This chapter is an extremely long fall-back action. Not too much happens here, so I do understand if some find it boring.

I needed something to break the pacing and give me peace of mind.

Thank you for understanding. I hope you enjoy!


Chapter 12 – Friends

Dawn.

Modric felt his body being moved onto what felt like a cot.

Everything hurt. His back felt as if set alight by a blowtorch, his legs felt weak, one of his arms felt wrong, and a white bandage obscured the vision of one of his eyes.

"The truck!" Modric stirred - the feline driver and his daughter were the first to return to mind, but then felt a hand gently press against his chest as Modric tried to rise.

"Lie still. Your wounds need to heal." A deep, gentle voice, in a language he never thought he'd hear either of again, spoke.

"That voice…" Modric opened his eyes and saw an ancient, familiar face.

"… Old Boss?" There were more grey hairs on both of them but they could recognize each other easily.

Hellagur smiled.

"Mordecai."

"Hellagur!" Modric rose, embracing him with a jolly chuckle.

"I never thought I'd see you again!"

"Neither did I!" Hellagur returned the hug, smiling.

"Much has changed since we last met. I don't know which name you'd prefer." He offered a canteen of water to Modric, still speaking in the Ursus language of their fatherland.

"The driver! His daughter-"

"Are safe and taken care of. The girl is on her way to the clinic: An Aeromedical Evacuation. You'll see when the flying machine returns." Hellagur made a motion with his hands. They were both still speaking Ursus.

"The Father. The driver. Is he-…" Modric almost didn't want to hear the answer.

"Alive." Hellagur nodded, reassuring.

"What? How?" Modric shook his head in disbelief.

"He took a blast, point blank! I've seen-…" Modric's injuries caught up to him, forcing him back down into the cot as his back engorged itself as if still ablaze.

"We got to him in time, but he's in critical condition." Hellagur explained.

"How critical?"

Hellagur paused, taking a breath.

"We can't move him."

Modric froze.

"Take me to him." Modric stirred again. His injuries only amplifying the searing pain.

"You need your rest."

"I'll rest when I die! Take me to-" Modric fought against the pain with every ounce of strength he could muster, but the pain retaliated.

His back, from the nape of his neck down to his tailbone felt like it was on fire underneath all the bandages. He hobbled on a splint that supported a broken leg – most likely dressed while he was unconscious, and his head felt like someone hit it with a sledgehammer.

"At least my Jared is out of harm's reach; He was on the truck ahead of us." Modric struggled to stand.

"Oh! His squad mate – the Lupo with the gladius and crossbow! What was his name again?" He remembered.

"Hellagur, there was a Lupo with us, hauling a short blade and a pistol-bow. Have you seen him?"

"Yes. He is with our medic, treating the other wounded." Hellagur assisted Modric to his feet, supporting him every step of the way.

"Just like-"

"Chernobog…" The moment Modric's mind touched the name, a whirlwind of evil sunk its claws into his troubled heart and dragged his mind into a horrible place, filled with ghosts in masks, burning down what he called home.

"Old times?" The Hippogriff finished, supporting his friend. His interruption took Modric's mind away from the dark places.

"Old times!" Despite his age, Modric once again gave it his all.

He leaned onto Hellagur for support, smiling through the overwhelming amount of pain, lifting himself up once again.

"By the way Old Boss, how did you get a perimeter secured around us so quickly?" Modric looked around, finally noticing the VTOL as it disappeared beyond the road between the trees and planes.

Hellagur paused before answering.

"Help and practice." He shot a smile.

The two of them exchanged a hearty laugh as Hellagur helped Modric get up.

The field hospital was set up, but exposed. A tent to shelter the patients was deemed unnecessary as the Aeromedical Evacuation is supposed to transport everyone out before further exposure to any elements.

For now, the priority was reconnaissance and a forward perimeter defense until the Rhodes Island landship confirmed its arrival at Safehouse Windmill.

From the center of the road, watching the VTOL disappear into the horizon, Passenger checked his clock.

The sun was barely lighting the landscape, glazing a hue of orange and blood over all within its elevation.

"Morning, Passenger!" A Cautus operator: Black bangs, dark brown hair that reached below her shoulders, purple eyes, armed with a bow and sporting earplugs, tags and a ribbon in her ears.

"Your Stereo is turned off. I can see that you're taking this emergency quite seriously, Agent April!" Passenger congratulated, nodding in approval.

"I actually left it back on the landship. How long are we supposed to be here again?" She smiled, cheery despite how early in the morning it seemed.

"Only until after we evacuate everyone here. After that, you can resume your day. Phase 2 will be handled by other teams." Passenger nodded.

April looked around, admiring the many colors of the morning dawn light.

"So… based off what I was told, I'm here in case more drones show up. Right?" She asked.

"That is true." Passenger nodded.

"Why not bring Exusai or any of the more professional operators? While I'm asking, where's Grani?"

"Exusai and Grani are here, but with different team of operators." Passenger answered, almost as if rehearsed.

"Ah." April nodded.

"But why me, though? Surely it can't just be because of the threat the enemy drones pose?"

Passenger chuckled.

"Amusingly, I asked myself the same thing earlier, but about myself."

April's eyes lit up.

"You think it might be the new guy?" April smiled.

Passenger thought about it.

"Possibly. I remain unsure." He answered.

"Return to your squad, Operator. We have work to do." Passenger gently ordered.

April nodded her head and took her leave.

Passenger looked to the sky.

"Tristan? Interesting name." He meditated on his thoughts. Passenger spent another moment meditating, listening to the environment and the pre-morning breeze. He pulled out his communications device, displaying the picture he received back in Rhodes Island's earliest briefing.

"Miss Coffin will depart from us, your home will be lost to a storm of dust, and you'll have no one but us."

He zoomed in on the newcomer's face, analyzing him from the family photo.

Tristan's face in the photo wore an authentic, innocent smile, as gentle sea-blue eyes complimented the boy's chestnut-brown hair. Compared to his more recent profile, not much seemed changed: Young, inexperienced, not as much time in the sun as he should have. If he was truly training from a prepubescent age, it was severely uncanny how much Passenger was able to compare him to April or of the more unprofessional operators than even Jessica.

"Questions, questions and more questions. Where are we going to begin with you?" He ran through several foreclosing thoughts, but nothing stuck.

"I do not envy the lecture awaiting you the moment Kal'tsit figures you out." He took a deep breath, returning the device to his pouch.

"But for now, Child of poor luck, your adventure is only beginning." Passenger awaited the VTOL's return.

. . .

Timber helped the field medic as best he could. Bandages, painkillers, splints. Every injury took more and more supplies. The more lightly injured had already been evacuated by the flying machine, thankfully.

Out of the entire vehicle, no one had yet perished. Most had already been evacuated safely, thanks to the strange flying machine. The same could not be said for the more critically wounded, who had to stay until they could be stabilized.

Timber ran the situation over and over in his head. Everything went by so fast.

By the time he saw the drone swoop to the driver side door, he didn't even have time to yell.

There wasn't anything he could've done, yet something silent screamed at him, demanding blame, demanding culpability.

He was ready to tear his hair out, but then the area behind him brightened.

.

"Are you Ser Timber?" A woman's voice asked, firm, yet gentle in tone. The flawless Kazimierzan language she spoke caught Timber completely off-guard.

"I spoke with his superior - Ser Jared. He told me of a Lupo that could split the antennae of a fly with either a shot from his crossbow, a swing of a gladius, and both if need be." Her presence was surprisingly calming, complimenting how she brightened the area around her.

Timber nodded his head, leaning down to change the bandages of another wounded evacuee.

"Forgive me. It's been a while since I've heard my father's home tongue spoken so flawlessly. Everyone I've spoken to had always retained an accent."

"Your father was from Kazimierz, I presume?"

"Yes."

Timber finished changing the patient's bandage. The woman handed him a coat of arms, printed on some sort of patch: A sword, crossed with a tree over a field.

"He wouldn't have happened to have worn this insignia, long ago?"

Timber stared at it like he'd seen a ghost.

Pause.

Timber turned around.

She was a Kuranta. Her person seemed draped in a burning sun, explaining why everything around her brightened.

"You're her – the Radiant Knight of Kazimierz?"

Nearl nodded.

Timber blinked, rubbing his eyes from disbelief.

"I-… I don't know what to say! You seemed like something out of stories and legends, from the way my father spoke of you."

"Your father always loved exaggerating."

Nearl's statement nearly put Timber into shock.

"Y-you-… YOU KNEW MY FATHER?!"

Nearl nodded.

"You have the same face and eyes. His group helped me, so I seek to help them."

Timber had to sit down before he fell down.

"Where is he now?" She pulled up one of the folding chairs and took a seat next to him.

Timber took a breath, needing to recollect his thoughts.

"Gone."

"Where?"

Timber paused before answering.

"He's no longer with us."

He handed over Nearl his hand-crossbow and sheathed gladius, brandishing them.

"These were his." Timber took a deep breath.

"I recognize them." Nearl sighed.

They were both speaking in fluent Kazimierzan.

"Ser Timber, what happened? Tell me everything."

"It's a long story…"

"We have time, Timber. Don't rush it."

He took a deep breath.

"If I'm being honest, it started a couple years ago, after we defeated some evil people."

Nearl nodded, listening.

"How evil?"

"Traffickers. Human smugglers. Slave traders. They tried to sell us some, but we back-tracked them to their hideout and showed no mercy, freeing all captives."

"Good men! What next?" Nearl nodded again, approving of the decision.

"An old, shrunken, hunchbacked cloaked Caprinae approached us – some sort of Arts Caster, and offered us a combat edge we couldn't risk refusing."

"Foresight? Visions of the future?"

Timber blinked.

"How did you know?"

"We faced an enemy like that before."

Timber looked over to Modric and Hellagur.

"Chernobog? Ursus?" He whispered.

Nearl nodded, switching her language over to Victorian.

"Timber, the lives of everyone here is at stake. I need you to tell me and Rhodes Island as much as you can."

Timber paused, then nodded before answering.

"I'll bring you up to speed."

. . .

Hellagur assisted Mordecai to the Felinid – the truck driver with the infected daughter.

He was laying on a cot with a soft pillow beneath his head.

"Mod…ric" The Felinid was awake, offering the hand that wasn't being held together by bandages, splints, and prayers.

"Save your strength. What do you need, friend?" Modric gently took the hand into his own.

"Daughter… safe?"

"Yes, and when that hovering contraption-machine returns, you're-"

"No. Them! They go first!" He pointed over to a small family sitting across from them; a family of four: an injured mother, a crippled father, and two sons that were also injured.

One of the sons was wearing Timber's jacket. He gave it to them to keep their young ones from freezing from the pre-morning frost.

"Save them first!" He repeated.

Modric looked over, sighing.

"I should've drove faster, eh?" the Felinid jested.

Modric gave a courtesy laugh.

"This is not your fault." Modric rubbed the Feline's charred hand.

"Never-… Never thought it was. Hah!" He gasped.

"Need more painkillers?"

"I can take it. I got-" He inhaled.

"-Her to go back to. My girl to go back to."

Pause.

"Yes."

Modric felt the feline's grip tighten.

"I'm going to live. I won't die." The Felinid spoke.

His body was absolutely broken.

His face and upper body was covered with bandages as best as possible, but you could smell the charred wounds that burned beneath. His legs were broken, held together by a pair of splints. One arm was broken, held in a cast; The functioning arm was being held in Modric's hand. Shrapnel from the explosion tore open wounds all over his side from his thigh to his neck, marked with stitches and even claimed one of his ears. His skull was fractured, and evidence of a concussion was present.

Whatever wasn't broken, burnt, fractured, or blown off in the explosion was badly bruised at best.

To top it all off, one of the feline's eyes had gone foggy, and the other one was bandaged, effectively rendering him blind.

Modric witnessed in pure despair. The last time he felt this way was when he lost Ester, and when those memories returned, it added to the crushing weight of the combined distresses.

"Mod-…ric…" He tightened his grip.

"I will live."

In spite of the odds, The Feline chose to smile.

. . .

Unseen, Kal'tsit read through the books, one by one.

She finished the upstairs library, moving to the house's TV room.

.

"Five years to build this place..." The green Lynx sighed as she went through the books quicker than one could blink.

"I've lived among static villages before, and I've learned of how attached to homes many can become." She returned the book before switching to another one.

"But THIS place, despite the infrastructure being dated: Air conditioning, fuse box, functional plumbing - at least before it arrived here - and even a recreation room; this place should've been constructed in a mobile city."

The book was some sort of biology science tome, but its knowledge was worthless at best. She returned it to it's place.

"For a family with limited resources, not a trace of technology that utilized originium, and albeit primitive and unoptimized designs in comparison to our technology, this is surprisingly advanced." She picked up a pair of books on electrical maintenance, read them, then returned them.

It was a matter of minutes before she had gone through every book in both libraries, but to her it felt like hours.

All books that She placed on the kitchen table were of obviously fictional novels that only needed to be classified temporarily (to be reviewed and "edited"), then could be reprinted and safely distributed without any repercussion (again, after necessary "editing").

She planned to discuss those novels with Tristan before then: keep him with the editing team so the vision behind the art of the fiction itself was not lost.

A lot more of the books contained information that was workable within Terra's physics, chemistry, and sciences. Those books are never to leave Rhodes Island, and the information is to be restricted to as few people as possible, even after "editing" - mostly books related to the biochemistry of Tristan's species; dietary details, anatomy, and so-on.

The rest of the books were simply to remain here; to be consumed by time and the storm: Dispose. These books that couldn't be spared were filled with information Kal'tsit deemed either useless or too dangerous to be Classified and simply "tucked away" in the possession of Rhodes Island – considering the danger of the information in the Classified pile already-…

"Even then, I'm taking an unnecessary risk keeping any of these books. With the fictional books, everyone can easily assume the authors wrote under a pen name – at least after I go through those to make sure they don't expose or reveal anything of Tristan's world. At least they mostly don't contain any information that can be used to anyone's detriment, unlike the Classified books which absolutely have such!"

None of these contributed to the search for the cure for Oripathy, though browsing through them did give Kal'tsit insight. She moved on to the rest of the house within a matter of minutes - gently scouring it as if a ghost leaving no leaf nor stone in a position that it was before her arrival.

She finished with Tristan's room.

"He must've made his bed before departing to Safehouse Windmill. A lot of his shelves are empty, but enough remains to imply that he expected to return here at some point to reclaim it."

Anything that could've been hidden, she found as if turning a leaf on its opposing side.

"He wouldn't have time – not for that, nor to evacuate anything from this building."

After finding Tristan's stashed gasmask, she left it in the box, respectfully setting it on the soft sheets of the bed before gently browsing through what looked like Professional Military manuals and information books.

"Ewes-ah Army Rangers" She plucked through it.

"Training – 12-mile ruck march?" She sped-read through the book before monologuing to herself.

"That'd be 19.312128 kilometers of weighted hiking, assuming the measurements are to be taken as exact, and these soldiers are to complete this exercise, under three hours." She set the book on the bed, picking through Tristan's room.

"For a military training standard, that fitness expectation is… interesting, to say the least. Once Franka and Schwarz return from their assignment in Sargon, I'll have to discuss this with them."

She found the other books Tristan had hidden in his room, along with his gunsafe.

"His security standard is low. He tried to camouflage it by burying it in messy clothes, and his password is literally 1-2-3-4-5-6. Pitiful!"

Now that she was present and not reliant on second (or third) hand information, she pieced together everything in an eyeblink.

"The truth is that Tristan is Civilian. He possibly had relatives with some kind of Spec Ops training that rubbed-off on him, but he is distant from any sort of Elite soldier; his physical fitness leaves much to be desired and most likely has no real combat experience. He is not who Coffin claims he is. However, Coffin's cover story is going to need to be treated as reality – which means getting Tristan into shape, training him to be on-par against real combatants, but also teaching him music theory, arts, and the very thing he was supposed to have retired in order to learn in the first place - which Phantom can help with - all while keeping him sane, all while he's going to be grieving once Coffin dies, AND on top of it all, his weapons are going to have to be restricted to only himself, myself, Passenger, and I have serious doubts on Closure being able to keep her mouth closed on this – assuming she doesn't try to pawn them off or something ridiculous! I'm going to need Schwarz's tutoring on this. All of this, while balancing information to make sure nobody knows too much, all while making sure Tristan himself doesn't speak of his time before meeting Rhodes Island. Sure, I've handled worse situations, but this is going to be complex. Thank goodness we found him first, and not Rhine Labs or anyone else! That would've been catastrophic, considering some of these books and his brother's (rather amusing) heavy weapons platform designs look akin to what I'd expect out of a weapons laboratory researcher's wet dream!"

She returned the aforementioned heavy weapons platform designs into the box she took them from. Once back in Tristan's room, she picked up what looked like another training manual.

"BUD/S and more – Navy Seal training?" She had to read this one slower than the others and even had to double-take at some of the tasks.

"Hell Week – Six days of no sleep, constant physical and mental harassment, and one day at the Mud Flats. Ominous. What are the mud flats- oh." She flipped to a picture where the students undergoing the training were buried up to their necks in mud. Nothing was visible but their heads.

"15 hours, freezing cold, and constant pressure from the instructors to quit." Kal'tsit blinked, turning the pages as she re-read.

"Land Warfare phase training; breeding grounds for the great white sharks – seen those in the fish book from earlier; series of long swims, night swims – no student (that the instructors remember) have been eaten by one of the sharks; If a shark is circling your position, hungry for a midnight snack, summon all your strength and courage and punch him in the snout." Kal'tsit chuckled, placing the book on the bed next to the Army Rangers book.

"So, I'm going to need Specter and Skadi's help too. Skadi is trustable, but Specter is not necessarily-…" Kal'tsit nodded, concerned. The more people that were involved in this, the more likely the truth about Tristan would slip out, then Rhodes Island would have to deal with more than it already needs to with Tristan.

To be fair, Tristan himself wasn't that much of an issue. It was literally everything else. The biggest shock was how all the technology in the house and mentioned in all the books made zero mention or trace of originium technology – almost as if Tristan came from a place where it simply didn't exist, which again, butted against Coffin's cover story of being some retired child soldier from the middle of nowhere that wants to be some music artist or whatever.

Static towns are not exactly known for advanced or alternative technologies – even the Sarcophagus Kal'tsit spent so long studying with her students was a relic in a mobile city, yet here were entire books that nonchalantly had, mentioned, and even briefed on how to fix and maintain technology that didn't require originium as if it's supposed to be normal – which clashed HARD against the technology available here, which was exactly the problem.

That's why many of those books needed to be destroyed, save for an agonizingly small number of exceptions that would still need to be classified, but at least had some principles that could be "translated" (for lack of better term) into something usable.

Above all, the most important thing was transforming Tristan into the mask Coffin presented him as, or there would be massive problems down the road that could domino-effect into an avalanche of issues – be they imagined, possible or real. Anything short of brainwashing was on the table, and even though Kal'tsit was absolutely not fond of the idea, if it meant keeping Tristan alive and his mental health intact, it wasn't exactly the worst thing that could happen to him.

With all of this in mind, it would literally be easier to just kill Tristan and pretend he didn't exist.

Coffin was going to die anyway, and the Backwoods Bandits could most likely be threatened (if not bribed) into believing they simply encountered a highly skilled Sankta.

It wouldn't exactly be hard in comparison to risking Tristan being alive, and the absolute circus that would be keeping him around and as a functional operator, while forcing every single detail about him classified and under wraps, while also putting him through some training and helping him adjust to what is essentially a premeditated displacement.

Kal'tsit knew this.

She thought about it.

It wouldn't exactly be hard to just take Tristan aside into the woods, summon MONST3R, and just dispose of him right there…

So why not?

Then her comm started beeping.

Kal'tsit read the name and answered.

"Tristan's residence is secured. I'm finished here. Everything is going according to your plan. How are you, Coffin?"

"Kal'tsit-…" Coffin's voice was noticeably languid.

"I just got done dressing the wounded here."

Kal'tsit paused. "Then what's wrong?"

Coffin swallowed.

"The other two trucks arrived-…"

Kal'tsit earnestly waited, listening.

"One of them-… That Jared guy came out, holding a Vulpos child in his hands.

"He was pierced by many arrows."

Kal'tsit held the comm close, listening.

"Tyv-… Tyv is-… Tyv recognized him."

Kal'tsit listened.

"I-"

Kal'tsit didn't need to be there to know Coffin was breaking down.

"Th- there was a little girl next to him… Her throat's-…"

Kal'tsit took a deep breath.

"Tristan is clean, Coffin. Folinic called me and confirmed that the Shemagh scarf you wrapped around Tristan is indeed working. It's transmitting everything as intended. The scarf has not found any trace of Oripathy in his body. He is clean. The vitamins you gave him will also keep his mind sharp. It's all according to plan."

Silence.

"It was her kid. He was her kid, Kal'tsit." Coffin sniffled, taking another deep breath.

"I'm sorry. I needed someone to talk to. You were the only one I could think of."

Silence.

"Kal'tsit… how long do I have?"

She hesitated.

"One week, maximum."

Pause.

"Kal'tsit, I change my mind. I don't want to die. I'm going to die, but I don't want to."

Kal'tsit continued listening.

"I-… you remember when we were talking back on the landship? When I explained how I didn't want anyone close to me? What you said about fate turning in cruel ways?"

"Yes, Coffin. I do."

"If I changed my mind before this, or maybe I just listened to Louisa and just took my medication-…"

Coffin was crying. She tried continuing, but it just devolved into her crying in her mother tongue, Leithanian.

Kal'tsit gave her a minute.

"I understand, Coffin. Wanting to back out of this is not because you want to live, but because you don't want him hurt."

Pause. Coffin sniffled. Silence.

"Kal'tsit, I'm sorry. I want to tell Tristan I'm sorry."

"You can. He's not going to understand, perhaps even years after this - but you can."

Kal'tsit knew Coffin nodded.

"I know exactly what to do… but I need your help. I don't want to leave Tristan alone, Kal'tsit." Coffin whimpered.

"Coffin. It's going to be really hard, and painful, and take a lot of time for him… But Tristan will have Rhodes Island to help him through with this."

"How can I know?"

"I discussed him With Amiya, and she said it better than I can. She said that Tristan doesn't know this about himself, but he's strong. Stronger than he believes he can be. He's more than a soldier or a child mercenary that went around with his family protecting crops from dangerous wildlife. At heart, he wants to protect people, but he also wants to see people smile - hence the whole Bard thing. Tristan just doesn't know how to go about it."

Coffin took a deep breath.

"What do you plan for him once he's on the landship? Please… I don't care if you tell me if the first thing you do is kill him, I just want you to be honest. I'm going to die anyway, but please, all I ask is one last honest answer."

Kal'tsit swallowed.

"An honest answer is what you ask, and I shall give it: As long as Tristan lives, I will not harm even a hair on his head, nor the staff. Wherever he goes Rhodes Island will be his refuge: His place of safety - his new home."

Coffin sighed in relief.

"However-..."

Coffin held her breath.

"Tristan is to be trained and tutored into being the man you told Rhodes Island he is – the art of both his childhood, AND the art he gave up violence to pursue in the name of protecting his family. Do you understand, Coffin?"

Pause.

"Crystal. Who will you have tutor him?"

Kals'tit nodded, continuing.

"He will have many tutors who will instruct him how to practice his arts and be respected by all men at all times. His education is two-fold; that of peace and conflict alike. That is what shall happen to him."

Kal'tsit heard Coffin swallow from the other side of the device.

"This is my answer to your question, and I have answered in full, total honesty. Do you find this answer satisfactory, Miss Coffin?"

Pause.

"Yes, Madame Kal'tsit."

Pause.

"When my goodbyes are complete, I will send them to your office. The first tape will have instructions, but if you know better, modify them but keep the spirit intact. Thank you, Madame Kal'tsit."

Kal'tsit nodded.

"Thank you, Madame Coffin."

"Goodbye"

*Click*

Coffin hung up the phone.

Kal'tsit turned to leave, picking through the last book before wrapping up.

"Helicopters and VTOLS – Airborne Ambulances and early designs? Hm, okay this one doesn't seem to have any information too dangerous." She read through the first three pages before one could blink.

"There doesn't seem to be anythi-…"

She flipped to a page, containing a photograph of a man presenting a near-exact replica of Rhodes Island's VTOL as it hovered over a landing pad, subtracting many bells, whistles and furniture – the book had it named as one of several in an Osprey model VTOL series that was a "Tried and True" tested model.

The light and shadows in the picture could not be faked with lights in a studio. There was dirt and dust getting kicked up from the force of the VTOL in the picture, and the man's clothes abided by the laws of physics in the picture.

Suffice to say, wherever this picture was taken, it was indeed real. Tristan knows about it. The technology is available wherever he was from.

The information forced her into a catatonic state of disbelief for roughly 1.99999 seconds before her senses returned.

She gently closed the book and set it back in it's place on the shelf.

"Tristan, when I inevitably get my hands on you, you're in for the soliloquy of your LIFE, YOUNG MAN!"


11/20/22

Chapter 12 - Ark 2 part 1 completed.

Thank you very much for your patience. If there's a mistake, let me know and I'll fix it immediately.

I don't know if I did Kal'tsit justice. I stuck to monologues and dumping AS MUCH expositions, explanations, and in-universe logic as possible.

I was editing and today was a really weird off-day. Let me know how I did.

11/21/22

As I said before, I really REALLY needed a fallback action after the last few chapters, so I do understand if this chapter was a lot slower paced, and didn't really have anything going on.

I forgot to mention: Happy 1st anniversary everyone. Happy thanksgiving, and good luck with your headhunting pulls!