The Comfort Of The Knife

[MxOberon]

He didn't move. In the face of our boldness, the bastard's body language told a story of bemusement. We were no challenge to him—a new summoner and her entity nowhere close to graduation. A rage suffused my limbs as I sought to teach him otherwise. Hefted my glaive so that the blade could carry the lesson through his heart.

An irony, as all the lessons of the day in summoner versus summoner combat fled my mind like so many birds taking flight from a rabid dog—my hatred for the man. One bird remained within my mind, a playful little pigeon of a thought. It was Amber. Smug and mischievous Amber from when she parked her lips near my ear and whispered the highest secret of combat: smart summoners gather enough information and cheat to victory.

That hateful little dog in my brain barked and barked. Its fangs threatened to shred this thought—this perfectly distilled memory—into a web of viscera. The pigeon didn't care, and if it didn't care why did I?

I blinked and felt my eyes moisten. The water disrupted whatever spell had drilled through my eyes. In the broken clarity of my tears I saw the Angler Knight properly. One hand clenched around his sword's hilt, and the other pinched and upside down like his eel's lures. Yet where was his entity?

"Nadia, stop," Sphinx yelled.

Its teeth pierced the back of my shirt and whipped me backwards. I clattered to the ground along with my glaive. Rolled across the stone instinctively—like Mom taught me. Then stopped in a three-point crouch with Mother's Last Smile propped up against the ground.

"He used some kind of lure," I snapped.

Sphinx said, "Agreed. The foul fury ran from your spirit to mine. Now cast eyes to heaven, and see to what aim."

My eyes flicked up and took note of the ghastly eel that the Angler Knight was bonded to. It swam through the air in sinuous teasing motions. Under the Omensight there was nothing playful in its movements. Its tendril-lures had extended out to the ground; ribs to the canopy of abyssal blue threads that ran from lure to lure. It was an umbrella under which the Abyss held absolute control.

"A field-spell," I named it. "Amber did say those showed up amongst Barons."

"He sought to snuff Revelation's light from this world," Sphinx said.

I looked down from the lures that formed the field to the ground itself. It was depressed, stonework reduced to dust, and sloped down to the Angler Knight who marked the deep end. He released the hand-spell that had injected mad fury into my veins and applauded.

"I appreciate the boldness," he said. "Shame I couldn't finish you the easy way."

I said, "Are you sure it'd be easy? Way I see it, your control isn't all that refined."

He flipped me off—I knew I was right. The pressure was uneven, but no smile reached my heart. Sure, it was uneven, but with two spells in a matter of a second he nearly killed me. I had charged boldly toward the shadow of my death. The thought rested against my mind, a leaf on a tranquil lake, and I breathed. Blew the thought away and focused.

"Sphinx, how do we dualcast?" I asked.

It rumbled, "We act as we have. One of thought and action. Why?"

"Cause he tried to hit us from range," I said. "If he wants to measure dicks then I'll show him mine's bigger."

Then Sphinx saw what I did. The Angler Knight was half a cafeteria's length away from me. Well within the distance of a Fivefold Atomic Glory—I wouldn't even have to sacrifice any power. My glaive rested on my thigh as I raised my hands in time with Sphinx's spreading wings. I felt the woven fabric that was us twist tight as a wet towel. Futures on futures dragged into the folds of this condensed moment. When Revelation would bring light.

"My serve!" I yelled.

For the third time in one day a star was born in the Abyss. It cleaved dark in 'twain with the potency of Revelation that burned its bright tail in the world.

The Angler Knight bellowed with glee, "Beautiful! A shame it's cold down here!"

The Abyss was endless and it was complete. Nothing would be born here, for it was the dark where all things died. Even Revelation.

With a turn of his hand, the Angler Knight ushered a glacier into existence. A curtain of condensed cold that could even trap a shooting star. My Atomic Glory was fixed shut within the ice. The flames erratic and stabbing endlessly outward, but unable to find purchase. Some infinities were larger than others I realized. As before me stood the cliff of difference between the links in the chain.

Through the blue of the glacier I could just barely make out his hand. It gestured to the. . . glacier? The icy shelf roiled before it shot towards me thick as a battering ram and pointed as a spear. I leapt to my feet and thrust forward Mother's Last Smile to intercept. Glacial tip met glaive's edge in violent argument.

For a perfect moment there was no winner. Just tip to edge light as a childhood kiss. Where you'd linger in that brief time hung between possibilities—unaware of which path the story would take. I'd love to say I was convinced of mine, but if you could walk around in that endless gap of time you'd see how wide my eyes were. Fear sparkled in the tears that had been forced back by the sheer pressure of what rocketed before me. My arms had just begun to slacken, and I knew that I wouldn't evade death this time. Time. This moment was too long.

"It's just long enough," Sphinx said as the Godtime ended and it snapped its jaws tight around the glaive's shaft. Its neck strained with all its muscles to thrust. The glaive. Forward.

"Always forward," I screamed.

Together we thrust with the weight of our lives, my vengeance, its yearning to fill the world with Revelation. In that single thrust you could find the love I had for Melissa, the feelings that burned unnamed for Amber. You could find the faith I had in Sphinx, and trust it had in me.

Tip met edge—the glaive's head glinted with an unnatural brilliance—and the edge won. Sheared through millennia old ice with the reminder that anything could happen. With one quarter-circle motion, Sphinx and I parried the glacial stake. It ran aground and exploded to the side of us—looking like half a hedgehog—while a heavy mist of snow filled the air.

I stood quiet within what felt like a localized blizzard. In the distance I heard the glacier grind out of the world. Despite the action I had maintained the Omensight, and through this snow screen the Angler Knight was clear to me. His posture was one of exaggerated examination; hand to head to block out a sun that wasn't present so he could better appreciate his work.

"Don't tell me it's over?" he yelled. "Has your mettle run dry?"

As one, I raised my arm and Sphinx thrust aside a wing flinging clear the snow screen. We had a dualcast Twofold Atomic Glory prepared to shove up his ass.

"How could it?" I yelled back, "I am metal!"

They weren't the glorious stars of a Fivefold, but they were four comets that rebelled against the dark. Faster in absence of a greater payload. Able to sneak past the frigid hands of the Abyss. The Angler Knight was caught off guard—there was no spell that'd let him escape fast enough—but the bastard was a knight besides being a summoner. He dragged his body with all the muscles of his right hand side. Moved the four inches that were necessary for the comets to go wide. They landed behind him and exploded in plinths of fire—we missed.

"As are these," Secretary said.

The Angler Knight and I remembered they were there. They were always there. Just now they were there with an automatic pistol aimed for the head he so politely leaned in deference to the gun. Blam blam blam. He stumbled backward under the assault.

"Nadia!" Secretary screamed.

Tnk tnk tnk. The bullets rained against the ground—flattened by the thin layer of water that I only now saw. Ripples from where the bullets struck raced across the surface.

"I didn't have to remember you to know that something swam in my waters," he said.

Raised his hand—spell already cast—and dragged Secretary toward the sword raised in line with their heart. I was barely faster as I plunged the three of us into Godtime.

I leaped astride Sphinx and it flew-ran toward Secretary. Unlike the lesser members of the cult, their actions weren't reduced to nearly imperceptible micromotions. They were slowed, but it was a pantomime of slowness. Like most aspects of Sorcery, those above you in the Chain suffered less from your power—so I made do with what I could.

Sphinx tilted into a wide turn. I thrust my hand out and caught Secretary by the back of their suit. Yanked and felt the three of us push against the pressure that tried to drag us in. Sphinx battered the air with its wings. We spiraled around and up past The Angler Knight. Secretary swung their leg to give him one last kick in the head. No water rippled on that one.

"Where to now?" I asked.

Secretary kept an arm around my waist and pointed to the bright yellow skeleton of metal that framed the elevator the AoSI team had re-designed the Staircase into. Sphinx beat its wings as we flew toward it. I released Godtime and the Omensight. Shuddered as I felt the muscle-clenching poison of stress melt from my body. Exhaustion took its place— Secretary's hectic screaming woke me before sleep had shuttered my eyes and loosened my grip.

"Why isn't he chasing us?" I asked Secretary.

"How could he?" Secretary asked. "I kicked the memory of us out of his head. Along with his ability to perceive anything until sunset tomorrow. Though with how annoying he is to fight, he'll probably be fine a little after the train arrives."

I nodded as if that made any sense to me. We flew between a gap in the metal paneling, and then shot upwards toward Realspace. Until we arrived I kept my eyes on the facility. Lingered on the ruin my battle had made of the courtyard—if I was nice I'd call it a draw. The Angler Knight was only one link above me and I couldn't beat him—couldn't even force out his defense. My thoughts were interrupted by Secretary's chin against my shoulder.

"The mission was a success," Secretary said. "Don't try to find a loss in a win."

* * *​

Blotomisc stood ready for us when we emerged—he still had my Dad's face. I was too exhausted for anger to kindle, and slumped against Sphinx. Barely looked around at the place. We were in a large cave—probably a mine before they discovered the Staircase—and all around us were cultists still as stones. They stared off into nothing with the same glassy eyes as the cultists I found in a trail to Secretary.

"Oh, this is your field-spell," I mutter.

Secretary plays with my hair. Hums in semi-agreement. "It's a way of using it. That's all field-spells are Nadia; a canvas to express the truth of your Court."

"Indeed," Blotomisc said. "Secretary and myself are hardly brutes, so we delay acknowledgement—a minor memetic formation—from occurring. They can't hurt what they can't be aware of."

"So we have no need to hurt them," Secretary added.

Sphinx and I didn't say anything in disagreement. It may have pissed me off then, the idea that they'd just play in minds, but the people they came across at least got to live. Most of mine wouldn't even be remembered by those who loved them most. I knew which was crueler.

The four of us—Secretary and myself riding Sphinx and Blotomisc jogging alongside—made our way through the mine's tunnels. Up into the loading bay where our truck had rolled into to make its way down to the elevator below. Any cultists we passed were glassy eyed in moments. Unable to remember the seconds it took for us to escape from sight. It was in this way we fled from the nondescript building for some old mining operation that the Lodge—and now the Lurkers in the Deep—had claimed as a base to advance their ends.

Sphinx didn't slow down until we fled the grounds and were over the gate. The horizon kindled as the sun made embers of the treetops. I could feel Secretary relax behind me—there was nothing like Realspace after all—and listened when they directed us down to a hill.

"This is where we part ways," Secretary said.

I said, "I can't just leave you in the middle of nowhere."

"Sweetie, I hate to break your heart, but I have ways to travel far faster than your cute sphinx."

I rolled my eyes. "Better statement, I'm not leaving you without whatever token or document I need to guarantee my exemption."

The tired that was in me was apparent, but I had enough energy to clench my glaive. I'd paid my wage of blood. They owed me. Secretary cocked their hip and tossed back their hair.

"You know you shake a lot?" Secretary asked.

"No."

"Well you do," they said. "Look at you, waving around your hurt and rage like a knife. Screaming, 'better do what I say, I have a knife!'"

Their hips rolled in gentle waves like wine in a glass. Eyes bright and teeth a smidge too sharp.

"But that's the thing, the only people who shake as they hold the knife are those who don't want to hold it at all. Quivering in fear of a thing they have control over."

They laid their hand over mine—I was shaking?

"It doesn't change what you owe me," I said.

"Doesn't it?" they asked. "Learn to enjoy the comfort of the knife, my little brute, or you won't survive the exam."

They pressed their lips to mine. Their fingers glided mine down the shaft of my glaive. Broke my grip gently and pinned my wrist to Sphinx's fur. They were both so soft. Then I felt the cool tease of wind against my face. At some point my eyes had closed, and Secretary had left.

"What happened?" I asked.

Sphinx rumbled, "They played a deep trick on your mind, Nadia."

"Was it real?"

Sphinx's head spun backwards to face me—it looked strangely upset.

"That's for you to decide if you want, my summoner."

The regression to calling me "my summoner" tipped me off as to the trap my ignorance had triggered. I muttered telepathic apologies to Sphinx as we flew back to the station outpost.

* * *​

I saw Melissa first. Still clad in her chimeric form she sat atop the inn and kept the wilds in view. At the sight of me she stretched up and waved with both arms—there was something so cute about a ten foot chimera clad in nature's arsenal of weapons leaping up and down in joy. She clambered down the building's surface and leaped to the ground. As we landed she mutated down into the Melissa I was familiar with, and tackled me from Sphinx's back in a crushing hug.

"You're alive," she said. "Oh my gosh you're alive."

"Did you expect me to die?" I asked.

Melissa pushed up to only be straddling my waist. Tears ran in fat waves down her cheeks. She pawed at her eyes to try and stem the tide. I hated watching her cry because soon I couldn't see—tears of my own occluding my vision.

"I know Secretary would've left you to die," she said.

I couldn't tell Melissa how many times I nearly died—she'd probably cry even harder—but in the picture show of near deaths that played on the carousel of my mind I couldn't find a single one that I could truly blame on Secretary. They had led me by the nose into being tortured, sure, but there was no guarantee I'd be killed. The Angler Knight hadn't killed any of the researchers or the examinees the cult had kidnapped. Even when we fought the Angler Knight, they hadn't abandoned me to an impossible battle—arguably they trusted me to fight him. Force him off balance so they could get what they saw as a kill shot.

No, Secretary was a manipulative jerk, but they weren't the type to break their toys. The only person who broke anything—killed anyone—was me. Melissa reached for my hands in concern at whatever she read in my face. I snatched them back.

"Please, just get off now," I said.

Her expression hardened as she rose and stepped away. "Train's here. Amber's holding him up for now."

I found my feet and laid my hand on Sphinx. Let it help me carry this newfound weight. We passed through the lobby and down into a hallway that led to the platform behind the building. There we found Amber handing over one of the token pouches she had claimed as her, "saved your life fee." There were already three pouches in the conductor's hands.

The conductor was shaped like a train's whistle with a white comb-like mustache. He spotted us as we stepped onto the platform, and tried to snatch that last pouch from Amber's hand. She was faster and plucked it back.

"Thanks for doing business," she said.

Turned to face me, and her smile dissipated—was I that easy to read?

"Temple, glad to see you're back. You wouldn't believe how much it costs to stall a train. He charges in thirty minute increments."

"Your donation is accepted. Now, we really can't delay the schedule any further. All aboard!" he hollered. His voice was thin like a train whistle too.

We grabbed our bags and made-to-board. Melissa asked—of course Melissa would ask, "Nadia, what happened to the examinees?"

I bought her off with a pained smile. "Things were difficult down there."

She had enough care in me—trust in whatever goodness I used to have, that I fear hasn't crossed over into this version of me—that she didn't pry. Instead she nodded with as much care as she could and dropped it. Confident, I think, that one day she'd hear the full story from me. I wasn't confident I'd ever tell her, but at least this way I didn't have to lie to her.

We stepped onto the train and found ourselves inside a photo of some fancy Old World hotel. The floors were a glittery marble, and the check-in desk the same rock but in a light-consuming black. We crossed the lobby to find a muscular woman with a buzzed head and rail tracks that wound and spidered across every tract of bare flesh. Her finger traced across a transit map that covered the desk. She didn't look up at us for about three minutes. Amber reached for the service-bell, but the woman raised her finger, one moment.

It was two more minutes before she looked up. Her face a scowl directed largely at Amber.

"You've delayed me, so I delay you," she said.

"We delayed the train," Melissa said confused.

The woman crossed her arms.

"You're the train?" I asked.

She snorted. "I'm Every Train And Its Rails. Is this the first time you've ridden me?"

Melissa and I nodded. Every Train beamed at her admission of being a locomotive virgin, but when she looked at me she shook her head.

"You may have grown, but I never forget a passenger," she said. "Hands."

Melissa, Amber, and myself held our hands out like supplicants. Every Train swiped her finger across our palms—a key manifesting in our hands. Three keys for three rooms. As my fingers wrapped around it, I felt the information of the train's layout sketch inside my head. There was simply too much to smoosh into my mind—when I blinked my eyes I could see the margin notes of the layout, it said something about, "sixth-dimensional spatial compression," techniques. From Melissa's expression I could tell it was also a bit much for her. Amber, of course, was fine.

"Please note, your ticket confers you to a local instance of myself. As you are the only three riding today, do have fun and take full advantage of my amenities. Whilst you may not visit any other instance—provided you have not paid to upgrade your ticket—it'll be unlikely that anyone shall visit this. . . minor branch of myself. Enjoy the ride," she said.

Amber and Melissa took off to enjoy the opulence of this "minor" branch of Every Train. I watched their reflections in the marble floor as they raced toward the elevators—it was really Amber racing first, but she had this way to pull undiscovered pockets of childishness from you. I watched them leave and turned back to Every Train. Who hadn't looked away from me.

On the desk was a small photo album. The cover, a monochrome picture of Mom and Dad at a small table with Every Train while a waitress brought out a baby-sized cup of pudding. It was for a baby-sized me that was held by Every Train. I leaned forward and drank in every detail of the photo. My dad was younger and looked so tired that just smiling seemed to drain him. His eyes shone with the kindness I was used to from him. That didn't keep me from noticing the massive sword that was laid across the table—the pudding sat on it. Mom looked different as well; imperious but like she was trying to let it go and be someone else. The sight of my weird scrunched baby face was already softening her. You'd nearly miss the dark gray that stained her hands and was splattered across her khaki shirt—blood. It even flecked across Dad's sword—I never knew he had a sword—in striations of age. They were killers.

A crooked smile cracked my face and out seeped the cool ooze of relief. It's morbid, but I hadn't expected to get another moment where I'd bond with my parents. Maybe they would've still loved me despite everyone I've killed. They could've taught me some secret method to stop feeling so bad about it.

"It's your album," Every Train said. "Kareem left it from his last trip. The end of your first year of life. If I may ask, where did Kareem end up?"

I dragged the album to my chest. Hugged it like I could shove the whole tome into myself.

"A good place. Peaceful. Didn't have to fight anyone. Then it wasn't, and now he's dead. Mom too," I said.

"So they were successful," Every Train mused.

"My parents?" I asked.

Every Train shrugged, "I suppose. Success is hardly infinite when you seek to live in a single state endlessly. Fate has a tendency to wander if not exercised. Anyways, feel free to ride whenever you need to—Kareem left a hefty balance in his name with you as the inheriting benefactor. Even the personal suite is yours."

"Thank you," I said. My voice was too weak to carry anything but the words.

"Keep them. All according to the covenant," she said. "And the agreements of old friends."

I waved goodbye using the photo album, and stepped into the elevator with Sphinx. My eyes locked on the two people in that picture as I tried to decipher how they became my parents.

---

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 18. You'll also 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).

 

[MxOberon]

Applause surrounded me. Everyone I knew had arrived for my birthday party. There was Amber two-fisting beers. Melissa in a gown of silk that rolled with the curves of her body. Sphinx stood at my side with a pleasant smile on its face. Even Secretary was there making out with some other guests. Beyond them it seemed like everything bled into shadow—I blame the sparklers that filled the table. They cast chalcedony embers everywhere.

Then the curtain of shadow parted as my parents carried in a grand silver platter. Their faces wide with joy that they could be here. They set down the platter with a gentle thud. I could see my face reflected in the stainless steel of its lid. My face was only softly painted. The barest hint of color to my lips with a touch of gloss and dark smokiness that framed my eyes—the most I normally went for when playing with makeup.

Those same glossy lips opened in a subtle gasp. This Nadia's head was framed by a halo of aged blood. It pulsated with spikes like the volume meter on one of dad's radios. Beyond the bloody trim was what seemed to be a world of knives and edges—the violence of division.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" Mom asked.

I leaned into her palm. She smelled peppery and sweet. I focused on that.

"Yeah, Mom, totally," I said. "Let's eat!"

The crowd cheered and my dad smiled. He tossed the lid from the platter and shook his hands for the big reveal. It was a head—her head—atop a mound of assorted limbs and viscera. So this was where the things that Atomic Glory consumed went.

Dad's voice broke up with mini coughs he used to cover his tears. "Oh Dreamdrop," Dad said, "when they told me you killed them I couldn't've been happier. Trust me, I was a bit skeptical initially. I said, 'my little, Dreamdrop, killed all of you? Nooo, she could barely crush a bug.' In the end though, it was hard to deny them. You were very prolific."

"Dad, who told you I killed anyone?" I asked.

"That'd be us," her head said.

The crowd parted and a small army marched into the light—the cultists. They waved to everyone, just so happy to be there. When they were fully in the of the sparklers they took a bow, and as one said, "Thank you, princess."

"For what?" I asked. "I-I killed you."

"And proud of it we are," her head said. "To be known forever in your story as your first."

"First?"

"First kill. First massacre even. Call it pride, but I don't know if you'll be beating our record anytime soon. You want to know the exact number?" her head asked.

I crossed my fingers and loosed the Atomic Glory onto her head. Burned it again. Stumbled back from the table. Mom looked so concerned for me. Dad looked down at the platter.

"Tsk, Dreamdrop, don't tell me you've begun one of those silly diets. Old World magazines are not to be taken as trusted advice, we've been over this." He shook his head. "We do not have enough space for you to leave behind leftovers—there's four more platters."

I wheeled backwards from the table. Slammed against cold metal—the Angler Knight.

"Come on, Nadia, don't you want to be big and strong?" the Angler Knight asked gently.

I whirled about in surprise; my feet slid from the ground and I fell up into the air. He caught me with a dip, and then tossed me corkscrewing into his arms. He carried me back to the table.

"Forget about even beating me," The Angler Knight said. "How many people do you think you'll have to kill—consume, if you want to beat them."

A spotlight swiveled over to the crowd. The people melted around the beam of light to reveal my parents' killers at the bar. They raised their drinks high and screamed, happy birthday. One of them waved their glass to the room.

"I'd first like to say, I can't wait to get like you my boys," the masked killer said in deference to the army of my first-slain foes. "Next, for the birthday girl, you better appreciate all that good killing. It'll be a long road to get to us, so best bulk up."

My mom took a spoon to the absent ashes of the head—an eyeball remained. She scooped it and flew the eyeball to my mouth like she did when as a little girl.

"They're right. You need to eat up," my Mom said.

The Angler Knight squeezed open my jaw. Mom tilted the eyeball onto my tongue. They forced my mouth shut. The jellied eyeball squished. It tasted of hopes and dreams, treasured memories. I knew her name. It was—

"Suzuka," I whispered to the ceiling of the personal suite my dad apparently had with Every Train And Its Rails.

"Hmm," Sphinx hummed.

It turns its eyes away from the window—floor to ceiling—and the painting of the countryside that flew by in impressionistic streaks. I pushed myself from the bed. Stumbled to the window-view table Sphinx sat beside. I took the pitcher of water and let it fall into my mouth. Gulping and gulping to clear a taste that sat in my spirit—still, sits in my spirit.

Water dribbled down my chin and neck. Merged with the drops of sweat that marched across my skin. I returned the pitcher—a third lighter in weight—and met Sphinx's eyes.

"Poor dream?" it asked.

I frowned, "Don't tell me you can see into my dreams."

"Was that a request, or just the dialect you learned in whatever nightmare you woke from?"

"What's your problem?" I asked.

"Yours." It said, "I can advise you on more than vengeance if you want. If you'd let me."

"Sure, what advice do you want to give me now to follow the torture of your last great hit: end the engagement with my childhood love?" I asked.

"Is this how you wish to have this conversation?" it asked.

"Maybe," I said.

"Maybe, is not a firm enough answer," my gatekeeper said. "Open the gate or don't. Just don't take it out on me when you're the indecisive one."

I whipped the pitcher off the table—it crashed into a wall somewhere in the kitchen. Shattered.

"Like you can ever give firm answers. Revelation isn't teaching and all that. You can just be annoyingly cryptic."

"I speak clearly, but you're the one who seems to entomb my words."

"Okay, then let's put that to a test. What am I?" I asked.

Sphinx didn't miss a beat, "Divided. As is your nature."

"Gah," I roared.

Snatched a robe from a nearby chair—it was pink and fuzzy—and tied it off as I stormed off to the elevator in the suite. Slammed a button and l screamed one more time. Sphinx just stared at me, so disappointed—I thought at me—then turned aside its face.

It said, "I forgive you."

* * *​

When the doors parted I stomped out into whatever floor it had deposited me. My feet hit soft velvet—the floors were red as spider-lilies. The design of the rug was a field of them after all. Yet, by whatever magic Every Train employed, when I looked up the design moved with me. All those flowers projected up like some hazy illusion that you couldn't help but believe in.

The rest of the room was a bar. There were a few high-tops about the floor, but it had seats at the bar proper—a slab of black marble with silver in the cracks. In a trail down the bar stools I found Amber atop a plush silver one. I took the gold one next to her. She had her hand around a crystal glass with an amber colored drink—whisky maybe. I chuckled at that.

"Temple, what's the joke?" she asked.

"It's bad," I said.

"Let me be the judge of that."

"Your name's Amber," I said. "The drink is amber colored. You're like, self-cannibalizing."

Amber's lips pursed as they tasted my joke. Glanced to the glass then back to me.

"That is bad."

We both laughed at that.

I pressed my chin to my hands. I didn't look her in the eye when I asked.

"What happened with the lindwurm?"

Amber sipped her whiskey. "That's not what you want to talk about."

"It's not, but I have to work myself up to the actual thing."

"Okay," Amber said. "I was caught off guard. No matter how good you are, that's normally how you die."

"Didn't you say you had to have at least one attack spell?"

"You're not going to let that go. Temple, I also said smarts mattered much more. Maybe I don't have one because I never needed one," she sipped, "because I was a traditionalist in that way and that way only."

"Sphinx says maybe isn't a firm answer."

"It's not," she said. "So, maybe, I was just too fixated on you. Making sure you didn't die from the half-a-dozen entities that would've nabbed you during our little quest. A little too focused on why you were lying to me. Choose a story Temple, because I'm not firm on why it shook out the way it did."

She gestured with the drink at the options.

"I could give you more reasons, but at the end of the day we were caught unaware without the gear needed to fight a Baron. Let alone in a stand up brawl when fighting isn't my specialty."

"Pick a story, huh?" I asked. "I think I'll take the one where you just froze and became an idiot. Had to rely on my quick wit and hardy spirit to smash through that door."

Amber shoved my shoulder playfully.

"You're only getting away with that one cause you look way too good in that robe."

I realized that the only thing I was wearing was the robe and the underwear I slept in. My cheeks burned as I blew out my embarrassment. I glanced at Amber, she was in this shimmering tuxedo that drained the red of the carpet like some vampiric thing. Her bowtie hung loose around her neck—just a snatch to whip it off.

"Yeah, well, what about you?" I asked. "Who packs a tuxedo for the Lodge exam?"

Amber smirked. "Someone who expects good parties, or the chance to be with a beautiful woman."

"We're the only people here," I said.

"My point exactly." She ignored the reignited heat in my face, asked, "Are you able to talk about it now? Taking your first life."

I scoffed, "Oh really, what says that I did?"

Amber glanced at my lap. "Maybe the fact you started rubbing your hands on your robe once I asked? It's not going to get the blood out."

My body was always my biggest traitor. I laid my hands against the bar.

"Then tell me how to ignore it," I said.

Amber smiled, "Temple, from how you act around Melissa, I don't think ignoring things works for you. Ignoring this wouldn't work if you tried."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Cause I've seen how ignoring this destroys a person. Do you want to destroy yourself, Temple?"

"No."

"Then what comes after you get your grand revenge?"

I saw black. A void where a dream should go. Amber took two fingers and guided my chin until I faced her. She found the void down through my eyes.

"You can't ignore this," she said.

I didn't know if she meant the void where my future should've gone, the ghost flavor that I could still taste—the deaths, or some other questions in my spirit.

"Any of it," she answered. "Ignore none of it."

"So then how do I deal with it?" I asked. "The deaths, first."

Amber winked. "That's the easiest answer. You take those faces and names, and scratch them out. Replace it all with a blur and the name, Other."

"Other?" I asked.

Amber nodded and took another sip of her drink. Then she offered me some. I reached for the glass, but she pulled back—a cheeky smile already on her face. Adjusted her grip so the glass balanced against the pads of her fingers by the base. She laid the glass against my lip—the whiskey was smoky, it was cinnamon—and tilted. It was the perfect amount, not to slow or fast, just a gradual trickle down my tongue. Now that cut through the ghost-flavor.

"Save some for me," she said as she pulled it back. "And yes, Other. Humans don't like killing, but we are very good at it. It's our great dichotomy I like to think. Why those of us who love it too much are both more and less human."

I stared in confusion—the drink burned in my chest.

"I digress," Amber said, "we don't like killing but we're good at it. Cause we're the best liars, Nadia, especially to ourselves. You just get up in there and tell yourself, 'they're not a person. Just some other thing.' Lie until you believe their name is Other, until you block out their faces when you recall them, and believe that they were empty inside. That you spilled nothing."

"Wouldn't that be carrying the thread?" I asked. "That kind of stuff is what they said made the Old World so bad. They taught us to never forget that we're all people."

Amber narrowed her eyes—her smile didn't reach them. "That's good advice for those who have the luxury to live with clean hands. It's a world that's not for you anymore."

"Maybe, but it's still a philosophy that should've died in the Old World, right?"

Amber scoffed. "Temple, I thought you got it. The New World's a joke. If it was half of what it said it was you wouldn't be here on this train. Your parents would be alive."

My hand whipped toward Amber's face—she was faster. Caught my wrist. Then slowly guided my palm to her cheek.

"I went too far," she said. "I'm sorry."

She let go and I took back my hand. She sipped her drink.

"I just, things about the New World are too hard for me to believe sometimes. That, 'No Carrying the Thread,' rule the Godtenders put down was just one of them. How could we not carry the Old World with us? It's in our languages, the art we preserved, and even the way we act with one another. A lot was bad about the Old World, but much of it was just us. To deny that is, well, you're the one who can't sleep."

I said, "And you're here drinking. Doesn't instill much faith in your advice."

Amber joked bitterly, "Oh, Temple, this right here is the glue that holds it all together. You scratch everything out with Other, and wash it clean with liquor. Keeps memories from re-emerging and crusting over."

She swiveled in her chair, and swiveled mine. Drank in my bare legs and the way my hair glistened with sweat. She slid the glass over to me.

"When you get real good at it, the faces will be blank long before they're corpses. No different than rabbits you kill for a good stew. Make it easy for yourself, Temple."

I raised the glass—it caught the light so well, was so beautiful in its simplicity—and drained what remained. Let it clink against the bartop. Slid it back to Amber. Marveled as it refilled over the trip to her hand.

"Thanks, Every Train," Amber said as she raised it in a toast.

I laid my head in my hand. Admired the freedom for any traps in her heart.

"Is this how you get all the girls?" I asked.

She shook her head, "I don't get many, Temple."

Took a deep sip of her drink. Slid her gaze along the rim until our eyes met.

"I have a bad tendency of wanting what I shouldn't have. What I don't deserve," she said. "I'm doomed in that way."

"Let me be the judge of that," I said.

Her eyes burned when I said that—the flame of hope and want that seared me. I recoiled, threw myself nearly off the seat. Amber caught my hand. That burn was gone. Snuffed out by my inability to withstand the heat within her.

"Good night, Temple."

I slowly rose from the seat, and made for the elevator. Stopped in front of the metal doors—finger hovering above the button—only to spin back toward Amber.

"Did you kill people?" I asked. "During the Changeover."

Amber rolled her head. Glided to her feet and on sharp heels led her glass down the bartop, around the corner, until we were only a few hands apart.

"Temple, the only people who didn't were the lucky and the dead," Amber said. "And I've never been lucky before in my life."

"There must've been a lot," I said. "You're always drinking."

"I go until I'm sated. Until they're sated."

"Can I help?" I asked. "Please, it'd make me feel better."

"Fine. Drink," she said.

Held her glass to my lips—this again. I didn't break her gaze as I sipped.

"Don't swallow," she ordered—I didn't.

Just sipped until my mouth was full. She removed the glass, breaking the boozy flow. I heard it tap against the glass. Only heard because soon all I could see was the endless gradations of rose within Amber's eyes when her lips met mine. My lids closed instinctively. My back arched up toward her as my hands clung to the lapel of her suit. Her tongue stirred the liquor around in my mouth—stole some for herself. Then we both drank having forgotten in whose mouth the whiskey had started within. She pulled back first—she always pulled back—and ran her thumb to catch a stray trickle from the side of my mouth. I heard the ding of the elevator. Felt my shoulders touch air as the metal doors parted.

"Was that it?" I asked.

"I'm sated, Temple," she whispered. "Are you?"

My body was so hot—the drink molten in my gut and fire on my lips. My breathing was heavy.

"Maybe," I said.

"Come back when you have a firm answer," she said before pushing me—gently—into the elevator.

The doors closed. I hit the button for my suite. Then let my legs give out. My knees hit the floor and my head was never foggier. I couldn't even marshal my thoughts together if I wanted to. Let alone construct the guilt I didn't want just to torment myself.

---

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 18. You'll also 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).

 

[MxOberon]

I awoke in an opalescent sea. Its waters were the softest strands that whispered across my skin. Yet I wasn't cold, but rather warm—light must be hitting my back—so I pressed deeper into the waters. Found that now it was my face that was hot. I pressed my hands into the water and pushed myself up. With each yawning breath I found more clarity—I saw Sphinx.

"It's our hour of departure, Nadia," Sphinx said. "I won't be blamed for your misaffairs with time."

My opalescent sea was the broad, warm chest of Sphinx. It stretched its paws and the implication of its claws traced my back. I hissed low and sharp as its claws re-sheathed; toyed with puncturing my skin. Sphinx raised a brow, message received?

I slid down from its chest onto the bed. Looked around to spot my clothes tossed over a chair. Sphinx ignored me to pad over to the elevator where my bags and glaive stood ready.

"Wait," I said.

Sphinx's head spun backwards to see me. Its face, waiting for its favorite scene to happen.

"I'm sorry," I said.

Sphinx sighed, "You were forgiven already. Doubts of conduct, and debts of guilt are ill-fit between us who have only us. Now, you toss aside time as you do words, and I wish to depart."

It briefly stood on his hindlegs and struck the elevator button with its paw. I hung back in the bed to turn around Sphinx's words. They were dismissive, forgiving, and made the guilt chime up my spine for last night. I decided against paying them back for the lack of grief they could've given me by entering more ruminations—thus more delays—and hurriedly dressed.

When I arrived at the lobby I found Sphinx sprawled across a leather couch. In the chair opposite was Amber—looking none the worse for wear unlike myself. Every Train sat in the chair next to her, sipping tea while she oversaw Amber's work.

On the coffee table were a series of blank token slates arrayed beside Amber; waiting patiently as she fought and slaved to finish the one that currently commanded her attention. Sweat dripped from her chin as she dragged her finger quarter-inch by quarter-inch. Underink painted her finger tip black as any brush. Three sat in front of Every Train, already finished.

"I thought we already paid?" I asked.

I crossed the lobby floor and dropped on the couch—Sphinx flicked its tail in annoyance. Every Train slid over a cup of tea, raspberry and hibiscus. I took a slow sip. Refamiliarized myself with a flavor that I'd forgotten since I broke the engagement. It was her flavor. Our flavor, really.

"You did, for the tickets." Every Train said, "However, there is the debt to be paid for delaying me. I reminded Ms. Scorizni that those are best paid expeditiously."

"Reminded, right," Amber said. "Damn train threatened me."

Her face was pouty like any child forced to clean up after themselves. When she noticed I wouldn't dispense any sympathy she sucked her teeth in frustration.

"You're slipping," Every Train informed Amber.

Amber turned hastily to the slate. Rolled her shoulders forward as she clenched her wrist. Inched further. I walked to flank her other side, and gasped at the complexity of the sorcerous phoneme she labored at—the final mark, close to tying it off. The already completed ones had dyed their tokens a deep royal purple. A white phoneme floated inside the little slate, its power diffused out from itself. The source of the dye.

"These are royal tokens," I exclaimed. "Wait, we owe eight royal tokens?"

"I owe eight royal tokens," Amber said. "Paying off half now."

"And the other half at a rate of once per day. Her skill is, mediocre, and I can't risk further delays even for a debt's fulfillment. Even for you, much as I'd wish to hear more of Kareem and Ishisaga-no-Maturama's life together," she said.

"Ishisaga-no-Maturama?" I asked.

The world was struck by a gong as I finished the name—no, not the world, just the world as I felt it. In the gap between waves of feeling I felt my mother's smile. Her touch as she guided my arms and legs into the first glaive technique she ever taught me. Soon as it came the feeling left. My eyes opened—they had closed in reverie—and noted the surprised face of Amber, Every Train, and Sphinx.

"Woah," Amber said.

Her ears bled. Trickled down the sides of her head—the red string of a chinstrap. Every Train produced a box of tissues, handed some to Amber, and then bowed to Sphinx.

"I'm sorry for endangering your summoner," she said.

A honeyed voice oozed out of Sphinx's lips. "Forgiven, but only because your foolishness is to be expected."

Sphinx coughed and added, in its own voice this time, "My Sovereign's words. . ."

"They're her own. I was at fault," Amber said as she waved off Sphinx's concern. "Nadia, don't fall into a habit of speaking Coronation Names."

"If I knew that was hers I wouldn't have repeated it. My Court's Sovereign warned me about saying her name, but I didn't know why," I said. "What are they?"

Sphinx answered, "They're the summation of a Sovereign. Dense with every spell and perspective that could be found within the Court beneath its ruler. The beginning and end to one of existence's great phrases."

"Why could I say Mom's then?"

Amber chimed in. "What kind of mother wouldn't want to hear her child say her name?"

Her words rippled between us all. Cleared away our remaining thoughts or questions. I looked down to the token she had just finished—royal purple again.

"How do you know these phonemes?" I asked.

Amber dropped the four she had left to complete into her jacket pocket. Every Train collected the finished four—pressed each of them into her arm. She closed her eyes and I watched the slates dip down into her flesh like a sinking stone.

"A wandering summoner taught me," Amber teased. "I use his so I can keep my Court off the Public Record. Token crafting is how they get you, you know."

"And what is your secret special Court that's worth all the paranoia?" I asked.

Amber smirked, and said nothing.

"It's not fair you know all of my big secrets," I said.

Amber shrugged. "Not my fault you keep learning them with me around to see."

The elevators dinged. Melissa ran out of hers while the conductor made a slow march from his. Melissa's backpack caused her to tilt side to side as if it couldn't decide how to throw her to the ground. Then it did, and I was already there to catch her. My arm about her waist—I could feel the dense muscle that was woven beneath her skin. I propped her back up. She smoothed out her dress and then punched my shoulder—felt like getting struck by a rock. Did she harden her bones too?

"Alls below, where were you?" she asked. "Couldn't find you anywhere on our floor."

"Well," I said, "I wasn't on the floor. My dad was a guest with my mom, like way back, and I guess we have a personal suite. I slept in the personal suite."

Melissa was stunned. "How much does that even cost?"

Every Train answered, "Fifty royals for the creation of it, and five royals for its yearly maintenance."

"Oh," I said. "I can't pay that."

"You're not expected to. Kareem paid fifty years in advance, and funded the construction of the outpost we departed from. Net him another fifty years of operation as compensation."

"Why'd he pay so far in advance?" I asked.

"Maybe so you could use it," Melissa said.

Amber countered, "Maybe he wanted to always have a way out."

I thought of the earliest photos in the album—Dad was always drenched in blood, hesitant at first to stand near me—and placed them alongside my memory of him, peaceful and kind. Both stories sounded likely, but I didn't have the heart to choose which was true. So I deflected.

"Why were you looking for me anyways?" I asked.

Melissa blushed. "Wanted to make sure you didn't have us late. From how you looked yesterday I didn't think you were getting up anytime soon."

She wanted to wake me up—for years she would wake me up to get to school. It would've been the first time she'd try since I had bothered her that rainy day only a few weeks ago. Before I could say anything, Sphinx arched its back and called from the couch.

"I'll handle that duty, thank you. It's hardly an effort," Sphinx said.

Every Train saved us from the verbal sparring that was seconds from breaking out. The world slid to a stop—we all tilted acutely—and the conductor began to cry. He sat in a chair at a different part of the lobby. Every Train gestured for us to stand once we were perpendicular, and led us to the large double doors we had passed through the day earlier.

We stepped out onto the platform in Brightgate and into the dry touch of summer—the only refreshment, a crisp breeze. I turned back toward Every Train. Craned my neck to peer around her at the conductor who had just bent over and vomited. He tore off his tie and screamed in the wailing tone of a dying beast.

"What's happening to him?" I asked.

"He's breaking. Some are ill-fit to handle consequences," she said. "Though, I wouldn't want my niece to worry. It's not proper for royalty to show so much emotion at the natural flow of things."

Amber pulled me back to clear the platform. I could hear the wretched scream of space parting as something hurtled from a seam that had split in the air—a train? It mirrored the one we had stepped off perfectly, as its appearance was eternally shifting. A train that looked like every train. The two cars slammed together with a bellow of metal parting and the pain of every opportunity one could miss by a delay of an hour and a half.

Metal strips peeled back from the twin trains like overlaid flower blossoms. Wood and granite spires stabbed out from within, and gorey strips of carpeting splattered into the air. Then it was frozen. Imploded upon itself until a bright point in space where time warped at its edges. Only to pop like a soap bubble. One whole train remained—blemish-less. The doors re-opened, and after a glance inside the three of us hurried from the platform. Eager to escape the memory of the conductor's limbs sprouting from every surface like some fungal growth of flesh.

We emerged from the platform area to be greeted by the smell of charcoal and the grilled meats that came with it. Under those scents was frying oil, fresh bread, and yeasty ale. Before I could wander, Melissa had already clasped her hand about my wrist. She had Amber's too.

"My first meal in Brightgate is not going to be train station food. Got it?" she asked.

"I only want a drink," Amber joked.

"Lodge first," Melissa said. "Do it for your princess?"

Amber grinned before shrugging exaggeratedly. "What senior would I be if I couldn't honor even that request?"

"A poor one," Melissa said.

Amber wagged her finger as she led us between hawker stalls.

"Ah, but poor and Amber don't go together," she said.

My brow furrowed as I processed their little play. The mood volleyed between them without entry for me—they were flirting! I looked aghast at Amber—above Melissa's head—but only when Melissa turned to me did Amber's face twist into one of contrition. Melissa caught none of this. She huffed, dropped our wrists and stormed ahead of us.

We hurried after—found her on the steps leading into the hawker center. Around her flowed a current of arrivals, departures, and those rare locals who decided that they'd grab breakfast here. They wore leather jackets, silk kimono, worsted coats, and some wore clouds of blue fire that banded their body like a dress one strong wind from being blown away. Often trailed by their entities from a number of Courts—they carried bags, ferried summoners, rode on shoulders, and swam through the air.

"Stop looking like tourists," Amber said. "I wanna hit the lodge, so I can enjoy the scene here. Brightgate has some amazing breweries that I want to visit."

Melissa asked, "I thought Moontower was where you were supposed to go for breweries?"

Amber waved her hand, "Moontower, The Port, and Brightgate all have good breweries, and I'd like to visit them. Now let's move."

She led us down the steps toward a streetcar stop that stood resolute at its place on the hill. From the bench you could see Brightgate flow up and down over its many hills and deep valleys. Apparently, back during the Changeover the people segmented themselves hill-by-hill for years. Fought over the valleys cyclically until they lost the heat of violence that led them at the start. Buried old grievances beneath track and cable car wire—a beautiful testament to letting go. I looked beyond the city, and found that point where sea met sky. My vengeance hadn't docked into place yet, but it'd be here. As we waited for the cable car I imagined my vengeance painting that Old World bridge—the eponymous, Bright Gate— in blood fresh from the necks of my foes. I had only painted a third of it in my mind when the car arrived.

We piled in alongside others. A bundle of men sporting jackets sewn with linings of blue bandana, members of the Blue Tear collective way to the south. There was a woman wrapped in black shadow whose face broke the light into rainbows—her skin was flowing silver—a witch, probably from farther north near Moontower. Most others weren't that interesting; locals whose route necessitated the pathing. Unlike me they didn't gawk at the passengers. The unusual and uncommon was altogether too common when you had to pass a station everyday.

As we pulled away I turned my eyes onto Amber. She looked uncomfortable—she never looked uncomfortable. Her hands picked at her fingers flinging flakes of skin to the floor of the car.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Amber pulled a taut smile. "Just worried about the state of my favorite brewery. I loved the booze, trust me, but they had this fried chicken that'd come in a creamy sauce. I'd die if I didn't get to have it again."

"You're a better liar than that," I said to her.

She said, "I am worried about the brewery. And other things. I contain multitudes."

"Like more secrets I won't get to know?" I asked.

Amber stole a glance toward Melissa—she was distracted gawking at passing architecture—before returning to me. Gave a quick squeeze of my hand. Trust me?

"I let you work up to your things," she said. "Let me work up to mine."

Her voice wobbled the tiniest amount. An indecision that crept in—maybe she wanted me to press, to not just accept things to be equal. The one time, where she expected selfishness from me. Needed it. Only for me to fail to provide—it wasn't all my fault though.

"Was Brightgate always known for its street art?" Melissa asked, distracting us.

She pointed up at a building we were passing. Its wall a dramatic slash of stone to keep the building atop its crown level. Painted across was a mural of a whale in its dying descent as it drifted down into the dark of the sea. Its flesh decayed to form jellyfish that glowed bright as they spiraled out toward the viewer.

"Whalefall," Melissa said. "Kind of a haunting subject, right?"

"Where shadow is invited it is to be expected one would find schemes lurking," Sphinx said.

Melissa's face fell—she had hoped that we'd left the Lurkers in the Deep behind. I'd failed to mention what I'd learned with Secretary about the Lurkers—the extent of their plans. Amber tsk'd and tapped her closed fist, quiet. She swirled her finger at the room, we aren't alone. I looked around to see if anyone reacted to what Sphinx said. Which earned me a kick to my shin from Amber. Her eyes frustrated and confused, what's wrong with you?

We didn't talk about the "street art" for the rest of the ride. Though after Melissa had pointed it out it was hard not to see it everywhere. The whale's wide dead eye watching from between buildings, layered lenticular across the vertical beams of a house, and those jellyfish glowed across the top of roofs. It was everywhere once you knew to look. I only examined it once using the Omensight, but I didn't glean much—the art missed a key thread that otherwise left the entire image inert. It was hardly worth the tears the spell exacted from me.

After a half hour of dangling in mid-air and soaring down hills, we'd arrived at the Lodge district. If comics and books are anything to go off—they aren't, but it was all I knew until then—every city had a district like it. An area cordoned off socially by the residences, dorms, and shops that all traced their way to the Lodge. Whether in service to its members or its aims. We stepped off at our stop alongside the Moontower witch and the boys from the Blue Tears. As you'd expect they were also examinees.

We passed through the eastern gate—it was stone, five men thick—and marched direct as our cable car to the spiraling building of glass and living wood that corkscrewed into the sky. Cherry blossoms surrounded the tower—a murmur of petal starlings endlessly reshaping. Amber sucked her teeth in distaste. Muttered something about it being a waste of dues to maintain.

Down the brick streets and gentle slopes, we made our way to the Lodge headquarters. A small line of examinees unspooled out the front door and down the steps. We passed a man calling for people to place their bets on the prelim results. The line moved fast though, and we found ourselves inside the lobby no more than ten minutes after joining the end of the line.

The lobby was a wonder of wood—the floors covered in rings that told its story—and above the central open air were multiple stacked balconies that looked down on us. Far above them though was a ceiling of stained glass from which a waterfall of colored light descended in great beams. Sphinx bumped me; it was our time to register. At five terminals a number of androgynous workers in suits identical to Secretary's—save the jacket—registered entrants.

"Greetings, I'm Secretary," they said.

Their face was soft, body sharp, and voice bright like a sparkler. They weren't my Secretary.

"We're here to register for the exam," I said.

They nodded and pointed to a medium-sized sorc-deck attached on a swivel arm. The slate showed a screen with instructions to write down our name and Court. Melissa and I followed, but Amber's finger hovered just above.

"How honest do we have to be?" Amber asked.

The Secretary—I'll call them the Lobby Secretary—giggled behind their hand. "Always those of you trying to be enigmatic. You'll have to tell us if you pass the exam anyways."

Amber smiled. "I'll handle that when I pass. Until now," her finger flew as she scrawled her name, "this is all you get."

Lobby Secretary nodded with a polite service smile. Swiveled the slate back toward themselves. Tapped away at a keyboard below the desk. Their eyes rose in disbelief.

"Oh, you're all exempted," they said.

"We are?" I asked.

"Mhmm," they hummed. "Quite a rare one as well."

"There are rarities to the exemption?" Melissa asked.

"No, just the one who gave it," they said. "I haven't known them to hand out one in the four years I've worked this desk."

"Secretary came through," Amber said, a little surprised they did.

They fished out three cards. When I tilted mine I noticed a slight holographic effect below the surface—a mark of some sort.

Lobby Secretary said, "These are your Probationary Lodgemember passes. They'll grant you access to our highest level of restaurants, deals at all Lodge approved shops and facilities, and will serve as your room keys for the residences prepared for all examinees. Note, they will expire two days after the exam, pass or fail."

"Why do we get all this just for taking the exam?" I asked.

"Think of it as motivation for you to do your best," they said. "Or a consolation if you die somewhere along the way. Next!"

Any worries I had were dismissed along with me. The three of us left the line and dropped into a small huddle of seats. We glanced between ourselves and then broke into smiles. Mine was the biggest as I leaned back and stared up toward the rainbow waterfall of light.

"We made it," I said.

Amber squeezed my thigh. "I told you we would."

Melissa squeezed the opposite thigh. "I, um, hope we pass," she said.

I grasped their hands and gave them an equal dose of my confidence.

"Whatever we have to do, we're passing," I said.

Melissa shook her head. "Not whatever. I think we need a line."

"Really?" I asked.

Amber nodded, "It'll help. When things stop making sense, and we have to make choices."

"Okay," I acquiesced, "what's the line?"

"Each other," Melissa said. "No matter what, we don't hurt each other. None of us dies either."

"I thought it'd be something hard," I said.

We all shook hands on three. It wasn't like the oaths I struck with Sphinx—no magic hid behind the words. I'd never feel a razor to my spirit if I went against it. Instead, when I looked into their eyes I knew that if I broke this oath it'd be a knife to the heart. Mine and to the nascent thing that I felt when our hands were together and we became a chain of belief held only for each other.

"What now?" I asked.

"Brewery," Amber said. "I'll drop our stuff at our residence on the way."

Melissa answered, "I'm going to make a reservation at the fanciest place here."

"With what money?" Amber asked.

Melissa glanced.

"No," Amber said.

She gently pouted—exactly like Amber would.

"Please," Amber begged.

"For princess?" Melissa asked.

Amber broke. She reached into her storage-spell and removed four token pouches. Dropped them into Melissa's hands. Melissa raised a brow. Amber added another two.

"You better get us a table that overlooks the bay," she said. Then ran off before Melissa could beg for more money.

"What about you?" Melissa asked.

I thought for a moment. My thoughts tilted toward Suzu—Other! Toward Other—and I answered.

"I want to see the prelims," I said. "Maybe scope out the competition."

Melissa patted my shoulder. "Have fun."

* * *​

It wasn't fun. I got lost a few times trying to find the stadium where the prelims were being held. Sphinx was the one who pointed out I should follow the crowd of rambunctious locals spilling beer and popcorn onto the street. They led us down toward the bay where we caught a ferry that led us out to the stadium—it "floated" atop the water.

The line of locals was massive, but I got to take the fast lane—Lodgemembers only. I fiddled with my probationary pass as I slid it back into my pocket. Followed the directions to where seats were reserved for any Lodgemembers that wanted to watch. The area was a block—middle row, perfect height—and largely empty. There were a few people present to watch, but whether they were there to cheer for someone or gather information, I didn't know. I didn't really care to know anyways. I needed to be alone.

I took a seat to the far end of the block, and slid down into it. Sphinx tried to find a good space to sprawl out but there was none. It huffed and walked into me—folded itself so it could curl up inside my spirit. I kicked my feet up onto the railing, and took the whole affair in.

Down on the grounds, a small mob of examinees milled about in anticipation. They stood on a field of clover at the center of the stadium. Watching as technicians sent commands to some hidden temple that slowly raised slopes, platforms, and whirling blades of ginkgo gold light. There were hoops to jump through, plush bats to dodge as they swung to and fro across a trail, and I even saw what looked like a maze of golden webs that caught what little moisture was in the air. It was impressive and complex—so beautiful that a tear came to my eye.

"It's an obstacle course," I said. Guilt crawled up into my words.

"You killed to get out of an obstacle course," a voice teased, more audible than my conscience.

I remembered and found Secretary—my Secretary—lounging in a seat next to me. Their skirt was traded for thin shorts, stockings for bare olive skin, and like the ones at headquarters, had lost the jacket. Instead they only wore a thin shirt with a ribbon tie under the collar. They pulled their feet up onto the seat, head rested against their knees, and smiled at me.

"Did I get it right?" they asked, teeth bright and smiling at the chance to play with me again—whether I wanted to or not.

---

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 19. You'll also 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).

 

[MxOberon]

"Come on, you gotta tell me if I did," Secretary said.

"Why do you care?" I asked.

Secretary thought for a moment. "I want to see if you're still as readable as ever."

"I'm not that readable," I complained.

"Nadia, a book can't be closed if it refuses to admit it's open," Sphinx said from within me.

I pouted at its betrayal, and Secretary took that as a win. They leaned against me, stroked their hand through my hair, and pointed me toward the mob of examinees.

"If they had your deal they wouldn't feel bad," Secretary said. "They'd drown this place in blood if it meant avoiding the prelims."

"Well they aren't me," I snapped.

Secretary jerked their hand back as if I bit it. A sort of sympathy—knowing them just the appearance of it—came over them.

"Is my little brute worried that she made the wrong choice?" Secretary asked.

I mumbled, "No. I made a choice. It just wasn't a necessary one."

"Hmm, you weren't that confident you'd pass back at the outpost," Secretary said.

"I didn't know it was an obstacle course," I said. "If I did. . ."

Secretary shook their head in disappointment.

"Little brute, you should learn now that the exam is more than the test. Even the prelims," Secretary said. "First off, it's not just about finishing the course. We only accept the top fifty times."

"Okay, Sphinx flies. Would be pretty easy to get a good time."

"Little brute, do you know what the average time is for completing the prelims when we use the obstacle course?" Secretary asked.

I didn't say anything. They knew that was my answer, and so they leaned forward—hands on the railing to keep from falling off our balcony—and laughed into the wind.

"Forty minutes," Secretary said.

They pointed out toward the clump of examinees. I joined them and followed the edge of their nail as it landed on person after person. Many of them wore the costume of their collective, and others wore clothing that was homespun and patchy. There were those with weapons that were flecked with blood that could never be cleaned, and others sporting shrines of unknown designs—likely cutting edge—that I'd never seen. Most of them didn't have their entities out. The few that did rode theirs as mobility aids of some sort.

"It takes nearly forty bone breaking minutes before we see anyone start crossing the finish line. Why, my little brute, because the prelim isn't the course. Your competition is," they said. "All of you hungry to fulfill a dream that each other person would deny you of to sate their own fantasies of their future. Kids from isolated villages or raised by hermits racing alongside the prodigies and divas of the collectives. Monsters that haven't been seen since the Changeover slipping out from wherever they hid just to gain that little card in your pocket that'll let them take fate by the throat and fuck it raw."

Secretary hopped up on the railing. Leaned over to me so their lips were just shy of my ear.

"That mob hungers just as much as you, my little brute. Are you confident your hunger is greater than theirs?"

I gripped the railing like I could shatter it. Did I think I was hungry enough—of course I did, now. Even from the stands the wave of determination that flowed from the examinees was palpable, edged, and none of them shook as they knew what'd have to be done. They were ready to spill blood for their dream, but my hand had to be forced to spill it so I could come closer to ending my nightmare. I released the railing and let myself fall into my seat.

"Would I have passed?" I asked.

Secretary shrugged, "Little brute, only you can answer that."

"What if I want to know what you think?"

Secretary demurred before they shrugged and answered. "Amber's skilled and smart. She wouldn't let you fail. Melissa is full of potential, but has a bad habit of second guessing herself—a horrible weakness if you want to pass. Still, she'd recover and prove adaptable enough to make it through."

"And me?"

"I don't know," they said. "When I look at you I'm split. I see my little brute who would've been so quick to end my life. Even now my reflection is still a corpse in your eyes."

They hopped down from the railing. Crawled atop my seat until they straddled my waist. Their eyes examined my own—my spirit—for nuances that kept them from definite answers.

"In fact, it looks like it's more than just me. The trick hasn't taken yet in your head, but it's been seeded. Oh the corpses you'll make if I let you be," Secretary purred as their fingers drummed against my throat. "At the same time though, you're still so small. Doubtful of any greatness you could accomplish. Questioning if you want to in the first place. Yet you've lashed yourself to this ship and I, despite what you think of me, would prefer you to make harbor."

Secretary rolled from my lap and into the seat they'd sat earlier. I held my own hands to keep from shaking. My head turned to ask Secretary another question, but they tapped their finger against my nose to bid me to silence.

"Yup, still so readable," they said. "Split open and writ large. Nadia, you won't make it through this until you decide what you're willing to be. To do."

"Anything," I said, forcing myself to believe. "Anything except harm Amber or Melissa. We swore an oath I don't intend to break."

"That's the funny thing about oaths, no one ever does," Secretary said. "Anyways, as much as I love teasing you I have an offer for you."

Motes of light coalesced to form an envelope between their raised fingers. They handed it to me, and as I turned it over I saw the instructions: Open Only In Private. Secretary answered before my brow could form the tiniest wrinkle of thought.

"A chance to prove how wide 'anything' really is," Secretary said.

I said, "You have to give me more than that."

"I don't, but because you're still such a cute little question, I will." They explained, "It's a chance for extra points to go on your exam. It helps the Lodge as well if you were feeling loyal enough to ask."

"Do I have to do it?" I asked.

"Are you that confident you'll pass?" they countered. "It's your choice, my little brute, always your choice. Just remember, opportunity is like a girl at the bar. If you dither about whether to ask her out, someone else will."

Secretary stretched in their seat before standing. I turned the envelope between my fingers— the corners pressed into my fingertips—and examined it like the weapon it was. My only question being if it was the weapon I'd plunge into my heart or use to carve out someone else's.

I didn't watch Secretary leave—they had ways to slip away that didn't make it worth the effort—though I did stay long after they were gone. I watched as the whistle was blown and every evil in my competition's hearts flew like vultures. Nameless nobodies from towns like mine were elbowed, stomped, and eviscerated by those around them—poor bastards never had a chance. Though the scions of the collectives didn't fare much better. Sure, they fended off a straggler here and there, but they were alone and it didn't matter how brilliant the light when the surrounding dark was so oppressive. In the end, the mob took them as well.

When we hit the forty minute mark and someone finally emerged from the bloody orgy of violence and sorcery that was the starting line, I left. The roar of the crowds and despair of gamblers saw me out.

On the ferry back to the mainland, Sphinx emerged from inside of me. It looked to the setting sun. My vengeance rippled on the water's surface as the boat disemboweled the bay.

"We don't need it," Sphinx said.

My nail teased the underside of the top flap. "Really?" I asked.

Sphinx's tail flicked as it circled to meet my face.

"Really. The way is only worth the effort we put into it. Cheats are a poison that taint every choice after.".

I agreed—especially now I agree—but I had seen what lurked in my competitor's hearts. Things more inhuman than what filled my nightmares as a girl. Each one of them would've taken Secretary's deal at the outpost. With how readily they shattered bodies, I knew they wouldn't question afterwards, like I did. They took comfort in their knives—some of them, from what I saw, took pleasure in them as well.

"Sphinx, could we have passed the prelims?" I asked.

Sphinx tried to meet my eyes, but couldn't. It searched for some undoubtedly cryptic answer for how we could've gotten through. There was none to be found.

"Then maybe this is my way," I said. "A poisonous one tainted from the minute I took Secretary's bargain at the outpost."

"That was a safe choice," Sphinx said. "A necessary one."

I scoffed, "We nearly died countless times over."

"You grew as a summoner," Sphinx added. "A new spell, dual casting, and I would think we…"

"We what?" I asked.

It said, "We began to trust one another."

I was quiet. We had only the whir of the ferry's engine, and the muffled clap of water folding over on itself. The wind's rushing cacophony. I pocketed the envelope. Laid my hand against Sphinx's face. Guided its head toward mine so our foreheads touched.

"I don't know if I can ever trust you," I said.

"Why?" Sphinx asked.

"Cause I barely trust myself. I shake, I cry, I kill, I'm divided. That's what you told me."

"You're also complex," Sphinx said. "A beautiful tapestry that's better suited for such feelings. Only monsters are simple, my dear summoner. Nadia."

"I feel like you see more in my spirit than I do yours," I said.

Sphinx chuckled, "It's not hard. I only have to look at you, but have you even once seen me?"

I hadn't. It knew I hadn't, but now I knew I hadn't. We parted heads and I examined Sphinx under the Omensight. Beneath the colors of Real, it was a silhouette painted in the endless nuances of Revelation. Underneath the many eyes that patterned its coat were burning stars—variations on Revelation's theme—the standard for entities higher up the Chain. Then I looked down, and saw a thread that ran between Sphinx and myself. Ran my sight against it until it opened upon a memory—one of Sphinx's.

It resided in a place where only poetry and prophets could go. Revelation was blinding and discursive even as brilliance and ingenuity floated upon searing winds. There was a beauty to it in the same way that there was beauty in how the sun could sear your retinas and make the last thing you'd ever see become something sacred. That was its home, some place impossible and grand, and in that blazing place they didn't budge as their fellow soldiers marched to meet the call of a scared girl. As sky and ground were conflagrations of sensibility, Sphinx was the only one who listened to my plea in its entirety.

My self doubt and my desire for resolve, my sorrow and my rage, my guilt and my yearning for the way to redemption. It heard my desire to know, and beneath it my plea to not be let forward until I did. Its siblings would enable me to my end—guide me up the Chain as fast as possible with no care for if I burnt away before completing my task. Revelation was not caring, but Sphinx was in the way they knew how. So over teeming masses it flew and flew until the end of bonfire skies, and the beginning of the Underside's edge.

When my vision pulled back I was being shaken by the ferryman. Blood ran from my eyes like water from a stream. I looked up to find Sphinx worried—it was always rare for their face to take to new feelings. It gently pushed aside the ferryman, and guided me up onto its back. I crawled into place. My blood dropped into its fur and spread like ink in water.

"I'm sorry," I muttered.

"What have I said about doubts and debts," Sphinx said.

"Was I not supposed to see that?" I asked.

Sphinx shook its head. "I don't know. Maybe not, but you saw it even if your eyes won't remember," it said.

"Do you miss it?" I asked.

Sphinx padded down from the deck to the dock. Its gait so smooth I felt nothing.

"Sometimes," it said. "There's a clarity there in that place where shadows die and mysteries find no purchase. The Real is complex. Everything occluded behind everything else. So many schemes and shadows. Too many to guard from."

"Is that what you're trying to do?" I asked.

Sphinx laughed. "It's—if I'm to be fair to Mutation's maiden and Rememberance's puppeteer, even that drunken mummer of yours—are all trying to do for you. Protect you. Perhaps the puppeteer is right, and you're simply too cute."

"Is that a joke?" I asked.

Sphinx groaned, "Yes, I don't think I like it very much."

That brought me to laughing. It joined me. Together we chortled down the street past shops and street vendors. So much comedy opened up before us because I could finally see it. We returned to the lobby at headquarters to wait for Melissa and Amber. Sphinx curled on a couch while I rested my head against its bulk.

"So Melissa?" I asked.

Sphinx said, "I'd rather not."

"I'm ready," I said.

Sphinx sighed and said, "Yes. She shifts and changes. Yet her musculature is crystal. I did not see her demand for clarity and conviction toward absoluteness to benefit you."

"Yeah," I said, "I can see that. She's still my friend—maybe—and I don't think I could ever stop loving her."

"You already cut her from your life once," Sphinx said. "If together they rejoin, then such is the way and who am I to interfere."

"Thanks," I said.

"Doubts and debts, Nadia."

"Sphinx," I began, "I'm not enough as I am to pass."

"Nadia—"

I cut it off, "I'm not. We both know that."

"I disagree, but will humor this," Sphinx said.

"You said it yourself, by taking Secretary's offer the first time I learned a new spell. I learned how to dual cast. Alls below, I learned how to kill." I rolled over, and said, "Now I have to practice. I don't think I want to, but I think I need to if I want to move forward."

"Always forward," it muttered. "And if the way is strewn with glass?"

"Then I hop on your back," I said. "Trust that you'll fly me out."

Sphinx shook its head, but it smiled. "You wouldn't learn that way. However, I will always walk with you."

I rolled onto my back and allowed myself a brief affair with sleep. Melissa shook me awake when the moon was rising—could see a hint of it before it took center stage at the eye of the ceiling. I stretched, and let Sphinx and Melissa guide me to the elevators where Amber stood.

"How were the prelims?" Amber asked.

I yawned, "Clarifying. So, did we get a table that overlooks the bay?"

Melissa beamed, "Of course."

The elevators carried us smoothly up to one of the highest floors of Lodge headquarters. Melissa skipped and hummed in anticipation. The restaurant was behind a black door, marked with three moons in three phases, with nothing else to discern that it was even there. I took a step backward, forward again, and marveled at how the door could only be seen within that narrow gap of a step-and-a-half. Melissa waved us inside while bouncing up and down.

As we passed through the door we entered a hallway composed of branches that gave way to a beautiful deck of smooth wood floors. There was only one table in the entire place. Melissa hurried to her seat while I meandered over to the large bay windows that were taller than Melissa's chimera form. The glass was cool to the touch, and outside I could see the sun—red as a busted lip—linger for one last tantalizing glimpse. The darkness of night crowding and pushing the sun to pass on.

"What is this place?" I asked.

"It's called, Nowhere Fast," Amber answered.

Melissa's voice took a downturn, "You've been here before?"

"Not in a long time."

I leaned against the glass to try and grab a peek at the city below, but it was too dark. Night reflected from heaven down to the earth. The problem was it was wrong. There should've been lights from all the houses and nighttime businesses. A smattering of earthbound stars.

"It's called a porthole," Amber said. "Made from sand found in the Underside. When you peer through it lets you get an approximation of what the Underside is like below you."

"I didn't know this was what night looked like," I said.

"Awesome, now can we please eat?" Melissa whined.

Figuring we'd tortured her enough, Amber and I took our seats. Each of them flanked me while I had no opposite to keep me from looking out the porthole. Menus already sat at our table—though to call them that implied as if there were options. No, they were more like dining itineraries. Line by line detailing what we'd eat and the drink it paired with. The only option was the final line with the question: What's the last thing you want to taste?

"What's Sunshine Pearls Marinated in The Jolt of a First Breath supposed to mean?" I asked.

Melissa said, "Conceptual-fare. You know, like how we Glorycakes before the first day of school."

"Sure, but I thought that was just a metaphor. Invoke the Court but not really summon it."

Amber flapped wide her napkin before laying it across her lap with nary a wrinkle. I tried to do the same, but my hand jittered and the cloth wouldn't lay right—Sphinx helped fix it.

"Well, this is actual Conceptual-fare. Everything's made from ingredients taken from the Underside. I hear those collective-kiddies grow up on the stuff," Amber said.

I asked, "Is that good for you?"

Amber shrugged, "When was the last time they ever did anything good for themselves."

Melissa snapped, "I don't want to hear about how the collectives are doing weird eugenics experiments or whatever conspiracy you believe about them."

Amber said nothing. My eyes had widened in shock—it took a lot to make Melissa snap, but despite their disagreements on the collectives it didn't deserve this. She looked around to apologize to other non-existent patrons. Then back to us.

"I'm sorry," Melissa said, "I just want a nice night, please."

"We'll have plenty of nice nights," Amber said.

"Will we? Cause I heard that secretary in the lobby. We only get access to stuff like this as a consolation for if we die," Melissa said. "We could die, and never get a night like this again. So I want to make this last."

"And go nowhere fast," I said.

Melissa nodded. I debated reaching for her hand—even divorced we felt a similar pain, but would it hurt more if I held her—and watched as Amber did what I couldn't. Be there for her. I held silent my own worries and gave her time to gather herself. Our food arrived while she did. The plate was stacked with a string of sunrise yellow pearls in a sort of hexagonal pyramid. While a jagged mist wafted from the dish.

The waiter—a four-armed entity with an empty oval where a face should be—fiddled with its flouncy skirt as it instructed us to slurp the pearls like a noodle. As one we raised the first pearl to our mouths, and popped it inside. It tasted bright as sunshine, and brought a static-y tingle to every nerve in my mouth as if it was being woken up from a long sleep. Then I slurped, and let the shock slip into my gut and diffuse through my body. Every part of me waking up and leaving me so aware. I could feel the thread count of the cloth beneath my fingers. Hear the tiny moan-hiccup of pleasure Melissa would make when she was tasting what she considered a good meal—or when I did my job and treated her like one.

I turned to Amber because what I didn't smell was the yeast of a good bear or the burn of a spirit. Definitely not the cinnamon of whiskey. Every sense was awakened for this brief moment, and Amber smelled nothing of a brewery or any drink at all. Instead, she smelled like copper. A smile crossed her face as she misread my surprise.

"How's it taste, Temple?" Amber asked.

When I slurped the last pear I spoke. "Very good. Al dente. But I feel so much more," I said.

Melissa lifted the menu and pointed it out to me. Underneath the title of the dish it explained the Courts that went into it, in this case it was Morning and Rebirth. I'd never heard of either of them before. They weren't on the Public Record, and I'd never met anyone with them before. As I rolled the taste over in my mouth I wondered if there was anyone taking the exam that was bonded to them.

Afterwards, the waiter came with a platter of cocktails for us. Three glasses expertly carved, and filled with what looked like snow piled inside. Spirit of A Snowdrift was what it was called, so I figured it was made from Sleep—commonly known as the Winter Court. Its ruling Principle was Death, so it was a clear pairing. The snow poured like water into my mouth and deadened my nerves ever so slightly. Melissa's reddened like it always did in winter. We chuckled over our drinks, and Amber just smiled and sipped away. In the light of the morning having tasted rebirth, even as sleep drifted in, how could we worry?

"What was so clarifying about the prelims?" Amber asked.

I said, "It's how intricate the tests are. Like, the 'test' was an obstacle course, but the test was something more. . ."

"Sinister?" Amber offered.

"A bit negative, but yeah."

Melissa asked, "Okay, but how's an obstacle course sinister?"

"It's how you run it. Every examinee at once. Everyone for themselves," I said.

"That's not good. If you did it that way you'd just confuse them. They'd fight each other more than they'd run the course."

"And that's the point," Amber said. "First it tests your ability to follow basic instructions. It doesn't say anywhere to fight after all. But after that, it tests how prepared you are for if a fight breaks out, and if you're efficient enough to not give away too many details to secure yourself."

Melissa finished her drink. I matched her, and Amber followed close behind. It was time for the second dish. It was a pink tongue—three of them—curled atop a smoldering piece of charcoal that finished cooking the meat exactly as the square plates clacked in front of us.

The waiter said, "It's called the Dictator's Abdication. Composed of Tyrants and Melancholy. If you desire more heat you'll find a dish filled with votive tears freshly cracked. We recommend the dish eaten in one bite."

I missed the spice of home—what Mom raised me on—so I sprinkled votive tears over the tongue. Lifted it by its skewer and downed it in one go as instructed. There was a smokiness—an ash—that coated my tongue as the tongue burst into a fatty powder. I closed my eyes and felt the weight of a crown on my brow. It was sharp and the blood I spilled to claim it would always sting my eyes. There was a time when I loved how my eyes felt—prickly and aware—when blood would paint them in one arterial spew. Those were times long past, and the residual heat of a rule brought to ash intensified by knowing that I once touched greatness brought tears to my eyes. I tried to live in the last full flavor of burst fast that popped from a clump of ashen-tongue.

Sphinx pushed my drink into my hand as I groped for it. It was called, The Sweet Song of An Open Door, and was poured from a tea kettle that whooshed softly in offering of other ways. Roads that could be taken only because you'd tasted the bitterness of how one ended. There was a honeyed coolness to how it coated my tongue—smothered the heat.

"What's the benefit supposed to be for eating this stuff?" I asked.

The waiter answered, "It's said to aid in opening one's mind. By familiarizing yourself with the nuance of a Court and their interactions you're better prepared to engage with complex sorceries."

"Or feel your way around what it's like when Courts go to war," Amber said.

"That's just what they say at least," the waiter said. "Now, I have to go retrieve your final dish."

"Don't we have to tell you?" I asked.

The waiter curtsied, "You already have."

I asked Amber, "Do you think eating this stuff really prepares you?"

"Nothing can prepare you," Amber said. "Maybe, at a high intake and high quality you can get some minor benefits: be more aware, be more thoughtful, etcetera."

Melissa said, "Aren't you the one who said that summoners are supposed to cheat?"

Amber smirked, "Don't use my brilliant quips against me. I'm right though, I always am, but there's a difference between cheating the enemy and cheating yourself."

"Like the bigmouth at the outpost?" I asked.

"Perfect example," she said. "Cheating yourself is mistaking preparation as experience. We prepare because we don't know what will happen. We train so we make up for our deficiencies in what has already happened. Eating fancy food, doing endless drills and forms, and whatever else has a use. I just don't ascribe that much use to it."

Melissa asked, "So then what do we do? We know the tests are going to be more involved than the objective, and not much else."

"We learn what we can. Don't take things at face value. Find whatever edge we can get, and otherwise lean on our promise," Amber said. "We know what we can't do, and that lets us do anything else."

I said, "You make it sound so simple."

Amber chuckled as she sipped her drink. "Hardly," she said. "It's just, I refuse to imagine a world where I let you down."

We shared a moment, and I felt a heat on my lips—my body remembering. I saw that same heat in her eyes as I did that night. From this distance, I took more warmth in it than fear. Secretary had said she'd refuse to let me fail. Over drinks like this I believed it. Then swept my eyes over to Melissa whose eyes were swimming as the cocktails leaned against her thoughts.

"What do we do when we make it?" she asked.

Amber shrugged and I was silent.

Melissa slapped the table. "Come on, Nadia, you have to know, right? The big step in your plan."

"I don't really know. I'm focused on passing first," I said. And killing the Lodgemaster.

"Would you tell me if you did?" Melissa asked.

"Sure—," I said.

"Cause I don't think you would," she said.

"Melissa," Amber said.

She banged the table with her fist. "No, if there's any chance we might die I need her to hear this," she stated. "I don't think you're telling me everything. Maybe it's not mine to know, but I'm still here. Alls below, I don't know why, but I'm still here. With you. Cause if I wasn't I'd just worry. When I stormed off that night in the car, I worried. Every raindrop that slammed against my window I saw as a tidal wave threatening to drown you. My sisters had to hold me down from driving in that mess."

She drained her cup. "When Secretary took you, I worried. I know two spells of yours, and none of them could heal you. Take a blow for you. It only takes one stray blow to kill someone. Then when you came back from it you looked like a hole had been blown in you, and you just had to appreciate the sound of your emptiness. Now there's this exam and I worry what we'll have to go through. What you'll have to go through. If I die, I worry about who's going to worry for you. Who'll remind you to appreciate architecture, or enjoy the colors of sunset. Make you have a good meal. Fuck, I'm rambling."

I didn't drink while she spoke. It wouldn't have been right if I did. Not when I did know my next step, the actual reason we're here, and that I had an offer from the one person both her and Amber don't trust in the slightest waiting for me to open. I rolled the cup between my palms—they'd gone cold somehow—and bowed my head as I pondered my problems like they were sediment at the bottom of a glass.

"Melissa," I said. "I'm going to kill the Lodgemaster."

Melissa's sensibility broke through the surface of her tipsy stupor. She gripped the table like a gecko and pulled herself together.

"Is that the truth?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said.

She asked, "Are you sure?"

"I saw it," I said.

Melissa took a deep breath in before she expelled a hot breath.

"Thanks," she said.

I could see the load discorporate like a slain entity from her shoulders. Her smile stretched higher, and I ached at how a few words of admission healed her. There was so much I could admit. Wanted to admit, but there'd be a point at which they'd become new burdens. The source of more worries rather than less. I thought about the envelope—that would be a new burden—then decided to leave things like this. Let that be my big secret now revealed while I dealt with what remained.

That was when the final dish came. Each of ours was different and the waiter set up a screen to block us from seeing each other eat. Instead I only saw the mirror that lined my screen and reflected back my face. My eyes were haunted by the dead of last night. I watched my face twitch and dance under my own observations—my expressions were broken, wrong. Did I always look like this? Was I always this open? I shut my eyes unwilling to stare at myself. Opened them when I was safe to see only my plate. There was a pudding—it looked like a pudding at least—and a little sign pinned at the center. It said: Curdled Future.

The name wasn't appetizing, but I still took a bite. There were sparks of brightness-fatty yet light, a promise to come—and after every spark I tasted a rancid oil that coated my throat. It brought to mind hands stayed, decisions never taken, and the sour taste of promise brought undone. When my eyes closed I couldn't force out the flavor, I just let itself inside of me. In pudding induced visions I saw Amber's body—ashen and broken—curled around Melissa's in an attempt to squeeze tight onto a life that had already vacated her body. I only had the one bite—turned instead to the waiter with fury in my eyes.

"I'd never want this," I said. "How is this the last thing I'd want to taste?"

The waiter shook and squeaked, "It's because you'd never want it. The dish is the last thing, as in the least, you'd want to experience. We only serve it as a nudge during exam season."

"Of course you do," I said, bitter and unwilling to eat any more of it.

The table was cleared, and we were left to bask in the haze of food that spoke a little too loudly for my taste. Amber had them bring out a whiskey and poured the three of us shots. We battened down our palates with something Real.

Melissa told us we already paid, so we left. When we crossed the door's threshold, I stole a glance back and saw that the door was gone. Probably for the best. We meandered over to the elevator, but stopped as we noticed a crowd had formed on every balcony peering down below to the secretaries' desk. A crowd of summoners—even including the blowhard from the outpost—banged against the desk. Their voices carried upwards like a hot draft.

"I'm telling you we deserve special circumstances! I know you offer them to others, so why not us?" he asked.

"Yeah," said someone else, "we were targeted just for being examinees."

"The Lodge should do something," another yelled.

"Like what?" someone on our balcony yelled. "Give you another shot for proving you're shit!"

On the balcony below us one of the Blue Tears boys from earlier shouted, "Ask if you get an award for losing before it started?"

That began the cavalcade of heckling. All of us examinees knew we'd be leaping into the jaws of death tomorrow. The tension in the air—the worries that plagued us about what was to come—we lanced it like a boil and spilled the putrid pus of our anxieties onto them. We flung our resentment like bricks. Those summoners got to turn back—live another year if they were smart—so why come here and demand a chance to die.

I noticed Melissa's eyes stayed on the blowhard at the center. She remembered him—even through the haze of booze she remembered him—and looked to me in confusion.

"What happened?" she asked.

I pretended not to hear her. Ignored the question that lurked underneath, what did you do? Instead I let the rage and disgust in the air flow over me. There was no sympathy in the words being hurled, and from what I saw today I expected none to be found in the tests tomorrow. We, us examinees, all knew what we signed up for. It was time I accepted it. So I looked over the crowd and bent my mind down to scrub out their faces.

Carve, wipe, scrape, gone, gone in the process of othering them until they weren't people. Faces scribbled over like a word that had to be ground out from the memory of the page. Sure, it flickered—glimpses of the humans beneath coming through. I reapplied it harder the next time. Fixed it in my mind as I walked to the elevators and ignored the faceless men and women—no, the faceless empty things that pushed air out of nonexistent mouths—and smiled.

"Amber, which way to where we sleep?" I asked.

* * *​

When we arrived, I realized that there were three rooms attached to one central suite. Amber had set our sleeping arrangements herself. My room was between hers and Melissa's, or it would be provided I was willing to move my bags myself. I also noticed that all of the cookware in the small kitchen that came with the suit had been dumped into the sink. They still shone with a wetness from a fresh clean. Before I could ask her what it was about, Amber had retired to her leaving me to deposit Melissa in hers.

Melissa had taken to the booze the worst of us. I set her on her side and slid the waste bin beside her head. When I left she clutched at my pant leg. Her eyes fixed on me, and she shook my pant leg for emphasis.

"You're a good person," she said.

"Really?" I asked.

"Mhmm," she said, "if you weren't I couldn't still love you."

Her voice trailed off as she fell to sleep. I watched her body inflate and deflate with each breath. The taste of the Curdled Future and the visions it conjured brought me to the edge of agony each microsecond it took for Melissa to breathe again.

"Her body is resolute," Sphinx said.

I muttered, "I know."

"Food can't see the future," Sphinx said.

"I know. Let's go read that offer."

I followed Sphinx into my room—they shut the door with a kick of their hindleg—and I fell onto the bed. They hopped up next to me, and I removed the envelope from my pocket. Pressed my nail under the flap, worked until my thumb was nestled inside, and slashed across its length.

The envelope popped open, and deposited a square package wrapped in brown paper onto my chest. As it fell it had assembled itself out of motes of light. I looked back to the envelope to see a tiny formation lose its subtle shine—its function fulfilled. Then I withdrew the letter. Read it aloud to Sphinx and myself to avoid missing any words.

"You've been duly recognized for your skill and ingenuity by the Lodge and its staff. As such, you are being offered the first of an unknown number of tasks to earn yourself a number of extra points on your exam evaluation. Note, this offer does not prevent you from failing the exam itself. However, a high enough score before failure may incur an automatic exemption pass to be applied for next year's exam. Secondary note, the continuation of this offer—that being the acquisition of extra points—is contingent on your acceptance of the prior task. If these terms are desirable, please equip yourself with the gear found in the parcel. You are responsible for providing your own weapons. Also, for the sanctity of the exam—and your own plausible deniability—it is required that you store your entity for the duration of your task. Thank you, Regional Lodgemaster, Nemesis Khapoor."

I sat up and unwrapped the parcel. Folded in the center was a gray suit that looked similar to latex, but had less of a sheen. Atop the suit was a mask, plain and unadorned, but the way my eyes and attention rolled off it was all too familiar. It was the same Sorcery that my parent's killers used. I forced myself to stare at that mask even when I wanted to look away. Hated everything that it stood for—that its creators took from me—and then I placed it on my face. Didn't think about what it meant that it fit perfectly.

Instead, I read aloud the words that hovered in the air before me, visible only due to the HUD the mask provided: Please proceed to the Wild Hunt, in ten minutes.

 

[MxOberon]

AN: Hey all, back again with a new chapter! Just wanted to say I also have a patreon for the story where we're currently ten chapters ahead (over a hundred pages of story)! As well as discord where I chat, answer questions, and keep folks posted regarding news of updates. Hope to see folks around~

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I only had a few minutes to arrive, but I wouldn't be rushed. Not for this. The room came with a small desk and a pen, some paper, and envelopes. In a handful of minutes I drafted two letters. One for Melissa and one for Amber; they deserved to know what had happened to me if I didn't make it back by morning. They needed to know why I didn't make it back. In retrospect, the letters weren't really for them, but me. In drafting them I confronted why I was doing this—I needed practice. What I hoped would come from it—resolve, maybe, or power if for future use. As well as if I had any sense of guilt or awareness that'd let me turn away from this path—none at all. They should've been letters expressing my feelings to them both. Those I'd intimated or knew but didn't have the heart to say. Instead they were arguments, bluntly, that I hoped would dull the edge of their pain and anger toward my selfishness.

I left them on my desk and slipped out the window.

The streets were nearly empty—save for the golden trail the mask's HUD conjured to lead me to the meeting location. It was the quiet hours when bars slept and parties slumped to unconsciousness. Here in the city, the stars I'd grown accustomed to back home were distant. Their light, a celestial memory. Yet the moon was there. The lone eye of heaven, so broad that you'd think it was peering through a magnifying glass to better observe our petty dramas. It was red that night—the moon—making its crystal palaces look like dripping murder weapons. I turned my mind back to earth, and raised a hand in a half-hearted wave as I spotted Secretary.

They leaned against the edge of a fountain that burbled in shifting colors that played delightfully across their skin. When I was close enough to see their face—still far too pretty, too designed—I was taken aback. I'd expected a smugness similar to early in the day. Instead I found them resigned to some degree.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Secretary shook their head, "Just the worst thing, little brute. My department decided to place bets on tonight."

"What?"

"I know. Secretaries, they have no decorum, but the money being placed was too much for even my refined morals. I bet as well, but then they told me how it'd work. We'd be stuck betting on those we nominated."

I rolled my eyes behind the mask—remembered I was wearing a mask. Then tilted my head and arrayed my body to better sell the way my sympathy for them had dried down to clay. They pantomimed their hurt.

"You think I'll be the worst?" I asked.

Secretary said, "Hardly, but this was a bet about the quantity of the work. Not the quality. I think you'll be rather middle of the pack. Fair place to be, but oh well."

"It'll be my pleasure to lose you money," I said. "Anyways, I want to amend the deal, just a bit, before we start."

"Little brute, you're not so early to begin negotiations. We'll be starting any minute."

"I know. Means you won't have much time to wiggle out of what I want."

Secretary pursed their lips. "Clever," they said. "I can't give you more points, it'd be unfair."

"I don't want more," I said. "I want to share them. Three way split, even between Melissa, Amber, and myself."

"Really? What makes you think they didn't get chosen for the Wild Hunt as well?"

I looked around the empty square. "There's no one else here," I said. "Besides, I owe them more than they owe me. I'm splitting my points."

Secretary said, "Points are hardly a gift."

"It's all I have besides my life," I said. "So, split them."

Secretary waved their hand as Blotomisc stepped into my conscious acknowledgement. The damn thing still wore my dad's face.

"Tell the point tabulation committee that entrant, Nadia Temple, will be splitting all her points that derive from her assignments with the Faceless Corps. with entrants Melissa Knitcroft and Amber Scorizni."

Blotomisc took a bow to acknowledge the order before stepping back beyond the edge of any conscious senses. Secretary pushed up from the fountain and gripped my shoulders as if to squeeze me together.

"Done. Now don't fuck this up, my little brute. I want my bet to at least break even."

They raised their hand into the air and snapped. Though in that instance it was no snap, but a singular peal of thunder born from the unison of a hundred people—Secretaries—snapping as one. It ripped through the air and with it the spell that I was under without realizing. The square was full of my competitors as well as their Secretary sponsors. Each of us clad in the grey skinsuit and mask given to us.

"This is your field-spell?" I asked Secretary.

They held a finger to their lips. "Trade secret. Even to my little brute."

I didn't have time to question them further because a sharp whistle sliced through my thoughts. Most of us in the crowd clutched at our ears from the pain. My eyes found the source of the sound leaning against the railing of some cafe's terrace. Their face was masked, but they were no less distinctive. First there was their height—so small they'd make Melissa feel at least somewhat tall. Then there was the fact that they lacked human arms though looked as if that was no bother. Atop their head was a furry entity with six round marble-like eyes. Its body ran down theirs like a mantle of some sort. Albeit one with arms—four of them—that were muscled, clawed and moved with the boneless fashion of a tentacle at the summoner's whim. It was with one of those arms that the person had used to whistle.

"Good, I have your attention. Y'all can call me the Kennelmaster. Well, you will call me the Kennelmaster," the Kennelmaster said. "Cause y'all are dogs. Mine now to deploy as I see fit for the tasks the Lodge has decided must be carried out. Tasks that are, well, too much for the Lodge's common roster."

An arm slid their mask just slightly out of the way so they could take a drag of a cigarette. They blew the smoke through the mask's nostrils.

The Kennelmaster continued, "See, most of the roster are people unlike y'all. People with feelings and morals that they're unwilling to compromise on save the most dire situations. So, that's where you all come in. You, my lovely dogs, don't have none of that. Your Secretaries have found you to be brutal people. Unforgiving people. Capable of the worst that need be done, but aren't so far gone that we'd have to put you down. Cause we would, will, and have when it turns out one of our dogs is a smidge too feral."

"Kennelmaster, we have an itinerary to maintain," a Secretary—not mine—said to them. They lounged in a chair at one of the cafe's tables.

"I know, I know. I'm just trying to give them a full picture," the Kennelmaster said.

This Secretary said, "Dogs don't need to know the full scope of their pen. Now, some of our targets are on the move, and I'd rather we do this efficiently."

"Fine," the Kennelmaster said to them. Turned back to us, "To skip to the end, because apparently showmanship is dead, y'all are being tested on how good of dogs you'll be. Cause neither the Lodge nor myself wants to keep a dog incapable of doing what's asked. Thus, we come to the Wild Hunt, where we'll let you pups loose onto the entirety of the district to go after the Lodge's enemies. They always try to slip in during exam season. You'll find 'em, kill 'em, and be graded on such by the Lodge's ever lovely Secretarial department. If you fuck up, they'll see it, and if you do it especially well they will as well."

The Secretary near the Kennelmaster snapped their fingers. In a wave all our masks fit snugly onto our faces. A few people—myself included—tugged on it in surprise. It didn't come off. Soon after my HUD was updated. A roster of names and crimes scrolled down in the bottom corner of my vision. In the other corner a minimap of the Lodge district appeared. Dots clustered at the edges. While that same guiding glow trail that led me to the square returned. Only this time it was a loose web that wiggled out in every direction—to every target.

"Now, alls below, happy hunting," the Kennelmaster said.

We needed no more instruction. I watched as some of my fellow dogs seemed to teleport, take to the air, or step into some kind of portal. Me, I just ran, glaive held in both hands as I sprinted down streets toward the nearest target—I wasn't trying to be picky. I especially didn't want to look at their names. Made it easier.

* * *​

My first target was a few blocks from where we started. I didn't look at their name, but I did see their crime: serial homicide. Just the type of target to help make this. . .easier for me. The killer moved slowly but in a flickering fashion. They'd linger only to hop a few feet, linger, then hop.

"They're hunting," Sphinx said inside of me.

Let's see whose better, I thought.

I cut through an alley and took a spot in a dumpster's shadow. From my vantage point I could only see a woman wobble down the street. She was drunk enough to smell of booze even where I lurked. At the thought, words flashed briefly at the center of my HUD: Nasal Filter Applied. How convenient. Still, I didn't see the killer despite the insistence of the golden strands. I blinked on the Omensight and grinned as they were revealed in such perfect clarity.

A cloud—there weren't many other ways to put it—clung about them. Strands of some Court that was ambitious yet demure waved in the breeze as if saying, 'No, don't look at me. I'm hardly worth it.' I frowned as I watched the spindly thing leap from lamp to lamp, unnoticed by anyone relying solely on the mortal sight. It—because I had already gouged its face from my mind and could hardly call it a human being—clung by its taloned toes atop a lamp's point. Its body tensed ready to fire.

Under the Omensight, I could see the thread that connected it to the woman. The thread dripped with sadistic glee that was caustic to my eyes. Slowly the thread grew taut. I flicked to the woman. She slipped and tumbled to the ground—an opening! I bolted from my shadow. Springboarded off someone's trash can. All at the same moment the cowardly killer shot itself from the lamp. I need more distance, I thought to sphinx. They responded by shifting inside my spirit and unfurling their wings from my back. In two flaps I had more air, more distance, and the thread of my own imminent violence intersected with the killer.

Mother's Last Smile was thrust forward to take the cruel little thing in the side. We crashed diagonally through a storefront. I rode his body like a scooter across the shards. It quivered—I twisted my glaive—it grew still. Limbs curled on itself like the spider it thought it was. In the corner of my HUD its entry briefly flashed green before it disappeared. I left through the business's front door. The woman had barely processed any of what happened.

I held out my hand to help her up, but stilled as I saw the gold of the HUD linger around her. She was on the list. I resisted the urge to spot her name. Focused on the crime.

"You extort businesses?" I asked.

"Whuh," she said. "I guess. I mean, messes happen around here."

"Mmm," I hummed. "Says you funnel the money to a cult out east."

"Says who?" she asked playfully, not yet aware this was an interrogation. "What can I say, there's a nice little group out near Tahoe. I wanna help them out. Now, are you gonna like, help me up?"

My eyes narrowed behind the mask. I watched as a black void ran itself across her face. Swipe-swipe gone. She was no woman, but a parasitic worm that belonged at the bottom of some rare bottle Amber stole from the outpost's bar. Still, I clasped the worm's hand—enveloped it in my own so no hand-spells could form. Then hauled them onto my glaive. Its tip pierced the extortionist's neck. I nicked an artery from how the wet warmth of its life splattered my legs. It raised its other hand to form a spell. Fumbled drunkenly with their fingers, so I helped them again. Cleaved hand from wrist—no more confusion—and waited for the entry to disappear.

When it did, I went to gather up the wannabe spider—my feet pulling away from the sticky blood puddle growing beneath the worm in wet-sucking plops—and dragged it back into the street. Dropped its body atop the worm and split the tiniest infinity with my hand-spell. Chalcedony flames poured from my finger in a burning waterfall. I sweeped it this way and that to coat their clumped bodies with as much fire as possible. Let them burn down into nothing, so I felt nothing when I took to the street again for my next target.

* * *​

The golden path crawled over the apartment's face like an orichalcum centipede. Zigzagged down the fire escape to curl in front of the doors. The list had no human names for these entries. Instead the only name connected to each dot in this place was, vestal of Searing Light.

"My cousin is present," Sphinx said.

Cousin? I thought.

"A soldier from the Court of Virtue. Per mortal system, we both sit under the ruling banner of Stars as a Principle." Sphinx mused, "They've made a temple of this place."

Through the Omensight, I pushed my vision through the walls—they weren't that thick—and watched as bound mortals—children and young teens—were pushed inside of a focusing circle in the apartment building's common room. With each one the circle would flair, and out step another vestal. They stood tall as Amber—over six feet probably—and were dressed in white tunics that fell to the thigh. Golden armor cinched their waists, banded their arms into clawed gauntlets, and made sabatons and greaves of their feet and legs. Two long elven ears spred from behind a featureless golden mask set within a jungle of wavy chocolate tresses.

Terror slathered my thoughts, This is a chain-summoning. It's a nest!

"Nadia, quick, another hunter seeks your prize," Sphinx said.

I pulled my vision back from inside the building just in time to make out a lithe form sprinting down the rooftops toward the nest. As I shouldered through the lobby doors they flipped onto the fire escape and slipped into a room on the top floor. It'd be a race between us for who could clear this place faster.

Guided by the HUD and my Omensight, I sprinted down the hallway into the common room and froze. The block I put over the faces of the "summoners" flickered as I knew my options strained at what Amber's mental trick could help me ignore. People used in a chain-summoning were chosen for what they lacked. Not enough spiritual mass to retain their ego in the bond. Nor enough density to remain the master, or at least an equal. The minute each one was bonded they were lost. Either you killed the entity and left their spirit a frayed thing full of holes, or you killed them and forced the entity to discorporate.

"Nadia," Sphinx said, "remember who the target is."

It doesn't make it any better, I thought.

In the moment of freezing, the vestals stopped summoning and examined me as one. Raised their hand as one. With one blazing glint of light, they all fired upon me. Square cruciform strips of fire shot toward me. I ran laterally to evade—leaped behind a couch—and waited. Their spells pummeled the couch. The heat leaked through the leather, but it didn't pierce.

When I didn't move, the vestals hurriedly grabbed another kid. He was small, plump like kids could be—if he lived he'd grow out of it—and he fought for the chance to grow. Struggled and thrashed in his pajamas. His feet burnt on the carpet as they dragged him.

"Stop!" I yelled.

I leaped up and let loose an Atomic Glory for the summoning circle. The flames consumed the paint, and the threads of Virtue that embroidered the symbols with power. They dropped the child before the flames could touch him, consume him—I didn't finish that thought. Brands of fire were loosened back in my direction as I returned to my couch cover.

As one the vestals spoke, "Cousin, it is not typical for us to make war. Why do you do so?"

Their voice carried along the strands of reality that backed even the Real. Conceptual vibrations that shook the entirety of my spiritual musculature. Sphinx responded for the both of us.

"No war, cousin, only a hunt. You've crossed a mortal line."

"Ahhh, given time they'll all be pure. Pity your bondmate won't be privy to the sight."

As one they raised their hands to receive swords of frozen sunlight that kissed their way into existence. They laid blade over gauntlet and advanced on my position as a unit. Their attention turned from the children onto me made my job much easier.

"Kids, close your eyes," I ordered.

Through the Omensight I saw them obey. Ten pairs of eyes shut, their owners cowered, and with that I rose. Pointed my hand-spell at the boy who dodged a future as a battery, and brought him with me into Godtime. The vestals' advance slowed to a crawl. In their feature-less faces I could see the moment of their recognition; letting go of the children had cost them the only leverage they had over me.

I hopped over the couch and methodically—definitively—struck each one with an Atomic Glory. There wouldn't be any defense from them. We may have been in the same link in the Chain, but they were new while Sphinx and I were tested. I dropped the Godtime and watched as their "summoners" collapsed to the ground. The bond was new, but even a new bond between a summoner and an entity was a deep one. These kids' spirits were frayed and worn—I never checked back to see if they recovered. In the moment, I left the kids to the kids, and ran up the stairs to keep hunting.

Unfortunately, my opposition had already made it to the first floor above the lobby. I pushed my mind how many other entries I knew were in all the rooms above me. Failed to ignore the red that flickered before the entry was stolen. We spotted each other from the other end of the hallway. She wasn't just the lithe silhouette I saw earlier. I could see that she was muscular—rippling with power for quick bursts—and she had cat ears. Two tails that swung behind her as she no doubt took her measure of me.

"A hunting cat," Sphinx said. "How cute."

My opposition growled, "You're slow. I thought we'd be competing for prey."

"Things were complicated," I said. "You're fast though."

"I make things simple," she said.

Her hand flicked away droplets of blood onto the seafoam wall. We both glanced to the door with the last vestal behind it. Tensed our bodies to race for the last target. Then there was white. A train car of white that blew through the room and into the hallway. So bright I saw stars. Gone so soon that I only processed what it was by the smell of ozone in the air. The clap of thunder confirmed it as both me and the cat girl covered our ears. Hers were no doubt more sensitive than mine; the sound sent me to a knee, it sent her sprawling.

When I could move I inched toward the gap in the hallway. Looked out into the street to see another hunter astride some avian entity with white-blue wings whose feathers were still dimming from their electric brightness. The hunter tossed a mock salute my way before taking off in search of other targets. I didn't look at the size of the smoking skeleton that remained in the room. I did make my way to the roof.

I leaned my glaive against the ledge of the building. Leaned my head out into the open air to catch a cool night time breeze. Through the Omensight I watched the district explode with street level fireworks of Sorcery. Loops of one Court, another, a third, from the common to the unknown whipped into the air as dogs ran wild and blood with them. With me. I looked down at my body. My lower-half, red on grey, with the shoes of the suit being the brightest. So soaked that my footprints were still made out in crimson. I looked back to the district.

"Why've we stalled?" Sphinx asked.

I'm tired, I offered.

That wasn't true. My heart beat fast and clean, adrenaline pumped through my veins, and part of myself was lost in the heady high of violence. The life-death dispute I had resolved multiple times now, and kept winning. I'm happy I couldn't see my face—I could feel the smile that stretched across. Told myself I was just happy to save the kids from the ferocious cat on the first floor.

"You like what you like," Sphinx said. "That's fine."

"Is it?" I asked aloud. "I'm a dog."

"A dog wouldn't ponder the disgust that lies beneath its pleasure. You're complex. Human."

I was pacing now. Shaking my head as I walked between the poles of my disagreement.

"But what does it say that this was the offer? That even in the explanation I didn't go home. This is what Secretary sees me as!"

"The Kennelmaster, said you are this," Sphinx began, "but Secretary only offered you a chance to see how broad 'anything' would be. You've discovered that. What anything doesn't cover."

The blood the cat girl had splashed on the wall came to mind. Not that. Never that.

"But I'm enjoying—," I said.

"A job well done. A city made safer," Sphinx put forward.

I had killed a serial killer. Slew an extortionist funding cults in the east. Helped destroy a nest of chain-summoned entities before they could wreak havoc. Alls below, I saved children.

"You're right," I said. "I'm good. It's fine that I enjoy this. Making things safer for everyone, so Melissa doesn't have to worry."

"Nadia?" Sphinx asked, worry creeping in.

I ignored it, "I'm sure Mom and Dad smiled just like this after they were done. Splattered with the result of hard work. Yet, kept things separate. The work them—the hidden them, and what I got."

My smile returned to my face wider than ever. I even panted as I felt the urge—the LUST—run through my body with the little crack in my logic. I ran my bloody hands down the mask. Shivered with delight at the sweet sanguine pleasure that flooded my brain. The guilt, the worry, the regret could wait for daytime. While I was masked I could let go, and accept myself.

"Nadia, I think we should go home," Sphinx urged.

I shook my body out and loosened my limbs. Cooed from behind the mask.

"Never," I said. "Forward, always forward!"

And I caught sight of a thick river of gold—points to be claimed—that twirled through sky toward others who had to die. With a slight twist of my spirit I flexed and let loose Sphinx's wings. Then leaped from the top of the building. Its wings stiffened to catch the wind—it'd never let me fall—and together we flew amongst gold.

---

AN: Hope you had a fun read! If you can't wait to read what happens next do check out the patreon and discord!

 

[MxOberon]

Behind Piggy, the remains wobbled as the miasma flooded back into the room. It forcibly condensed itself into a tighter weave of threads that regenerated the White Womb's skeleton first. Then it packed itself around the bones. A new color dyed the threads alongside Death, the iridescent hue of Dream that I had become so familiar with. I watched the colors blend, and held a bated breath to see what Court it'd fall into.

Principles swirled together—Piggy didn't notice, he was still gloating—until their deliberation was done. Its Court was decided, Oblivion. The White Womb was whole again, and rose as if a string tugged its chest. It had filled out with muscle and sinew, stringy but far more present than its initial allotment at birth, and from the sides of its torso another set of arms peeled away.

It screeched, "Mommy!"

Spittle hit his neck, and Piggy spun and swung his fist with perfect accuracy and honed instinct. The White Womb caught his fist. He'd had less time to build up raw power behind it, but it was still a sorcery assisted punch thrown by someone at Baron. I could see how the force made the tightened threads of this pseudo-entity's Court rippled. It coughed—not blood, I'm not calling it blood—but damn it it still caught that punch.

Before Piggy could throw another one, the White Womb threw him. It used all four of its arms and flung him so high in the sky that he'd disappeared even to the clarity of my Omensight. The White Womb was stunned by its own power, distracted, and so I attacked. Shot across the floor with my glaive trailing behind. Torque'd my hips and swung with all my might. A bright line traced through the air—only to stop at its fingers. It caught Mother's Last Smile by the blade.

It whispered, "Mommy."

"She's not yours," I yelled.

I formed Atomic Glory and unleashed a bowling ball sized burst of fire. The White Womb let go of the glaive to cover its head. Flames splashed against its scales. My face fell as I watched it stare in awe as my spell danced on its scales. It burbled at the beauty of the fire that ate at its flesh. Then it clenched in on itself, and I watched as fire fell into the void it briefly turned into. It stepped forward, I stepped back, and it pointed at my weapon.

"Mommy," it said, possessively.

My eyes widened at the possibility I'd not only die, but lose my mom twice over. Then I heard the sound of a pig flying. I looked up to see Piggy angle himself to cleave through the air at double speed. Hands clasped for one hell of a hammerblow. I aimed my hand-spell at him.

"Godtime," I said, more as a prayer than an incantation.

The White Womb slowed to a crawl—it may have found a way to swallow my flames, but it wasn't strong enough to shirk all my spells. I leapt backwards, and watched as Piggy swung.

His fists connected with the top of the White Womb's head. This time flattening it in one go, and pressing it down into a crater of the house's flooring. I slid backwards from the pressure wave of his blow. Stopped only by a wooden pillar holding up a portion of the second floor. Piggy twisted in the air—he was briefly pushed up from the sheer power—to right himself before landing.

"Okay, now I think it's dead," Piggy said. "Hate death-defying spells."

I said, "Piggy, it didn't use Sorcery until right now when it ate my flames."

"How'd it come back to life then?" he asked.

"It just did. Came back together the same way a ball falls after you toss it up."

"Still, it should've been weakened, right?"

"It ate my spell."

"Orchard, you had summoner's exhaustion a few minutes ago. You're not as strong as usual."

"Listen to me. It came back stronger. Denser. I don't know how or why, and I doubt the answer is in your grandpa's theories!"

"You don't know what he knows," Piggy said, cold.

"Maybe not, but I doubt he knows anything about that."

I pointed to the fleshy splatter of the White Womb in the crater. Looked more closely, and noticed that while there wasn't a single whole bone there was still the dust. Threads of Oblivion surged up into the tapestry of the world. Fell on the pile of bone dust like a blanket. Warped around the reformed skeleton of the White Womb that regenerated standing up. Piggy watched, and his muscles clenched in the same abject rejection of whatever inhuman thing this was that caused my own body to stiffen.

"It's not fair," I whimpered.

Stunned, Sphinx said, "It graduated."

In three minutes and two deaths, the White Womb went from being bereft a Court to now dense and large as a Baron. Its body was ten feet tall. Sharp edged vertebrae peeked from its spine like teeth on a chainsaw. The four arms it had stretched wide to prop it up like some kind of six limbed dragon. Those once bulbous eyes became inset within its tree-splitting skull. Three layers of eyelids cleaning each toxic purple orb. It hissed and its scales fluttered like flowers in the breeze. From beneath the raised scales, missiles of white bone cloaked in purple-black smoke shot out fast as fireworks.

Piggy grabbed my arm and flung me back into the kitchen. With a mystic burst he leaped after me. It was a good attempt, but I saw what he didn't. Void-black threads traced each missile directly to us—it was attacking us along a vector of fate for guidance.

"They're homing spells," I said.

Piggy spat, "I hate those the most."

He gripped two drawers and ripped them from the cabinet. Wooden utensils, silverware, and cooking tools flew through the air. He formed a hand-spell, and I watched as the ties that connected the spells to us were redirected to the aerial spray of kitchenware. The missiles consumed their new targets in a spherical pop of black that removed itself from existence.

I pulled Piggy down after so we could take cover. Used the Omensight to crawl my vision around the kitchen island, and observe the White Womb as it extricated itself from the pit Piggy had punched it into. Its head swung this way and that in search of us. Though it didn't actually move and truly seek us out.

"It looks stronger for sure, but not smarter," I said. "It's learning fast though. I think each death is just giving it the stimuli it needs to grow."

Piggy sighed, "So how do we kill it?"

"Its revival isn't instant," Sphinx said.

And it always centers on the bones. The only Real thing about it.

Sphinx and I spoke at the same time. "We destroy its bones between resurrections."

I smiled inward toward Sphinx. Its purr rolled inside of me—mutual approval.

"Okay," Piggy said, "I'll destroy the bones. You get out of here."

"What? I'm not leaving you."

He laid a hand against my masked face. His hand was big enough that it felt like my entire head was supported. He shook his head.

"You won't be leaving me. Once you're gone, I can go all out and finish the thing off. But when you're here I have to worry about not harming you with my actual spells. I'd be doing more than throwing haymakers if I could."

"What an honorable pig," Sphinx muttered.

Honorable my ass. "If I didn't tell you those weird disintegration bolts were homing on us you'd have died dodging around a kitchen island."

"I would've," Piggy admitted, "and now I know. Doesn't change the fact that you getting caught in a fight between Barons isn't good."

"You don't know how many Barons I've fought," I hissed. "Besides, when I say 'destroy the bones' I mean burning them out from Realspace entirely. Not a hint can remain inside of reality. Do you have a spell that can do that?"

"Not a one," he said.

"Then it's settled. We kill it, and I burn the corpse."

Piggy muttered, "Alls below, I love an obstinate woman."

Thump. Thump. Thumpthumpthumpthump. The ground quivered beneath us. I turned my Omensight back onto the White Womb to find the hulking thing throwing a tantrum.

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" it chanted furiously.

With each stomp a pool of Oblivion stretched out from beneath the creature's shadow. It crawled amoeba-like as it pulled across the floor. Where the pool touched furniture fell with it. The tv, the chair, the edge of a table slipped past the rim and into the sprawling void. I watched it spaghettify as it disappeared.

"Get up, get up," I ordered.

Piggy and I climbed atop the island to avoid the pool that had crept around the structure.

"It figured out field-spells," Piggy groaned. "Some things have all the luck. Cover me, Orchard."

He clapped his hands, and I felt Realspace flex around him. Whatever his Court, it was cold and intolerant of anything Piggy deemed didn't belong. A category that currently meant the White Womb and its own field-spell. The monster was a newly made Baron, and for all I could tell of Piggy—seeing as he was holding back apparently—he wasn't. His use of power was fluid and smooth. Even pushing back against an already established field-spell, he didn't lose any ground or cohesion in the bubble of safety he'd made for us.

"Lucky for you, I'm a specialist in field-spells," Piggy said. "I'll have this thing broken in no time."

I looked from him to the White Womb and swore. The creature's mouth was wide open, yellowed teeth framing a growing ball of Oblivion that condensed beneath its tongue. Its eyes were narrowed on us with hatred, and I could swear its mouth was smiling. I was wrong. The thing was stronger and smarter. Luring us out from cover with the field-spell, distracting the only threat—Piggy—and taking aim with a second attack to kill us. If Piggy stops fighting the field-spell we fall into the void, and if he doesn't we'll be shot.

"I think we lost," I said.

Piggy asked, "What?"

The White Womb fired. I dragged Piggy and myself into Godtime. The Obliteration Beam trudged solemnly through the air. Shuffling forward a few inches every second. Who knew one's doom could be seen in such slow motion.

"Just block the spell," he said.

I choked, "I can't. I don't know any defensive spells."

"Fuck, Orchard, I won't say I told you so," Piggy said.

"So don't."

"No, I have to say something," he stated. "Getting into fights without knowing a single defense is a bonehead move."

"Fine," I said. "You're right."

"I know." He smiled behind the words, "Now go cast a defensive spell and give me some time."

"Did you not hear me say I don't know any?"

"Then figure one out. You were clever enough to get us into this place. Just be clever enough to get us out."

Sphinx whispered, "You're not alone. We can solve this."

I swallowed and nodded, to Sphinx and Piggy. Then I tested some options. I unleashed a Fivefold Atomic Glory along the tie of fate stretching from us to the Obliteration Beam. The beam drilled through the blazing star and scattered the power. I moved around the small island, and discovered that the tie was to our direction not us specifically. Unfortunately, even if I wanted to abandon Piggy—which I didn't—the moment I left the protection of his field-spell I'd be swallowed up by the black hole pool that was consuming the living room and kitchen. I wracked my brain and came up with nothing.

Sphinx, anything?

I felt it purr, "Always something, Nadia. If it cannot be destroyed, dodged, or denied we still have one 'D' that is available to us. Your noble boar already demonstrated it. Even though his demand poisons the well of your creativity."

We don't block it? Ugh, what did he do? I rifled through my immediate memories and did my best to ignore the destructive spell that was already halfway to us. Piggy had punched, punched some more, ran really fast, and none of it helped me. I fluttered through memories, but felt Sphinx's paw press against my heart.

"Slow down," Sphinx said. "Revelation doesn't bow to time."

In one motion, assisted by its paw in my mind, I flipped back a memory—just past the way Piggy's hand cradled my face—to when he overcame the homing spells. Fate led them to us, and he drew, no, diverted them to another object.

We divert it. If Revelation can burn fate, perceive it, then who says we can't divert it!

"No one who wishes to live long, Nadia," Sphinx said.

Can you help me shape it?

Sphinx smiled, "I already said you won't have to walk alone."

My spirit flexed as Sphinx pushed its wings out of my back. Guided by inspiration and Sphinx's own insight, we made the first time I cast the spell into a dualcasted work of art. The eyes of its wings flared with power as chalcedony fire streamed out from them. Accreted itself around the chalcedony nucleus I conjured myself. The flames fused into one whole as unified as my spirit was with Sphinx. Gone was the fire, and in its place a frozen starburst that always held four points no matter the angle you observed it from.

In one voice we named the spell, "Inviolate Star."

"I knew you could do it," Piggy muttered.

When Sphinx and I cast the spell we dropped the Godtime, and put our new magic to the test. The bar of raw Oblivion crashed into the aura of the Inviolate Star. It tried to drill forward, but only unspooled itself around the "shield" of the star's light. Something akin to an aurora borealis snaked through the air as the condensed energy split apart into the baser principles of Death and Dream. I couldn't help but scream.

"It's working," I said.

"So am I," Piggy affirmed, "we're nearly out of this."

I could feel the cracks ripple through the White Womb's field-spell. It wouldn't be long until—it gave up? My eyes widened in surprise as the flat black hole that had carpeted the floor just dissipated into the air. Piggy shot to his feet, triumphant, and turned just in time to see why his victory was sudden. The White Womb's body inhaled all the threads of Oblivion that were freed up from maintaining the field-spell. It made a choking sound as a boulder-sized tangle of Oblivion zipped down the Obliteration Beam to smash into the light of my Inviolate Star.

My feet slipped. Piggy flexed his field-spell to keep me from falling. I still slid backwards. The White Womb's spell had been half-cast. Its power split between maintaining the field-spell and trying to destroy us directly. Now I felt the full mass and density of a Baron pressing its weight against my defenses.

Piggy crushed the White Womb's arms with his field-spell. Turned bone to dust and muscle to mush, but the creature had learned a lot from us already. It learned violence, hatred, and now it mirrored our own persistence back at us.

I felt Piggy push me forward—flexing with the entirety of his field—all to keep me standing. If the Inviolate Star fell there wouldn't be a chance to dodge.

"It dropped its field-spell," I yelled. "You can run!"

Piggy disagreed, "Not a chance, Orchard. What kind of Baron leaves a soldier to fight his battles."

"A smart one," I joked.

He laughed, "Unfortunately my sister's the smart one. I'm just pigheaded."

His field locked me in place the best he could, but from how he panted I knew the summoner's exhaustion was creeping into him as well. No one came out of a direct clash of sorcery at a hundred percent—a fact I was quickly learning from how my spirit cried under the abuse I was putting it through. I begged my body to hold out for just a moment longer—until I could find a way out of this spell clash—then my spirit tore.

The fibers that wove the spirit muscles in my arms shredded apart. In Realspace, my blood vessels burst and re-hydrated the blood that had soaked my suit. My fingers quivered—a crack snaked through my Inviolate Star—and tears rolled down my face.

"I'm sorry," Sphinx said. "I couldn't protect you."

From the sound of its voice, I knew that the tears I shed weren't mine. Just a manifestation of my bondmate's sorrow. I ground my teeth into my lip and ignored the burst of copper on my tongue. If there was one thing I hated, it was being laughed at. If there was a second thing, it was to see those I care about cry. Whether it was Melissa—her face flashed in my mind, scrunched and red—or Sphinx. Its face artfully composed as shining tears fell.

My arms were destroyed, so I walked.

I took a step forward. Quivering, unsteady, but I moved forward. Then another step. Another! I ran my foot along the edge of the kitchen island. Traced a burning line in the proverbial sand.

"I'm not losing. I'm not giving up. I'm not dying!"

That line blazed in my mind. I felt it D***** the world before me. There was where I lost, succumbed, and let myself and Piggy be turned to dust. On my way to wherever the dead went, and there I'd greet Mom and Dad. They'd tell me I did my best. Amber and Melissa would find their letters. No idea what they'd do next in my absence. It was an abhorrent outcome. Then there was the other. Where I fucking won, and I saw how.

"Piggy, help me compress the star," I screamed.

"What?" he asked. "We'd be shrinking our defensive zone."

"Trust me," I said.

I don't know what he heard in my voice, but he nodded and trusted me. His field-spell pressed into the star. Compressing it while I maintained its cohesion. There was a shape I had in mind, but I couldn't make it on my own. Sphinx, I need more flame to beef it up.

"Anything," Sphinx said.

Its wings fluttered as it fed more flame into the Inviolate Star. I felt a rib shatter somewhere in my body—the core muscles of my spirit had snapped and took it with them. Blood dribbled down my chin as I bit down on my lip in focus. The Inviolate Star thinned, the flame caused it to grow, and I maintained the cohesion. None of us technically had the magic to make what I saw in that other outcome, but we got close enough that the Inviolate Star wasn't really a star anymore. It was a fucking knife.

The Obliteration Beam split on the edge geometry of my spell. Scattered raw unfocused power around the destroyed remnants of the house. I breathed in and thrust my hands out. The newly formed Inviolate Knife carved down the beam. So sharp that the "inevitable" force of Oblivion was bisected as it swam upstream and slashed deep into the White Womb's face.

It dropped the spell. We won. My body went limp as I no longer had the overwhelming pressure of a Baron to lean against. As I slumped in the air—held up only by Piggy's field-spell—I felt that blazing line in the sand be blown away. With it went the memory of why I even thought to shape an Inviolate Knife.

My eyes rolled up to meet the White Womb's gaze. One of its eyes had popped like a water balloon—the one that the knife had struck—while the other burned with infantile rage. I called the fight too soon.

Its arm lashed out—still shattered—and caught me full on with its palm. Like a full body smack, and whipped me through the ceiling into the second floor. Then it was dark.

"Nadia," Sphinx said. "You have to get up."

I floated in something warm. Reminded me of a hug. I submerged myself in it. Pain flared at my ankle—did Sphinx bite me?

"Yes, and I'll do it again if you don't get up."

I gave it some thought, and decided I didn't want to. If I got back up there'd be pain. I'd have to keep fighting. Kill stronger and stronger things until I was the stronger that got killed.

"That's life, Nadia." Sphinx pleaded, "It's the life you held so dearly onto that you beat a Baron in a clash of sorcery."

That was an exaggeration. It was me, Sphinx, and Piggy that worked together to win. I felt myself float back a bit—arguing always pulled me back, at least a little bit.

"Then argue with me," Sphinx said. "Argue, fight me, don't ever listen to me. I don't care, I just need you to get back up. If you don't Piggy will die. I'll die. You'll die. Please."

Was Sphinx crying?

"Yes. I hate it, and it's your fault."

I couldn't handle it when others cried. I let myself rise to the surface of that warm expanse. Sphinx rolled me onto what felt like my back. It hurt. Why couldn't we know a healing spell.

"I don't know. If we live, figure one out, but for now we play with the toys we have and see what happens when the body is made inviolate."

What—my thought was cut off as I felt Sphinx's lips press into mine. They were soft, but its style of kissing was so insistent. It worked my mouth open and slipped its tongue inside. Pushed something down into my throat. Then pulled back, and prayed to the Sovereign. I didn't know how that would—hot—do anything. I mean—hot—it was just a kiss—hothothothothothothot.

* * *​

I reared up from the pool of my own blood. Clawed at my chest as I felt a horrible burning inside of me. Blinked on the Omensight and witnessed the frozen flame twirl in front of my heart. Streamers of Revelation bridged torn fibers of spirit back together. Latticed around shattered bone to fit it back into place. Whatever exhaustion—spiritual or bodily—was banished by the fire that seared down to the end of every extremity.

"Nadia, you have to move. It won't last forever," Sphinx yelled.

Even my cursory self-examination told me that. If the Inviolate Star could warp the lines of external fate, then when placed inside of someone it could, albeit temporarily, deny the fate of their body. The causality of failure that'd normally drag someone down. I flicked off the Omensight, and realized that the spell also had coated me in a corona of fire.

I groped for Mother's Last Smile, rolled it into my palm, and propped myself up. From my second floor vantage point I could see that the White Womb had resorted to whatever primal—I refuse to say human—instincts it might've had. Its claws swung wildly as it sought to disembowel Piggy with each blow. He leveraged his field-spell, and parried every blow he could. Used it to slide himself around the room to evade the blows he couldn't parry. Even as a summoner, he only had two arms. The White Womb had four. As he slid out of the way of one swipe he caught sight of me.

"Orchard, you're alive," he said.

In the gap of attention, the White Womb spun and swept Piggy's feet out from beneath him with its tail. Thrust its four arms forward and caught him in mid-air. It creened gloriously.

"Mommy!"

I took a few steps back—pressed myself against the wall—and then bolted forward. Sprinting across the remains of the second floor before leaping into the air. Glaive high above me. In the eternity in which I hung in the air, a memory came to mind.

* * *​

It was ten years ago when Mom decided I could finally learn the glaive. The autumn wind blew leaves all over the courtyard between the house and the temple. She waited for me to stop jumping up and down before she explained something to me.

"Sweetie, you have to remember the glaive is pretty simple. Beside the thrust there are really only two other moves. Encircle the Moon, where you twirl or rotate the glaive vertically, and Bisect the Sun," she said, "where you slash horizontally or diagonally using your hips. No matter how small or grand the motion, those two movements build to everything."

* * *​

I exhaled. Let the corona of fire crawl from my body up the glaive to its head. The bright-white crescent of Mother's Last Smile framed by chalcedony flames. They flared and I let myself fall forward. Faster and faster. Rotating until I was but the center of a wheel of fire and bright metal that descended violently to the earth. Encircle the Moon.

The glaive cut through the White Womb's arms as easily as one draws a line on a piece of paper. I landed and slid my feet across the ground as I positioned myself between Piggy and the White Womb. I could hardly make out the details of my enemy—the flames were dying, and my sight with it. Good thing it was ten feet tall and screaming. Made it easy for the next bit.

I twisted my hips just like Mom taught me—could swear I felt her hands guiding me through the proper motion like she did ten years ago—sweeping the glaive around me in effortless motion.

"Bisect the Sun," I said to no one.

The light within the glaive's head flared. Then dimmed as a bright line of white flashed, flew, wreathed in a shell of chalcedony fire and split the White Womb in half. Its component parts tumbled to the ground.

"Orchard," Piggy said.

He said more words, but I didn't hear him. The spell was fading and I had to work fast. Do what only I could do. Using the glaive I propped myself up crossed the distance from me to the White Womb's swiftly dying body. It had reverted to a skeleton again, unprotected by the layers of dense Conceptual flesh that fueled its resurrections.

Its jaw clacked. Speaking one last time, "Mommy?"

In my haze I responded, "You killed her."

Then wound my fingers together and set fire to the infinite futures where it came back to life.

The wind blew, and I imagined it carrying the nonexistent ashes of the creature to that distant shore where the dead go. If it was lucky maybe it'd see its mom. I hoped she'd forgive it.

I turned to Piggy, and smiled forgetting that the mask covered my face in the eternal grin of a dog lusting for blood. Though right now my mind was completely sober.

"You'll have to carry me out," I said.

Piggy asked, "What?"

"Carry me."

Then I collapsed, and fell into darkness once more. Though this time I rode the waves of unconsciousness in and out. Piggy had carried me out of the house. I could hear the howling of my fellow dogs praising my victory. Even the Kennelmaster said something.

"She looks like shit. If she doesn't die, tell her to enjoy the points."

It wasn't much, but it was something. Then I felt myself get handed off to someone else, and I let myself fall into the dark properly this time. A smile of a job well done plastered on my face.

 

[MxOberon]

AN: I didn't realize we were behind. Life has been a smidge hectic now that I'm updating the story in multiple locations.

---

I shot up from the dark of unconsciousness. Groping at the air as if to avoid sliding back into that dreamless sleep.

"Sphinx," I called out.

Hands pushed me back down—gentle, but insistent. My head landed in a lap softer than any pillow. I blinked the remnants of sleep from my eyes, and found Secretary's face looming above me. I was resting in their lap.

Secretary said, "She's over there, little brute."

With the back of their fingers they tilted my head in Sphinx's direction. It had slumped across one of the chair's that came with the room. Its face smoothed from one of wary grit to rapturous joy. Sphinx clambered down from the chair over toward me. Pressed its head onto my chest, and smiled with such beaming joy I couldn't help but mirror back.

"She kept watch over you the entire night."

Sphinx said, "I'd never entrust you to a puppeteer as cruel as they. Not again."

"Thanks," I said. "But, Secretary, Sphinx is an it, not a she."

Secretary raised a brow. Quirked their lips at some hidden amusement to my statement.

"Hmm," Secretary hummed. "Did you learn that from asking Sphinx?"

To be technical, I hadn't, but I knew my bondmate. I looked towards it and was shocked. Sphinx had stopped looking at me. Its smile now sickly and pained—not too dissimilar to someone trying to swallow food that was lovingly made but tasted like shit.

"Oh," I said.

Sphinx babbled, "It's a new thing. Pay no heed to it. Just another thought that woeful secretary plucked from my mind."

I mutely nodded. Then asked Secretary, "What about the hunt?"

"Over," Secretary said. "The points tabulated, and the dogs to their crates."

"Don't tell me you broke the Mother's Prayer getting me back," I said.

"Then I won't. What I will say requires you to get off of me."

Sphinx stepped back and followed me while I slipped from Secretary's lap. Got my feet under me and stood. I'd expected to find a weakness in my legs, my ribs, and my arms. I felt nothing—no, not nothing—just good. I turned the feeling over in my mind in disbelief. The memories of last night were clear as a freshly cleaned window.

"It was real," they said.

"What was it?" I asked.

"I don't know."

"The Lodge had a label for it. A White Womb."

"Yes, and that's the extent of my knowledge as well. The Lodge likely knows more, but I don't."

"Who would?" I asked.

Secretary made a drama of pressing finger to chin. Tilting their head this way and that.

"ERO might," they answered.

"ERO?" I asked.

"The Entity Research Organi—"

"I know what ERO is," I snapped. A flash of heat in the hind part of my brain.

"Poor little brute, can't be happy just knowing you killed it."

Breathe. "I'm happy it's gone, but if ERO is cooking up more of these. . ."

I trailed off. Remembering I was in a room with a Secretary. No matter the ease with which I fell into a rapport with one—mine—they would never be a friend in the way that mattered. Secretary's smile curved wanly. Then nodded once.

"Noted. Now, despite your displeasure, the Lodge does know how to say thank you."

Secretary rose and bowed. It was a straight-backed bow that bent entirely at the waist. Their hands folded over themselves atop their thighs.

"For the deed of slaying the White Womb, you've been afforded extra points atop the predetermined value each head from the hunting list would normally afford."

Secretary rose and settled back into their habitual slouch of complete bemusement.

"The second thanks is from me directly. You won me the office prize pool."

"I was the top hunter?" I asked.

"Alls below, no. You were above average I do believe."

"You said I got extra points."

"You did." Secretary smiled darkly, "But some of the dogs this hunt were very prolific. No, I'm referring to a different bet. After you emerged from that domestic ruin, all of the Secretaries wanted to gamble on whether you'd die, live, or ever walk again."

I shouldn't have been touched by the sentiment. "What was your bet?" I asked.

Secretary rolled their eyes.

"Why ask when you already know the answer?"

"I want to see if you'd lie."

"Fine. I knew you were too dumb to stay down, little brute," Secretary said. "It's your curse."

"More like my power."

"I find they're usually both. Now, I've placed your suit and mask within the trunk beneath your bed. That key of yours is there as well. If that's everything, then I'll go?"

Their voice lilted at the end. Was that everything? I thought of the mask, and the way that even when I held it in my hands I could feel my eyes wanting to just look away. Secretary took my silence for approval. Swayed toward the window—it was open—and my hand shot out to catch their wrist as an arm swung back.

"No," I said.

"You'll have to be more specific than no," they said.

"Who built the masks?"

"The Lodgemaster," Secretary answered. "She pioneered it back during her time with AoSI, some odd seven years ago. They've been implemented for wild hunts and missions ever since. Anonymity is so hard to find when cute summoners like you have sorcerous work-arounds."

"Great," I said.

"Really?"

"Yeah, glad to know she's been so involved."

"Hasn't she," Secretary said. "Though if I could, how can you stand right now? I remember you leaving that house on the edge of death. Did you work out a spell in your sleep?"

"Can anyone?"

"You'd be surprised. Oh well, if you don't have an answer, pay it no mind. Until later, little brute."

Secretary tossed themself back through my window. I rushed over, throwing my arm out into the air. I caught nothing because there was nothing. Secretary was gone, and before me was a pleasant view of the district waking up. People out for a jog, shopkeeps opening up for the day, and even children racing and laughing amidst the morning dew. Sphinx dragged me back inside.

"Any ideas why I'm in one piece?" I asked.

Sphinx shook its—her?—head. "None that would be definitive. I can only see the end result of the method. Your body temperature is a few degrees above the human norm. While your spirit's risen in density and mass."

Normally damage to your spiritual musculature causes dips. Back during school—which felt like a long time ago—a kid had caught a curse. Made things like chairs and tables Return to being disassembled pieces. When it finally was removed it apparently caused a dip in his density. He ranted about it all day in line for the spiritual exam.

"Any chance this is just me adjusting to my spells like Piggy said? Or maybe it's the remnant of sorcery in my body. Changing it like it did my eyes."

"Perhaps, but neither are definitive things. In the former, it would be unlikely for you to see such precipitous growth. Your spirit would be at most more flexible to support future strains."

"And the latter?"

"The change would usually be biological alone. Perhaps a path for future growth, but hardly growth in itself. The effects of residual sorcery have too many variables. Each human takes to it differently. While Court and the specific spell in question alter things as well."

"Nothing definitive then."

"Nothing," Sphinx said.

I dropped onto my bed. Sphinx hopped in so I could lean on it—her.

"If anyone asks, we say it was Inviolate Star. Amber and Melissa were there when the Omensight changed me. This is just a thing Revelation does."

Sphinx purred, "What does it do?"

"Reveals," I said, cringing at how much didn't get across in that answer.

"It is in the name."

"Let me try that again. Revelation, is about showing you something. A way forward, a way out, a way to win. But, it's a journey that'll change you in the process—and it should! Change you, that is, because what you find in that way is so profound that it'd be impossible not to be unmade by it. Emerge as something new even if it's something lonely."

I felt my mind trip when I closed my mouth. As if I was being led down a winding way, and upon arriving my guide let me trip on a root. Help me see the view from an unconventional angle. I could feel the rumbling purr that vibrated through Sphinx at my answer.

"You're a special summoner, Nadia. The only one I've heard of to come away smarter after what should've been brain damage."

I smirked, "I told you I was a fast learner. Always have been."

The rumbles became little thud-like hops—Sphinx was laughing. She was laughing.

"Sphinx, what's happening to you?" I asked.

"Pay it no mind."

"No. If it was just expressions then maybe, but you're different. You kissed me last night. What's happening to you?"

"You are," Sphinx hissed. "The bond is more than an access point to Sorcery, or an avenue for telepathy. It's an enmeshing of us. A slow bleeding of our colors into each other."

"Like two glasses of colored water poured back and forth."

Sphinx nodded.

"And my color?" I asked.

Sphinx whispered, "Painfully human. Beautifully you."

"How do you feel about that?"

"It's because of you I can really process that question," Sphinx said. "I'm afraid, I think. Each day since my summoning I feel more, understand more, but I forget. Oh I forget so much, and am just left with the fear of the gap that exists where knowledge used to reside."

"What did you know?"

"Everything. I think."

My throat went dry. I slid my hands on my thighs. Sphinx knew, everything? And was losing it because she was gaining feelings. A process that was my fault I suppose. The bleed of my color into hers. The spark for the development of something new, personal.

You're gaining a personality.

"And it takes up a lot of room. It's not all your fault though. Causality holds no love for what I knew and smuggled in when you summoned me—incarnated me into this world. It would have disappeared slowly anyways, but these developments hasten things."

"Can I do anything to help?"

Sphinx bent their neck down to look me in the eyes. I could actually see how red their eyes were—puffy too—and I knew I'd messed up.

"Just take responsibility. You're my tie to this world. To this current incarnation of myself. Of this self. If you perish then I'm gone. In a way that I've only just begun to understand. Besides, I wouldn't want to see you die anyway."

I accepted the chastisement. I was right that I needed practice, but running into a road littered with the corpses of others just as hubristic as me wasn't necessary. Fighting the White Womb rather than escaping when Piggy offered wasn't smart either. I wanted to make sure Melissa was safe, but as I looked into Sphinx's eyes—those eyes which rippled in burning rings of concentric color—I understood that I hadn't kept her safe. Let alone the dream that she and her Sovereign held of a return into the world.

"I'll be better. You'll get your vengeance as well, I promise."

Sphinx sighed, "Worry about your oaths when you can properly safeguard your life. Now, the mummer and maiden stir, and we still have tracks to clear."

Her eyes landed on the letters left on the desk. My task laid before me, Sphinx walked into my body to curl up within my spirit. While I snatched up the letters. I stayed my hand, briefly, because I knew I'd just have to rewrite them later. I was going to do better by my girls—all of them if I could help it—but it would never be a hundred percent safe.

"Ugh, Temple, you up?" Amber mumble-yelled through my door.

Her banging caused my confidence to tumble in on itself. I split infinity and let the flames consume the envelopes as I spun about to findt Amber leaning in the doorframe. Her face, hardly as "sleepy" as her voice implied.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Nothing, just some notes."

"In envelopes? We have a word for those."

"Teach me later."

I slipped past Amber into the living room. Then stopped. Something was off about the room. I made a slow turn, and watched as the lights of the room fell unevenly across everything. Walls, floors, couch, coffee table, everything was splattered with a weird dullness where the light didn't catch right. I finished my rotation with my gaze on Amber.

"Did something happen?" I asked.

"If it did, wouldn't you have heard," Amber said.

She smiled at me and then drifted over to Melissa's door to knock on hers next. Though she'd flung the door open before Amber's knuckles touched the wood. Already put together she took a look at both of us and clapped her hands. I couldn't help but jump. Amber noticed.

"They say the body remembers more than the mind."

I hissed back, "Shut up."

"Get ready," Melissa said. "Breakfast is being served right now, and I don't want to lose out on any of the good stuff."

Amber tousled Melissa's freshly-brushed hair. "You bounced back pretty well after last night's meal. Especially after all those drinks."

"I produce worse toxins in the venom sac at the base of my spine. Now, let's go."

With Melissa tapping her foot by the door, Amber and I got ready in record time. Though Melissa stopped me when I had grabbed Mother's Last Smile. She reminded me were going to breakfast, not battle, but it wasn't out of combat preparation that I'd went to grab it. I just felt better when my glaive was in my hand. Though reason eventually ruled out when Sphinx said that we'd be giving my identity away too easily to my fellow dogs from last night's wild hunt.

* * *​

Brightgate's Lodge district was nothing like my memories from last night. There were no masked killers whooping and hollering with each green check off their list. I didn't see any of the blood that slipped into the gaps of the cobblestone streets. As we marched up a slope we passed the storefront I had smashed through the front window of when I killed that spider. In the daytime it was a laundromat.

Walls lined with shrines that doubled as cleaning tubs. People in pajamas or their most worn down clothes waited as their fabrics had even the memory of dirt or grime cleared from the fibers. There wasn't the streak of blood across the floor I had expected to be there. Alls below, there was actual glass in the window which I hadn't expected either.

As we marched we took a bend down a street and I saw the apartment building that had been a nest last night. A sign out front said: Rooms for rent. I looked up and saw that where there should've been a massive hole in the facade it was just good as new. Well, not new, but good as yesterday's morning at least.

We weren't as lucky as Melissa hoped—there was already a line for breakfast—but it wasn't that bad. Though you'd think each person was fixing a plate that matched the one she saw for herself from how she tapped her fingers against her legs. A fast beat for big worries. It was only a couple of more minutes before we got to grab our plates and go.

Breakfast was being served in one of the Lodge's banquet halls. The center of the hall was littered with curved booths filled with plush seats upholstered in formation fabrics. The interlaced phonemes were finely tessellated to keep stains from setting. While the floor was polished marble inlaid with lines of gold formations of Collection—an assumption I made from how those who'd finished eating would slide their plates and cups off the table to the floor. Each utensil and piece of dishware disappearing with a psychedelic ripple in the marble. While From the ceilings dangled golden shrines that when initiated—from a dial set in the center of the table—caused a misty curtain to descend. Surrounding the table in a privacy screen the color of a gentle intimate sunrise. The light of which brought a warmth to the dining room that allowed the blinds to stay lowered over the bay windows. There'd be no rude summer sun to sear your eye's shut in that instinctive urge to stay asleep—slow to accept the labors the day would bring.

Along the walls were stations manned by chefs of Mastery. Each one offering a single dish made to perfection—as far as non-conceptual fare could go. We were only examinees after all. The line moved quicker than you'd expect seeing as the chefs each employed a field-spell to bend the temporal mandates of what was possible when it came to cooking. Still, I couldn't bring myself to care much about the food. My memory—and my eyes—turning toward my fellow dogs. How feral we were when released from the burden of identity, and how much unity we had even as competitors in seeking out prey. When I looked over the line and the floor, I only saw starving men with dark eyes unwilling to share the riches they've just had a taste of. There were a few who were different, but I didn't take note of them really at the time. I had only one I wanted to take note of. Find, and he wasn't here.

"You look disappointed, Temple," Amber said.

We slid past the waffle station and its chef whose face was of a dreamy peace as ten waffles cooked in the air. While his hands added ingredients into the ring of batter that he continually made and circled through the air about him. I waved at the spread of syrups and agaves that waited in quaint little decanters on a nearby table. Conjuring up a reason for whatever it was she read in my face.

"They don't have the maple syrup I'm used to. It's this habanero-maple blend."

"Habanero-maple? I'm kind of glad they don't. Sounds horrible."

"Never, it's the perfect thing for chicken and waffles. Has this sweet-smokiness that's so good. With a little burn so you know you're alive. Mom raised me on the stuff."

Melissa added, "It's definitely a try before you disregard. Nadia's mom had this super special recipe. Never told it to anyone, so only she could make it just right."

I felt a pressure against my chest. Exhaled a bit too loudly, and saw Melissa shrink in on herself a bit. She hadn't done anything wrong—it was my excuse to use—but I had forgotten that bit. That I'd never get that taste ever again.

I waved weakly as Amber and Melissa shuffled off, apologetic for pain that was ultimately self-inflicted. All because I didn't want to answer the obvious questions that'd follow after my real answer. I was looking for Piggy. I remembered him carrying me out, but I knew nothing about after. Though I don't even know why I tried looking for him. He was big enough that if he was around you wouldn't need to look.

I slid down toward the omelets. Couldn't help imagining what I'd do if Piggy was here. If he'd say something first or slide his hand across the small of my back. Hook his fingers about my side and give a small—squeeze? I slid down the line to get a good look at who touched me.

Handsome. That was the first thought that slipped past the daze I'd fallen into at the sight of her. She was tall—between Amber and Piggy's heights—with an angular physique that dripped down toward the hips that peeked just above the low-rise of her pants. If Piggy was some fusion between tiger and bear, then she was all wolf. From her shaggy cut to the slouch that masked her proper height. What wasn't masked though was that face with a jaw a girl would want to slice her wrists with because who wanted to see anything else after that. It definitely helped that she was covered in bright silver piercings that complimented the gentle tan of her skin. Bars through her proud nasal ridge, a ring about her septum, and bands that looped over her lips. She had piercings that dangled from her ears—a stylized sun. Sunglasses however hid her eyes.

"Hey, I'm not talking to a pillar right now am I?" she asked. Fuck, her voice had a rasp meant for the blues. From the guitar bag over her shoulder I wondered if she'd play for me.

"Fuck, I did get a pillar. Damn power cables."

"No, no, you didn't," I stammered. "Get a pillar, that is. I'm a person. Not a pillar."

"Oh, the silence was a bit long. Can you tell me what's in that?"

She pointed to the omelet station in front of us.

"Don't think taking off the sunglasses would help?"

"I try all the time," she said. "But it doesn't seem to."

She drew her sunglasses down to reveal eyes that were clouded over.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," I said. "It's omelets. The soft gooey kind you break over rice. They have plain rice, with steak, and the third is um lots of mushrooms and peppers."

"Sweet," she said.

Then slipped past me to gesture at the sign to the chef for the mushrooms and peppers one. It joined the stack of fruits and bread already on her plate. She was a vegetarian wolf. I quickly got my own omelet and hurried over to the floor to find Amber and Melissa. They'd grabbed a booth while I lingered.

"I think I met a vegetarian wolf lady," I said.

Melissa asked, "What?"

I leaned across the table a bit, and pointed out the woman. She sat in a booth with nothing but her guitar for company. Melissa swatted my side in excitement—she had a tendency to hit whenever she saw a pretty girl. I often came home with a bruise if one of our people watching sessions proved too arousing that day.

"Okay, yeah, that's woah," she said.

Amber rolled her eyes. "Where'd you meet her?"

"In front of the omelets," I said.

"Omelets aren't vegetarian."

"They're not?"

Melissa explained, "The eggs."

"That makes sense, but still…"

"Oh, she's very hot. Maybe I should talk to her," Melissa mused.

Then chuckled into her horchata from the look my face made. I didn't want to imagine anyone with Melissa, but a woman like my wolf made that stance feel a little less firm.

"I'm unimpressed," Amber said.

She swirled her coffee before taking a big swig backwards. Melissa backhanded Amber's comment from the air.

"You're never impressed."

Amber disagreed, "I am when I am. I just haven't seen anything worth the feeling in awhile."

Her gaze landed on me, and that heat she kept hidden behind the joviality leaked out. I stopped watching the wolf and instead dropped my eyes to my food. Amber hummed pridefully at that. I stole a glance over to her table one last time—she was looking at us. Well, our direction at least.

It was about a half hour into breakfast before the proctor arrived. A harsh wind cut through the air at the appearance of a narrow rhombus cut into space that stood eight feet tall. Narrow however in the sense of one getting a peek at the beginning of an alley. The proctor arrived first, a broad man with a prodigious gut in a buttoned cotton shirt and a silk vest over fine trousers. His face covered a third by his mustache and another third by wide black circle glasses. He dropped to the floor, and held out his arms for the secretary that tumbled out of the aerial alley. Their hair swept up into a dripping copper crown. They squirmed in the proctor's grasp for a moment before he set them down.

"No more Alleys!" the boyish secretary screeched. "I wanted a shortcut."

"It was short, and we cut," the proctor said, his voice airy in age.

"Through space. Which is the defining trait of an Alley. They're always so wet."

"When we're done we can go through a more windy one. Will help with the drying."

"It was only two floors. Now, do the stupid presentation."

The secretary dropped into a booth. Formed a hand-spell that caused a wide screen to form in the air above the entire hall—it had a dusty pink hue to it. On the screen was a close-up of the proctor's face. His cheeks were ruddy and his nose just slightly askew from some poorly healed blow he suffered in some raucous past.

"Hello everyone, I'm the proctor for the first test," he said. "I consider it a pleasure to note that as your first proctor I shall be explaining the structure for this year's exam as a whole. To those who have arrived at this starting line through exemptions of the year's prelim, or the rest of you that had the wisdom, skill, and strength needed to overcome the teeming dreaming masses of those that strove to stand where you are right now; do not waste the moment you're in. You might not get to experience it again."

His eyes rolled over us—beyond us—to the ghosts of prior year's examinees. I shuddered beneath the weight that fell over the room. My knee—unconsciously restless—suddenly stilled and my feet felt dragged into the floor like I had six feet to fall until my resting spot.

"Good. Stay here, like this, and you'll get through this exam. Cause it is not about winning or losing, nor success or failure. If you want to pass, it's life or death. Yours or theirs," he said. "Now, as to the structure of this year's exam. Lodgemaster Khapoor has decided to test you in the most practical way possible; doing the job itself."

His face dragged to the right while shrinking on screen. Three bullet points dropped beside him but had almost nothing informative. They filled as he spoke.

"The first, Information Protection and Retrieval," he said. "As fulfilling our role of summoners it comes to us to safeguard the architects of the New World and its futures. This being why so often a lab or research group has on loan at least one Lodgemember to protect the fruits of their work. As well as the bodies of the researchers who made it possible."

He continued, "And it's to that same end which we might come to be tasked with retrieving information from those whose research may be the undoing of everything we struggled to build. Thus why I'm your proctor for this test, as I head the committee which manages and posts these positions. As for the two tests they will be examining you through the lens of the other myriad of duties that you might undertake for the Lodge. So for those who've already decided they'll be passing, think about what else we do hear if you want to get an idea of what awaits. Secretary, could you please?"

The secretary slid from their booth. Swiped their hand to display the next slide; four logos belonging to the four major research groups: ERO, AoSI, SIRD, and the Orphean League.

"You'll be coming up here and telling us which of the four groups you'd like to be assigned to for this test. Afterwards you'll be free to leave and wait to receive your assignment. We'll be going in order of rank for picking."

Someone yelled out, "What do you mean in order of rank?"

"How'd you rank us if some did the prelim and others didn't?" asked another.

Questions rolled from the crowd in a murky discontent—not willing to accept someone might have an edge on them, but also unwilling to get rid of what could be a potential boon.

The secretary skewered them all in one answer. "The exam is more than the tests. We're always watching, and you're always being judged. However, we don't love to announce that because it makes you all so tense."

Booming, the proctor laughed, "Wait until you realize how many of you have already been eliminated. Show them."

The secretary shrugged and swiped up to a different slide. On it were squares upon squares of reddened pictures, their associated names, and reasons for being eliminated clearly stated and scrolled through. Rare was the gift of an elimination reason that differed from, 'Killed' or 'Lost'.

The proctor answered the unspoken question. "Killed is for those who were such. Lost is for those lost while in service to the Lodge and its aims."

"Please, be safe with all nighttime activities," the secretary said.

From there they started listing names. Amber, Melissa, and myself kept one ear out for our name to be called in the proctors airy grandpa voice.

"Which one we doing?" Amber asked

Melissa said, "I don't really care. Do we go for what seems like it'll have the least people? We don't know what type of test it'll be exactly. Maybe we don't want a lot of people."

"For the same reason, maybe we do. It's not a good criteria to go on. Temple, you have an opinion?"

ERO, I barked out in my mind. The answer was quick, instinctual, a need to feed into or smother the fear of another White Womb that gathered in my mind in the only way possible, information. Then I reeled in the feeling. If I came out with all that feeling it'd be too much. They'd ask questions. Night would blur into day.

"But still you want answers," Sphinx said. "Forward, Nadia."

I exhaled, "ERO."

Opened my eyes to see Amber and Melissa reading my face. I wonder what the text said.

"I expected AoSI," Melissa said.

Amber added, "After the outpost I'd agree."

It would have given me more answers about the axis mundi that the killers used, but I could get that later. Right now I wanted only one thing and that was an explanation for last night.

I said, "I can worry about that and the others whenever. I want to be in the here and now, and I didn't hear too many choose ERO. Though it wasn't like too many did choose it either. We go for the balanced option."

There wasn't a lie either of them could read in me—cause there wasn't a lie. It wasn't my deepest truth, but it was a truth of my reasoning. Which was good enough for Melissa by how she fell back into the seat. Amber was the harder—always the harder sell—but she shrugged in the end. Acceptance or an inconclusive determination?

"Alright. Anyways, you're up first princess," Amber said.

She slid out of the booth so Melissa could leave to go put her name down for ERO. Then told us to meet her outside. I was the second to be called up before them. Up close, the proctor seemed smaller, not the large imposing figure I saw on the screen. Though after I gave my answer—ERO, obviously—I couldn't help but sneak a look back toward him. Blinked on the Omensight and immediately was blinking it off before the brilliance of an Earl seared itself into my vision. I was still trying to smudge it down when Amber finally exited the hall.

"How'd we get called up before you?" Melissa asked. "You're the Baron."

"No idea, princess, maybe it's just too hard to judge my magnificence," Amber offered.

"Whatever, let's go head into the city."

I peered up at her from my seat on a bench. "Why?" I asked.

"Well, I told my mom before I left that I'd give her a call when I made it to Brightgate. It slipped my mind the first day, and then I realized we'd have to get our sorc-decks synced to the local network before I can even make a call."

"The district has its own local network we can just get on."

Amber asked, "Were you thinking a private or a public?"

"Public," she said.

"Okay, Temple we're going into the city."

"What's so special about a public network?"

Amber said, "The temple for Brightgate's public network is right atop the city library. Princess here is thinking after we get synced we can do some research. Isn't that right?"

Melissa nodded. "I figured we could try to learn something about your dad, Nadia. Maybe by knowing him better we could figure out who'd want to go after him."

My mouth stopped working as I oscillated between a touched smile and simple awe. I always did trend towards tunnel vision, each new question eclipsing the previous one. With all thoughts turned toward yesterday's monster I'd nearly forgotten the question of two nights ago. I nodded and acquiesced to Melissa's plan. We'd see what we could learn about my father, and in the process ignore the fact that depending on the test we might have our oaths to each other tested.

 

[MxOberon]

It took us two cable cars to arrive at the heart of Brightgate, a large hill of many terraces devoted to civic buildings, a few residential areas, and the amenities needed to support them all. The driver for the cable car explained that it was the center of the city because it was the first hill to settle down and propose treaties of peace with the others. As compared to the Lodge district, it was apparent that the city had a peaceful heart despite the dogs that ran wild only two cable cars away—and the one that stood on the steps to the First Brightgate Public Library & Temple.

At its most simple, the building was a boxy resolute thing of concrete and brutalist determination. Yet it was adorned with stony petals that made the whole thing look fluffy and inviting. From the cable car you could see the temple that was built halfway into the terrace above the library with the other half resting atop its roof. The temple was larger than the one Dad had built back home. Designed using different principles for the same end result—providing access to the NewNet for about half of the city—it was something alien to look at. Dad's temple was a thing of beams and pillars, all squared and wooden, but arranged like the most confounding puzzle box and living room game. Where if you removed just one beam the entire thing would collapse, but by them all being together it had weathered everything. Well, everything short of a goddess falling atop it. No, this temple was so fragile to look at. A twenty-sided polyhedral tesseract of colored glass that scattered wandering beams of color that painted the simple civic buildings while bouncing the beams off what glass they did have.

Rainbow polka dots crawled across our bodies as we stood there admiring the building. Soaking up the light that bounced off the temple atop the library. We took the stairs that cut through the winding slope which led to its double-sized front doors. Once inside we stalled again, as the sturdy concrete exterior hid an organic interior of rounded wooden terraces that formed the central reading area. Families sat on blankets as parents read to their children, and pairs of teens enjoyed coffees while co-reading magazines. At different terraces there were hallways that branched off to the library's many sections.

We climbed up the stairs past terrace after terrace until we hit the administrative floor of the library. There wasn't much to see beyond the hallways that led to offices, meeting rooms, and other unromantic locales that saw librarians to work. At the center of it all was a pair of double-helixed elevators which carried patrons, like us, to the temple up above. They were made from this succulent-red glass that reminded me of the organs that had looped about some of the Lodge district's lamps last night. I exhaled a breath that wobbled under the pressure of my own gorey recollection.

"Are you going to be okay?" Melissa asked.

I scoffed, "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"It's your first temple since you lost yours," Amber answered. "Wouldn't be off to be off about it."

"So," I said, "you're both worried I'll bawl at the sight of some sorc-desktops and ancient Old World computers? I think I'm stronger than that."

I pushed past them to catch an elevator a second-to from leaving. The shimmering chrome doors cut me off from Melissa and Amber. I tapped my head against them and offered a brief smile to the grandmother in a pair of sunday-sweats as Mom referred to her laziest pair of clothes—I'd packed them for myself to sleep in. They maybe had a few days left before they stopped smelling of her.

When the doors opened I slowly stepped out into a nightmare world of light and noise. The grandmother was unbothered by the kaleidoscopic color which shifted seven shades in every direction. Bounded off happily into the rows and rows of screaming arcade cabinets, claw machines, and other games that saw a litany of patrons roaring and laughing in mad glee. It was worse than the wild hunt. Melissa and Amber arrived soon after finding me on a nearby bench.

"Holy shit, Temple, was your place like this?" Amber asked.

"You'd never been?" I asked.

"I have a lot to do most days. Never had any work that took me to your side of town."

"Short answer is no," I said. "Dad had quiet sensibilities. Why he enjoyed putting so much emphasis on the cafe part of computer cafe. Was his way of helping people wind down and connect. But every temple architect is allowed to monetize however they want around the function of providing NewNet access."

"Says who?"

"SIRD. Was their major stipulation as a group when they released the first plans for rebuilding the 'net to encourage individuals to build temples in as many places as possible."

"So whoever did the build here got to decide that this place would be an arcade," Amber said. "Alls below, didn't think I'd see something like this since Tokyo."

"You mean Shin-Tokyo?" I asked. "You've been?"

"Years ago. Though these days most just call it Tokyo."

Melissa interjected, "Does the architect get to design the temple outfits as well?"

I followed her arm as it pointed out one of the temple-girls advancing toward us. Her vestments were a two-piece of a two-toned googie jacket and skirt combo. Though from the jacket's crop and how short the skirt fell due to the multi-hued petticoat beneath, they hardly seemed enough fabric to make either.

"They do," I said.

When the temple-girl arrived she asked, "How can we help you today?"

Melissa said, "We're just trying to get our sorc-decks linked to the network while we're in town."

"Smart move," the temple-girl said. "Follow me."

As we followed her into the depths of this torturous arcade the architect designed, I did my best to just admire the tiles. It was the best option between making my eyes bleed from overstimulation or being stuck to observe the temple-girl's flouncing skirt. The sight of which made my indignation roil into near-rage. There's a propriety to temples. To the vestments worn by its girls, boys, and kin. It's not a religious thing, but it's an honorable one. He may have run a small town's temple but he knew that much. Dad knew that much.

The temple-girl led us through a door into the only quiet place in here: the confessionals. There were about six booths built for each wall not counting the one the door was set into. They were only big enough for one person and a small counter for you to place your sorc-deck that you wanted linked to the network. Dad's were pretty austere—all wood—but the function was an austere one. You had to clearly state your identity and last network access point. Any hint of a lie meant no NewNet until you told the truth. A way to keep people honest seeing as the Old World's net granted copious ways to anonymity. 'One of the positives and issues of the net that was,' Dad used to say. This place's confessionals had fucking plush pillows.

"What'd two questions they ask to give you a face like that, Temple?" Amber asked.

"My face is fine," I said. Fixing my face into something presentable.

Amber smirked at my attempt. I turned from her to Melissa whose thumbs danced across her sorc-deck. She looked up from it blushing an apologetic hue.

Melissa said, "My mom's freaking out, so I have to call her. Meet you two at the cafe next door?"

"Sure," I said.

She texted me a list of books she'd put together for us to pour over. Then hurried off for the cafe, her sorc-deck already to her ear. Amber and I took to searching the stacks. As we followed Melissa's list we cut through the history section—most libraries are pretty clear about what shelves hold books on the Changeover—and after loading all of those onto my sorc-deck the two of us hopped down two terraces to access the Myth and Folklore section. Melissa had the Gospel of the Godtenders on the list, and Changeover Folktales and Fairymyths. Apparently Brightgate had the fancy original version with all of the researcher's marginalia from penning each entry. As well as the illustrated character plates that occupied the page next to every entry.

I ran my eyes over the dark bluish free-standing walls that served as the library's stacks. Each wall marked by about fifty rectangular boxes across and five down denoting the glass servers that held about twenty books each. I waved my sorc-deck across the inlaid beads that functioned as the access port for my sorc-deck to read the server's book list.

"Temple, did you ever wear a temple-girl's vestments?" Amber asked.

"For a few summers. I started manning the temple three years ago. My mom wore the vestments way more than me."

"Were they—"

"No," I barked. "They were long. Normal. Not something floofy like the girls here."

"Any photos I can see?"

"Ask Melissa."

"Who'd you kill last night?"

I froze. Tilted my head out one end of the stacks scanned both ends of the room for anyone nearby. When I felt like we were alone—and had used the Omensight to confirm we were—I returned to scanning the shelves.

"No one."

"That's a lie, Temple," she said.

"You can read my mind now?" I said, whirling on her.

"No, but when you kill enough people your eyes start to turn red. Yours are flecked with carmine."

I reached up to my eye unconsciously. I was trying too hard to keep fixed an invisible mask, and Amber caught me trying to adjust it back in place. Her smirking mien cracked as grin turned to grimace. She reached out to me and I slid backwards—I was caught and didn't want to be touched.

"Is it really?" I asked softly.

Amber wrapped her hand about her other one. Leaned against the wall opposite me. The stacks were narrow with a little under four feet between them. Yet we found plenty of places to look at that wasn't each other. We had that much courtesy.

"Uh, not by and large. I knew one girl who it happened too, but she was fucking crazy. Changes like that can happen when you move up the Chain, but it's not happening to you."

"Good. I have my mom's eyes. That's what everyone said."

"Yeah, I remember hearing that. Temple, who were they?"

"Other," I said confidently. "Just like you said. No name, no face, and no problem. They were bad though."

"Ah," she said, refreshed like she'd just taken the first sip of cold bear. "Took my advice?"

"Mhmm. Worked great too. Thanks for that," I said.

My eyes traced a squiggle around her face—I had to know, I just had to know—but it was shadowed by the way her head tilted. A great inky black that obscured her face. When she was ready she turned back to me, and into the light.

"They worth it?"

"I learned how to strike through fate."

"Fate?" she asked.

"It's what I call the lines, threads that connect everything to every other thing."

Amber rocked on her heels. "Sympathy lines."

"What?"

"No such thing as fate, Temple, but there are sympathy lines. Conceptually connects 'everything to every other thing.' A lot of formations and complex spell work makes use of them."

I bit down on my own denial. Maybe that's what she and others called it. I knew what it was thought, and it was sympathy and it was fate. That extra special connection.

Defensively, I said, "Sure, but I also got a spell. A defensive one. I have my four."

"Mhmm," Amber said.

"What?"

"I mean, Temple, you're at the starting line now. Maybe it's a good spell, but tell me it wasn't a lot of people?"

My breath shortened. I could feel my wrists tensing from how my fists dragged themselves tight and dense as a star.

"Temple, please?"

"Temple—"

I snarled and threw myself at Amber. Trapped her against one of the stacks with both my arms barring an easy escape in either direction. My face was close enough that I could count her eyelashes—well I could if my eyes weren't so blurry at the time. I just blinked rapidly to clear them up since I needed my hands to keep Amber trapped.

"Stop asking me things!" I hissed. "You don't get to ask me things, or act like I'm just so readable. Maybe I don't want you to see what's inside. Maybe I want to be fucking blissful before we go into this madness of a test later. Maybe I just. . ."

"Maybe?" Amber asked.

"Maybe I'm tired of you asking me everything and taking answers from me while giving over nothing I want to know. So I'm done."

Amber smirked at my primal grunts and hisses of displeasure. Her calm still around her she clasped my wrists in her grip then spun us about. Pressed my back into the wall, and pinned my arms above my head. She loomed over me with a bemused smile that had her incisors peeking out from behind full lips. Yet try as I might I couldn't evade her rosy eyes that sought me out from every hiding spot within myself. She just saw me.

"Ask me a question," she ordered.

"No, you're not going to answer."

"I will, Temple."

"No."

She shook me once. The inlaid bead ground itself into my shoulder blade.

Amber whispered, "Any question. I'll answer."

"What happened last night?" I asked.

Amber's face softened. "Thought you'd give me a harder question. I killed people, Temple. A lot of people, but they were more dogs than people. Had these masks."

"Masks," I said. "Masked dog-people."

"Don't say it like I'm lying," she chastised.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Why'd you ask?"

"Cause everything looked so weird. Dull in spots."

Amber nodded as she understood. Removed a hand from imprisoning my arm—her other hand took up the slack easily—and held her palm out to me. Waved it to catch the light.

"Dull," I said.

"Hm, well congrats Temple. Seems like your special eyes came home with a new feature. You can see, at least partially, into the UV section of light."

"So those splatters. . ."

"Blood. Lucky us as I think urine would be more of a problem. We'd have to ask the princess's mom to give us her special spell to get it out."

I only cared about Amber's initial answer. Blood. Splattered all over the room in arcs and droplets and massive running globs. My eyes fell on the palm she showed me, and the dull arm that matched. Blood to her elbows.

"Why?"

"I didn't have much time to interrogate them. Their little pack was pretty big, and I had to work fast. Didn't want them to harm Melissa. I knew you'd hate it if a single one got through."

"If a single one," I said.

"Exactly."

"But that many summoners and not having an attack spell?"

"I had said maybe I don't have one. Though it wasn't as many as you'd think. Most of them just bled a lot and though a traditionalist I can be a bit rusty."

She reached into her storage-spell and removed a chef's knife still dripping in muddy red blood that hid every inch of steel that was needed to gather that much blood. I nodded slowly at the weapon. So humble. Then to Amber, who winked and slid the knife back into her storage-spell.

"You're not scared of me, Temple?" she asked. Her face flushed ever so slightly.

I said, "No. I'm glad you were there. If Melissa. . . but why'd the wild hunt come for us?"

"Maybe the Secretary went tattling with some thought they shouldn't know. I don't know, but we were bound to face enemies when we set forth. It wasn't anything I didn't expect. Nor be unprepared to do again."

My lip quivered. She stilled it with her thumb. Ran it across my lips before touching it to her own.

"Are you sure it won't be too many ghosts for you to drink for?"

"Temple, I have a necropolis in my closet. What are a few more ghosts between friends?" she asked. "I kill for you after all. Whether I stay my hand, or drown this place in a red wave it'll only be for you. Always for you."

My cheeks were dusted with a nearly imperceptible blush. Her eyes never broke from mine throughout her gentle declaration. She tilted her head, and assumed an almost submissive expression. Eyes just barely wet.

"Do you want me to keep doing it?" Amber asked.

Her lips hovered over mine. "Yes," I breathed.

"Who dies?"

"You'll know best."

"No, Temple, I want to know clearly who dies. I don't want you snapping at me again. Who?"

"Anyone in my way," I said. It was too broad, my answer, but Amber's smile was even broader. A waxed moon of pleasure at the command that felt more like I was releasing something.

She dropped my arms and took a step back. Her body arched into the stack opposite me. My heart throbbed in my ears. My skin was hot from having been beneath her eyes.

"Do you like it?" I asked.

"What's it?"

"You know what I mean."

"Do I? Let's use our words, Temple. We are in a library."

"Killing. Do you like it?" I asked.

Scenes of her smile as she danced with the cultists back in the outpost before drugging them spiraled into my mind.

"Not really. It's the most boring time. The dying of one thing, and the perpetuation of another who won their life by sacrificing something else's. Seen that a hundred times. The fight through," she said. "I cherish the fight. To see each new person and what genius they've brought into this world, or treachery that might redefine what summoner on summoner combat looks like."

Amber dragged in a thin breath before exhaling in a puff of luxurious release.

She continued, "But beneath the steps is the person. What led them to this moment? Moved them to throw their life into the air in the hopes they'd still be standing to catch it. Is it just a job, or is this a matter of utmost vengeance—like your reasons are. Then when they start to come undone—they always come undone when they catch sight of death's shadow—you learn who they were before this moment. The person they've decided is worth the life of another human being. It's so intimate. With a climax I'll never get enough of as we reach the ending and steel penetrates the safety of their rib cage. Nicks the heart, and lets spill their life."

At some point in her answer a heat had settled against my heart. It pounded a lustful beat that missed the way blood painted the cobblestones just right; made it feel so good as it splattered against my skin. Amber quirked a brow at seeing the state she'd brought me to. A panting dog.

"Everything after that moment, gets boring," she finished.

The denial was a polar front that chilled me back to self-awareness. My eyes flicked about in search of any voyeur that'd pushed Amber to stop. She winked at me—no voyeur, but not here—she said without words.

Amber waved her own sorc-deck over a bead—a hit. She used her thumb to select the option from a drop down menu that downloaded the Gospel. I quietly turned back to my stack. It was three beads over and one down before I found the server that had Changeover Folktales and Fairymyths. Both books downloaded, we made our way to the cafe to find Melissa.

* * *​

Since I knew Amber had more money than me, I had her go buy us some drinks. I didn't drink coffee and neither did she, but the place milkshakes and I was craving something indulgent. While she did that I sought out Melissa. Bobbing up and down to peer around the two-seat and four-seat drinking pods that made up the interior. I heard Melissa before I saw her.

"I don't know what I'm doing after the exam," she said. "I know. I know, I said I only wanted to see Nadia off, but we got exemptions. Don't ask me how unless you're ready for one of your four hearts to collapse."

She sipped from her coffee—it was in a tiny mug—and slouched inside her pod. I'd found her in a corner where you could barely hear the phone call. She was so into it that I barely had to hide as I eavesdropped on her.

"If we pass, I don't know what comes next. I'll probably take my Lodgemember card and turn it in for an acceptance to some university or other. Brightgate has an intercontinental station. I could go anywhere. With Nadia? No, no not with her. Yeah, I promise Mom, after this it's probably where we part ways. No, I agree, it's for the best."

I crumpled the end of my shirt in my fists. I'd thought—I don't know what I thought. She'd come all this way, but that didn't mean she'd come the entire way with me. It'd be for the best if she didn't actually. I wouldn't have done the wild hunt if I didn't have to make things safer for her. My tongue slipped past my lips as I stuck it out at the Nadia reflected in the shiny brass shell coating the pods—that Nadia, me, knew that wasn't a fair excuse.

Amber slipped behind me as I wallowed in the muck of a goodbye I didn't have to make yet. She pressed the cold metal canister that held my milkshake against the back of my neck. I yelped and hopped out from my cover. Shot up as I locked eyes with Melissa who hurriedly hung up on her mom. I didn't look back at Amber as I rushed over to the pod Melissa had established for us. Amber slid into the pod on Melissa's side.

Melissa started, "Nadia—"

"Apparently they have a sakura flavored milkshake. Want a sip?" I asked.

She nodded and let me shut her up with the thick milkshake that took forever to squeeze itself through the metal straw. Her eyes were scrunched as she smiled around the straw at the pleasant taste. The straw fell from her lips with an airy pop.

"How was it?"

"Really sweet," she said. Not even once looking back to the frothy pink milkshake. When I had my sip, I couldn't taste anything beyond the bitter flavor of Melissa's lips.

We uploaded the books we'd gathered into the group chat that Melissa made when she sent us the list. I sucked down my milkshake—riding it to the end so I didn't have to speak—as we got to work. My thumbs swiping across my sorc-deck to turn the pages of the double-page spread conjuration that hovered in front of my face—I hated bending my neck.

First were the history books, but there wasn't much to be read. There were a few historical groups trying to put together a record of the Changeover—problem was how do you cover the end of the world in one book? So while some groups chased the dragon on putting together the perfect definitive text others released multiple volumes on every continent. An absolute pain to reference considering some of the major fights of the period spanned multiple continents and bounced between Realspace and the Underside until they ended. Meaning you'd finish one paragraph then open a different volume to read another only to go through at least three other volumes before you finished one moment.

Melissa, ever the student, focused on journals instead. Pretty much everyone who survived wrote a journal or two. Noted down their experiences, grievances, and blessings if they were so lucky. Dad said he tried to keep one back in the day, but found most of his journals destroyed or lost as he bounced around the Changeover. When I think of that and the photos in that album, I wondered if they were destroyed during some old fights of his. Simple sacrifices that he'd have no idea would contribute to how gone he felt.

"Most of these journals are useless," Amber said.

They were.

Melissa said, "I know, I just wanted to grab anything that referenced godtenders. It is the biggest detail about her dad's identity."

It was. If you didn't see how he died, and if he wasn't your dad.

I sighed, "This textbook doesn't have much either. It's more about the Godtenders as a group than godtenders as like, people. Lists all the important ones: Jiyoon the godtender of Tomorrow, Ahmed the godtender of Confession, and Marguerite Ghost-shepherd the godtender of Ghosts."

They had the rest of the nine of course, but it's why the book was useless. The nine godtenders were famous—divine mortals if you believed the followers of the Gospels. Each of them critical to one piece or another of the New World. Jiyoon had made the Thunder Declaration. Ahmed had compelled the Old World leaders to tell the truth of their plots to turn man against man. While Marguerite quelled the lich lords that sprung up from the battlefields across Turtle Island and prevented them from making it out alive—well, undead, I suppose. If any of them had died it'd be global news. Dad didn't even make the front page of the town paper.

Melissa perked up and spun her own projected pages in my direction. I closed my projection and gave hers a once over. She'd highlighted a short passage of the journal: Through a blackened world lit by stars, she led us from the burning tips of Abya Yala to the tepid center of its northern end. Her breath was even and her temperament caring as she looked over us. A saint with a smile that shamed the moon. My niece, Clara, said that people called women like her 'godtenders'. Bonded to entities that made magic mundane and miracles common.

"There's not a woman like this amidst the nine," Melissa said.

"Okay, are you thinking my dad was a woman?"

"No, but that's a fair point. What I'm saying is we can confirm easily your dad wasn't one of the nine that actually make up the Godtenders. But entries like this means there are probably more godtenders running about than make up the nine. Which means we ignore history—"

"After we already read them all," Amber chimed.

Melissa ignored her. "We ignore history, and focus on folklore. The Gospel is mainly on the deeds of the nine, so we go straight to Folktales and Fairymyths."

"Fine. Let's see what's here," I said.

I duplicated my projection for Melissa and Amber, and then opened the book. Its chapters had titles like: Tales of the Unbonded, Conceptual Travel Stories, and Diasporic Survival Sagas. Before. . . everything, I used to read more. Most of the time it was temple and shrine architecture magazines. A few serial fiction catalogs I'd found on the NewNet and would download for Mom—we had different tastes, but now and again I'd find my head in her lap as she read a story. In fact, she had read Folktales and Fairymyths to me when I was a kid. Most people's parents did, but they usually stuck to the long meandering ones emphasizing adventure, an unwillingness to give in, and ingenuity. The good children's stories.

Mom never cared much about good children's stories. She read me a little bit of everything from the dark diasporic sagas of communities whittled down to an undying nub as they traversed the death world of the Changeover to the haunting stories of unbonded entities roaming the hidden parts of the world. Though as I flicked through the chapter titles I tripped over the one category that she never read: Wandering Folk, a chapter on those weird figures who'd pop up all over the world, but who never fit into a neat archetype.

Knowing their relationship to Every Train, I hurriedly opened the section. The story that began it was less of a story, but more like anecdotes and interviews with maybe the longest entry being a few pages out of the twenty that composed the section of the chapter.

"The Ten Cruelties," Amber said. "That's a deep cut."

"Who are they?" Melissa asked.

"The reason we don't let you New World kids bond to an entity until you're basically eighteen. According to the legend, each cruelty was pushed to bond way too early. Intending to be heroes, their entity's power warped their minds and bodies."

"And then?" I asked.

"They destroyed a bunch of shit. Admittedly, I doubt they're real. Just society looking for a reason to explain away what basically everyone rushed to do initially," Amber said. "Most of the Old World adults were too old to make rapid advancement up the Chain, so everyone looked to the kids to fill that role. The collectives did it the most. And it usually resulted in everyone's demise including whatever reason was used to motivate things."

Melissa said, "I mean, with names like the 'Slaughteress,' 'The Faceless Lady,' or the 'Deathless Hedonist,' it doesn't help them sound real anyways. What's the next section?"

I flipped forward through the section on the Ten Cruelties and paused as I stared at the illustrated plate. It was of a helmeted figure with a sword the size of a person. He crossed a ruined street while skyscrapers stood slashed to pieces in the distance with smoke covering the sky with only a red sun to mark it by. The man's armor was the exact same as Dad's was in the photo album Every Train gave me.

"I think this is my dad," I said.

My eyes slid over to the name for this section, and my blood became a sluggish slushie that circulated a chill to the tips of my being. It was titled: City Killer, First Sword of the Changeover.

---

AN: And with that we're all caught up to where we should be. Will also add, if you want to be ahead of the chapters here then please check out my Patreon where we're currently on chapter 30 (with 31 coming out today and 32 tomorrow). Putting us a bit over 10 advance chapters. Which, knowing how much can happen in these chapters, has seen A LOT of shit go down. Also if you join you get a sweet specialty role for the story's discord as well! A discord that is also where I post fun things such as inspirational art, official height charts, links to the story's playlist, and more~
Anyways, see you all tomorrow!

 

[MxOberon]

"Nadia, your dad was forty," Melissa said.

"So?" I asked.

Amber answered by reading, "While it can be argued what the 'official' beginning of the Changeover was, no one doubts that we had fully entered that era after the destruction of Capitol Hill. Thus why City Killer commonly appears in stories with the epithet, First Sword of the Changeover. Their appearance within and subsequent decimation of that Old power's capitol had severed the head off a dragon that at the time had threatened the entirety of the world. While also consigning the world to a nearly instantaneous explosion of violence that tore away any illusions of the new normal we'd stepped into."

"Oh, if this is dad then he'd be. . . a hundred?" I asked.

Melissa wobbled her hand. "Higher to be technical. It was about a hundred years from the Changeover's start to today. So considering that unless there's just a fetus in all that armor, City Killer would be a hundred-and-twenty. Like, minimum."

"I mean, going up the Chain does make you live longer," Amber said.

"No it doesn't. It makes you age slower, but it doesn't innately make you live longer."

I asked, "Difference being?"

"Longer peak. But a steep drop-off into a grave when your time's up," Melissa said.

"Maybe it all changes at Sovereign?" I asked.

"Maybe," she said, "but the Godtenders aren't saying anything. Besides, how could a killer of cities be your dad? He built stuff all the time. Was so kind. And far as I know he never traveled. This person—because no one knows City Killer's gender—got around constantly!"

"My dad has a personal suite on Every Train. She's international and really damn fast."

"That doesn't mean anything. For one, your dad could be like a runaway heir to a collective," she said.

Amber said, "Wow, junior, you're just shooting everyone's ideas down right now. That theory you just gave is romance novel nonsense."

"You have a better one?"

"Sure. Every Train wasn't covenant summoned until C.10. City Killer, however exists to ring in C. 0, so it's an irrelevant factor to proving anything."

I said, "Every Train gave me a photo album of her and my parents. Dad's wearing that armor and has that weapon."

That brought Amber and Melissa's bickering to a close. Neither had known that, and stewed for a moment to avoid what felt like an inevitable truth.

Melissa offered, "Maybe he just inherited the role? Like, there's always a City Killer and it gets passed down."

"Really," I asked, "why are you fighting this so hard?"

"Why aren't you!"

"Because if he is then I have an answer!" I screamed. "I'll get closer to knowing him even though I can't know him anymore."

Other patrons jolted and leaned from their pods to see what was happening. Amber, Melissa, and myself formed a small phalanx of declarative, keep your eyes on your own damn table. Even at odds we found it easier to fall together in the face of a problem. Once everyone had turned away I sat back down. Melissa guided me through a centering breath then spoke softly.

"Nadia, if he's City Killer then it means. . ."

"It means what?"

Amber reached out for my hand. Held it firm so I couldn't flee if I wanted to—and oh how I wanted to.

"He might be one of the worst monsters in the world, Temple."

I "centering breath'd" my way through the fury that rose in my throat like bile. Groped about with my other hand for something to cling to—Melissa held that one for me.

"They can only prove the capitol one, right?" I asked.

Melissa read ahead and nodded. "Stories all agree he did the capitol one—technically the first capitol he was present for the destruction of—the rest he was present but no stories agree if he did it. That still means he murdered tens of thousands of people."

"The stories all agree there was nothing but snakes in that capitol," I hissed.

"Nadia!"

"Temple, be serious." Amber said, "If you want your dad to be City Killer, then he is good and bad. Otherwise, maybe he just took the suit from the last guy. Choose what story you want, but accept what kind of story that gets you."

I felt the world spin without spinning. My chair rotating in a reality separate from the one that the rest of the cafe was in. I'd wanted to think my parents were still heroes or at least half-decent, but tens of thousands? Trying to swallow it was like eating a sword, careful not to let the edge taste your tonsils. The room eventually stopped moving, and I didn't pick a story. Instead I looked down and saw that at some point a secretary had given us three folders.

It was stupid, but I looked around alongside Melissa for any sign of secretaries. As if we'd catch one slinking out the door just then rather than realize one had lurked beside our pod—maybe in our pod—for as long as they wanted. What'd they hear? Amber wasn't perturbed though and opened her folder. Melissa and I followed her lead.

The opening document was a breakdown of the rules of the test. All of us were being assigned to a lab associated with one of the four major research groups we'd chosen. Seeing as the test was termed, "Information Retrieval & Protection," it meant some of us would be retrieving and others would be protecting. The test itself was pass-fail. Retrievers pass by grabbing anything termed as "credible intel" such as documents, experiments, even a takeout menu. The intel would then be graded based on its severity and awarded extra points. Protectors pass by doing the exact opposite. They must keep any of the retrievers from absconding with any intel until sunrise. From there extra points are awarded based on how many attempts they pushed back and if they captured or killed any of the retrievers.

"Captured or killed?" Melissa asked. "It's like the Lodgemaster wants us to murder each other."

"She probably does," Amber said.

We continued reading to find that the next page would tell us the details of our assignment.

"What if we're on opposite sides?" I asked.

Melissa and Amber's heads snapped up.

"More likely to be at different labs," Amber said.

"But what if we are," Melissa said. "On different sides."

"Then we let Temple win," Amber said. "We don't want this. You need it."

Melissa chuckled, "Yeah, I mean it's not like being a Lodgemember is that helpful for me. Some collectives and universities actually reject you if you are. You can keep this."

"Will you leave?" I asked.

Melissa smiled, "Not until you do. Now, let's just turn this thing so we know what's what."

As one we turned the page. It read…

"Lab 447," we said at once.

Then we turned the next page. At the top was the team list. The first name was…

"Nadia Temple," we all read.

"Alls below, I didn't want to lose to you," Amber said with a heavy exhale.

Melissa nodded. "Yeah, universities ask for some serious contributions before you can even apply. Trading my Lodge membership saves me so much time."

Amber added, "Do you know how hard intercontinental shipping is? The markup of any good alcohol is wild. The Lodge membership though, free cross continent travel on Every Train once a season as long as you can mark it off as official Lodge duties. I'll finally get to have good soju again."

"Thanks," I said. "You really know how to pierce a moment."

The humor of it all was good for us. Just lanced the tension and calmed our hearts as we avoided having to break the oath we'd only just made.

"We're protecting," Melissa read.

"Tch." I clicked.

Retrieving would've justified everything better to Melissa and Amber without having to reveal anything. We'd even have extra points cause I found it hard to imagine that info on something like the White Womb wouldn't be of high severity.

"If we're protecting we at least have the cover of needing to cover ground," Sphinx said within me.

Fair point, I thought. The White Wombs are high severity, so retrieval is incentivized to grab them. So we might as well be there to greet them.

"Who's, Lupe of the Sunken Valley?" Amber asked.

"Our last teammate, apparently," Melissa said.

"Here's hoping she doesn't suck," I said.

* * *​

When we arrived back at our residence, Amber pulled out three backpacks. They were slate gray with all kinds of airy netting and clinking carabiners to clip on who knows how many attachments. Amber explained that we'd find some basic medical supplies, water, and a flashlight. Then told us to grab anything else that'd be necessary.

The first thing I grabbed was Mother's Last Smile. No reason not to have a conceptual weapon that can cut through a Baron when you're going to the place that likely made said Baron. After I had my glaive I dropped into a crouch and pulled out the trunk beneath my bed. Popped the lid and laid my eyes on the crimson mask that had been my face last night. Sphinx stepped out of my body and circled the box. Drawing my eyes up from the mask.

"Nadia, leave it," she said.

"No."

I grabbed the mask and shoved it into my backpack. Sphinx darted around me to interpose herself between me and the door.

"Then tell me why we need it?"

I said, "It's a stealth tool. Who knows what we'll find that'll make us wish I was wearing the mask that makes it harder to be remembered. It's just a precaution."

Sphinx stared me down but eventually acquiesced. She couldn't deny that it did serve that purpose, but I couldn't deny that it just felt nice to have it. My excuse to 'let go' if needed.

We assembled out front of the residence building where all the other protection teams were forming up their groups before heading off. The proctor had created over a dozen Alleys for each team to step through and arrive at their assigned lab. Most of them were hidden somewhere in the world. While a few—going by the smattering of secretaries in Undersuits—were in the Underside. Our lab though wasn't some majorly hidden facility lurking on the side of reality. According to our dossier it was on the outskirts of town, and so we were waiting for the cable car to pick us up.

Amber said, "Alls below, this girl has to be an idiot. This car won't come back until a good two hours after nightfall if she misses it."

"If she misses. The cable car isn't even here yet anyways," Melissa said.

I shrugged. "Hope they don't suck."

Being down a person would be rough, but if they sucked then it wouldn't usher in the second Changeover or anything so apocalyptic to not have them in the first place. As a result I let my disinterest cause me to slump over my backpack and closed my eyes to bank rest before I'd need it. Behind my eyes I saw it, the mask. Rust red, lips pulled back in a snarl over perfectly carved teeth that curved like beams on a pagoda—no, something rougher than that—like the tusks of a boar. A canine face with fishhooks for fangs the way they arced out of the mouth.

It was dripping. Blood. Drip, drip, drip. Then the winding breather of a rushing stream. The churning static of blood flowing over blood. Filling the backpack. Ruining the meds. Tainting my water. Staining my lap. Drip. Drip. Dri—

"Hey, sorry I'm late," I heard a perfectly raspy voice say that roused me from my nap.

I turned back to spy my wolf girl—Lupe, apparently—come walking across the residential quad with her guitar slung across her back and wearing nothing but what looked like a glossy latex skinsuit with a cropped sleeveless tee over it. The suit clung to every curve and planar shift in the topography of her abs that were otherwise hidden from view this morning. I followed that river of muscle down to what was a lazily hidden bulge at her crotch. I threw my eyes toward anything else to look at as I tried to not leave the impression I would be a lecherous teammate.

"What are you wearing?" I asked.

"Oh, this, it's just a conweave suit. Which, I'm noticing you all aren't wearing," Lupe said. Her rasp giving every word this smoky flavor.

"Yeah, it's expensive and hardly worth it unless it's graded high enough," Amber said. "Some suit rated for Barons isn't doing shit to keep you alive."

"Amber, come on. A suit's better than no suit…right?" I asked.

Melissa nodded. "When it's a good dense conweave then yeah. Will basically give you constant protection against any Sorcery coming your way."

"And my suit's rated for Earls actually," Lupe said. "And it was handmade as a gift, so I can assure you it's quality. You can touch if you don't believe me."

Amber sneered at the suggestion. "You got one thing wrong, junior, they don't protect you against every Sorcery even if it's below the rating. Like how I broke that field-spell a while back, there's always a weak point."

Lupe shrugged, "I can't disagree there."

"Does your mom make conweave?" I asked Melissa.

"Technically in that Undersuits are all made with a degree of conweave in them to protect from curses," She said. "Besides that it's too labor intensive to make those kind of suits without a buyer lined up. Let alone the fact that Mom's not far enough up the Chain to make any that'd matter."

We heard the whine of the cable car as it arrived then clambered inside. I entered first and claimed a window seat for myself. Behind me followed Lupe and then Amber. Lupe obviously noticed the nervous way Amber would peer from behind her to catch sight of me. Briefly stilling her muttered complaints about Lupe. So the math was simple when Lupe swung onto my bench stealing the only seat next to me. I glanced up to Amber with a, what can you do, kind of expression.

"You better not suck," Amber hissed.

Lupe said, "And you better go get a seat so we can leave."

She shook her head and took a bench way in the back. Melissa took a seat next to Amber so she wouldn't be lonely.

I said, "Sorry about Amber. She's perennially unimpressed with people. I mean, we all suck sometimes."

Lupe asked, "Does that include you?"

Her voice wrapped around us like a boa of gentle smoke. My mouth went dry as I processed how to answer. I'd launched us into the innuendo, but was she committing or was her voice just that hot?

"Uh, no. Not really. I'm pretty good at this kind of thing."

She smirked and leaned back into the seat.

"Shame."

I tapped my head against the window of the cable car. Spotted the bay at sunset from the corner of my eye. The sun, a molten disc, descended down to the water for its daily dusk quench. It was there I found my vengeance waiting for me. Sun drizzling its molten self—and my feelings—out into the water. It was more sobering than a cold shower. What was I doing?

I asked everyone, "What's the plan for tonight?"

Melissa said, "Whatever it is we need to cover four floors with four people."

"Simple," Amber said, "we each take a floor and leave it at that."

Lupe hummed, "You sure? That's a lot of lab for each person to cover alone."

"Sure, but after this test we might not be allies again. If that's the case, I'd rather cover a floor by myself in private than be forced to hold back so I don't give away any secrets."

"Fair enough," Lupse said. "We all have something to hide. So, who's taking what floor?"

"I'll take the fourth," I said. It was where the lab kept its records. No fancy experiments likely, but I wanted to get a full picture of whatever was going on.

After that Lupe claimed the third, Amber the second—she said it was to man the security room and monitor the cameras, and Melissa took the lobby. When we finally arrived, we stepped off of the cable car and onto a small hill on the far fringes of the city. Looking back you could barely see the bridge that Brightgate took its name after. The ancient edifice of an Old power dwarfed against the seniority of a grander universe.

We crossed the soft clover lawn into the building itself. Lab 447 was a squat ugly thing of brick that you'd be all to ready to dispose of from your memory once you had the chance. Whatever paint had been used to gussy it up just left the exterior looking like someone had mauled the white hide of some creature. While flecks of paint-flesh were torn away by the greedy hands of time. Once inside the building our opinion turned.

The interior was larger than the boxy exterior implied. With beautiful wooden floors and what Dad referred to as a mid-century sort of design. The lobby was an open floor plan with only a few columns for support of the ceiling. As well as a small upper section of the ground floor that was held up by smaller columns which formed a sort of alcove where the elevators hid.

Melissa slowed me down a half-step on the way to the elevators.

"Nadia," Melissa said, "be careful okay?"

"I'm always careful," I said.

"The day you're careful is the day I'm sure Sphinx has taken over your mind. But, seriously, they keep saying and pushing it, and I just worry…"

"That someone's going to kill me?" I asked.

"A little bit, but I'm more worried that you'll kill people."

"You know—"

"I know, the tests are pushing this on us, but that doesn't mean we have to let them. Aim for capture or just make them run. We only have to pass."

I stopped and pulled Melissa into a hug. Held her head against me so I wouldn't have to lie to her face.

"If I kill anyone," I began.

"Nadia."

"No, listen, if I kill anyone it's because they tried to harm you. If I kill for anyone it'll be you."

"I don't want that on me," Melissa mumbled. "Just, wait for them to cross that line first. Let it just be you putting down an animal rather than killing a man."

"I can do that," I said. It was the least I could—and would—do.

She then pushed me away, and smiled. Formed her hand-spell and Mutated into her chimeric form. Let a purr rumble in chest down her arm and into my chest. Playing its song on ribs. I blushed and joined Amber and Lupe in the elevator.

"How much of that was true, Temple?" Amber asked.

"All of it," I said.

"Alls below, you make a lady jealous."

Lupe said, "Still, you going to try and capture them first? It's harder that way."

"I don't mind it when it's hard," I said. Lupe chuckled at my own innuendo.

"More power to you. A lot of the summoners trying to join the Lodge are animals. Why not thin the herd? We might make this whole test a little less lethal along the way."

Ding. We'd hit the second floor—technically the first basement—and Amber crouched around me, almost curving like a snake. Her eyes narrowed and blazing.

"Even if you're trying to capture them. Don't hold back. Let them earn your mercy before they exploit it. Got it?"

"I do," I said.

"Good girl," she said, and kissed me.

It was as brief and hot as sticking your fingers into a candle. Her teeth teased my lips. When she pulled away I noticed her eyes flick to a blushing Lupe whose face is pointed downward at the elevator's buttons. A smirk of confidence filled Amber's face as she exited the elevator.

"Why're you blushing?" I asked.

Lupe said, "Who wouldn't after seeing that? She might as well be yelling at me to keep my hands off of you."

"You can see? I thought…" I trailed off.

Lupe waves the question, "Eh, it's not a secret. I lost my vision as a kid, and once I became a summoner I found a way to fill the gap."

"Seeing eye entity?"

"Better," Lupe said. "I made this bracelet using a few phonemes I learned early on. Hooks into my spiritual musculature to project a field of Morning constantly. It's not a real field-spell at all, so interfering with it is harder than it'd seem. All the energy does is hit stuff creating a kind of "shadow map" around me in a sphere. The denser the spirit of whatever my light bounces off of the clearer the map. With some things, like most walls, not being dense enough to keep my light from moving through them."

"So, you saw Amber kiss me then?"

"I did. Though it was more like two bright human-ish silhouettes pushing against each other. Neither of you are far enough up the Chain to be more distinct. Though you were some sexy silhouettes."

"I'm sexy then?"

"Don't go fishing for compliments," Lupe said. "Still, you are what you are. Sexy and so unsubtle when ogling a girl. Made me feel great that morning."

"I was so subtle," I said.

Lupe laughed, "Then chalk it up to a vision-issue. You have to turn your head to really look at something. Me, I could face a wall and still be drinking in your figure. Anyways, this is me."

Ding.

"See you on the other side," she said.

The doors shut behind her. In the barely reflective steel of the elevator doors, I watched as Sphinx exited my body.

"It's only us now," she said. "How it'll be in the end."

I laid my hand atop Sphinx's head and gave her a few scritches that pulled soft purrs from her. The two of us hurtled down toward the final floor where answers and our test awaited us.

Ding.

 

[MxOberon]

The fourth floor—technically the third sub-basement—of Lab 447 was a maze of hermetically sealed boxes, filing cabinets, and retired equipment. Whatever the reason was, the place pushed the bounds of what I'd expected from a research archive—mainly in terms of the hoarding on display. Sphinx and I kept our heads on a swivel and as we peered between the wire-rack shelves in the low-light from saucer shaped bulbs swinging gently above to the tune of the world as they dangled. After about five minutes of walking we'd arrived to find a stele with a map of the archives on it.

Sphinx said, "It's a flower."

"That makes less sense."

She flexed a claw free and gestured at the map. Traced around the many "petals and sub-petals" that all branched off from a central position—our position, going by the "You are here," dot.

"Each petal is numbered. Is there a key?" she asked.

I glanced down and saw nothing. There was too much map for a single key to cover without covering the map itself. The numbers were familiar though triple digits, a decimal, three more digits set above a line with three digits beneath. I pulled out my sorc-deck.

"While perhaps prudent, wouldn't requesting aid demand an explanation as to why?" Sphinx asked.

"That's why I'm not requesting anything. I already know this," I said. "All the major research organizations use the same method, revdew."

"Revdew?"

I found the document I was searching for. It was a chart saved on most sorc-decks for easy reference, and how you interfaced with whatever books you had on it. With a swipe I displayed the chart—the key—in the air next to the stele.

"It's short for Revised Dewey decimal. The first six digits across denote everything down to the subject, and the three digits below the line modify that based on how the topic of entities, the Underside, the Courts, or Sorcery are involved."

Sphinx purred happily. "Well then, I suppose we'd be looking under science?"

"You'd think, but no." I said, "Each section relates to a question, and science, when pure, is about the world. Applied science or technology, is how do we control it or make it do stuff. But the White Womb wasn't the world."

"It was a child."

"Something like that, but the question about it is 'what it is,' which would be a modification of the question, 'what am I'. You can't mark the line between human and entity without knowing what a human is in the first place. We're going to philosophy."

Sphinx spread her wings as I climbed astride her back. She took off in a single stride and a mighty double-beat of her wings. Below us the multi-colored wire-racks static'd into the composite image of a psychedelic fractal flower. Its petals shifting from a motionless wind. While above us the ceiling warped and fled to an even higher height. Future-proofing in case the archives were forced to extend vertically. It didn't hurt that the lights became broad impressionistic smears against the tenebristic dark of the ceiling.

When we landed in the specific 'sub-petal' of philosophy, the first thing of note was a mosaic that covered a circular seal in the courtyard. Two teardrops curved into one another with an S-shaped border breaking up the circle. In one half was some nouveau depiction of a Hungarian woman. Her arm outstretched—breaking her frame—to grasp the hand of an androgynous being of black obsidian with a crown of blades the color of Glory. It lacked a mouth or a nose, but possessed four Glory-colored eyes. Over their hands was a four pointed chalcedony star.

"The first summoner and her entity," I said. "Sphinx, they say she was a community manager originally."

"What happened to her?" Sphinx asked.

"Disappeared after she posted evidence of her entity to win a flame war. That's what they say."

I slid from Sphinx's back, and went to examine the shelves. They were sparse, empty enough that the books were laid out flat rather than stood up spines outward. All of these were on the topic of human-entity union. While the White Womb was maybe a human-entity fusion seeing as they aren't well known I figured union would get the same point across.

"This text at least covers wombs I presume," Sphinx said.

I leaned back from my shelf to turn Sphinx's way. She had an anthology of entity-on-human erotica hanging from her mouth. I ignored the cover's well-rendered and incredibly graphic art as I took the book from Sphinx. Not looking Sphinx in the eye, I flipped through the table of contents and noted a section put aside in the back for academic writing on the subject. There was an essay on consent, relationship restructuring due to the omnipresence of one's entity in their life, and way in the back was one titled: "The Rebis: An Examination of Summoner-Entity Convergence Theory."

"Selene Ying, Department Chair of New World Metaphysical Studies, Threyo University," I said.

"Threyo University," Sphinx said.

"It's out east, past the Black Vein."

"I know," Sphinx said, "there used to be many of my kin who'd walk those halls."

"Then we'll go there," I said as I flipped through the book for the essay.

Sphinx asked, "When?"

I bumped my legs against her shoulder. "After the exam. We'll probably have to run anyways, so why not run all the way to the east coast."

"If your way takes that bend then it takes that bend. I'd rather accomplish your vengeance first than delay things if possible."

"Well now you're just being a contrarian," I said.

I leaned against a rack as I read the essay—technically just the abstract. Its central argument was that if entities become more "human," defined by an understanding and successful adoption of our moral framework and viewpoint, then humans become more like entities as we ascend up the Chain. Bound tighter and tighter by the metaphysics of our bonded Court.

"A negotiation with the bitch called physics," I mumbled.

"What?" Sphinx asked.

"It's something you said early on when we returned to Realspace that first time. You told me not to stare lest physics noticed you cheated or something."

"You remembered."

"I do listen to people," I said. "Though I could be better."

"Trying is good enough, and your excavation of our old words is well-timed. Everything about entities is a negotiation when you subject us to the Real." Sphinx said, "The fullness of our self trimmed down so we might exist. Anchored through the humanity our summoner provides."

"And you did say the bond is like two cups being poured back-and-forth between each other."

"You said that," she said.

"Fair point."

The rest of the abstract then expounded that there might be a hypothetical point beyond Sovereign. One where the balance of human and entity was so perfect, so blurred, that we'd be both and neither at the same time. A rebis. That was a solid enough lead far as I was concerned, so I took a picture of the essay's first page with the author's name and titles. Dropped my sorc-deck back into my backpack as I returned to looking over the racks.

Sphinx, however, shoved their bulk against my leg.

"Pick the book back up," she said.

I did. She followed something only she could see, rotating until she was looking at the mosaic. I flicked on the Omensight, blinking away tears, to spot the moonsilver thread of an unknown Court connecting the bookshelf to the mosaic. Hidden in the swirls of the art nouveau border was a glowing sorcerous phoneme. The thread was taut, throbbing at a high frequency, and I quickly looked for other threads that matched it.

"Sphinx, pick up the record and the paper on entity blood samples. I'll grab the idol and the book of dialogues."

We darted to opposite racks and quickly lifted each item on our list. I kept an eye on the mosaic as each new item awakened the luminescence of the formation. At the third item, the idol lifted after Sphinx grabbed the record, the formation's light flickered and died. The threads went slack.

"It has an order," Sphinx said. "We go again."

After everything was placed back in its original position I saw that moonsilver light race back up the threads—the formation was reset for activation. First was the erotic anthology, then the record, and this time I waited and watched. When each strand was in its proper order the strings were tight and vibrating. I laid my sight upon each strand and felt them for any differences in tension. If there was an order then there had to be a hint as to which would come next. I felt the strand connecting the paper on blood samples to the mosaic—there was a hint of vibration.

"Try the paper," I said.

Sphinx picked it up which illuminated the next phoneme. Our code-breaking method discovered, I directed us to the end of the activation sequence. With the complete formation activated, black water flowed up from between the tiles. Filling the circle without breaking the ring of phonemes.

"Entities first?" I asked.

"We're equals," Sphinx said. "Together?"

I walked alongside Sphinx into the circle. The water rippled under our footsteps, but never fully broke. When we reached the center of the circle we found only our reflections staring back at us. The stacks of the archive surrounding them. When I looked up, I discovered that Sphinx and I were on a large platform overlooking a wide black pit.

"Are we in the Underside?" I asked.

"No," Sphinx said, "we've just Transitioned from one local space to another."

"Transition?"

"Another cousin court of ours."

"Remind me to get the full family tree later," I said.

I could only barely make out other platforms along the pit's edge. Like theirs, our platform extended down to a small grate balcony connecting into a smooth concrete hallway. Since my Omensight was still up, I wasn't caught off guard by the multi-layered formations that covered the hallway in a mural of sorcerous graffiti.

"Quite the net they've woven."

"Unfortunately, I only have patience for one puzzle a night," I said.

I formed the hand-spell for Inviolate Star, and strode forward into the hallway. Sphinx carried her own Inviolate Star not far behind me. The logic was simple: Inviolate Star's light diverts fate rather than blocking it. Ergo, all of the connecting points between the formations and their traps would be temporarily diverted around Sphinx and myself, and peacefully left resting.

When the light of the star touched the first thread that connected to a formation with phonemes from at least four separate Courts—Suppression, Bondage, and two more I didn't recognize—I ground my teeth into my lip. The threads unwound into their composite Principles like sand tossed into a breeze. The cloud of energy floated out to the air but the trap didn't go off.

"It works," I said.

My sorc-deck rang from inside my backpack causing my concentration to waver. I propped it back into place before I dropped the spell. As we moved forward diverting thread after thread of well laid traps, I fished my sorc-deck from the pocket I'd placed it. It continued to blare as I fumbled one-handedly to input my access sigil and end the alarm.

"Why'd you set something that obnoxious?" Sphinx asked.

"It was my alarm for sunset," I said. "We have to hurry, the retrievers can attack at any time they want starting now."

Sphinx and I broke out into a jog as we raced from the trap laden hallway through a doorway into another wider hallway free from any formations or previously laid spells. The floor was a grated catwalk that cut between a mess of torso-thick cables and hissing pipes that reminded me of the entrails of some technological behemoth. Pressed into the tangled mess were squares of electric blue that matched the lighting of the hall.

When we neared the first square I leaned over the railing to get a better look. It wasn't glass—the Omensight told me that much—but some spell that separated the interior room and the exterior of the hallway. The room was stained orange with no clear hint as to what color the walls were initially. While the only furniture was a bed and a toilet—the remnants of the room's occupant had fallen into the toilet. Strips of skin from what would have been their ass and the underside of their thighs.

The next room was much of the same though this time the few remains left behind were clumped into a C-shaped mound on the bed while everything else was coated in a yet to be unwashed glaze of blood. Each room was the same story, and perfectly reminiscent of the way the White Womb's "mother" had exploded when it was born.

"How many rooms are here?" I asked.

"At least ten," Sphinx said. "In this hallway at least."

"Okay," I said, "let's keep going. I want to find an office or something with documents."

Sphinx trailed behind me as I pushed forward. Our hallway terminated in a T-intersection with another passage. The wall was arrayed with doors listing medical labs in numerical order—I took the closest one to the right, medical lab #13.

On entry the lights flicked on in the lab. We'd only been subjected to the darkness for a scant moment, but I wished we had it back. As the glaring light pushed my eyes to the side forcing me to see—to acknowledge—the wall of infant White Wombs each curled up and bobbing in cylinders full of some unknown sorcerous concoction. To the side of their arrangement was a keypad that controlled a mechanical claw which could navigate the multiple rows and columns of experiments—it reminded me of a vending machine.

"The children aren't a threat, Nadia," Sphinx said. "They lack a secondary Principle."

"Right, so the best time to kill them is now."

"Are you so threatened by sleeping children—"

"Stop calling them that," I said. "Like they're people or something. That woman blew up just giving birth to one. Who knows how many people Nemesis has been sacrificing for this experiment."

"And now we're sure it was Nemesis' fault?"

"We're in a secret ERO lab, aren't we?"

"Even if they have a tie to your enemy that doesn't make them your enemy." Sphinx said, "Piggy struck the White Womb first. Gave it its first death that instigated its transition into a bastard entity of Oblivion. Who knows what would have happened had you both acted differently."

"Show compassion to the monster, hmm?"

Sphinx shook her head. "Show compassion to the child that did nothing but live, and lost its mother for it. I'd think you would understand that."

"That's low." I said, "Fine, we can't afford to leave too much of a mess anyways."

As we crossed the lab to the door leading to the offices I took one last glance at the wall. They were White Wombs, but they weren't the one I'd faced. Each tube held a unique creature lightly coated in a thin haze of a single Principle. There was a corpulet little girl-thing covered in a mantle of iridescent bubbles. An androgynous lithe figure coated in chitin that did its best to contain the Storms that crackled soft as static between its plates. Taken one way, maybe they were beautiful things, but the idea of anything being able to revive as it did—strengthened by death—that terrified me in a manner that no amount of unique beauty could outweigh.

The office connected to the lab was simple and stark. Clean dark wood desks, a wire rack of research files, and typewriters on every desk to draft up the reports that filled those files.

"There's not a single sorc-deck here," I said. "It's all aggressively analog."

"When everything is minimal the smallest shifts are maximized."

"So we put everything back as we found it."

On the way to the research files, I stopped at a desk where a typewriter was abandoned mid-draft. The top of the document said: White Womb Incident Report #36. The rest of the document was only drafted far enough to cover how Piggy and I resolved it. As if to taunt me the last words pounded into the page were, "pertinent background information." There hadn't been enough time, it seemed, between then and the scheduled test.

The research files themselves proved more fruitful. I'd taken a stack of folders at once and flipped through them together for easy comparison. However, there was far more contrast. Each person—not all of the "mothers" were women after all—were traceable to origins all across and even beyond Turtle Island. Their ages ranged from as young as sixteen to as old as sixty-eight. While in some cases their time of disappearance was listed anywhere between a few weeks to a couple years before reappearance.

"Why end here, though?" Sphinx asked. "From an origins perspective they're incredibly diverse, but their every path terminates here in Brightgate."

It was the main point of commonality. Most of them were found on the street begging for help in whatever language they spoke if they hadn't already been aided by a "helpful" secretary that led them into the arms of the Lodge.

"Maybe they escaped from here, and were just recaptured?"

Sphinx said, "Doubtful."

"It makes more sense if they just all happened to appear here?" I said, "This one's from Shin-Tokyo, and he's from New Nairobi. Sphinx, if they were taken from somewhere else then why would they all be released here? Why not to their homes?"

"Perhaps because whoever did it knew the mothers wouldn't survive, and their spawn left to fend for itself against whatever dogs harassed it."

"If that's the reason then they wouldn't be considered mothers. They'd be…bombs?"

"Your puppeteer did imply that a Lodgemaster would have many worthy grudges on their head."

"I can't deny that since I am one of those grudges. Still, that'd mean there's someone else doing this. The Lurkers?"

"Any answer I'd have would be poorly considered. Next page."

I flipped the page to a blown-up picture of the ultrasounds done on each "mother" along with a comparative animagraphy. The former was great for checking for any physical details that might become an issue for the birth of the child, and the latter's perfect for examining the spiritual musculature of the child in case there might be a spiritual defect. Fun fact, the animagraphy's have great results in testing for a potential stillbirth.

While the ultrasounds were surprisingly normal, the animagraphy photos were anything but since they didn't show anything. Each and every one was white'd out by some kind of flash. I raised it close to my eyes and could just barely make out the frayed edge of the blur barely noticeable against the far side of the womb.

"Interference from an unknown Court's presence," I read. "Anthem stored in evidence box #5."

Unasked, Sphinx dragged the box from the wire-rack over to the desk where I had the files laid out. She used her paw to flip the lid off the box, and reveal a small handful of cassette players. As well as a smaller box, unlidded, that held a mess of tapes labeled after each mother. I grabbed #20's tape and popped it into a player that I set on the desk. Then hit play.

Anthems were an old method of cataloging a Court. Early researchers would rig a tape recorder to pick up the unique "sound" a Court made when its spells were cast or when an entity would speak or breathe. It wasn't a bad method necessarily, but I think humans love to see pictures more than we do sounds. Pictures are harder to deny even when the sound is something you feel in the very fiber of your spirit.

"We have to find who's making these creatures, Nadia," Sphinx said.

I didn't have to ask why her voice bristled in mad panic. The anthem was still playing, and in that part of my spirit where I remembered the honeyed timber of our Sovereign I heard the resemblance. However these victims came by it, Revelation was in their bodies, and none were bonded to our Court. Before we could dig deeper, my sorc-deck rang in its insistent default tone that mimicked the incessant tap of a woodpecker.

"Another alarm?" Sphinx asked.

"No," I said, "I only set the one."

I swung my backpack around to free my sorc-deck. Amber was calling. I answered.

"They're here, Temple!"