"You wished to see me, Sire?"

Rattlewing set down his chisel. "Yes lad," he answered creakily. "Have a seat."

Dirge glanced around. Most surfaces in the Crypt Master's workshop were covered in tools, notebooks, and bits of statuary, mostly broken. A cracked head stared sightlessly from the room's only chair. Rattlewing, seeming to have just noticed this, scooped it up and set it on a shelf. "There," he said, dusting his palms.

"I prefer standing," Dirge replied. It seemed disrespectful to sit while a more senior cleric stood, even if said cleric was Rattlewing. Dirge's classmates had joked about this meeting when the word had gotten out. Oh, he's going to see old Rattlewing! one had chortled, provoking general guffaws. Rattlewing had been Crypt Master so long that the phrase "gone to see Rattlewing" was synonymous with "dead."

"You have done well in your training so far," Rattlewing remarked.

Dirge inclined his head. "Thank you."

"You've attained what, Practicus level?"

"Philosophus."

The old mech's optics lit. "Excellent! Have you given thought to a specialty?"

"Aye. I wish to become an Evocator."

"A noble, if well-trodden path," Rattlewing said dismissively. "I hope you'll consider an alternative."

"What alternative?"

Rattlewing pulled a datapad from the shelf and set it on the table. "This," he said, tapping the cover with a wizened digit. "Everything I know about the care and honor of the dead is in here." When Dirge stared blankly, Rattlewing shoved the volume toward him. "I want to make you my apprentice."

"Your what?"

"Your mentors agree you'd be well suited. Your Sigma enables you to help those in mourning."

Dirge flinched. "I see." His Sigma was a sore point. It stung to know his mentors thought it made him a candidate for… this. "This is a most… unexpected opportunity," he said carefully. "I shall give it scrupulous consideration."

Rattlewing's optics narrowed. "Like slag you will! You think you're too good for this, don't you? I know what they say about me. Let me ask you this." He stepped forward, wings high, and jabbed a finger at Dirge. "How many Seeker clerics attain Master rank? Can you name one, besides me? The prejudice is alive, even here in Uraya. I'm giving you a chance to rise higher than you otherwise could."

"I thank you, Sire," Dirge said, glancing at the door. "For now, I must—"

A hand seized his arm. "Wait, please. I must find and train my successor before I…" Rattlewing trailed off. "What is it, lad? You look as if you'd seen a ghost."

Dirge didn't believe in ghosts, but had he seen one, he couldn't imagine it being worse than the icy numbness that gripped his spark. It was like being sucked into an abyss, as if Rattlewing's touch contained the very essence of Death. He jerked his arm free. "I must go," he said, and strode from the room without looking back. It would be the last time he—or anyone—saw the Crypt Master alive.