beams of light banished dark and created a small field around each cultist. Ironically, it isolated them from each other even more—they had stopped groping for the wall, their only way out. Instead their attention fixed on the sudden light.

Melissa let go of the ceiling and the duo flipped in air to land down below. The cultists heard nothing—Amber didn't want them to—and I watched as the two of them divided the room in half. Five targets for each of them. I have no idea which targets were luckier.

Sure, Melissa was nervous—it was clear in the way she circled each one just beyond the edge of the light. She needed that extra bit of confirmation they heard and saw nothing. Affirmed, she'd lunge forward and take them in jaws. Fangs piercing up from below the ribs while the upper set plunged down through the neck and shoulder. While her fists held them by their arms the way a parent would swing their child—I doubt the cultists were reminded of such happy memories. They weren't reminded of much because Melissa's size meant she delivered an equally oversized load of toxin that flooded so hard in their veins and arteries that a few of their more frail capillaries burst. Between the toxin and the shock they were out fast, and Melissa scuttled away on four limbs to the next one.

"So, is the Mutant one single?" Secretary asked.

I hissed, "She's my ex-wife."

"Great. Then she is."

I clenched and released. Then looked to Amber who waltzed—literally she was dancing—through the tavern to a song only she could hear. The syringe gun bobbed in the air as the partner to her steps. None of the cultists had a chance when her hand lunged into their tiny circle of perception and clasped fast about their wrist. They weren't prepared for her to spin them into her chest. It looked like they screamed when her needle found them in the neck—all her previous smiles seemed dim to the way she grinned when they did. Their lids shuttered as they slumped in her arms. Partners unable to keep up. She dropped them and spun on.

Back in the room, I felt Secretary's nails trace my arm.

"Do you only watch, or do you actually bring something to this little team?" they asked.

"I don't know. We hadn't talked about that yet," I said.

Secretary hummed amusedly. "Sure, and I just haven't 'talked about it' yet with lovers who sucked at the making love part of the job."

I did my best to ignore them.

"Some of them I kept around though,"

I failed. "Why?"

"They were cute. Like you," they said.

My face flushed from anger at the intimation of my own uselessness and the forward way they presented it. They made their dip when they said it too—sounded airy like when I thought I was "saving" them—and I was disgusted that it still worked on me.

It took two minutes to tranquilize all the cultists. Amber gave a flourish and a bow to signal me through the floors. When Secretary and I joined them, Amber was already patting down bodies. She had amassed a small stack of token pouches on a table.

"Are we really robbing them?" Melissa asked.

I shrugged. "I mean, they would've attacked us too."

Melissa waved her hand. "Oh I'm not worried about the cultists. Amber's robbing the examinees."

"I'm gathering my fee," Amber said.

"Really?" Melissa asked.

"Yeah junior, it's expensive being on the road. It's why I charge a 'Saved your life' fee to anyone I save. Helps me pay for the top shelf stuff. Which if you excuse me," Amber said as she wandered behind the bar to loot it too.

Secretary shrugged—they really didn't care. Just went and conducted their own examination while I sat on a table next to Sphinx and near Melissa. When we regrouped they held up a key and a ledger. They opened it flat so everyone could see.

"Keys are obviously to their ride. There's a van hidden nearby," they explained.

"The ledger's about a van?" I asked.

"No." They stared flatly, "The ledger's a list of examinees. Everyone they had on record as buying a train pass ahead of time for this station. And by the number of checks they nabbed everyone on the list so far."

"Why?" Melissa asked.

Secretary smiled. "That's what the other half of my mission is about. If I'm lucky it'll be something fun like unethical sorcerous experimentation."

From how they said it you'd almost be convinced that would be fun.

Secretary flicked to look at me, "That's where I think you'll come in. We'll be going undercover."

"No," Amber said. Her face was dark as a stormcloud and her voice was bled dry of humor. "She's not trained for infiltration."

Secretary shut the book and held it aloft. Snapped their fingers and I watched as the ledger discorporated into light like Mom did. They pointed at me dismissively.

"You two have earned your exemptions. I want to know she's worth it as well. Unless this is where you'll leave her behind to help your own odds," Secretary said. Tone as if they were offering up the option to Amber and Melissa without any judgment.

"Then we'll also come," Melissa said.

"You three can do that in the privacy of your room," Secretary said and sent Melissa blushing mad. "For this, I need a brute. Nobody else or no exemption."

"Deal," I said. Amber shook her head ready to explain why this was a bad idea. Then gave up when our eyes met and I said, "please, no spoilers."

Amber softened and shrugged. "Glad you can joke. Don't die, Temple, there's so many drinks I've yet to share with you."

"It's your life. I already know my thoughts don't matter," Melissa said. Her breath caught and I knew she had so many thoughts that she wished I thought mattered. None of them would change that I needed that exemption.

"Glad that it's settled." Secretary twirled their finger, "Now, gather up these examinees and load them into the van. We still have night to burn."

I hated being ordered around as did Sphinx, but this was the way I had chosen for us. Together we dragged each examinee to the van that Secretary said was outside. They sped toward it as if they remembered exactly where it was. They stared at the ledger like the words would rearrange themselves to blow the whole plot wide open—I gave up calling for help by the third body. It took me maybe fifteen minutes all together.

"Can you drive?" Secretary asked.

"Only scooters," I said.

"Fine." They tapped their temple and leaned to the right into the breeze. Only to snap back like a reed when they received what they had sent for. "I'll drive."

I circled the van with Sphinx, but when I opened the door Secretary frowned at me.

"Nope, you're riding the examinees. Also put your entity away. Can't believe you just have it walk beside you all the time."

"How?" I asked. It hadn't fallen beyond my notice that Nahey didn't flit around Amber all the time. The same way that it was only today that I had saw the symbiosnake despite the long drive here. It must've been such a commonly learned technique that it warranted their look of complete astonishment.

"You really don't know?" they asked.

"I don't."

"Wow, you're cute. Maybe even hot, but gosh so dumb. Didn't pay attention to mommy and daddy's instructions?"

"They died before I could get any."

The admission swept Secretary's thoughts out from under them—a point for me. Then their face fell back into a wry enjoyment of the world.

"You'll have to tell me the story on the way. Now, back of the van."

I shut the passenger door and made my way for the back. Opened it up and climbed atop the bodies and laid down—tried not to imagine if this would be how my corpse would lay if I had gotten to die with Mom and Dad.

Sphinx climbed in after me and pulled the doors shot with their paws. Clambered over bodies and loomed over me. Its face blocked the moon through the van's back window.

"Breathe, Nadia," the sphinx said. "I'll be gentle when I enter. Just, try to relax and let me in."

I bit my lip and nodded. Though I couldn't relax. I blame the way Sphinx said their instructions—it was what I told Melissa our first time. When my thoughts Sphinx tipped itself forward into my chest. Folded itself down until it could slip within the fibers of my spirit's muscles. I felt full in a way I hadn't felt before. My fingers gingerly touched just below my navel in awe that all of Sphinx had hidden itself within me. Then I smiled as I thought about the feeling and could already see the shape my fingers had to make to form the spell. I wondered if it counted to the four I'd need.

Secretary pulled out from the hiding spot and set the van onto the road. We were off. I felt every bump and stone we rolled over. Even through the bodies that cushioned me I couldn't not feel how rough the road was. I tried to put it from my mind.

"Did you really pick me because I'm a brute?" I asked.

Secretary smiled by their words—I just knew they did. "Yes, but that's cause I love brutes. People like Amber aren't those I'd trust to have my back. Even if I had what they wanted."

"You're a spy," I said.

"Yes, so I'm an expert on knowing who not to trust."

"And Melissa?"

"Malleable until you hit something she'd believe in. I can't take the risk of someone with a conscience getting in the way."

"I have a conscience," I said.

Secretary laughed at me. "No, no you don't. Maybe a while ago you did, but not now."

"If I lacked one I'd have killed you."

The car took a bend. "That's not how it works. If you had a conscience you wouldn't have been ready to kill me at all. There was no hesitation in your eyes. I was already a corpse."

I was silent.

"That's what makes you a great brute though. You were ready to put me down the minute you felt I had to be. That's the kind of quality I look for. Then you got extra credit when I saw how well you took correction from your entity. Just a few words and you ran the numbers. Realized that there wasn't that much reason to kill me—at least not then."

"That makes me a brute?"

Secretary laughed as we rolled fast down a hill. "The kind I dream of finding every mission."

I didn't ask anything after that, and instead tried to enjoy the bruises the road created as we neared our destination.

 

[MxOberon]

"What's your fighting style?" Secretary asked.

"Why does that matter?" I asked. "This is an infiltration mission."

Secretary waved off my question. "Humor me. If we have to fight, I should know how to play around you. So come on, what is it fighter? Mage? I know it can't be fusion."

My hand wound over the shaft of my glaive. I hadn't given it much thought—but back then I tried to tell myself I was just staying flexible. Everyone has an answer though even if they don't know it. An inclination to batter away at a foe with weapons or limbs while you leave the casting to your entity, probably fighter. If you're casting and letting the entity take the blows, that's a mage. Fusion was nothing but the label. A merger of summoner and entity into some compound form. Each had their benefits and if I had an answer I hadn't found it yet.

"Maybe fighter," I said.

"Maybe, ugh, I can work with that I guess. Anyways, shut up we're here."

The van rolled to a stop and I shut my eyes—filled in the darkness purely off their words.

"That you Lenny?" a guard said. "Normally don't come this late with the shipments."

Secretary said, "It'll make sense when you see how big these ones are. They drank most of the beer in the place and still took a few benders before they went down. Then there's getting them into the truck. . ."

The guard grunted, "Yeah I know. Come on in. Dock four as usual."

Then we were back on the move. The seconds dripped with what felt like hours between. From the change of sound—rubber's sputtering babble against dirt to the flat echo of clanging grates—we had entered something. I heard what could be gates shutter behind us. Gravity lessened its hold on me and I knew we were falling. An elevator.

"Nadia," Secretary whispered, "when I give the signal you're going to leap out weapon first."

"Why?" I asked.

"Nuh uh. Brutes don't ask questions. That's how you die. Be ready to do it or don't," they said.

They dropped me back into silence. I felt myself ruminate in the possibility of what would be waiting for me. What would be the best way to face it. I clutched my glaive close to my chest and breathed out any extraneous thoughts—the elevator was slowing.

"Fine," I hissed to no acknowledgement.

The van pulled forward. Curved past someone that yelled, "To Dock U-three." Then stopped, reversed, moved forward but curved, stop, reversed again, and we backed up into the dock.

"Go," Secretary ordered.

The van's back doors had barely opened—I hastened it with a kick. Leaped free from the van with my glaive held high and swung in wide threatening arcs. Mother's Last Smile touched none of them. I wanted to save the bloodshed for her killers. The cultists gave me a wide berth with a shocked expression on their face. They weren't used to someone who fights back. I shot a glance backwards in search of nothing? That was wrong. I knew it was wrong but in that moment I had searched for nothing and was left with an indescribable rage at an absence I could've sworn was a presence.

"Someone help me put her down," a cultist yelled.

My attention returned to them—above their shoulders were sea angels like the front desk attendant had. Above them was a sphere of water about the size of a watermelon. One rippled then scrunched itself down releasing a stream of pressurized water. I yanked my body to the side only to throw up my arms as fists of water pelted me in the side. Forced me backwards—I fell off the dock—and I scrambled. Slipped past the van and out into the courtyard to find myself in the center of a quaint park cast in an unshifting twilight.

"No," Sphinx said from their hiding place inside my spirit.

They tugged our connection, look up. I did. In the sky above the facility was a citadel of coral and sunken steel whose spires were a legion of spear points thrust toward us mortal things below. My eyes fluttered fast as a camera to try and avoid Underside exposure as I attempted to process what it was that the fortress was connected to—I saw barnacles the size of my school—and I just failed to understand. Sphinx enlightened me and I wished they hadn't.

"It's a Marquis," it uttered.

"Oh," I said.

The sky was a Marquis. An entity. So vast as to make you believe its stomach was heaven. If it had fins then they stretched beyond the horizon. I couldn't even find its head. That belonged to someone. My mind was slowly falling apart at the enormity of the implication.

"I have her," a voice said.

My body went stiff and my chin whipped fast enough to sling my brain into the wall of my skull.

* * *​

I woke up, hands cuffed behind my chair, in a room that was a lab in another life. It should've been flat and sterile but instead I could see the streaks of blood that some low-ranking cultists hadn't mopped up properly. There were darker fluids but I just lumped them in with blood—I had enough problems at the time. The first one sat in front of me.

It was a bulky shape clad in armor that looked reminiscent of old diving suits. The helm was bulbous and its slits for eyes hidden within the three by three row of lights. I could see the beams—guided by the helmeted person—lingered over my thighs, chest, and face. Their hands were gauntleted in the same dark brassy metal and lay atop the pommel of a two-handed sword wide as a headstone and tall as me. While the rest of their limbs and torso were plated in the spots necessary to cover those organs that you needed to keep going. Underneath that was something akin to a skinsuit. My problem was corded in muscle.

"Weird looking Undersuit," I said.

He laughed—his voice was smoky like whiskey and low as the dog I knew he was. "It's armor," he said. "Undersuits are for those who fear the Underside's mysteries."

"You say fear, I say a healthy respect to retain my sanity and be curse-free."

He said, "Then you'll be happy to know, in the shadow of Atlantis' Ferryman no curse will form that ails a friend of those who lurk in the depths of the world."

"Quite the pitch," I said.

"Doesn't have to be just a pitch," he said. "Tell me who you are, and we'll be on track to becoming friends."

I mulled over the offer and then spit on his helmet. Saliva—and a trace of mucus—splattered against one of the lights. He sighed at that. Then leaned back in his chair to explain.

"Seeing as you infiltrated this place you probably have a low estimation on the magic of the Abyss," he said.

I agreed, "A few benders aren't that impressive."

"True," he admitted, "they're not and I never could get that group to practice. Lucky for you, I do practice. Reached Baron and gained some of our more iconic spells. Like Crushing Depths."

His fingers curled into his palm like water diving down the edge of a trench. A blazing star of pain flared into my left hand—my bones were dust and my fingers limp. I hissed through my teeth unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a scream. Reminded myself I still had one hand then tried to form the spell to conjure my flames.

"No," he stated.

The world pressed again and my right hand was now just another dull star of pain. No more hand-spells. A groan slipped from me. Spit dripped down my lip as I tried to suck in air as if that'd push aside the pain that hid where bones should be.

"Since we closed those doors, let's introduce ourselves. I'm the Angler Knight," he said. "Your name?"

"Nadia Temple," I said.

"We're still playing games?" he asked.

The pressure fell on my kneecap—he replaced it with burning agony. This time I screamed.

"I didn't lie, fuck," I said. "It's not my fault my dad was uncreative."

"Okay." He asked, "Affiliations?"

"None."

"Okay," he said.

"You believe that one?"

I could feel the asshole smile behind that helmet. "Sure, from what Lenny told us you only know what, two spells? If you were a collective kid or from some big deal family you'd be prepared way better."

"Hey, from how your mom screamed my name last night, I prepared enough."

His fist snapped forward. Pressed my face in on itself before it withdrew and my head snapped backward. Strangely, I didn't feel the metal against my face. Just a force.

"Do you have to make this hard?" he asked. It was like he just had to set me up.

"Whatever makes your mom happy," I said.

The Angler Knight reached for a stoppered gourd at his hip the size of a small jug. His finger traces the stopper—twists it round and round—but then flutters off to return to resting on the pommel of his sword.

"You're so petty," he said.

I snorted, "You're torturing me."

"Fine. What exactly is your intention for taking the exam?"

"You really want to know?" I asked. He waved in front of us, floor is yours. So I told the truth. "I want to kill the Lodgemaster, Nemesis Khapoor."

He leaned forward and investigated the conviction that brought an edge to my gaze.

"You're really serious. Wonderful," he said.

"Really?"

"Of course. That's our goal as well. End her tyrant reign and act as the deluge to sweep her corruption from the world."

"Hmm, you're so noble. I just want vengeance for my dad and my mom."

"If you looked around you'd see that more of us lost our dads and moms to the Red Witch of the Lodge than just you. Killing her won't bring back the dead, but it'll save plenty of parents going forward."

"Maybe," I said, "but I'd prefer to keep my reasons focused. Others can worry about the world. Now, since we're so 'aligned' can I go?"

The Angler Knight rose from the chair—it was one of those small fold out things, no idea how that was comfortable—and held up a stalling finger.

"We'll have to clear your story first. Then go from there. Stay tight," he said.

He formed a different seal this time, and the hand-spell ushered in an abyssal darkness. There was and then there was absence. My eyes hurt trying to search for light that didn't exist and an escape that seemed to be equally mythical in the moment.

"Nadia," Sphinx's voice came through as it vibrated through my spiritual musculature—why'd Sphinx's voice have to feel so good.

I thought at Sphinx, the telepathy is new.

"Folded in on ourselves like this it's easier for my words to reach you. I've tried before, but your focus is always somewhere else."

I'm distractible, sure, but I'm listening now. Any ideas on how to get out?

"None," Sphinx said.

Great.

"But I can remind you that you have the tools to escape. You just have to think."

Let's run through them. Tool one, my glaive which is not here. Tool two, the flames which I can't cast with broken fingers.

"Tool three, the Omensight which mocks causality," it said.

I can't see, Sphinx, kind of hard to use a sight-based spell.

"In this moment, you can't see, but you can see beyond the moment."

I had seen Mom's death through time as if I was there. My vision placed beyond the limitations of sight. I'd experienced it once, and I fluttered on the Omensight hoping to do it again. At first there was still darkness. Tears dripped from my chin as I felt the flames smolder. The panes fell away and my sight was free again. I reached for how I saw from before he stole my vision. Color and shape emerged to coalesce to form a tapestry of the present—it was still a new application, so the image was flawed. The ghost of the last thing I saw before darkness was burnt atop the present for me. The variant was messy, but I had still done it. Melded past vision to the present.

Suck it causality!

With Sphinx's assistance, we scanned the room for a way out. I noted a clock in the corner—it was three a.m.—and tilted my head as I watched the second hand crawl at a tortoise's pace.

"It's unimportant," Sphinx said.

It could still be useful, I argued.

Sphinx sighed and I felt its head spin in annoyance. "Revelation takes as much time as it needs for someone to learn. It doesn't bow to something as plebeian as linear time."

We can stop time? My mind was ready to bolt toward a plan at the idea. Sphinx trimmed the branches of that thought.

"We can take our time. In the same way that my Sovereign negotiated with you in between the quarter seconds of life and death. The gap between moments can prove interminable when you have a recipient."

Couldn't I use you?

"I am beyond causal time already. Within me is the host of Revelation. We're not a fair target."

Then why not just target me all the time?

"Revelation is potent in its singularity. Without the true clarity of a moment or message its strength would dull"

So diminishing returns.

"Very."

Which leaves only the Angler Knight, perfect. They'd be stuck in this slowed down time with me, but as a non-slowed down person. It is useless.

I wandered from the clock to the rest of the room—let my eyes unfocus so I'd see everything—and my gaze landed on the Angler Knight. Strands of some fleshy mucus thread connected from the top of his head and wound up toward the ceiling. My vision—courtesy the Omensight—tilted upward while my head stayed level. The threads led to the coiled shape of an emaciated eel the length of an anaconda. Its teeth were a gnarly mess of needle-thin vectors in every direction. Along the bottom of the eel were thin tendrils topped with bioluminescent bulbs. I looked back to the Angler Knight and peered into him. In the tapestry of the world, the threads that composed him looked right. They were supposed to look right. Yet with a simple lean—my vision threatened to roll onto its side—the real colors showed themselves. The frigid oceanic darkness of Abyss woven to masquerade itself.

The Angler Knight, if he existed, wasn't here. I had talked to a lure only maybe connected to a real man somewhere. My mouth twisted into a cunning smile—if he was fake what else was? I grit my teeth and flexed my hands. Pushed past the part of my brain screaming, fool fool we're already ruined. Wrestled it down, wrapped my own fury at my mistreatment around its throat, and pulled. I silenced the doubting pain and I flexed. My. Hands.

"I'll be releasing you. Is there a plan?" Sphinx asked.

Of course. I'm running it back.

Time resumed, and the Angler Knight had turned back to me. Acted as if he'd entered the room again rather than briefly go still—a puppet without commands—before whoever picked the controls back up.

I spoke first, "Hey, Knight, I think this friendship might not work out."

"Why not?"

I bared my teeth at him—manic eyes that were amber pools of scorn and bloodlust. "I like to meet new friends in person. And I really hate it when they lie," I explained.

"And this code of yours I care about because?" he asked—the bastard was humoring me.

"Cause I'm going to kick your ass with two spells. The Omensight, and. . ." I trailed off.

"And?"

"It doesn't have a name actually. Uh, it's like a big burst of fire. Something like a star igniting," I said. "Star blast just sounds dumb. It's too glorious for that."

I linked my thumbs together. The Angler Knight looked around for the audience I was playing too. Gripped my chin and dragged my head into his lights.

"Pretty hard to cast spells when your hands are shattered," he said.

Twined my index and middle fingers on both hands—didn't set them against each other. Not yet.

"I think stars are nuclear or something. Oh, atomic, I like that word," I said. His grip tightened, but I wasn't falling for the lure anymore. I only had eyes for the puppeteer. "And, yes, it would be pretty hard to cast spells if my hands were shattered."

Twined my ring finger and pinky on both hands. Again, I didn't touch them. Not yet.

"So what's the name then?" he asked. His voice a growl of impatience at my farce—not my fault I didn't take the oral storytelling course in high school. Never even did theater despite the girls that wanted to see me take the stage.

"It's pretty good. I'll call it Atomic Glory," I said. "But in this case I think it needs a more special name. Fivefold Atomic Glory."

I brought my twined fingers together into something Amber would later tell me was a quintuple hand-spell. Five instances of Atomic Glory drank deep of fate and as many possible outcomes as my spirit could withstand. They vibrated within my spiritual musculature. Five layers of infinity folded five times over. My eyes squeezed shut—this would be bright—and I split five roads on the way to forever. I only wished I could see the Angler Knight's face when it happened. When I birthed a star in the depths of the Abyss.

* * *​

When I opened my eyes the first thing I saw was my mess. I had fallen through the floor on the ashes of my handcuffs and chair. My side hurt and I remembered how I hit a shelf before I rebounded to the floor. I looked around—I was in a supply closet—and Sphinx guarded the door. Its wings wide and the eyes on its feathers crackled with chalcedony flame.

"Did I kill his entity?" I asked.

"Slaying one of our betters unfortunately takes more than just a lucky shot," it said. "However, it did flee. A tactic we should employ sooner rather than later."

I grunted in affirmation. Took stock of the room—it really was just a supply closet—and grabbed a wooden broom. Gave it a few swings before I decided that it'd do. Then I turned the Omensight back on and parted the threads of the wall to see beyond. There was a hallway that was rapidly filling with cultists. They charged toward my little comfy closet.

"You cast, I bash," I said.

Sphinx laughed. I was shocked. It said, "I had a feeling that would be your choice. You're very tactile."

"Thanks for the compliment. You can go first."

Sphinx pouted but didn't argue. We waited for the first wave to get closer. Closer. Our signal was silent—our spirits in alignment. Sphinx barreled down the door, wings wide as flame lanced this way and that. I leaped not too far behind—the head of the broom smashed into one girl's throat. I shuffle-stepped and let the broom slide through my hands to strike the man next to her in the gut. Twist. Applied pressure at my end of the pole rocketing the head into his chin. His feet swung out from under him and I watched as the head of my weapon arced off behind them.

Another woman tried to slip under the man as he fell—I skewered her just above the knee. She collapsed and made a perfect cushion for the bundle of dead weight that smashed into her. I messed up when I tried to recover the broom pole. The girl I had struck in the throat hadn't fully gone down. Her hand was raised—spell formed—and suddenly I was drowning.

My hands clawed at the orb of water around my head. Fingers parted fluid but nothing came away. I stared at her rippling face through the distortion of the water—at some point I'd dropped the Omensight in panic. Water just assaulted my throat and I realized that I was going to die. I locked eyes with the woman, pleading, and she just smiled. In fairness, I guess I did crack a broom right into her throat.

Chalcedony beamed across my vision—where did her head go—and I dropped to my knees. Banged my chest and coughed to expunge any her water from within me. The stump of her neck was charred black. Even now chalcedony embers nibbled at all she was.

"What the fuck, Sphinx!" I yelled.

"Gratitude is the normal expectation for saving a life. I forgive you due to the circumstances," it said.

I used the wall to stand—her head was gone. Deleted the way my flames had ate that hunter's arm. Consigned a bed to not even ash. I tried to look for ash, but there was none. Sphinx rammed into me. I stumbled from my trauma meditation.

"I thought most of their stuff was illusions," I said.

"For the knight, perhaps," Sphinx said. "Distance tends to blunt Sorcery and that's without moving through a crude medium. As a lure, his power was phantasmal. They, however, are very much here and will ask no questions before they kill you. So, do we die here or do we make our way out?"

I put the headless woman from my thoughts—I could fight, it didn't mean I had to kill—and I flicked the Omensight back on. A dripping charnel tie led from my chest—I looked up—to a crowd of cultists in the hallway around the corner behind us. They had orbs of water aimed at me. This time I was already on the move. Arms swinging and legs pumping as I outran the rain of glass and condensed water that'd shred my body to strings of meat.

We turned a corner of our own. Spotted a staircase and took it. Sphinx leaped down the stairs—I slid on the railing. The path deposited us into a cafeteria. Thirty cultists looked up from meals on trays with a shock on their face.

"It's the—," one nearly said.

I didn't let him finish. My fingers were all twined for a Fivefold Atomic Glory. A star was born for the second time within the Abyss, and it burst like an egg. The yolk—a wave of chalcedony fire—that coated the tables, the food, and the people. Unlike last time, my Omensight was still on. I watched the flames consume their place in the tapestry. Threads of countless Courts—Abyss most prominent obviously—unspooling their energy that fed the flames even further. A conflagratory feedback loop.

What would haunt me—oh I knew it would haunt me—were the ties that burned as well. Love, friends, parents, children, the ties were all different. One of them even was to a beloved pet. I saw memories in the flames. A child's first step. The day their father had finally said, I'm proud of you. So many weddings. I didn't know these people and they didn't know me. Yet I had stolen them from the world. Seared them from the tapestry and worst of all—the tapestry was fine. Their deaths didn't matter—wouldn't be known—because how could they matter when the ties of fate that bound them to those who'd care were incinerated. Not even a line of ash that could tickle their memory that there was someone who they loved and who's gone.

"Nadia!" Sphinx screamed.

I came to myself crawling amidst the screaming emptiness of the room. Sphinx took my shirt by the teeth and yanked me back up.

"Do we die or do we go forward?" Sphinx asked.

"Forward, forward," I said. Forward away from the horror. Away from the nothing I made.

We ran from the cafeteria and pushed out the double doors into the courtyard. Sprinted as the sound of watery bullets punctuated the air behind us. I didn't know where to go, so I followed the first tie I saw—to my Mother's Last Smile. I hopped onto Sphinx—it could run faster—and quickly peered down the tie.

The glaive was in an armory—cultists had taken it as well and were arming up. They had black rifles trained on the door that'd lead directly to the room. I pulled back from the tie.

"Second floor," I said.

Sphinx listened. Pushed off from the ground and flapped its wings once, twice, and then tuck them in as we shattered the glass into a hallway. I used the Omensight to peer through the floor as I passed door after door. This one! I shouldered it open. Held my finger to my lips and stepped carefully.

Nothing. I stepped again. . . nothing. I muttered my dad's pet phrase, slow is smooth and smooth is fast. I was in a hurry, but I couldn't mess this up. Sphinx and I found a good spot. We were above the armory and their guns were aimed in the wrong direction. My hands rose, fingers twined, tap. Fwoosh, fwoosh, fwoosh. Bar after bar of chalcedony flame shot through the floor to take a cultist in the head. Arm. Leg. Heart. Arm. Head. I fired and Sphinx fired. We barely put a dent in them.

Their guns swiveled up.

"Move!" I yelled. We circled the room. Fwoosh, fwoosh, fwoosh. Returned fire as their bullets chewed through the floor like termites—where'd they even get so many bullets. Sphinx and I took shelter in a corner. The only dead angle in the room.

Quiet. I watched them as they watched me. Ready to perforate me the minute I left my safe angle. Sphinx shuffled in front of me. I scritched its head—I knew entities were immune to bullets, they were conceptually too weak in most cases—but Sphinx still didn't have to do it.

"I might've overplayed our hand," I said.

Sphinx nodded. "They have many cards."

"Yeah, I almost wished this was a one-on-one. Then I could slow. . ." I trailed off.

In a one-on-one both of us would be moving full-speed, but in a crowd everyone but the target would come to a crawl. Sphinx's face was a blend of disbelief and mad awe.

"The Godtime is sacred," it said.

I cracked my fingers. "So that's what it's called. How practical."

My way out needed one more piece. The cultists had reloaded their guns—even in slowed down time a wall of bullets was a wall of bullets. I needed cover and turned over all the spells I knew in my mind. Omensight wouldn't work. Atomic Glory was hardly a defense. This new Godtime would be impressive, but it wasn't right. I lacked a defense, an actual one, but I did have one last spell. The one that let Sphinx hide in my body.

"Sphinx," I said.

It was definitely the adrenaline, but our spirits were in a special kind of alignment. Sphinx looked to me and flashed its row of fangs.

"Don't make a mess in there," it warned.

"Never," I said. "Let's do this."

I inverted the hand-spell and felt myself fold into one of the more advanced yoga positions Mom would often do to show off. My spirit was origami'd so tight I wish I could've shown her—she was the most competitive mom ever—and I held that thought as I slid into Sphinx's body.

The place was cramped—it had said the whole host of Revelation was here—but the moment I thought it the pressure vanished.

"Don't worry about what doesn't matter," a voice said. Tight as a bridge of light and just as cold.

Another whined, "You're ahead of schedule, I'm not ready." It's voice a tender despair as best laid plans were unmade and how beautiful their collapse was.

"Just the way of things sometimes," a different voice winked. A rush of something within the branches of everything. A glimpse here, there, and so close you can touch it. Just far enough away you're forced to chase it.

The last voice—was it the last?—threw itself around me like a selfish child. "Don't bully, puppy, she's so smart. Now let's see how this plays out."

I felt their hands guide me into position in front of a massive screen that wasn't a screen at all. Through it I watched Sphinx stretch and prep itself. The floor was riddled with holes—especially at the center—and threatened to collapse.

Within Sphinx's spirit I yelled, "The center. Aim for the center!"

Sphinx's own thoughts echoed around me and caressed my being. You don't have to yell.

It shuffled back—wagged its butt in micro-adjustments—then pounced. Arced high into the air and hurtled to the floor front paws first. Bam—it landed. The floor groaned, buckled, and collapsed. As one we rode the platform of flooring down into the armor while the rest rained as shards of debris. Despite the smoke the cultists opened fire upon the cloudy mass. Their guns sang a song of the Old World's violence—machined and steady—but so brief. Click.

The cultists turned to grab more ammo from the boxes behind them. Others had already clipped magazines to a belt and reached for them. They'd stay reaching until I was done. I formed the hand-spell inside Sphinx's body and peeled myself up and out of their spine. A few cultists looked on in shock—they got to witness my spell.

"Godtime," I said—it was entirely unnecessary to say it, but damn it felt good. My eyes had locked on a young man far to the back of the crowd. He looked around wildly as everyone slowed to a series of micro-movements. The man tried to fight his way through to stop me, but he wasn't faster than Sphinx.

It ran forward and leapt claws first into two cultists. Brought them down hard as its wings fanned out—eyes blazing chalcedony—and fired into the crowd. I leaped from Sphinx's back and springboarded off the face of a cultist. I could see my glaive in an open locker.

Bang-woosh. A bullet sung past my head. The young man had his aim trained on me—time to swap—and found himself pulling the trigger on an eternal second. My new subject was an older woman closer to the front of the crowd. Her arm swung too fast—it seemed some would try to move harder despite the altered time—and her magazine flung from her fingers. She whirled around to spot me and swore at her empty gun. She reached for an already loaded pistol from her hip. In the meantime I had made my way to the locker.

Just in case I shifted targets to the girl next to the locker—her head moved only fast enough to whip into my shoe as I kicked her into the wood locker next to my glaive. Her head bounced—I caught it—slammed her back into the wood.

"Guh," she moaned.

I dropped her and freed my glaive. The hard work was done—I shifted my target one last to an old man. He was near the girl whose head I introduced rather forcibly to the lockers. The guy already had freed his pistol—another person who knew when to give up on reloading—but I didn't care. Mother's Last Smile slid cleanly against my palms and the bright metal crescent took his head from his shoulders. As the Godtime fell I choose a new person to enter this creeping torture with me.

Whether my target dropped first or five near them it didn't matter. The glaive leaped from my hands, shwip-swhip, like the shuttle of a loom. That bright smile tossing arcs of blood and life into the air as their associated bodies fell. It took longer than I wanted, but it was more humane this way. They'd not just cease to exist—but that didn't mean I tried to remember them.

When the last person fell I realized the girl I had slammed into the lockers still lived. Sphinx raised a brow, it's your call. I raised my glaive but shook my head—she wasn't a danger to me, maybe tomorrow, but that's tomorrow. Sphinx and I left the armory and I realized a tie had returned to me. It stretched across the hall and down some stairs. I followed it and kept my eyes clear for any cultists on the lookout for me. The only ones I spotted were slumped on the ground with glassy eyes that marveled at nothing.

The stairs led down into a basement where the walls were stone and a large cell covered one wall. At a table opposite the cell—closer to the stairs—was Secretary. Their spiritual musculature, a tight and shiny ectoplasm in the shape of themselves.

"Right on time, I'm ready to leave," Secretary said. "It's nearly four."

I tried to take their head. They ducked the blow and tapped my wrist to send it even wider. I rushed down the stairs but they were gone. I looked up to see the clock had skipped forward two minutes. Sphinx sent through our bond, behind you. I whirled around to see Secretary sat on the steps and flipping through a file folder.

"You really are a brute," they cooed. "You went so loud there was nearly no one to stop me."

I screamed, "You sold me out!"

Secretary shut the folder. "Technically I used you; I'm willing to use you again, and probably again because you're just so good at making a mess."

My jaw fell at the audaciousness of it all. Secretaries.

"You find the experiments you wanted?" I asked.

Secretary pouted. "Hardly, it's just your usual nonsense where they want to kill the Lodgemaster and take over. Use the place as a springboard for further domination. It's very trite."

"Really?" I asked.

"See it all the time. I mean, you're hardly a worthwhile Lodgemaster if no one has a grudge against you. Means you don't do anything. Still, they are replacing people to seed into the exam. So we'll probably have to stop that. Oh, and recover that experimental axis mundi—apparently they did get it shrine sized."

"We will?"

Secretary winked, "I was using the royal we for that one, in reference to the Lodge, but if you're offering—."

"No," I said. "Let's free the captives and go."

Secretary's head tilted. "Why would we do that?"

"Cause we have to rescue them," I said.

"Do you need me to check your memory?" Secretary asked amusedly. "First, I needed help with the goons at the station. You, your ex-wife, and the bossy one did that already. Second, was get information from the facility. Which. . ."

Secretary set the folder atop the stack they had assembled. Formed a hand-spell and discorporated the folders into a shower of evanescent lights.

"Is now done. Oh, look at that, no playing hero and rescuing folks on the itinerary."

"But they're members of the Lodge?"

Secretary nodded, "Some of them. Those researchers will be fine, the cultists haven't killed them yet. Plus, we have the research so we don't really need any of them if it'd be too fierce a fight to recover them. Yeah, better to let the Lurkers think we don't care so they get let go faster."

"And the examinees? They wanted to join you," I said.

"So, if they got captured they probably wouldn't've passed the exam anyways. Doing it like this leaves okay odds that they'll also be let go after this. Why do you care anyways, they're your competition in this thing."

It was a fair reminder. They were my competition, and every person I had to compete against for that top spot—my chance—endangered my way forward. I glanced at the head of my glaive. Would Mom smile if she saw me abandon them like this?

I huffed and walked in front of the cell—hefted the glaive—and cleaved the lock in two. I didn't open the door. Didn't go in and wake everyone up or give some rousing speech about working together. They were my competition—I just didn't want to become a beast.

"Oooh, how conscience-sating of you," Secretary said.

They stood and shoved a thumb toward the stairs. The three of us exited the holding cells and traced our way through the path of destruction we had wrought. Secretary stole a glance inside the armory and whistled, impressed. The idea that I had impressed them was sobering.

We exited the building and found a problem waiting for us. It was clad in metal and a weird skinsuit, sword slung over its shoulder, and nine lights trained on us. This time, fully in the flesh, was the Angler Knight and his weird eel-shaped entity.

"At least let me see you off," he said.

I hefted my glaive. "Sure, if you want to face a two-on-o. . ." and I trailed off. Something was missing. Again. I shook my head and focused.

"Do we die or go forward?" I asked Sphinx.

"Forward. Always forward," Sphinx said.

So forward we charged to face the knight and his Baron.

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AN: Hey hey, folks, just wanted to let you know that if you want to read ahead you can check out my patreon where we're currently at chapter 16 (~23k words of story ahead) and get updates on Wednesdays as well as Saturday and Sunday. Also, I have a discord for the story as well where I talk about it with folks, you'll be the first to see any art for the story, and get cool lore info (and like, hmu with questions if you ever want).