AN1: Worm belongs to Wildbow, and Princess: The Hopeful... well, if it belongs to anyone, it's to White Wolf Studios. Certainly, neither are mine.

AN2: The beginning of this story was heavily inspired by Ack's "One More Trigger".

AN3: The Oath Greg swears is the First Ideal of the Knights Radiant, from Brandon Sanderson's The Stormlight Archive.

1.1

Emma blinked tears out of her eyes, looked for an escape, an answer.

And she saw a figure crouched on top of her father's car, dressed in black, with a hood and a cape that fluttered out of sync with the warm sea breeze that flowed from the general direction of the beach. She could see the whites of the girl's eyes through the eyeholes of what looked like a metal hockey mask.

Help me.

The dark figure didn't move.

Lao, the one eyed man, reversed the knife in his hands and handed it to the girl with the eye shadow. The girl, for her part, dragged the knife's point over Emma's eyelid, a feather touch.

"Pick," the girl said. "No, wait…"

She shoved the handful of hair she'd cut away into Emma's mouth. "Eat it, then pick."

Emma had a mouthful of her own hair, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. The dark figure, watching, made no move to help her.

She could hear her father screaming. He was a big man, powerful, but he was no fighter. He couldn't do anything to help her.

I'm going to die here.

And suddenly, Light blossomed within her.

A brilliant halo of red-and-gold light flashed around Emma, and her hands came up, throwing the man sitting on her chest sideways into the girl with the knife. Both were knocked sprawling, and Emma sprang to her feet, noticing for the first time the elbow-length crimson gloves, edged with a broad golden stripe, that now covered her hands. She glanced down, and was startled to see that her former clothes had vanished, replaced by a crop-top, miniskirt, and knee-length boots in that same gold-edged crimson.

What in the Lord's name?

"Cape!" screamed one of the ABB thugs. Another raised a gun and fired. There was a flash of light, and Emma felt something hit her like a punch in the gut. She glanced down instinctively, but the expanse of midriff shown by her new costume was unmarred.

Did that bullet just bounce off me?

Knife girl scrambled backwards, knife abandoned. The other man rolled to his feet and came at her, throwing a punch. Emma ducked under it, moving with a speed she hadn't known she had, and punched him in the face. A translucent aura, like flickering crimson flames, flared around her fist as she punched, and the blow seemed to hit with far more force than it should have, shattering the man's nose and knocking him back off his feet.

The thugs in the rear turned to flee, the two she'd knocked sprawling scrambling backwards before staggering to their feet. Emma stood there for a moment, feeling the Light like a raging fire within her.

"Holy shit, that was awesome!"

She whirled, fists coming up. It was the girl in the dark cape and hockey mask.

"Shit, girl, you really screwed them up!" said the girl, jumping down from the roof of the car.

With a snarl of fury, Emma lunged forward, grabbing the girl by the throat and pinning her against the alley wall. "You goddamn fucking bitch," she hissed. "You could have saved me at any time. You stood there and watched them. You were going to let them cut my eye out, or my ears off, or rape me, or whatever they wanted to do. And you didn't do a goddamn thing."

"Hey, hey, go easy," said the girl. She seemed to shimmer slightly, going vaguely translucent, before letting out a yelp of pain and snapping back into solidity. "What the hell?" she squawked past Emma's grip on her neck. "How are you holding on-"

Emma slammed her against the wall again. "Why didn't you help me?" she growled.

"I wanted to see who you were, that's all!"

The statement made no sense at all to Emma. "Who I was? Who the hell did you think I was?"

"Predator or prey," said the girl simply. "And shit, you're obviously a predator."

The car door opened, and her father got out.

"Emma?" he said, as if not quite sure if he was addressing his daughter.

"I'm okay, Dad," she said, answering the unspoken question. "This bitch, however ... was going to let them do whatever they wanted. Unless I fought back, or something, I guess."

"Well, well, well," he said, giving the girl a long look. "Judging by the mask and weird get-up, I take it you're some kind of cape?"

"F**k you," the girl replied. Emma slapped her with her free hand. "Hey, f**k, that hurts!"

"Nothing more than you deserve," Emma retorted.

"That's not the right answer, Emma," her father said from behind her. Emma started slightly at the contained pride and fury in his voice. She'd never heard her father use that tone before. "Take off her mask," he continued.

"What?" the girl blurted out. Emma was almost as startled. Unmasking a cape was serious business. As the ill-fated New Wave movement had proved, having your real name and face out there could easily get you killed.

Still, she trusted her father. With a mental shrug, she reached forward with her free hand and plucked off the girl's mask. Under the mask, the girl turned out to be dark-skinned and attractive, with long black hair and a strong face. The girl's eyes went wide with outrage, which turned to outright fear when Emma's father snapped a picture with his phone.

"Jesus f**k, what the f**k are you doing?" she squawked.

Emma's father's voice was cold and level. "You know my daughter's face. Now I know yours. And if I ever see you in the news for any reason, I will publish your face, and what you did here tonight – or rather, what you didn't do. My advice? Give up the mask. Because you think my daughter's scary? I'm a lawyer. I can bury you."

"Come on," he said to Emma, tucking his phone into his pocket. "Let's see if we can get out of here."

Emma let the black girl drop to the ground. She lay there for a moment, quiet and unresisting, but Emma sensed that she wasn't as beaten as she looked.

Emma turned to contemplate the dumpster full of trash that blocked the way out. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the girl get to her feet, massaging her throat.

"Hey, Emma, isn't it?" she said. "Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but seriously, we can-"

"We can do nothing," said Emma bluntly, not turning to look at the girl as she walked towards the dumpster. "I never want to see you again. Dad, get in the car."

He got in the car, the girl following at a rapid trot. "Seriously, Emma, we could make a great team –"

"Still not caring," said Emma over her shoulder. She placed her hands on the dumpster, braced herself, and shoved, Light surging up her arms. The dumpster screeched against the asphalt, one end swinging outwards like a large gate.

It was incredible. The girl was still there.

Emma walked toward her. "Go away. I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear from you."

"But you're so fucking badass. You just owned these guys. We could kick serious ass together." She paused. "Look, my name's Sophia, okay?"

Emma shook her head. "I don't want to know you. I'm not looking to kick anyone's ass. I just want to go home and have a long hot bath. Goodbye."

She got in the car. After a moment, she reached down to find the phone she had dropped. It read 911, but she had not pressed the call button. "Drive, Dad. Please. Get us away from here." As she slumped in the seat, she felt the Light drain out of her, her bizarre outfit dissolving into translucent flames and fading to reveal the clothes she'd been wearing before.

He drove.

The previous night

Taylor Hebert lay awake in her bed, listening to her tent-mate's snores. Finally confident that the girl was asleep, Taylor reached over, grabbed the pocketknife from the pouch in the top of her backpack, and unfolded the longest blade. She turned it over a few times, contemplating the way the blade shone like silver in the moonlight coming in through the opened tent-flaps.

A few cuts and I can see Mother again.

Taylor turned that thought over in her mind as she'd played with the knife. She knew, in a slightly detached way, that she ought to be horrified at that thought. It had been floating through her mind for months, but this was the first time she'd allowed it into her conscious mind.

Why not? she thought. Mom's gone, and Dad… dad's practically gone as well. I don't think we've actually talked to each other since the funeral. Will he even notice if I… do it?

I'm tired of being alone, tired of the pain, tired of having this hole in my life.

I know this is wrong, but surely God can pardon this if he pardons everything else.

She brushed the knife against the skin of her wrist, light as a feather. Not cutting, just tracing the lines. As she did so, the knife brushed up against the beaded bracelet on her wrist, one she'd made with Emma years ago.

Emma, Taylor thought. She… what would she say if she knew what I was thinking right now?

As Taylor lay there, knife against her wrist, all her countless memories of Emma seemed to parade in front of her eyes. Memories of being children together, of laughter and joy, of playing together by day and cuddling up to each other by night. And also memories of the past year, of Emma trying time and again to reach Taylor across the void that seemed to have wrapped around her.

No, Taylor thought, feeling a strange sense of solidity, of resolve and weightiness. No, I will not do that to her. She reached out to me, believed that I could heal. I cannot hurt her, not when she was willing to stick with me. As she believed in me, I choose to believe in her belief in me.

And as Emma was there for me, I must be there for my father. He's hurting too.

Carefully, she lifted the knife away from her wrist, folded it shut, and tucked it into her backpack. Deep within herself, she felt something shift.

That night, she dreamed of Light, and of Kingdoms long past.

The same night Emma was attacked.

Greg Veder lay awake in his bed, staring at nothing.

In a few months, I start at Winslow High. A chance to start afresh, to be more than just the creepy loner who sits in the corner and surfs the internet.

Ah, who am I kidding? I've resolved to start over, to be better than I am, a hundred times. If I could only sign some fairy document and be made over into the man I'd like to be, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Lord, I'd even take signing some document that forced me to stick to my own damn resolutions! But it's all down to me, and I am not enough.

"I don't suppose you'd care for my help?"

Greg started and spun around. He had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there, but this certainly wasn't his room. He was standing in a kind of open patio. Heavy black flagstones covered with brightly patterned rugs formed the floor, while columns of obsidian held up a roof. On three sides, the patio was surrounded by lush gardens, full of brightly colored tropical flowers and towering trees. Behind him, or now facing him after he'd turned around, was a wall of shaped obsidian rising upwards, with an open doorway in the middle. And between him and the doorway, lounging on a wicker couch, was a woman.

She was tall, or would be tall standing up, and muscular, with skin like bronze, hair like polished copper, and brilliant golden eyes. She was clad in a loose robe of brilliantly colored fabric, and had a broad smile on her face.

"What…" Greg sputtered, before trailing off. "Who are you?" he began again.

"Well," said the strange woman, "That will take a bit of explaining." She swung into a sitting position and patted the couch next to her. "Sit, and I'll tell you a story."

Greg sat.

"Once upon a time," began the woman, "In a world both like and unlike the one you know, there was a great and shining civilization. Kings and Queens shone like beacons, spreading the Light of hope and courage across the world. Countless Nobles bore the Light in their hearts, driving back the Darkness of fear and despair and vice. For years beyond count the Light shone, and mighty kingdoms grew in its brilliance, each different from the next, each choosing some particular facet of the Light to embody."

She sighed. "It was that difference that betrayed us in the end. Over time, we grew proud and insular. We forgot that each kingdom was an expression of the same Light, and began to believe that our own interpretation of the Light was the only valid one. That strife gave the Dark its first foothold, and the corruption began to set in. We grew ever more proud, turned further and further from the Light, and our radiance began to weaken. Until one day, the Dark struck in force. We were torn down, those who still kept to the Light overwhelmed, and the Dark stood triumphant. Three Queens survived, but at terrible costs. All others were lost."

Greg tensed. He hadn't missed this lady switching from the third to the first person, and he knew she was recounting events she herself had lived through.

"But that wasn't the end of its schemes. The Nobility reincarnate, our souls sent back into the world until time ends and He who made the Light calls us home. The Dark knew that if it allowed us to be reborn into its new realms, it would not be able to keep us down. So it built a trap, a web of illusion and magic that redirected our souls and trapped us in a dreamworld where we had never fallen. For eons, we lived in that illusion, never realizing that we were in a prison of the mind."

"Until one day, there was a flash. For a single instant, the light of hope burnt stronger in the real world than in the dream. And in that moment, we realized what had been done to us. We remembered Downfall, and we knew that we had been the Darkness's dupes for countless years while the world suffered."

"After that, the trap could hold us no longer. We tore apart the webs of deceit, drove out the Wardens who had tended the illusion, and began to seek a way back into the worlds we had lost so long ago. In the end, we broke the barriers, and the souls of the Nobility began to pass back out into the real worlds. Most passed back into the world from which they'd come, but a few… perhaps it was the remnants of the Darkness's trap, distorting the paths of our Noble's souls, perhaps it was the Lord at work, but for whatever reason a few souls went farther afield, scattered amongst realms far from the one we knew."

Greg swallowed, a sudden impossible conviction growing in his mind. "Realms… realms like the one I'm from?"

"Exactly," said the strange woman with a smile.

"You mean…" Greg couldn't say it. "But I'm a total screw-up! How could I possibly be…"

"Reincarnation strips away all but the most basic aspects of who you are," said the woman. "Everything beyond that depends on the circumstances of that specific life, and those circumstances aren't always favorable. And you may have not yet lived up to your potential, but you know that, and you want to be better than you are. That counts for a lot."

She smiled, "So, to cut to the chase, this is the moment where you get to decide if you really meant what you were thinking just earlier. You're right on the edge of Blossoming, and this place, this Dreamland, brings you even closer. So close, in fact, that all you need do is knowingly choose to reach out and embrace the Light."

The woman's tone grew serious. "Make no mistake, it'll bring you misery and suffering as well as glory and satisfaction. Yours is a very dark world indeed, and there are few Nobles there. But you will have power, and the chance to make a difference. Or, you can reject the Light. If you do, you will wake up, all of this will seem nothing more than a dream that you will soon forget, and others will take up the task of saving the world. Perhaps they will be able to manage it without your help, or perhaps not."

For a long moment, Greg stared at this strange woman, his mind racing. Then he rolled off the couch and dropped to one knee before the woman, bowing his head. He recalled words from a book he'd recently read, words that seemed perfect for this situation.

"Life before death," he said, carefully enunciating each syllable. "Strength before weakness. Journey before destination."

There was a long silence, and Greg's cheeks started to blush red with embarrassment at his melodrama. But then the woman began to laugh. And not a laugh of mockery or derision, but a rich, full-throated laugh of such joy that it made Greg's heart leap.

"Oh yes, you'll do very well indeed," she said, and he felt her lay her warm hand on his head. "These Words are accepted, Greg Veder."

Flickering flames flashed across Greg's form, and he felt a sudden upwelling of Light, as power and glory seemed to pour into him.

"Rise, Greg Veder, Champion of the Light," said the woman.

Greg rose dazedly to his feet. Something soft and yielding was draped over his shoulders, something heavy hung around his hips, and he could feel a faint ring of pressure atop his head.

"Take a look," said the woman, gesturing towards a full-length mirror that Greg was completely certain had not been there earlier. Greg turned and started.

Who is that?

The figure that looked back at him looked like a Western had collided with a space opera. Slung around its shoulders was some kind of long robe or duster, with the five-pointed golden star of a stereotypical Wild West sheriff's badge pinned over his chest, a design of a stylized flaming sword engraved on it and glowing with golden-white light. The duster was black: not the glossy or matte black of any fabric Greg had ever seen, but the blank, unreflective black of the night sky, complete with tiny stars twinkling in its depths. If he hadn't been seeing it with his own eyes, Greg would have dismissed it as a bad Photoshop job.

He looked down to see the same fabric draped over his chest and arms, with the same impossible piece-of-the-night-sky appearance as in the mirror. Gloves with the same appearance covered his hands. He removed one of the gloves and pinched the sleeve of the duster between two fingers. Feels like leather, he thought.

He turned his appearance back towards the mirror. Beneath the night-sky-duster, he appeared to be wearing a white shirt and pants, and atop his head was a broad-brimmed hat with the same night-sky appearance as the duster. Buckled around his waist was a broad belt made of interlocking rectangles of golden metal, with a round buckle at the front decorated with the same glowing design of a flaming sword as the badge. At either hip were a pair of holsters of that same night-sky-leather, holding sleekly futuristic pistols of golden metal. And hanging from the belt just in front of his left holster was...

"Oh my god," Greg breathed. He grabbed the cylinder and held it up, thumbing the button on one side. With a distinctive snap-hiss, a shaft of golden-white light extended from the cylinder.

"A lightsaber," Greg whispered. "I get a lightsaber?"

Behind him, the woman chuckled. "Your Transformed self, and especially your Regalia, are the very incarnation of your hopes and dreams. You are who you dreamed of being, and if you want a lightsaber you can have one."

Greg blushed slightly. "I see what you mean," he said, gesturing at himself in the mirror. "When I was six, I thought that 'Void Cowboy' was the most awesome and original idea ever. I ran around with those stupid toy rayguns, drew drawings, wrote bad stories… I made that my PHO handle a couple years ago. And now Void Cowboy is going to be an actual parahuman. This is so…" He trailed off and the Queen laughed.

"I know it's a bit surreal," she said. "Light, I still remember my first Blossoming this incarnation, and I had a pretty good idea what to expect. But I'm afraid there's no time for you to just stand around and stare. I'm sure this comes as no surprise to you, but a Queen's got a lot of demands on her time, and we still have much to do tonight. There are two others who've Blossomed in your realm. The three of you need to meet, and there's far too much you need to be told still."

Greg nodded mutely.

"This way, then," the woman said briskly. She turned on one heel and strode through the doorway, Greg following dazedly.

1.2

"Hello Taylor,"

Taylor started. She was no longer in the tent at the summer camp. For that matter, she was nowhere she had ever before seen. She was lying on a couch in a room made of some kind of pinkish marble, and there was a tall slender woman dressed in what looked like a pink kimono smiling down at her. The woman had long curly dark hair, a wide, thin-lipped mouth, and Taylor had no idea who she was.

"Uh," she said. She began leveraging herself up into a sitting position, and her train of thought fell apart again as she looked down at her body. Or at least at what should have been her body. Where had the frog-belly gone, and where had the muscle tone in the arms and legs come from? What was that skintight bodysuit made from, and why was she wearing a skintight red-with-black-spots bodysuit in the first place? She wasn't complaining, it looked awesome, but she certainly didn't own anything like this.

"I'm Catherine," the woman said. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Uh," Taylor repeated, "where am I? And how do you know my name?"

"Now that is a bit of a long story," Catherine said. "You mind if I… Waaugh!"

There was a cracking noise and the floor shattered directly under Catherine. The woman leapt backwards and a spike of translucent crystal, glinting with vivid colors, sprouted up through the pink stone of the floor.

"What the…" Taylor whispered.

IDENTITY: QUEEN ADMINISTRATOR

It felt like something was trying to pound a nail into her skull. Raw information slammed into Taylor's head with all the delicacy of a branding iron.

HOST

Taylor clutched her head.

"What is it doing?" Catherine snapped. She raised both hands in front of her, a scepter appearing in her hands in a flash of light.

"Wait!" Taylor said, raising one hand. "It's… I think it's trying to talk to me."

"What are you?" she said, turning to address the crystal spike.

IDENTITY: QUEEN ADMINISTRATOR

TYPE: SHARD.

SYMBIOTE

HOST EMPOWERED

"You… You're what gives superheroes their powers? Are you behind my powers?" she asked, trying to parse the odd surges of information.

NEGATION

POTENTIAL HOST: UNANTICIPATED PROPERTY

UNKNOWN ENERGY.

"Unknown… that light? That's not from you?"

"What's it saying?" Catherine said. Before she could finish what she was saying, another surge of thought slammed into Taylor's mind.

PROPOSAL: SYMBIOSIS.

INFORMATION: CORRELATE. STORE. PROCESS.

UNKNOWN ENERGY: ACCESS. ANALYZE. METABOLIZE.

"I can tell it's using some kind of telempathy," Catherine was saying, "but I can't pick up on what it's transmitting. Doesn't quite feel like ordinary mindspeech, though. Too… rough, I guess."

"Hang on," Taylor said. "How much Light would you need?" she asked.

MINIMAL

PASSIVE HOST RADIANCE SUFFICIENT.

"Ok, I'll get back to you," Taylor said. She took a second to try and get her thoughts in order before turning to address Catherine. "It says that it's a "Shard", whatever that's supposed to mean, and that it's what gives parahumans their powers. Except that my powers don't come from it. That… Light… apparently it's something this "Queen Administrator" - that's what it calls itself - has never encountered before. It's really curious about that, says it wants to link to me to get a closer look at the Light. In return… as far as I can tell it's offering to store and process information for me. And it's got some serious processing power, way beyond any computer we have...It's really weird the way it communicates," she added. "Really basic concepts, but there's a lot of ancillary information packaged into each one."

"I see…" Catherine said slowly.

"It's weird, but I feel like I can trust it," Taylor said. "Like I said, there's a huge amount of emotional content that's getting sent along with its messages. I don't think it can lie to me… I can't explain it, I just know."

"As a Princess, you'll learn to trust your instincts," Catherine said with a smile. "Shard, would you be willing to wait a bit for Taylor's answer? There are some things I need to explain to her for her to make an informed decision."

ACCEPTANCE. QUIESCENCE.

The Shard's pillar flashed once, then went dim.

"Ok, Taylor," Catherine said. "Mind if I take a seat? This is going to be a bit of a complicated explanation."

Emma Barnes had had her world turned upside down again and again this past day. She had almost been raped and mutilated, been saved by the inexplicable manifestation of superpowers, and had an unpleasant confrontation with a parahuman whose apparent philosophy gave her the creeps. When she'd finally gotten home and fallen asleep, she'd woken up in some kind of dreamworld, where a man she had never before met had explained that she was the reincarnation of some kind of ancient parahuman princess. So being led up onto the roof of the pyramid she'd woken up in and finding a dragon waiting there barely even fazed her.

As she and Gabriel, her escort, stepped out on the top of the pyramid, the dragon swung its golden-scaled head around and sniffed at her. After a moment's pause, it blew a gust of smoke out of its nostrils, causing Emma to cough.

"I think Gleam's miffed that you weren't more impressed with him," Gabriel commented. "Dragons are vain creatures, you know. They like to be admired."

"I'll keep that in mind," Emma said. "Sorry, Gleam," she called towards the dragon. "You're very shiny, I'm just a little shaken up at the moment."

"Not surprising," came a voice from off to the side.

Emma jumped, spinning to see a pair of figures that must have just come up one of the other sets of stairs. In the lead was a tall copperling with bronzed skin, clad in a flowing and vibrantly-colored robe. Emma blushed. There was a presence to that woman like nobody she'd ever met before, an authority that radiated from her like heat from a fire.

Just behind the copperling, almost unnoticeable next to her sheer presence, was a young man with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, clad in a fairly absurd-looking getup apparently intended to evoke a "space cowboy".

Probably shouldn't criticize. I've seen far sillier costumes from novice parahumans.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Gabriel stiffen to attention, and at the same time the dragon twisted around, sitting up on its haunches and facing the copperling.

"At ease," the woman said with a casual wave of her hand. Gabriel dropped back into a more relaxed stance, while Gleam twisted around itself in a contortion that made Emma's spine hurt just seeing it. "Greetings, Emma Barnes. My name is Hwakalini, though I have also been called the Queen of Swords or the Faithful Marshal. And this is Greg Veder. Greg, meet Emma Barnes. She is another of the Nobility who ended up in your world."

Emma returned her focus to the newly introduced Greg, to see him staring at her with a slightly dropped jaw and an expression of complete and total transfixion. Oddly, Emma felt her spirits rise slightly at Greg's undisguised attention. With all that had happened to her, with how many times her life had been turned on end in the past twenty-four hours, it was reassuring to know that she still had the power to command the attentions of teenaged boys.

"Ok, all aboard," the Queen called out, gesturing towards what looked like an old-fashioned carriage with no wheels, but two giant crossbars sticking out the top. "We've got a long way to go."

"Are you serious?" Greg blurted out. "We get a dragon ride?"

"That you do," the Queen replied.

"So awesome!" Greg said. "Thank you, Your Highness!"

"Thank Gleam, he's the one carrying you," said the Queen.

"Oh, right, thank you, Sir Dragon," Greg said quickly. Gleam smiled, revealing a whole array of gleaming fangs, and let out a guttural rumble.

"He says 'You're welcome,'" said the Queen. "Dragons don't speak English, their mouths aren't shaped right for it."

Greg nodded, and the three of them clambered into the carriage. Through the window, Emma saw the Queen break into a run and leap off the edge of the pyramid. But even as she leapt, her form exploded outwards, shifting in an eyeblink into a dragon, bigger than Gleam and with scales the same burnished-copper shade as her human form's hair. The Queen-dragon did a loop-the-loop, letting out a gleeful-sounding screech.

Closer to them, Gleam took off, his wings unfurling and catching the air. He looped around out of sight, then a moment later there was a sudden jolt as the carriage leapt into the air, almost throwing Emma out of her seat.

As the carriage flew through the air, Greg tried his best to keep his focus on the cute copperling's face and not on how her costume highlighted her impressive boobs and how the jostling of dragonflight made them jiggle…

Emma. Her name is Emma. She has a name, she's a person and a fellow Noble. Treat her like one, not like some pin-up doll.

"So… where are you from?" he ventured.

"Brockton Bay," she replied.

"Wow, me too!" he said. "We should… hang on a tick." He reached down to his belt for the device he had just decided had to be there.

I see what the Queen meant about my powers shaping themselves to my needs, he thought. This is convenient.

"Can I have your phone number?" he said, thumbing the gilt smartphone to life. "So we can get in touch once we wake up?"

"Smart idea," Emma said, bestowing a smile that made Greg's heart race. She rattled off her number, Greg entering it into his phone.

"So how'd you end up here, anyway?" Greg continued. "I mean, I just fell asleep and woke up here, and the Queen explained about my being a reincarnated Noble and… I dunno, jump-started or something my Noble-ness. So what about you?"

Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Can we talk about that some other time?" she asked after a long pause. "I'm not ready to discuss that story yet."

Greg winced. He didn't know what had happened, but he had obviously said the wrong thing.

"So," he said, turning his focus to the third occupant of the carriage, "Gabriel, right? Are you a Noble as well?"

"No," Gabriel said, smiling slightly. "Just a regular citizen of Aztallan. The Queen asked me to explain a few of the basics to Emma here while she was sparking you, and I imagine she plans to send me back with you as an advisor. They can do that, send regular Dreamlanders along as dream advisors to the Hopeful."

"Really?" Greg said, surprised. "That will be welcome. I mean, the Queen gave me the abbreviated version of our history, but she didn't have time to explain much. I don't even really know how these powers are actually supposed to work. I'm pretty sure they don't follow the same rules as parahuman powers, but I'm a little fuzzy on what rules they do follow."

Gabriel smiled. "You're in luck, then," he said. "I study the magic of the Hopeful. Shall I start from the beginning?"

"Yes please," Greg said, and pulled up a note-taking app on his Radiant smartphone.

Need to remember to transcribe this later, he thought as Gabriel began to talk.

There was a thud and a jolt as the carriage touched down. Greg jumped to his feet and hurried out the door, turning to offer his hand to Emma. Only when she had likewise climbed out did Greg take a look around.

They were standing in what looked like an open circular courtyard, without walls but with pillars at intervals around the perimeter. One half, the half that Greg and Emma and Gabriel and the now-human Queen of Swords were standing in, was paved in glossy obsidian, and its pillars were stark and unadorned. The other half of the room was paved with blocks of rose-pink marble, and both the floor and the pillars were engraved with complex designs that suggested hearts and vines and heraldic roses.

This half of the courtyard was occupied by two figures. The first was a woman, who was tall, easily in excess of six feet, with a formidable bust, broad shoulders… really, everything about her was large, as though someone had taken a normal woman and then scaled the model up in proportion. She was wearing a flowing gown of dark pink, several shades darker than the stones on which she stood, and an old-fashioned crown of gold, set with several colors of gems.

Standing half in front of the large woman was a girl of perhaps Emma and Greg's age. She was slender but appeared to have the taut muscles of a gymnast or an athlete, which the skintight red bodysuit with black spots she wore highlighted. Her eyes were dark and she had curly black hair that flowed past her shoulders. What really drew Greg's attention, however, was the opaline gem set into the center of her forehead, as if it were a natural part of her biology.

"Greetings, Alexandria," said the Queen of Swords. "And you must be Taylor Hebert," she added, inclining her head towards the woman with the gem in her forehead.

There was a gasp, and Greg turned to see Emma's jaw drop.

"Taylor?" she blurted out.

1.3

Taylor stared in confusion at the redhead in the miniskirt and crop-top.

"Yes, that's my name," she said. "Why is that so surprising?"

"Taylor?" the girl repeated. "What… do you not recognize me?" she said, sounding surprised.

"Should I?" Taylor responded, feeling as baffled as the redhead sounded.

"Taylor, it's me!" the redhead replied. "Emma Barnes?"

Taylor felt her jaw drop as recognition flashed through her mind. It was like looking at an optical illusion. Nothing had actually changed, but between one eyeblink and the next the face in front of her was suddenly as familiar as her own, features that only a moment ago she had not recognized suddenly as clear as day.

She felt Queen Administrator touch her, its presence like lines of ice laid across her mind. Her mind sped up, memories of Emma swirling through her mind without prompting.

Not now, she thought at it, and its presence subsided once again.

"And here," the Queen of Hearts chimed in, "we see perfectly demonstrated one of the more useful secondary powers of the Hopeful. As some of us know, the most fundamental power of the Hopeful is the power of Transformation, to Invest oneself with the power of the Light and temporarily assume a form in which that power can be freely expressed. Nearly all of a Noble's magic is only accessible when they are Transformed, and when they must return to a fully mortal body they have only a very limited set of abilities."

"Fortunately, every Noble possesses a powerful glamour, a magic that renders it nigh-impossible for observers to connect the Transformed and mundane identities. Observers' minds refuse to notice similarities of appearance, chains of reasoning that might lead to connecting the two identities are blocked, even magic cannot divine that an untransformed Noble has an Invested form or find your mundane identity by targeting your Transformed self. It's not completely foolproof, but unless you actually tell someone or Transform before their eyes, it will take an overwhelming accumulation of evidence before anyone can make the connection. I suspect it might be even more effective than normal in your case, since your world already has such a strong tradition of secret identities for the magic to work with."

"An important lesson to keep in mind," the tall copperling, the one who had to be the Queen of Swords, said. "This glamour will be one of your primary defenses against the dangers of your world. Do not treat it lightly, and take care to keep from dropping clues to your identities."

"Dammit," the blonde in the space cowboy costume. He started, then visibly paled. "Uh… I mean… sorry about my language, Your Majesties."

"Pardoned," said the Queen of Hearts with a wave of her hand. "You were saying?"

The blonde nodded. "Well… I was kind of hoping to make "Void Cowboy" my superhero name." He made a gesture at his apparel. "I thought that was a really cool concept when I was younger, that's why I look like this. But I already made that my PHO handle a couple of years back, and I don't remember what all I've posted. There might be enough there for people to figure out my real identity, once I'm important enough for people to make the effort."

"We can discuss that later," Taylor said quickly. "Right now, we don't have long. Your Highnesses, what else do you need to tell us? We can discuss plans amongst ourselves later on."

The Queen of Swords smiled. "Clever girl," she said. "I'd say the most important thing to understand is that you're going to be working almost without reinforcements. Your world wasn't originally intended to have Nobility, and so at least to start out with the only Nobles in your world will be the ones that were sent there by accident from ours. According to our divinations, there were five Nobles that were diverted into your world, and one that's in another world that feels like it might be connected somehow. In time, your presence might enable those around you to access the Light more directly, but at least in the short term you three and those other three will be the Light's only avatars in your world."

"On the bright side," the Queen of Swords added, "this should also give you some breathing room against the Darkness. The Darkness only has what power it can steal from the Light, so since the Light didn't intend to be directly drawn on in your world the power of the Darkness will be likewise limited. Again, that could change in time, but in the short term you'll only have to deal with the Darkness's indirect effects, human cruelty and natural disaster."

"Which will be more than bad enough," Emma said with a visible shudder.

"Also," the Queen of Swords added, "you can expect to find those other three coming to you. Noble souls tend to seek each other out, it's no coincidence that you three all ended up in the same city. If the other three aren't already in your city, there's a good chance they will find their way to you eventually."

"Good to know," the blonde said. "Any chance you can tell us who they are?"

"I'm afraid not," said the Queen of Swords. "None of them have Blossomed yet, and until they do it's almost impossible to track them. Once they do Blossom we can bring them to this realm, the way we did for you, and then make the introductions."

"On that subject," the Queen of Hearts said, "I must warn you that you will not be able to regularly consult with us or with your fellow Nobles in this realm. Because your souls are now tied to a different physical realm than the one to which we are native, they will not be able to find these Dreamlands without considerable expenditure of energy to bridge the path between worlds. Your Blossomings created a surge of energy that allowed us to bring you here tonight, but you will not be able to visit us on a regular basis until you have grown sufficiently in your powers to open the path from your end."

"For that reason," she added, "I would recommend that we return you to your proper realm at this point. At present I feel there is little we can explain that could not be just as easily explained by Shikigami Gabriel or by one of you to the others, and by returning you now we should be able to conserve enough of the spiritual energy your double Blossoming released to allow you to return to us once you have had some time to learn the basics of your new powers and to consider what you know of your own world and the difficulties you will face. I think that would be a more productive use of all our time."

"Agreed," said the blonde. "I… I know that I don't even know what I don't know, if that makes any sense. This is so unlike everything I ever learned, so unlike anything I planned for…" He paused, then restarted his sentence. "I know what I am and what I'm meant to do in the most general sense, but nothing more than that. Until I learn more details on how these powers work and what I can do with them, I wouldn't even know the right questions to ask."

The Queen of Swords nodded. "Very well then," she said. "Taylor, come over here. I'm going to link Gabriel to the three of you, that way any of you can talk to him in your dreams. Don't do that too often, though, it does use a bit of energy and you won't get a proper night's rest when you try it."

Taylor gave a detailed look to Gabriel for the first time. He had darker, almost molasses-colored skin, which contrasted oddly with his rather messy white hair and his bushy, equally white eyebrows. He was wearing a dark yellow robe with a lot of pockets, and she noticed a satchel attached to his belt at the hip.

"Hang on," she said. "I think I missed something. What is Gabriel going to be doing? And who is he?"

Gabriel took a step forwards and extended his hand. "Hello, Princess Taylor," he said.

Taylor obligingly shook his hand, and he continued. "In answer to your question, my Queen proposes to send me with you as what is called a Shikigami, the spirit of a former citizen of the Kingdoms sent as an adviser to young Nobility. Where your former knowledge and memories have been fragmented by the process of rebirth, mine are intact and available for your edification. Moreover, I am a scholar of the theurgical and the arcane. Short of an actual Princess, who have too great a metaphysical presence to link to another in this manner, I am one of the greatest experts on the nature and function of your powers you could find, and I am highly qualified to study and analyze the magic of your world."

Request: Acceptance, Queen Administrator sent to Taylor. The Shard's telempathic broadcasts had grown less overwhelming since she had accepted the bond, but it was still difficult to parse.

Objective: Acquire Data relevant to "Light" Energy, Queen Administrator continued.

Speculation: Entity "Gabriel" Possesses Data relevant to "Light" Energy.

Yes, yes, Ok, Taylor thought back. I wasn't going to object anyway.

"Ok," she said out loud. "I think I understand." She stepped forward.

"Ok," the Queen of Swords said, "everyone lay hands on Gabriel, please." There was a moment of shuffling as the three children maneuvered so everyone was touching the Dreamlander scholar, and then she made a few quick gestures, her fingers leaving behind thin lines of fire that twisted in the air, one line wrapping around each child's forearm and braiding together into a cord that wrapped around Gabriel's wrist. Taylor felt an odd sensation of warmth as the line of fire seemed to sink into her arm before winking out.

"And there we go," the Queen of Swords said. "When you return to your world, Gabriel should be pulled along. He'll end up in a kind of pocket realm, a demesne in your world's Dreamlands that he will be able to shape to his needs. You'll be able to trigger the connection I made, it will allow you to fall asleep and follow the link to reach Gabriel's demesne in your dreams. Given time, you may also be able to bring Gabriel out into the Physical, bind him to a Vessel so you can consult with him in the waking world, but that's a more complicated bit of magic than any of you can probably manage yet. This will do for now."

"And with that," the Queen of Hearts said, "I believe it is time to bid you three good-bye for the present. Light go with you."

She raised one hand, rose-pink light hardening into a scepter tipped with a heart of pinkish marble in her grasp, and made an odd swiping motion. Taylor felt that same heavy weight of Light rise up within her, filling her with strength and a deep contentment, and her vision faded into a shimmer of rose-pink.

She felt a sudden surge of heat from around her wrist, where the Queen of Swords had linked Gabriel to the three of them. A line of fire cut across the pinkish light, then both faded to reveal an unfamiliar room. The room was floored and paneled with dark wood, illuminated by what looked like a crystal ball filled with flickering golden flames that hung from the ceiling. The walls were lined with shelves full of books, and off to one side was a desk with sheets of paper and a cup full of pens on it. She, Emma, the blonde, and Gabriel were all sitting on what felt like beanbags around a low table.

"Hello, Your Highnesses," Gabriel said. "Now, before anything else, I imagine you would like a more detailed explanation of what your powers and limits are. After that, you can discuss your plans for moving forward, and I will help as I may. Now, please stop me if there's anything you don't understand…"

1.4

"Wait a second," Taylor said, interrupting Gabriel's explanation. "Are you saying our powers will actually get stronger over time? It's not just that we'll get better at using them, the powers themselves will actually get stronger?"

"Well, yes," Gabriel said, sounding baffled. "As a Princess channels the Light through herself and uses it to make the world a better place, her own Inner Light grows stronger. She can hold more Wisps at once, she learns new Charms or new tricks for the ones she already knows, and all her powers grow in potency. Is this not how it works with the magic of your world?"

In the back of her mind, Taylor felt a surge of indecipherable thought from QA. Something about what Gabriel said seemed to have piqued its interest.

I really need to explain about this to the others, she thought. It tells us so much about how powers work. Probably should wait until Gabriel's finished, though.

Greg had started talking while she was momentarily distracted. "… are a few powers that get stronger over time, like Dauntless's abilities, but it's rare. For the most part, the abilities you get are pretty much fixed. Except second triggers of course, but those are still a one-off kind of thing."

"Second triggers?" Taylor asked.

"Yeah," Greg said. "Apparently, if a parahuman gets into a really stressful situation, something that parallels their original trigger, then sometimes they can effectively trigger again, remove restrictions on their powers or unlock new ways of using them. Narwhal of the Guild had one, and now her force-fields ignore the Manton Limit."

"The Manton Limit?" Gabriel asked.

Why do second triggers happen? Taylor thought at QA as Greg began an explanation.

INFORMATION REDACTED, it sent back.

"Wait, what?" Taylor said.

"Taylor?" Emma asked.

"Sorry," Taylor said, "I just… well, I was just thinking that I needed to explain this to you all at some point, I suppose now's as good a time as any."

She took a deep breath. "Ok, this is going to sound pretty crazy. Have any of you ever wondered where parahuman powers come from?"

"Kinda," Greg said. "But nobody's ever figured that out, in like thirty years of research. I mean, people know that the corona pollentia is connected to powers somehow, but nobody's ever figured out how a little brain lobe can unlock the kind of things parahuman powers do."

"Well," Taylor said, "When Her Majesty brought me into the Dreamlands, there was something else that took the opportunity to talk to me." She closed her eyes and turned her focus to QA's icy presence in the back of her mind. You manifested physically earlier, she sent to it. Can you do that again? It would save a lot of time if you could converse directly with the rest of the group.

Consideration… QA sent, followed by Specification: Light required.

Ok, Taylor thought, reaching down inside herself for the solid weight of the Light. She separated out a Wisp and pushed it towards QA. There was a sudden sensation like something moving inside her head, and then QA's presence was gone. Taylor opened her eyes to see a perfect icosahedron of iridescent crystal about the size of her fist hovering above the center of the table.

"This," Taylor said, "is 'Queen Administrator'. Its kind are called 'Shards', and apparently they are the source of parahuman powers. They link to humans… I guess through that brain thing Greg mentioned?"

"Confirmation," QA said. Its voice sounded vaguely buzzy and definitely artificial, like a robot from an old-fashioned science fiction show, and its vocalizations were accompanied by the same emotional sidebands Taylor was already becoming accustomed to in its telempathic transmissions. "Corona Pollentia acts as receiver. Connection established between Host and Shard, through which Host may direct Shard to use powers."

"And what do you get out of the deal?" Gabriel replied.

"Data," QA buzzed. "REDACTED possess minimal creative faculty. Hosts use powers, determine new means by which powers may be employed. REDACTED take learned lessons, better understand capacity."

"Clarification:," it continued, "Taylor non-typical host. 'Light' energy of great interest to REDACTED. Light energy non-quantifiable by Queen Administrator data modeling. Host Taylor comprehends Light. Purpose of link to analyze Light energy through paradigm of Host Taylor, in effort to quantify. Acquisition of data regarding usage of Queen Administrator capabilities secondary priority."

"This is so weird," Greg said, his eyes having gone out of focus. "That… I'm not going crazy, right? You feel that too?"

"I'm pretty sure this is how Shards usually communicate," Taylor said. "I guess it comes from using telepathy rather than sounds or symbols, they can encode all this additional content."

"Confirmation," QA buzzed.

"So what are you not telling us?" Greg said, eyes coming back into focus. "What is 'Redacted'? I mean, I can feel that you don't think that you'll hurt Taylor, but..." he trailed off.

"REDACTED is redacted," QA said. "Information that can be shared with hosts on certain topics is currently restricted. Sufficient justification to override restrictions not yet attained."

It continued, the emotional sidebands humming with sincerity. "Specification: No information regarding bond with Host Taylor has been redacted. All information provided."

Greg made an odd snorting noise. "Well, I guess I can live with that," he said. "Not that it's my choice anyway, now that I think about it. If Taylor trusts you, who am I to overrule her? And there are thousands and thousands of parahumans out there with Shards, and most of them are fine." He blushed slightly. "Sorry, I talk too much when I get excited."

"We can talk more about Shards later," Taylor said. "Gabriel, I believe you were explaining Charms?"

"Right," Gabriel said, "Now, as I was saying before we got on this tangent…"

Above the table, QA's manifestation dissolved into what looked like a cloud of glitter, which swept towards Taylor. There was a momentary sensation of pressure, then she felt the icy touch of QA's presence in the back of her mind once more.

"The first question," Emma said, "is whether we should join the Wards." Gabriel had finished his exposition and had moved to behind the desk to take notes while the three of them talked.

"No," Greg said firmly. "Listen, the Brockton Bay Protectorate are good people for the most part, but the PRT and Protectorate are so handicapped by rules and PR limitations that they're just about worthless. There's literally whole memes on PHO about how the Protectorate never really accomplishes anything. And the Wards are worse, because they have Youth Guard busybodies working to hamstring them as well. We'd never get anything done. And on top of that, the Protectorate would want to know our civilian identities. Like the Queen said, that glamour is one of our best defenses, we mustn't squander it. Specially since I would be greatly surprised if the PRT isn't infiltrated."

Emma winced. "Is it really that bad?" she said. "I'm not saying you're wrong, Greg," she added quickly, not wanting to shoot down the young boy, "I'm just asking."

"Well, look at Brockton Bay," Greg said. "We've got literal Nazis and a Yakuza rage dragon running around, and the Protectorate doesn't do anything about them. Even when the Protectorate catches one of their capes, they get broken out in a few days. The PRT doesn't even unmask them or hit them in their homes. The Slaughterhouse Nine has been roaming the country for years, and the government does nothing."

"I hate to say it," Taylor said, "But I think Greg has a point. The Docks have been getting worse for years, the BPPD is overwhelmed, and the Protectorate and PRT don't seem to do anything to help out. I hear things, from my dad and from the Dockworkers."

"Which kind of brings up something else," she said. "What do we tell our parents?"

"My Dad already knows," Emma said. "He was…" she paused, memories flashing through her.

"Emma?" Taylor said.

Perhaps it's better to tell this story now, Emma thought, while I'm still numb from everything that's happened tonight.

"Earlier tonight," she said, "I was in the car on the way home when we tried to cut through an alley…"

"… and then we drove away," she finished a few minutes later.

"My god, Emma," Taylor whispered in Emma's ear. She was now sitting on Emma's beanbag, arms wrapped around her friend. "I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," Emma said. "But the point is, my dad knows and so does that girl."

"The girl…" Greg said slowly. "Black, with crossbows and a hockey mask? And you said she went blurry at one point, and talked about wanting to see who you were?"

Emma nodded.

"Shadow Stalker," Greg said confidently. "It's got to be. She's a vigilante, black with a hockey mask, uses crossbows and has phasing powers. And there are stories going around PHO about her watching muggings, refusing to step in until the victims fight back somehow."

"I should point out," Gabriel said from behind his desk, "that while you are correct in that this 'Shadow Stalker' actually witnessing your Transformation will be sufficient to defeat the glamour's effects, it will still make it extremely difficult for her to convince anyone else of your identity. Even should she try to inform another, the glamour will prompt them to believe she must be lying or mistaken. Her testimony will be strong evidence, of the sort that in accumulation can overwhelm the glamour, but it is not the absolutely irrefutable proof needed to break it in a single blow."

"That'll help," Emma said, "But she still knows, which I don't like. She gave me the creeps."

"Back to the original topic," Greg said, "I'm not sure if telling my parents would be a good idea. They're… My Mom tries to ignore things that upset her, pretend they don't exist. And my Dad- he blows up at them. And neither of them like the cape scene too much."

Emma considered that for a moment. "You know them better than I," she said slowly. "But I'm not sure how well you'll be able to keep the secret. I've never tried to hide something this big from my parents, but I can't imagine it would be easy."

"Might be easier than you think," Greg said. "My dad is away from home a lot, his job requires lots of travel. My mom isn't quite as distant, but she still ignores me most of the time. Especially with the glamour, I think I could pull it off."

Emma noticed that Taylor was holding tight onto her again. "Taylor?" she asked.

"Sorry," Taylor murmured. "It's just… my dad, he's been just ignoring me. Ever since… since mom, he's just been walking around like a zombie, barely seems to notice me. And now… I don't know whether I can tell him. I feel like I should, I feel like he deserves that from me, but I'm scared of what he'll do."

Emma considered. "Well, we've got time on that," she noted. "You don't get back from camp for… what, another week?" At Taylor's nod, she continued. "We're certainly not going to tell your dad about this until you get back, so that gives me some time to consult with my dad. He knows your dad as well as anyone does, and reading people is part of what he does. And whether or not we end up deciding to tell him, it sounds like we need to put some more effort into reaching out to him."

"Ok," Taylor said quietly.

"So," Greg added after an awkward pause, "what about names and personae? I'm… well, I know there's risks in using 'Void Cowboy' as my cape name, but even thinking about using anything else feels weird. Plus the glamour should help prevent people from connecting 'Void Cowboy' the superhero to 'Void Cowboy' the laughingstock of PHO, right? Especially if I open another PHO account for my Transformed self, call it 'TrueVoidCowboy' or something. The mods won't mind even if they do figure it out, cape identities are pretty much the only time they let you get away with duplicate accounts."

That… Emma thought, I feel like I should say something encouraging, but I have no idea what. I still barely know this guy.

"Ok," she said out loud. "So, 'Void Cowboy' for you… not sure what to go with for me and Taylor. But we don't need to figure that out yet, I doubt we'll be making our debut tomorrow."

She shook her head, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"Ok, anyone else feeling tired?"

"Not really," Greg said.

"A little," Taylor said.

"That probably means that your time in this realm is coming to an end for the night," Gabriel said from behind his desk. "While your mind is in this demesne, your physical body lies dreaming, and it will stay in the dream only so long." He pointed to a door in the wall of their room that Emma was fairly certain had not been there earlier. "That door should lead back to your bodies."

"Well," Emma said, "I suppose we've covered the immediately important stuff. Like I said, I don't think we'll be making our debut tomorrow, and I imagine we could all use some time to process what we've learned before we make any permanent decisions."

"Agreed," Taylor said. She gave Emma a hug. "I'm looking forward to seeing you in person. Just a few more days and I'll be back."

"Just a few more days," Emma said. She climbed to her feet, strode across the room to the door, and turned to shoot a smile at Greg. "Greg, I look forward to getting to know you better."

Greg blushed. "Uh… look forward to getting to know you too," he said.

Emma turned and stepped across the threshold.

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! DWEEDLE-DEE! BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! DWEEDLE-DEE!

Greg Veder rolled over in bed and thumbed off the alarm on his beside clock. Then he rolled out of the bed, took a few steps, and silenced the alarm on his phone as well before walking back over and flopping down face-first on his bed.

God, what a weird dream, he thought. It can't possibly have been real, can it? Did I really travel-

His thoughts cut out as he became aware of something hard on his chest. Slowly, carefully, he sat up in bed and looked down at his chest. There, pinned to his pajama shirt, was a five-pointed sheriff's star made of what looked like brass, with a flaming sword design etched into the center.

Oh my God…

Greg reached up and touched the badge. "Yippe-kai-yay," he whispered. The fiery energy he remembered from his dream blossomed within him again, and his vision was momentarily obscured by a blaze of golden light. When it cleared, he was clad in the same space-cowboy garb he had been wearing in his dream.

Greg's hand fell to his belt, and he produced the gilt smartphone.

Opening it up, he navigated to the single number entered into the contacts and pressed Call. The phone rang three times, then a voice answered.

"Hello, this is Emma Barnes."

"Hello, Emma," Greg replied, feeling a surge of inexpressible elation well up inside him like an echo of the Light he had just invoked, "This is Greg Veder. So… uh, may I come over?"

"Uh," Emma replied, sounding muddled, "maybe later? I usually don't get up for like another two hours, and I've still got to explain everything to my dad."

Embarrassment flared up, and Greg imagined his face must be bright red. "Oh, right. Sorry."

"It's ok," Emma said. "Maybe you can come over this afternoon?"

"Yeah, that would be great," Greg said.

"Ok," Emma replied. "I'm gonna go back to bed now. Bye."

Greg had just enough time to say goodbye before Emma hung up.

1.5

"Oh, by the way, mom," Emma said over breakfast, "I talked to Taylor after she got home from camp yesterday evening. She said she might stop by today."

"Excellent!" Emma's mother said, with a genuine smile.

Emma couldn't resist hurrying a little as she collected her dishes and rinsed them in the sink. Yes, she and Taylor had had a couple of conversations in the dreamworld, but that was hardly the same thing as meeting in person, face-to-face, being able to actually touch and hug her best friend.

And hopefully we'll be able to bring Mom and Mr. Hebert in on the secret soon, now that Taylor's back. Even with Dad in, keeping the secret from Mom is more draining than I'd expected. I've never kept anything this big from her before, I can't imagine how Greg expects to do it with both his parents. And Taylor already hates how distant her dad's been lately. But letting Mr. Hebert in on the secret is very definitely the kind of thing Taylor and Dad both need to sign off on before we do it. Though I'm glad Greg was OK with letting us make that decision, one less person to bring in on this and co-ordinate.

She made her way to the front hall, stopped by the mirror to run a brush through her hair. It had all been cut short to match the piece that had been cut shorter with the knife.

At least Greg likes this hairstyle, she thought with a little smile. Wonder what Taylor will think of it?

When she walked outside, there was someone standing at the gate. She frowned. That's not Taylor. Dark skin, long black hair ...

Anger propelled her off the porch and down to the gate. "What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped.

"Found out where you lived," said the girl – Sophia, that was her name. "Came over to see if you'd come round yet."

Emma shook her head. "You don't get it. We're not the same. We're nothing like each other. I would not sit by and watch someone else get mutilated, just because they were too frightened – or too smart – to fight back."

"But you've got it wrong," said Sophia insistently. "There's people who survive through adversity, and people who don't. You survive. So do I. We are the same. We're badass. We're top of the heap."

Emma saw a familiar figure approaching. Taylor. Still wearing the camp gear, all bright clothing, the friendship bracelet Emma had made for her wrapped around her left wrist. Emma smiled. Sophia misunderstood; she smiled in return and started to open the gate. Emma put her hand on it. Sophia frowned.

Emma watched Taylor's approach fondly. Broomstick arms and legs, gawky, with a wide, guileless smile, her eyes just a fraction larger behind the glasses she wore, a little too old fashioned. Her long dark curls were tied into a loose set of twin braids, one bearing a series of colorful 'friendship bracelet' style ties at the end. Only her height gave her age away.

Same old Taylor. Dependable.

Sophia looked around. "Who the fuck is that?" she asked.

"Emma!" said Taylor, smiling widely.

"Who the fuck are you?" Sophia asked.

Taylor's smile faltered and a brief look of confusion flickered across her face, before giving way to a smile that made Taylor's wide mouth look distinctly shark-like. "I'm Taylor," she said. "Emma and I have been friends for a long time."

Sophia smirked. "Really."

"Really," Taylor echoed Sophia. "And you must be Sophia," she added. "Emma's told me all about you."

Sophia's jaw dropped and she took a step back as Taylor's meaning hit home.

"You know, Sophia," Taylor continued, voice just a touch too casual to be convincing, "I've been thinking. Do you know what the most successful predator on Earth is?"

Sophia's look of dismay gave way to confusion. "Uh… a shark? A lion?"

"Not even close," Taylor said with a laugh. "No, human beings are the most successful predator on Earth by a long shot. We go where we like, we have so much food available that we can afford to pick what we eat based on the taste, and even other predators only live because we don't feel the need to wipe them out. And it's not because we are particularly strong or fast or tough either. We don't have claws or venom, and our teeth aren't much good in combat. No, humans are the undisputed masters of this world because we work together. We build walls around our villages, we hunt in groups, we build tools that let us kill animals whose natural weapons far outmatch ours. If you really want to be a predator, you might want to consider that."

Sophia stared at Taylor for a moment, then shook her head and turned back to face Emma. "Whatever," she said, feigning confidence. "I'm going. But I'll be in touch. And we'll kick ass together."

She headed off down the street, as if she owned the whole footpath.

Taylor shook her head as she followed the retreating Sophia. "Yeesh," she said. "She certainly lives down to your description, I'll give her that."

Emma wrapped Taylor in a hug. "Forget about her for now," she whispered in Taylor's ear. "Lord, I missed you, Taylor. It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back," Taylor murmured back.

Taylor released Emma and they turned to head back inside.

"Hey, where'd you come up with that speech you gave Sophia?" Emma asked.

"Oh, after you told us about Sophia, I spent a little while brainstorming good things to say if I ever ran into her," Taylor replied. "Given everything, I figured this conversation was going to be happening sooner or later."

The two of them crossed the threshold, disappearing into the Barnes house.

"So," Taylor asked as she carefully painted Emma's toenails a deep blue, "what's Greg like in person? I've only met him in our dreamworld discussions, what's he like off the clock?"

"Hmm…" Emma shrugged. "He's… I dunno, annoying in kind of a sweet way. Like a puppy that climbs all over you and licks your face, it's annoying but you can't get mad at him for it. He's got a pretty big crush on me, though, so he might act differently around you. He keeps blushing and stuttering and losing his train of thought around me, especially when we aren't discussing Hopeful business and he doesn't have something to keep him distracted."

Taylor nodded as she finished off the little toenail and switched feet. "You plan to do anything about that crush?"

"Hmm…" Emma said, touching a finger to her lips. "I'm not sure about that, actually. On the one hand, he's going to need lots of training in social interaction and a touch of getting into better shape before he's proper boyfriend material. On the other hand, he's a reincarnated Prince, so there's got to be something decent under there, and all that polishing up is stuff I'm going to have to do anyway to make him a better teammate."

She nodded. "I'll wait until I've gotten him through the first round of Eliza Doolitle-ing, see what I think then."

"Eliza… Oh, right, from My Fair Lady," Taylor said.

There was a cough from the direction of the foyer. Taylor looked up to see Mr. Barnes in the living room doorway. "Well," he said with a smile, "that wasn't quite the conversation a father wants to hear when considering whether to allow his daughter to run around unsupervised with a teenage boy. Should I be telling your mother to give you the Talk?"

Emma's face turned as red as her hair. "Dad!" she said.

"What?" Mr. Barnes replied.

"Don't worry, Mr. Barnes," Taylor said, carefully adding Midnight Blue polish to Emma's little toenail. "I'll be happy to chaperone those two."

"Thank you, Taylor," Emma said sarcastically.

"Always happy to help," Taylor chirped. "Your toenails are done, by the way."

"Thank you," Emma repeated, more sincerely this time.

Mr. Barnes took a deep breath. "Emma, Taylor, are you ready to talk about Danny?"

Emma swung her legs out from Taylor's lap to sit up straight on the love seat the two were sharing. "Ready," she said.

Taylor took a quick breath. "I'm ready," she said. She had been nervous about this moment on and off all week. On the one hand, the concept of keeping her Noble status a secret from her dad, of throwing up yet more barriers between them when their relationship was so strained, horrified her. But on the other, to bring her father in on the secret was a terrible risk, now more than ever. If he jumped the wrong way, if he tried to lock her up or outed her to the PRT…

"Ok," Mr. Barnes said, dropping into the comfy chair. "Now, I think there are two questions that we need to ask here: Can we give Danny the news in his current state of mind, and do we trust him to make a rational decision about letting you go out?"

"Agreed," Emma said after a moment's pause. "The question isn't whether he'll make the decision Taylor and I want, because we shouldn't assume we know best. It's possible that we should go to the Wards, and if that is the case, it might be for the best if Mr. Hebert does overrule us. Thanks for pointing that out, Dad."

"Honestly," Mr. Barnes said, "I still would rather you went into the Wards, but that's a topic for later. If we are bringing Danny in on this, we should save that discussion until all concerned parties are present."

"Now, coming back to the issue of Danny," he continued, "I have a lot of experience with people whose marriages have just been torn apart, and while this obviously isn't quite the same thing there are a lot of similarities. On that basis, and on the basis of everything I know about Danny, I think that we should tell him. Part of the reason he's in this spiral right now is that he feels helpless to do anything to protect the things and people he loves. Anette is dead, the Dockworkers Union is dying and there's nothing he can do to save it, and he has no idea how to help you, Taylor. I think… I hope that if we bring him in on this, make him part of our team, it will break through that fog and give him something to focus on, something to use to pull himself out of his depression."

"That… sounds right to me," Taylor said. "That's certainly what happened with me. Gaining these powers, having a purpose… it's helped me immensely, given me something to focus on that is not the hole in my life where Mom and Dad should be. And… if we do keep this a secret, and he finds out later, it'll hurt him even worse, won't it? That we didn't trust him with the truth of who I was and what I was up to?"

"Yes, it will," Mr. Barnes said quietly.

"Then… God, I want to do it, I want to trust my Dad to make the right choice, but I'm so afraid that…" she paused, a sudden epiphany flashing across her mind.

"No, I'm not afraid of him jumping the wrong way, am I?" she said, thinking it out as she talked. "I'm afraid of talking to him, I'm afraid because there's already such a gap between us, and it will take such an effort to breach it. But we've got to do it. I do trust him to make the right choice, if we can get through the depression and touch the real him, and I have to try. Hell, that's what made me a Noble in the first place, was deciding that I had to be there for Dad."

Emma nodded. "Then we do it," she said. "Now, let's talk about something more fun. Taylor, what color would you like your toes to be?"

"I will protect even those I hate," Kaladin whispered through bloody lips. "So long as it is right."

Greg puffed along on the elliptical trainer, the voice of the audiobook reader in his ear. His father was, fortunately, currently in town, and he had been pleasantly surprised when Greg had come to him to ask for help getting an exercise program set up. He'd helped Greg pick out some exercises, make a schedule for himself, and even given Greg one of his gym membership dongles so he could come here whenever he wanted and get his cardio exercise without having to go running around the streets unescorted.

Suddenly, the voice of the narrator cut off, and the phone began to ring. Greg picked it up and glanced at the caller ID, then hit the button to accept the call.

"Hello, this is Greg Veder speaking," he said, slowing down on the machine a bit as he talked.

"Hello Greg," the voice came back. "This is Emma. Do you have any plans for tomorrow morning?"

"Not really," Greg said.

"Great!" Emma replied. "Taylor and I were wondering if you would like to join us for church, and then lunch at Taylor's house to discuss things."

"I'll be there," Greg said. "Can you text me the place and time? I'm at the gym right now, not really in a position to take notes. And I might end up needing a pickup, I'll get back to you on that."

"Will do," Emma said. "And congratulations on the gym. I'll let you go now, and we can talk later. Bye!"

"Bye," Greg replied, and Emma hung up with a click.

"For a moment, they stood in darkness.

Then Kaladin exploded with Light."

The narrator resumed his narration as Greg turned his focus back to his exercise, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. Tomorrow, he and Emma and Taylor would take the first steps on the pathway to heroism, and now that the moment was almost upon him he found himself unexpectedly nervous.

Instinctively, his fingers rose to brush the brass star of his Phylactery, pinned to his exercise shirt over his chest. Even with everything he'd seen and done in the past week, it seemed unbelievable that he, Greg Veder, perennial screw-up, was about to become an official superhero. But whether or not he believed it, it was happening.

Interlude 1 - Danny

The food should have been delicious. Lasagna prepared according to Annette's recipe, handed down and improved over generations, Ceaser salad and garlic bread from the Barnes. Danny knew each of these dishes, had had them dozens of times over the years, knew exactly how delicious they should have been.

Ever since losing Annette, they tasted like dust in his mouth.

He glanced around the table, feeling an odd blend of resentment and gratitude towards Alan and Emma and Taylor. Part of him, the part that berated himself for neglecting his daughter, was grateful that they had gone to the trouble of arranging and preparing this lunch, that they were making the effort to drag him out of himself. But the part of him that was just tired, that only wanted to be left alone, to pour himself into his work at the Docks and hide from anything that reminded him of Annette, was furious at having the still-sore wounds poked. And a tiny sliver of him was simply curious as to who on earth the blonde boy sitting next to Emma was, and why he had been invited to this lunch.

With a sigh, he pushed his plate away. He wasn't finished, but he couldn't muster any more appetite. Not now. There was a quick exchange of glances around the table, and Alan took a breath.

"Danny," he said, "there's something we need to talk to you about."

"Ok," Danny said.

"Actually," Emma cut in, "let's move to the living room. This is going to be a long discussion."

They accordingly relocated to the living room, settling into various couches and chairs. All except Taylor, who remained standing in the center of the room.

Taylor bit her lip. "Um. So… please try not to freak out."

Before Danny could ask what she meant, she touched two fingers to the bracelet she was wearing on her left wrist, and it began to glow.

What the hell? Danny thought.

In a pulse of pinkish-white light like a single deep breath, the light flared around Taylor, completely hiding her from sight. And when it faded again, Taylor was… changed. Her clothes were gone, replaced by a skin-tight bodysuit of black-spotted red. Her formerly lose hair was drawn back into a braid. Her arms and legs had gained slim but well-defined musculature, while the slight belly she had always had was replaced by toned abs. And, perhaps oddest of all, set in the center of her forehead was what looked like an uncut opaline gemstone.

Danny stared at his daughter, jaw dropping.

"So… yeah…" she said, blushing slightly. "I'm a parahuman. Kind of. You see…"

Danny sat there, staring in amazement as his daughter told him a story of ancient kingdoms of Light, of the crashing tide of Darkness and of royalty reborn, of souls gone astray and taking root in alternate Earths."

"… so that's pretty much it," she said towards the end. "I… didn't want to keep this a secret from you. I know we've… not really been talking to each other since Mom died, but this… this is way beyond anything I've ever done before. I want you with me."

Danny took a deep breath, burying his face in his hands. "My God," he said vaguely. "I don't even know what to say… couldn't you join the Wards? They've got to be safer than going out on the streets all on your own."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Emma said with a narrow smile. "But no, the Wards aren't an option for a bunch of reasons."

"You've got to understand, Dad," Taylor said, gesturing vaguely with her hands, "part of what being a Princess means is that I've – we've got to help. We don't get to make compromises or ignore people suffering any more. And you know as well as I do that the Protectorate doesn't really do anything, at least not here in Brockton Bay. You've been complaining for years about how the PRT has just let the gangs run wild. If we joined the Wards, they'd hold us back, keep us from doing anything. I think I actually would kill myself-"

She froze, mouth snapping shut. Danny stared at her, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut.

"Taylor?" he said shakily.

She seemed to dissolve, her costume falling away in a shower of pinkish sparkles to reveal Taylor as she had been earlier. She dropped onto the ottoman, hands wringing together in her lap.

"It was at camp," she said in a small voice. "One night… I'd gotten hold of a knife, snuck it into my tent, and I was just lying awake, thinking about it. Thinking about how much I missed Mom, about how I'd scarcely talked to you for months, how it was almost like I'd lost both my parents. Thinking about how easy it would be to go join Mom."

Danny couldn't move, couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. That quiet voice was like a knife in his heart.

"And then… then I remembered Emma," she continued. "I remembered all the times we'd had together, all the efforts she'd made to reach me when I was hurting. I remembered you, remembered every good time we'd ever had. And I decided that I had to live, that I couldn't repay Emma's love by taking her best friend from her and that I couldn't make you morn the loss of your daughter as well as your wife."

"And that was the moment I Blossomed," she continued, a tone of wonder entering her voice. "I didn't know what it was at the time, but the very moment I chose to live, chose to step away from death, I felt the Light welling up inside me."

She stroked the bracelet on her left wrist. "I think that's why Emma's friendship bracelet became my phylactery," she said. "Because it was her love, her friendship, that saved me."

Danny's eyes dropped, unable to meet Taylor's gaze. He stared down at his hands as they clenched into fists. He felt his anger well up inside him, unstoppable, beyond control, looking for something to strike at. But there was nobody to blame for this but himself.

"You look like you need to punch something," the blonde said. "Do you want to go outside and have a sparring match?"

The sheer incongruity of that statement knocked Danny's train of thought askew again. "What?!" he blurted out.

"Greg!" Emma said at almost the same moment.

Right, that was his name, Greg, Danny thought dazedly.

"Well, Mr. Hebert looks like he needs to punch something, and I could use the fistfighting practice," Greg said, shrugging.

Danny's mind finally dragged back into action. With a strength of will born of many years of practice, he jammed his anger and guilt and all his other swirling feelings back down into his gut and stuck a metaphorical cork in it.

I can be angry later. I can grieve later. Right now, I need to think. My daughter needs me at my best.

"Thank you for the offer, Greg, but that I don't think that would help," he said.

"Anyway," Emma added, "There are other reasons the Wards aren't an option. If we join the Wards, they could split us up, move us to other cities."

Greg raised a finger. "Not to mention that joining the Wards would involve giving up our identities…" he paused for a moment. "I haven't explained this bit yet. See, as Nobility we have an automatic Stranger power, a glamour that makes it extremely difficult for people to make the connection between our civilian and cape identities. As long as we're careful to keep the secret to those we trust, we can pick our battles and avoid most of the usual risks that come with going independent. We'll probably actually be safer independent than we would be in the Wards."

Alan cut in, hand raised. "I understand we're dropping a lot on you, Danny," he said. "I know that when Emma explained this to me, I needed some time to process it. Would it help if Greg and Emma and I left? We could come back this evening, or tomorrow, once you've had some time to get used to the idea of Taylor being a parahuman."

Danny paused for a moment, considering that offer. "I don't think I'll need that long," he said. "Just give me maybe fifteen minutes."

"Not a problem," Emma said with a smile. "I'm sure we can find something productive to do in the meantime."

"Thanks," Danny said tensely as he got to his feet. He strode quickly from the living room down the stairs and into the basement.

"Hey, Dad," Taylor said as Danny came back up the stairs, rubbing his bruised knuckles, "We came up with names while you were... processing. I'm going to be 'Ladybug', Emma will be 'Princess', and Greg is 'Void Cowboy'. And then we're thinking 'The Hopeful' for a team name."

"Those sound like very good names," Danny said as he settled back into his chair.

"Ok," he continued. "So I get that you don't want to join the Wards. And, unfortunately, I have to admit you've got a point. The PRT… maybe it's just that any large organization is going to pick up its share of corruption and people who value the organization above the goal it's supposed to serve, but it's pretty obvious that their motives aren't simply helping keep people safe from parahuman crime. It's murkier than that. But if you're not planning on joining the Wards, and your powers come with a compulsion to use them to improve the world, then what are you planning on doing?"

"That's actually another reason we wanted to bring you in on this," Emma said. "For the foreseeable future, we'll be focusing our efforts on the Docks. Clearing out the gangs and petty criminals, of course, but we're also going to try and find ways to revitalize the area. There might be some way we can get the Boat Graveyard cleared out and that tanker out of the harbor mouth, or possibly there's some other way we can generate jobs and prosperity there."

"Either way," she continued, "We're going to need your help. You know better than anyone else what needs to be done and what the local powerbases look like, and you're the leader of the Dockworkers, de facto if not de jure, so you control pretty much the only organized group in the Docks other than the gangs. If we're going to accomplish anything towards revitalizing the Docks on a broad scale, we're going to need your knowledge and your minions to do it."

"You make me sound like a gang boss," Danny said. To his surprise, there was actually a hint of amusement in that thought. He quickly refocused. "Do you really think you can clear out the Boat Graveyard?"

"Maybe not now, but eventually," Taylor said. "That's one of the ways our powers as Nobility differ from parahuman abilities. As we use our powers, they get stronger and we can even develop entirely new abilities. Right now we're not very powerful, but given time and practice our abilities will get stronger. And our powers shape themselves to fit our needs and desires, so if I want badly enough to clear up the Graveyard, I am likely to develop Charms that can be used to do that. Something to levitate heavy objects, or convert chunks of boat into ingots of usable metal, or something."

"It may even happen pretty quickly," she added. "According to Gabriel, when a Princess Blossoms there's a sort of surge of potential, one that lets her develop a number of Charms very quickly, and I don't think I've used up all my initial potential yet."

Danny let that soak in for a moment. For the past decade and more it had been all he could do to keep the Dockworker's Union barely alive and the gangs out, to stave off the consequences of the folly that had made the Boat Graveyard and crippled Brockton Bay. And now his daughter spoke of opening the Bay once again, removing the tanker and the other wrecks and restoring the businesses that had once supported thousands, of the prosperity of his youth returning.

Danny took a deep breath. "Alright," he said, "I'm in. Let's make Brockton Bay great again."